“If they are to go their own way after this, better they remember us for what we were.”

Armand nodded. “We want to make all of you comfortable in any way that we can.”

They passed into the parlor. Sybelle’s greeting was a quick nod, but Antoine came up with the violin and bow in his left hand to offer his right. Every new encounter with his own kind was treasured by Antoine.

Gregory watched as Marius came forward to embrace the two doctors. Ah, so powerful, this commanding Roman who had kept the Mother and Father safe and secret for two thousand years. If Marius experienced the slightest fear of his elders gathering here he showed not the slightest sign.

His beloved Chrysanthe, in her white-and-silver gown, who had been sitting with Marius—in deep conversation with him as far as Gregory could divine—also came forward and gave her tender, most gracious greeting to the newcomers.

Far off in rooms throughout the three townhouses others were coming to awareness of the latest arrival—Daniel and Arjun and Pandora who’d been talking together somewhere. And Thorne, redheaded Thorne, who had only arrived the night before, and had been in fast conversation with David and Jesse.

Jesse was in no state to be with the entire company. Rather she was someone in deep anxiety, and she had related in a trembling voice to Gregory all that Lestat had told her about the images he had caught from Maharet about the Guatemalan volcano, Pacaya. “But my aunt would never doom the entire tribe to extinction no matter how great her pain,” she’d averred. Then she’d given way to tears. Thorne was a friend to her, an old friend, as was David, and they remained closeted away.

“I can show you to your rooms now, if you like,” said Louis to Fareed and Seth. “Rooms where you might be alone and rest.” He still spoke with a faint French accent, and looked relaxed yet formal in his black wool suit with a flash of green silk at the neck, a shade of green that exactly matched the emerald ring on his left hand.

“In time,” said Fareed gratefully with a sigh. “Let us stay here with you, if we might. I heard the music when we were approaching.”

“And you shall hear it again,” said Sybelle, and with a nod she began again that same vigorous and dark waltz, “The Carousel Waltz.” Tall, lanky Antoine had taken his place beside her again, his long black hair loose and unkempt yet not unattractive, certainly not unattractive for a fiddler, and he began to accompany Sybelle, obviously waiting for her to initiate the variations.