Foster Fledgling
Chapter Eight
"Mon dieu!" Louis reread the message several times, to assure himself that he was not imagining it. Yes, it was right there. He sat back in his chair, weak with relief, and stared at the computer screen. Armand had sent this news late that morning, just before sunrise, most likely. But from where? Why must Armand always be so cryptic? Just this once, couldn't he give a few details?
Louis grabbed up the telephone, and began dialing. From the time Armand had discovered the cellular telephone, he was never without one; Louis had never been able to prove it, but he suspected that Armand even kept it in his coffin during the day.
The line rang twice, and then he heard the unmistakable Northern California accent.
"Yeah, Lou?" Daniel answered, his grin evident in his voice.
"Yes, it is I," Louis responded, for the moment ignoring the implied jibe. "Please, what is going on? Where are you? When will you be here? Is he well?"
"Keep your shirt on, Lou," Daniel said, not unkindly. "We're in a limo, just coming up on . . ." he paused, "Hey! I didn't know the Saints had a home game tonight! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Daniel," Louis took a deep breath, and forced himself to remain calm. "Please, may I speak to Armand?"
"Um, well, Lou, that's kind of a problem just now," Daniel lowered his voice. "He isn't in the car. I mean, not this car. He's - I can't explain. Don't worry, we'll be there in a few minutes."
Before Louis could inquire further, the line went dead. He sat for a few moments, staring at he telephone in his hand as if it could answer his questions. Something was wrong, very wrong. He hung up the telephone and quickly shut down his computer. He then moved about the room, putting things to order, the routine tasks giving him some comfort, and distracting his mind from the worry that gnawed at him.
He went to the closet, and pulled out the suit he'd chosen for François. It was not yet tailored, but it should fit well enough, it would suffice. He also found the shiny black oxfords, and one of the crisp white shirts. Belatedly, he realized that he'd neglected to purchase a tie. Well, he had several, and quickly chose one of black silk. Louis had planned to allow François total control over his attire, as he himself loathed Lestat's constant attempts to dress him, but tonight was an exception. It was only polite, after all, and respectful to his elders. François must look his very best when he met Armand and Daniel, and even more so when he met Lestat. He must make a good impression.
He had no concerns with Armand or Daniel, they had already expressed their acceptance. But Lestat, well, Lestat was nothing if not unpredictable. Louis didn't think there would be any problem, but with Lestat, one never knew. He could love him on sight - as Louis sincerely hoped he would, - or, he could take a dislike to François for no reason whatsoever. That was unlikely, of course, François was such a sweet child, Lestat couldn't possibly help but love him. Could he?
"Louis?" François was at his side, towel wrapped around him, hair still dripping. "Louis, what is it? What's the matter?"
"What?" Louis turned his attention back to the present, leaving the future to sort itself out. "Oh, nothing, François." He smiled, and put his arms around the boy, giving him a quick embrace. "Everything is going to be fine. Lestat is coming home!"
"Oh," François said. He pulled away from Louis's embrace, and began searching through drawers. He pulled out shorts, a tee shirt, socks, and reached up to grab a pair of jeans from the hanger.
"No, not the jeans tonight," Louis said. "I would like you to wear your suit. This is a special occasion, isn't it?" He reached out to ruffle François's hair, and was startled to see the boy turn away from him.
"Alright, whatever," François said, his tone flat and utterly without emotion. He turned to leave the closet, and Louis stopped him.
"François, what's wrong?" Louis asked, reaching out to take his hands. "This isn't like you. Have I done something? Please, tell me." He pulled him out to the bed, and sat down. "Is it the suit? You don't have to wear it if you don't want to, it's alright. I'm sure Lestat won't even notice."
"No," François shook his head. "It ain't - I mean, isn't the suit. The suit's fine. I'll wear whatever you want me to wear." He sat beside Louis, and stared at the floor.
"François, you must tell me what is bothering you." Louis put an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him close.
"It doesn't matter," François replied, but did not raise his eyes from the floor.
"It matters to me." Louis put a finger below François's chin, and lifted his face up. "It matters a great deal to me. Something has upset you, and I can't help you if I don't know what it is. Is it something I've done?"
