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Windsor, north of the river, south of the country, slept bathed in a stuttering streetlight glow. Lestat leaned on the wall outside a cheap inn, a cigarette clamped between two quivering fingers.
His pants and silk shirt, thrown on unbuttoned so to not disturb any public that might stumble by, had dried to a brittle, slightly flaky finish, like the fabric had been starched with blood. Gabriella had only closed the wounds on his face, but Lestat could feel the rest of his injuries beginning to heal as well. The large tears in his arms and shoulders, the scrapes and bruises on his torso and legs, all slowly healing. The broken ribs, not yet, but he knew that a day’s sleep in his coffin would all the time they needed to knit back together. He was simply too strong to be wounded for long.
Gabriella hadn’t come outside with him. After pulling her clothes back on and gently evading Lestat’s attempt at holding her in his arms, she pushed a carton of cigarettes into his hands and waved at the door.
“Leave me for half an hour, and we’ll be on our way,” she had ordered. “Even cheap inns might look twice at this. Best to clean up before we go.” Lestat had obediently shrugged on his filthy shirt and walked outside, barefoot and shivering slightly in the chill air. He had no lighter but he didn’t need one. No one around to see him use the Fire Gift. No one around to see the blood. No one around to take any notice of his presence at all.
He could hear his mother’s heartbeat back in the room, and his heart stuttered for a moment in response. They’d never beat in sync yet, but he felt it try.
A siren screamed, and he heard someone yelling. He had thrown up everything and then some in the inn bathroom and he needed to feed. There was an encampment of homeless mortals nearby and it would be so easy to sneak down there and pick one of them off, drain them dry and leave slightly buzzed from whatever concoction they had in their secondhand syringes. But Lestat didn’t like to feed off these sad, broken down mortals in modern-day cities. His tour bus, sticky and stinking as it was, was enticing enough for groupies to walk into his arms willingly, and desperation only satisfied if it was for his body, not for food and shelter.
But Gabriella would come soon, and they would find his tour bus and perhaps a fan or two lingering near it who would be happy to bare their neck to him. He needed to shower. His hands smelled of his mother, and his stomach twisted for a moment when he caught the scent of his own cum mingled with hers. He looked down at the cigarette, still burning. Its white wrapper was stained all over with grime and blood from his fingers. Still, he raised it to his mouth and put his lips over the end where it was stained darkest red. He inhaled once, twice, then brought it down and stubbed it out on his stomach next to his belly button. Intense sting, followed by a dull throb. He wished he had another. The singed circle of flesh glowed pale pink in the streetlight.
Lestat flicked it into the gutter and turned to face Gabriella, descending the steps with a smile on her face.
~~~
As The Vampire Lestat journeyed across North America, Lestat found himself spending more and more time wishing he could just get away and be alone, just for a few minutes. It was a curious feeling, this wanting to get away. Even when he was a child, he’d always wanted to be around others. Adults, children, it didn’t matter, scolding or loving: no matter what it was, he wanted it. Louis had used that to his advantage in the New Orleans years.
“That’s why you’ll always be alone,” he’d thrown like a grenade across the room, knowing how much it would hurt.
But in 2025, performing in front of crowds every night and sharing close quarters with far too many people to be fire compliant, Lestat ached to be alone.
His band were trying to give up smoking they said, to preserve their voices and keep their wind up. Ridiculous. But it gave him an excuse to slip away a few times each night, since TC insisted he smoke outside. Too much temptation, she’d argued, and secondhand smoke kills too. Apparently the carcinogens in the powder she put up her nose didn’t count, but Lestat didn’t bother to quibble.
So when he slammed the door of the lawyer’s office and stormed outside ahead of Christine, he took an immediate hard left to duck down the alleyway bordering the hotel. He patted his body and came up with one squashed cigarette down the side of one of his boots. Yet again no lighter, but sweet, blessed quiet. No band, no Gabriella or Daniel or any other irritating hangers-on. No Christine, still inside the office. And no Louis.
Where did Louis find them, he thought to himself with disgust. Companion enough for himself for one night only, it seemed. Always chasing the bottom line.
“Fuck,” Lestat hissed under his breath, and lit it with a snap of his fingers. He inhaled it in disgruntled silence. He heard Christine push her way out through the front doors and try to call him. He silenced his phone and listened to her leave an angry voicemail, telling him to get back to her now, like yesterday, then hail a cab.
