Chapter Text
< 33 >
Things didn’t go quite as planned, which hardly came as a surprise considering there wasn’t much of a plan to begin with.
Lestat had waited patiently for weeks. He kept his distance and only reached out occasionally, putting his ear to Louis’s thoughts in hope that he might hear his name in them even once. Much as Louis tried to put that evening behind him, his thoughts drifted towards Lestat rather frequently. But the strength of his shame and his fear of his own potential and what it would mean if he gave in to his own unspeakable desires kept him out of Lestat’s reach.
He still had time, he thought. Lestat would remain patient and eventually Louis would miss his companionship more than he feared it. But then his brother, Paul, took his own life. With a cruel nudging from his own mother, Louis blamed himself for Paul’s death. His thoughts spiraled and became a raging storm with no output. Vicious winds of shame and self loathing shattered the windows of his soul, but at the center of the storm there was an immense longing.
Lestat.
His heart called to him like a siren. Lestat answered, but Louis was in such a state of grief he was unaware of his own heart’s desire. He called out to Louis, urging him to come to him, like he so desperately wanted to. But Louis shut him out—went to the church instead with the intent to confess his sins before taking his own life.
It was beyond unacceptable. Lestat could sit back and watch no longer. He confronted Louis in the church, killed the priests in front of him, and offered him a joyful death instead. He confessed his love to Louis, and was both relieved and boldened by the way his love’s eyes lit up at the confession.
He had succeeded. He was to be Louis’s, and Louis was to be his. Companion in the Dark Gift, for all eternity.
“Be my companion, Louis.”
Louis surprised him. He leaned forward, taking Lestat’s face in his hands, and kissed him tenderly. Lestat had never felt such joy before. All the pain, all the suffering of his existence up to that point had been worth it for that small, sweet moment. He would be alone no longer.
But then Louis surprised him again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breath warm against his lips. “But I can’t.”
Lestat’s blood went cold as anguish flooded his veins.
“I can’t…I can’t be like you. I can’t kill like you. I’m sorry.”
Lestat closed his eyes against the agony of rejection, like denying himself the sight of Louis’s face would soften the blow somehow.
“I can’t accept your offer, but…would you still have me?”
Lestat’s eyes blinked open of their own accord as hope made itself known to him once more.
“Yes, my love,” Lestat said. “Yes, of course.”
Louis gave him a tentative smile so sweet Lestat couldn’t help but kiss it.
He still had time. He would change his mind eventually, Lestat would make sure of it. There was hope yet.
He had intended to take Louis back to his home, but Louis refused at first.
“I didn’t attend the wake,” he said. “I vanished. Mother might hate me now, but I’m sure Grace is worried. I can’t just…disappear. Not right now.”
“Is it not better to put some distance between yourself and…where it happened?” Lestat asked, “If only for now?”
Louis shook his head. “I can’t hide from it forever. Better if I don’t start in the first place, I think.”
Lestat couldn’t hide his disappointment. Louis clearly noticed, as he extended him a small olive branch.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring my things, if that’s alright…”
“Yes, of course. My home is yours now, Louis.”
Louis smiled. Lestat had almost forgotten the mess he’d made of the place until Louis stood and, for the first time since Lestat had made an appearance, finally moved his attention elsewhere.
“The priests,” he said, staring down at his own reflection in a pool of blood. “What will you…?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Lestat said. “It is my mess to deal with. You get on home and get yourself cleaned up. Get some good rest.”
Louis nodded sharply. Were his mind not an open book to him, Lestat would worry that his promise to return was no more than an excuse—a way to escape the monster before it grew impatient and showed its teeth again. But there was no hint of doubt, fear, or even shame in Louis’s thoughts. There was grief still, yes, but it was eclipsed by a level of hope to rival Lestat’s own.
He loves me, Louis was thinking. I am loved.
Lestat cleaned up quickly once Louis was out of sight. He kept his ear trained on his thoughts, still wary of a potential sharp dive into darker places as Louis’s beautiful mind was so prone to. He discarded the bodies in the cemetery and cleaned up all the blood, put out the fire and threw away the remains of the destroyed pew. He returned home with a new spring in his step and discarded his own blood-soaked clothes before scrubbing his skin clean in the bath. He climbed into his coffin early, some two hours or so before the sun rose, hoping to wake early so he could be ready in time for Louis’s arrival.
