"These days," Lestat said, with a laugh. "My dear lady, I'm much older than I look."
Baba Yaga.
He knew the name, knew it from several vampires of eastern Europe. The French had no such tale, nor the Creole. But that did not mean he had not heard of her.
The City was indeed a child. He agreed, and nodded. "All good things here have been twisted somehow. And yes," he said, raising both eyebrows, smirking, "such is life. But not like this." He shrugged, the gesture one that did not fit him, coming off too graceful to be careless.
"There will be revenge. For me, and for others." He thought then of River, of Hannibal's request for information on those that held River directly in the asylum.
"I've yet to decide the manner of revenge. For my part, at least."