Minutes ticked by as Lestat smoked and tried to calm himself. Then his heart gave a few rapid beats in too fast succession before slowing to a new rhythm, and he sensed before he heard Louis exit the building.
“I’ll meet you there,” he heard Louis say. He sounded frustrated, like he was on the losing end of an argument. “No, don’t wait for me. Just give me an hour, yeah?” Silence, then he groaned. Whoever was on the other line was pissing him off. “I’ll be there. An hour, that’s all I need.” More silence. “Yeah, sure.” A tap as he ended the call with more force than necessary. Then the click of his heels on the pavement, and before Lestat could gather himself together enough to take to the sky, Louis appeared before him with a cupped hand around his mouth.
“Oh,” he said confusedly, stopping in his tracks. A cigarette was clenched between his teeth and a lighter was in his free hand. “I didn’t realise you were still here.”
The two men stared at each other, neither knowing quite what to say. Louis lifted the lighter again and flicked it on. He inhaled sharply, green eyes glowing in the dark like a cat’s.
“Been here a while?” he asked. “Your lawyer’s already left.”
“I’ll be out of your hair soon,” Lestat answered coolly. “I assume there is no charge for using your alleyway?”
“First ten minutes free,” Louis said with a faint smile. Lestat needed to get out of there, but he felt frozen in place.
Louis gestured at his hand. “You’ve let it burn out.” Lestat looked down and saw that indeed his cigarette had burnt down to a long cylinder of ash. He flicked it away and Louis laughed. “Littering has a charge too, you know.”
“Add it to the invoice and I can ignore it,” he retorted. Louis still looked amused. Lestat felt like screaming. “Well, I had better be going. Lots to do. T-shirts to sell, the profits I am sure you have an interest in.”
Louis nodded slowly and stepped to the side.
“Here,” he said as Lestat squeezed past him, trying his best to not brush against the other man in the small space. He held his cigarette in his hand, stretched out for Lestat to take. “I’ve got others.”
Lestat considered plucking it from his fingers and casting it far away from him, just to prove a point, but instead he felt himself taking it and putting it to his lips. It was warm and slightly damp from Louis’ mouth. He felt Louis’ eyes on his back as he walked away.
When he was far away enough to slow his pace, he took it from his mouth and crushed it, still lit, in his palm.
~~~
When Lestat crawled out of the burning car on a highway in Toronto, he paused for a moment to pull a bag from his pocket. No tobacco in these hand-rolled joints, courtesy of Salamander, but they would do. He needed something warm. It was either these or blood, and he wasn’t sure his stomach could handle that.
“Still have an oral fixation, I see,” drawled a cold voice over his shoulder, and Lestat turned to glare at the phantom of Magnus, unfolding his body from the burning car like an overgrown spider. “Nothing quite compares to what I gave you, I am sure.”
“Fuck you, and fuck off,” Lestat spat. He held a joint over the flames of the car to light it. He held the hand in the heat for a beat or two longer than he should have. The pain was clean. Not infected and weeping, like the black coat hanger of a ghost now standing uncomfortably close. Magnus cackled.
“Poor little Lestat, wishing he had the courage to follow his daddy,” he mocked. “You won’t like the pain when you’re on fire. You won’t dance like I did. You don’t have the stomach for it. Just for sad little bonfires on your skin.” A pause. “I do so like that skin.”
“If you won’t leave, then I’ll do the walking,” Lestat said, all the fight leaving him in a sudden rush. He puffed on the joint a few times, then set off with it still in hand. He wasn’t quite sure if he was going in the right direction, but anywhere had to be better than here.
Magnus fell into step beside him.
“I am curious,” he said in a tone far too light and friendly for what was sure to follow, “where mummy is tonight?”
Lestat didn’t answer. He took another puff and looked stonily ahead. Magnus tsked.
“Didn’t like hearing her during the interview with Danny boy, did you?” he said knowingly. “Wanted her all to yourself. Did you wish you were in that bathroom with her? But oh.” He widened his eyes as if he had received a revelation. “Perhaps you wished you were the one bent over the sink.” He reached out a clawed finger and stroked Lestat’s hair. “I remember.”
Lestat jerked his head away, and Magnus grabbed a handful of hair in response.
“I remember how you moaned when I had you,” he hissed in his ear. “I remember the feel of your body when you came.”
