Chapter Text
January 6th, 2045, 6:30 pm
Les Diablerets, Switzerland
The train creaked under the weight of snow accumulating on the tracks, but Louis paid it no mind. His mind was elsewhere, focused on something far more important than the journey itself. He was deep in the Swiss Alps, in an isolated area full of pine trees and thick forest of wood.
Daniel Molloy had given him few details about the mission. In fact, there was also little information that directly concerned him. Maybe he did it on purpose, Louis thought. He looked out the window: snow fell on everything, soft and silent.
The train arrived prompt at the Les Diablerets station. Molloy had told him that someone would be waiting for him. Sure enough, there it was: a black limousine covered in frost, just outside the railway station. Next to the car, a faint light from an old lamppost illuminated a tall, imposing figure.
Louis approached, dragging his luggage toward the elegant car, where he was greeted by the cold face of a serious, slicked-back chauffeur.
The old driver asked him, “Vampire?”
Louis simply nodded. Humans were used to it by now. At least, the ones he worked with, those employed by Kairos.
Kairos had been founded in 2027. It was an international organization that worked extensively throughout all the world, with many collaborations and external contributors.
Everything had started when a group of humans had discovered the existence of vampires. In exchange for their silence, a fragile but effective alliance had been formed: a small number of supernatural agents would provide assistance in international missions on behalf of Kairos. The network had grown rapidly, attracting funding and resources from governments that preferred to maintain control over these creatures, rather than face them as an uncontrollable threat.
Louis was currently in Les Diablerets, in mid-January, precisely on behalf of Kairos. Another secret operation. Louis had been contacted by Kairos in 2031, following a recommendation from Molloy. He had been keeping an eye on him for some time, the old man had said from behind his glasses. Louis thought he might feel useful, being part of Kairos. He thought he could contribute to something important, help humans, do his best to repay his debt — the blood he needed to feed on to survive. To satisfy the monster inside him.
There was something different this time though, Louis could feel it in his bones, as the car slid toward the Hôtel de Bercy, the place where he would be staying for the next four weeks. He pulled out the bundle of files that had been sent to him digitally from Kairos. He had sensed from the start that Molloy was hiding something from him. This mission, this remote location, his sudden involvement… everything seemed too important not to be.
Lately, something had been changing. Rumors were spreading among the vampires, not everyone shared Kairos's vision. A silent conflict was brewing, a kind of cold war between Kairos and a secret organization known only as “The Congregation”. It was said to be made up of humans and supernatural creatures united in a different kind of belief: the supremacy of the monsters over humanity.
While Kairos sought a balance — or at least Louis believed so —, a way to integrate vampires into society without revealing their existence to the world, The Congregation worked in the shadows, sabotaging operations, recruiting powerful creatures, and accumulating secrets. Louis knew that by working for Kairos, there could be a certain element of risk of encountering The Congregation. It already happened to him once, in 2042.
Every piece of information obtained, every step forward, could affect the balance between humans and supernatural creatures.
December 27th, 2044, 10:05 am
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
The sun was high beyond the thick curtains of his desert penthouse. Louis was lying on the couch, flipping through old art books.
When he wasn't working for Kairos, Louis liked to immerse himself in the comfort provided by the faded figures of tormented painters, to observe the technique of the most sublime masters of photography. Humanity could still hold great surprises. When you had less time at your disposal, less life to spend, it was easier to dedicate yourself to something, to give yourself to art. Louis had all the time in the world, but he kept postponing the moment when he would create something. And besides, he had no life to spend, he thought bitterly as he was caught up in Francis Bacon's Five Decades. He was already dead.
He never really slept. His thoughts had conditioned him to a state of vigilant, disturbed slumber. The blood never stopped pulsing in the darkness of his mind.
When the phone rang, Louis was surprised. No one ever called him during the day, for any reason. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grabbed the phone. The name on the screen made him tense.
Daniel Molloy.
