Blood Price

then said slowly, "Yes. . . ."

    "I have a job for you."

    The words were delivered with the intensity only the very young can muster and Vicki found herself hiding a smile.

    The girl tossed unnaturally brilliant red curls back off her face. "I can pay, if that's what you're worried about."

    As the question of money hadn't even begun to cross Vicki's mind, she grunted noncommittally. They locked eyes for a moment- Tinted contacts, I thought so. Well, they go with the hair. -then she added, in much the same noncommittal tone, "Most people call first."

    "I thought about it." The shrug was so minimal as to be almost nonexistent and her voice was completely non-apologetic. "I figured the case would be harder to turn down in person."

    Vicki found herself holding he door open wider. "I suppose you'd better come in." Work wasn't so scarce she had to take jobs from children, but it wouldn't hurt to hear what the girl had to say. "Another thirty seconds in the hall and Mr. Chin'll be showing up to see what's going on."

    "Mr. Chin?"

    "The old man who lives downstairs likes to know what's going on, likes to pretend he doesn't speak English."

    Sliding past Vicki in the narrow hall, the girl sniffed, obviously disapproving. "Maybe he doesn't speak English," she pointed out.

    This time, Vicki didn't bother to hide her smile. "Mr. Chin has been speaking English a lot longer than both of us have been alive. His parents came to Vancouver in the late 1880s. He used to teach high school. He still teaches English as a Second Language at the Chinese Community Center."

    Bright green eyes narrowed accusingly and the girl glared up at Vicki. "I don't like being patronized," she said.

    Vicki nodded as she closed the door. "Neither do I."

    During the silence that followed, Vicki could almost hear their conversation being replayed, each phrase, each word tested for nuance.

    "Oh," the girl said at last. "Sorry." Then her brow unfurrowed and she grinned as she offered a compromise. "I won't do it anymore if you'd don't."

    "Deal." Vicki led the way through her tiny living room, pushing her leather recliner back upright as she passed, to her equally tiny office. She'd never actually had a client, or potential client, in the office before and there were a couple of unanticipated problems. "I'll, uh, get another chair from the kitchen."

    "It's okay. This is fine." Shrugging out of her coat she settled both herself and it on Vicki's weight bench. "Now, about this job. . . ."

    "Not yet." Vicki pulled her own chair out from the desk and sat down. "First, about you.
    Your name is?"

    "Coreen, Coreen Fergus." She continued on the same breath, obviously feeling that her name covered all the necessary details. "And I want you to find that vampire that's been terrorizing the city."

    "Right." It was too early on a Monday and the latest death was too close. "Did Michael Celluci put you up to this?"

    "Who?"

    "Never mind." Shaking her head, Vicki stood. "Look, I don't know who put you up to this but you can go back to them and. . . ."

    "Ian Reddick was my . . ." She frowned, searching for a word that would give the relationship its proper weight. ". . . lover."

    "Ian Reddick," Vicki repeated and sat down again. Ian Reddick, the first victim. The body she'd found mutilated in the Eglinton West subway station.

    "I want you to find the thing that killed him."

    "Look, Coreen," her voice dropped into the professional "comfort tone" that police officers worldwide had to master, "I recognize how upset you must be, but don't you think that's a job for the authorities?"

    "No."

    There was something utterly intractable in that "no." Vicki pushed her glasses up her nose and searched for a response while Coreen continued.

    "They insist on looking for a man, refusing to acknowledge that the paper might be right; refusing to consider anything outside their narrow little world view."

    "Refusing to consider that the killer might actually be a vampire?"
    "Right."

    "The paper doesn't really believe it's a vampire either, you know."

    Coreen tossed her hair back off her face. "So? The facts still fit. The blood is still missing. I bet Ian would have been drained dry if he hadn't been found so quickly."

    She doesn't know it was me. Thank God. And again she saw him, his face a clichéd mask of terror above the gaping red wound that was his throat. Gaping red wound . . .no, more as though the whole front of his throat had been ripped away. Not ripped