Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The year was 2016. Daniel’s daughter had reached out and told him he was not invited to his grandchild’s christening. One of the worst men Daniel had ever had the misfortune of meeting was running for president. And Daniel’s boss at the university had told him he’s getting a TA.

Daniel had been lucky. All the journalism classes he’d been teaching had been small and intimate, which meant no lectures, which meant no TA. But he was being put in charge of a lecture, which meant he was getting a TA. All he was given was some basic information. Her name was Claude Pointe, which was a deeply weird name. Daniel didn’t like it. There was something familiar about the name Pointe that he couldn’t lay a finger on. She wasn’t even a journalism student: she was getting her MFA in Creative Writing. Daniel did not enjoy being saddled with a creative writer as his Journalism TA.

He liked it less when she knocked on his office door before the semester began and stepped in. She was wearing a yellow button up, blue sweater vest, and jeans. Her hair was in long braids tumbling down her shoulders and back. She looked like she was twelve years old.

“Mr. Molloy?” she asked. She didn’t say doctor, which was fair, because Daniel’s doctorate was honorary. But most young people Daniel worked with called him doctor Molloy. Clearly, Claude had no such feelings.

“Ms. Pointe?” He pronounced it Point.

She corrected him. Apparently, it was French. “But you can just call me Claude.”

“Is it short for something?”

Claude shook her head. Despite looking like she was twelve, she held herself well. Chin high, posture good. No books folded in front of her chest. No, even her messenger bag hanging by her side wasn’t pulling her posture off kilter.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Bullshit.”

Claude took out her wallet and ID. She passed it over to Daniel. Claude Pointe, accompanied by a terrible photo of her. Born in 1994. Daniel handed it back to her.

“That’s a bit young for an MFA student.”

“I graduated early.”

“Where?”

“Northwestern.”

“English and Creative Writing. And you’re a Journalism TA?”

Claude shrugged. “In the least rude way, Mr. Molloy, I didn’t choose you as the professor I’m working with. There were limited spots for Creative Writing TAs. It’s this, and then I teach a poetry workshop.”

Poetry. Daniel found poetry obnoxious. What was the point? Emotion? Even fiction prose could carry emotion as well as poetry. And Daniel was of course biased towards nonfiction. And here he was, talking to a poet. Working with a poet. Contributing to a poet getting paid. “Do not teach my students poetry.”

“How would I possibly turn journalists into poets? No, I’ll only do what you want me to do.” Claude crossed her arms. “You can’t fire me. The choice was made for you.” She raised one defiant eyebrow.

“Alright.” Daniel gave in. She was right. He might as well utilize her services. “I’ll print out some papers and tell you what I want you to go over during discussion section. You like to read, Claude?”

“You were just complaining that I did English.”

“There’s three weeks until the semester starts. If I give you four books on journalism, can you finish them in time?” Claude nodded. “Great. Come back in three days, I’ll have the books and a vague list of what you should be getting the kids to understand if they aren’t paying attention in lecture.” Kids. Jesus, Daniel was getting old. And Claude was one of the kids, by age.

“Got it, Mr. Molloy.”

Daniel could stand being called Dr. Molloy, even if it wasn’t strictly true. But sitting there, face to face with someone who clearly didn’t care about his honorary doctorate nor his Pultizers was jarring. It didn’t often happen to Daniel when he wasn’t with his family. And Claude reminded him of his daughter. “You can call me Daniel.”

“Alright, Daniel.” Claude nodded her head. “I’ll see you in three days.” She turned and walked out the door. Daniel took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“What are your plans for winter break?” Daniel asked Claude. She was holding a pile of graded writings from his students. She had graded them, he was to make sure he thought each grade was fair. She set them on his desk with a rolling eye.

“Grad students don’t exactly have winter break.”

“Sorry, kid.”

Daniel had warmed up to her. She reminded him of the people he spent time with in the eighties. Butch, rude, opinionated. She didn’t dislike Daniel – she’d told him that the first month of working together. She just had limited bullshit tolerance, and Daniel bullshitted his way through interpersonal relationships. But Daniel had always, disturbingly, gotten along really well with people who didn’t fear calling him out. That’s what had led him to both his wives.

She also was the only person who didn’t ask him to change his absurdly late office hours.

She leaned back against one of the chairs. “But if you’re actually wondering, my partner and I are going to try and drive down to the south around Christmas if possible.” She pushed a loose braid out of her face. The majority of them were wrapped in a headscarf, only a few dangling in her face. “I miss the warmth, and I miss travel. My family moved around a lot.”

