“Be very careful, Everard,” said Magnus. He looked for all the world like a man of forty-five, or perhaps fifty in these healthy times of plenty and rampant good health, with glowing skin and hair truly the color of ashes. Why hadn’t he made himself flamingly beautiful like the flashy Lestat with that leonine golden mane, and those violet-blue eyes? But as he gazed at Magnus, this seemed a stupid question. This was a splendid being here before him. They were both splendid, these ghosts. And they could change, couldn’t they, anytime they wanted to.

“Yes, but we try not to do that,” said Raymond. “We seek to perfect what we are, not to constantly alter it. We seek to find something that is a true expression of our soul with which to shape what makes up our form. But there’s no need for you to trouble yourself over these things.”

“Stay safe,” said Teskhamen. “Be clever. And if this Voice provokes a gathering of the tribe, consider coming. We cannot stay the same in these times, because nothing now can stay the same, and we must needs meet the challenges as humans are meeting them.”

Teskhamen took a small white card out of his pocket and handed it to Everard. A gentleman’s calling card. On it was written the name TESKHAMEN in golden script, and beneath it was an e-mail very simple to memorize, actually, and a phone number.

“We’re going now, friend,” said Teskhamen. “But if you need us, contact us. We wish you luck.”

“I think I’ll survive this, same way I survived world wars and the earlier massacre, but thank you. And thank you for putting up with my … my disagreeable behavior.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” said Teskhamen. “One last bit of advice. Keep listening to Benji. If there is to be a coming together, Benji will give the word.”

“Hmmm.” Everard shook his head. “A coming together? Like last time? A big showdown to stop the wicked Voice the way the wicked Queen was stopped? How do you have a showdown with a Voice that can pop into the head of anyone at any time and can hear anything perhaps that I’m saying … or even thinking?”

“That’s a good question,” said Raymond Gallant. “It all depends, doesn’t it, on what the Voice really wants.”

“And what is that,” said Everard, “other than to turn us against one another?”

The three creatures rose to their feet. Teskhamen extended his hand.

Everard also rose with obvious respect. “You make me think of better times, you really do,” he murmured in spite of himself. Suddenly he was furious at himself for becoming so emotional.

“And what times were those?” asked Teskhamen kindly.