"What's to stop you from killing me as soon as we switch bodies? That's just what you did to this creature you lured into your old body, with one swift blow to the head."
"Ah, so you have talked to Talbot," he said, refusing to be rattled. "Or did you merely do the research on your own? Twenty million dollars will stop me from killing you. I need the body to go to the bank, remember? Absolutely marvelous of you to double the sum. But I would have kept the bargain for ten. Ah, you've liberated me, Monsieur de Lioncourt. As of this Friday, at the very hour when Christ was nailed to the cross, I shall never have to steal again."
He took a sip of his warm tea. Whatever his facade, he was becoming increasingly anxious. And something similar and more enervating was building in me. What if this does work?
"Oh, but it will work," he said in that grave heartfelt manner. "And there are other excellent reasons why I wouldn't attempt to harm you. Let's talk them through."
"By all means."
"Well, you could get out of the mortal body if I attacked it. I've already explained you must cooperate."
"What if you were too fast?"
"It's academic. I wouldn't try to harm you. Your friends would know if I did. As long as you, Lestat, are here, inside a healthy human body, your companions wouldn't think of destroying your preternatural body, even if I'm at the controls. They wouldn't do that to you, now, would they? But if I killed you-you know, smashed your face or whatever before you could disentangle yourself... and God knows, this is a possibility, I myself am keenly aware of it, I assure you!-your companions would find me sooner or later for an impostor, and do away with me very quickly, indeed. Why, they would probably feel your death when it happened. Don't you think?"
"I don't know. But they would discover everything eventually."
"Of course!"
"It's imperative that you stay away from them while you're in my body, that you don't go near New Orleans, that you keep clear of any and all blood drinkers, even the very weak. Your skill at cloaking yourself, you must use it, you realize . . ."
"Yes, certainly. I've considered the entire enterprise, please be assured. If I were to burn up your beautiful Louis de Pointe du Lac, the others would know immediately, wouldn't they? And I might be the next torch burning brightly in the dead of night myself."
I didn't answer. I felt anger moving through me as if it were a cold liquid, driving out all anticipation and courage. But I wanted this! I wanted it, and it was near at hand!
"Don't go troubling yourself about such nonsense," he pleaded. His manner was so like David Talbot's. Perhaps it was deliberate. Maybe David was the model. But I thought it more a matter of similar breeding, and some instinct for persuasiveness which even David did not possess. "I'm not really a murderer, you know," he said with sudden intensity. "It's acquisition that means everything. I want comfort, beauty around me, every conceivable luxury, the power to go and live where I please."
"You want any instructions?"
"As to what?"
"What to do when you're inside my body."
"You've already given me my instruction, dear boy. I have read your books." He flashed me a broad smile, dipping his head slightly and looking up at me as if he were trying to lure me into his bed. "I've read all the documents in the Talamasca archives as well."
"What sort of documents?"
"Oh, detailed descriptions of vampire anatomy-your obvious limits, that sort of thing.
You ought to read them for yourself. Perhaps you'd laugh. The earliest chapters were penned in the Dark Ages and are filled with fanciful nonsense that would have made even Aristotle weep. But the more recent files are quite scientific and precise."
I didn't like this line of discussion. I didn't like anything that was happening. I was tempted to finish it now. And then quite suddenly, I knew I was going to go through with this. I knew.
A curious calm descended on me. Yes, we were going to do this in a matter of minutes. And it was going to work. I felt the color drain from my face-an imperceptible cooling of the skin, which was still hurting from its terrible ordeal in the sun.
I doubt he noted this change, or any hardening of my expression, for he went right on talking as before.
"The observations written in the 1970s after the publication of Interview with the Vampire are most interesting. And then the very recent chapters, inspired by your fractured and fanciful history of the species-my word! No, I know all about your body. I know more about it perhaps than you do. Do you know what the Talamasca really wants? A sample of your tissue, a specimen of your vampiric cells! You'd be wise to see that they never acquire such a specimen. You've been too free with Talbot, really. Perhaps he pared your fingernails or cut off a lock of your hair while you slept beneath his roof."
Lock of hair. Wasn't there a lock of blond hair in that locket? It had to be vampire hair! Claudia's hair. I shuddered, drawing deeper into myself and shutting him away. Centuries ago there had been a dreadful night when Gabrielle, my mortal mother and newborn fledgling, had cut off her vampire hair. Through the long hours of the day, as she lay in the coffin, it had all grown back. I did not want to remember her screams when she discovered it-those magnificent tresses once again luxuriant and long over her shoulders.
I did not want to think of her and what she might say to me now about what I meant to do. It had been years since I had laid eyes upon her. It might be centuries before I saw her again.
I looked again at James, as he sat there radiant with expectation, straining to appear patient, face glowing hi the warm light.
"Forget the Talamasca," I said under my breath. "Why do you have such a hard time with this body? You're clumsy. You're only comfortable when you're sitting hi a chair and you can leave matters entirely to your voice and your face."
"Very perceptive," he said, with unshakable decorum.
"I don't think so. It's rather obvious."
"It's simply too big a body," he said calmly. "It's too muscular, too ... shall we say, athletic? But it's perfect for you."
He paused, looked at the teacup thoughtfully and then up at me again. The eyes seemed so wide, so innocent.
"Lestat, come now," he said. "Why are we wasting time with this conversation? I don't intend to dance with the Royal Ballet once I'm inside you. I simply mean to enjoy the whole experience, to experiment, to see the world through your eyes." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd offer you a little drink to screw up your courage, but that would be self- defeating in the long run, wouldn't it? Oh, and by the way, the passport. Were you able to obtain it? You remember I asked you to provide me with a passport. I do hope you remembered, and of course I have a passport for you. I fear you won't be going anywhere, on account of this blizzard-"
I laid my passport on the table before him. He reached up under his sweater, and withdrew his own from his shirt pocket and put it hi my hand.
I examined it. It was American and a fake. Even the issue date of two years ago was fake. Raglan James. Age twenty-six. Correct picture. Good picture. This Georgetown address.
He was studying the American passport-also a fake- which I had given him.
"Ah, your tanned skin! You had this prepared specially ... Must have been last night."
I didn't bother to answer.
"How very clever of you," he said, "and what a good picture." He studied it. "Clarence Oddbody. Wherever did you come up with a name like that?"
"A little private joke. What does it matter? You'll have it only tonight and tomorrow night." I shrugged.
"True. Very true."
"I'll expect you back here early Friday morning, between the hours of three and four."
"Excellent." He started to put the passport into his pocket and then caught himself with a sharp laugh. Then his eyes fixed on me and a look of pure delight passed over him. "Are you ready?"