The Tale of the Body Thief

NINETEEN

I WAS sitting in the Cafe du Monde as the sun came up, thinking, how shall I get into my rooftop rooms? This little problem was preventing me from losing my mind. Was that the key to mortal survival? Hmmm. How to breach my luxurious little apartment? I myself had fitted the entry to the roof garden with an impassable iron gate. I myself secured the doors of the penthouse itself with numerous and complex locks. Indeed, the windows were barred against intruding mortals, though how they could have possibly reached the windows, I never truly considered before.

Ah, well, I shall have to get through the gate. I shall work some verbal magic on the other tenants of the building-all tenants of the blond Frenchman Lestat de Lioncourt, who treats them very well, I might add. I shall convince them I am a French cousin of the landlord,

sent to take care of the penthouse in his absence, and that I must be allowed in at all costs. Never mind that I must use a crowbar! Or an ax! Or a buzz saw. Only a technicality, as they say in this age. I must get in.

And then what will I do? Pick up a kitchen knife-for the place has such things, though God knows I never had need of a kitchen-and slit my mortal throat?

No. Call David. There is no one else in this world to whom you can turn, and oh, think of the dreadful things David is going to say!

When I ceased to think of all this, I fell immediately into the crushing despair.

They had cast me out. Marius. Louis. In my worst folly, they had refused me help. Oh, I had mocked Marius, true. I had refused his wisdom, his company, his rules.

Oh, yes, I had asked for it, as mortals so often declare. And I had done this despicable thing of letting loose the Body Thief with my powers. True. Guilty again of spectacular blunders and experiments. But had I ever dreamed of what it would truly mean to be stripped utterly of my powers and on the outside looking in? The others knew; they must know. And they had let Marius come to render the judgment, to let me know that for what I had done, I was cast out!

But Louis, my beautiful Louis, how could he have spurned me! I would have defied heaven to help Louis! I had so counted upon Louis, I had so counted upon waking this night with the old blood running powerful and true in my veins.

Oh, Lord God-I was no longer one of them. I was not anything but this mortal man, sitting here in the smothering warmth of the cafe, drinking this coffee-ah, yes, nice- tasting coffee, of course-and munching on the sugar doughnuts with no hope of ever regaining his glorious place in the dark Elohim.

Ah, how I hated them. How I wished to harm them! But who was to blame for all this? Lestat-now six feet two inches tall, with brown eyes and rather dark skin and a nice mop of wavy brown hair; Lestat, with muscular arms and strong legs, and another severe mortal chill sickening and weakening him; Lestat, with his faithful dog, Mojo-Lestat pondering how in the world he would catch the demon who had run off, not with his soul as so often happens, but with his body, a body which might have already been-don't think of it-destroyed!

Reason told me it was a little too early to plot anything. Besides, I have never had a deep interest in revenge. Revenge is the concern of those who are at some point or other beaten. I am not beaten, I told myself. No, not beaten. And victory is far more interesting to contemplate than revenge.

Ah, best to think of little things, things which can be changed. David had to listen to me. He had at least to give me his advice! But what else could he give? How could two mortal men go after that despicable creature. Ahhh . . .

And Mojo was hungry. He was looking up at me with his large clever brown eyes. How people in the cafe stared at him; what a wide berth they gave him, this ominous furry creature with his dark muzzle, tender pink-lined ears, and enormous paws. Really ought to feed Mojo. After all, the old cliche was true. This great hunk of dog flesh was my only friend!

Did Satan have a dog when they hurled him down into hell? Well, the dog would probably have gone with him, that much I knew.

"How do I do it, Mojo?" I asked. "How does a mere mortal catch the Vampire Lestat? Or have the old ones burnt my beautiful body to ashes? Was that the meaning of Marius's visit, to let me know it was done? Oooooh, God. What does the witch say in that ghastly film? How could you do this to my beautiful wickedness. Aaah, I have a fever again, Mojo. Things are going to take care of themselves. I'M GOING TO DIE!"

But Lord in heaven, behold the sun crashing down silently on the dirty pavements, look at my shabby and charming New Orleans waking to the beauteous Caribbean light.

"Let's go, Mojo. Time to break and enter. And then we can be warm and we can rest."

Stopping by the restaurant opposite the old French Market, I bought a mess of bones and meat for him. Surely it would do. Indeed, the kindly little waitress filled a sack with scraps from last night's garbage, with the lusty little affirmation that the dog was going to like that a lot! What about me? Didn't I want some breakfast? Wasn't I hungry on a beautiful winter morning like this?

"Later, darling." I placed a large bill in her hand. I was still rich, that was one consolation. Or at least I thought I was. I wouldn't know for certain until I reached my computer, and tracked the activities of the loathsome swindler for myself.

Mojo consumed his meal in the gutter without a single solitary complaint. That's a dog for you. Why wasn't I born a dog?

Now, where the hell was my penthouse apartment! I had to stop and to think, and then to wander two blocks out of my way, and back again before I found it, getting colder by the minute, though the sky was blue and the sun very bright now, for I almost never entered the building from the street.

Getting into the building was very easy. Indeed the door on Dumaine Street was very simple to force and then slam shut. Ah, but that gate, that will be the worst part, I thought, as I dragged my heavy legs up the stairs, one flight after another, Mojo waiting kindly at the landings for me to catch up.

At last I saw the bars of the gate, and the lovely sunlight streaming into the stairwell from the roof garden, and the flutter of the large green elephant ears, which were only a little bruised at the edges from the cold.

But this lock, how would I ever break this lock? I was in the process of estimating what tools I would need-how about a small bomb?-when I realized that I was looking at the door to my apartment some fifty feet away, and that it was not closed.

"Ah, God, the wretch has been here!" I whispered. "Damn him, Mojo, he's sacked my lair."

Of course that might be construed as a hopeful sign. The wretch still lived; the others hadn't done away with him. And I could still catch him! But how. I kicked the gate, sending a riot of pain through my foot and leg.

Then I grabbed hold of it and rattled it mercilessly but it was as secure in its old iron hinges as I had designed it to be! A weak revenant such as Louis couldn't have broken it, let alone a mortal man. Undoubtedly the fiend had never even touched it but made his entry as I did, out of the skies.

