3 Blood Lines (17 page)

Henry stood by the office window and looked down at the traffic. He should have known that Vicki would never use him in such a way—use his abilities, yes, but not his fears. Waking every evening to an image of the sun had him on edge and it seemed that the reminder of his burial had shoved him over. How many other reminders would there be, he wondered. Four hundred and fifty odd years of life supplied a great many things to be reminded of.

Perhaps the image
was
an indication that his time had run out, an invitation to a cleaner end than one of gradual loss of self. And if it came to a choice, he would take the fire.

“Ouch! Son of a bitch!”

Henry hid a smile as Vicki careened off a comer of Dr. Rax’s desk, thoughts of death temporarily banished by the current condition of his life. As Vicki flicked on the desk lamp, he moved away from the window. “Are you sure that’s safe.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Vicki told him, rubbing the front of her thigh and blinking owlishly. “If anyone sees the light they’ll assume someone’s working late, but if they see the flashlight beam,” she snapped it off and dropped it into the cavernous depths of her purse as she spoke, “they’ll assume a break-in.”

“They teach you that at the police academy?”

“Not likely. Back when I was in uniform, a habitual criminal named Weasel took it on himself to further my education.”

“Isn’t that a little counterproductive on his part?” Henry asked, walking over to the desk. “Letting the cops know his secrets?”

“Oh, Weasel wasn’t a bad fellow. His definition of personal property was just a bit loose.” She sat down and scanned the desktop. “Now then, what have we here . . .”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’ll tell you when I . . . hello.” The large book sitting half on and half off the blotter had a number of pages crumpled and folded under as though the book had been dropped and then hastily shut without any regard for its condition.
“Ancient Egyptian Gods and Goddesses, Third Edition.”
She opened it to the folds and pulled it directly under the pool of light, scowling at the unpronounceable names. “I wonder if Dr. Rax was looking something up the night he died.”

“Is there an illustration in there that looks like this?” Henry handed her the desk calendar. The top page still read Monday, October 19th. Dr. Rax hadn’t seen October 20th.

Vicki squinted at the sketch under the date. It looked like some weird combination of a deer’s body and a bird’s head. Then she turned back to the book.

“Here it is. Pretty good likeness, too, if he was doing it from memory. Akhekh? This guy needs another vowel . . .” She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck and found herself looking up at Henry for reassurance. She felt like a fool when she realized he stood beyond her severely limited range of vision and bent her head to continue reading. “Akhekh, a predynastic god of upper Egypt absorbed into the conqueror’s religion to become a form of the evil god Se . . . Fuck!” Slamming the book closed she sat panting, eyes wide, staring at something Henry couldn’t see.

“Vicki?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, hard enough to break through the blank expression. “What happened?”

She blinked, frowned, and checked to make sure she could still move her head. “Whiplash, I think.”

“Vicki!” He shook her again, not as hard but a little more emphatically.

Wetting her lips, she shot a glance at the book. “The eyes on the diagram, they were red. Glowing. They looked right at me.”

 

He moved his shoulders under the silk shirt and smiled at his reflection. The feeling pleased him. This century had much to offer those with the ability to appreciate it. When he finished his restructuring, it would truly be a paradise.

Missing the institution of slavery, and its simplicity of service, he had effectively enslaved the hotel manager and two of his assistants. Their ka had submitted so completely to his, they had very little independence left. It was only a small beginning, but he had plenty of time.

The Solicitor General, with whom he had spent another productive afternoon, was under a similar depth of control. As it was necessary—at least for a time—that the man be able to function independently without arousing suspicion, the application of that control worked on a number of very subtle levels and responded to a myriad of external clues. He was to provide the men and women who would be sworn to Akhekh, their ka going to build power in the heavens even as they gathered power on Earth.

He saw the red glow in the mirror a heartbeat before his reflection faded and he stared instead at the image of his god.

High priest of my new order,
it said.

