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As it turned out, coming up with things to keep oneself busy was an occupation in itself. Never in his life had he had so much spare time on his hands, which was mostly by design. He found out about his ability to stay up much later after the sunrise a century ago. Around the same time, he realized the sun didn’t harm him as violently as it used to. If this was Amadeo in his place, he would’ve found this loophole an excellent opportunity, finally free from the collective watchful eye of the cult. But he was not there anymore. There was only Armand. And the city where he lived was not a dazzling Venice of mature years of quattrocento. He did not care for exploring or contemplating. Worst of all, there wasn’t enough of him left to even be ashamed of it. He stuck to the rituals. Allowed the flow of routine to swallow him whole. There was no routine now.
So he walked, listened to the chatter of mortals around him, read some books. Thankfully, there still were better days. When Lestat was free from his meticulous preparations for his leave and had no excuses not to see his beloved Nicki. This is where he needed Armand as a reliable distraction.
Armand found out that this was one of those nights the second he opened his eyes. Last morning, he fell asleep with his coffin still open. He could see that the sun had already gone down, and his small attic apartment glowed softly in blue light from a single window facing the street. Armand placed furniture so that the large, half-empty wardrobe blocked the sun from touching his coffin while still letting the light into the room. During the days when sleep felt just as impossible as living, he liked looking at little particles of dust flying in direct sunlight.
Now he simply lay with his eyes closed motionless, listening to the crackle of Lestat's nails scraping the stones of the old building while he was making his way to the attic. Next came a vaguely annoyed clang of a window lock being ripped and the thump of Lestat’s boots landing on the floor next to it. Then came the silence, interrupted only by a steady beat of Lestat’s heart and his slow breathing. He was still doing endearing little things like that—breathing, yawning, stretching his limbs. Armand collected each in his memory, thinking about them when the long stretch of time became almost unbearable.
“You do realize I know you’re not sleeping?”
Armand opened his eyes and sat up. He was fully dressed in a newly tailored shirt and breeches. Only his waistcoat, intricately embroidered in agreement with contemporary fashion, was hanging in the wardrobe. Lestat bought it all for him a week ago. He also insisted on putting it on, painstakingly fastening every little button and fixing up all the frills. Not touching even a sliver of Armand’s skin. Afterwards, they went on a walk. All Armand remembers of it is the feeling of his gums pulsing behind his upper lip. He hasn’t actually changed his clothes since then. But he always slept still enough that it was barely creased. He dusted himself, paying close attention to arranging the shirt’s ruffles.
“Hello Lestat. Is there a reason for your visit? Gabrielle gave me a clear notice that you were supposed to leave some time this week.” He said without looking up.
“How could I leave you without saying goodbye!” Lestat flopped down on a chair standing next to the wardrobe, stretching his legs. He was wearing heavy hunting boots instead of his usual buckle shoes. Clearly, he already knew where they would be going. “But I’m not doing that today. There's a problem with one of my theater accounts, so we need to stay here until it's all sorted out. But Rodger assured me it would take just a couple of days. Are you free for the night?” Talking animatedly, he was looking around the room with great interest.
He hadn’t been here before. He laughed when Armand said he could always stay the day. Maybe once you’ll have a door. The place had a door, actually. It had been barricaded soon after Armand moved in. Other tenants of the building believed a ghost haunted their house.
“I promised I would visit the theater. Do you want to come with?” Armand asked a little unkindly. Lestat hasn’t actually been in the theater ever since he had that nasty spat with Nicolas. If he were to ask him, Armand would certainly advise on taking mercy on a boy incapable of enduring a life more suited for people like Lestat. Strong-willed and stubborn. But nobody was asking him.
Lestat made a complicated face and shifted on the chair, putting one leg over the other. “Actually, I already had plans, and you are invited. There is something I need done before my departure.”
“And your amante is, of course, too preoccupied to keep you company?”
