down one leg lay discarded in the center of the spread.
Vicki sat at the telephone table, her mother's address book open on her lap, and called everyone she thought should know, her voice calm and professional as though she were speaking of someone else's mother. Mrs. Singh? I'm Constable Nelson, from the Metro Police. It's about your son... I'm afraid your husband... The driver had no chance to avoid your wife... Your daughter, Jennifer, has been... The funeral will be at two tomorrow.
When the funeral home called, Mr. Delgado took her mother's favorite blue suit from the closet and delivered it. When he returned, he forced her to eat a sandwich and kept insisting she'd feel better if she cried. She ate the sandwich without tasting it.
Now, there was no one left to call and Mr. Delgado had been convinced to go home. Vicki sat, one foot dangling over the arm of the old upholstered rocking chair, one foot pushing back and forth against the floor.
Slowly, the room grew dark.
"I'm telling you, Henry, she looked wrecked. Like Night of the Living Dead."
"And she didn't hear you when you called to her?"
Tony shook his head, a long lock of pale brown hair falling into his eyes. "No, she just kept walking, and the guard wouldn't let me go up the stairs after her. Said only ticket holders were allowed and wouldn't believe me when I said I was her brother. The motherfucking bastard." A year under Henry's patronage hadn't quite erased five years on the street. "But I copied down all the places the train was going." He dug a crumpled and dirty piece of paper out of the front pocket of his skintight jeans and passed it over. "She was carrying a bag, so I guess when she gets there she's gonna stay."
The names of nine towns had been scrawled onto the blank spaces of a subway transfer. Henry frowned down at them. Why had Vicki left town without telling him? He thought they'd moved beyond that. Unless it had something to do with the fight they'd had on Saturday night. However great the temptation to prove his power, he knew he shouldn't have coerced her as he had and he intended to apologize as soon as she cooled down enough to accept it. "Her mother lives in Kingston," he said at last.
"You think you did something, don't you?"
He looked up, startled. "What are you talking about?"
"I like to watch you." Tony blushed slightly and dug his toe into the carpet. "I watch you all the time we're together. You've got your Prince-of-Men face, and your Prince-of-Darkness face, and your sort of not-there writer face, but when you think about Victory... about Vicki... " His blush deepened but he met Henry's gaze fearlessly. "Well then it's like you're not wearing a face, you're just you."
"All the masks are gone." Henry studied the younger man in turn. A number of the hard edges had softened over the last year since Vicki and a demon had brought them together. The bruised and skittish look had been replaced by the beginnings of a calm maturity. "Does that bother you?"
"About you and Victory? Nah. She means a lot to me, too. I mean, without her, I wouldn't have... I mean, we wouldn't... And besides..." he had to wet his lips before he could continue, "sometimes, like when you feed, you look at me like that." Abruptly, he dropped his gaze. "You going after her?"
There really wasn't any question. "I need to know what's wrong."
Tony snorted and tossed his hair back out of his eyes. "Of course you do." His voice returned to his usual cocky tones. "So call her mom."
"Call her mother?"
"Yeah, you know. Like on the telephone?"
Henry spread his hands, willing to allow Tony this moment. "I don't have the number."
"So? Get it out of her apartment."
"I don't have a key."
Tony snorted again. "You don't really need one. But," he laced his fingers together and cracked the knuckles, "if you don't want to slip past the lock, there's always our old friend Detective-Sergeant Celluci. I bet he has the number."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "I'll get it from Vicki's apartment."
"I've got Celluci's number right here, I mean if you... "
"Tony." He cupped one hand around Tony's jaw and tightened the ringers slightly, the pulse pounding under his grip. "Don't push it."
From the street, he saw the light on, recognized the shape visible between the slats of the blinds, and very nearly decided not to go