Blood Lines

Far East Department. Maybe he should do Egyptology first? They usually had some pretty interesting things on the go.
    Maybe he should do their workroom first. Now.

    Nah, that'd leave the heelmarks on the floor outside Von Thorne's office for end of shift and I'm not up to that . He pulled out his passkey and maneuvered his cart through the door. As my sainted mother used to say, get your thumb out of your butt and get to work. I'll save the good stuff for last. Whatever they've got out isn't going anywhere .
    The ka pulled free of his tenuous grasp and began to move away. He was still pitiably weak, too weak to hold it, too weak to draw it closer. Had he been able to move, hunger would have driven him to desperate measures, but bound as he was, he could only wait and pray that his god would send him a life.
    On a Sunday night in Toronto the good, the streets were almost deserted, municipal laws against Sunday shopping forcing the inhabitants of the city to find other amusements.
    Black leather trench coat billowing out behind him, Henry made his way quickly down Church Street, ignoring the occasional clusters of humanity. He wanted more than just a chance to feed, his anger needed slaking as much as his Hunger. At Church and College, he paused.
    'Hey, faggot!"
    Henry smiled, turned his head slightly, and tested the breeze. Three of them. Young. Healthy. Perfect.
    'What's the matter, faggot, you deaf?"
    'Maybe he's got someone's pecker stuffed in his ear."
    Hands in his pockets, he pivoted slowly on one heel. They were leaning against the huge yellow bulk of Maple Leaf Gardens, suburban boys in lace-up boots and strategically ripped jeans downtown for a little excitement. With odds of three to one, they'd probably be after him anyway, but just to be certain… the smile he sent them was deliberately provocative, impossible to ignore.
    'Fuckin" faggot!"
    They followed him east, yelling insults, getting braver and coming closer when he didn't respond. When he crossed College at Jarvis Street, they were right on his heels and, without even considering why he might be leading them there, they followed him into Allen Gardens Park.
    'Faggot's walking like he's still got a prick shoved up his ass."
    There were lights scattered throughout the small park, but there were also deep pockets of shadow that would provide enough darkness for his needs. Hunger rising, Henry led them away from the road and possible discovery, fallen leaves making soft, wet noises under his feet. Finally, he stopped and turned.
    The three young men were barely an arm's length away. The night would never be the same for them again.
    They moved to surround him.
    He allowed it.
    'So, why aren't you fucking dead like the rest of the fucking queers?" Their leader, for all packs have a leader of sorts, reached out to shove a slender shoulder, the first move in the night's entertainment. He looked surprised when he missed. Then he looked startled as Henry smiled. Then he looked frightened.
    A heartbeat later, he looked terrified.
    The double doors to the Egyptology workroom had been painted bright orange. As Reid Ellis put his passkey into the lock, he wondered, not for the first time, why. All the doors in this part of the hallway had been painted yellow or orange and while he supposed it looked cheerful it didn't exactly look dignified. Not that the folks in the Egyptology Department were exactly sticklers for dignity. Three months ago, when the Blue Jays had lost six ball games in a row he'd gone in to find one of the mummified heads set up on the table with a baseball cap perched jauntily on its desiccated brow.
    Now that baseball season was over, he wondered if anyone in the department owned a hockey helmet, rest in peace being the kindest epitaph one could give the Leafs even this early in the season.
    'And what've you got for me tonight?" he asked as he hooked one of the doors open to make way for his cart- they weren't actually scheduled to have the floors done, but he liked to keep up with the high traffic areas by the desk and the sink-then he turned and got his first look at the new addition to the room. "Holy shit."
    Palms suddenly wet, mouth suddenly dry, Reid stood and stared. The head had been unreal, like a special effect in a movie, evoking a shudder but easy to laugh at and dismiss. A coffin though, with a body in it, was another thing altogether. This was a person, a dead person, lying there shrouded in plastic and waiting for