Night is Nigh "Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live; Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I cannot die." -- "Evening" by Keats ***** She couldn’t take it anymore. The whispering hid just at the edges of her mind, hissing through the static of the mundanity of her thoughts. When it was light, she was safe, but when darkness descended, she went mad. She knew what it wanted. It wanted her blood. She picked up the knife from the dish rack. It was sharp. She had honed it this afternoon in preparation. She had known that tonight was to be the night. It was time to give into the voice. She wanted to do as she was told. It was right to do it. And she really had no choice. She knelt on the linoleum floor, her head thrown back. She lifted the knife to her bared throat and with a swift slash, plunged it into her jugular. The hot liquid pumped out of her neck and splashed onto the floor in front of her. She could smell the coppery scent of it. Pulling the knife to the side, she carefully opened a wide gash across the taut skin of her neck. Her eyes glazed and the knife clattered to the floor as the blood poured over her breasts and thighs. ***** The bright flood lights lit up the house, eradicating night’s shadows. Police swarmed around, moving in some intricate, patternless dance. Tracy picked her way through the crowd of onlookers and ducked under the police tape, flashing her badge at the uniformed officer who moved to stop her. She had been on her dinner break when she had gotten the call. Sitting in her new red Mazda Miata on the ferry docks, she hadn’t been eating. She had been doing exactly the same thing as the other nights that she went there: staring over the Inner Harbor at the dark masses and tiny lights in the water that indicated the Islands. She stared at one spot, even though it was too dark to see it: a small plot on Snake Island. She could locate it from any place in the city of Toronto. She could feel its tug at her mind, even when she tried to forget it. When she awoke in the late afternoon, that was the first place her eyes looked. Staring through the brick wall of her apartment, she could see the brown dirt and dried grass covering it like a balding man’s bad comb-over. Tracy pushed her way through the back door of the house and moved into the kitchen. Her partner, Nick, was crouched over a body on the floor, his back to her. His shoes almost touched the pool of coagulated blood that spread across the kitchen floor. One hand rested at the very edge of the red-brown stain, and when he though no one was looking, a latex-covered finger crept forward and poked into the pool. "Nick! What are you doing?!" Tracy exclaimed. Nick jumped up and turned toward her with a sheepish expression on his face. He hid his hands behind his back. "I’ve got my own way of telling the time of death. The way the blood feels..." he whispered. "They’ve already taken photos, so..." "You’re really weird, partner," she said, shaking her head. Sometimes she really wondered if Nick was all there, she really did. "What have we got?" "It looks like a suicide," he answered, pointing to the knife. "More gruesome than usual, but there were no signs of forced entry or struggle." "It was self-inflicted," Natalie confirmed, coming up next to the two detectives. "The angle and depth of the cut indicate that, but it would have been very difficult to do." "So she was determined," Tracy said, suppressing a shiver as she stared at the corpse. Vachon had begged her. She could see him in her mind: crouched on the floor, his eyes a feral gold. When she had refused, he had thrown himself on the stake she held. "Yep. There was no way she could have survived this," the brunette coroner said. "My best guess is it happened about 24 to 36 hours ago." "Should we just write it up then?" Tracy asked Nick, who was staring at the blood on his latex-covered finger. "Huh? Yeah, probably," he said distractedly. "Nat, can I talk to you for a minute?" Nick pulled the coroner away, leaving Tracy to stare at the body at her feet. she mentally asked the corpse. ***** Natalie shook off his arm and scowled at Nick. He was always dragging her around, pulling her after him like she needed a leash to follow. "Nick," she sighed, "I’ve got papers to fill out, bodies to cut up. Make it snappy." "There’s something wrong about this," he said, his blue eyes troubled. "I... I tasted the blood." "Nick!" Natalie hissed. "She killed herself! Leave it be!" "She was hearing voices, Nat," he said, pleadingly. "Voices that wanted her blood!" "There was obviously *something* wrong." Nat gestured back at the red pool on the floor. "One of the uniforms found a bottle of Haloperidol in her bathroom; it’s a psychoactive tranquilizer used to treat schizophrenia. That would explain the voices. Unless you think ... someone ... would let all this blood ... go to waste." Nick looked chagrined. "No, I guess you’re right," he mumbled. "I think I’m just getting a bit paranoid lately." Natalie shook her head and Nick wandered off toward his partner. What was up with him these days? He was seeing vampires in every case. Last week it had been a domestic squabble in which the man stabbed the woman, but left the knife in the wound. Because of the relatively little blood at the scene, Nick had been convinced that a vampire was involved. Natalie had to measure the blood in the woman’s body to convince him. The week before that, it had been a homeless woman found strangled at the lakeshore. Nick had been positive that the marks on the neck were bites, rather than the impressions of a ring. The fact that the woman had all of her blood didn’t seem to faze him at all. Only when Tracy had caught the murderer and found the ring would he believe. Natalie decided. She smiled at the thought of Nick in therapy. Her friend Laura Haynes, a psychiatrist, would have a field day with the immense guilt Nick carried around. Maybe they could joint publish: "The Medical and Psychiatric Peculiarities of the Vampire." She hadn’t spoken to Laura in a while, maybe she would call her soon, have dinner with her before her shift. They had drifted apart, but ... it didn’t need to stay that way. ***** Nick followed Tracy back to the precinct. She had started to drive like a maniac since she had gotten her new car. She had never explained why she had suddenly gotten rid of her faithful Taurus for the tiny sports car she now drove. It had *no* trunk space and was, therefore, inferior, in Nick’s opinion. When he had asked her about the change, she had said that it was time she lived a little, then had promptly changed the subject. For once, CERK was playing only music. LaCroix had done nothing more than perfunctorily introduce the piece before the music began. It was something with haunting strings, the sound of one lonely violin singing its plaintive song over the harmonies of the lower-pitched instruments. It was a relief to not be taunted by LaCroix over the airwaves for once, to simply drive in his car and listen to music. The melancholy tune was the perfect background for his thoughts. In his head, he could hear the voices that the woman who had committed suicide had heard. It would only last for a couple hours, but if he wasn’t careful, they would overtake his mind and make him share in her madness ... not that Nick was sure that was what it was. At least not at first. The woman, Lucinda, had been frightened in the beginning, seeking the doctor that had given her the prescription for the Haloperidol. The drugs, however, had done nothing to quiet the voice in her head. Afraid that she would be locked away, Lucinda had not told the psychiatrist that the voice still spoke to her. Eventually, she had become resigned to the voice’s desire for blood and had slit her own throat to appease it. The voice was subtly familiar to Nick, but he couldn’t place it. It resonated with something in his own mind, something that snaked along the edges of his brain, waiting to strike. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t pin down what it was. Regardless of what Natalie said, though, Nick wasn’t convinced that the victim had been insane. Lucinda had been *so* sure that the voice was not in her imagination that Nick was inclined to believe her. He would have to think on it more. **** Tracy dropped her keys and bag on the rosewood table by the door and picked her way across the debris of her darkened apartment to collapse on her couch. She could turn the light on, but then she would just see the mess and feel guilty for not cleaning her apartment in three weeks. This way, sitting in the dark, she could pretend her life was in order and everything was normal. But it wasn’t. Her life was a mess. ... At least internally. Externally, her life was great. She had just gotten a raise based on the great arrest record she and Nick had. She had a new, sporty car. Her mother and father had finally begun to speak civilly to one another again. She had been playing with her friends in their ska band at least once a week. She’d even been asked out on a date. She knew she should be happy, and that’s what made it so difficult to motivate herself into making any changes. She was, fundamentally, underneath it all, unhappy. It wasn’t any one thing that was depressing her, but rather thousands of tiny little things. Each one, in and of itself, was nearly inconsequential, but piled together, they were a load almost too much to bear. She missed Vachon. It was so much more than that, though; she missed being part of something big. Being friends with a vampire had made her feel special. Now, with Screed and Vachon, the two vampires she had known, dead, she felt small again. She knew that there were other vampires, probably even in Toronto, but she no longer felt extraordinary. Now, she was again Tracy Vetter, Good Cop. It wasn’t even just that, though. It was her apartment not allowing pets. It was her partner’s oddness. It was being hit on by jerks at the Crash. It was coming home to an empty, untidy apartment. It was the approaching winter. It was her maxed-out credit cards. It was her father always pushing her to get out of homicide. It was her mother asking her when she was going to settle down and have kids. It was watching Nick and Nat dance around each other when they should just seize the moment and be in love. It frustrated her to no end to watch those two. They both so obviously loved each other, but they refused to admit it. Anytime the subject was brought up, they had their standard answer: "It’s complicated." One of these times, Tracy was going to lose her temper and scream at them: "Of course it’s complicated, you idiots! It’s *love*! Love is not some simple, happy, fluffy emotion. It’s as painful as grinding glass into your heel, as frightening as finding a stranger in your home. It’s loss; it’s embarrassment; it’s hate; but that’s no reason not to do something about it! You only have so much time on this earth, so you’d better make the most of it!" She hadn’t done it yet, though. Intellectually, she knew that it was throwing stones from the porch of her own glass house. After all, she had never told Javier Vachon how much she had loved him. She had assumed she had eternity. She had never thought that he would die, let alone that she would be the one to kill him. She had never thought that she could only declare her feelings to the cold dirt that covered his decaying shell. She had never thought she would lose him. ***** LaCroix stood on the roof of the building, watching the dark windows below him. He could hear the young woman’s heartbeat as she sat in the dark. She was in the living room, staring into the blackness as she had done most nights for the past month and a half. He had closely watched his son’s partner descend into depression. He knew the signs from his long acquaintance with Nicholas: the brooding, the desire for solitude, the lackluster response to life. Young Tracy had all the signs and more. She was better, however, than Nicholas at hiding her despair from others. His son was one to broadcast his sorrow to the world with significant sighs and heavy looks. Tracy indulged her despondency only when she was unobserved - or thought that she was. It had begun when she had remembered the death of the Spaniard. LaCroix had no doubts that she relived his fatal thrust every day during her slumber. He had always known that she would be unhappy with the knowledge of her part in her ... lover’s? ... friend’s death, but this was becoming unacceptable. She had no one to speak to of this. She had not been raised as he had, to keep all emotion inside, to be sufficient unto herself. She *required* an outlet for her pain. Only when she returned from her nights with her friends at the basement club she frequented did she appear to be any happier. He had sent one of the young ones to the club, telling him that it was to "investigate the competition". However, when the vampire had been to the dark pit of the Crash, he had assured LaCroix that it was no competition, though the music was very good. LaCroix would not go there himself, though he thought of bringing the club to him. This music, "ska", however, did not create the kind of sensual mood he desired for the Raven. Things would simply have to remain as they were, at least in that quarter. He was unsure of his motives where it concerned this young woman. She was beautiful - or could be, when she tried - but it was not only that. With this despair, she seemed to develop from a girl into a woman before his eyes, like a caterpillar into a butterfly (though that image was a tired one). Her thoughts and feelings acquired new depth and fierceness. She would make a *wonderful* vampire. He launched himself into the air, still thinking. A much better vampire than his wayward, mortal-loving son, Nicholas. He knew that Nicholas truly loved the good Dr. Lambert. He had known it for years. Why he had not taken her life as he had promised, he was not sure. At first it had been to ensure that the attachment between the two grew, until they declared their love. That would make it so much more painful when he finally took the life of Nicholas' love. Later, though, it had been because he found himself admiring Dr. Lambert. She was intelligent despite being overly enamored of science and his son. This was a rare quality in Nicholas' conquests. Beauty was usually what attracted his son, nothing more. LaCroix wasn't even sure that Nicholas understood why Dr. Lambert was currently discontented. LaCroix had not ever spoken to the doctor about the relationship, yet even he could tell that she wanted something more, something that Nicholas was unwilling, or perhaps unable, to give. Maybe this would be a good time to discuss matters with Dr. Lambert. She should be provided with a father's wisdom in this matter. ***** The girl twitched further underneath her blankets of cardboard and newspaper. She wouldn’t listen. No more. In spite of herself, the girl felt in her pocket for the knife she kept there. She knew how happy it would make the voice. She knew the pain she felt would only make it better. With her thumb, she slid out the blade out of the pocketknife. Deliberately, she pressed it against the concrete upon which she lay. Whimpering against her desire to please the voice, she bent the metal until it snapped off. With a gasp, the girl felt a rush of pleasure so intense it was almost pain. She panted and writhed in exquisite agony, grinding the back of her head into the hard ground beneath her. Shuddering, the girl scraped at the ground until her fingers found the blade she had just snapped. Her hands shook so that it took a few tries to plunge the blade into the soft skin of her inner elbow. She pulled the small blade down the inside of her arm, feeling the heat of the pain grow more intense with each millimeter. The blood welled up from the cut, slowly spilling over her arm to drip and puddle on the concrete. She yanked the blade from between the tendons in her wrist and slid the knife blade into the softness of her other arm. ***** LaCroix almost always took an evening constitutional. Only when the weather was truly inclement did he not. It was an opportunity for him to revel in the scent of human blood and perhaps to find prey. He hunted less frequently these days, but he still loved the thrill of the chase and taste of fear in the blood. He killed rarely, but he had control enough to sip from the fountain of life without draining it. He had been discreetly following a young woman this evening through a decrepit neighborhood near the harbor when he had been distracted by a sensation of being watched. The last time he had felt that piercing stare, Divia had killed several younger vampires before attempting to kill Nicholas and himself. He had, however, seen Divia's ashes scattered to the winds, and, evil as she was, he was sure even his daughter couldn't escape from that final rest. LaCroix ended his pursuit of the beautiful young woman and stepped into an alley. Closing his eyes and extending his other senses to the fullest, he let himself feel the city around him. He could hear the cacophony of mortal heartbeats, the rush of water in the sewers, the hum of electricity in the wires ... and *there* ... the observer. No heartbeat, no heat, in an alley across the busy street. A vampire? Maybe. Something was not quite right. There was a mind he could feel, one that was not quite vampire and not quite human. Almost insane, but fighting. He opened his eyes and focused on the other alley. A shape hid in the shadows, too dark for even his enhanced eyesight to see. The creature did not seem to actually be looking at him, but the sensation of being watched persisted nonetheless. He focused farther back into the alley and felt a human. One fighting with all of her mental powers to resist something. To resist the terrible pleasure, the wonderful pain. The same sensations Divia had made him feel when she had sliced his face open. LaCroix launched himself into the air toward the other alley, but it was too late. The young girl's blood slowly seeped across the concrete and the creature was gone. He scanned the area with his senses, but the only sounds were traffic, humanity, and breaking glass. ***** Nick was flipping through all the available information on Lucinda Gravel, last night’s suicide victim, when the call came to his desk. "Knight..." a raspy voice breathed. "Knight..." "Who is this?" Nick demanded. "You have to--" There was a strangled growl and then a loud smash. "Who are you? Do you need help?" Nick asked, but after a few moments, the dial tone began. The detective hung up the phone, then, after a few seconds of drumming his fingers on his desk, picked it up again and dialed the resident wire-tapper. He got a lot of anonymous tips from the vampire community of Toronto, and he liked to be able to have some sort of leverage when needed. So, soon after moving to the city, he had gotten one of the force’s surveillance experts to tap his desk phone. He had managed to keep up the arrangement through the years and station changes by the judicious application of Maple Leafs season tickets. Finally, there was a click as the phone picked up. "Hello. You have reached the Toronto Police Department’s Surveillance Electronics Team," the recording began. "If you have a surveillance emergency, please press one. If you need to schedule surveillance, please press two. If you have dialed the incorrect number please press three. If you’re calling to complain, please hang up. If you know your party’s extension, please press four. If you do not know your party’s extension, please look it up in the Department directory and then call back." Nick hesitated; he couldn’t remember the correct extension. He hated these stupid recordings. After a moment, the recording began again. "If you’re still waiting, please hang up. When you decide what to do, please call back. Thank you." The line went dead. With a low growl, Nick carefully replaced the receiver in the cradle. He really wanted to slam it down, but he had already destroyed three phones this year, and he’d been told that the next one was going to come out of his paycheck. