Blood Price

concrete angel and brushing mud off his knees.
    He could just barely feel the power signature of the naming. It had retreated as far as it could without returning to hell altogether. "Any ideas, mister, miss . . ." he asked, turning to read the name off the headstone. Carved into the stone at the angel's feet was the answer.

    CHRISTUS RESURREXIT! Christ is risen.

    Henry Fitzroy, vampire, raised a good Catholic, dropped back to his knees and said a Hail Mary-just in case.

Eleven
    Coreen slipped through the double doors moments before the class was about to begin and made her way across the lecture hall to a cluster of her friends. Her eyes had the fragile, translucent look of little sleep and much crying. Even the bright red tangle of her hair seemed dimmed.

    The cluster opened and let her in, seating her in the safety of their circle, offering expressions of shock and sympathy. Although Janet had been a friend to all of them, Coreen had seen her last and that gave her grief an immediacy theirs couldn't have.

    None of them, Coreen least of all, was aware of the expression of hatred that crossed Norman Birdwell's face every time he glanced in their direction.

    How dare she still live when I said she was to die.

    The throbbing had returned sometime during the night, each pulse reassuring Norman that the power was still his, each pulse demanding that Coreen pay.

    Coreen had become the symbol for everyone who had ever laughed at him. For every slut who'd spread her legs for the football team but not for him. For every jock who pushed him aside as if he wasn't there. Well, he was there, and he'd prove it. He'd turn his demon loose on the lot of them-but first Coreen had to die.

    Very carefully, he moved his bandaged hand from his lap to the arm of the chair. After spending a virtually sleepless night, he'd stopped by the student medical center before class. If that's what his student funds paid for, he wasn't impressed. First, they'd made him wait until two people who'd arrived before him went in-even though he was obviously in more pain-and then the stupid cow had hurt him when she'd taped down the gauze. They hadn't even wanted to hear the story he'd made up about how he did it.

    Briefcase awkwardly balanced on his knees, he pulled out the little black book he'd bought in high school to keep girls' phone numbers in. The first four or five pages had been raggedly torn out and on the first remaining page, under the word Coreen, he wrote, the Student Medical Center.

    From here on, Norman Birdwell was going to get even.

    He didn't understand what had gone wrong the night before. He'd performed the ritual flawlessly. Something had interfered, had stopped the demon, had stopped his demon. Norman frowned. Obviously, there were things around stronger than the creature he called to do his bidding. He didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. How dare something be able to interfere with him.

    He could see only one solution. He'd have to get a stronger demon.

    After the lecture, he made his way to the front of the class and planted himself between the professor and the door. Over the years he'd learned that the best way to get answers was to block the possibility of escape.

    "Professor Leigh? I need to talk to you."

    Resignedly, the professor set his heavy briefcase back by the lectern. He tried to be available when his students needed him, recognizing that a few moments of answering questions could occasionally clarify an entire semester's work, but Norman Birdwell would corner him for no better reason than to prove how clever he was. "What is it, Norman?"

    What was it? The throbbing had grown so loud again it had become difficult to think. With an effort, he managed to blurt out, "It's about my seminar topic. You said earlier that as well as a host of lesser demons there were also Demon Lords. Can I assume that the Demon Lords are the more powerful?"

    "Yes, Norman, you can." He wondered briefly what the younger man had done to his fingers.
    Probably got them caught in a metaphorical cookie jar. . . .

    "Well, how can you tell what you're going to get? I mean if you call up a demon, how can you ensure that you're going to get a Demon Lord?"

    Professor Leigh's brows rose. This sounded like it was going to be one hell of a seminar. So to speak. "The rituals for calling up one of the demon kind are very complicated, Norman. . . ."

    Norman hid a sneer. The rituals were nonspecific but hardly complicated. Of