house call (beauty)
With things more calm, and Sam Winchester (or Sam Winchester(s)) at least reasonably assured that they were not, in fact, still in a box in Hell with Satan, Lestat considered his good deeds done for the week. He only was capable of so many, after all. And everybody knew that.
Those who'd been missing were returned, and he longed to poke at their brains. He intended to, and had, just a bit. They'd been some other place, and he got a reasonable picture of that place, but he still wanted to know more. He was certain it was where Sam had come from, second Sam.
Lestat decided on finding someone he knew had been gone, and getting to the bottom of this. Honour. Honour'd been missing, and he could easily find her, and she would be quite open about her experiences--at least, he knew she was comfortable enough with him to tell him how it'd been there, and perhaps the logistics of how she'd ended up there. He could fill in the blanks from others who'd been gone, too.
He set out for her cottage immediately once the sun was low enough, which, now that he had Eric's blood, was just a little earlier, a few minutes, than it'd been before, with the added bonus of no longer going 'dead' during the day.
He made sure he had something to offer her, and at least the pretense of a real, honest visit. It was not that he did not wish to see her, just that Lestat's motives were never without selfishness. He'd found a very nicely bound copy of Shakespeare's complete works for her, and tucked it in one pale hand, close to his non-beating heart.
At the cottage door, he knocked. And waited as the sun continued its slow decent toward the horizon.