Disclaimer: Blood Ties belongs to its creator, Tanya Huff, and to Lifetime and a production company or two. It does not belong to me.
Author's Notes: This story begins during/after the episode "Norman," and so contains spoilers for that episode. It is not consistent with the events in my story, Luxuria.
Superbia -- Pride, one of the seven deadly sins
"Not a real blonde," Vicki said, part of her pleased that she retained enough self-possession to quip with a demon, and also heady from the startling discovery that she could affect it with her blows. She was determined to get through this Norman-ish creature to Henry, who lay bleeding on the floor. She'd seen "Norman" throw Henry to the floor just as she entered the apartment, and, though he'd spoken once, Henry hadn't gotten up again.
She set her stance and readied her baton for another round. Something had injured her mouth; she tasted the warm tang of blood. "Norman" turned toward her, red-rimmed yellow eyes appraising, and Vicki clamped down on her fear, bracing.
The shape of the man vanished, transformed into bird-like flapping creatures with an appalling stench. Vicki ducked and swung, but the creatures swooped out the open door.
Vicki dropped her baton and rushed to Henry.
"Henry, are you okay?" She dropped to his side, forcing herself to look at the gashes in his chest. Bad, painfully bad, but not as bad as when Astaroth's first servant had fought Henry and left him for dead.
"I'll live," Henry said, his voice rasping with pain. "You?"
She looked at his face, his fangs showing and eyes gone dark, a monster's face, one might think, but to Vicki it was familiar, even comforting. The part of Henry he dared to show her. This really was Henry. That other Henry was—oh, God, was that Norman?
"That depends," she found herself saying, inane though it sounded. "Were you just at my apartment kissing me?"
"If I was, you'd remember it," Henry gasped, as if he also thought this was a logical conversation for them to have. His right hand gripped a dagger.
"Oh, blech," she exclaimed. "I'm really going to need some mouthwash."
Vicki's thoughts spun. Henry was hurt. It wasn't Henry before; Norman could shape-shift. He didn't get the dagger; Henry still held it. Henry was hurt. Who else had Norman posed as? Did he have the grimoire? Henry was hurt.
Henry put his hand up to her face. "You're bleeding," he said.
Vicki focused on him. The blood welled even faster from her lip; she had trouble containing it in her mouth and it flowed messily down her chin. Henry's pupil-less gaze fastened on the sight, but Vicki didn't see hunger in his look, only concern and a pained wistfulness, as if Henry regarded a treasure he couldn't hope to possess.
Well, that was ridiculous. It was doing her no good, and she really needed to wipe away the memory of kissing "Norman." "I'd hate to waste it," she said, and leaned down into his kiss.
As their lips touched, Henry surged into her. Not just physically; Vicki was abruptly flooded by Henry. By the force of his personality, his worry and fear, his pain and need. The kiss was more intense than any she'd ever known, and with no warning.
Henry broke the kiss. "Stop," he said.
Stop?
He pushed her away, to arm's length.
Vicki panted, her vision clearing as much as it ever did, her heart pounding. She blinked at Henry in incomprehension. He still lay on the floor, recovering. Why had he stopped them? He needed more, she was sure. She needed more; that was certain.
"We've a demon to stop," he said, his chest still heaving.
Yes, but, stop? Her physical responses, usually well under her control, continued untamed. She wanted his kiss, his feel, she wanted to press all of her against all of him. Why would he stop?
She struggled to remember the last time she'd spoken to the real Henry. They'd been on the street outside Maurice's. She'd been frightened and frosty to him.
All right, all right. This was his call, after all, whatever was behind it. "At least he didn't get the knife," she said, sounding almost normal.
Henry's face remained in vampire shape, a sign, Vicki guessed, that he needed more blood. "This isn't over," he said, still in pained tones. "He knows where it is, now. He'll come back for it."
Vicki took a firm hold of her whirling thoughts. The demon's still out there. What was her first priority, if not to heal Henry? It's Norman, and he can shape-shift. Think.
Coreen.
"Oh God, I've got to warn Coreen," she said, whipping out her phone.
"Wear something nice," Norman added, just before Vicki heard the click of a broken connection.
Henry levered himself up with an elbow, still weak, but his face had returned to "normal." He got slowly to his feet.
"He's got Coreen at his old place," she said, fighting despair. "He wants us to bring him the dagger."
"And you," Henry said grimly.
I don't want to be demon food, Vicki thought. Why me? It's not fair. Coreen even yelled at me to stay away. "Don't even think about suggesting I leave her there," she growled at Henry.
