"He was tall?" Everyone is tall when you're four-foot-seven. Cooper is tall as far as Joscelin is concerned. "God's wounds, Cooper, it was two o'clock in the morning off some alleyway. I wasn't looking for distinguishing features."

He feels distinctly uncomfortable sitting here. Asking for help is already completely unlike him; watching the other vampire phoning his contacts like a detective in a bloody television show does very little for his already delicate ego. It makes him even pricklier than usual. "It was the night Millicent died. That's all I remember. Surely, even a fucking saint like yourself has been blood-mad before." It had been his first kill in seventy years. Of course he would have gone a bit overboard with it.