"So you know that," I said. I didn't plan the words. But out they came. "You know." I 
gave a soft bitter laugh.
  "Indeed I do. I knew when I held documents from your time, so many from your time, 
Imperial Rome, and other crumbling bits of inscribed rock I couldn't even hope to place. 
I knew. I didn't care about them, Pandora! I care about what we are, what we are now."
  "How remarkable," I said. "You don't know how much I admire you, or how attractive is 
your disposition to me."
  "I am happy to hear this," you said. Then you leaned forward towards me: "I don't say 
we do not carry our human souls with us, our history; of course we do.
  "I remember once a long time ago, Armand told me that he asked Lestat, 'How will I ever 
understand the human race?' Lestat said, 'Read or see all the plays of Shakespeare and 
you will know all you ever need to know about the human race.' Armand did it. He devoured 
the poems, he sat through the plays, he watched the brilliant new films with Laurence 
Fishburne and Kenneth Branagh and Leonardo DiCaprio. And when Armand and I last spoke 
together, this is what he said of his education:
  " 'Lestat was right. He gave me not books but a passage into understanding. This man 
Shakespeare writes,' - and I quote both Armand and Shakespeare now as Armand spoke it, as 
I will to you - as if it came from my heart:
  
  Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
  Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
  To the last syllable of recorded time;
  And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
  The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle.
  Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
  That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
  And then is heard no more; it is a tale
  Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
  Signifying nothing.
  
  " 'This man writes this,' said Armand to me, 'and we all know that it is absolutely the 
truth and every revelation has sooner or later fallen before it, and yet we want to love 
the way he has said it, we want to hear it again! We want to remember it! We want to 
never forget a single word.' "
  We were both silent for a moment. You looked down, you rested your chin on your 
knuckles. I knew the whole weight of Armand's going into the sun was on you, and I had so 
loved your recitation of the words, and the words themselves.
  Finally, I said, "And this gives me pleasure. Think of it, pleasure. That you recite 
these words to me now."
  You smiled.
  "I want to know now what we can learn," you said. "I want to know what we can see! So I 
come to you, a Child of the Millennia, a vampire who drank from the Queen Akasha herself, 
one who has survived two thousand years. And I ask you, Pandora, please will you write 
for me, write your story, write what you will."
  For a long moment I gave you no answer.
  Then I said sharply that I could not. But something had stirred in me. I saw and heard 
arguments and tirades of centuries ago, I saw the poet's lifted light shine on eras I had 
known intimately out of love. Other eras I had never known, wandering, ignorant, a wraith.
  Yes, there was a tale to be written. There was. But at the moment I could not admit it.
  You were in misery, having thought of Armand, having remembered his walking into the 
morning sun. You mourned for Armand.
  "Was there any bond between you?" you asked. "Forgive me my boldness, but I mean was 
there any bond between you and Armand when you met, because Marius had given you both the 
Dark Gift? I know no jealousy exists, that I can feel, I wouldn't bring up the very name 
Armand if I detected a hurt in you, but all else is an absence, a silence. Was there no 
bond'?"
  "The bond is only grief. He went into the sun. And grief is absolutely the easiest and 
safest of bonds."
  You laughed under your breath.
  "What can I do to make you consider my request? Have pity on me, Gracious Lady, entrust 
to me your song."
  I smiled indulgently, but it was impossible, I thought.
  "It's far too dissonant, my dear," I said. "It's far  too -
  I shut my eyes.
  I had wanted to say that my song was far too painful to sing.
  Suddenly your eyes moved upwards. Your expression changed. It was almost as if you were 
deliberately trying to appear to enter a trance. Slowly you turned your head. You 
pointed, with your hand close to the table, then let your hand go lax
  "What is it, David?" I said. "What are you seeing?"
  "Spirits, Pandora, ghosts."
  You shuddered as if to dear your head.
  "But that's unheard of," I said. Yet I knew that he was telling the truth. "The Dark 
Gift takes away that power. Even the ancient witches, Maharet and Mekare, told us this, 
that once Akasha's blood entered them, and they became vampires, they never heard or saw 
the spirits again. You've recently been with them. Did you tell them of this power?"
  He nodded. Obviously some loyalty bound him
  not to say that they did not have it. But I knew they
  did not. I saw it in his mind, and I had known it
  myself when I had encountered the ancient twins, the twins who had struck down the 
Queen of the Damned.
  "I can see spirits, Pandora," you said with the most troubled expression. "I can see 
them anywhere if I try, and in some very specific places when they choose. Lestat saw the 
ghost of Roger, his victim in Memnoch the Devil."
  "But that was an exception, a surge of love in - the man's soul that somehow defied 
death, or delayed the soul's termination - something we can't understand."
  "I see spirits, but I haven't come to burden you with this or frighten you."
  "You must tell me more about this," I said. "What did you see right now?"
  "A weak spirit. It couldn't harm anyone. It's one of those sad humans who does not know 
he's dead. They are an atmosphere around the planet. The 'earthbound' is the name for 
them. But Pandora, I have more than that in myself to explore."
  You continued:
  "Apparently each century yields a new kind of vampire, or let us say that our course of 
growth was not set in the beginning any more than the course of human beings, Some night 
perhaps I will tell you everything I see - these spirits who were never clear to me when 
I was mortal - I'll tell you about something Armand confided to me, about the colors he 
saw when he took life, how the soul left body in waves of radiating color!"
  "I've never heard of such a thing!"
  "I too see this," you said.
  I could see it hurt you almost too much to speak of Armand.
  "But whatever possessed Armand to believe in the Veil'?" I asked, suddenly amazed at my