Chapter Text
[Chapter 18]
[Following night - hair]
Louis stopped dead and stared. Lestat's face was framed in a halo of golden light. He looked like himself again, like the magnificent vampire who had stolen into Louis' room and obliterated the ordinary course of his life.
"What?" Lestat said and his eyebrows scrunched together as Louis came closer.
"Your hair…" It was as it had been two centuries ago before it was bleached by the annihilating strength of Akasha's blood. The color had come back, grown in overnight as if it had never changed. The golden curls seemed to soak up all the light in the room--gathering the flickering flames of the gas lamps and the steady glow of the modern incandescent bulbs. Each strand was a prism, gleaming with a multitude of iridescent colors that shifted with his every slight movement. A veritable fireworks show went off as Lestat moved back a half step and glared at Louis in confusion.
"Don't tell me you preferred it bald," he grumbled. "If you ask me to shave it off again I swear—"
"No!" Louis said, perhaps a little too vehemently. "No, it's lovely. I mean--it's always been lovely. I've always liked--oh, you know what I mean."
Lestat smirked. "No I don't. Tell me more about how much you like my hair."
"You don't need my compliments to puff up your ego." Louis turned away and tried to compose himself into a stern expression, but he couldn't help glancing back at Lestat's hair out of the corner of his eye.
Lestat winked and slowly raised his hands to run them them up his neck and scalp, sensually running his fingers through his hair and touseling the curls. Louis found himself turning to face him and watch without fully meaning to.
"What was it you said in your said little book?" Lestat asked. "About how you wished Christ had a beautiful head of pampered yellow hair?"
"I don't think that was quite how I put it."
Lestat made a skeptical noise and continued running his hands through his hair like a woman in a shampoo commercial.
[Fareed examination, pitch to Lestat]
"Dr. Fareed wants to do some new tests."
"More? What more is there to find out, you already scanned and scrapped every part of my body six months ago and now you have a recording of my damned brain waves. What more is there to gain?."
"The MRI at my [European lab] was useful, but I have more advanced equipment in [California] and this time I have some idea of what I am looking for."
"It’s a waste of time," Lestat said. "Amel’s ethereal, there’s nothing to see."
"Every force which exerts an effect on the physical world must have some physical explanation," Fareed said. "Even if we don’t yet understand the mechanism."
Lestat made a dismissive noise, unconvinced.
"The more we can find out," Louis said. "The better position we’ll be in to deal with the situation. Fareed might be able to intervene before Kapetria does."
"Intervene and do what exactly?" Lestat asked. "If you want to get Amel out of my body and into someone else, we already know how to do that."
Louis frowned. "I would prefer if we found a less destructive solution."
"And if there isn’t one?"
"Then Amel stays where he is."
Lestat laughed. "Tell Kapetria that."
Louis took a slow breath to calm himself and turned to Fareed. "Explain more about the tests you want to do, what’s special about them?"
"I have a PET scanner there—positron emission tomography. It’s a very advanced machine that uses radioactive tracers to target specific areas of the body. It’s particularly useful for brain imaging."
Lestat gave him a horrified look. "You want to irradiate me?"
"Radiation has very little impact on us," Fareed said. "Aside from solar radiation that is. With this machine I think I might be able to detect the actual chemical processes being activated by Amel in your brain."
"It’s that detailed?" Louis asked.
Fareed nodded. "Yes, it can be combined with other technologies to produce very clear visualizations. It’s like the difference between—between the images captured by old black and white nitrate film and those captured by modern digital recorders."
"How long would it take?"
"Not long—perhaps half a day to prepare and then a few hours in the machine and we’re done."
Louis looked at Lestat. "We could fly there [tonight]. We’d have time, it’s still the early afternoon in California. If we leave now we could land just before sunrise."
"No," Lestat said. "I can’t have everyone thinking I need some—some kind of medical intervention. They can’t think the prince is an invalid."
"No one has to know why we’re going there." Louis pointed out. "Say you’re going to tour Fareed's facility as the prince." He motioned to Fareed who nodded his head, although he looked like he'd prefer not to get involved in their argument. He kept glancing around the room as if looking for somewhere to escape.
Lestat rolled his eyes. "Oh, right," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I had to take a sudden emergency tour that happened unannounced in the middle of the night? Yes, that seems believable."
"So pretend you wanted to go to a performance in San Francisco or shopping in LA," Louis said. He was beginning to get frustrated with Lestat's obstinance and it was a struggle to keep his voice from rising. "You’re the prince, surely you can come up with an arbitrary reason to justify a transatlantic flight."
Lestat shook his head and Louis grit his teeth in frustration. "Fine," he snapped. "I’ll go alone and let slip that I’m helping Dr. Bhansali research a solution because I’m afraid for your life. Then everyone will know!"
"I won’t let you leave, I forbid it." Lestat spoke with finality, like he thought Louis would actually obey him.
"You’ll have to lock me up," Louis said. He was so angry his tone was starting to get away from him somewhat. "Everyone will assume the prince has gone mad and is imprisoning his lovers. That’ll put a stop to the rumors! And I’m sure this argument that probably twenty different people are overhearing will help convince everyone that nothing whatsoever is wrong with you."
"I should throw you in the dungeons we found under the [whatever] tower."
"I wish you would, then and I wouldn’t have to spend another evening making small talk while we all pretend not to notice how your hands shake like an old man’s!"
"All right, all right," Lestat yelled and threw up his hands. "Stop shouting, my god. I hate when you mother me."
"Stop acting like a child and start acting like the ruler you supposedly are then. The situation isn't hopeless. You have more money and resources than King Solomon, use them!"
Part 7
[California]
Once Lestat had resolved to do a thing, it was as good as done. Thus they separated for only a few minutes while Louis went to get a coat and Fareed when to get his laptop. They flew in formation to [some airport]—Louis in Lestat's arms, with Cyril and Thorne flanking them, and Fareed and Seth not far behind. The decision was made to take a plane from there since it would be just as fast as flying themselves and considerably more comfortable.
They took a private jet chartered from some company Lestat had used before who responded enthusiastically to his request and had a pilot idling on the tarmac by the time they landed in [airport] twenty minutes later. It was an impressive level of service, if rather depressingly wasteful environmentally speaking.
It was a very quiet flight. Lestat took a seat at the front of the plane and made a point of ignoring everyone else. He put on a huge pair of headphones and listened too-loud rock music with his arms crossed and his feet up, looking very much like an angry teenager.
Thorne stretched out over an entire row of seats and fell asleep as soon as they took off. Louis found himself envying how peaceful he looked. Fareed, meanwhile, discovered a projection screen which could be lowered in the back and picked out a movie from the plane's catalogue. It was in a language Louis didn't know, but it seemed to be a comedy about a man falling in love with an unsuitable woman whose father didn't like him. Louis might have been able to decipher it if he concentrated, but he was too busy worrying about what they would do next if this trip led to another dead end. Fareed and Seth seemed to be equally distracted, both of them only half-watching the movie while being absorbed in their own thoughts. Cyril was the only one who was actually paying attention. He sat close to the screen and laughed loudly at every joke, sometimes slapping his armrest if it was a particularly good one.
Several hours into the flight, Louis went to sit at the front of the plane next to Lestat. He tapped the side of his head to indicate that he wanted to speak to him, but Lestat ignored him. Normally Louis would have retreated, but he was still irritated from how difficult it had been to get Lestat on this flight, so he reached over to try to take his headphones off himself.
Lestat dodged him and pushed his hand away, but he moved one earpiece to the back of his head. The bass beat of the song he was listening to was so loud it was probably interfering with Cyril's ability to hear the movie. "What?" he snapped, staring straight ahead and refusing to look at Louis.
Louis cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask—how he's taking this?"
Lestat sighed and the music clicked off. "I don't know, he's not speaking to me."
"Ah," Louis said. "But he's here?"
"Yes."
They turned away from the city lights of Palm springs and flew out over the empty wastes of the Sonoran Desert. They were following a single lane road which stretched out with perfect straightness into the distance. After some miles, the asphalt disappeared and it became a gravel road and then a hard-packed dirt path that was almost unnoticeable except for the vague outline of tire tracks in the dust.
