***
The room had dim lighting, cast by the flames of three lanterns. Lavish vampire mansions such as Venetti's were equipped with every amenity. However, the technical luxuries were a consideration for guests. Vampires were uncomfortable under the steady light of a bulb. Bed technology was another story, and Venetti spared nothing in her selection of furnishings. Happigo was immediately drawn to the expansive palette. She noted with trepidation that it had several fine, silk blankets, which would be an unusual addition for a cold-blooded vampire. This hardly garnered surprise, as vampire history unabashedly reported midnight feasting on the mindless or seduced. A larger bed would hold more snacks. Hopefully it was a matter of tradition.
Happigo noted very briefly that Venetti owned a full-sized mirror, framed in a silvery decoration of vines, but she avoided looking at it, already feeling her skin crawl from the red-themed decorations elsewhere in the room. Interesting, though, that vampires had mirrors at all. Vampires claimed they had reflections, but no one else could see them. The only evidence that they weren't, as a species, pulling everyone's leg, was that they kept mirrors at all. If it was a gag, they were very committed to it.
A majestic dresser protruded proudly next to the wall opposite the foot of the bed. An ivory jewelry box stood upon the crimson crown of the dresser, with pearl-studded handles. Next to the dresser, a marble pedestal displayed a single vase, with blue and red markings of unknown meaning circling the bulge and dip of the brownish-white vessel.
The splendor was dashed away upon Happigo taking in Exhibit A. Benton Harles lie wolf-changed, his fur soaked in his own blood, his body twisted on the floor. A thick gash ran through the side of his neck. The cut had gone deep and severed the important artery. Blood was soaked into a very expensive-looking rug, and had run into a pool onto the hardwood floor.
Her good eye twitched. A better detective would surely pick out what was extraordinary, but Happigo didn't have time to hope her brain could achieve those marvels. Happigo admitted a modicum of laziness, but such laziness was afforded her in lieu of genetic inheritence. In the investigative world, it could be said there were a few geniuses, and reputation had even solidified Happigo in their ranks. But the key thing was getting the job done. No advantage, genius or otherwise, should be forsaken in these matters.
She had such an advantage.
"You're going to have to do it?" asked Lily.
"Yes. Some pieces are there, but they are not tied together. I'm hoping something in this room will make sense of it all. I'd rather not talk to them again if it can be helped, and it's late. Would you like to know what I have so far?"
"Will it help to tell me? You're the one being paid for all that. And I'm just the stupid alpha, remember? Geez, whatever. Hurry up. The stench in here is murder."
Happigo froze. Lily wasn't stupid, but she wasn't astute, either. Did she realize she'd said something highly insensitive? Or was it just not that sensitive to wolves?
She hesitated another moment, then went on. "If we take our information as mostly fact, we can establish the whereabouts of most of our players."
"Our what?"
"Suspects. We know Golucki was in the kitchen. Honduras Whitetail, whom we can say is established as having been in the hall, creates a second point that completely seals Corund in the kitchen. It can't be proven absolutely, but Honduras was probably in that hall the whole time, provided he is not the murderer. We have the testimony of Nist to confirm that. Venetti as well, but Nist had Talatia in tow. We can ask Talatia if we must, but my opinion is that he was in the hall as he stated. I think that's more important than anything here. Where does that put us?"
Lily stood thoughtfully. "It's like you said. Corund is out. Golucki, obviously. And if Nist and Talatia were at the end of the opposite wing from where the murder took place, they're off the list as well. But that only leaves Dame Venetti."
"Unless?"
"Well, unless Honduras Whitetail is the culprit. I think..."
Lily screwed up her face. She also stuck out her tongue, but that was a habit. Lily was the panting type, and the brain of a werewolf did not always follow the shape of the body.
"I think," Lily continued, "that everything is narrowed down to those two. If Honduras was in the hall the whole time, Venetti killed Benton Harles. If he left at any time, he lied to us about that, and that means he was the murderer."
