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(19) - (Louis/Lestat)
"Come out with me."
Louis's eyes flicked up and met mine over the top of his book. "That depends on where you're going."
I examined the room with distaste. This one, at least, had walls. Walls, and very little else. "Toronto isn't far. Someplace with music. Lights. People..."
"Who will sing your praises and wonder in voices only you can hear, is that him? Is that Monsieur Lestat de Lioncourt, the Vampire Lestat? Could it be?"
"And I will tell them the lovely raven-haired vampire at my side is the fabulous, beautiful, brilliantly melancholy Louis de Pointe du Lac, who has consented for once to roust himself from amidst his dusty tomes to grace them with his silently disapproving presence."
"I've mostly got over the melancholy."
"By whose standards, exactly?"
Louis removed a pillow from the sagging sofa and lobbed it at my head.
"Please," I said softly. "Come with me tonight."
Capitulation was already in his eyes, a warmth I'd come to expect, a warmth I'd longed to see again. He would fight, my Louis, he would deny me, and sigh at me for my vanity. He would do these things, but while he did them he would begin to smile, a slow, gentle smile that would break my heart.
"Lestat," he said quietly.
"You will come, then?"
"I should simply say yes, and send you off to get dressed. I give you five minutes in front of a wardrobe before you forget you ever asked me."
I ventured the most injured look I could summon, but I was secretly pleased. It was irrational, it was insanity, but the more I could irritate Louis, the more I loved him. "You insult me," I said huffily.
He examined me. Was it my imagination? Could his eyes have lingered on my golden hair, the narrow span of my hips? Could those eyes have warmed as they returned to mine, green and liquid? Oh, how I loved the way he looked at me now.
"I suppose," he said critically, "you'll do."
Immediately I looked down at myself. Black leather, white silk -- I was a vision. An absolute visitation.
Indignant, I frowned at Louis. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"You dress like a vampire," he scoffed.
"I am a vampire," I pointed out gently. "I'm sorry; I thought you knew."
"You're a walking cliche; still, I suppose there are advantages. Beside you, I'll be practically invisible."
"This will be splendid." I gazed at him fiercely, as if I could possess him utterly by committing him to memory. "We will own the night completely. It's ours for the taking, Louis--" And I held my hand out to him.
He took it, frowning slightly -- he thought me silly and impetuous, and of course these things were absolutely true. But he took my hand, and I closed my fingers around his. They were cool and strong and curiously fragile. It made me careful, gentle, and when I met his eyes, he was smiling again.
"Are you sure you're willing to be seen with me?" He sounded dubious, and for the first time I could remember he looked down at his clothing in appraisal.
"You'd be beautiful in a gunny sack," I said impatiently. "You'd be beautiful lying in a gutter covered in filth, begging for your supper. You're clean and your clothes appear to be less than five years old; you dazzle me."
"You want me to change," he said, smiling.
"No," I said fiercely, and surprisingly, I meant it. "That's the very last thing I ever want you to do."