“Monty,” he repeated, in the same way his new friend had purred his chosen alias, rolling it about on his tongue as if he could somehow taste it. And Ishmael generally did not trust that anyone was more honest than him – that no one in this business, or on this side of society, necessarily gave their real names, or voiced their honest thoughts, or cared about truthfulness at all. But he was happy to accept the first-name-familiarity, whether it was true or false. He could pretend either way.
As they walked in the direction of the bar, down a back-alley or two, Ishmael asked, “And how long have you been working with our mutual friend, Monty?” Once again, he would not be surprised if all he got were lies in answer – but his interest, at least, was genuine. They reached the dingy bar (without trouble; vampires could cross the threshold at public inns like this) and Ishmael paused to speak in the barkeep’s ear, before they were pointed to a back room, set up for better privacy – warding spells, a table and chairs, no windows but a small fire going in the grate. Somewhere to speak freely, if they wanted; somewhere where no one would take a second glance at the vampire or his present companion.
As they walked in the direction of the bar, down a back-alley or two, Ishmael asked, “And how long have you been working with our mutual friend, Monty?” Once again, he would not be surprised if all he got were lies in answer – but his interest, at least, was genuine. They reached the dingy bar (without trouble; vampires could cross the threshold at public inns like this) and Ishmael paused to speak in the barkeep’s ear, before they were pointed to a back room, set up for better privacy – warding spells, a table and chairs, no windows but a small fire going in the grate. Somewhere to speak freely, if they wanted; somewhere where no one would take a second glance at the vampire or his present companion.
