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Night Island.
The house is familiar to Daniel, but at the same time it isn't. He knows he's been here before – he'll turn a corner and suddenly he knows what he's going to see – he'll feel dizzy for a moment, and not know if he's lost his way and got somehow stuck in a time long past, or if he's still there, in the present. He still can't pin down his memories, not reliably.
But the airy rooms, and the white walls – they are all calm, and they are beautiful, and he almost feels – not peaceful, and not happy, but perhaps – a memory of something that might have been called happiness, perhaps. The whisper of the sea outside, and the understated affluence inside. All of it the same: the soft sofas, the wide beds, the houseplants growing enormous, likewise.
It's all so different from the austere concrete modernity of Dubai, now just a distant memory to him, one among others. Even though a young magnolia tree remains. A shoot is planted on the terrace, and it's slowly growing. Thriving.
He watches.
In the strange quiet, in the aftermath of the disaster that was almost the downfall of them all, he thinks.
One day, no doubt, he will write some of it down. This will all become words on a page, an interlude that will have been analysed, dissected, neatly dealt with. He can hope so, at least.
But it's too early for that.
For now, this is enough.
Daniel walks down one corridor, and then another. One looks much the same as the next. He sees the immortals who share the space in the villa come together, separate again, and later, meet in new configurations.
He gets invited to join discussions. And hunts.
He goes out on the bay in the boat, Gabrielle standing at the helm. The wind whips at their clothes and hair, and Daniel is there, one member in a party of equals. They're heading into town, on the prowl for yet another night.
Daniel delights in his vampiric vision, then. The flash of the ocean spray, frothy one moment, gleaming the next, in the wake of the boat. The multitude of stars in the deep sky, so incredibly many of them.
But most of all, he watches those around him.
He sees Armand – sees Armand circle him. He comes closer, looks like he's about to say something, do something – and retreats again. Not a word exchanged, nothing either gained or lost. One day soon Daniel will need to confront him. Corner him and get this thing between them sorted out at long last.
Armand is canny, but not that canny. Daniel knows how he operates.
And Marius? Armand's elusive maker? (Daniel could say a few choice words on the subject of makers and fledglings, these days. With authority. In fact, he could write a book on the subject. A bestselling, hard-hitting trilogy, filled with his pithy turn of phrase and incisive commentary, if it came to that. But for now, what's clear as the daylight Daniel no longer sees is that – many of the issues between himself and Armand can be directly traced to the door of the Roman vampire, the one who smiles at them all benevolently, secure in his power and in his belief that he is right in all things.) Privately, Daniel wonders when, exactly, Armand found out that Marius wasn't dead, that he hadn't burned with the rest of his life in Venice. And how did he react? Feel? Maybe someday he can ask. One day.
In any case. Marius: he keeps seeking Armand out, too. Not circling, not like he's trying to make up his mind. Oh no. Marius is courting Armand. He wouldn't put it in those words if you asked him, oh no; he's simply revelling in the presence of his "old child," as is only right and sensible (if you ask him).
Daniel shudders and swallows against the bitter taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the drug dealer he ate earlier that night, and everything to do with that generous, open-hearted expression that Marius bestows on the entire assembly, sure of his welcome, and of himself.
But from afar, Daniel watches the dance as it weaves through its steps.
Stage left: Armand, seated at the table, playing chess with Santino. (And how does that work? What kind of a discussion – or a lack of it – led to that outcome? Daniel wonders. Perhaps it's easier to keep the discussion to the ornate pawns and to strategy than to entertain the alternative, actually talking to each other.) Enter, stage right: Marius, yellow, immaculately groomed hair glowing under the warm lights, exuding an air of general well-being and wealth, order and wisdom and calm personified.
There is a barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere of the room. The calm might, after all, be deceptive. Daniel is watching very closely indeed, and he can see Armand's fingers stiffen, curl around a white bishop, and start moving again, but this time with a small hint of nervousness. He straightens his posture minutely, and looks down for a beat.
Santino, at this stage, appears wholly engrossed in the game, is trying not to participate in the choreography at all.
On the right, Marius moves two steps. On the left, Armand feints, moves back. Marius approaches the fireplace (completely unnecessary, in this warm climate), and Armand backs away, arranging and rearranging the chess pieces on the side of the board, before lifting them to a table further away altogether. He is unfailingly polite through it all, never acknowledging anything amiss, never outright denying the older vampire anything, not in so many words. But still he dances; and does not get caught.
