Blood Debt

Carole and Ron Pettit.
    "Friends of yours?"
    "Not yet." Ignoring Celluci's interrogative glower, he picked up the phone and tapped in the number he'd noted during his earlier visit.
    As Henry seemed unwilling to explain, Celluci leaned over and muttered, "What's he doing?" into Vicki's ear.
    "Do you remember the way Dracula got Lucy to leave the house?"
    "He stood outside in the garden and called?"
    "Well, that's what Henry's doing."
    "Dracula didn't use a phone."
    "Times change."
    "Hello, Carole. Carole, I need you to do something for me. I need you to unlock your door, Carole. That's right, Carole, you know who I am."
    The room seemed suddenly very warm. Celluci tugged at his jeans.
    When Vicki leaned over and flicked an earlobe with her tongue, he jerked away from the invitation. "Don't," he said hoarsely. "Not here, not now."
    "Unlock your door, Carole, and be ready for company. It doesn't matter that you're not alone. That's right, Carole, unlock your door. I'll be there in a moment, Carole. Wait for me."
    "That's it?" Celluci demanded as Henry returned the receiver to the cradle.
    Henry shrugged, remembering the gargoyle. "Some people need less calling than others."
    Wishing he'd worn looser pants, Celluci snarled something noncommittal and set about convincing himself there'd been no response.
    They walked Henry down to the lobby and watched him cross to the other building.
    "I take it he's going to suggest Carole and company leave the condo?"
    "If it were me, I'd suggest they leave by sunrise and not come back for about twenty-four hours."
    "It's a long time until sunrise, Vicki. What's he going to do in the meantime?"
    She turned and stared at him.
    His ears reddened. "Never mind. You'd better speak with Ms. Chou by yourself."
    "Why?"
    "Because you can make her forget the conversation, forget about you. I can't."
    "Well, thank you so much for letting me have my case back."
    Patting him lightly on the cheek, she started toward the cable van. She had every intention of doing exactly what Celluci had suggested. She'll forget about the conversation. And she'll forget about you.
    "Just make sure that she's in her condo at sunset."

    Even lost in the silvered depths of Vicki's eyes, Patricia Chou had the will to protest. "And how am I supposed to do that?"
    "From what I've heard, most of the city would stay home rather than face you."
    "Well, she never goes in to the clinic on Fridays…"
    "How do you know that?"
    "I know almost everything and intend to find out the rest. It's why most of the city hates me." She smiled.
    Vicki'd seen that smile before—had seen it three nights ago, reflected in the eyes of Bynowski and Haiden just before they died.
    Patricia Chou enjoyed her work. And Henry was worried about sharing a territory with me.

    Henry sped down the hall and past the woman standing in her doorway, obviously waiting for him.
    Once safe inside, he caught his breath and softly called her name.
    She turned. Past forty and not fighting it, she'd tried to match herself to her pseudo-Gothic decor but was far too sun-kissed and healthy-looking to succeed.
    "Come inside, Carole, and close the door."
    The Hunger rose in response to the hunger on her face.

    Eventually, she'll get bored and go away. Or some new scandal will arise in some other part of the city and she'll go away. Dr. Mui stood in her solarium and scowled down at the top of the cable van just visible in the parking lot below, the yellow rectangle standing out with irritating clarity against the gray pavement. Or someone will drop a heavy object on her head and she'll GO AWAY.
    Patricia Chou had drastically altered her plans for the day.
    By late morning she'd done everything she could from her computer in the condo. Although her phone lines were as secure as her hacker-for-hire could make them, she'd known there was no such thing as a completely secure line—the computers at the Eastside Clinic and the drop-in center were theoretically secure, but that same hacker had accessed them both with apparent ease. In order for her to leave the country, wealth intact, and leave no trail, there were a number of matters that required a personal touch.
    She should have been able to accomplish everything necessary in a couple of hours, but from the moment she'd left the parking lot, the reflection of the cable van had filled her rearview mirror. The reporter herself had followed, as it were, off road—never breaking any laws, never making too big a nuisance of