All right, stop this. Obtain some tools and do it quickly, and discover the extent of the damage which the fiend has done.

I turned to go, but just as I did so, Mojo stood at attention and gave his warning growl. Someone was moving inside the apartment. I saw a bit of shadow dance on the foyer wall.

Not the Body Thief, that was impossible, thank God. But who?

In an instant the question was answered. David appeared! My beautiful David, dressed in a dark tweed suit and overcoat and peering at me with his characteristic expression of curiosity and alertness over the length of the garden path. I don't think I have ever been so glad to see another mortal being in all my long accursed life.

I called his name at once. And then in French declared that it was I, Lestat. Please open the gate.

He did not immediately respond. Indeed, never had he seemed so dignified, self­possessed and so truly the elegant British gentleman as he stood there, staring at me, his narrow heavily lined face registering nothing but mute shock. He stared at the dog. Then he stared at me again. And then once more at the dog.

"David, it's Lestat, I swear to you!" I cried in English. "This is the body of the mechanic! Remember the photograph! James did it, David. I'm trapped in this body. What can I tell you to make you believe me? David, let me in."

He remained motionless. Then all of a sudden, he came forward with swift determined steps, his face quite unreadable as he stopped before the gate.

I was near to fainting with happiness. I clung to the bars still, with both hands as if I were in prison, and then I realized I was staring directly into his eyes-that for the first time we were the same height.

"David, you don't know how glad I am to see you," I said, lapsing into French again. "How did you ever get in? David, it's Lestat. It's me. Surely you believe me. You recognize my voice. David, God and the Devil in the Paris cafe! Who else knows but me!"

But it was not my voice to which he responded; he was staring into my eyes, and listening as if to distant sounds. Then quite suddenly his entire manner was altered and I saw the clear signs of recognition in his face.

"Oh, thank heaven," he said with a small, very polite British sigh.

He reached into his pocket for a small case, quickly removing from it a thin piece of metal which he inserted into the lock. I knew enough of the world to realize this was a burglar's tool of some sort. He swung the gate back for me, and then opened his arms.

Our embrace was long and warm and silent, and I fought furiously not to give way to tears. Only very seldom in all this time had I ever actually touched this being. And the moment was charged with an emotion which caught me somewhat off guard. The drowsy warmth of my embraces with Gretchen came back to me. I felt safe. And just for an instant, perhaps, I did not feel so utterly alone.

But there was no time now to enjoy this solace.

Reluctantly, I drew back, and thought again how splendid David looked. Indeed, so impressive was he to me that I could almost believe I was as young as the body I now inhabited. I needed him so.

All the little flaws of age which I naturally saw in him through my vampire eyes were invisible. The deep lines of his face seemed but part of his great expressive personality, along with the quiet light in his eyes. He looked entirely vigorous as he stood there in his very proper attire, the little gold watch chain glittering on his tweed waistcoat-so very solid and resourceful and grave.

"You know what the bastard's done," I said. "He's tricked me and abandoned me. And the others have also abandoned me. Louis, Marius. They've turned their backs on me. I'm marooned in this body, my friend. Come, I have to see if the monster has robbed my rooms."

I hurried towards the apartment door, scarce hearing the few words he uttered, to the effect that he thought the place was quite undisturbed.

He was right. The fiend had not rifled the apartment! Everything was exactly as I'd left it, down to my old velvet coat hanging on the open closet door. There was the yellow pad on which I'd made notes before my departure. And the computer. Ah, I had to go into the computer immediately and discover the extent of his thievery. And my Paris agent, the poor man might still be in danger. I must contact him at once.

But I was distracted by the light pouring through the glass walls, the soft warm splendour of the sun spilling down upon the dark couches and chairs, and on the lush Persian carpet with its pale medallion and wreaths of roses, and even upon the few large modern paintings-furious abstracts all-which I had long ago chosen for these walls. I felt myself shudder at the sight of it, marveling again that electric illumination could never produce this particular sense of well-being which filled me now.

I also noted that there was a blazing fire going in the large white-tiled fireplace-David's doing, no doubt-and the smell of coffee coming from the nearby kitchen, a room I had scarce entered in the years I had inhabited this place.

At once David stammered an apology. He hadn't even checked into his hotel, so anxious was he to find me. He'd come here direct from the airport, and only gone out for a few little provisions so that he might spend a comfortable night keeping watch that I might come or think to call.

"Wonderful, very glad that you did," I said, a little amused by his British politeness. I was so glad to see him, and here he was apologizing for making himself at home.

I tore off the wet overcoat and sat down at the computer.

"This will take only a moment," I said, keying in the various commands, "and then I'll tell you about everything. But what made you come? Did you suspect what happened!"

"Of course I did," he said. "Don't you know of the vampire murder in New York? Only a monster could have wrecked those offices. Lestat, why didn't you call me? Why didn't you ask my help?"

"One moment," I said. Already the little letters and figures were coming up on the screen. My accounts were in order. Had the fiend been into this system, I would have seen preprogrammed signals of invasion throughout. Of course there was no way to know for certain that he hadn't attacked my accounts in European banks until I went into their files. And damn, I couldn't remember the code words, and in fact, I was having a difficult time managing the simplest commands.

"He was right," I muttered. "He warned me my thinking processes wouldn't be the same." I switched from the finances program into Wordstar, my means of writing, and immediately typed out a communication to my Paris agent, sending it through the phone modem, asking him for an immediate status report, and reminding him to take the utmost personal care as to his own safety. Over and out.

I sat back, heaving a deep breath, which immediately j brought on a little fit of coughing, and realized that David was i staring at me as if the sight were too shocking for him to absorb. Indeed, it was almost comical the way he was looking at me. Then again, he looked at Mojo, who was inspecting the place silently and a little sluggishly, eyes turning to me over and over for some command.

I snapped my fingers for Mojo to come to me and gave him a deep strong hug. David watched all this as if it were the weirdest thing in the world.

"Good Lord, you are really in that body," he whispered. "Not just hovering inside, but anchored into the cells."

"You're telling me," I said disgustedly. "It's dreadful, the whole mess. And the others won't help, David. I'm cast out." I gritted my teeth in rage. "Cast out!" I went into a seething growl which inadvertently excited Mojo so that he at once licked my face.

