Blood Debt

When she whirled to glare at him, he spread his hands. "Just trying to lighten the mood."
    "Oh." The bell chimed for the fourteenth floor. She spun back around to face the door.
    Following her out into the hall, Celluci shook his head. "No need to thank me." As their names had been on a security list at the door, they'd been waved right through without needing to buzz up and so had no idea of what they were about to face. Given Vicki's reaction so far, if Henry had been stupid enough to stay home, it was going to be an explosive evening.
    He found himself wishing he'd brought his gun— although who he intended to shoot, he had no idea.
    "She's coming." Henry turned to face the door and Tony thought he looked like a cat, watching the shadows for movement no one else could see. A moment later, three evenly spaced raps that unmistakably said, This is the police, shattered the expectant silence into sharp-edged little pieces.
    "You'd better answer it." Hands locked behind his back, Henry made his way to the far side of the living room. "I think it might be best if I kept my distance."
    Almost afraid of cutting himself on the shards of anticipation, Tony walked to the door, took a deep breath, and threw it open.
    Celluci, about to knock again, lowered his hand.
    Vicki, who'd been staring down the hall, spun around.
    Had Tony not spent the last two years sharing living space with a vampire, he'd have fled, screaming. As it was, he swallowed hard, tried to keep his legs from buckling, and forced his mouth into what he hoped was an approximation of a smile. "Yo, Victory. You're lookin'
    good."
    The fear in his voice penetrated. There were a great many people whose fear Vicki rather enjoyed, but Tony wasn't one of them. Let's just prove Henry's point for him, shall we? she snarled to herself as she struggled for control. I will not be dominated by blind instinct!
    Tony, watching the silver mute out of her eyes, exchanged a wary glance with Celluci, who added an infinitesimal shrug. Before either man could speak, however, Vicki found her voice.
    "I just spent four days on the road, I need a shower, and I look like shit, but thanks for lying." She cocked her head and looked him up and down—to Tony's surprise the inspection didn't make him feel like a rare steak. "You, on the other hand, are looking good. You've filled out, got some color…" Her brows dipped down. "… but your hair's too short."
    "It's the style," he protested indignantly, rubbing a palm over his close-cropped skull.
    Vicki sighed. "Tony, it didn't look that good on Keanu Reeves either. Now then, you going to invite us in, or are you going to leave us standing in the hall?"
    Ears pink, Tony stepped out of the doorway. "Sorry."
    "As much my fault as yours," Vicki admitted. Looking appreciatively around the entry—Henry'd bought the Pacific Place condo after she'd returned to Toronto—she nodded toward the colonnaded arch. "Living room through there?"
    "Yeah, but…" As she disappeared, he let his voice trail off and glanced up at Detective Sergeant Michael Celluci. During his years on the street, they hadn't exactly gotten along, but judging from the detective's expression, tonight the past had been buried under their common present.
    "Is he in there?"
    Tony sighed. "Yeah."
    "Why, if he believes in this territorial imperative thing?"
    "He wants to prove a point."
    Like Tony before him, Celluci understood. "I can't say as I blame him. Let's hope we all survive it."
    They walked together into the living room, each hoping that the silence had to be a good sign.
    Henry stood with his back to the window, the lights of Granville Island beginning to pierce the dusk behind him. Head up, arms crossed over his chest, he wore a blue silk shirt, faded jeans, and white running shoes. His lips were pressed into a thin line. His eyes were dark.
    Vicki stood by the ultramodern dining room table, the fingers of her right hand pressed hard against the green glass top. Head up, her left hand opening and closing by her side, she wore a blue silk shirt, faded jeans, and white running shoes. Her lips were drawn up enough to show the points of her teeth. Her eyes were silver.
    Standing at the edge of the room, Tony could feel the tension building. In a moment, without a word being said, it would build past the breaking point. When that happened, he didn't have the faintest idea of what he could do to prevent the inevitable violence or if he'd have the courage to do it even if he