Here it is, #6 in the Dance Series.  The earlier stories can
be found at Mel's fanfic site, www.fkfanfic.com, Cousin
Mary's Tracy Pages, at
www.geocities.com/Area51/Hollow/1228/Nick.htm and my
webpage, www.angelfire.com/wi/CourageKnight.

I would especially like to thank my beta-readers.  Laurie,
your helpful comments and suggestions were invaluable to
getting this story ready to post.  Also, I'd like to thank
LthePoet, a med student, who was able to help me with some
thoughts on vampire biology <g>.

I don't own the characters.

Permission granted to archive at Mel's fanfic site, Jadfe,
and Cousin Mary's.  Others please inquire.



Dance of the Hours
By Lorelei Sieja




Tracy jumped as Nick slammed his fist against the computer
monitor.  He must have pulled the punch somewhat, as she
didn't see any shards of glass and plastic fling out.  "Take
it easy, Knight," she admonished him.

He swore.  "I've seen more sophisticated hardware in an
all-night gas station.  Keeps locking up," he continued to
grumble.

Tracy got up from her desk and went over to him, looking
over his shoulder.  The "your computer has just performed an
illegal action" error message stared back at them, mocking
the two law-enforcement officers.  "Too bad Larry Merlin
doesn't make mortal calls," she whispered.

Nick didn't smile.  In fact, she hadn't seen him smile
almost since Christmas.  It had been a wonderful party...
LaCroix really seemed to like his gift, Natalie had enjoyed
herself, Nick and Urs were again settled into the loft, and
life was just about perfect.  So, why was her vampire
brother brooding?

"Lighten up, bro," she said easily.  "What was it you were
looking for?  Maybe I can run it by on mine.  Some of your
files must be corrupted, you'll probably have to reload
them."

"There's a bunch of sites dedicated to reuniting lost pets
with their owners," he said, the irritation not quite as
pronounced.  "I thought maybe I could find Mrs. Whitcomb's
Pekinese."

Tracy laughed.  "Not a bad idea, Knight.  Although, I don't
know if I should help you."  Janice Whitcomb, the
forty-year-old wife found dead in her apartment, had been a
difficult case.  So far they had nothing to go on, no
motive, no suspects, no clues, except her dog was gone.  It
was just as frustrating as the murder of the high school
boy, Jason Wilton, on top of which Nick had volunteered to
help an Amish woman find her missing husband, whom he now
believed to be dead.

He gave her the clueless look.

"Well, to reunite that dog with its owner, you'll have to
kill it once you find it."

"Sick, Tracy.  Very sick."

She just laughed.  Her sense of humor had grown a little
dark lately.  But she had coaxed a slight half-smile from
him.  She flounced back in her chair and asked him for the
address to bring it up on her screen.

Reese had been at the water cooler, slapping the glass
tank.  He tossed the paper cup in the trash with a growl.
"Knight!  Do you still work for me!"

Nick glared at his captain.  He didn't need this tonight.
It was a disgrace that one could never rest on his
laurels... all the past successes he'd ever had were as
nothing, since he had not closed a case in weeks.  Although
he had one of the best success records in the precinct,
maybe in the entire force....  Angrily, he gave a curt nod,
since Reese seemed to be waiting for it.

"Then kindly tell me why you are looking for lost dogs and
Amish husbands!  You work homicide!"  The captain loomed
over Nick's desk, radiating his irritation like a star about
to go nova.  The other officers in the bullpen shrank from
his onslaught, uttering prayers of thanksgiving that they
were not the target.

"The dog is related to the Whitcomb case, captain.  It is a
lead.  I've got nothing else to go on right now.  And Joseph
Schloss is a homicide case.  You must know that!"  Nick did
not flinch under his captain's tirade.  He spoke with at
least as much fervor.

"Drop the dog!  If you don't have any other leads, then go
over the case again.  Find one!  Have you talked with her
little brothers?"

Tracy interrupted, hoping to diffuse the situation.  She
sensed Nick was not entirely in control at the moment.  "She
has brothers?  It isn't in the report."

Reese grew more voluble.  "It would have been, if my
officers had been tracking down leads instead of dogs!  And
Schloss isn't a homicide case until there is a body.  It is
missing persons!  Now unless you want to be reassigned, I
suggest you get to work!  The work the city pays you to
do!"  At that the captain stormed into his office and
slammed the door.

Nick bolted from his chair to leave the bullpen.  "Nick?"
Tracy called after him.  She grabbed his coat and hers,
before running to catch him.  "Nick?  Where are we going?"

He yanked open the car door.  The old metal groaned at the
abuse, and Nick regretted his lack of control.  He closed
his amber eyes and counted, forcing his lungs to inhale and
exhale calmly, an action that was no longer really
involuntary.  When he opened his eyes, they were once again
the deep, mutable blue.  He caught the short, leather jacket
Tracy tossed to him and put it on.

"Let's go interview Mr. Whitcomb personally," Nick said.

Tracy shrugged.  "Okay."  She climbed in the passenger side
of the caddy and closed the door.  "I don't want to sound
like Reese, but, why haven't we done this before?"

Nick sighed.  He wasn't really angry with Tracy.  As his
partner, and as his sister, she deserved to be treated
better.  "He's in rehab, Tracy.  The facility is a
Christian, non-profit, privately run place for alcohol and
drug rehabilitation.  I've called him over the phone, but I
am really not looking forward to this."

Tracy nodded.  She had noticed that some things frightened
her now that she'd never paid attention to in the past.
Some crosses actually hurt, but some didn't give her any
sense of pain at all.  She found her undead heart would beat
hard when she walked past a church.  She was also strangely
drawn towards cemeteries.  They seemed to be almost charged
with a power she could not define.  They were the ground
where holy and unholy were unleashed in confused array,
vying for the soul.

Nick had explained that holy and sacred things could hurt
them, even destroy them, but holy things that had been
desecrated were no longer hurtful.  Vampires generally
avoided all crosses, rather than endure the pain of
discernment.

"Maybe, you need to recharge your battery before we go?"

Nick shrugged.  It couldn't hurt.  But he stopped at the
loft instead of the Raven.  Tracy wasn't sure what was
brewing between him and LaCroix, but she didn't like it.

The loft was empty.  Urs worked part-time at the Raven,
sometimes singing, sometimes waitressing.  Nick didn't know
what else she did with her time.  He hadn't asked, and she
hadn't volunteered the information.  He took out two bottles
and passed one to Tracy.  Silently, they both drank straight
from the bottle.  Nick put the empty on the table and turned
to go.  Tracy lingered a few moments.  Everything looked
fine.  Nick's loft had always been dark and gothic looking.
Maybe Urs could brighten it up a bit, if he'd let her.

"Shall we go," Nick snapped, in a tone that was more a
command than a question.

Tracy shrugged and followed him into the lift.

DotH 02


"Father's House" was situated on the edge of the city at the
top of a hill.  A huge cross made out of Christmas lights
was mounted on the rooftop- visible from quite a distance.
Nick glared at the road, keeping his eyes lowered from the
sign of light.

The drive was a narrow black top pavement that snaked
steadily up the incline, twisting sharply back along itself
so the uphill angle wasn't too steep.  The pavement was
still partially snow-covered and the caddy's tires spun on
patches of ice.  Finally, they arrived at the summit.

The parking lot wasn't very large for the size of the
facility.  Tracy counted only six vehicles present.

"The patients aren't allowed to have cars," Nick explained.
"They make a commitment to their own rehabilitation by
leaving their cars and their suitcases at home."

She nodded.  It made sense.  Her mother was an alcoholic.
She wondered what it would take to get her to come to a
place like this.  But then, that was her mortal mother.  She
probably wouldn't even see her again.  They had never been
close in the past.

Nick knocked on the front door and waited under the bright
porch light until someone answered.  He gave his name and
showed his badge before the door opened.  The thin desk
clerk looked wary as she stepped aside to let them enter.
She was clean and comfortably dressed, but her face was
devoid of any make-up.  Her mouse-brown hair was pulled back
in a barrette, adding severity to the cold lines of her
face.  Her hands shook a little as she spoke.  Tracy knew
then that she was one of the patients.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, in a tone that was less
than enthusiastic.

