Lenya adopted a look of mock horror at the vampire’s words.
 
“I would have thought a man of your years would deplore the excesses of the modern age. Maple syrup in beer is surely unholy. Alas that we live in such a fallen world,” her voice was serious but the amusement twinkled in her eyes.
 
Since the firm had bought her on she hadn’t had many opportunities to interact with Atlas. He seemed standoffish at the best of times and that did little to inspire her confidence. There was a very real chance that she would be in danger in the near future and brooding loners were not the people she would choose to watch her back. Still Atlas seemed steadier than some and his age connoted experience.
 
Turning back to Max she found him busily examining his cuff links.
 
“I would be happy to stop by to try some beer, a taste of home,” she responded with enthusiasm. The other members of the little group seemed to be arriving now, taking their own seats around the office.
 
“You bought that old farmhouse didn’t you?” she asked, her mind slipping back to previous conversations. She couldn’t remember how far out of town he lived and she didn’t own a car.
 
Unconsciously her eyes drifted to the window. A rind of ice had already formed on the dusty glass. It was a cold snap and an early one. Bert assured her that he would be able to keep sailing throughout the winter but the 20 minute voyage home on a largely open boat looked distinctly unappealing. Perhaps she could work some kind of ritual to smooth the way for the rickety old fishing boat.
 
“How are your renovations going?”