“And do you always speak of things you know nothing of? I asked you to come because you seem awfully lonely and I feel responsible for stopping you from whittling your newfound freedom away,” Lestat answered defensively. He always got so touchy when Armand mentioned his relationship with Gabrielle. At first, he thought it was simple insecurity. Lestat knew he was right. It was only a question of time when her growing resentment would make itself known. But having gotten to know him better in the last few weeks, he realized that there might be some shame too. How funny. Armand does not particularly care for the nature of Lestat’s relationship with his mother. In the cult, any physical pleasure was considered an awful offense and was strictly forbidden. In the walls of his master’s palazzo, any sex was good as long as no one was crying. Although Armand later found out that sometimes crying during sex wasn’t always something bad. He had no point of reference for why he should feel judgmental. Of course, it wasn’t morally correct by human standards, but what does this have to do with them?
“So are you coming?” Lestat asked, already standing with a hand on his hip.
His broad figure was bathed in silver light. It created a blue halo around his head, and it seemed as if he was lit up from the inside. Armand could see little hairs near the top of his head frizzing. They would never grow out. Something in Armand hurt at the thought. Standing in front of the only window, he cast a long shadow over the room. Armand wouldn’t have minded at all sitting just like that for the rest of the night, but they already had plans.
Lestat told him all about it while they were climbing over the roofs towards the slums. He knew Lestat preferred to feed there or amuse himself by watching criminals at work. Today he wanted to partake in action. But instead of waiting for a thief to ambush a human who might become an unwilling witness, it was Armand who had to play a dupe. Lestat, always the actor, of course, chose the role of a romantic hero coming to the rescue. Which was fine. He hadn’t been keen on participating in any of the theater’s plays, but this was…different.
“I have seen one pair here twice this week. Terribly clumsy! They always make such a spectacle. Just yesterday, they managed to accidentally stab a lamplighter! Oh, this will be quite entertaining!” Lestat seemed positively giddy that someone was willing to go along with his games.
He was walking ahead and the night wind blew his hair right into his wide laughing mouth whenever he turned around to make sure Armand was following, which should have made him look ridiculous, but somehow, he still looked very charming. He practically skipped down into a small alleyway, gesturing to Armand to come. On any other occasion he would have simply floated down the length of the building, but he was wary of showing Lestat too much of what he could do. Mostly because it wasn’t something he knew how to teach or even if it could be taught. So now he had to awkwardly climb down. Even with preternatural grace, he sometimes couldn’t master the length of his limbs that were still too boyishly long for his body. Finally, making it to the ground, he adjusted his shirt. From here the stench became overpowering. He felt a thin layer of grime clinging to his palms from touching a decrepit building. He looked around. Lestat was nowhere to be seen, which meant they had begun.
According to the plan, Armand needed to go into a somewhat crowded street where the criminals were usually fishing out their potential victims. Being dressed as he was, there was no doubt he could attract their attention. Then he must go into the nearest alleyway and lead them as far away from human eyes as possible. When they came close enough, Lestat would appear to aid him and they'd share them together.
The first problem arose when it turned out the pair was not outside looking for a prize. Instead, they were getting drunk in one of the dingy inns. Armand didn’t have the heart to tell Lestat that there was no chance they were going anywhere this evening, so he had to improvise. Malleable drunk mortals needed just a gentle mental nudge in the right direction. And soon both of them, stumbling a little, were outside following Armand along a narrow, dirty street.
Eventually, they turned on a corner that led into a dead end between abandoned hovels. There Armand turned around to look at them. Their eyes were a little muddy from booze and mind tricks. Still, both of them seemed rather confident they could score some money and continue their drinking elsewhere.
The fat red-haired one pulled a little jackknife out of the pocket of his jacket, gripping it closer to the blade to manage his shaking hands. The older blonde one was coming closer to him from the other side, his hands pressed tightly into fists. Deep veins along his arms were pulsing from the strain, and his overworked heart was beating deafeningly loud. There was a good chance that even if he hadn’t met them, he still wouldn’t have lived very long. Well, no way of knowing for sure. Just as Armand was wondering which of the two crooks Lestat would prefer to claim for himself, he saw a flash of golden hair. The man holding the knife was suddenly choking as Lestat gracefully wrapped his palm around his neck. Then he looked up at Armand and winked. Maybe Armand should’ve stayed at the theater for tonight.
