Blood Price

and hoping he wasn't going to have to call building maintenance.

    "You can't talk to me like that. It wasn't my fault." In spite of his awkward position, Norman drew himself up and looked the guard right in the eye. "Who's your supervisor?"

    "Wha. . . ." The guard, who had never considered himself an imaginative man, had the strangest feeling that something not the least human studied him from behind the furious gaze of the young man. The muscles in his legs felt suddenly weak and he wanted desperately to look away.

    "Your supervisor, who is he? I'm going to register a complaint and you'll lose your job."

    "And I'll what?"

    "You heard me." With a final heave, the briefcase came free, deeply scored down one side.
    "You just wait!" Norman backed out the door, almost running down two students trying to enter.
    He scowled at the confused guard. "You'll see!"

    He felt better by the time he'd walked to Bloor Street. With every step, he imagined pulling one of those stupid so-called rare books off the shelves, throwing it on the sidewalk in front of him, and kicking it out into traffic. Still breathing a little heavily, he went into the phone booth at the gas station and looked up the name the crazy old woman had given him.

    Henry Fitzroy had no listed number.

    Letting the phone book fall, Norman almost laughed. If they thought a minor detail like that could stop him. . . .

    On the way back to his apartment, he added Dr. Sagara, the library guard, and a surly TTC
    official to his black book. He didn't worry much about the lack of names; surely a Demon Lord would be powerful enough to work without them.

    Once home, he added his upstairs neighbor. On principle more than anything else, for the heavy metal beat pounding through his ceiling only seemed to enhance the beat pulsing in his head.

    Breaking into the phone system took him less time than he'd anticipated, even considering that he had to type one-handed.

    The only Henry Fitzroy listed lived at 278 Bloor Street East, unit 1407. Given the proximity to Yonge and Bloor, Norman suspected the building consisted of expensive condominiums. He glanced around at his own tiny apartment. As soon as he called the Demon Lord, he'd have that kind of address and be living in the style he deserved.

    But first, he'd have to get the grimoire he was certain Henry Fitzroy had-that wacko old lady was obviously just being coy.

    Of course, Henry Fitzroy wouldn't lend it to him, no point in even asking. People who lived in those kinds of buildings were too smug about what they owned. Just because they had lots of money, the world was below their notice and a perfectly reasonable request to borrow a book would be denied.

    "He probably doesn't even know what he has, thinks it's just some old book worth money. I know how to use it. That makes it mine by right." It wouldn't be stealing to take a book that by rights should be his.

    Norman turned and looked down at the pool of metal that had been the hibachi. There was only one way to get his property out of a high security building.

    * * *
    "Anything much happen today?" Greg asked sliding into the recently vacated chair. He should've waited a little longer. It was still warm. He hated sitting in a chair warmed by someone else's butt.

    "Mr. Post from 1620 stalled his car goin' up the ramp again." Tim chuckled and scratched at his beard. "Every time he tried to put it in gear he'd roll backward, panic, and stall again. Finally let it roll all the way down till it rested on the door and started from there. I almost split a gut laughing."

    "Some men," Greg observed, "are not meant to drive standards." He bent over and picked up a package from the floor by the desk. "What's this?"

    The day guard paused, half into his hockey jacket, his uniform blazer left hanging on the hook in its place. "Oh that-it came this afternoon, UPS from New York. For that writer up on fourteen. I rang his apartment and left a message on his machine."

    Greg put the package back on the floor. "Guess Mr. Fitzroy'll be down for it later."

    "Guess so." Tim paused on the other side of the desk. "Greg, I've been thinking."

    The older guard snorted. "Dangerous that."

    "No, this is serious. I've been thinking about Mr. Fitzroy. I've been here four months now and I've never seen him. Never seen him come down for his mail. Never seen him take his car out." He waved a hand in the general direction of the package. "I've never even been able to get him on the phone, I