Eventually the road ended at a low, nondescript building with a small parking lot. There were a few vehicles parked in the lot—all of them coated with dirt and grime from the journey—but otherwise it appeared unoccupied. They landed next to two solitary palm trees which tried unsuccessfully to relieve the grimness of the outside appearance. There was a reception area inside with an empty desk, but an abundance of security cameras watching from every corner of the room. Fareed led them past the desk to a bank of elevators that only went downward.
The elevators were surprisingly large and sleek contraptions of stainless steel. They looked to Louis like they were designed for moving freight rather than people.
Fareed took them on a bit of a tour at first, stopping on each floor to show off all of the various departments and high tech equipment.
Louis was surprised by how many vampires they passed in the halls or saw working in the laboratories.
"I thought most of your staff had moved to [Paris]?" Louis asked. "I was under the impression the Palm Springs facility was all but abandoned."
"No, not at all, it's been continuing with a reduced workforce. Most of my staff preferred to be in Europe close to the court and it only made sense to concentrate our resources on building up the [Switzerland] facility, but there are still a number of on-going experiments and equipment here that it didn't make sense to move."
"Experiments?" Louis repeated, wondering if there was another Viktor hidden in the depths of the compound.
"Experimental medicine and molecular Chemistry, mainly," Fareed said. "The largest departments remaining here are for nuclear medicine and the haematology program." He started to explain the experiments using a number of words that Louis could only guess at the meaning of based on their latin roots. He wondered if Fareed was being purposefully evasive using scientific terms to disguise the nature of his work.
"Haematology as in blood?" Louis asked, interrupting him.
"Oh, yes, it's a long-running project that's looking into synthesizing it."
Louis nearly collided with a door post he was so startled. "Is such a thing possible?"
"Yes, ah, to a degree. We can already produce some of the compounds that make up blood. Human scientists have even done some successful transfusion experiments. However, all of the attempts we've tried haven't been nutritionally complete enough to serve as a total blood substitute."
"But it might be possible? One day?"
"Absolutely, there's a great deal of potential in the use of human stem cells. Some human-run trials have already successfully managed to farm red blood cells, although it's very expensive and can't be done in mass quantities yet."
"Would we be able to—live off of such a synthetic product?"
"Yes, our nutritional needs could be met once it’s possible to produce all of the necessary proteins."
"I suppose some would not be satisfied living off of synthetic blood, but it seems to me that it would make the lives of our younger and weaker numbers much easier. And make the moral weight of a vampire's life much lighter."
"What sort of work do you do normally?" Louis asked.
"Case studies mostly, imaging of volunteers," Fareed said. "We've been trying to build up a database of blood drinkers of various ages to better understand the changes our bodies undergo over our long lives."
"Interesting, I didn't realize your research agenda was so—expansive."
"It has to be!" Fareed said. "Our kind has never been successfully studied before now. All of the previous research was based on only one or two subjects and didn't get very far before being stopped one way or another. We're pioneering in completely new territory and there's so much about our bodies that defies conventional medical knowledge."
"Yes, it's an amazing new age of scientific possibilities," Lestat said. "Blah blah blah. Now what do you want from me?"
Fareed gave him a thin smile. "Of course, your highness, I'll take you next to the radiology department."
"I believe the council decided that I was to be addressed as 'His Excellency,'" Lestat said. "I voted for 'His Royal Majesty,' but no one listens to me, ironically."
[PET scan]
Fareed took them lastly to a level with the clinical feel of a hospital. Fareed opened a door with a radiation warning symbol on it and announced, "This is the scanner."
Inside was an exam room which was dominated by a large machine shaped like a huge doughnut with a hole in the center. There was a moveable bed where the patient laid down and was passed through the central opening.
"It’s a combined positron emission tomography scanner," Fareed said, like that would mean anything to them. "It uses nuclear medicine imaging and by combining the resulting scans with computed tomography we can create a very detailed picture of the entire body and its processes. My team has used this for many breakthroughs—to better understand how our bodies metabolize blood for instance."
Lestat raised his eyebrows in a mock-shocked expression. "You've recorded people feeding in here?"
"Immediately after," Fareed said, unruffled. "Not at the moment of consumption. The subject has to remain very still in the scanner to get an accurate image."
"How long does it take?" Louis asked.
"For this particular scan, about an hour should suffice," Fareed said and Lestat sighed heavily. "But if you're at all uncomfortable or need a break we can pause."
"Fine," Lestat grumbled. He walked over to the machine ad hopped up to sit on the bed. "Let's get this over with."
"I'll need to give you an injection of the radioactive tracer first," Fareed said, motioning for him to get up. "This way."
They went down the hall to another exam room where a nurse took Lestat's vitals and gave him an injection from a lead-lined metal tube. Louis watched over Lestat’s shoulder as the fluid passed through the plastic tubing into his arm. He was half expected the tracer to glow, but it was only a clear fluid.
"It's a very small dosage that decays in a matter of hours," Fareed said, overhearing Louis' thoughts. "So, don't worry, he won't glow in the dark after this."
"Too bad," Louis said. "We could have saved on electricity and held the next ball in the dark."
"Oh, ha ha," Lestat said, unamused at being the butt of their joke.
Fareed and the nurse stepped out so Lestat could change into a hospital gown. Lestat pulled a face at the simple cotton garment and complained excessively as he got changed to be sure Louis was aware how unhappy he was to be wearing it.
The nurse returned a discrete five minutes later to check that Lestat was ready and ushered them back down the hallway. When they returned to the room with the scanner, they found Fareed speaking with an older-looking man with grey streaks in his hair.
"This is [name]," Fareed said. "My chief radiologist."
Louis stepped forward to shake his hand as Lestat had his arms folded and was acting too pentulent to greet him. "Nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine," [Name] said, speaking with a flat American accent that suggested cornfields and windswept plains. He had visible lines around his mouth and eyes which usually meant someone had been very old when he became a vampire.
"Thank you for your assistance, doctor," Louis said. "Especially on such short notice."
"It's my honor to be of service to the prince," [name] said, and sketched a little bow in Lestat's direction. Lestat perked up at the show of obeisance and nodded his head in acknowledgement.
The nurse had Lestat lie down on the scanner bed and made sure he was comfortable before withdrawing. Lestat was pleased to learn that he could listen to music while he was undergoing the process and settled in comfortably after selecting a playlist.
"Now, I’m afraid Dr. Fareed and I must withdraw to the observation booth in the next room—do you see the window there?" [Name] asked, pointing to a plexiglass window on one side of the room that reminded Louis of the [booth] in a recording studio. "We’ll be on the other side working the controls. There’s an intercom so you’ll be able to talk to us at any time."
Lestat nodded to indicate he’d understood, although Louis could already hear the rock music he was blasting through the headphones from the other side of the room. He’d never understood how Lestat could listen to music that loudly with their sensitive hearing. Just being in the vicinity on was enough to send Louis fleeing in irritation.
"Do you want to come with us Louis?" Fareed asked. "It's quite interesting."
Louis glanced over at Lestat and he made a dismissive gesture like he didn’t care where Louis was one way or another. Louis followed Fareed and [name] out, hoping that it would make Lestat feel less coddled and more [amiable].
Out in the hallway, before they went into the observation booth, [Name] turned to Louis and clasped his right hand in both of his own. "I want to reassure you that Lestat will receive the best possible care while you are here."
"Oh," Louis said. "I—of course, thank you. I’m grateful for Dr. Fareed for indulging my neurosis about this and looking into it further. Lestat himself doesn’t think it’s possible to do anything about the—situation, which is why he’s being… ornery about it."
"He’s not alone in feeling uncomfortable as a patient. And you are not alone in your concern for him. There is nothing so important than the health of those we love," [Name] said seriously and patted the back of his hand before releasing him to go sit beside Fareed at the screens. Louis decided he liked Dr. [name]. Fareed's scientists tended to be reclusive and focused on their work to a fault, but this man seemed like someone who was used to handling patients rather than experimental subjects. It was nice to feel reassured for once instead of in a constant state of anxiety that no one else involved cared about Lestat's well-being aside from himself.
