"At the beginning," Rose repeated, her tone turning the statement into a question. She sighed and pushed a shock of pale hair back off her face. "I guess it started when Silver got shot."

"Silver?" Vicki asked. She had a feeling that if she didn't stay on top of this explanation it was going to get away from her pretty quickly.

"Our aunt," Rose began but Peter cut in when he saw the look on Vicki's face.

"We have two names," he explained. "One for each form." He laid a short-fingered hand against the tanned muscles of his chest. "This is Peter, but it was Storm who met you at the door. And, in her fur-form, Rose is called Cloud. It's easier than explaining to outsiders why all the farm dogs have the same names as members of the family."

"I can imagine it must be," Vicki agreed, pleased that her earlier assumption about the names had been verified. "But doesn't it get a little confusing?"

Peter shrugged. "Why should it? You have more than one name. You're Ms. Nelson to some people, Vicki to others, and you don't find it confusing."

"Not usually, no." Vicki conceded the point. "So your aunt was shot in her .. uh, wolf form."

Well, they were called werewolves so she supposed wolf was the preferred term. It certainly seemed more socially acceptable than dog. And just think, before Henry came into my life, I never used to worry about things like that... She'd have to remember to thank him.

"That's right." Peter nodded. "Our family owns a large sheep farm just north of London, Ontario... "

The pause dared her to comment but Vicki kept her expression politely interested and her mouth shut.

"... and Silver was shot in the head when she was out checking the flock."

"At night?"

"Yes."

"We thought about telling the police that someone had shot one of our dogs," Rose continued, "and at the time that's all we thought it was, some dickhead with a gun who had no way of knowing she was anything more. These things happen, people lose dogs all the time." Her voice broke on the last word and Peter butted his head against her knees. She threaded her fingers through his hair and went on. Touch appeared to be important to them Vicki noted. "But the last thing we need is police roaming around and asking questions, you know, seeing things, so the family decided to deal with it."

Peter's lips drew back off his teeth; long and white, they were his least human feature.

If "the family" had caught up to Silver's killer, Vicki realized, justice would have little to do with the law and the courts. A year ago she would have been appalled at the idea, but a year ago she'd had a badge and things had been a lot simpler. "So what did you tell people who asked where your Aunt Sylvia had gone."

"We told them she'd finally decided to join Uncle Robert up in the Yukon. She always talked about doing it so no one was very surprised. Aunt Nadine - she was Aunt Sylvia's twin... " Rose swallowed again, hard, and Peter pressed closer. "Well, she stayed out of sight for a while. Twin bonds are pretty strong with our people and she kept having to howl. Anyway, Monday night, Ebon - Uncle Jason - was shot in the head while he was out checking on the ewes with fall lambs. No one heard anything and we couldn't find a scent anywhere near the body."

"High velocity rifle, probably with a silencer and a scope," Vicki guessed. She frowned. "Sounds like quite a marksman; to hit a moving target at night... "

"Monday was a full moon," Henry broke in. "There was plenty of light."

"Wouldn't matter with a scope. And there wasn't a full moon the night Silver was killed." She shook her head. "A shot like that, two shots... "

"That isn't all," Rose interrupted, tossing something across the room. "Father found this near the body."

Vicki flailed at the air and the small lump of metal landed in her lap. Silently cursing her lack of depth perception, she dug around in the folds of her shorts and when she fished it out, stared down in puzzlement at what could only be - in spite of its squashed appearance - a silver bullet. She closed her teeth firmly on her instinctive response. Your uncle was killed by the Lone Ranger?

Henry reached over her shoulder and plucked the dully gleaming object from her palm, holding it up to the light between finger and thumb. "A silver bullet," he explained, "is one of the traditional ways to kill a werewolf. The silver is a myth. The bullet alone is usually enough to do the job."

"I can imagine." A .30 caliber round - and Vicki knew the slug had to have been at least that large to have maintained any kind of shape at all after traveling through flesh and bone and then impacting into the dirt - fired from a high velocity rifle would have left very little of Ebon's head in the wake of its passing. She turned again to Rose and Peter who had been watching her expressionlessly. "I take it that a similar bullet was not found by your aunt's body or you'd have mentioned it?"

