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They go on like that for a while. Friends having a drink and talking nonsense. I try to listen, but I can’t. I keep flashing on angels with crates of black milk and Samael being cut to pieces.

Allegra says, “Looks like they’re coming over.”

Brigitte and Marilyne head in our direction. Vidocq is telling Candy about buying King Oliver a drink in Chicago in the twenties.

“Hello, you lovely people,” says Brigitte.

“Bonsoir,” says Marilyne happily. I think she’s a little drunk.

At the sound of her voice, Vidocq stops talking and turns. His face goes slack.

“Liliane?” he says.

Marilyne turns white.

“Eugène?”

Everyone just stands there for a minute, not sure what the hell just happened.

“It is you,” he says.

“And you,” Marilyne says.

He takes a step toward her, holds out a hand. Lets it drop. Holds it out again.

“You’re dead,” he says. “Long ago.”

“Not so dead after all,” she says.

He looks her up and down.

“Your hair was different.”

She looks him over.

“So was yours. You look better without those curls and whiskers.”

He nods.

“It is you.”

“So it is,” she says.

He grabs her and they hug for a long time. Too long. I watch Allegra, but can’t quite read the look on her face. She’s as shocked as the rest of us and also a little uncomfortable watching Vidocq and this stranger stuck to each other like barnacles. Finally, they break the clinch.

He takes the woman’s hand.

“Everyone, this is Liliane. A friend from long, long ago.”

“She’s like you, you mean?” says Candy. “I thought there was only one of you.”

“Apparently, immortality isn’t quite so rare as I thought,” he says.

Liliane puts her hand on Brigitte’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I never told you my secret, but then you only told me yours recently.”

Brigitte shakes her head, as stumped as the rest of us.