"Of course I deserve it," I said, stroking Mojo. "That's the simplest thing about dealing with me, apparently. I always deserve the worst! The worst disloyalty, the worst betrayal, the worst abandonment! Lestat the scoundrel. Well, they have left this scoundrel entirely on his own."

"I've been frantic to reach you," he said, his voice at once controlled and subdued. "Your agent hi Paris swore he couldn't help me. I was going to try that address in Georgetown." He pointed to the yellow pad on the table, "Thank God you're here."

"David, my worst fear is that the others have destroyed James and my body with him. This may be the only body I now possess."

"No, I don't think so," he said with convincing equanimity. "Your little body borrower has left quite a trail. But come, get out of these wet clothes. You're catching cold."

"What do you mean, trail?"

"You know we keep track of such crimes. Now, please, the clothes."

"More crimes after New York?" I asked excitedly. I let him coax me towards the fireplace, immediately glad of the warmth. I pulled off the damp sweater and shirt. Of course there was nothing to fit me in my various closets. And I realized I had forgotten my valise somewhere on Louis's property last night. "New York was Wednesday night, was it not?" "My clothes will fit you," David said, immediately snatching the thought from my mind. He headed for a mammoth leather suitcase in the corner.

"What's happened? What makes you think it's James?"

"Has to be," he answered, popping open the suitcase and removing several folded garments, and then a tweed suit very like his own, still on its hanger, which he laid over the nearest chair. "Here, change into these. You're going to catch your death."

"Oh, David," I said, continuing to undress. "I've almost caught my death repeatedly. In fact, I've spent my whole brief mortal life nearly dying. The care of this body is a revolting nuisance; how do living people endure this endless cycle of eating, pissing, sniveling, defecating, and then eating again! When you mix in fever, headache, attacks of coughing, and a runny nose, it becomes a penitential sentence. And prophylactics, good Lord. Removing the ugly little things is worse than having to put them on! Whatever made me think I wanted to do this! The other crimes-when did they take place! When is more important than where."

He had fallen into staring at me again, too purely shocked to answer. Mojo was giving him the eye now, sizing him up more or less, and offering a friendly lick of his pink tongue to David's hand. David petted him lovingly, but continued to stare blankly at me.

"David," I said, as I took off the wet socks. "Speak to me. The other crimes! You said that James had left a trail."

"It's so wildly uncanny," he said in a stunned voice. "I have a dozen pictures of this face. But to see you inside it. Oh, I simply couldn't imagine it. Not at all."

"When did this fiend strike last?"

"Ah . . . The last report was from the Dominican Republic. That was, let me see, two nights ago."

"Dominican Republic! Why in the world would he go there?"

"Exactly what I would like to know. Before that he struck near Bal Harbour in Florida. Both times it was a high-rise condominium, and entry was the same as in New York- through the glass wall. Furniture smashed to pieces at all three crime scenes; wall safes ripped from their moorings; bonds, gold, jewelry taken. One man dead in New York, a bloodless corpse, of course. Two women left drained in Florida, and a family killed in Santo Domingo, with only the father drained in classic vampire style."

"He can't control his strength. He's blundering about like a robot!"

"Exactly what I thought. It was the combination of destruc-tiveness and sheer force which first alerted me. The creature's unbelievably inept! And the whole operation is so stupid. But what I can't figure is why he's chosen these locations for his various thefts." Suddenly he broke off and turned away, almost shyly.

I realized I had stripped off all the garments and was standing there naked, and this had produced in him a strange reticence, and a near blush to his face.

"Here, dry socks," he said. "Don't you know better than to go about in soaking wet garments?" He tossed the socks to me without looking up.

"I don't know much of anything," I said. "That's what I've discovered. I see what you mean about the locations. Why in the world would he journey to the Caribbean when he might steal to his heart's content in the suburbs of Boston or New York?"

"Yes. Unless the cold is giving him considerable discomfort, but does that make sense?"

"No. He doesn't feel it that keenly. It's just not the same."

It felt good to pull on the dry shirt and pants. And these garments did fit, though they were loose in a rather old-fashioned way-not the slim tailored clothes more popular with the young. The shirt was heavy broadcloth, and the tweed pants were pleated, but the waistcoat felt snug and warm.

"Here, I can't tie this tie with mortal fingers," I declared. "But why am I dressing up like this, David? Don't you ever go around in anything casual, as the expression goes? Good Lord, we look like we're going to a funeral. Why must I wear this noose around my neck?"

"Because you'll look foolish in a tweed suit without it," he answered in a slightly distracted voice. "Here, let me help you." Once again, he had that shy look about him as he drew close to me. I realized that he was powerfully drawn to this body. In the old one, I had amazed him; but this body truly ignited his passion. And as I studied him closely, as I felt the busy work of his fingers on the knot of the tie-that keen little pressure-I realized that I was powerfully attracted to him.

I thought of all the times I'd wanted to take him, enfold him in my arms, and sink my teeth slowly and tenderly into his neck, and drink his blood. Ah, now I might have him in a sense without having him-in the mere human tangling with his limbs, in whatever combination of intimate gestures and delectable little embraces he might like. And I might like.

The idea paralyzed me. It sent a soft chill over the surface of my human skin. I felt connected to him, connected as I had been to the sad unfortunate young woman whom I'd raped, to the wandering tourists of the snow-covered capital city, my brothers and sisters- connected as I had been to my beloved Gretchen.

Indeed so strong was this awareness-of being human and being with a human-that I feared it suddenly in all its beauty. And I saw that the fear was part of the beauty.

Ah, yes, I was mortal now as he was. I flexed my fingers, and slowly straightened my back, letting the chill become a deep erotic sensation.

He broke away from me abruptly, alarmed and vaguely determined, picked up the jacket from the chair, and helped me to put it on.

"You have to tell me all that's happened to you," he said. "And within an hour or so we may have news from London, that is, if the bastard has struck again."

I reached out and clamped my weak, mortal hand on his shoulder, drew him to me, and kissed him softly on the side of his face. Once again, he backed away.

"Stop all this nonsense," he said, as if reproving a child. "I want to know everything. Now, have you had breakfast? You need a handkerchief. Here."

