“We need to figure out if he’s a vampire,” Syril said, summarizing what they’d discovered thus far when Ellen showed up.

  “I think we should go check out the sex dungeon more thoroughly,” Ellen said.

  “As tempting as that sounds,” Syril said. “It seemed to be an invite only affair.”

  “That’s just for the fat old men,” Ellen said. “They’re always open to more women at these things.”

  “And you would know this how?” Grom asked.

  “Oh, you know how,” Ellen said, winking at him.

  Bill shook his head in disappointment, his growing piety coloring his opinion.

  Despite herself, Ellen grew frustrated at the judgment from the man she didn’t like but wanted to like her.

  “I have an idea,” Ellen said, trying to recover.

  “We don’t care, we aren’t going to the orgy,” Syril said,

  “Hey, no one said anything about an orgy,” Linar clarified. “It’s just a group of consenting adults having a good time in a series of cages.”

  “For someone who has no respect for the law, you seem to have a strong desire to police everyone’s language,” Grom said.

  Linar shrugged.

  “Words mean what they mean, and I won’t abide their misuse. Everyone has to have a principle,” Linar said.

  “You mean principles, right?” Syril asked.

  “I think I was pretty clear,” Linar answered. “So, Ellen how are we getting into the sex dungeon?”

  “That’s not what my idea was about,” she said. “Look, the Count is drinking wine. If we swap his glass with magic when he sits down, we can see if its blood.”

  “What if it’s regular wine?” Bill asked, “Can vampires eat regular food?”

  All eyes turned to Ellen.

  “I don’t know, but if it is blood, then we have a definite answer,” she said.

  “Do we though?” Linar asked. “I can think of a half a dozen reasons a man might have a glass full of blood.”

  Ignoring Linar’s questionable statement, Syril asked Ellen, “Weren’t you supposed to read up on vampires?”

  “I did,” she insisted, “and it didn’t list anywhere in the books about whether or not they could eat regular food. I don’t see why they couldn’t though.”

  “Alright,” Syril said. “Let’s do it.”

  “We need a duplicate of his glass,” Ellen said.

  Linar, in his guise of a waiter disappeared into the kitchens, returning shortly with another of the glass as the Count’s unique style. This one too was filled with wine.

  Ellen looked at the glass Linar held, careful not to touch it and then looked at the Count carefully. The possible-vampire was sitting at the head of a small table on a dais, with different important persons cycling through at the direction of his staff who hovered around making sure the appropriate amount of merriment was being had by the Count.

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  When the Count stood to bid adieu to his guest and greet the next, Ellen acted. The glass in Linar’s hand appeared to shift ever so slightly as it switched places with the Count’s.

  “Is it blood?” Bill asked.

  Ellen took it, the glass turning into a mug that read “priceless crystal diamond encrusted goblet” gave it a tentative sniff and shook her head.

  Linar took the mug from her hand, swirled it, then took a long inhale.

  “Oh, he does have good taste,” he said, then took a sip.

  Pphhhh

  A commotion broke out on the dais and all eyes turned to see the Count standing, face red with fury and splattered wine. He’d taken a sip of his replacement and immediately spat it out all over his guests, a portly couple that Syril judges to be wealthy merchants—not nobles, making the Count’s faux pas something they’d be more than happy to forgive if it came with a favorable tax credit.

  “Winton!” the Count bellowed.

  A man dressed similar to the wait staff with the addition of a black coat appeared beside him.

  “M’lord?”

  “ This,” the Count said, holding up his glass, “is not the ’72 port. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s from the supply meant for the guard barracks.”

  “M'lord,” Winton said. “I filled that glass myself and I assure—

  “Taste it yourself,” he said, splashing the remainder of the wind into his face.

  To his credit, Winton didn’t flinch the slightest as the red liquid stained his expertly pressed uniform.

  Winton licked his lip, closed his eyes for a moment and then gave a slight bow.

  “My apologies M’lord, you are correct. I shall remedy this immediately.”

  Winton left the dais, snapping his fingers and pointing to the mess at the table, gesturing to other staff to clean it up.

  “So… that was inconclusive,” Ellen said.

  “I don’t know,” Grom said. “I concluded that he’s an asshole.”

  “We can’t kill him just because he’s an asshole,” Syril said.

  “What if he’s evil?” Bill asked.

  “We don’t want to get into the business of killing every evil person we meet,” Grom said.

  Bill pondered this then asked, “Because Cland seeks out to defend against the evil without and not the evil within?”

  “No,” Grom said with a grunt. “Because then we’d have to kill all the nobles and there’d be no one left to pay us.”

  “And we’d have to kill Linar,” Syril added.

  “Don’t compare me to nobles,” Linar said, “I’d never treat hard working servants like that. I have principles.”

  “I thought it was just the one,” Grom said.

  “Well now it’s two, after experiencing the life of the serving class, I have a new appreciation for their plight.”

  “You never denied being evil,” Grom pointed out.

  “What with you guys and all their labels?” he asked. “Why do we have to put everyone in a box? Can’t we just let others live their lives and move on with our own?”

  “Fine,” Syril said, “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. Whose got a better idea?”

  “He still never said he wasn’t evil,” Bill whispered to Grom.

  “Oh, yeah,” Grom said. “He’s totally evil, but he’s our evil.”

  Grom left Bill to ponder that, assuming that the church of Cland as preached by Grom would have a few new tenets by the end of the night.

  ?

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