Rose frowned down at her brother then they both shook their heads.

"Doesn't really matter. Even without the bullet, the pattern points to a single marksman." Vicki sighed and leaned forward on the couch, resting her forearms on her thighs. "And here's something else to think about; whoever shot Ebon was shooting specifically at werewolves. If one person knows you're wer, others will too; that's a given. These deaths could be the result of a community... "

"Witch hunt," Henry put in quietly as she paused.

She nodded, not lifting her gaze from the twins, and continued. "You're different and different frightens most people. They could be taking their fear out on you."

Peter exchanged a long look with his sister. "It doesn't have to be that complicated," he said. "Our older brother is a member of the London police force and Barry, his partner, knows he's a wer."

"And his partner is a marksman?" All things considered, it wasn't that wild a guess. Nor would it be unlikely that said partner would own a .30 caliber rifle when any six people in any small town would likely own half a dozen between them.

The twins nodded.

Vicki let her breath out in a long, low whistle. "Messy. Has your brother confronted his partner about this?"

"No, Uncle Stuart won't allow it. He says the pack keeps its trouble within the pack. Aunt Nadine convinced him to call Henry, and Henry convinced them both that we should talk to you. That you might be our only chance. Will you help, Ms. Nelson? Uncle Stuart said we were to agree to whatever you charge."

Peter's hand was back on her knee and he was staring up at her with such single-minded entreaty that she said without thinking, "You want me to find out that Barry didn't do it."

"We want you to find out who did do it," Rose corrected. "Who is doing it. Whoever they are." Then, just for an instant, the fear showed through. "Someone is killing us, Ms. Nelson. I don't want to die."

Thus lifting this whole discussion out of the realm of fairy tales. "I don't want you to die either," Vicki told her gently. "But I might not be the best person for the job." She pushed her glasses up her nose and took a deep breath. Both deaths had occurred at night and her eyes simply didn't allow her to function after dark. It was bad enough in the city, but in the country with no streetlights to anchor her, she'd be blind.

On the other hand, what choice did they have? Surely she'd be better than nothing. And her lack of vision didn't affect her mind, or her training, or her years of experience. And this was a job that would count for something, it was important, life or death. The kind of job Celluci still does. God damn it! She could work around the disability.

"I can't leave right away." Dawning expressions of relief mixed with hope told her she'd made the right decision. "Unfortunately, I have appointments I can't break. How about Friday?"

"Friday evening," Henry interrupted smoothly. "After sunset. Meanwhile, no one is to go anywhere by themselves. No one. Both Ebon and Silver were shot while they were alone, and that's the only part of the pattern you can change. Make sure the rest of the family understands that. And as much as possible, stay in sight of the house. In fact, as much as you can, stay in sight of non-wer. Whoever is doing this is counting on you not being able to tell anyone, and as long as there are witnesses around you should be safe. Did I miss anything, Vicki?"

"No, I don't think so." He'd missed asking for her opinion before he started his little lecture, but they'd discuss that later. As for his assumption that he'd be going along, well, it solved her transportation problem and created all sorts of new ones that would have to be dealt with - again, later. She wasn't looking forward to "later."

"Over the next two days," she told the twins, "I want you to write me up a list - two lists actually; the people who know what you are on one and the people who might suspect on the other. Get the input of everyone in the family."

"We can do that, no problem." Peter heaved a sigh of relief and bounded to his feet.

Apparently the fact that she and Henry operated as a team had come as no surprise to him. Vicki wondered what Henry had told them before she arrived. "First thing tomorrow," she buried the slug in tissues and sealed it into one of the small freezer bags she always carried in her purse, "I'll drop this off at ballistics and see if they can tell me anything about the rifle it came from."

"But Colin said... " Rose began.

