Early Tuesday morning, Vonner and Doomweaver meet in the witch’s office at the police station. Nepe and Wymark are on their way up the stairs from the jail with their police escort, so the two women have a little time to themselves. Doomweaver’s office is a little cubicle in a corner of the morgue. She has a desk, chairs, an inkwell and stacks of paper.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Durandal?” Vonner asks, fiddling with her quill.

“Marion or Roland?” Doomweaver responds with a question.

“Marion actually,” Vonner confirms.

“Oh,” Doomweaver smiles quietly, “I have. We only talked about the disposition of her remains, not about the case. It’s in my contract that you can’t get any more legal information from her after she’s requested to be left alone.”

“I understand.” Vonner nods emphatically. “I was actually curious as to what burial custom she follows.”

“Marion asked to be interred in an orchard. She wants to be somewhere tranquil and full of life. Her friend Septimia will say some words and there will be a little gathering to remember her.” Doomweaver pauses. “Is that why you’re doing this here? With me?”

“You caught me.” Vonner laughs.

“Doing what?” Nepe enters the room.

“Empathizing,” Doomweaver suggests.

“A lawyer, expressing empathy?” Vonner laughs. “Perish the thought.”

Wymark enters with his shackles clanking loudly. His face is glum. He and Nepe take seats at Doomweaver’s desk.

“So what did you want to discuss?” Vonner asks, taking out a sheet of parchment and adjusting the nib of her fountain pen.

“I know that I shoulda done things different.” Wymark mumbles.

“What can he do to make this right,” Nepe answers with a question of her own, “and how can he avoid deportation?”

Vonner and Doomweaver look surprised.

“Who gave you the impression that deportation was even on the table?” Vonner puts her pen carefully on the table.

“The law.” Nepe folds her hands in her lap. “I would have expected it to have come up already and the statutes are clear.”

“We don’t deport refugees.” Vonner pushes her chair away from the table. “Our gold standard is restorative justice. There is nothing restorative about sending someone back into a collapsed state.”

“Restorative justice doesn’t include prison time.” Nepe’s stern gaze is unwavering. “Isn’t that what you will suggest?”

“There must be some punitive effect for the gravest of crimes, yes.”

“What could we offer to reduce that effect?”

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“I’ve read his story in the detectives’ reports,” Vonner offers a placating gesture, “but I’ve not heard it from him.”

“Not without an agreement.” Nepe doesn’t blink.

“I can agree to offer the minimum sentencing as recommended by the law.” Vonner neatly writes a very official offer of leniency. “If I like what I hear, and he’s willing to testify, I’ll rip this up and drop the failure to report charge and set the fine for the misuse of magical item charge to half its resale value.”

“A class five magical weapon isn’t easy to sell.” Nepe gives Vonner a level stare.

“It is if there’s an offer to buy it on the table already. The state is willing to purchase it from him at full value.”

“That is an incredibly fair deal.” Nepe turns to Wymark while Vonner continues writing her offer. “I highly recommend you take this offer. There isn’t likely to be another like it if you don’t.”

“You’re the advocate.” Wymark looks very hopeful. Selling the sword might put a damper on his ability to get hired by one of the more prestigious adventuring companies, but he could use the money from the rest of the sale to buy better armor and a less unintentionally deadly weapon. Maybe a nice quarterstaff.

“I advocate that you take this deal.” Nepe is dead serious.

“Okay.” Wymark relents. “Do I need to sign anything or anything?”

“Yes,” Vonner answers, turning the parchment around and scooting the document toward the witness. Nepe snags it in transit and reads over it carefully. Satisfied with the text, she passes it on to Wymark.

Wymark starts to read, but his eyes glaze over as he fails to get the legal language. His sloppy signature flops on the page, a messy smear of ink below Vonner’s neat print.

“Alright.” Vonner dries the page with a little blotting sand. “With that taken care of, please begin.”

“I guess I oughta begin at the beginning.” Wymark holds the desk for stability. “I went out for drinks at the Pilgrim Sunday night. A blond that had been working the room approached and there was some flirting. Some more explicit flirting. She made some promises. I made some offers. We left together, but I think that was over the line from Sunday night to Monday morning.

“Anyway, when we were out in the rain she demanded we go back to some crypt. I thought we were going to hit a hotel or a tavern with regular rooms, but instead she really insisted on heading into the necropolis. That ain’t my scene. I was willing to get freaky, but not that freaky, if you know what I’m talking about. So I told her no.

“You don’t turn down a vamp apparently. She tried to drag me with her, fangs out and everything, but I was like ‘Jesus fuck no’ and she was like ‘fuck yes’ and I was like ‘no really fuck no’ and she was like ‘mmmdelicious yes’ and so I drew my sword. She didn’t want to get shanked or something so she went for a swipe, but I got lucky and she missed.

“I didn’t. And the sword is, well, it’s apparently vorpal, so when I didn’t miss, her head came off and she landed in a puddle.”

“What did you do next?” Vonner needles her witness gently.

“I left.” Wymark shrugs. “I didn’t want to be anywhere nearby when a headless chick was found with her tits half out in the street. Seemed like a bad idea to stick around at the time.”

“You know,” Doomweaver speaks up at last, “if you’d just told us what happened right when it happened you would have saved everyone a lot of heartache.”

“What?” Wymark frowns in concentration.

“If we’d known that Marion Durandal was a vampire from the start, we’d have been investigating a self defense claim and Spawn accusations instead of a murder.” Doomweaver explains quietly. “I’ve spoken to Marion and she was a very gentle person who would not have wanted you to be punished harshly for her destruction. She did not want to be a vampire.”

“What are you saying?” the adventurer boggles, his mind can’t fit around the shapes the witch is handing him.

“She wanted to thank you. She had no desire to exist in that state. Even if we could have released her from the Spawn controlling spells, she would have chosen the peace of the grave instead.”

Wymark slumps forward to rest his head on the desk. Doomweaver reaches out and pats his hand with motherly care.

“Is this an acceptable confession?” Nepe breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“It is.” Vonner nods, and starts to write a new agreement. She makes certain to include the offer to purchase the weapon for its full retail value. They arrange a time to meet at the courthouse to deliver their agreement to the judge.