The sun dips below the horizon, just as detectives Alton and Cook arrive back at Red Wight. They find Galen Karras waiting for them in an alcove outside. With the sunlight fading, he risks little by being outdoors, but still wears a mask. The mask itself is solid black, with ruby colored lenses. A cowl protects the rest of his head, and clean white gloves cover his hands. The rest of his clothing is dull burgundy.

The vampire waves them over, but his posture is one of deep sadness. Alton and Cook join him in the alcove. They find a small table and tiny chairs. Places are set for two to eat, and a third place holds only an inkwell. They understand that Karras has been waiting, and has prepared a place for them to meet. There is bread and a dish of seasoned olive oil for them to share.

They sit, and wait patiently while Karras watches the sky. When the sun has finally set, and no longer threatens ruin for the vulnerable vampire. He removes the mask and pulls back his cowl.

“I take it you’ve decided to speak with us about our victim having been Spawn?” Cook gets out his notebook, and prepares to write.

“Yes.” Karras inhales deeply and places his hands on the table. “I’ll explain where I can.”

“Okay, that’s helpful.” Cook ignores the proffered inkwell in favor of his customary pencil. “How do you think someone would be able to tell that a person was made into Spawn if their creator is trying to hide that fact?”

“The most likely thing would be that they couldn’t fake the personal relationships. They might not even try.” Karras seems initially relieved that the question isn’t terribly personal. “I’d expect them to have a sudden personality shift. They might also suddenly change their handedness, their handwriting, or their accent.”

“All of that could change?” Cook seeks clarification.

“Could, and probably would,” Karras confirms. “You have to remember that a person is barely a passenger when they are Spawn. They’ll remember what happens, but they’ll have no control over their actions, and not even truly be able to think. For all purposes, your body is a witness to what happens to you as Spawn, but you are dead. Truly dead, and gone.”

“That makes sense.” Alton tears off a piece of the bread, dipping it in the seasoned oil. She notes that it is flavorful and spicy, but lacks any garlic.

“So when you say that the body is a witness, how does that differ from other kinds of mental control?” Cook scribbles down notes.

“Oh, um, that’s a little difficult to explain.” Karras searches for words.

“Can you give it a try? Maybe there’s a way we can explain her behavior.” Cook searches for answers.

“Well, I guess the best thing to compare it to is a plain old fear spell.” Karras pauses to sip from his cup. Alton notices that it is water with lemon only. “When your mind is controlled by a fear spell, it’s still our mind. You can react to the impositions on it as your personality dictates. And even a love spell allows you to think and have your own opinions.

“But Spawn don’t get that. They’re not even a passenger in their own shambling corpse. They don’t think. They don’t feel. They just move, and even that is done through someone else’s will. If through some luck or fortunate coincidence, they’re recovered instead of destroyed, then they’ll remember everything they’ve done. They’ll know it, and they’ll know that emptiness. There’s a certain horror involved in knowing you’ve done heinous things and knowing that you felt nothing about them.

“And then there’s the horror of the turning itself.” Karras shudders, the water in his cup giving away the depth of his revulsion.

“If you can,” Alton says gently, “please explain what you mean. I’m afraid we don’t really have any information yet on what that entails. You don’t have to use personal experience to explain.”

“The most important things, the only ones that technically requires to create Spawn, are actually pretty simple.” Karras tries for something academic. “The person needs to die while the vampire is drinking after having been compelled to taste the vampire’s blood first. This is almost the same as the process for creating a regular vampire who keeps their own will.

“What isn’t the same is that they were compelled, rather than acting voluntarily. A free vampire’s death is a choice. For Spawn, there is no choice and they fight to their last breath. With the mind resisting, the death is painful, and the transformation horrifying. Instead of what I’m told is a slow and gentle slide into a restful sleep, there’s a slow and desperate darkening as your blood drains. You can struggle all you like, but if the compulsion holds you don’t even move. If the compulsion fails, then anything you do only makes the pain of the bite or bites worse and makes the process faster.

“The pain itself is excruciating. Then there’s the fading feeling as you bleed to death. And the desperation you feel since you can’t actually do anything. You’re helpless as you slide into your death.”

“I can see how that would make a difference in how you see vampirism.” Cook looks up from his notes.

