“Yes,” Ishmael intoned, too shocked by his old knife’s appearance in the museum case to stop and think about pronouncing this too loudly, and still in public too.
He granted his company little more than a cursory look - long enough to decide he didn’t look like much of a threat, and a little pretty - before he resumed peering hard at the knife, gesturing at it for his new companion’s sake. “You see that Z on it too, don’t you?” Ishmael had to be certain he wasn’t hallucinating. Eyes wide at the sheer coincidence of it, he creased over in disbelieving laughter. “I dropped it in the street and - now here it is!” If that was the knife... it had slipped out of his grasp in a New York street, and here it was, back after more than a century, stirring up all the silt in his memory.
That knife had been lost precisely as long as he had been a vampire.
He granted his company little more than a cursory look - long enough to decide he didn’t look like much of a threat, and a little pretty - before he resumed peering hard at the knife, gesturing at it for his new companion’s sake. “You see that Z on it too, don’t you?” Ishmael had to be certain he wasn’t hallucinating. Eyes wide at the sheer coincidence of it, he creased over in disbelieving laughter. “I dropped it in the street and - now here it is!” If that was the knife... it had slipped out of his grasp in a New York street, and here it was, back after more than a century, stirring up all the silt in his memory.
That knife had been lost precisely as long as he had been a vampire.
