Foster Fledgling
Chapter Twenty-four
François woke up, and stretched luxuriously. Even though it was past sunset, he felt no pressing need to rise just yet. He was feeling a bit lazy, and since there was no reason not to do so, he indulged himself. As he had every night for the past few months, he relished the fact that he was again able to sleep in a bed. He'd become accustomed to shutting himself into the enclosed space, so that he scarcely thought about it, but even so, some things required a bed; it just was not possible to get a good, satisfying stretch when confined in a coffin.
It had taken some time, but eventually the renovations at St. Elizabeth's had met with Louis's demanding standards, and the coffins in the cellar were more or less abandoned in favor of the more comfortable accommodations upstairs. Several rooms were now available for the use of whomever happened to be in residence, all of them completely secure from sunlight and fitted with every possible luxury.
As he looked around him, François felt a security that had little to do with Louis's near-obsessive caution. This was his room, filled with his things. He had never had a room of his own before, not really, not like this; it still enough of a novelty to awe him when he considered it. There were the bookshelves, filled with enough books to keep him busy for several months to come, even reading at the accelerated speed that his vampire nature allowed. There were the shelves of music and movies, too, favorites that he enjoyed over and over, and the new ones he'd not yet grown tired of. There was his computer, complete with all the accouterments, and a telephone of his own, too. Louis had gotten him a desk, a replica of the one in his own office but smaller so to fit François's smaller stature; right now, it was nearly buried beneath a stack of research books, an annoying reminder of an assignment that he'd been trying to ignore for several nights. There was the dressing room, filled with clean, new clothes, and a pair of armoires, one filled with various toys and games, and the other concealing the television, video player, and stereo that Louis had given him that first night they'd come here.
This was his room; his, François de Pointe du Lac. He never got tired of hearing the sound of that name. He still could not believe that Louis had gone to the trouble of adopting him, legally and all; the night that Louis had taken him aside, and had showed him the papers, François had broken down in tears. Here was irrefutable proof that his old life of fear and neglect was forever gone, replaced with an existence that still seemed too marvelous to be real.
He loved his life now.
With another stretch, he turned over and reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on and sitting up. He had a good half hour, he knew, before Louis would come for him, time enough to wash and dress and make himself presentable. He still found it strange, that he awakened at the same time as Louis now. It had happened gradually, over the first few months, he'd awakened earlier and earlier, until he settled at about the same time as the elder vampire. He wondered how it was possible, him being so much younger, and it had worried him, some. Louis, however, had assured him that it was understandable; he had Lestat's stronger blood, and Lestat had the ancient blood of Akasha, so that made him very strong for his age. So, he had stopped worrying about it, and enjoyed the extra time they had to spend together.
It was a good thing, too. Now that Lestat had lapsed into a near catatonic state, not speaking, not moving, Louis needed François just as much as he needed his father. Often, if François didn't insist on going out together, he knew that Louis didn't hunt at all. He'd make little excuses, of course, that he'd step out once François was ensconced in the schoolroom, or that he'd take a break later and hunt, but François didn't believe him. He had eyes, after all; he could see, the next night, how drawn and pale and cold Louis was. So, they went out together every evening, and although they separated for the actual kill, François checked to see if Louis had fed. Louis had protested at first, but soon realized that his son was every bit as stubborn as he was.
François chuckled at the memory, and hopped off the bed, running his hands along the shiny paint. He never got tired of looking at that bed. It was glaringly out of place among the other furnishings, the heavy carved oak and rich velvets; a stock car, nearly life-sized, gaudily painted and complete with appropriate decals and logos. He knew it was a bit ridiculous, this child's bed, obviously intended for someone much younger than his seventeen years, but he loved it. He'd loved it from the minute he saw it in a catalogue, and of course, Louis had gotten it for him. He'd received much good-natured ribbing about his "car" from the more mature members of the coven, but he didn't care. It was a comfortable bed, despite the unorthodox appearance, and since he'd been smallish for his age when he was given the Dark Gift, he had no concerns that he would ever outgrow it.
