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“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said. “I know we’re suddenly lousy with vamps when we seemed a little empty before.”

“I called vampires home to me, because I had taken them long ago. But I have not made a new vampire since I became Master of the City. It had kept us dangerously low. If we had truly had another territory’s master declare full war, we would have lost. We simply lacked the manpower.”

“So why not make more?” I asked, because he seemed to want me to ask.

He looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that reminded me of someone else. It was a look of pain and confusion, and centuries of hurt. I’d never seen his eyes so raw, so human. “Because, to make them vampire, I must first take away their mortality, their humanity. Who am I to do that, ma petite? Who am I to decide who will live on, and who will die in their appointed time?”

“Who are you to play, God?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “yes, who am I to know what it will change. Belle used to use our power to change countries, wars, who ruled, who was assassinated. There was a time when she ruled more of Europe secretly than anyone knew, even among the vampire council itself. She killed millions through war, and famine. Not by her hand, but by her choices.”

“What stopped her?”

“The French Revolution, and two world wars. Even death itself must bow before such wanton destruction. Now the council rides tighter rein on its members. The time when any in Europe could build such a secret power structure is finished.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said.

“What if I take someone and make them as I am, and that person would have cured cancer, or invented some great thing. Vampires invent nothing, ma petite, we are consumed by death and pleasure, and senseless power struggles. We seek money, comfort, safety.”

“So do most people.”

He shook his head. “But not all, and my kind are attracted to those who hold power, or wealth, or are unusual in some way. A beautiful voice, a gift of artistry, of mind, or charm. We do not take the weak, as most predators do, we take the best. The brightest, the loveliest, the strongest. How many lives have we destroyed over the centuries that could have made some wonderful, or terrible, difference to humanity, to the world at large.”

I looked at him, and not that long ago I would have distrusted this sharing. But I could feel him in my head. I worried about whether I was a monster. Jean-Claude knew for certain. He did not regret what he was, for he could not imagine another life, but he worried about others. He worried about making the choice for others. He worried about playing some dark god. He worried that one day he would become that which he ran from. One day, he would become a version of Belle Morte.

What do you do when you are suddenly able to see that far into someone’s darkest fears? What do you say to that much truth about someone else? I said the only thing I could think of, the only thing that would give him any comfort. “You’ll never become like Belle Morte. You’ll never become as evil as that.”

“How can you be certain of that?” he asked.

“Because I’ll kill you before I let that happen,” and my voice was soft when I said it, because it wasn’t a lie.

“Kill me to save me from myself,” he said, and he tried to make light of it, and failed.

“No, kill you to save everybody else you’d destroy.” My voice wasn’t soft anymore.

“Even if it destroys you at the same time?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it drags our tortured Richard down with us?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Even if it cost Damian his life?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Even if Nathaniel died with us?”

I stopped breathing for a second, and time seemed to do one of those stretches where you have all the time in the world, and none of it. My breath came out shaky, and I had to lick my lips, before I said, “Yes, on one condition.”

“And that would be?” he asked.

“That I could guarantee that I wouldn’t survive it either.”

He looked at me, and it was a long, long look. A look that weighed me down to my soul, and I realized that in a way, that’s exactly