“Usually kids like you want to settle down.”

Claude’s smile was wry. “I’m not like kids like me. Neither Mads nor I quite want to settle down yet. The only reason we’re staying here is so I can get my masters. Then we’ll likely set off across Europe again. She misses it too.”

“No resentment that you’re keeping her here?”

Claude rolled her eyes. “Just because you’ve ruined two marriages does not mean everyone is destined to. She likes her job and her schooling here.”

“Where are you from, Claude?” There was an accent to her voice. She had gone to school in Chicago, but the accent was Southern in nature. Plus, she’d just referred warmly to the South, as if it had been her home. But she didn’t sound like she was just from anywhere in the South. “That’s a Southern accent, isn’t it?”

Claude stopped any motion of her body. She pressed her lips tight. Daniel recognized it from multiple interviews. It was the look of someone whose voice had let something slip that they hadn’t meant to slip. “New Orleans.”

“That explains the French name.”

“And the French partner, yes. My father moved me young, but not until after the accent was full. We moved to France.”

“What year was that, then?”

“2008. We kept the house, of course, didn’t sell it until after the recession. I lived in France, met Mads in France, and then left my father for college. He lives in Dubai now.”

“Do you talk to him?”

Claude shook her head. Daniel knew that shake. “Was it the girlfriend?”

Claude sat down in the chair. Leaning and standing was clearly too much for a full conversation. “No. My dad was gay. No, his partner was terrible. Rift between us because of that shit. His partner almost ended up getting me killed, so I said fuck it and left. Mine and Mads’ life, not my dad’s. Didn’t reach out to him after I went to college.”

“He didn’t freak out on you?” Daniel’s children are practically no contact, but he remembers freaking out when he didn’t hear from them in months before Alice told him. He’d been worried one of them had died.

“Sure. But it worked out.” Claude shrugged. “We’re both happier. I don’t need him, and I’m not on his ass telling him to leave his partner, am I?”

Daniel snorted. “You’d love my daughters.”

“I’m sure, but then I’d hate my boss.” Claude stood and grabbed her bag. “If we don’t manage to get out of town for Christmas, then do you want to come for dinner? Dad was Catholic, so I’m used to celebrations, and Mads used to be a Christian.”

“I have plans. New Years?”

Claude grinned. “I can do New Years.”

Mads, thankfully, did not look twelve. She wore a wine red dress and held a glass of deep red wine in her hand and smiled when Daniel came to the door. “Claude’s boss,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for coming. Claude wanted to be traditional and hold a little party, we were hoping everyone would come.” She pecked the air next to Daniel’s cheek.

Daniel followed her in. She led him to the kitchen, where he set down the bottle of wine. “Who’s all here?”

“My coworkers. Some of my friends from classes. Some of Claude’s friends from the English department. None of your students, don’t worry.” Her accent was strong. “You want champagne or wine? Nothing harder, I apologize.”

“Wine’s good.”

Mads smiled and pulled out a bottle. She poured him a glass and pressed it into his hand. “Go find Claude. She always likes the idea of traditions, New Years party, Mardi Gras, but when it gets too loud she worries. There’s a garden out back.”

Daniel moved gracelessly through people and through Claude’s rented townhouse. He finds her in the garden, smoking a cigarette. Her hair, now in twists, filtered the porchlight into a halo.

“Seriously? I thought kids your age vaped.”

“Want one?”

Daniel accepted the offered cigarette, and Claude lit it. “Your wife is nice,” he says after his first drag.

“Partner. I don’t believe in the institution of marriage. My parents weren’t married.”

“Your father and his shitty partner?”

“My father and his first shitty partner. The second one was just his partner to me. The first one was also a father, which made him worse. We went to France when we left him.” She lifted the cigarette to her lips. “I started smoking in France. They don’t vape there.”

“It’s terrible for your lungs.”

“Then you, Daniel, should vape. I am young and content.”

She was young. She looked young. Daniel felt a paternal pull towards her. But she still acted much much wiser beyond her years. The trauma, likely. Daniel knew there had to be some he didn’t know about. She was an enigma.

“I’m leaving soon, now that my job with you is over,” she told him. “We’re going back to Paris. I’m going to write a novel. Or a book of poetry. Or both. I’ll send you a copy when it's published.”

