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"Hey there."

"Hey where?" Victor said, arching an eyebrow, and turning to face the man who'd hailed him. As Tulé had promised The Last Candle was an excellent inn - and he was thoroughly enjoying his dinner.

"Would you be the one called Angel?"

"I might be."

"We're having a problem."

"And who are we, and who are you?"

"I'm Elder Hasteings. A member of the council."

"So the 'we' would be the council, then?"

"Yes."

"And what could Victor do to help that?" The councilman raised a brow, and looked confused.

"What can I do to help you, Elder?" asked Victor kicking Shaper under the table.

"You may have noticed that there are scorch marks about the town."

"Yes."

"Well, fires have been starting mysteriously, and we can't seem to track down who is lighting them."

"Are you sure that they were lit?"

"Yes - some of these places there was no way a fire could have started. And others the fire burned like no fire should."

Angel took a drink from his mug, and swallowed thoughtfully.

"We realize that you're a busy man, and we'd gladly pay you for your time."

This time Shaper kicked Victor under the table, and raised his eyebrows expectantly. The dark haired drifter made a shushing motion at the youth.

"Of course, elder," Victor said. "Fires can be dangerous, and eventually it might not be so damp." He gestured to the rain that had started mid afternoon. He held up a finger. "I have to warn you though, I can't promise I'll find the problem. I'm not infallible. I'm just lucky."

"Thank you." The Councilman stood and walked away. The serving maid came by the table and refilled their mugs.

"You didn't even ask how much!" Shaper muttered.

"It doesn't matter."

"What makes you so altruistic. I know how little money you have."

"I don't like house fires, okay?" he snarled, frowning at his companion.

"Alright... sheesh."

The waitress came by with a tray, which she gathered their empty dishes onto. Then she dropped a note. Victor looked at it, and the smooth thick handwriting on it, labeling it for him. The waitress walked away as if she wasn¹t even aware that she'd done it. Lighting a clove, Victor opened the note, and read it. Inside were a few more lines of that smooth handwriting. It seemed familiar. Victor - I will be waiting for you tonight - there is something of yours I must return, and it is time we properly met - Love, Amlthea

"Huh," muttered Victor, stuffing the note in his pocket.

That night, when he opened the door to his rented room, there was someone waiting for him, sitting on the bed. It was a young woman, who, standing would probably be a few inches taller than he was. She was slim, but well proportioned. Her feet were bare, and the toenails polished a delicate shell pink to match her eyes, lips and fingernails. Her hands were folded nearly in her lap. White hair that looked as soft as poured milk, trailed over her shoulders. She was barely dressed at all, wearing nothing but a few yards of semi-translucent veil, sprigged with small flowers. She smiled a little in a soft, friendly and beautiful way. Victor shut the door behind him, then turned to face her again.

"So you'd be Amlthea."

The white figure nodded, and shyly extended something to him. He took it, and the weight seemed familiar in his hand. It was his gun. He looked at her in surprise. Amlthea put her hands over her heart and smiled, extending them towards him.

"Can't you talk?"

She shook her head, and tapped her throat.

"Something wrong with your voice box, then?"

A nod.

Victor sighed, and sat down in the room's chair heavily. "Well then. Do you mind if I call you Amy?"

She shook her head, smiling again in a soft, pleasant way.

"Well how did you get this, Amy?"

She thought for a moment, then pantomimed something folding in on itself. Pointing at the empty air below that, she tapped herself on the chest, between her breasts. Victor had a bit of difficulty peeling his eyes away from that, and settled on looking at her face. Amy's face was even whiter than his, and her eyes were pink. Her hair was white, though, so he presumed that she was simply an albino.

"You were under the house when it collapsed?" he asked not quite sure if that's what she meant. She nodded congenially, smiling a little again. Then she tapped her chest again, and then her temple, pointed at the gun, then at Victor. He mentally translated that.

"You knew I'd want it back?"

She nodded.

"I'm still not sure how you did that though."

She sighed deeply, and looked into his eyes for a moment. Then she ran her tongue over her lips, and pulled her upper lip away from her teeth. Or rather her fangs. No human ever sported dental endowments like that. She touched her chest again, and shook her head, putting her fingers to her lips.

"You didn't want any secrets?"

She nodded.

"Well Amy, I appreciate you bringing my gun back, but now I'm not sure why."

Amy bit her lip shyly and brought her fist to her chest, and pointed to Victor. He raised an eyebrow and she sighed softly and stood. Raising a forbearing finger at him, she walked forward, and leaned over, veil slipping in distracting ways, putting his head between her hands, she kissed him on the lips. Deeply, leaving no room for mistakes why she had been following him. A few breathless moments later, he pulled away.

"You... You think you're in love with me?"