“You mentioned recovery,” Alton says, taking a sip of her drink, “and I know that you’ve been through it yourself. What is that process?”

“Honestly,” the vampire shrugs, “I don’t really know. After my creator was destroyed, I was left wild for a long time. Apparently someone locked me in a box and had it shipped to Greygorge. I think it was an assassination attempt.”

“Huh.” Cook contemplates this theory. “A wild Spawn in a crate would make a decent weapon. What happened in Greygorge?”

“On my part, it felt like waking up after a hard day of work. Or maybe like falling off a cliff. All the pain slowly brought my mind back, but all I could think about was how much it hurt.” The vampire flexes his fingers slowly. “I was sore all over, and still locked in shipping crate, unable to move.”

“What happened next?” Alton asks, curious more for its own sake than the case itself, but also hoping there could be a way to rescue any other Spawn Bellemare may have created.

“I spoke.” The vampire did that. “I guess they were waiting for that, because the wizard popped the crate and let me out. I had a place there for a little while, sorting mail for Blackfeather, but eventually I had to get out of there. Too much just reminded me of everything that had happened.”

“So it was definitely a wizard who helped you out?” Alton clarifies.

“Yeah, she had some crazy spells that undid the compulsion aspects of the turning. A cleric, no matter their denomination, would have only really been able to destroy all of me, rather than targeting specific magic constraints. Seems that without those, Spawn are really just very hungry vampires.” Karras takes a share of the bread and oil. Unlike Cook, his type of undeath allows a person to eat and enjoy food, but only gain sustenance from blood.

“Any chance you remember this wizard’s name?” Alton is curious.

“I honestly don’t think she had one.” Karras seems confused. “Or maybe I’m under a geas to not remember it? I don’t know.”

“So who should we be talking to if we want to see if someone had been turned into Spawn? Who in their life do you expect to notice?” Cook brings the topic back around to their victim.

“Friends maybe. Family for sure if they’re local. Handwriting samples ought to be easy to find.” That seems obvious to Karras, and his posture shows that he’s unimpressed by the question.

“Anything specific you remember about the wizard? We’re looking for spells to duplicate their work.” Alton questions the vampire.

“Like I said, it’s the control aspects of the vampire nature that need to be canceled. It’s possible that they’re just very specific counterspells.” The vampire shrugs, wondering how this helps at all.

Cook isn’t sure it will either.

“What kinds of things did your creator force you to do?” Cook asks, changing the subject again.

“Now, a lot of this is probably not all that relevant,” Karras shrugs, and steels himself to continue, “I was turned a long time ago, and spent a great chunk of that locked in a dungeon starving into insanity, and then in a shipping crate doing even worse with the smell of blood so close.

“But back on the mainland I was first used to do two things: let my face be seen so that my creator wouldn’t be suspected as the local vampire, and con people into becoming his victims and thralls. Around here, I’d assume that with plain vampirism not being criminal activity, you’d find Spawn used to commit other crimes or draw suspicion for the thrall thing away from the creator vampire. Otherwise what would be the point of creating Spawn in the first place?”

“Some people are still just assholes,” Cook observes. “A person might not have the most reasonable excuse for the crimes they commit, but they’ll always have one. I guess we need to find a motive for this Bellemare creep. Otherwise why would he waste the effort?”

“Bellemare?” Karras looks confused. “I didn’t know he’d emigrated.”

“You know him?” Alton asks, curious.

“I know of him,” Karras responds. “He’s not one of the Old Guard. He was known for being pretty progressive back on the mainland. Kept up with modern trends. I recognize the name because he made a huge stir when he was caught attending night classes at an Arcane University school in New Highelf.”

“Hm.” Cook grunts. “That doesn’t really make him sound like the type to go about creating Spawn and having thralls here in Two Rivers. I wonder what he’s really up to.”

In the meantime, night surrounds them with a thickening gloom. Cook’s vision greys into stark colorless relief, but Alton sees well in the dim light of the stars. They note a red gleam in the eyes of their vampire interviewee. Alton and Karras have long since finished off the bread and their drinks, the plates scattered with crumbs and the glasses empty.

A skeletal living impaired automaton collects the dishes as the three say their farewells. Galen Karras heads out in the night to sulk away his memories. The two detectives head back to the station’s library, discussing research ideas on the way.