10:00, Port Ashthrone, Private Bureau for the Veilworlds.

"The Normal that died late last night was one Ellis Stammel, he's a regular at the pub, but he doesn't live in Ashthrone." Lyon dropped the folder on the desk of Kei, Joselina's second hand at running the Bureau — for the side of the Veilworlders. On one corner of her desk, a constantly moving figurine in the shape of a cat which bounced its left paw back and forth. Kei herself sat on the other side, her assignment tray closeby with several new cases than when he had been in her office last. Her constant shimmer around her body drove the tired headache through his temples, but he pushed through it — he could have a smoke later. "The Ashthrone Police Department have ruled his death an aberration of some sort of animal attack until further information is revealed, in line with the witness testimonies we've been given." He dropped another folder on her desk, and her sharp, amber eyes followed it. "Nearby I noticed a vamp den, though the state of the body doesn't point towards a Withered desperate for human blood. This was more like butchery." Lyon opened both folders to push the pictures towards Kei — in all their gruesome glory. "Nor do I think it is a rogue werewolf, but I can't say for sure. There are some hallmarks that could go either way in any direction. So far, the regulars seem to think this a one time thing, and I scoured the witness reports for anything out of the ordinary." Lyon observed her when she took the pictures in her sharp, manicured nails. "I think we should take care," he cautioned. "If this is not a one time thing..."

Kei put everything back in the folders and sealed them closed with a warm wisp. "Apart from the vampire den, did you notice anything unusual?" she questioned, beauty's shimmer drove another piercing headache through his mind, but he resisted the allure Normals would be helpless against. "Do keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, Lyon. I'll have either Holly or Oliver act as liaisons for you if you want to talk to the pack." The folders disappeared into the cabinet. "Besides, with the buzz around the casino, that may have to take precedence along with this suspicious death. After all, the Ash Court found its way back here after that particular storm twenty years or so ago... it's not just the humans rife with gossip." Her amber gaze flicked up to him, but he played the game too well with those of the 'old veilbeings' variety. "If anything comes up about this case, Eldridge, do add it to the reports." Her fingernail tapped the cabinet. "You're dismissed."

Lyon turned his back on her and left the office, with a lack of trailing lost puppies on his heels. Let's see... I guess if I'm going to investigate the vampires based on proximity... He already hated where his train of thought meandered, pushing himself to head for the spiral staircase to the bottom level and into the Bureau's Armory. ID card in the slot, he slid himself inside. He tapped the panel with his name on it, letting the rack slide open. From blades to ballistic weapons. Dual revolvers, made with celestial metal. He took his time loading them up with the superheated bullets which seared his own skin the longer he held onto one. Each one slotted into the chamber lit up the power rune within them. With a rattle and click, he repeated the process with the other one before holstering them both on his belt. Coat adjusted to keep his hand hidden from those who sought harm, he headed for the hidden doorway. But without any other information, where else am I to go? He drove his fingers into his collarbone, biting on his tongue. Back-up measures.

Always have back-up... especially when dealing with her.

Circe.

The oldest vampiress in Ashthrone — who knew far too much and exacted a price for it. Who spent her days upon her own throne in the ancient fort which sat on the cliffs which overlooked the giant lake. Out of the precinct, he unlocked his car with a click of his key. He half-expected his phone to ring once more with Ray's incessant 'is it later yet?' Lyon slipped his pack of smokes into the glovebox, and once the crinkle of a wrapping folded against his fingertips, he pulled out a deceptive sucker. Key in the ignition, he turned it before unwrapping his all-too-important candy when it came to Circe. The translucent substance shimmered, and when he slipped it onto his tongue, the taste reminded him of a slight taste of velvet shortcake. At least traffic in Ashthrone wasn't the main issue the port city had — with boats floating across the lake, with a few brave souls kayaking into the river deltas and their rapids.

The amount of drowning cases thrown onto his desk at the precinct to rule out foul play almost crushed his desk with the amount of paperwork to file. But no matter how many times we warn people — daredevils will always test their luck.

As he left the heart of Ashthrone, he turned down the gravel road which led deeper into the thick woods. Holly and Oliver's pack refused to touch this particular neck of the woods — not wanting to pick a fight with an old vampiress witch who had her own sense of territory. But as long as she's kept in check, I don't have to worry about her turning her attention on Ashthrone to avoid becoming a Withered. Lollypop medication finished, he burned the stick with a sprinkle of golden white flames. The ashes sprinkled into the air and disappeared when he rolled down the window, bracing himself for the roughest road bump. It jumbled his wheels. I am going to send her the bill if she rips my tires. Over the hurdle, he pressed his foot against the gas and sped his way up the hill, where the fort's ancient stonework held its ground against the modernization of everything around it. High battlements which saw over the lake with the island well in view, old cannons dismounted and unused. He rolled into the gravel patch with no other cars in sight.

