“Very well,” said Lestat. “Come on, Little Brother, let’s hunt. I know of two Evil Doers in Boca Raton who are alone in a magnificent waterfront mansion. It will be such fun, you wouldn’t believe. Good night, Stirling. Good night to the Talamasca. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 52

52

THE SKY WAS still a deep lavender when I walked into the house the following night. Lestat was lingering in the cemetery saying some last prayer for Merrick, or to Merrick, I wasn’t sure which.

Our hunting last night in Boca Raton had been marvelous and he had once again given me the gift of his all-powerful blood and I was exhilarated and confused and praying in my own way for some sign of what to do about Mona, wondering if I could just see her and talk to her; if I went to Mayfair Medical and insisted, could I perhaps use some spellbinding power to get to where she was? One last glimpse . . . one last talk.

But suddenly Jasmine and Clem both came rushing up to me at the foot of the stairs.

“There’s a crazy woman in your bedroom,” said Jasmine. “There was nothing we could do to stop her, Quinn. It’s Mona Mayfair, you remember her? She’s up there, Quinn. She drove here in a limousine full of flowers, Quinn, and she’s a living skeleton, you’re gonna die when you see her. Quinn, wait, we couldn’t stop her. Only reason we helped her with all those flowers is she was so weak.”

“Jasmine, lemme go!” I shouted. “I love her, don’t you understand?”

“Quinn, she’s got something wrong with her! Be careful!”

I ran up the stairs as fast as any mortal man dared and rushed into my bedroom and slammed the door shut and locked it.

She rose up to greet me. A living skeleton! Oh yes! And the bed was covered with her flowers. I stood there shocked to the core of my being, shocked and so glad to see her, so glad to rush to her and take her fragile form in my arms! My Mona, my frail and withering Mona, my pale and magnificent Mona, oh, my God, don’t let me hurt you.

“I love you, my beloved Ophelia,” I said, “my Ophelia Immortal, and mine always . . .”

Oh, look at the roses, the marguerites, the zinnias, the lilies.

“Noble Abelard,” she whispered. “I’ve come to ask the ultimate sacrifice; I’ve come to ask, let me die here, let me die with you here, let me die here instead of there with their needles and their tubes, let me die in your bed.”