Blood Price - By Tanya Huff Page 0,45

moved from Vicki's line of sight. Henry watched him go a moment longer, than turned, made the sign of the cross, and knelt. Above his bowed head, Vicki met the painted eyes of the Madonna. Her own grew heavy and, of their own volition, slid slowly closed.

When she opened them again a second later, the spotlight had returned, the candles were back in their red glass containers, and a red-gold head remained bowed beneath the mural.

The inability to move seemed gone, so she pulled herself to her feet and slid out of the pew heading toward the alcove. "Henry... "

At the sound of his name, he crossed himself, stood, and turned to face her, pulling closed his black leather trenchcoat as he moved.

"Wha ... "

He shook his head, put his finger to his lips, and taking her arm gently in one hand, led her out of the sanctum.

"Did you have a pleasant nap?" he asked, releasing her arm as the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

"Nap?" Vicki repeated, running a hand up through her hair. "I, I guess I did."

Henry peered up into her face with a worried frown. "Are you all right? Your head took a nasty blow earlier."

"No, I'm fine." Obviously, it had been a dream. "You don't have an accent." He'd had one in the dream.

"I lost it years ago. I came to Canada just after World War I. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I told you, I'm fine." She started down the cathedral steps.

Henry sighed and followed. He seemed to remember reading that sleeping after a concussion was not necessarily a good thing, but he'd entered the church right behind her and she hadn't been asleep very long.

It was just a dream, Vicki told herself firmly as the two of them headed north. Vampires and demons I can handle, but holy visions are out. Although why she should dream about Henry Fitzroy defending a painting of the Virgin Mary from what looked like one of Cromwell's roundheads she had no idea. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was the blow she'd taken on the head. Either way, her few remaining doubts about his ex-royal bastard highness seemed to have vanished and while she was more willing to bet on her subconscious working it out than on God intervening, she decided to keep an open mind. Just in case. Wait a minute...

"You followed me!"

Henry smiled guardedly. "I'd just told you a secret that could get me killed. I had to see how you were dealing with it."

In spite of her pique, Vicki had to admit he made sense. "And?"

He shrugged. "You tell me."

Vicki pushed the strap of her bag back up on her shoulder. "I think," she said slowly, "that you're right. We could accomplish more working together. So, for now, you've got yourself a partner." She stumbled over a dark crack in the pavement, righted herself before Henry could help, and added dryly, "But I think you should know that generally, I only work days." It wasn't the time to tell him Why. Not yet.

Henry nodded. "Days are fine. I myself, being a little sensitive to sunlight, prefer to work nights. Between us, we have the entire twenty-four hours covered. And speaking of days," he shot a quick glance to the east where he could feel dawn approaching, "I have to go. Can we discuss this tomorrow evening?"

"When?"

"About two hours after sunset? It'll give me time to grab a bite."

He was gone before she had time to react. Or agree.

"We'll see who plays straight man to whom tomorrow night," she snorted and turned west toward home.

The sun had cracked the horizon by the time she reached her apartment, and with yawns threatening to rip her jaw from her face, she fell straight into bed.

Only to be rudely awakened about forty-five minutes later...

"Where! Have! You! Been!" Celluci punctuated each word with a vigorous shake.

Vicki, whose reactions had never been particularly fast when first roused from sleep, actually let him finish the sentence before bringing her arms up between his and breaking his grip on her shoulders.

"What the hell are you talking about, Celluci?" she demanded, shielding her eyes against the glare from the overhead light with one hand and grabbing her glasses off the bedside table with the other.

"One of the uniforms saw a women who looked like you being bundled into a late model BMW, just after midnight, and not more than five blocks from the latest body. You want to tell me you weren't