Louis pursed his lips. He never answered Daniel's calls immediately. He didn’t want to give Kairos the impression he was always available, didn’t want to be one of those agents who said yes without a second thought. He let the phone ring six or seven times, then pressed the button.
“Louis,” said Molloy, simply, his voice direct and confident, as usual.
“Daniel,” Louis responded, through clenched teeth. He had wanted to sound calm, almost distracted, but not enough to hide a hint of irritation.
“It must be urgent if you're calling me at this hour. It’s only been two weeks since the Cairo mission ended.”
Louis had played a particularly tough role in that mission. His thoughts were interrupted by Molloy's laugh. The sound was dry and hid a certain unease.
“I don't like to disturb you during your… rest. But yes, it’s urgent. We need you.”
Louis let himself fall back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
“Not this time. I'm trying to take a break. You have other agents.”
“Not for this mission.”
There was something in Daniel's voice, a kind of insistence that made Louis turn toward the window, where the sun dazzled the faces of humans on the horizon. A spark of curiosity stirred within him, but he tried to suppress it.
“What kind of mission are we talking about?”
Daniel paused for a moment, a rare hesitation for him.
“Les Diablerets,” he finally blurted out. “It's a… delicate conference. There’s information we need to acquire, but we can’t use our usual methods. We need to be subtle, discreet.”
Louis smiled bitterly. “Subtle and discreet? And you call me?”
Daniel didn’t laugh. “Yes. Because you’re good. Because you're the best.”
Louis raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “And what aren’t you telling me? Because there’s always something.”
“You’ll have a partner.”
The missing name hung in the air, like a shadow Louis could almost see.
“Who?”
“A Frenchman. His name is Lestat de Lioncourt.”
Louis stiffened, gripping the phone. For a moment, the silence between them was total.
“Do you know him?” Molloy asked, slightly concerned.
In a low, controlled voice, Louis said: “No.” Then he quickly added, “I know what they say about him. None of it is good.”
Lestat de Lioncourt was a well-known name, for reasons Louis preferred to ignore but couldn’t avoid. His legendary reputation was… utterly unacceptable. He paraded around as if being a vampire was something fascinating, something to be proud of.
“Listen, this…” Molloy stopped, as if searching for the right words. “Lioncourt. He's over the top, theatrical, unpredictable. We need you to keep your eyes and ears open.”
“I’m not a fucking babysitter,” Louis practically growled. Kairos had been playing games with him lately, testing his patience.
“Louis,” Daniel's voice became calmer, more serious. “We have no other choice. He’s already on the ground. He knows some of the participants. He speaks perfect French,” the old man coughed, pausing. “And you… you’re the only one who can handle him.”
Louis closed his eyes. Fatigue seemed to rise from his bones, like poison.
“Why?”
“This mission is important, Louis,” Daniel said, not with anger, but with the firmness of someone who knew he was right. “More important than I can explain over the phone. I’ll send you the details in a few days, but know that The Congregation might be involved. If they manage to infiltrate that conference, it’ll be a disaster.”
The Congregation. Just the mention of it made Louis shudder, but he didn’t show it. He got up from the couch and approached the window, staring at the city glowing in the afternoon sun behind the dark curtains.
Then, Daniel’s voice softened. There was something strange in his tone, a certain weight Louis had never heard before, as if Daniel was carrying a burden too heavy to share.
“Louis, I’m asking you because I know I can trust you. This is not the time to doubt Kairos. Focus only on the mission.”
“And what happens if I say no?”
Daniel was silent for a moment. Then, in a low, almost resigned voice, he said, “You know you won’t.”
Louis gritted his teeth. He trusted Daniel, unlike Kairos, which seemed increasingly unsteady lately, anyway. There was something in the man - a genuine humanity, a passion for truth -, that set him apart from the other agents, always pragmatic and detached.
Maybe it was because Daniel had been a journalist, long ago. Maybe that’s why Louis felt comfortable with him: Daniel never seemed to truly belong to Kairos.