"No, no, it ain't - I mean, it isn't you," François replied, his eyes welling up with red tears. "You're perfect, Louis, you're the best. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don't want to leave you." He reached up with one trembling hand to wipe his eyes.
"Oh, cheri," Louis said, pulling François close to him, and kissing his forehead. "Is that all? Of course you don't have to leave me. You live here now, remember? I told you, this is your home."
"But, Lestat is coming home," François said, shaking his head. "He won't want me here, he's going to make me leave."
"My God, where did you get an idea like that?" Louis asked. He quickly thought back over his conversation with Daniel. Had he said anything that François might have overheard, anything which could possibly indicate such a thing? He couldn't recall saying much of anything, the call was too short. "Why on earth would you think such a thing?"
"You're worried about him not liking me, I know you are," François replied. "I don't know how I know it, but I know it." He looked up at Louis. "I kind of heard you, when I was in the shower. I didn't mean to, it was just there, I mean, you were just there, inside my head, and you were scared that he won't like me."
"Inside your head," Louis repeated, puzzled. Could it be? No, that was impossible - but, then again, François could project his thoughts, Louis had felt his emotions the night before, that great rush of sensation. It stood to reason that he could just as easily read the thoughts of others. "François, can you read my thoughts?" Louis asked, feeling like a complete idiot for not thinking of it sooner.
"I don't know," François answered. "I don't know how. Maybe." He sniffled, and picked up a corner of his towel to wipe his face. "I thought I heard you talking to yourself, and that's why I got out of the shower, only you weren't there, you were out here. But, it wasn't exactly words, not exactly, but I knew what it was."
"It doesn't matter now," Louis reassured him, stroking his hair. "There's plenty of time to work that out later. In the meantime, you mustn't worry about Lestat. He won't make you leave, I promise you."
"But what if he don't like me?" François asked. "What if he hates me?" His lip quivered, and a plump tear rolled down his cheek.
"He won't hate you," Louis said, wiping away the tear. "No one could hate you, cher."
"But what if he does?" François insisted. "And what if he tells me I have to leave? Where will I go? I don't have anybody else." He buried his face in Louis's shirt, holding onto him tightly, as though he thought Lestat would appear at any moment and try to tear him away.
"Hush, p'tit, hush now," Louis kissed the top of the boy's head, and stroked his hair. "There's a good boy. Don't cry, cheri. Everything will be alright." Louis pulled François onto his lap, and rocked him, whispering soothing words into his ear, kissing his cheeks, patting his back. After a few minutes, the sobs ceased, and François reached up to wipe his eyes.
"There, that's much better," Louis said, smiling. "Now, how do you feel?"
"Okay," François said, taking a deep breath. "But I'm still scared."
"There is no need for that," Louis said, giving François one final pat on the back before moving him off of his lap and standing him on the floor. "You will not have to leave. I won't allow it."
"But Lestat -"
"You never mind about Lestat," Louis said, gently but firmly. "Lestat has no say in the matter."
As he said it, Louis himself saw the truth in his words. He knew in his heart that regardless of Lestat's reaction, François would remain with here, with him, in his home. François was his responsibility, and any decisions about him were for Louis to make, at least until such time as François was mature enough to make his own decisions. Louis also realized that there was only one way to reassure François, to make him understand his place in Louis's world - and heart.
"François, I want you to listen to me, very carefully." He stood up, and looked François straight in the eye. "You will never, ever, have to leave my home. If Lestat tells you to leave, I will leave with you; I own many houses, and we will live in one of them. Or we'll live in a hotel. It really doesn't matter, wherever you go, I will go with you." He knelt, and took both of François's hands in his.
"You are my child, now, François, and I am your father. There is nothing anyone can do to change that, not even the great Vampire Lestat." He kissed the boy's hands, and smiled up at him. "You are mine, now and forever, my child, my son. For as long as you want to stay with me, no matter what anyone else might say or do, we are a family, you and I. And I love you, my son, and I always will."
François stared at him for an instant, and then threw his arms around Louis.
