Chapter Text
The townhouse was quiet.
Not peaceful.
Never peaceful.
Just quiet.
There was a difference.
Louis sat alone in the library long after midnight, a book open in his lap. He had been staring at the same page for nearly twenty minutes.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows.
Inside, the grandfather clock ticked.
Louis turned a page without reading it.
The room smelled of old paper and polished wood. It was one of the few places in the house where he could still pretend time existed.
Where he could almost forget.
Almost.
A faint sound broke the silence.
A page turning.
Louis frowned.
His own hands hadn’t moved.
Slowly, he looked up.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
Rows of books lined the walls.
The fireplace sat dark.
The armchair by the window was vacant.
Louis stared for another moment before looking back down at his book.
Then he heard it again.
A page turning.
Much closer this time.
His body went still.
Vampires didn’t get goosebumps.
But if they could, Louis thought he might have.
He lifted his eyes.
The armchair wasn’t empty anymore.
Someone sat there.
Small.
Thin.
One leg hanging over the armrest.
A book balanced carelessly in her lap.
Louis stopped breathing.
The world narrowed until there was only that chair.
Only that face.
Soft brown curls.
Sharp eyes.
A yellow dress.
Claudia.
For a terrible second he couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t speak.
Every memory he’d spent decades trying to survive crashed into him at once.
New Orleans.
The townhouse.
Laughter.
Arguments.
Piano lessons.
The train station.
Paris.
Fire.
Ash.
Loss.
“You’re staring.”
The voice was casual.
Annoyed.
Familiar.
Claudia didn’t look up from her book.
Louis felt his heart break all over again.
The hallucinations had never been like this.
Never.
The Claudia in his mind always appeared when he was grieving.
When he was guilty.
When he was angry.
She said things he expected her to say.
Things he feared she would say.
But this—
This felt wrong.
Not because it was frightening.
Because it felt real.
“Claudia,” he whispered.
She sighed dramatically.
“Congratulations. You remembered my name.”
His fingers tightened around the book.
“You’re dead.”
“That’s generally how ghosts work.”
Louis stood so quickly the chair behind him nearly tipped over.
Claudia finally glanced up.
And there it was.
That expression.
The one she’d worn every time he or Lestat said something ridiculous.
The expression that somehow managed to combine affection and irritation.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Louis couldn’t stop staring.
He was afraid if he blinked she would disappear.
Afraid she wouldn’t.
Afraid of both possibilities.
“You aren’t real.”
Claudia rolled her eyes.
“Do you have any original material?”
Louis took a hesitant step forward.
Then another.
“Claudia…”
For the first time, her expression softened.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Enough to remind him that beneath all the sharp edges had always been a girl who loved too fiercely.
A girl who had wanted a family.
A girl they had failed.
“You look terrible,” she said.
Louis laughed.
The sound escaped him unexpectedly.
A broken, disbelieving laugh.
“That’s the first thing you say to me?”
“What did you want me to say?”
She closed her book.
“‘Father, I’ve returned from the dead to tell you everything is forgiven?’”
Louis looked away.
The laugh vanished.
The wound underneath it remained.
Claudia immediately noticed.
Of course she did.
She always had.
The room fell silent.
Rain continued to tap against the glass.
Finally she spoke again.
Quieter this time.
“You still blame yourself.”
It wasn’t a question.
Louis swallowed.
“I should have protected you.”
“You tried.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“No,” Claudia said.
The honesty struck like a knife.
“It wasn’t.”
Louis closed his eyes.
He almost preferred anger.
Almost preferred accusations.
This was worse.
Because Claudia had never lied to him.
Not when it mattered.
When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him carefully.
Not cruelly.
Not kindly.
Simply watching.
Like she was trying to understand what seventy years had done to him.
“You really are here,” he said.
A strange look crossed her face.
For a moment she seemed younger.
Not thirteen.
Older.
Ancient.
Like whatever she had become had been shaped by decades neither of them could comprehend.
“Yes.”
Louis’s voice shook.
“How?”
Claudia shrugged.
“No idea.”
“You don’t know?”
“No one gives ghosts an instruction manual.”
Despite everything, Louis almost smiled.
Almost.
Then another thought struck him.
His eyes widened.
“Lestat.”
Claudia groaned immediately.
“Oh, wonderful.”
“He has to know.”
“Does he?”
“Claudia—”
“No.”
She pointed at him.
“Absolutely not.”
Louis stared.
“What?”
“I have been dead for seventy years.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been back for approximately ten minutes.”
“Probably.”
“And you’re already trying to involve Lestat.”
Louis couldn’t help it.
He laughed again.
A real laugh this time.
Small.
Weak.
But real.
Claudia looked offended.
Which somehow made it worse.
“You’ve spent too much time with him.”
“You sound exactly like him.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I hate both of you.”
The words were immediate.
Automatic.
Comfortingly familiar.
And for the first time since she’d appeared, Louis felt something he hadn’t expected.
Not grief.
Not guilt.
Hope.
Tiny.
Fragile.
Dangerous.
But hope.
Because Claudia was sitting in that chair arguing with him.
Because she was real.
Because somehow, impossibly, after all these years—
She was here.
And upstairs, completely unaware of the miracle currently unfolding in the library, Lestat de Lioncourt was asleep.
Not for much longer
part 2: she actually explains
Louis stared at her.
For several seconds.
Then several more.
Because Claudia had just delivered what sounded like the explanation for an impossible miracle with the same tone someone might use to discuss the weather.
“…What?”
Claudia sighed.
“I knew this was the part you were going to get stuck on.”
