Lestat's smile slants all the further towards mystery, an expression cultivated even when he lived and breathed as everyone else does. He's had quite a bit of practice in cultivating ambiguity.

But his eyes flick ever so briefly towards a certain mournfully handsome shopkeep keeping vigil near the corpses. Lalo might be able to connect that glance to Louis, or he might not, but Lestat is unaware that he might have given himself away in either case.

"The particularly bereaved, of course," he lies, smoothly, barely skimming his attention over Lalo's purloining before politely taking up guard as promised, "I'm an expert in consolations."