The booth looked like it was designed for only one person—there was a desk with a keyboard and other controls along with several large computer screens. There was only a single computer chair inside, but Fareed brought more from another room and they squeezed in together side-by-side. Louis tried to make himself conspicuous by sitting into the farthest corner out of the way.
Fareed tried to explain to Louis how the machine worked as [Name] adjust the controls. Louis nodded along but most of it was over his head. He had a vague understanding that radioactive atoms released electrons which could be detected as light or energy or something and they pooled in different parts of the body, making it possible to detect organs and certain processes. And then somehow this was recorded by the computers and displayed on the screens in front of them. Louis’ understanding of computers was even vaguer than his understanding of atoms. He knew it had something to do with ones and zeros and "programming" but in practice they all seemed like magical black boxes to him. He typed on his iPhone, something something, ones and zeros, and then music played or an email was sent. It made him feel very out of touch but he was glad there were plenty of modern vampires who understood how such things worked and could use them to perform miracles.
Miracles on unlike the the inside view of Lestat’s head that was being revealed on the screen before them. [Name] pointed occasionally and set something and Fareed nodded along, but for all Louis knew they were speaking in Greek. He was engraved by the images. It seemed they moved and breathed when Lestat did in real time, although possibly that was only an illusion created by the rapidly updating pictures as [Name] calibrated the machine and adjusted the focus.
"There, in the [x cortex]," [name] said, pointing to a section of Lestat’s pulsating brain on one of the screens. The area he had indicated showed a blob of light that looked no different than any of the other splotches of light Louis could see.
"Yes, that fits with the [blah] hypothesis."
"You should get a spinal tap, see if there’s any chemical signs—"
"Yes, good idea."
"Do you work with royalty often?" Louis asked in a joking tone.
"Actually... yes," [doctor] said, turning to look at him. "In my previous life, the institution I worked at was a favorite of the Saudi royal family. I was often called in to provide personal consultations for some princeling or other."
"Oh," Louis said in surprise. That explained [doctor's] excellent bedside manner. He seemed to be a natural at treating patients with respect in undignified circumstances, a very useful skill when dealing with the easily-injured [dignity] of aristocracy.
"Can I go back in the room?" Louis asked.
Fareed looked at [Name], who nodded. "Yes, that's fine. There will be some radiation exposure, but not enough for a vampire to worry about. The control booth is only separated in this way because the machine was originally designed for humans."
"Oh, so it doesn't affect us then?" Louis asked.
"No, we can be sickened by radiation," Fareed said. "We just recover much faster and can absorb dosages that would kill a human. And of course it varies with the strength of the individual vampire."
"Could it kill us?"
"Yes, in a large enough does. The cells start to lose their structure and the body crumbles into dust. It's not dissimilar to what happens to us when exposed to non-ionizing ultraviolet radiation from the sun."
Louis nodded with interest, but decided not to ask how Fareed had learned about the effects of large doses of radiation on vampire bodies.
[After examine, Louis get Lestat to go to LA]
One of the lab assistants took them up several levels to a floor of guest rooms. It had the sterile feel of a hotel, with identical doors leading to identical bedrooms one after another down the hall. The rooms weren't exactly luxurious, but the one assigned to Lestat was noticeably larger and had a spacious private bathroom attached. Louis remained with him while the assistant lead Cyril and Throne to the adjacent rooms to rest.
"It’s all very advanced down here," Louis said, examining the control box on the wall. It was voice activated and could be used to turn on and off all of the devices in the room including the lights and television.
"Eh," Lestat said, unimpressed. "Your iPhone can do the same thing."
"My iPhone can’t turn on the shower at the chateau."
"It could it you wanted it to," Lestat said with an air of exasperation. "I'm sure there's a smart shower out there somewhere with bluetooth."
"I’m sure I can manage with manual faucets, thank you."
Lestat sighed deeply and put his forearm over his eyes as if speaking to Louis was a terrible trial for him. "You're the one who was so determined to come out here. Are you satisfied now that Fareed has imaged every fold of my magnificent brain?"
"No," Louis said, honestly. "I don't think I'll be fully satisfied until you're the only occupant of your body."
"Right." Lestat slumped backward to lie down and sighed. "It’s all pointless. Fareed is so behind. He doesn’t understand anything about Amel or spirits or any of it, whereas Kapetria has had a [six thousand year] head start and the wisdom of aliens. She’ll do whatever she likes and damn the consequences."
Louis sat down beside him on the bed. "You're being so fatalistic about this. It’s not like you."
"I know it's useless because he knows," Lestat said and tapped his temple with his index finger.
"I thought Amel didn’t even remember meeting Kapetria or the others."
"It’s coming back to him more and more."
Louis was surprised Lestat hadn't shared any of this with him or at least the council. "Has there been anything useful?"
"Not that he's shared with me, no."
"You've seen the city?" Louis asked after a moment's hesitation.
"Yes, it's very scifi. Big towers and flying vehicles and whatnot. Looks like a CGI city in a Wachowskis movie."
"Hm."
"Mostly I see the end of it," he continued in a flat, emotionless tone. "Everything in flames and the people screaming. All that beauty and technology burned to ashes."
"Not very pleasant," Louis observed inanely.
"No," Lestat said, and lapsed into silence.
Louis looked around the room, searching for something he could suggest to cheer Lestat up. He doubted that any of the entertainment options available in the laboratory would be enough to distract him from the overwhelming dread of his current predicament. After a moment's thought, he suggested, "Maybe we should get out of here, go somewhere."
Lestat shrugged from his position laying back on the bed. "Where’s to go?"
"We’re an hour outside of Los Angeles," Louis said. "Surely there’s some good nightlife somewhere."
Lestat turned his head and gave him a sly look. "You want to go clubbing?"
"No," Louis admitted. " But I’m hungry and it’s making me irritable." He said it off-hand with a shrug, the same way he would lay out a winning hand when cheating at poker.
Lestat sat up at once, the beginning of a cocky smile forming on his lips. "You should have said something earlier," he said. "Okay, I’ve got to have a story for the court about why I dropped everything and came to L.A., don’t I? What's more decadent and indulgent than flying around the world to go to a club? Yeah, let's go out."
He got to his feet, newly energized with the idea and the prospect of watching Louis kill. But before they could leave, Lestat insisted on going through Louis’ luggage, his current outfit having been deemed "not nightclub appropriate."
"Black black black," Lestat grumbled, dumping out the contents of Louis’ small valise in the bed.
Louis couldn’t help being amused as Lestat sorted through the meager pile of pants and sweaters looking in vain for any in a lighter shade. "You used to insist that black was the best color for a vampire."
"I said that one time and you’ve never let it go," Lestat sneered. "I didn’t mean it was the only suitable color, just that one couldn’t go wrong with black, especially if you weren’t fashionably minded. It's a classic look, vampires in black, and the blood doesn't show."
"Hmm, I remember hearing it more than once."
"Yes, yes, yes, it was my ‘only steadfast aesthetic principle’ I think was how you put it, which shows what an outrageous liar you are. I have countless aesthetic principles!"
"One of my worst prevarications, to be sure," Louis agreed.
Thankfully, Lestat had packed enough clothing to outfit a small marching band, including a number of outfits that were suspiciously in Louis’ size rather than his own. He made Louis put on a dark blue chambray shirt that was oddly shiny. Louis plucked at the fabric as he rolled up the sleeves and wondered if it was natural indigo dye. Most clothes used synthetic compounds these days that were less prone to fading or running in the wash. This felt like high quality cotton at least. Louis always felt underdressed wearing [working] fabrics like chambray or denim in public, but he supposed it was better than being forced into "athleisure wear." Lestat had once got him to try on a tracksuit in the early 2000s and Louis had never fully recovered from the shame.
