Blood Pact

granting of eternal life. Dr. Burke drummed her fingertips on the desk. Henry Fitzroy's identification seemed to indicate that he lived a reasonably normal life, even considering that the day was unquestionably denied him, and nothing but legend indicated that he'd lived any longer than the twenty-four years his driver's license allowed him. She'd have to discuss his history with him later, not that it mattered much. What point in living forever if forever had to be lived in hiding? Skulking about in the dark.
    Helpless in the day. Not, I think, for me.

    After years of being anonymously responsible for keeping the infrastructure of science running, she wanted recognition. She'd spent long enough tucked away out of sight, tilting with bureaucracy while others garnered the glory.

    One lifetime, properly appreciated, would be long enough. Conquering death had always been merely a means to an end and she had no more intention of becoming a blood-drinking creature of the night than she did of allowing her body to be used to create one of those shambling monstrosities she'd told Catherine to destroy.

    Although, perhaps when Catherine has all the bugs worked out . . .

    Resisting the temptation to begin composing her acceptance speech for Stockholm, Dr. Burke forced herself to concentrate on the grant application. When she'd dealt with this last bit of unavoidable paperwork, she'd be free to spend a few hours in the lab. She was actually looking forward to the unavoidable conversation with their captured vampire.

    Half an hour later, a tentative knock at the office door brought her up out of a projected balance sheet that proved at least one of the department's professors had taken a course in economics, and not paid much attention.

    "Come in.”

    Mrs. Shaw leaned into the room. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving now, Doctor.”

    "Is it as late as all that?”

    The older woman smiled. "It's later. But Ms. Grenier and I pretty much cleared the backlog.”

    Dr. Burke nodded approvingly. "Good. Thank you for all the hard work." Appreciation made the best motivator regardless of where it was applied. "There'll be another stack out there tomorrow," she added, indicating the pile of folders on the corner of her desk.

    "You can count on me, Doctor. Good night. Oh." The door, in the process of closing, opened again and Mrs. Shaw reappeared.
    "Marjory's daughter was around this morning. She wanted Donald Li's home address. I hope you don't mind.”

    "A little late now if I did, isn't it?" Somehow, she managed to keep the question light. "Did Ms. Nelson tell you why she wanted Donald's address?”

    "She wanted to talk to him about her mother." Mrs. Shaw began to look worried at the expression on her employer's face. "I know it's against policy, but she is Marjory's daughter.”

    " Was Marjory's daughter," Dr. Burke pointed out dryly. "Nevermind, Mrs. Shaw." There was no point in getting annoyed so long after the fact. "If Donald doesn't want to talk to her, I'm sure he can take care of it himself.”

    "Thank you, Doctor. Good night.”

    Dr. Burke waited a moment, to be certain that this time the door would stay closed, then pulled the phone across the desk and tapped in Donald's number. After four rings, his answering machine came on with a trumpet fanfare and the message that ". . .
    autographed pictures are available for twenty dollars plus a self-addressed, stamped envelope. For personal dedications, add five dollars. Those actually wishing conversation with Mr. Li can leave a message after the tone and he'll get back to you the moment he has a break in his too, too busy schedule.”

    "This is Dr. Burke. If you're there, Donald, pick up.”

    Apparently, he wasn't there. After leaving instructions that she be called at his earliest opportunity, Dr. Burke hung up and shoved the phone away.

    "He's probably spent the day avoiding that woman. At least he didn't lead her to the lab.”

    The lab . . .

    A memory nibbled at the edge of conscious thought. Something to do with the lab. She leaned back in her chair and frowned up at the ceiling tiles. Something not quite right that the incredible discovery of the vampire had distracted her from. Something so normal . . .

    . . . leaned back against number eight's box, allowing the soft vibration of machinery to soothe her jangled nerves.

    Number eight no longer existed. The vampire was in number nine's box but both number nine and number ten had been sitting