Lestat inhaled more of the joint and held the smoke in his mouth as tears started to slip down his cheeks. Magnus’ hand pulling his hair didn’t hurt, but he felt the smallest whisper of pressure where the ghost’s hand was tugging.
“You’re not really here,” he croaked, smoke trailing from his mouth. He sucked in another lungful of marijuana. “Get gone.”
“See you at the concert, Wolfkiller” Magnus whispered, and disappeared.
Lestat made it back to the tour bus two hours later. He smoked his entire stash during the walk, and found himself on his knees behind the back wheel, vomiting up bile since there was no blood to come out. The world tilted crazily on its axis, and he lay his cheek against the cold concrete. The light pollution blotted out the stars.
He missed the stars. The eighteenth century had had so many.
~~~
Lestat lay back on his bed and watched the pretty dark-skinned man look for his clothes strewn over the floor.
“Have you seen my socks?” the man asked, his bright green eyes narrowed in frustration. “God, it’s a mess in here.”
“No idea,” Lestat said disinterestedly. “Perhaps one of my band mates has a pair you can borrow.”
“Ugh, I’ll just wear my shoes without them.” He shoved his bare feet into his sneakers and zipped up his jacket. “Well, bye then.”
“Au revoir.”
The man slipped out and Lestat stretched his arms above his head. His body ached pleasantly, in comparison to the painful ache in his heart. He didn’t remember the man’s name, but he had looked a bit like Louis in the dark. Mostly the eyes.
He needed a smoke.
He cracked a window as the bus roared to life, hoping TC didn’t decide to come in to see what he was up to, and lit a cigarette. The bus groaned as it pulled out - whoever was driving had a lead foot - and he heard his band hooting downstairs. A guitar twanged and someone dropped an amp. Larry’s angry voice rose and he heard more banging.
Lestat wondered where Louis was tonight. He hadn’t come to any concerts after Toledo, but he had been watching some of the videos, that Lestat did know. Louis had made the mistake of liking a few of them on one of his social media accounts, under an alias he’d used since the New Orleans days. He probably didn’t realise Lestat obsessively checked his likes and comments after every show, and he planned on keeping it that way. No one needed to know how much he agonised over his views and follower counts.
Ever since their tense meeting with that infernal lawyer and uncomfortable encounter in the alleyway, Lestat had been trying to blot the man’s face from his mind, but it wasn’t working. Night after night, he’d found himself noticing the men from the crowd that looked even a little like Louis. Dark-skinned with curly short hair, even better if they had green eyes. He hadn’t said anything to Dee, but she’d somehow caught on and there was invariably someone of that type in the crowd of groupies she’d bring backstage. He didn’t drink from these men, but took great pleasure in dropping to his knees and sucking their dicks in alleyways, on the bus, sometimes in cheap hotels if his band pissed him off too much.
This night’s man had looked the part, and acted just the way Lestat wanted, with a scratchy attitude and a perpetually pissed off scowl. He’d rolled onto his back and pulled Lestat on top, barely prepped him beyond carelessly slicking him with lube, and thrust up into him at such a rough pace that Lestat had to hold the headboard to keep himself from being bucked off. They’d fucked for ten minutes at an absolute maximum, and he hadn’t hovered afterwards.
He’d been perfect. Looked the part, but acted like someone totally different.
Louis had always been at his softest, his most loving, during and after sex. He’d kiss Lestat like he was dying, gasp into his mouth and cry out with no concern for who might hear them. He’d say things to Lestat like beautiful and love you and look at Lestat like he hung the moon, in stark contrast to the buttoned-up businessman he was outside their bedroom. Afterwards, he’d allow Lestat to cuddle up to him, throwing his arm around his shoulders and stroking his hair. He’d even wipe away any tears that might have collected on Lestat’s lashes with the pad of his thumb. Those had been Lestat’s favourite moments.
This time, Lestat chose his inner thigh as the place to put out his cigarette. The pale, smooth skin tingled as he bent his knee up and to the side to bare the spot. It would heal quickly, leaving no scar behind. He wondered idly as he stubbed the burning end into his skin if anything could permanently mark him these days. He’d like that. He’d leave a map of round burn marks across his legs and groin, trail up his stomach to his chest, cross the path left by his wolf scars, and circle his throat like a necklace. He’d like to be marked all over. Make the outside match the inside.
“Lestat, where are you?” Salamander called. “Do you have any coke up there? Larry knocked the bowl down the back of the fucking couch!”