Lestat put on a silk suit that had a subtle paisley print in crimson and navy. From a distance or in low light it looked solid, but up close you could see the delicate pattern. Louis thought it was a surprisingly becoming and [subtle] choice for him, but decided not to say anything for fear of Lestat taking it the wrong way.
"Can I wear a tie with this?" Louis asked, glancing at himself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door.
"No," Lestat said.
"What about a pocket square?"
"Only if it isn’t black."
Louis nodded and selected a black and white checkered one out of Lestat's luggage in a small act of rebellion. He thought the gingham pattern fitted nicely with the rustic aesthetic of the shirt.
Lestat came over to look at him and snatched the square out of his pocket. Louis gave him an innocent expression, expecting recriminations, but Lestat only folded it into a more modern-looking "puff" style and tucked it back into his pocket.
"Satisfied?" Louis asked.
"It will do."
Cyril and Thorne were in the hallway ready to follow them when they headed out, undoubtedly having overheard their conversation. They followed along silently as they waited for the elevator and proceeded out to the lobby of the building.
There was a security guard at the desk who nodded at them as they left. He was human, and Louis wondered how much he knew about the unusual occupants of the laboratory. It made sense to have human staff who could be present during the day keeping watch, but it always made Louis nervous to see them about.
They walked out into the desert a ways, waiting until they were out of the circle of artificial light around the parking lot before taking to the air.
[Lestat ditches Cyril and Thorne]
The stars were much clearer up here in the upper atmosphere. The clouds beneath them were patchy and inconsistent, more like haze than true cloud cover, and Louis caught the occasional glimpse of city lights flashing beneath them.
"Was that wise?" Louis asked, looking over his shoulder and searching the clouds below for any sign of Cyril and Thorne.
Lestat laughed. "No, but it felt good."
"We should go back for them," Louis said. "They're here for your protection."
"No, they're not. I don't need protection! The council only wanted more eyes on me at all times, to help keep me in check."
"If that's their intention, they should have assigned an entire army."
Lestat laughed and swooped down and up in a dramatic loop that made Louis' heart jump up into his throat. He tried not to let on how frightened he was of falling, but he was probably holding onto Lestat's neck a little too tightly. He wasn't in any real danger, he should be able to catch himself under his own power if Lestat let go, but he didn't particularly want to test the extent of his so-called "cloud gift."
"Where are we going?" Louis asked.
"[Pretentious name of club]. It's where all the stars go."
"What stars?" Louis asked. "Real ones or the kind you follow on instagram?"
"Those aren't stars, they're influencers."
"You say that like that word means anything. What exactly are they influencing?"
"Trends! Fashion! I don't know." Lestat laughed and kissed the side of Louis' neck as they dipped down and began to fall through the layers of haze below. Moisture gathered on his clothing and turned to ice as they fell downward toward the grid of bright lights. Los Angeles looked enormous to him. He couldn't tell where the downtown started or the suburbs began. It was all one vast network that spread out like a living thing across the dry desert floor.
The lights grow larger and closer until they were no longer an abstract pattern but a real cityscape with bright boulevards and lighted signs and moving cars. Louis' head swam with a burst of vertigo and he closed his eyes in the last moments as they speed to meet the ground. They stopped with a jolt and the sound of rushing wind was replaced with muted dance music and people talking in the distance. Louis opened his eyes and found they were on top of a low, flat building. Lestat smirked as he set him down on the black gravel roof. The music was coming from beneath them and Louis could feel the bass beat pounding up through the soles of his shoes.
"Is this it?"
"This is it," Lestat said. He walked to the edge of the roof and looked down at the sidewalk, where sleek young people were gathered waiting to get into the club. "Let's see if we can't get in the back way."
"You don't think the bouncer would let us in?"
"Real VIPs don't have to go in the front, too demeaning."
There was a small parking area behind the building and a nondescript door which sure enough turned out to be a VIP entrance. Lestat charmed his way inside past a very confused young man who wasn't entirely convinced by his act. Lestat plucked the name of the establishment's owner out of his head and pretended to be a close friend and then smoothed over the suspicions of their interrogator by requesting bottle service. Lestat could easily hypnotize most humans into doing anything he wanted, but he preferred to dupe people in the traditional manner when possible. He said it was more interesting that way.
Louis had seen Lestat pull off similar deceptions countless times before and watched the proceedings with a disinterested eye. It was all a bit tedious to him, but Lestat seemed freshly invigorated by the familiar routine, which was good.
Inside, the music was painfully loud and the decor tastefully modern. Every surface was reflective and the lights of the dance floor gleamed and flickered, multiplied a thousand times in glasses and stainless steel. It was the sort of establishment that Louis hated; the kind of club that only ever had DJs, no live music, and the drink menu was outrageously overpriced in an effort to convince the patrons they were having an exclusive experience.
It reminded Louis strongly of the places Lestat used to haunt in the 1990s when he was obsessed with Miami and the criminal gangs that organized there. Such nightclubs made good hunting grounds since they were so loud and distracting that you could lure someone away and drain them five feet from the dance floor without anyone giving you a second glance. Lestat had gone through a phase of eating coke dealers every night and coming back to New Orleans full of a frenetic, restless energy that couldn't be quenched. Louis was not eager to relive those days with him and he followed him cautiously as they weaved through the thin crowd.
They were seated at a booth in an exclusive area in the balcony overlooking the dance floor. Lestat watched the club-goers below with a predator's eye while they pretended to drink "craft" cocktails made tableside by their server. Their hostess was a young woman named Briana with bottle-dyed blonde hair and fashionably-prominent eyebrows. She turned out to be a skilled bartender and Lestat quickly won her over by engaging in a lengthy discussion of her favorite types of mezcal that had Louis rolling his eyes. Lestat loved to hold opinions about luxurious spirits he had never tasted. The more wastefully expensive something was, the better he liked it.
Lestat's real intentions became clear as he shifted the conversation away from liquor and to the other patrons at the establishment. Briana demurred at first that she couldn't gossip about her clients, but was soon gushing with Lestat about all the famous actors and musicians who frequented the club.
"Is it true Franco comes here?" Lestat asked, sniffing at his drink. He'd asked her for a martini so he could pose with the glass in one hand.
"Oh, yes, sometimes," Briana said. "But never on a weekday."
"Is he a good tipper?"
"Oh, I couldn't say." She giggled and looked down in a rehearsed move of coquettish reluctance. It was a bit early and only a few of the other reserved tables were taken so they had Briana's full attention. Lestat had gotten her to make herself a drink and join them.
"What about—what's his name, Tarpinian?" Lestat asked, his voice dropping into an affected nonchalance. "I heard he likes to come here."
"Oh," Briana blanched, and for a moment real surprise showed in her face before she covered it with a nervous smile. "I wouldn't know about him."
"No?" Lestat's smile was growing increasingly toothy. "You don't get any Armenians in here?"
"Uh…" Briana looked around at the other tables uncomfortably. "We do but I don't know if—"
"Don't indulge him," Louis said, coming to her rescue. "He loves hearing about gangsters. He thinks he's a tough guy."
Lestat pouted. "I am tough."
"Most mobsters don't have boyfriends," Louis pointed out.
"More than you'd think," Lestat insisted.
Briana laughed and reached out to touch Louis' hand in a conciliatory gesture. "It's true," she said. She winked at Lestat and added, "They are good tippers though."
Lestat beamed. "Does anyone ever try to bring guns in here?"
"Oh, god, I hope not!" Briana said. "They're always going out into the alley to smoke and Mike—he's one of the bouncers—says he hears them back there making calls to their dealers."
"Oh, wow." Lestat put his hand to the side of his face. Louis wondered if he had a specific meal in mind or if he was just fishing around.
"You ever watch Hollywood Gangland?" Briana asked. "It's on the Travel Channel."
"Is that the one where they interview gang members from prison?"
Louis zoned out as they started talking about their favorite true crime television shows. Lestat loved such programs and sometimes watched marathons of salacious crime stories for hours on end. He enjoyed them in much the same way ordinary people enjoyed the Food Network. It reminded Louis of how he would happily pursue the penny crime tabloids in the nineteenth century. He used to jokingly refer to them as his "menus" to amuse Claudia.