Scared, the man tried to break free, flailing and clearly forgetting about the weapon in his hand. The choice made, Armand turned to the other and, with little fuss, grabbed the man by his shoulder, pulling on his wrist. He pressed his fangs into the long, beautiful vein he had been eyeing earlier. To make sure the man wouldn’t pull away and dirty his new shirt, he faintly pressed on his mind. Which was still apparently too much for his worn-out heart that started palpating dangerously, and before Armand could come even close to sating, the man perished. Armand was left hungry and unpleasantly tipsy. The last memories of a poor sod still reeling through his mind — a little house somewhere in the countryside, grueling work, a lot of drink and fighting. Crying face of a young woman begging to take anything from her purse and let her go. Him taking something else. Armand shuddered and shook his head to get rid of the picture. A dirty dress and blood on the cobbled stones of a sidewalk. Trying to get away from it, he looked for Lestat, who seemed to be in great spirits and more than a little inebriated.
“I told you it would be fun! I’ve never had a drunk one before.” He laughed way louder than he should have, considering the cooling body at his feet. “Is there even the point of getting rid of them? I’m not sure someone will be looking. This one’s wife will definitely shed no tears. My God, am I really drunk?” He was opening and closing his eyes, trying to pull himself together.
“For a few moments, yes. And no, I think we should at least hide them somewhere in here before departing.”
“Yes, I have a few ideas for where we might go next! I should ask Gabrielle to join us.” When he turned around, Lestat was holding the man’s body, carefully balancing himself by leaning on the dirty wall. His smile was quite fetching and irresistible. Armand found himself smiling back. He wanted to say something to make Lestat laugh or to make him stop smiling at all.
After they dumped the bodies deeper into the rubble, Armand went farther south, away from the city, expecting Lestat to follow. Lestat, now steadier on his feet, did. Unfortunately, not silently.
"Are we running late somewhere? If you wanted an exercise, I would much rather spar.” He said hastily, trying to keep up behind him.
He knew there was no reason for him to go so fast. But something in him felt urgent, as if he did not show this to Lestat now, he might never get the chance. So he kept his silence and picked up his pace. Outside the city walls, the wind grew stronger. He felt an impossible chill. How quickly his body got used to the warmth of hole-free clothes and dry rooms, how strange that these creature comforts still made a difference even after centuries of living. Behind him, Lestat was laughing.
“I would have never expected a marathon to be your choice for after-meal entertainment!” He did not seem to even be out of breath yet, effortlessly jumping over debris and evading snapping tree branches, Armand did not let go of carefully.
Finally, they went out into a clearing. The path next was a winding road on a steep hill. There at the very top was located a campanile, unassuming and clearly abandoned. Its hip roof had lost most of the shingles and the walls were swallowed by vegetation, making it impossible to get inside. He turned to Lestat, who was looking around and mumbling something to himself about clothes appropriate for recreation.
“I need you to hug me.”
“Why would I do that?”
Armand came closer and, putting his hands around Lestat’s waist, got a good grip on his sides through the clothes. This up close, he could see a thin sheen of blood sweat on him. It left a stain on the collar of his shirt and made his face appear so human that he felt his throat tighten in something that was not quite hunger. Holding Lestat’s solid weight in his hands, he propelled himself upwards and suddenly felt Lestat’s hands grip his back, nails tearing the fabric. Well, not so hole-free anymore. But other than that, Lestat kept uncharacteristically quiet. The second Armand carefully landed him on the ledge of the belfry, he sprang back, trying and failing to appear casual.
“So is this an old vampire trick? How many years will I have to live to master it?” He was resolutely not looking Armand in the eyes, seemingly more interested in the consistency of plaster on the walls.
Armand paused at Lestat’s lack of surprise, at first unsure how to answer. “It does come easier with age. Though I can assure you it is not a very pleasurable experience, I’d much prefer being carried than to ever use the gift myself.”
Lestat made a loud sound that really tried to be a laugh. But before Armand could ask him about the reason for his distress or apologize for stepping out of line, Lestat whipped his hair that kept sticking to his damp face and looked around.
The second his eyes met the scenery in front of them, any worry seemed to melt from his features. He kept quiet, intently looking at the view. From this up high, the city was as clear as the palm of the hand. The lights were yet to be dimmed, and the streets were lively with commotion despite the late hour. Even with preternatural vision, little figurines blended into blurry shapes. It suddenly reminded him of those new wave paintings that he saw on one of his outings. Young boys were painting outside, but instead of precise meditation over the details and shapes he was expecting, they were seemingly more enthralled by the play of light and shadow. One of them, describing his, as he had explained later, finished painting told him he was simply capturing life as it is. He desperately wanted to know if Lestat had seen them, those pictures, if he understood why he brought him here.
