King David dying in the Bible, begging for warmth…and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat….

Terrible thing to be cold and alone. The cup was cold. The marble top of the table was cold, and the wind was cold now thanks to the rain, and the fans were churning the cold air so slowly. I thought of King David lying there, as they brought the damsel to him to keep him warm. And the damsel was very fair, and cherished the king, and ministered to him; but the king knew her not.

Why didn’t I hunt for the one thing that could make me warm, the blood of a victim coursing through my veins, a soul breathing its last in my arms? Because it wouldn’t have made me any more warm than the damsel made King David. And I could not claim to have killed a single Goliath in my life, or…

A shadow fell over the table, over the bright white sugar on the beignets, and the white marble. Louis was sitting there. Calm, and collected, as they say, arms folded on his chest, very much clear of the sticky marble table, and his mellow green eyes fixed on me.

“Now why the Hell do you want me, of all people,” he asked, “to come with you to France?”

Vaguely, I was aware that Thorne wanted me, that moving about restlessly in the crowd beyond the café he was signaling to me, something important, something, please attend now. I shut him out.

I looked squarely at Louis, who looked as splendidly human as he ever had. A rage of jealousy exploded in me against the blood in his veins that wasn’t mine.