Blood Lines

blind-maybe put out a newsletter or something." He smiled at that, as she knew he would, and he relaxed a little. "Henry, less than a year ago I didn't believe in vampires or demons or werewolves or myself. Now I know better. You aren't crazy. You don't want to die. You are therefore not going to give yourself to the sun. Q.E.D."
    He had to believe her. Her no-nonsense mortal attitude slapped aside the specter of madness. "Stay till morning?" he asked. For a moment he couldn't believe the words had come from his mouth. He might as well have said, " Stay until I'm helpless . " It meant the same thing. Did he trust her that much? He saw that she understood and by her hesitation gave him time to take back the request. He suddenly realized he didn't want to take it back. That he did, indeed, trust her that much.
    Four hundred and fifty years ago he'd asked, " Can we love ?"
    ' Can you doubt it ?" had been the answer.
    The silence stretched. He had to break it before it pulled them apart; pulled her apart, forced her to hear what he knew she wasn't ready to hear. "You can tie me to the bed if I start to do anything stupid."
    'My definition of stupid or yours?" Her voice was tight.
    In for a penny in for a pound. "Yours." He smiled, planted a kiss on her palm, and turned to face the window. If Vicki thought him sane, then he had to think so, too. Perhaps why he dreamed of the sun was of less immediate concern than how he dealt with the dreams. "More things in heaven and earth…"he mused.
    Vicki sagged back against the sofa cushions. "Christ, I'm getting tired of that quote."
    Chapter Four
    Vicki had seen a thousand dawns and seen none of them the way she saw this one.
    'Can you feel it?"
    'Feel what?" Half asleep, she lifted her head off Henry's lap.
    'The sun."
    A sudden shot of adrenaline snapped her awake and she jerked forward, peering into his face. He looked very intent, brows drawn down, eyes narrowed. She glanced at the window. Although it faced south, not east, the sky had definitely begun to lighten. "Henry?"
    He blinked, focused, and shook his head when he saw her expression, his smile both reassuring and slightly embarrassed. "It's all right, this happens every morning. It's like a warning." His voice took on the mechanical tones of a dozen science fiction movie computers. "You have fifteen minutes to reach minimum safe darkness."
    'Fine." Vicki stood, still holding his wrist. "Fifteen minutes. Let's go."
    'I was making a joke," he protested as she pulled him to his feet. "As warnings go, it's not really that definite. It's just a feeling."
    Vicki sighed and shot an anxious glance out the window at the streaks of pink she was sure she could see touching the edges of the city. "Okay. It's just a feeling. What do you usually do when you feel it?"
    'Go to bed."
    'Well?"
    He studied her face for a moment-his intent expression back-sighed in turn, and nodded. "You're right." Then he pulled his hands free, spun on his heel, and walked across the living room.
    'Henry?"
    Although he stopped, he didn't turn, merely looked back over his shoulder.
    I don't have to stay if you're sure you're all right . Except he wasn't sure. That was why she was there. And while he might be regretting making the offer-she recognized second thoughts in his hesitation-the reason he'd made it still existed. It seemed that if they were to both get through sunrise, she'd have to treat this like any other job. The client fears that under certain conditions he may attempt suicide . I'm here to stop him. With a start, she realized he was still waiting for her to say something. "Uh, how do you feel?"
    Henry watched the parade of emotions cross Vicki's face. This isn't any easier for you, is it ? He thought. "I feel the sun," he said softly and held out his hand.
    She took it with what he'd come to recognize as her working expression and together they made their way to the bedroom.
    The first time Vicki had seen Henry's bed, she'd been irrationally disappointed. By that time she'd known he didn't spend the day locked in a coffin atop a pile of his native earth, but she'd been secretly hoping for something a little exotic. A king-size bed-" I bet your father would have loved to have one of those …" '-with white cotton sheets and a dark blue blanket was just too definitively normal looking.
    This morning, she shook free of his hand and stopped just inside the closed door. The soft circle of light from the lamp on the bedside table left her