“If you send me a copy before it’s published, I’ll give you a quippy quote to put on the back of it.”

“I thought you didn’t like poetry, Daniel,” Claude said with a laugh, dropping her cigarette and putting it out with her shoe. “And perhaps. Here, give me your phone. I’ll put my number in.”

“Which one?” Daniel joked, pulling out his phone and opening the contact app. He had seen Claude with two phones: one a regular smartphone and the other a burner. He handed her the phone. She typed in her number and name, then snapped a quick selfie for the profile picture.

“The burner,” she said. She handed the phone back. “Come on, let’s go in. It’s almost time for the countdown.”

That night was the last time Daniel saw Claude Pointe before she left for Paris.

Chapter Text

Daniel got off the plane from Dubai in the middle of the night. He took an Uber to his apartment. The second he shut the door he opened his phone and scrolled down in his contacts app. He found a familiar name and selected the number.

The person on the other end of the phone picked up after two rings. “Daniel,” Claude Pointe said.

“Claude. Or should I call you Claudia?”

Claude laughed. Daniel wanted to think of her as Claudia, but Claudia still felt like a conjured dead girl from a story. Hearing the voice – that was Claude. And Daniel knew Claude. “You’ve been talking to my father.”

“Yeah. He’s got a photograph of you. Looked at it and thought, wait a damn second, I know that girl. I knew you looked younger than twenty-three.”

“I was one hundred and thirteen years old. But yes, I looked fourteen. You’d be shocked what makeup can do now. I can’t believe he reached out to you. Is he still with Armand?”

“No, they divorced in front of me,” Daniel said wryly. He kicked off his shoes and walked to his kitchen. Plane food was disgusting. He was starving. “He’s going back to Lestat, as far as I know.”

“Gross,” Claude quipped.

“You didn’t answer my question. Claude or Claudia?”

“Currently, it’s legally Dina. I’m at UDub in Seattle.”

“Still English and Creative Writing?” Daniel set down two pieces of bread and grabbed the peanut butter. He was going back to the classic quick protein meals, it seemed.

“No, no. That was Northwestern. It’s Biology this time around. That one’s easy to stay in the dark. Choose an experiment about that and stick with it.”

“So that was the game? Go around and go to college?”

“It’s desegregated now, I really had my chance. I like to learn, Daniel, is that a crime?”

“How does Mads feel about jumping from college to college?”

“Madeleine doesn’t mind. She likes moving and she likes getting to have different jobs. Sometimes, she likes school too. She didn’t get the chance.”

“So, Madeleine for Mads.” Claude made an affirmative noise. “Claudia, Claude, Dina… Do you have to choose names related to Claudia?”

“I need to respond to them easily. And yes, Daniel, you can just call me Claude. I always liked that one. Pure femininity is not my strong suit. How was my dad?”

“Uh. Bad. Probably better now that he’s left Armand. He misses you.” Daniel sighed, massaged the bridge of his nose. He had to ask the question he had been wondering since he saw the photograph of Claudia. “You’re not dead.”

“No, I am not.”

“How?”

“It’s a long story, Daniel, and I’m not particularly inclined to tell you everything over the phone.”

“Alright. Do you want to come to New York or do you want me to come to Seattle?”

Claudia’s laugh sounded more like a little girl than Daniel had expected. “I don’t want to be in that book of yours. I don’t need Louis knowing I’m alive just yet. And I’m not the vampire you get to interview. You can want answers, Daniel, but you aren’t always going to get them. Week two, lecture four.”

“You owe me.”

“For what? Not letting your mind bleed out the secret I’m alive? Sure. But I don’t owe you answers. Maybe after you publish the book. That way, I can make sure you don’t put anything in there.”

“I could put you in anyways. Talk about my TA from 2016.”

“You’d seem insane. No details to back you up.” She clicked her tongue. “And if you would put me in there, you risk that scar in your neck turning back into an actual wound. After it’s published you can come to Seattle. I’ll see you then, Daniel.” She hung up on him.

Chapter Text

Living had not been in Claudia’s plan. She’d started preparing for death from the moment she’d been put on trial. She wasn’t stupid. She had known what was happening.

And then she had lived.

It had happened fast. She still didn’t understand it. Trapdoors and fake dust and being half burned alive as they were brought through the sewers of Paris.

She had not expected it to be Sam. She and Sam had not gotten along. But it has been Sam who stowed them away and helped them recover with fresh blood until Claudia and Madeleine were no longer burned and dying.