Arms crossed over his breast, he bowed, centuries of practice keeping his distaste from showing. “My lord?”

 

Vicki ducked out from behind the blackout curtain and pulled the bedroom door closed, suppressing a shudder as she thought of Henry, stretched out immobile on the bed. Although she wasn’t usually inclined to dwell on the past, the afternoon spent waiting for him to wake had made an impression that showed no signs of fading. He seemed to show no desire to immolate himself this morning, but she recognized—last night’s little adventure had forced her to recognize—that his nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

“Vampires shouldn’t have nerves,” she muttered, stepping into the living room and lifting her face to the dawn. It infuriated her that she could do nothing for him but watch and wait.

Yawning, she pulled off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. Getting out of the museum had been a lot less complicated than getting in; Henry had simply caught the guard’s eye, then the two of them had walked right on by. Vicki hadn’t been able to stop herself from muttering,
“These are not the droids you’re looking for.”
Unfortunately, she hadn’t managed much sleep after they got back to Henry’s condo. Dreams of ancient Egyptian gods and human sacrifice kept jerking her awake. Promising herself a good long nap later in the day, she collapsed into a red velvet armchair and reached for the phone. If Celluci wasn’t awake by now, he should be.

He answered on the second ring.

“Celluci.”

“Morning, Detective. You awake enough to hear some news?”

She heard him swallow and in her mind’s eye could see him standing rumpled and unshaven in the tiny kitchen of his house in Downsview. “Good news or bad?”

“I got both. Which do you want first?”

“Give me the good news, I could use some.”

“You aren’t crazy. There
was
a mummy in that coffin and it now seems to be roaming around Toronto.”

“Great.” He swallowed again. “And the bad news?”

“There was a
mummy
in that coffin and it now seems to be roaming around Toronto.”

“Very funny. When I want to know who’s on first, I’ll ask. How are you going to find it?”

Vicki sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’ll think of something. Maybe I should find a reason for Trembley and her partner being killed when the staff at the ROM were only . . . uh, mind-wiped.”

“Maybe I should have another talk with Dr. Shane.”

“Well, why not. She already seems to be mistakenly impressed.”
Idiot! I don’t believe I said that.
Vicki smacked herself in the head with her free hand.
Brain first, mouth second!

She could hear his eyebrows rise. “When did you meet Dr. Shane?”

“Yesterday at the museum.” Not telling him would only cause him to jump to the asinine conclusion she’d been checking up on him. “During my investigation of your mummy.”

“Right.”

The smile in his voice set her teeth on edge. “Fuck off, Celluci. It’s too early in the morning for that shit. Call me if she has anything useful to say.” She hung up before he could answer.

“He thinks I’m jealous,” she told her reflection in the glossy black side of Henry’s stereo cabinet. “Why should I be jealous of Rachel Shane when I haven’t been jealous of any of the busty bimbets he’s bounced over the years?”

“Because Dr. Shane is a lot like you?”
her reflection suggested.

She flipped it the finger and dragged herself up out of the chair. “It is
really
too early in the morning for this.”

 

It had stopped raining, but the sky looked low enough to touch and a cold west wind had chased Vicki all the way down College Street to Police Headquarters. After a long nap and a leisurely breakfast of canned ravioli, she’d realized that Inspector Cantree’s speaking to the Chief about a routine departmental matter still bothered her.

“And it’s not like I have any other leads,” she reminded herself, waiting for the light at Bay. Across the street, Headquarters loomed like an art deco Lego set. A number of people hated it, but Vicki thought it looked cheerful and had always appreciated the image/reality contrast.

She paused for a moment on the steps. Although she’d been back a couple of times in the fourteen months since she’d left the force, it had always been to one of the safe areas, like the morgue or forensics, never to homicide. To get to Inspector Cantree’s office, she’d have to run the gauntlet through the entire homicide department. Where someone else would be using her desk. Where old friends and colleagues would still be fighting to keep the city from going down the sewer.