He had a quick wash, and stepped into his dressing room, pulling on jeans and a shirt, sliding his wallet into one pocket, and also remembering to tuck a clean handkerchief into another. He ran a comb through his hair, deciding against trimming it tonight; he was in the mood to be a bit scruffy. On a whim, he searched the bank of clothes until he found a loose, dark vest. He threw it on, shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers, and grabbed his favorite Saints cap, then was out the door and on his way downstairs, his feet pounding down the old steps.
He jumped the last three steps, landing with a satisfyingly loud thump on the hardwood floor. He immediately ran to the back courtyard, to find Mojo. Stepping outside, he saw that Mojo was not on his leash, he was nowhere to be found.
"Why would Louis bring him inside already? It doesn't look like rain," he mused aloud, looking at the twilight sky. Still curious, he returned inside, and made his way to the sitting room. As a rule, the family tended to gather there at the start of the evening, anyone who was in residence; it was a pleasant way to make arrangements for watching Lestat, without making it seem like anything out of the ordinary. But when François stepped inside the paneled room, there was no one there.
"Now, this is weird," he said aloud. "Everyone can't be gone already." He dropped into one of the heavy, leather covered armchairs, and made himself very still. He extended his vampiric hearing, straining his ears to try to locate everyone else.
Ah. There it was. He heard heartbeats, very faint, coming from somewhere. He followed the sound to the old chapel, and paused at the door. He hadn't been inside since that first night he'd come here, and Lestat had reacted so violently to him. For that matter, he hadn't actually seen Lestat since that time; Louis had been adamant about François keeping his distance, and François had been only too happy to comply. Despite the assurances of Louis, and the others, Lestat still scared the hell out of him. All that power, and that temper, and that infamous unpredictability - when combined with François's own vivid imagination, he was certain that Lestat would probably incinerate him on sight.
Right now, however, Lestat still lay on the chapel floor, as he had that first night, only of course now, he wasn't raving. In fact, he wasn't doing much of anything, judging from what François had seen, via Daniel. He lay on the floor of the chapel, silent, unmoving, looking for all the world like a statue François had once seen of a martyred saint - who was it, Felicity? Cecilia? One of those ancient Roman martyrs, anyway.
François hesitated, his hand on the door handle. He could hear voices now, Louis, Armand, Marius, Daniel and David, the usual crowd. He could hear Mojo, panting, whining the way he did when he wanted to be petted.
And another voice. François's heart thudded in his chest. He knew that voice, he'd heard it only briefly, but he knew it. Lestat was awake. Awake, and speaking in a normal tone.
"Oh, hell," François muttered, under his breath. A lump formed in his throat, and he fought back the tears. His hands shook. His knees felt weak. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to pull himself together. He counted to twenty, first in English, then in French, then in Latin. He recited lyrics to himself, he chanted a mantra. In a matter of moments, he was calm again. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, only afterwards remembering his handkerchief.
"Okay, that's enough of that," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Remember who you are. You're François de Pointe du Lac. You're Louis's child, he loves you. He loved you enough to adopt you, when he didn't have to do that. You belong here, as much as Lestat does."
He took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Lestat sat on one of the gilt chairs, one arm thrown casually over the back, the other hand busy scratching Mojo's ears. Louis sat beside him, looking more relaxed than François had seen in a long time. Daniel and Armand stood off to one side, talking quietly, Armand glancing at Lestat periodically. Marius stood beside Lestat, deep in conversation with him, while David stood near the windows, watching everyone in the room in his quiet, studious, almost sly way.
François slipped inside, and stood in the shadows of the entry way. Mojo noticed him, of course, and came running over to greet him. He knelt, and buried his face in the dog's neck, feeling the soft fur against his cheek. "Mojo, I promise, I won't leave you, no matter what," he whispered. He stood again, and took another deep breath, and walked over to where the others waited.
