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73. Commemoration
Louis gazed at the inscription on the veined marble; the dates looked antique, even in this old cemetery. The tomb was a commemoration, but of what? His mortal life? His bones were not mingled with those below the rectangular spaces where bodies lay for the customary year and a day.
"This is a dangerous place after dark. Haven't you read the guidebooks?"
Louis turned, smiling. "I'm hardly a tourist."
"Someone you knew"' Lestat asked lightly.
"You must remember him. Dreary sort."
"Ah yes, Striking looks, very argumentative."
"With provocation, yes."
“Can I provoke you into coming home?"
Louis only smiled.
113. Worn
It was a short walk from the old St. Louis cemetery to raucous Bourbon Street.
"I thought we were going home."
"Detour!" Lestat said.
Louis came along with only a small semblance of reluctance, though he really could not fathom Lestat's continued attraction to the tawdry strip with its manufactured aura of lurid sin.
Perhaps it was the comfort of the familiar; the same worn brick buildings, the same uneven, cracked banquette underfoot.
Lestat took a considerable amount of pleasure in causing the crowd to part before them and glancing at his expressive face, Louis was glad of the detour.
74. Gold
Bourbon St. was behind us; we'd crashed a party at the Monteleone.
Whatever had driven Louis to look at his own tombstone tonight of all nights has in no way dampened his spirits; I see him now at the center of a crowd of admirers, eyes half-closed as he moves among them. Someone had planted a glittery gold Happy New Year tiara on his head and every now and again he inclines his head to accept strands of beads.
I dipped my head, daring a sip from my statuesque dance partner and met his eyes, widened now as he watched.
52. Smell
There are times when I think I understand Lestat's need to be among mortals; the press of so many warm, fragrant bodies is heady and intoxicating.
I love watching him among them; there now, he has a dark-haired beauty in his arms and he dares to sip from her, looking at me over the cloud of her hair as though to invite me to do the same. The smell of her blood is carried to me on a current of air. He's adept at this and all she feels is desire.
A flash of fang and my knees are weak.
10. Champagne
Our party of mortals surround the champagne fountain like colorful butterflies; after frequent tiny sips from many of them both Louis and myself are more than a little intoxicated ourselves with blood and with our particular dance of seduction.
Louis has a winsome little brunette on his lap, held rapt by his lazy smile or perhaps with hardness she no doubt feels against her thigh, giving her a tingle more potent than champagne, oh yes. She would look so much better with him feasting at her throat, blood on his lips... and am I jealous? Damn right I am.
32. Role
Louis has taken control of the game, keeping himself just out of my reach for much of the evening. He has assumed the role of the inebriated and wanton young man, playing it fast and loose with men and women alike and he has several of them already desperately wondering how they might win him, a prize for the New Year.
From behind me,his voice at my ear. “Ten minutes to midnight, mysterious stranger. Have you room on your dance card?” He slides his hands onto my hips, pressing tight against me, lips on my nape.
Breathless, I nod.
15. Strike
He turns in my arms when we hear the clock strike midnight. Amid the cries welcoming the New Year and the band playing a bluesy version of Auld Lang Syne he takes my face in his two hands and kisses me, mouth rough and sweet at the same time. I'm vibrating with need for his blood, his body but we keep to this kiss, this moment.
“Happy New Year, Louis.”
He looks into my eyes and I am drowning again, the same way I always drown, the way I did all those years ago.
“Happy New Year, Lestat.”