Where none of them can do the job you’re doing now against a threat just as real.
That helped. She glanced at her watch—twelve twenty-seven. “Oh, hell.” She squared her shoulders and reached for the door. “Maybe they’ll all be out for lunch.”

They weren’t, but the big office was empty enough that Vicki, her visitor’s pass hanging off her lapel like a scarlet letter, only saw two people she knew—and one of them barely had time to call a greeting before he had to turn his attention back to the phone. Unfortunately, person number two had time on his hands.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Victory Nelson, returning to the fold.”

“Hey, Sid.” Although a number of the other women on the force had complained that he was a bit of a tomcat, Vicki had nothing personal against Detective Sidney Austen. Professionally, she thought he didn’t take his job seriously enough and was a little surprised to see him still in homicide. “How’s it going?”

He perched on the edge of his desk and grinned at her. “You know the drill; overworked and underpaid.” She saw him noting the thickness of her glasses, wondering how much she could see. “So, what did you do with your seeing eye dog?”

“I made stew.”

His shout of laughter drowned out the grinding of her teeth. “Seriously, Victory, how’s life as a private investigator?”

“Not so bad.”

“Yeah? Celluci says you’re doing pretty good.”

Trust Celluci to issue bulletins. “I’m managing.”

“I hear a couple of the others have tossed a few cases your way, too.” He recognized her expression and hurriedly spread his hands. “Hey, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Her smile felt tight.

Sid shook his head. “Jesus. It doesn’t seem like you’ve been gone more than a year. You could come back right now and it’d be like you were never away. Speaking of which,” he pulled his brows down in an exaggerated frown, “how come you haven’t been back more often? You know, just dropping in and touching base?”

Because it sticks a knife in my heart and twists it, you asshole.
But she couldn’t say that to him. Instead, she shrugged and asked, “If you got out of this shithole, would you come back?” knowing he’d misunderstand the edge on her voice. “I’ve got to go. The Inspector’s expecting me.”

Stepping into Inspector Cantree’s office was like stepping into the past. How many times had she gone through that door? A hundred? A thousand? A hundred thousand? The last time, just before she left, they’d both been painfully polite. The memory hurt but not so much as she’d feared. She had a new life now and the place where they’d amputated the old had pretty much scarred over.

“Welcome back. Nelson.” Cantree covered the mouthpiece of the phone and jerked his head toward the coffee maker on the filing cabinet. “Get yourself something to drink, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The coffee had the thick, black, iridescent look of an oil slick. Vicki half-filled a pressed cardboard cup and added two large spoonfuls of powdered whitener, past experience having taught her that after the first couple of mouthfuls her taste buds would surrender and she’d be able to get the rest down without gagging. Someone had suggested once that offering the Inspector’s coffee to suspects might convince them to confess, but the idea had to be abandoned as a potential human rights violation.

“So.” Cantree hung up the phone as Vicki pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down. “It’s good to see you again, Nelson.” He sounded like he meant it. “I’ve been following your new career when I can. You’ve been responsible for a couple of nice convictions along with the lost dogs and cheating husbands. I’m sorry we had to lose you.”

“Not as sorry as I was to be lost.” She managed a wry smile as she said it.

The Inspector nodded acknowledgment, of both the statement and the delivery. “How
are
the eyes?”

“Still in my head.” But as he was one of the four people in the world who she felt was owed an honest answer, she continued, “Piss useless after dark but fully functional in bright light, as long as I’m willing to face the world square on. Peripheral’s closed in another twenty-five percent in the last year.”

“Could be worse.”

“Could be raining!” she snapped and savagely swallowed a mouthful of coffee but, after it seared a trail the length of her esophagus, the pressure of his gaze forced her to add, “All right, it could be worse.”

Cantree smiled. “You know you’re welcome back any time, but as this is the first you’ve darkened my door since you turned in your badge, I assume there’s a reason for the visit.”