In some professions, the microscope holds a world swimming on the slide. Tiny organisms, brimming with the life force, thronged and floated in the bright circle. In other professions, the slide held only the static pattern of magnified death.

The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds, marking time and solitude. It was evening and everyone in the lab had gone home. Everyone but Henry Morgan.

Henry winced and straightened his back.

His was the silent, still world. It suited him, the quiet, thorough work, and he was good at it. Sometimes he thought about retiring, but then how would he fill his endless days and where would he go to study the absence of life? Getting yourself killed for science was a young man's game.

His phone buzzed on the desk in his office. He switched off the microscope and went through. "Hello, Abe. I'm late for supper again, aren't I?"

His voice still held the lilt of green valleys long ago and far away. Two centuries of life and travel hadn't stifled that, any more than it had changed his bright brown eyes or full head of brown curly hair.

Abe said, "It's in the warmer. I'll wait for the food, but I've started on the wine."

Henry laughed. "I'll be home in half an hour."

"It's good wine," said Abe. "Suit yourself, but when it's gone, it's gone."

Henry ended the call. On his desk was a fold of paper, torn from his own jotter pad. Neat, stiff handwriting adorned the back of it: his name. He ripped it open.

Henry. Dropped by but I can see you're up to your neck in it. Thanks for your work today. Jo.

That was nice. He liked that she let him work. She must have seen him in the lab and purposely not bothered him. The note was typically direct. He liked that too.

The note went into his coat.

He filed away the latest slide and updated his case notes: inconclusive. The victim had been perfectly healthy at time of death, and the trace evidence at the crime scene had given them no motive for what was obviously murder. Henry knew that this was only the latest of these deaths, though others had gone to other MEs around the state.

"No joy," said Jo Martinez, leaning in the medical examination room doorway.

"I wouldn't say that," said Henry. He smiled at her.

Slight, dark and fierce, Jo was his unofficial NYPD partner. She was brutally efficient, fearless in a fight, and liked to tease Henry about his solitary lifestyle. And she was very beautiful, not that she appreciated his comments to that effect.

"What have you got?" she asked, coming in, all business.

Henry indicated the spread of paperwork on his desk. "My report isn't ready yet."

"In a word. Come on, Henry. You must have a theory."

Her dark eyes were daring him to say what the whole department had been whispering since the latest victim was found. "All right. If you insist. Deliberate exsanguination."

He paused for dramatic effect, but Jo was too down to earth to make Dracula jokes. "Why?"

"I don't know. But most of the blood was removed from the scene. My best theory is that this is the world of an individual or group with a vampire fixation. They're trying to emulate the supposed behaviour of bloodsuckers."

"Sick," said Jo. "Plus, did nobody tell them that vampires are not real?" She perched on the edge of his desk, grimacing at the crime scene snaps.

Henry shrugged. "I suppose not. There is a thriving subculture of would be blood drinkers."

"There is?" Her eyes widened. "Here in New York."

He loved to surprise her. "Not three blocks from here is a very exclusive club where various blood types can be ordered by the glass." He watched her reaction, disgust fighting the cynical mask she wore at work.

"Grim." She wrinkled her nose.

"Yes. But it might be worth talking to some of the regulars. If demand is high, somebody might be trying to make a fast buck."

She smiled. "That phrase just doesn't work in British." She slid down from his desk. "You just finishing up?"

"Yes. Abe has dinner ready." He hesitated. "Care to join us?"

Two strikes: this time her surprise was complete. "I, uh, I couldn't."

"Of course you could. We'd be delighted." Henry slipped on his coat and wound his scarf around his neck. "In this weather, one of Abe's pot roasts is just what's called for."

"Well -"

"Excellent. I'll call Abe on the way, let him know."