Vicki cut her off. "Colin said it would lead to awkward questions. Well, it would in London and, considering your family's situation, it's not the sort of thing you want talked about. Good cops remember the damnedest bits of information and Colin handing around silver bullets could lead to your exposure later on. However," she pitched her voice for maximum reassurance, "this is Toronto. We have a much broader crime base, God forbid, and the fact that I was handing around a silver bullet won't mean squat even if someone does remember it."

She paused for breath and tucked the small plastic bag containing the tissues and the slug down into a secure corner of her purse. "Don't expect anything though, this thing is a mess."

"We won't. And we'll tell Aunt Nadine to expect you on Friday night." Peter smiled at her with such complete and utter gratitude that Vicki felt like a heel for even considering refusing to help. "Thanks, Ms. Nelson."

"Yes, thank you." Rose stood as well and added her quieter smile to the brilliance of her brother's. "We really appreciate this. Henry was right."

What Henry was right about this time got a little lost with Peter shucking off his shorts. Vicki supposed she'd have to get used to it but at the moment all that naked young man left her a little distracted. The reappearance of Storm came as a distinct relief.

He shook himself briskly and bounded toward the door.

"Why... " Vicki began.

Rose understood and grinned. "Because he likes to ride with his head out the car window." She sighed as she stuffed the discarded shorts back into her bag. "He's such lousy company in a car."

"Well, he certainly seems anxious to get going."

"We don't like the city much," Rose explained, her nose wrinkling. "It stinks. Thanks again, Ms. Nelson. We'll see you Friday."

"You're welcome." She watched Henry walk Rose to the door, warn them to be careful, and return to the living room. The look on his face rerouted the accusation of high-handedness she was about to make. "What's wrong?"

Both red-gold brows rose. "My friends are being killed," he reminded her quietly.

Vicki felt herself flush. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's hard to hang onto that amidst all the," she waved a hand as she groped for the word, "strangeness."

"It is, however, the important thing to be hung onto."

"I know. I know." She forced herself not to sound sullen. She shouldn't have had to be reminded of that. "You never thought for a moment that I might say no, did you?"

"I've come to know you over these last few months." His expression softened. "You need to be needed and they need you, Vicki. There aren't too many private investigators they can trust with this."

That was easy to believe. As to her needing to be needed, it was a facetious observation that could easily be ignored. "Are all the wer so," she searched for the right word and settled on, "self-contained? If my family were going through what theirs is, I'd be an emotional wreck."

Somehow he doubted that, but it was still a question that deserved answering. "From the time they're very young, the wer are taught to hide what they are, and not only physically; for the good of the pack you never show vulnerability to strangers. You should consider yourself honored that you got as much as you did. Also, the wer tend to live much more in the present than humans do. They mourn their dead, then they get on with life. They don't carry the burden of yesterday, they don't anticipate tomorrow."

Vicki snorted. "Very poetic. But it makes it nearly impossible for them to deal with this sort of situation, doesn't it?"

"That's why they've come to you."

"And if I wasn't around?"

"Then they'd die."

She frowned. "And why couldn't you save them?"

He moved to his usual place by the window, leaning back against the glass. "Because they won't let me."

"Because you're a vampire?"

"Because Stuart won't allow that kind of challenge to his authority. If he can't save the pack, neither can I. You're female, you're Nadine's problem, and Nadine, at the moment, is devastated by the loss of her twin. If you were wer, you could probably take her position away from her right now, but as you aren't, the two of you should be able to work something out." He shook his head at her expression. "You can't judge them by human standards, Vicki, no matter how human they seem most of the time. And it's too late to back out. You told Rose and Peter you'd help."

Her chin went up. "Did I give you any indication that I might back out?"

"No."

"Damned straight, I didn't. She took a deep breath. She'd worked with the Toronto City Council, she could work with werewolves. At least with the latter all the growling and snapping would mean something. In fact, the wer were likely to be the least of her problems. "There might be difficulties. I mean, with me taking this case."

"Like the fact you don't drive." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"No. Real problems."

