“—are fused with mine, and I lose my equilibrium completely. I’m lost as well in memories, which he either engenders or falls prey to, I don’t know which, but we travel back to moments in the crib or the playpen, and I feel only love for him as I must have felt as an infant or a toddler. It’s a laughing bliss that I feel. And it’s often wordless except for expressions of love, which are rudimentary.”

“How long does this last?”

“Moments, seconds,” said Lestat for me.

“Yes, and each time is stronger than the one before it,” I added. “The last time—it came last night—there was a tug on my heart as well as tiny slashing wounds, much worse than I’ve felt before, and he exited through the window, shattering all the glass much the same as he did tonight. He’s never been so destructive before.”

“He has to be destructive now,” she said. “He’s foolishly increased the material makeup of his being. Whereas once he was almost entirely energy, he now has considerable matter as well, and he can’t pass through solid walls as he once did. On the contrary, he needs a doorway or a window.”

“That’s exactly right,” I said. “I’ve been witnessing it. I’ve been feeling the air change, feeling him leave.”

She nodded. “It’s in our favor that he’s subject to gravity, but it’s always so with ghosts. It’s only more so now with him because he’s developed an appetite for blood, and so encumbered himself. Can you tell me anything else about this fusion?”

I hesitated, then confessed. “It’s very pleasurable. It’s like . . . like an orgasm. It’s like . . . it’s like our contact with our victims. It’s like the fusion with them, only it’s much much milder.”

“Milder?” she asked. “Do you lose your equilibrium when you take your victims?”

“No, no I don’t,” I answered. “I see your point. But the pleasure isn’t as strong with Goblin. I’d admit it if it was. It’s confusion I feel, along with mild pleasure.”

“Very well. Is there anything more that you can tell me?”

I thought for a long time. “I feel sad,” I said, “terribly sad because he’s my brother, and he died, and he never had any life except the life I gave him. And now this has occurred, and he can’t go on. And I think—I know—I should die with him.”

She studied me for several minutes, and so did Lestat, and then Lestat spoke up, his French accent rather sharp as he looked at me:

“That’s not required, Quinn, and besides, even if you did try to take him with you into death, there’s no guarantee that he would go.”