Dr. Crocus Sativus's Journal
Block 1, Op, 7230
5th Oplea—My notion was correct; Jasmine was absolutely furious upon hearing the fate of Miss Kousa. Luckily, she was too faint of life to rise from her bed in rage. The bout of anger passed almost instantly as if she had not the energy to care. Instead, she agreed to listen to our findings. As soon as I mentioned the name Short, her eyes widened in apprehension.
"Miss Short recently moved into a cottage in the southern forest. I remember reading about it in the paper."
"Who's she?"
"Aster Short is the author of Falling for Floreo, a romantic novel about a Flora's connection with nature. What fluid and vivacious ink she has!"
"Watch what you say, Jasmine. Miss Kordesii might hear!" I joked with her. Utter horror replaced any life recently gained. Her attraction towards the other author was transparent, yet she acted as if only their two souls knew.
"That's not what I meant. I enjoy her writing style is all. It's old, but refreshing in its own way."
"Is that not what you said about Miss Kordesii's poetry book?"
Blocked into a corner, Jasmine changed the subject back to our current predicament. "What does Miss Short have to do with the disappearances."
"Miss Kousa called her her master, so Van Hellebore assumed she is the head vampire, the one who is killing your people."
Jasmine refrained from replying as she thought. I knew she did not want to believe Van Hellebore, but Miss Kousa must have drained her stubbornness along with her blood. "I still do not trust him completely. However, we will go and check it out when I feel well."
This, I assume, will be Oparda. We can only hope that no more lives are lost in the span of two days.
5th Reli—Jasmine is doing better. She was able to leave the infirmary and get piled up paperwork completed. As for me, I released Van Hellebore, with Jasmine's permission, and we gathered supplies needed to hunt a head vampire. The list contained: sharpened wood stakes, bottles containing holy water, and an odorous vile of garlic juice. We decided that small water bottles would be optimal because anything bigger would come off as suspicious.
The cross necklace worn around Van Hellebore's neck, as he explained, warded off supernatural charms. He said he'd worn it so long, that he could no longer feel any attraction to living beings. I told him I felt the same way because feelings interfere with my work.
5th Oparda—Her house is simply magnificent; Miss Short's is the one I refer to. It has the appearance of a small cottage, but reaches three stories tall with a sizable base to match. Its exterior is a mix of thick stone slabs and dark wood panels; decorative pieces swirled under the balconies and tinted windows. The inside, after passing through a great mahogany door, was clearly not kept with the current style. In fact, there was a thin layer of dust covering most of the expensive furniture and showcased paintings.
The house was not the reason that we trekked into the ominous southern forest. No, the object of our scrutiny was Miss Short, a incredibly skinny and tall Flora. Her fingertips could just graze the top of her knee, a feat not noticeable until one realized that over half of her body was composed of her muscular legs. Violet eyes glimmered in the candle light and popped under her thick, curly, obsidian locks. Her tone was uneasy when she greeted us, but once she got over the initial surprise of our visit it turned smooth, yet still cold. It was obvious that she was trying to flatter Jasmine. Most of her affections and compliments were thrown at her.
"Your hair is so light and silky," and "your skin matches the purity of snow in Vanus!"
To Van Hellebore and I, the fruitful attempts were sickening. My reasoning was that Jasmine was in love with another Flora. Van Hellebore claimed that it was the affect of her vampiric charm over the Grand Mayor's conscious. This may be likely, for she is actively searching for a mate, but her heart has been taken by another and not for Miss Short to steal.
Due to the late hour, Miss Short invited us to stay the night. When we feared we would be a burden, she claimed that it was no trouble at all. "I have a surplus of food, but no one to share it with." Promptly, she prepared a bountiful feast, one I'd never seen even as a high ranked government worker. Roasted deer was covered with a thick brown-red sauce and encircled with chicken drumsticks; side dishes such as mashed potatoes with garlic, buttered corn, and great bowls of salad trailed the rest of the table. Fine dining ware laced with gold were set out in front of three ornate chairs; even her silverware was made of solid gold.
The taste of her cooking was as magnificent as it looked; all was savory and juicy, spiced with an unknown leaf. However, Miss Short herself did not eat. I was not surprised, for the clock had just chimed nine. Van Hellebore whispered that, "she did not have an appetite for Flora food."
Knowing what he meant, I did not reply in fear that Miss Short would grow suspicious. After we became lethargic from the meat that rested in our guts, Miss Short led us each to our rooms.
Finus—I don’t think anyone was terribly surprised when an incident occurred this morning. It was marked by Jasmine’s hoarse scream, one I never heard bellow from her throat. We rushed out our rooms, I still in my nightgown and Van Hellebore in only his underclothing.
Jasmine was sitting on a disheveled bed with blood dripping between the fingers that grasped her neck. The same substance trickled from her mouth. “What happened to you?” Van Hellebore reached and questioned her first.
“I woke up with a metallic taste—then I saw the blood.” Jasmine, the once strong and stoic leader of the capital was reduced to tears in front of us. If we get through this, I know she will apologize for her outburst.
“Do you feel different?” Van Hellebore probed while I examined her wound. The same markings I had seen on the bodies I studied, two perfect puncture wounds. She begged me to tell her what I saw, but I thought it was best if Van Hellebore talked to her first.
“Yes, I feel odd, tingly.”
“Tingly where?”
“My fingertips and other nerve endings. They’re almost numb.”
He sighed, releasing whatever hope he thought he held, then motioned for me to speak with him outside. “She is being turned. That nasty vampire must have forced her to feed on her blood, a sure way of turning another.”
“Being turned, but not turned?”
“Not yet. The only way we can stop the effects of death is if we kill Miss Short before the sun rises tomorrow morning.”
“That is not a lot of time! How are we supposed to kill a super powered, undead Flora?”
“We kill her while she’s sleeping. Vampires sleep during the day, so first we must find her bed.”
Dr. Crocus Sativus
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