He turned and spread his arms, the movement causing the hair to glint gold in the lamplight. "So tell me."

It's called retinitis pigmentosa. I'm going blind. I can't see at night. I have almost no peripheral vision. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't handle the pity. Not from him. Not after what she'd gone through with Celluci. Fuck it. She shoved her glasses up her nose and shook her head.

Henry dropped his arms. After a moment, when the silence had stretched to uncomfortable dimensions, he said, "I hope you don't mind that I've invited myself along. I thought we made a pretty good team the last time. And, I thought you might need a little help dealing with the... strangeness."

She managed an almost realistic laugh. "I do the day work, you cover the night?"

"Just like last time, yes." He leaned back against the glass and watched her turning that over in her mind, worrying it into pieces. She was one of the most stubborn, argumentative, independent women he'd met in four and a half centuries, and he wished she'd confide in him. Whatever the problem was, they could work it out together because whatever the problem was, it couldn't be big enough to keep her from giving everything she had to this case. He wouldn't allow it to be. Friends of his were dying.

"I don't want to die, Ms. Nelson."

I don't want you to die either, Rose. Vicki worried her lower lip between her teeth. If they worked together, he'd find out, eventually. She had to decide if that mattered more than the continuing loss of innocent lives. And put like that, it's not much of a choice, is it? If she wasn't their best chance on her own, together she and Henry were. Screw it. We'll work it out.

Henry watched her expressions change and smiled. Over his long existence he'd grown very good at reading people, at picking up the delicate nuances that mirrored their inner thoughts. Most of the time, Vicki went right past nuance; her thoughts as easy to read as a billboard.

"So, Friday night after sunset. You can pick me up."

He bowed, the accompanying smile taking the mocking edge off the gesture. "As my lady commands."

Vicki returned the smile, then yawned and stretched, back arched and arms spread out against the red velvet.

Henry watched the pulse beating at the base of her throat. He hadn't fed for three nights and the need was rising in him. Vicki wanted him. He could scent her desire most times they were together, but he'd held back because of the blood loss that she'd taken in the spring. And, he had to admit, held back because he wanted the timing to be right. The one time he'd fed from her had been such a frenzied necessity that she'd missed all the extra pleasures it could bring to both parties involved.

The scent of her life filled the apartment and he walked forward, his pace measured to the beat of her heart. When he reached the couch, he held out his hand.

Vicki took it and hauled herself to her feet. "Thanks." She yawned again, releasing him to shove a fist in front of her mouth. "Boy, am I bagged. You wouldn't believe the time I had to get up this morning and then I spent the whole day working essentially two jobs in a factory that had to be eighty degrees C." Dragging her bag up over her shoulder, she headed for the door. "No need to see me out. I'll be waiting for you after sunset Friday." She waved cheerfully and was gone.

Henry opened his mouth to protest, closed it, opened it again, then sighed.

By the time the elevator reached the lobby, Vicki had managed to stop laughing. The poleaxed look on Henry's face had been priceless and she'd have given a year of her life to have had a camera. If his royal undead highness thinks he's got this situation under control, he can think again. It had taken almost more willpower than she had to walk out of that apartment, but it had been worth it.

"Begin as you mean to go on," she declared under her breath, wiping sweaty palms against her shorts. "Maybe Mom's old sayings have more value than I thought."

She was still smiling when she got into the cab, still flushed with victory, then she leaned back and looked up at the fuzzy rectangles of light that were Henry's building. She couldn't see him. Couldn't have even said for certain which fuzzy rectangle was his. But he was up there. Looking down at her. Wanting her. Like she wanted him - and she felt like a teenager whose hormones had just kicked into overdrive.

Why the hell wasn't she up there with him, then?

She let her head drop down against the sweaty leather of the seat and sighed. "I am such an idiot."

"Maybe," the cabbie agreed, turning around with a gold-toothed grin. "You wanna be a moving idiot? Meter's running."

Vicki glared at him. "Huron Street," she growled. "South of College. You just drive."