That’s when they’d left Paris.

Claudia had wanted to go to school. She wanted to learn. She looked too young and colleges had been segregated, but now makeup could make her look older and papers were easier to forge. So in the fifties, she went to Lincoln University for history and international relations.

Madeleine didn’t mind. If anything, she was happy to follow Claudia. She liked getting jobs: sometimes as a seamstress, sometimes not. She liked knowing they weren't tied down, that they could leave whenever. She liked the easy feeding when it came to college campuses. And she loved Claudia.

Between college terms and grad school, they travelled. Europe – never France – and America mainly, but sometimes more. Madeleine could play Claudia’s governess, or her stepmother. Occasionally Claudia said she was working for Madeleine, but that came rarely and left an unsavory taste in both their mouths.

They met other vampires. A blonde man who lived in Africa despite his complexion took a shining to Claudia. For a month he allowed them to hunt with him until he grew sick of their presence. He preferred being alone. But before Claudia and Madeleine left, he told her she reminded him of his son and maker.

Claudia wasn’t so sure it was a compliment.

She had reached one hundred years when she picked up the English and Creative Writing major. She loved to write, and she had fond memories of reading with Louis and Lestat. She remembered reading and loving Emily Dickenson. So she majored in it. And then picked up an MFA, because she was interesting.

Immediately she’d known who Daniel Molloy was. Sam gave her updates on Louis and Armand. The Daniel mention had been important to him. A boy kept for five days being tortured. A boy who had been supposed to die. A boy who Armand had gotten oddly attached to. The Vampire Armand’s affair partner.

She had picked the college for Daniel. She had not expected to be placed as his TA.

But she had liked Daniel. He bullshitted and was a dick and liked to push. But Claudia was used to men who bullshitted and were dicks and liked to push. And she didn’t risk anything by being a dick right back.

She saw why Louis had let him live. Daniel was old now, but he still had a grin like Lestat and Armand’s. She could imagine it back when it went untainted, still full of childlike wonder. Less mean.

“Are you straight?” she asked him one day, holding Hate and Ashbury in her hands.

“I’d like to think so.”

“You’d like to? Why, are you homophobic?” she jabbed, putting just enough sarcasm into her tone to make it clear she was just teasing. “I don’t think you’re straight if your answer isn’t definite.”

“Well, I’ve had sex with men,” Daniel said. “Are you even old enough to hear that?”

“I’m not a child. The only effect my youth has on hearing that is making me go eugh. You’re like eighty.”

“I’m in my sixties.”

Claudia rolled her eyes. “You call me twelve almost every time you see me.”

“Have you tried not looking twelve?”

“Immature response. Is this high school?” Claudia laughed. “You got any restaurant recommendations for around here? I’m going to take Mads out.”

“Finally going to propose?”

“We’re not getting married,” Claudia said. No, they were too content as they were. Marriage felt like a step too far. They’d have to marry each fake passport, each fake ID. They’d no longer have any excuses when people correctly clocked Claudia as fourteen in body. Madeleine was her wife in spirit. There didn’t need to be a ring. “I’m dedicating a chapbook to her. I want her to know, and I want to make it nice.”

Daniel pulled out a notepad and jotted down some restaurants. He handed them to her. She took it and tucked it into her pocket. “You write poetry about her?”

“Sometimes.” Claudia had just written one, a poem about refusing the taste of nectar to protect the holder. Or something like that. “Her a lot. My father as well. Paris, often. Many things, Daniel.” She smiled. “I won’t be here Monday, by the way.”

“Time with the girlfriend?” Daniel raised a teasing eyebrow.

“I’m going to report you to HR,” Claudia deadpanned. “No. Old friend coming to town.” Sam wanted to check in. It was always the Talamasca on their asses. She would be happy to leave town after the semester was over.

“Got it. Yeah, that’s fine, just email the kids with section that day and tell them to come to another section if they can.”

“Of course.”

She’d liked being a TA. She’d liked grad school. She’d liked leaving too, going back to Paris and making new, better memories with Madeleine. She liked heading back home and to Seattle after it.

She kept tabs on Daniel. She knew when he flew to Dubai. She knew why.

She wasn’t surprised to get a phone call from him.

Chapter Text

Daniel flew out to Seattle the day after his book was published. Claude had texted him an address. Presumably it was hers. He was trusting that it was hers.