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it, but it was the principle of the thing. Why should he be held responsible for shoddy workmanship? Pulling open his desk drawer, Nick rummaged around until he found the small blue police phone directory. It was arranged by department. He looked under "Surveillance". Then under "Wiretaps". Then "Electronics". Then "Idiots". Finally, he found it under "Auxiliary Teams". He dialed the number again, then dialed the extension. "If you had followed the instructions," the recording said calmly, "you would know that that was an incorrect entry." The options were again repeated. With exaggerated care, Nick pressed four, then dialed the extension. He found it to be particularly apt: 666. There was the sound of several connections being made, then a loud beep. "Hello. You’ve reached the voice mail of Ira Doolittle." Another recording. "I’m currently doing something more important than picking up the phone, or I’m out of my office. If you think it will do any good, leave a message." Suppressing the urge to spout a string of multi-lingual obscenities, Nick spoke calmly into the phone. "Hello, Ira, it’s Nick Knight. How about those Maple Leafs, eh? Listen, I got a phone call around --" Nick checked his watch "-- 8:15 tonight. I need to have a copy of the tape on it and let me know what else you can find out about it." "A phone call?" A voice behind him asked. Nick hung up the phone and whirled around to face his partner. She was carrying two cups of coffee and a bag that contained pastries of some sort, by the sugary stench radiating from the bag. "A weird one," he confirmed. "But nothing to worry about." For some reason, he didn’t want to tell Tracy about this phone call. He couldn’t articulate why, but he instinctually knew that it would be a bad idea. Tracy had seemed so distant lately, so dedicated to her job. She was no longer the child she had been when she started in homicide; one who would blanche at the sight of a gory crime scene. Now, she was hardened. Her ... innocence had been lost. It was a shame. "I brought you a cup of coffee," Tracy said, putting one of the cups in front of him. "Trace, you know I don’t drink that stuff," Nick said, shaking his head. "Well," she said, plopping herself down across the desk and smiling, "I guess I’ll just have to drink them both. Doughnut?" Nick wrinkled his nose at the proffered bag. "All right, so it’s stereotypical, but it’s good. Anyway, I get tired of eating healthy food all the time." "I was reading through Ms. Gravel’s file," Nick reported, trying to ignore the overly-sweet smell of the pastries. "She was a good, law-abiding citizen, never married, no children, paid her taxes, one speeding ticket four years ago--a model citizen. So why would she kill herself?" "I don’t know, Nick," Tracy said around a mouthful of food, "But she did. Maybe death was her only way out. Let’s just put this one to rest ... so to speak." Before Nick could retort, Captain Reese stuck his head out of his door. "Another suicide," he reported. "Looks like you’re getting the easy cases this week." ***** Tracy stood by the body of the homeless girl. She lay just inside an alley, sprawled on her back, half-buried in a nest of coats, newspaper, and cardboard boxes. The blood formed a huge puddle around her, leading out from the ragged gashes along her inner arms. Another suicide. Was it another hint? Was someone trying to tell her something? She was so unhappy. Was this the only way out? Should she spill her blood out on the ground, just like Lucinda Gravel and this young girl? Her own blood smelled of apricots and calla lilies, Vachon had told her. She sighed internally. One day, maybe, she would forget him again. "I never really realized before this week how much blood is in the human body," she said to her partner, who was leaning over the body. "Yeah, you’d be surprised," he said and stood up. "You just don’t normally get to see it. It’s there all the time, just underneath the surface, pounding against the skin, hot and pulsing ..." Tracy looked at him. He was staring at the body, or past it rather, into nothing. "You ok?" she asked. Nick shook his head and turned and smiled. "I haven’t had dinner yet." "Happens to me, too, sometimes. Low blood sugar," she commiserated. "Something like that," he agreed. "Now, what do we have here? Another suicide?" "I’m not so sure," Natalie’s voice said from behind them. The two detectives turned to see the coroner, her forehead creased in frustration. "They’re obviously self-inflicted wounds, but can you imagine just how difficult it would be to do that to one arm then go and do it to the other?" "Drugs?" Tracy asked. "Something that would dull the pain?" "It’s possible, but she wasn’t shooting up in her arms: no track marks. Pills are possible, maybe Percodan or Dexadrine, but she’d be so fuzzy-headed she wouldn’t be able to concentrate long enough to go through with it." Natalie shook her head. "It’s no good speculating. I’ll do a toxicology screen when we take her in, but that’ll take a few days." "Could someone have been ... helping?" Nick asked. "Holding her hand? Forcing her to?" "It’s possible, but there’s no sign of a struggle, and no one heard anything," Tracy pointed out. "Not that anyone in this area would necessarily admit to seeing anything, even if they did." "Hey, I only live a few blocks from here!" Nick protested. "It’s true, Nick, and you know it," Natalie said. "Just look around; this isn’t exactly the best neighborhood." Tracy looked out of the mouth of the alleyway. The few stores there were, were closed and gated. A telephone booth with all the glass smashed out was across the street. The street looked like she felt: unwanted and dirty. The crowd wasn’t full of the most savory characters, either. It amazed her that, no matter how late the crime scene, there was always a crowd. How did everyone find out? She scanned the crowd, noting the wide variety of ages and clothing. Suddenly, her eyes stopped on a vaguely familiar onlooker: a man, tall, broad shoulders, close-cropped blonde hair... "Nick, isn’t that the owner of the Raven?" she asked, pointing out the man in question. "’La’ ... something French." Her partner followed her finger, his eyes widening in surprise when he spotted him. His body tensed, like a rabbit noticing a hawk overhead, ready to flee for its life. Tracy scrutinized the club owner, looking for some clue as to what was frightening Nick. She could see nothing. The man was not even looking in their direction, but was watching Natalie and the rest of the coroner’s staff zip the body into a black bag. "Nick?" Tracy asked, gently nudging her partner. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. His name is ‘LaCroix,’" he answered, carefully turning his back on the man. "I wonder what he’s doing here. This really isn’t his type of place." "Really?" Tracy asked in surprise. "You know him that well? I thought you’d only met him a few times." "Um ... we spoke when we worked on that baby-snatching case. Nothing important, of course," he added hastily. "Just general getting-to-know-you chit-chat?" Tracy asked. Nick nodded, then wandered over to the coroner’s van to talk to Natalie. Tracy wondered. She knew that he owned the Raven, a popular vampire hangout. Maybe she should do a little snooping. Vachon had told her that LaCroix wasn't a vampire, but he had been dishonest with her before. ***** Nick had tried to be as casual as possible answering Tracy’s questions, but he knew that his panic had showed. Why he was so nervous about LaCroix’s presence, he didn’t know. He had been getting along better with his erstwhile father of late. They had even gone to the theatre together last week, though they had disagreed severely on the quality of the production. His presence here, though, unnerved him. This really was not his neighborhood, unless he had been out feeding. And, more importantly, Nick had not felt his presence. Now that he was aware of LaCroix’s proximity, he could sense him, but before Tracy had pointed him out, he had been oblivious. That was not safe. Unless LaCroix were deliberately trying to hide his presence, which seemed unlikely, since he wasn’t physically hiding, there was something terribly wrong with Nick’s vampiric abilities. And why was LaCroix watching Natalie? LaCroix had not threatened her life in many months now, nor even spoken about her to Nick, but Nick had no doubt that he only waited for an excuse to kill her or alienate her affections. "What’s up?" Natalie asked as he approached. "You look strange." "Nothing," he said, and casually took her arm and led her to the far side of the coroner’s van. "Just wanted to say goodbye." Natalie yanked her arm out of his hand and put her hands on her hips. She glared at him. he wondered. "Nick Knight, if you don’t stop acting like an overbearing, arrogant jerk, I don’t want to be around you anymore!" Natalie hissed in a controlled but furious whisper. "Stop dragging me around and stop lying to me! If there’s something wrong, tell me! If you want me to go somewhere with you, ask! I am not your puppy dog to be taken where you want!" Nick stared in amazement. What on earth was she talking about?! A puppy dog? "Nat," he said slowly, "What do you mean?" "I mean," she said, looking around to be sure no one was near, "That you’re acting like a thirteenth century nobleman without any of the chivalry! I’m not a hothouse flower to be coddled and protected from all the cold drafts and nasty bugs! For god’s sake, Nick, I cut up dead bodies for a living! I am a *grown woman*!" "What…?" Nick began. "I didn’t say that you weren’t! I didn’t say anything!" "Of course you didn’t," Natalie said coldly. "You never *say* anything." She turned her attention to the clipboard in her hand and made a show of looking at her notes. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a body to transport." Nick backed off carefully, as if she would explode at any moment. he though ruefully. "Nick?" Tracy called from across the alley. "Come sign this paperwork!" Nick sighed and turned toward his partner. He would find out what was bothering his favorite coroner later. ***** Natalie slammed her notebook closed and threw it into the passenger seat of her car. The *nerve* of him! How could he be so thick-headed?! "Just exactly what manner of idiot *is* he?!" she wondered aloud. "I have often pondered that question myself, Dr. Lambert," a smooth voice said from the backseat. Before she ever really thought, Natalie reached for the door handle. A strong, pale hand stopped her, though, before she even moved two inches. "I would leave the horn alone as well, Doctor," the somewhat familiar voice advised. Natalie lowered the hand that had been, she thought, stealthily moving toward the center of the steering wheel. Moving as slowly as possible, she turned around. It was LaCroix. Nick’s maker, father, master. The one who called and Nick came like an obedient dog, and no matter what Nick thought, that was the truth of it. She had met him only a few times, and each had been … stressful. "I see you recognize me. Good," the elder vampire stated. "If you would not scream or otherwise draw attention to us, I would be happy to release your wrist. You may nod if this is acceptable." Natalie nodded and her wrist was released. She rubbed it where the vampire had held it. "I’m sure you are wondering just why I am here," LaCroix continued. "I believe that we have some things we should discuss. I thought we might talk over a drink." "I … have to get back to the lab," Natalie said lamely. "I’m sure you have plenty of sick time," LaCroix said. "Why don’t you just call off, and we can have a nice chat." Natalie took this as less of a suggestion and more of an order. She picked up her cell phone and called the Coroner’s office, citing a particularly awful headache ( she thought) as her reason for needing the rest of the night off. After a bit of grousing from Grace, her excuse was accepted. She hung up and turned back around. She decided that it did no good to be afraid of this vampire. He could kill her in an instant, and there was nothing she could do. She might as well use this opportunity to pick his brains about Nick. Maybe she could turn up something useful. "Where to?" she inquired. "I would suggest my abode, but, somehow, I do not believe that you would be comfortable." Natalie raised an eyebrow. "There is a coffee shop on Yonge, I believe, that will serve our purpose adequately, however." Natalie turned around and started the car. This might prove to be an interesting evening after all. ***** Tracy pulled her car into the small slot at the back of the station. It was time for her to finish up all of the paperwork she had been putting off. Nick would never do it if she didn't, and if it didn't get done, the captain would yell at them again. She hated when she got yelled at. She got out of her car and reached into the tiny backseat for her bag. She had taken home a large stack of paperwork last night, but had spent the night brooding in the dark instead. She promised herself that she would complete every single piece of paperwork in this bag before she left the station -- even if it meant staying until noon. She slammed her car door decisively and strode across the narrow parking lot to the station's back door. As she was about to open the door, she heard a rustling behind her. Tracy whirled around and scanned the lot. Between her car and the blue station wagon on the far side of it was a human-sized dark patch. "Who's there?" Tracy called out. The dark area moved a bit but didn't respond. Not willing to take any risks, she dropped her bag and pulled out her gun. She'd rather be laughed at by a fellow cop for over-reacting than be killed by a car thief. She moved closer to the cars, wishing that the parking lot was better lit. "Come out!" she called. "This is Detective Vetter with the Toronto Police Department." She was at her car now. There was a gargling noise, then a "whoosh" from the other side of her car. She darted around, only to find no one there. She quickly checked behind and underneath the cars nearby, but found no one. Going back to her car, she unlocked it and reached under her seat for her flashlight. Holstering her gun, she played the flashlight over the car door, looking for the tell-tale scratches of an attempted break-in. There were none. She shone the light on the ground, moving it slowly over the area. She was about to turn it off when there was a weak reflection from behind her tire. She crouched down and retrieved the object. It was a piece of a photograph: a corner, with two straight edges and two torn. She didn't have good enough light out here in the lot to look at it carefully, so she stuffed it in the pocket of her leather coat to look at later. She replaced her flashlight and re-locked her car, then headed back toward the station. ***** Nick plopped down onto his leather sofa and tried to understand the last few days. Tracy was increasingly moody and reckless, Natalie was angry at him for no apparent reason, and LaCroix was showing up at crime scenes. Maybe it was something in the water. But that wouldn't explain LaCroix. He had tried to find his vampire father after signing the crime scene reports, but he was gone. When he then tried to find Natalie, she was gone as well. He had tried her car phone, but she wasn't answering. he thought. He sat and stared into the fire for a minute, then reached for his phone. He could at least get some work done, rather than just leaving it all to Tracy as he had been doing lately. He called into his voice mail. After pressing a seemingly endless series of buttons, he got in and had three messages. "Detective Knight, this is Mary in Human Resources. You have reached your limit on vacation days. You will not be able to accumulate any more until you reduce the number down to 30. Please give me a ring at extension 541 if you have any questions." Nick sighed. His life was eternal, or nearly so. What need did he have for vacation days? He could take a few *years* off if he felt like it! The next message began. "Nick. Ira. Ran that trace. It was made from a payphone on Marcus: 555-0110. The phone is now out of order, according to the company. I'll interoffice mail you a copy of the tape." Damn. The suicide tonight had been on an alley off Marcus. He's have to get the exact address from Doolittle tomorrow and check it out tomorrow night. He didn't believe in coincidences. The last message began. "Knight ..." a raspy voice began. "Hurts ... Stop her ... stop me..." There was the fumbling sound of someone hanging up, then nothing. He pressed the button that got him the time and date stamp: 4:15 AM. That was only ten minutes ago. Who was it he was supposed to stop? He had to call Doolittle right away. Maybe he could get someone to deliver copies of the wire-tapping tapes. If there was a connection in these suicides and these phone calls, he would find out what it was. ***** Natalie sat at the table reviewing her conversation with Lucien LaCroix. He had only just left, citing "Hunger. I'm sure you understand, Dr. Lambert." It was near dawn now, but she wasn't anywhere near tired. It had been a very interesting and instructive two hours, though not an experience she was eager to repeat anytime soon. LaCroix was too ... smooth for her tastes. He opened doors, pulled out her chair, complimented her, but not in a way that made her feel patronized. Quite the contrary, it felt as if LaCroix were doing it because he was *honoring* her. But he was sneaky, she knew that. She had to use all of her mental strength to resist feeling flattered by his attention. She didn't know what kind of game he was playing, but she was sure it was a game. He had tried to start out with idle chit-chat, but Natalie wouldn't allow it. "What did you want to discuss?" she had insisted. LaCroix had sighed, as if disappointed with her impoliteness, but had answered. "I wished to discuss Nicholas with you. More specifically, your relationship with him." Natalie had snorted, drawing a disapproving look from the vampire. "What relationship?" she'd asked. "We don't have -- can't have -- a relationship. You know that." "You can't? Or you won't? Or, more exactly, Nicholas won't?" LaCroix had asked with a small, understanding smile. The waitress had come to take their orders then and Natalie was spared having to answer. When the waitress left, LaCroix began to talk of Nicholas and his life. He told her about their life together, the arguments, and the joy. He told her of Alyssa, Nicholas' wife, that he had failed to bring across. He told her of his own pain at seeing his son draw away from him. He told her of Nicholas' love of life and women and the world. "In spite of what Nicholas has told you, and what opinions you may have formed on your own, I have always had Nicholas' best interests at heart." He looked down into the cool cup of coffee he had not drank. "Our opinions on what that is may differ, but I have always wanted the best for him. What parent is not guilty of the same thing?" It was soon after that that he left. Natalie had said little during their time together, but she had learned much. LaCroix had also had one more cryptic thing to say before he left. "That death tonight. The girl. I am not sure it is what it seems," he had said hesitatingly, then was gone from the near empty shop. She drained the last of her coffee from her cup -- her third-- and stood up to go to her car. She had learned more about Nick tonight than he had ever told her himself. She could understand now why he might be afraid to be with her, since she had heard of Alyssa. Why had Nick not told her? Was he just trying to shield her? As she unlocked her car and climbed in, she wondered whether she should tell Nick of her meeting with LaCroix. Probably not. She couldn't imagine he would be too happy about it, the way he tried to protect her from everything. And what had LaCroix meant, "I am not sure it is what it seems." Well, in any case, she would be extra careful with the autopsy. Maybe he was right. She doubted it, but just maybe. ***** LaCroix let himself into the back door of the Raven