Dave turned as he came in. "The doctor's got something for us, Mike."
Dr. Shane pushed her hair back off her face and rubbed at her forehead. "It might not be anything?" She looked over at Celluci, who nodded reassuringly, and went on. "It's just that Elias always kept a suit in his office, for board meetings and official business. He won't wear?" She paused, closed her eyes briefly, then continued. "Wouldn't wear one any longer than he had to. Anyway, when I left yesterday evening, his gray suit, a white shirt, and a burgundy silk tie were all hanging on the door. They're gone."
The two detectives exchanged identical looks. Celluci spoke first. "What about extra shoes?"
'No, he used to say that anywhere you couldn't get to in a pair of loafers wasn't worth going to in the first place." Her lower lip began to tremble but with a visible effort she maintained control. "Damn, but I'm really going to miss him."
'If you want to go home now, Dr. Shane??"
'Thanks, but I think I'd rather be doing something useful. If you don't need me any longer, I'll go help with the inventory." Head high, she walked across the room, paused at the door, and said, "When you catch the son of a bitch who did this, I hope you rip out his living heart and feed it to the crocodiles."
'We don't, uh, do that anymore, Doctor."
'Pity."
When they were alone, Dave sighed deeply and perched on a corner of the closest desk. "The lab'll have to go over that office. This case is getting weirder all the time." He tugged at his beard. "It's beginning to look like Dr. Rax interrupted a naked intruder. What kind of a nut case wanders around a museum starkers?"
Deep in thought, Celluci ignored him. He was remembering a pentagram and the human-seeming creature it had contained; remembering a man who stripped and changed and went for his throat with a wolf's fangs in a wolf's body; remembering Henry Fitzroy who wasn't human now even if he had been once. Remembering that things weren't always as they seemed.
Wondering what kind of a creature would emerge after centuries spent in darkness, locked immobile inside a box.
Except, there never had been a mummy.
He had twisted the mind of the guard so that she'd opened the outer door for him and wished him a good morning without ever wondering why an elderly man in an ill-fitting suit was leaving the museum hours before it opened. Once outside, he had turned, smiled, and brushed away her memory of the entire incident. Then he had crossed the street and lowered himself onto a bench, resting and rejoicing in the amount of space around him and his ability to move; waiting until the memories he absorbed told him it was time.
The first ka he had devoured had served to reanimate him and cover his tracks. The second had provided vital knowledge but little life force as the years remaining to Dr. Rax would have been barely a third of those he had already lived. To restore his youth and replenish his power, he needed a young ka with an almost unrealized potential.
Moving carefully, for this new country was bitterly cold and he had used a great deal of power just remaining warm while he waited, he descended underground into what both sets of stolen memories referred to as morning rush hour. He paid the fare, more for novelty than necessity, and moved out onto the subway platform. Which was when the walls started closing in. His heart slammed up against his chest and he thrust up a hand to stop the ceiling from falling. He would have run if he'd been able, but his bones had turned to water and he could only endure. Three trains passed before he calmed, realizing the space was not so small as he had first assumed, that if such monstrous metal beasts could move about freely, there would be room for him to move about as well.
One more train passed while he watched it in amazement-the memories of men used to such things had not done credit to the size or the speed or noise or the sheer presence of the machine-and a second followed before he found what he wanted. He almost balked at the door to the car when he saw how little space remained, but the need for more power was stronger than his fear and, at the last moment, he squeezed himself in.
The schoolboys wearing identical uniforms under fall coats were jammed so tightly up against each other by the crowds that the jerk and sway of the train couldn't move them. They were laughing and talking, even those able to reach a support not bothering to hang on, secure in the knowledge that it was impossible to fall.
He got as close as he could and began to search frantically for the youngest. He didn't know how much longer he could take being so confined.
To his surprise, one of the boys carried a protection that slapped his ka back and caused him to gasp in pain. Murmuring a spell under his breath, he stared in annoyance at the nimbus of golden light. The gods of this new age might be weak but one of them had touched this child-even if the child himself was not yet aware of the vocation-and he would not be permitted to feed.
No matter. There were plenty of others who lived with no protection at all.
It took a very long moment for him to meet the gray,'blue eyes of the boy he finally chose; his gaze kept jumping around, looking for a way out. The boy, seeing only a harmless old man who looked distressed, smiled, a little confused but willing enough to be friendly. The smile remained until the end and was the last bit of life lost.
The surrounding mass of people would keep the body upright until he was long away.
At the next stop, he allowed himself to be caught up in the surging crowd and swept from the train, the power from this new ka burning away his fear with his age as he strode across the platform. Those who saw the outward changes-back straightening, hair darkening-refused to believe and he marveled at how everything outside a narrow perception of "possible" simply slid from the surface of their minds. From these people, these malleable bits of breathing clay, he would build an empire that would overshadow all empires of the past.
As he had for the last two nights, Henry awoke with the image of a great golden sun seared into his mind. But for the first time, it didn't bring the fear of madness; the blood scent lay so heavily in his sanctuary that madness became an inconsequential thing beside the Hunger.
'Well, thank God, you're awake at last."
It took a moment for coherent thought to break through. "Vicki?" Her voice had a tight, strained edge to it that made it difficult to recognize. He sat up, saw her for a moment, back pressed up against the door, then had to shield his eyes from the sudden glare as she switched on the light.
When he could see again, the door was open and she was gone. He followed the blood trail to the living room and found her leaning on the back of the couch, fingers dug deep into the upholstery. All the lights that she'd passed had been switched on. The Hunger thrummed in time to her heartbeat.
She looked up as he started toward her. "Henry, don't."
Had he been younger, he might not have been able to stop, but four hundred and fifty years had taught him control if nothing else. "What's wrong?"
'I spent the day locked in that room with you, that's what's wrong!"