"I would like to speak with Mr. Whitcomb," Nick explained.

She nodded then as she sighed softly.  No one was in
trouble.  Mr. Whitcomb's wife had been murdered a month ago,
and the entire house had prayed with him.  He almost gave
up, wanting his booze again.  It had taken a lot of prayers
and constant supervision to help him to deal with his
grief.  "I hope you get the bastard that killed her," the
clerk said fiercely.

Tracy looked surprised.  "We always do our best," she said.
"But what makes you say that?  They were separated for over
a year."

The clerk's chin thrust up as if defying Tracy to disagree
with her.  "Janice left because of the booze.  She said that
if he ever got treatment, she'd be back.  They loved each
other."

The clerk then flipped a switch behind her desk.  "Judd, are
you there?"

"No," came a deep-voiced reply.  "I think he's in the
chapel.  Need me to get him for you?"

"No thanks," the clerk answered.  "We'll get him
ourselves."  Then turning to the officers, she explained.
"That was his room mate.  I can't leave the desk.  But the
chapel is down that hall, last door on the end."

Nick nodded gruffly.  Already his palms felt sweaty.
Sometimes this job was the pits.

Tracy walked beside him down the wide, well-lit hallway with
glossy floors, her shoes making clicking sounds as they
went.  Nick's shoes were silent.  Her taste in clothes was
slowly changing, now that she was undead.  Silent,
rubber-soled shoes that would allow her to sneak up on her
prey were next on her list.

Nick pushed open the door of the chapel, pulling Tracy
behind him protectively.  "Judd Whitcomb?" he called.

There was a single figure in the chapel, kneeling in one of
the pews.  He was deep in thought and made no sign of having
heard them.  "Wait here," Nick bossed.  He gritted his teeth
and entered.

Tracy waited at the door, but peeked inside curiously.  The
walls were a bright blue, the pews glossy white.  There was
a simple wooden cross at the front, but the chapel was
missing many of the sacred signs and symbols found in most
churches.  It was almost Spartan by comparison.  Still, she
felt a sense of fear that convinced her this house of
rehabilitation had a greater power behind it.

Nick neared the lone figure and knelt down beside him.
Nick's shoulders were hunched as though from great pain and
his head was bowed.  Tracy could hear his whispered words
clearly, even hear the fear behind them, which most mortals
might have missed.  "Judd Whitcomb?  May we have a moment of
your time?"

The man looked up then, as though just noticing that he was
not alone.  "Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Knight.  We've spoken over the phone a few
times."

Judd nodded then and rose.  His motions were slow and
painful, although he was not more than forty.  Nick hurried
from the chapel and introduced Tracy when they were in the
hallway.  Judd shook her hand.  "We can talk in the lounge.
It shouldn't be busy this time of night."

He led them into a comfortable living room, complete with
several couches, a fireplace, piano, books, and lots of
lamps.  Everything in the rehab center that they'd seen so
far seemed to be brightly lit.  Judd almost fell into a
chair.  He rubbed swollen fingers through his thinning
hair.  "I guess I was sort of expecting you to come.  I'm
glad you waited for a while, as I was in no shape to talk to
anyone, but I sure hope you get the bastard..."

Nick assured him that they were working on it.  "I know we
talked on the phone, but I want to go over a few things, to
make certain we have the facts right.  You and your wife
were separated."

He nodded and a small groan passed threw his lips.  "For one
year, two months, and a few days...."

"Her apartment looked barren, though.  There was almost no
food in the cupboards.  Was she planning on moving soon?"

"Yes, she was," Judd answered.  "She started to move back
into our house, just as soon as I came here.  When she left,
she told me she still loved me, but she wouldn't come back
unless I tried to get help.  Then, when I moved here, she
didn't need to keep paying for the apartment, while our
house sat empty.  She don't make that much you know."

They had learned that Janice Whitcomb worked at a small,
used bookstore.  They had already checked out the store,
questioned the owners and some of the customers.  It hadn't
brought any leads.

Judd wiped several tears from his hazel eyes.  He still was
grieving but was over the shock.  He was much more coherent
tonight than he'd been over the phone.

"What can you tell us about her dog," Nick pressed.

Judd shrugged.  "Not much, I'm afraid.  We didn't own one.
She told me she was going to get a dog when she moved out.
She was uncomfortable living alone.  Guess the dog gave her
some company and protection."

"I can't imagine a Pekinese being much protection," Tracy
said.

Judd merely shrugged.  "Is that what she got?  I never
knew.  Guess a little dog can bite as well as a big one.
She named it "Gypsy"."  Judd fell silent for a few moments,
staring off into the dark outside the window.  "Guess that's
how she felt.  A bit like a gypsy, living out of suitcase.
Dear God, I miss her!  When you find her dog, I want it
back. I'll take care of it, like I should have been taking
care of Janice!"

He broke down then and sobbed.  Tracy handed him a box of
tissues and gave some comforting phrases.  Nick just
scowled.

"So you don't know what kind of dog she owned, or where the
dog would be."

Judd shook his head, struggling for control.  "Sorry,
Detective."

"Did she have any family?  Captain said something about her
brothers, but the records state she was an only child,"
Tracy said, when Nick made no further comment.

Judd blew his nose loudly.  "She considered her last foster
home her real family.  She still keeps in touch with them."

"Can you give names and addresses?"

Judd shook his head and rubbed at his temples.  "I just
can't think any more.  One maybe.  Jimmy, ... uh, Asanto I
think."  He gave them a street name, but he couldn't
remember the exact address.  "Jimmy was good with
computers," Judd volunteered.  "I think that's what he does
for a living."

"Thanks," Nick said, standing to leave.  "You'll call us if
you remember anything else?"

Judd nodded and shook their out-stretched hands.  "I mean
that about the dog.  When you find Gypsy, I'll take her.  I
already spoke to the boss about it, and he'll let me have
the dog here.  One of the perks for not being
government-funded."

"We'll do that," Tracy promised.


end, part 2.

DotH 03

Nick instructed Tracy to page through the phone book for
Asanto.  She tried several spellings and found one J.
Assanto living on the right street.  Nick turned the car
around and drove there.

"This looks familiar," Tracy said, as he slowed and parked.

"Tracy, sooner or later everything in Toronto will look
familiar."

"Look!  Isn't that West Side High," she said, pointing to a
brick building at the end of the street.

Nick walked around to the curb.  "Are you coming?" he
asked.  She followed him towards a ranch-style brick home.
Snow piled in the yard in odd shapes, and a long,
low-sloping ramp lead to a wide front door.  Tracy rang the
bell.

A man's voice came through an intercom system inquiring who
was there.  Nick introduced himself and his partner.

"What's this about?" the voice asked.

"We'd like to come inside and speak with you about Janice
Whitcomb."

The door opened slowly.  Nick entered first.  The polite
custom of letting the woman go first was too recent for it
to be second-nature for Nick, and in police matters he liked
to be in the frontline.  Tracy stepped inside and closed the
door behind her.  Jimmy Assanto stared at them from
almond-shaped eyes, his straight black hair hung loose
around his face.  Although his features were Asian, his
complexion was very dark.  He looked to be in his
mid-thirties.  He turned his wheelchair around; his
shoulders looked almost too broad and muscular for the
small, twisted body.  He gestured to a couch.  "Won't you
please sit down," he said.  His voice was surprisingly deep.

"Please accept my condolences on your recent loss," Nick
said.  The words sounded trite after all the times he'd had
to utter them in this line of work, and yet he continued to
use them for lack of anything better to say.

Jimmy's dark eyes were solemn.  "Janice was the sweetest
lady.  I just can't believe she's gone.  I mean, a freak
accident would make more sense than...than... murder."

"So you and your sister were close?" Tracy asked.

Jimmy shrugged.  "She was a few years older.  I'd like to
think I was special to her, but truth is, she made everyone
feel that way.  It was her gift."