and locked it again behind him. It was nearly dawn; he had spent much more time with Dr. Lambert than he had thought he would. It was clear that Nicholas had told her very little about his past lives, and the doctor was eager to hear of them. Perhaps with his recitation, she would understand that Nicholas would likely never love her as she wished, and it was best for her to let him go. Probably not, but it would, no doubt, increase her discontent with him, creating a situation where she would demand a resolution from her son. Then everything would be resolved, one way or another. It was time for resolution. Toronto was becoming dull. Most vampires had moved on after Divia's attacks, leaving few with whom he could have true companionship. Really, he only remained now to be near Nicholas. And beautiful Tracy Vetter, he must admit. The young woman intrigued him. LaCroix pulled off his leather greatcoat and hung it on a hook on the wall. He was about to open the door to his private apartment when he heard and felt something in the cellar. No one lived in the rooms there any longer, since Divia had targeted those closest to him, including Urs, who had resided there. It should have been empty but for the furnishings and the occasional rodent. Concentrating, LaCroix could recognize the presence of a vampire in the cellar. Quietly and quickly, LaCroix moved to cellar stairs and stood. Suddenly, the other vampire's presence became the same sensation as he had felt earlier that night. It was almost as if there were two creatures in one mind, struggling for dominance. LaCroix sped down the stairs, faster than a human could see, and was outside the door to Urs' old room. He threw open the door, and the presence of the other creature vanished. LaCroix scanned the room and located a bolt hole in the wall behind the wardrobe, but chose not to follow the vampire. Whatever the creature truly was, it was clear that it was insane, strong, and fast. LaCroix would not follow it without adequate preparation. He looked around the room, searching for anything out of place, but, since he had never before been in Urs' lair, he could not tell. There were clothes on the floor and jewelry scattered across the bureau, but Janette's room had often looked the same, so he could not assume it had been ransacked. He looked through the jewelry until her found a large silver sun medallion on a chain and hung it on an exposed nail on the back of the wardrobe. He then pushed the wardrobe firmly against the bolt hole. He could not be positive the other vampire was Divia, but he would take no chances. He would not sleep well this day. ***** Tracy sighed as she unlocked the door to her apartment. This was the latest she'd been up for weeks; it was almost 10:00 AM. She had finally finished all of her paperwork, and she was going to *force* Nick to help next time. There was just no way she was going to do it all by herself again. She dropped her keys on the table by the door, then reached in her pocket for her badge. Instead, she pulled out the corner of the photograph she had found in the parking lot. She had completely forgotten about it by the time she got to her desk to do paperwork. She shrugged out of her coat, and turned on the overhead light. Pointedly ignoring the state of her apartment, she moved to the center of the room, where the light was brightest. Looking carefully, she could see a crowd of people in a dark room in the background. In the foreground was a wisp on dark brown hair. Vachon's hair. She would recognize that shaggy mane anywhere. She glanced up at her refrigerator to compare it to the photograph of him and Screed that she kept there. It was one that had helped her remember Vachon's death and she kept it on the fridge to remind her of when her life had been special. The photograph was gone. She moved into her small kitchen and checked the floor, under the fridge, on the counters, everywhere. She was positive it had been there before she went to work. She made a point of sticking her tongue out at the two vampires every time she got something to eat. She distinctly remembered doing it before she went to work because she had discovered she was out of milk and had to have dry corn flakes. Tracy searched the apartment. There was no one in the bedroom, the closet, or the bathroom. She checked the door for signs of a break-in, but the lock wasn't scratched and the door hadn't been kicked. Besides, who would break in and steal a photograph off of her refrigerator? A vampire. One who didn't want any evidence of other vampires around. Vachon had warned her about them: the Enforcers. She checked her windows, but all were closed and locked. She dug in her jewelry box, though, and found the cross necklaces and earrings her Aunt Doris insisted on giving her every Christmas. she thought as she put the earrings on her windowsills and hung the necklaces from the doorknobs. She put on the final necklace, a particularly large gaudy one. She looked around her apartment, trying to determine if anything else was missing. With the mess the place was in, though, how could she tell? With a sigh, she began to pick things up. Maybe after a few hours of cleaning, she would be calm enough to sleep. ***** Nick was waiting in the Caddy in the garage when the sun finally went down. Luckily, it was getting closer to winter so the light was less every day. He was at the station in less than ten minutes and only stopped to let Captain Reese know he was there before heading off to a soundproof listening room. He had gotten a uniform to deliver the wire-tap tapes to his loft earlier in the day and he had stayed up to try to find some clues to the identity of his mysterious caller. His home equipment just wasn't good enough, though. He put in the tape of the second phone call and listened closely to the background noise. It was another payphone, one on Ivy St., a residential area. All he could hear was the occasional car and pedestrian. He spent the next two hours playing the tapes over and over, searching for a sound that he had missed. Eventually, there was a knock on the door and it opened. "Hey, partner," Tracy said, poking her head in the door. "The Captain says that you've been here for a while. What are you up to?" Nick sighed and motioned Tracy in. She did, collapsing on a chair in the small room. "Just listening to some tapes of a couple weird calls I got. They were made at payphones, so no luck there," he said, then frowned. "You look terrible. Didn't you get any sleep?" "Only a few hours. I just ... couldn't get comfortable," she answered, then nodded toward the tape player. "Can I hear the tapes?" "Sure, why not." Nick pressed the play button. "This is the second one, but it's got better sound." There was a series of beeps and then the scratchy voice began to issue from the speakers: "Knight ... Hurts ... Stop her ... stop me..." Nick leaned over and hit the stop button. "That's it," he said, turning around to face his partner. "Nothing in the back-- Trace? Are you ok?" All the color had drained from his partner's face and she was stock-still in her chair. "What's wrong?" "Uh...Uh ..." Tracy stammered. "Nothing. I ... I just remembered something. I have to let in a ... a ... plumber ... I have to go." With that patently false explanation, Tracy was out of the room almost as quickly as a vampire. Nick slumped back in his chair and stared at the door. Maybe there was something in the tape after all. Tracy sure seemed to think so. ***** LaCroix woke with a start. He instantly knew that it was several hours past sundown, much later than he usually slept. He had, however, experienced problems falling asleep. He did not like the idea of a stranger, one who was possibly a threat, in his home. Had it not been so near dawn when he discovered the intrusion, he would have left for one of his other homes in the city. He had used his daylight wakefulness wisely, however, planning his departure from this city. He had arranged for new papers and the transfer of all property but the Raven to a dummy company. The Raven he intended to return to Janette, if he could locate her. She would appreciate the gesture. All that remained was packing and travel arrangements. He could leave any time he chose. LaCroix arose from his bed, picking up the cream brocade duvet from the floor. He had not had pleasant dreams; he likely had kicked it off during his sleep. He made his way carefully and slowly to the entrance of the cellar. After sensing no strange presences, he darted down the stairs and into Urs' former room. It appeared undisturbed until he looked closer. The wardrobe had been moved slightly, as if someone didn't want to reveal their presence or hiding spot. He easily pushed aside the full wardrobe, the sun necklace swinging on the back. That, at least, seemed to suggest that it wasn't Divia, returned again from the dead. She would have been unable to tolerate the symbol, much as he could not tolerate a cross. Behind the wardrobe was a tunnel that he had not explored yesterday. However, after two invasions of his home in less than a day, it was time he investigated. He did not need Enforcers crawling over Toronto like flies on dead meat. He would take care of this himself. ***** Tracy unlocked her car door, but didn't get out. She was in front of the church -- Vachon's church. She opened the duffel bag on the seat next to her, checking the contents: holy water, a cross, stakes, garlic. She pulled out one of the stakes and put one of the cloves of garlic in her pocket. She wasn't going in there unarmed, no matter how safe she had felt there in the past. She also reached under the seat and got her flashlight, putting it in her other pocket. That had been Vachon's voice on the tape. She had recognized it in an instant. But he was dead. She had killed him herself. He had begged her to do it, because there was something wrong with him. If he had come back, then he may have been right. Steeling herself, Tracy got out of the car, bringing her duffel with her. She kept a firm grip on her stake and slowly opened the door to the church. She hadn't been back since the night she regained her memories, a month and a half ago. When she had finished crying, she had cleaned the place up, boxing up Vachon's few belongings. There was something subtly different about the place, though, she had to admit to herself, it could be because she was afraid. Afraid Vachon would be here, and afraid he would not. She missed him so, but the voice on the phone had not sounded entirely sane. She didn't want to stake him again, though he had begged "Stop me." Stop him from what? And who was the "her" that needed to be stopped? He had also said "Help me," though, and Tracy was going to try. She owed it to him. He had saved her several times, and it was her turn to save him ... even if it was from himself. She took a deep breath and entered the building. The moon was full enough that she didn't need a flashlight, which was good, since her hands were full. She moved slowly down the hallway, then up the stairs. There were no indications that anyone had been here recently, but Tracy knew that could be a false sense of security. Sometimes when Vachon had lived here, it looked unlived in if he had only been gone a few days. Reaching the top of the stairs, Tracy entered the large room there. The old red carpet was dusty and small poufs of dust followed her footsteps. She didn't see any sign of a disturbance here, but Vachon had not had much here to begin with. Tracy made her way over to the stairs in the corner that led down into the cellar. She descended the stairs cautiously and in pitch darkness. She had forgotten that there were no lights where she was going. She stopped halfway down and tried to get her flashlight out of her pocket. She dropped the stake and heard it roll down the steps with a wooden "clunk, clunk, clunk." "Damn!" she muttered, and managed to turn on the light. Flashing the light around, Tracy didn't see the stake anywhere. She sighed and continued down the stairwell. Finally reaching the bottom, Tracy again looked for the stake. No luck. she thought. Shining the light around, Tracy could easily see that someone *had* recently been in here. The blankets on the bed were on the floor and the boxes that held the bottles of blood were open. Several empty bottles rocked gently on the floor. Tracy paused. she thought. Tracy dropped her duffel bag and was halfway through unholstering her pistol when she was hit from the side. Her flashlight went flying across the room, the light shining crazily. Tracy twisted her body to land on her back. As she landed, she pulled up her legs and kicked. Her attacker was shoved backward, but didn't let go. As she struggled to get out her gun, her assailant pulled her closer. Abandoning that strategy as futile, Tracy reached into her pocket and pulled out the head of garlic. As soon as it was revealed, her attacker pushed her away and let go. Tracy heard a "whoosh," then a breeze, and then ... nothing. After waiting a few moments, she scuttled over to the bed where her flashlight had miraculously landed, unharmed. Shining the light around, Tracy didn't see anyone. Retrieving her duffel bag, she got out a lighter and lit as many candles as she could, managing not to lose hold of either the flashlight or the head of garlic. When all were lit and she was as sure as she could be that she was alone, Tracy sat down on the bed and gave into a serious case of the shakes. ***** Natalie stripped off her latex gloves and dropped them into the biohazard container. She had just finished the autopsies on the two recent suicide victims, Lucinda Gravel and the young woman who had still not been identified. There was nothing unusual about either body, regardless of what LaCroix and Nick thought. She was about to sign off on the reports when the phone rang. She plopped down in her chair and picked up. "Lambert." "Dr. Lambert, this is Marsha at the lab. I have the preliminary reports that you asked for," the young woman on the phone said. "Wonderful!" Natalie said. She's almost forgotten about them. She didn't usually check for chemical imbalances in most autopsies, but since two vampires seemed to think these were strange, she did. "What did you find?" "Every thing was normal on both, except for one thing. They both had nearly unmeasurable levels of serotonin," Marsha said. "Thanks," Natalie said, "Fax it over to me, would you? Bye." Marsha echoed her goodbye, then hung up. Natalie hung up as well, her forehead wrinkled. Low levels of serotonin. What did she know about that? Low levels were linked to depression and depression to suicide. So she had her link. Now, why did these two women have low serotonin levels? With a sigh, Natalie pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. Looked like it would be a long night. ***** Nick hung up the phone with a slight snarl. Tracy wasn't answering, Natalie wasn't answering, and LaCroix wasn't answering. He had a separate question for each of them. For Tracy, what the heck was wrong? For Natalie, had she found anything in the autopsies of the two suicides? And for LaCroix, what had he been doing at the scene of the most recent suicide? He pushed away from his desk and stood up. He would just have to track them down. He glanced at his watch. It was only just past midnight. He had plenty of time. Natalie first. She was the one most likely to be in a set place. He left the station, and deciding on speed, eschewed the Caddy for flight. Less than a minute later, he was at the coroner's office. Waving to Grace as he passed her office, Nick pushed open the door to the lab where Natalie performed her autopsies. She glanced up as he entered, waved, and continued speaking into a tape recorder. "Scars are indicative of slash marks, perhaps from fingernails or animal claws. Scar tissue indicates wound as six to ten weeks of age," she said before pushing the stop button. "I've got something that you should see," she told Nick, then motioned him over to here desk. "You weren't answering your phone," Nick said, trying not to sound peevish. He obviously didn't succeed, because Natalie frowned at him. As he got to the desk, Natalie handed him a small pile of Polaroid's. "What you are looking at are two separate sets of scars. One on each of the recent suicide victims." She pointed to the long, narrow scratches, nearly hidden by hair in one of the photos. "I'm guessing fingernails or claws, both of the injuries happening about the same time. Honestly, I missed them on my first look, since they're hidden on both bodies. However, the victims also have one more similarity; they both have unusually low levels of serotonin." Nick looked blankly at her. "It's a neurotransmitter -- a chemical in the brain. It's linked to a lot of things, but the most common is depression. People with low levels are more likely to be depressed. However, the levels that I saw here are *way* below what is commonly found to cause depression." "So what does this mean?" Nick asked. "I have no idea." Natalie sat down with a sigh. "If I had to go out on a limb -- a very thin, shaky limb -- I would say that there is some relationship between the two women. They both seem to have been assaulted recently, in a rather strange way. Whether that has something to do with the serotonin, I don't know. Maybe there's a causal relationship, maybe there's not." "Ms. Gravel didn't report any assaults recently that I know of, but I'll look again." Nick paused, then frowned. "You said six to ten weeks ago?" "Yeah. What?" she asked. "Divia," he said coldly. "It was eight weeks ago that she came to Toronto." "You don't think..." Natalie began. "I don't know what to think." He shook his head and dropped the photos on the desk. "Why would she do that, though? Attack them and not kill them? She certainly had no qualms about murder." "Now that you mention it, these do look a lot like the cuts on the female vampire you brought in." Natalie turned her chair around and began to rummage in a drawer of her file cabinet. "Aha!" She pulled out a file folder and extracted a photograph. "Look." She laid a photo of Urs' cheek next to the other pictures. Except for being unhealed, the marks were exactly the same. Nick growled and looked up from the photos with golden eyes. "Nick!" Natalie exclaimed. "Sorry," Nick said, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were blue. "It just makes me so angry. Divia was *evil* and, even dead for good, she can still cause pain." "Hold on ... didn't you say that the first victim had been hearing voices?" Natalie asked slowly. "Yes ... and I heard them, briefly, when Divia left me for dead." He nodded to himself. "If she somehow infected these women ..." "Nasty suicides would be right up her alley, I'm guessing," Natalie pointed out. "If only we could ask Tracy if Vachon heard them, too." "I'm guessing he did if I did, but much louder." Nick shuddered. "The voices were Divia's thoughts. The pleasure she took in causing pain, the horror of it was appalling. She was *evil*. Urs and Vachon were so much younger ... I'm sure they couldn't have remained sane." "I think you need to talk to LaCroix," Natalie said quietly. "I think I do." ***** LaCroix returned to find his vampire son pacing in front of the sofa. The elder vampire put down his black leather bag and shrugged out of his leather greatcoat. It was filthy and would need to be cleaned. Nicholas stared at him, but held his tongue. Only after he had a glass of one of his finest vintages did LaCroix address Nicholas. "Something amiss?" he inquired of his son. "We have a problem. I think Divia --" Nicholas began LaCroix cut him off with a wave. "It is not her." "But --" his son interrupted. "It is *not*." LaCroix hissed, then calmed himself with an effort. "But it is someone. They have been in the cellar." Nicholas stared at him in silence. "I take it Dr. Lambert found something useful?" "I ... I don't know if it's useful yet." He shook his head. "In the cellar?" "What did she find?" LaCroix asked, sipping his drink. "Um ... there are two suicide victims in the past week, both of whom had scratch marks, mostly healed, about two months old. They