Of Love and Evil - By Anne Rice Page 0,41

placed his hands tightly on my shoulders, and I could feel the pressure of his fingers growing very strong.

I hated this. It was all I could do not to hit him and try to knock him aside.

“Will you believe me,” he said, “if I make all this disappear? If I hurl you back into your bed in the Mission Inn? Or should I set you down on the leafy street in New Orleans where your lady friend lives?”

I felt the blood rise in my face.

“Get away from me,” I said. “If you are what you say you are, then you know no harm can come from me going back to Vitale. From my helping another human being in dire need.”

“The hell with Vitale!” he snarled. “The hell with him and his filthy entanglements. I will not let you be lost.”

His fingers were digging into my flesh and it was plainly painful. The sound of the crowd and the music had become louder and louder and now it seemed deafening to me, just as the lights had become a kind of engulfing glare.

I was struggling with all my senses to know the moment, to know my thoughts, to know what to do.

A great riot of applause and shouts from the crowd shocked me. And at this moment, he locked his arm around me and started to drag me across the floor.

I drew back. “Get thee behind me, Satan!” I whispered. And I drew back my fist, and then struck him with one fine blow to the face that sent him flying backwards away from me, as if he were made of nothing but air.

I saw his form rushing away, as if down a huge tunnel of light. Indeed the very fabric of the world around me was ripped, and his body exploded in that rip into huge splashes of blinding fire. I shut my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I fell down on my knees. The light was volcanic and searing. A huge cry filled my ears that became a kind of howl.

A voice spoke, “Tell me your name!”

I tried to see but the light still blinded me. I covered my face with my hands, trying to peer through my fingers, but all I could see was this rolling fire.

“Tell me your name!” came the voice again, and I heard the answer, like a hiss, “Ankanoc! Let me go.”

The voice spoke again, in unmistakable denunciation, though I couldn’t hear the words. Ankanoc, go back to Hell. He’d been banished, and the force that had sent him fleeing was still near.

There was a rolling roar, which grew louder and louder, and even though my eyes were closed, I knew the light was gone. Ankanoc. It was reverberating in my mind and I had the sense I would never forget it. I thought I knew the voice that had demanded this name, that had demanded that the being leave, and it was Malchiah’s voice, but I wasn’t sure. I was shaken to the bone.

I opened my eyes.

I found myself kneeling on the flags. The crowd was close around me, same laughter, voices and dim soaring musical notes. My head throbbed. My shoulders hurt.

Malchiah was kneeling next to me, supporting me, but he wasn’t really visible to me. I felt his hands steadying me. In a soundless voice, he said, “Now you know his name. Call him by name, in whatever guise he comes to you, and he must answer! Remember this, for now and for later and for always. Ankanoc. Now I leave you to do what you must do.”

Lies, belief system, beings, feeding …

“Don’t leave me!” I whispered.

But he was gone.

A man stood beside me, a sweet, round-faced man in a long flowing red robe. I saw his hand reaching down for me as he said, “Here, let me help you up, young man, come on, it’s only just past midnight, and that is far too early for you to be stumbling about.” Other hands helped me to my feet.

Then, patting me on the shoulder, the man smiled and went on with his companions into the banquet room.

I was before the open doors of the palazzo. And I could see it was raining outside.

I tried to clear my head. I tried to think on all that had happened.

Just past midnight. I’d been gone that long.

What had I been thinking to let this happen, and what did I think had happened? The fear took hold of me again, the fear gradually accumulating until