Blood Pact

Prize that it hadn't wanted to.

    "Lie still," he snapped, and was only mildly relieved when it followed the programming.

    * * *
    Mike Celluci stepped out of the tiny fish and chip shop, inhaling the smell of french fries and greasy halibut overlaid on a warm spring night. Just at that particular moment, things didn't look so bad. While finding Marjory Nelson's body as soon as possible would be best for all concerned, Vicki was an intelligent adult, well acquainted with the harsh reality that some cases never got solved.
    Eventually, she'd accept that her mother was gone, accept that her mother was dead, and they could return to solving the problem all of this had interrupted.

    He'd be there to comfort her, she'd realize Fitzroy had nothing to offer, and the two of them would settle down. Maybe even have a kid. No . The vision of Vicki in a maternal role, brought revision. Maybe not a kid.

    He paused at the curb while a panel van pulled out of the apartment building's driveway, turning south toward the center of the city. A moment later, the food lay forgotten in the gutter as he sprinted forward to catch hold of the wild-eyed figure charging out onto the road.

    "Vicki! What is it? What's happened?”

    She twisted in his grip, straining to follow the van. "My mother . . ." Then the taillights disappeared and she sagged against him.
    "Mike, my mother . . .”

    Gently, he turned her around, barely suppressing an exclamation of shock at her expression. She looked as though someone had ripped her heart out. "Vicki, what about your mother?”

    She swallowed. "My mother was at the living room window. Looking in at me. The lock stuck, and when I got outside she was gone. She went away in that van. It's the only place she could have gone. Mike, we have to go after that van.”

    Cold fingers danced down Celluci's spine. Crazy words tucked in between shallow gasps for breath, but she sounded like she believed them. Moving slowly, he steered her back toward the apartment. "Vicki.” His voice emerged tight and strained, her name barely recognizable, so he started again. "Vicki, your mother is dead.”

    She yanked herself free of his hands. "I know that!" she snarled. "Do you think I don't know that? So was the woman at the window!”

    "Look, I only left her alone for a few minutes." Even as he spoke, Celluci heard the words echoed by a thousand voices who'd returned to find disaster had visited during those few minutes they were gone. "How was I supposed to know she was so close to cracking? She's never cracked before." He leaned his forearm against the wall and his face against the cushion of his arm. After that single outburst, Vicki had begun to shake, but she wouldn't let him touch her. She just sat in her mother's rocking chair and rocked and stared at the window. Years of training, of dealing with similar situations, seemed suddenly useless. If Mr. Delgado hadn't shown up, hadn't cajoled her into swallowing those sleeping pills… "And how can you be strong tomorrow if you don't sleep tonight, eh?" …he didn't know what he would have done; shaken her probably, yelled certainly, definitely not done any good.

    Henry rose from his crouch by the window. There was no mistaking the odor that clung to the outside of the glass. "She didn't crack," he said quietly. "At least not the way you think.”

    "What are you talking about?" Celluci didn't bother to turn his head. "She's having hallucinations, for chrissakes.”

    "No. I'm afraid she isn't. And it seems I owe you an apology, Detective.”

    Celluci snorted but the certainty in Henry's voice made him straighten. "Apology? What for?”

    "For accusing you of watching too many bad movies.”

    "I don't need another mystery tonight, Fitzroy. What the hell are you talking about?”

    "I'm talking about," Henry stepped away from the window, his expression unreadable, "the return of Dr. Frankenstein.”

    "Don't bullshit me, Fitzroy. I'm not in the . . . Jesus H. Christ, you're not kidding, are you?”

    He shook his head. "No. I'm not kidding.”

    Impossible not to believe him. Werewolves, mummies, vampires; I should've expected this. "Mother of God. What are we going to tell Vicki?”

    Hazel eyes met brown, for once without a power struggle between them. "I haven't the faintest idea.”

Seven
    "I think we should tell her.”

    Arms crossed over his chest, Henry leaned against the wall near the windows. "Tell her that we think someone has turned her mother into