Blood Price

be plenty of time. And besides, yelling wouldn't help. "5:00, then. Where?"

    "Do you know where Burton Auditorium is?"

    "I can find it."

    "Meet me outside the north doors."

    "All right. 5:00 pm, at the north doors of Burton Auditorium, I'll see you then."

    Vicki hung up the phone and sat for a moment just staring at it. Of all the possible situations that could have developed, up to and including one last desperate confrontation with the Demon Lord itself, this had not occurred to her-that someone would just drop the answer in her lap. She pushed her glasses up her nose and shook her head. It shouldn't, she supposed, come as much of a surprise; once the right questions were dredged up out of the abyss the right answers usually followed.

    Doodling on the cover of the phone book, she dialed directory assistance-just in case. "Hi, I'm looking for a new listing for a Norman Birdwell. I don't have an address, but he's somewhere up by York University."

    "One moment, please. We have a new listing for an N. Birdwell. . . ."

    Vicki scribbled the number across the cover artist's conception of a telephone operator.
    "Could I possibly trouble you for the address as well?"

    "I'm sorry, but we're not permitted to give out that information."

    "You'll be sorrier if the world comes to an end," Vicki muttered, cutting the connection with her thumb. That it was the anticipated answer made it no less annoying.

    At the Birdwell number, an open modem screamed on the line and Vicki hurriedly cut if off.

    "Looks like we're back to Coreen."

    8:17. She yawned. She could spend the rest of the day trying to get through to N.
    Birdwell-who might or might not be Norman-but what she really needed was another four or five hours sleep. The blood loss combined with the late night-she'd always been more of an early to bed early to rise type-had really knocked her on her ass. She should probably still go out to York, still speak to the others on the list, but now that the opportunity to catch up on sleep had been dumped in her lap, her body seemed to be making an independent decision to take advantage of it.

    Staggering into the bedroom, she tossed her clothes on the floor and managed to stay awake only long enough to reset her alarm for one o'clock. Her eyes closed almost before her head hit the pillow. Coreen's call had banished the uncertainty, defined the threat, and with it Vicki had a weapon to fight the nightmares if they came again.

    "Sometimes we win with greater firepower, through sheer numbers or more powerful weapons, but for the most part it's knowledge that defines our victories. Know something and it has lost its power over you."

    Vicki woke with the words of one of her cadet instructors ringing in her head. He'd been much given to purple prose and almost Shakespearean speeches, but what had redeemed him in the eyes of the cadets was not only that he'd believed strongly in everything he said but that most of the time, he was right.

    The monster had a name. Norman Birdwell. Now, it could be beaten.

    After a bowl of soup, a toasted tomato sandwich, and another iron supplement, she called Henry.

    ". . . so the moment Coreen gets me to some kind of an address, I'll call and let you know.
    From the sound of it, he's not going to be that difficult to take care of if there's no demon around.
    I'll have Coreen take me back to York and I'll wait for you there."

    With her finger on the disconnect, she sat listening to the dial tone, staring off into the distance, trying to make up her mind. Finally she decided. "Well, it can't hurt." Whether he believed her or not, it was still information he should have.

    "Mike Celluci, please. Yes, I'll hold."

    He wasn't in the building and the young man on the other end of the phone was significantly unhelpful.

    "If you could let him know that Vicki Nelson called."

    "Yes ma'am. Is that all?" The young man obviously had never heard of her and he wasn't impressed.

    Vicki's tone changed. She hadn't reached her rank at her age without acquiring the ability to handle snot-nosed young men. The words came out parade ground clipped. "Tell him he should check out a student at York University, name of Norman Birdwell. I'll tell him more when I know more."

    "Yes, sir! I mean, ma'am."

    She grinned a little sadly as she hung up. "Okay, so I'm not a cop anymore," she told an old photo of herself in uniform that hung over the desk. "That's no reason to throw the baby out with the bath water. Maybe