“I'm rather impressed you didn't feed on her while you had the chance.”

“There's a compliment somewhere in there, I'm sure.” Renoir rolled his eyes, not that Celestia would be able to fully appreciate it. Much of his eyes were crimson and black swirls, which made it very difficult to determine where he was looking, and almost impossible to detect any sort of movement. “Really, you think I just bite every drunk woman who offers herself to me?”

“Either way, you have the beginnings of a hickey.” Celestia tapped a hoof to her own neck to show Renoir where his was. He gave her a flat look, but ran a hand over the area, which was still wet. He pulled out a polishing rag and went over the mark a few times to finish drying it. “But, seriously, our vampires wouldn't have passed up such a chance.”

“For Tamriellic vampires, myself included, feeding is nothing short of euphoric, though sadly suffers from diminishing returns.” He looked half-dead for a moment, remembering how long about his last rush had been. For most vampires, it doesn't take long to develop a tolerance, which meant they had to drink more and more to get any satisfaction. Eventually, it goes form something enjoyable, an unparalleled joy, to fending off pain. “But I'm not going to risk hurting someone when there's no guarantee it'll stave off my hunger.”

“And here I thought blood was blood.” Celestia allowed herself a nervous chuckle, seeing how irritated Renoir looked as he made his case. She recalled, long ago, how vampires acted when they went too long without indulging their abhorrent nature. Many could not go more than a month without reverting to raving beasts in equine form. “My little ponies seem to be somewhat like you humans; I figured there'd be at least some temptation.”

“Not for another few days, there won't.” Renoir was going on a month without feeding, and it felt like someone was twisting a large knife in his gut. His age helped him, having the better part of a century under his belt; a newly transformed vampire would have found that time insufferable. It would be another week at best before Renoir would be willing to bite a pony. At worst, he would snap sometime the next day, which was almost a guarantee if he had to go outside. “Though, it almost sound like you want me to head back to Twilight's room, hold Fluttershy down, and drink until I'm only slightly thirsty.”

“That could not be farther from the truth!” Celestia seemed outraged at the thought, but the way Renoir delivered his words made it obvious he was joking, albeit in a rather grim manner. She shot the man a death glare as he started laughing. Neither of them had the chance to keep up their little game; both felt a slight chill as a pair of Lunar Guards ran past. A straggler followed the duo, and broke of to speak with them.

“Your Majesty, we have an emergency in the Midnight Market,” She said, huffing. This one was female, with bat-like wings. She was obviously winded; the Market was halfway across Canterlot, and she must have been flying as fast as she could. “There've been two murders.”

“Reports for serious crimes are every six hours, and midnight was twenty minutes ago.” Celestia looked worried, and she looked at Renoir like she expected him to know something about this. When he shrugged, she returned her gave to the smaller mare. “Are the changelings involved?”

“Your Majesty, I'm afraid it's what you've always told us to keep an eye out for.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Springs kept staring at the pair of sheets, wondering what in all that was holy what had happened to them. It took a moment to find the other body; from what he could gather, the second victim was the first's father-in-law. Both bodies were where they had been discovered, though only one's sheet was any bloodier than it had been when first placed. “What the hell did he do to you?” Springs asked the corpse, sincerely hoping he didn't respond.

The first victim, a stallion by the name of Joyous Pathos, didn't have a drop of blood left in his body, and seemed to have been killed either by blood loss or the neck injury. Whatever the case, two pinpricks on his neck were the only indicator that he had done anything other than pass in his sleep, if one ignored the fact his head was on backwards. Springs shivered, but didn't know why. Was it fear? Disgust? Grief? He couldn't tell, but he knew he felt some combination of those three.

Murders happened in Canterlot, just like in Manehatten and Fillydelphia. But this was unheard of. Pathos may have been killed cleanly, but he wasn't the first to die. Apparently, the second victim, an older stallion by the name of Wary Glimmer, had gotten between the killer and his son-in-law. What was left of him was dragged into the bedroom before Pathos was killed, but the confrontation happened at the top of the staircase, which nicely explained the stain on the wall. Springs shook his head again; nothing, nothing about this could be summed up nicely.

Three voices came from downstairs, very faint, but two were recognizable. The princesses had arrived, and brought somepony with them. Hopefully, and Springs was really hoping, this newcomer would be a specialist at this sort of thing, despite the odds. Princess Celestia was the first through the door, followed by Princess Luna. The newcomer, who was the other biped from across the garden portal, was the last to enter, his face concealed by an ivory mask; Springs could only tell it was him because of his black armor. He looked around, tracing the line of blood up the stairs, and settling on the large stain on the wall.

“I already don't like the looks of this,” He said, sounding tired. He seemed to scan the entire area, but his mask thoroughly hid his eyes' movement. “Where's the wife?”

“At the hospital,” Springs answered from the second floor. Sweet Caramel was her name, and she was understandably indisposed, having just seen her father and husband murdered. His words gave him the newcomer's attention, and he could practically feel his eyes burning holes thought him.

“I take it you're the one in charge here?” He asked, actually needing the information. He needed to know who he was replacing, and get any leads he or she may have had on the vampire's possible location.