"Louis, thank you, thank you, I love you, too!" He was laughing and crying at the same time. "I couldn't ask for a better dad, no way! And I won't ever leave you, I don't ever want to leave you, not for nothing."
Louis held onto François just as tightly, picking him up off the floor as he stood. "Everything is going to be alright now, yes?" he laughed. He began to spin around the room, singing, "Lestat is coming home, Feu-Follet is happy again, everything is going to be fine."
This silliness continued for some time, until both of them fell laughing onto the bed. The laughter died down after a few moments, only to start up again when François stood up but the towel he had wrapped around his waist remained on the bed. He grabbed it up, and quickly wrapped it around himself again, his face coloring just slightly. This caused another fit of laughter. They finally caught their breath again, and Louis got to his feet, shooing François toward the closet.
"Go on, now, you little nudist," Louis laughed, handing François the suit and his other clothing. "Honestly, I don' t know what I'm going to do with you. Next thing I suppose you'll be running into the street like that."
"Not if it's this cold," François giggled. "You better get a different shirt, too," he said, pointing at Louis's shirt front, now spotted with bloodtears. "You're a mess."
Louis looked down at his ruined shirt, and shook his head. Nothing for it but to find another shirt, and probably trousers as well. "You just see to your own clothes, Feu-Follet." Louis smiled, and swatted the boy on the seat. François grinned broadly, and disappeared into the bathroom. Louis looked through the closet again, and decided that the occasion warranted something special, indeed. He found a suit that Lestat had recently brought home for him, but that he'd never worn. He also found a soft, white shirt, very loose and gathered at the sleeves, the way he liked it, and what's more, the way Lestat liked to see him dress. He tried on the suit, a soft, charcoal silk, and found it fit perfectly. The suit was beautiful, and felt grand; the trousers fit very closely, and the coat was cut very full. Louis felt a pang of guilt; Lestat had probably gone to a great deal of trouble having the suit made for him, and he'd never even tried it on before.
"All the more reason to wear it tonight," he told himself. He had just located a pair of emerald cuff links that Lestat had given him for Christmas, when François came out of the bathroom.
"Does it look okay?" he asked Louis.
"It looks wonderful," Louis said. "You look wonderful. So elegant." It was no lie. The suit would need some tailoring, but it was a fairly good fit. The trousers were the right length, and the coat was only a bit large, the sleeves only a little too long; overall, he looked quite the young gentleman. It was worlds away from the street urchin in the filthy, torn jeans and Saints jersey.
"I don't know how to tie this," François said, holding out the tie. "Do I have to wear it?"
"Yes, you do," Louis nodded. "A gentleman doesn't wear a suit without a tie. Come here, let me do it for you. I'll teach you how to do it another time, not tonight." François joined him, and Louis looped it about François's collar and quickly knotted the piece of silk. "There, is that too tight?"
"No, it's okay," François said, running a finger inside his collar. "Um, Louis? I didn't want to say anything, but, well," he bit his lower lip, his fangs gleaming white. "I'm hungry."
"Mon dieu, I forgot completely," Louis said, putting a hand to his forehead. "Well, we'll have to take care of you, obviously. Lestat will have to wait."
"No, it's okay, I can wait awhile," François said, loosening his tie so that it crumpled against his shirtfront. "I can wait until after Lestat gets here. I don't want you to miss him."
"That's very sweet of you," Louis said, reaching over to move the knot of the tie closer to François's collar again. "But it's important for you to feed when you're hungry. You shouldn't wait until you're mad with hunger."
"But, I thought that's what you did," François said, moving the knot down slightly.
"Don't you remember what I told you about those books?" Louis admonished, reaching over to tighten the knot once more, and then putting his hands on François's shoulders instead. "You can't believe everything you read. Especially if Lestat has written it." He ruffled François's hair. "Hmm, I think perhaps we should do something about that."
"What?" François asked, as Louis disappeared into the bathroom. "About the books?"
"No, about your hair," Louis said, returning and tossing a towel to François, then grabbing the chair from the computer desk. "Take off your jacket, and sit down."