"Good evening, Louis," he said, leaning over to kiss Louis's cheek. "I didn't know where everyone was. I know I'm not supposed to be in here, but . . . " He let his voice trail off.
Louis stood, and embraced him warmly. He'd been weeping, François noticed, but wasn't now, and seemed in very good spirits nonetheless. "François, cher, never mind about that. I'm sorry I wasn't able to wait for you tonight, but as you can see, I was called down here."
"I see," François replied, and looked from Louis to Lestat, then back. "Is everything alright now? I mean," he swallowed once, hard, forcing his voice to not crack with fear. "Maybe I should leave, I need to hunt." He turned to leave, and felt a hand on his arm.
"I'm not that frightening, am I?" Lestat asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. François turned around, and forced himself to meet the sapphire eyes. "I don't mean to frighten you, really, I don't."
"I'm not scared," François lied. He tried, unobtrusively, to pull away from Lestat, but the marble hand on his arm was unmoving. He gave up, and stood very still. He hoped that Lestat could not hear his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm not afraid of you, Lestat."
"Ah, but you're lying to me now," Lestat laughed. "That's not very polite, you know."
"Lestat, you are deliberately trying to frighten him," Louis scolded. "François, don't worry, he won't hurt you. I won't let him."
"No, " Marius added, emphatically. "We won't. Lestat, behave yourself."
"Oh, stop your worrying, both of you," Lestat replied, grimacing. "François, relax. You're perfectly safe here, all your bodyguards," he gestured to the others, "will make sure I behave myself. Now, sit down. I'd like to talk to you." He patted the chair beside him, and smiled, just showing his fangs. It was a genuine smile, with no trace of rancor or threat, and for the first time, François relaxed a bit. With a final look to Louis, who nodded and also smiled, he sat down.
"So," Lestat said, tilting his head and gazing at François. "You are François, about whom Louis talks endlessly."
"Lestat, that's hardly -"
"Hush, Louis. You'll have your turn, later." He turned back to François. "I think we have some things to talk about, you and I. You have questions, no doubt. I know I do."
"I guess so," François said, shrugging. "I mean, I know what I am, I know how to survive." He glanced at Louis, who smiled encouragingly. "What else is there?"
"There is a great deal else, boy," Lestat said. "I know. I know you want to ask me things. 'Why did I make you?' for one thing." He leaned closer. "Don't tell me you don't want to know that."
"Maybe," François admitted. "I am what I am, now, though, so why does that matter?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know that, to be honest. But he didn't want Lestat to know that. Not just yet, anyway.
"Oh, no, not another one," Lestat groaned, and rolled his eyes. "Louis, you didn't tell me you'd already poisoned the child's mind." He looked back to François. "I do remember it now, you know. I didn't for a long time, but I do now."
"I hear you," François said, smiling slightly. "I had Swiss cheese for a memory, too, for awhile."
Lestat laughed. "That's a good way to put it. Yes, Swiss cheese. I like that." He laughed again, and then looked sharply at François. "You haven't hunted yet, have you? No, of course not," he didn't wait for an answer, but went on. "You can't have hunted, you just awoke, didn't you? Well, that's settled then." He rose to his feet, and patted François on the shoulder. "Come along, then. You'll hunt with me, tonight. I want to see if you've been properly taught."
"Lestat, I don't think that's a very good idea," Louis protested, also rising. "François is - is -"
"Is what, Louis?" Lestat demanded, crossing his arms. "Is not hungry? I doubt that. He's young, and he's just awoken, I'm sure he's ravenous."
"That's not what I meant," Louis began, but Lestat put a hand to his mouth, silencing him.
"Now, Louis, don't be so over protective."
"He has good cause to be," Armand said, walking over, Daniel right behind him. "You are up to something, Lestat. We know you too well. What is your game?"