“More or less, yes.” Springs's eyes stayed on him as he started up the stairs. That mask of his was creepy enough, but when added to his silent walking, it was unnerving. Even the third step from the top, which had creaked every time somepony climbed the stairs, stayed quiet for him. He stopped just a few steps from Springs, and looked to the princesses on the first floor.

“I can handle this from here, princess; this is what I was raised to do.” With a flat look, Celestia complied, but Luna remained where she stood. She stamped her hoof twice, dismissing the other guards. Springs, having been the first to arrive, was exempted, and was required to remain. With a beat of her wings, she cleared the entire floor, and landed across form Renoir. “Well, as long as Celestia is gone, I can work.”

With that, he pulled of that creepy mask, and Springs immediately wished he'd kept it on. His eyes were what first drew his attention. For the short moment he observed them, they seemed to look everywhere at once, and lacked every feature used to discern where his gaze fell. Then, in that instant, he took notice of Springs's inquisition, and smiled. It looked much the same as the murderer's scowl, but marginally nicer.

“I take it the victims are this way?” He asked, already stepping into the master bedroom. Once inside, Renoir ignored the nearest body, the one belonging to Wary Glimmer, and instead focused on Joyous Pathos's. He pulled the sheet back just as Luna and Springs approached, hoping for something other than what he saw. He used two fingers to part the fur around the punctures marring his neck, and inspected them as a hunter might a print in the dirt. The corner of his mouth curled up, revealing a fang that was not unlike those Springs had seen on the killer.

“So, it is as we feared,” Luna said, sounding worried and resigned to the truth. Vampires were either back, or had been in hiding for a very long time, and she knew her sister had supposedly purged them during her absence. Regardless of the answer, this was a very dire situation, especially if they were to spread their taint. “Are you ready to hunt your kin?”

“My kin are dead, and it was vampires who killed them.” Renoir's face went from a scowl to a sick, predatory smile. This was the sort of thing he lived for, what he had devoted his life and undeath to, and now he was on unblemished hunting grounds. “I was raised to be a vampire slayer, and becoming a vampire hasn't changed that.” He turned his head to look at Springs, knowing he wouldn't be able to tell otherwise. He extended a hand. “My name is Renoir Belmont.”

“Bitter Springs,” He replied, shaking the offered limb. Vampires were stories, but now everything was coming together. The fangs, the eyes, the unholy strength, it was all starting to make sense. He was eager to defend Equestria, but that didn't mean he trusted Renoir, despite the obvious faith the princesses had in him. “Let's get to work, with your blessing, Your Highness.”

“Of course.” Luna looked stern, but her voice remained kind. This was going to be a long night, perhaps longer than she could accurately anticipate. Renoir stood and walked over to the broken window, scanning the alley for anything he could possibly use to track the mystery vampire. His eyesight shifted from what he considered normal, to the more brighter vision his eyes granted him. Everything kept much to the same pattern as the rest of the district, though one thing immediately stood out to him. It was a dark disk imbedded in the ground, a manhole cover like those found in larger cities.

“That leads to the sewer, right?” He asked, pointing to the metal plate.

“Yes, but you'd need a bar to open it.” At Springs's words, Renoir jumped through the window, landing softly. He walked to the cover, and as he suspected, saw scratches on the ground. Obviously, the vampire had opened it, climbed to the surface, walked around for a bit while checking doors, killed his victims, then fled back down the hole, pulling the cover as he went. He saw the hole meant for the bar, and stuck two of his fingers in just as Luna and Springs arrived.

“Need a bar, eh?” He asked the stallion as he pulled the iron cover up, tossing it to the side. The air that wafted from the sewers was just as one might expect: awful. It was hot, wet, and smelled like a thousand burning diapers, but that was just Springs's humble opinion. “Next time, remember that a pony who can rip someone up like that can probably lift a manhole cover, too.” Catching a whiff, Renoir waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get rid of the smell. “Gods, that stinks.”

“You're telling me,” Luna agreed, looking at the dark, dank hole in the ground with uncertainty. She wasn't scared of the undead that may have awaited them below, but rather getting the stink out of her coat once all was said and done. She looked to Renoir to be the first to go in, and he looked back with an unamused expression on his face.

“Alright; see you on the other side.” With that, he jumped into the murky abyss, perfectly capable of seeing. He landed with the splashing of water and the shouting of profanity. After a moment, it appeared as though he lit a torch, showing just how deep the hole was. Springs, swallowing the lump in his throat, followed suit. After a moment of hesitation, Luna took the plunge, her larger frame only barely slipping through the narrow opening. She assumed it was oddly narrow, anyway. “You two certainly took your time, didn't you?”

“Neat fire spell.” Springs took a moment appreciate the lighting, courtesy of the small, bright flames wreathing Renoir's fists. He did not know they were for anything but illumination, but reasoned they could also prove deadly melee weapons “But, no, we took as much time as we needed.”

“And with all that, you're still a little late,” A feminine voice echoed from down the long corridor. There stood a pony, wrapped in a cloak that only allowed them to see her semi-glowing, crimson eyes.