also had very low levels of serotonin," he explained. "Well, that would explain the suicides," he paused when he saw his son's look of amazement. "I do *read*, Nicholas. It might serve you well to attempt to keep up as well." Nicholas frowned, but refused to rise to the bait. "But the important thing," he continued, "Is that the scars match the ones on Urs." LaCroix stared into his drink. A mortal, a poetess, swirled there. She had been a secretive woman, one who kept all emotion to herself, only to be expressed in her poems, fragmented and haunted things. She was afraid of the world and of life. So she hid inside, in her garret room, waiting until night, when the world and life slept, to venture out into her garden. One night a vampire found her there and wooed her, making love with words until she was enchanted by him. Then he killed her and captured her life in this bottle. In this glass. In him. This was his life that was threatened in the dark now. Something stalked helpless prey in his city and invaded the sanctity of his home. He would not stand for it. His search today had been fruitless, leading into the confusion of the unused sewers under the city. He had been able to track the rogue for only a short time, and found no clues as to their identity. It appeared that he might be in need of the assistance that Nicholas and his mortal friends could provide. "I do not know who our secretive new friend is," he said finally. "Or perhaps it is an old friend." He stopped suddenly. "Where is your partner?" "Tracy?" Nicholas asked in confusion. "What does she have to do with this?" "You know that she has regained her memories? She was ... very strong. She is a very determined young woman and will stumble into trouble," LaCroix pointed out. "She remembers? Vachon ... The phone call ..." his son trailed off. "What?" LaCroix snapped. "What are you babbling about?" "I got some phone calls, asking for help. Tracy freaked out when she heard one of them. If it's Vachon who's doing this ..." Nicholas paused and shook his head. "But it can't be. He's dead." "Ah, but so was Divia." LaCroix looked into his glass, and the dregs of the life swirling there. "So was Divia." ***** She finished addressing the envelope and slipped her journal inside. Tonight was to be the night. As a psychiatrist, she knew the importance of tying up loose ends in situations like these. She wiped off the mirror and took a last look. Now she was done. Empty. Ready. She turned off the water in the bath and made sure the scalpel was within reach. She had found it in one of her boxes in medical school and thought it was appropriate. Stepping into the bath, she carefully slid down into the water. It would not do to slip. That would be denying the voice of it's due. She took the scalpel in one had and sliced it across her wrist. It was so sharp that she didn't feel it for a moment, then the pain blossomed behind her eyes. Through the pain, she desired to please the voice. Switching the scalpel to her now weakened hand, she sliced open the other wrist. She dropped the scalpel over the side of the bath and slip into the water. ***** Tracy stood at the entrance of the tunnel. She had come here, to Screed's old place, when her search of the church had been nearly useless. The boxes that had been packed were open and some clothes were missing. Obviously, the bottled blood had been disturbed, too. There was no indication that it was Vachon, though. However, that didn't mean she wasn't going to keep an eye on it. On her drive over, she had set up surveillance on the church, using an unsolved case as her excuse. It should be set up before she made it back to the station. She pulled open the rusty door and shined her light around the narrow entrance before going in. She was understandably a little nervous about this. She hadn't liked Screed's sewer-like dwelling when she had had Vachon's company. Now, she was afraid she might find *him* here. Plus, she had been attacked during last reconnoiter of a former vampire den. She wasn't sure if it had been Vachon who had attacked her. It could have been, but it just as easily could have been an Enforcer or another vampire who had moved in. she asked herself. She shook her head and stepped inside the tunnel, holding a cross in one hand and the flashlight in the other. It didn't matter what she wanted, she knew. It probably was Vachon, back from the dead, insane, and she was going to have to stake him ... again. Tracy pushed through a gaudy beaded curtain stretched across the tunnel and was in the large-ish area that had served as Screed's home. It looked much the same as it had the last time she had been here, though the pile of rat corpses was gone. She found the light switch she remembered and flipped it. The doubtlessly illegal connection lit up the area with several strands of white Christmas lights. The bed was directly below her, down several steps. It was unmade, and there was a blanket was next to it on the floor. Going down the steps, Tracy recognized it as her own afghan. Her grandmother had crocheted it for her when she was little. she thought, She turned off her flashlight and tucked it in her pocket. Getting a better grip on her cross, she began to explore the rest of Screed's old place. ***** Nick had flown all over the city before finding Tracy's car parked in an alley. It had taken so long mostly because he kept forgetting he was looking for a Miata and not a Taurus. Once he'd gotten that part straightened out, he found the car in minutes. He recognized the alley as the one that contained an entrance to the dead carouche's den. What Tracy was doing here, he didn't know, but he was going to wait until she came out. After a boring twenty minutes of sitting on the hood of the Miata, Tracy emerged from a narrow door at the end of the alley. She shoved something in her pocket, but Nick couldn't see what it was, even with his supernaturally good sight. When she looked up and saw someone at her car, her hand went into the left side of her jacket and stayed there. Nick thought, "Tracy!" he called. "It's Nick." She stomped up, scowling at him. Apparently, this was his night for making people angry. "What are you doing here, Nick?" his partner asked. "What are *you* doing here?" he countered. "I thought you had to let in a plumber." "I ... I did that already." She looked out of the alley and down the street. "Hey, where's your car?" "Um ... I was just taking a walk during my dinner break and saw your car. I thought I'd wait for you to come back." He cringed at the lousy lie, but he had never been able to come up with a good answer to that all-too-common question. "What are you up to?" "Just checking out something for a case. It was a dead end, though, so forget about it." Tracy unlocked her car door and began to get in. "Come on, get in. I'll drive us back to the station." Nick sighed. There was no way to tell her that she might be in danger that wouldn't make her suspicious. His partner was just too smart for her own good sometimes. Maybe he could get LaCroix to hypnotize her again. Tracy honked the horn and Nick jumped. After glaring at her, he got in the car, then pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his vampire father's number. "Yes?" LaCroix's testy voice answered. "It's Nick," he said, trying to figure out a way to tell LaCroix what was going on without letting Tracy in on it. "Remember our earlier conversation?" There was a pause, then LaCroix answered, in a less annoyed tone. "You are with Tracy at the moment." "How do you know?" Nick asked incredulously. "I can hear her." There was a sigh. "Really, Nicholas, you forget how old and powerful I am." "Fine, fine." Nick knew this wasn't the time to argue. "But anyway, do you remember?" "Yes, of course I do." He sounded irritated again. "Well, it didn't work. No luck at all. Maybe you could give it a try?" Nick asked, glancing over at his partner. She was focused on the road. Good. "You mean you want me to try to convince Tracy to stay out of this because you can't talk to her about the real issues yourself?" his master asked, amusement evident in his voice. "Why should I? Why would she listen to me?" Nick took a deep breath. He didn't want to have to do this. But it was important. "Please?" he asked humbly. LaCroix laughed at him, the phone crackling a bit from the sudden noise. After a few moments, he calmed down. "Only because it's so important to you, Nicholas," the elder vampire said mockingly, then broke the connection. Nick wasn't quite sure what he had gotten his partner into, but he hoped it was better than what she was getting into herself. ***** LaCroix waited until she got to her apartment door before finally approaching Tracy. He had followed her from the police station to her home, and he only had a couple of hours before dawn. Purposely making noise while walking, he stopped several feet behind the pretty blonde. "Ms. Vetter?" the vampire asked politely. Tracy whirled around, her hand sliding under her coat. After staring at him for a moment, she seemed to determine that he wasn't dangerous. he thought. "Mr. LaCroix, isn't it?" she asked him. "If you need police help, you should talk to the desk sergeant at the precinct." "I am not in need of assistance," he assured her, "But I am afraid you are." Her hand inched back toward her gun. "What do you mean?" "I would prefer not to discuss this in the hallway. Perhaps we could adjourn to your sitting room?" he asked, putting a little hypnotic power into the suggestion. Tracy narrowed her eyes at him. "Uh-uh, buddy. You're going to beat it." she told him, now aggressively reaching for her gun. LaCroix sighed. He hadn't wanted to do this in the first place, really. She tempted him, and he thought it best to look at her from a distance. LaCroix had promised not to meddle with the mortals in Nicholas' life, and now, his son forced him to do it. And Tracy wasn't making it easy ... which he found strangely compelling. He would simply have to be more forward with her than he had intended. "I was acquainted with your departed friend Vachon." Tracy's eyes widened. "I believe we can be of assistance to each other in the current situation." Tracy stared hard at him for several seconds, then turned and unlocked her door. She waved him in as she headed across the sitting area to her bedroom. He pushed the door closed behind him, only then noticing the cross hanging from it. Scanning the rest of the room, he noticed crosses on the windowsills and other doorknobs. he thought Of course, she had just let him in, so she was not too cautious. He looked around the small apartment as Tracy moved around in the bedroom. It had been nearly two months since he had actually been inside. The last time, he had wiped the pretty detective's memory of vampires, though it hadn't worked for very long. Since then, he had merely looked in the windows, a spy on Tracy's life. She had cleaned up in the past few days, a fact of which he was glad. Her slovenliness seemed out of character, and he found that he was becoming fond of her character. ***** Tracy stood just inside the door of her bedroom. She was just stalling now, she knew. She wasn't entirely sure that the man in her living room was a human being. Once she started paying attention, she realized that, even though he looked entirely different from Vachon, there were many similarities. They both had pale, near-perfect skin; they moved with an unearthly smoothness; and their eyes had a piercing quality. This LaCroix could very well be a vampire. And she had let him into her apartment. Taking a deep breath, Tracy pushed open the door. Her guest was standing in front of her book shelf, looking at the selections. As she watched, he pulled out one of her favorite books from her childhood, "Winnie the Pooh." He thumbed through it, then put it back. "Mr. LaCroix -- " she began. He turned around and interrupted, "LaCroix is acceptable ... Lucien, if you prefer." "LaCroix," she said pointedly, "Would you like to sit down?" She hesitated at her next question. "May I get you a drink?" LaCroix smiled slightly. "I will gladly accept the seat, but I'm afraid I must decline the drink." They sat down, LaCroix on her sofa and Tracy in a chair with a clear path to the front door. She shifted nervously in her seat, but her guest sat perfectly ... unnaturally still. "You said that we might be of assistance to each other," she said. "How?" He paused and looked thoughtful before answering, as if considering what to tell her. "We have a mutual acquaintance, Javier Vachon," he began slowly, as if carefully choosing each word. "I believe you and I might have reason to believe that he has not ... moved on as much as we previously thought." Tracy was not sure what to think. He was being very circumspect, but she suspected, for good reason. She remembered Vachon telling her how dangerous it was for mortals to know of the existence of vampires. If this LaCroix was a vampire, then a.) he didn't know that she knew about vampires; b.) he did know, but thought that she still had no memories of it; c.) he was trying to not say he was a vampire; d.) he was attempting to protect her from other vampires; or e.) was just playing games with her. Each was likely and unlikely for a number of reasons. She could always just up and ask him. She had a head of garlic and a vial of holy water in her pocket, so she should be protected if he attacked. Tracy shook her head. This speculation was getting her no where. For the time being, she should probably just focus on the topic at hand. "What evidence do you have?" she asked her visitor. "And what evidence do you think I have?" "To be honest, I have no proof that would satisfy your detective heart." He smiled thinly. "I have a ... hunch. And you ... you have evidence. And fresh bruises." He pointed. Tracy got up to look in the mirror. He was right. There was a light purple bruise on her neck, just above the collar line. Damn. She must have gotten it in the tussle in the church; she was going to have to wear a high-collared top tomorrow. She sat back down. "A suspect in a current case," she said dismissively. "I have no evidence for Vachon's return. He left. I don't know where he went." "Ms. Vetter, we both know better than that," he said in a disappointed tone. "I realize that you might be hesitant to share any information with me, but I really do have your best interests at heart. Sometimes it pays to take a risk, my dear, to trust those you have no reason to. What else do you have? Loneliness? Despair?" He waved his hand around. "An empty home at the end of the day? What do you have to lose? Think more on what you have to gain. Think of the relief to share the burden with someone who can help. Someone willing to *share* that burden. Not having to sit in a darkened room, staring into the black, thinking on the past, reaching after what you can no longer have. I can be that succor you desire. All you must do is trust me." Tracy felt herself wanting to agree. It sounded so true, so right. It sounded so *easy*. LaCroix's voice was so soothing and so ... familiar, like she had heard it in a dream ... She forced herself to shake her head, as much at herself as at him. "No," she whispered, her voice rough. "I don't know you. And this is not my burden to give up." "So you punish yourself?" he asked, his voice mocking. "You let your beauty fester in the dark like a beautiful lily left to wilt. Strength is not the end all and be all of existence. There are times when it pays to show weakness." "Please," Tracy said, standing up, "I think it's time for you to leave. I've heard all I'm going to listen to tonight." LaCroix stood. "Should you change your mind, please contact me." He dropped a Raven matchbook on the table. "I do mean it, Ms. Vetter. You are wasting your life living in the darkness alone." Without saying more, he allowed Tracy to show him out. When she closed and locked the door, Tracy leaned against it. Slowly, she slid down until she was sitting on the floor. In some ways, he was right. She was forcing herself to keep this burden. No one was making her do it but herself. But it was right that she at least *try* to work it out alone. She couldn't let Vachon, if that's who it was, be a lamb for LaCroix's slaughter. ***** Natalie dropped her keys on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge. She really needed to go to the grocery store; it was nearly empty. With a "mroww," Sidney twined himself around her legs, looking meaningfully at the cupboard where his food was kept. Natalie closed the fridge and looked down at the beggar. "I'm not that late," she told him. "You are *not* starving." "Mrowwwwww!" Sidney complained. "You're not going to leave me alone until I feed you, are you?" Natalie sighed and opened the cupboard. "I'm such a sucker." Natalie fed her beast, then looked at the clock. It was 9:00 AM. That was late enough for her to make a call to a day person. She had looked at studies on serotonin for the rest of her night at work, but still hadn't come up with anything. She just didn't know enough about brain chemistry to ferret out the important parts of the studies. She had decided that this would be the perfect way to get back in touch with her friend Laura. Sure, they had quit seeing each other when they realized that they only talked about work, but this would be a good way to re-open the conversation. They didn't need to only talk about brain chemistry. Looking up the number of Laura's office in her address book, Natalie dialed and waited while it rang. "Sunnydale Care Clinic. How may I help you?" a cheery voice said. "Hi. May I speak with Dr. Haynes?" Natalie asked. "I'm sorry, she's not in yet. May I take a message or direct you to one of our other doctors?" the cheery voice asked. "No, that's OK. This is her friend Dr. Lambert; I was just calling to chat." Natalie was disappointed; she'd really wanted to talk to Laura. "Dr. Lambert! This is Michelle!" the now-identified voice said. "Hi, Michelle, how have you been?" Natalie asked, while trying desperately to remember what she could about Laura's receptionist. "How are your kids?" "Oh, they're great! Thomas is three now, and Georgie is six." She paused. "You know, Dr. Lambert, I'm getting kind of worried about Dr. Haynes. She's never late, and she's missed her first appointment." "Oh, I wouldn't worry," Natalie reassured the receptionist. "Traffic is awful this morning. It took me 20 minutes to travel ten miles this morning. Tell you what, why don't you just have Laura call me when she gets in." "Sure. I'll do that. Nice talking to you, Dr. Lambert!" without waiting for a goodbye, Michelle hung up. Natalie hung up the phone and wandered out into the living room. Plopping down on the sofa, she kicked off her shoes. She had really hoped to talk to Laura. Not just about serotonin, but about ... things. She was feeling that her life was so empty lately. All she did was work, have the occasional video night with Nick, and play with Sidney. She wanted more than that. She wanted more from Nick. Since talking with LaCroix, she knew that she needed some sort of resolution of the situation. Strangely, she was grateful to LaCroix. Even if all of this was some sort of devious plan of his, it had opened her eyes to Nick. Nick had never told her so much about his life and his loves. He had kept her sheltered and protected. But damn it, she didn't want to be sheltered! She wanted to share life with him. If only there was a way to make him truly understand that. What was it going to take to make him make a decision? ***** Nick flipped through the channels on his television, like he had been doing since the sun came up. He couldn't sleep, yet he couldn't go out and work on the case. His thoughts just kept racing. Natalie was upset with him, though she was happy to work with him on the case. He wasn't sure why she was upset, only that she had seemed more and more discontented every day. He didn't know what to do. When he tried to talk to her about it, which, admittedly wasn't very often, she just ended up frustrated when, as she claimed, he just didn't listen to what she was saying. He did listen, though. He just didn't