Blood Canticle by Anne Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

line of her jaw.
    Her expression was intensely dramatic, and I sensed an immediate and sweeping probe of my mind, which I locked up tight. I felt chills down my backbone. She was creating this.
    She had fully expected to read my thoughts and she couldn’t. And she was blocked from knowing what was going on upstairs. She didn’t like it. But to put it more Biblically, she was deeply grieved.
    And being shut out, she tried to make sense of my appearance, not at all concerned with the superficial eccentricity of the frock coat and my messy hair, but of elements which were more purely vampiric—the subtle sheen of my skin and the electric blue of my eyes.
    I had to start talking quickly, but let me fill you in first on my instantaneous take on the other Mayfair—Fr. Kevin—who was standing at the far mantel, the only other occupant of the room.
    Nature had dealt him the same cards as Mona—deep green eyes and red hair. In fact, he could have been her big brother, the genes were so close, and he was my height, six feet, and well built. He wore clerical black with the white Roman collar. And he was not the witch Rowan was, but he was more than slightly psychic, and I could read him easily: he thought I was weird and he was hoping Mona was already dead.
    I sparked off the memory of him at Mass in his Gothic robes holding the chalice in his hands.
This is my blood.
And for reasons I couldn’t possibly explain, I was taken slap back to my village childhood in France, to the ancient church and the village priest saying those very same words, chalice in hand, and for a moment I lost my perspective on everything. Other mortal memories threatened, perfected in color and lucidity. I saw the monastery where I’d studied, so happy, where I’d so wanted to be a monk. Oh, this was sickening.
    And with another decided chill, I realized that Dr. Mayfair had caught these images out of my mind before I closed it up again.
    I shook it off, annoyed for a moment that the double parlor was so crowded with shadow. Then my eyes latched on to the stark, don’t belong, figure of Oncle Julien, three-dimensional and exquisitely solid in a slim gray suit, standing in the far corner, arms folded, eying me with calculating opposition. He was fiercely actual, and fiercely bright.
    “What’s wrong with you?” Dr. Rowan Mayfair asked. Her voice was deep, husky and sensual. Her eyes were still picking me apart.
    “You don’t see any ghost in here, do you?” I blurted out without thinking, the ghost just standing there all the while as it came clear to me that of course they didn’t, neither of them. This shining and self-contained menace had it in for me.
    “No, I don’t see anything,” Rowan answered promptly. “There’s a ghost in this room that I ought to see?”
    Women with these husky voices have a miraculous advantage.
    “You do have your ghosts here,” Fr. Kevin said acceptingly. Yankee accent. Boston. “As Quinn’s friend, I thought you’d know.”
    “Oh, I do, yes,” I said. “But I never get used to them. Ghosts scare me. So do angels.”
    “And didn’t you hold an exorcism to get rid of Goblin?” asked the priest, throwing me off guard.
    “Yes, and it worked,” I said, glad of the distraction. “Goblin’s gone from this house, and Quinn’s free of him for the first time in his life. I wonder what it will mean to him.”
    Oncle Julien didn’t budge.
    “Where is she?” asked Rowan, meaning Mona, who else?
    “She wants to stay here,” I said. “You know, it’s simple.” I crossed in front of her and sat down in a chair with its back to the floor lamp, putting myself in a bit of shadow, and so I could see everyone, even my nemesis. “She doesn’t want to die at Mayfair Medical. She managed to drive the limousine all the way over here. You know Mona. And she’s with Quinn upstairs. I want you to trust us. Leave her with us. We’ll take care of her. We can call Aunt Queen’s old nurse to help us.”
    Rowan was