"I wouldn't," he said. "You wouldn't anyway." If he was hurt by her accusation, he didn't show it. His brow creased with worry, he limped toward his own phone and picked it up.
Vicki felt deeply ashamed. He wasn't the one who had thought of abandoning Coreen.
She had lectured him once about remembering what he could be, and here he was assuming she was free of selfish fear. Well, by God, she was going to make him right. If it killed her.
"Who are you calling?"
"Betty," Henry said. "You were right. I should have warned her."
Vicki felt sick. "Norman" had acted like the dagger was all he needed, which meant he had the grimoire. She moved to Henry's side, sharing his horror that he might have gotten a dear friend killed. Again.
She put a hand on his arm, her own flesh still protesting the separation from him. He leaned into her, accepting her comfort as they waited. Her pulse quickened just from touching him. Which he probably knew.
She heard a tinny voice on the phone, and Henry straightened. "Betty, you're all right?"
Henry gave her a relieved look. "The grimoire, the one from the summoning. Do you still have it?" Henry wavered on his feet, wincing. His wounds showed red through his ripped shirt, though they had stopped bleeding. "You did? I did? No. No, Betty, it's all right. Don't do anything. I'll explain later. Thank you. Thank you."
He hung up the phone and turned to Vicki. His chest heaved with pain and emotion as he spoke. "She gave it to him, but he didn't hurt her. She thought it was me."
To Henry this was good news, Vicki knew, but she would so have preferred to hear that the grimoire was safe. Too much to hope for, she told herself. Be glad Segara's alive.
Henry looked pale and stressed, about like Vicki felt. "You need more," Vicki said. Besides her concern for him, she admitted a selfish fear. She couldn't do this without him—not and have any hope of living.
He raised his head and regarded her tenderly. "Your cut has healed," he said. Vicki felt the inside of her lip with her tongue. It was true; there was no trace of the split. How could it have healed so fast, and how did he know?
"We don't have much time," he said. "I'll be all right. I've got an idea."
He turned back to the phone. She listened as he called a priest and arranged to have the man meet them near Norman's old apartment. His voice strengthened as he spoke to the man.
"With the dagger freshly blessed, we may be able to sabotage the ritual," Henry told her, after hanging up the phone.
Vicki nodded, forcing herself to believe there could be hope. Maybe it could work. If the forces of evil were real, shouldn't the forces for good be real, too?
Adrenaline still surged in her as she and Henry left Norman's old apartment. She also trembled with relief and joy she tried to hide. They won! They were all still alive! Could she dare to count on this streak of luck continuing?
Henry held his car door for her as Vicki got in, keeping her right hand inside a coat pocket against her stomach. Henry placed the three magic items in the back seat and then got in the driver's seat. He sat unmoving for a moment.
He gave Vicki a tired smile. "How's your hand?"
"Hurts," she admitted, "but I should get a matching scar out of it."
"What do you mean?"
"Apparently palms scar easily. My other hand has a scar where I sliced it—before."
Henry frowned. "Delphine," he said. Vicki nodded. "May I see it?" he asked.
"Which one?"
"Where Norman cut you," he said, indicating her right hand. Vicki held it out, reluctantly, since the bleeding hadn't slowed and she didn't want to get blood on his upholstery. It had been soaking into her coat.
Henry cupped her hand from beneath, so any overflow fell on his own, larger hand. "That's bad," he said. "You should have gone with Celucci and Coreen."
"No way," she said. "I just need some kind of bandage, and then . . ." She trailed off. The lights in the parking structure were just bright enough to show her Henry's eyes gone black. She inhaled, then let it out. She guessed he was still hurting.
"May I?" he asked. "It will heal faster, and . . ."
"The dagger," she said. "You're not afraid it tainted me or something?"
"No," Henry said hoarsely. His need quickened her pulse. He held her hand steadily, almost eerily unmoving, neither releasing her nor tightening. Vicki sensed that stillness as rigid control. Blood coated her hand and part of his, and her faster heartbeat intensified the pain of the cut. The thought of a soft mouth, soothing, cooling—he wouldn't need to bite, surely. She shifted in her seat and swallowed.
Henry gazed at her with whiteless eyes, waiting, poised. He would release her if she said no, she was confident of that. His self-control was a third presence in the car. She wasn't at all sure her own control would withstand another kiss as powerful as the one they'd shared in his apartment. At least nothing else is likely to happen here in the car, she thought wryly. And this isn't a kiss.
"Sure," she said shakily. "It's win–win, right?"
Her last word ended with a gasp as Henry moved to her hand faster than she could see.