The cemetery was dark. The rain had soaked everything into a deep gray, and the wet headstones glistened orange from the streetlamps behind him. It made the blacks look blacker; the shadows, longer and more ominous. It frightened him, he realized, how easily those forms shifted and danced just beyond his peripheral vision. It made him feel more like he was being watched than usual. And those eyes were full of malice and ill-will.

It was not like he had been avoiding this place. No, that was not the case at all. His shoddy lorry was not functioning properly and he had only just grown a big enough pair of balls to get his old Morgan out of its space in the garage and risk its gorgeous reconstruction on the dark, wet streets. And now, finally at the foot of the grave, fresh-turned earth running with rain over his shoes, he looked at the name chiseled cleanly upon the marble headstone that also read "Requiem en Pace."

He stared at it. Leered. Glared, snarled, sneered-anything but allow himself to recognize the water streaming down his cheeks were not only raindrops.

And he hurt.

His heart screamed and wailed in mourning. If it weren't for his gentlemanly inclinations, he would have fallen to his knees and beat upon the stone, cursing at it, at the life it represented, the life cut far too short for his liking. Weeping and swearing, he would have shrieked at the cold thing how none of his tributes had been taken or answered, how the Wee Folk refused to dance in his garden for as long as he went without the other. He would have. But he did nothing of the sort.

He stood there and cried in absolute silence.

In his mind, his own voice echoed like a broken Beatles record, scratched and repetitive, squealing as it played the same line over and over. He supposed he deserved it for being such a horrible friend, an irresponsible lover, a less-than-adequate adversary. But something in the back of his head demanded more of him. There was more suffering yet to endure to atone for his sins.

He sighed.

"Francis, I royally fucked up, didn't I, chap?" His leather driving gloves squeaked as he clenched his fists. "I know I say things I don't truly mean. But I . . . I needed to tell you I'm sorry that I hurt you so. I'd . . . take it all back, if I were able. But you and I both know that's not a possibility." A sigh passed between his lips, "So, much good it does me, apologizing to a grave."

He looked down at his feet for a moment. He made a face. Contorting in bizarre fashion, he ripped his boots from his feet and dumped them in a pile beside the grave. He curled his toes. The wet grass and marshy soil under his soles squelched softly, barely heard over the rain still falling.

"There, that's better, I think."

The mud underfoot positively thrummed with the power of the wakeful dead. There was so constant a pulsing, his feet nearly vibrated as their tell-tale hearts pumped, still keeping time with the world around them as they slowly and surely decayed.

Francis's own heart lay darkened, several hundred miles to the south. The downpour was not so much in the physical, there, but the cold lifelessness currently embodied by the French peoples, especially Parisians, was inarguable. There was barely a pulse under the visitor's toes.

"It's so strange, old boy," he murmured. "You were one of the liveliest of us all-even if you weren't at the forefront of everyone else's head." His eyes slipped shut against a rebellious pair of tears. "It's hard to believe you're really gone. And no matter how many boons I take, beg, and pilfer, I'll never get you back."

He wiggled his toes in the mud.

"Your son put me to rights the other day," he said. "Shot me down off my high horse like you used to do. Only, he lacked your tact to do it in private. But his sheer brutality in the matter more than made up for it." A breathy chuckle escaped his lips. "And mine - - - dear God - - - Alfred's acting like he actually possesses common sense. It's like they're two different people. I'm actually scared of them, Francis."

The headstone glittered orange in the half-light.

"I don't know what to do, frog. I'm at the end of my rope where the twins are concerned." He shifted his weight, contrapposto, his feet freezing. "Alfred's right about me-I've had that thrown in my face again. I can't see past the end of my own nose when I refuse to take a peek. And everyone's probably agreeing with him, even if only in their heads. And Matthew . . . Bloody hell, Matthew's terrifying."

A siren blared somewhere in the distance behind him.

"Yeah, that terrifying. Actually, he's even more so than your youngest twins." He shifted again on his feet, trying to keep what little feeling was left in them. "Jeanette is cold - - - calculating. I can't be in the same room with her. She reminds me far too much of Joan. I swear the woman was born of the Wrath of God."

Lightening flashed somewhere far off.

"And Lawrence is . . ."

Thunder rumbled.

The visitor hung his head. "There's going to be fighting if he keeps this up. I can feel it in these old bones. At least you won't see the burning."

Green orbs glowed in the dark as they focused on the name carved on the headstone. They bloomed, suddenly, and filled with golden anger, as brilliant as the aura that flickered around him.

"Goddamnit, you fucker-! Why won't you answer me!"

The presence under his feet shifted, and a familiar cloying scent of Bordeaux, tea roses, and Lux cologne thickened in the air around him. His eyes slipped closed as the warmth behind him grew and enveloped him. He was unconsciously aware of the ring of ice that had formed around him and the grave, the sphere of awareness surrounding him kept warm and free of errant raindrops. And his tears sprung anew as he sank into the feeling of serenity. A steamy breath ghosted over the back of his neck. The shiver that wracked the small man's body had nothing to do with the chilly weather.

"Even after death, you're still playing me like one of your fucking violins."

The air around him warmed, and he could have sworn the lips pressed to his nape had shifted into a smile.

"I missed you."