So Daniel hopes.
Armand is the perfect host, making sure everyone has what they need – and if he at the same time makes sure that he is never alone in a room with Marius – you'd need to be Daniel to notice.
As the night grows older, and others come to join them, everyone weaving in and out of each other's space, Daniel slowly becomes aware that there is one more dance taking place. He's not sure how the realisation makes him feel.
It's a different one, danced to a different beat, and yet it is also a dance. There is yet another vampire of their number who is courting Armand.
But unlike the way he moves in a complex pattern, feints and steps aside as Marius approaches (and unlike the way he acts when Daniel tries to come closer, and how the thought rankles), this is a dance the outcome of which Armand does not seem to be trying to evade.
He's curious, if Daniel had to make a guess as to what he's thinking. Armand wants to see what he'll do, or what lengths he'll go to, to get what he wants.
But what does Lestat want?
Emerging from his self-imposed solitude now and then, he moves through the villa, cutting an imposing figure one moment, smiling deprecatingly the next, as Daniel startles at his sudden presence. His mind is a closed book to Daniel; smooth like a mirror, not a stray thought escapes unless he wants it to. Unlike the rest of the company, whose feelings and ideas bleed through almost at random.
Privacy is an iffy concept on the island, in any case; people start conversations in their minds and continue them out loud, going back and forth. Reacting to each other's shifting moods. It works, for now, surprisingly well.
There are two exceptions: Lestat, who, indeed, gives nothing away – and Armand, who stays quiet.
Armand's mind is, of course, inaccessible by necessity for Daniel. But it's a different kind of a blankness from Lestat's: Daniel can feel the weight of his gaze. The weight of his emotions, too, he supposes. But what his intentions are, what he's planning, Daniel could no more tell you that than he could turn back the clock to before –
"Daniel? Would you care to give your opinion –?" It's Khayman, of course. Perhaps the most easily approachable of the ancient ones; certainly Daniel's favourite of them. He grins at Daniel's thought, easy, amused.
"The sentiment is returned," he says, aloud. "And appreciated."
Khayman tells him an improbable story about how he once tricked all the inhabitants of a convent into believing he was an angel, way back in mediaeval Burgundy – but Daniel suspects that it's exactly the unbelievability of the story that makes it closer to truth than most other things out there. They then get slightly sidetracked and spend the next hour arguing about modern French philosophy. It's one of Daniel's many pet interests, and Khayman is surprisingly (or perhaps not, given the speed at which everyone in the villa reads) knowledgeable. It's invigorating, friendly, and exactly the kind of conversation that Daniel thinks he could continue forever.
Eventually, however, he slowly makes his way back to the bedroom that's allocated to him, mind still on their discussion. But all abstract thoughts vanish as he lifts his gaze, and sees them together.
There they are, in the juncture where the corridor branches, leading to the living spaces on the left, and to the bedrooms on the right. (And to the staircase leading to the cellar – crypt, really – but Daniel doesn't think that anyone has opted to sleep down there, not with all the windows fitted with light-isolating film and the now-familiar controls for adjusting the amount of light, in addition to more traditional thick curtains; all the finest comforts that money can buy, for the modern vampire.)
Daniel stops, as though there's an invisible wall in his way, and stands stock still.
They are standing close together, closer than politeness dictates. Their hair all but tangles together, strawberry blonde strands and black curls touching.
As Daniel watches, silent, forgetting to breathe, and not noticing he is forgetting, Lestat lifts a hand to Armand's cheek. He touches it gently, and then slides the hand further up, into Armand's hair. He combs through Armand's curls, softly, reverently. Armand leans into Lestat's touch, he moves, steps even closer to Lestat, moulding their bodies together.
Armand's nose touches Lestat's cheek. Daniel wonders if Armand's skin feels cool, or if it's warm. Whether Armand can feel Lestat's breath on his cheek, or if he's breathing at all. Takes a breath himself, finally, with the thought.
He wants –
And they kiss, there, before him. It's a real kiss. It's serious. Not just a soft touch of the lips, or a little peck. No, there's hunger there, and what looks like desperation, each trying to all but devour the other. It's not just tongues, but teeth. Fangs. A small bead of blood runs down Lestat's chin as Daniel watches.
