“Do it to me, please, beautiful one,” I whispered in his ear. “Take this heat into your veins, and give me back all the power that I once gave to you.” I pressed my lips to his cold, colorless mouth. “Give me the future, Louis. Give me eternity. Take me off this cross.”

In the corner of my eye, I saw his hand rise. Then I felt the satin fingers against my cheek. I felt him stroke my neck. “I can’t do it, Lestat.”

“You can, you know you can,” I whispered, kissing his ear as I spoke to him, choking back the tears, my left arm slipping around his waist. “Oh, don’t leave me in this misery, don’t do it.”

“Don’t beg me anymore,” he said sorrowfully. “It’s useless. I’m going now. You won’t see me again.”

“Louis!” I held fast to him. “You can’t refuse me.”

“Ah, but I can and I have.”

I could feel him stiffening, trying to withdraw without bruising me. I held him ever more tightly, refusing to back away.

“You won’t find me again here. But you know where to find her. She’s waiting for you. Don’t you see your own victory? Mortal again, and so very, very young. Mortal again, and so very, very beautiful. Mortal again, with all your knowledge and with the same indomitable will.”

Firmly and easily he removed my arms and pushed me back, closing his hands over mine as he held me away from him.

“Good-bye, Lestat,” he said. “Perhaps the others will come to you. In time, when they feel you’ve paid enough.”

I gave one last cry, trying to free my hands, trying to fix upon him, for I knew full well what he meant to do.

In a dark flash of movement, he was gone, and I was lying on the floor.

The candle had fallen over on the desk and had gone out. Only the light of the dying fire filled the little room. And the shutters of the door stood open, and the rain was falling, thin and quiet, yet steady. And I knew I was completely alone.

I had fallen to one side, my hands out before me to break the fall. And as I rose now, I cried out to him, praying that somehow he could hear me, no matter how far away he’d gone.

“Louis, help me. I don’t want to be alive. I don’t want to be mortal! Louis, don’t leave me here! I can’t bear it! I don’t want it! I don’t want to save my soul!”

How long I repeated these themes I don’t know. Finally, I was too exhausted to continue; and the sounds of this mortal voice and all its desperation were hurtful to my own ears.

I sat on the floor, one leg crooked beneath me, my elbow resting on my knee, my fingers in my hair. Mojo had come forward, fearfully, and lay now beside me, and I leaned down and pressed my forehead into his fur.