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I shook my head. "No, nothing that I could identify. She showed me things, visions, but they all came from her, always from her. As far as I know, from her." But I had to admit, that was an interesting question.

"I'm no Fareed," I muttered. "I had only the vaguest and most religious ideas, I confess, about the Sacred Core."

My mind traveled back and back to my memories of Maharet describing the genesis of the vampires. Amel had gone into the Mother and then Amel was no more. Or so the spirits had told Maharet. This thing that was Amel, invisible yet huge, was now diffused amongst more blood drinkers than ever before in history. It was a root planted in the earth from which myriad plants have sprung so that the root has lost its shape, its boundaries, its "rootness."

Even after all these years, I didn't like to speak of that intimacy with Akasha, being the Queen's lover, drinking her thick and viscid and magnificent blood. I didn't like to think of her dark eyes, and shining white skin, her curling smile. What a face, what a picture of innocence in one who would conquer the human world, in one who wanted to be the Queen of Heaven.

"And Mekare," I said. "Have you never drunk from her?" I asked.

Jesse regarded me again for a long moment as if I'd said something shocking and unpleasant and then she simply shook her head. "I'm not aware that anyone has ever approached her for her blood. I've never seen Maharet drink Mekare's blood or offer her blood to Mekare. I'm not sure they'd ever do such a thing, or ever did--that is, after the very first encounter."

"I have a deep suspicion that if anyone ever did try to drink her blood," said David, "she'd regard it as vile and she'd destroy that person, perhaps in some crude way, as with her fist."

Her fist. The six-thousand-year-old fist. Something to consider. A six-thousand-year-old immortal could destroy this hotel with her fist if she had a mind to do it, and the time.

Mekare had destroyed Akasha in a crude and simple way, that was certain, throwing her back against a plate-glass window with such force that she broke the glass. I saw that again, saw that great jagged sheet descending like the blade of a guillotine to sever her head. But I hadn't seen everything. Perhaps nobody really had except Maharet. How had the skull of Akasha been broken? Ah, the mystery of it: the combination of vulnerability and overwhelming strength.

"I never knew Mekare to have any sense of her powers," said David, "any sense of the Cloud Gift or the Mind Gift or the Fire Gift. From all you've told me, she came against Akasha with the certainty of an equal, nothing more."

"Thank the gods for that," said Jesse.

When she'd risen to kill the Queen, Mekare had come over land, walking night after night through jungle and desert, over mountain and valley, until she'd reached the Sonoma compound where we had all come together, guided by what images, what voices, we never knew. Out of what grave or cave she'd come we were never to know either. And I understood now the full implications of all that Jesse had been telling us: There never would be answers to our questions about Mekare. There never would be a biography of Mekare. There never would be a voice speaking on behalf of Mekare. There would never be a Mekare typing away on a computer to pour out her thoughts to us.

"She doesn't know she's the Queen of the Damned, does she?" I asked.

Jesse and David stared at me.

"And did Fareed offer to make for her a new tongue?" I pushed.

Again my question shocked both of them. Obviously it was extremely hard for all of us to deal with the implications of the existence and knowledge of Fareed. And the power and mystery of Mekare. Well, we were here to talk, weren't we? The question of the tongue seemed obvious to me. Mekare had no tongue. Her tongue had been ripped out before she was brought into the Blood. Akasha was guilty. She'd blinded one and ripped the tongue from the other.

"I think that he did make this offer," Jesse explained, "but there was no way to communicate this to Mekare or to make her cooperate. I'm only surmising. I'm not sure. They're all deaf to each other's thoughts, these ancient ones, as you know. But as usual, I heard nothing emanating from Mekare. I'd accepted the idea that she was mindless. She was willing enough to be the passive victim of tests, that was no problem. But beyond that, whenever he drew near to her or tried to examine her mouth, she stared at him as if she were watching the falling rain."

I could well imagine how frightening that must have been even for the intrepid Fareed.

"Was he able to narcotize her?" I asked.

David was clearly shocked. "You know you really are past all patience," he muttered.

"Why, for not putting it poetically?"

"Only for very short intervals," Jesse said, "and only a few times. She grew tired of the needles and stared at him like a statue come to life. He didn't try again after the first three times."

"But he took her blood," I said.

"That he did before she quite realized what was happening," said Jesse, "and of course Maharet was assisting and coaxing her and stroking her hair and kissing her and begging her permission in the ancient tongue. But Mekare didn't like this. She stared at the vials with a kind of revulsion as if she were looking at a loathsome insect feeding on her. He managed to take scrapings of her skin, samples of her hair. I don't know what else. He wanted everything. He asked us for everything. Saliva, biopsies of organs--biopsies he could take with needles, you understand--bone marrow, liver, pancreas, whatever he could get. I gave all that to him and so did Maharet."

"She liked him, respected him," I said.

"Yes, loves him," she hastened to say, emphasizing the present tense, "respects him. He did provide the eyes of a blood drinker for her, and restore to Thorne his eyes, the eyes he'd given Maharet. He did all that, and took Thorne under his wing when he left, took Thorne with him. Thorne had been languishing in the compound for years, but Thorne had been slowly restored over that time. Thorne wanted to find Marius again and Daniel Malloy, and Fareed took Thorne away with him. But Maharet loved Fareed, and she loved Seth also. We all loved Seth." She was rambling now, repeating herself, reliving it.

"Seth had been there the night long ago in ancient Kemet when Akasha had condemned Mekare and Maharet to death," Jesse said. She was picturing it. I was picturing it. "As a boy, he'd seen Mekare's tongue torn out and seen Maharet blinded. But Seth and Maharet spoke together as if this old history had no claim on them. None whatsoever. They agreed on many things."

"Such as what?" I prodded.

"Would you try to be polite, just try!" David whispered.

But Jesse answered me without stopping.