Back at the precinct, a few officers assist us in combing through the client list, searching through their crimes so we may make a list of suspects.

"Since the killer tortured Ayden, but was capable of intelligently cleaning up after themselves, we should rule out those who are exceedingly violent. This killer is someone capable of containing their emotions until the time is right. It's more likely they'll have a smaller charge or something completely unrelated to assault," I remark when we begin compiling lists of most likely and least likely.

As thoughtful as I believed my statement to be, no one immediately listens. All eyes turn to Lore, who leans comfortably on the chair across from me. He silently reads through one paper after the other faster than I can read a paragraph. Then he looks up, realizes everyone is staring, and smiles, "Seren's right. Separate the suspects based on the severity of their crime, then we'll give it another look after we're done."

Everyone gets to work immediately. What a way to remind me that Lore has the precinct in the palm of his hand. That could be another reason he's so involved. His assistance makes their jobs easier, which makes them like him more. He seems to truly excel at that above all us; charming everyone.

There isn't a damn thing about him that doesn't scream suspect. There also isn't a damn solid piece of proof that does scream suspect either. Setting such thoughts aside--for now--I fixate on the case at hand. With the help of a handful of others, we manage to work up multiple lists by the middle of the afternoon.

"Draven shall keep an eye on these few," Lore says when handing the freakishly quiet butler a stack of papers. I wonder if Draven forgets at times that his vocal cords work. I'd ask, but if he remembers, then I'd have to hear him talk. Lore's already a handful. No need to add another.

"It's unlikely they're the perpetrator we're searching for, but just in case, we'll have a pair of eyes on them. And these--" Lore slaps his hand on a large stack that, admittedly, makes me a little excited. "You and I will take care of, my sweet Seren."

I scowl at the notion of being called sweet and his, but am eager to get to work.

"We'll see if any of them are the perp or know anything that may lead us in the right direction. We can at least get through a few today," he finishes. I choose not to mention what he said, otherwise we'll look like a bickering couple. Definitely not on my to do list.

Although we're meant to interrogate, I imagine there will be less talking than earlier. I'd prefer chasing some jerk down an alley or getting into a fist fight. All this polite chatting is boring and feels like we're getting nowhere. I don't understand how priests or surveyors of the church can withstand all this small talk and inaction. My legs have been jittery for hours. I guess one could say I enjoy the hunt too. Having anything in common with Lore is slightly unsettling though.

Draven disappears instantly, leaving Lore with the car keys. Guess Draven has to hop his way across the rooftops while Lore drives us through the streets, which is a funny thought.

At least Lore's quiet during the drive, which starts to concern me when I consider why. Is he such a bad driver that he can't talk?

My question is somewhat answered when I cling to the car door for my life as Lore runs through a red light and laughs, "My apologies, you'd think a dhampir would have better eyesight."

"Haha, yeah--" We serve around a sharp corner that has my head banging against the window.

"My humblest of apologies."

"You don't sound apologe--gah!" I almost hit the dash when he slams on the breaks to prevent us from running over an old lady crossing the street. If he isn't a murderer, he's about to be with these kinds of driving skills!

Luckily, for all our lives, we arrive at our destination without incident; a loan company. In short, loan sharks, who are very surprised to see the Lord of Silra accompanied by a paladin of the Holy Church stepping through their front door. Before any of the fecal matter present can form a cohesive sentence, one particular pile of shit launches himself out the open second story window. That one happened to be the man we're looking for.

Lore whistles. "That one's spry."

I'm on the run in an instant, hopping out of the window after the man hobbling down the street. He must have landed on his ankle wrong. The perp disappears around a corner. I follow. When I grow near, he grabs a nearby girl and throws her in my path. She screams, then screams once more when I catch her and shout, "Sorry, pardon me!"

This is much more what I'm meant for. A chase through the streets as some idiot desperately tries to escape. The dodging of one person after the next. Skidding down an alley where the lights flicker. My legs push faster and his back grows closer. One more frantic look over his shoulder, then I tackle him. He grunts when we hit the ground, skidding across the damp cement. I rather not ask why it is damp because it hasn't rained recently.