"How will we get this news from London?"

"Fax from the Motherhouse to the hotel. Now come, let's have something to eat together. We have a day of work ahead to figure this all out."

"If he isn't already dead," I said with a sigh. "Two nights ago in Santo Domingo." I was again filled with a crashing and black despair. The delicious and frustrating erotic impulse was threatened.

David removed a long wool scarf from the suitcase. He placed this around my neck. "Can't you call London again now by phone?" I asked.

"It's a bit early, but I'll give it a try."

He found the phone beside the couch, and was in fast conversation with someone across the sea for about five minutes. No news yet.

Police in New York, Florida, and Santo Domingo were not in communication with each other, apparently, as no connections regarding these crimes had yet been made.

At last he hung up. "They'll fax information to the hotel as soon as they receive it. Let's go there, shall we? I myself am famished. I've been here all night long, waiting. Oh, and that dog. What will you do with that splendid dog?"

"He's had breakfast. He'll be happy in the roof garden. You're very anxious to be out of these rooms, aren't you? Why don't we simply get into bed together? I don't understand."

"You're serious?"

I shrugged. "Of course." Serious! I was beginning to be obsessed with this simple little possibility. Making love before anything else happened. Seemed like a perfectly marvelous idea!

Again, he fell to staring at me in maddening trancelike silence.

"You do realize," he said, "that this is an absolutely magnificent body, don't you? I mean, you aren't insensible to the fact that you've been deposited in a ... a most impressive piece of young male flesh."

"I looked it over well before the switch, remember? Why is it you don't want to . . ." "You've been with a woman, haven't you?"

"I wish you wouldn't read my mind. It's rude. Besides, what does that matter to you?"

"A woman you loved."

"I have always loved both men and women."

"That's a slightly different use of the word 'love.' Listen, we simply can't do it now. So behave yourself. I must hear everything about this creature James. It's going to take us time to make a plan."

"A plan. You really think we can stop him?"

"Of course I do!" He beckoned for me to come.

"But how?" I asked. We were going out the door.

"We must look at the creature's behavior. We must assess his weaknesses and his strengths. And remember there are two of us against him. And we have a powerful advantage."

"But what advantage?"

"Lestat, clear your mortal brain of all these rampant erotic images and come. I can't think on an empty stomach, and obviously you're not thinking straight at all."

Mojo came padding to the gate to follow us, but I told him to stay.

I kissed him tenderly on the side of his long black nose, and he lay down on the wet concrete, and merely peered at me in solemn disappointed fashion as we went down the stairs.

It was only a matter of several blocks to the hotel, and the walk beneath the blue sky was not intolerable, even with the biting wind. I was too cold, however, to begin my story, and also the sight of the sunlighted city kept tearing me out of my thoughts.

Once again, I was impressed with the carefree attitudes of the people who roamed by day. All the world seemed blessed in this light, regardless of the temperature. And a sadness was growing in me as I beheld it, because I really didn't want to remain in this sunlighted world no matter how beautiful it was.

No, give me back my preternatural vision, I thought. Give me back the dark beauty of the world by night. Give me back my unnatural strength and endurance, and I shall cheerfully sacrifice this spectacle forever. The Vampire Lestat-c'est moi.

Stopping at the hotel desk, David left word that we would be in the coffee shop, and any fax material which came in must be brought to us at once.

Then we settled at a quiet white-draped table in the corner of the vast old-fashioned room with its fancy plaster ceiling and white silk draperies, and commenced to devour an enormous New Orleans breakfast of eggs, biscuits, fried meats, gravy, and thick buttery grits.

I had to confess that the food situation had improved with the journey south. Also I was better at eating now, and wasn't choking so much, or scraping my tongue on my own teeth. The thick syrupy coffee of my home city was past perfection. And the dessert of broiled bananas and sugar was enough to bring any sensible human being to his knees.

But in spite of these tantalizing delights, and my desperate hope that we would soon have a report from London, my main concern was that of pouring out for David the entire woeful tale. Again, and again, he pushed for details, and interrupted me with questions, so it became in fact a far more thorough account than I had ever given Louis, and one that wrung from me considerably more pain.

It was agony to relive my naive conversation with James hi the town house, to confess that I had not cared sufficiently to be suspicious of him, that I'd been too satisfied that a mere mortal could never trick me.

And then came the shameful rape, the poignant account of my time with Gretchen, the awful nightmares of Claudia, and the parting from Gretchen to come home to Louis, who misunderstood all that I laid before him, and insisted upon his own interpretation of my words as he refused to give me what I sought.

No small part of the pain was that my anger had left me, and I felt only the old crushing grief. I saw Louis again in my mind's eye, and he was not my tender, embraceable lover any longer, so much as an unfeeling angel who had barred me from the Dark Court.

"I understand why he refused," I said dully, barely able to speak about it. "Perhaps I should have known. And very truly, I can't believe he will hold out against me forever. He's simply carried away with this sublime idea of his that I ought to go save my soul. It's what he would do, you see. And yet, in a way, he himself would never do it. And he's never understood me. Never. That's why he described me so vividly yet poorly in his book over and over again. If I am trapped in this body, if it becomes quite plain to him that I don't intend to go off into the jungles of French Guiana with Gretchen, I think he will give in to me eventually. Even though I did burn his house. It might take years, of course! Years in this miserable-"

"You're getting furious again," said David. "Calm down. And what in the world do you mean-you burnt his house." "I was angry!" I said in a tense whisper. "My God. Angry. That isn't even the word."

I thought I had been too unhappy to be angry. I realized this wasn't so. But I was too unhappy to carry the point further. I took another bracing swallow of the thick black coffee and as best I could, I went on to describe how I had seen Marius by the light of the burning shack. Marius had wanted for me to see him. Marius had rendered a judgment, and I did not know truly what that judgment was.

Now the cold despair did come over me, obliterating the anger quite completely, and I stared listlessly at the plate before me, at the half-empty restaurant with its shining silver and napkins folded at so many empty places like little hats. I looked beyond to the muted lights of the lobby, with that awful gloom closing upon everything, and then I looked at David, who for all his character, his sympathy, and his charm was not the marvelous being he would have been to me with my vampire eyes, but only another mortal, frail and living on the edge of death as I did.