François did as directed, folding the jacket and placing it on the bed. Louis draped the towel around his shoulders, and pulled a pair of scissors out of his pocket.
"Now, sit still, this won't take long, but I don't wish to cut you." François sat perfectly still while Louis snipped rapidly at his hair. In a matter of seconds, he clapped François on the shoulder. "There," he said, carefully removing the towel so as to not spill any clippings on the boy's shirt. "All finished, and you look much tidier."
François ran to look in the mirror, and came back a moment later, grinning. "That was fast," he said, running a hand over his hair. "You going to cut your hair, or you want me to do it?" He reached up, and brushed the black locks out of Louis's face.
"No," Louis rolled up the scissors inside the towel, and tossed it onto the chair. "Not tonight. I believe I'll keep it long tonight."
"Of course, you must look your best for the Prodigal's return."
Louis whirled around to face the doorway, pushing François behind him. "Who are you -" he snarled, then stopped when he saw who stood just inside the room, leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb.
"Armand!" Louis breathed a sigh of relief, his hand on his heart. "Thank God you're here." In three steps he was at Armand's side, and kissed him warmly.
"I'm happy to see you, too, Caro." Armand allowed the embrace, smiling slightly. "And this must be the new fledgling," he added, looking past Louis to where François stood, his mouth open with wonder. Armand gazed back, his expression unreadable, running his eyes appraisingly over François's slight form. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Louis?"
"Of course, how rude of me." With a final kiss, Louis released Armand. "Come over here, cheri." He held out his hand, and the captivated boy joined him. Louis moved to stand behind him, his hands François's slender shoulders. "François, this is my very dear friend Armand," he said, bending close to the boy's ear. "He makes a point of trying to frighten everyone he meets, but you mustn't pay him any mind. Once you get to know him, you'll realize it's nothing but cheap theatrics."
"Theatrics, perhaps, but hardly cheap," Armand glared at him; his brow furrowed with mock annoyance, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly.
Louis shook a finger at him, and continued. "Armand, this is - " He stopped, his face softening into an expression of utter wonderment. He slipped his arms around François, giving him a quick kiss and holding him tightly. "Armand, this is my son."
"I see," Armand replied, looking from one to the other. Finally, he surrendered a small smile. "It's good to meet you, young one," he said, reaching out one pale hand to stroke François's cheek.
"Hi," François said, unable to look away from the deep brown eyes.
Armand studied him silently. "Well, Louis, you certainly did not exaggerate," he murmured finally. "He is very beautiful. And very young." He leaned over to gently kiss the awestruck boy. "However, if he doesn't breathe soon, I fear for his health." He playfully tapped François's cheek, and grinned broadly. "You may breathe in my august presence, Little One. The Great Armand feels indulgent."
"Sorry," François ducked his head, coloring slightly. "It's just - you're so - " He broke off, and shrugged, returned Armand's grin with one of his own.
"Yes, he is, very," Louis laughed. "And right now, you are very hungry and easily impressed by his antics. So, if you don't mind, Armand," he moved over to the bed, and gathered up François's discarded jacket. "would you please tell Lestat to stop this silliness and come meet him for himself, so we can get on with the evening."
"That may present a problem, Caro," Armand said, as Louis helped François into the coat and they walked to the door.
"Why?" Louis stopped, his hand on the door handle. "Armand, what are you not telling me?"
Armand said nothing, but stared at the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It is very hard to tell you this, Louis," he whispered without looking up. "You know I don't wish to cause you any pain -"
"Pain!" Louis cried, his voice suddenly raw with fear. "What is going on, where is Lestat?" Louis grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, and pulled him around to face him. "You tell me, you tell me now, Armand! Don't play these games with me!"
"It is no game, Caro," Armand said, unflinching even as Louis's grip tightened painfully on his arms. "I wish it were." He closed his eyes, and shook his head sadly.
Chagrined, Louis pulled him into an embrace. "Please, Armand, tell me."
"He is alive, Louis," Armand said calmly, one red droplet rolling down his cheek, a mournful cherub. "His heart still beats, he breathes, he lives still, but his mind is gone."
Foster Fledgling - Chapter Nine
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