Lyra was tense even before he asked the question. She had been expecting it, after all, or something like it, so there was nothing changed when the actual words were spoken. It seemed to her that her answer hardly mattered, either. Ishmael either knew the vampire who had attacked her, or he didn't; he would probably figure out which regardless of what she said. How many vampires had suddenly disappeared from the caverns in 1883? Not, she would assume, a great number. She couldn't even guess what her murderer's relationship to Ishmael had been, though, so it was impossible to gauge what his reaction would be. Would he be angry at her? And if he was, what would he do?

There was no avoiding it, though. He'd figure it out whether she answered or not, so there was nothing to lose by telling him what she knew. "I don't," she admitted. "But I don't think he meant to. Turn me. He's... dead now."

Dead now, had been dead before, had been dead for who knew how long. It was a tricky thing to find vocabulary for, when a vampire reached the end of their existence.