Two hundred and forty years ago or so, Lestat kept and bred mastiffs. Most of them are sweet hearted beings who loved one another, until something reminded them of being animals. He thinks of the several seconds of time before something snaps and he would have to wrestle one dog off the other, air filled with deep phlegmy growls and scattering saliva. He doubts very much that Daniel and Louis would fly into such rages against each other, against him.

But still. They are a group of predators in containment, overlapping ill tempers, triggers, and it feels familiar. Lestat says to Louis, "Come sit with me," on his way back inside, feeling new blood pulsing beneath his skin, made pink from replenishment.

They can all find each other once respective tasks have been accomplished. Lestat is quiet for the moment. Memories and thoughts come up as random as sparks off a campfire.

He had a dark pull, a handsome Satan. I'm sure you do, Amadeo. Violins, violins. Save your kisses for the world. And on and on.