I am lord and master of my own island, I am the Devil’s minion and he grants my every wish.

(ARMAND) I’m the quiet you’ve been longing for. After all the garishness of life, the jostling, the clawing… (DANIEL) I like my life. (ARMAND) The dull thrum of desperation in you.

Supper awaited in the immense dining room with its windows open to the pool. Armand was already at his desk in the adjoining study. There was work to do: maps to consult, more wealth to be acquired.

“There is nothing I can do to make you want to live, isn’t that so?” “Not that again. I will jump out of the plane if you go on.”

Of course Daniel must have for colder climes mink-lined raincoats, and dinner jackets for Monte Carlo, and jeweled cuff links, and even a long black suede cloak, which Daniel with his “twentieth-century height” could carry off quite well.

(ARMAND) Rest. I’ve been calling to you for some time. From every bad fix. From the unnamed malaise you feel Sunday afternoons. And now, here I am, and you can rest. (DANIEL) I don’t want to rest.

And now they must be outfitted like princes for all occasions. Armand himself supervised the measurements for Daniel’s custom-made shirts, suits, shoes. He chose the fabrics for an endless parade of sports coats, pants, robes, silk foulards.

(DANIEL) Let’s see, let’s see. “Fuck these vampires.”

They purchased a mansion in Florida, yachts, speedboats, a small but exquisitely appointed jet plane.

It had begun with a treasure find in the waters off Jamaica, Armand chartering a boat to show Daniel where salvage operations must begin. Within days a sunken Spanish galleon loaded with bullion and jewels had been discovered.

I want to be in the vital center of things the way I was years ago in Paris in the Theater of the Vampires. Surely you remember. I want to be a canker in the very eye of the world.

(ARMAND) I have never made a vampire. (DANIEL) You’re a 500-year-old vampire. You led the Parisian coven for two centuries. (ARMAND) The idea repulsed me, repulses me.