Blood Debt

close to letting go. Hardly surprising given the proximity they'd been in since leaving the clinic—the tension between them sat like a third presence in the car. He could feel his own barriers weakening and trying to convince himself that this was a continuation of the year they spent in a parent/child, teacher/student relationship helped not at all. If the anticipated mayhem didn't materialize inside Project Hope, they'd be at each other's throats before he got the keys back into the ignition.
    Vicki leaped from the car the instant it stopped moving and sucked in a lungful of air untainted by another's breathing. If it came to it, she decided, dragging her bag up onto her shoulder, she'd walk back to the condo before she let Henry drive her anywhere, ever again. He slowed for yellow lights. He didn't pass when he could. He took corners too slowly. It had been the most frustrating fifty minutes she'd ever spent. Only iron control had kept her from dragging him out from behind the wheel and taking over herself. I have got to get my driver's license again. Lips pressed into a thin line, she strode toward the building. "Remember, Vicki, not being noticed is infinitely better than having to correct a dangerous impression."
    "Christ, Henry. You sound like an old Kung Fu episode."
    He locked the car and hurried to catch up. "I'm speaking from experience…"
    "I know, I know, over four hundred and fifty years. No wonder you drive like an old woman," she added under her breath as she yanked open the clinic's cedar slab door.
    Half a dozen battling scents almost knocked her back outside—a bouquet of roses in a large glass vase, a chemical air freshener designed to mimic the ocean breezes kept out by hermetically sealed windows, and over, under, and through it all, the eau d' disinfectant worn by every medical establishment in the world.
    She could sense perhaps a dozen lives, the delineations between them removed by sleep—natural or drug-induced, Vicki hadn't the experience to tell the difference. Somewhere in the mix, she thought she felt the unmistakable flavor of Celluci's life. But why can't I tell for sure? She'd been so certain she'd know if he was in the clinic that this sudden ambivalence was unsettling. Do I just think he's here because I want him to be here so badly? Would I have known for certain before last night's horizontal dance down memory lane with Henry?
    A heartbeat later, she found an answer she could live with. Christ, Vicki, don't be such a goddamned idiot.
    The lingering despair—despair with very little hope in it, she noted, in spite of the name of the clinic— made it difficult to get a clear fix on anyone's life. Since that also included Henry's life, she supposed she just had to take the bad with the good.
    The only nonsleeper glared a question at them from behind the glass walls of the nurse's station.
    "I was right," Henry murmured. "We've been noticed."
    "Good," Vicki declared a little too emphatically. Unable to blush, she winced. Ever since she could remember, women in nurses'
    uniforms had made her feel inadequate. Maybe because they seemed so competent. Maybe it was all that white. She had no idea. Feeling less like an all-powerful creature of the night and more like she was somewhere she shouldn't be, she skirted the lounge and stepped into the dimly lit office.
    "Yes? Can I help you?" While civil enough, the nurse's tone clearly indicated that the only help she intended to give them involved showing them the exit.

    "I'm looking for a friend."
    "This is a private treatment center, not the local emergency ward.
    You won't find your friend here."
    "He would have been admitted this afternoon."
    "There was no one admitted this afternoon."
    "Would you like me to do this?" Henry asked quietly, not entirely able to keep the amusement from his voice. He'd seen Vicki face demons, werewolves, mummies, and a multitude of murderous mortals with more elan.
    She growled a wordless reply, caught the night nurse's gaze, and held it, overcoming old programming for pride's sake. "Are you alone here?"
    Dilated pupils reflecting a faint silver gleam below an annoyed frown, the other woman shook her head. "There's an orderly."
    "Where is he?"
    "Asleep on a cot in the staff room."
    "Why is he here?"
    "He stays sometimes, in case there's trouble."
    "Trouble with what?" Vicki rested her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Trouble with the donors of purchased body parts?"
    The night nurse stood, still