He did wake early the next night, though not early enough judging by the familiar presence he could feel as soon as he opened his eyes.
He never locked the door. Servants came in to clean during the day, and it was easier than having multiple keys made. He trusted them not to steal anything and the neighbors had no interest in his home. The only person bold enough to come in without a direct invitation would be the one who would share his home with him—the one who had no need for an invitation in the first place.
Lestat rose from his coffin and got dressed quickly. He was unsure of the exact time, but he knew it to be daylight still by means of the spotlight he left open before he went to coffin: a most useful invention.
“Louis?” He called as he made his way down the stairs.
Louis cursed and dropped something—a glass, by the sound of it as it shattered on the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Louis apologized, crouching to retrieve the glass shards as Lestat came around the corner.
“No, no. Please, allow me.”
Lestat took his wrist in one hand, giving it a light squeeze before pushing it away in favor of scooping up the mess himself. A good thing he did, too—one of the jagged pieces cut him rather deeply. He made his way to the trash and disposed of the glass, then popped his injured thumb into his mouth, tasting his own blood.
“I didn’t know you were home,” Louis said, giving him a sheepish smile. “I called for you several times, you didn’t answer.”
“I was asleep. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”
But he wasn’t in the bed.
“I’m a rather deep sleeper,” Lestat added, “And I sleep in a hidden room upstairs, connected to the boudoir. The walls are quite thick.”
“A hidden room?” Louis frowned at him.
“Come, I’ll show you.”
Lestat led him back up the stairs. He waited for Louis to come stand beside him, then pulled the chain that revealed the coffin room. Louis took a hesitant step back at first, startled by the mechanism. When the doors opened, though, his eyes went right to the coffin.
“You sleep in that?”
“I do.”
“And is that…comfortable?”
“As comfortable as it can get.”
Louis gave him an odd look before he approached it. He tried to open the lid, brows creasing as he strained with the effort, then gave up.
“You’re awfully strong,” he said, shaking his head.
“One of the many benefits of vampirism,” Lestat said, giving him a pleased smile.
“Vampirism…”
It was only then that Lestat realized he hadn’t spoken it aloud before. Until then, Louis had no name for what Lestat was.
“I am a vampire,” he said, reaching for Louis’s hand. Louis let him take it, following his lead obediently as Lestat brought him to stand before the bed. “Have a seat. You have many questions, I can tell. I’ll answer them to the best of my ability.”
Louis hesitated but a moment before sliding his shoes off and climbing onto the bed to sit cross legged.
“You drink blood.” It was more a statement than a question. Lestat sensed he wanted to solidify this fact in his mind, now that he was relatively sober.
“Yes. All vampires do.”
Louis nodded thoughtfully. “Why?” he asked.
“You might as well ask why the wolf hunts the lamb,” Lestat said. “It is food, Louis. I need it.”
“But you’ve eaten regular meals with me,” Louis said. He was thinking of the gumbo they’d had before the opera. The one Lestat had had nothing but compliments for.
“I cannot taste it. I only eat human food so as not to rouse suspicion.”
“But it doesn’t hurt you. Just doesn’t taste good, right?”
“That’s correct.”
Louis hummed thoughtfully. “What about animals, then?”
Lestat tried not to let the disappointment show on his face: it was a perfectly valid question to have. “Animal blood cannot sustain a vampire. Not fully,” he said. “They also taste foul.”
“Not fully?”
Lestat sighed. “It’s not a valid alternative. If it was, the vampires around the world would produce far fewer victims than they do. Believe me, I tried.”
“You tried?”
Louis gave him an expectant look.
“It’s…a very long story,” Lestat said. “And a very unpleasant one. Do you have other questions?”
It was obvious that Louis wanted more information on the potential of a ‘vegetarian’ diet, but he thankfully decided to let it drop.
“So that magic of yours, that time at the poker table where you made the world stop for everyone but you and me. What was that? And the way you moved in the church—so fast I couldn’t see you move at all. You were right beside me one second then at the gate and back by my side again in a flash, like you’d never even moved.”
Lestat shrugged. “Vampires have access to many useful abilities like the ones you’ve witnessed from me. Some are gained at birth—like vampiric speed—and others are learned over time, like the ability to stop time altogether. Some can be taught, some can only be learned once the vampire has lived a long life and grown strong.”
“And you’re strong, then? How old are you?” Louis asked.
“One hundred and fifty.”
“You don’t look that old.”
