"I mean Death with a capital D," Lestat said, eyebrow arching. "Pretty girl. Dark hair. Heavy on the eyeliner."
Lestat smiled wryly at Hannibal. He had his own reaper? The smile became a low chuckle.
"In Hell," the vampire began, voice almost a purr, "you have a building full of souls. I'm sure you do have your own reaper. I must have worn out a dozen."
Who? Specifically? The City did this. Now I'll grant you I took out the sonofabitch who was responsible for hurting me most, but the real culprit, Hannibal, not even someone like me can touch.
His violet eyes focused on the flowers Hannibal had been drawing. They reminded him a little of bourganvilla, the way it seemed to all huddle and climb. Clusters.
"I'll do what I can," he said aloud.
He more or less knew already what had been done, but he didn't want to pull the trigger on a loaded gun, so to speak. Hannibal looked ready to do some damage. Lestat could understand. "Alright?"