He knocked on the door to the house. Mads – Madeleine – opened the door. “You’re a vampire now,” she said in the judging French accent.

“Yeah, thank your father-in-law’s sex husband.” Wow. That was way less snappy than he wanted it to be. “Your girl here?”

“She’s not mine.” Madeleine stepped aside and let Daniel inside the house. Claude was sitting in a dining room, a man sitting unconscious at the table. Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“Nice welcome,” he commented, nodding at the man.

“Dinner. I heard you were turned.” She waved a hand at her head. “You've been screaming out for Armand. You shouldn’t. He’s awful. And he can’t hear you. I know Daddy dearest told you that.”

“I’m hoping your Daddy dearest is going to tell him.”

She rolled her eyes. “He won’t. Come on, eat, I’m sick of this guy.”

Daniel bared his fangs. He was insatiable. The smell of the blood dripping steadily out of the puncture wounds made him ravenous. He took her offer.

When he was finished, Claude took him to the study. He knew he should be calling her Claudia, but he couldn’t. With her hair in locs and wearing jeans and a button up, she looked exactly as she did when she was his TA. She sat down behind a desk. He sat across from her. It felt painfully flipped from their time together.

“Did you want to be my TA because of me and Louis’ interview?” he asked.

“No. I knew who you were – I was keeping tabs – but I didn’t come to that college because of you and I didn’t think I would be put as your TA. I considered leaving when I found out, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“To get to know me?”

“No, for grad school. I liked you. I didn’t think I would. I tend not to like men who want to fuck Louis, and there are far too many of them.”

“That’s fair. He misses you.”

“I know.”

“Are you planning to…” Daniel didn’t know how to finish his sentence.

“Someday. Probably soon. The freedom has been nice.”

“I think he knows he needs to give you space and freedom now. I think he would just be happy to have you back.”

Claude nodded. “You know, I do miss him. But I’ve been happy. I’m worried that he’ll hold it against me.”

“He might.”

Claude gave him a bored and irritated look. “You are terrible at talking to people.”

“Correction: I’m terrible at talking to non interview subjects. You are not an interview subject, you made that very clear. But you’re right. Two ex-wives, remember?”

“Pitiful.”

Daniel shrugged. “Yeah. You don’t need to rub it in, though.”

“Two ex-wives and Armand. That one’s interesting.” Claude tented her fingers, lying them on the desk. “Does he know about me?”

“Louis?”

Claude’s look was unamused. “Armand. Did he figure it out when he turned you?”

Daniels shrugged. “Dunno. If he did, he’s not exactly telling your father.”

“Louis,” Claude corrected. “He’s not my father anymore.”

“You called him your father in 2016,” Daniel jibed. He wanted to get under her skin. And she had! She hadn’t had to. She could have mentioned a shitty brother, or guardian, or just never said anything to Daniel at all. No, she knew Louis was her father.

And that was only eight years ago. Claude might be Dina now, but not much more had to have changed.

Daniel dug into his bag. He pulled out a slim book. “Plus, you forgot you published under Claude Pointe.” A volume of poetry. Her poetry. “Lot of Dickenson inspiration.” He thumbs through it, to page 37. “This one’s called ‘Uncle’. After Plath’s ‘Daddy’. Then followed by one named ‘Daddy Lou’. Rather obvious. He’s not just Louis to you. He’s your father.” Daniel set the book down on the desk.

“I thought I wasn’t an interview subject,” Claude says coldly.

“Are you leaving hints for him? Hoping he’ll figure it out. Claude, he’s grieving. He’d see a hint in a babydoll dress if he thought there was a chance you were still alive.”

“I thought I made it very clear what you were and weren’t going to ask.”

“Do you think that leaving him hints means you’ll never have to tell him? That he’ll find you and you’ll be a happy family again? He’s gone back to Lestat, you’ll never–”

Daniel was a fledgling. Claude may have been weak given her body’s age. But she was still in her hundreds. She leapt over the desk, faster than Daniel could react, and shoved him out of his chair and onto the ground. “I am not one of your fucking subjects? You think I didn’t learn shit from your classes?” Her accent slipped strong into her voice, less hidden than before. “I’m not playing sequel. I’m not gonna be interview with the vampiress, and I’m not so attached to you I can’t kill you. I’m not Louis, and I’m not fucking Armand.”