Nick and Tracy continued to field questions for half an
hour.  Jimmy seemed open and cooperative.  He didn't think
she had any enemies, and he didn't have clue why this had
happened.

"We'd like to speak with the rest of her siblings.  Can you
give a list of names and addresses?"

For just an instant, Nick thought he saw hesitation on
Jimmy's face.  Then the look passed.  The man wheeled around
and went into another room.  "Just a moment," he called,
"And I'll print that off for you."

Nick rose and peered into the other room.  It was a home
office stuffed with almost as much computer equipment as
Larry Merlin's place.  Two sheets of paper came through the
printer quickly.  Jimmy handed them to Nick.  Tracy peeked
over his shoulder at the names.

"Jimmy, there's got to be forty names here," she said with
surprise.

He nodded.  "Yes.  The MacPetes adopted some; the rest were
foster kids.  But it didn't make any difference to them.  We
all called them Mom and Dad.  They were wonderful people."

"What happened to them?"

"They died last year," Jimmy said, his voice suddenly soft.
"Car accident."

"Thank you," Nick said, bringing the discussion to a close.
His stomach had twisted as he heard more about Janice
Whitcomb.  She hadn't been beautiful or intelligent or
talented, but she had a gift of compassion and made
life-long friends everywhere she went.  It was appalling
that such tragedy had come to this family.

The list held thirty-seven names and all of them lived in or
near Toronto.  They saw five of them that night.  Three were
multi-ethnic and disabled.  Two were birth-brothers. Four
worked in computer-related fields.  When the fifth one, a
grade school music teacher, also had a large computer in his
living room, Tracy said something.

The teacher just laughed.  "We can all thank Jimmy for
that!  You see, he was doing poorly in school.  Dad knew he
was smart, and challenged him, if he brought his grades up
to a B or better, he'd buy him a computer.  Jimmy made all
As that term.  And Dad was so proud, that instead of buying
just some little second-hand computer toy, he got him the
biggest, best machine money could buy.  Jimmy took it like a
fish to water.  It was something that he could excel at,
that didn't depend on muscular coordination.  And he taught
the rest of us.  We all spent time playing computer games
with him, and we used to challenge each other with writing
our own programs.  Jimmy opened a home-based computer
business before he even finished high school.  Last year he
grossed four times what I earn.  He's good.  And I think
Jeep's going to take right after him."

"Jeep?"  Tracy and Nick asked in tandem.

"Yeah.  The baby.  His name is really Jimmy, too, but we
nicknamed him Jeep his first day, because we couldn't have
two Jimmies."

"Do you know how we can get in touch with him?"

The teacher hesitated.  "You've talked with Jimmy already?"

When Tracy nodded, the teacher became hesitant.  "I really
don't know, " he hedged, doing a terrible job of lying.
"He's only 17, and after Mom and Dad died, he became part of
the system again.  I know Jimmy tried to adopt him, but some
authority felt that Jeep was better off in a group home than
with a disabled, single-parent, Afro-Asian-Native American.
We all tried to adopt him.  I don't know where he is right
now."

It was getting too late to interview any more family members
that night.  Nick wasn't sure if they were learning anything
useful or not.  Now they knew she had a large, loving,
supportive family.  But nothing connected her to anything
even slightly dishonest or dangerous.  They were getting
nowhere.



Reese grunted and popped some aspirin, washing them down
with a soda from the machine.  His head was hurting.  It had
been throbbing off and on for going on three weeks now,
maybe four.  Eventually he might have to break down and see
a doctor about it.  He felt no other symptoms, no aches like
a flu coming on, just this damned pressure, like his
eyeballs were getting too big and were about to burst.  And
he'd been taking it out on Nick again.

What really ticked, was that it wasn't Nick he was mad at.
Oh, he wished Nick would get a few cases closed and press
charges against his old man, but that wasn't enough to
justify the seething turmoil that was threatening to give
him an ulcer.  No, that belonged to Mr. LaCroix.

His gut told him Lucien LaCroix was more than he appeared to
be.  His instinct had never failed him yet.  He stopped
investigating LaCroix when he'd learned the man was Nick's
father, but recent events had made him start again.  The
arson investigation of LaCroix's bar, for one.  The way he
treated Nick, and his unnatural relationship with Tracy, and
now he was courting the coroner.  Three of Reese's favorite
people!  And he distrusted that man intensely.  He cared for
them too much not to look into LaCroix, but the subversive
situation was eating away at him.  If Nick ever found out,
would he forgive him?

So far his investigation hadn't turned up much except
LaCroix's net worth.  The man was rich.  Filthy rich.  He
was rolling in dough, and Reese suspected some of it was
ill-gotten gains.  Had Nick grown up rich?  Did Nick know
his father was a crook?  Is that why he'd kept their
relationship secret?  It just didn't make sense.

Sometimes Nick seemed like a rich kid, but sometimes not.
He walked like a prince and had a certain arrogance about
him, defying orders whenever it suited him...  but he had
such a sensitivity for the homeless, as though he knew
personally what it was like to live on the streets, a
creature of the dark, hunting for any morsel of food.  Nick
spoke their language.  In fact, Nick seemed to speak a lot
of languages.  Including Latin and Chinese.  And another
one... but he couldn't remember what it was.  The pain in
his head got suddenly sharper and Reese blinked back tears.
Damn.  Maybe Denise had better make that appointment after
all.

He flipped open the LaCroix file and looked at the rest of
the scant information he'd gathered so far.  LaCroix had
moved here four years ago, although Nick had been here for
two years already.  So the father had followed his son.
Last known address was Paris.  He could find no information
on LaCroix's parents, place of birth, siblings, or even a
wife.  Had Nick been brought up without a mother?  It used
to be that single men could not adopt children, especially
not little ones, and yet LaCroix had said that Nick did not
even remember his own parents.  So, he must have been
adopted at a very young age.  Why would a single, rich
gangster adopt a baby?

Reese felt something sick in his stomach.  Did LaCroix have
an unnatural relationship with little boys?  Immediately he
felt like throwing up.   No, he wouldn't think that.  Not
because he didn't believe LaCroix was that depraved, but
because he felt that Nick was reasonably well adjusted.
Maybe LaCroix was violent, intimidating, and even physically
abusive, but Nick still loved him.  And Nick was not easily
intimidated himself.

LaCroix's bar was another enigma. The man was rich.  Why
work?  Why run a business at all, unless it served some
purpose, like a front maybe, for an illegal operation? A way
of laundering money?  But so far the Raven seemed like what
it was.  A dark, gothic bar that attracted a few more of the
really weird ones than most, but otherwise, was rather
harmless.  In fact, it had fewer episodes of violence than
almost every bar in the city.  So, the bar owner kept things
pretty well under control.  Of course, there was that
headless corpse about six months ago.  The dead man had been
a two-bit grave robber and no connection between him and
LaCroix had ever been discovered.

That didn't necessarily mean that there was no connection,
however.  Reese had to do something.  He couldn't just keep
looking the other way.  His integrity as a cop was on the
line, but so was his department.  If the officers learned he
was investigating them privately, it could destroy their
trust in him.  Hell, it was a damned-if you do or don't
situation.  He placed the call to the private investigator
that he'd spoken with one week ago.

"Joe Reese," he said cryptically into the phone.  He heard
loud music in the background, nearly drowning out the
speaker.

"Yes, Joe, nothing so far.  I've got a short list of
contacts in the city, but there doesn't seem to be anything
strange about them, other than the fact they all work night
shift.  But then, since he works nights and sleeps days,
that shouldn't be too strange.  Although, I know other
people who work nights during the week, and they are up
during the day on weekends to be with their friends."

"I told you before, his son is allergic to sunlight," Reese
said.  "I don't think they ever go anywhere during the day.
From what I've heard, this allergy is very dangerous, even
life-threatening."

"Weird," the investigator mumbled.  Reese bristled at that.
Yeah, it was weird, but he'd gotten used to the idea, and
now he felt very protective of his detective.

"The girlfriend hasn't completely moved in," the other
said.  "She's here on weekends, but is staying at her place
during the week."

