"Sure. When he took this van, all he got was me." Vicki turned to face her companion, allowing the van to speed down the highway momentarily unguided. Her eyes gleamed, and her voice made promises for later. "I merely reminded him that another time, he might drive off with something... dangerous."
Sunrise the next morning was at 4:56, Pacific Time. At 4:30, Vicki pulled over onto a deserted scenic view and stopped the van. Driving west through the Rock?ies, she'd gained an hour of night. Since they'd left home, she'd gained three, but this would be the last, they'd crossed into British Columbia during the night and would reach Vancouver before evening. From now on, sunrise and sunset would occur in the same time zone.
Twisting around in the driver's seat, she stared into the shadows of her sanctuary. Celluci refused to sleep with the front partition up and she supposed she couldn't blame him although the song of his blood behind her was a constant distraction. Considering the demands of the road as it passed through two national parks and crossed most of a mountain range, it was fortunate that, having fed deeply from young Kyle, she'd been able to keep most of her attention on her driving.
Sleep smoothed out the lines and shadows layered onto his face by fifteen years of police work and he looked much younger than his thirty-eight years.
Thirty-eight.
He had a scattering of gray hair at his right temple.
How many years were they going to have? Fifty? Forty? And what was she going to do for the rest of eternity without him? Facing immortality, she found herself mourning his inevitable death while he contin?ued to live. Henry had warned her about falling into that kind of fatalistic despair, but it was a hard warning to remember while listening to a mortal heartbeat pounding out its few remaining years.
Oh, for God's sake, Vicki, get a grip! Leaning for?ward, she grabbed Celluci's shoulder and shook him hard.
"Wha... !"
"Sunrise in twenty minutes, Mike. I'll leave you alone to put your face on." Getting out of the van, she walked over to the railing and stared up at the Rockies. Rising in majestic silhouettes against the gray, predawn sky, they looked so definitively like mountains they almost looked fake.
Now this is immortality, Vicki acknowledged. Next to these hunks of rock, I'm just going to live a little longer than average. She heard Mike walk around from the other side of the van and said, "I left a message on Henry's machine when I stopped for gas. He knows we'll get to his place today."
"Yeah? Will he still be there?"
Eyes narrowed, she pivoted on one heel. "Why wouldn't he be?"
"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps he's willing to recognize his limitations." Three nights on the road, had left Celluci tired and stiff and not all the glories of a spring dawn in the midst of some of the most beautiful sce?nery in the world were going to make an impression until he had a piss and a coffee.
"He'll be there."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I told him not to leave."
Should've seen that coming, he muttered silently, following Vicki to the van. He caught her wrist as she lifted her hand to rub the back of her neck. "Did it ever occur to you that Henry Fitzroy knows better than you do what it means to be a vampire?"
She turned within his grip although they both knew she could have easily broken it. "Maybe he does, but Henry Fitzroy doesn't know what it means to be me, and I'm not buying into his territorial imperative crap."
Because he could see the doubt in her eyes, he let it go. They'd find out soon enough.
When he heard the bolts shoot back and the front barrier move, Celluci threw the last of his burger to a gull patrolling the strip mall parking lot and rolled up the window. He couldn't see anyone in earshot, but the last thing they needed was an eavesdropper.
The silver of her eyes flecked with lingering gold from the setting sun, Vicki's gaze swept past him. "Where are we?
"Cariboo Street, east end of the city. I thought you'd like to be awake when we arrived."
Vicki stared out the front window, across Vancou?ver, toward the ocean, toward Henry Fitzroy. Then she looked at Mike Celluci, really looked at him.
He had the strangest sensation that no one had ever seen him so clearly, and he could feel himself begin?ning to sweat. Just when he thought he couldn't stand another minute of it, she smiled, reached out, and brushed the long curl of hair off his face.
"Thanks. That's pretty perceptive for a guy who tapes Baywatch."
Chapter Three
EYES narrowed, Henry glared at the handless ghost at the foot of his bed. His movements rigidly precise, he folded back the sheet and sat up. If he released even a fraction of the tight grip he maintained on his rage, it would surge out in a stream of angry accusa?tion and another innocent would die.
He watched and waited, hoping the spirit would tire of meaningless questions. When it became obvious it hadn't, when it began preparing to scream, Henry snarled, "Was your mother a woman?"
Translucent features twisted into an annoyed frown, but it obeyed the rules and quietly vanished.