Blood Lines

decided he didn't need an excuse for being here; he didn't even particularly need a reason.
    When Vicki heard the key in the lock, she knew it had to be Celluci and, for one brief moment, she entertained two completely opposing reactions. By the time he got the door open, she'd managed to force order on the mental chaos and was ready for him.
    If he thinks he's going to get sympathy after Dr. Shane dumped him early, he can think again . "What the hell are you doing here?"
    'Why?" He threw his jacket over the brass hook in the hall. "Are you expecting Fitzroy?"
    'What's it to you ?" She pushed up her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. "As a matter of fact, I'm not. He's writing tonight."
    'Good for him. How long has this coffee been sitting here?"
    'About an hour." Settling her glasses back on her nose, she watched him fill a mug and rummage in the fridge for cream. He seemed, well, if she had to put a name to it, she'd say melancholy came closest. Christ, maybe Dr. Shane broke his heart . Her own heart gave a curious twist. She ignored it. "So. How went the date?"
    He took a swallow of coffee. Two strides brought him across the tiny kitchen and up against the back of Vicki's chair.
    "It went. What's with all the books?"
    'Research. Believe it or not, a history degree is appallingly short on coverage of ancient Egypt."
    Behind her, Celluci snorted. "You're not going to find much help from historians."
    Vicki tilted her head back and smiled smugly up at him. "That's why I'm researching myths and legends. So, uh, Dr.

    Shane didn't respond to the celebrated Celluci charm? Guaranteed to get a confession at fifty paces?"
    He pushed her head forward, put down the coffee cup, and dug his fingers into her shoulders. "I didn't turn it on."
    She sucked in a sudden breath; part pain, part pleasure. "Why not?" This is kind of like picking a scab , she decided.
    Once you get started, it's hard to stop .
    'Because she deserved better. Bad enough I spent the evening under false pretenses. I had no intention of compounding it. Christ, you're tense."
    'It's not tension, it's muscle tone. What do you mean, she deserved better? You've got a lot of faults, Celluci, but I never thought false modesty was-ouch-one of them."
    'She deserved honesty. She deserved to have me thinking of her, not of how much she could tell me."
    Well, as my mother always says, if you don't want to know, don't ask . "You liked her."
    'Don't be an ass, Vicki. I wouldn't have asked her out to dinner if I didn't like her-I could have picked her brains in her office a hell of a lot more cheaply. I find her attractive, intelligent, self-confident…"
    Of course, the trouble with picking scabs is when you get deep enough they start to bleed .
    '… and, as a result, I found I spent most of the evening thinking about you." He gave her shoulders a final dig, picked up his coffee, and went into the living room.
    Vicki opened her mouth, closed it, and tried to sort out some kind of response. From the beginning, they'd never talked about their relationship; they'd accepted it; they'd left it alone. When they got back together last spring, it had been under those same parameters. That son of a bitch is changing the rules … But beneath the protest she recognized a surge of relief. He spent most of the evening thinking about me . And beneath the relief, a hint of panic. Now what ?
    He was waiting for her to say something but she didn't know what to say. Oh, God, please, send a distraction !
    The knock on the door jerked her around so fast her glasses slid down her nose. "Come in."
    'I asked for a distraction, not a disaster," she muttered a moment later.
    Celluci snapped the recliner forward. "I thought you were supposed to be writing tonight," he growled, standing and scowling down the hall.
    Henry smiled, deliberately provoking. He had known Celluci was in the apartment before he knocked; he could hear his voice, his movements, his heartbeat. But the mortal had the days; he would not have the darkness as well. "I was writing. I finished."
    'Another book?" The word book came out as if it were something that turned up on the soles of shoes after a brisk walk through a barnyard.
    'No." He hung his trench coat up beside Celluci's jacket. "But I finished the work I intended to do tonight."
    'Must be nice as it isn't quite midnight. Still, it's not like it's real work."
    'Well, I'm sure it's not as strenuous as taking someone out to dinner, then maintaining the illusion that