Lestat chuckled. “Vampires don’t age physically past the age they were when they were turned.”
Louis shot him a look as if to say “well, obviously,” as if he wasn’t the one who just said Lestat didn’t look his age like he was confused by that fact.
“And you came to New Orleans…why?”
Lestat tilted his head at him. He’d already answered this question during their first meeting, he thought. A look inside Louis’s head revealed he was more curious as to Lestat’s reason for leaving France than he was as to why he chose this city specifically.
“I’ve always longed to travel,” Lestat answered. “I was born in a rather small, secluded village. I moved to Paris later in life, but she and I were simply not compatible. I heard many a tale of the new world from acquaintances I met during my travels, and seeing as how none in my family had ever ventured across the ocean, I figured…why not? Though, as you know, I had intended on settling in St. Louis initially.”
“And your family?” Louis asked. Lestat tried not to flinch at the unexpected question. “Where are they? Still back in your village?” Lestat tried to think how best to answer, but Louis wasn’t done just yet. “Do they know? Are they vampires too?”
“They’re long dead,” Lestat settled on. “I am the only de Lioncourt left.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a very long time ago.”
Louis took a quiet moment to think. “You want to make me like you,” he said, more as a statement than a question. “A blood drinker.”
A murderer. A monster.
“An immortal,” Lestat said, reaching for his ankle and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “A being of incomprehensible strength and agility. No illness, no accident could take you away from me. You would be nearly invincible, and you would never age.”
Louis considered this quietly for a moment. “You say nearly invincible?”
“Fire, beheading…” Lestat hesitated, knowing this to be the hardest thing to lose when giving up one’s humanity. “And the sun.”
Louis looked surprised at this information, but realization alighted in his eyes rather quickly. “That’s why we’ve only ever met at night,” he said. “That’s why you’ve always got the curtains closed. Is that also why you’ve got this secret room? Why you sleep in a coffin instead of a bed?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t go out in it at all? Not even for a short time?”
“A short time, yes, but it’s painful. Enough so that most avoid any exposure at all, unless the situation is dire. It depends on the age and strength of the vampire, how much damage is done and how quickly. But I have met vampires old enough that the sun no longer affects them. They can walk in direct sunlight for any duration without fear, just like a human.”
“Really?”
Lestat nodded, but he could tell by the look on Louis’s face alone that he was doubtful. Unfair really, considering Lestat had never lied to him before. Not about anything that mattered, at least—he didn’t need to know his mother still roamed the world. He didn’t want to talk about her, and Louis would never meet her anyways.
Doubt soon gave way to sadness, surprisingly. Lestat worried Louis’s thoughts were armed against his future turning, but was surprised to find something resembling pity instead. Pity for him, of all things. Lestat tried not to be too offended—he was breaching Louis’s privacy on a regular basis, after all. It was entirely his own fault if he encountered things in Louis’s mind that he didn’t want to hear.
“How long has it been?” Louis asked. “Since you last saw the sun?”
“A very long time,” Lestat said. 116 years exactly. “But I don’t miss it.”
Louis thought, briefly, that he probably wouldn’t miss it either. Paul walked towards the sunrise before he walked right off the roof. The sun would always carry that reminder for him.
Lestat sat on the bed next to him. He took him by the shoulders as he prepared to ask once more.
“Let me turn you, Louis,” he pleaded, all sincerity. “Become a vampire like me. All your problems: your mother’s hatred, your enemies’ attempts to use and belittle you, all of your shame and misery…” Lestat shook his head. “None of that will matter when you’re a vampire. You’ll outlive every hardship, shed these fleeting worries like dead skin and be born anew. Be my companion in more than just this life, Louis. Join me in eternity.”
He knew before Louis opened his mouth what the answer would be, addicted as he was to peeking into his mind. Louis heard his words and understood them but he refused to really consider them. He didn’t care much for the sun or for his sense of taste, but he drew a hard line at murder.
“I’m sorry, Lestat,” he said, sliding one hand under his chin. “But I don’t want your power. I don’t want to be a vampire. I just want you.”
< 33 >
Louis needed food.
Thankfully, the townhouse was equipped with a kitchen Lestat hadn’t intended to use. He arranged for the pantry to be stocked with all the common staples and hired a chef to come in and cook a meal for Louis once per day. Louis slept late—though surely not as late as himself, of course—and often went without breakfast. Evenings were reserved for dinner out on the town.