She sighed and nodded, settling in, sitting straddling his lap, arms draped around his shoulders.

"Well if that's not irony I don't know what is - but I don't think tha - " She cut him off with another kiss, even deeper and longer than the one before. He kissed back, lost in a world that none of his problems existed in, if only for a moment. Where all that mattered was the slender body pressed up against him, and the tender way her lips and tongue were exploring his. Victor put his gun down on the bedside table, and let himself dream again.

Amy curled up against Victor's chest, carefully. She had briefly brushed up against the small silver cross he wore, and bore a mark as pink as her eyes on her shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled - then yawned displaying her fangs.

"How long have you been following me?" he asked.

She thought about it for a moment, then made a sweeping motion with her arms to indicate the passing of the moon, then held up three fingers. He raised his eyebrows.

"Three months?" At last his mind made a connection. "You... they weren't dreams were they?"

Amy gave a small secret smile and shook her head.

"Well, at least I'm not going nutty." He ran his fingers over the scorch on her shoulder. "How did you avoid this before?" She sighed, and took his hand, running it over a few patches of skin - and sure enough, the skin there was a little bit rougher than the rest, as if something had not quite healed there.

"Ah."

Amy snuggled down again, indicating that it was quite nice not to have to sneak away afterwards. Victor lay back and closed his eyes too.

The next morning, Victor awoke. He'd requested an inside room so he could sleep as late as he wanted to, and now he was glad, with Amy curled up next to him, in the sound, half-dead sleep of a vampire. He sat up on the edge of the bed, and groaned softly, then stood and went over to the washstand, where he splashed water onto himself.

"Hey Victor!" called Shaper, as he opened the door.

"Shaper..." growled Victor, who wasn't wearing anything other than his cross.

"Whoah," Shaper said, blushing a little. "Sorry... thought you were ready for breakfast!" He turned around.

"Have you heard of knocking?" growled Victor, grabbing his pack and pulling out a clean pair of pants.

"Yup, that's what my knees do when we go up against the deamons of the untamed wilderness."

"Harde-har-har."

"By the way - who is the babe?"

"Huh?" Victor glanced back at Amlatha. Like this, she looked like some prefect statue in white marble. If anyone ever did sleeping sculptures. "Oh... a new friend."

"How do you do that?" demanded Shaper plaintively.

"Natural talent." Finished dressing except for his belts, Victor reached over and tugged the sheets up to cover her completely - well except for her head.

"You do know she's a vampire right?"

"I'm not so egotistical as that." Victor snorted. "Now, where's that 'do not disturb' sign?"

"On the door knob," Shaper replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Ah. So you can read, you just choose to ignore it." Angel grabbed his belts and threw them over one shoulder.

"More or less. Come on, we've got a job to do!"

"What do you mean we, white man?"

Their first stop was the Town Council Hall, where Victor got papers that gave him the right to poke around just about anywhere, provided he could prove within reasonable doubt that it had something to do with his investigations. The first thing he should do is visit the sites of the fires.

A lot of investigation is just that, solid work, going over what's been gone over and seeing something that was there all along but no one noticed it. Very rarely is it pulling facts from no where like a fictional detective. But there is a good deal of comparing what just happened with how the world has been known to work.

"It's just ashes," said Shaper doubtfully. "In this case, ashes in a hole."

Victor bit his lip to keep from saying something infantile, and kept looking. There was something here, he was sure. He pulled out the sheaf of papers, and consulted them.

"Alright, this was a theater. Caught on fire during a show. Six dead presumed during the panic, and several more caught in the blaze - total death toll fifteen. Not bad for a crowded theater. Could have been much worse."

"Really?"

"Yup." He looked over the lot again. "But it shouldn't have burned this far down. There should be some standing timbers - or the houses next door should have caught." He lit his clove, and waved a hand at the surrounding buildings. They were scorched and blackened - but still standing. "The kind of fire that would do this to the theater would have caught that." He pushed bangs out of his eyes. "I smell a rat."

"Cooked, doubtless."

"You are such a schmuck."

Victor wiped ashes off his boots and frowned. Not one clue, every sight of fires were; nothing but lots of ashes. In once place there was someone trying desperately to rebuild, but accidents kept plaguing the sites. Something was bugging him about it. Someone put hands over his eyes. Without thinking, he reached up, grabbed the persons wrists and flung them forward over his head. Amy twisted in midair and landed neatly on her feet, looking quite shocked.

"Oh..." Victor blinked, turning around to look behind him, then back at her. "Sorry, I guess... don't sneak up on me."

Amy shrugged good naturedly and took a seat beside him.

"So why are you hanging around me again?" Victor asked, remembering that the last time he asked that question, the world had gotten very complicated and they'd been distracted. He began wiping ashes off his boots again.