He flicked the cigarette out the window and closed it.
“Did you check the glovebox up the front?” he yelled back, and got up to look for his robe. He spotted one of the man’s socks, sitting half inside-out on top of the crumpled robe on the floor. He kicked it under the bed.
~~~
Somewhere between take thirty and take thirty-one of Larry’s guitar track for “When I Call Out Your Name”, Lestat noticed TC looking down at her phone with a stricken look on her face. When Larry tossed his guitar down on the ground and shouted that maybe Lestat should just record it himself - his third tantrum of the night - she slipped out of the booth and made for the door. It banged sharply closed and he heard her shaky breathing as she continued down the hallway to the exit.
“Take ten,” he said dismissively, and went in search of her. Gabriella’s eyes followed him as he left, but she didn’t move to follow.
He found her outside, leaning up against the brick wall and trying to light a cigarette with an unsteady hand. He pulled it from her fingers, lit it, and handed it back.
“I thought you quit.”
“Tried.” TC inhaled deeply and tilted her head back to look at the sky. Lestat could see the tears shining in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“You got bad news,” he guessed. “On your phone.” He lit a cigarette for himself.
“Good, bad, don’t know really. My… My mother died.” Her mouth twisted as she blew smoke out her nostrils. “Two days ago.”
“And you only heard about this now?”
“Don’t speak to her.” The tears overflowed and started spilling down her cheeks. “Not for years.”
“What did she do?”
“Nothing so terrible. She just didn’t really like me, is all. Wore me down.” She took another drag. “Cancer got her apparently. I didn’t even know she was sick.”
“Hmm.” They stood in silence for a few minutes. The dark surrounded them like a protective blanket, and TC’s tears kept coming. When she finished her cigarette, she fished out a second and Lestat lit that, too.
“Did your mother love you?” she asked as she took it from him. Her voice quavered. “When you were alive?”
Lestat, casting around for something to say, felt his stomach cramp suddenly. He winced and TC looked at him with big, heartbroken eyes.
“You and me both, huh?” She sighed. “When did she die?”
“When I was in my early thirties,” Lestat answered, glad he could be honest about something. His stomach churned. TC hummed.
“Ever since I was a little girl,” she said haltingly, “I tried to get my mother to love me. I did everything she wanted. I used to try and climb into her bed at night to cuddle, but she never wanted me there. She’d push me away. She only wanted my brother.” Another drag on her cigarette. “They had a weird relationship. Boy mom kind of thing. I was like, the third wheel. All I ever wanted was for her to love me. I think I’d have been happy if she’d just looked at me once in a while. But she didn’t want to. I don’t think she touched me once after I turned six. She never kissed me goodnight. Did your mother kiss you goodnight?”
“I don’t remember.” Lestat dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his heel. “I’ll see you inside, yeah?”
TC nodded absently and looked up at the sky again. Lestat had failed somehow, but she didn’t seem to hold it against him.
He didn’t go straight back to the studio. He ducked into the bathroom and bent down to grip the sink. His knuckles went white as he focused on his watering mouth and tried to stay on his feet. But his stomach twisted again, and in the end he gave up and ran the tap at full blast while he vomited.
Five minutes later, he pushed his way back into the studio and smiled his brightest, best smile at Gabriella, who looked at him with hungry eyes.
“Larry still whining?” he asked.
~~~
Louis was still in coffin in the spare room, but even out on the balcony, Lestat could hear his heart beating in perfect time with his. He had forgotten how soothing it was. Nothing grounded him quite like hearing the steady thump of Louis’ heart. Back in the New Orleans days, Lestat used to sit and lightly press his fingers to the lid of Louis’ coffin in the early evenings until Louis woke up, enjoying the anticipation of a night stretching ahead of them.
This night wasn’t quite the same, given their midnight plans, but they had hours before that.
Lestat felt like his body was starting to come back to life, the longer Louis was around. Just a day’s rest in the same house had had an invigorating effect on him. He woke feeling unusually rested, even light, and when he got out of the shower, he was surprised to see how bright his eyes looked in the mirror. His hair had cooperated, his skin was looking less grey, and even the aches and pains of spending days on end rehearsing with his band had disappeared.
Just Louis’ presence was doing something to him. It had always been that way.
He lit the first cigarette of the night and leaned against the railings, looking down at the costumed children starting to appear on the pavements. He needed to put the candy out front. He didn’t move.