know what to say. He loved her, but it was so complicated. There was no way he could ever be what she wanted, unless he became mortal. And after years of trying, that didn't seem to be happening. Natalie's science hadn't helped any more than the many mystical cures he'd tried. He looked down at the glass of blood in his hand, his third refill already this morning. Of course, he wasn't working as hard at Nat's regimen as he could be. He sighed and got up, heading for the kitchen. He carefully dumped the blood down the drain, then rinsed out the wineglass. He pulled the blender out of the cupboard and was about to make one of Natalie's noxious shakes when the phone rang. "Saved by the bell," he mumbled to himself and went to the phone. Glancing at his brand-new Caller-ID, he noticed that it was the Raven. he thought, He snatched up the phone. "LaCroix." "Knight ..." spoke the raspy voice they had tentatively identified as Vachon's. "Knight, you have to stop her. She's done it again. Stop me, please." "Vachon?" Nick asked carefully. There was a strangled cry and then the phone went dead. Nick swore, then dialed LaCroix's private line. After moment, his vampire father picked up. "LaCroix, I just received another call. This time from the Raven," he said quickly. "Thank you, Nicholas," LaCroix answered, then the phone again went dead. "At least he said thanks," Nick muttered to himself. ***** LaCroix dropped the phone in to the cradle and, quicker than a mortal's eyes could ever follow, was in the middle of the Raven's dance floor. He extended his senses through the darkened club, determining that no one was there. Again moving very quickly, he was in the cellar, outside the open door to Urs' room. The curtains on the bed were settling, as if there had recently been movement in the room. He glanced over and saw that the wardrobe hiding the bolt hole was shoved aside, as if someone had been in too great of a hurry to hide their tracks. LaCroix focused his mental senses and felt the same insane mental struggle he had recognized before. With barely a thought, he streaked down the tunnel after it. LaCroix could feel the vampire like an echo in his head. It wasn't precise, but it was enough to track. He slowed down when he felt his quarry stop. He was almost positive that he had gone undetected, but he wanted to be sure. Edging around a corner, he saw a room lit with small white lights strung across the ceiling and walls. He could hear movement outside of his line of sight. He carefully calculated where the individual was, then lunged forward. In a moment, he held a struggling, hissing vampire up against the wall. It was the Spaniard, Javier Vachon. ***** Tracy waited until the sun was completely up, then headed back to the station. Sitting at her desk, she endured the stares of the day shift. And, she admitted, she deserved the stares. She was still wearing what she had worn to work last night, she had a nice bruise blooming on her neck, and she generally looked frazzled. That didn't bother her too much though. She wanted to be left alone, and her general appearance, combined with the look on her face, undoubtedly was doing the trick. No one had once questioned what she was doing. She was doing some illicit searching for Lucien LaCroix, and had found amazingly little. He had taken over the deed to the Raven a couple years ago, and the last owner had owned the place for twenty years. Her name was familiar, too, though she wasn't sure why. Other than the Raven deed, though, there was no record of LaCroix entering Canada or having any sort of official documentation: not a birth certificate, drivers' license, or passport. Tracy found it very odd. Even Vachon had been very careful about papers, making sure he was properly in the system. She knew how easy it was, with sufficient money, to get anything on the black market. So why didn't Lucien LaCroix exist? He could have papers under another name, but that seemed unlikely when his ownership of the Raven was under LaCroix. Could he be planning to leave? Maybe he had all the records of his existence here in Toronto erased. Tracy was sure that with the lavish application of cash, that it wouldn't be difficult to accomplish. There might be one less blood-sucker in Toronto soon, then. She should be happy about that, she knew, but, for some strange reason, she wasn't. ***** Natalie sat at the bay window in her rocking chair. She couldn't really see the lake anymore since her eyesight had gotten so much worse these past few years, but she liked the feel of the sun on her face. Reaching to her lap, she pet Sidney -- no, it wasn't Sidney. He had died fifteen years ago. This cat was Dru, also in her twilight years. Dru was her only friend now. Oh, sure, there was the nice young woman who brought her some meals and the nurse who came to make sure she was taking her medication, but they weren't really friends. You didn't have to pay friends to come and see you. She was alone now. Nick had left suddenly, right before Sidney had died. It had been getting difficult for him to hide what he was; he never aged, after all. She had gone to his loft one night to find the furniture sheeted and all of his mementos gone. She had never heard from him again, except for a handwritten note that came to her office. All it said was "Sorry." Then, slowly over the years, the rest of her friends, few though they were, had either died or just drifted away. She was alone. She had worked her whole life and had nothing to show from it. No Nobel Prize, no scientific articles, no cure for vampirism. No children, no family. She was alone. Alone. The phone began to ring, but she didn't bother to answer it. She was alone -- With a jolt, Natalie sat up in bed, bouncing an annoyed Sidney off of the end. She reached for the phone, picking it up just before her answering machine did. "Hello?" she asked sleepily. "Dr. Lambert? This is Michelle, Dr. Haynes' receptionist," her cheerful voice said. "Did I wake you?" "Yeah, but it's OK," Natalie said, looking at the clock. "I have to get up for work anyway. What can I do for you?" "Well, it's just that I'm worried about Dr. Haynes. She never called it today or showed up, and she didn't answer any phone calls or pages," Michelle said, sounding much less cheerful. "My little Georgie is in a school play tonight, or I'd go over and check on her myself, but ..." "Don't worry about it, Michelle," Natalie reassured her. "I'll stop by on my way to work." "Oh, thank you, Dr. Lambert!" she said, sounding like her happy self again. "I've got to go, but you'll ring me tomorrow?" "Of course. Bye, Michelle," said Natalie. Michelle said goodbye, and Natalie hung up the phone. Then, with a shudder, she remembered her dream. She didn't want to end up like that: an old woman, alone but for a cat. It was time to take control of the relationships in her life. She would see what was up with Laura, then maybe it was time to have a serious discussion with Nick. ***** After a moment, the vampire in LaCroix's grip stopped fighting and relaxed. Vachon seemed almost relieved to be caught. Once it appeared that he would not try to escape, the ancient vampire released his quarry. The Spaniard slid down the wall and huddled on the floor, his shoulders shaking. After few seconds, LaCroix realized that they shook from tears. "What is going on?" he hissed. "You are supposed to be dead." "I know!" Vachon cried through his sobs. "Tracy took the stake out and buried me ... alive. I came back when I heard her wake up. I couldn't let her go out there alone!" "When Tracy woke up?" LaCroix asked. "When her memories came back?" "No!" Vachon whispered. "Her." "Who?" LaCroix demanded. "I can't ..." the younger vampire whimpered. "She'll hurt me. It hurts so much ... It feels so good ..." LaCroix scowled at the vampire crouched at his feet. He was obviously terrified. Even without a blood tie, he could feel the fear radiating from him as easily as if he were Nicholas. He reassessed his method of questioning. This one was currently being tortured by fear and would be better served by kindness. "Come," he said softly and extended a hand. "You need not stay here in this hole." Vachon looked suspiciously at him. "I like this hole. What do you want with me?" "I want to help you, of course!" LaCroix answered, feigning surprise. "And I want to get to the bottom of this." "I didn't do it," Vachon muttered sullenly, beginning to rock back and forth. "*She* did it. She made me *watch*. She made me *feel* it." Suddenly, he looked up imploringly at the elder vampire. "Help me! Stop her! Don't let her do it again!" LaCroix sighed. It was the hard way then. He raised his hand up, and, with considerable force, smashed Vachon in the temple. The Spaniard slumped the remainder of the distance to the floor. When LaCroix was sure the other was unconscious, he lifted him over his shoulder and turned toward the Raven. With any luck, Vachon would remain insensible for the trip back. ***** Tracy tapped the matchbook on the table in front of her. She was sitting at her dining room table as she had for the past hour, trying to decide what to do. After searching for LaCroix in the computers, she had come home and gone to sleep. When she had awoken a few hours ago, she had decided to take the presumed vampire up on his offer of help. She was just so tired of trying to do this alone ... whatever it was she was trying to do. She needed to find out if Vachon was really alive, and, if so, how and why. Tracy was pretty sure that LaCroix's offer of help was genuine. He might have his own agenda, but, with any luck, it would coincide with hers enough to glean some useful information. She was reaching for the phone to call the Raven when it rang. "Hello?" she asked, almost expecting it to be LaCroix. "Detective Vetter?" a young male voice asked. "This is Jake Harris. I'm staking out that abandoned church." "Yeah?" she asked. "What's up?" "Well, a young woman just left it, and I never saw her go in," he said. "I was watching really closely, though!" "It's ok, Jake," she reassured him. "What does she look like?" "She's a real looker: tall, shoulder length curly blonde hair, fair skin." The officer hesitated. "Tight black miniskirt and top. She was wearing heels but walked like they were sneakers! You don't need me to follow her, do you?" he asked, sounding hopeful. "No," Tracy replied. "Just keep a lookout there." She hung up, so preoccupied that she didn't say goodbye. Who could the woman be? Tracy would bet she was a vampire. And if Jake hadn't seen her go in, then she either was in there when Tracy was there, or she had entered during the hour it had taken to set up surveillance. Tracy tried to remember if Vachon had ever mentioned any female vampires. He had been careful when telling her stories, never mentioning any names, but she seemed to remember a story about Las Vegas that involved a female vampire and Screed. She couldn't remember the details, though it had been funny at the time. Vachon had talked about the vampire as if she was still around, though, so maybe she was. As a matter of fact, she vaguely remembered seeing Screed at the Raven with a beautiful blonde. She had to be a vampire, because, after all, what would a beautiful woman have to do with Screed otherwise? It was time to call LaCroix. She dialed the number on the matchbook. After a moment, she got a message, recorded in LaCroix's voice. "You have reached the Raven, a veritable palace of decadence. To explore this week's offerings for your amusement, press one. To reach the Nightcrawler, press two. For more ... intimate ... attention, press three." After a moment of hesitation, Tracy pressed three. She really hoped this wasn't going to connect her to a phone sex line. The line began to ring and, after a moment, it was answered. "What?" LaCroix asked, his voice sounding irritated. "Uh ... LaCroix, this is Tracy Vetter. I've decided to take you up on your offer." she said hesitatingly. "Ms. Vetter, I'm very glad. However, this is not a good time." Tracy heard a howl in the background, one that sounded almost human. "Perhaps you could stop by later this evening?" "But I--" Tracy began. "This is *not* a good time!" LaCroix repeated and slammed down the phone. Tracy very carefully hung up the phone. "Fine." she said out loud, her voice full of controlled anger. "That's how you want to play it?" She would see LaCroix as soon as she could tonight. Then she would very calmly inform him of what would happen if he ever did that to her again. And maybe then she would stake him if her temper didn't improve. ***** Nick was outside her door when Natalie opened it. He'd thought about going to straight to the coroner's office and talking to her there, but he wanted to make it separate from work. Recently, they'd only been interacting through work, and he wanted to change that. "Nick!" a surprised Natalie said. "What are you doing here?" "I thought I would give you a ride to work tonight," he said, "I thought we could talk." "Um ... OK, but I have an errand to run first," she replied, closing the door behind her. "It's on the way, though." "Sure, no problem." They moved down the hall and into the car. Natalie explained her errand and Nick agreed that it sounded easy enough to do. As they drove to her friend's house, Nick kept trying to bring up the topic he wanted to: their relationship, or, rather lack thereof. He needed to explain, once and for all, that, though he loved her, he couldn't see a way that they could be together. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Natalie didn't seem to interested in talking either. She was preoccupied, but that was reasonable, with her friend unaccounted for. They would talk later, then, he decided. The pulled into the driveway of a small one-story house in a wooded lot. The front porch light was on, but Nick could see, as they both got out of the Caddy, that the mail hadn't been taken inside for at least a day. "Maybe she went off to have a steamy fling," Natalie joked as they walked up the path to the front door, but Nick could feel her heartbeat speed up in nervousness. "Probably ran off with a patient." Natalie knocked on the door, but there was no answer. "Stay here, Nat, and try again, maybe she's asleep," Nick said. "I'll take a look around back." Without waiting for an answer, Nick moved off around the side of the building. When he rounded the corner to the back garden, he saw a light on through a window. Pulling over a wooden bench, he peered into the bathroom. After only a quick look, he had seen all he needed to. ***** LaCroix had the younger vampire locked behind a wrought iron gate in one of the bedrooms. His guest had requested it, citing fear of "her." He would still not reveal who this woman was, and when LaCroix had attempted to force the issue, Vachon had become violent, howling and crying. Only when LaCroix promised that he wouldn't make the Spaniard answer the question was there again quiet. It rankled LaCroix that the pretty Ms. Vetter had chosen that time to call. If she had let down her defenses enough to phone, then it may have been important. He would attempt to track her down later. He had more important concerns at the moment, however. Now, his pseudo-prisoner sat on a bed and swayed gently. He had not volunteered any information, but he had requested blood, and LaCroix had searched his stash for a suitably calming influence. Finally, he found a Buddhist monk, who, even when he was being killed, had felt no fear, only anticipation and calm. LaCroix had never enjoyed that sort of blood himself -- there was little flavor to it -- but he believed that it might now become useful. Passing the bottle through the bars, Vachon came and snatched it from it and drank as if he were starving. When he finished, he closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened his eyes again, they were less frantic and insane than previously. "Thank you," he told LaCroix. "It's not going to last too long, but I'm grateful." LaCroix nodded. "Can you tell me what's going on?" "*Someone*," Vachon said meaningfully, "Is doing terrible things to mortals. I've tried to stop her, but I can't. She's grown too strong. Maybe if I had tried sooner ..." he trailed off, then shook his head. "Tracy is in danger. You've got to tell her. She's jealous. She always has been." "Surely you don't mean Tracy is jealous?" LaCroix asked, confused. "No! *She* is." the Spaniard shook his head in frustration. "If I say her name or try to tell you who she is, she'll know. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be difficult." LaCroix believed him. Already, though, the insane gleam was sneaking back into his prisoner's eyes. LaCroix reached into the cage and took the bottle; it would do no good to provide a weapon if he became overwrought again. Making sure the gate was securely locked, LaCroix closed the door behind him and headed upstairs. He had decided not to open the club this evening. There was a sign on the door and he had called his mortal wait staff and given them the night off. He was surprised, then, to discover someone sitting casually at the bar. An Enforcer. One could always recognize them. They rarely fully hid their vampiric nature, since they mostly dealt with vampires. This one was male and casually sipping from a wine glass. He looked up as LaCroix walked around the back of the bar. "Good evening," LaCroix said casually. "I'm afraid we're closed for the evening." "Yes, so I saw," the Enforcer said. After a long minute of silence, LaCroix realized that it was not going to be easy to discover of this visit until the Enforcer was ready to reveal it. Instead of wasting his time in fruitless questioning, LaCroix poured himself a drink. He would simply wait. ***** Natalie sat on the arm of the chair and looked into the bathroom down the hallway. It was filled with police now, but it hadn't been at first. Nick had come back around to the front of the house, and just by the look on his face, Natalie could tell that something was wrong. Without saying anything, he had shoved the door and broken the locks. Going inside, Natalie had followed him into the bathroom. Only the top of Laura's head could be seen in the bloody water. When she had instinctively reached for her friend, Nick had held back her hand, saying something about "preserving the scene." Nick must have gone then to call the station then, because she was alone when she found the envelope with her name on it. She had almost known what it would be. Until she opened it, though, she hadn't understood why Laura would have left it to her. Now she did. She was like Laura, throwing herself into work while neglecting a real life. Her dream today had been a prophesy of what was to come if she didn't change. LaCroix had told her something that she had tried to ignore during their time at the coffee shop. "I understand the need to move on," he had said. "It is something that happens to us all, and your time has truly come. I also understand that with the beauty of this life there comes pain ... and despair ... No one is immune ... But consider what you have in your hands before you give it up." He had looked deep into her eyes then. "Don't trade a treasure for an empty box." LaCroix was right, she hated to admit. Nick would never let himself love her unless she forced his hand. He would leave her, eventually. She wouldn't let him do that. She wouldn't let him go. They would be together, no matter what. ***** Tracy stood in the bathroom watching the uniforms take photographs of the body. This third suicide they'd investigated this week. How cheerful. She'd gotten a call from the captain just as she was about to leave for the station and had come straight here instead. Natalie wasn't taking it well, but that wasn't too surprising. It's one thing to have one of your friends commit suicide, but another to find the body. And her friend had left a suicide note addressed to Nat, too. That was ... almost cruel. Did Laura Haynes realize how much she had hurt Natalie? Probably not. She had been too wrapped up in her own pain. Tracy could understand that. Until just last night, she had been, too. But now, with unusual things happening, she felt alive again. But Dr. Haynes had been a psychiatrist; she should have known the injury this would do to her friend. Tracy turned and saw Nick just standing next to Natalie. He didn't seem to be very comforting, but, Natalie didn't seem to be conscious of very much right now. Nick saw Tracy looking and walked into the bathroom. "Psychiatrist," Tracy said, nodding to the body in the bath. "I'm guessing nobody saw this coming." "Not even one of her closest friends." Nick looked at Natalie, who was simply staring at nothing. "I guess you never really know your friends, do you?" "No, I guess not," Tracy answered. she thought. "Tracy, would you do me a favor?" Nick asked. "Finish up here. I want to get Nat out of here." "Okay," Tracy replied, leaning against the doorjamb behind her Nick moved over to Natalie and leaned to whisper in her ear. After a brief look of confusion, Natalie got up and followed him out. Natalie looked broken. She didn't need to leave, she needed for this to never have happened. A time machine. That would fix it. "Sure," Tracy said aloud. "A time machine." "Detective?" one of the officers photographing the body asked. "Are you all right?" "Yeah," Tracy said. "Just wishing for Natalie." She smiled wryly at them. "Do you guys have it under control here?" "Sure," the same officer replied. "Why don't you take off? We're about to bag her anyway." "I think I will," Tracy said, pulling the Raven matchbook out of her coat pocket. "I've got some other business to take care of." ***** Natalie had been silent during the entire car ride except to direct him to the morgue, rather than her apartment. A few minutes after they had arrived, the gurney holding her friend's body had been wheeled in. Natalie had issue instructions to her staff as if it hadn't been one of her best friends in the black bag in front of her. She had insisted on being allowed to do the autopsy, and, eventually, her staff had relented. Nick now stood in the hallway outside of her lab while Natalie read through her friend's journal. She looked so small sitting there. