He took a sip of his warm tea. Whatever his facade, he was becoming increasingly anxious. And something similar and more enervating was building in me. What if this does work?

“Oh, but it will work,” he said in that grave heartfelt manner. “And there are other excellent reasons why I wouldn’t attempt to harm you. Let’s talk them through.”

“By all means.”

“Well, you could get out of the mortal body if I attacked it. I’ve already explained you must cooperate.”

“What if you were too fast?”

“It’s academic. I wouldn’t try to harm you. Your friends would know if I did. As long as you, Lestat, are here, inside a healthy human body, your companions wouldn’t think of destroying your preternatural body, even if I’m at the controls. They wouldn’t do that to you, now, would they? But if I killed you—you know, smashed your face or whatever before you could disentangle yourself … and God knows, this is a possibility, I myself am keenly aware of it, I assure you!—your companions would find me sooner or later for an impostor, and do away with me very quickly, indeed. Why, they would probably feel your death when it happened. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. But they would discover everything eventually.”

“Of course!”

“It’s imperative that you stay away from them while you’re in my body, that you don’t go near New Orleans, that you keep clear of any and all blood drinkers, even the very weak: Your skill at cloaking yourself, you must use it, you realize … ”

“Yes, certainly. I’ve considered the entire enterprise, please be assured. If I were to burn up your beautiful Louis de Pointe du Lac, the others would know immediately, wouldn’t they? And I might be the next torch burning brightly in the dead of night myself.”

I didn’t answer. I felt anger moving through me as if it were a cold liquid, driving out all anticipation and courage. But I wanted this! I wanted it, and it was near at hand!

“Don’t go troubling yourself about such nonsense,” he pleaded. His manner was so like David Talbot’s. Perhaps it was deliberate. Maybe David was the model. But I thought it more a matter of similar breeding, and some instinct for persuasiveness which even David did not possess. “I’m not really a murderer, you know,” he said with sudden intensity. “It’s acquisition that means everything. I want comfort, beauty around me, every conceivable luxury, the power to go and live where I please.”

“You want any instructions?”

“As to what?”

“What to do when you’re inside my body.”

“You’ve already given me my instruction, dear boy. I have read your books.” He flashed me a broad smile, dipping his head slightly and looking up at me as if he were trying to lure me into his bed. “I’ve read all the documents in the Talamasca archives as well.”

“What sort of documents?”

“Oh, detailed descriptions of vampire anatomy—your obvious limits, that sort of thing. You ought to read them for yourself. Perhaps you’d laugh. The earliest chapters were penned in the Dark Ages and are filled with fanciful nonsense that would have made even Aristotle weep. But the more recent files are quite scientific and precise.”