“Well, this was certainly worth the hike!” Lestat turned to him, beaming clearly over whatever feeling had gripped him the moment before. “However have you found this place?”
“I came here by accident on one of my walks. Once I saw this view, I knew I wanted you to see it. Out of all the vampires in Paris, only you would appreciate its beauty.” There was something else Armand wanted to say, but the long hike and the drunk blood made him feel scattered and miserable. He stood with his mouth half open, not brave enough to move it in either direction. But Lestat’s face showed understanding. He put one of his warm palms against Armand’s face. His bottom lip quivered.
“You’re wonderful.” Ah, such dramatics.
“And why would you say—" but before Armand could finish speaking, they were kissing. Which was just as well. Armand liked kissing Lestat, and they had been doing exactly that in abundance for the last week without much progress. But Lestat was a good kisser, and Armand wasn’t so keen on moving things along. Without the bound of the children of darkness, his celibacy became self-inflicted. He wanted to break it just as much as his body refused to cooperate.
But this kiss felt different. Lestat seemed hungrier and more demanding. And it was not it, not quite, but the warmth spreading at the bottom of his stomach felt like sun on his skin. Like an Italian spring, so different from the perpetual cold of this place. He opened his mouth wider and gripped Lestat’s shoulders. Reached his fingers under the collar of the shirt, searching for a touch of his warm, almost lively skin.
The moment was broken by Lestat jumping away so suddenly that he almost fell down. In his flailing, he struck the rim of the bell, making it swing with his vampire strength. The clapper inside connected with one of the sides, resulting in a loud toll. It shook the stone walls and made Lestat grip the wooden beam connected to the wall behind him uncertainly. His face showed a mixture of fear and disgust. For a second, Armand felt as if, with a vibration of the bell, a red wave came over his body. His hands were shaking, and he tried to take an unnecessary deep breath before he could do something reckless. Like push Lestat off the ledge.
“Stop that!” Lestat scrunched his face like a child and raised his hands in the air. “Do not make that face. I should give you a mirror when you’re angry with me next time. Maybe you’ll realize why no one from the theater can bear to be near you sometimes!” The words felt like a slap on the face. Or a whip of a teacher’s switch. Armand felt the maroon mist dissipate and what it left was too big an emotion to feel right now, so he felt nothing.
“You’re frightened?” he asked, raising his arms in a placating gesture and taking a small step closer. “But for what reason? We both know you can best me in a fight if you so wish. And I assure you that falling from this height might only hinder you for a couple of nights and no more…”
“No! This is not—! I’m not—!” He waved his arms, trying to find the right words. Then he gripped Armand’s wrist and said, “See?” And Armand saw.
Sharing memories was the easiest part of a mind gift. Lestat, being so young, had more trouble concealing things. The memories went smoothly, but they had a muddy, dreamlike quality that vampire memories lacked. Vampires don’t feel the time passing. For them, memories of yesterday are as sharp as those of a third Tuesday of the last century. These were human memories. Of Paris, from a bird’s-eye view rushing beneath him, of strong, inhuman arms pulling him closer. The last memory of his life—a panorama of this city from the height of Magnus's tower, blurry, alive, and forever lost. The next time he looked through that window, it was different. He was different too.
Armand stepped back, overcome. Hazy memories clung to him like prickly straw under his naked, struggling body. But no, it was not his body. Not this time.
Lestat was standing tall as if trying to appear bigger. With a perfected mask of confidence, he flippantly shook his head.
