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It struck me how very strange it all was that she should come to be the mortal in this world that Viktor, given his origins, should love. I'd sought to protect her from myself, and my secrets. But this never really works. And I should have known that it would not. In the last two years, I'd kept away from her with the best of intentions, certain she must meet her challenges without me, and disaster had nearly destroyed her, yet she'd found herself in the arms of my son. I knew how it had happened, beat by beat, yet it still amazed me.

I knew what he wanted. I knew what she wanted. This Romeo and Juliet, so bright and filled with human promise, were dreaming of Death, certain that in Death they would be reborn.

Rose was cuddled up beside Viktor in the big leather wing chair by that time, and he was holding her with obvious affection and her face was white with exhaustion. She seemed about to faint. I knew she had to rest.

But I had more to say. And why should it be delayed?

I stood up, stretched, feeling something like a silent nudge from the Voice, but no annoying nonsense, and I went to the mantel and placed my hands on it, and looked down in the dancing gas fire.

It was almost dawn.

I tried to think, for decency's sake, of what life might be for these two if we denied them the Dark Gift. But this was pointless. Really pointless. I didn't know that I could live with such a decision, and I was certain that they could not mentally or spiritually survive such a denial.

Yet I felt compelled to ponder. And ponder I did. I knew what Rose was suffering now, blaming herself for all her many misfortunes, none of which had ever been her doing. And I knew how much she loved Viktor and how much he loved her. Such a bond would strengthen both of them through the centuries, and I had to think now in terms of our tribe, our species, being something not accursed, no, never accursed--a tribe that must no longer be left to sink or swim in a sea of self-loathing and haphazard depravity and aimless struggle. I had to think of us as these two young ones saw us--as living an exalted existence that they wanted to share.

In sum, my change of heart towards my own nature, and the nature I shared with all the Undead, had to begin in earnest right now.

I turned to face them.

Rose was quite awake now, and they looked at me not with desperation but with a quiet

trusting resignation.

"Very well then," I said. "If you would accept the Dark Blood, so be it. I don't oppose it. No. I do ask that the one who gives it to you be skilled at the giving. And Marius would be my choice for this, if he is willing, as he knows how to do it, passing the blood back and forth over and over, creating the most nearly perfect effects."

An immense change came over them silently, as they appeared to realize the import of my words. I could see that Viktor had a multitude of questions to ask me, but Rose had a quiet dignified expression on her face that I hadn't seen in her since I'd arrived. This was the old Rose, the Rose who knew how to be happy, not the quivering battered one making her way through the events of the last months with fragile and desperate faith.

"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.