Nosa is the capital of Silra, Lore’s state. I read a bit about the city during my ride from the Holy Church. Unlike many other towns and cities, there are no laws against vampires or dhampir living here. It also has the lowest number of cathedrals dedicated to the Holy Church out of anywhere else in the continent. That wasn’t always the case, but once Lore took over he opened the gates to all manner of beasts. Many of the followers of the Three Mothers moved, which Lore most likely hoped for. Then came families of vampires and dhampir, those who didn't return to Vexsis or were born and raised on Earth.

The forest surrounding Lore's estate has been left behind, replaced by towering metal buildings with crooked chimneys and gray smoke. Cars move through thin streets and above on tracks connected precariously to the towers. Airships travel overhead, casting long shadows across the city. One flies over us now as Draven pushes through the crowd to the taped off home of our victim. Police lift the tape to grant us access, then step in the way of those who try to get closer for a better look.

A young officer comes barreling down the narrow steps of the home. He barely makes it to the sidewalk before vomiting violently. Another officer follows him, shaking his head while patting the boy’s back. Finally, mortals. I’m a bit more at ease with them around.

The older officer with a pepper gray mustache notices us and stands tall to say, “Your Grace, I’m glad you could join us.”

The young officer somehow manages to gurgle out, “Y-Your Grace?!”

But his stomach hasn’t settled because he drops to his knees and throws up a second time. The older officer leaves him to address us.

“Sorry about that,” he sighs. “A new recruit who had the worst way to start his training. I warn ya, it’s bad in there.”

“I’ve seen many things in my life, Officer Jaryl. Nothing bothers me much anymore.” Lore suddenly gestures to me. “I mentioned before that the church was sending a paladin to assist in some of our investigations. Seren, this is Officer Jaryl, our chief investigator.”

Jaryl offers his hand to shake. His gray mustache curls like cat whiskers when he smiles. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Can you tell us what you know so far?” I ask, walking side by side with Jaryl. Lore and Draven have already made it to the top of the iron staircase.

“The victim is the owner of this house; Ayden Marshalls. He’s a secretary for a local law firm. Thirty years old. His brother found him this morning at 8:13am after he didn’t arrive at their usual breakfast spot in town. He came to check on him and found Ayden like this--” Jaryl points into the living room where, as he described earlier, a terrifying scene greets us.

Ayden isn’t Ayden anymore. He’s a mangled corpse strewn across the floor as if he was beneath a giant cement block that scraped him against the road. A vile scene that leaves a bad taste in the back of one’s throat. I reacted similarly to the officer when coming upon a scene like this when I was younger. But not anymore.

I maintain an apathetic expression when walking carefully around the scene to examine what remains of the Ayden's head on the floor. Lore does the same, observing half of Ayden’s remaining face with an expression mirroring my own. By the sounds of it, neither of us are surprised by much anymore. I’ve been in the field for over a decade. I’ve seen more horrors than some can ever imagine. I take in the scene as if it were a painting at an art gallery, searching for meaning in the strokes of red across the floor and splatter on the ceiling.

“Do we have a time of death?” Lore asks, rising to his feet in search of the coroner.

“Based on the lack of divinity in his blood, he died about six hours ago,” the coroner replies while walking over to us. “I can also confirm from the blood stains that he did not die instantly. Whatever took place here happened over the period of one to two hours.”

Meaning he was killed around two in the morning, but the torture began around or right after midnight. I’d say this murder could have been done by Lore, seeing as the car clearly left the mansion late last night, but the victim doesn’t match the pattern Olere brought up. Ayden Marshalls was a secretary, so not an elite. That doesn’t rule out that the church missed something and the killer’s open to disposing of others though. I'll make note of this for the church.

While Lore speaks to the coroner and Jaryl, I move on in search of my speciality; monsters. Vampires and dhampir often leave telling traces without realizing it. For example; the toxin produced in their mouth to paralyze their prey, known as blight, leaves trace elements detectable by divinity for hours no matter how much they clean a body. Of course, Ayden doesn’t have enough of a corpse left to examine to search for that, but there are other methods. Sometimes a vampire or dhampir gets too excited by the thought of death and salivates like a rabid dog.

