Lestat was dismayed at not feeling the echoes of Louis here, within these walls. It was a foolish, maudlin thought, but he could not seem to rid himself of it.

And what he ought to have felt was anger. Fury. Betrayal. Instead, what consumed him was regret. An unspeakable longing, despite all that had happened between them.

"You spoke with him? Did he..." Lestat was uncharacteristically ineloquent. "Was there anyone with him? A girl."