Free Blood Canticle by Anne Rice

Evil again, you fiend!
    “Surrender to both of us, me and the Blood,” I said. “I want you and Quinn to be perfect the way I’m not. I want to take you through an apprenticeship that’s flawless. You hear me? Quinn was twice maimed when twice born. Bad mothers. I want to erase that from his heart.”
    I felt Quinn’s gentle squeeze on my arm. An assent even though I was lying practically on top of the succulent little love of his life, now transformed into his immortal companion.
    “The Blood told me things,” she said. She was in no hurry. Her tears were dried, like ashes flaking on her cheeks. “It was coherent, the Blood,” she said. “I didn’t realize it until it was over. It felt too good. Then came the thoughts. I know you’ve survived centuries. You’ve even survived yourself. You went into a desert place like Christ. You didn’t die because your blood’s too strong. You’re afraid you can’t die. Everything you’ve believed in has been shattered. You tell yourself you have no illusions, but that’s not true.”
    She shivered again. It was advancing too fast for her. Maybe too fast for me. Where was that ghost? Tell her about the ghost? No. I was relieved she couldn’t read my mind anymore.
    “I have no theology of us,” I said to her. I was really talking to Quinn too. “God tolerates us, but what does that mean?”
    She smiled almost bitterly. “Who has a theology of now, anyway?” she asked.
    “Lots of people. Your Fr. Kevin, it seems,” I replied.
    “He has a Christology,” she replied. “It’s different.”
    “Sounds awfully good to me,” I said.
    “Oh, come on, he couldn’t convert you if he had the next hundred years.”
    I thought bitterly of Memnoch, the Devil. I thought of God Incarnate, with whom I’d spoken. I thought of all my doubts that any of it had been real, of all my suspicions that I was the mere pawn of spirits in some elaborate game, and of how I’d fled Perdition, with its myriad roaring holographs of confrontational guilt for the cold snow-filled streets of New York, avowing the material, the sensual, the solid above all illusions. Did I really not believe in those things which I saw? Or had I simply found that cosmos to be unendurable?
    I didn’t know. I wanted to be a saint! I was frightened. I felt emptiness. What was the nature of her monster child? I didn’t want to know. Yes, I did.
    And then I fixed my eyes on her. I thought of Quinn. And there flared for me in dim luminescence a scheme of meaning.
    “We do have myths,” I said. “We had a goddess. But now is not the time for all those things. You needn’t believe all I’ve seen. What I do have to give you is a vision. I think a vision is stronger than an illusion. And the vision is that we can exist as powerful beings without hurting anyone who’s good and kind.”
    “Slay the Evil Doer,” she said with inevitable innocence.
    “Amen,” I said. “Slay the Evil Doer. And then we do possess the world, the world you wanted when you were a crazed kid, daydreaming on your long restless walks all over New Orleans, your professed Wander Slut days, the little Sacred Heart Academy girl seducing all of her cousins, I know you, and thriving at home on junk food and the computer, yeah, I saw it, your drunken parents safely out of your hair, their names already inscribed in the Book of Death, all that before anything broke your heart.”
    “Whoa!” She gave me back a soft laugh. “So vampires can say all those words without taking a breath. You got it. And you just told me not to look back. You like to give orders.”
    “So we ransacked each other’s souls during the Dark Trick, that’s what’s supposed to happen,” I said. “I wish I could eat your little mind now. You’ve got me puzzled. Dreaming dreams. I’m forgetting things, like, for instance, that those I make in the Blood usually wind up despising me or leaving me for simpler reasons.”
    “I don’t want to leave you,” she