“None whatsoever, Madam,” Lestat answered. “If memory serves me right, and it does less and less, the name’s compounded of the first letter of each of my six older brothers’ names, all of whom—the brothers and their names—I grew up to cheerfully and vigorously despise.”

Again, Aunt Queen laughed, plainly surprised and utterly seduced. “Seventh son,” she said. “Now that confers a certain power and I’m deeply respecting of it. And you speak with a ready eloquence. You seem a fine and invigorating friend for Quinn.”

“That’s my ambition, to be his fine friend,” said Lestat immediately and sincerely, “but don’t let me intrude.”

“Never even think of it,” Aunt Queen offered. “You’re welcome under my roof. I like you. I know I do. And you, Quinn, where have you been of late?”

“Round and about, Aunt Queen,” I answered. “Bad as Patsy in my roamings, round and about—I don’t know.”

“And have you brought me a cameo?” she asked. “This is our custom, Lestat,” she explained, and then: “It’s been a week since you have been in this room, Tarquin Blackwood. I want my cameo. You must have one. I won’t let you off the hook.”

“Oh, yes, you know I almost forgot about it,” I said. (And with reason!) I felt in my right-hand coat pocket for a little tissue-covered package that I’d put there nights ago. “It’s from New York, this one, a lovely shell cameo.”

I unwrapped the paper and put it before her in all its glory, one of the largest shell cameos that she would own. The image was from the white strata of the shell, naturally, and the background a dark pink. The cameo was a perfect oval with a particularly exquisite scalloped frame of heavy 24-carat gold.

“Medusa,” she said, with obvious satisfaction, identifying the woman’s profile at once by her winged head and the wild snakes for hair. “And so large and so sharply carved.”

“Fearsome,” I said. “The best Medusa I’ve ever seen. Note the height of the wing, and a bit of the orange strata on the wing tip. I meant to bring it sooner. I wish that I had.”

“Oh, there’s no point to that, my darling,” she said. “Don’t regret it when you don’t come to see me. I think I’m timeless. You’re here now and you’ve remembered me. That’s what counts.” She looked up to Lestat eagerly. “You know the story of Medusa, don’t you?” she asked.

Lestat hesitated, only smiling, obviously wanting her to speak more than he wanted to speak himself. He looked rather radiant in his rapture with her, and she was beaming back.

“Once beautiful, then turned into a monster,” said Aunt Queen, clearly enjoying the moment immensely. “With a face that could turn men to stone. Perseus sought her by her reflection in his polished shield, and once he’d slain her the winged horse Pegasus was born from the drops of blood that fell to earth from her severed head.”

“And it was that head,” said Lestat confidingly, “that Athena then emblazoned on her shield.”