Reese felt awful.  This was so wrong, spying on his
friends.  "Just let me know if he does something illegal.  I
don't need to know his love life."

"You got it.  I'd better go, the battery's getting low," the
P.I. said, as he disconnected them.

Reese stared at the folder a moment longer.  "Mr. LaCroix...
you may have won round one, but I'm not going down for the
count yet."


end, part 3.


DotH 04

LaCroix smiled sardonically.  The plainly dressed mortal
trying conspicuously to remain anonymous stuck out like a
red flag, and now he was speaking to Nicholas's police
captain.  This was interesting.  LaCroix felt no threat from
the mortal.  It might even be amusing to toy with him for a
while.  But why had Reese hired him?

The Roman thought back over the past few months, recalling
each brief encounter he'd had with the rotund, capable
captain.  Reese had only just learned of his relationship to
Nicholas few months ago, and he hadn't been pleased.  It
would seem that Reese didn't like him.  His smile deepened.
The feeling was somewhat mutual, although LaCroix actually
disliked Reese less than most mortals.  The captain had his
share of fears and doubts, but he controled them masterfully
as he performed his duties, and he did seem genuinely
concerned for Nicholas.  For that alone, LaCroix respected
him.

This situation might be worth some amusement, but he would
have to be careful.  He could not let any real harm come to
Nicholas's playmates.  Perhaps tonight's broadcast could
intentionally mislead the investigator....



Tracy yawned as Nick drove towards the Raven, allowing her
fangs to descend.  It felt good, like it really gave her a
good stretch, and loosened up the tenseness that striving to
keep them concealed created.  Nick pulled a slim flask from
an inside pocket.

"Here, Baby.  This should help."

She took it, grinning at him widely.  "I'd rather have
you."

"No, you wouldn't.  I don't taste very good right now," he
grumbled.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

His tone of voice was firm, brooking no argument. Tracy
opened the flask and swallowed.  She offered it to him next
and he drained it without hesitation.  Something was wrong.
Maybe she'd give Natalie or Urs or both a call tonight.

Nick pulled up behind the Raven and waited for her to get
out.  He didn't even follow her inside, although he waited,
listening, as he heard her go up the stairs and let herself
in.  "Hello LaCroix," she called, as Nick pulled away from
the curb.

So what was wrong?  Nick wished he knew.  It was almost like
the boredom he'd felt back while investigating the R.H. Loh
murder, back when the vampire virtual reality game gave him
some excitement.  But now seemed worse.  And it wasn't
boredom, exactly.  He felt trapped.  He was suffocating.
Some unseen force had him surrounded, was pressing in on all
sides, and Nick was fighting it back with anger.  Nothing
made sense any more.

So, he'd go home and argue with Urs.  Later, if he pretended
to be asleep, he'd hear her cry, and the feeling of
suffocation would increase.  He'd apologize then, but the
anger wouldn't abate.  And it wasn't Urs.  He loved her.  He
didn't want her to go.  He didn't know why she was still
there, with how awful he'd been to her lately, but he only
knew that he was grateful every evening to wake and find her
presence still in the loft.

It wasn't Tracy, either.  He'd gotten over the initial
feelings of jealousy he'd experienced when LaCroix brought
her across.  He was a big boy now and could deal with it.
It wasn't Nat and it wasn't LaCroix either.  Nick knew in
his heart that he loved them all, and forgave them whatever
slights, real or imagined, and he was glad to have them in
his life.  So, what was it?  What was making him into this
ticking bomb of raw explosives?  Maybe he was losing his
mind.





Tracy bounded up the stairs two at a time.  She was sorry
Nick was going through a rough period, but she wasn't going
to let it drag her down, too.  Life right now couldn't be
better.  "Hello, LaCroix," she called out as she burst into
the apartment.

He smiled indulgently at her.  Although her enthusiasm could
be rather annoying, he had to admit that she certainly added
color to his quiet existence.

"Nick had to go into a chapel tonight," she said, as she
helped herself to dinner.  She always tried to share
something about their work with LaCroix, to let him in on
that part of their lives.  Nick never just talked with the
ancient.  She suspected LaCroix might be more tolerant of
Nick's "pastimes" if he was more informed.

"I thought he was going to melt right through the
floorboards for a while there, but he managed.  Then they
came out into the living room and we questioned the
widower.  Still don't know who popped his wife."

"I'm sure that you and Nicholas will solve the mystery,
given time," LaCroix said.  "I have asked Vachon to join us
for tonight's lesson."

Tracy whirled around to see her Spanish lover leaning in the
doorframe.  "Damn, I hate how you do that," she said.

Vachon grinned.  Tracy had learned how to sense vampires.
She could sense her master and Nick best, since they were
related, and she could tell when meeting a stranger if he
was mortal or immortal, but she still could not sense Vachon
except immediately after making love.  Vachon wasn't sure
how he did it either.  He assumed it was because, other than
his twin and a few surviving children, there just weren't
any other vampires from his bloodline.

Tracy finished her dinner and put the bottle in the sink.
"I'm ready.  What is it?"

"You have improved your landings sufficiently, that we may
now progress to basic hunting."

Tracy glanced from Vachon to LaCroix, her easy grin fading
with uncertainty.  She'd known that vampires hunted and
killed, but it was the scariest part of coming across.

LaCroix ignored her obvious discomfort.  These modern
fledglings had a lot of emotional baggage to unload.  "I
will go seek shelter somewhere within the city limits.  You
must hunt for me, using only our bond.  Vachon's purpose is
to stay with you, ensuring your safety.  He is not permitted
to assist you.  Is that clear?"

Tracy nodded.  Then she grinned as she realized that this
lesson would not be that frightening after all.  "Do I get
any help?  Can we strengthen our link first?"  She hugged
LaCroix, rubbing up against him intimately while a finger
caressed his throat.

LaCroix's mouth thinned into a firm line even as the dimple
in his cheek betrayed his amusement.  "There is no time for
that, Tracy.  We do not have long before sunrise.  Have
another drink, and then you may begin."

Before long Tracy and Vachon flew up through the skylight
and out over the city.  A low fog blanketed the land below,
amber dots of the streetlights illumining it at intervals.
It looked deceptively soft, like a quilt spread out just for
them.  Tracy knew how dangerous flying could be.  Her first
one hundred landings had dumped her into the icy waters of
the lake before she'd mastered the process.  Now, it was
like second nature.  She couldn't remember not knowing how
to fly.

"Tracy, pay attention," Vachon chided softly.

She laughed.  "Are you hinting that I'm headed in the wrong
direction, Javier?"

He just whistled, not answering.  Tracy closed her eyes
briefly and tried to sense LaCroix.  It was hard.  For long
moments she sensed nothing.  Then she felt fierce rage that
surprised her.  Vachon caught her hand as she dropped
altitude.

"There's the loft," she muttered.  "It must be Nick I'm
sensing."

Vachon nodded.  "But it would be just like LaCroix to hide
near here, using Nick's bond with you to confuse you."

She agreed.  Trying to block out Nick's mood, she reached
out again for her master.  Then she felt him.  Within
moments she slipped inside Nick's garage to find her master
leaning comfortably against the caddy.

"Got you," she said, laughing.

"Not bad, my child.  But then, I wanted to ensure your
success.  We have time to try again."

"I'm ready."

At that moment the noise from the loft grew.  Something
smashed and Nick's voice was easily heard, if not the
words.  LaCroix merely raised an eyebrow.  "Do you know
anything about this?" he asked, including both of the
younger vampires in his question.

They shrugged.  "Beats me," Tracy answered.  "He's been
grouchy all week.  Post-holiday stress syndrome, maybe."

LaCroix nodded then.  He exited the garage and flew up, high
into the atmosphere, and made fast for his destination.
When mortals ran, they often tried to confuse their pursuers
by changing course and covering up their tracks.  But, the
trail Tracy followed was between her and LaCroix.  It was
always a straight line.  It would not lead her to the places
LaCroix had been, only to where he was now.  He had chosen
his destination hours ago, made the necessary reservations,
and warned Vachon that if Tracy didn't catch his trail
promptly, that he was to see her safely back to the Raven
well before dawn.