"Get off me!" the man shouts, attempting to dig his elbow into my gut. I grasp his wrist and pin his arm to his back. He howls, acting like I just broke both his legs and two ribs. Which I can do easily if he's so inclined.

"Get off, get off!" he repeats, snarling.

"You wouldn't be here if you hadn't run," Lore says, appearing at the end of the alley. I don't recall hearing him chase after us, but dhampir are naturally quicker than mortals. A few hops across the rooftops would have been easy enough for him, and even more hilarious than the thought of Draven possibly doing that earlier.

Lore steps closer until he's in the man's face, leaning in to say, "We simply have a few questions."

The man isn't eager to comply and neither are the next six suspects we manage to get our hands on. All of them attempt to escape in their own ways. One slid down a trash shoot, which was the only time I didn't follow and happily suggested Lore take the reins on this one. He did not, instead choosing to flick his hair over his shoulder and reply haughtily, "Certainly not. Do you have any idea how much I'm worth right now?"

Unfortunately, none of the suspects have much information to give. None even knew who Ayden was. Two had perfect alibi's and four of the six aren't mages. We're both thinking we're back to square one until we grab suspect number seven, the last of the night.

"Th-that's not mine! Someone must have put that on me!" Suspect Seven wheezes from the corner of an alley after he, too, tried to run. He lasted a block, then dropped. In doing so, a half empty bottle of blight slipped out of his pocket.

"I swear that's not mine," he repeats. His shaking hands and wide eyes say otherwise. He can't take his gaze off the bottle, whimpering when Lore pops open the cap to smell it.

"This is dhampir toxin. It isn't as strong, but also isn't the diluted kind we found at Ayden's," he whispers and offers it to me. I instinctively take a swift step back, then grab the bottle to inspect it. His eyes narrow in silent questioning, but he says nothing.

"Where'd you get this?" I ask while tipping the bottle slightly so the blight threatens to spill over. My own mind reels at the thought of wasting it, then I swallow hard and forget the memories of euphoria and fear in a cold metal room.

"Don't! Come on, that's... it's not..." Suspect Seven twists his hands together and gulps. He screams, then lunges at me when I let the smallest drop fall out of the bottle. Lore grabs Seven's coat to throw him back like he weighs nothing.

"Tell us where you got this and I'll give the bottle back," I say.

Seven groans, continuing to contemplate how to save his precious blight, before giving in, "I don't know much, ok?! I can say that the blight scene has been pretty heavy around here lately, so there's a bunch of ways to get it. A few years ago, you couldn't find a decent batch that didn't cost an arm and a leg. I don't know what changed or where it's coming from, but there are a few, uh... clubs where they offer unique services. That's--that's where I got it."

I glance at Lore who reveals a bit more than he may have planned in that angered expression of his. The once nearly luminescent blue of his eyes darkens nearly black. The bridge of his nose wrinkles like a lion eyeing their prey.

We both know what kind of club and unique services the suspect speaks of. That the most likely workers are dhampir, who probably aren't doing it of their own free will. After all, from what I've heard of the sex ring, dhampir are considered exotic goods. Not quite vampire. not quite mortal. And not as often found. A perfect way for both sides to get a taste while continuing to hate each other.

Lore's lips twitch, revealing the fangs beneath. Then he sighs and blinks away the enraged expression like it was never there.

"We appreciate your cooperation," he says almost too sweetly, like his words are coated in tainted sugar, then grabs the bottle to pour the blight down a sewer drain.

"No!" Seven screams, scrambling to the drain. I gag when he actually leans over to lick up the drops that hit the drain. He glares at Lore with wild eyes. "You said you'd give it back!"

"I believe he said we'd give the bottle back." Lore hands Seven the empty bottle, practically challenging him to attack. He's smart not to or terrified enough not to because Lore's smile is anything but friendly.

"Now, tell us where this club is," Lore adds.

Seven makes the smartest decision of the night by not hesitating to tell him.