Another group arrived for a reserved table and Briana had to leave to greet them. The club was starting to fill up as it passed 2am and other, less trendy, establishments closed down sending their patrons in search of new places to party.
Lestat got up and started wandering around the tables, assessing the other clubgoers while Louis hung back and watched. Lestat had a very dull conversation with several young women about various genres of electronic dance music before zeroing in on a flashy group of men who were polishing off bottles of whiskey like it was water. They were wearing the kind of ostentatiously expensive watches that suggested they were either in corporate finance or organized crime. Much the same thing, as Lestat might joke, although most financiers didn’t have a team of bodyguards following them around for protection.
Lestat faked his way through several rounds of shots with them before focusing on one of the men for more targeted persuasion. His mark was slightly younger than the rest, but the other men looked to him each time they decided to order something new for the table. A young heir to the family business perhaps. Lestat flattered him excessively and had him completely in his thrall before he began hinting at some secret investment scheme he had brewing. Nothing he could talk about now, not in public where anyone could overhear, but perhaps later. He wouldn’t normally bring in a stranger on such a delicate deal, but he could tell the young man was a person of refined intelligence and exceptional business acumen.
They came to some kind of agreement before the young man went off alone, presumably to take care of some personal matters. Lestat returned to the table where Louis was and sat down with his elbows resting on the table. His pose was casual but Louis could see he was energized and thrumming with anticipation.
"I’m going to head down to the restroom if you want to join me in about ten minutes," Lestat said.
Louis raised his eyebrows. "Briana is going to think we’re getting up to something salacious."
"She’d be right then," Lestat said with satisfaction as he got to his feet.
Louis watched as Lestat went down the stairs and weaved his way through the crowd below. He raised his hands over his head and danced as he walked, delighted with the guileless pleasure of the revelers and with his own ability to pass unnoticed in their midst, a wolf in partygoer’s clothing. As he went past the bar, Lestat clapped men on the shoulder and winked at the ladies, charming to the last until he disappeared from sight into an alcove.
[Bathroom]
Louis waited the required ten minutes before following after him in a more subdued fashion. At the back of the club where Lestat had disappeared he found a dark hallway with a row of doors leading to single-occupancy bathrooms. The last was unlocked and he went in to find Lestat preparing for his rendezvous. It was surprisingly roomy inside, with a little anteroom before the bathroom-proper so guests could fix their coiffure without standing over the toilet.
Lestat was currently admiring his reflection and trying out the complimentary colognes lined up on the counter. He was in his shirtsleeves, his suit coat hanging on a hook behind the door. Louis went in past him to assess the space. The walls were black where they weren't covered in mirrors and all of the fixtures including the toilet were stainless steel. Industrial decor aside, the ambiance was pleasant. It was quieter here, and the music was muffled to a steady bass rhythm like the beating of an enormous heart. The gratis amenities invited one to refresh and relax, and there was even a chair in the corner to sit down on. Louis wondered if the room was purposely designed to assist with assignations. It was certainly useful for a vampire’s purposes.
Lestat put the finishing touches on himself and came over to check that Louis was in order. He took out Louis’ pocket square and refolded it into a different configuration.
"You should have dressed me more formally," Louis said. "I'm not prepared for a business meeting."
"No, it's fine. Everyone is more casual on the west coast," Lestat said as he tucked the pocket square back in his shirt. "Including the mobsters."
"I suppose."
"Don't worry, this one is a little different from the usual macho type. He's obsessed about his health. Drinks to excess and then gets up the next morning for yoga and a 'detoxifying' cleanse. But everyone out here is so healthy." Lestat sighed happily with the tone of a connoisseur anticipating the enjoyment of a fine vintage. "I always say you can taste the difference between Californians and someone from the east coast."
"I know. I used to live in San Francisco, remember?"
"Hm." Lestat had a selective amnesia about the periods of Louis’ life when they’d been apart. It was as if he thought Louis went into hibernation the moment they were separated for more than a few hours.
"Ah, he’s coming," Lestat said, glancing toward the hallway. He turned abruptly and kissed Louis hard on the mouth. His hand clamped on the back of Louis’ head to hold him in place as he nipped his lower lip and lapped up the blood. Lestat leaned back and looked him over one last time. "Perfect. You stand here, I’m going to pretend I’m washing my hands."
Louis folded his arms and settled back against the wall feeling self conscious. He could hear the tread of footfalls approaching and suddenly felt nervous about playing a part in this tableau. He licked his lips, tasting the last traces of blood there.
The young man opened the door but stopped at the threshold when he saw that Lestat was not alone. He raised a distrustful eyebrow at Louis like he was considering turning around to leave.
"I'm not really here," Louis said and nodded toward Lestat. "I'm just keeping an eye on him."
"He's my money manager," Lestat said. He was drying his hands on a white hand towels as he approached to usher the young man inside. "He was just giving me an update. He wants to make sure I don't make any rash decisions."
The man kept his head turned toward Louis as if he was reluctant to take his eyes off of him. "Unorthodox place for an investment meeting," he said to Lestat.
"You think so?" Lestat asked as he threw the towel down next to the sink. "I don't know, I've had some very productive meetings in bathrooms." The man's forehead creased with further suspicion. "In any event," Lestat continued. "I don't intend to keep you. Like I said, I can’t reveal the details right now but I wanted to 'make contact' as they say. To touch base with a fellow entrepreneur and get your information."
Louis signed silently at the jargon. Lestat's vocabulary had never fully recovered from the time he dined on a group of venture capitalists nearly a decade ago.
"All right," the man said, clearly a bit confused by Lestat’s reluctance to talk after luring him here. "Contact made."
"Bases touched," Lestat agreed.
The man raised his hand to the collar of his sport coat and pulled it open slowly as if to show that he wasn't reaching for anything dangerous. He removed a business card from his inside pocket and handed it to Louis. It was jet black and completely blank except for the word "Levon" and a phone number with a 323 area code.
"But you said you had a sample for me?" the man asked.
"Ah, yes." Lestat grinned brightly and motioned to Louis as if they had a prearranged signal.
Louis looked at him blankly, unsure what Lestat expected him to do as the man turned toward him expectantly. As it turned out, Louis was only a decoy. The instant the man turned away from him, Lestat darted forward faster than any mortal could follow and buried his teeth in his neck from behind.
The smell of blood was sharp in the enclosed space. The man's eyes rolled backward and his head tipped to the side in a near faint. He raised his hand and held it palm out as if he was beseeching Louis for help.
Lestat drank enough to stun him and released the bite, holding the man up by his armpits as he looked at Louis over his shoulder. "You said you were hungry…"
Louis nodded and put the business card in his jacket pocket. He came forward, drawn by the feverish blue of Lestat's eyes to stand across from him with the man between them. Lestat had torn his shirt open to bare his shoulder and the bite mark glistening on the skin. The small wounds were bleeding a little, two thin enticing streams of blood. Louis dipped his head to drink and fit his teeth over the puncture marks.
Crimson burst over his vision as the blood surged into his mouth. There was more than alcohol in the man's blood and it sent Louis' heart racing as if he was afraid. The blood burned through his limbs and out to his extremities until tingling tongues of fire were alight in all of his fingers and toes.
Lestat joined him, taking blood from the man's opposite shoulder, and the distant connection knitted between them as the man grew weaker and closer to death. Amel was there too, a cold bystander to their depravity. Louis recoiled from his scrutiny and broke off before he was fully satisfied.
Louis moved away, going to the mirror to compose himself while Lestat finished his meal. Perhaps it was unsatisfying for him too, as when he let go and let him fall to the floor, Louis could hear the man's heart still beating faintly.
Lestat stepped over the crumpled body and stridded to Louis as if he intended to walk through him. His hand was like an iron bar on his shoulder as he turned him and crowded close. Louis' back went against the wall and their mouths pressed together in a bloody kiss.
"Was that what you wanted?" Lestat asked with smug self-assurance between ravaging Louis' mouth.
"Yes," Louis said, rewarding him for his cockiness. He could feel Lestat's smile sharp again the side of his face.