Tracy enjoyed the flying game of hide-and-seek.  Her reward
for a job well done was to spend the day in the executive
suite of the Lakeshore Motel with two of her favorite
vampires.

DotH 05

Natalie dumped her purse and coat on the couch as she
scooped Sydney into her arms.  It had been a long night and
without any relief.  Nick hadn't dropped in once; there'd
been no new calls, and no breaks on the existing
post-mortems.  Then, before she could even relax and enjoy
herself, she remembered the cat food.

"I'm so sorry, Sydney!" she apologized.  She'd have to go
out right away.  She glanced at her watch.  Her favorite
store for cat food wouldn't be open for another couple of
hours.  She'd have to pay the extra money for a can or two
at the convenience store, and stock up later.

"I'll hurry home," she promised.



That morning a crimson sun rose on the horizon, casting a
blood-red pall over the city.  Natalie slept through it, as
did the vampires of Toronto. Sydney awoke.  He hissed at the
sun, yowling his displeasure.  Then after feeding well, he
crawled onto his mistress's bed and took a nap.

The busses ran on schedule.  The day shift began, despite
the dire predictions of the weather forecasters.  But ten
o'clock brought the first snow flakes.  Big, wet sloppy
snow.  The skies darkened and the temperatures held just
below freezing.  All day the snow drifted silently to the
ground.  The wet blanket first covered the black-stained
slush of old snow.  The sidewalks were covered, then the
streets.  At two p.m. the schools closed and busses starting
transporting their small cargoes back towards the safety of
their homes.  By four more than eight inches had fallen.
Toronto snowplows were out in full force, spreading sand and
salt behind the newly plowed streets, but more wet snow fell
on top.  Then as evening turned towards night, the
temperature dropped.  The wet turned to ice.

Nick was quiet while he dressed for work.  He'd yelled at
Urs last night, and it had been about nothing at all.
Nothing that had anything to do with her, anyway.  He felt
horrible.  A rock-hard pain had settled in his stomach and
he felt faintly nauseated.  A long hot shower had done
nothing to ease his pain and guilt.  Nick couldn't even
feed.  When he went downstairs to apologize, Urs was not
there.  A small brief note said she was at the church.  Nick
slumped into a chair, cradling his head in his arms.

He didn't deserve her.  Maybe this was for the best.  She
should find someone nice, someone to love her... but the
pain in his stomach lurched at the thought.  Nick flew into
the bathroom and heaved.

It unnerved him even more, increasing his concern.  Vampires
were never sick.  He slid to the floor and leaned back
against the cold tile wall.  Breathing deeply, slowly, he
felt his stomach begin to heal itself.  The pain subsided a
little.  But he still didn't feel like he could feed. He
grabbed a bottle to tuck under the seat of the Caddy for
later, and finished preparing for work.

As he backed out of the garage, the Caddy's tires spun.
Nick stared, surprised, at the white world Toronto had
become.  "Guess I should listen to the news once in a
while," he said to himself.  Driving more cautiously, he
closed the garage door and headed in to work.  The Caddy had
much better traction now.  LaCroix had new snow tires put on
last month when he'd confiscated Nick's keys for a week.
Nick was suddenly grateful for that small gesture.

He drove past a fender-bender on the way to work.  Stopping
to give assistance, he called the police.  Neither party
wanted an ambulance, and the accident did not look that
severe.  Nick lit some flares to warn the on-coming traffic
and herded the parties involved to the sidewalk to wait.
When the uniformed officers showed up, he was able to
continue on his way.  Tracy called him, saying she'd just
meet him at work.  Vachon volunteered to fly with her.

"That's good, Baby.  Because I'm running late now," Nick
said.

He made it to work with no further complications.  If he
kept busy enough, he could forget his pain, so he plunged
into the reports with fervor.   The precinct seemed strange
tonight.  Almost a third of the force hadn't made it in to
work because of the roads.  Another third was out on the
roads, handling the many accidents and directing traffic.
To compound the dangers, heavy snow and ice had knocked out
several stoplights, causing more accidents.

"It's really bad out there," Tracy said as she plopped into
her chair.  Nick glanced up vaguely and shrugged.  "Good
thing you aren't out there, then," he answered as he turned
back to his work.

Tracy stared at him for a few minutes.  Now didn't seem like
the time for that chat.  He was doing some really productive
work.  She'd let him work off a few dozen favors before she
interrupted him.

Then a silence fell around the bullpen, so profound that
Tracy could hear every heart beat.  She glanced up, as Reese
came out of his office and headed straight towards her
partner.

"Nick," Reese said softly.

He looked up from the screen.

"I just got a call.  There's been a traffic accident at the
intersection of fifth and York.  Three cars, ambulances are
already on the way.  Nick, one of the cars is Natalie's."

Nick froze, that sick feeling in his stomach hitting him
worse than LaCroix ever could have.  He swallowed quickly
before he would heave blood on the computer.

"You just sit tight now and I'll have someone drive you to
the hospital."

"No!" Nick said fiercely, getting to his feet.  He dug his
keys from his pocket and tossed them at Tracy.  "You
drive!"  And he raced from the bullpen without a backward
glance.

Tracy grabbed Nick's coat and hurried after him.

She got to the parking lot just in time to see Nick lift
into the air.  She knew he would go straight to the
accident, which was probably best.  With the snow, the
ambulances might have difficulty getting there, and Nick
could give Natalie a direct flight to the hospital, if it
was needed.  Still, Tracy would have to drive the caddy
there, to give Nick some explanation.  She tossed his coat
on the seat beside her and drove as quickly as the weather
allowed.

Nick flew directly towards the intersection.  It looked
bad.  Two cars had collided when the streetlight failed, and
Natalie had been unable to avoid them.  One bystander was
assisting the most critically damaged car.  Nick flew into a
shadow then raced straight for Nat.  He tore the door off
and tossed it aside.

Her blood assaulted him.  His head swam and red blazed
before his eyes.  Her heart pulsed rapidly.  He tried to ask
her how she was, but his fangs had erupted.  Suddenly, the
hunger hit.  He hadn't fed well last night, and then the
stress of the argument, and heaving this afternoon when he'd
awakened, and now the fear for Natalie, all combined to
destroy his tentative control.  The vampire leaned back his
head and roared before going in for the kill.



LaCroix had remained in the motel after Tracy and Vachon
left.  Motel hours were dreadfully inconsiderate for
vampires.  Checkout was usually in the middle of the day, so
any stay usually meant reserving the room for two days.  He
had decided to remain behind and enjoy the private suite a
little longer.  He watched the snow-laden world from the
balcony for a time, as he sipped the last of the supplies
he'd had delivered.  Winter was his favorite season.

Suddenly he was struck with fear and rage.  LaCroix calmly
shut his eyes and tried to sense his son, since such
emotions were not uncommon coming from the young knight.
LaCroix was not disappointed.  Nicholas was definitely upset
about something.

Then he sensed his new lover.  She was not as clear to him,
since she was not yet related.  He could only sense her at
all because he had tasted her blood recently.  That tenuous
bond would fade over time, if it weren't continually fed.
Natalie was also terrified.  That alarmed him.  He leaped at
once into the air as he focused on her.

Natalie was afraid of Nicholas?  Nothing was making sense,
but he sensed the urgency of the moment.  His son was out of
control.  LaCroix saw the traffic accident, heard the
ambulances approach, and saw his son tear the door off Nat's
ruined car and toss it aside.  He heard the roar of the
vampire.  LaCroix flew into the midst instantly, without
regard for any mortals present.

"No, Nicholas!" he shouted, grabbing his son and striking
him in the face to get his attention.  Then he took him by
the arm and flung him aside.  He turned back to Natalie,
ignoring his son completely.

Nick was thrown across the street, slamming into the side of
a brick building.  He sat there, unmoving, as the vampire
receded and he saw how close he had come to killing.  Anger
and disgust overwhelmed him.  He rolled onto his side and
heaved again, staining the snow with his blood.

