“It doesn’t make sense,” Vlad said. “It’s too much blood. Were there any other bite marks on her body?”
“I thought the same,” Russell said. “Draining her body only makes sense if it was some kind of feeding frenzy, if there were a group of vampires feeding on her.”
“Otherwise,” Godfrey interrupted, “we could just look for a bloated, potbellied vampire who sloshes when he walks.”
I heard a thwack and knew someone had smacked Godfrey in the back of the head.
“He’s not wrong,” Clive said.
“See?” Godfrey muttered.
“There are about five liters of blood in an adult human,” Clive explained. “That’s a ridiculous amount even if it was two vampires feeding together.”
“Is that a thing?” I asked. “Is feeding together an aphrodisiac, or were these platonic blood buddies?”
Godfrey chuffed a laugh. “My new band name.”
Clive sighed. “We’re solitary hunters, but it isn’t unheard of for us to pair up.”
“Unusual, though,” Russell said. “We’re too territorial over our meals to share.”
“St. Germaine,” I reminded them. St. Germaine was a very old and very twisted vampire in New Orleans who enjoyed torturing and feeding off humans with a partner.
Vlad shook his head. “He’s dead.” He gestured to Clive. “I heard you handed him his final death.”
I raised my hand. “That was me. In my defense, though, he was a huge creep.”
“That he was,” Russell agreed.
“Blood spatter,” Cadmael said, getting us back on track.
I was waiting for him to complete the thought, but both Clive and Vlad nodded.
“Blood spatter what?” I asked.
“It’s the way we feed, ma’am,” Audrey responded. “If we’re feeding from a live human, our lips are on them before our fangs break their skin. Spattering is wasted blood. Even newly turned vampires wouldn’t lead with their teeth.”
“Sometimes,” Cadmael began, “our kind can develop a kind of dementia.”
“And we’re back to St. Germaine,” I muttered.
Clive patted my knee and nodded in agreement. “It can be caused by old age or starvation, but often they are ones who never should have been turned and certainly should have been handed their final death when it became apparent that there was a problem and they’d be a danger to secrecy. In St. Germaine’s case, Lafitte was too weak to deal with him and so turned a blind eye to what was happening.”
“And sometimes,” Cadmael continued, “that vampire lives in isolation, in mental decline, so no one is there to notice or do anything.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“Part of the reason the Guild instituted nocturnes,” Clive said.
“Yes,” Cadmael agreed, “but there are still those who have not been scooped up by nocturnes. We don’t have nocturnes in every city of the world, and not all populous cities are run by us. There are Masters of the City who are werewolves or bear shifters, jaguar shifters, wicches. It depends on the area and the most powerful faction in that area.”
“If we do have a dotty vampire—or a pair—wandering around the world, it still doesn’t explain why he doesn’t leave a bloody scent marker,” Godfrey interjected.
I had a thought. The three men with me all turned to me, so I supposed I made a noise, though I didn’t recall doing so.
“Yes, my lady?” Russell said.
“Nothing. It was just a thought. Maybe there isn’t a contingent of vampires stirring up trouble and trying to come out. Maybe what we have is a crazy guy killing people in an obviously vampy way. Other vamps are whispering about it, believing a secret group of them is gaining power and soon they’ll be the supernatural rockstars of the world. Really, though, it’s just one guy attacking humans unchecked because none of you guys knew you were supposed to be watching him.”
