Blood Debt (6 page)

“Now, you'll never know.”

The detective's words rang in his ears as Henry made his way down to his car. Vicki's scent remained a distraction, in the elevator, in the underground parking. It was the scent of another predator in his territory. It was also the scent of a women he'd loved.

Unfortunately, instinct kept insisting they were two different people.

He slid into the BMW and rested his head for a moment on the steering wheel. The difference in the scent that surrounded him and in the scent he remembered only served to remind him of how much he'd lost.

It took all of his strength, gathered and refined for over four hundred and fifty years, to drive away.

Leaving another vampire in control of his territory.

Leaving Vicki.

Tony showed them quickly around the apartment, then pulled his roller blades and helmet out of the hall closet. “It's getting late and I, uh, gotta go.” When Celluci's brows went up, he looked uncomfortable and said, “I'm staying with friends. Henry thought it would be safer, since Vicki's not used to waking up to a blood scent.”

“I'll still be here.”

“Oh, yeah. I, uh, guess he figures you can take care of yourself.”

“He's got it all figured out, doesn't he?” Celluci snorted. He watched Tony watch Vicki as she walked over to stand by the window and stare out at the city. It was the position Henry used to favor back in Toronto, and Celluci could tell by the recognition on Tony's face that it was still a position Henry favored. Maybe it was just a vampire thing—surveying territory, the hunter taking the high ground—but he hated it when Vicki reminded him of Henry.

“Henry's used to getting his own way.”

It took a moment for Celluci to realize that Tony's quiet statement was a reply to his rhetorical question. Before he could think of a response, Vicki turned from the window.

“You will be here tomorrow sunset, won't you?” she asked, her preference clear.

Startled but pleased, Tony nodded. “If you're sure you want me.”

“The last, and only time I was in Vancouver, I wasn't paying much attention to the city.” Wasn't paying much attention to anything except controlling the Hunger—she could remember the blood but little else. “If we're going to lay this spook, we're going to need someone who knows his way around.”

“There's a whole bunch of street maps and stuff on the dining room table,” he began, but Vicki cut him off.

“All a map'll tell us is where the streets are, not what they're about.” She folded her arms and leaned back against the glass. “Unless that high school diploma came with a blindfold and earplugs, I can't believe you don't know what's going on out there. You were my best eyes and ears on the street, Tony.”

Although he still looked pleased, he shrugged apologetically. “I'm not on the streets anymore.”

“You still see things. You still hear things. And you have a gift for connecting the dots.”

“For what?”

“For finding a pattern in apparent chaos.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Ears pink, he shoved aside the compliment, attempting, unsuccessfully, to hide how much it meant. “You want order out of chaos? Try being around Saturday afternoon when the Friday night videos come in. Look, I really gotta go, but I'll be back tomorrow sunset. A list of all the stupid questions Henry asked the spook's on the table with the maps. The number where I'll be staying and my work number's on the bulletin board by the phone. It's great to see you again, Victory.” He grinned, and some of his old, street kid cockiness showed in the expression. “You, too, Detective.”

He paused at the door, roller blades in one hand, helmet in the other, backpack hanging from one shoulder. “Henry doesn't like me keeping much food around, but there's frozen stuff in the freezer and a little store downstairs on the parking level if you're hungry. He's open until midnight.”

“Frozen stuff?” Vicki asked incredulously.

“Not for
you
, for Celluci.” He snickered and closed the door.

Attempting to banish a vision of Red Cross blood bags, tagged and stacked and frozen solid, Vicki went back to the window and its view of the city. Of Henry's territory.

“So.” Celluci propped one thigh on the back of the sofa. “Care to tell me why all the buttering up?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Vicki, this is me. Cut the crap.”

She shrugged without turning. “We need him. Tony knows the city. Knows more than we do, anyway.”

“And?”

“And maybe I didn't want to lose him, too. Henry is . . .

“Different?”

“No. He hasn't changed, I have. I know how I used to feel about him—it's all there, but I can't reach it. Friend, lover; they're just words. When I look at him, they don't mean anything. Henry was right, Mike. He was right and I was wrong, and on top of everything else . . .” Her words took on a familiar emphasis. “On top of everything else, I hate being wrong.”

Celluci touched the holes Vicki had made earlier in the green leather and decided not to mention his conversation with Henry.

Although his sunglasses blocked most of the light from oncoming traffic, Henry gladly turned off onto the unpaved access road and away from the constant irritation. Dropping his shades on the passenger seat, he leaned back and shook the tension out of his shoulders. He slowed slightly when, after a particularly vigorous dip in the road, his oil pan gently scraped against a protruding piece of the mountain.

He'd bought the 1976 BMW new, had coddled it through the salted winters in Toronto, and had no interest in replacing it. Most Vancouverites seemed to share his attitude. Since moving to B.C. he'd been constantly astonished by the number of twenty-year-old cars on the road—many with the original paint job still factory fresh. These were cars that back East had hit the junkyards long ago or were maintained by loving collectors but here, on the West Coast, were still being driven daily. Once or twice, while looking out at the city, Henry'd almost forgotten what decade it was.

He slowed still further as a raccoon, apparently indifferent to tons of speeding steel, crossed his headlight beam in a stately waddle. Familiar with raccoons as urban animals, it surprised him to see this one so far out in the country. They were all over Vancouver, were tame enough in Stanley Park to beg for handouts, and Vicki'd even had a family of them living in the attic of her three-story apartment building in downtown Toronto.

Vicki.

He should've known his thoughts would eventually circle around to her.

What if you were wrong?

Now, you'll never know.

It's better this way.
The steering wheel creaked under his grip.
If I'd stayed and I'd lost control, I could have killed her
.