The fort's shadow proved an intimidating presence, but he remained undeterred when he walked up to the old gatehouse. As he approached, Circe's joke of a doorbell activated. An old rune, awash with crimson with an empty center. Celestial knife back in his hands, he drew his gaze upwards to the sun crawling its way to his missed lunchtime. And of course it has to be something that will take a while to heal... He slid the pressed the tip of the knife against his thumb. In an instant, a trickle of blood, red with golden spots ran down his skin, the shock of pain running straight to his heart, but he ignored it and pressed it against the center of the rune to get his job over with. He took out a small piece of gauze from the inside of his coat as the rune twisted and turned with a gurgle, though a small amount of rejuvenating steam had made its best effort to cover the wound. With a wiggle of his hand, he wrapped it with a heavy sigh the moment the gates opened. Into the fields, old targets sat against the slowly collapsing walls Circe couldn't be bothered to upkeep.

The grasses grew longer the more he went towards the main centerpiece of the fort, an old, stout lighthouse. His goal in sight, he drew to as top at a low growl from the overgrown tussocks. Fiery eyes slipped through the wilted stalks, monstrous teeth revealing itself out of a black maw. A dog of pitch. Her claws tore through the growth, its tongue licking at its snarling muzzle when it drew his gaze to him, paw raised until he stepped out of the way. "I'm not in the mood to play this game, Barghest." Her snarl died in an instant to consider him, her haunches smoothing out as she met him at eyelevel. "I just want to see Circe. Unless you mean to tell me she decided to take a stroll out in broad daylight."

Her snout pointed towards the lighthouse, but when he went to take a step forward and leave Barghest to her endless haunting of the fort, he slammed to a stop when she got in his way instead, spreading herself out at his immediate threshold. Too bad it took no effort at all to step over her — no matter the Normals' often wildly baseless superstitions. Her ears pinned at his audacity, and he shook his head at her. "Like I said, I've got things to do." A rattled snarl rumbled out of her throat when she revealed her sharp canines, but he snapped his fingers with a sharp whistle through his teeth. "No." He refused to turn his back on her until she slinked into the tussocks once again.

He barely got the chance to knock on the door when it slipped open with a breath of wind to crawl down his spine. Each level, full of magic, with a shimmering doorway hidden by old objects. Ways Circe got around Ashthrone and some protective barriers against her kind. As he made the ascent, he grumbled, "Did you have to make your damned room at the top of this thing..." He knew she could hear him complaining, but walking up and down steps was not his idea of a good, relaxing time with a vampire. On the second to last floor, two giant doors awaited him. "Circe, you know I was coming."

"Rude," a deep, feminine voice said. "Here everyone says the celestials are paragons of righteousness and goodness."

"Well, I'm not a celestial. Open the door."

Her sigh echoed out from the other side, and he scowled when the pair of doors swung open. Half an office and half a bedroom, he eyed the kitchen area in the corner, with a small pot on the burner and smelled sickly sweet, but at least she had the wherewithal to use some colour to make the feeling of light in the room obvious though there were no windows to let in the true sun. "Come on in, Detective Eldridge," she purred with a beckoning finger of where she sat in her leather chair, a T.V nearby with a news report on the murder. "What do I owe the forever pleasure of your presence? It's been so long since you visited." She bared her fangs. "I was wondering if you had forgotten me."

"I'd be so lucky." He crossed the threshold, and he drew his shoulders upwards to protect his neck when the doors closed behind him. "From what you're watching on T.V, you've already surmised why I'm here?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the detective?" she asked back and lounged. "You know very well my kind did not do this."

"Well, I can't say that for certain, that's why I'm here." Lyon approached her, careful not to step too recklessly on her carpet. "What has Barghest agitated?"

"Why are you worried? She likes you. Her agitation will not bring you harm."

"It might bring someone else harm though."

"Not through her direct influence, just don't get in her way."

Lyon hated the game he played with the old vampiress. "The Normal that was murdered late last night was found outside a vampire den," he said. "If your kind didn't do it, something did — and it doesn't point to being a werewolf either." He kept his hands loose at his sides, at the ready.

As she got up, he raised one of them closer to his belt, but her speed remained incomprehensible to even him when she was in front of him in a blinking instant, her palm cupping his chin. "Why are you always so business-like, little nephilim?" she asked, letting him go when he drew away with a breath of the same sickly sweet scent on her. "I may know or overheard something, but you're well aware I rarely leave this place to chum it up with the Younglings of my kind — my presence can be a bit off-putting." Her tongue slid over her lips, and he held his tense posture.

"I can't imagine why."

"Joker you," she purred, but she too snapped into the same business mode once he made it clear he was in no mood to play the game with her. "Oh, little nephilim... do you not see the death that follows your steps? Even with your celestial blood... you are not your forebears. You aren't immortal. Death spares no one, not the humans, and not us." Her smile widened and she took another approach for him with a flick to the thumb he cut open for an audience. "Oh, no mere human tool will ever hurt you, but things of the Veil can hurt you, and those closest to you — at least, the one person you have left in your life."