Like him, he was a separate entity. Something different.
Louis glanced at the Francis Bacon he’d left on the table. The silence was perfect, muffled, as it always was when the day forced him into stillness.
“I’ll be there.”
February 25th, 2042, late night
Bucarest, Romania
The wind howled through the decrepit windows of the abandoned warehouse, biting through the thick layers of snow that had piled up outside.
Louis adjusted the lapels of his coat as he stepped into cavernous room. It was dark, lit only by the faint glow of candles arranged in a haphazard ritualistic pattern. Symbols were scrawled on the walls - circles, runes, things Louis couldn’t decipher but instinctively disliked. The cold, sharp wind had cut through the shattered windows, carrying the faint scent of blood and charred flesh. His boots crunched softly on the concrete floor, but that wasn’t the sound that made his chest tighten.
It was the faint, wet rasp of someone breathing — hard and shallow.
“Alexei,” Louis whispered, his voice barely audible.
The sight before him made him freeze. Alexei, a veteran Kairos agent and his current partner for the mission, was slumped against the far wall of the warehouse, in the back corner. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the cracked floor. His red hair, usually tied neatly, was damp with sweat and tangled. His brown eyes flickered weakly toward Louis, recognition sparking faintly before dimming again.
Louis rushed forward, kneeling beside his fallen partner. “Alexei, what happened? Who did this to you?”
Alexei’s lips trembled as he tried to speak, but all that came out was a guttural cough, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. Louis’s hands hovered uselessly over the wounds on Alexei’s torso - deep, jagged gashes that glowed faintly with a sickly blue light.
The runes.
Louis had heard whispers about weapons like these - tools crafted by the Congregation to kill vampires in ways that made survival impossible.
“Stay with me,” Louis urged, his voice steady despite the dread clawing at him. He glanced around the dimly lit space, searching for anything that could help. “I’ll get you out of here. Just hold on.”
Alexei’s hand shot out, gripping Louis’s wrist with surprising strength for someone so close to death. “No… you… listen…” His voice was hoarse, barely a rasp, but the urgency in it was unmistakable.
Louis leaned closer, his dark hair brushing against Alexei’s bloodied shoulder. “What is it?”
“They… they knew we were coming,” Alexei gasped. “It’s not just humans. The Congregation… it’s inside Kairos.”
Louis’s breath caught. “What are you talking about?”
“They have allies,” Alexei rasped. “Traitors. This war… it’s already begun. You have to… you have to choose your side.” Alexei croaked, his eyes locking onto Louis’s with a ferocity that belied his failing body. “Someone…someone is feeding them information. That’s how they knew.”
Louis felt the weight of those words settle in his chest like a stone. Traitors. Inside Kairos.
Alexei’s grip loosened slightly, and his gaze flickered toward the shadows of the room. “They… they’re here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Louis’s head snapped up, his senses sharpening. He scanned the space, his green eyes narrowing as he caught the faint shuffle of footsteps echoing in the distance.
“They wanted you to come,” Alexei continued, his words slower now, each one a struggle.
“Enough,” Louis said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you here. We’ll finish this together.”
But Alexei’s faint smile told him otherwise. “No… you need… to go. Stop them.” His hand fell from Louis’s wrist, landing limply on the bloodied floor. His body began to tremble, his breaths growing shallower.
“Alexei,” Louis whispered, his voice breaking.
“I’m sorry,” Alexei said, his final words barely audible. And then, before Louis could do anything, Alexei’s body convulsed once, twice - and then began to crumble.
Louis knelt there for what felt like ages, helpless, as the ash drifted between his fingers.
January 6th, 2045, 7:40 pm
Les Diablerets, Switzerland
Lioncourt. Louis gave a bitter smile; the very name of that man was ridiculous. He flipped through the digital files as the car slowly took him to his destination.
Lestat De Lioncourt. Born November 7th, 1760, in Auvergne, France. Apparent age: 30 years. Real age: about 285 years. Profession: operative agent, musician, writer, vampire.
