Blood Pact

nodded jerkily and stepped back, out of the range of that comfort.

    "What about the tracks?" he asked.

    She switched on her flashlight and walked out into the subbasement, a little amazed her legs would obey even such basic commands. "We look for tracks after we immobilize Catherine.”

    Celluci paused for a moment on the threshold of the elevator, his presence preventing the door from closing. "We turn off the power to the building," he said, "and we'll turn off any other experiments she might be running.”

    Vicki stopped and half turned to face him. "Yes.”

    He recognized the raw anger that spit the word out. Recognized it because he felt it himself. It had nothing to do with the contest in vitriol they'd held in the elevator, that had been nothing more than tension given voice, and everything to do with the horror they'd found in the lab. He wanted to find whoever had been responsible, take them by the throat and . . . Words didn't exist for what he wanted to do.

    Over the last week, layer after layer of Vicki's control, of her protection, had been stripped away. He was afraid there was nothing left to keep her anger from being acted on.

    He was afraid that if they found Henry the way they'd found Donald Li, she'd go right over the edge and he wouldn't be able to stop her.

    He was more afraid that he wouldn't even try.

    On the second floor, in a utility cupboard that shared a wall with the elevator shaft, Marjory Nelson worked the muscles of her face into the closest she could come to a frown. She heard voices.

    Voices.

    Voice.

    She knew that voice.

    She had been told to stay. It was one of the commands enforced by the neural net. One of the commands that had worn a rutted passage into memory.

    Stay.

    Trembling, she stood . . .

    Stay!

    . . . shuffled toward the door . . .

    STAY!

    . . . opened it and lurched out into the hall.

    There was something she had to do.

Fourteen
    "Radio room. Constable Kushner.”

    "This the police . . . stashun?”

    "Yes, ma'am, it is.”

    Dr. Burke took a deep breath and, enunciating very carefully, said, "I'd like to speak to De-tective Fer-gusson, plead . . . please.”

    "I'll put you through to homicide.”

    "You do that." Eyes nearly closed, Dr. Burke sagged against the receiver.

    "Homicide. Detective Brunswick.”

    "Right. De-tective Fer-gusson, please.”

    "Detective Fergusson's not here right now, can I help?”

    "Not here?" She pivoted the receiver around on her mouth, just far enough so she could glare blearily at it. "Whadda you mean, not here?”

    By the time she remembered that the other half had to stay against her ear, she'd missed the first part of Detective Brunswick's reply. ". . . but can I take a message?”

    "A meshage?" Sipping at her Scotch, she took a moment to think about it. "Well, I was gonna . . . confesh. Theories say confeshun is necess . . . ary. But if he's not . . . there, maybe I won't.”

    Detective Brunswick's voice picked up a distinct, let's-humor-the-crazy-person inflection. "If you give me your name, I can tell him you called.”

    Heaving herself more-or-less erect in the chair, Dr. Burke declared in ringing tones, " I am the Director of . . . Life Sciencesh. He knows who I am. Everyone knows . . . who I am." Then she hung up.

    "So much . . . for tha." She pulled Donald's jacket off the desk and onto her lap. "I really feel . . . awful 'bout thish, Donald. I'm gonna make it up . . .to you. You'll see." An idea somehow forced its way through a bottle and a half of single malt. "You know, if the iso-lation box is running then the re-frigeration is running and you're prob-ly cold." With a desperate grip wrapped around the arm of her chair, she managed to get to her feet. "If you're cold, you're gonna want your jacket." Finishing the mouthful of Scotch in the mug nearly knocked her over. She swayed, steadied, and started for the door. "I'm gonna take you your . . . jacket.”

    Somewhere, far behind the layers of insulation provided by the alcohol, a terrified voice shrieked, "No!”

    Dr. Burke ignored it.

    "How many electrical rooms can one lousy building have?" Breathing heavily, Vicki backed out into the hall, trying to shine her flashlight in all directions at once. Her voice scraped across her teeth in a strained whisper. "Every time we open a door, I expect to see my mother behind it.”

    Celluci reached out and closed one hand over her shoulder, the other catching her wrist and directing the beam of light