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. He was always the one who brought death; he didn't comfort his victims' families afterward. Natalie cleared her voice and began to read aloud. "'Do as I've asked, not as I've done. Don't let yourself become empty.'" She looked up at him. "The first time I've lost someone to suicide. The first time I've have a suicide note addressed to me. A night of firsts. You know, I think Dr. Laura Haynes in there was right on the money when she pegged me as a kindred spirit." "Nat," Nick said, frustrated by her reaction, "She took her own life. She must have had some pretty big problems." Natalie stood and raised an eyebrow at him. "You think so? You know, I used to think suicide was a pretty big sacrilege." She walked to the door of her lab. "But I'm not so sure anymore." "Nat, don't talk like that," Nick said quickly. "Why not?" she asked heatedly, stopping at the closed door. "You've considered it yourself." She took a deep breath, then entered the lab. Nick followed her. She was right, of course. He had considered suicide, several times, in fact. He had never been able to go through with it, though. Maybe he was just a coward. Natalie was brave; if she made up her mind to kill herself, she would go through with it. He didn't want that to happen. Natalie was standing over the sheeted body, the journal still in her hands. She was just staring at nothing. "Nat," he said, "Maybe you shouldn't do the work on this case." "You know, Laura never reached out in life to me for help. I owe her this much," she said firmly. "To see that everything is properly done, now that she's gone. I can handle it. But you know what I can't handle? I think I understand her and that scares me to death." ***** LaCroix had sat silently with the Enforcer for twenty minutes before the other vampire had spoken. "You know why I'm here?" the Enforcer had asked. "I suspect," LaCroix had answered dryly. "There have been too many violations of the Code in this city of late, LaCroix," the other vampire told him. "Mortals who know what we are, unhidden killings, attacks on our own kind." He looked at LaCroix in disgust. "You even managed to unleash a plague upon our people. "I should kill all involved, but I was told to inform you that you may leave now without repercussions," he said, sounding as if he disagreed with what he said. "However, if you remain at sunset tomorrow, you and your son, Nicholas, will die. The mortals will be taken care of." The Enforcer raised an eyebrow at him. "Unless you bring them across, of course." "Of course," LaCroix said noncommittally. "Is that all? It appears I have arrangements to make." "That is all. I will see myself out." The Enforcer stood and walked to the door, but stopped before he left. "Sunset." LaCroix snarled as the door swung shut behind the vampire. How dare that creature come in here and threaten what was his? He had taken care of all that he had been accused. The epidemic had been cured, the killings had been hidden, Divia had been killed, and the mortals were under control. How dare-- But there was no time for this now. He would take his vengeance later. Now he had matters to attend to, the first of which was locked in his basement. ***** Tracy had driven back to the station, trying to figure out a way of getting off early. She would first try asking, but then, she'd have to make something up. She spent the remainder of her drive rehearsing excuses in her head. Her father needed to see her (in the middle of the night?). She had to sit with a sick friend (used that one). She had to let in a plumber (again, in the middle of the night?). She needed to go see a vampire about some other vampires (but he'd never believe the truth). Finally, she had settled on being sick. She'd gotten pretty good at faking illness in school; she was pretty sure she could still do it. The first moment she could, she had corralled Captain Reese to talk to him. "How's Natalie holding up?" the captain asked her before she could get her little speech out. "Not well," she said. "You know, I think a suicide note addressed to her was a pretty mean thing to do. Nick's staying with her." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, there's no suggestion of foul play and everyone seems satisfied that Laura Haynes is a suicide, so ... " "So ... ?" her boss asked suspiciously. "So I was thinking of writing it up as such and maybe knocking off early for the night." It didn't look like he was going to buy it, so she added her little lie. Scrunching up her face and looking ill, she said, "Captain, I feel something coming on." "All right. Sure," he answered reluctantly. "The flu *is* going around. Tell you what: you go home, get some rest, get in bed --" He was cut off by yelling and the sounds of a scuffle from across the precinct's front room. Reese stormed over and yelled at the two officers and the man they were holding. The man, dressed in fatigues and looking very pale, kept yelling that he wasn't going back, and Reese told him to calm down. Tracy wondered. Reese finished yelling at them and come back over to finish their conversation. He barely made it to her, though, when with a yell, the man struggled and managed to get a gun from an officer. Tracy drew her gun and crouched down behind a concrete pillar. she thought. ***** Natalie clutched Laura's journal as if it were her lifeline. It felt like that. Laura had expressed the same fears as Natalie and had only been able to find one way out. Natalie didn't want to take that way, but she really did understand, and in some ways, it made perfect sense. Nick wasn't handling her reaction very well, but Natalie didn't care. Maybe, for once, he would understand that this wasn't about him. That there were other people in the world who hurt, too. That she had real feelings that couldn't be patched over with flowers and a card. They stood in silence. "Strange, isn't it?" Nick asked finally. "How something so personal becomes just another piece of evidence?" Natalie sighed to herself. He just didn't understand at all. "Not for me," she answered. "You know, when she and I would get together years ago, we'd talk for hours about our careers, professional gossip. We slowly came to realize that we never really talked about ourselves. And you know why? There was nothing to tell --our personal lives were nonexistent. That was a bit of a depressing discovery, and we sort of last touch after that. "Her leaving me the note and her journal -- she meant for me to learn from her mistakes," she said earnestly. "It's my wake-up call, Nick. Time to get a life." "You've got one and it's not empty," Nick protested. "Not now," she said. "Six years ago, April fourteenth." "What's that?" Nick asked, obviously confused. "The day they brought you in. My life changed that day." She looked hard at him. "I don't want to end up like Laura, Nick." "I won't let you," he reassured her. "Well, then, it's simple: you just have to love me as much as I love you." There. She had finally said it. Now it was up to him to respond. After a few long, stunned moments, he did. "I can't. You know I can't," he said frustratedly. "I've been wrong about a lot of things in my life, but I'm not wrong about this," she said, almost angrily. She should have said this months ago. "About what I feel from you. I'm asking for an end. For a resolution. I'm not willing to go on like this. We can be together." "I can't damn you into becoming what I am," Nick said. "There is a way!" Natalie exclaimed, then took a calming breath. "I have faith in you and whatever follows." Nick shook his head. "Nat, it's just too much to ask," he said, his frustration with her evident in his voice. "Whether I bring you across or not, either way it could be a death sentence." Natalie was really angry now. He wasn't even listening to her, just parroting his old, tired arguments. He couldn't believe that he might be wrong and she might be right. That she might be capable of making her own decisions. "A lonely existence like Laura's *is* a death sentence," she almost yelled. "With you there's at least hope. It's partly my decision, Nick. And I'm not afraid to try." ***** LaCroix stopped at the top of the stairs. His prisoner was not alone down there. There was the strange echo that he had noticed in Vachon's thoughts in this new one. It felt so much like Divia, but he knew it wasn't. His beautiful, evil daughter was dead. But it appeared she was still in this world. He rushed down the stairs, but as he neared the room where Vachon was being held, he felt the second vampire was gone. He pushed open the door to see the Spaniard huddled in the corner, his arms hugging his knees, rocking back and forth. Though there was no blood between them, LaCroix could feel the frantic tenor of the younger vampire's thoughts. This must have been a visit from "her," whoever that was. LaCroix crouched down on his side of the bars, as near to the other vampire as he could. He didn't have much time or patience right now, but it looked like he would have to force both. Using the most calming voice he could muster, he spoke to the frightened vampire. "Vachon, she can't hurt you here. I will protect you." The other vampire continued to rock. "I vow to you that I will protect you." he added silently. He watched Vachon, but there was no change, even after several minutes. It was time for a different, more direct tactic. He pushed up the sleeve of his black shirt, then stuck his bare forearm though the bars. "Drink," he told the frightened vampire. Vachon continued to rock. LaCroix sighed, then pulled his arm back out. Unfastening the sword pin from his collar, he drew the blade across his wrist, the blood instantly welling from the gash. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Vachon had stopped rocking. The elder vampire again pushed his arm though the bars. It was a risk to allow this frightened creature to drink his blood. There would be an exchange, and LaCroix was not sure what he would get. Whatever it was, however, he was sure he could handle it better than this young one. With a suddenness that surprised LaCroix, the other vampire sprang across his small cell and fastened his teeth into the proffered arm. With a rush, LaCroix felt strength being drawn out of him, and he collapsed completely to the floor. He could sense the other's mind, and after a moment of hesitation, opened himself up to the feelings: ***Beautiful golden eyes and piled high golden hair blended with the screaming face of a demon. "Do you have faith?" Sharp claws lunged at his face and gouged deeply. "Will your gods save you now?" The terrible darkness came and pulled him down. "What are the gods that they let *us* live?" The terror of awakening, covered with earth, unable to find which direction was up. "Faith cannot redeem *you* after what you've done." The call of the siren of golden eyes and hair, needing to live as she did, feel as she felt, lust as she lusted, destroy as she destroyed ... *** LaCroix felt his arm dropped, and after a few moments to collect himself, he opened his eyes. Vachon stood above him, looking down at him with determined eyes. The younger vampire pushed the gates he was behind and easily snapped the lock. In a rush, the Spaniard was gone. LaCroix pulled himself up from the floor. The images he had seen ... they were not Divia's, but the tenor of them was the same, that same terrible evil. His evil, bequeathed to his child in some horrible mockery of a birthday gift. After so many centuries, his own evil had infected another beauty. ***** Nick stared at Natalie. She just wouldn't understand. What she was suggesting led only to damnation, hers, and his, all over again. He couldn't love her, no matter how much he wanted to. How could he ever explain that? He opened his mouth to tell her, but his cell phone rang. He answered it. "Knight here." "Detective?" a hurried voice said. "You need to get down to the station right away. We've got a prisoner loose with a gun." "I'm on my way," he said and hung up. He turned to Natalie. "There's a situation at the precinct -- a guy with a gun. Nat, I ..." "It's all right," Natalie answered with a sigh. "We'll talk later." Nick turned and nearly ran out of the building. Once outside, after quickly checking, he took to the air, then dropped, mere seconds later, near the 96th precinct. Squad cars ringed the station and Nick had to be sure to land out of sight. After flashing his badge, he was allowed to go inside. It was near chaos inside. After a moment, he saw the Captain and strode over to him. "Where is he?" Nick asked. "He took a weapon off of an officer," Reese said. "My guess is he's holed up in the locker room. I'm going to let him make the first move." "Who is he?" Nick asked. "Delbert Dawkins," Reese answered. "He's a transfer we're booking through." "I know him," Nick said and headed toward the locker rooms. "I've arrested him." "Knight! Get back here!" the captain called after him. "You're not a trained negotiator!" Nick turned the corner and headed down the stairs. "Damn it, Knight! You're going to get yourself shot!" As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, Knight could hear yelling from the men's locker room. He recognized Dawkins' voice. "I'm not going back there!" Dawkins yelled through sobs. "I'm not going back!" ***** Tracy heard the door open, then her partner's voice echoed through the tiled room. "Dawkins? Dawkins, it's OK. It's me, Detective Knight." "Knight?" the prisoner -- Dawkins, apparently -- called out in a panicky voice. Tracy moved along the back wall, following the voice. "You'd better tell them to get a big body bag, 'cause that's the only way I'm going out of here!" Damn. He was suicidal. "Death by cop" seemed to be a popular way to go these days. If she could just get close enough, then she could take him out before he hurt himself or Nick. If her partner could just keep him busy ... She edged closer. "Dawkins, listen to me," Nick said. "You really don't want to die, do you? And I don't want you to hurt anyone. You wouldn't want to be responsible for that, now would you?" Nick was moving closer, Tracy could see. His gun wasn't drawn, though. He was going to try to hero-cop this one. she thought. Well, she wasn't going to let that happen. She'd kill Dawkins herself if he made a move against her partner. She had to get a little nearer, though. She began to move even closer, around the lockers beyond her partner "I'm telling you," Dawkins yelled and pointed his gun at his own temple. "I'm not going back!" Tracy was now directly behind her partner, crouched down, using his body to hide her. Nick was in her way of a clear shot to Dawkins from this angle, though. If she was going to get a shot off without injuring Nick, she was going to have to stand up. "Dawkins, listen to me," Nick said. "Put the gun down on the floor." Nick's voice sounded strange, Tracy noticed. It almost had an echo. Dawkins stood very still in front of Nick, then his gun began to move. It looked like Dawkins was going to shoot. Tracy slowly stood up and raised her gun. "Kneel down," Nick continued in the odd voice, "And lay the gun very gently on the floor." "On the floor," the prisoner said quietly, and his gun arm began to slowly drop. Suddenly, Dawkins noticed Tracy and with a loud, terrified yell, he raised his weapon and fired. Tracy felt something slam into her abdomen, but she didn't notice any pain. Her eyes were on her partner, who, after the shot had gone *through* his abdomen, turned toward her ... with golden eyes and pointed teeth. She noticed the pain then, just as another shot was fired. Suddenly, pain exploded in the back of her head and her legs began to give away. Slamming against the wall, she slid to the floor. It made sense now. The voice. The night shift. The never joining her for dinner. She had risked her life for someone who couldn't be killed by a bullet. She felt so stupid. Why hadn't she seen? Why hadn't he told her? He came running toward her, calling her name. She tried to answer, but she couldn't seem to get enough saliva in her mouth. Nick was still shouting, but it didn't seem to be at her. She tried again to speak and succeeded. "You could have trusted me," she whispered. Then, her strength gone, she gave into the pain. ***** LaCroix grunted and nearly dropped his wine glass was he felt a stabbing pain in his gut. Carefully placing his glass on the bar, he looked down, almost surprised not to see blood dribbling down his clothes. He knew what a bullet felt like, and that had been one. It must have been Nicholas who had been shot then. Not an unusual occurrence, he had to admit. He was surprised no one on the police force had noticed. After all, LaCroix could only follow his son to the hospital so many times. