Blood Lines

wanted you to take a look at that."
    Henry sighed again. He was willing to help, but he honestly didn't see how this… excursion… was going to do any good. "Are you sure that's the right coffin?"
    Vicki's mouth twisted as she studied the artifact. Even without Celluci's description, she would have recognized it. The hair on the back of her neck rose and although she shrugged the feeling away, she was beginning to see why Celluci had been so willing to believe in his mummy. "I'm sure."
    Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Henry walked over to the coffin. His dark lenses somehow gave it an unreal appearance and painted the snakes covering it the color of blood. Very ominous-but he had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for. His nose twitched at the still overpowering smell of cedar, then he frowned and lowered his head toward the cavity. So faintly that only one of his kind could pick it up, he caught the scent of a life.
    Eyes closed, he breathed in the signature of centuries. Not merely flesh and blood but terror, pain, and despair…
    Not stone above him, but rough wood embracing him so closely that the rise and fall of his chest brushed against the boards. All around the smell of earth. Screaming until his throat was raw, he twisted and thrashed through the little movement he had…
    His eyes snapped open and Henry jerked back, away from the coffin, away from the memory of his own burial, trembling fingers sketching the sign of the cross. He turned to find Vicki watching him, her expression saying clearly that his reaction had been observed.
    'Well?" she asked.
    'Something spent a long time trapped in there."
    'Something human?"
    He shrugged, more affected by the experience than he wanted to admit. "It was when they closed the lid. If it was aware for all those years, only God knows what it is now."
    Vicki nodded thoughtfully and Henry realized that his reaction had not only been observed but anticipated. "That was why you wanted me here." He'd told her of his burial the night he'd told her of his creation.
    She nodded again, not noticing his rising anger. "You keep going on about how your senses are more acute, so I figured if there'd been something, someone, in there for three thousand years you'd be able to tell."
    'You used me."
    Vicki's jaw dropped at the fury in his voice and she took an involuntary step back. "What are you talking about?" She forced the words past a sudden throat tightening rush of fear. "I just assumed you'd be able to sense…" Then she remembered.
    "You know there's a very good reason most vampires come from the nobility, a crypt is a lot easier to get out of. I'd been buried good and deep and it took Christina three days to find me and dig me free."

    She wet her lips and in spite of every instinct that told her to run as he advanced, she held her ground. "Henry, I didn't even think about you being buried. I didn't want an emotional reaction, just a physical one. Jesus Christ, Henry!" She brought her hands up and laid them flat against his chest, beginning to grow angry herself. "I wouldn't mess with my worst enemy's mind that way, let alone a friend's!"
    The words penetrated through the red haze and he found he had to believe her. He was left shaken, aghast at how close he had come to loosing the beast. "Vicki… I'm sorry."
    'It's okay." His cheek felt smooth and cool under her palm. He looked as though he'd frightened himself as much as he had frightened her. "We've all got triggers that cause us to act without thinking."
    'And what are yours?" he asked, firmly jamming a civilized mask and a patina of control back into place.
    'We haven't got time to go into that right now," Vicki snorted. "People'll be coming back in about twelve hours." She jerked her head toward the door, remembering the strain he was under lately, willing to forget the whole incident and go on. "We'd better go check out the offices. This place has told us everything it can."
    Henry stood by the office window and looked down at the traffic. He should have known that Vicki would never use him in such a way-use his abilities, yes, but not his fears. Waking every evening to an image of the sun had him on edge and it seemed that the reminder of his burial had shoved him over. How many other reminders would there be, he wondered. Four hundred and fifty odd years of life supplied a great many things to be reminded of.
    Perhaps the image was an indication that his time had run out, an invitation to a cleaner end