“I say Marius as well for other reasons,” I explained. “He has two thousand years and he is very strong. True there are others here who are infinitely stronger, but with their blood will come almost a monstrous power that is better understood when it is accrued over time. Believe me, I know, because I’ve drunk the Mother’s Blood and I have far too much power for my own good.” I paused. “Let it be Marius,” I said. “And those who are older can share their blood with you and you will share some of their strength and that will be a great gift as well.”

Viktor seemed deeply impressed with these thoughts, and I could see it was with difficulty that he questioned me.

“But, Father,” he said. “All my life I’ve loved Fareed, and Fareed was made by Akasha’s son.”

“Yes, Viktor,” I said. “This is true, but Fareed was a man of forty-five when he received Seth’s blood. You’re a boy and Rose is a girl. Take my advice in this, but I’m not unshakable on this point. Tomorrow we can make this decision, if you like, and it can be done at any time.”

Viktor rose to his feet and Rose stood straight and confidently beside him.

“Thank you, Father,” said Viktor.

“Now, it’s almost dawn. I want you safely in the cellars.”

“But why? Why must we be in the cellars now?” Viktor asked. He obviously didn’t like the idea of being in a cellar.

“Because it’s safest. You can’t know what the Voice has done.”

“That’s very true,” the Voice said in me with a laugh, a positive cackle.

“It might well have incited other blood drinkers to incite mortals against us,” I said. “I want you in the cellar until sunset. This compound has a great staff of mortal guards, and that is good but I must take every precaution. Please do as I say. I’ll be in this room for the time being. That’s already been arranged. And I will see you both very soon indeed.”

I held them both to me for a long moment before they left.

The door had the usual ornate little brass keys and a big brass bolt. I locked it up.

I fully expected the Voice to start ranting. But there was only silence and a dim little sound, almost a comforting sound, from the play of the gas flames on the porcelain logs. They had a rhythm all their own, these gas flames, a dance of their own. When I turned out the lights the room was pleasingly shadowy and dim.

I was steeling myself for the Voice.

Then the inevitable paralysis started to come over me. The sun rising over Manhattan. I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the long damask couch with a plump little needlepoint pillow for my head and closed my eyes.