LaCroix knelt on the edge of her car and peered at the pale
woman inside.  "Natalie my dear, talk to me," he whispered,
trying to still his fear.

"I'm all right," she said through gritted teeth.  "I've
broken my leg, but its nothing life-threatening."

LaCroix felt a wave of relief that quickly turned to anger.
Nicholas had been about to bring her across, and she wasn't
even in danger?  Why?  To replace him as her master?  He
turned towards the heap his son made on the sidewalk,
considering a more thorough beating, but Natalie stopped
him.

"I'm really hurting, Lucien.  Since you're here... can you
help me?"

He looked at her then and noticed the tears on her face, the
cut on her forehead bleeding down on to her jacket, the
awkward angle of her leg, cut and bleeding from torn sheets
of metal.  She could have lost her leg.  She was very lucky
it was only broken.

LaCroix brushed a strand of hair from her face.  "Look at
me, dear," he whispered.  "You feel no pain."

At once the agony was ended.  Natalie smiled at him with
gratitude and desire.  "I don't understand," she whispered.
"Nick.  I was afraid.  I've never been afraid of him before,
what happened?"

"I don't know, my dear.  But I shall find out."

"Don't leave me now," she begged.  "Just stay with me?"

LaCroix nodded.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tracy
arrive.  She helped Nick to his feet and forced him to put
on a jacket.  Nick leaned on her as she helped him into the
car.  Good enough, LaCroix thought angrily.  He would be
having a little "chat" with him before dawn.

Finally the ambulance arrived.  One of the victims was quite
seriously injured and was taken first.  No one else was hurt
beyond a few bumps and bruises.  Natalie went in the second
ambulance, and LaCroix rode with her.  He held her hand all
through the ride, while the doctors set the bone, and while
a large temporary plaster splint was put on it, to
immobilize the bone but allow the bandages on the cuts to be
changed.    The splint stretched from her toes clear up to
mid-thigh.  Her forehead needed only one stitch and a
band-aide, and the doctor gave her a prescription for
painkillers.

"I guess you're numb now, from shock or cold, but eventually
you're going to hurt," he said.  "And I want to keep you
here overnight, just for observation."

Natalie hesitated.  She really just wanted to go to her
apartment and pretend that none of this had happened.  She
wanted to stay with Lucien.  He would not be able to stay
the day.

"It is probably for the best," LaCroix was saying, patting
her hand gently.  "I will stay with you until you fall
asleep."

She smiled wanly.  The process of being admitted was never
pleasant.  She was exhausted and starting to feel real pain
before she was finally in a hospital semi-private gown in a
semi-private room.  The other bed was empty, at least.  A
nurse brought her two codeine tablets, which Natalie willing
accepted.

LaCroix pulled up a chair and sat beside her.  She looked so
pale. Although her coloring would be permanently pale when
she joined him in unlife, this color was not the shade of a
healthy vampire, but a very wretched mortal.  She had come
close to dying tonight!  That freak accident could have
claimed her.  LaCroix felt a knife of ice cut into him.  And
Nicholas could have claimed her for himself.  He wasn't sure
where Nick and he would have their confrontation, but he was
glad that Natalie would be here, well out of it.

DotH 06


Reese sat in his office and worried.  The headache was
nothing compared to the anxiety he felt now.   Natalie was a
nice woman and damn good at what she did.  He hated to think
of her out on a night like this, injured and in pain.  Poor
Nick.  That man needed some serious time off.  There'd been
his grandma's death, and then Bunati had roughed him up
quite a bit a few months ago, then only weeks later his
father's place of business was destroyed by fire, and now
this.  How much stress could one man handle?  Maybe the
stress was getting to be too much for him.  Maybe that was
the cause of his current bad temper.

The phone rang and he grabbed it immediately before it
reminded him he had a headache.  "Yes," he said
distractedly.

"It's me," the P.I. said.  "I saw the accident.  I called
the ambulance.  I couldn't just drive away, but I don't
think she saw me."

"Hold on and back up.  I'm not following you," Reese
snarled.  It wasn't the P.I.'s fault that Reese didn't like
him.  He was mostly mad at himself that he had felt
compelled to hire him.

"The old man wasn't doing anything interesting, so I was
trailing his lover," he said.  "I saw the accident.  Then, I
called for the ambulance, and one of the victims was pretty
mangled, so I stuck around."

Reese was beginning to understand.  "How is she," he
demanded.

"She's fine.  A broken leg it looks like.  But, Knight and
LaCroix both showed up before the ambulance.  I swear they
are like bloodhounds or something.  Anyway, Knight was going
to help her and his old man belted him, tossed him around a
little.  Then Knight left with that little blonde number he
works with."

The headache was back.  Reese popped two more aspirins,
mindless of when he'd taken the last ones.

"So did LaCroix see you," he asked.  If so, then this P.I.
would be fired.  He couldn't investigate once the subject
was on to him.

"No.  I was nobody, just a concerned citizen lending aid.
It was really confused there.  I didn't even give anyone my
name."

Reese shook his head.  It was sloppy police work, but it
worked to his advantage this time.  "Fine," he said, before
hanging up.  Then he stared at the inside of his eyelids
while he worried about what to do next.

He heard the commotion as Nick and Tracy entered.  Everyone
crowded around, asking about Natalie.  Reese leaned against
the door frame and watched.  Nick seemed angry, which was
familiar.  Tracy was fending off the crowd, almost
protectively, as she allowed Nick to slip away.  Reese
thought he walked a little stiffly.

"Nick," he called.  "Come inside."

Angry eyes glared at him.  For a moment he half expected his
detective to ignore him.  Then Nick slowly obeyed.  Reese
watched the almost predatory approach.  He closed the door
for privacy.

"Nat's going to be fine," Nick said, his voice low and
threatening.

"So I've heard.  I can't tell you how relieved I am."

Nick waited impatiently.  "Is there something else?"

Reese nodded, not sure how to go about it.  What was he
going to say?  Nick didn't look good.  Although melted snow
dampened his hair and shoes, he looked almost too warm.  He
must have got chilled.

"How are you doing, Nick?" he asked.

Nick glared at him.  "I've been following up on Whitcomb's
foster family.  I've spoken with some of the siblings, and
have addresses of more."

"I don't mean about work, Nick.  How are YOU doing?"

"I'll be fine," he snapped.  "I was worried.  Hell, we all
were."

Reese reached out a hand to pat him on the shoulder.  Nick
winced at the touch, before his angry façade returned to
cover up the pain that small contact had caused.

"That does it," Reese yelled.  "Either you file charges
against him, or I will!"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Nick, witnesses saw LaCroix hit you.  Now you're going to
see a doctor and you're going to press charges."

"I will do neither," he said firmly, trying to catch his
captain in a hypnotic stare.

"Don't look at me like that," Reese yelled.  "I've got a
splitting head ache, and that isn't helping."

Nick felt a tremble start up his spine.  He was ravenous and
still strangely nauseated.  The room seemed a little off
center.  Reese grabbed his arms and helped him into a
chair.  Nick sat down weakly.

"Nick, I want you to see a doctor."

"I will, captain.  But, I think I'd better go home.  I'll
call you tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure," Reese said, surprised Nick had caved in so
readily.  "Maybe Tracy should drive you?  You really do not
look good."

Nick nodded, wincing slightly.  Reese watched with sad eyes
as the detective stood and struggled just to walk, leaving
the precinct with firm, angry steps to keep up a façade in
front of the others.  Only the captain knew that it wasn't
real.  He glanced at his watch.  The night was still young.
He had hours to go before he could sit around a cup of
coffee with Denise and unload his worries on her.  He went
back in his office and shut the door.




"Where to, bro?" Tracy asked.

"The loft," Nick whispered hoarsely.

"Are you sure?  Maybe you'd better come to the Raven.  I
mean, he can help you."

"Sure.  Right before he kills me."

"What did you do this time?"  Tracy drove slowly, trying to
keep the car on the road and avoid catastrophe.

"This time I deserve it," Nick said miserably.  "I don't
know what happened.  I lost control and I almost killed
her."