I felt dull and miserable. I could say no more.

"Listen to me," said David. "I don't believe that your Marius has destroyed this creature. He would not have revealed himself to you if he'd done such a thing. I can't imagine the thoughts or feelings of such a being. I can't even imagine yours, and I know you as I know my dearest and oldest friends. But I don't believe he would do it. He came to display his anger, to refuse assistance, and that was his judgment, yes. But I wager he's giving you time to recover your body. And you must remember: however you perceived his expression, you saw it through a human being's eyes."

"I've considered this," I said listlessly. "To tell the truth, what else can I do but believe that my body is still there to be reclaimed?" I shrugged. "I don't know how to give up."

He smiled at me, a lovely deep warm smile.

"You've had a splendid adventure," he said. "Now before we plot to catch this glorified purse snatcher, allow me to ask you a question. And don't lose your temper, please. I can see that you don't know your own strength in this body any more than you did in the other."

"Strength? What strength! This is a weak, flopping, sloshy, repulsive collection of nerves and ganglia. Don't even mention the word 'strength.'"

"Nonsense. You're a big strapping healthy young male of some one hundred and ninety pounds, without an ounce of spare fat on you! You have fifty years of mortal life ahead of you. For the love of heaven, realize what advantages you possess."

"All right. All right. It's jolly. So happy to be alive!" I whispered, because if I hadn't whispered, I would have howled. "And I could be smashed by a truck outside in the street at half past noon today! Good God, David, don't you think I despise myself that I cannot endure these simple trials? I hate it. I hate being this weak and cowardly creature!"

I sat back in the chair, eyes roving the ceiling, trying not to cough or sneeze or weep or make a fist out of my right hand which I might drive through the tabletop or perhaps the nearby wall. "I loathe cowardice!" I whispered.

"I know," he said kindly. He studied me for a few quiet moments, and then blotted his lips with his napkin, and reached for his coffee. Then he spoke again. "Assuming that James is still running about in your old body, you are absolutely certain that you want to make the switch back into it-that you do want to be Lestat in his old body again."

I laughed sadly to myself. "How can I make that any plainer?" I asked wearily. "How in the hell can I make the switch again! That is the question upon which my sanity depends."

"Well, first we must locate James. We shall devote our entire energy to finding nun. We shall not give up until we are convinced that there is no James to be found."

"Again, you're making it sound so simple! How can such a thing be done?"

"Shhh, you're attracting needless attention," he said with quiet authority. "Drink the orange juice. You need it. I'll order some more."

"I don't need the orange juice and I don't need any more nursing," I said. "Are you seriously suggesting that we have a chance of catching this fiend?"

"Lestat, as I told you before-think on the most obvious and unchangeable limitation of your former state. A vampire cannot move about in the day. A vampire is almost entirely helpless in the day. Granted, there is a reflex to reach out for and harm anyone disturbing his rest. But otherwise, he is helpless. And for some eight to twelve hours he must remain in one place. That gives us the traditional advantage, especially since we know so much about the being in question. And all we require is an opportunity to confront the creature, and confuse him sufficiently for the switch to be made." "We can force it?" "Yes, I know that we can. He can be knocked loose from that body long enough for you to get in."

"David, I must tell you something. In this body I have no psychic power at all. I didn't have any when I was a mortal boy. I don't think I can . . . rise out of this body. I tried once in Georgetown. I couldn't budge from the flesh."

"Anyone can do this little trick, Lestat; you were merely afraid. And some of what you learned in the vampiric body, you now carry with you. Obviously the preternatural cells gave you an advantage, but the mind itself does not forget. Obviously James took his mental powers from body to body. You must have taken some part of your knowledge with you as well."

"Well, I was frightened. I've been afraid to try since-afraid I'd get out and then couldn't get back in."

"I'll teach you how to rise out of the body. I'll teach you how to make a concerted assault upon James. And remember, there are two of us, Lestat. You and I together will make the assault. And I do have considerable psychic power, to use the simplest descriptive words for it. There are many things which I can do."

"David, I shall be your slave for eternity in exchange for this. Anything you wish I will get for you. I shall go to the ends of the earth for you. If only this can be done."

He hesitated as if he wanted to make some small jesting comment, but then thought the better of it. And went right on.

"We will begin with our lessons as soon as we can. But the more I consider it, I think it's best I jolt him out of the body. I can do it before he even realizes that you are there. Yes, that must be our game plan. He won't suspect me when he sees me. I can veil my thoughts from him easily enough. And that's another thing you must learn, to veil your thoughts."

"But what if he recognizes you. David, he knows who you are. He remembers you. He spoke of you. What's to stop him from burning you alive the minute he sees you?"

"The place where the meeting occurs. He won't risk a little conflagration too near his person. And we shall be sure to ensnare him where he would not dare to show his powers at all. We may have to lure him into position. This requires thinking. And until we know how to find him, well, that part can wait."

"We approach him in a crowd."

"Or very near to sunrise, when he cannot risk a fire near his lair."

"Exactly."

"Now, let's try to make a fair assessment of his powers from the information we have in hand."

He paused as the waiter swooped down upon the table with one of those beautiful heavy silver-plated coffeepots which hotels of quality always possess. They have a patina like no other silver, and always several tiny little dents. I watched the black brew coming out of the little spout.

Indeed, I realized I was watching quite a few little things as we sat there, anxious and miserable though I was. Merely being with David gave me hope.

David took a hasty sip of the fresh cup as the waiter went away, and then reached into the pocket of his coat. He placed in my hand a little bundle of thin sheets of paper. "These are newspaper stories of the murders. Read them carefully. Tell me anything that comes to your mind."

The first story, "Vampire Murder in Midtown," enraged me beyond words. I noted the wanton destruction which David had described. Had to be clumsiness, to smash the furniture so stupidly. And the theft-how silly in the extreme. As for my poor agent, his neck had been broken as he'd been drained of his blood. More clumsiness.

"It's a wonder he can use the power of flight at all," I said angrily. "Yet here, he went through the wall on the thirtieth floor." "That doesn't mean he can use the power over really great distances," David replied.

