Stirling seemed to be relaxing, mildly fascinated, but I couldn’t relax. I was too afraid of what might happen at any moment.

“I have a theory about the Declaration of Enmity,” Stirling said.

“Which is?” asked Lestat.

“I think the Elders thought in their venerable minds, and God knows, I don’t really know their venerable minds, that the Declaration would bring certain of our members back to us who had been inducted into your ranks.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Lestat laughed. “Why are you mincing words like this? Is it on account of the boy?”

“Yes, perhaps I mince words because of him,” Stirling answered, “but honestly, we members of the Talamasca think in language such as this.”

“Well, for your records and your files,” Lestat said, “we don’t have ranks. In fact, I’d say that as a species we are given to rigidly individual personalities and obdurate differences, and peculiar mobility as to matters of friendship and company and meeting of minds. We come together in small covens and then are driven wildly apart again. We know little lasting peace with each other. We have no ranks.”

This was intriguing and my fear melted just a little as Stirling came back in his careful polite voice.

“I understand that,” he said. “But to return to the question at hand, as to why the Elders made this warlike declaration, I think they honestly believed that those vampires who had once been part of us might come to try to reason with us, and we might benefit thereby in meeting with actual beings such as yourself. We might carry our knowledge of you to a higher realm.”

“It was all scholastic is what you’re saying,” said Lestat.

“Yes. And surely you must realize what it has meant for us to lose three members to your collective power, whatever the cause of it, and no matter how it was accomplished. We were stunned by each defection, and mystified as to the dialogue, if any, that might have preceded what happened. We wanted to learn, you see. We wanted . . . to know.”

“Well, it didn’t work, did it?” said Lestat, his calm demeanor unchanged. “And you weren’t content with the Chronicles alone, were you? They told you all about the dialogue. But you and the Elders wanted this eye-to-eye view.”

“No, it didn’t work,” said Stirling, and he seemed now to be possessed of his full dignity and strength. His gray eyes were clear. “On the contrary, we provoked from you more audacity. You dared to publish a Chronicle using the name Merrick Mayfair. You dared to do this even though a great family by the name of Mayfair lives in this city and its environs to this day. You had no care when you did that.”

I felt a sharp stab in my heart. My own beloved Mayfair flashed before my eyes. But here was Stirling being positively reckless again.

“Audacity!” said Lestat, his smile broadening as he glared at Stirling. “You accuse me of audacity! You’re living and breathing now entirely because I want it.”