He stood before the flames, still studying me. Then he sat down too. He took the glass stopper from the crystal decanter, filled his glass, and lifted it in a little salute.

He took a deep swallow and winced slightly as the liquid obviously warmed his throat.

Suddenly, vividly, I remembered that particular sensation. I remembered being in the loft of the barn on my land in France, and drinking cognac just like that, and even making that grimace, and my mortal friend and lover, Nicki, snatching the bottle greedily from my hand.

“I see you are yourself again,” David said with sudden warmth, lowering his voice slightly as he peered at me. He sat back, with the glass resting on the right arm of his chair. He looked very dignified, though far more at ease than I had ever seen him. His hair was thick and wavy, and had become a beautiful shade of dark gray.

“Do I seem myself?” I asked.

“You have that mischievous look in your eye,” he answered under his breath, still scanning me intently. “There’s a little smile on your lips. Won’t leave for more than a second when you speak. And the skin—it makes a remarkable difference. I pray you’re not in pain. You aren’t, are you?”

I made a small dismissive gesture. I could hear his heartbeat. It was ever so slightly weaker than it had been in Amsterdam. Now and then it was irregular as well.

“How long will your skin stay dark like this?” he asked.

“Years, perhaps, seems one of the ancient ones told me so. Didn’t I write about it in The Queen of the Damned?” I thought of Marius and how angry he was with me in general. How disapproving he would be of what I’d done.

“It was Maharet, your ancient red-haired one,” David said. “In your book, she claimed to have done the very thing merely to darken her skin.”

“What courage,” I whispered. “And you don’t believe in her existence, do you? Though I am sitting right here with you now.”

“Oh, I do believe in her. Of course I do. I believe everything you’ve written. But I know you! Tell me—what actually happened in the desert? Did you really believe you would die?”

“You would ask that question, David, and right off the bat.” I sighed. “Well, I can’t claim that I did really believe it. I was probably playing my usual games. I swear to God I don’t tell lies to others. But I lie to myself. I don’t think I can die now, at least not in any way that I myself could contrive.”

He let out a long sigh.

“So why aren’t you afraid of dying, David? I don’t mean to torment you with the old offer. I honestly can’t quite figure it out. You’re really, truly not afraid to die, and that I simply do not understand. Because you can die, of course.”

Was he having doubts? He didn’t answer immediately. Yet he seemed powerfully stimulated, I could see that. I could all but hear his brain working, though of course I couldn’t hear his thoughts.