"I have no game, Armand," Lestat said, gazing on him with a warm, bittersweet expression. "I only want to get to know him, ask him some questions without an audience hovering around me."
"We only wish to protect François," Marius said, mildly. "You are acting entirely out of character, Lestat. We know you, we know how your mind works."
"But that's just it," Lestat said, his eyes narrowing and a smile twitching at his lips. "I haven't been in my mind for some time, I'm out of practice. Maybe," he stepped closer to Marius, grinning widely, showing his fangs to their full glory. "Maybe, I've become a saint. You never know."
"That'll be the day," Daniel muttered. He'd never held any animosity for Lestat, despite the blond vampire's past with Armand. But, he had grown very fond of François in the past two years, and felt a bit protective of him. "You always have some kind of agenda, 'Stat. We just want to make sure Frankie isn't part of it."
"Daniel, you cut me to the quick," Lestat said, his hand over his heart. "Really, all of you, this is beginning to hurt my feelings. I may weep, I really may. I'm still very weak, you know."
"Lestat, don't be so melodramatic," David spoke up, and walked over to join them. "We have legitimate concerns."
"What the hell do you think I'm going to do?" Lestat demanded, throwing his arms in the air.
"That's just it, Lestat," Marius said, quietly, putting a hand on his arm. "We never know what you're going to do. And we want to protect François. That's all."
"Lestat is not going to harm François," Louis said, quietly but with a firmness that brooked no denial. He stepped beside François, and put his arms on the boy's shoulders, pulling him close. "François knows I won't allow that." He looked at Lestat, his emerald gaze intense and unwavering. "Lestat knows this. Don't you, Lestat?"
"Don't be an ass, Louis," Lestat replied. But he didn't break the gaze, either.
"I'm not afraid," François said, speaking up. "I'll go with you, Lestat. I'll hunt with you."
"You don't have to do this, you know," Armand said, reaching out and running the back of his hand down François's cheek. "Don't let him pressure you into this."
"I'm really not afraid, Armand," François said, taking his hand and squeezing it. Silently, he added, "But could you stay kind of close?"
"Of course, Caro," Armand replied, then turned to his fledgling. "Daniel, I think perhaps it would be a good idea if we, too, hunted soon. Don't you think so?"
"Yeah," Daniel nodded knowingly. "I think that's a great idea."
"Lestat," Marius said, glancing at Armand and the younger fledglings. "If François is willing to go with you, we will not stop you. But I will have you know this." He leaned close, speaking softly, but very clearly. "You will not be alone with the boy. One of us will monitor everything. Do you understand?"
Lestat looked into his eyes for a long moment, and then turned away. "Fine." He threw a hand in the air, dismissing the whole matter. "Whatever you want to do. I'm not going to harm the boy, regardless of what you all think." He turned back to Louis, and abruptly took him in his arms. "Louis, I promise you, I will not harm your child. Now, kiss me, and let me go."
Louis blushed, but didn't push his maker away. "Very well, Lestat. Just don't frighten him. He's not used to you, he doesn't understand your . . . sense of humor." He waited until Lestat nodded, and then kissed him, and pulled away. "François?" he said softly.
"Yes, Louis?" François turned away from Armand and Daniel.
"You be a good boy, alright?" Louis smiled at him, and held out his hand. François was at his side in a moment, and Louis embraced him warmly. "You'll be home soon, and we'll talk more then, you and I. Alright?"
"Yes, Louis," François said, standing on tip toe to kiss Louis on both cheeks. "You have to hunt as well, you know. No cheating."
"I promise," Louis smiled. "No cheating."
"If you two are quite finished," Lestat was at the door of the chapel, leaning against the jamb. "I haven't fed in quite a long time. I'm feeling a bit peckish. Could we go?"
"Sorry," François called, and gave Louis another quick embrace. Then, he joined Lestat at the door. "Okay, Lestat. I'm ready whenever you are."
Foster Fledgling - Chapter Twenty-five
E-Mail the Author