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with a sense of panic. Nicholas, again, he realized, once he clamped down on his emotional link to his son. This was stronger than anything he had felt from Nicholas in years, and his curiosity was peaked. Carefully reopening the mental link, he was assailed by half-formed images and feelings of panic. Disappointment, blood on his hands, blonde hair coated in blood, calls for help, the smell of apricots ... Tracy Vetter. LaCroix would recognize the scent of Ms. Vetter's blood anywhere. She had been shot, but was not yet dead. LaCroix again blocked his son's emotions and pondered the situation. From Nicholas' perspective, it seemed as if his partner was severely wounded. Likely, she would die; LaCroix had very little faith in mortals' medical prowess. So, it seemed the ancient vampire was at a crossroads. He could let the beautiful and intelligent Tracy Vetter die, and teach his son a lesson, or he could bring the woman across, and teach his son a different lesson. He would think on it. LaCroix knew that Nicholas would soon come to him for help. He always did, in situations like this. Depending on his son's demeanor, LaCroix would make his decision. Besides, they were leaving tonight ... whether Nicholas liked it or not. ***** Natalie was nearly done with the autopsy when the phone rang. She almost let the machine get it, but instead, she peeled off her gloves and picked it up. "Lambert," she answered. "Nat?" Nick's tremulous voice said. "Tracy's been ... she's ..." "Nick, what's happening? What's happened to Tracy?" she asked, concerned. Nick was prone to overreacting, but she'd never heard him this incoherent. "She was shot." Natalie heard him take a very ragged breath. "Abdomen and head. I'm at the hospital with her now. It was my fault, Nat! She saw me ..." "I'll be there soon, Nick," she assured him. "I just have to finish up here." They said goodbye and Natalie hung up the phone. She collapsed in her chair and put her head in her hands. This night was horrible. First Laura, then Tracy ... what was next? Getting up, she pulled on another pair of latex gloves, then finished her autopsy of Laura. Less than an hour later, she was talking to the nurse's desk at Toronto Hospital, finding out the location of Tracy Vetter's room. She walked down the hall, but paused outside of the room. She could hear Captain Reese inside. "Nothing on this earth can rip you apart like that. Hell, Nick, you know that; you lost Schanke," she heard him say. "There is life after this, when you get through. Remember that. I'm here if you need help ... I've got to go." A few seconds later, the door opened and the captain came out. He saw Natalie and smiled grimly at her. "How are you holding up?" he asked her. "I'm ... OK," she said, then nodded to the room. "How's Tracy?" He sighed and shook his head. "Not so good. They've done all they can, but they don't expect her to make it until morning," he said. "I called her parents, but they're both out of town and don't think they can get here soon." "And Nick?" she asked. "He thinks it's his fault. After losing Schanke, I'm not sure he'll be able to handle this," the captain said. "I've got to go; the Shooting Review Board's chomping at the bit." As he walked heavily down the hall, Natalie pushed open the door and went inside. Nick was bent over the bed, too close for anything but ... "Nick!" she exclaimed. He turned slowly to face her, nearly growling. His face was that of a beast, golden-eyed and sharp-toothed. "If she dies it's my fault," he hissed. Natalie roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Tracy. If she could hear, there was no reason for her to hear what Natalie was going to say to Nick. "How do you know that's what she wants?" Natalie demanded. Nick only looked defiant. "And why is it so easy to consider bringing her across and so impossible to consider bringing me?" Nick only stared at her for a moment, then walked past her out the door. Natalie considered going after him, but ... she was just too tired to deal with him tonight. Instead, she went over to Tracy's bed and picked up the metal clipboard there. Scanning the chart, she realized that the captain was right: Tracy wasn't going to make it. Natalie sat down in the chair next to the bed and picked up Tracy's hand. Then, giving in for the first time that night, she cried. ***** When he left the hospital, Nick just got in his car and drove off without having any destination in mind. He just needed to get away, to think about what he had done. It *was* his fault, no matter what anyone tried to convince him. If Tracy had known that he was perfectly safe from guns, she would never have risked herself for him. Because he hadn't trusted her, his own partner, she was lying in a hospital bed. She had been right: he could have trusted her. She had never betrayed Vachon's trust; she wouldn't have betrayed his, either. Natalie was right, too. He didn't know what Tracy wanted. It wouldn't be fair to bring her into the darkness when he was trying so hard to escape. It was *her* choice. He turned off his police radio. He wasn't in the mood to hear about more suffering. Turning on the radio, he flipped to CERK. Instead of the Nightcrawler, there was a pop psychologist, telling listeners that the Nightcrawler was moving on. Was LaCroix leaving? Was his whole life going to change in one night? Coming out of his thoughts, he found himself at the Raven. He had been driving for over an hour. Sighing, he got out of the car. He always came to LaCroix, no matter how hard he tried not to. They had been getting along better lately, but he still didn't trust his vampire father. Reaching the door, he noticed a computer-printed sign that read "Closed until further notice." What was going on? He walked through the empty club toward LaCroix's private apartment. There was a forgotten, stale glass of blood on the bar, along with a bust of LaCroix. Nick thought. He pushed open the door to the apartment and found the LaCroix closing his traveling trunk in an otherwise empty room. "Good evening, Nicholas," the elder vampire said, as if he had been expecting this visit. "You're leaving?" Nick asked. "It's time," LaCroix said smoothly. "For both of us. We have come full circle in this life." "LaCroix," Nick said, near tears, "I'm in trouble." "Yes, I know." He paused, then asked, "Your partner ... is she ...?" "No," he answered, then admitted the truth he had been avoiding, "But her chances aren't good." "Nicholas, don't you see?" The elder vampire said, almost sympathetically. "You've overstayed your welcome. The pain that you are causing your mortal friends is no longer acceptable to them. Those that do survive will not allow their relationship with you to continue in the way that it was. They will demand change, and you will be compromised." LaCroix looked stern. "One way or another." He was right, Nick knew. He had already seen it that night with Natalie, with her demands on his love. Tracy, if she did somehow survive, would never look at him the same way again. But he wasn't going to admit the truth to LaCroix. Besides, he couldn't just abandon his friends. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't just leave," he said. "Too many loose ends to tie up." "I've seen you leave looser," LaCroix pointed out. "I can't just walk away!" Nick said. "Natalie needs me. I need to be there for Tracy." "Nicholas," LaCroix said sternly, "The time has *come*. I will be at your loft tonight for your decision, and then I'm leaving with or without you." "I ... I ... I just can't," Nick whispered. "It's my fault. I have to stay." LaCroix sighed. "Haven't you tired of this incessant guilt?" he asked. "Hasn't it swayed your back long enough and stooped your shoulders to the point of throwing it off? You insist on taking responsibility for the actions and emotions of others when they *alone* are truly responsible." He shook his head at Nick. "It is so foolish. It is so unnecessary. It's so mortal. And it must stop. This, and all else that has happened tonight should make that clear to you. "For all the things that we are, there is a price to be paid. Love may be tasted, but never savored. In our darkest moments," LaCroix said, sounding almost sympathetic, "we may envy mortality, but we should never aspire to it. Guilt is a poison and staying past our time is death. "But it *need* *not* *be*," the elder vampire insisted. "If we truly care for a mortal, truly love one, then we must go. Isn't that something that *you* taught *me*? Leaving is the purest form of love." Without a word, Nick turned and ran from the Raven. LaCroix was right. ***** LaCroix shook his head as his son left. Nicholas was always running from the truth. The truth of his nature, the truth of the world, the truth of everything. He would rather live in misery and despair than take responsibility. He would rather slowly destroy the lives of those around him than make a decision. Well, then. LaCroix would make that decision for him. LaCroix moved into the bar and picked up the phone. After checking the phone book, he dialed the hospital. After being assured that Ms. Vetter was still indeed among the living, he dialed the other number he had looked up. ***** Natalie had packed everything. It was time for her to move on. If she couldn't be with Nick, then she was leaving. Where, she didn't know, but somewhere. Maybe Vancouver; she had been there last summer for a conference and had loved it. Maybe the U.S.; she had been to New York and Detroit. It didn't matter really; she was just leaving. The resignation letter was on her desk and all of her personal documents were packed. All that was left was Laura's journal. It was the journal that had inspired this drastic reaction. Better to do this than to end up unhappy and dead like her friend. She read aloud the passage that, combined with some of LaCroix's words, had made up her mind. "Everyone's pain is my problem, but mine is mine alone. I have solutions for all, but none for myself. I have to stop and think, 'Where am I? What am I doing? I'm not coming, I'm going. I'm gone." She sighed and closed the book. The phone rang, and for the last time, she moved across the room to answer it. "Lambert." "Dr. Lambert, this is Lucien LaCroix," a silky voice said. Natalie sighed. She didn't want to play anymore games with this vampire. She was just so tired of it all. He had, though, given her some of the best advice on her life that she had ever gotten. In some way, she felt she owed him. "What can I do for you, LaCroix?" she asked, sitting down at her desk. "I'm sorry to tell you that I have just discovered that Detective Vetter ... didn't make it," he said sadly. "She was a particular favorite of mine." "I ... I ... When?" she managed to ask. "Just moments ago. I had just phoned to check on her condition for Nicholas, and ..." he trailed off. Natalie was somewhat suspicious, but, well, she hadn't expected Tracy to make it. What was odd was that he was calling her instead of Nick. She asked him why. "I believe that he would take the news best, coming from you. Were I to tell him, he might believe that I had something to do with it," LaCroix pointed out. "Do you know where he is?" Natalie asked. "He just left here after we had a rather ... stormy ... chat. I believe that your faith in Nicholas may be misplaced, Dr. Lambert," he said, sounding sympathetic. "I *am* sorry." "What?" Natalie asked. "What did he say?" "I believe he has finally realized that the darkness he so tries to run from is a part of him. It can never be escaped. His faith has proved unfaithful," LaCroix said. "But, it is not my business, as I've been told time and again. I'm afraid I must go now. If you could be so kind as to inform Nicholas about his partner." He hung up without giving her a chance to say anything more. She slammed the phone down and stood up. She would tell Nick about Tracy in person, and then they would have their own chat. It was time for this to be over. ***** LaCroix dropped the phone into the cradle and smiled. That should have primed the pump quite well. As much as he respected the good doctor, he was not above using her for his own purposes. He had no fear that she would now force a confrontation with his son. He had other things to take care of right now, however. His travel arrangements had been made: a private jet had been chartered and movers were coming to transport his belongings to the airport and storage. He pulled one last bottle from his cabinet and, popping the cork out, drank it all straight from the bottle. Crude, but he needed the strength. The sharing of blood with the young Spaniard had weakened him considerably ... and he still had one more important task this night. Heading out the back of the club, LaCroix launched himself into the sky, then touched down mere seconds later. His strength had truly returned. Entering the hospital, he stopped at the front desk. "Tracy Vetter's room number," he demanded of the woman seated there. She tapped some keys and then looked at her computer screen. She made a face, then looked at him. "It's family only," she told him. "I *am* family," he snarled. he added to himself. "Intensive care, room seven," she told him quickly. Eschewing the slow elevators, LaCroix flew up through the stairwell to the intensive care ward. He easily found Ms. Vetter's room and entered. A tall burly man was sitting next to her bed. He looked up when LaCroix entered. "Who the hell are you?" the man asked. "Get out of my daughter's room!" "Ah, Mr. Vetter. I have always wondered about young Tracy's parents." LaCroix silenced the mortal with a quick look. He then captured Mr. Vetter's mind. "You will sit quietly and not move until I allow it." Tracy's father slumped in the chair with a glazed look. Moving to the detective's side, LaCroix stroked the wisps of loose hair off her forehead. She was indeed a worthy mortal. Pushing her head to one side, he pulled away the dressing gown from her neck. He leaned down, and, after a pause to breathe in her heady scent, sank his fangs into her neck and drank. ***** Nick pulled open the elevator door and walked slowly into his loft. As he did, Natalie stood up from a chair. She looked serious. Stopping, he looked at her silently. He just knew what she was going to say, but he refused to encourage her. She took a deep breath, then spoke. "Tracy Vetter passed away twenty minutes ago." Nick clutched the piano next to him, using it to hold himself up. He could feel tears welling up, but he closed his eyes. "It's my fault," he whispered hoarsely. "She's dead and it's my fault. He moved over to the window and looked out over the lake. He could hear Natalie move up behind him, but he didn't turn around. "LaCroix thinks I'm a fool for bearing this guilt," he continued bitterly. "Trying to somehow atone for what I've done. Maybe he's right. All it's ever done is cause pain and more death." "It's not true," Natalie said. "Tracy, Cohen, Schanke," he listed, "And how many others over the centuries because of what I am?" "And how many lives were you able to save because of what you are?" she asked. "You've *more* than made up for what you've done in the past." She didn't understand. There was no way he could ever atone for his sins, his life. LaCroix was right. He should never have even tried. His world here was crumbling and he would soon have nothing left. Better that he leave now. He turned from the window and walked past her to the fire she had lit. "It's not enough," he snarled. "It's never enough. I'm leaving. Tonight." "Not without me!" Natalie exclaimed. "I'm leaving because of you," he said nastily. "You don't want my love; it'll only destroy you." "There is a way. There is one cure that we haven't tried," she said desperately. "Janette became mortal by making love to Robert, taking just a little at a time." "It was a lot more complicated than that, Nat," he snapped. "I'm willing to take my chances," she asserted. "Well, I'm not." He thought of his lack of control when feeding on human blood. "What if I take too much? I'm not willing to live a life of eternal pain." "Is it any different than living a life of eternal regret?" she asked angrily. "It's partly my choice, too, Nick!" Natalie would never understand, he knew that now. She couldn't feel the darkness, the evil within him. She couldn't know how desirable the scent of her blood was right now, spiced by anger and a little bit of fear. With his long abstention from human blood, he would just drain her if he tried to bring her across. His love for her, his desire to know every corner of her thoughts, would never let him stop. ***** LaCroix regretfully pulled back from the throat of his soon-to-be child. Her blood was sweeter than he had anticipated, calling for him to drink deeper than he ought. He wanted her forever, though, not just for a few hours. Pulling a linen handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the blood from his mouth, then concentrated on Tracy for a moment. Her heart still beat, though slowly. In a minute she would be at the correct point to be brought across. A chair scraped behind him and he stiffened. He had been so engrossed with his new daughter that he had let down his guard. Turning, he saw Tracy's father, bloodless, half on the floor. Standing over him was the beautiful blonde goddess Divia had managed to destroy. Urs. She hissed at him, throwing her near-white locks back from her eyes. Blood streamed down her chin and dripped on the floor, making the puddle there even larger. "I hate her!" Urs snarled. "I won't let you make her one of us." "This is not your concern, child," LaCroix hissed back, his eyes flaring gold. "Leave now and no harm will come to you." "I sent Dawkins to kill her. He wanted to. He didn't want to come back to me," she whispered, moving slowly toward LaCroix. "They never want to come back. Even though I make them so happy, they never want to come back. Vachon came back," she said smugly, then frowned. "But only to protect them. To protect *her*." Suddenly, Urs lunged, trying to get around LaCroix to the still form behind him. The older vampire shot out his arm and Urs hit it, snapping her neck. She slumped to the floor. LaCroix knew he had only minutes until she regenerated, and only seconds before Tracy must feed from him. He turned to the woman on the bed, nearly dead now, and pressed the call button to summon a nurse to serve for a first meal. Bottled blood would be fine later, but Tracy needed to to learn how to properly feed. Pushing up his sleeve, he ran his fingernail along his wrist, opening a long, bloody gash. He pried open Tracy's mouth and let the blood drip in. After several drips, he could sense a stirring within her. Just as he was about to reach out to her mind, a strong grip closed on his ankle and yanked him away. LaCroix landed atop Urs, and ripped her hand off his leg. He needed to return to Tracy or she would become maddened from the taste of blood. Kicking out, he pulled himself up and inelegantly thrust his wrist into Tracy's open mouth. Hungrily, she sucked at the wound, quickly drawing out the blood. Behind him, Urs snarled and he could hear her scramble up from the floor. She threw herself at Tracy, trying to pull LaCroix's arm out of her mouth. LaCroix backhanded her across the face with his free hand, but she only grew fiercer. Suddenly, she was pulled backwards with a furious scream. Turning, LaCroix saw Vachon, holding Urs in a bear hug, her teeth in his neck. In his hand, he held a long stake. "Please," the Spaniard whispered and held the stake out to LaCroix. Gently removing his arm from Tracy, LaCroix moved to take the stake from him. It was long enough to go through both vampires, something Vachon had no doubt intended. Before he could reach the stake, however, Tracy sprang from the bed and snatched it. "No!" she screamed, her new fangs bared. Tracy ripped Urs from Vachon's grip, and slammed the stake into Urs' chest. Urs looked down with astonishment, then slowly slid to the floor. ***** As the vampire fell, a nurse opened the door and stood still in shock. Before she even realized it, Tracy was across the room. She pulled the woman into the room and the door fell shut behind her. With a snarl, Tracy sank her fangs into the terrified nurse's neck. Tracy could feel the woman's blood, memories, and emotions flowing into her. The nurse's fear made the blood -- already scented with cinnamon and wet grass -- even more wonderful. Tracy could feel the woman's joy at her marriage, her sadness at the death of her child, her terror at being fed upon, as if they were her own emotions. The heartbeat, even as it slowed, mesmerized her, calling out to her to take this woman's life into her, to know all there was to know of her. Then Tracy felt a tug on her arm. She snarled, not removing her teeth from the woman. The tug was repeated, reinforced by a mental "tug" as well. She pushed the woman away from her and, with a heavy thud, the dead nurse fell to the floor. "You may have more soon, but right now we *must* be going," LaCroix -- her new maker, she could feel -- said sternly. He turned to Vachon, who was slumped in a chair. "You will take care of Urs?" Vachon nodded numbly, his hand at his neck where the other vampire had bit him. It was then that she noticed the other body on the floor. "Dad!" she exclaimed, all of her new strength leaving her. She dropped to the floor and shook him, but she knew he was already dead. By the scent on him