Lestat smirked. He had not always been able to admit such things. Eric could ask any number of the remaining Coven of the Articulate, and they'd be quick to inform him of exactly how insufferable Lestat once was.
So you haven't had a child in many years?
He could see Mona, then, in his mind. Laying on that bed with all of the flowers, sick and weak, her red hair the most vibrant thing about her. He'd told her he was going to get her, and he had--but it hadn't been his idea. It was for Quinn. It was Quinn's idea. Her Mayfair blood had made her more enticing, but Lestat had not looked at Mona initially with an eye to make her a companion--even though she was dying young. He'd cared for Rowan, not Mona.
"I haven't sought out a child in quite some time," he answered. "My youngest was here, in the City, and is only a few years old. She was..."
... beloved boss...
"... dying. A witch. Promiscuous red-headed little thing who'd managed to bring a Taltos into the world and was paying for it. Her lover became something of an adopted child to me."
He remembered telling Quinn to man up and let her go. Or at least thinking it.
"He intended to turn her himself. I did it instead. We cannot hear the thoughts of our fledgelings. The blood is too close. I gave them the ability to preserve that bond. As a favor."