a half mile off the shore below. He was listening to something that I could not hear. And the side of his face, in the light from the open doors behind us, looked too frighteningly like stone.
But immediately, he turned to me with a cheerful expression, the smooth face vitalized impossibly for an instant, and then he put his arm around me and guided me back into the room.
He walked with the same rhythm as a mortal man, the step light but firm, the body moving through space in the predictable way.
He led me to a pair of winged chairs that faced each other and there we sat down. This was more or less the center of the room. The terrace was to my right, and we had a clear illumination from the chandelier above as well as a dozen or so candelabra and sconces on the paneled walls.
Natural, civilized it all was. And Marius settled in obvious comfort on the brocade cushions and let his fingers curl around the arms of the chair.
As he smiled, he looked entirely human. All the lines, the animation were there until the smile melted again.
I tried not to stare at him, but I couldn't help it.
And something mischievous crept into his face.
My heart was skipping.
"What would be easier for you?" he asked in French. "That I tell you why I brought you here, or that you tell me why you asked to see me?"
"Oh, the former would be easier," I said. "You talk."
He laughed in a soft ingratiating fashion.
"You're a remarkable creature," he said. "I didn't expect you to go down into the earth so soon. Most of us experience the first death much later -- after a century, maybe even two."
"The first death? You mean it's common -- to go into the earth the way I did?"
"Among those who survive, it's common. We die. We rise again. Those who don't go into the earth for periods of time usually do not last."
I was amazed, but it made perfect sense. And the awful thought struck me that if only Nicki had gone down into the earth instead of into the fire -- But I couldn't think of Nicki now. I would start asking inane questions if I did. Is Nicki somewhere? Has Nicki stopped? Are my brothers somewhere? Have they simply stopped?
"But I shouldn't have been so surprised that it happened when it did in your case," he resumed as if he hadn't heard these thoughts, or didn't want to address them just yet. "You've lost too much that was precious to you. You saw and learned a great deal very fast."
"How do you know what's been happening to me?" I asked.
Again, he smiled. He almost laughed. It was astonishing the warmth emanating from him, the immediacy. The manner of his speech was lively and absolutely current. That is, he spoke like a well-educated Frenchman.
"I don't frighten you, do I?" he asked.
"I didn't think that you were trying to," I said.
"I'm not." He made an offhand gesture. "But your selfpossession is a little surprising, nevertheless. To answer your question, I know things that happen to our kind all over the world. And frankly I do not always understand how or why I know. The power increases with age as do all our powers, but it remains inconsistent, not easily controlled. There are moments when I can hear what is happening with our kind in Rome or even in Paris. And when another calls to me as you have done, I can hear the call over amazing distances. I can find the source of it, as you have seen for yourself.
"But information comes to me in other ways as well. I know of the messages you left for me on walls throughout Europe because I read them. And I've heard of you from others. And sometimes you and I have been near to each other -- nearer than you ever supposed -- and I have heard your thoughts. I can hear your thoughts now, of course, as I'm sure you realize. But I prefer to communicate with words."
"Why?" I asked. "I thought the older ones would dispense with speech altogether."
"Thoughts are imprecise," he said. "If I open my mind to you I cannot really control what you read there. And when I read your mind it is possible for me to misunderstand what I hear or see. I prefer to use speech and let my mental facilities work with it. I like the