“You won’t kill me,” Daniel bluffed, because he really did believe Claude would kill him. He blinked up at her, kneeling on his chest. He remembered her kill list. He remembered thinking she killed so wildly, unlike Louis, or even Lestat’s methodical love for the dramatics. Now, she seemed more than human, pressing his fledgling ass into the floor.

She tilted her head. She looked like she was about to ask why he wouldn’t let her give his students a poem. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Louis would be upset.”

“Louis is already going to be upset with me, I’m alive.”

“He’d be a whole lot happier if you didn’t kill me. I’m his friend.”

“Louis doesn’t have friends he doesn’t fuck.” She spit it, disgusted. But she got off Daniel’s chest and stood. She did not offer him a hand – he had to peel himself up off the ground himself.

“Fine. I won’t interview you. But you know I can’t switch it off.”

“Unfortunate. Don’t make me kill you, Daniel.”

“What will Mads say?”

“Madeleine will be completely fine with it. She’ll help me hide the body and come up with a reason famed journalist Daniel Molloy disappeared after visiting me.” Claude smiled, all too sweetly. There was something truly terrifying in her when she wasn’t wearing makeup to age her up. The murderer in the body of a little girl.

She reminded him, oddly, of Armand.

“Don’t think that,” she said with a rumpled nose.

“Sorry.”

Claudia studied him like he was an interesting petri dish. “Do you still teach?”

“Online courses. They’re mostly prerecorded now. Why, want to be a TA again?” It was a joke. Clearly Claude didn’t think so. Clearly, she actually did. “Shit. I mean, I can get you work.”

“No, I like it here. I just miss the authority. And you were so good about the evenings and when I could be awake. You’re the only professor that hasn’t made me feel weird about it.”

“I was nocturnal in my twenties. Sure, it was the drugs, but I sort of figured you had some problems like that.”

Claude shrugged. “Didn’t Louis? Like father, like daughter.”

“I know he didn’t tell you that.”

“First, I knew what he was up to in San Fran. I spent my days then at UC Santa Barbara. I’d come up sometimes to watch him.”

“You don’t seem like a party school girl.”

“I’m older than you, what do you mean girl? And party school? More like an excellent excuse for being awake at night and an awfully convenient source of food. No one complained about me wearing sunglasses and a long coat.”

“Yeah, how did you–”

“With you? Your classes were well situated. I would spend the night and beginning of the day in the building. No windows in the classroom. Here? Dina, to them, is a devout Muslim. As long as I can stay awake, the burka protects me from the sun.”

“Is that, like, cultural appropriation?”

“You think respect comes over not burning for me? And, Daniel, really, I know you aren’t a perfect white man.” She rolled her eyes. “You forget how easy it was to get inside your brain back then. And now, if we’re being honest. You haven’t worked at blocking at all.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re failing.”

“When did you become such a bitch?”

“Perhaps in between my killing my sometimes father, sometimes uncle and that same man trying to kill me. Perhaps I was a bitch before and I'm more of a bitch now because once again, there is a man who is drooling over Louis’ cock too much to really care about me.”

“I care about you.”

“Claude. I’m sure you were receptive during the interview. She’s a monster, I’m sure.”

“You’re a killer.”

“And I’m a monster. But learn to block before you try and convince me you’re not struggling to connect Claudia the killer and Claude the poet right now.”

“To be fair, Claude the killer isn’t that different. You have a poem about eating your boyfriend. Didn’t think it was literal when I read it the first time.”

Claude blinks. “You read my poetry.”

“Yeah. Would’ve asked you to sign them, but you were already long gone. The novel too. God, you really did want Louis to notice. Novel about an immortal killer? Really? Could you be less obvious?”

“Quite a lot of authors write about it.”

“‘She wasn’t an angel, even though that was what her mother said, tucking her into bed each night with a forehead kiss. No, she had cemented herself fully as a devil. And since the title fit, she decided to stick to it.’” Daniel quoted. “Yeah, that’s super vague and could be anyone.”

“I don’t know if I like you anymore.”

“I acted like this before too. You just didn’t know I wanted to fuck your dad.”

“It changes a lot.”

Daniel stared at her. Then he said, “I’m still hungry. You wanna go out and hunt? Madeleine can come with.”

Claude shrugged. “Alright.”

A week later a package with no return address landed in the mailroom of the Al Shafar towers. Inside there were two books: one of poetry and another a novel entitled Life of a Devil Girl. Louis picked them up after receiving the email and set them next to the unopened copy of Interview with the Vampire.