Blood Debt

sunrise, so if you called, I could answer right away." He yawned and sat up against the pillow. "Did you find Celluci?"
    "Detective Celluci is back, safe and sound under Vicki's protection, and she's insisted he spend the day in bed recovering."
    "Recovering from what?"
    "Loss of blood for the most part."
    "Say what?"
    "Apparently he made a few involuntary donations."
    Tony winced. "Man, I bet Victory's pissed."
    "No bet. What's more, we have Swanson."
    "All right! So, no more ghosts?"
    "God willing. Uh, Tony…"
    The embarrassment in Henry's voice gave Tony a pretty good idea of what was coming. For all that the bastard son of Henry VIII had embraced the twentieth century, there were some things he just couldn't get the hang of.
    "… I was wondering if you might drop by and set the VCR to record the day's news broadcasts."
    "I've shown you how to do it a hundred times."
    "I know."
    Biting back another yawn, Tony wished he'd thought to provide himself with a thermos of coffee. "Jeez, Henry, what're you going to do when I'm gone?" Gone. That last word seemed to echo in the silence that followed. Gone. This wasn't how he'd meant to say it. Oh, man, it's just too damned early in the morning for my brain to be working. He closed his eyes. "Henry?"
    "Shall I fight to keep you?" The words held the seductive danger of dark water although it almost seemed like he asked the question of himself.
    "Henry, don't…" Don't what? Tony didn't know so he let the protest trail off.
    "When you are gone," Henry said after a moment, the voice neither Prince of Men nor Prince of Darkness, but just Henry, alone. "I will miss you. And I will insist, as Vicki does, that distance is no reason for friendship to end. If she and I can find a way to be together, you and I can find a way to be apart."
    Groping beside the sofa bed for something to wipe his nose on, Tony managed a shaky laugh. "Hey, didn't I always say our Victory was one smart vampire."
    "You said she was one scary vampire."
    "Same thing. I'll, uh, see you again before I go."
    "Yes."
    He shivered at the promise in the word.

    Stopped at the edge of her building's drive, waiting for traffic to clear, Dr. Mui was astounded by a rapping on her window.
    Patricia Chou pressed the contact microphone against the glass.
    "Dr. Mui, Ronald Swanson was found this morning with the corpse of Richard Sullivan, an orderly who worked with you at Project Hope."
    Not even German engineering could keep her voice from penetrating.
    "Would you like to make a statement?"
    Shaking her head in disbelief, Dr. Mui lowered the window a scant inch and, avoiding eye contact with the lens pushed over the reporter's shoulder, snapped, "You are a sick young woman!" She rather hoped she ran over a few toes as she drove away.
    There were more reporters waiting at the end of the clinic drive, but she turned in without slowing and passed without incident. Few reporters had Patricia Chou's disregard for personal safety.
    Inside the clinic, a pair of plainclothes police officers waited by the nurse's station.
    "What is this about?" she demanded, striding across the lounge.
    Later, she'd feel the effects of a sustained adrenaline buzz, but right now, she felt remarkably calm. It was all a matter of maintaining control.
    The detectives introduced themselves and suggested they move into her office.
    She stared at them for a moment, frowning, then said, "Don't tell me that parasite actually knew what she was talking about?"
    The younger man looked at his partner, then at the doctor.
    "Parasite?"
    "Patricia Chou tried to shove her way into my car this morning with the preposterous story of Ronald Swanson being found with the body of Richard Sullivan, an orderly at this clinic."
    "Patricia Chou," sighed the first detective.

    "Why am I not surprised," sighed the second.
    Having seen their colleagues on the receiving end of a Patricia Chou interview, they thawed considerably and were almost solicitous when Dr. Mui suggested, in a distracted sort of way, that perhaps they'd all better go to her office so that the rest of the staff could get some work done.
    "Doctor, when was the last time you spoke to Ronald Swanson?"
    "Just after three this morning," she replied promptly, aware that the call could easily be traced.
    "Do you remember what he said?"
    "I have no idea of what he said. He woke me out of a deep sleep, babbled hysterically at length, and hung up before I could figure out what he was talking about."
    "You're sure