Blood Price - By Tanya Huff Page 0,75

and leaned back in her chair. "But if you really want one, I suggest you contact a young man by the name of Henry Fitzroy. He came to visit me when he first moved to Toronto. Spitting image of his father as a young man. His father had a great love of antiquities, books in particular. Donated a number of the books we have in our collection here. God knows what young Henry inherited."

"This Henry Fitzroy has a grimoire?"

"Do I look like God? I don't know what he has, but he's your best bet in the city."

Norman pulled his electronic address book out of his briefcase. "Do you have his number?"

"Yes. But I'm not going to give it to you. You have his name, look it up. If he's not in the phone book, he obviously doesn't want to be bothered."

Norman stared at her in astonishment. She couldn't just not tell him, could she? The throbbing became a kettledrum between his ears.

Yes, she could.

"Good afternoon, young man."

Norman continued to stare.

Dr. Sagara sighed. "Good afternoon," she repeated more firmly.

"You have to tell me... "

"I don't have to tell you anything." Whining topped her rather considerable list of character traits she couldn't abide. "Get out."

"You can't talk to me like that! "Norman protested.

"I can talk to you anyway I like, I have tenure. Now are you going to leave or am I going to call library security?"

Breathing heavily through his nose, he whirled and stamped toward the door.

Dr. Sagara watched him go, brows drawn down and two vertical lines cutting into her forehead. Professor Leigh would be hearing from her about this. Obviously, he still bore a grudge for that C minus.

She'll be sorry. Norman charged through the dim quiet of the Rare Book Room and careened off the entrance turnstile. They'll all be sorry! The exit was on the other side of the guard's desk. If anyone laughs at me, they're dead.

He slammed into the exit bar and got his briefcase caught between it and the desk. The grinding noise brought a startled exclamation from the guard.

"No, I don't need your help!" Norman snarled. Bandaged hand waving, he yanked at the case and jammed it more tightly. "This is all your fault," he growled as the guard came around to see what could be done. "If you built these things properly, there'd be room!"

"If you were more careful going through them... " the guard muttered, jiggling the mechanism and hoping he wasn't going to have to call building maintenance.

"You can't talk to me like that. It wasn't my fault." In spite of his awkward position, Norman drew himself up and looked the guard right in the eye. "Who's your supervisor?"

"Wha... " The guard, who had never considered himself an imaginative man, had the strangest feeling that something not the least human studied him from behind the furious gaze of the young man. The muscles in his legs felt suddenly weak and he wanted desperately to look away.

"Your supervisor, who is he? I'm going to register a complaint and you'll lose your job."

"And I'll what?"

"You heard me." With a final heave, the briefcase came free, deeply scored down one side. "You just wait!" Norman backed out the door, almost running down two students trying to enter. He scowled at the confused guard. "You'll see!"

He felt better by the time he'd walked to Bloor Street. With every step, he imagined pulling one of those stupid so-called rare books off the shelves, throwing it on the sidewalk in front of him, and kicking it out into traffic. Still breathing a little heavily, he went into the phone booth at the gas station and looked up the name the crazy old woman had given him.

Henry Fitzroy had no listed number.

Letting the phone book fall, Norman almost laughed. If they thought a minor detail like that could stop him...

On the way back to his apartment, he added Dr. Sagara, the library guard, and a surly TTC official to his black book. He didn't worry much about the lack of names; surely a Demon Lord would be powerful enough to work without them.

Once home, he added his upstairs neighbor. On principle more than anything else, for the heavy metal beat pounding through his ceiling only seemed to enhance the beat pulsing in his head.

Breaking into the phone system took him less time than he'd anticipated, even considering that he had to type one-handed.

The only Henry Fitzroy listed lived at 278 Bloor Street East, unit 1407. Given the