Louis rolled his eyes for a moment, then kept reading.
Speaks French, English, Italian, and Ancient Greek. Height: 6 feet. Blond hair, blue eyes. Operative diagnosis: useful in high-risk missions requiring creativity and unconventional thinking. Problematic in operations requiring discretion or strict adherence to protocol. Code name for Operation Zenit: Julian Wilde.
There was no photo, but Lestat was described as “incredibly attractive, magnetic, and proud.” Louis had a terrible feeling in his gut.
When he lifted his eyes from the file, in front of him, in the distance, a massive alpine-style hotel emerged from the snow. It was imposing and chic. It exuded quiet elegance; it was no simple tourist lodge. It was more like a fortress. Louis looked at Molloy’s notes on the file. It read:
Hôtel de Bercy. 5-star luxury. High-security classification – strategic location for private meetings. Founded in 1987. Six floors, 120 rooms, including 20 luxury suites. Current mission: Operation Zenith (Kairos).
Louis wondered if Lestat was already there. The name burned on his tongue like a scar. The cold penetrated the limousine’s windows, fogging them up slightly. As the car slid down the grand entrance avenue, Louis glanced over the details of Operation Zenith, to which both he and Lestat had been assigned.
Operation start: January 6th, 2045. Primary objective: Acquisition of strategic information on the ‘Aurora’ project. Maintain agent cover at all costs, avoiding exposure that could compromise the operation.
Lestat was, apparently, the kind of person who stood out, and in a delicate mission like this, the fact that he had been chosen to accompany Louis annoyed him enormously. From what he had gathered, Lestat seemed to be everything Louis detested in an agent: impulsive, egotistical, and — worst of all — completely incapable of keeping a low profile. In other words, the opposite of everything Louis had always believed was necessary for success as a Kairos agent.
Louis moved on to the operational details:
Agents de Pointe du Lac and Lioncourt will be presented as a married couple on vacation. The cover is meant to justify access to the hotel’s VIP areas, reserved for ‘special’ guests.
The thought of having to pretend to be married to someone like Lestat made Louis shudder. He sighed as the car pulled up in front of the hotel’s main entrance. The cold was biting, but he didn’t really feel it. Just another one of the many inconveniences he carried with him, along with a body that never aged.
He stepped out of the car and looked around. The snow continued to fall heavily, covering everything, hiding any signs of life. It was an idyllic scene, and for a moment, Louis closed his eyes, enjoying a brief moment of peace before the storm that awaited him inside. If not for the operation, he might have admired the landscape, perhaps even taken a photograph to remember the moment. He approached the hotel entrance, his steps silent in the snow, and a feeling of unease crept under his skin. He had a bad feeling. Yes, something dreadful was going to happen.
There were no other cars in sight. Everyone must have already arrived. When Louis entered the hotel, he knew he had been right: the vast lobby of the Hôtel De Bercy was bustling with well-dressed men and women, with suits and ties and expensive jewellery. They were scattered across the room in small groups. Louis felt a strange sensation at the back of his neck, as if someone or something was watching him.
The chatter of the guests filled the space, and bellboys hurried back and forth, dragging trolleys piled high with luxury luggage. Inside the hotel, there was no trace of the relentless cold from the outside landscape: the décor was painted in warm colours, and the soft lighting gave the environment a sweet, vaguely sensual atmosphere. Louis squeezed himself into his black coat, waiting for the snow to melt off his shoulders. As the chauffeur unloaded his bags, his gaze wandered around the room.
It seemed as if time had stopped in the hotel. If it weren’t for the holograms broadcasting the news or the robotic assistants scattered around the room, it might as well have been 1912. A man with an eye patch smoked an Italian cigar, a real one, the kind of which Louis hadn’t seen in ages. A beautiful young woman smiled, engaged in conversation with what seemed to be a dear friend. At the far end of the room, Louis noticed an impressive crowd gathered around a man with dark skin and an elegant fedora.
