Blood Debt

blood spilled was lifeless and the dead were past fear.
    Only six of the refrigerated drawers were in use. Five were labeled with the occupant's name. The sixth held the body of the handless man pulled out of Vancouver Harbor.
    His face had taken a beating—although it was unclear whether it had happened in the water or before—but enough areas of definition remained for Henry to recognize his ghost. Had he any doubts, the fuzzy blue homemade tattoo of a dripping dagger on the left forearm would have convinced him.
    Although there were computer files as well, paper copies of recent autopsy reports were stored in a huge filing cabinet against one wall of the office. It only took a moment to match the number on the drawer with the number on the file folder and a moment more to set the first page on the photocopier.
    He heard the jangle of keys in the hall the instant after he pushed print.

    Kevin Lam tossed his car keys from hand to hand as he hurried down the corridor. It had been one hell of a shift and all he wanted to do was go home, eat something that didn't taste like disinfectant, and see if maybe there was a ball game on. He didn't actually like baseball that much, but a ten-hour shift had left him so brain dead he figured it had the only plot on the tube he'd be able to understand.
    Once I'm in the car, I'm safe. They can't call me back. I can go home. Eyes locked on the entrance to the parking garage at the end of the hall, he almost missed the flash of light from the morgue office.
    The supposedly deserted morgue office.
    The frosted glass in the upper half of the door was dark. From the hall outside, it seemed that no one was working late.
    "So who the hell is running the photocopier?" Kevin glanced toward the parking garage and sighed. If he called hospital security, he could be stuck here for hours even if it turned out to be nothing. And if it did turn out to be nothing, he'd be the butt of every morgue joke in the hospital. "I'll just open the door and turn on the light, see that it's nothing, and then go home."
    And if it is something? he asked himself as he shoved his keys in his pocket and reached for the door. He shook his head. Yeah, right.
    Like someone's actually going to be standing in a dark morgue at midnight making photocopies.
    Henry had plenty of time to hide. He just didn't bother.
    In the instant the orderly stood silhouetted in the open door, one hand reaching for the light switch, Henry grabbed the front of his uniform, dragged him into the room, and closed the door.
    The Hunger roared in his ears, restraints rubbed raw by Vicki's presence, then further torn by his passage through the massed despair and bloodscent in the building above. Self-preservation barely held him in check as he shoved the young man down onto a desk.
    It wasn't completely black in the room. LEDs gleamed on various pieces of equipment and an exit light glowed over the door. Kevin saw the pale oval of a face bend over him, felt himself fall into the bottomless depths of dark eyes, and choked back a scream when a cold voice told him to be silent.
    Strong fingers gripped his wrist, the touch both chilling and burning, sensations racing up his arm with his pulse and causing his heart to pound. His breathing quickened. It might have been fear. It might have been something darker.
    He didn't understand when the pale face withdrew and that same cold voice muttered, "And I accused her of acting like a child." When the face returned, when the voice told him to forget, he forgot gladly.

    Tony had left just after Henry had. She'd sent Celluci to bed at about two. All the lights were out except a small crescent moon lamp on a shelf in the entryway.
    With the curtains open, the city spilled into the living room, banishing anything approaching darkness for those who lived at night.
    Having carefully moved two days' worth of unopened mail to one side, Vicki sat at the mahogany desk staring down at a blank piece of paper and waiting for Henry.
    He'd be back soon. He had to be if he wanted to give her any chance to study the autopsy report and maybe come to a few conclusions before dawn.
    If she thought about waiting for Henry, she was fine. When she started thinking about what Henry was, her thoughts were tinted red.
    Vampire.
    But he always had been—he wasn't the one who'd changed.
    She fidgeted with the heavy fountain pen she'd found in one of the desk drawers, turning the smooth black weight over and over, the repetition