He snorted and faced forward. "Just 'cause you unlucky in love, lady, ain't no reason to take it out on me."

The cabbie's muttering blended with the sounds of the traffic, and all the way down Bloor Street, Vicki could feel Henry's gaze hot on the back of her neck. It was going to be a long night.

The tape ended and Rose fumbled between the seats for a new one with no success. The long drive back from Toronto had left her stiff, tired, and too tense to take her eyes off the road - even if it was only an empty stretch of gravel barely a kilometer from home.

"Hey!" She poked her brother in the back. "Why don't you do something useful and dig out... Storm, hold on!" Her foot slammed down on the brake. With the back end of the small car fishtailing in the gravel and the steering wheel twisting like a live thing in her hands, she fought to regain control, dimly aware of Peter, not Storm, hanging on beside her.

We aren 't going to make it! The shadow she'd seen stretched across the road, loomed darker, closer.

Darker. Closer.

Then, just as she thought they might stop in time and relief allowed her heart to start beating again, the front bumper and the shadow met.

Good. They were unhurt. It was no part of his plan to have them injured in a car accident. A pity the change in wind kept him from his regular hunting ground, but it need not stop the hunt entirely. He rested his cheek against the rifle, watching the scene unfold in the scope. They were close to home. One of them would go for help, leaving the other for him.

"I guess Dad was right all along about this old tree being punky. Rotted right off the stump." Peter perched on the trunk, looking like a red-haired Puck in the headlights. "Think we can move it?"

Rose shook her head. "Not just the two of us. You'd better run home and get help. I'll wait by the car."

"Why don't we both go?"

"Because I don't like leaving the car just sitting here." She flicked her hair back off her face. "It's a five minute run, Peter. I'll be fine. Jeez, you are getting so overprotective lately."

"I am not! It's just... "

They heard the approaching truck at the same time and a heartbeat later Rose and Storm came around the car to face it.

Only the Heerkens farm fronted on this road. Only the Heerkens drove this road at night. His grip tightened on the sweaty metal.

"They spray the oil back of the crossroads today. Stink like anything." Frederick Kleinbein hitched his pants up over the curve of his belly and beamed genially at Rose. "I take long way home to avoid stink. Good thing, eh? We get chain from truck, hitch to tree, and drag tree to side of road." He reached over and lightly grabbed Storm's muzzle, shaking his head from side to side. "Maybe we hitch you to tree, eh? Make you do some work for your living."

"There are none so blind as those who will not see... " There would be no chance of a shot now.

"Thanks, Mr. Kleinbein."

"Ach, why thank me? You do half of work. Truck did other half." He leaned out of the window, mopping his brow with a snowy white handkerchief. "You and that overgrown puppy of yours get home now, eh? Tell your father some of the wood near top is still good to burn. If he doesn't want, I do. And tell him that I return his sump pump before end of month."

Rose stepped back as he put the truck into gear, then forward again as he added something over the sound of the engine that she didn't catch. "What?"

But he only waved a beefy arm and was gone.

"He said," Peter told her, once the red banner of taillights had disappeared and it was safe to change, "Give my regards to your brother. And then he laughed."

"Do you think he saw you as he drove up?"

"Rose, it's a perfectly normal thing for him to say. He might have meant me, he might have meant Colin. After all, Colin used to help him bring in hay. You worry too much."

"Maybe," she acknowledged but silently added as Storm's head went out the window again, Maybe not.

He remained where he was, watching, until they drove away, then he slipped the silver bullet from the rifle and into his pocket. He would just have to use it another time.

"Are you sure of this?" The elder Mr. Glassman tapped a manicured nail against the report. "It will hold up in court?"

"No doubt about it. Everything you need is right there." Behind her back the fingers of Vicki's right hand beat a tattoo against her left palm. Every time she faced the elder Mr. Glassman, she found herself standing at parade rest for no reason she could discern. He wasn't a physically imposing man, nor in any way military in bearing so she supposed it must be force of personality. Although he'd been hardly more than a child at the time, he'd managed to not only survive the death camps of the Holocaust but bring his younger brother Joseph safely through the horror as well.

