Blood Price - By Tanya Huff Page 0,17

lucky, the degeneration reaches a point and goes no further."

"Have I reached that point?"

"Only time will tell. You've been pretty lucky already," she continued, raising a hand to forestall Vicki's next comment, "in many cases, this disease is accompanied by other types of neurodegenerative conditions."

"Deafness, mild retardation, premature senility, and truncal obesity." Vicki snorted. "We went through all this in the beginning, and none of it changes the fact that I have effectively no night vision, the outside edge of my peripheral vision has moved in twenty-five degrees, and I've suddenly become myopic."

"That might have happened anyway."

Vicki shoved her glasses up her nose. "Very comforting. When can I expect to go blind?"

The nails of Dr. Anderson's right hand beat a tattoo against her prescription pad. "You may never go blind and, in spite of your condition, at the moment you have perfectly functional vision. You mustn't let this make you bitter."

"My condition," Vicki snarled, standing and reaching for her coat, "as you call it, caused me to leave a job I loved that made a difference for the better in the slime-pit this city is becoming and if it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather be bitter." She didn't quite slam the door on the way out.

"What's the matter, darling, you don't look happy?"

"It hasn't been a great day, Mrs. Kopolous."

The older woman clicked her tongue and shook her head at the family size bag of cheese balls Vicki had laid on the counter. "So I see, so I see. You should eat real food, darling, if you want to feel better. This stuff is no good for you. And it makes your fingers orange."

Vicki scooped up her change and dropped it into the depths of her purse. Soon she'd have to deal with the small fortune jangling around down there. "Some moods, Mrs. Kopolous, only junk food can handle."

The phone was ringing when she reached her apartment.

"Yeah, what?"

"There's something about the sound of your dulcet tones that makes this whole wretched day worthwhile."

"Stuff a sock in it, Celluci." Phone balanced under her chin, Vicki struggled out of her coat. "Whadda you want?"

"My, my, sounds like someone's wearing the bishop's shoes."

Against every inclination, Vicki grinned. His use of that particular punch line in conversation always did it to her. He knew it, too. "No, I did not get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," she told him, hooking her office chair over and throwing herself down into it. "As you very well know. But I did just get back from a visit to the ophthalmologist."

"Ah." She could picture him leaning back, his feet up on the desk. Every superior he'd ever had had tried to break him of the habit with no noticeable success. "The eye doctor of doom. Is it any better?"

If he'd sounded sympathetic, she'd have thrown the phone across the room but he only sounded interested. "It doesn't get any better, Celluci."

"Oh, I don't know; I read this article that said large doses of vitamin A and E can improve the visual field and enhance dark adaptation." He was obviously quoting.

Vicki couldn't decide whether to be touched or furious that he'd been reading up. Given her mood.... "Do something more useful with your time, Celluci, only abetalipoproteninaemia RP includes biochemical defects," he hadn't been the only one reading up, "and that isn't what I've got."

"Abetalipoproteinaemia," he corrected her pronunciation, "and excuse me for caring. I also found out that a number of people lead completely normal lives with what you've got." He paused and she heard him take a drink of what was undoubtedly cold coffee. "Not," he continued, his voice picking up an edge, "that you ever lived what could be called a normal life."

She ignored the last comment, picked up a black marker and began venting frustrations with it on the back of her credit card bill. "I'm living a completely normal life," she snapped.

"Running away and hiding?" The tone missed sarcasm but not by very much. "You could've stayed on the force... "

"I knew you'd start again." She spat the words from between clenched teeth, but Mike Celluci's angry voice overrode the diatribe she was about to begin and the bitterness in it shut her up.

"... but oh no, you couldn't stand the thought that you wouldn't be the hot-shit investigator anymore, the fair-haired girl with all the answers, that you'd just be a part of the team. You quit because you couldn't stand not being on