When
he next woke, Louis was not at his side. The room was illuminated by a
single candle, yet somehow this small beacon provided enough light for the
entire room with ease. Lestat pushed back the blankets and stood, his pale
flesh gleaming in the firelight. He stared into the hearth, the roaring
fire long dead, and noticed that the clarity of his vision was astounding.
Somehow he could pick out each ember and flake of ash, each smoldered log
and greasy spot of soot upon stone. He rubbed his eyes and looked again,
but his sight remained just as impeccable as before. Shaking his head and
feeling half sick from too much magic as of late, Lestat decided to ignore
this latest turn of events. Nothing could return Black Cat to him, not
even improved sight.
The youngest son of the Marquis stood from the bed and noticed a
set of fine clothing neatly lying upon the back of a chair. As he buttoned
the fine linen shirt, he noticed the glimmering of his fingernails in the
candlelight. They shone light like cut glass against flesh now as pale and
white as snow. The white of his shirt could not compare with the pure
coloration of his skin.
Lestat shuddered, and then grew sad when he realized Black Cat
would never appear again to tell him what was wrong. This realization was
followed by a recollection of his promise to Black Cat -- he would give up
his old life for something new and indescribable with Louis. And ah God
Louis was beautiful, there could be no denying it . . . but Black Cat was
still dead. There were many questions Louis would have to answer.
When he had brushed his hair and felt presentable, Lestat left the
room and made his way to the dining hall. It was the place where the
painting hung, though Louis was obviously no longer a part of it; yet that
was the only happiness Lestat felt. He hesitated as he stood outside the
large ornate double doors, running his hands over the engravings
curiously. The beast had shattered them, of that he was certain, yet now
they were once more intact. Perhaps like his own wounds, the ethereal
inhabitants of Black Cat Castle had skillfully repaired what had been
broken.
Somehow, not by any means he could describe, Lestat sensed someone
approaching from behind. He turned before the man could speak and found
himself face to face with Louis himself. He was arrested by those strange
green eyes again, but blinked before the spell could take full hold. “You
have many answers to give, Louis. There are more oddities here than I can
count, and I think some explanation is in order. How were you trapped in
the painting in the first place, and why did killing Black Cat solve
anything? What was that monster and . . . and why does your presence make
me feel so weak in the knees?”
Louis smiled, “I think that the answer to your last question is
obvious. As for the rest, it is a long story but one you indeed have the
right to hear. Come with me to my chamber, for there is much I have to
tell you.”
Lestat nodded and followed, embarrassed about his own feelings for
a man he really didn’t know. As the pair made their way up the familiar
stone staircase, Lestat noticed that the clumps of dust which had been so
prevalent before were swept away, the mounds of wax built up over the
years, results from an untold number of candles burned throughout the
years of Black Cat’s residence, were replaced by stately candelabras
polished and clean. The abundance of light revealed tapestries of the
finest quality and of great size along the walls. Lestat ran his fingers
over one of them, a depiction of a middle-aged man facing a ravenous
She-Wolf, and was surprised to find the material soft to the touch despite
its apparent age. Water stains and humidity had left their marks upon the
scene, but the despairing visage of the man himself, in fact all of the
detail was crisp and clear. Lestat even fancied he could make out the
individual threads chosen by the weaver. So many different shades had been
spun into the landscape that he found himself entranced.
Louis touched his arm lightly, looking at the tapestry with keen
interest. “Dante had to face this monster before he could move on with his
life and discover the secrets of Heaven and Hell. It’s beautiful, isn’t
it?”
“It’s fantastic. I’ve never seen such craftsmanship. Was this here
before, when Black Cat lived? I walked up and down these narrow stairs
many times, but never before did I notice this, or any of the other
tapestries.”
Louis nodded. “Yes, these were in storage. Black Cat did not know
where the servants had stored them, and the servants couldn’t talk as you
well know.”
“He was very lonely. I don’t know how long he was here by himself .
. .” Lestat stared at the She-Wolf, its many breasts were not as
interesting to him as its face, twisted into a mask of hate to reveal rows
of sharp teeth. He shuddered and as Louis continued up the stairway Lestat
followed him, glad the tapestry was behind them.
“It was a great many years. Time passes very slowly for someone who
is alone . . . but then you came.” Louis looked at Lestat over his
shoulder and smiled as he opened the chamber door. He gestured for Lestat
to precede him, and then closed the door behind the both of them.
Lestat looked at the room, so very familiar yet changed at the same
time. It was obvious a person lived there, for the bed seemed used and all
the wood had been polished. Everything was inviting instead of dusty and
unused as it had seemed before. Lestat could almost see Black Cat sitting
on the bed again as the two of them discussed the demonic wolves. He felt
his eyes beginning to water as tears threatened. “If only I’d known, I
would have prepared myself better. I might have been able to kill that
thing, if I’d thought about the possibilities instead of arguing with
Black Cat. He might be alive now if I hadn’t . . . what’s this?” Lestat
saw a dark smudge on his hand out of the corner of his eye and, on closer
examination it was blood. He made a little gasp, then felt about,
wondering were it could have come from.
When he put his hands to his cheeks, his eyes, and saw new blood on
his fingers, he couldn’t help but cry out.
