Merrick by Anne Rice Page A

because you bring this miracle with you. But what of the spirit that lives within?”
    “What spirit?” I asked her.
    But she’d already gone deep into her own thoughts. She drank another swallow directly from the bottle.
    I couldn’t bear the table between us. I stood slowly, lifting her hands until she stood beside me, and then I took her warmly into my arms. I kissed her lips, her old familiar perfume rising to my nostrils, and I kissed her forehead, and then I held her head tightly against my beating heart.
    “You hear it?” I whispered. “What spirit could there be except my spirit? My body is changed, and no more.”
    I was overcome with desire for her, the desire to know her utterly through the blood. Her perfume maddened me. But there wasn’t the slightest chance that I’d give in to my desire.
    But I kissed her again. And it wasn’t chaste.
    For several long moments we remained locked together, and I think I covered her hair with small sacred kisses, her perfume crucifying me with memories. I wanted to endow her with protection against all things as sordid as myself.
    She backed away from me, finally, as if she had to do it, and she was a little unsteady on her feet.
    “Never in all those years did you ever touch me in this way,” she said under her breath. “And I wanted you so badly. Do you remember? Do you remember that night in the jungle when I finally got my wish? Do you remember how drunk you were, and how splendid? Oh, it was over way too soon.”
    “I was a fool, but all such things are past remembering,” I whispered. “Now, don’t let’s spoil what’s happened. Come, I’ve gotten a hotel room for you, and I’ll see that you’re safely there for the night.”
    “Why on earth? Oak Haven is exactly where it’s always been,” she said dreamily. She shook her head to clear her vision. “I’m going home.”
    “No, you’re not. You drank even more rum than I predicted. Look, you drank over half the bottle. And I know you’ll drink the rest of the bottle as soon as you get in the car.”
    She laughed a small scornful laugh. “Still the consummate gentleman,” she said. “And the Superior General. You can escort me to my old house here in town. You know perfectly well where it is.”
    “That neighborhood, even at this hour? Absolutely not. Besides, your friendly old caretaker there is an incompetent idiot. My precious darling, I’m taking you to the hotel.”
    “Foolish,” she said as she half stumbled. “I don’t need a caretaker. I’d rather go to my house. You’re being a nuisance. You always were.”
    “You’re a witch and a drunk,” I said politely. “Here, we’ll just cap this bottle.” I did it. “And we’ll put it in this canvas purse of yours and I’ll walk with you to the hotel. Take my arm.”
    For a small second she looked playful and defiant, but then she made a languid shrug, smiling faintly, and gave up her purse to my insistence and wrapped her arm around mine.

3
    W E HAD NO SOONER begun our walk than we gave in to rather frequent and fervent embraces. Merrick’s old favorite Chanel perfume enchanted me, carrying me back years again; but the blood scent from her living veins was the strongest goad of all.
    My desires were commingled in a torment. By the time we reached the Rue Decateur, scarcely a block and a half from the café, I knew we needed a taxi. And once inside of the car, I gave myself up to kissing Merrick all over her face and her throat, luxuriating in the fragrance of the blood inside her and the heat coming from her breasts.
    She herself was rather past the point of return, and pressed me in confidential whispers as to whether or not I could still make love in the manner of an ordinary man. I told her it wouldn’t do for me, that she had to remember, drunk or sober, that I was, by nature, a predator and nothing more.
    “Nothing more?” she said, stopping this glorified love play to take another deep drink from her bottle of rum.