Blood Debt

with her all the way and that would kind of defeat the purpose; wouldn't it?"
    "But as long as he's with her, she'll talk? He can control her?"
    "Probably," She remembered the crime boss who'd gone for his gun even though she hadn't released him. Of course, Henry'd been doing that sort of thing a lot longer.

    Henry'd forgotten the full video security until halfway across the visitor's parking lot. Speed had kept his image from registering as he'd entered the building and raced up the stairs, but he was going to have to stop out in front of Dr. Mui's door, and he could figure out no way to prevent himself from being taped. As he left the stairwell on the eleventh floor, he could only hope she'd answer quickly. This was one of those times when he wished that Stoker had been right about certain laws of physics not applying to his kind. An ability to become mist would come in handy tonight.
    He spared barely a thought for the couple in the hall until he noticed they were leaving the condo next to Dr. Mui's. Dressed all in black, they were laughing and talking nervously—although they had no idea of why they were nervous—their door half open. Henry slipped through before they pulled it closed.
    Once inside, he stopped to catch his breath. The speed his kind used to escape detection was not meant to cover long distances. He'd need to feed soon.
    Although there were video hookups inside the actual condominium units, they only activated if the electronic locks were forced. He should have no trouble leaving, but since he considered his presence here a solution, albeit an impulsive one, to the problem of standing in the hall, he had no intention of leaving too soon.
    Electronics aside, the layout of the units seemed identical to the mirror-image layout in his building next door. He moved silently down the hall, wondering where on earth the owners had found the four-foot gargoyle in the entry.

    Sifting through the stack of mail balanced incongruously on the stone guardian's head, he discovered that Carole and Ron Pettit had a number of esoteric interests. Amused, he set the correspondence back on its perch and murmuring, "They'll be sorry they missed me," went on into the master bedroom. The red silk sheets and truly astounding variety of candles perched on every available surface came as no surprise. Black, he discovered pushing through two neat rows of clothing in the walk-in closet, came in more shades than he'd previously imagined.
    Resting his forehead on the wall adjoining Dr. Mui's condo, he could feel a life in the next room.
    Sleeping.
    Not having bothered to read the contractor's specifications provided when he bought his own unit, he had no idea how the walls were made but even if he could get through them, he couldn't do it without waking not only the doctor but the tenants above and below.
    Then he smiled. While not in the habit of climbing headfirst down castle walls, he should have little trouble going from balcony to balcony, even with the doctor's solarium in the way. They couldn't possibly have video coverage on the balconies; too many people in Vancouver preferred to avoid tan lines.
    As he turned away, he heard a phone ring next door.
    The sleeping heartbeat quickened. Henry leaned back against the closet wall.
    She hated being woken up in the middle of the night. Shift work was one of the reasons she'd left the hospital. A minor reason granted, but a reason. Still, old training died hard, and she came instantly awake. "Dr. Mui."
    "I found your orderly dead on my property. The cottage is empty."
    Switching on the bedside lamp, she stared at the clock. Three a.m.
    "Did you hear me, Doctor?"
    She pulled the phone a little away from her ear before he deafened her. "I heard you, Mr. Swanson. What about the donor?"
    "There was no one else here! Just a dead body!"
    "Please, calm down. Hysteria will do no one any good." How could that idiot have gotten killed? she wondered. He's going to ruin everything! "Have you called the police?"
    "The police? No, I, uh…" He took a deep breath, clearly audible, and his voice steadied a little. "I found it and came back to the cottage and called you."
    Then the situation wasn't an irretrievable disaster. She began to pull coherent thought out past her immediate reaction. Either the detective had greater reserves than had appeared or the friends who'd left him at the clinic had managed the impossible and tracked him down. It didn't really matter which. Sullivan was dead,