“And then she spilled it,” Louis said around a mouthful of bread. Politeness be damned, Lestat loved listening to him talk so animatedly, so focused on his story he could spare no thought for niceties. “All over the floor.”
“Oh dear,” Lestat said. “That must have been quite the mess.”
“Still got a huge stain in the carpet, mother refused to throw it out so she had us rearrange the furniture to cover it up.” He paused briefly to swallow. “I say us, but it was me doin’ all the pushing and shoving. Wasn’t about to make Grace lift a finger, knowing her condition. She just stood by and directed me where to move it.”
“How far along is she now? Four months?”
Louis nodded as he dipped his bread. Lestat could hear a band playing not far from the cafe—he intended to ask Louis if he’d like to check it out once he was finished eating.
“Seventeen weeks,” Louis said. “She’s convinced it’s gonna be a boy.”
Lestat raised an eyebrow at him. “Her chances might be higher,” he said, “But perhaps not. They could be identical twins.”
Louis froze in the middle of chewing. He swallowed quickly, then reached for his napkin to dab at his mouth. “They? Twins?”
“I heard two extra heartbeats last we visited together.”
“You can hear them?” Louis asked, dumbfounded.
“I have very excellent hearing,” Lestat said. “Vision as well.” He raised his chin at the pharmacy across the street, urging Louis to turn his attention to it. “See that sign? Second one on the door?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you read it?”
Louis squinted, clearly struggling. “Somethin’ about health…”
“Great health starts here.”
“Wow. You do have an eye on you.”
“The sign is easy,” Lestat said, shaking his head. “Can you see the shelves inside?”
“Barely.”
“I can read the labels on each bottle.”
Louis turned to look at him again, brows raised high. “No you can’t.”
Lestat grinned at him. He turned his sight to the bottles in question and read the labels one-by-one, even including the disclaimers in small text at the bottom.
“Wow.”
“Vampirism has many benefits,” Lestat said with a small shrug.
Oh boy, here it comes again.
Lestat laughed. “I can see it on your face, Louis. You’re thinking: he’s going to give me the speech again, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Weren’t you?” Louis asked, brows raised.
“Not tonight,” Lestat said, hands raised in mock surrender. “Tomorrow night, maybe…”
Louis groaned.
“Well perhaps if you would stop being stubborn and give in already, I wouldn’t need to give you the sales pitch every other night.”
“I’m not givin’ in, Lestat. I can’t do what you do every night—I’ve told you this.”
He was adamant for now, but Lestat was still confident he could change his mind one day.
“Yes, I heard you. But I’m not satisfied with your answer. I’ll change your mind one day, I’m sure of it.”
Louis looked down at his plate as he shook his head. Much as Lestat wanted to know what he thought about when he was given ‘the speech’, he’d learned from previous attempts that it simply wasn’t worth it. If he thought it would affect his decision at all, he would tell Louis that he could read his mind. The way things were though, it would probably only make Louis uncomfortable. Lestat didn’t want that.
“There’s a band playing just down the street,” Lestat said. “They sound quite good. Shall we check it out?”
He’d intended for them to get up close, but another idea presented itself to him when they reached the venue the band was playing at. Behind a heavy stack of wooden crates—a recent shipment from Europe, based on the labeling—was a narrow alleyway leading to a dead end. It was easy to move the crates out of the way just long enough to lead Louis into the alley, then turn around and put the crates back where they were.
“Weren’t we gonna check out the band?” Louis asked, raising his voice unnecessarily over the sound of the saxophone solo. “Why’re we in this dark alley? You’re not gonna kill me now, are you?”
Lestat grinned and took both of Louis’s hands in his. He stepped to the side gracefully, pulling Louis with him. It wasn’t until he spun him around in a circle that Louis finally caught on.
It was far from the kind of dancefloor they deserved. Lestat would much prefer to swing with him amidst the crowd, among the other couples, but that sort of thing wasn’t possible in a place like this. The best he could manage was a dark alleyway, hidden from prying eyes: a private place just for the two of them, where they could hold each other like husband and wife did. When he held Louis in his arms like that, all was right with the world.
They had time. Lestat would show him the true breadth of his love, get him addicted to it until he needed it just as much as Lestat needed his. Louis would eventually realize that nothing short of an eternity was enough time spent sharing that love.
Until then, Lestat would cherish every moment like it was their last.