I was now coughing almost continuously, and blowing my nose frantically with those miserable little paper handkerchiefs.

“You cannot imagine how absolutely revolting it is to be in this body,” I said. “Now, please, do it quickly, do it with your greatest skill. It’s been a hundred years since you did it last. Thank God for that. The power is not dissipated. I’m ready now. There need be no preparations. When I regain my form, I’ll fling him into this one and burn him to a cinder.”

He made no reply.

I stood up, pacing again, this time to keep warm and because a terrible apprehension was taking hold of me. After all, I was about to die, was I not, and be born again, as it had happened over two hundred years ago. Ah, but there would be no pain. No, no pain … only those awful discomforts which were nothing compared to the chest pain I felt now, or the chill knotted in my fingers, or in my feet.

“Louis, for the love of God, be quick,” I said. I stopped and looked at him. “What is it? What’s the matter with you.”

In a very low and uncertain voice he answered:

“I cannot do this.”

“What!”

I stared at him, trying to fathom what he meant, what possible doubt he could have, what possible difficulty we must now dispose of. And I realized what a dreadful change had come over his narrow face—that all its smoothness had been lost, and that indeed it was a perfect mask of sorrow. Once again, I realized that I was seeing him as human beings saw him. A faint red shimmer veiled his green eyes. Indeed, his entire form, so seemingly solid and powerful, was trembling.

“I cannot do it, Lestat,” he said again, and all his soul seemed to come out in the words. “I can’t help you!”

“What in the name of God are you saying to me!” I demanded. “I made you. You exist tonight because of me! You love me, you spoke those very words to me. Of course you will help me.”

I rushed towards him, slamming my hands down on the desk and looking into his face.

“Louis, answer me! What do you mean, you can’t do it!”

“Oh, I don’t blame you for what you’ve done. I don’t. But can’t you see what’s happened? Lestat, you have done it. You have been reborn a mortal man.”

“Louis, this is no time to sentimentalize the transformation. Don’t throw my own words back at me! I was wrong.”

“No. You weren’t wrong.”

“What are you trying to tell me! Louis, we are wasting time. I have to go after that monster! He has my body.”

“Lestat, the others will deal with him. Perhaps they already have.”

“Already have! What do you mean, already have!”

“Don’t you think they know what’s happened?” He was deeply distressed but also angry. How the human lines of expression appeared and disappeared in his supple flesh as he spoke. “How could such a thing have taken place without their knowing?” he said, as if he were pleading with me to understand. “You spoke of this Raglan James as a sorcerer. But no sorcerer can veil himself entirely from creatures as powerful as Maharet or her sister, as powerful as Khayman and Marius, or even Armand. And what a clumsy sorcerer—to murder your mortal agent in such a bloody and cruel way.” He shook his head, his hands suddenly pressed to his lips. “Lestat, they know! They must know. And it could well be that your body has already been destroyed.”