I did not quite hit numbers today. Trying to figure out margins took up a large portion of the evening.
“So, Doctor Bell,” I said, “since you were not able to examine Lady Florence before her awkward yet anticipated revivification, what is our next step?” I was also wondering why I had been summoned. Shameless penny-dreadfuls aside, vampires and werewolves are not particularly bosom friends. Or enemies. About the only thing we have in common is that our kinds have both learned that there is room at the top of the food chain for only one, and mortals refuse to share the seat.
“Next, we examine the murder scene,” said Bell. “Countess Hambly has been adamant that no mechanical or alchemical tests be done; it would ‘intrude in the family’s time of grief,’ or some other such rot. I had to invoke the Anti-Spirit Act to keep the room safe from the cleaners. Can’t have Lady Florence’s specter wandering the halls until her murderer’s caught, hey?”
Magda sniffed the air: inquiringly, not disdainfully. “Is there magic in use here? There is a spell covering the room.”
Doyle spoke up. “Yes. A medical cantrip, nothing more: nothing can rot or decay in here until I release it. We knew that… specialists in blood would be attending, and this seemed safely unobtrusive.”