sorrow and ecstasy, he was begging her to take him.
"Vicki, no."
More importantly, he had threatened one of hers.
"Vicki! Hey!" Celluci head-butted her in the elbow, about all the contact the handcuffs allowed. "Stop it! Now."
There was also power in the sheer pigheaded unwillingness that refused to allow her to lose the humanity she had remaining. Forcing the Hunger back under fingertip control, she dropped the man she held and turned to the one beside her. The cards hadn't counted on Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci.
Ignoring the Hunger still in her expression, he snorted. "Nice you remembered I'm here. Now do you think you could do something about the nine millimeter automatic—with, I'd like to add, the safety off— that Mr. Wause dropped into my lap?"
*
Later, after Celluci had been released and James Wause laid out on the sofa, put to sleep by a surprisingly gentle command, Vicki leaned against the loft support and tried not think of how close it had all come to ending.
When Celluci picked up the phone, she reached out and closed her hand around his wrist. "What are you doing?"
He looked at her, sighed, and set the receiver back in its cfadle. "No police, right?"
"Would the courts understand what I am any better than he did?" She nodded toward Wause who stirred in his sleep as though aware of her regard.
Celluci sighed again and gathered her into the circle of his arms. "All right," he said, resting his cheek against her hair. "What do we do with him?"
"I've got an idea."
*
This time the back door was locked, but Vicki quickly picked the lock, slung James Wause over her shoulder, and carried him into the church. Celluci had wanted to come, but she'd made him wait in the car.
Laying him out in a front pew, she tucked the box of unused communion wafers under his hands and stepped back. His confession would be short a few details— this time she'd successfully removed all memory of her existence from his mind—but she hoped she'd opened the way for him to get the help he needed to cope with his grief.
"The vampire as therapist," she sighed. She nodded toward the altar as she passed. "If he's one of yours, you deal with him."
*
It didn't surprise her to see the beat-up old Camaro out in the church parking lot when she emerged. Lifting a hand to let Celluci know he should stay where he was, she walked over to the passenger side door.
"Did the cards tell you I'd be here?"
Madame Luminitsa nodded toward the church. "You gave him to God?"
"Seems like it."
"Alive."
"Didn't the cards say?"
"The cards weren't sure."
On the other side of the car, the grandson snorted.
Both women ignored him.
"Did the cards tell you where I lived?" Vicki asked.
"If they did, are you complaining?"
Without his name, she'd have never stopped him. "No. I guess I'm not."
"Good. You've less blood on your hands than I feared," the fortune teller murmured, taking Vicki's hands in hers and turning them. "Someday, I'll have to read your palms."
Vicki glanced over at Celluci, who was making it plain he wasn't going to wait patiently much longer. "I'll bet I have a really long life line."
An ebony brow rose as, across the parking lot, the car door opened. "How much?"
The Vengeful Spirit of Lake Nepeakea
*
"Camping?"
"Why sound so amazed?" Dragging the old turquoise cooler behind her, Vicki Nelson, once one of Toronto's finest and currently the city's most successful paranormal investigator, backed out of Mike Celluci's crawl space.
"Why? Maybe because you've never been camping in your life. Maybe because your idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service. Maybe" — he moved just far enough for Vicki to get by then followed her out into the rec room — "because you're a…"
"A?" Setting the cooler down beside two sleeping bags and a pair of ancient swim fins, she turned to face him. "A what , Mike?" Grey eyes silvered.
"Stop it."
Grinning, she turned her attention back to the cooler. "Besides, I won't be on
"Vicki, no."
More importantly, he had threatened one of hers.
"Vicki! Hey!" Celluci head-butted her in the elbow, about all the contact the handcuffs allowed. "Stop it! Now."
There was also power in the sheer pigheaded unwillingness that refused to allow her to lose the humanity she had remaining. Forcing the Hunger back under fingertip control, she dropped the man she held and turned to the one beside her. The cards hadn't counted on Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci.
Ignoring the Hunger still in her expression, he snorted. "Nice you remembered I'm here. Now do you think you could do something about the nine millimeter automatic—with, I'd like to add, the safety off— that Mr. Wause dropped into my lap?"
*
Later, after Celluci had been released and James Wause laid out on the sofa, put to sleep by a surprisingly gentle command, Vicki leaned against the loft support and tried not think of how close it had all come to ending.
When Celluci picked up the phone, she reached out and closed her hand around his wrist. "What are you doing?"
He looked at her, sighed, and set the receiver back in its cfadle. "No police, right?"
"Would the courts understand what I am any better than he did?" She nodded toward Wause who stirred in his sleep as though aware of her regard.
Celluci sighed again and gathered her into the circle of his arms. "All right," he said, resting his cheek against her hair. "What do we do with him?"
"I've got an idea."
*
This time the back door was locked, but Vicki quickly picked the lock, slung James Wause over her shoulder, and carried him into the church. Celluci had wanted to come, but she'd made him wait in the car.
Laying him out in a front pew, she tucked the box of unused communion wafers under his hands and stepped back. His confession would be short a few details— this time she'd successfully removed all memory of her existence from his mind—but she hoped she'd opened the way for him to get the help he needed to cope with his grief.
"The vampire as therapist," she sighed. She nodded toward the altar as she passed. "If he's one of yours, you deal with him."
*
It didn't surprise her to see the beat-up old Camaro out in the church parking lot when she emerged. Lifting a hand to let Celluci know he should stay where he was, she walked over to the passenger side door.
"Did the cards tell you I'd be here?"
Madame Luminitsa nodded toward the church. "You gave him to God?"
"Seems like it."
"Alive."
"Didn't the cards say?"
"The cards weren't sure."
On the other side of the car, the grandson snorted.
Both women ignored him.
"Did the cards tell you where I lived?" Vicki asked.
"If they did, are you complaining?"
Without his name, she'd have never stopped him. "No. I guess I'm not."
"Good. You've less blood on your hands than I feared," the fortune teller murmured, taking Vicki's hands in hers and turning them. "Someday, I'll have to read your palms."
Vicki glanced over at Celluci, who was making it plain he wasn't going to wait patiently much longer. "I'll bet I have a really long life line."
An ebony brow rose as, across the parking lot, the car door opened. "How much?"
The Vengeful Spirit of Lake Nepeakea
*
"Camping?"
"Why sound so amazed?" Dragging the old turquoise cooler behind her, Vicki Nelson, once one of Toronto's finest and currently the city's most successful paranormal investigator, backed out of Mike Celluci's crawl space.
"Why? Maybe because you've never been camping in your life. Maybe because your idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service. Maybe" — he moved just far enough for Vicki to get by then followed her out into the rec room — "because you're a…"
"A?" Setting the cooler down beside two sleeping bags and a pair of ancient swim fins, she turned to face him. "A what , Mike?" Grey eyes silvered.
"Stop it."
Grinning, she turned her attention back to the cooler. "Besides, I won't be on
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