Fred Thursday smelled vampire as soon as he walked into the station that morning. The odor, sickly sweet, clung to every orifice until even the smells of fifteen other men, coffee, and paperwork faded away completely.

Thursday sniffed as discreetly as possible. He could always blame it on a cold if anyone asked, but he still liked to be careful about it. The scent was strong, and came from a previously unoccupied desk in the back of the room. Thursday made a beeline for it. He had to tell the vampire to get off his territory.

He approached the desk, but stopped in his tracks a few feet away. The vampire looked to be about thirty, with brownish-red hair and bright blue eyes. It struck Thursday that this vampire wasn't bloated, as it would be if it was anywhere close to being well-fed. He bristled. A starving vampire was worse than a full vampire in his opinion.

Thursday stomped forward and stopped before the vampire's desk. The bloodsucker sniffed discretely and glanced up. It looked boyish, like his son Sam, and innocent. It was underfed, though, and pale enough to show that. Light bags, just faint shadows, were under its eyes, but for all it was hungry, its eyes lacked no luster.

"What's your name?" Thursday growled, letting his brown eyes glow for a moment with the fierceness of his true nature.

"Morse, sir." The vampire sat innocently, waiting to be further addressed. Polite beasts they were, which Thursday was thankful for. He wasn't going to invite this bloodeater into his household, that was certain.

"My office. Now." Thursday entered his office and the vampire followed him. The DI sat behind his desk and pulled out his pipe. "All right, let's hear the spiel," he said while lighting his pipe.

The vampire, who had stood straight and still, now stood at attention. "Detective Constable Morse, sir. Transfer from the Carshall-Newton police."

Thursday allowed his eyes to become fierce again as he puffed his pipe. "Not that spiel, bloodsucker. Let's hear it."

The vampire-Morse-barely repressed a smile. "Oh, that's what werewolves smell like. I've never met one before. It's an honor to serve under you, Sir."

"Enough!" Thursday growled, standing immediately. The vampire shrank, curling his shoulders into his slender body. "You're hungry. I can tell you haven't fed in…what? Months? And you dare to come into my territory, threaten my family, the constables, sergeants, and every human within spitting distance? Why? You couldn't terrorize your own town anymore?"

"Sir, if I may," the vampire began meekly. "I'm not here to terrorize anyone, nor is my goal to…feed." He seemed to go slightly paler, and perhaps a little green, at the mention of that. "I decided to come down here to do police work. That's all."

Thursday backed off. The vampire had done the right thing in the face of a werewolf; he was showing a typical submission, one a werewolf might do to another of more experience or age. His eyes were downcast, his body made small, his hands hidden in his trouser pockets. Thursday had never met a vampire who ever showed him that much respect. He wasn't sure he believed what it had said, but he was impressed. "Get to it, then. Off you go." He waved a dismissing hand and walked back to his desk.

The vampire turned to go.

"Wait." Thursday said, seated at his desk. "What do you call yourself?"

"Morse, Sir," said the vampire, blinking in confusion at him.

"Right. Morse." Thursday took a few puffs of his pipe. "If you ever go back on your word, and I find someone dead, with the blood sucked clean out of them, rest assured I will break your bony little neck like glass. Am I clear?"

The vampire swallowed, looking just a little green at the mention of blood. "Yessir."

"Good. Off with you."

The vampire retreated, proverbial tail between its legs.

Thursday sat back in his chair and chewed on the end of his pipe. A vampire in Oxford. The first in over twenty years.

Well. He was due to retire in ten years, anyway. Vampires never stayed in one place for long.