"But how then did he get from New York to Bal Harbour in one night, and more significantly, why? If he is using commercial aircraft, why go to Bal Harbour instead of Boston? Or Los Angeles, or Paris, for heaven's sakes. Think of the high stakes for him were he to rob a great museum, an immense bank? Santo Domingo I don't understand. Even if he has mastered the power of flight, it can't be easy for him. So why on earth would he go there? Is he merely trying to scatter the kills so that no one will put together all the cases?"

"No," said David. "If he really wanted secrecy, he wouldn't operate in this spectacular style. He's blundering. He's behaving as if he's intoxicated!"

"Yes. And it does feel that way in the beginning, truly it does. You're overcome by the effect of your heightened senses."

"Is it possible that he is traveling through the air and merely striking wherever the winds carry him?" David asked. "That there is no pattern at all?"

I was considering the question as I read the other reports slowly, frustrated that I could not scan them as I would have done with my vampire eyes. Yes, more clumsiness, more stupidity. Human bodies crushed by "a heavy instrument," which was of course simply his fist.

"He likes to break glass, doesn't he?" I said. "He likes to surprise his victims. He must enjoy their fear. He leaves no witnesses. He steals everything of obvious value. And none of it is very valuable at all. How I hate him. And yet... I have done things as terrible myself."

I remembered the villain's conversations with me. How I had failed to see through his gentlemanly manner! But David's early descriptions of him, of his stupidity, and his self­destructiveness, also came back. And his clumsiness, how could I ever forget that?

"No," I said, finally. "I don't believe he can cover these distances. You have no idea how terrifying this power of flight can be. It's twenty times more terrifying than out-of-body travel. All of us loathe it. Even the roar of the wind induces a helplessness, a dangerous abandon, so to speak."

I paused. We know this flight in our dreams, perhaps because we knew it in some celestial realm beyond this earth before we were ever born. But we can't conceive of it as earthly creatures, and only I could know how it had damaged and torn my heart and soul.

"Go on, Lestat. I'm listening. I understand."

I gave a little sigh. "I learnt this power only because I was in the grip of one who was fearless," I said, "for whom it was nothing. There are those of us who never use this power. No. I can't believe he's mastered it. He's traveling by some other means and then taking to the air only when the prey is near at hand."

"Yes, that would seem to square with the evidence, if only we knew-"

He was suddenly distracted. An elderly hotel clerk had just appeared in the distant doorway. He came towards us with maddening slowness, a genial kindly man with a large envelope in his hand.

At once David brought a bill out of his pocket, and held it in readiness.

"Fax, sir, just in."

"Ah, thank you so much."

He tore open the envelope.

"Ah, here we are. News wire via Miami. A hilltop villa on the island of Curacao.

Probable time early yesterday evening, not discovered till four a.m. Five persons found dead."

"Curacao! Where the hell is that?"

"This is even more baffling. Curacao is a Dutch island-very far south in the Caribbean. Now, that really makes no sense at all."

We scanned the story together. Once again robbery was apparently the motive. The thief had come crashing through a skylight, and had demolished the contents of two rooms. The entire family had been killed. Indeed, the sheer viciousness of the crime had left the island in the grip of terror. There had been two bloodless corpses, one that of a small child. "Surely the devil isn't simply moving south!" "Even in the Caribbean there are far more interesting places," said David. "Why, he's overlooked the entire coast of Central America. Come, I want to get a map. Let's have a look at this pattern flat out. I spied a little travel agent in the lobby. He's bound to have some maps for us. We'll take everything back to your rooms."

The agent was most obliging, an elderly bald-headed fellow with a soft cultured voice, who groped about in the clutter of his desk for several maps. Cura9ao? Yes, he had a brochure or two on the place. Not a very interesting island, as the Caribbean islands go.

"Why do people go there?" I asked. "Well, in the main they don't," he confessed, rubbing the top of his bald head. "Except for the cruise ships, of course. They've been stopping there again these last few years. Yes, here." He placed a little folder in my hand for a small ship called the Crown of the Seas, very pretty in the picture, which meandered all through the islands, its final stop Curacao before it started home.

"Cruise ships!" I whispered, staring at the picture. My eyes moved to the giant posters of ships which lined the office walls. "Why, he had pictures of ships all over his house in Georgetown," I said. "David, that's it. He's on some sort of ship! Don't you remember what you told me. His father worked for some shipping company. He himself said something about wanting to sail to America aboard a great ship."

"My God," David said. "You may be right. New York, Bal Harbour ..." He looked at the agent. "Do cruise ships stop at Bal Harbour?"

"Port Everglades," said the agent. "Right near it. But not very many start from New York."

"What about Santo Domingo?" I asked. "Do they stop there?"

"Yes, that's a regular port all right. They all vary their itineraries. What sort of ship do you have in mind?"

Quickly David jotted down the various points and the nights upon which the attacks had happened, without an explanation, of course.

But then he looked crestfallen.

"No," he said, "I can see it's impossible, myself. What cruise ship could possibly make the journey from Florida all the way to Curacao in three nights?"

"Well, there is one," said the agent, "and as a matter of fact, she sailed from New York this last Wednesday night. It's the flagship of the Cunard Line, the Queen Elizabeth 2."

"That's it," I said. "The Queen Elizabeth 2. David, it was the very ship he mentioned to me. You said his father-"

"But I thought the QE2 makes the transatlantic crossing," said David.

"Not in winter," said the agent, agreeably. "She's in the Caribbean until March. And she's probably the fastest ship sailing any sea anywhere. She can do twenty-eight knots. But here, we can check the itinerary right now."

He went into another seemingly hopeless search through the papers on his desk, and at last produced a large handsomely printed brochure, opening it and flattening it with his right hand.

"Yes, left New York Wednesday. She docked at Port Everglades Friday morning, sailed before midnight, then on to Curaçao, where she arrived yesterday morning at five a.m. But she didn't stop in the Dominican Republic, I'm afraid, can't help you there."

"Never mind that, she passed it!" David said. "She passed the Dominican Republic the very next night! Look at the map. That's it, of course. Oh, the little fool. He all but told you himself, Lestat, with all his mad obsessive chatter! He's on board the QE2, the ship which mattered so much to his father, the ship upon which the old man spent his life."

