“And I personally vouch for this man’s ability to seduce half the human population of London without even breaking a sweat,” interrupts a muscle-bound guy who could be Ambrose’s older brother, drawing laughs from around the table. He holds up a fist, which I bump with my own as I take my seat next to him. “Met you at the ’97 London convocation. Coleman Bailey, Harlem Riots of ’43,” he says, repeating a tradition I’d noticed with American revenants: introducing themselves with a detail of their death.

Gold chuckles, taking his seat, and says, “Sorry for the formal tone, Jules. There’s a formula for introducing out-of-town revenants to kindred. Besides having a high number of immigrants, Americans also tend to move around a lot.”

I nod and accept a glass and pitcher of water from the man sitting on my left. “We’re used to formalities in the Old World,” I say, trying my best to sound light. This is the last place I want to be: in the hot seat, having to explain myself to a lot of strangers while my brain is melting and my heart is in tiny jagged pieces—in a language that is not my own. But it’s a necessary evil. If I want to stay, they need to know why.

My face has given something away: I see compassion on my kindred’s faces. One girl speaks up. “We were so sorry to hear about Jean-Baptiste,” she says, and everyone else nods and adds their own words of condolence.

Gold speaks up. “We’re going to make this brief, Jules. No formal inquisition necessary. In America we don’t have leaders, or ‘heads,’ like you do in Europe. Everything is done democratically. I usually speak for the crowd, since I am the official American historian—somewhat like Gaspard is for you. But any New York revenant animated over twenty years can be on the council, and it holds all the power.”

Gold pauses and looks around the group, waiting to see if anyone wants to jump in. When no one does, he says, “You have expressed a desire to join us here in New York. Could you give us an indication of how long you plan on staying?”

Here we go. “An indeterminate amount of time, if you are willing to host me,” I respond.

I see curiosity burn behind the eyes of the bardia. A member of the council speaks up. “Can you tell us the purpose of your stay?”

“I need time away from Paris,” I say.

“Wouldn’t your kindred prefer you to stay closer . . . say, elsewhere in France?” she presses.