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Perhaps my mind is going too! This evening, understandably curious about our new monster, did I - 1) Buy a book entitled Monsters – their Care and Feeding? 2) Search for the mystery man who is acquainted with this one? 3) Busy myself with more urgent tasks? 4) Climb up into the bell tower and shout "Hello!"? To Lucas and others, the creature is a cautionary tale – do not succumb to the Beast. I have said before, however, that I fear eternal sanity far more than madness. It is true that I felt only curiosity as I climbed the stairs, poor Morgan in tow. The face of the thing resembled, far more satisfactorily than any Kindred I

Christina puts her hands in the pockets of her coat, half-pretending that she feels the cold. Her right hand closes around an envelope – only now does she remember taking it from the cellar in Nunnery Lane. She sits down at Lucas' writing-desk, discovers and employs an ornate letter-opener, and begins to read. After a while, she searches for pen, ink and paper, stares for a moment at Lucas' stationery, then gets up and fetches her own. "Archbishop!" She addresses the thing that sits in the corner. "Fetch Mr Dannerby, if you would be so good. No - " as if addressing someone simple-minded, "Mr Dannerby. The one who jumped. Remember not t

(This first message is written inside a Christmas card - a very ordinary one depicting stylised church bells and wreaths of mistletoe.) Donald, You know the rules by now - the enclosed to the same acquaintance, please, and as discreetly as is possible. I do hope you are well. My friend in high places (literally) is in an unusually loquacious mood, and sends both a syllable I take to be a greeting and an inpromptu judgement of your character - apparently you are "all right". Thank you for the care you have taken with my post. I shall not trouble you again. I wish you a merry Christmas and success in all your enterprise. Christina Mr Dant

It was a young man, a peasant, traces of the black mud still clinging to his well- scrubbed calves, who first objected. They were used to old, drained men and women who bowed low in relief, or children, or new mothers crying quietly, so perhaps that had something to do with it; but still, they'd seen plenty of young men before. Whatever the priests said about the gods keeping track, it was all nonsense, really; they were busy people, well, sort of busy and sort of people, and the hearts were all they needed in the end. So whatever spark burned in the young man still, the circumstances that fanned it were a mystery to them. Actually, Anubis (