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I heard it。 I turned and leapt high into the air and received it； the silvery rain floating down to me like the blessing of the dark Heavens； the baptismal waters of the damned。
The music surged。 A barbarous rhythm broke loose everywhere； the orderly chain of dancers forgotten。 In rain and in the unquenchable blaze of the giant fire； the vampires threw out their arms； howling； writhing； their limbs constricting so that they stomped with backs bent； heels pounded into the earth； and then sprang free； arms outstretched； mouths open； hips churning as they whirled and leapt； and caught in raucous open…throated volume the hymn came again； Dies irae； dies ilia。 Oh； yes； oh； yes； day of woe； oh； day of fire！
Afterwards； when the rain came down solemnly and steadily； when the bonfire was no more but a black wreckage； when they all had gone off to hunt； when only a few milled the dark ground of the Sabbat； chanting their prayers in anguished delirium； I lay still； the rain washing me； as I put my face against the ground。
It seemed the monks were there from the old Monastery in Kiev。 They laughed at me； but gently。 They said； 〃Andrei； what made you think you could escape？ Didn't you know that God had called you？〃
〃Get away from me； you are not here； and I am nowhere； I am lost in the dark wastes of a winter without end。〃
I tried to picture Him； His Holy Face。 But there was only Allesandra； e to help me to my feet。 Allesandra； who promised to tell me of dark times； long before Santino was made； when she had been given the Dark Gift in the forests of France to which we now would be going together。
〃Oh Lord； Lord hear my prayer；〃 I whispered。 If I could but see the Holy Face。
But we were forbidden such things。 We could never； never look upon His Image！ Until the end of the world； we would work without that fort。 Hell is the absence of God。
What can I say in defense of myself now？
What can I say？
Others have told the tale； how for centuries I was the stalwart leader of the Paris Coven； how I lived out those years in ignorance and shadow； obeying old laws until there was no more any Santino or Roman Coven to send them to me； how in rags and quiet despair； I clung to the Old Faith and the Old Ways as others went into the fire to destroy themselves； or simply wandered away。
What can I say in defense of the convert and the saint that I became？
For three hundred years I was the vagabond angel child of Satan； I was his baby…faced killer； his lieutenant； his fool。 Allesandra was always with me。 When others perished or deserted； there was Allesandra who kept the faith。 But it was my sin； it was my journey； it was my terrible folly； and I alone must carry the burden of it for as long as I exist。
THAT LAST MORNING in Rome； before I was to leave for the north； it was decided that my name must be changed。
Amadeo； containing the very word for God； was most unseemly for a Child of Darkness； especially one meant to lead the Paris Coven。
From various choices given me； Allesandra chose the name Armand。
So I became Armand。
PART II
The BRIDGE of SIGHS
16
I REFUSE to discuss the past another moment。 I don't like it。 I don't care about it。 How can I tell you about something that doesn't interest me？ Is it supposed to interest you？
The problem is that too much has been written about my past already。 But what if you haven't read those books？ What if you haven't wallowed in The Vampire Lestat's florid descriptions of me and my alleged delusions and errors？
All right； all right。 A little bit more； but only to bring me to New York； to the moment when I saw Veronica's Veil； so that you don't have to go back and read his books； so that my book will be enough。
All right。 We must continue to cross this Bridge of Sighs。
For three hundred years； I was faithful to the Old Ways of Santino； even after Santino himself had disappeared。 Understand； this vampire was by no means dead。 He turned up in the modern era； quite healthy； strong； silent and without apology for the credos he had stuffed down my throat in the year 1500 before I was sent north to Paris。
I was mad during those times。 Lead the Coven I did； and of its ceremonies； his fanciful dark litanies and bloody baptisms； I became the architect and the master。 My physical strength increased with each year； as is the case with all vampires； and drinking greedily from my victims； for it was the only pleasure of which I could dream； I fed my vampiric powers。
Spells I could make around those I killed； and choosing the beautiful； the promising； the most audacious and splendid for my feast； I nevertheless conveyed upon them fantastical visions to blunt their fear or suffering。
I was mad。 Denied the places of light； the fort of entering the smallest church； bent on perfection in the Dark Ways； I wandered as a dusty wraith through the blackest alleyways of Paris； turning her noblest poetry and music into a din by the wax of piety and bigotry by which I stopped my ears； blind to the soaring majesty of her cathedrals or palaces。
The Coven took all my love； with chatter in the dark of how we might best be Satan's saints； or whether a beautiful and bold poisoner should be offered our demonic pact and made one of us。
But sometimes I went from an acceptable madness to a state of which I alone knew the dangers。 In my earthen cell in the secret catabs beneath the great Paris Cemetery of Les Innocents where we made our lair； I dreamt night after night of one strange and meaningless thing： What had bee of that fine little treasure my mortal Mother had given me？ What had bee of that strange artifact of Podil which she'd taken from the Ikon corner and put in my hands； that painted egg； that crimson painted egg with the star so beautifully painted on it？ Now； where could it be？ What had bee of it？ Had I not left it； wrapped thickly in fur in a golden coffin in which I'd once lodged； ah； had all that really ever taken place； that life I thought I recalled from a city of brilliant white…tiled palaces and glittering canals and a great sweet gray sea fall of swift and graceful ships； plying their long oars in perfect unison as if they were living things； those ships； those beautifully painted ships； so often decked with flowers； and with the whitest sails； oh； that could not have been real； and to think； a golden chamber with a golden coffin in it； and this special treasure； this fragile and lovely thing； this painted egg； this brittle and perfect egg； whose painted covering locked inside to utter perfection a moist； mysterious concoction of living fluids…oh； what strange imaginings。 But what had happened to it！ Who had found it！
Somebody had。
Either that or it was still there； hidden far below a palazzo in that floating city； hidden in a waterproof dungeon built deep into the oozing earth beneath the waters of the lagoon。 No； never。 Not so； not there。 Don't think of it。 Don't think of profane hands getting that thing。 And you know； you lying treacherous little soul； you never； never went back to any such place as the low city with t