57

You hesitate, and as you do you can see the woman's eyes start to glaze over. You're more hungry than you usually are, but the urge is not so great that you can't fight it. "Something wrong with your food?" Bouchard asks from behind, startling you. His voice is muffled behind his mask.

"She knows where she is," you say. "She's afraid."

"Don't like the way fear makes them taste? When I was a neonate I couldn't afford to be that picky." Bouchard pulls his mask up, revealing his long, curved fangs before biting down on his own victim's neck. You can hear him sucking deeply as the mortal goes slack in his claws.

You hand the woman back to the well-dressed thugs. "How long has she been used?" you ask. "Her memory's been wiped?"

The man nods uncomfortably. "We're just doing what we're told. And keeping our mouths shut, don't worry. She'll be sent home next week. Her family believes she's in protective custody. On-line stalker or something."

The man nods awkwardly and tips his hat. "Thank you ma'am," he says as he hands the woman off to be taken out of the meeting room. "Just doing what we can to serve. Put in a good word for us with the Sheriff?"

You nod noncommittally. There's probably not much point in pursuing the conversation. You hear Qui call out for another interviewee from the side room—it looks like you'll be here for a while yet.