3 Blood Lines (26 page)

He shoved the card back in his pocket and, after a cautious examination of the passing crowds, slipped out of the phone booth. Squinting at the sky, he began making his way back to Yonge and Bloor. He knew where Henry was and the hours between now and sunset would only seem like they were taking up the rest of his life. With any luck.

 

The boy had seen him feed; or been aware, at least, that he had fed. Apparently, there
were
a few in this age who had not built barriers of disbelief around their lives. The incident was of interest but placed him in no danger. Who would the boy tell? Who would believe him? Perhaps later he would search him out and, if he could not be used, he was young enough still that his life would be an adequate source of power.

At the moment, he had all the power he needed. He felt wonderful. An infant’s life, so very nearly entirely unrealized potential, was a pleasure to absorb. Occasionally, in the past, when his fortunes were high, he would buy a female slave, have her impregnated by an acolyte, and devour the life of the child at the moment of its birth. The slave’s birth pains and then the despair at the loss of her child became a sacrifice to Akhekh. Such nourishment took careful purchasing and then constant monitoring, however, as the children of some women could be claimed by the gods while still in the womb. Perhaps, with so few gods active, when Akhekh’s temple had been built anew, he would be able to feed in such a way as a matter of course.

He raised his personal temperature another two degrees just because he had the power to spare. It was too lovely a day to return to the enclosure of his hotel room. He would walk to the park, ward a small area, and
soak up a few rays
while he searched for the ka that blazed so brightly.

 

“Mike, it’s Vicki. It’s about two-ten, Sunday afternoon. Call me when you’ve got time to talk.” She hung up the phone and reached for her jacket. Now that they
knew
high-ranking police officers were involved and, given those same officers had already pulled him off the case, a tap on Celluci’s phone line was a possibility; a slim one, granted, but Vicki saw no reason to discount it just because the odds were ridiculously high. After all, they were hunting down an ancient Egyptian mummy and who’d want to figure the odds on that.

“An ancient Egyptian mummy named Anwar Tawfik.” She hoisted her shoulder bag up into position. “How much do you want to bet that’s not its real name.” Still, it was the only name they had, so she planned on spending the afternoon checking the hotels clustered around the Royal Ontario Museum. Everything pointed to it having remained in that area and, from what Henry had to say, Mr. Tawfik apparently preferred to travel first class. She wondered briefly how it paid for such a lifestyle and muttered, “Maybe it has a platinum Egyptian Express card. Don’t be entombed without it.”

Henry wanted to get as far away from this creature and its visions of the sun as was humanly possible. He didn’t have to say it, it was painfully obvious. She doubted he’d be willing, or even able, to face the mummy again.

“So I guess that means it’s up to me.” Her glasses slid forward and she settled them firmly back on the bridge of her nose. “Just the way I like it best.”

The vague, empty feeling, she ignored.

 

His ka swept over the city and found no trace of the life he had touched so briefly the night before. A ka with such potential should shine like a beacon and searching for it should only be a matter of following the blaze of light. He knew it existed. He had seen it, felt it. It should not be able to hide from him!

Where was it?

The connection between them had lasted less than a searing, glorious instant before the young man threw himself backward through the library window and away but even such a slight touch would enable him to gain access into the young man’s ka. If he could find it.

Had the young man died in the night? Had he taken one of the miraculous traveling devices of this age and flown far away? His frustration grew as he brushed over a thousand kas that together burned less brightly than the one he desired.

And then he felt his own ka gripped by a greater power and, for a moment knew a sudden, all-encompassing fear. Recognition lessened the fear only slightly.

Lord, I . . .
He had walked through the woman’s ka and gathered all the information he needed for his lord’s pleasure. He had intended to set it in motion the night before. Had he done so, the suffering would have begun. The touch of the intruder’s ka had driven it right out of his mind.

It made no difference that the pain existed on the spiritual level only. His ka screamed.

 

“Are you all right?”

He felt strong hands around his arm, lifting him back into a sitting position, and knew the wards had broken. Slowly, because it hurt, he opened his eyes.

At first, while he fought his way free of the webs of pain, he thought the young man standing so solicitously by resembled the young man who had escaped him; who had been responsible for the delay in the working of his god’s desire. Who had been responsible for the agony his god had seen fit to twist around him. A moment later, he saw the hair was lighter, the skin darker, the eyes gray rather than pale brown, but by then it didn’t matter.

“You tipped over.” The young man smiled tentatively. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes.” He forced his throbbing head up enough to meet the other’s gaze. “You can throw yourself in front of a subway .”

Eyes widened and face muscles spasmed.

“Your last word must be Akhekh.”

“Yes.” Legs moved jerkily away. Body language screamed no.

He felt better. There had been nothing subtle about the coercion, but there had been no need. The young man would live such a short time that laying on an appearance of normalcy would be a waste. He could feel his lord following close behind, drinking in the despair and panic. The young man knew what he was about to do, he just couldn’t stop himself from doing it.

Hopefully, his lord would be appeased until the chosen one could be delivered.

