There were others on the island far older than Mircea, Vampire and otherwise, but he tended to wear it on the outside, because he'd earned it. That and he'd kind of just been born old and cantankerous. And with a fire in him that had, as of late gone dormant like a pilot light, burning quietly, waiting for a reason to ignite.
And thirty years running this bookstore--which he loved, don't get him wrong--had not really sparked anything in him. Except the occasional excitement over someone sharing interests in similar books, or turning someone on to something new. In truth, the last time he'd really felt that spark was when he still had a Mohawk and ran that underground record store. The punk movement hadn't been a revolution, per se, but it was exciting.
Good times.
Her question, however, gave him hope for her, at least as someone who was at least single minded enough to head up a cause like this. Good trait for a revolutionary leader. All the best ones had it. It caused an involuntary smile to break on his face. "Ah, but I thought you already had a cause?"