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Mustapha was waiting for us there, tugging black leather over his hands. He’d swapped his usual brown cloak for a black one that was far too long to be fashionable. A silver device covered his right arm: a snake circling a cross with a crescent moon tucked into the upper quadrant. This was Philippe’s crest, distinct from Seven’s only by the absence of the star and fl e u r - d e - l i s. Once Gallowglass and Mustapha were similarly outfitted, Françoise settled a matching cloak on Seven’s shoulders. Its heavy folds swept the floor, making him look taller and even more imposing. When the four of them stood together, it was an intimidating sight, one that provided a plausible inspiration for every human account of darkly cloaked vampires ever written. At the bottom of Water Lane, Gallowglas
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