We thanked the agent profusely for the maps and brochures, then headed for the taxis out front.

"Oh, it's so bloody typical of him!" David said as the car carried us towards my apartment. "Everything is symbolic with this madman. And he himself was fired from the QE2 amid scandal and disgrace. I told you this, remember? Oh, you were so right. It's all a matter of obsession, and the little demon gave you the clue himself."

"Yes. Oh, definitely yes. And the Talamasca wouldn't send him to America on the Queen Elizabeth 2. He never forgave you for that."

"I hate him," David whispered, with a heat that amazed me even given the circumstances in which we were involved.

"But it isn't really so foolish, David," I said. "It's devilishly clever, don't you see? Yes, he tipped his hand to me in Georgetown, chattering away about it, and we can lay that down to his self-destructiveness, but I don't think he expected me to figure it out. And frankly,

if you hadn't laid out the news stories for me of the other murders, maybe I never would have thought of it on my own."

"Possibly. I think he wants to be caught."

"No, David. He's hiding. From you, from me, and from the others. Oh, he's very smart. Here we have this beastly sorcerer, capable of cloaking himself entirely, and where does he conceal himself-amid a whole teeming little world of mortals in the womb of a fast- moving ship. Look at this itinerary! Why, every night she's sailing. Only by day does she remain hi port."

"Have it your way," said David, "but I prefer to think of him as an idiot! And we're going to catch him! Now you told me you gave him a passport, did you not?"

"Clarence Oddbody was the name. But surely he didn't use it."

"We'll soon find out. My suspicion is that he boarded in New York in the usual way. It would have been crucial to him to be received with all due pomp and consideration-to book the finest suite and go parading up to the top deck, with stewards bowing to him. Those suites on the Signal Deck are enormous. No problem whatsoever for him to have a large trunk for his daylight hiding place. No cabin steward would trouble such a thing."

We had come around again to my building. He pulled out some bills to pay the driver, and up the stairs we went.

As soon as we reached the apartment, we sat down with the printed itinerary and the news stories and worked out a schedule of how the killings had been done.

It was plain the beast had struck my agent in New York only hours before the ship sailed. He'd had plenty of time to board before eleven p.m. The murder near Bal Harbour had been committed only hours before the ship docked. Obviously he covered a small distance by the power of flight, returning to his cabin or other hiding place before the sun rose.

For the Santo Domingo murder, he had left the ship for perhaps an hour, and then caught up with her on her journey south. Again, these distances were nothing. He did not even need preternatural sight to spot the giant Queen Elizabeth 2 steaming across the open sea. The murders on Curasao had taken place only a little while after the ship sailed. He'd probably caught up with the ship within less than an hour, laden with his loot.

The ship was now on her way north again. She had docked at La Guaira, on the coast of Venezuela, only two hours ago. If he struck tonight in Caracas or its environs, we knew we had him for certain. But we had no intention of waiting for further proof.

"All right, let's think this out," I said. "Dare we board this vessel ourselves?" "Of course, we must."

"Then we should have fake passports for this. We may leave behind a great deal of confusion. David Talbot mustn't be implicated. And I can't use the passport he gave me. Why, I don't know where that passport is. Perhaps still in the town house in Georgetown. God knows why he used his own name on it, probably to get me in trouble first time I went through customs."

"Absolutely right. I can take care of the documents before we leave New Orleans. Now, we can't get to Caracas before the ship leaves at five o'clock. No. We'll have to board her in Grenada tomorrow. We'll have until five p.m. Very likely there are cabins available. There are always last-minute cancellations, sometimes even deaths. In fact, on a ship as expensive as the QE2 there are always deaths. Undoubtedly James knows this. He can feed anytime he wishes if he takes the proper care."

"But why? Why deaths on the QE2?"

"Elderly passengers," David said. "It's a fact of cruise life. The QE2 has a large hospital for emergencies. This is a floating world, a ship of this size. But no matter. Our investigators will clarify everything. I'll get them on it at once. We can easily make Grenada from New Orleans, and we have time to prepare for what we must do.

"Now, Lestat, let's consider this in detail. Suppose we confront this fiend right before sunup. And suppose we send him right straight back into this mortal body, and cannot control him after that. We need a hiding place for you... a third cabin, booked under a name which is in no way connected with either one of us."

"Yes, something deep in the center of the ship, on one of the lower decks. Not the very lowest. That would be too obvious. Something in the middle, I should think."

"But how fast can you travel? Can you make it within seconds to a lower deck?"

"Without question. Don't even worry about such a thing. An inside cabin, that's important, and one large enough to include a trunk. Well, the trunk isn't really essential, not if I've fitted a lock to the door beforehand, but the trunk would be a fine idea."

"Ah, I see it. I see it all. I see now what we must do. You rest, drink your coffee, take a shower, do whatever you wish. I'm going in the next room and make the calls I must make. This is Talamasca, and you must leave me alone."

"You're not serious," I said. "I want to hear what you're-"

"You'll do as I say. Oh, and find someone to care for that beautiful canine. We can't take him with us! That's patently absurd. And a dog of such character mustn't be neglected."

Off he hurried, closing me out of the bedroom, so that he might make all these exciting little calls alone.

"And just when I was beginning to enjoy this," I said.

I sped off to find Mojo, who was sleeping in the cold wet roof garden as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I took him down with me to the old woman on the first floor. Of all t my tenants she was the most agreeable, and could certainly use a couple of hundred dollars for boarding a gentle dog.

At the mere suggestion, she was beside herself with joy. Mojo could use the courtyard behind the building, and she needed the money and the company, and wasn't I a nice young man? Just as nice as my cousin, Monsieur de Lioncourt, who was like a guardian angel to her, never bothering to cash the checks she gave him for her rent.

I went back up to the apartment, and discovered that David was still at work, and refusing to let me listen. I was told to make coffee, which of course I didn't know how to make. I drank the old coffee and called Paris.

My agent answered the phone. He was just in the process of sending me the status report I'd requested. All was going well. There had been no further assaults from the mysterious thief. Indeed the last had occurred on Friday evening. Perhaps the fellow had given up.

An enormous sum of money was waiting for me now at my New Orleans bank.

