Free Blood Canticle by Anne Rice Page A

said. Then came the pucker of her red eyebrows again, tiny distinct wrinkles in the smooth flesh that vanished instantly. “I’m thirsting,” she said. “Am I supposed to thirst? I can see blood. I can smell it. I want it.”
    I sighed. I wanted to give her mine. But it wasn’t the right way to go about things. She needed her appetite for the hunt. I was flustered suddenly.
    Even Quinn, with all the adolescent mortal lust boiling in his brain, was handling her rebirth better than I was. Let’s get a grip.
    I withdrew from the flower-strewn bower. Woke up to the room. And Quinn standing there, patient, with so much confidence in me that he kept his jealousy in check. I sparked off his blue eyes.
    She ruffled the flowers on the bed into ruin and mumbled poetry again.
    I took her hand and brought her up off the bed and onto her feet. She shook all the petals out of her hair. I tried not to look at her. She was as ripe and glowing as any dream-world sacrificial virgin. She sighed and looked at all the scattered clothes.
    Quinn gathered them up, swooping down, circling her carefully as if he didn’t dare to touch her.
    She looked at me. No flaw remained. All the bruises of those needles, they were gone as I knew they would be. But I must confess (to you) that I’d been a little unsure. She’d been so weak, so worked over, so torn. But the cells had been there, hiding, waiting for the renewal. And the Blood had found them out and re-created her.
    Her lips were trembling a little and she said in a half whisper,
    “How long do you think before I can go to Rowan? I don’t want to fake my death, tell them lies, all that, disappear leaving a space where I was. I—. There are things I want to know from them. My child, you know, she went away. We lost her. But maybe now . . .” She was looking around at the most common objects, the bedpost, the edge of the velvet spread, the carpet under her naked toes. She flexed her toes. “Maybe now. . . .”
    “You don’t have to die,” I said. “Isn’t Quinn the clear proof of that? Quinn’s been living here at Blackwood Farm for a year. Things are in limbo for you. Later on tonight you can call Rowan. Tell her you’re all right, that the nurse is here . . .”
    “Yes . . .”
    “She’s a sweet and loving nurse whom I can dazzle like that, I’ve done it, I know, and they’ll feed her Creole chicken and rice in the kitchen. You’re blinding me, Beautiful. Put on your clothes.”
    “Right-O, Boss,” she whispered.
    A smile flitted across her face, but I could tell her mind was giving her no peace. One minute she was looking at the flowers as though they were out to attack her and the next she was plunged into thought.
    “But what about the people left in this house?” she asked. “They all saw me when I came in. I know what I looked like. We tell them it’s a miracle?”
    I burst out laughing.
    “Is there a raincoat in your closet, Quinn?”
    “I can think of something fancier than that,” he replied.
    “Cool. And you can carry her down the steps? I already told Clem we’d be going into New Orleans.”
    “Right-O, Boss,” she said again, with a faint smile. “What are we going to do in New Orleans?”
    “Hunt,” I said. “Hunt and drink from the Evil Doer. You use your telepathic power to seek them out. But I’m going to assist you. I’m going to lead you to the kill. I’m going to be there with you.”
    She nodded. “I’m positively parched,” she said. Then her eyes went wide. Her tongue had just touched her tiny fang teeth. “Good God,” she whispered.
    “He’s in Heaven,” I said softly. “Don’t let Him hear you.”
    She took the panties from Quinn and slipped them on, pulling them up over her little nest of red pubic hair. That was ten times worse than pure nakedness. The lace slip with its delicate straps came over her head, a bit long for her because she wasn’t as tall as Aunt Queen had been, but otherwise it was fine, snug over her