There was just one figure in the group that, though, among all the others, caught Louis’s attention, and it wasn’t the charismatic man in the center.
The man who drew Louis’s attention was tall and blond, his hair was long, and brushing his shoulders. He seemed animated while talking with a group of women, and gesticulating dramatically. Louis couldn’t blame them: he was undeniably a beautiful man, one of the most striking Louis had laid eyes on, in at least a century or so. His profile was sharp as a blade. Suddenly, the man turned slightly, and Louis saw his eyes. Cold and blue as he had never seen before. That couldn’t be…
He shook himself slightly. He reminded himself, “Don’t be stupid.” He was there for a precise end. He has to complete the mission he was assigned to. He left a generous tip for the driver and made his way toward the reception desk, which was crowded with the constant ringing of phones and the shouts of concierges. Louis approached a sweet-looking redheaded girl. He read the name tag pinned to her chest: her name was Madeleine.
January 6th, 2045, 8:00 pm
Les Diablerets, Switzerland
“Welcome, monsieur…” Madeleine said, with a bright smile. She was waiting for him to complete the sentence.
“Steinbeck. Robert Steinbeck,” Louis replied, giving his code name. It was all written in the file Molloy had handed him.
Madeleine quickly typed something on her computer. Louis added: “I’m not sure if…” his voice raspy, as if he struggled to say the words, “…if my husband has already arrived.”
Louis hoped Madeleine would say no, that Julius Wilde wasn’t the stranger he had seen earlier in the lobby. For a moment, Madeleine’s eyes deceived him. Maybe Lestat was someone different, someone less…
“En fin! There you are, at last!” Louis heard a voice shouting from behind him.
He turned, and all his hopes crumbled in an instant. It was him, the blond man, Lestat. With his gorgeous hair, and his blue eyes that almost appeared grey. He was dressed in a black suit that fit him like a glove.
“My husband is always late,” Lestat purred, turning to Madeleine in fluent French. His voice was low and husky, warm and incredibly sensual. Louis mentally scolded himself for even thinking such nonsense.
Then Lestat looked at Louis and, with a small smirk, planted a kiss on his cheek, without malice, wrapping an arm around his waist.
Louis blushed. His body felt like it was on fire. Things were already off to a bad start. This Lestat was already putting him on edge, with his flair and his frenchness. It irritated Louis that Lestat seemed so comfortable already, playing the affectionate husband.
Madeleine didn’t seem to notice anything. On the contrary, she began chatting amiably with Lestat in French. Louis took a moment to assess his situation: he would have to spend four weeks, a whole damned month, pretending to be married to a “man” (at least, as far as everyone else knew) who had the charm of a predator and the arrogance of someone who was used to always getting what he wanted.
He only snapped out of it when he heard the word “Suite”, spoken by Madeleine.
“Ah, the room, of course, mon cher. We’re in the 422,” Lestat said, then added, turning to the concierge, “I’ll show him.”
“Your key, monsieur.” Madeleine handed Louis a magnetic card. Her smile was unwavering.
Louis’s mouth was dry, he had not thought of that. It was clear as day: they were married, so naturally, they would have to share a room. They would have to share a bed, even. “Fuck it”, thought Louis. He could do it. After all, he was a professional.
He felt a strange sense of relief when Lestat released his grip on his waist. Then they waved goodbye to Madeleine, and as they quickly made their way through the hall full of prying eyes and ears, Lestat practically shouted, as to be heard by others:
“En fin, mon cher. Toujours en retard, hein?”
They arrived at the elevator doors. While they waited, Louis glanced around: this damned place was filled with all kinds of people. He and Lestat would have to be very careful; danger lurked beneath the pearls and brocade covering the hotel. Lestat said nothing, observing him, curious and vigilant. Louis wondered why in the world he had been saddled with such misfortune. That man, or rather, that vampire, was as attractive as he was totally vain. Louis only wanted a bit of peace.