“You’re telling me there are rules?”
“There are lots of rules.”
“There are rules for ghosts?”
“There are rules for everything.”
Louis blinked.
“Who makes them?”
“Nobody knows.”
Claudia shrugged.
“Or if somebody does know, they aren’t telling.”
She leaned back in the chair.
“As far as the dead are concerned, the universe runs on paperwork.”
Louis rubbed his forehead.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about supernatural death.”
“The what?”
“The afterlife stuff.”
She waved a hand vaguely.
“The dead. Ghosts. Spirits. Whatever name you want.”
Louis was silent.
This conversation had somehow become more confusing than the appearance of a ghost.
Claudia continued.
“For vampires, you’re dead for as long as you lived, plus the age of the first innocent person you killed.”
Louis stared.
“What?”
“I’m serious.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
“It absolutely does.”
“It absolutely doesn’t.”
Claudia folded her arms.
“Do you think gravity makes sense? No. It just exists.”
Louis looked like he was developing a headache.
A remarkable accomplishment for someone without a functioning human brain.
Claudia continued anyway.
“So.”
She began counting on her fingers.
“I lived forty-six years.”
Louis nodded automatically.
“Then there was the age of the first innocent person I killed.”
Her expression darkened for just a second.
A flicker of an old memory.
Gone almost immediately.
“Add those together.”
Louis did the math.
His eyes widened.
“Seventy-nine.”
“Exactly.”
“And you’ve been dead for seventy-nine years.”
“Yep.”
The room fell silent.
Louis slowly lowered himself back into his chair.
As though his legs had forgotten how to work.
“You’ve been alone for seventy-nine years.”
For the first time since appearing, Claudia hesitated.
Only briefly.
But Louis noticed.
“Not alone.”
The answer came too quickly.
And that told him enough.
Claudia immediately looked annoyed that he’d caught it.
“So.”
She changed the subject.
“I’ve got about two weeks left.”
Louis blinked.
“Two weeks until what?”
“Until I’m alive again.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Even the rain seemed to stop.
“You’re what?”
Claudia looked puzzled.
“Alive again.”
“That’s impossible.”
“So was this.”
She pointed at herself.
Louis opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Nothing came out.
Because Claudia returning as a ghost was one thing.
Claudia returning to life—
Actually alive—
Was another.
“You mean resurrected?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
“No one’s ever explained it to me.”
“Claudia.”
“What?”
“You are discussing resurrection like it’s an inconvenience.”
“It kind of is.”
Louis simply stared.
She rolled her eyes.
“I’ve got forms to fill out.”
“You have forms.”
“Ghost forms.”
“What are ghost forms?”
“I don’t know, Louis, they’re forms.”
Louis dropped his head into his hands.
Claudia watched him for a moment.
Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she smiled.
A real smile.
Small.
Mischievous.
Dangerously familiar.
“I missed this.”
Louis looked up.
“What?”
“Confusing you.”
Against all logic, he laughed.
Claudia laughed too.
The sound filled the library.
Bright.
Sharp.
Alive.
Louis hadn’t heard it in almost eighty years.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Louis noticed something.
“What did you mean earlier?”
“Hm?”
“You said you used to check on someone.”
Claudia’s smile faded.
“Oh.”
“The stats.”
“Yeah.”
Louis frowned.
“What stats?”
Claudia looked almost embarrassed.
Which was new.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Claudia embarrassed.
“I used to check on Lestat.”
Louis blinked.
“Lestat?”
“Every few years.”
The answer stunned him.
“I’d look in on him.”
She shrugged.
“Make sure things went a little better than they were supposed to.”
Louis stared.
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, little things.”
She looked away.
“A traffic light changes at the right time.”
“A producer says yes instead of no.”
“A piano doesn’t break.”
“A plane isn’t delayed.”
Louis’s eyes widened.
“That was you?”
“Some of it.”
“You were helping him?”
Claudia immediately pointed a finger at him.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“That emotional face.”
Louis was absolutely making an emotional face.
Claudia groaned.
“He was miserable.”
The words came out quieter than she intended.
Louis froze.
Claudia looked away toward the rain-streaked windows.
“He was always miserable.”
The anger wasn’t there.
Not anymore.
Just tired affection.
The kind people reserve for family members who drive them insane.
“I figured somebody should help.”
Louis felt his throat tighten.
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“Would he be able to tell?”
“Probably not.”
She paused.
“Though he kept finding lucky pennies for about fifteen years.”
Louis laughed.
“What?”
“I didn’t know how luck worked yet.”
Despite herself, Claudia started laughing too.
The image was ridiculous.
The great Lestat de Lioncourt unknowingly being protected by the ghost of the daughter who hated him.
Or claimed to.
Finally Louis looked at her.
Really looked at her.
“You still love him.”
Claudia’s laughter stopped.
Immediately.
The room grew quiet again.
She stared at the floor.
Then sighed.
“Unfortunately.”
Louis smiled.
And Claudia pointed at him again.
“Don’t tell him that either.”
“Why not?”
“Because then he’ll start crying.”
Louis’s smile widened.
“Probably.”
“And then you’ll start crying.”
“Maybe.”
“And then somehow I’ll end up comforting both of you.”
She groaned dramatically.
“The dead deserve better working conditions.”
Louis laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
And somewhere upstairs, in another part of the house, Lestat suddenly sat upright in bed.
A strange feeling had just passed through him.
Warm.
Familiar.
Like hearing a laugh he’d been missing for nearly eighty years.
And for the first time in decades, he found himself wondering if he was truly alone.