I inspect the house from top to bottom for signs of an intruder; traces of toxin, an oddly unlocked window, or the faintest impression of a footprint. Standing on the second floor in the hallway, I lean over to press my palm against the creaking floorboards. I imagine a great ocean, waves drifting over the coast and the taste of salt in the air. The calmer I am, the better the cast will work.

A swift incantation, then my eyes open to see everyone’s silhouette overcome by vibrant colors. Each person has a different color. Wherever they step leaves a footprint of their distinguished color. This cast reveals footprints from the last twelve hours, but that’s more than enough. I’m able to account for every step from the officers as well as Ayden’s. Though deceased, a faint brown color remains over his corpse and is shown through his many steps through the house. But this cast confuses me even more because there are no unaccounted for footprints.

“What discovery troubles you?” Lore attempts to whisper against my ear, but I heard him approaching and managed to pivot on my heel in time to avoid his whispering assault. He stands close, too close, peering down at me with those electrifying blue eyes. Retreating from him, I blink the cast away, otherwise all the colors will give me a headache.

“Footprints,” I say and explain the cast I used. “The only way there are no unaccounted for footprints is if this killer floated through the house or they used divinity to hide their tracks.”

“Magic is more believable than a floating killer,” Lore replies, no doubt purposefully saying magic instead of divinity. His eyes challenge me to argue. I let the remark slide. I won’t argue with this taunting child at a crime scene.

“This means the killer can’t be a vampire or dhampir,” he adds almost smugly. “We can’t use magic.”

True. Vampires and dhampir are not blessed with divinity and therefore cannot cast. It’s an easy way to detect them seeing as they must go through other means to hide their tracks. This means Lore can’t be a suspect even if I’m still suspicious of him. The killer, in this case, is definitely mortal.

Lore heads back to Jaryl to explain what has been determined. I join them to ask, “His Grace mentioned something about there being narcotics found here as well?”

“Yes, upstairs. There was blight hidden under the floorboards in his bedroom,” Jaryl explains before guiding us to the kitchen. The toxin he spoke of rests as clear liquid in translucent jars. There’s three of them that are all about the size of a salt shaker.

Jaryl grabs a bottle to hand to each of us while saying, “These would have cost a pretty penny. On his budget, I don’t see how he got this much unless we found some extra cash stashed away somewhere.”

“A few drops of this and he’d be high for at least four hours unless it’s diluted. With this much, do you think he was a dealer?” I ask and set the jar aside. Lore continues staring at the blight like he doesn’t produce that vile in his mouth.

Blight is meant to calm their prey when vampires bite. In their realm of Vexsis, it does exactly that, although it doesn’t have an effect on other vampires or dhampir. However, humans have a more extreme reaction. A vampire bite is euphoric. More addictive than any drug known. It’s… indescribable. A straight shot of adrenaline to the veins. Warm enough to ease the muscles without burning. Cold enough to numb the mind without biting. Pure, intense pleasure that lasts hours and never quite leaves your memory. It allows for the unspeakable to happen. Vampires have drained mortals dry while laughing over their deranged giggles and words of thanks because they were too far gone to understand they were being murdered.

I grasp my neck to feel a faint scar that always seems to burn when the mere mention of blight is brought up.

“It’s a possibility,” Jaryl answers. I quickly drop my hand. Jaryl carefully secures the vials in a box that another investigator brought from outside. “We still have to look into Mr. Marshalls’ bank records to check for mysterious transactions or payments. Speak to more friends, family, and coworkers, see if he had the chance to deal anything.”

“Do you have seraphics on the force to help you capture this mage?” I ask.

“There are a few mages, but last I heard they’re busy on other cases,” Lore replies instead. He shows me a smile, then turns it to Jaryl. “Seren and I will be more than happy to search for the killer.”

I wouldn’t say I’m happy about it, but this does provide more opportunity to observe Lore. Possibly even in a life or death situation.

“If you don’t mind, Officer Jaryl, we could start at the law firm. There’s a chance he may have met someone there, either to deal with or buy from. If not, we’ll have gotten the interviews with his co-workers done,” I suggest seeing as Lore didn’t ask for my permission first, so I won’t ask for his either.

“That’d be great. I’ll update you when you return, Your Grace.” Jaryl bows his head.

Lore turns to me. I almost expect him to make a snide remark or bicker with me about offering to interview Ayden’s co-workers without his permission, but he struts right past me instead.