Romorith and Cook gather all available spellcasters in Doomweaver’s morgue upstairs. They aim to find a solution to the overly long list of locations the thrall provided, and any magical help possible gets called in for duty. Doomweaver herself organizes the area, crafting magic circles and setting out oil lamps for better light as the afternoon shadows lengthen.

Cook’s pulled together a team consisting of Romorith, whose first training was not in law, but in wizardry, Hordsson, who grumbles that divine magic has no place here, Kazuriene, who doesn’t disagree, Doomweaver, the witch, and the spell artist, Jans Auns.

Romorith lays out a map on one of the large tables, displaying the city as a large mesh of streets, the two rivers, and aquifers. Auns and Doomweaver place a large sheet of glass, spelled for durability, over the map to protect it.

Something so finely crafted should not be risked just for one spell. They’ve used the glass before, but not with the sense of urgency that fills the room now. A vampire acting outside the Vampire Ethics Council’s control is one of the more dangerous threats to the stability and continued perseverance of their entire way of life.

If the Strabthine ambassador doubts their ability to contain the threat, there may be dire consequences. They certainly cannot risk waiting one second longer than necessary. Runner skeletons wait at the ready to bring their findings, whatever those may be, directly to the team already working the search area.

“As you all know,” Cook begins the meeting, “we have a dangerous vampire on the loose. One of his thralls gave us a list of places that he might have gone to ground. We need to narrow this list down to as few as possible, and we need to do it quickly. Any questions?”

“Do we have anything of the vampire’s?” Doomweaver looks curious.

“Technically, no.” Romorith shrugs. “As it turns out, everything in the Bellemare Crypt legally belongs to an elder Bellemare who was reburied in this location several decades ago. The current Bellemare owns nothing at all.”

“Legally?” Jans Auns speaks up, his deep voice wavering. “Or actually?”

“Seems like just legally. But we cannot use anything found with things not legally his own in a trial.” Romorith reminds them that the goal is not only to stop the vampire from causing havoc in the streets, but to seek justice in the court.

“What about his creations?” Hordsson and Kazuriene share a knowing glance as Hordsson expresses a shared thought. “Isn’t the blood curse he’s passed to his Spawn something he owns?”

“We’d need to confirm that they are indeed his Spawn to use it.” Romorith ponders the concept. “It might work?”

“Might depends on the spell.” Doomweaver and her pig settle in on a tall stool. The pig grunts and snuffles in her arms. “True, we might be able to bend the rules.”

“What does Bacon suggest to do that?” Romorith asks. She does not have a familiar of her own, but respects the concept.

“We can declare his ownership of the blood through the bloodline. I might be able to do it permanently, or it might only last a little while, it’s an untested idea so there isn’t.” Doomweaver gives an answer, but the rest aren’t sure they like it.

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Witchcraft has a poor reputation among many practitioners.

Hordsson takes the list of locations from Cook. He uses a wax pen to mark each on the glass that protects the map. Auns stands back to analyze the options available.

“We can probably work something out.” Auns folds his arms. “But I’m not so sure how helpful I’ll be with this.”

“Probably no less so than me,” Hordsson grumbles.

Kazuriene goes and helps Doomweaver collect samples of blood and tissue from the still preserved corpse of Marion Durandal. They place them in a little glass bowl and carry it over to a black stone table on a far wall. Doomweaver directs Kazuriene through the process to follow her theory of the tie between blood and person.

The cleric and witch converse animatedly over this idea they share. They debate the use of incense, and settle on lighting a stick of ginger to promote their success. Most of their other choices available on hand are more commonly used for repelling evil spirits, which would be exactly the opposite of their goal in promoting a magical tie between the blood of a person and the blood of the vampire that turned them.

Doomweaver grinds a bit of hematite into the blood while Kazuriene chants in Elven. Light vanishes from the little bowl, turning it black from the lack of anything reflected back. Kazuriene finishes her chant, and the pair take the bowl back over to the map.

Meanwhile, Romorith, Auns, and Hordsson discuss options for how to make use of the blood and the map. They work something out with Romorith creating the illusion that the map is the city itself. Hordsson and Auns discuss the use of two different tracking spells to find the owner of the blood or the source of the blood with a debate on semantics.

“Okay,” Doomweaver states, “I think this will last at least long enough to get something useful.”

The rest of the team jumps to work. Romorith builds the illusion, and it works almost better than expected. She focuses on the locations that are on the list. Miniature buildings spring from the surface of the glass, complete with smoke from tiny chimneys.

Hordsson sticks a furry finger in the blood and stone mixture. He smears it over his eyelids, and stares intently at the map. His unwavering focus is fit to bore a hole through the glass, the table, and the floors below.

Auns does not himself touch the vital fluid filled with grit. He lifts but one hand, gesturing toward the table delicately. Drops of it leave the bowl, holding onto their greater darkness, and separate into a fine mist. The cloud of mist floats above the map.

Hordsson continues to stare, while he wordlessly reaches for the wax pencil. Around the same time that he makes a decision, the mist starts to settle onto the table. It filters down through the little transparent buildings that are hardly more than a texture on the surface of the glass.

Auns drops his arm and relaxes.

“It’s done,” he says with a shrug. “We’ll see if it works when Ulfrik’s finished.”

“That’s it.” Hordsson circles one of the locations with the wax pencil.

Everyone else looks at the vague dark smear over the surface. Auns shrugs in response to their confusion, and beings to wipe the grime away. As he wipes the blood from the glass, it cleans away easily until he gets to the spot Hordsson circled. There the blood sticks, immobile.

“Looks like we both agree,” Hordsson grins.

“Let’s get this to Alton as soon as possible.” Cook writes down the address and tacks it to the forehead of the fastest skeletal message runner they have, brushing past Trageser and Durandal with the news on his way. With any luck, Alton will see it and get to the location before the vampire moves.