Marseilles was a beautiful city, though like many European cities, it subscribed to the 'densely packed' school of architecture. The stone buildings practically climbed on top of each other as they marched up the sides of the hill that the city was built into, and the roads were so narrow and parking at such a premium, that most people drove their little cars up onto the sidewalks to park.
Those few who had cars in working condition, that was. Petrol was hard to find these days--as James well knew--and working car parts even more so. There were many vehicles that looked to
have been abandoned in place for years, if not centuries. Rusting hulks barely recognizable anymore as vehicles hunched in place on the sidewalks, slowly flaking apart.
At this time of night, the roads were virtually empty, but the cobblestones and cracks in the road made it impossible for him to open up his motorcycle and go quickly. As a result, James was forced to take in a lot of the sights, whether he wanted to or not.
Closer to the water, things widened out a bit and he was able to speed up, the purr of the engine practically swallowed by the susurration of the sea. The famous Old Port was a wide harbour filled with little boats and bordered with a quaint boulevard. Presiding over the mouth of the port, on a spit of land that extended out into the Mediterranean Sea, was a smallish castle-like building, though James happened to know it was actually a fort.
Someone had taken up residence there. As James passed by the area on his way to the local police headquarters where his contact was supposed to be, he saw that several of the windows were lit with what looked like the warm glow of lamplight.
Perhaps that was the reason why there were hardly any people on the streets. Those who were out right now, after sunset, moved with a rapid pace and furtive, frightened expressions. But James Grim scarcely noticed the oppressive weight of fear that had settled on the ancient city--he was too used to it.
No one ever invited a vampire hunter to a town that didn't have a vampire, after all.
There was a single lamp hung outside the door to the police station, the flame dancing merrily inside its glass cage. It could have been seen as a beacon of welcome to the city's saviour, but James saw its more practical purpose as he knocked on the heavy steel door and a small metal trapdoor slid aside to reveal one frightened brown eye.
It was there so they'd be able to see his face.
"Sorry!" the voice said, muffled by the intervening door. "We're not open right now."
James tilted his hat back slightly so the man on the other side could see his face, too pale, angular, framed with black hair and set with startling blue eyes. "The names James Grim," he said. "I was sent." His French was articulate, but accented from his British heritage.
Clearly he was understood, though, because the eye widened fractionally and the window was shut with a clang. James folded his arms and waited, listening as the heavy bolts were slid aside before the door swung open. A painfully young-looking police constable regarded him for a moment. "Um, you're the hunter?" he asked nervously.
"I don't carry the stakes and silver knife for nothing," Grim replied. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
The young man ducked his head and stepped back. "O-of course, please come in."
James smiled and stepped into the lobby area, removing his wide-brimmed hat and shaking out his long black hair, before looking up and glancing around. There were only two other people in the room besides him--the constable who'd let him in, and a middle-aged heavy-set man with the uniform of a highly-placed officer.
"Police Chief Doucette, I presume?" Grim asked, stepping forward with a faint smile to shake the officer's hand.
It was then that they saw his fangs.
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