“Ah, but it wasn’t you at all, was it?” she said at once, taking his hand and then kissing him again and drawing back once more to look at Gremt. “It was a voice, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, a voice,” he said. “I was telling Gremt. Gremt understands. Gremt is a friend.”

Very reluctantly, she sat down as Arjun urged her to do so, and he settled back into his chair to the left of her.

Only then did Gremt take his seat again.

“But you must have believed me guilty,” Arjun said to Pandora, “or why else would you have come here to me?”

Pandora was again staring at Gremt. She was far too uncomfortable with the obvious mystery of Gremt to hear what Arjun wanted her to hear.

Gremt turned to Arjun and spoke softly. “Pandora knew because of the pictures, Arjun. When it happened there were witnesses snapping pictures, and those pictures went viral, as they say on the internet. These pictures were infinitely more detailed and clear than telepathic glimpses. These pictures don’t fade as memory fades; they will circulate for all time. And in New York, a young blood drinker named Benjamin Mahmoud, made by Marius, posted the pictures on a website. And Pandora saw those pictures.”

“Ahhh! Unspeakable disgrace,” Arjun said, covering his face with his long fingers. “And so Marius and his children think I am guilty of this. And how many others believe it?”

“No, not so,” said Pandora. “We’re all coming to understand. Everyone is coming to understand.”

“You must. You must know that it was the Voice.” He looked helplessly to Gremt for confirmation.

“But Arjun is himself now,” said Gremt. “And he is now perfectly capable of resisting the Voice. And the Voice has moved on to some other slumbering blood drinkers.”

“Yes, that explains part of it,” said Pandora, “but not all of it. Because it is now almost certain that the burnings happening in South America are being done by none other than Khayman.”

“Khayman?” said Arjun. “Gentle Khayman? But I thought he had become the consort and guard of the twins now!”

“That he is and has been for a long time,” said Gremt. “But Khayman has always been a broken soul, and he is now apparently as susceptible to the Voice as some of the other old ones.”

“And Maharet cannot control him?” asked Pandora. There was an edge to her voice. She wanted to talk of all this, wanted to know what Gremt knew, but she wanted most certainly to know more about Gremt, so she spoke with a tone that said, You are a stranger to me.

She narrowed her eyes. “Is Maharet herself the Voice?” she asked with obvious horror.

Gremt said nothing.

“Could it be her twin, Mekare?”

Still Gremt didn’t answer.

“Unspeakable thought,” whispered Arjun.

“Well, who else could guide gentle Khayman to such things?” Pandora murmured. She was thinking out loud.