Blood Price

guess. But you've gotta hear this. Of course, it's about the vampire. Why else would I call you? Look, I met a guy who says he had incontestable proof . . . in his apartment. . . . Give me a break. You're my detective, not my mother." The receiver missed being slammed back onto its cradle by the narrowest of margins.

    "Some people," she muttered, "are just so bitchy when you wake them up. Come on." She gave him a little push in the direction of the parking lot. "Ian’s death will be avenged even if I have to do it all myself."

    Norman, suddenly realizing that he and not the vampire Coreen seemed fixated on had been in some small part responsible for Ian’s death, wondered what he should do next. Nothing, he decided, hurriedly buckling his seat beat as Coreen pulled out with a squeal of rubber. She's coming to my apartment, that's the main thing. Once she's there, I can handle the rest. His chest puffed out as he thought of what he'd achieved. When I show her, she'll be so impressed she'll forget about the vampire and Ian both.

    Norman's apartment was in a cluster of identical high rises perched on the flatland west of York University and completely out of sync with their surroundings. He pointed out the visitors'
    parking and with one eye on the York Regional Police car that had been following her for the last quarter mile Coreen pulled into the first empty spot and shut the motor off. The police car kept going and Coreen, well aware she shouldn't have been driving at all after sharing three pitchers of beer, heaved a sigh of relief.

    While Norman fumbled with his keys, she stared through the glass doors at the beige and brown lobby and wondered how he could tell he was in the right building.

    In the elevator, she drummed her fingers against the stainless steel wall. If she hadn't been feeling so sorry for herself back in the pub that her mind had been on hold, she'd have never gone anywhere with Norman Birdwell. She'd realized who he was the moment she saw him under the bright lights in the parking lot. If York University had a definitive geek, he was it.

    Except . . . She frowned, remembering. Except he'd really sounded like he knew something, and for Ian’s sake she had to follow every lead. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye.
    She glanced at Norman, who was smiling at her in a way she didn't like, and realized suddenly where he fit in. He was the vampire's Renfield! The human servant who not only eased his master's way in the modern world but who, on occasion, procured. . . .

    Her hand went to her throat and the tiny gold crucifix her grandfather had given her at her first communion. If Norman "the geek" Birdwell thought he was procuring her as a late night snack for his undead master, he was in for a bit of a surprise. She patted her purse and the comforting bulge of a squirt gun filled with holy water. She wasn't afraid to use it either and she'd seen enough vampire movies to know what the effect would be. Holy water wouldn't affect Norman, of course, but then Norman wasn't much of a threat.

    "When I started this, I wanted to change to the fourteenth floor," Norman told her, managing to get his keys in the lock in spite of his trembling hands. I'm actually bringing a girl back to my apartment! "Because the fourteenth floor is really the thirteenth, but they didn't have any empties so I'm still on nine."

    "There's a lot of psychic significance in the number nine," Coreen muttered, pushing past him into the apartment. The entrance way, with its coat closet and plastic mat, opened into one big room that didn't appear to contain a coffin. An old sofa, covered in a handmade afghan, was pushed up against one wall and a blue, metal trunk served as a coffee table. Tucked over in a corner, by the door that led to the balcony, was a square plastic fan and a tiny desk buried beneath computer equipment. At the other end of the room, stove, fridge, and sink made a half turn around a chrome and vinyl table with two matching chairs.

    Coreen's nose wrinkled. The whole place looked spotless but there was a distinctly funny smell. Then she noticed that every available flat surface held at least one solid air freshener; little plastic mushrooms, shells, and fake crystal candy dishes. The combined effect was somewhat overpowering.

    "Can I take your coat?" He had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise of the stereo in the apartment upstairs.

    'No." She sneezed and dug a tissue out of her pocket. "Do