Blood Lines

keeping them contained.
    In spite of the early hour, a small crowd had gathered and the flower seller, who had been just about to set up on that corner, was having strong hysterics under the care of two paramedics.
    'Funny thing," rasped a voice by Celluci's shoulder.
    He turned and glared down at the filthy man swaying beside him. Even over the smell of the accident, he stank.
    'I seen it," the man continued. "Told the cops. They don't believe me."
    'Told them what?" Celluci growled.
    'I am not drunk!" He staggered and clutched at Celluci's jacket. "But if you could spare some change…"
    'Told them what?" Celluci repeated in a tone honed over the years to cut through alcoholic haze.
    'What I seen." Still holding the jacket, he turned and pointed a filthy finger at the car. "Wheels was goin' one way. Car was goin' nuther way."
    'It's barely light now, how could you have seen that then?"
    'Was layin' in the park. Had a wheels-eye view."
    It wasn't much of a park, more a garden planted on the median strip, but the trail of black rubber scorched onto the road passed right by it. Celluci followed the line to the wreck and then followed the smoke until it became a part of the overcast sky, spreading over the entire city.
    The wheels were going one way.
    The car was going another.
    With a cold hand closing around his heart, Celluci ran for his car. It had suddenly become very important he see Trembley's occurrence reports for Monday morning.
    'Jesus Christ, Celluci," Staff-Sergeant Bruton snapped, phone receiver cradled under her chin and three people clambering for her attention, "this is not the time to bother me with a missing fucking occurrence report, you… What?"
    She turned her attention back to the phone. "No. I don't want to call back. I want you to find him! Do not put me on ho… damnit!" She scrawled her signature on a preferred form, glared through the chaos and shouted, "Takahashi! Get that other line! Now then," she jabbed a finger in Celluci's direction, "if you need that report for a case, you call later.
    You hear me? Later."
    'Sarge?" PC Takahashi held out the phone, his hand tightly over the mouthpiece. "It's Trembley's husband."
    The hieroglyphs that had been etched into the paint of the toy police car had been completely obliterated and the small piece of paper folded three times toward the heart and then slipped into the front seat was no more than ash. He slid a magazine under the smoldering remains and lifted it out of the tub with a trembling hand. It had been a very long time since he'd worked that spell and, as burning down the hotel had not been part of his intention, he'd carefully set it up so that any random power would be contained. Because he'd forgotten that the fuel these cars relied upon was highly flammable, his foresight proved fortunate. As it was, the shower curtain appeared a little singed. He would have to have it replaced.

    Dumping the nearly unidentifiable bit of metal into a crystal ashtray in the living room of the suite, he collapsed, exhausted, into a chair. Although there existed easier and less draining ways to accomplish the same purpose, the morning's work had, while removing the last two memories of his mummified form, proven that all his old skills were still intact. A quick trip to the station and a short chat with the young man on the desk had taken care of the written records last night.
    In the old days, he wouldn't have dared to take his power as low as he had this morning. But in the old days with the gods gathering up souls almost at birth, he wouldn't have been able to feed with the ease he now could. Later, perhaps around lunch, he'd take a walk. According to Dr. Rax's ka, there was a school of sorts for very young children not so far away.
    'You're late."
    'I was down at 52 when the accident call came in." Celluci shrugged out of his jacket and dropped into his chair. The accident had happened at College and University, three short blocks from Headquarters; everyone in the building knew about it; half of the arriving day shift had been there.
    'Was it as bad as they say?"
    'Worse."
    'Jesus. What do you think happened?"
    Celluci glared across the desk at his partner. "The team who died in that crash were the uniforms on the scene Monday morning at the museum."
    'Christ, Mike!" Dave leaned forward and lowered his voice. "We are not in some bad monster movie here! There never was a mummy, but if there had been it wouldn't be getting up and killing people and