The Vampire Lestat (The Vampire Chronicles, #2)

by Anne Rice

I wanted to say Nicki sat by your bed when you were dying, does that mean nothing? But how sentimental, how mortal that sounded, how positively foolish. Yet it wasn’t foolish. “I don’t mean to judge you,” she said. She folded her arms and leaned against the window. “I simply don’t understand. Why did you write to us? Why did you send us all the gifts? Why didn’t you take this white fire from the moon and go where you wanted with it?” “But where should I want to go?” I said. “Away from all those I’d known and loved? I did not want to stop thinking of you, of Nicki, even of my father and my brothers. I did what I wanted,” I said. “Then conscience played no role in it?” “If you follow your conscience, you do what you want,” I said. “But it was simpler than that. I wanted you to have the wealth I gave you. I wanted you … to be happy.” She reflected for a long time. “Would you have had me forget you?” I demanded. It sounded spiteful, angry. She didn’t answer immediately. “No, of course not,” she said. “And had it been the other way around, I would never have forgotten you either. I’m sure of it. But the rest of them? I don’t give a damn about them. I shall never exchange words with them again. I shall never lay eyes on them.” I nodded. But I hated what she was saying. She frightened me.