Memnoch the Devil (The Vampire Chronicles, #5)

by Anne Rice

would never have taken the liberty. But the only thing that’s brought Armand here is worry for you.” “Is that so?” I said. I raised my eyebrows. “Well?” “You know damned good and well it is,” said Armand. His whole posture was casual; he’d learned, beating about the world, I guess. He didn’t look so much like a church ornament anymore. He had his hands in his pockets. Little tough guy. “You’re looking for trouble again,” he went on, in the same slow manner, without anger or meanness. “The whole wide world isn’t enough for you and never will be. This time I thought I’d try to speak to you before the wheel turns.” “Aren’t you the most thoughtful of guardian angels?” I said sarcastically. “Yes, I am,” he said without so much as blinking. “So what are you doing, want to let me know?” “Come, I want to go deeper into the park,” I said, and they both followed me as we walked at a mortal pace into a thicket of the oldest oaks, where the grass was high and neglected, and not even the most desperate homeless heart would seek to rest. We made our own small clearing, among the volcanic black roots and rather cool winter earth. The breeze from the nearby lake was brisk and clean, and for a moment there seemed little scent of New Orleans, of any city; we three were together, and Armand asked again: “Will you tell me what you’re doing?” He bent close to me, and suddenly kissed me, in a manner that seemed entirely childlike and also a bit European. “You’re in deep trouble. Come on. Everyo...