Louis opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the bright, artificial light. He took in the open V of Lestat’s shirt and the sheen of blood sweat gathered in the hollow above his collarbone before raising his eyes to his face.
"He has bodyguards who will be checking up on him in a moment," Lestat said.
"Then we’d better get cleaned up." Louis touched a finger to a red spot staining the bone white fabric of Lestat’s shirt.
Lestat cursed and turned away to the sink. While he splashed water on the stain, Louis looked in the mirror and rearranged his hair and clothing back to respectability. The room felt brighter now, his senses enhanced and [heightened] by the man’s blood and the intoxicants swimming within it.
He heard the heavy thump of a body falling to the ground behind him and Louis turned expecting to see that their victim had tried to get to his feet and failed, but the man was still in the identical pose, passed out with his head slumped against his chest. Louis turned in confusion to see the space before the sink was empty. Lestat, who had been standing there only a second before was now laid out flat on his back on the ground.
Louis dropped down to his knees beside him and shook Lestat’s shoulder, but there was no response. "Lestat? What happened? Lestat?"
It took Louis' mind a long moment to catch up with what was happening; that it was not that Lestat had laid down on purpose, not that he was in pain, or tired, or in some strange mood that made the floor look like a hospitable place, but that he was unconscious. It took another long moment before he remembered what one was supposed to do in such a situation. He shook Lestat’s shoulder uselessly and thumped his back with his fist before it occurred to him that he should check his vital signs, in as much as he had them.
Louis leaned down with his ear close to Lestat’s mouth. He didn't seem to be breathing, but he could feel his heart beating faintly under his hand. He started to go to the sink, thinking to get some water splash on Lestat's face, but as he moved away, Lestat's body jerked with a tremor that shook his entire frame.
"Lestat?" Louis returned to kneel beside him. "Lestat can you hear me?" The tremor came again and Lestat's feet kicked out and his limbs jerked. Louis tried to steady his shoulders, but it was like trying to restrain an earthquake. As Louis clung to him, Lestat's back arched and his arms snapped down against his side in a compulsive motion. His hands were twisted back against the wrist, his fingers claw-like, and the tendons stood out as visible cords against the skin. Was this some kind of attack--a psychic assault?
As quickly as they began, the tremors stopped and Lestat collapsed once again into utter stillness.
"Lestat? Is it over?" Louis pressed his head to his chest and tried to listen for his heart again, but the rhythm seemed unsteady and harder to detect--or maybe that was only because his own heartbeat was so loud. He took Lestat's head in his hands and turned it back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to detect any sign of consciousness. He tried opening one of his eyes, pushing up the lid with his thumb to reveal a red inflamed cornea and the blue iris starting up sightless. Louis waved his hand in front of the open eye, but there was no response, not even a flicker from the pupil. It was like finding him in the throws of the death sleep in the middle of the day.
A booming series of thumps startled Louis and he released the eyelid. Lestat’s eye closed only halfway, leaving a crescent of bloodshot white still visible.
There was a pause as Louis looked around in confusion and then the thumping came again, louder. Someone was at the door. Someone who seemed very insistent that they get inside right this second.
"You in there, boss?" a man called out. The bodyguards, dammit.
Louis looked for an escape route but no windows or convenient air vents materialized. [Seeing his wild expression in the mirror, Louis had the wild notion that he was the reflection, only an observer to the reality on the opposite side of the glass. Was this really happening? A moment ago, Lestat had been triumphant and sated, the very picture of vigorous vampiric unlife.]
The bodyguard began pounding on the door again and Louis shook off the frozen feeling of inaction that had come over him and fumbled for his phone. He had pulled up his contacts and began calling Cyril before it occurred to him that if Lestat was passed out, it was likely every other vampire in the world was unconscious as well. Louis set the phone down on the sink and left it ringing on speaker just in case.
There was a muffled noise below him and Louis turned to see Lestat moving his head. He quickly knelt down next to him. "Lestat? Can you hear me?"
There was no answer, but Lestat's mouth twisted down and he raised one hand to swipe at the air in confusion.
The phone continued ringing in the background as Louis clutched at his shoulder. "Lestat, it's me, you—fell—something happened to you."
Lestat gagged and turned his head away from Louis, coughing as he brought up a torrent of bloody vomit. [Louis pulled Lestat's hair back from his face and tried to move him so it wouldn't get all over his clothes. Lestat heaved one more time, bringing up only a few thin tendrils of blood.]
"Are you okay?" Louis asked helplessly. "Lestat?"
The phone cut off in the middle of a ring and an automated voice announced that the number Louis had dialed was not available, but he could leave a voicemail after the tone. Louis ignored it in favor of helping Lestat up into a position on his side so he wasn’t in danger of choking if he vomited again.
Lestat took a watery breath and coughed.
"Don’t talk," Louis said. "It’s okay."
There were other voices in the hall now, other people taking notice of the bodyguard. They didn't have much time. Louis checked that Lestat was breathing better and got to his feet. He went to the body in the corner and dragged the man to the other side of the bathroom by the armpits. He was still clinging to life, his heart a fluttering wingbeat in his chest. Louis pulled him over to the toilet and propped him up with one arm resting on the seat and his face tilted down into the bowl so he looked like he had passed out there.
Louis went back to Lestat, who had managed to raise himself up on one elbow, but was teetering like he might fall back down at any moment. Louis took off his jacket and threw it on the ground to cover the pool of blood, then knelt down next to Lestat to help him up. He got Lestat to his feet leaning heavily against his side with his arm draped over Louis’ shoulder.
The door rattled with an angry blow as if the bodyguard had gotten tired of knocking and was now trying to batter the door down. Muffled from outside a voice said, "Ask them—get the keys!"
"Coming out," Louis yelled and unlocked the door. "Make room."
The music returned at full blast as he opened the door, so loud it was a physical presence in the air. Outside was one of the hulking men Louis had seen keeping watch earlier. He gave Louis a confused look as if he hadn't realized someone else was in the room with his boss. Further down the hallway, two others bodyguards were stationed keeping an eye on the proceedings.
"I think your man is having a bad night," Louis said and nodded toward the toilet.
"What—hey, boss!" The bodyguard went into the bathroom and Louis pushed past the other two men standing in the hallway. One of them tried to stop him with a hand on his arm but Louis easily broke his hold and continued down the hallway. Lestat’s feet were dragging across the ground and he made some attempt to walk, but Louis was supporting all of his weight as they walked.
Instead of trying to get through the crowded dance floor while carrying Lestat, Louis crossed in front of the bar and headed toward the red exit signs he'd seen on the other side of the room. No one tried to stop him and in fact a nice young lady held the outer door for him and wished him good luck getting his friend home. They came out at the side of the building which emptied into a quiet street. Several people were standing nearby smoking and Louis continued the charade of carrying Lestat until he was far enough away to safely leap up onto the roof of a nearby warehouse.
Louis lowered himself down to his knees and helped Lestat sit back against the [roof thing].
"Are you okay? Can you hear me?"
"Yes," Lestat mumbled. "I hear you—I'm fine, fine."
"What happened? Was it—hold on, I'm going to try and reach Cyril and Thorne."
This time when Louis dialed him, Cyril picked up at once and shouted, "What's happening?" in lieu of a greeting. He sounded out of breath.
"Where are you?" Louis asked, unfairly sharp as if Cyril had abandoned them on purpose instead of being ditched by Lestat.
"Hollywood and [Street]," came the gruff reply.
"We’re at [location], hurry," Louis said, and hung up.
He knelt down and slipped his arm around Lestat, who was listing to the side somewhat. He didn’t respond to Louis’ touch, his eyes closed and his head turned away from him. They sat in silence, Louis nervously rubbing Lestat’s shoulder, until Cyril and Thorne arrived with the soft sound of feet touching down on the roof.
Louis helped Lestat get up and handed him over to the two older vampires. Thorne tucked Lestat under his arm and took off into the sky, leaving Louis alone with Cyril on the roof.
"I don’t know what happened," Louis said, resisting the urge to wring his hands.
