Blood Price - By Tanya Huff Page 0,76

proximity to Yonge and Bloor, Norman suspected the building consisted of expensive condominiums. He glanced around at his own tiny apartment. As soon as he called the Demon Lord, he'd have that kind of address and be living in the style he deserved.

But first, he'd have to get the grimoire he was certain Henry Fitzroy had-that wacko old lady was obviously just being coy.

Of course, Henry Fitzroy wouldn't lend it to him, no point in even asking. People who lived in those kinds of buildings were too smug about what they owned. Just because they had lots of money, the world was below their notice and a perfectly reasonable request to borrow a book would be denied.

"He probably doesn't even know what he has, thinks it's just some old book worth money. I know how to use it. That makes it mine by right." It wouldn't be stealing to take a book that by rights should be his.

Norman turned and looked down at the pool of metal that had been the hibachi. There was only one way to get his property out of a high security building.

"Anything much happen today?" Greg asked sliding into the recently vacated chair. He should've waited a little longer. It was still warm. He hated sitting in a chair warmed by someone else's butt.

"Mr. Post from 1620 stalled his car goin' up the ramp again." Tim chuckled and scratched at his beard. "Every time he tried to put it in gear he'd roll backward, panic, and stall again. Finally let it roll all the way down till it rested on the door and started from there. I almost split a gut laughing."

"Some men," Greg observed, "are not meant to drive standards." He bent over and picked up a package from the floor by the desk. "What's this?"

The day guard paused, half into his hockey jacket, his uniform blazer left hanging on the hook in its place. "Oh that-it came this afternoon, UPS from New York. For that writer up on fourteen. I rang his apartment and left a message on his machine."

Greg put the package back on the floor. "Guess Mr. Fitzroy'll be down for it later."

"Guess so." Tim paused on the other side of the desk. "Greg, I've been thinking."

The older guard snorted. "Dangerous that."

"No, this is serious. I've been thinking about Mr. Fitzroy. I've been here four months now and I've never seen him. Never seen him come down for his mail. Never seen him take his car out." He waved a hand in the general direction of the package. "I've never even been able to get him on the phone, I always talk to his machine."

"I see him most nights," Greg pointed out, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah, that's my point. You see him nights. I bet you never see him before the sun sets."

Greg frowned. "What are you getting at?"

"Those killings where the blood was sucked out; I think Mr. Fitzroy did it. I think he's a vampire."

"I think you're out of your mind," Greg told him dryly, allowing the front legs of his chair to come to ground with a thud. "Henry Fitzroy is a writer. You can't expect him to act like a normal person. And about those vampires... " He reached down and pulled a copy of the day's tabloid out of his old leather briefcase. "I think you better read this."

With the Leafs actually winning the division playoffs after the full seven games, the front page was dedicated to hockey. Anicka Hendle had to settle for page two.

Tim read the article, brows drawn down over some of the larger words. When he finished, Greg raised a hand to cut off his reaction and turned the page. Anne Fellows' column didn't attempt to appeal to the reason of her readers, she played Anicka Hendle's death for every ounce of emotion it held. She placed the blame squarely in the arms of the media, admitting her own involvement, and demanding that the scare tactics stop. Are there not enough real terrors on our streets without creating new ones ?

"They made up all that stuff about vampires?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?"

"Just to sell papers." Tim shook his head in disgust. He pushed the tabloid back across the desk, tapping the picture on the front page. "You think the Leafs are going to go all the way this year?"

Greg snorted. "I think there's a better chance that Henry Fitzroy's a vampire." He waved the younger guard out of the building then