按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
But I had others around me when I lost Daniel； or rather when gaining Daniel as a fledgling； I lost him as a mortal lover and gradually began to let him go。
I had others because I had again； for reasons that I cannot explain to myself or anyone； made yet another Coven…another successor to the Paris Coven of Les Innocents； and the Theatre des Vampires； and this was a swank； modern hiding place for the most ancient； the most learned； the most enduring of our kind。 It was a honeyb of luxurious chambers hidden in that most concealing of edifices…a modern resort hotel and shopping palace on an island off the coast of Miami； Florida； an island on which the lights never went out and the music never ceased to play； an island where men and women came by the thousands in small boats from the mainland to browse the expensive boutiques； or to make love in opulent； decadent； magnificent and always fashionable hotel suites and rooms。
〃The Night Island；〃 that was my creation； with its own copter pad and marina； its secret illegal gambling casinos； its mirror…lined gymnasiums and overheated swimming pools； its crystal fountains； its silver escalators； its emporium of dazzling consumables； its bars； taverns； lounges and theaters where I myself； decked out in smart velvet jackets； tight denim pants and heavy black glasses； hair clipped each night （for it grows back to its Renaissance length each day）； could roam in peace and anonymity； swimming in the soft caressing murmurs of the mortals around me； searching out when thirst prompted it that one individual who truly wanted me； that one individual who for reasons of health or poverty or sanity or insanity wanted to be taken into the tentative and never overpowering arms of death and sucked free of all blood and all life。
I didn't go hungry。 I dropped my victims in the deep warm clean waters of the Caribbean。 I opened my doors to any of the Undead who would wipe their boots before entering。 It was like the old days of Venice； with Bianca's palazzo open to all ladies and gentlemen； indeed； to all artists； poets； dreamers and schemers who dared to present themselves； had e again。
Well； they had not e again。
It took no bunch of black…robed tramps to disperse the Coven of The Night Island。 Indeed those who were couched there for a short while simply wandered off on their own。 Vampires do not really want the pany of other vampires。 They want the love of other immortals； yes； always； and they need it； and they need the deep bonds of loyalty which inevitably grow amongst those who refuse to bee enemies。 But they don't want the pany。
And my splendid glass…walled drawing rooms on The Night Island were soon empty； and I myself had long before that started to wander for weeks； even months on my own。
It is there still； The Night Island。 It is there； and now and then I do go back； and I find there some lone immortal who has checked in； as we say in the modern age； to see how it goes with the rest of us； or with some other who might be visiting as well。 The great enterprise I sold for a mortal fortune…but I maintain my ownership of the four…story villa （a private club： name； Il Villagio）； with its deep secret underground crypts to which all of our kind are wele to e。
All of our kind。
There are not so many。 But let me tell you now who they were。 Let me tell you now who has survived the centuries； who has resurfaced after hundreds of years of mysterious absence； who has e forward to be counted in the unwritten census of the modern Living Dead。
There is Lestat； first and foremost； the author of four books of his life and his adventures prising everything you could ever possibly want to know about him and some of us。 Lestat； ever the maverick and the laughing trickster。 Six feet tall； a young man of twenty when made； with huge warm blue eyes and thick flashy blond hair； square of jaw； with a generous beautifully shaped mouth and skin darkened by a sojourn in the sun which would have killed a weaker vampire； a ladies' man； an Oscar Wildean fantasy； the glass of fashion； the most bold and disregarding dusty vagabond on occasion； loner； wanderer； heart…breaker and wise guy； dubbed the 〃Brat Prince〃 by my old Master… yes； imagine it； my Marius； yes； my Marius； who did indeed survive the torches of the Roman Coven…dubbed by Marius the 〃Brat Prince；〃 though in whose Court and by whose Divine Right and whose Royal Blood I should like to know。 Lestat； stuffed with the blood of the most ancient of our kind； indeed the very blood of the Eve of our species； some five to seven thousand years the survivor of her Eden； a perfect horror who； emerging from the deceptive poetical title of Queen Akasha of Those Who Must Be Kept； almost destroyed the world。
Lestat； not a bad friend to have； and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life； one for whose love and panionship I have ofttimes begged； one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying； one without whom I cannot exist。
So much for him。
Louis de Pointe du Lac； already described above but always fan to envisage： slender； slightly less tall than Lestat； his maker； black of hair； gaunt and white of skin； with amazingly long and delicate fingers； and feet that do not make a sound。 Louis； whose green eyes are soulful； the very mirror of patient misery； soft…voiced； very human； weak； having lived only two hundred years； unable to read minds； or to levitate； or to spellbind others except inadvertently； which can be hilarious； an immortal with whom mortals fall in love。 Louis； an indiscriminate killer； because he cannot satisfy his thirst without killing； though he is too weak to risk the death of the victim in his arms； and because he has no pride or vanity which would lead him to a hierarchy of intended victims； and therefore takes those who cross his path； regardless of age； physical endowments； or blessings bestowed by nature or fate。 Louis； a deadly and romantic vampire； the kind of night creature who hovers in the deep shadows at the Opera House to listen to Mozart's Queen of the Night give forth her piercing and irresistible song。
Louis； who has never vanished； who has always been known to others； who is easy to track and easy to abandon； Louis who will not make others after his tragic blunders with vampiric children； Louis who is past questing for God； for the Devil； for Truth or even for love。
Sweet； dusty Louis； reading Keats by the light of one candle。 Louis standing in the rain on a slick deserted downtown street watching through the store window the brilliant young actor Leonardo DiCaprio as Shakespeare's Romeo kissing his tender and lovely Juliet （Claire Danes） on a television screen。
Gabrielle。 She's around now。 She was around on The Night Island。 Everyone hates her。 She is Lestat's Mother； and abandons him for centuries； and somehow doesn't manage to heed Lestat's periodic and inevitable frantic cries for help； which though she could not receive them； being his fledgling； could certainly learn of them from other vampiric minds which are on fire with the news round the world when Lestat is in trouble。 Gabrielle； she looks just like him；