Amy sighed hugely, and rested her chin on her palm, leaning on the table. Shaper ambled up.

"Oh hi - you'd be Amy?"

She nodded.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Shaper." They shook as Victor finished cleaning off his boots. "So what now, oh great and mighty investigator?"

"Buggered if I know," Victor shrugged. "There's no sign of how the fires started, because here's nothing there. That in itself is suspicious." He reached into his pouch and pulled out the sheaf of papers again, then spread them out on the table.

"What are you doing?" asked Shaper.

"I'm looking for connections between the fires."

Amy picked up a few pieces of paper, and ran her eyes over them thoughtfully.

"Can you see anything Amy?"

She shook her head, flipping a piece of paper over. She thoughtfully tapped it.

"What's the matter?"

Amy mimed a pen, and Victor passed one over. In the margins on one of the papers she wrote "I think something's missing here." Victor leaned over, and read the paragraph she had written that next to.

"...the home of Mrs. Joyce Betterson and son. Joyce did not escape the flames, while her son did."

He quickly scanned the rest of the document.

Amy tapped the paper and held up one finger.

"This is the first fire you say?"

Nod.

"...What happened to her son?"

They walked through the town, Amy getting some odd looks for her attire, or rather lack of it. She held her head high and ignored it.

"Have you ever considered at least wearing underwear?" asked Shaper.

She whirled quickly, and smacked Shaper across the back of the head.

"Okay, okay," he capitulated. "Forget I said anything!"

"This is it," Victor said comparing the street address with the address he'd been given. "Cayce Abot, local hedge-witch took the child in until his out of town relatives could be contacted." He flipped a few paged and frowned. "That's odd, says here it was tabled and not brought up again."

"That sort of thing happens," Shaper said with a shrug.

"Yeah, it does," Victor admitted. The yard around the house was small, and well trimmed, with a thick herbal border.

"You two stay here," Victor directed just outside the gate. "This shouldn't take too long." As he walked up the path, Victor pinched out his clove and tucked the butt into his pocket. Then he knocked. After a few moments, a middle aged man, his thick brown hair shot through with many grey hairs came to the door. He was dressed in a shirt and breeches with an embroidered vest unfastened over it. Victor wondered if it could be fastened, as the vest had the look of age about it, which meant it quite possibly might have been made before this man grew his current paunch.

"Hello, I'm looking for Cayce Abot?"

"I'm Cayce Abot, what is it?"

"I'm Angel Shelly, the town has asked me to look into the fires."

"And what do you want to talk to me about?" asked the man.

"Well, two reasons," Victor said, smiling slightly in his best friendly way. "First, as you are the local hedge witch you may have noticed energy disruptions if the fires were started magically, and second, the records show that you've taken in the only survivor of any of the fires, a young Mr. Finn Betterson."

"Well, I suppose," Cayce muttered rubbing his chin. "Would you like to come in, Mr. Shelly?"

The only wall space that wasn't covered in shelves were the windows, and the windows had things tacked to the pane-struts. The beams of the ceiling hung with odds and ends. If Victor had been a bit taller he would have to duck as Cayce did. Despite the cluttering, the house was well organized and scrupulously clean.

"Finn!" called the hedge witch. "Someone is here to see you." From a door that Victor had barely noticed came a tiny boy. He looked malnourished in that skinny boyish way, with eyes half the size of his face. Cold solemn grey eyes, half hidden behind scraggly blond tendrils of bangs.

"You have to understand Mr. Shelly, that Finn doesn't talk too much. He hasn't since he came here. I think it may have been losing his mother."

"That's alright." Victor smiled at the child with genuine emotion. "Hello."

Finn blinked a few times but didn't answer.

"I'm Angel, I understand your name is Finn."

"'es," he said softly.

"Speak up, boy," Abot prompted.

"Yes," he repeated.

"Can you tell me about your mother?"

"She's dead," Finn said.

"How did she die?"

"She burned. In the house." He paused and pushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"Oh... how are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you remember how the fire started?"

Finn's eyes, already looking huge, got bigger, swallowing all the light, irises turning almost white, as pale as his skin.

"And now you've upset him," Cayce sighed, moving, and putting his hands on the child's shoulders, turning him, and heading him into the kitchen, "I'll be back in a moment." Sure enough, before a full minute passed, Cayce appeared back in the sitting room. "I'm afraid you've upset him, Mr. Shelly - his escape from the fire was a near thing."

"I hope I don't cause any offense," Victor said rising. "Though I must say it's a testimony to your skill that he's so well, seeing as his escape was so close." Cayce blinked confused. "Well, I'd best be off," Victor said, shaking the hedge-witch's hand. "I have a few more stops to make this evening."