"So it appears. There's two problems with that analysis. If Honduras was not in the hall at all times, and was also not the murderer, lying for whatever reason, it becomes possible that Corund, Nist, or Talatia murdered Benton Harles."
Happigo touched her eyepatch and heaved a sigh. "Guess I should have a Look."
Lily apologized. "I know you don't like doing it often."
"It's okay, Lily. Flaunt it, right?"
Happigo realized quickly that she shouldn't have said that while wearing such a small skirt.
She popped up the eyepatch with her thumb, and immediately felt the world turn thick. The eye saw the blood, saw where it had been, where it had run, and measured every disturbance. Nothing escaped the examination. Anywhere blood had moved or been touched, Happigo saw a precise history of shapes and events. He must have turned and fell here, and the splash of blood on the wall shows that the weapon had struck in this manner...
It had a price. The truth of the eye inherited by her family line was that it contained no real magic. Everything happening in her head was some kind of deduction, but the process surpassed what any living brain was capable of handling. Like a devil had set fire to her cognitive ability, things pieced together in an instant, rebuilt possibilities and traced back the steps that must have led to the current picture. The price was the ability to stay aware of reality. Staring for too long left Happigo withdrawn, feeling anxious, slightly violent and crazed, and almost like another person. From this stemmed the ancient fear of her family, most notably in the vampires, whom the Bloodeye clan had hunted savagely. History books held accounts of vampires fleeing the maddened Bloodeye hunters and their fearless assault. Though it never felt like enough to make Happigo lose control, it invited something like a nervous breakdown, and Happigo preferred to have Lily around as an emotional life-jacket.
Lily saw no science in it. To her, Happigo stalked around the room, moving outside the pool of blood. Occasionally, Lily heard her laugh quietly. "Hah. Haha...." she would go. And Happigo's face would get screwed up, smiling wickedly and focusing with widened eyes on a spot on the floor. Her head darted in every direction. She leaned with her hands out, as if raring to strike at prey. Lily was not frightened by the hunting look of her friend, but she did take a step back. There was still a touch of the old hunters in Happigo, and even though werewolves and the Bloodeye family had never had memorable rivalries, Lily knew that even a werewolf should think twice before approaching her friend once she removed that eyepatch.
Happigo replaced the patch with a shaking hand. It took considerable effort. The world popped around her, returning to normality. The price had been paid, and the return worth it. There, in the pool of blood, were several tiny imprints. Something had been picked up. What? The shape was there, reformed in her mind's eye. And now, the blood...the blood...
"Ah-hahaHAHAHA!"
"Happigo. Happigo?"
"Ah! Ah. Ahem." She shivered.
"You okay?"
"Yes. Yes...and..."
Happigo slumped next to the bed. The puzzle was coming together now. The way the blood ran told Happigo how he had been struck. Interesting marks in the spread of blood gave her the shape of several objects, and a definite image formed in her mind. She panted, lost in a cloud of deduction while battling back the residue of darkness left by the closing of the abyss. This was the secret that awakened fear in vampires; fears faded from Happigo, even from the instinctual level, and they were replaced with desire. Happigo wanted to terrorize those around
her. Her heart pumped and her nerves twitched. Claw at them, it told her. Assault, do not let up. Make them afraid. Be fear itself. Laugh at their fright.
Whose?
Happigo looked around, and felt sudden pangs of claustrophobia in this windowless room. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms as if molested by a winter breeze. Who was she, really? A party girl, drinking away her disappointments? Or was she a monster on the edge of evil and madness? Dark thoughts enveloped her. She could put a face to murder, and even now she plotted against someone for the sake of her own satisfaction. If that person had killed, was it wrong to enjoy watching the killer struggle in vain against the presentation of evidence?
No. There could be nothing greater. A mad grimace, painted by the feelings of bloodlust, permeated Happigo's face, and in a distant voice, she whispered, "I think I have your murderer."