He tried not to think about it too much, but the closer it got to rehearsal, the more nervous he became. He didn’t know why he had asked Louis to come along. Well, he knew one of the reasons, he wanted to perform for him and see himself reflected in the other man’s eyes, but the Sofia question was different. What if Louis, discerning as he was, saw through the flimsy disguise and recognised just what she was? How would he react? Surely not well. They’d not talked about it much, but Lestat knew his history. It was the story of so many young boys of his time, hungry for warmth and love and money, and adults willing to exploit that for their own purposes. He wouldn’t understand. Maybe he’d even think Lestat needed help of some sort. Which he didn’t.
What would happen if he did ask him for help?
Lestat put the thought of his mind. He heard Louis stirring, so he took a few quick puffs, stubbed it out on the wall, and headed back inside.
He didn’t realise it until later, but it was the first cigarette he hadn’t put out on his own body in months.
~~~
Backstage, the sound of fifty thousand vampires chanting his name set Lestat’s nerves alight. He felt like he might float, catch fire, explode into a million pieces at any moment. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. They were all here for him like he’d always wanted, and yet he had never wanted to be further away.
Louis’ hand was warm around his. He was pressed up against his side, solid and real and alive, and it was all Lestat could do to not collapse into him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Louis murmured in his ear. “You don’t owe these vamps anything. We could be across the country by morning.”
“One last show,” Lestat said, trying to convince himself that it was what he wanted. “Then we’ll be away.” He dug in his pockets for his cigarettes and pulled out two. “Want one?”
Louis held his hand out wordlessly, and Lestat handed it over. He lit his with a snap of his fingers, inhaled, and Louis put the end of his against it to light it. They stood in silence for a few moments.
“Remember last time we did this?” Louis asked, sounding faintly amused. “After the lawyer meeting.”
“I don’t think you meant to run into me, did you?” Lestat replied drily. “Arguing with Lemmy, from what I could hear.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” More silence. “I was glad to see you, though. You’re cute when you’re angry, you know.”
“The kids call it ‘rage baiting’ these days.”
“You know I don’t keep up with the lingo, Les.”
“Winding me up. Annoying me on purpose.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“I seem to recall you doing that many times over the years,” Lestat said, warming to the subject. This part of their shared past wasn’t painful. “Do you remember, that time at the Azalea-”
“Lestat.” Gabriella appeared out of the dark. “It’s time.”
Louis stiffened next to him and took another drag on his cigarette.
“He’ll come when he’s ready,” he said tightly. “Fuck off.”
Gabriella stood still for a beat, looking at the two of them. For a second, her eyes looked lost, like she had misplaced her footing and was unsure what to do next. She looked like a little girl standing there before the two vampires. Then her expression darkened and she grew back to her regular woman’s size. She turned on her heel and marched away, and Lestat felt the ghost of a twinge watching her leave.
He supposed he would always feel that way, an ache in his heart like when you press on a wound that has mostly healed.
But Louis was with him and had told Gabriella to fuck off and she had listened. She’d done what Lestat had longed to do, so many times.
He flicked his cigarette to the ground and leaned forward to press his lips against Louis’. The other man made a soft, surprised sound, then dropped his own cigarette. He wound his fingers in Lestat’s hair and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into Lestat’s open, eager mouth and ghosting the tips of his fangs against Lestat’s answering tongue.
Lestat felt light-headed and clutched onto Louis’ hips for support. When Louis pulled back and rested his forehead against his own to catch his breath, he only just stopped himself from whimpering at the loss. They stood there, panting harshly and gripping each other with bruising hands, and the sound of the screaming crowd faded into the distance. The fog of love descended.
Louis was the first to come back to the present and open his eyes. He laughed lightly.
“Look at you.”
“Look at yourself,” Lestat retorted. Louis’ pupils were so blown as to be black, and his lips were shiny and swollen. He reached out and pressed his thumb to Louis’ mouth. “Like you’ve been kissing some strange man.”
“Can’t imagine why. I don’t know any men.”
Lestat stole one more kiss, just a quick peck, then straightened his shoulders and stepped back.
“Well, time to face the music,” he said with a sigh. “One more show, then…”
“Then we leave here, and we don’t look back,” Louis said resolutely. “And we can love each other somewhere else, away from everything.”
“You mean that?” Lestat asked, the flame of hope burning bright in his heart.
“I do.”