One ghost, the nearest to the ancient vampire, appeared to be a man of perhaps fifty with wavy iron-gray hair and a somewhat-noble face. His bright eyes were crinkled with a friendly expression and he had an agreeable almost pretty mouth. Beside him sat the illusion of a man in his prime with short well-groomed ashen hair and gray eyes. All were neatly dressed in what anyone in this day and age would call fine and respectable clothes. The younger male ghost had a proud bearing and actually turned his head and looked about him as if he were enjoying these moments in the busy little street no matter why the trio had come here.

The vampire with the full well-groomed white hair gave a little nod to Everard, and Everard went silently crazy.

He sent the telepathic message, Well, damn you, blast me if you intend to do it. I’m too frightened to be civil. Get on with it but first, first, I demand that you tell me why.

He killed the music from the iPhone. He didn’t want to die with a soundtrack. And he fully expected to hear the Voice raging and cackling exultantly. But the Voice was not there.

“Miserable coward,” he muttered. “You order my death and decamp without even remaining here to witness it. And you wanted me to burn down the Roman Vampire Refuge in the Via Condotti. Well, you’re ugly and you’re mad.”

The ancient vampire across the way rose to his feet and gestured in a decidedly friendly manner for Everard to join them. He was not overly tall and he was very delicate of build. He took a chair from a nearby table and placed it in their circle. He waited patiently for Everard’s response.

It was as if Everard had forgotten how to walk. All his life in the Undead he’d seen vampires burned by others, seen that horrific spectacle of a living breathing creature going up in a personal inferno because some older more powerful vampire—like that contemptible, condescending Marius—had decided he or she should die. His legs were wobbling so badly as he crossed the street, he thought he would at any moment collapse. His narrow tailored leather jacket felt heavy and his boots pinched and he wondered inanely whether his blue silk tie had a stain on it, and whether the cuffs of his lavender shirt were sticking too far out of his coat sleeves.

His hands were shaking visibly as he reached to accept the hard icy hand of the old vampire. But he managed it. He managed to sit down.