He closed the report and sighed deeply. "Harris." The name put an end to months of petty sabotage, although as he said it, he sounded more weary than angry. "Our thanks for your quick work, Ms. Nelson." He stood and held out his hand.

Vicki took it, noting the strength beneath the soft surface.

"I see your bill is included with the report," he continued. "We'll issue a check at the end of the week. I assume you'll be available for court appearances if necessary?"

"It's part of the service," she assured him. "If you need me, I'll be there."

"Yo, baby-doll!" Harris, spending the last of his lunch break outside in the sun with a couple of cronies, heaved himself to his feet as Vicki left the building. "Packin' it in, eh? Couldn't cut it."

Vicki had every intention of ignoring him.

"Pity that your tight little ass is gonna be wiggling its way somewhere else."

And then again...

He laughed as he saw her reaction and continued to laugh as she crossed the parking lot to stand in front of him. A jock in his younger days, he had the heavy, bulgy build of a man who'd once been muscular, his Blue Jays T-shirt stretched tight over the beer belly he carried around instead of a waist. He was the kind of laughing bigot that everyone tends to excuse.

Don't mind him, it's just his way.

Vicki considered those the most dangerous kind but this time he'd gone beyond excuses. He could complain about people not being able to take a joke all the way to court.

"What's the matter baby-doll, couldn't leave without a good-bye kiss." He turned to be sure the two men still sitting by the building appreciated the joke and so missed the expression on Vicki's face.

She'd had a bad night. She was in a bad mood. And she was more than willing to take it out on this racist, sexist son-of-a-bitch. He had a good four inches on her and probably a hundred pounds but she figured she'd have little trouble dusting his ass. Tempting, but no. Although her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched, years of observing due process held her temper in check. He's not worth the trouble.

As she turned to leave, Harris swung around and, grinning broadly, reached out and smacked her on the ass.

Vicki smiled. Oh what the hell....

Pivoting, she kicked him less hard than she was able on the outside edge of his left knee. He toppled, bellowing with pain, as if both feet had been cut out from under him. A blow just below his ribs drove the air out of his lungs in an anguished gasp and given that she resisted stomping where it would hurt the most, she treated herself to slamming a well-placed foot into his butt as he drew his knees up to his chest. Then she grinned at his buddies and started home again.

He could press charges. But she didn't think he would. He wasn't hurt and she was willing to bet that by the time he got his breath back he'd already be warping the facts to fit his world view - a world view that would not include the possibility of his being taken down by a woman.

She also realized that this wouldn't have been the case if she still carried a badge, police brutality being a rallying cry of his kind.

You know, she shoved her glasses up her nose and ran for the bus she could now see cresting the Eglington Avenue overpass, / think I could grow to like being a civilian.

The euphoria faded along with the adrenaline and the crisis of conscience set in barely two blocks from the bus stop. It wasn't so much the violence itself that upset her as her reaction to it; try as she would, she simply couldn't convince herself that Harris hadn't got a small fraction of exactly what he had coming. By the time she was fighting her way to the back of the Dundas streetcar in an attempt to actually make it off at her stop, she was heartily sick of the whole argument.

Violence is never the answer but sometimes, like with cockroaches, it's the only possible response. By physically moving two semi-comatose teenagers out of her way, she made it out the door at the last possible second. Harris is a cockroach. End of discussion. It was too damned hot to deal with personal ethics. She promised herself she'd take another crack at it when the weather cooled down.

She could feel the heat of the asphalt through the soles of her sneakers and, walking as quickly as the seething crowds allowed, she turned up Huron Street toward home. Dundas and Huron crossed in the center of Chinatown, surrounded by restaurants and tiny markets selling exotic vegetables and live fish. In hot weather, the metal bins of food garbage heated up and the stench that permeated the area was anything but appetizing. Breathing shallowly through her mouth, Vicki could completely understand why the wer had hurried out of the city.

