They were all brown skinned but in varying tones from the darkest, Welf and Welftu, to the bronze-skinned women. All had black hair streaked with gold, or black hair heavily streaked with gold. In other words, they appeared to be what the world calls black people, regardless of the differing tones of their skin. And all wore their hair parted in the middle and long to the shoulders which gave them a sort of consecrated look as if they were members of some special sect.

“Our Prince,” said Fareed, adding, “He’s eager to welcome you.”

I nodded and I was smiling because I always smiled at moments like this, but I was registering everything.

Fareed was absolutely right about the group including clones. It was easy to see this due to the skin tone and the hair if nothing else.

Overall, I could find no recognizable ethnic traits in their features, nothing that resembled any known African or Indian or Australian tribe. Welf had a full African mouth, but did not look African otherwise. They didn’t look Polynesian or Sentinelese particularly. But of course Seth or Arion or any of the elders might be seeing something I couldn’t see. In sum, they might have come from a time before the ethnic traits we see today in various parts of the world had started to develop.

“I want you to feel comfortable and safe in my house,” I said in English. “I’m relieved you made it here without mishap.”

There were immediate nods and murmurs of thanks. Each in turn took my hand as I offered it. Silky skin, flawless skin, like a fabric of superb manufacture. And they had the special beauty of dark-skinned people, a near polished and sculpted look.

All possessed similar expressions of high intelligence and inveterate curiosity, and they were truly all completely without fear.

They were slightly smaller than I expected. Even the taller of the males—Garekyn and Garetu, who were about my height—were thin with delicate bones. They were impeccably groomed and shining clean the way affluent mortals are in these times. And I picked up the scent of expensive perfumes, of the inevitable soaps and shower gels. And blood, yes, blood, abundant blood, blood being pumped strongly through their bodies, blood infusing them as blood infuses the bodies of mortals, creating a wave of desire in me, and once again in my mind that stubborn desire for innocent blood.

I welcomed each one of them individually, repeating the name that was offered. Garekyn, the accused murderer, looked no different from the others. He made no apology, but he showed no arrogance either. And when the woman Kapetria received my handshake last, she smiled and said:

“You live up to your legend, Prince.” There was no accent to her English. “You’re as handsome now as you ever looked in your music videos. I know all your old songs by heart.”