The tale of the body thief - By Anne Rice Page 0,83

before.

“The observations written in the 1970s after the publication of Interview with the Vampire are most interesting. And then the very recent chapters, inspired by your fractured and fanciful history of the species—my word! No, I know all about your body. I know more about it perhaps than you do. Do you know what the Talamasca really wants? A sample of your tissue, a specimen of your vampiric cells! You’d be wise to see that they never acquire such a specimen. You’ve been too free with Talbot, really. Perhaps he pared your fingernails or cut off a lock of your hair while you slept beneath his roof.”

Lock of hair. Wasn’t there a lock of blond hair in that locket? It had to be vampire hair! Claudia’s hair. I shuddered, drawing deeper into myself and shutting him away. Centuries ago there had been a dreadful night when Gabrielle, my mortal mother and newborn fledgling, had cut off her vampire hair. Through the long hours of the day, as she lay in the coffin, it had all grown back. I did not want to remember her screams when she discovered it—those magnificent tresses once again luxuriant and long over her shoulders. I did not want to think of her and what she might say to me now about what I meant to do. It had been years since I had laid eyes upon her. It might be centuries before I saw her again.

I looked again at James, as he sat there radiant with expectation, straining to appear patient, face glowing in the warm light.

“Forget the Talamasca,” I said under my breath. “Why do you have such a hard time with this body? You’re clumsy. You’re only comfortable when you’re sitting in a chair and you can leave matters entirely to your voice and your face.”

“Very perceptive,” he said, with unshakable decorum.

“I don’t think so. It’s rather obvious.”

“It’s simply too big a body,” he said calmly. “It’s too muscular, too … shall we say, athletic? But it’s perfect for you.”

He paused, looked at the teacup thoughtfully and then up at me again. The eyes seemed so wide, so innocent.

“Lestat, come now,” he said. “Why are we wasting time with this conversation? I don’t intend to dance with the Royal Ballet once I’m inside you. I simply mean to enjoy the whole experience, to experiment, to see the world through your eyes.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d offer you a little drink to screw up your courage, but that would be self-defeating in the long run, wouldn’t it? Oh, and by the way, the passport. Were you able to obtain it? You remember I asked you to provide me with a passport. I do hope you remembered, and of course I have a passport for you. I fear you won’t be going anywhere, on account of this blizzard—”

I laid my passport on the table before him. He reached up under his sweater, and withdrew his own from his shirt pocket and put it in my hand.

I examined it. It was American and a fake. Even the issue date of two years ago was fake. Raglan James. Age twenty-six. Correct picture. Good picture. This Georgetown address.

He was studying the American passport—also a fake—which I had given him.

“Ah, your tanned skin! You had this prepared specially … Must have been last night.”

I didn’t bother to answer.

“How very clever of you,” he said, “and what a good picture.” He studied it. “Clarence Oddbody. Wherever did you come up with a name like that?”

“A little private joke. What does it matter? You’ll have it only tonight and tomorrow night.” I shrugged.

“True. Very true.”

“I’ll expect you back here early Friday morning, between the hours of three and four.”

“Excellent.” He started to put the passport into his pocket and then caught himself with a sharp laugh. Then his eyes fixed on me and a look of pure delight passed over him. “Are you ready?”

“Not quite.” I took a wallet of money out of my pocket, opened it, and slipped out about half of the bills inside and gave them to him.

“Ah, yes, the petty cash, how considerate of you to remember,” he said. “I’m forgetting all the important details in my excitement. Inexcusable and you are such a gentleman.”

He gathered up the bills and once again caught himself before he could stuff them in his pockets. He put them back on the table and smiled.

I laid my hand on the wallet. “The rest is for me, once we