"Natalie?"

He nodded.

"You mean, you were that worried about her, that you were
going to bring her across?"

"No."  Nick's voice dropped to a whisper.  "I mean, I was
going to feed from her.  I would have killed her if he had
not arrived."

Tears flowed down his face unchecked.

"Gosh, Nick.  You've really been uptight lately.  I don't
know what's wrong, but you really need to talk to someone."

She pulled the caddy into the garage and turned off the
engine.  Nick just sat numbly.  She opened his door and
helped him to his feet, then helped him into the lift and
onto the couch.  He gave her no resistance and very little
help.  Tracy got a blanket from the closet and covered him.
Normally, vampires wouldn't feel the cold, but he looked so
miserable.  Was it the fever?  Could it have come back, a
new, resistant strain?  Tracy touched Nick's forehead and
her hand came sticky.

"Nick?  Can I get you something?"

"No.  Thanks.  Good night, Tracy," Nick said.  Already his
eyes were closed.

She kissed his cheek before she left.  Now what?  Reese
would expect her to return to work, but LaCroix still did
not want her to be alone.  She wouldn't get Nick into more
trouble.  She pulled out her cellphone and called Vachon.
He was perfectly willing to escort her to the Raven where
they both waited for LaCroix.







LaCroix sat impatiently while nurses took her blood
pressure, checked the dilation of her eyes, her temperature,
and pestered her endlessly. LaCroix's expression was solemn;
his eyes betrayed his concern.

Natalie patted his hand to console him.  "Don't fret,
Lucien.  This is our way, unfortunately."

Then the codeine started to kick in and Natalie's eyelids
grew heavy.


"Is there anything else I can for you do before I go?"

Nat smiled.  Actually, there were probably a lot of things.
"Find some paper and a pencil and I'll think about it," she
said.

He pulled open a drawer where a Gideon Bible was hiding.  He
slammed it shut and tried another one.  A cheap pen and two
sheets of paper bearing the hospital's logo lay inside.  He
returned to his chair and waited expectantly.

"Number one," she began.  "I need you to talk to Nick.
Emphasis on the talk part.  I want your promise you won't
strike him."

"No," LaCroix firmly.  "He was out of line.  It is my right
and duty to put him in his place."

Natalie touched his cheek tenderly.  "Please, Lucien?  Not
tonight?  This wasn't like him at all.  You've got to talk
to him.  I won't rest a moment if I'm worried about you
both."

LaCroix grudgingly gave his assent.  "I will not hurt him
tonight," he stated.  He would keep tomorrow open.

"Next, someone can call Grace.  She'll be able to take me
home tomorrow when I'm discharged.   And I still need cat
food."

"Cat food!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, cat food.  I was on my way to Bargain Barn to get a
case of it before the accident.  It's much cheaper there,
when they have any, and so I stock up.  Send Nick to get it
for me as part of his penance, if you like."

LaCroix nodded.  She had only a few more directions, before
her eyes became unfocused and her speech no longer entirely
coherent.  LaCroix eased her back onto her pillow and pulled
the thin hospital blanket up under her chin.  "Good day,
Natalie," he whispered as he brushed a kiss across her
forehead.

It was time to find his son.

DotH 07

LaCroix folded the note and put it in his pocket.  Taking to
the sky he soared out over the silent city.  Night was only
half over, yet he felt strangely tired.  Reaching out to
sense his children, he was surprised that neither of them
seemed to be at work.  Tracy was with Vachon, and Nicholas
waited for him in the loft.  That was good.  He chaffed at
the promise he'd made Natalie.  She was too good to
Nicholas.

LaCroix flew in through the skylight and landed by the couch
with his arms folded across his chest.  He glared at his son
sternly.

Nicholas didn't even move.  He didn't look up, or beg for
mercy, or even for a fight.  He just lay there.

"Stand and face me, Nicholas," LaCroix growled.

Nick lifted a limp arm and tried to toss the cover aside,
but it fell to his chest again.  LaCroix grabbed him by his
shirt and hauled him to his feet.  He hadn't hurt him...
yet, anyway.

"Master," Nick whispered.  Then he looked up at him with
grief-stricken eyes.  LaCroix felt the cold angry knot begin
to melt a fraction.  The
younger vampire was spineless in his arms.  LaCroix shook
him.

Nicholas said nothing.  LaCroix was disgusted.  He released
his grip ad stared, slightly horrified as Nicholas collapsed
on the floor.

"Stop this pathetic display at once," he demanded.  "Get up
and explain yourself."

Nick curled onto his side, clutching his stomach.  The pain
was worse.  He felt dry heaves shake him, but he'd had
nothing to feed for over a day.  There was nothing left to
lose.

LaCroix's alarm was growing.  A year ago he would have
declared that vampires were never ill, but the fever had
rocked the entire community.  Now he knew better.  It had
been cured, and very little else could hurt his kind.
Still, something was obviously very wrong.  LaCroix pulled
Nicholas into his arms and carried him upstairs.  With
centuries of practice, he removed his clothing to begin the
search for injuries.

Nicholas's shirt was torn and bloodstained from his crash
with the building.  He may have even broken a collarbone.
LaCroix touched the shoulder and gently probed.  Nick
flinched.  There were no other signs of trauma, however, and
certainly nothing to explain his weakness or his loss of
control.  There was nothing for it but the blood kiss.  It
would explain his behavior more than eloquently, even if it
did assault LaCroix with those unbridled emotions.  Here he
had wanted to beat the boy to within an inch of his unlife,
and instead he was going to share blood with him, and it was
all Natalie's fault.  The corner of his lip lifted as he
considered his bold lover.

LaCroix loosened the buttons of his collar and lay down
beside his son.  Nicholas curled into the crook of his arm
and wept.  "Forgive me, LaCroix.  I don't know what
happened.  It wasn't intentional, I swear!"

He put a hand behind Nicholas's head and brought him
closer.  "Feed, my son," he said.  He craned his neck,
exposing more of his throat.

Nicholas licked at the throat weakly.  When at last his
fangs penetrated, he sucked fiercely, like a starving
vampire, for several moments.  Only, before LaCroix could
complete the circle, Nick withdrew, flying into the
bathroom.  LaCroix heard the sounds of his weakness as he
heaved repeatedly.  Rising, he followed him.

"How long has this been going on," he demanded.

Nicholas pushed away from the toilet and tried to shrug.
His movements were weak.  Blood sweat dripped from his
forehead.  "Just a couple weeks, I think," he whispered.

"And you haven't been able to feed?"

Nicholas shook his head slowly.

LaCroix pulled him off the floor and carried him back to the
bed.  "Then you had no business going in to work, my son,"
he said firmly.  "When you are off your feed, you are too
dangerous.  Surely after eight centuries you've learned
something!"

"Is Natalie okay?" he whispered.

LaCroix settled the covers around him.  He went to the
kitchen and returned with several bottles of blood and a
knife.  "Natalie will be fine," he said. Taking the knife,
he slit first Nicholas's wrist and then his own, holding the
two wounds together.  He felt his son's body draw his
ancient blood away, thirsting for the fluid that would
heal.

"Which is more than I can say about you.  She made me
promise not to hurt you tonight."

Nick nodded weakly.

LaCroix resliced his wrist, feeding his son all that his
body would take.  He drank from two of the bottles himself
as he waited.  Then, pulling away, he licked at the wound on
his son's arm.  The wound was just beginning to close,
although LaCroix's had closed twice over.

He was struck by the sweetness of his son's unique fluid.
It always affected him thus.  His eyes closed, and for a few
moments he felt peaceful and warm.  He soared back over
eight centuries, to the dirty stable, and the tiny boy who
had prayed over him.  That same feeling of joy warmed his
undead heart.  Then LaCroix opened his eyes.  Nicholas was
older, sadder, and no longer blindly trusting.  But now as
he drifted to sleep, he wore the same look of innocence.

LaCroix savored the last taste of blood, drawing from it
what little he could.  The strong emotions were overpowering
and jumbled.  That Nicholas was distraught had been evident
even without blood, but just what was the cause remained a
mystery.  LaCroix grew concerned.  After placing a call to
the Raven, he crawled under the covers to spend the rest of
the night and the day with his son.





