Arnett Hartwell

The Conclave Arnett Hartwell

It seemed like all we did anymore was supernatural crap. As soon as people got word I'd brought a vamp on as a partner, they started coming out of the woodwork with bizarre requests. One lady wanted us to prove her husband was turning into a werewolf once a month. Better that than admit he was probably having an affair, which he was. Unfortunately, we'd had several legitimate paranormal cases, too. There was a family whose teenage daughter was sneaking out at night to see her teenage-looking boyfriend. Luckily, the vamp was over three hundred years old, and we got to turn that one over to the DA as a case of statutory rape. His punishment had yet to be decided, but he was sure staying the hell away from sixteen-year-old girls. For now, anyway. The courts were arguing between sending the pedi-vamp to some sort of dark hole for a few months or just killing him. Of course, he'd been changed in his mid-thirties. I couldn't help but wonder if it might have been different if he'd been turned as a teenager himself. It'd be interesting to see what the courts had to say about that.