“You made it pretty clear to me that night what you would do if I spoke a word about…well, about you to anyone, and since I have no plans of ever sharing your secret, why wouldn’t I feel safe? You don’t strike me as the type of person who’d break their promise, so what’s there to be afraid of? Or have I read you all wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong. I don’t break my promises.”

“Good…so now I have a question.”

Bennett exhaled an audible breath, believing the inquest was about to begin. “What is it?”

“What are you going to order?”

“Onion soup and a burger,” Bennett said, smiling as she picked up her wine. “You?”

“I think I’m going to try the Shepherd’s pie.”

***

A short time later, both were in the process of finishing their dinner when Bennett looked up from her burger and saw Ruby staring at her. “What? Do I have food on my face?”

Ruby thought she knew Bennett’s wardrobe as well as she knew her own. Under her suit jacket was always a shirt in gray, maroon, blue, and of course, black, but Bennett wasn’t wearing a jacket tonight. Instead, she had on a loose-fitting, cowl-necked gray cardigan.

“No, it’s just that I’ve never seen you wear anything but a suit,” Ruby said, admiring Bennett’s sweater. “You do casual well.”

“Thank you.”

“So, why the suits…or can’t I ask that?”

“You can ask, and I wear suits because I much prefer trousers and jackets over skirts and blouses. They aren’t nearly as comfortable. At least they aren’t for me.”

“Have you always felt that way?”

Bennett paused. “Let’s put it this way, once I was strong enough to defend myself against social standards, I never wore a dress or skirt again.”

“But lots of women wear pants.”

“Not in the seventeenth century, they didn’t.”

Ruby’s fork slipped from her fingers, and it clattered into the bowl, the noise causing a few patrons to turn in her direction. “Oh…um…wow. I sure as hell didn’t see that coming.”

“What? Don’t I look my age?” Bennett said, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

Ruby picked up her glass of Guinness and chugged down a few gulps. “You look maybe thirty-five, not three hundred and thirty-five.”

“I’m thirty-six, or I was thirty-six when I became what I am now.”

Ruby said forward in her chair. “Okay, so I know the rules, but can I ask one teensy-weensy question?”

“Go ahead,” Bennett said before taking a sip of wine.

“When was that? I mean, when did you…um…did you become this?”

“I was turned in 1637.”

“Seriously?” Ruby squawked, shrinking in her seat a second later when she realized she’d raised her voice.

“There’s really no point in lying about one’s age when one doesn’t age.”