"No?" Cyril said. "Seems obvious to me."
Louis was slightly surprised by Cyril’s bluntness, but after a moment of reflection he nodded. They may not know what set off this particular incident, but the cause was clear enough.
[Return to lab]
Back at the laboratory, Fareed rushed to examine Lestat and see if he could detect any changes since his scans a few hours earlier. Lestat submitted to being run through the PET machine again, seemingly too tired to put up a fight about it. There was a wane paleness to him that was disturbing to see especially in contrast to his vigor earlier in the night. Once Fareed was satisfied he had all of the data that could be gathered, he sent Lestat to rest in the guest rooms. Louis stayed to watch Fareed go over the test results and see if the doctor had come to any new conclusions.
"I wonder if we could get Amel to induce an incident here, in the scanner?" Fareed mused as he enlarged and panned across an image of Lestat's brain.
"Uh, would that be wise?" Louis asked.
"Perhaps not, but it would be our only way of detecting exactly where the disturbance is being caused or how. Right now it’s like trying to locate the center of an earthquake without seismographs of the actual event." Fareed sighed. "We probably shouldn't risk it since all of us would be incapacitated as well and there won't be anyone to run the equipment."
"Uh, not necessarily all of us…" Louis said.
Fareed seemed not to fully register his remark as he continued flipping through the images and only hummed in a distracted way.
"Lestat is convinced Kapetria will find a solution," Louis ventured.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Fareed said.
"We don't really know what she's capable of," Louis said.
"No, although I don't think Kapetria would intentionally kill all of us to liberate Amel… she has a compassionate spirit, but I think she's much more willing to accept the risk of it happening than I'm comfortable with. Even if separating them doesn't kill us, something could go wrong, killing Lestat and all of us in the process." Fareed made a thoughtful noise and looked away into the distance. "Our fortunes are tied together. We're one great dispersed organism, like an aspen grove with invisible roots. You cut one tree off from the whole and it withers."
[Silver cord]
Something occurred to Louis suddenly, an inchoate kernel of an idea. "What if it's the other way around?"
"What?" Fareed turned to look at him.
Thoughts turned in Louis' head, all the disconnected pieces cohering and coming together into a complete picture. "What if it's not disconnecting from Amel that kills us, but dying that disconnects us?"
"I'm not following…"
"There's one odd piece in all this that doesn't fit—something to do with me," Louis explained. "Earlier, I was awake the entire time Lestat was unconscious."
Fareed looked puzzled, but he shrugged his shoulders. "It was a very short lived event, I only experienced a moment of weakness myself—"
"I mean, I felt nothing," Louis emphasized. "It had no effect on me whatsoever. Why didn't I feel pain when everyone else did? And it's happened before, I didn't feel a thing when the transfer happened from Mekare to Lestat."
"How—are you certain?" Fareed frowned at him. "Maybe you passed out, or had memory loss—"
"No!" Louis said. "There was nothing. I was conscious, everyone else [collapsed] but I felt nothing. It's something about me."
Fareed's frown increased, his forehead creasing deeply. "What's different about you?"
It was a question Louis had asked himself many times over his long life, but had never come to a satisfactory answer. "It's recent. When Akasha was killed," he said. "At Sonoma, I passed out then. It was worse for me than any of the others. What's changed in me since?"
Fareed tilted his head, looking away as he thought. "Well… you're stronger now, and it's possible that being Lestat's fledgling might dim the connection, in the same way that telepathy is severed between maker and child."
"If that's true, why would David and Gabrielle experience these incidents when I didn't? When I was in London, I had no idea anything was amiss with Lestat until I was told."
"That’s—it is odd," Fareed let out a frustrated sigh, "You should have felt something during the transfer of the core at the very least. Even the ancient ones like Seth and Gregory said it was quite painful."
"What if I'm not connected anymore?"
"How?" Fareed asked.
"My death—my second death, after I—" Louis paused to clear his throat. Fareed was confused, but he went on, the words rushing out. "When I was burnt—there was no sign of life when they found me. If they had scattered my ashes… well."
Fareed's eyes widened and leaned back as he considered it. "And somehow that cut you off from the larger consciousness? …I suppose, it's possible… And it might explain some other things... We should—"
"Do some tests?" Louis asked, wry.
"Yes, let me get [assistant] back in here and we can run the MRI."
Louis blanched. "Can it wait until tomorrow? I was going to go look in on Lestat."
Fareed's disappointment was clear on his face, but nodded and said, "Yes, of course. Anyway, the sun will be up soon and it's been a long day for everyone."
[convo with cyril]
Cyril was standing in the hallway outside of Lestat's guest room. Louis stopped, feeling the need to make amends to him for the hecticness of the night.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, I don't know if I could have carried Lestat back on my own." He most likely would have been able to make the journey, but it had still been a relief to have the older vampires there to help.
Cyril shrugged. "Part of the job."
"Yes, but I appreciate your dedication to it."
"Thorne was there too," Cyril said.
"Yes, of course," Louis said, taking it as a reminder to thank him as well. The [viking] vampire might be less personable than Cyril, but he was equally as faithful in his duties. He was about to turn away when Cyril spoke again.
"So... that was stupid," he said, his tone conversational. Cyril's expression never varied very much; it was always flat with the occasional hint of ironic amusement. Currently, he did not appear to be amused.
"Which part?" Louis asked. "When Lestat took off without you?"
"Going out."
"Ah, yes, well…. yes." Louis stopped to prevent himself from stammering. Cyril tilted his head as if he was examining Louis very closely. He had the distinct impression he was being given a warning. Louis cleared his throat and tried to maintain eye contact and not give into his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being seen as a bad influence.
Cyril pulled his phone out of his pocket and raised it up so Louis could see the screen. He opened his voicemail messages and hit play on the most recent one which appeared to be from a number labeled, "The Boyfriend." There was a pause as the message buffered before the phone's speaker crackled with the chaotic sound of someone coughing overlaid with a loud continuous banging. It was all very echoey and hard to hear. Louis' own voice startled him as it broke through the noise to say, "Don’t talk, it’s okay." There was more banging and sounds of movement after that, as well as Louis muttering to himself as he dragged something heavy across the floor. Strange that he didn't remember cursing so much at the time.
Cyril stopped the voicemail and Louis grimaced apologetically. "Sorry, that wasn't a very useful message."
Cyril shrugged. "It did get the point across."
[pre-bed convo with Lestat]
Lestat was sitting on the bed, still wearing his paisley suit. He had a vacant look in his eyes as he stared off into the distance, and didn't turn toward Louis as he approached. One side of the collar of his white shirt was stained dark red.
Louis touched his cheek to try to get his attention and said, "Let's get you out of these clothes."
Lestat didn't respond but his eyes seemed to focus on him and he blinked, which Louis took as acceptance, or at least a lack of opposition. His docility was worrying, but Louis thought it was likely just a result of exhaustion after his seizure. Lestat had been similarly subdued after the incident when Louis was in London. Under normal circumstances, Louis might have thought that Lestat was angry and giving him the cold shoulder, but Lestat could very rarely contain his feelings for very long and prevent himself from venting his wrath.
Louis took the jacket off of him, lifting it from the shoulders and sliding it down and off of his arms. Lestat didn't move at all to help and Louis had to pull the sleeves off over each wrist.
The blood on his collar turned out to be only the beginning of a large stain which ran down one shoulder and over his back, marking where the blood had pooled beneath him. Louis unbuttoned the shirt and removed it, thinking to himself how earlier he had pointed out a single drop of blood on the same garment. If only he could go back in time and redo the evening. Everything had been going so well up until that moment.
Lestat's undershirt had also absorbed quite a bit of blood, and Louis pulled it off over his head. This time, Lestat raised his arms, making the process considerably easier.
Underneath his layers of clothing, there was a splash of dried blood across Lestat's shoulder which was beginning to darken but still looked lurid red at the edges in contrast to his pale skin. Louis went to the adjourning bathroom to get a towel and wet one corner in warm water from the sink. When he returned, Lestat was still sitting in the same position. Even his eyes seemed fixed on the same point, glassy and unblinking.
