Chapter 3
The first to awaken as twilight approached was Louis. He opened his eyes to the darkness of his curtained room, immediately aware of the fading daylight and the stillness of the house around him. For a moment, he remained motionless, recalling the events of the previous night—their narrow escape from the Théâtre des Vampires, the journey to this isolated sanctuary, his conversation with Lestat.
Louis rose and drew back the heavy curtains just enough to glimpse the western sky, still painted with the fading colors of sunset. Night was approaching, but had not yet fully arrived. This early wakefulness was a sign of his age and power as a vampire; the younger ones would still be locked in their death-sleep.
Moving silently through the shadowed house, Louis checked first on Claudia and Madeline. To his surprise, he found Claudia already stirring, her eyes open and alert though Madeline still lay in the stillness of vampire sleep beside her.
"You're awake early," he observed, keeping his voice low.
Claudia sat up, her child's face solemn in the dim light. "I didn't sleep well," she replied, which struck Louis as odd—their daytime sleep was not truly sleep at all, but a kind of death from which awareness was supposed to be absent.
"Are you unwell?" he asked, concern edging his voice.
She shook her head, golden curls catching what little light filtered through the curtains. "No. Just... thinking."
Louis hesitated, sensing her reluctance to elaborate. "Shall we go downstairs? Madeline and Lestat will join us when they awaken."
Claudia nodded, sliding from the bed with her characteristic grace. She wore the same clothes from the night before, now rumpled and stained with dust from their escape. "I need fresh clothing," she observed, looking down at herself with distaste.
"We all do," Louis agreed, his own attire in similar disarray. "Perhaps Lestat can arrange something once he's fully recovered."
They descended to the main floor of the house, which looked different in the gloaming—less abandoned, somehow, as if their presence had begun to reclaim it from neglect. Louis lit several lamps, their warm glow creating islands of light in the deepening darkness.
"Do you think he'll stay with us?" Claudia asked suddenly, standing by the window and peering out at the gathering night.
Louis didn't need to ask who she meant. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "He saved us, but..."
"But I tried to kill him," she finished, her voice matter-of-fact. "I poisoned him and cut his throat and left him to die."
Louis had no response to this stark summary of events. Instead, he joined her at the window, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "What happens now depends partly on you, Claudia. On what you want."
She looked up at him, her expression impossible to read. "What I want," she repeated softly. "I'm not sure I know anymore. For so long, all I wanted was freedom from him, from what he made me. And now..."
"And now?" Louis prompted when she fell silent.
"Now I wonder if I understood anything at all," she said, turning back to the window. "About him. About myself. About what we are to each other."
Before Louis could respond, they heard movement from upstairs—Madeline awakening, most likely. Louis squeezed Claudia's shoulder once before stepping away. "I'll check on her," he said. "Will you be alright alone for a moment?"
Claudia nodded, her gaze still fixed on the darkening landscape outside. As Louis ascended the stairs, he glanced back to see her small form silhouetted against the window, a perfect child statue carved from marble and shadow.
---
By the time Louis returned with Madeline, fully awake and composed despite her disheveled appearance, night had completely fallen. The three of them gathered in the drawing room, an odd family tableau illuminated by flickering lamplight.
"Should we wake Lestat?" Madeline asked, glancing toward the stairs. "The night is fully upon us now."
Louis shook his head. "Let him rest. His injuries were severe. The more he sleeps, the faster he'll heal."
Claudia had settled into an armchair too large for her, making her appear even more doll-like. "What are we to do now?" she asked, her quiet voice filling the room. "The Théâtre will be hunting us. They don't forgive those who escape their justice."
Louis had been considering this very question throughout the evening. "We need to leave France," he said. "Perhaps Europe altogether. Start again somewhere far from here."
"Running again," Claudia observed, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "Always running."
"Do you have a better suggestion?" Louis asked, not unkindly.
Claudia was silent for a moment. "No," she admitted finally. "But I'm tired of building lives only to abandon them. New Orleans, then Paris... How many times must we reinvent ourselves?"
"It's the nature of what we are," Louis replied softly. "Immortality has its price."
"A price Lestat never warned us about," she said, but the accusation lacked its usual venom.
Madeline, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "What of my dolls? My shop?" There was a plaintive note in her voice, a lingering attachment to the human life she had so recently abandoned.
Louis regarded her sympathetically. "I'm afraid they're lost to you now, Madeline. As are all the trappings of your former existence."
Madeline's face fell, but she nodded in acceptance. "I knew that, I suppose. I just hadn't fully considered..."
"The totality of the change," Louis finished for her. "Few of us do, at the beginning."
Their conversation was interrupted by a sound that froze them all in place—a knock at the front door, firm and deliberate. The three vampires exchanged alarmed glances.
"Who could know we're here?" Madeline whispered, moving instinctively closer to Claudia.
Louis shook his head, rising slowly to his feet. "No one," he said. "No one except..."
"Armand," Claudia supplied, her face suddenly tense. "He could have followed us."
The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.
"Should we wake Lestat?" Madeline asked, fear evident in her voice.
