Blood Price - By Tanya Huff Page 0,74

Intensive eavesdropping during the long trip had taught her two things; that nothing had changed much since she'd gone to university and that the verb "says" seemed to have disappeared from common usage.

"... so then my dad goes, if you're going to take the car out I gotta know where you're going like and ..."

And what's really depressing is that she's probably an English major. Out on the sidewalk at last, Vicki fastened her jacket and took a quick look back at the bus. The doors were just closing behind the last of the students fleeing the campus and, as she watched, the heavily loaded vehicle lumbered away. Well, that was that, then; no changing her mind for another forty minutes.

She felt a little foolish, but this was the best idea she could come up with. With any luck, the head of the computer science department would be able-and willing-to tell her who'd be likely to own and use the stolen computer system. Coreen might have had information that could help sort the living needle out of the haystack, after all, she was a student out here, but when Vicki'd called her apartment at about 8:30 there'd been no answer.

Pushing her glasses up her nose, she started across the parking lot, watching for black leather jackets. As Celluci had pointed out, there were a number of them on males and females both. Vicki knew Ml well that physical characteristics had nothing to do with the ability to commit crime, but she looked anyway. Surely a demon-caller must show some outward manifestation of that kind of evil.

Norman pushed into the first available seat. His injured hand should've entitled him to one the moment he got on the bus but not one of his selfish, self-centered fellow students would get up although he'd glared at all and sundry. Still sulking, he fished his calculator out of his shirt pocket, and began to work out the time he'd need to spend downtown. He was, at that very moment, missing an analytical geometry class. It was the first class he'd ever skipped. His parents would have fits. He didn't care. As much as he'd hoarded every A and A plus-he had a complete record of every mark he'd ever received-he'd realized in the last couple of days that some things were more important.

Things like getting even.

When the bus finally wheezed into the subway station, Norman was deep in a pleasant fantasy of rearranging the world so that jocks and their sort were put where they belonged and he got the recognition and the women he deserved. Chin up, he strutted down to the trains, oblivious to the raised brows and the snickers that followed him. A Norman Birdwell run world would be set up to acknowledge the value of Norman Birdwell.

"Dr. Sagara?"

"What?"

Norman was a little surprised at the vehemence in the old lady's voice; he hadn't even asked her for anything yet. "Professor Leigh said I should talk to you."

"What about?" She glared up at him over the edge of her glasses.

"I'm doing a project on demons... "

"The ones on the Board of Directors?" She sniggered, then shook her head at his complete lack of reaction. "That was a joke."

"Oh." Norman peered down at her, annoyed at the lack of light. Bad enough that the Rare Book Room itself was so dark-a few banks of fluorescents would be a decent start until the whole smelly mess could be transcribed onto a mainframe-but it really was unnecessary to carry the conceit over into the offices. The brass lamp threw a pool of gold onto the desk, but Dr. Sagara's face itself was in shadow. He looked around for a wall switch but couldn't see one.

"Well?" Dr. Sagara tapped the fingers of one hand against her desk blotter. "What does Professor Leigh think your project has to do with me? He was singularly nonspecific on the phone."

"I need to find out about Demon Lords." His voice picked up the rhythm of the throbbing.

"Then you need a grimoire."

"A what?"

"I said," she spoke very slowly and distinctly as though to an idiot, "you need a grimoire; an ancient, practically mythological book of demon lore."

Norman bent forward, squinting a little as he came within the sphere of the desk lamp. "Do you have one?"

"Well, your Professor Leigh seems to think I do."

Grinding his teeth, Norman wished U of T paid more attention to its retirement regulations. The old lady was obviously senile. "Do you?"

"No." She laced her fingers together