As she passed, she checked the puddle. Tucked up against the curb in a spot where the asphalt had peeled off and a number of the original paving bricks were missing, the puddle collected local runoff as well as assorted organic flotsam. As the temperature rose, foul smelling bubbles occasionally broke through the scummy surface, adding their own bit of joy to the bouquet. Vicki had no idea how deep the puddle was. In five years, she'd never seen it dry. She had a theory that someday, something was going to crawl out of this little leftover bowl of primordial soup and terrorize the neighborhood, so she kept an eye on it. She wanted to be there when it happened.

By the time she reached her apartment, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and all she wanted was a cold shower and a colder drink. She suspected it'd be some time before she got either when she could smell the coffee brewing inside as she put her key in the lock.

"It's a hundred and twelve degrees in the shade," she muttered, swinging open the door, "how the hell can you drink hot coffee?"

It was a good thing she didn't expect an answer, because she didn't get one. Snapping the lock back on, she threw her bag down in the hall and went into the tiny living room.

"Nice of you to drop by, Celluci." She frowned. "You look like shit."

"Thank you, Mother Theresa." He raised his mug and drank deeply, barely lifting his head off the back of the recliner. When he finished swallowing, he met her eyes. "We got the son of a bitch."

"Margot?"

Celluci nodded. "Got him cold. We picked the little bastard up at noon."

At noon. While I was proving I was more macho than Billy Harris. For an instant Vicki was so blindly jealous she couldn't speak. That was what she should be doing with her life, making a difference, not making a fool of herself in the parking lot of a coffee factory. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she managed to wrestle the monster back into its pit although she couldn't quite manage the smile.

"Good work." When she'd allowed Mike Celluci back into her life, she'd allowed police work back in. She'd just have to learn to deal with it.

He nodded, his expression showing exhaustion and not much more. Vicki felt some of the tension go out of her shoulders. Either he understood or he was too tired to make a scene. Either way, she could cope. She reached over and took the empty mug from his hand.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Tuesday."

"Ate?"

"Uh... " He frowned and rubbed his free hand across his eyes.

"Real food," Vicki prodded. "Not something out of a box, covered in powdered sugar."

"I don't remember."

She shook her head and moved into the kitchen. "Sandwich first, then sleep. You'd better not mind cold roast beef, 'cause that's all I've got." As she piled the meat onto bread, she grinned. It was almost like old times. They'd made a pact, she and Celluci, years ago when they'd first gotten involved; if they couldn't take care of themselves, they'd let the other one do it for them.

"This job has enough ways of eating at your soul," she'd told him as he worked the knots out of her back. "It makes sense to build up a support structure."

"You sure you just don't want someone to brag to when the job is done?" he snorted.
Her elbow caught him in the solar plexus. She smiled sweetly as he gasped for breath. "That, too."

And as important as someone who'd understood when it went right, was someone who understood when it went wrong. Who didn't ask a lot of stupid questions there were no answers to or give sympathy that poured salt on the wound failure had left.

Someone who'd just make a sandwich and turn down the bed and then go away while the last set of clean sheets got wrinkled and sweaty.

Six hours later, Celluci stumbled out into the living room and stared blearily at the television. "What inning?"

"Top of the fourth."

He collapsed into the only other chair in the room, Vicki being firmly entrenched in the recliner. "Goals scored?" he asked, scratching at the hair on his chest.

"It's runs, asshole, as you very well know, and it's a no-run game so far."

His stomach rumbled audibly over the sounds of the crowd cheering an easy out at first. "Pizza?"

Vicki tossed him the phone. "It's my place, you're buying."

One lone slice lay congealing in the box and the Jays had actually managed to acquire and hang on to a two-run lead when she told him she was heading for London.

"England?"

"No, Ontario."

"New case?"

"Right first time."

"What's it about?"

I'm looking for the person, or people, involved in shooting a family of sheep-farming werewolves with silver bullets. At least it was real work. Important work. "Uh, I can't tell you right now. Maybe later." Maybe in a million years....