Louis hesitated. Lestat was still recovering, and would be weakened if roused prematurely from his healing sleep. Yet if Armand and his coven had indeed found them, they would need every advantage.
"Stay here," he instructed, moving toward the entrance hall. "Keep Claudia out of sight."
Madeline nodded, drawing Claudia behind her in a protective gesture that would have been comical given their respective appearances—the mortal-seeming woman shielding the immortal child—if the situation hadn't been so dire.
Louis approached the front door cautiously, extending his senses to perceive what might lie beyond. He could feel them now—vampires, at least three, possibly more, their presence a cold pressure against his consciousness.
The knocking came a third time, accompanied now by a voice. "Open the door," it commanded, a voice he didn't recognize. "By order of the Théâtre des Vampires, open this door."
Louis backed away, returning swiftly to the drawing room. "We need to leave," he told Madeline and Claudia. "Now. Through the back. There are vampires outside, sent from the Théâtre."
Claudia's eyes widened. "How did they find us?"
"It doesn't matter," Louis said, already moving to extinguish the lamps. "We need to—"
A tremendous crash interrupted him as the front door splintered inward, wood shrieking as it gave way. Heavy footsteps entered the hall, followed by the sound of multiple intruders spreading throughout the ground floor.
"Upstairs," Louis hissed, pushing Madeline and Claudia toward the staircase. "Wake Lestat if you can. I'll hold them off."
Claudia grabbed his hand. "No, Louis. They'll kill you."
"Go!" he insisted, freeing himself from her grip. "I'll follow when I can."
Reluctantly, Claudia allowed Madeline to lead her up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness of the upper floor just as the first of the intruders entered the drawing room.
There were three of them, dressed in the elegant black attire favored by the Théâtre's vampires. The one in the lead was tall and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and eyes like burning coals. Behind him stood a woman with hair so pale it seemed to glow in the dimness, and a third vampire, younger in appearance, with the eager expression of a predator scenting blood.
"Where are the others?" the leader demanded without preamble. "The child and her doll-maker?"
Louis straightened to his full height, facing them with a calm he didn't entirely feel. "You have no authority here," he said. "This house is under Lestat de Lioncourt's protection."
The pale woman laughed, a sound like glass breaking. "Lestat de Lioncourt is a traitor to his kind," she said. "His protection means nothing."
"The law is clear," the leader added, taking a step forward. "No vampire may attempt to destroy their maker and live. The child was sentenced. Her escape does not negate that sentence."
"And what of Lestat?" Louis countered. "It was his right to forgive Claudia's transgression against him. He chose mercy."
The young vampire sneered. "Mercy is weakness. The Théâtre does not recognize it."
From elsewhere in the house came the sounds of more intruders—footsteps on the stairs, doors being flung open. Louis realized with a sinking feeling that there were more than three vampires; the others must have entered through another way while these three held his attention.
"Last chance," the leader said, his voice softening to something almost reasonable. "Tell us where the child is, and perhaps we'll show you the mercy Lestat was so foolish to grant."
Louis tensed, preparing to fight though he knew it was futile. He might take one of them, possibly two, but not all. And somewhere upstairs, Claudia and Madeline were being hunted.
"They're not here," he lied, playing for time. "We separated after leaving Paris. Lestat took them east, toward the German states."
The pale woman tilted her head, studying him. "You lie poorly for one so old," she observed. "I can smell the child in this very house. Her scent is... distinctive."
The leader nodded to his companions. "Find them," he ordered. "Bring the child here. Do what you wish with the doll-maker."
As the other two moved to obey, Louis lunged forward, catching the leader by surprise. They crashed into the wall, plaster cracking with the impact. Louis's fangs were bared, his hands seeking the older vampire's throat.
The fight was brief and brutal. The leader was stronger, more experienced in combat. Within moments, he had Louis pinned to the floor, one knee pressing painfully into his chest.
"Fool," the leader hissed, his face inches from Louis's. "Did you think you could stand against us alone?"
From upstairs came a sudden commotion—shouts, the sound of breaking furniture, a woman's scream cut short. Louis struggled more desperately, knowing it was Madeline they had found.
The leader smiled, a terrible expression that revealed fangs like daggers. "Too late," he whispered. "The child is—"
His words were cut off by a new sound—footsteps on the stairs, measured and unhurried. The leader looked up, his grip on Louis loosening slightly in his momentary distraction.
Lestat stood in the doorway, his tall figure silhouetted against the darkness of the hall. He was still visibly injured, his face and hands bearing the marks of his burns, but there was nothing weak in his posture or in the cold fury of his expression.
"I believe," he said, his voice soft but carrying a lethal edge, "that you're trespassing in my house."
The leader rose, releasing Louis, who gasped as the pressure on his chest eased. "Lestat de Lioncourt," the leader acknowledged with a mocking bow. "The traitor himself."
Lestat's smile was terrible to behold. "Is that what they're calling me now? How dramatic." His gaze flicked to Louis. "Are you hurt?"
