myself. He was a very interesting man. "You silver-tongued British bastard," I said. "How 
dare you say that to me with such condescension? Maybe I should kill you right now."
  
  That did it. He was stunned. Covering it up rather well but I could still see it. And I 
knew how frightening I could look, especially when I smiled.
  
  He recovered himself with amazing swiftness. He folded the paper with the phone number 
on it and slipped it into his pocket.
  
  "Please accept my apology," he said. "What I meant to say was that I hope you'll come 
back."
  
  "Call the number," I said. We looked at each other for a long moment; then I gave him 
another little smite. I stood up to take my leave. Then I looked down at his desk.
  
  "Why don't I have my own file?" I asked.
  
  His face went blank for a second; then he recovered again, miraculously- "Ah, but you 
have the book!" He gestured to The Vampire Lestat on the shelf.
  
  "Ah, yes, right. Well, thank you for reminding me." I hesitated. "But you know, I think 
I should have my own file."
  
  "I agree with you," he said. "I'll make one up immediately. It was always . . . just a 
matter of time."
  
  I laughed softly in spite of myself. He was so courteous. I made a little farewell bow, 
and he acknowledged it gracefully.
  
  And then I moved past him, as fast as I could manage it, which was quite fast, and I 
caught hold of Louis, and left immediately through the window, moving out and up over the 
grounds until I came down on a lonely stretch of the London road.
  
  It was darker and colder here, with the oaks closing out the moon, and I loved it. I 
loved the pure darkness! I stood there with my hands shoved into my pockets looking at 
the faint faraway aureole of light hovering over London; and laughing to myself with 
irrepressible glee.
  
  "Oh, that was wonderful; that was perfect!" I said, rubbing my hands together; and then 
clasping Louis's hands, which were even colder than mine.
  
  The expression on Louis's face sent me into raptures. This was a real laughing fit 
coming on.
  
  "You're a bastard, do you know that!" he said. "How could you do such a thing to that 
poor man! You're a fiend, Lestat. You should be walled up in a dungeon!"
  
  "Oh, come on, Louis," I said. I couldn't stop laughing. "What do you expect of me? 
Besides, the man's a student of the supernatural. He isn't going to go stark raving mad. 
What does everybody expect of me?" I threw my arm around his shoulder. "Come on, let's go 
to London. It's a long walk, but it's early. I've never been to London. Do you know that? 
I want to see the West End, and Mayfair, and the Tower, yes, let's do go to the Tower. 
And I want to feed in London! Come on."
  
  "Lestat, this is no joking matter. Marius will be furious. Everyone will be furious!"
  
  My laughing fit was getting worse. We started down the road at a good clip. It was so 
much fun to walk. Nothing was ever going to take the place of that, the simple act of 
walking, feeling the earth under your feet, and the sweet smell of the nearby chimneys 
scattered out there in the blackness; and the damp cold smell of deep winter in these 
woods. Oh, it was all very lovely. And we'd get Louis a decent overcoat when we reached 
London, a nice long black overcoat with fur on the collar so that he'd be warm as I was 
now.
  
  "Do you hear what I'm saying to you?" Louis said. "You haven't learned anything, have 
you? You're more incorrigible than you were before!"
  
  I started to laugh again, helplessly.
  
  Then more soberly, I thought of David Talbot's face, and that moment when he'd 
challenged me. Well, maybe he was right. I'd be back. Who said I couldn't come back and 
talk to him if I wanted to? Who said? But then I ought to give him just a little time to 
think about that phone number; and slowly lose his nerve.
  
  The bitterness came again, and a great drowsy sadness suddenly that threatened to sweep 
my little triumph away. But I wouldn't let it. The night was too beautiful. And Louis's 
diatribe was becoming all the more heated and hilarious:
  
  "You're a perfect devil, Lestat!" he was saying. "That's what you are! You are the 
devil himself!"
  
  "Yes, I know," I said, loving to look at him, to see the anger pumping him so full of 
life. "And I love to hear you say it, Louis. I need to hear you say it. I don't think 
anyone will ever say it quite like you do. Come on, say it again. I'm a perfect devil. 
Tell me how bad I am. It makes me feel so good!"
  
  
  
  
  
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