 

Vicki paused outside the Park Plaza Hotel and looked down at what she was wearing. Sensible shoes, gray cords, and a navy blue duffle coat were fine for most places in this city, but she had a feeling that when she walked through the door and into the lobby she was going to feel underdressed. The hotels she usually searched for suspects did not have a doorman; if someone was stationed out front, he was there as a lookout in case the police arrived. Adjoining shops sold cigarettes and condoms, not seven thousand dollar diamond and emerald necklaces. The windows would be opaque because of plywood, not because the glass had been impregnated with gold.

And I am not being intimidated by a building.
The Park Plaza was directly across Bloor Street from the museum and therefore the logical place to begin a search for Anwar Tawfik. She strode past the doorman, swung through the revolving door at a speed that would have swept any other occupants off their feet, and paused again in the echoing quiet of the green marble lobby.

Some things, however, were universal to hotels. The registration desk had two harried clerks behind it and eleven people—eleven very well-dressed people, Vicki noted—attempting to check in. She sighed silently and got into line, mourning the loss of the badge that would have made waiting unnecessary.

 

His stride had nearly steadied by the time he reached the hotel. The vast amount of power he had absorbed from the infant’s ka had acted as a buffer between the anger of his lord and any lasting damage. There had been times in the past when he had crawled away from such an encounter on his belly and it had taken days of pain and fear to recover his strength. Thankfully, the new acolytes would soon be sworn and his lord’s attention would not then be directed so exclusively at him.

Akhekh, while not one of the more powerful gods, was still very conscious of services owed in return for immortality.

The liveried doorman scurried to open the door and he swept past the tinted glass and into the lobby, stopping abruptly at the touch of a familiar ka.

She looked much as she perceived herself although in truth was a little less tall, a little less blonde, and rather more determined of jaw. What was his lord’s chosen doing here, however? He reached out and gently stroked the surface of her thoughts. After the nights he had spent mapping it, her ka could hold no secrets from him.

He frowned as he uncovered the reason for her presence. She searched for him? She was no wizard to be aware of his wandering in her . . . ah, she searched at the request of another. Apparently, he had not been as thorough at the museum as he had thought. No matter. He smiled. His lord would have twice the pleasure for the plans he had made for the suffering of Ms. Nelson could be adapted to include Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci as well, without even the need to search the detective’s ka.

But, in the meantime, it would not do for the chosen one to disrupt his sanctuary. Without so much as touching her awareness, he laid a false memory over the parameters of her search.

What am I doing back in line?
Vicki wondered, shaking her head and turning for the door.
They’re not going to have any more information now than they did a moment ago.
Computer listings could be changed, Anwar Tawfik might not be the name he was registered under, and if the manager had never heard of him, there wasn’t much else she could do but check the rest of the hotels in the area.

Maybe she’d think of another angle to hit later.

 

“Yes, it was a very pleasant evening, Mrs. Zottie. Thank you. Now, if I could speak with your husband . . .” He looked out over the city as he waited for the Solicitor General to pick up the phone. When he stood close to the wall of windows, the rest of the suite seemed less enclosing.

“You wished to speak with me, Master?”

“I assume you are alone?”

“Yes, Master. I took the call in my study.”

“Good.” It had become necessary to ask for the effect of the control spell had Zottie’s mental abilities deteriorating at an unanticipated pace. Fortunately, his assistance would be necessary only until the others were pledged. “Pay attention, there’s something important I want you to arrange . . . ”

 

Henry had faced enemies before, faced them and conquered them, but his nature denied him the ability to face the sun. Vicki had offered him a chance to leave—she’d understand if he ran from this creature he had no chance of defeating.

Forcing his muscles to respond, he swung his legs off the bed and sat up, golden afterimages of the sun still dancing across the periphery of his vision.

Except he hadn’t. Not when he truly thought he was going to die. Deep in his heart he had always known he was stronger and faster. He was the hunter. He was Vampire. He was immortal.

This time, for the first time in over four hundred and fifty years, he faced a death he believed in.

“And the question becomes, what am I going to do about it?”

It was one thing to endure the dreams when he had no knowledge of how or why they came, it was another to let them continue knowing they were sent.
He must have become aware of me from the moment he woke at the museum.
But even knowing who, the question of why still haunted him. Perhaps the dream of the blazing sun was a warning, a shot fired across his bow saying,
“This is what I can do to you if I choose. Do not interfere in what I plan.”

“So it all returns to running. Do I let him have his way or do I face him again?” He leapt to his feet and strode across the room, head high, eyes blazing. “I am the son of a King! I am Vampire! I do not run!”

With a loud crack, the closet door ripped off in his hands. Henry stared at it for a moment, then slowly let the pieces fall. In the end, the anger and the fine words meant nothing. He didn’t think he could face Tawfik again, not knowing he had to face the sun as well.

The sudden ringing of the phone slammed his heart against his chest in a very mortal reaction.

“All right, Mr. Fitzroy says you can go up.”

Tony nodded, brushed his hair back off his face with a hand that still trembled, and hurried for the inner door. The old security guard disapproved of him, could see the street kid lurking just below the surface; thought thief, and addict, and bum. Tony didn’t give a rat’s ass what the old guy thought, especially not tonight. All he wanted was to get to Henry.

Henry would make it better.