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Everard switched into English immediately. He liked the brashness of English, and he had become entirely used to it as the language of the world today. But Everard's English was American.

"What are you, a blood drinker, doing with two ghosts?" he asked Teskhamen. "No offense intended, believe me. It's only that I've never seen a blood drinker keep company with ghosts."

"Well, we do keep company," said the iron-haired apparition, the one who appeared to be an older man. "We have for a long time. But I assure you, we have no evil designs on you or anyone."

"Then why are you here and asking me questions about this Voice?"

"He's inciting violence all over the world right now," said Teskhamen. "Young blood drinkers are being slain in small towns and cities everywhere. This happened once before but we know the cause of that massacre. We don't know the cause of what's going on now. And blood drinkers are being quietly annihilated in out-of-the-way places and even in their private sanctuaries without anyone taking notice."

"Then how did you notice?" asked Everard.

"We hear things," said the ghost named Magnus. Deep, smooth voice.

Everard nodded.

"There's an American vampire out of New York broadcasting about it," said Everard with a faint sneer. There was something insufferably vulgar about those words, and he was mortified suddenly to have spoken them, but at once the three beings all confirmed agreeably that they already knew.

"Benji Mahmoud," said Teskhamen.

"He's as addle-brained as the Voice," said Everard. "The little numbskull thinks we're a tribe."

"Well, we are, aren't we?" asked the ancient one gently. "I always thought we were. We were in olden times."

"Well, not now," said Everard. "Listen, this Voice thing promised to destroy me if I didn't do its bidding. Do you think it has the power to do that? Can it do that?"

"It appears to work in a fairly simply way," said Teskhamen. "It rouses old ones to burn others, and young ones to burn their lairs. And I suspect it depends entir

ely on finding gullible and susceptible servants. It seems to have no other plan."

"Then it can rouse some gullible or susceptible one to stamp out me."

"We'll tell you what we can to prevent that," said Teskhamen.

"Why would you bother?" asked Everard.

"We truly are all one tribe," said the iron-haired ghost softly. "Human, vampire, spirit, ghost--we're all sentient creatures bound to this planet. Why can't we work together in the face of something like this?"

"And to what end?" asked Everard.

"To stop the Voice," said Teskhamen with just a trace of impatience. "To prevent it from hurting others."

"But we deserve to be hurt," said Everard. "Don't we?" He was surprised to hear this come out of his mouth.

"No, I don't think that we do," said Teskhamen. "That's the kind of thinking that has to change. That's the kind of thinking that will change."

"Oh, wait, don't tell me!" Everard declared. And in a mock-American voice he said, " 'We are the change that we seek'! No? Tell me you believe that, and I'm going to fall off this chair and roll into the street laughing."

The three smiled at him, but he could sense that, polite as they were, they did not like being mocked, and he was suddenly sorry. It penetrated to him with amazing sharpness that these three had been nothing but kind and courteous and that he was behaving crossly and stupidly, wasting these moments, and for what?

"Why can't we come together," asked the younger male ghost, "to achieve some kind of peace for the realm we share?"

"And what realm is that?" asked Everard. "Since you're a ghost, my friend, and I'm flesh and blood, no matter how loathsome I am?"

"I was a human being once," said the younger ghost. "I was a blood drinker for centuries after that. And I am a ghost now. And my soul has been my soul in all three forms."

"Blood drinker," murmured Everard. He was marveling, studying the face of this ghost again and that generous, kindly mouth and the expressive eyes. "Magnus!" he said with a start. "Not Magnus the Alchemist."

"Yes, that's who I was," replied the ghost. "And I knew you in those old times, Everard. You were made by Rhoshamandes and I was made, so to speak, by Benedict."