It's then that it hits him: if they didn't want him to see this, they wouldn't be standing there, in the middle of the corridor. They certainly wouldn't let him watch. Both of them must have known he was there all along. They must have heard him approaching (his clumsy steps if not his thoughts). In fact, they must want him to watch. This might even be – it's a performance, isn't it? And it's for his benefit.
Otherwise he wouldn't be here.
But a performance can still be real. And this one is; there is a soft whimper from Armand, a small hurt sound, as he pulls back. He doesn't go far, but he leans his forehead on Lestat's, eyes closed.
Something passes between the two of them, then. Daniel can't hear it, but it's clear from the way they act. They straighten up, and Lestat – arms still around Armand, keeping him near – looks directly at Daniel. And he smiles.
And Armand? He opens his eyes. Glances in Daniel's direction: he has a single, burning instant of being at the focus of that gaze.
And then they are gone. Just like that, still enmeshed in one another, they set off. The show is over, and what they say to each other during the rest of the night is only for them to know.
But the scene keeps replaying itself in Daniel's mind as he tries to get settled for the day. More food for thought, certainly.
**
The next day (night, really, of course), Lestat is different. Not towards the rest of the island's residents, necessarily, but for Daniel, it's a new situation.
Daniel, the watcher, the one who analyses, suddenly finds himself watched in turn. Lestat is not subtle about it.
Gone is the affable smile and trying to put him at ease. This Lestat is sharp and astute, and his blue eyes see and understand uncomfortably much. He makes time to talk to Daniel, too, in a marked change from before. Daniel itches to know what he's getting at, why it feels like he's weighing his answers against – yes, what? But just as he's about to ask him exactly that, someone mentions wanting to hear Lestat play, and that's that. And Daniel doesn't want to cause a scene.
During a lull in the conversation, Daniel finds himself standing next to Louis at one point. He has to know the ins and outs of this situation better than anyone else, Daniel thinks, and decides to try his luck. Louis will tell him if he doesn't want to talk about it, at the very least.
"You mind it? Daniel asks, nodding his head in the direction of Lestat, currently perched on the back of a sofa, commanding a view over the entire room, and Armand, still as a statue in a corner (but it's the one next to the French windows leading to the terrace, and a quick retreat is always possible if needed).
"Nah. It's okay. It's how we are," Louis answers, friendly enough. "We're all connected, all of us, anyway. In different ways. I mean, apart from the obvious the other week –" a wry twist of his lips, recalling those breathless moments when they were all dying together, bound together, their world going dark, helpless to do anything about it. "All kinds of history between us all. Better to acknowledge it, let it be what it is, you know?"
"I'm not sure I'd be as sanguine about it if I were you."
Louis grins at his choice of word, and huffs, "I know. And I'm not sure I am, at that, always. But it's not like he doesn't – he comes back to me, too."
Daniel nods.
"But just for tonight – it's good to see him out here again. I'm happy if he's happy. Or happier than he's been," he corrects himself.
"Yeah." He sighs. "I get that. It's just –"
"Complicated? Sure. But as for him," Louis carefully indicates Armand on the other side of the room (he seems to be wholly focussed on something happening on his iPad), "not like it's my business anymore, or like I'd want it to be, but I'd rather it was this than… the other one."
"Yes." Daniel fervently agrees. No names need to be mentioned. In this, they are in perfect agreement.
**
He feeds, he sits on the terrace for a while, contemplating the foliage, he listens to the sounds of the house. Remembers Khayman mentioning a book in the extensive library of the villa that he's read once, years back. With a vague idea of looking it up, he sets out again.
He needn't have bothered. Near the entrance to the library – there they stand. Of course they do. Waiting for Daniel; he wouldn't put it past them.
Armand is holding Lestat's wrist, pressing it to his lips. Perhaps he's just drunk from it.
They turn, and they look back at Daniel, in unison. They are so much in sync that they must have been talking mind to mind, again. This time, it's no passing glance, but a sustained look. Both of them, standing together; much of a height, Armand perhaps a little taller, but not enough to make a real difference. Blue eyes and amber, side by side, both silent. Waiting.
It's deliberate, the way they are acting. Just as it was before. On purpose.
Daniel blinks. The implications are clear. They want him to see, and they want him to be a part of –
His thoughts stutter to a halt.
Armand raises a hand. He beckons.
And Daniel follows.
**