Who would have expected Benedict to have been so handy with hardware-store chains and padlocks to secure that bathroom prison with such simple and clever gestures, piling a store of wood and nails and a hammer nearby if further security measures were needed?

And who but Benedict would have outfitted the bathroom before-hand with every conceivable amenity—scented candles, toilet articles, even popular magazines, a “microwave oven” for the cooking of the stacks of canned foods he’d bought, and heaps of plastic forks and knives and spoons as well as paper bowls and dishes. He’d even included a little refrigerator in the bath full of carbonated sodas and a bottle of the finest Russian vodka, and had thrown in several soft new blankets for the boy and a pillow so he could sleep “comfortably” on the tiled floor when exhaustion eventually got the best of him.

“We don’t want him to panic,” Benedict had said. “We want him to remain calm and cooperative so this thing can be finished.”

By day the boards and nails would make his escape impossible, and for now, when he became panicky, he could press the intercom to speak to his captors.

That he had not done yet. Perhaps he was simply too angry to utter coherent words. That would not have been surprising.

One thing was certain. Someone very powerful had taught this human how to completely lock off his mind from all telepathic intrusion. He was as skilled at that as any scholarly member of the Talamasca. And as far as Rhosh knew, no mortal or immortal could open a telepathic line to others without opening himself to intrusion. So that meant the boy wasn’t frantically attempting to send messages to others. And maybe he didn’t know how. The vampires who brought him up might have taught him many things, but not how to be a human psychic.

Rhoshamandes didn’t much believe in human telepathy anyway. But he had to stop thinking about this! He had to stop thinking about all the different ways this spectacular gambit might fail, and it strongly occurred to him that he ought to call Trinity Gate now and return the boy and throw himself on the mercy of the gathering blood drinkers!

“Are you insane,” said the Voice to him. “Are you simply out of your mind? You do that and they’ll destroy you. What in the world would prompt them to have the slightest mercy? Since when do blood drinkers have honor?”

“Well, they had better have some or this plan simply isn’t going to work,” said Rhosh.

Benedict knew Rhosh was talking aloud to the Voice. But he remained attentive, desperate to know what was happening.