I stared at the assemblage. There were sixteen or seventeen blood drinkers flanking the broad table, made up as it was of two rows of small square tables, and most of these blood drinkers were speaking quietly to one another in little informal groups, Antoine with Sybelle and Bianca with Allesandra, and some alone, such as Marius or Armand, or my mother, merely watching and waiting without a word. Daniel was next to Marius. Eleni and Eugénie were beside Sevraine. On the far sides of the vast room were other small groups, though why they were out of the way like that I had no idea. One or two were obviously ancient. And the others were far older than I was.

The long broad rectangular table had no chairs at this end facing the door.

And at the other hand the lone chair was empty. Benji Mahmoud was standing by that chair. I sucked in my breath when I saw that empty chair. If they thought I was going to take that chair, they were crazy. Or mad, to put it with more gravitas and grace. I wasn’t going to do it. The two chairs nearest the head of the table were empty too.

Louis brought the bundle of silk pillows and we walked down the length of the ballroom as the others fell silent unevenly. By the time Louis laid out the cushions to make a small square bed with bolsters for Rose in the corner, no one was speaking.

Her arms felt hot around my neck, and her heart was pounding.

I put her down on the pillows and brought the blankets up over her. “Now you be quiet, and don’t try to follow what’s happening. Just rest. Sleep. Be confident that Viktor will be recovered. Be confident, you’re in our care.”

She nodded. Her cheek burned against mine as I kissed her.

I stepped back. She looked like a dewy pink mortal princess deposited there in the shadows, curled up now, with the blankets covering her, bright eyes peering ahead of her at the great grouping around the table.

Benji beckoned for me to come to the head of the table. He gestured to Louis that he take the chair opposite Benji’s own. At Benji’s side, Sybelle stared at me with rapt fascination, and, to her left, my tender fledgling musician Antoine could not have looked more worshipful.

“No,” I said. I did walk up to the head of the table, yes, but I didn’t take the chair. “Who places me at the head of this assembly?” I demanded.

No one responded.

I looked down the two rows of faces. So many I knew and so many I didn’t know, and so many ancient and obviously supremely powerful. And none of the ghosts here or the spirits.