The elevator dinged with a metallic sound, and the doors slowly opened, revealing a crowded interior of businessmen and businesswomen. Louis and Lestat entered, greeting those present with a “Bonjour.” They moved quickly, like shadows among the crowd.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of polished shoes on the marble floors and the whispers of a few men in ties.
Louis moved to one of the walls, trying not to draw attention. Every fiber of his body was tense, aware of the breathing of those around him, of their lives pulsing beneath the surface, like taut strings ready to snap. He could the blood, pumping wildly through their veins. It had been two days since he last fed. He knew he had made a mistake not to eat before coming here.
The smell of sweat mixed with expensive cologne irritated him, but his appearance remained calm to those in the elevator, except for Lestat, who slid to his side, as if to reassure him. His body slightly shielded Louis, who could bring his attention on Lestat's broad shoulders. Louis wandered his eyes on Lestat’s imposing figure, who was impeccably wrapped in his suit. Unlike Louis, he seemed completely at ease, with a subtle smile on his lips.
The elevator ascended, the air thick with tension, the excitement between the present palpable. Whispers were going on, about the conferences and the talks scheduled for the next few weeks. Louis shifted his focus from Lestat for a brief moment, considering what Daniel hah had said to him: in this very moment, Congregation’s members could be ready to strike.
The man next to Louis, a corpulent man with a briefcase that smelled of old leather, turned for a moment toward him. His eyes were drawn to Louis’s almost too-perfect face, unable to look away. A wave of discomfort swept over Louis’s mind; he could feel the man’s attraction to him, in his thoughts and in his scent. He tried to remain undaunted; he didn’t want to violate the humans’ privacy, to reveal once again his true nature, the one that had defined him for centuries: a predator disguised as a man. He could no longer afford to act like a vampire among humans. He had to blend in, breathe the same air without slipping too easily into what he really was.
Lestat must have noticed the man’s attention toward Louis, because he leaned casually against the wall, with an amused expression, and fixed his gaze on him.
His eyes were sparkling, his shoulder casually brushed against Louis's arms, as if in an apparently casual movement. The man seemed to have picked up on something, sweating profusely, breathing heavily. Louis glanced at Lestat, who was still looking at the man, impassive. What was he doing this to that poor guy? The unfortunate man began to turn red in the face. The tension threatened to explode at any moment. Louis felt electrified by the contact with Lestat’s body. He emanated a strong scent of wild pine and blood.
Then, suddenly, the elevator's sound interrupted the moment. They had arrived on the fourth floor. The elevator creaked, and they stepped out, the man forgotten for the time being. Lestat began to lead him to room 422. He walked with confidence, as if he had never doubted himself, as if he wasn’t ashamed of being a monster. Louis hated the way Lestat felt so comfortable in his own immortal skin, while he continued to struggle against every instinct that pushed him to be as bold and free as Lestat. There was a part of Louis that couldn’t help but envy him, a part that longed for that same confidence.
“We should be more careful,” Louis growled, his voice low. His tone was graver than usual, with a hint of concern that rarely surfaced in his voice.
“Relax, mon cher,” Lestat replied, smiling at the people as they passed on the landing. “These people are unaware of anything, they only care about business and money.”
Louis could feel Lestat’s presence beside him as they walked toward their suite. There was nothing physical, but just a weird energy that passed between the two of them: a premonition, maybe it wasn’t even there. Maybe Louis was imagining things.
His — no, their room was clean and eccentric. Louis’s eyes lingered on the double bed in the middle of the room. Lestat must have noticed his worried expression because he said:
“Don’t worry. I’m as docile as a lamb.” A flash in Louis’s mind. Lestat, with his teeth sunk into the neck of a victim.
“And besides, you’re not my type,” Lestat added, breaking Louis’ thoughts.
Louis didn’t reply, and for a moment, he suppressed the flicker of disappointment that those words had caused him. Inside, he could feel his guts burn. He began to wander around the room for a bit, focusing on anything but Lestat’s direction. He never allowed himself distractions, and this time was no exception: he would do his job, and he and Lestat would part ways. They would never see each other again — that’s how Kairos always wanted it for its agents.
