Chapter 114Of Wind and Color

It was definitely something I wanted to investigate. It occurred to me that he probably led a very normal and boring life when he wasn't doing the stuff for the circle. And considering his car he might just own the place. Which meant very little actual work there. How would he have coped with the missing children, however. I wanted to know.

"Amy, what's going on?" Faith stared in the direction I was looking with the telescope.

I looked up from the telescope. "Did Afentis tell you about the orphanage?"

She shrugged. "Not much..."

"well, they drugged kids to make them do prophesies. Taking kids that showed promise and all. I saw the man in that house carry a boy they used to his car, with the name of the orphanage on it. I thought then he might be the owner." I took a breath. "I haven't seen him since, so I am very surprised to find him here."

She shrugged. "I see. Well, there are a lot of rich people living around here."

"Can we take a look?" I wasn't expecting her to say yes, she looked so serious sometimes.

But she smiled like a little kid having an adventure. "Of course!"

I giggled, partly out of surprise and partly because I was happy with her at my side. We put the tarpaulin back over the telescope and let ourselves float up. The wind was very fresh, but welcome. My lovely long white coat moving in the soft gale elegantly. Faith's dress was following her moves as well. Both of us almost looked like moving in water. So beautiful, so elegant.

It was only a bit over a mile away, it took us seconds to cross. The fields here carried the scent of lavender more strongly, together with the damp feel of ground-water not deep beneath the surface. There wasn't any light around, except around the houses themselves, and the city was only a glow in the distance.

"Strange." Faith spoke softly, a whisper on the wind.

"What is?" Mimicking her soft speech.

"Only one car, nothing else. " She frowned and nodded to the front of the house.

I smiled, she noticed something that hadn't occurred to me which had several implications. If he was here, he was either alone or with very few people. And it didn't seem like a family thing as there were no bikes, toys or anything. We landed.

It was kind of hard to explain why, as flying wouldn't make a sound. But it felt odd to hover when you're investigating something and it was very hard to navigate quickly or as nimble as walking on the ground. Besides, when doing naughty stuff, nothing wrong with staying down-to-earth.

We walked around the house carefully watching in until we found the man sitting behind a desk in the main room. We looked at him from almost straight behind him and nothing appeared wrong. The room was lit by a desk-lamp only and was mostly clean. The desk was a normal, simple wooden desk with some papers and a steaming cup of coffee on it. His writing continued unabated, never looking up and only making a single odd movement with his arm I couldn't discern.

We moved to another window to see things better, walking around the house quietly to the side. A dog.

This was the first time I met an animal while I was a vampire and it's reaction surprised me. He didn't bark, bite, run or anything. He just moved calmly, without fear or reprehension, toward us. Toward me in particular. He just licked my hand and tried to smell me, looking up in my eyes with an open look of wonder.

What did he feel?

"You're peaceful, he can feel it." Faith's whispered words washing away on the wind.

Was I? I smiled. I guess the simple attention of an honest animal was about the best compliment I could receive. He allowed me to pet him but kept quiet, as if he knew we didn't want to attract attention. Against my expectations he looked healthy and happy. The man must pay more attention to his dogs then he does the children.

We continued.

The other windows had the curtains half-closed. More than enough for us to watch through. The scene changed quite a bit with this different point of view. So much it was hardly believable the scene looked so normal before.

In the closest corner of the room there was a pentagram on the floor, drawn with chalk and punctuated by candles at each of the five points. The dribbled candles were old but unlighted. I wondered how often they had been used already. There was a large painting on the far wall that depicted a bloody and... erotic scene that looked very out of place behind that neatly dressed man.

The desk itself didn't look much different, but the man did.

First of all he was using a very old pen. Not one made of a feather, but the same type that needed a small jar of ink to write with. He wrote slow and deliberate, as if it was vitally important he did not make any mistakes, his pen moving in gentle curves along the paper. Now and then he needed to dip the paper on a saucer with a deep red liquid.

After a few lines he moved his writing arm back and cut in it with a small knife to fill the saucer.. He didn't even wince at this, moving as if it was normal and quite common for him to do so. On his arm I noticed small marks of cuts that hadn't healed completely. Another thing I noticed was his use of a proper, sharp and sterile knife to do this. He didn't cut deep, enough for only a few drops to fall. Apparently he needed it fresh but didn't want any scars. And there weren't.

The many shallow cuts that hadn't healed on his arm could just as well be claw-marks of a playful cat or something. They were spread irregularly over his right lower arm but faint. I noticed a piece of cloth in front of him he used to quickly clean and wipe his arm after he got his drops of blood. So methodical, so neat.

Hard to believe he was writing in blood.