that her newly-enhanced senses detected, it had been the female vampire, Urs, who had done it. Well ... to be honest, though she loved him, she had never *liked* her father all that much. He had been a domineering social climber with a penchant for verbal abuse; it was probably as good an end as he deserved. It was a heartless thought, yes, but also true. She had always lied to herself about her family, had always believed that if only *she* had been better, then her family wouldn't have broken apart. She had lived in fear of her father for so long that she could never imagine that it might be his fault. Maybe it was being a vampire, or maybe it was just being so close to death, but it was time to be honest with herself. Her father had been a nasty person who manipulated everyone around him. There was no need to fear him now. She stood and faced LaCroix. Her police instincts came to the fore then. There were two dead bodies in her hospital room. That would cause serious questions to be asked. She now had an obligation to protect her fellow vampires from exposure. "What should we do with the bodies?" she asked him. "The lake?" "That practically teems with corpses," LaCroix answered, smiling at her. "I believe Vachon will take care of them as well?" "Yes," Vachon answered. "Tracy ... I ..." "No time," LaCroix snapped, and Tracy could feel the annoyance through a mental link. He reached up and pulled the bandage off of her head. Tracy put her hand to the back of her head, feeling the now small depression where the bullet had hit. They had shaved her hair around the spot, but she could feel it already growing back. It itched. LaCroix moved over to the vampire's body on the floor and pulled her leather jacket off, being very careful not to dislodge the stake. He handed it to her and she pulled it on. "Vachon, we need to talk," she said. "I have to tell you--" "We have no time!" LaCroix growled. "You know where we will be," he said to Vachon. "You may meet her there if you like, but you are *not* coming with us." With that, LaCroix grabbed Tracy's wrist and dragged her from the room. Before the door closed behind her, she saw Vachon drop his head into his hands. ***** Natalie stared out of the window at the lake. She needed to make Nick understand. She wasn't going to let him leave without her; she needed to convince him that her belief in him wasn't "misplaced" as LaCroix said. That was it: faith. LaCroix had said that Nick's "faith had proved unfaithful." LaCroix knew Nick better than anyone, even better than Nick himself. And LaCroix had faith in Nick, she knew that, no matter what they both might protest. "Does LaCroix ever talk to you about faith?" she asked, her back still to Nick. "In what?" he asked, closer behind her than she had thought. "In yourself. In an after life. I don't know," she said, trying to find some answer that would speak to him. "In a greater being who loves us no matter who we are or what we do" "Faith is a *mortal* folly, Nat," he said disdainfully. "His words or yours?" She turned to face him. "Do you really believe that's true?" "I'm not sure," he replied hesitantly. "Well, I won't accept that the sum of our existence can be measure in the few short years that we're alive here. It would make everything that we believe meaningless. It would make our lives here meaningless. I know that's true and so do you," she insisted, not really knowing that, but knowing that *he* believed it. "You have faith, Nick," she said, smiling. "And if it's a mortal folly, then you're the most mortal man I've ever known." "You cannot deny what I am," he snapped. She almost had him, she could tell. She just had to keep going a little farther. "You can't deny what's in your heart," she whispered. "What are you saying?" he asked wondrously. She had convinced him. Nick would never leave her now, no matter what came. She may have been manipulating him, but she really did have faith in him. It wasn't wrong, no matter what LaCroix claimed. "I have faith that there is a future for us, here as we are or somewhere else." She raised her hands to stroke his face. "I *believe* in you. I *trust* you." She took a deep breath and said what she had wanted to say since almost the day she had met him. "Make love to me, Nick ... take just a little at a time." "I'm afraid of what might happen," Nick said, his voice choked. "Don't be afraid. I'm not afraid of death or of an eternity of darkness, as long as I can spend it with you," she said, and found it to be true. "All I have is faith and love. All I'm asking is for you to make love to me." She paused and saw a slight hesitation in his eyes. "I *trust* you," she added, and his hesitation disappeared. Nick took her hands between his and looked down, resting his lips on her fingertips. A small shiver went through her when he looked up and his eyes were golden. "I won't leave you," he said tenderly, and Natalie could see his lengthened canines. "Whatever happens, we'll be together." "Forever," Natalie said firmly. Slowly, Nick leaned forward and kissed her gently. Then, he kissed the inside her wrist, and she felt him drag his canines across the tender skin there. When she gasped, he looked up with an animal glint in his eyes. He seemed to enjoy her rising fear. He entangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head to one side. When her neck was exposed, Nick suddenly lunged forward and sank his fangs into her neck. ***** It was more wonderful than he could ever have imagined. Natalie truly loved him and every drop of her blood suffused him with her warmth and tenderness. He felt the power he had over her and her emotions and her singular desire to be with him, forever. Her slight struggles against him made it all the more exciting. Despite what she had claimed, she was afraid, and that fear was a spice to the blood. He continued to drink from her, caught in the heady feel of love and power. He found himself kneeling on the floor above her, dragged down by her weight. He pulled back slowly and could feel nothing from her mind and almost all of her warmth was gone. "Well," LaCroix's voice said from behind him, "All that remains now is to turn out the lights and lock the door on the way out ... Unless you have decided to add her to our entourage. Oh, Nicholas," he said, disappointment evident in his voice, "You have thought this through, haven't you?" ***** Tracy paced on the roof of Nick's loft where LaCroix had left her. She could feel confusion and sadness from below, from both her new master and from Nick. LaCroix had explained that Nick was his creation as well. Actually, LaCroix had called Nick his son, but Tracy wasn't sure she was ready to get that familial yet. LaCroix had explained that the best thing for her to do would be to go with him out of the country. Tracy was inclined to agree. There would be too many questions for her to answer if she stayed. Also, she needed someone to teach her about being a vampire. LaCroix was more than willing to be her teacher, she knew. She still wasn't sure how to react to being a vampire. She was a vampire. She was undead. She had killed someone, an innocent woman. She understood now, what Vachon and Screed had said about the first hunger. Without even thinking, she had taken that woman's blood; it warmed her skin right now. She knew that she should feel worse than she did, really, but it just seemed ... right. Like with her father. He had been a jerk to her and her mother for her whole life. Why shouldn't he feel what it was like to be the one who got used and tossed aside? She actually felt worse about the nurse than she did about her father. The nurse had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but her memories would live on within Tracy. Her father had been sitting at her bedside, true, but that didn't make up for a lifetime of verbal abuse and domineering behavior. Tracy felt a breeze whip across her face and she whirled around. Vachon stood there, Urs' body in his arms. "She hated you," Vachon said softly. "She was jealous of you and your mortality and my ... attention to you." He lowered the body to the roof and crouched there. "She killed those women. Those ones you thought were suicides. I tried to stop her, to reason with her, but she was beyond that." "How ..." Tracy began. "Before I died, I was attacked. So was Urs. We were ... infected by something ... very evil." He looked up at her and Tracy could see how tired he was. "We didn't die. You, whoever took care of Urs, thought we did, but we didn't. I was locked inside my mind with these horrible voices. Urs must have been, too." He stopped then, and Tracy realized that this was the longest speech she'd ever heard him make. She moved over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. Slowly, he reached in his pocket and pulled something out. His speech was going to be even longer, it appeared. "When I felt her wake up, I knew I had to do something. I had managed to fight off the voices, mostly, but Urs was so much younger than me. And she was my responsibility. I spent so long running from responsibility ..." he trailed off. After a long moment, he began again. "The evil had warped her. It had taken all of her insecurities and fears and turned them into something ... wrong. She got into mortals' minds and made them do horrible things and *love* it. The suicides were the lucky ones. "But she was really after you." He looked down at whatever was in his hands. "She wanted to hurt you. I kept her away as long as I could, but I wasn't ... sane ... either, not until LaCroix helped me. I broke into your apartment, one night, thinking that I would kill you before she could. That was the only thing that I could think of. I didn't want you to feel what she could have made you feel. But I saw this." He held up what was in his hand. It was the missing photo from her refrigerator, the corner of which she had found in the parking lot. Screed and Vachon grinned out at them. "It reminded me of who I was, or at least, had been. I couldn't kill you. I tried to warn you, but when I got near you, she could tell. And she was so angry ..." He turned his face up to her and she saw the red streaks of tears. "That man -- she sent him to kill you, but he was stronger than she thought. He just wanted to run away. But when Knight interfered, messed with his mind, she got back in ... I'm so sorry, Trace." "It's not your fault, Vachon," she said. "You did what you could." "No, I didn't. I could have done more. I could have killed her!" he said, collapsing onto the roof. Tracy knelt beside him and took one of his hands in hers. The skin was loose and thin. She looked into his eyes and saw the despair and exhaustion. "It's over now," she reassured him. "Not yet," he said firmly. "What do you mean, Vachon?" she asked. Something in the way he said that made her nervous. He had already said more, explained more, than she had ever heard. And she had never heard him sound so determined. "I have to make sure she stays dead. Make sure *I* stay dead. Oh, Trace, I'm so tired. I'm not me anymore. The voices are still there. LaCroix helped, but ..." He dropped his eyes down. "I can't. Not anymore." ***** LaCroix stood behind his son. Nicholas kneeled over the body of the woman he loved. The older vampire began to feel panic and horror though their mental link. "I couldn't stop myself!" Nicholas cried. "I've taken too much." He may have, but it was not LaCroix's choice. It was Nicholas', and it was one he was going to have to make on his own. It was time for his son to learn responsibility. "There she lies at the brink, Nicholas. Her fate is in *your* hands," he pointed out. "Bring her across or let her die. You must decide." Nicholas did not answer for several moments, and LaCroix could feel his son bring his emotions under some control. "LaCroix, is it possible for a vampire to have faith?" Nicholas suddenly asked. "That's a strange question at this moment in time," LaCroix said, startled. "Have you ever had faith?" his son persisted. "In anything but yourself?" The voice in Vachon's blood had asked the same question of him. And it had also given him the answer: after his nearly two thousand years, the horrors that he had visited upon this earth made faith useless to him, no matter how attractive it might be. He paid for his sins without the balm of faith -- that was his punishment. "I've seen too much," he told his son, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. "Well then, maybe I haven't seen enough," Nicholas said softly. Damn this child! Why must he lust after the pain that mortality brought?! LaCroix had given his son everything -- he would give the ungrateful brat the moon if he could, and still he wanted disease and death. Hadn't Nicholas seen enough of *that*? "After nearly 800 years?" LaCroix snarled. "Nicholas, be done with her. Time heals all." He glanced out the window and saw the bare beginnings of the sunrise on the horizon. "We must move on. You cannot deny what you are." The younger vampire didn't reply, but after a few moments, he leaned down and kissed the near-dead Dr. Lambert. "I can't condemn her to this darkness," Nicholas whispered. "A wise decision," LaCroix replied. It was true. Natalie would never have been happy as a vampire, not like Tracy. It had been a difficult choice, and he was proud of his son. "We even have time for a burial, if you'd like," he added. Nicholas didn't answer, but stood and walked over to the fireplace. Picking up a shillelagh that LaCroix had bought for him nearly one hundred years ago, Nicholas turned to look at LaCroix. "She had faith in me, in what's beyond," his son said softly. "That we could have a life together. That this would be a beginning, not an end." He walked slowly back and knelt in front of LaCroix. "I have that faith, too." "Don't be foolish, Nicholas," LaCroix snapped. "Life is a gift, as sweet as the freshest peach, as precious as a gilded jewel. I have never been able to understand the logic of willfully surrendering such a treasure. What is there to gain? How dark can your existence be when compared to an eternal void? "Or do you have *faith* that there is something beyond? "What do you see from where you are? A bright light at the end of the tunnel? A ray of hope? A glimmer of something better? Or will it burn you like the morning sun? Are the sounds you hear the trumpeting of St. Peter's angels or the screams of Memnoch's tortured souls? You can't answer that, can you?" he mocked. "Because you will never know the answer until after the deed is done. And is your faith really that strong?" Nicholas was going to despise him now, for this. He could never forgive being mocked over the corpse of his beloved. But this was the only way LaCroix knew to get through his romantic notions. He might never win Nicholas back now. "And so," he continued, sadly, "In your eyes, I am the devil." "No," Nicholas replied, tears pooling in his eyes, "Not the devil, LaCroix." "What then?" LaCroix asked nervously. "You are my closest friend," Nicholas answered. Nicholas stood up and handed the shillelagh to LaCroix, then kneeled down again with his back to LaCroix and took Natalie's hand in his. LaCroix raised the shillelagh over his head. "Damn you, Nicholas!" he snarled and brought the heavy wooden stick around to smack his son in the temple. Nicholas flew into the couch next to him and crumpled to the floor. "If you wish to commit suicide, do it yourself!" LaCroix threw the shillelagh into the fire causing sparks to fly out and land on the rug. A few began to smolder as LaCroix pulled the younger vampire, stunned by the blow, to his feet. He dragged him across the room and pushed him up the stairs. "Pack!" he roared after him. "We are leaving!" Going back middle of the room, he knelt beside Dr. Lambert and listened closely. She was dead. No breathing, no pulse. "I apologize for Nicholas' behavior," he told the cooling corpse. "But it is better this way." He stood and yanked the shillelagh, now burning brightly, out of the fireplace. He turned as Nicholas stumbled down the stairs, a small black bag slung over his shoulder and a wooden box under the arm. As soon as he was at the bottom, LaCroix threw the burning brand under the stairs, instantly setting aflame the pots of oil paint stored there. LaCroix stalked over to his son and pulled him along as he sprang through the skylight. ***** Tracy whirled around at the sound of breaking glass. LaCroix stood at the edge of the skylight, holding Nick by the scruff of his neck like a bad puppy. The ancient vampire strode over to them, his face contorted in fury. "Tracy?" Nick said, startled. "What -- ?" "I did what you could not," LaCroix snarled. "How horrible! Oh, Trace, I'm sorry!" Nick said. Tracy just stared at Nick and felt her own anger rise. He had risked her life countless times by not telling her that he was a vampire. How dare he pity her now, when her life felt as if it were truly beginning. She made a fist and faster than she ever thought she could, she punched him in the face. "Tracy!" LaCroix roared. "Control yourself," he added, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "We have to leave now. I trust you have said your goodbyes?" Tracy turned to Vachon and tried to think of what to say. She was sad to leave him again, but ... at the same time, her life had just become so exciting that she, in a way, didn't need him anymore. Had she ever really been in love with him? Or had it just been the excitement and danger that he represented? She didn't know. In any case, he had been her friend, and she had mourned him already. She didn't want him to die, really, but she knew now that it wasn't her decision, either. "How?" she just asked him, holding out her hand to help him up. He smiled a small smile and took her hand, hauling himself to his feet. "I'll follow my maker into the sun." He nodded to the eastern sky and stood. "It won't be long now. Goodbye, Tracy." Then he turned his back and walked to the edge of the roof, facing east. "Goodbye, Javier," she whispered. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to face LaCroix and Nick. Nick was sullenly staring at the ground and LaCroix's hand was clamped on his arm. Tracy suppressed a smile; they definitely *looked* like father and son. It seemed she had just gone from one dysfunctional family to another. "Shall we?" she asked. ***** LaCroix sat alone at the back of the plane as it taxied to the runway. The sun was just peeking over the horizon now, but still he left the window unshuttered. The sun hit the wall across from him, leaving him a small strip of darkness in which to sit. The Spaniard and Urs would be in flames by now, if not from the rising of the sun, then from the burning of the loft. An intense heat had been rising from the shattered skylight when they had left. The body of Dr. Lambert would be burned beyond determining the cause of death, and he would have assured Nicholas' safety once more. His son sat as far from him as was possible in the small jet. He was brooding right now and would be sullen for weeks. But, then he would get over it. It would begin slowly, maybe with a smile at a pretty girl on the street. Then he would make an unguarded statement about the past, a memory not filled with bitterness. Soon after, he would only remember these last six years in his darkest moments, when, like all of their kind, he yearned for the power to change his fate. Time would heal him, and Nicholas had an eternity to learn that. Tracy, only hours in the family, sat between Nicholas and LaCroix, in a tempering position. He could tell it was a position she knew well, the one who kept apart the warring factions, the one who sued for peace. She seemed content with her new existence, but the reality of it likely hadn't yet sunk in. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep. As he watched her across the plane, she opened her eyes and turned to look at him. After a moment, she smiled. Yes, it was going to work this time. He was convinced. As the plane began to leave the ground, LaCroix reached over and closed the shade. Sitting in the darkness, he smiled. The night, his family -- that was all he needed. ***** The End