Unable to control the awakening rage at the insinuation, her hands raised with a smile when he pushed the celestial knife against her throat. "Bold words about death, the price you ask for is dangerous — knowing I could light my blood on fire from inside you and you can burn as if you stood right in the embrace of the sun." Lyon put the pressure right back on her. "Don't speak to me about Death, Circe. I've seen far too much of it."

"Oh... please." A delicate finger rested on the flat of the knife and the compulsion to switch his grip overtook him, but he resisted the pull. "I am thousands upon thousands of your single life, Lyon. I have seen all of this play out before, and I'm all that's alive every time. I'll blink the next moment and you'll have been dead for years if this work of yours doesn't end you first." Her more predatory side revealed itself in her eyes, which had turned blood red at his attack, but he stiffened when a finger touched his cheek. "Come now, you know what you want to ask. You know I won't hurt your precious brother." Another blink, and he jerked when the knife was against his neck instead, but it wasn't Circe. It was Ray with a wicked expression on his face, of fury. "He doesn't know, does he?" Circe asked through the illusion. "You intend on keeping him out of the Veilworld forever? Knowing what might come? Just because you hold him in ignorance doesn't mean he will be safe."

"Circe."

The illusion pressed upon his mind, though he knew the reality around him. "You're only at half strength, Lyon," her tone became clipped, and the next time he opened his eyes, the knife was back in his hands, but Circe pushed his hand away from her neck. "As asleep as you are, drifting through this world... you know my price. Ask your question — or express your desire. Or plunge that blade into your heart and show the world what you are when you unleash your strength." Another tap against his cheek, he narrowed his eyes at her when she drew herself away with open arms of invitation.

Lyon chewed on his tongue, but then slid the blade back into its sheath. "It's obvious no vampire or werewolf did this, though I'll be exploring those avenues regardless to cross out potential suspects," he said while she tapped her own chin in thought. "There was barely anything left of the Normal that could be identified. The blood wasn't drained — and it was... too clean to be a mauling from an out of control werewolf."

"Clean is such an interesting word for you to use, Detective," she ho-hummed. "Are you becoming so numb to these terrible sights already?"

"I've been at this for a good decade now. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I recoiled away from grisly sights — my job is to solve this, so someone can have closure." Lyon sighed and played the game. "You mentioned you've seen this play out a thousand times. Has this happened before?"

Her smile revealed her pinpoint fangs. "You always know how to work your way into a woman's heart — yes, I have seen this before. Way back, and this fort was still in use," she said, motioning around them. "I hate to tell you this though, the last time? It was a werewolf, it simply lost control during a full moon, and was swiftly eradicated by hunters from the Veilworld." A finger raised to her lips in a shushing motion. "Ah, but of course, you wouldn't take that at surface value. You said so yourself, you doubt this was a werewolf." She rounded him, her brown hair falling in waves. Beautiful, but far too unnatural when compared to Normality. "I'm afraid your answers are much older than you are — and will probably outlast you still." Lyon held his ground when she pressed the back of her hand into his cheek, the blood in her eyes once more revealing the honey-golds. "You can't do this forever. You're a little warm. Feeling feverish?"

"I wonder if that's because I'm alive. Though I'm sure I will be after I'm done here."

"Are you?" She drew back. "What do you define as living?"

"Certainly not being dismembered."

Her laugh came out soft, but no less wicked. "Oh, you and your morbid humour. If that is how you cope with your mortality, nephilim. It's disappointing to watch you limit yourself. You have such a grand legacy — as one with the blood of Celestials. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

The back and forth questions served to paint a picture. "Plenty. You're one of them?"

"Why would I kill you? If I kill you, what do I gain? I actually lose more if you die, and I wouldn't be the only one losing, Lyon, so try not to die, hm?" Her hand waved towards the couch on the other side of the room with a tilt of her head, some of the locks falling off her shoulders from the motion. Lyon made his way over as was the usual for their business transactions.

Answers in blood.

"Am I to assume you're going to want me to send you on your way after? You are asleep, Lyon... you would technically be safe here."

"I don't trust you enough to rest here."

"Very well, little nephilim, but I am not so rude as to not at least provide some comfort to those who so willingly offer me their blood. I'm not like the Younglings who take a bite and drop everything to go onto the next. Blood tastes sweeter when it's savoured."

Lyon scrunched his nose as he laid there. "I think I'd have rather taken my chances with Barghest."

"I'll be sure to let her know. Want the volume up?"

"Sure." Lyon rolled his eyes before closing them. "Might as well listen to people harp on things they don't understand."

"Welcome to my world," she whispered in his ear.

No Normal tool harmed him for long.

Teeth slid into his neck, and the haze settled on his mind. Just one moment to sleep, the continuous mantra pleaded him, but duty always called before he could listen to it. Listen to the sputtered out flame in his blood. Though Circe knew with a snap of his own fingers, he could set the drops alight, he had no strength to set himself as the celestial pyre — self-drained of strength to hide the truth, he was no longer able to ignore the call of the sleep he had put himself in.