Blood Lines

Now."
    'And if I don't?" The edge became more pronounced.
    'Then we will find where you hide from the day, and we will kill you."
    He meant it. In spite of his fear, and the greater fear of the men behind him, Henry had no doubt they would do exactly as they said. "Why warn me?"
    'You have proven yourself to be a neutral afreet ," one of the other men spoke up. "We do not wish to make you angry, so we try a neutral path to be rid of you."
    'Besides," the leader added dryly, "our young men insisted."
    Henry frowned. "I gave them dreams…"
    'Our people had a civilization when these people were savages." A wave of his hand indicated the tourists, Lady Wallington among them, still haggling over souvenirs. "We have forgotten more than they have yet learned. Dreams will not hide your nature, afreet . Will you take our warning and go?"
    Henry studied their faces for a moment and saw, under the dirt and malnutrition, a remnant of the race that had built the pyramids and ruled an empire that had included most of northern Africa. To that remnant he bowed, the bow of a Prince receiving an ambassador from a distant, powerful land, and said, "I will go."
    We have forgotten more than they have yet learned.
    Henry drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. Somehow he doubted that much more had been learned in the ninety odd years since. If Celluci was right and a mummy did walk the streets of Toronto, a mummy who brought with it the power of ancient Egypt, then they were all in a great deal of danger.
    'Slumming, Detective?"
    'Just seeing how the other half lives." Celluci leaned on the counter at 52 Division and scowled at the woman on the other side. "Trembley and her partner in yet? I need to talk to them."

    'Good God, don't tell me one of you boys from homicide is actually working at six fifty in the a.m.? Just let me circle the date…"
    'Bruton…" It wasn't quite a warning. "Trembley?"
    'Jee-zus, take a man out of uniform and he loses his sense of humor. Not," she reflected, "that you ever had much of one. And you always were a son of a bitch in the morning. Come to think of it, you were a son of a bitch in the evening, too." Staff-Sergeant Heather Bruton had shared a car with Celluci for a memorable six months back when they'd both been constables, but the department had wisely separated them before any permanent damage had been done. "Trembley's not in yet. You want to wait or you want me to have her give you a shout?"
    'I'll wait."
    'Be still my beating heart." She blew him a sarcastic kiss and returned to her paperwork.
    Celluci sighed and wondered if Vicki had known who'd be on duty when she suggested he talk to Trembley. Just the sort of thing she'd think was funny…
    '… so then she says, 'Aren't you going to arrest him, Mommy?'"
    Trembley's partner laughed. "How old is Kate now?"
    'Just about three. Her birthday's November." She turned from Harbord Street onto Queen's Park Circle. "And can you believe it, for Halloween she wants… oh, fuck!"
    'What?"
    'The accelerator, it's stuck!"
    The patrol car sped over the bridge and into the curve, picking up speed. Trembley swerved around a tiny import, fighting to keep control. She pumped the brakes once, twice, and then the pressure was gone.
    'Shit!"
    She stamped the emergency brake into the floor. Abused metal shrieked under the car.
    Trembley's partner, the fingers of one hand dug deep into the dash, grabbed for the radio. "This is 5239! The car…
    Jesus, Trembley!"
    'I see it! I see it!"
    She yanked the wheel hard to the left. Tires squealed against asphalt. They passed behind the College streetcar with only a prayer between them.
    'Throw it into reverse!"
    'That'll fuse the engine!"
    'So?"
    The world slowed as PC Trembley suddenly realized that the car was not going where she steered it. The wheels had turned, but the car, drawing dark lines of rubber behind it, continued to head for the concrete memorial at the corner of the Toronto General Hospital.
    The world resumed its normal speed just before they hit. Trembley's last feelings were relief. She didn't think she could stand dying in slow motion.

    Upwind from the clouds of greasy black smoke, Celluci stared at the wreck of the patrol car, the heat from the fire lapping at his face. If by any miracle either officer had survived the impact, the explosion when the engine ignited would have finished them off. The blaze was so intense that the fire department could only let the flames burn out, concentrating on