Still vaguely following a hunch about vampirism, Alton and Cook head to the one place in all of Two Rivers where every vampire eventually ends up: Red Wight. It’s a bit of a hike from the furthest end of the necropolis district to the bar, so they arrive in about the middle of the afternoon. On the outside, the building is sleek and modern, with black marble tile on the walkways and large stained glass windows with abstract designs in a myriad of colors.

For obvious reasons, there are few customers at a vampire bar in the afternoon. For even more obvious reasons, the windows that make up two walls are shuttered tightly from the inside. The detectives knock before entering, and hear someone shout for them that they’re welcome to enter if they wish but mind the curtain.

They do exactly that, finding another light lock inside the bar, with curtains that pool significantly less on the floor than did those of the Bellemare crypt. On the inside, Red Wight maintains its crisp modern appearance. The chairs and stools scattered around the room are simple, decorated on the backs with the same abstract designs as the windows out front. A large mirror behind the bar at the back helps identify the two men sitting in bar stools as vampires - both lack any reflection.

“George! Imryll!” one of the vampires greets both detectives by name. “It’s good to see you! Come, have a drink on us.” He pours a glass of white wine for Alton, giving Cook nothing but a wink. Alton recognizes Reddan Petrosian, the bartender for Red Wight, and a friend.

The other vampire flashes them a winning smile, and quickly looks back down to the tables of numbers in front of him. He’s clearly working on the ledger, many columns of numbers align to build their chart of accounts. This, Alton recognizes as Galan Karras, an accountant she’s worked with on several cases before. He is handsome as ever, with arrow straight black hair tied back in a neat bun, and features that could have been sculpted by an artist with an eye for male beauty.

Petrosian in contrast is a much more roughly hewn individual. His build is like a lumberjack’s, with thick muscles and a short beard. The two of them are a study in contrasts, one determinedly quiet and serious, and the other as outgoing as could be.

Cook sits next to Karras as Alton walks around the bar to accept the glass from Petrosian.

“Sadly,” he says, “we’re here on business today.”

“What business could you have here?” Petrosian gives Karras a nervous glance, indicating the books.

Karras rolls his eyes in response and shakes his head. There is nothing wrong with their ledger.

“We’re investigating the cessation of a new vampire, and you’re exactly the people who might know a thing or two about local vampire activity.” Cook smiles.

“Well, you are talking to a shiny new member of the Vampire Ethics Counsel. Go ahead.” Petrosian sits down at the bar.

“Oh, Reddan, congratulations!” Alton pats him on the back.

“It’s probably going to be more work than it’s worth,” Petrosian admits, “but it’s not like I don’t already end up meeting everyone eventually.”

“In that case,” Cook grins, “What can you tell us about Marion Durandal?”

“Unfortunately, that’s one I haven’t heard of.” Petrosian looks crestfallen.

“Mar?” Karras peers up from his work. “Is Mar alright?”

“You knew her?” Alton asks the usually quiet vampire.

“You know I’ve been trying to get clean,” Karras’s voice is deep, but his volume is low. “I met Mar at the Shrine.”

“Oh.” Cook looks surprised. Then it hits him. “Oh!”

“I’m sorry to say it, but Marion Durandal is our victim. Someone cut off her head. We have a name for a potential someone, but are waiting on more details before we’ll be able to find him. In the meantime, we’re trying to find out as much as we can about her last week of existence, and that includes trying to find out why she became a vampire.”

“Oh no. No way.” Karras sits up straight. He looks ill at the thought. “Marion wouldn’t. Okay, sure, she was impulsive, and yes, she’d do just about anything if her parents said she shouldn’t, but she did not want this curse.”

“Did she?” Cook thumbs through the paperwork he’s still carrying. Finding the signed waivers he passes them over to the accountant.

Karras notes the signatures quietly, and passes the papers to Petrosian. Petrosian gives them his full attention.

Alton notes the tone of his protests.

“She wasn’t the latest to drag you off that wagon, was she?” She recognizes his past failings involving falling for blood donors.

“Far from it!” Karras protests. “She was an inspiration to stay on. I couldn’t survive myself if I’d done anything to her. She was very kind.”

“And very pretty.” Cook shrugs.

“Do you really think that poorly of me?” The vampire is offended.

“No, Galen, it’s okay.” Cook fumbles for words. “It’s been a strange day.”

“It looks like everything here is in order.” Petrosian finally looks up from the pages. “I recognize the signature of Astyocheia the Traociot. She’s a founding member of the Vampire Ethics Counsel. Marion’s even signed the waiver of counseling services, which is a pretty obscure form since we don’t make the fact that exists public.”

“Sounds like we need to bring these straight to our documents examiner.” Cook takes the papers back. “Meanwhile, what can you tell me about the creation of Spawn?”

Karras recoils at the word. His strength appears to seep out of him, as he slouches down toward the bar. His expression is haunted.

“We don’t talk about that here,” Petrosian hisses, his eyes bright with fury.

Cook gestures innocence. Alton looks confused.

“Just because we’re friends, and only this once, I’ll explain.” Petrosian waits while Karras shuffles into the back room and out of even his vampiric enhanced earshot. “Our pal Galen was Spawn.”

This takes a minute to sink in for both detectives. Cook reacts with surprise, Alton with fear, and both keep their mouths shut to avoid saying something they’ll regret.

“A good many years ago, even by your standards Imryll, he was a cloistered cleric of Emperyan, living out his perfectly normal life in the Quilt Kingdoms. A master vampire took that from him, made him Spawn, and kept him half starved in a castle for decades.

“It wasn’t until just a short while ago that a team from Blackfeather raided the castle and killed his master. Their wizard happened to be skilled enough and generous enough to perform the spells to break the Spawn connection and return his free will. But Galen remembers all of it. He knows exactly what it’s like to be Spawn, and it makes him sick to think about it.

“So don’t ever bring that up again.” Petrosian looks each detective in the eye, dead serious.

“I’m afraid we might have to, Reddan,” Alton says gently. Her fingertips lightly brush his hand on the bar’s counter top.

“If Galen’s right, and the victim really did act out of character by becoming a vampire, we might be investigating her creation when we’re finished investigating her destruction. It sounds like the conspiracy to allow this to happen goes straight to the top if the Traociot is involved.” Cook is itching to get out his chalkboard, magnets, and string to map a new conspiracy theory that’s brewing.

“More importantly,” Alton suggests, “If she was actually Spawn, then we may not have a case for her execution. It’s perfectly legal to destroy Spawn when they’re encountered. It may well have been self defense.”

“Sweet merciful Theria, I know.” Petrosian slumps against the bar, tangling his fingers in his curly hair. “Just,” he pauses, nervous, “just give me a day to talk him into it. We’ll help however we can.”

“Galen’s stronger than he knows,” Alton says to comfort their friend, “Despite all his setbacks, he’s still a candidate for Redeeming. That says a lot for his character.”

Before they leave, Alton helps fix Petrosian’s hair so that it doesn’t stand up and look terrible. Without a mirror, the vampire cannot do it for himself. The mood is somber, as all acknowledge the seriousness of the crimes they face.