Louis shook his head, rising slowly to his feet. "Claudia and Madeline—"
"Are safe for the moment," Lestat finished. "I've taken care of our other... guests."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "You cannot stand against the Théâtre, Lestat. We are legion. Where these have fallen, others will follow."
Lestat stepped fully into the room, his movements graceful despite his injuries. "Then I suggest you return to your 'legion' with a message," he said. "The child is under my protection. Any who come for her come for me." His voice hardened. "And as your companions upstairs have just discovered, that is a very unwise decision."
The leader's face contorted with rage. "You would protect the very creature who tried to destroy you? Have you no pride? No sense of justice?"
"Justice," Lestat repeated, as if savoring the word. "An interesting concept coming from creatures who feed on the living. Tell me, does the Théâtre dispense its 'justice' to every vampire who feeds indiscriminately? Who leaves a trail of bodies for mortals to discover? Or is your justice reserved only for those who inconvenience you personally?"
The leader took a step forward, his hands curled into claws. "You will burn for this betrayal, Lestat. The Théâtre will see to it."
Lestat's response was not what Louis expected. Instead of returning the threat, he closed his eyes briefly, a look of intense concentration on his face. When he opened them again, they burned with an unnatural light.
The leader stopped mid-step, his body going rigid. A look of confusion, then horror, spread across his features.
"What... what are you doing?" he gasped, his hands now clutching at his own throat.
Lestat didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on the leader, who had begun to tremble violently, blood tears seeping from his eyes.
"Stop," the leader begged, falling to his knees. "Please—"
"You came into my house," Lestat said, his voice eerily calm. "You threatened my family. And now you will serve as an example to others who might consider doing the same."
The leader's trembling increased, becoming a violent seizure. Blood poured from his eyes, his nose, his ears, as if his body were being turned against itself from within. With a final, choked cry, he drew his own fingernails across his throat in a sudden, violent motion, opening his jugular in a fountain of blood.
Louis watched in horrified fascination as the vampire collapsed, his life's blood—the blood of countless victims—spilling across the floor in a widening pool. Within moments, he had gone still, his eyes wide and staring at nothing.
Lestat lowered his hand, the unnatural light fading from his eyes. He swayed slightly, the effort having clearly cost him in his weakened state.
"What did you do?" Louis asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lestat's expression was grim. "I reminded him that the mind is the most dangerous weapon we possess," he said. "A lesson the Théâtre seems to have forgotten."
From upstairs came the sound of movement, and moments later Claudia appeared in the doorway, Madeline close behind her. Both looked disheveled but unharmed. Claudia's eyes widened as she took in the scene—Lestat standing over the dead vampire, blood soaking into the ancient carpet.
"The others?" Louis asked.
"Dead," Lestat replied simply. "All of them."
Claudia moved slowly into the room, her gaze fixed on Lestat. "You killed them," she said. It wasn't a question. "With your mind."
Lestat met her gaze steadily. "Yes."
"I didn't know you could do that," she said, a hint of her old calculation entering her voice.
"There are many things you don't know about me, Claudia," Lestat replied, a warning in his tone. "Many things I never taught you or Louis."
"Why not?" she asked, genuine curiosity replacing calculation.
Lestat's expression softened slightly. "Some powers come with too high a price," he said. "Some knowledge is best left unshared."
The leader's body had begun to shrivel, the process of decay accelerated as it often was with their kind. Soon there would be nothing but dust where a powerful vampire had stood only minutes before.
"You'll burn for this betrayal," Louis quoted the leader's final threat.
Lestat's mouth curved in a bitter smile. "Till then," he said simply, turning away from the remains. "Till then, we live."
He looked at each of them in turn—Louis, Claudia, Madeline—his expression impossible to read. "This house is no longer safe," he said. "They found us too quickly, which means Armand has more resources than I anticipated. We need to leave. Tonight."
"Where will we go?" Madeline asked, her voice small.
Lestat considered for a moment. "East, I think. To lands where the old ways are still respected. Where the Théâtre's influence is weaker."
"Russia?" Louis suggested.
Lestat nodded. "Perhaps. Or beyond. There are places in this world where our kind have existed for centuries without the petty politics of European covens."
"And we'll be safe there?" Claudia asked, a note of skepticism in her voice.
Lestat looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Safer than here," he said. "And together, we are stronger than apart. That much has been proven tonight."
He extended his hand toward Claudia, a gesture that could have been threatening or conciliatory. After a moment's hesitation, she stepped forward and placed her small hand in his.
"Together then," she said, and for once, there was no calculation in her voice, no hidden agenda in her words. Just a simple acknowledgment of a truth they had all come to recognize: divided, they were vulnerable; united, they might survive.
Lestat's fingers closed gently around hers. "Together," he agreed, and in that moment, a tentative new bond formed between maker and creation, father and child—a bond forged not of coercion or necessity, but of choice.
Outside, the night deepened, and somewhere in the darkness, the agents of the Théâtre des Vampires were already gathering, planning their next move against the renegade vampires who had defied their authority. But for this moment, in this blood-soaked room in an abandoned house far from Paris, the four vampires stood united, a strange and broken family preparing to face whatever the endless night might bring.