“Excuse me, I just never thought I would ever see it again. For a second, I felt—" He pursed his lips and then suddenly laughed. The sound bounced from the surface of the bell, creating a soft shimmering melody. “Foolish of me to think I could get it back. I guess this is the price for the gift of the blood, is it not? When I was with my maker… before he was my maker, it was still real, human. But after my turning, it’s all empty.” Lestat spread his arms and then turned around, hiding his face. “Of course, I’m glad to have my mother, and Nicki is here and will one day be well, and your company was nice today. Ah! I don’t know if I’m making any sense. You’re so old you probably can’t even remember…”
“As I have told you before, you and I are creatures capable of true understanding. Just now I did not need to hear your words to know why you are so distressed, did I?” Armand came closer, putting his hand on Lestat’s. Gently he moved it higher, brotherly touch turning sensual. The next words were pronounced silently, mental connection growing stronger from physical closeness. “The years after my turning spent by my master’s side were the happiest of my life. I assure you, whatever made me into the thing you see today came to be much later. Your maker was a fool in how he created you and how he left you, but this does not mean that you are bound to this state.” Lestat tried to push Armand away, but he just pressed his body closer, his lips touching his temple. Caging him between his deceptively fragile arms, he continued. “You are still so alive. It’s just something you need to overcome. I would be very disappointed if this is the moment your seemingly infinite stubbornness decides to run out.”
Lestat huffed, still not quite looking Armand in the face. “I’m not stubborn.”
“Yes, yes,” Armand kissed his cheek, not being able to hold back. Pressing closer to Lestat’s warmth. “You’re brave. Such courage, an endless sea of intrepidity that is yet to face an obstacle it can’t surmount. All those qualities allowed you to live long enough to get to immortality. I believe they will serve you well for however long you choose to continue.” He whispered the last words into the side of his hair. His long limbs wrapping around him and keeping him closer, tight like a knot. The wind was blowing ceaselessly, howling through the chapel’s open louvers, but their bodies fell into a small enclave in the corner. There, protected from the piercing rush, they stood for a moment just touching, being near.
"We could return to my place. The previous owner left your beloved Shakespeare in his library,” Armand whispered, still reluctant to let go.
“Please tell me there are some comedies. I do not think I have a heart for a tragedy right now,” Lestat whined miserably. He was supple and relaxed in his hands. Armand desperately didn’t want to let go, but scared of ruining Lestat’s goodwill, he pulled back.
“There was one, I think. I haven’t started it yet. We’ll read it together then.”
“Yes,” Lestat nodded, still keeping close. He took Armand’s hand that was gingerly placed on his elbow. Kissed the soft underside of his wrist where fresh blood was pulsing rapidly. “You will read to me and we will kiss and all will be well.”
A long trip back, 20 pages and a few kisses later, came dawn.
Armand, sitting on the lid of the closed coffin, was surprised to actually feel its pull. Lestat seemed even worse for wear. Keeping upright by sheer force of will, which he had in abundance. After a blink that was too long, he got up from the chair he had previously pulled to the coffin so he could rest his legs on Armand’s lap. Then, still silently, he turned towards the attic window. He promised he would say goodbye. Armand considered if he could bear to ask Lestat again.
“Well, that won’t do!” Armand flinched, not expecting him to speak at all. Bewildered, he looked as Lestat put the wardrobe right up against the window, lifting it with ease. The light now was barely peeking through. “I hope you don’t mind, but I prefer to be on top.”
Armand just blinked owlishly. At Lestat’s raised brows, he got up and opened the coffin, not caring about books falling to the floor, and then just as silently lay down.
“Jesus, I have to buy you a nightshirt. This is getting ridiculous. Or should it be called a dayshirt?” Still babbling nonsense, Lestat took off his shoes and dropped his waistcoat over the back of the chair. Then he lay down next to Armand. It was a tight fit. Lestat’s weight pinned Armand’s left arm, and his shoulder pushed on his lungs. Then, finally falling quiet, he closed the lid.
Armand listened to Lestat’s breathing. He wasn’t sure what to do with his free hand, bending it at a painful angle to give Lestat more room.
“I am begging you to relax. What did you think would happen? There was no time to even go outside and dig a hole.” Lestat was speaking in a hushed voice. The words came out slurred, his body shutting down faster than his brain. But he was insistent on making himself heard. “So I decided I’ll stay and…I’ll stay…”
Whatever his last words were supposed to be, Armand could not hear them. Lestat finally stopped breathing, going into a deep sleep of an infant vampire. Despite his weariness, it would take Armand some time before he could follow. He brushed his hand up and down Lestat’s wide back and repeated his last words quietly to himself, imagining their new meanings. I’ll stay. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.