Fareed had taken his place beside Seth and appeared to be enraptured now with these goings-on. Vampire musicians were such curiosities and had appeared so seldom in the history of the Undead. What they did with their instruments was always so difficult to analyze. But Gregory was convinced it had to do with the changelessness of the vampiric body and the ever-shifting changes all around them; they did not yield to tempo as did human musicians, but kept rebelling against it, playing with it, threatening to destroy it, yet snapping back into it with surprising suddenness, which gave the music a friable and almost tragic sound.

Armand was suddenly at Gregory’s side.

“Rather like fiddling while Rome burns, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Gregory. “But the intensity of this is undeniable. This many of us gathered here in one place. This is … I didn’t …”

“I know, but this time we mustn’t scatter like marbles rolling in all directions when it’s over.”

“No,” said Gregory, “it’s not possible anymore for us to live isolated from one another and uncooperative with one another. I’ve known that for a long time.”

“Yet it’s never worked when I’ve tried …” Armand broke off and turned to the music.

Benji came into the room.

The music stopped.

In his dark gray three-piece suit and matching fedora Benji moved through the crowd with the smiling vigor of a visiting politician, shaking this hand and that, bowing to Pandora, and to Chrysanthe, accepting the kisses of the women graciously and then taking the center of the room, eyes sweeping over all. He was perhaps five feet two inches in height, yet a perfectly proportioned man. His hat was clearly integral to his costume, and no one need bother to tell him that a gentleman takes off his hat indoors, because his hat was not coming off, it was part of him.

“I thank you all for coming,” he declared, his boyish voice ringing out clearly and distinctly with a commanding self-confidence. “I’ve broken off broadcasting to inform you of the following. The Voice has called our phone lines, and spoken to us through the vocal cords of a vampire male. The Voice says it is trying to come to us.”

“But how can you be certain this was the Voice?” asked Armand.

“It was the Voice,” said Benji with a little deferential bow to Armand. “I spoke to him myself, of course, Armand, and he referenced for me the things he had told me privately.” Benji tapped the side of his head beneath the brim of his hat. “He recalled for me the bits of poetry he’d been reciting to me telepathically. It was the Voice. And the Voice says he is struggling with all his might to come to us. Now, ladies and gentlemen of the Night, I must return to the broadcast.”