The man was tall and spare, as Rachaela had already seen, and framed in the flood of wintry hair his face was that of an adventurer, a commander, one who fought. High cheekbones and thin muscular jaw, nose aquiline but not thin, lips inclined to refinement but perhaps of cruelty. The eyes were the pale blue of aquamarines. Not black. She had expected black, like those of the Scarabae. (But then, her own eyes were pale.)

On his left hand were four large rings of tarnished silver. He took his right hand from Eric's as Eric let him go. Turning to Sasha, this man called Malach raised her fingers and brushed them with his mouth. He indicated the woman gracefully. "Althene." And then the man who stood with Michael. "Kei." And lastly the two dogs. "Os-kar, Enki." He added, "The dogs behave well in the house. I shouldn't have brought them otherwise."

"Enki howled in the helicopter," said the woman, Althene. She had a deep voice, velvet like the coat. Also the trace of accent.

"Yes. Enki howled." Malach ruffled the head of the paler dog. Both were albinos, wolfhounds tinted by a strain of something else, and both vast as lions, with long curved tails and oddly bluish amber eyes.

"You are all welcome," said Eric.

"And the dogs," said Sasha. She smiled. "We've missed animals."

Miranda took Rachaela's arm and drew her down the stairs. Rachaela had not expected this. It was a medieval scene, or something from a Renaissance film. She was led to Malach by Miranda in the lamplight.

"Miranda," said Malach. He kissed Miranda's hand lightly, courteously. Rachaela looked up at him, steeling herself. But when his blue eyes came to her, she flinched.

"This is Rachaela, the daughter of Adamus."

"Yes," he said. "And the mother of Ruth."

"And who are you?" said Rachaela.

He did not take her hand.

"Malach. Didn't you listen?"

"You're Scarabae."

"Of course," he said. "All of us. Why else are we here?"

"And why are you here?"

"Rachaela," said Eric, "this isn't the time for questions. It has been a long journey, over the sea."

"You told me," Rachaela said, "they told me. You're all the Scarabae there were. The last."

"We are the last," said Eric, "here."

"Rachaela is confused," said Malach. "I—we—are Scarabae of another branch. Still Scarabae."

Out of the lamplight, Althene said smoothly, "There are many Scarabae."

"And in necessity," said Sasha, "where else should we turn?"

Rachaela moved back a step. She was afraid of Malach. Was it the same fear she had felt of Adamus, terror of male beauty and power, the dominance of a man and all it implied, the pitfall, the trap?

But Malach was also frightening in another way. Adamus had been a priest, but Malach was a warrior.

Rachaela stood aside, and let them all move on into the gold and white drawing room from which the broken television had been removed. The dogs followed decorously.