Blood Price by Tanya Huff Read Free Book Online Page B

and allowing the day to claim him.

    * * *
    "Vicki, please!"

    Vicki frowned, a visit to the ophthalmologist never put her in what could be called a good mood and all this right-eye, left-eye focusing was giving her a major headache. "What?" she growled through gritted teeth-only incidentally a result of the chin rest.

    "You're looking directly at the test target."

    "So?"

    Dr. Anderson hid a sigh and, with patience developed during the raising of two children, explained, not for the first time, her tone noncommittal and vaguely soothing. "Looking directly at the test target negates the effects of the test and we'll just have to do it all over again."

    And they would, too. Over and over again if necessary. Holding back a sharp comment behind the thin line of her lips, Vicki attempted to cooperate.

    "Well?" she prodded at last as Dr. Anderson flicked off the perimeter light and motioned for her to raise her head.

    "It hasn't gotten any worse. . . ."

    Vicki leaned back, watching the doctor's face. "Has it gotten any better?" she asked pointedly.

    This time, Dr. Anderson didn't bother to hide the sigh. "Vicki, as I've told you before, retinitis pigmentosa doesn't get better. Ever. It only gets worse. Or," she rolled the perimeter back against the wall, "if you're very lucky, the degeneration reaches a point and goes no further."

    "Have I reached that point?"

    "Only time will tell. You've been pretty lucky already," she continued, raising a hand to forestall Vicki's next comment, "in many cases, this disease is accompanied by other types of neurodegenerative conditions."

    "Deafness, mild retardation, premature senility, and truncal obesity." Vicki snorted. "We went through all this in the beginning, and none of it changes the fact that I have effectively no night vision, the outside edge of my peripheral vision has moved in twenty-five degrees, and I've suddenly become myopic."

    " That might have happened anyway."

    Vicki shoved her glasses up her nose. "Very comforting. When can I expect to go blind?"

    The nails of Dr. Anderson's right hand beat a tattoo against her prescription pad. "You may never go blind and, in spite of your condition, at the moment you have perfectly functional vision.
    You mustn't let this make you bitter."

    "My condition," Vicki snarled, standing and reaching for her coat, "as you call it, caused me to leave a job I loved that made a difference for the better in the slime-pit this city is becoming and if it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather be bitter." She didn't quite slam the door on the way out.

    * * *
    "What's the matter, darling, you don't look happy?"

    "It hasn't been a great day, Mrs. Kopolous."

    The older woman clicked her tongue and shook her head at the family size bag of cheese balls Vicki had laid on the counter. "So I see, so I see. You should eat real food, darling, if you want to feel better. This stuff is no good for you. And it makes your fingers orange."

    Vicki scooped up her change and dropped it into the depths of her purse. Soon she'd have to deal with the small fortune jangling around down there. "Some moods, Mrs. Kopolous, only junk food can handle."

    The phone was ringing when she reached her apartment.

    "Yeah, what?"

    "There's something about the sound of your dulcet tones that makes this whole wretched day worthwhile."

    "Stuff a sock in it, Celluci." Phone balanced under her chin, Vicki struggled out of her coat.
    "Whadda you want?"

    "My, my, sounds like someone's wearing the bishop's shoes."

    Against every inclination, Vicki grinned. His use of that particular punch line in conversation always did it to her. He knew it, too. "No, I did not get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," she told him, hooking her office chair over and throwing herself down into it.
    "As you very well know. But I did just get back from a visit to the ophthalmologist."

    "Ah." She could picture him leaning back, his feet up on the desk. Every superior he'd ever had