I don't think I've been in one place long enough to think straight, not in years.
At Maharet's urging, after I went to see her in Rangoon, I took some time to travel. And learn. Always learning, aren't I? Always have to be obsessed with something.
I've been... God, I've been all over the globe in the last few years. I spent a good deal of time finding my roots... so odd that my human and vampiric life are intertwined like this.
I had to see the drawings Mekare made for myself. I had to see the walls of those caves in South America, the pictures of the red-haired twins.
I spent so many nights there, inside those dark corners, drawing by lantern-light, trying my hardest to reproduce what Mekare made so long ago, if only so that I might have some more understanding of her. I’d lose all track of time, totally abandoning myself to copying those drawings. I didn’t feed, although, thanks to Aunt Maharet, I never really need to.
It was more painful, this process, than I thought.
I thought about my experience in New Orleans, thought about it too much. David sent me to that old house believing I could do my job, and I suppose I did do it. I’d spent my life helping ghosts find rest. The addlebrained dead, that’s what Mael called them.
Sitting in that cave, I remembered every little detail. The ghost house of Stanford White. That article that had begun my life with the Talamasca, about the hauntings in Chelsea. Talking to Miriam as if she were living and breathing. Feeling the changes in the Royal Street townhouse, the oil lamps that appeared as if by magic. Mozart, played too fast. Lestat’s Mozart, skilled and demonically swift. A ringing phone. A little girl’s laughter.
And then the strange attraction had begun.
Now I'm more obsessed than ever. I'd fight my way into the London motherhouse if I could to get my hands on information I took for granted in life, thinking I'd always have another chance to see it, to feel things in my hands. Had I really had access to all of those things? To Marius's paintings, old daguerrotypes of Armand, old articles about the Theatre Des Vampyres, all of it? Had I really found Claudia's diary?
It feels like forever since all of this happened. But let me get back to what I was saying, what I've been up to.
I've gone in search of more information about us. About the vampires that remain. Things cast aside, maybe. All of those things David used to tell me about. What had he said?
They tend to be a rather materialistic lot, actually. And they leave behind them all sorts of refuse. It is not unknown for them to leave an entire household, complete with furnishings, clothing, and even coffins—very ornate and interesting coffins—when they tire of a particular location or identity...
Such a thirst to see for myself everything about which I've read. And now I have seen for myself. And touched for myself, touched every thread of this rich fabric.
I'm not so clear-headed right now. I tend to take in as much as possible and become overwhelmed. It seems nothing has changed that, not even the Dark Gift.
I'll have to come back to my laptop later, after I've made some sense out of all of this. I plan on writing about all of my travels, but in a more organized fashion than the spill of facts that's threatening to flood me right now.