Blood Trail

the last couple of months his belief that Henry Fitzroy was a vampire had begun to fade.
    He liked Mr. Fitzroy, respected him, realized that all his idiosyncrasies could stem from being a writer rather than a creature of the night but one last lingering doubt remained.
    What had the young woman been hiding that night? And why?

    Occasionally, just for his peace of mind, Greg considered asking her outright, but a certain set to her jaw had always stopped him. So he wondered. And he kept an eye on things. Just in case.

    Vicki felt a distinct sense of relief as the elevator doors closed behind her. Scrutiny by that particular security guard always made her feel, well, dirty. Still, it's my own fault. I'm the one who answered the door practically naked. It had been the only solution she could think of at the time and as it had worked, distracting the old man from his intention of pounding a croquet stake through Henry's heart, she supposed she shouldn't complain about the aftereffects.

    She pushed the button for the fourteenth floor and tucked her white golf shirt more securely into her red walking shorts. The little "adventure" last spring had melted off a few pounds and so far she'd managed to keep them from finding their way back. She carried too much muscle to ever be considered slim - a secret desire she'd admitted to no one - but it was nice to have a little more definition at the waist. Squinting in the glare of the fluorescent lights, she studied her reflection in the stainless steel walls of the elevator.

    Not bad for an old broad, she decided, shoving the hated glasses up her nose. She wondered briefly if maybe she should have dressed more formally then decided that any friends of Henry Fitzroy, bastard son of Henry the VIII, ex-Duke of Richmond, et cetera, et cetera, were not likely to care if the private investigator showed up in shorts.

    When the elevator reached Henry's floor, Vicki settled her purse on her shoulder and put on her professional face. It lasted right up until the condo door swung open and the only creature in the entrance hall was a huge russet colored dog.

    It - no, he - has to be a dog. Vicki extended her hand for him to sniff. Wolves don't come in that color. Or that size. Do they? She could have added that wolves don't generally hang out in condominiums in downtown Toronto, but given that it was Henry's condo all bets were off.
    The animal's eyes were outlined in black, adding to a remarkably expressive face. He enthusiastically sniffed the offered hand, then pushed his head demandingly under Vicki's fingers.

    Vicki grinned, pulled the door closed, then obediently began to scratch in the thick ruff behind the pointed ears. "Henry?" she called as a tail heavy enough to knock a grown man to the ground slammed rhythmically into the wall. "You home?"

    "In the living room."

    Something in the tone of his voice drew her brows down but a saucerlike paw on her instep almost instantly distracted her. "Get off, you great brute." The dog obediently shifted his weight. She grabbed his muzzle lightly in one hand and shook his massive head from side to side. "Come on, fella, they're waiting for us."

    He smiled - there really was no other word for it - whirled around and bounded into the living room, Vicki following at a slightly more sedate pace.

    Henry stood in his usual place by the huge wall of windows that looked down on the city. The lights he used on the infrequent occasions he had company picked up the red highlights in his fair hair and turned his hazel eyes almost gold. Actually, Vicki was guessing about the effect on his eyes as she couldn't see details over that great a distance. She never tired of looking at him though, he had a presence that lifted his appearance from merely pleasing to extraordinary and she could certainly understand how poor Lucy and Mina hadn't stood a chance against his well-known fictional counterpart.

    He wasn't alone. The young woman fiddling with the CD player turned as Vicki came into the living room and Vicki hid a smile as she found herself being thoroughly and obviously looked over. She took a good long look in return.

    A dancer? Vicki wondered. Although small, the girl was sleekly muscled and held herself in a way that could almost be interpreted as challenging. Don't try it, kid. If I'm not quite twice your age - the girl could be no older than seventeen or eighteen - I'm definitely meaner. The short mane of silver blond hair, Vicki realized with a