Whatever the case, might not the swift destruction of the Vampire Lestat avert it?
  
  The Plan: Destroy the Vampire Lestat and all his co-'. horts as soon as they dare to 
show themselves. Destroy all those who show him allegiance.
  
  A Warning: Inevitably, there are other very old blood drinkers out there. We have all 
from time to time glimpsed them, or felt their presence. Lestat's revelations do not 
shock so much as they rouse some unconscious awareness within us. And surely with their 
great powers, these old ones can hear Lestat's music. What ancient and terrible beings, 
incited by history, purpose, or mere recognition, might be moving slowly and inexorably 
to answer his summons?
  
  Copies of this Declaration have to been sent to every meeting place on the Vampire 
Connection, and to coven houses the world over. But you must take heed and spread the 
word: The Vampire Lestat is to be destroyed and with him his mother, Gabrielle, his 
cohorts, Louis and Armand, and any and all immortals who show him loyalty.
  
  Happy Halloween, vampire boys and girls. We shall see you at the concert. We shall see 
that the Vampire Lestat never leaves it.
  
  The blond-haired figure in the red velvet coat read the declaration over again from his 
comfortable vantage point in the far corner. His eyes were almost invisible behind his 
dark tinted glasses and the brim of his gray hat. He wore gray suede gloves, and his arms 
were folded over his chest as he leaned back against the high black wainscoting, one boot 
heel hooked on the rung of his chair.
  
  "Lestat, you are the damnedest creature!" he whispered under his breath. "You are a 
brat prince." He gave a little private laugh. Then he scanned the large shadowy room.
  
  Not unpleasing to him, the intricate black ink mural drawn with such skill, like 
spiderwebs on the white plaster wall. He rather enjoyed the ruined castle, the graveyard, 
the withered tree clawing at the full moon. It was the cliche reinvented as if it were 
not a cliche, an artistic gesture he invariably appreciated. Very fine too was the molded 
ceiling with its frieze of prancing devils and hags upon broomsticks. And the incense, 
sweet-an old Indian mixture which he himself had once burnt in the shrine of Those Who 
Must Be Kept centuries ago.
  
  Yes, one of the more beautiful of the clandestine meeting places.
  
  Less pleasing were the inhabitants, the scattering of slim white figures who hovered 
around candles set on small ebony tables.
  
  I Far too many of them for this civilized modern city. And they g knew it. To hunt 
tonight, they would have to roam far and wide, and young ones always have to hunt. Young 
ones have to kill.
  
  They are too hungry to do it any other way. ::!     But they thought only of him just 
now - who was he, where had he come from? Was he very old and very strong, and what would 
he do before he left here? Always the same questions, though he tried to slip into their 
"vampire bars" like any vagrant blood drinker, eyes averted, mind closed. Time to leave 
their questions unanswered. He had what he wanted, a fix on their intentions. And 
Lestat's small audio cassette in his jacket pocket. He would have a tape of the video 
rock films before he went home.
  
  He rose to go. And one of the young ones rose also. A stiff jf silence fell, a silence 
in thoughts as well as words as he and the jj| young one both approached the door. Only 
the candle flames moved, throwing their shimmer on the black tile floor as if it were in 
water.
  
  "Where do you come from, stranger?" asked the young one |r politely. He couldn't have 
been more than twenty when he died, and that could not have been ten years ago. He 
painted his eyes, waxed his lips, streaked his hair with barbaric color, as if the 
preternatural gifts were not enough. How extravagant he looked, not unlike what he was, a 
spare and powerful revenant who could with luck survive the millennia.
  
  What had they promised him with their modern jargon? That gfite should know the Bardo, 
the Astral Plane, etheric realms, the fiStousic of the spheres, the sound of one hand 
clapping? :|||:  Again he spoke: "Where do you stand on the Vampire Lestat, and the 
Declaration?"
  
  "You must forgive me. I'm going now."
  
  But surely you know what Lestat's done," the young one , slipping between him and the 
door. Now, this was not good manners.
  
  He studied this brash young male more closely. Should he do something to stir them up? 
To have them talking about it for centuries? He couldn't repress a smile. But no. There'd 
be enough excitement soon, thanks to his beloved Lestat.
  
  "Let me give you a little piece of advice in response," he said quietly to the young 
inquisitor. "You cannot destroy the Vampire Lestat; no one can. But why that is so, I 
honestly can't tell you."
  
  The young one was caught off guard, and a little insulted.
  
  "But let me ask you a question now," the other continued. "Why this obsession with the 
Vampire Lestat? What about the content of his revelations? Have you fledglings no desire 
to seek Marius, the guardian of Those Who Must Be Kept? To see for yourselves the Mother 
and the Father?"
  
  The young one was confused, then gradually scornful. He could not form a clever answer. 
But the true reply was plain enough in his soul-in the souls of all those listening and 
watching. Those Who Must Be Kept might or might not exist; and Marius perhaps did not 
exist either. But the Vampire Lestat was real, as real as anything this callow immortal 
knew, and the Vampire Lestat was a greedy fiend who risked the secret prosperity of all 
his kind just to be loved and seen by mortals.
  
  He almost laughed in the young one's face. Such an insignificant battle. Lestat 
understood these faithless times so beautifully, one had to admit it. Yes, he'd told the 
secrets he'd been warned to keep, but in so doing, he had betrayed nothing and no one.