Blood Lines

hard to drag himself away. He must've lain in the darkness for a good twenty minutes listening to her breathe. Wondering if she was dreaming. Wondering if she was dreaming about him. Or about Henry. Or if it mattered.
    "What I mean, Celluci, is no commitments beyond friendship. "
    "We're going to be buddies?"
    "That's right."
    "You don't ball your buddies, Vicki. "
    She'd snorted and run a bare foot up his inner thigh until she could grab the soft skin of his scrotum with her toes.
    "Wanna bet?"
    So it had been from the beginning…
    He scratched at his stubble and got into the car. Their friendship was solid, he knew that, the scars they'd both inflicted when she'd left the force had faded into memory. The sex was still terrific. But lately, things had gotten complicated.
    "Henry's not competition, Mike. Whatever happens between him and me, doesn't affect us. You're my best friend. "
    He'd believed her then, he believed her now. But he still thought Henry Fitzroy was a dangerous man for her to get involved with. Not only was he physically dangerous, and that had been proven last August beyond a doubt, but he had the kind of personal power it would be easy to get lost in. Christ, I could get lost in it . No one with that kind of power should be, could be, trusted.
    He trusted Vicki. He didn't trust Henry. That's what it came down to. Henry Fitzroy made up the rules as he went along, and for Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci that was the sticking point. More than supposedly supernatural, undead, powers of darkness. There were a number of very definite rules surrounding his and Vicki's relationship, and Celluci knew damned well Fitzroy wouldn't honor them.
    Except he had so far…
    'Maybe what it all comes down to," he mused, maneuvering through the maze of one-way streets south of College, "is that I'm ready to settle down."
    It took a few seconds for the implications of that to sink in, and he had a sudden vision of what Vicki's response would be if he brought up marriage. He couldn't stop himself from ducking. The woman was more commitment shy than any man he'd ever met.
    He frowned as he guided the car around the Queen's Park circle. It was too early in the morning for deep philosophical questions on the nature of his relationship with Vicki Nelson-things were going well, he shouldn't fuck with that.
    Gratefully noticing the ambulance and the police car pulled up in front of the museum, he made a U-turn across the empty six-lane road and dumped the problems of his love life for more immediate concerns.
    'Detective-Sergeant Celluci, homicide." He flipped his badge at the approaching constable as he got out of the car, forestalling a confrontation about the less than legal U-turn. "What's going on?"
    The young woman snapped her mouth shut around what she'd been about to say and managed, "Constable Trembley, sir. They sent homicide? I don't understand."
    'No one sent me, I was just driving past." The attendants were loading a body into the ambulance, face covered.
    Obviously D.O.A. "Thought I'd stop and see if there was anything I could do."
    'Nothing I can think of, Sergeant. Paramedics say it was a heart attack. They figure it was because of the mummy."
    A year ago, eight months ago even, Celluci would have repeated the word mummy, sounding intrigued or amused or both, but after having busted his ass last April tracking down a minion of hell and part of August associating with a pack of werewolves, not to mention time spent with Mr. Henry Fitzroy, his reaction was a little more extreme. He no longer took reality for granted.
    'Mummy?" he growled.
    'It was, uh, in the Egyptology workroom." Constable Trembley took a step back, wondering why the detective had gone for his gun. "Just laying there in its coffin. Too much for one of the janitors apparently." He still looked weirdly suspicious. "It had been dead for a long time." She tried a grin. "I don't think they'll need you on that case either…"
    The joke fell flat, but the grin worked and Celluci let his hand fall to his side. Of course a museum would have a mummy. He felt like a fool. "If you're sure there's nothing I can do…"
    'No, sir."
    'Fine." Muttering under his breath, he headed back to his car. What he really needed was a hot shower, a large breakfast, and a nice simple murder.
    Snapping his occurrence book closed, Trembley's partner wandered over to her side. "Who was that?" he asked.
    'Detective-Sergeant Celluci. Homicide. He was driving by, stopped to