Blood Debt

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…
    "And that…" Teeth snapped shut around the words. "… is exactly why I'm staying where I am."
    It was a petty resolution—he'd long grown past the need to lie to himself—but it effectively derailed the circling arguments.
    The walk-in closet off the master bedroom had, unfortunately, been lined with cedar. Breathing shallowly through his mouth, wishing he'd brought some of Tony's laundry to cut the scent, Henry secured the door with a piece of two-by-one and lay down on the camp cot he'd set up earlier. As an added precaution, he'd draped a theatrical blackout curtain over the garment rack to fall around the cot like an opaque mosquito net.
    The last time he'd spent the day in a closet had been right after the death and disappearance of Vicki's mother. Then, as now, he'd made it as risk free as possible.
    All at once he frowned, trying to remember the last risk he'd taken.
    He was vampire.
    Nightwalker.
    Prince of Darkness.
    So why did life suddenly seem so middle class? So safe and bland?
    Every risk he'd taken in the last few years could be directly linked to Vicki Nelson.

    The bedding had been changed, but Henry's scent still coated the room. Instinct battled the need for sanctuary, and need won although her hands were shaking as she bolted the door. This wasn't the first time Vicki'd spent the day in another's sanctuary, but as her last experience had occurred right after she'd used a bank of tanning lights to turn the previous occupant into charred bone and ash, she didn't feel she had much basis for comparison.
    The memories Henry's scent evoked warred with the reactions instinctive to her, to their, nature. She attempted to calm the latter by thoroughly searching the room.
    "See?" It took an effort, but she kept her voice low—there was no point, after all, in yelling at her own subconscious. "There's no one here. No one in the closet. No little tiny competitor in the drawers. No one under the bed."
    With sunrise reaching out for her, she put the bed down and slid between the sheets. Listening for the comforting sound of Celluci's heartbeat, she…
    Celluci slept soundly until just after eleven and stayed in bed for another hour after that because he could. In spite of Henry Fitzroy, this was his vacation. When he finally got up, his head throbbed and he ached in places he couldn't remember using. A comfortable bed seemed to have given the four nights of abuse on the road a chance to catch up.
    Another long hot shower helped.
    The coffeemaker and coffee he found on top of the fridge helped more.
    "You want to bring North America to a stop?" he snorted as the aroma began to fill the kitchen. "Kidnap Juan Valdez."
    He filled a mug from a Seattle PBS station, lifted the stack of newspapers out of the recycling box, and carried everything into the living room where he made himself comfortable in one of the two huge leather armchairs.
    The sooner they got rid of the ghost, the sooner he and Vicki could spend some time actually vacationing. At the very least—the sooner they could go home.
    "And where there's a ghost," he muttered, snapping open the oldest of the papers, "somewhere, there's got to be a body.

    Cedar?
    It took a moment for Henry to realize where he was. When he did, he grimaced. Up until this moment, cedar had been a scent he'd enjoyed. "No wonder moths stay away from this stuff."
    Awakening hadn't brought new insight. The mortal mind might find solutions during sleep but, with eternity before them, vampires were forced to deal with their problems night after night. During the day, their subconscious minds shut off with everything else.
    Even before he extracted himself from the folds of the blackout curtain, Henry knew his problem hadn't changed. Anger propelling him up and off the cot, he pulled the chain that turned on the closet light.
    With so little space, they were nose-to-nose.
    Eyes watering in the sudden glare, Henry snarled, "Are you following me?"
    The ghost silently