“They’re good people,” I said. “After I was accidentally infected by Oswald Grant, they took care of me and helped me transition.”

“I met your friend, Ian Ducharme, last year when I was on holiday in Lviv.”

“Lviv is the new Warsaw,” I said automatically.

“That’s when he was with a gorgeous icy blonde, Ilena, at all the parties.”

“I’d rather not discuss Ian if you don’t mind,” I said, trying to quell the ugly swirl of emotions rising in me. “Anyway, one of the Grant family mentioned that you’re organizing a movement to have your kind live openly.”

“My kind? Aren’t you one of us?”

“They gave me a membership card, but most of the time they tell me that the club is closed for a private party. I think so long as your kind live in hiding and fear, there will never be …”

The waitress came back, and I paused while she delivered our drinks. Wil and I fumbled over who would pay, but he insisted, saying, “You’re my guest.”

I sipped the warmish beerish drink and said “Mmm” to be polite. “You’re lucky our drinks came. I was just about to launch into a speech about human rights for all. I know all the politically correct talking points.” I didn’t mention that I’d learned many from animal rights activists.

“Before we get into all that, what are you doing tonight?”

“I was hoping to see a play, or see if any museums have evening hours.”

“Could I interest you in a special tour befitting a special guest?”

When an attractive and unknown man presented me with a vague offer of a good time, I always had the same answer. “Absolutely.”

We finished our drinks and took the Tube to a crescent-shaped block of white terrace houses with graceful black railings and boxes of blooming flowers. “It’s an underground restaurant,” Wil said, putting his arm through mine in a very friendly way. “It’s not in the guidebooks.”

“Do we need a secret knock?”

“Fer sure.”

“I’m not an expert, but you seem to speak surferese very well,” I said as he led me up the steps to the glossy red front door.

“It’s one of my languages.” He lifted the brass door knocker and tapped it twice, then three more times. After we waited, he looked at me and said, “It gets loud.” He banged the door with his fist and yelled, “Open up, you bastards!”

I heard footsteps and then a bulky older man came to the door. Wil practically tackled him and gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek. “This is Mil, Graham. Mil, this is Graham.”

“Hello, Mil,” Graham said sternly, and looked me in the eyes. “This is a private gathering. Nothing that happens here leaves.”

“She’s cool,” Wil said. “She’s with the Grants in California and Ian Ducharme.”