"It is a secret. And it's not. Humans are strange. You can drop the truth right in their lap, packaged neatly -- with beautiful cover art -- and they'll take it for fiction and lies."

The secret best kept by keeping it not a secret at all. That said, this strange place where he found himself, he wondered if it would be different. If he ought to be more careful, more circumspect. For a moment, that was what Lestat intended to do, to dismiss the question with a laugh and let the subject change. For one, brief moment he considered it.

But where was the fun in that? "I know because I have died. And then, I continued one." He held out a hand if Cobweb felt inclined to touch, the cold skin, nearly dead pulse.