Celluci frowned. She was hiding something. He could always tell. "How are you getting there? Train? Bus?" Stretching out his leg, he poked her in the side with a bare foot. "Jogging?"

Vicki snorted. "I'm not the one carrying the love-handles."

In spite of himself, he sucked in his gut.

Vicki grinned as he tried to pretend he hadn't done it, visibly forcing himself to relax. Pity, Vicki mused, because he's just going to get tense again. "Henry's giving me a lift down tomorrow night."

"Henry?" Celluci kept his voice carefully neutral. She had, of course, every right to spend time with whoever she wished but there was something about Henry Fitzroy that Celluci most definitely didn't like. Casual inquiries had turned up nothing to make him change his mind - given that they'd turned up nothing at all. "He's involved in this case, is he?" The last of Vicki's cases Henry Fitzroy had been involved with had ended with her half dead at the feet of a grade B movie monster. Celluci had been unimpressed.

Vicki pushed her glasses up her nose. How much to tell him... "He's friends with the people I'm working for."

"Will he be staying after he drops you off?" Correctly interpreting her lowering brows, he added, "Calm down. You know and I know how much trouble a civilian can be around a case. I just want to be sure that you're not complicating things for yourself." He could see that she wasn't convinced of his purity of motive. Tough.

"First of all, Celluci, try to remember that I am now a civilian." He snorted and she scowled. "Secondly, he's just giving me a lift and filling me in on some of the background details. He won't be interfering." He'll be helping. We'll be working together. She had no intention of letting Mike Celluci know that, not when she didn't know how she felt about it herself. Besides, it would involve an explanation it wasn't her place to give. And if she wanted to work with Henry Fitzroy, it was none of Celluci's damned business.

Celluci read the last thought of her expression and almost got it right. "I was thinking about your career, not your sex life," he growled, tossing back the last inch of tepid beer remaining in the bottle. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Vicki."

"My mind?" It was her turn to snort. She peeled herself out of the recliner, sweaty skin coming away from the vinyl with a painful tearing sound. "I didn't bring it up. But seeing as you have... "

He recognized her next move as a distraction, an attempt to pull his attention away from Henry Fitzroy. As distractions went, it wasn't bad and he decided to cooperate. Time enough later to do a little investigating into the elusive Mr. Fitzroy's background.

Halfway to the bedroom, he asked with mock seriousness - or as close as he could get given his current shortness of breath - "What about the game?"

"They're two runs ahead with an inning an a half to play," Vicki muttered. "Surely they can win this one without us."

As Henry's teeth opened the vein in Tony's wrist he looked up to find the eyes of the younger man locked on him. The pupils dilated and orgasm weighted the lids, but through it all, Tony watched avidly as the vampire drank.

When it was over, and he was sure the coagulant in his saliva had stopped the bleeding, Henry raised himself up on one elbow. "Do you always watch?" he asked.

Tony nodded drowsily. "S'part of the turn on. Seeing you do it."

Henry laughed and pushed a long lock of damp brown hair back off Tony's forehead. He'd been feeding from Tony as often as had been safe for the last five months, ever since Vicki had convinced the young man to help save his life. "And do you watch while I do other things?"

Tony grinned. "I don't remember. You mind?"

"No. It's pleasant not to have to hide what I am."

Letting his gaze drift down the length of Henry's body, Tony yawned. "Not hiding much now," he murmured. "You gonna be around on the weekend?"

"No," Henry told him. "Vicki and I are going to London. Some friends of mine are in trouble."

"More vampires?"

"Werewolves."

"Awesome." The word blurred, his voice barely audible. Then his eyes slid closed as he surrendered to sleep.

It was very pleasant not having to hide what he was, Henry reflected, watching the pulse slow in Tony's throat. It had been a long time since he'd had the luxury of removing all masks, and now he had not one but two mortals who knew him for what he was.

He smiled and stroked the soft skin on the inside of Tony's wrist with his thumb. As he couldn't feed from the wer, this trip would finally see him and Vicki... better acquainted.