Or she could've killed you
, murmured a little voice in his head, reminding him that Vicki had already killed for territory during the short time she'd walked the night.

It had been a fight she shouldn't have won, not against an opponent so much older and more experienced. But then, Vicki excelled at turning conventions upside down.

Henry had been told, had believed, and had lived by the belief that, when the parent/child bond faded, vampires had no further contact with those they had changed. Vicki had used the conveniences of the twentieth century—the telephone, faxes, E-mail—to wipe out something he'd taken as a given for over four hundred and fifty years. She phoned him, she faxed him, she sent sarcastic monologues by E-mail, she remained in contact and didn't give a damn about what vampires did or did not do.

In spite of everything, because Vicki had refused to have it any other way, they'd remained friends.

“At a distance,” he added, carefully easing the car down a rutted lane. “Physical proximity is something else again.”

You maintained control
, the little voice pointed out.
You were angry, but that was all. It you hadn't provoked her, maybe, in spite of her youth, she could've maintained control as well. She believed that she could, and you know that with Vicki that's usually enough
.

Now you'll never know.

“Shut up!” With a savage twist, Henry shut off the engine and sat staring out at the small cabin illuminated by his headlights. A pair of windows tucked up under the eaves seemed to stare mockingly back at him.

“What's done is done,” he muttered, turning off the lights and stepping out into the night. He would stay at the cabin until Vicki had solved the case and, by removing himself to a new territory, would, at the very least, not disrupt her concentration. With innocent lives relying on her abilities, this was not the time to test traditional boundaries.

By appearing to him, the ghost had made him responsible for the deaths it caused. Created Duke of Richmond and Somerset at six, Henry had been raised to take his responsibilities very seriously.

Celluci stepped out of the shower, into the towel Vicki held up for him, and sighed contentedly. “I needed that.”

“I know.” She flicked a drop of water up into his face. “You were beginning to get a little ripe.”

“I thought you liked the way I smelled.”

“You like the smell of leather, but you don't walk around with a cowhide up your nose.” A fingertip traced damp circles in the hair around his navel as, eyes half closed, Vicki drew in a deep breath. “Trust me. You smell a lot more appetizing now.”

He tried to catch her hand, but she easily avoided his grab. “Vicki, I really need a good night's sleep in a bed that isn't moving.”

“So you want me to stop?”

He gasped as she widened the circle. “I didn't say that.” A moment later, out in the hall, he dug in his heels and murmured, “Not in Fitzroy's bed.” A moment after that, as Tony's bed rocked under their combined weight, he wrapped a hand around her jaw and moved her head away from his body. “If you bite it off,” he growled, “you won't get to play with it any more.”

Tony had the master bedroom and in the lights spilling in through the wall of glass that separated them from the city, Vicki could see as clearly as if the lights in the room were on. She slid out from under Celluci's arm and sat up, moving the pillows so that she could lean comfortably against the wall. “It's strange being here.”

Celluci's “Why?” was a nearly inarticulate murmur as he rolled onto his side.

“Because I fought for the territory and lost, but Henry's the one who left.” Drawing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around her lower legs and frowned out at the night. “I don't want this territory, but I feel like I've won it. Except that I didn't. Henry won. But I'm here. Is this making any sense?” She didn't bother waiting for a reply. “It feels like there's something missing, but I don't know what. It feels wrong, but I don't know what it needs to make it feel right. Oh, God.” She let her head drop onto her knees. “I'm writing country music again. I hate it when that happens.”

His breath warm against the skin of her hip, Celluci muttered something that might have been sarcastic.

“Mike?” She reached out to shake him, paused, hand in the air, and changed her mind.
He needs to sleep. I'll just get dressed and take a quick look at what Vancouver has to offer
.

But she didn't.

Fingers lightly stroking his hair, she wrapped up in the familiar comfort of his life and let the night go by without her in it.

“We have another match.”

“So soon?” He frowned at the papers spread out over his desk, at the manicured symmetry of his fingernails, at the phone. He enjoyed working late, having the office to himself; usually, it meant he remained undisturbed. “Isn't that dangerous?”

“Dangerous? In what way?”

“In that it might lead to discovery.”

“I've told you before, the timing is totally random. I have no control over when the matches occur. Either it happens, or it does not.” The voice emerging from the tiny speaker managed to sound totally neutral about either option. “But if that new list you sent me is accurate . . .”

“It should be. I paid enough for it.”

“. . . then I have a young man on file who fits one of your prospects.”

Drumming his fingers against the polished mahogany, he weighed the options. “And you think he'll accept?”

“When approached the right way, they always accept.”

“Yes, of course.” He cut her off before she could say any more. He didn't want to know about the donors; they weren't his concern. “Very well, make him the offer. When he accepts, let me know immediately so I can begin negotiations with the buyer.”

By the time dawn made its presence felt, Henry's car had been carefully locked away in the shed and all signs of his habitation had been erased from the exterior of the cabin. It was unlikely the day would bring company, but surviving for over four hundred and fifty years had taught caution first of all. Should anyone happen to wander down the narrow dirt track, the cabin would appear deserted. In Henry's opinion, he had less to fear from vandals than from neighbors; vandals seldom wandered so far from the beaten path.

With decks cantilevered out over the edge of a cliff, the cabin managed to be both isolated and directly above a food supply. While the friend who owned the property complained bitterly about how the Valley Breeze Family Resort had lowered property values in the area, Henry personally appreciated the view. Every pastel cabin nestled at the foot of the cliff held at least one meal.

“And why shouldn't I have a couple of weeks in the country?” he asked himself grimly as he locked the porch.

Because you're a vampire. Because this is not your territory. Because another vampire hunts in your territory. Because Michael Celluci might be right.
 . . .