Recovery already proved to be a pain in Percy’s fangs.  

Even after he was discharged from the hospital with a prescription pain elixir, his energy had siphoned substantially.  He couldn’t even shift into a bat for the next three days, until his wound had proper time to heal the skin and not tear open mid-flight. Such a gruesome thought of his innards flying out only Goddesses knows where throughout Sanguine City was horrid enough to keep him from daring to attempt it, as much as he was itching to soar up into the sky.

It had been quite a while since Percy flew on his broom like a mere witch.  He’d been quite fond of it before turning all those years ago, even dabbling in recreational broom flying tournaments back in witchery school.  The magic sparked on the tips of his fingertips like a familiar old friend as he summoned forth his broom.  

Magically woven brooms withstood age unlike one’s average cleaning supply, enchanted to keep a witch or wizard flying for many years so long as it still called to their magic.  Percy cast suspicious glances along the darkened pathways like he expected someone watching him as a tinge of embarrassment blooming in his cheeks.  A vampire flying around on a mortal broom was absurd and frankly frowned upon.  But how else was he supposed to fly home if he couldn’t shift into a bat?

Vampire etiquette had not been something Percy fancied learning about after he’d first turned.  To be quite honest, he didn’t always adhere to everything either.

Flying a broom was like riding a bicycle.  Despite how Percy hadn’t traveled by broom long since he’d turned, muscle memory guided him with ease after he swung one leg over the hawthorn handle and allowed his magic to ease him up into the sky.  

The crisp night air stung his eyes and nipped at his cheeks as he remembered to cast a protective shield around himself to keep the wind from blinding him.  In bat form, he didn’t need to consider utilizing his magic in such a manner.  Honestly, he’d really forgotten how much energy broom flying took as well because he admitted, only soaring over a few Sanguine City skyscrapers already had him exhausted.

It was either this or stay at some bloodsucking hotel in a used coffin used by vampires for unsavory acts, enough for him to know he’d never get a wink of sleep in one.  He’d rather risk falling into the Niveous Ocean. It was even worth the bat cops giving him hell over flying around like a witch for weeks.

Much to Percy’s relief as he neared his cul-de-sac, he hadn’t encountered any of his colleagues.  Or any bats mid-flight for that matter.  It was still early hours of the night though, so that might’ve explained why he hadn’t.  Perhaps a sprinkle of luck had just been on his shoulder for once. 

His stone cottage aglow with golden lights came into view as he made a sharp swerve in the air, savoring the way it smelled so much fresher away from the heart of the city.  Out in the midst of the towering pines and mountains, he felt far more at home compared to the bats who preferred to cozy up in their coffins in lavish penthouses.

While flying had come back to him with ease, landing unfortunately had not.  When he tilted his broomhandle downward, the gust of magic sent him descending from the sky at such a rapid speed, he feared any local vamps nearby would mistake him for a shooting star.  Once he started falling, he flailed to get his magic to reign him back, to slow his speed to steady crawl but it wasn’t enough to cushion a comfortable landing.

Percy at least managed not to splatter himself across the pavement like a grotesque pancake, but he did manage to knock over some metal garbage bins as he kicked his feet with every ounce of magic within him just so he wouldn’t literally land inside them.  The last thing he needed was to trudge into his house smelling like rot.     

After regaining his bearings, he dispelled his broom away and magicked his neighbor’s metal bins upright so the elder vamp didn’t lose a fang over it.  

All Percy wanted to do was curl up in his coffin for a good rest. But when he tread up to his porch, something very peculiar caught his attention amid his flower garden. 

Two white roses had sprouted amongst his flowers. They weren’t even in season. Nor were they something Percy ever would have planted. 

With a frown, he crouched down in the grass and gently strummed his fingers along the petals. Picking up a trace of familiar magic that wasn’t his own.  Every plant magic wielder had their own special embers, yet the magic emanating off those roses was not at all his own. 

Something nostalgic seeped into his veins at the touch of their delicate, pure white petals.  It wasn’t the same type of magic he’d found on the flower left for him. Or on those dead vampires.  He shivered to think of them, but he couldn’t comprehend how such flowers would sprout amid his garden. 

Percy tried to pluck one out of the ground, coaxing a little magic from his fingertips when it wouldn’t budge.  Yet even then, it refused. Were they somehow connected to his case?  A second culprit somehow in the mix playing games with him?  

He didn’t quite fancy the thought of the killer knowing where he lived, yet something in the back of his mind was telling him those roses in his garden weren’t connected to his killer.  But that left the question of who planted them and why?  More importantly, why could he not remove them?

                                                                                               🦇

Everybody poked fun of the vamp flying around on his broom that following night.  Percy still hadn’t healed well enough to shift into a bat and figured not to take any chances.  Not when he risked serious infection reopening his wound or worse. Bleeding out across Sanguine City.  

“We’ll drop by an emporium later tonight.” One of his colleagues, Aven Grimm, jibed as he passed his desk.  “Get you a nice pointy witch hat to go with that broom of yours.”

“Very funny,” Percy muttered under his breath.  “So much so, I forgot to laugh.”

It wasn’t like their teasing truly got under his skin.  Of course, it was all well-meaning jokes because Percy knew full well he’d do the same to any of them. He just hated that it was a reminder of how their killer almost killed him.  Phantom pains still burned beneath his fresh bandages he’d changed, it still needing to be wrapped as his skin slowly worked to repair the damage the silver had inflicted.

Vampires had strong regenerative abilities, but not when harmed with silver.  It took much longer, and even afterward, there would remain a deep scar that never faded.  Not even with any magical remedies or salves.  

“I do have some information I think you’ll be pleased to hear.” Aven made his way back over to Percy’s desk with a black folder, dropping it in front of him.  “Found more of those precious flowers of yours with the same traces of magic connected to another case of mine from a few years ago.”

Percy raised a brow.  “Our killer’s been doing this a lot longer than we thought then. When was this case of yours?”

“About five years ago,” Aven replied.  “But it’s not what you’re thinking.  The magic in those roses wasn’t connected to a murder.  They were left at the scene of a suicide. The victim was a witch in her mid-fifties. I couldn’t find much in her records since she seemed to be a drifter.  Never stayed in one place too long.  Never held a steady job.  You get the gist, yeah?  Missed over ten year’s worth of mandated blood donations doing that too.”

“I see.” Percy flipped open the folder to look over the deceased case file himself.  “Was it also white roses left where she perished?”

“Yes. Same as the ones found on both victims. And with you.” Aven struggled to hide his grimace.  “You’re lucky, you know that?  I know we gave you hell over the whole broom flying thing, but I’m glad you pulled through.  We all are.”

“I had an excellent doctor.” Percy shrugged, biting back a small smile at the thought of Leo in his clinic.  “If you’re not busy at the moment and don’t mind being seen with a vampire on a broom, I’d like to check out this witch’s grave.” He jabbed a finger at the woman’s photo in the files he’d spread out across his desk. “It shouldn’t be too hard finding out which cemetery she’d buried at. There’s only two main mortal graves here in Sanguine City, after all.”

“Of course.” Aven nodded.  “Perhaps she’s somehow connected to the killer.  I just found it so peculiar that I found traces of that same plant magic.  Nobody had thought to compare it against actual case evidence, only to suspects in the past.”

Percy rubbed his chin. “Very possible this is where it all started.”