He inspected his surroundings. The room was dark, and decorated with draperies and precious fabrics. There was a luxurious bathroom, with marble furniture and a huge tub with silver knobs. The space looked comfortable. One corner was filled with a huge walk-in closet, where Lestat had already taken up most of the space.
When he came out of the closet, Lestat was there, waiting for him. The dim light of the oil-lit lamps made his face shimmer like the moon.
Louis wished he hadn’t been at all attracted to that vampire, who now held out his hand and purred:
“I’m Lestat de Lioncourt, by the way. I suppose you must be…”
Lestat let his eyes drift over Louis’s body, a slow, seductive movement. Louis felt trapped. He took Lestat’s hand and shook it. It was cold and hard. He noticed his fingers, long and elegant, then opened his mouth, ready to respond, but Lestat beat him to it:
“There’s no need for you to tell me. I know who you are. Louis de Pointe du Lac.” he recited, with confidence. “Born October 4, 1877, in New Orleans, Louisiana, United States of America. Real age: 147 years. Businessman, collector, art expert. Fluent in four languages. Green eyes, dark hair…” Lestat looked at him once more, in that strange, lascivious way, and Louis’s stomach twisted as it had just a moment before. “Are you always this tense?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business. I’m here just to complete the mission,” Louis spat out.
Lestat simply raised an eyebrow, looking amused. He said nothing. Louis spoke again.
“The men you were talking to earlier…” he began.
“Oui”
“Who are they?”
“Already jealous, mon cœur?” Lestat teased. Louis hoped he wasn’t blushing, and shot him a threatening look. Lestat chuckled.
“Pardonne-moi. I like to have a little fun,” his thick French accent was irritating. “They are our target, supposedly. We need to gather as much information from them as possible.”
Louis was surprised; Lestat seemed to know more than he did.
“Are they part of the…?” he asked, leaving the name hanging.
“Yes, Kairos suspects they may belong to the Congregation. It’s up to us to confirm their doubts.”
Lestat licked his lower lip, and Louis couldn’t help but follow the movement with his eyes.
He stepped out of the closed, to go outside, on the room’s balcony. He looked for a moment at the snow-covered peaks of the mountains around the Hôtel De Bercy. One month. He would have to endure a whole month. There was more to this, Louis knew it. What kind of situation had he gotten himself into? And why had Molloy specifically wanted him for this mission? This Lioncourt seemed quite sure of himself.
“Ah, Louis,” Lestat’s voice said behind him. Louis ignored the sensation he felt upon hearing his name pronounced in such an obscene way. “They left us a complimentary bottle of champagne, but I’m afraid I drank it all last night. Je suis désolé, je suis un vrai méchant.”
Louis didn’t even feel like responding, but the temptation to make him explode with a few venomous words was too strong.
“I can treat you with something at the bar downstairs. You can choose whatever you want. It’s on me,” Lestat offered.
“Don’t you think this mission could be a disaster?” Louis asked instead, his gaze still fixed outside. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not here to have fun.”
Lestat took a step toward him, as if drawn to the very tension Louis was trying to push away. Louis could feel his presence behind him,
“Relax, Louis. It’ll be a walk in the park.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Louis’s eyes. The cover, the mission, their survival: everything already seemed in danger, and yet Lestat was already showing signs of carelessness. But Louis knew he had no choice. They would have to work together.
Reluctantly, Louis turned toward him, ready to say something cutting, but stopped when he saw Lestat’s smile: a smile that seemed to promise nothing but trouble.
“Allons-y, Louis. Let’s go. L'alcool awaits us. Don’t be so serious” he made one step toward him, and then put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s be honest: you and I both know this mission isn’t just a job. It’s a dance, and you’re my dance partner,” Lestat said, as if the words were just beginning to chart the course of their dangerous misadventure.