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The blood came rushing from him in a wave. He coughed, gagged as he threw it up in the toilet and the bathroom's white marble floor. His head spun as another wave of tremors left his body. Tonight, it had been a lot. Tonight felt like the end.
"Oh, please," his personal ghost scoffed on his shoulder. "You are not dying, Lestat. The world isn't so lucky yet."
"Leave," he groaned as a new wave of vomit shook him. "Leave me now. I don't want to see you."
"I'm not leaving until I see it properly done," Claudia said. "Pity I can't do it myself, it seems you are useless for the job. You should call Louis, let him finish the job this time. Do it properly."
Lestat's head snapped over his shoulder. The image of his fledging, dressed as she had that night of their disastrous party, her white skirts smearing with blood.
"Louis didn't—"
"What? Finish the job? Dared to kill you?" she laughed. "Certainly not, but he wanted to, don't you remember? He wanted to do it so badly you had to half-kill him yourself."
He shook his head, his hand reaching for the blade at his side. He had kept it since New Orleans, found it in the remains of their townhouse. The dried blood was recent, though. It was only appropriate that he would keep it. It had been meant for him since the beginning.
Slowly, he pushed the blade into his chest, closing his eyes at the sound of flesh and muscle tearing. He pulled it out, gasping as the blood dripped down his chest. He aimed again, this time at his collarbone. Then, to his left breast.
"You are missing one," Claudia said as his hand shook, raising the sword to his throat. "That's it. I knew you wouldn't forget."
"It won't work."
"I'm sure Louis can finish the job this time." Claudia made a little twirl and her thin arms hugged him from behind, her hands guiding his by the wrists. "He only has to put you in the sun."
"It won't work," Lestat repeated, his voice shaking. "I tried, I—I… I didn't work. My body just—just buried itself down in the earth."
"Well, maybe he'll feed you to the lions in the zoo," his fledging said, the smile clear in her voice. "I'm sure that will be enough. And after the fight you had, why wouldn't he? Why would he want you anything but dead, as you should be?"
"Claudia…"
"Do it," she snapped. "What are you waiting for? There is nothing here for you."
"… Will you forgive me?" he asked foolishly, childishly, his voice a thin, broken sound. "If I do this, if I finish what you—"
"Never," the ghost said icily. "I will never forgive you. You can't be forgiven. This is not absolution, Lestat. This is justice."
"Justice," he echoed. Yes, it was that. He had doomed the moment he had made her. There wasn't forgiveness he could reach.
Louis had to come, though. Louis, Gabriella, Daniel, someone. Someone had to burn the pieces. Someone had to scatter the ashes.
Armand, maybe. Maybe he should have called Armand. Maybe Armand would have helped him. He certainly didn't hold back in Paris.
Scatter the ashes. Magnus had said again and again as he pleaded him to stay.
Lestat stood up, his legs shaking as the wounds, already slowly healing, kept bleeding. They were deep enough to not heal instantly. He had at least half an hour, which would be enough.
He walked out of the bathroom and searched for the remote that worked the sun-proof windows he had fashioned for himself. It wouldn't work immediately. It would be slow and hurt like hell. But what else could he do? Even if Louis came, even if he did what Claudia said he would after the words they had just thrown at each other, there was no guarantee. His cursed body would fight until the last cell.
The bleeding would help, though. Claudia was right. The lack of blood would make it faster.
Lestat took a deep breath, closing his eyes to not gaze at his fledgling's ghost. He thought of Louis, whom he loved, whom he had broken, who still despised him. Gabriella, who had come out of her exile, to call him an impulsive fool. Armand, who had warned him of his doom when he had rejected him. Daniel Molloy, who had undressed the lies he had told to himself. Claudia, who haunted him, his fledging, the child he had failed.
He owned her. He owned all of them. He owned an ending, a last song.
He held the blade to his throat and started to push.
"Stop!" A voice rang inside his head. "Stop this now."
A woman's voice, but it wasn't Claudia or even Gabriella, though he had heard it before. Rich, melodic, with an archaic accent of a begone time.
"Stop it," she said inside his head. "You are not meant to perish today, Lestat."
"Who is it?" He said out loud.
"You know who I am."
Yes, he did. Akasha, the stone queen that sat on a marble throne. The mother of all the dammed.
"What do you want from me?" he asked hoarsely. "Why do you care?"
"I love you, of course I care," Akasha said. "I shared my blood, didn't I?"
"Love," Lestat echoed the word like a curse. "You have a king."
"Not anymore, but I can have a prince, and you are just what I need."
"Am I?" he deadpanned. "I'm afraid I heard that before, Your Majesty, but my maker didn't need much."
"It would be a waste of your gifts to die so pitifully, dear one. The ones he gave you and the ones I did."
"Well, it's not the first time I disappointed someone," Lestat said and raised the blade again, but this time his hand stopped midway with her voice telling him to stop once again. He hadn't meant to; his arm had stopped on his own accord.
"You are tired," Akasha said softly. "And you are lonely. You are so lonely you feel it will choke you to death. They've all abandoned you. They have all wished you away, wished you dead."
Lestat didn't move. His body wasn't responding, and the weakness from the blood loss made his head spin. Even then, her words hurt enough for tears to gather in his eyes.
"I would never wish you away, my love," she said, sweet as a caress. "I would cherish you, keep you by my side forever. Not for the things I want you to be but for the things you are. For the violent man, for the brute with no control, for the monster full of hate. I'll love you for all of that and more, Lestat. You are perfect. You are just what I need in the next phase of my immortal life."
What she needed? No one had ever needed him.
"I do," Akasha whispered. "And I will never turn you away. Forget this idea of death, my love. Leave this slow torture and come with me. I'll teach you. I'll make you what you are meant to be."
Lestat sobbed as the sensation returned to his hand. He stared at the blade in his hand and then turned his head to see over his shoulder. Claudia wasn't there.
He had tried, and yet he wouldn't die. He couldn't fix what he had done. And it would be painful, so painful and useless. He was so tired of being in pain.
A soft morning breeze entered from the window, and he raised his eyes. She was there, floating outside the window. Beautiful, so beautiful it took his breath away. Terrifying too, like she had been the first time.
"Come to me, love," Akasha said, stretching out her hand to him. "Come to me and I'll never leave you. I'll love you forever."
Lestat got up, and the blade fell to his feet. His wounds were no longer bleeding, but he was walking over a pool of it.
"Come to me."
Maybe this was his fate. Maybe this was the only way for him. Otherwise, he would always be alone.
And wasn't this better? Wasn't it better to be loved by anyone, even by a monster?
Or maybe he would destroy her too, like he destroyed everyone else.
"Come to me."
Lestat didn't look back again. There was nothing, no one, to look back at. With a last deep breath, he took her hand.
And she took him to the skies.