Louis cleaned the blood off of Lestat's shoulder and back, scrubbing at the skin where it had clotted and thickened. Red and brown splotches soon covered most of the white towel, but presumably housekeeping was used to seeing such stains in this place. Lestat remained impassive throughout, barely responding as Louis wiped away the remaining races of blood and patted him dry.
He had freckles on his shoulders, still visible although much faded, little specks of color which Louis had always found oddly incongruous and loved for the same reason. They suggested days spent bare-chested out in the sun, a healthy and hearty past that Louis only had an incomplete and mistaken impression of for years. He'd pictured Lestat laboring in the fields on his father's "farm," but now he knew it was likely from hunting in the woods and meadows of Auvergne. Nearly all of Louis' early assumptions about Lestat had been based on listening to his father mutter to himself and gripe to Louis over games of chess. The old man had often spoken about the past, but his accent was so heavy and the patois that peppered his speech so unfamiliar that Louis had only understood three words in ten. Some of his earliest misconceptions had been formed based on his misunderstandings of Auvergnat. For example, he now realized that the word he'd mistaken for "farm" (and envisioned as a peasant's homestead) had meant something more like "the estate."
Once Louis was satisfied that the last traces of blood were gone, he knelt to remove Lestat's dress shoes and socks. Lestat must be in quite a state not to make a rude joke as Louis unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. Instead of making any suggestions for other things Louis could do while he was kneeling on the floor, Lestat obediently lifted his hips so Louis could remove his pants. He had on black briefs underneath with a designer name on the waistband. Stripped bare down to his underwear, Lestat laid down on his side on the bed. He still had the same disconnected expression on his face and his eyes remained open.
"Did you want to change into anything for the day?" Louis asked, not really expecting an answer. When one didn't come, he got up and went to Lestat's luggage to search for something comfortable he could wear. He found a plain t-shirt and a loose pair of cotton lounge pants that looked like the closest thing to sleepwear. Lestat tended to sleep fully clothed, although he also had a taste for silk pajama sets.
Louis went back to the bed and coaxed Lestat into sitting up to put on the t-shirt. He put the t-shirt on over his head like he would a child, but Lestat roused himself enough to put the pants on himself. While he was tugging them on, Louis turned down the covers on the bed and then got Lestat arranged underneath them. Louis was aware that he was fussing, and that it was probably more for his own comfort than for Lestat's, but it was the only thing he had to do at the moment.
Louis got up to switch the overhead lights off and when he returned to the bed, Lestat had his eyes closed and seemed to be dozing. He should probably let him sleep, but Louis didn't want to leave him alone. The thought of what Amel might say to him as he slept, of what he might be saying right this moment, made him too anxious to leave.
Not wanting a repeat of what had happened last time they'd been in bed together, Louis didn't lie down next to Lestat but instead sat with his back against the headboard. He stroked his hair, running his fingers through his curls and gently tugging loose the tangles he encountered.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.
Lestat’s face twitched and he wrinkled his nose without opening his eyes. "You can’t."
"Why not?" Lestat was silent in response, but the mood was soft enough that Louis dared to prompt him again. "Please, Lestat, tell me."
He let out a little sigh and turned over so he was looking up into Louis’ face. "Because I don’t know what he might do during the day when I'm not in control."
"I thought Amel could only move your hand a small amount?" Louis said. "And sometimes not even that?"
"When I’m awake yes, but—" Lestat sighed and turned his head. He patted his chest like he was looking for something in a pocket. "Where’s my phone?"
"Here," Louis said and picked it up from the nightstand and handed it to him.
Lestat unlocked it and flicked at the screen with his thumb a few times before handing it to Louis. It was open to the list of recent phone calls.
"What am I looking for?" Louis asked scrolling through the list. There seemed to be a lot of calls from unknown numbers that weren’t in Lestat’s address book.
"Look at the outgoing call log, see the times?"
Several of the unknown numbers had been dialed repeatedly, 3 or 4 times in a row. It took Louis a few tries to figure out how to view the timestamps but once he did a coldness passed over him. "These were made during the day." The hair all over his body was standing on end.
"Yes," Lestat said. "When the sun rises, when I’m asleep, I’m not in control anymore. He is."
"Who are the calls to?"
Lestat shrugged and folded his hands behind his head. "Kapetria, I assume, or one of the other clones."
"You’ve tried them?"
"They don’t pick up when I ring. Maybe because they're all sleeping, but I doubt it."
Louis nodded slowly. "Lestat, I don’t think Amel would—he would never do anything to hurt you."
"I’m afraid of what he might do when he’s trying to help me/"
"Have you told Fareed about this?" Louis asked, already knowing the answer.
"What’s to tell? So what, so he can move my hands and use my phone during the day."
"And control your vocal cords presumably, to speak."
Lestat shrugged.
"Fareed could put you in the MRI for the day, to see what readings he can get. It might tell him much more if he could see what happens when Amel is in control."
"You think he’d stay put if he woke up there? Doubtful. It's pointless to even try."
"By the same logic, he could do anything he wants during the day while we’re all asleep. What does it matter if I’m here or in a room nearby?"
Lestat frowned. "I don’t really know if he can walk around. Maybe it’s only my hands… and he's so distractible. He only thinks about what's right in front of him. Better not to give him things to think about."
"But if he has use of your telepathy… or your other gifts..."
Lestat nodded. "All the more reason to stay away. Most of our abilities are based on line of sight."
"I suppose… still, you have to tell Fareed about this tomorrow. He needs all the information he can get."
Lestat looked away but didn’t try to argue with him, which Louis took as agreement.
The sun must be very near to rising as Louis could feel the deadening heaviness in his limbs. He got up but stood unhappily beside the bed. He had the strong feeling of not wanting Lestat to be left alone with only Amel for company.
"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Louis asked.
Lestat laughed. "No? But I'll feel better if you go find a different room to sleep in and lock the door."
"Yes, fine." Louis hesitated at the door. He wanted very badly to have something comforting to say, but there was nothing. "Goodnight, then."
"Yes, goodnight," Lestat said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Cyril was still standing guard out in the hallway. Louis nodded at him and thought he detected a very slight smile in response.
Louis picked one of the empty rooms at the end of the hall at random. It had the same budget-hotel look as the rest of the hall, inoffensive beige walls and a double bed with modern light fixtures. The look was made complete by a generic abstract painting in soothing blues and greens hanging above the bed.
Louis eyed the bed as he unbuttoned his shirt sleeves. Years of sleeping in coffins and mausoleums had left him wary of sleeping exposed. Even knowing the door was locked and everyone in the building was a vampire, he hated the thought that anyone who entered the room would see him passed out in the death sleep.
He checked in the bathroom to see if he could sleep there, but there was only a shower stall and the room itself was too small to lie down comfortably on the floor. The closet proved more fruitful. There was what appeared to be a built-in storage chest running along the back wall in the exact dimensions of a coffin. Louis knelt down to open it and found that it was comfortably lined with padded satin and had a strong bolt lock on the inside of the lid.
As he climbed inside, Louis made a mental note to complement Seth and Fareed on how thoughtfully they'd arranged the guest quarters. There was even a little panel with buttons on the inside of the box's lid which could be used to turn out the lights in the rest of the room. There were definitely advantages to staying in a [location] designed by a vampire instead of making-do with hotels.
Louis grew calmer and more relaxed as he lay waiting for day to arrive and drag him into unconsciousness. He often felt peaceful like this when he was in a coffin. He wondered if it was a learned response or something physiological. It would make sense if there was some mechanism that made vampires feel comfortable and safe when they were enclosed. It was an experience most mortals would find terrifying and yet everyone adjusted to it very quickly after the transformation, as his own experience overcoming claustrophobia showed. They could even be comfortable sleeping within the bare earth itself, although Louis had only resorted to it on a few rare occasions when he had no other options. He didn't like to take the risk of ruining his clothes if it rained. He should ask Fareed about it tomorrow if he remembered. Maybe it was something he had studied.