But Seven’s smile vanished at the same time, relatively speaking, because Will had raised an issue that bothered him considerably, at least in retrospect. Did he like Will? Or, more to the point, did he dislike him? Certainly he wished Will well, exuberantly and definitely. Only he found him tiresome because he complained so much and because he was so ungracious inside, when he was so graceful and attractive physically.

“You don’t particularly like him,” Cyprus said, appearing out of nowhere. “So don’t try to wiggle out of it. In any case, I want to talk to you.”

“Uh, I was going to check on Bianka,” Seven said nervously.

“By all means. I’ll go with you,” Cyprus replied. “Now, about Will—”

“Well, he doesn’t like me very much either, or anyone else for that matter,” Seven grumbled. “He doesn’t care for anyone but himself, and of course he doesn’t really approve of himself either. And he has this grudge against life that I just don’t understand. Lydia’s self-absorbed at times, but she cares. I mean, she really wants to give Tweety a spiritual heritage and some knowledge of ‘the gods.’ I know that’s why she hasn’t made her mind up to be born again! She wants the universe to be right for a new life. It is, of course; you and I know that. But—”

Now Oversoul Seven and Cyprus were invisible, and without any forms at all, in what would hopefully be Tweety’s bedroom, which was Josef’s old studio. They were at rest, yet part of their essences just kept drifting lazily through the bedposts, which Josef in a paternal mood had carved with the heads of animals; and through the bureau, which was quite elegant, an heirloom of Bianka’s family, made of rosewood; and through anything else that happened to be there.

Seven eyed the thick icicles that weren’t even dripping; it was so cold outside that the window was almost entirely frosted over. “So I can relate to Lydia now,” he said dejectedly. “But Will makes me impatient.”

Cyprus turned quite still. With a semblance of surprise, she said, “Seven, I was under the impression that Lydia had made up her mind to be born again, and that the search for the gods was more in the nature of a last fling before birth.”

“That’s what I meant to say,” Seven muttered, blushing. “I’m sure she has decided—”

Cyprus said sternly, “If I understand what you’re trying so hard not to tell me, then Lydia at the least is still hesitating rather vigorously. And Will, who is ensconced in a very comfortable life indeed, has decided that he dislikes his existence enough to contemplate suicide, and—”