I repeated all my cautions to the man, and told him that I would call soon again.

Friday evening. That meant James had tried his last assault before the Queen Elizabeth 2 left the States. He had no means while at sea to consider his computer thievery. And surely he had no intention of hurting my Paris agent. That is, if James was still content with his little vacation on the Queen Elizabeth 2. There was nothing to stop him from jumping ship whenever he pleased.

I went into the computer again and tried to access the accounts of Lestan Gregor, the alias who had wired the twenty million to the Georgetown bank. Just as I suspected. Lestan Gregor still existed but he was virtually penniless. Bank balance zero. The twenty million wired to Georgetown for the use of Raglan James had indeed reverted back to Mr. Gregor at Friday noon, and then been immediately withdrawn from his account. The transaction assuring this withdrawal had been set up the preceding night. By one p.m. on Friday, the money was gone on some untraceable path. The whole story was there, embedded in various numerical codes and general bank gibberish, which any fool could see.

And surely there was a fool staring at this computer screen right now.

The little beast had warned me that he could steal through computers. No doubt he'd wheedled information from the people at the Georgetown bank, or raped their unsuspecting minds with his telepathy, to gain the codes and numbers he required.

Whatever the case he had a fortune at his disposal which had once been my fortune. I hated him all the more. I hated him for killing my man in New York. I hated him for smashing all the furniture when he did it, and for stealing everything else in the office. I hated him for his pettiness and his intellect, his crude-ness and his nerve.

I sat drinking the old coffee, and thinking about what lay ahead.

Of course I understood what James had done, stupid though it seemed. From the very first I'd known that his stealing had to do with some profound hunger in his soul. And this Queen Elizabeth 2 had been the world of his father, the world from which he, caught in an act of thievery, had been cast out.

Oh, yes, cast out, the way the others had cast me out. And how eager he must have been to return to it with his new power and his new wealth. He'd probably planned it down to the very hour, as soon as we'd agreed upon a date for the switch. No doubt if I had put him off, he would have picked up the ship at some later harbour. As it was, he was able to begin his journey only a short distance from Georgetown, and strike my mortal agent before the ship sailed.

Ah, the way he'd sat in that grimly lighted little Georgetown kitchen, staring again and again at his watch. I mean, this watch.

At last David emerged from the bedroom, notebook in hand. Everything had been arranged.

"There is no Clarence Oddbody on the Queen Elizabeth 2, but a mysterious young Englishman named Jason Hamilton booked the lavish Queen Victoria Suite only two days before the ship sailed from New York. For the moment we must assume that this is our man. We'll have more information about him before we reach Grenada. Our investigators are already at work.

"We ourselves are booked out of Grenada in two penthouse suites on the same deck as our mysterious friend. We must board anytime tomorrow before the ship sails at five p.m.

"The first of our connecting flights leaves New Orleans in three hours. We will need at least one of those hours to obtain a pair of false passports from a gentleman who's been highly recommended for this sort of transaction and is in fact waiting for us now. I have the address here." "Excellent. I've plenty of cash on hand." "Very good. Now, one of our investigators will meet us in Grenada. He's a very cunning individual and I've worked with him for years. He's already booked the third cabin-inside, deck five. And he will manage to smuggle a couple of small but sophisticated firearms into that cabin, as well as the trunk we will need later on."

"Those weapons will mean nothing to a man walking around in my old body. But of course afterwards... "

"Precisely," said David. "After the switch, I will need a gun to protect myself against this handsome young body here." He gestured to me. "Now, to continue. My investigator will slip off the ship after he has officially boarded, leaving the cabin and the guns to us. We ourselves will go through the regular boarding process with our new identification. Oh, and I've selected our names already. Afraid I had to do it. I do hope you don't mind. You're an American named Sheridan Blackwood. And I'm a retired English surgeon named Alexander Stoker. It's always best to pose as a doctor on these little missions. You'll see what I mean."

"I'm thankful you didn't pick H. P. Lovecraft," I said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Do we have to leave now?"

"Yes, we do. I've already called the taxi. We must get some tropical clothing before we go, or we'll look perfectly ridiculous. There isn't a moment to lose. Now, if you will use those strong young arms of yours to help me with this suitcase, I shall be forever obliged."

"I'm disappointed."

"In what?" He stopped, stared at me, and then almost blushed as he had earlier that day. "Lestat, there is no time for that sort of thing."

"David, assuming we succeed, it may be our last chance."

"All right," he said, "there is plenty of time to discuss it at the beachside hotel in Grenada tonight. Depending of course on how quick you are with your lessons in astral projection. Now, do please show some youthful vim and vigor of a constructive sort, and help me with this suitcase. I'm a man of seventy-four."

"Splendid. But I want to know something before we go."

"What?"

"Why are you helping me?"

"Oh, for the love of heaven, you know why."

"No, I don't."

He stared at me soberly for a long moment, then said, "I care for you! I don't care what body you're in. It's true. But to be perfectly honest, this ghastly Body Thief, as you call him, frightens me. Yes, frightens me to the marrow of my bones.

"He's a fool, and he always brings about his own ruin, that's true. But this time I think you're right. He's not at all eager to be apprehended, if in fact he ever was. He's planning on a long run of success, and he may tire of the QE2 very soon. That's why we must act. Now pick up this suitcase. I nearly killed myself hauling it up those stairs."

I obeyed.

But I was softened and saddened by his words of feeling, and plunged into a series of fragmentary images of all the little things we might have done in the large soft bed in the other room.

And what if the Body Thief had jumped ship already? Or been destroyed this very morning-after Marius had looked upon me with such disdain?

"Then we'll go on to Rio," said David, leading the way to the gate. "We'll be in time for the carnival. Nice vacation for us both."

"I'll die if I have to live that long!" I said, taking the lead down the stairs. "Trouble with you is you've gotten used to being human because you've done it for so damned long."

"I was used to it by the time I was two years old," he said dryly.

"I don't believe you. I've watched two-year-old humans with interest for centuries. They're miserable. They rush about, fall down, and scream almost constantly. They hate being human! They know already that it's some sort of dirty trick."

He laughed to himself but didn't answer me. He wouldn't look at me either.

The cab was already waiting for us when we reached the front door.