Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches #3)(22)
Author: Anne Rice

“A Taltos,” said Yuri. His voice sounded acceptably calm. “A Taltos. Why do you want to talk to me? Why do you want to help me? Who are you, and why have you come here?”

“You saw the other one?” the tall man asked, turning and looking at Yuri with eyes that were almost shy in their openness, but not quite. This man might have been knock-dead beautiful if it hadn’t been for the hands. The knuckles looked like knots.

“No, I never saw him,” said Yuri.

“But you know for certain he is dead?”

“Yes, I know that for certain,” said Yuri. The giant and the dwarf. He was not going to laugh at this, but it was horribly amusing. This creature’s abnormalities made him pleasing to look at. And the little man’s abnormalities made him seem dangerous and wicked. And it was all an act of nature, was it? It was somewhat beyond the scope of the range of accidents in which Yuri believed.

“Did this Taltos have a mate?” asked the tall one. “I mean another Taltos, a female?”

“No, his mate was a woman named Rowan Mayfair. I told your friend about her. She was his mother, and his lover. She is what we call a witch in the Talamasca.”

“Aye,” said the little man, “and what we would call a witch as well. There are many powerful witches in this tale, Ashlar. There is a brood of witches. You have to let the man tell his story.”

“Ashlar, that’s your full name?” asked Yuri. It had been a jolt.

For hours before he’d left New Orleans, he had listened to Aaron summarize the tale of Lasher, the demon from the glen. St. Ashlar—that name had been spoken over and over again. St. Ashlar.

“Yes,” said the tall one. “But Ash is the single-syllable version, which I heartily prefer. I don’t mean to be impolite, but I so prefer the simple name Ash that often I don’t answer to the other.” This was said firmly but with courtesy.

The dwarf laughed. “I call him by his full name to make him strong and attentive,” he said.

The tall one ignored this. He warmed his hands over the fire; with fingers splayed apart, they looked diseased.

“You’re in pain, aren’t you?” the man said, turning away from the fire.

“Yes. Excuse me, please, that I show it. The wound’s in my shoulder, in such a place that every little movement pulls it. Will you forgive me that I slouch back on this sofa, and try to remain like this, looking lazy? My mind is racing. Will you tell me who you are?”

“I’ve done that, have I not?” asked the tall one. “You speak. What happened to you?”

“Yuri, I told you,” said the dwarf, with rather good-natured impatience, “that this is my oldest confidant and friend in the world. I told you that he knew the Talamasca. That he knows more about it than any living being. Please trust him. Tell him what he wants to know.”

“I trust you,” said Yuri. “But to what purpose do I tell you my business, or of my adventures? What will you do with this knowledge?”

“Help you, of course,” said the tall one slowly, with a gentle nod of his head. “Samuel says the men in the Talamasca are trying to kill you. This is hard for me to accept. I have always, in my own way, loved the Order of the Talamasca. I protect myself from it, as I do from anything which would constrict me in any way. But the men of the Talamasca have seldom been my enemies … at least not for very long. Who tried to hurt you? Are you sure these evil people came from the Order itself?”

“No, I’m not sure,” said Yuri. “This is what happened, more or less. When I was an orphan boy, the Talamasca took me in. Aaron Lightner was the man who did it. Samuel knows who this man is.”

“So do I,” said the tall one.

“All my adult life I’ve served the Order, in a traveling capacity mostly, often performing tasks which I myself don’t fully understand. Apparently, unbeknownst to me, my vows rested upon a loyalty to Aaron Lightner. When he went to New Orleans to investigate a family of witches, things somehow went wrong. This family was the Mayfair family, this family of witches. I read their history in old records of the Order before these records were closed to me. It was from Rowan Mayfair that the Taltos was born.”

“Who or what was the father?” asked the tall one.

“It was a man.”

“A mortal man. You’re certain of this?”

“Without question, but there were other considerations. This family had been haunted for many, many generations by a spirit, both evil and good. This spirit took hold of the infant inside Rowan Mayfair, took possession of it and assisted its unusual birth. The Taltos, springing up full-grown from this woman, possessed the soul of the haunting spirit complete and entire. They called this creature Lasher in the family. I’ve never known any other name for him. Now this creature is dead, as I’ve told you.”

The tall man was frankly amazed. He gave a little sympathetic shake of his head. He walked to the nearby armchair and sat down, turning politely towards Yuri, and crossing his long legs and ankles very much as Yuri had done. He sat very straight, as though never ashamed or uneasy about his height.

“From two witches!” said the tall one in a whisper.

“Absolutely,” said Yuri.

“You say absolutely,” said the tall one. “What can this mean?”

“There is genetic evidence, an abundance of it. The Talamasca has this evidence. The witch family carries an extraordinary set of genes within its various lines. Genes of the Taltos, which under the ordinary circumstances are never switched on by nature, but which in this case—either through witchcraft or possession—did indeed do their work to make the Taltos come into the world.”

The tall man smiled. It surprised Yuri, because the smile so fired the face with expression and affection and simple delight.

“You speak like all the men from the Talamasca,” said the tall one. “You speak like a priest in Rome. You speak as if you weren’t born in these times.”

“Well, I was educated on their documents in Latin,” said Yuri. “Their story of this creature, Lasher, it went back to the sixteen hundreds. I read all of it, along with the story of this family—its rise to great wealth and power, its secret doings with this spirit, Lasher. And I have of course read a hundred such files.”

“Have you?”

“Not stories of the Taltos,” said Yuri, “if that’s what you mean. I never heard the word until I was in New Orleans—until two members of the Order were killed there, trying to free this Taltos, Lasher, from the man who killed him. But I cannot tell that tale.”