Blood Debt Read Online Free PDF

things in heaven and earth
 . . . She’d had it printed on her business cards. Mr. Shakespeare had no idea.
    That Henry had called, wanting to hire her to solve his little mystery,
had
surprised her. He’d been so definite when they’d parted that they’d never see each other again, that they couldn’t see each other again.
    As though he’d been reading
her
thoughts, Celluci chose that moment to come back into the office and growl, “I thought vampires were unable to share a territory.”
    Vicki’s chin rose. “I refuse to be controlled by my nature.”
    Celluci snorted. “Yeah. Right.” He took a swallow of steaming coffee. “Tell that to the vampire who used to live here.”
    â€œI was willing to negotiate,” Vicki protested, but she felt her lip curling up off her teeth. The
other
vampire had taunted her with the death of a friend and claimed downtown Toronto. When Vicki had finally killed her, she’d felt no regret, no guilt, and no need to tell Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci the full details of what had happened. Not only because of what he was—not only because he was human—but because of who he was. He wouldn’t have understood, and she didn’t think she could stand it if he looked at her the way he’d sometimes looked at Henry.
    So she’d told him only that she’d won.
    Now she changed her incipient snarl into something closer to a smile. “Henry and I will manage to get along.”
    Celluci hid his own smile behind the coffee mug. He recognized the tone and wondered if Henry had any idea of how little choice he was about to have in the matter. He didn’t want Vicki going to Vancouver, but since she’d already made up her mind, he couldn’t stop her—nor was he suicidal enough to try. Since she was going, regardless, he didn’t want her going alone. Besides, he’d enjoy watching his bloodsucking, royal bastardness get run over by Vicki’s absolute refusal to do what was expected of her.
    â€œAll right. You win. I’m going with you.”
    â€œ. . . things are slow right now, and I’ve got the time.”
    Inspector Cantree snorted. “You’ve always got the time, Detective. I’m just amazed you actually want to use some of it.”
    Celluci shrugged. “Something came up with a friend of Vicki’s out west.”
    â€œA friend of Vicki’s. Ah.” The inspector stared into the oily scum on top of his coffee, the heavy stoneware mug looking almost delicate in his huge hand. “And how is ‘Victory’ Nelson these days? I hear she’s been dealing with some strange cases since she got back in town.”
    Celluci shrugged again. “Someone has to. At least if they’re calling her, they’re not calling us.”
    â€œTrue.” Cantree’s eyes narrowed, and the look he shot at the other man was frankly speculative. “She never struck me as the type to get involved in this paranormal, occult bullshit.”
    Celluci only just stopped himself from shrugging a third time. “Most of her work’s the same old boring crap. Cheating spouses. Insurance fraud.”
    â€œMost,” Cantree repeated. It wasn’t quite a question, so Celluci didn’t answer it.
    Inspector Cantree had narrowly escaped becoming the enchanted acolyte of an ancient Egyptian god. The others who’d been caught up in the spell had created their own explanations, but he’d insisted on hearing the truth. As he’d never mentioned it again, Celluci remained unsure of how much he’d believed.
    The memory hung in the air between them for a moment, then Cantree brushed it aside, the gesture stating as clearly as if he’d said it aloud:
Forty-seven homicides so far this year; I’ve enough to deal with
. “Take your vacation, Detective, but I want your butt back here in two weeks ready to