WHO: Amadeus Lazarus & Ariel Lee Underwood WHEN: June 29, Later In the Night WHERE: The Haven of Alex Caine WHAT: A Primogen has been murdered so of course it falls into the Sheriff’s lap to deal with it. WARNINGS: Blood, Gore, Murder...you know the usual suspects. STATUS: Complete.
There were reasons that very few people knew where Amadeus’s haven was and even more reasons why it was warded so that only certain people could pass into it. One of those reasons was so that he couldn’t be disturbed. Amadeus was never a fan of being woken up during the day. He could, of course, with the use of magic decide to stay awake during the day and sometimes did when he was obsessively working on something but that was not the case today. He had been happily intertwined with Ariel in his bed sleeping like the dead he was when the calls had started.
By the time Amadeus had finally woken up enough to answer the call it was closer to dusk but still light enough out that there wasn’t much he could do until the sun finished setting. Especially when they had little clue as to who had been murdered. Someone had been sent to make sure the Prince was safe and since it turned out that he was, they had to wait until they had something more before they could act.
The Malkavian who had called—one of the newer ones to town, Devan, the one Leo had asked about—didn’t even know if it had happened yet. The fact that it had disturbed several other Malks within the city suggested that it had already had. So they waited until finally someone found a dead body. Then it was off to see what had happened, the Sheriff taking along Ariel since he had been the closet Hound at hand.
Amadeus wished very much that no one had found who it was. Then he wouldn’t be having to deal with this.
The Ventrue Primogen was dead. Killed in his own haven and not easily from the looks of things as Amadeus was pretty sure all that blood was his and that it wasn’t a redecorating choice on Alex’s part. He had been found by his human thralls when he never appeared after the sunset.
“I should have worn different shoes,” the Sheriff muttered as he noted all the tacky, not yet dry blood on the floor that he was stepping in.