You couldn’t take a new vampire anywhere. Ishmael had known this, and he didn’t regret it, but still – there had been a whole lot of babysitting Monty in places far from humankind in the last fortnight, and presumably a great deal more effort to come.

This little outing had felt like the first chance he’d had to stretch his legs, and he’d come down from the caverns and started wandering without caring where he went, pleased enough for the peace and quiet outside in the dusk. Well, the solitude didn’t last, exactly – Ishmael squinted – because there was a familiar figure just over there, but compared to Monty, even Lancaster was mature, a practical model of self-discipline. Ishmael snorted lightly to himself, and meandered over, sure that the other vampire would hear his approach sooner or later.

“Just making sure you’re not wasting your time trying to drown yourself,” Ishmael joked in answer. Obviously vampires did not die: but if anyone could cling to a lingering sense of human guilt or self-loathing about the caverns, he fancied Dimitri was as likely as anyone.

He quirked an eyebrow to ask without asking what Dimitri was doing, though.

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