A few moments later, they settled the bag of gel replacing the digestive system into place. Pearly highlights quivered across the thick agar coating.
"We've got bacteria to spare this time," Dr. Burke pointed out as she finished attaching the artificial diaphragm's second motor. "I want those organs saturated."
"Saturated it is," Donald agreed. He accepted the liver culture from Catherine, frowned, and glared over her shoulder. "Stop that!"
"Stop what?" she asked, bending to work on a kidney.
"Not you. Number nine. He's staring at me."
She straightened and checked. "No, he isn't. He's just looking in your direction."
"Well, I don't like it."
"He isn't hurting anything."
"So?"
"Children." Had Dr. Burke's voice been any dryer it would have cracked. "If we could keep our minds on the matter at hand?" She waited, pointedly, until they both began working before she released the rib spreader. "If it bothers you that much, Donald, Catherine can put it in its box."
Donald nodded. "Good idea. Make her put her toys away when she's done playing with them."
Catherine ignored him. "He'd be better left out, Doctor. He needs the stimuli if we want him interfacing with the net."
"Good point," the doctor acknowledged. "Sloppily put, but a good point. Sorry, Donald. It stays out."
Catherine shot him a triumphant look.
"When you finish there, one of you can close while the other starts the pump and begins replacing the sterile solution. I want that circulatory system up and running ASAP. Now, if you think you can manage without my having to act as referee, I'm going to open up the skull."
"He's still looking at me," Donald growled a moment later, his voice barely audible over the whine of the bone saw.
"Hopefully, he's learning from you."
"Yeah?" One latex-covered finger lifted in salute. "Well, learn this."
Across the room, three of the fingers on number nine's right hand curled slowly inward and tucked under the support of the folded thumb. Although the face remained expressionless, a muscle twitched below the leathery surface of the skin.
Henry guided the BMW smoothly around the curves of the highway off-ramp at considerably more than the posted speed. Two hours and forty-two minutes, Toronto to Kingston, not as fast as it could be done, but considering the perpetual traffic congestion he'd faced leaving the city and the high number of provincial police patrolling the last hundred kilometers, it was a respectable time.
Although he enjoyed high speeds and his reflexes made possible maneuvers that left other drivers gaping, Henry had never understood the North American love affair with the automobile. A car to him was a tool, the BMW a compromise between power and dependability. While mortal drivers blithely risked their lives straining the limits of their machinery, he had no intention of abruptly ending four hundred and fifty years because of metal fatigue or design flaws, but then, unlike mortal drivers, he had nothing to prove.
Vicki's mother's apartment was easy enough to find. Not only did Division Street run directly from the 401, but even from a block away there was no mistaking the man emerging from the late model sedan parked in front of the building. Henry swung into the tiny parking lot and settled the BMW into the adjoining space.
"You made good time," he remarked as he got out of his car and stretched.
"Thanks." The word had left his mouth before Celluci realized he had no reason to feel so absurdly pleased by the observation. "You obviously broke a few laws," he snarled. "Or don't you feel our speed limits apply to you?"
"No more than you feel they apply to you," Henry told him with an edged smile. "Or don't the police have to follow the laws they're sworn to uphold?"
"Asshole," Celluci muttered. Nothing dampened righteous anger faster than forced recognition of shaky ethical ground. "And I don't see why you came any-how. Vicki needs the living around her, not more of the dead."
"I am no more dead than you are, Detective."
"Yeah, well, you're not... I mean, you're... "
"I am Vampire." Henry spread his hands. "There, it no longer hangs between us. The word has been said." He caught Celluci's gaze and held it but this time used no force to keep the contact. "You might as well acknowledge it, Detective. I won't go away."
Curiosity overcame better judgment and Celluci found himself asking, "What were you?"