LaCroix did not sleep soundly.  He awoke repeatedly from the
turmoil of his son's nightmares.  Nicholas had not intended
to steal his lover from him, LaCroix knew now with
certainty.  For that he was greatly relieved.  A month ago
he had vowed that Natalie would not come between him and his
son, but now the ancient wondered if he could keep such a
vow.  Were his feelings for her the deep, eternal kind, that
he had for Nicholas?  Or was she merely a passing fancy?  He
was uncertain and that infuriated him.

He sensed his daughter Tracy as well.  She seemed to be
remarkably well adjusted.  Her coming across had him
concerned on a few occasions, and he was sure that there
would still be stormy seas ahead where that one sailed, but
he didn't worry about her.  Tracy had a buoyant resiliency
and an almost feline ability to consistently land on her
feet.  She was a pleasing addition to his growing family,
even if the Spaniard came with her.  Every family needed its
black sheep, a role that Vachon seemed willing to fill.

He sensed Janette as well.  That surprised him.  She had
been very distant this past year and her bond to the family
was now quite confusing. LaCroix had never heard of anything
like it in all his long unlife.  She had been his daughter
for nearly a thousand years.  Then, she discovered a path to
mortality, only to be denied a mortal's death by her brother
who had struggled for over a century to achieve just that.
Nicholas, unable to let her die, had brought her back
across.  So, who's child was she?  LaCroix's, or
Nicholas's?

Janette had been furious.  She grieved still for her mortal
lover and in a final act of defiance she fled from Toronto
entirely, refusing to acknowledge either of them as master.
And Nicholas suffered in silence.

Janette had always been very special to Nicholas.  She was
his one true love.  He was the forever-faithful kind, that
would never end a relationship except by death, and he was
unable to let even death take her from him.  LaCroix knew
that his son's feelings for the coroner had never come close
to what he had with Janette.  And the infatuation of his
youth, that Celtic princess, had been nothing more than
mortal hormones asserting themselves.

So where did Urs fit in all of this?  Why wasn't she here?
He'd known they'd had an argument last night, as surely any
mortal within a three-block radius had been able to
over-hear.  Perhaps later he should meet with young Urs.
She seemed the calm, levelheaded sort, and was exactly what
Nicholas needed in his life right now.  Perhaps he could
persuade her not to leave him.

When evening finally came LaCroix was short-tempered and
irritable.  He would have to work very hard to control his
temper.

Nick yawned and stretched, feeling surprisingly well
rested.  He could not remember when he'd had such a good
day's sleep.  As he reached out for the body beside him, he
was surprised to find LaCroix there instead of Urs.
Instantly awake, he flung back the covers and sat bolt
upright.

"What are you doing here!  What did you do to Urs?"

LaCroix hissed at his son, allowing the amber glow in his
eyes to convey his displeasure.  Nicholas didn't even flinch
but continued to glare at him.  "Think back, you insolent
cur!  Remember the snowfall, Natalie's accident, and how you
tried to kill her!  Watch your tone when you speak to me."

Nick's expressive face conveyed his emotions plainly.  The
memory returned, as did his guilt and anguish.  A blood
sweat dotted his brow instantly.  Tortured eyes sought his
master.  "How is she?"

"She will be fine, she says.  Moral bones take time to
heal.  She wants you to fetch a case of cat food from a
place she called Bargain Barn as an act of penance."

Nicholas nodded solemnly.  "And what about you?"

LaCroix did not understand.  "What about me," he snapped
angrily as he got out bed.  He pulled on his pants,
intending to shower before he finished dressing.

"What do you require from me," Nick whispered.

LaCroix felt a moment of power.  Nicholas knew he'd been
wrong and expected LaCroix to exact retribution.  His voice
dropped; his words came slow and pronounced.  It was the
voice that sent chills through the blood of mortals and
immortals alike.  "I demand instant and immediate
obedience!"  He slammed the bathroom door between them.

As the hot shower pelted him, he struggled to find the
advantage.  How could he use this current situation as a
learning experience for his obdurate child?  What did he
want from him?
Shortly, he joined Nicholas in the kitchen.  He noticed that
although his son was dressed for work and seemed much
improved, there was still a quiet desperation emanating from
him.  LaCroix scowled.  In the past his blood had always
healed.  What was wrong this time?

He poured a beverage for his son and passed it to him.  In
silence they drank.  Nicholas's hardest lesson had always
been obedience.  He even defied his mortal police captain
whenever it suited him.  LaCroix knew that as a boy it had
not been learned, his own father having mostly abandoned him
and his mortal mother never commanded him to do a thing. The
knights and peasants on his lands had obeyed him
completely.

Then he recalled what little he knew of Nicholas's servitude
to his uncle, after his father's "disappearance" and his
time as a squire and eventually a knight.  He had learned to
obey then, so LaCroix knew there was still hope.  He set his
glass down and turned to face his child.

"First, you will feed only on human or vampire blood.  No
more bovine product or protein shakes, until I give
permission."

His tone was frigid; there was no room for discussion.
Nicholas squared his shoulders and glared at him, but
LaCroix could see that the boy's resolve was fluctuating.
Finally, his chin lifted.  He gave a seemingly indifferent
shrug.

"You will come to me before you enter your mortal games
every day until I am assured that you are fully in control."

Nick felt his stomach churn.  He'd been working so hard to
avoid confrontation with his master for two months now, and
the angry resolve in the elder's voice was hurtful.  Why
couldn't they just talk, like adults?  Still, he had been
seeing LaCroix every day now since Tracy came across.  This
one would not be hard to keep.  Again he nodded.  His hands
trembled.  He drained the glass and set it down on the
table.  He sensed the worst was yet to come.  He swallowed
hard, forcing the blood down.

"When I say it is time to move on, we will leave
immediately.  It may be tomorrow, or next week, or in five
years, but when that time comes, you will obey at once!"

Nick's voice caught in his throat.  "But, I can't just up
and leave!  There are too many people here that count on
me.  There would be questions asked, no doubt a police
search-"

LaCroix cut him off.  "We leave at once.  How I chose to
cover our tracks is none of your concern.  All you need to
do is obey."

Nick shut his mouth.  He was too tired to fight today.
There was nothing he could say when LaCroix was in such a
mood.  The elder set his glass down too and stalked towards
him.  Nick felt himself take a step back, and then another,
until he backed up against the wall.  LaCroix placed a hand
on the wall on either side of him.  The ancient's eyes were
blood red, his fangs fully distended.  He hissed in Nick's
face.

"Do you understand!"

The sick feeling returned, spearing his gut, cleaving it in
two until blood pooled in his mouth.  He blinked back his
growing fear of the pain.  LaCroix had fed him last night...
whatever this was should have been healed.  He knew what the
enforcers did to the weak.  If he could no longer feed and
care for himself, he would be destroyed.  Nick must conceal
this from everyone.  Judging how angry his master was with
him right now, he must even conceal it from LaCroix.  He
clenched his teeth and tried to swallow, merely nodding his
assent.  He wasn't agreeing to leave, after all.  He just
admitted that he understood.

LaCroix didn't seem to notice the fine line.  He removed his
arms and stepped back.  Then in an eyeblink he flew through
the skylight and was gone.  Nick raced into the bathroom
where he emptied his stomach of his breakfast.


DotH 08


Reese sat at the dinner table with a cup of coffee while his
daughters cleared away the dishes.  He caught Denise's
attention.  School had been on two-hour delay this morning,
to allow the sun and road salt time to melt some of the ice,
and so he'd been unable to have a private chat with her
before going to sleep.  Denise poured herself a cup and
joined him.

They talked about trivial things, school activities,
neighbors, church events, until the door to the kitchen
closed and they could hear the girls arguing over whose turn
it was to load the dishwasher.  Then Denise shifted in her
chair more comfortably.

"So what is it, Joe," she prodded.

He rubbed at his headache.  Every time he thought about Nick
it came back.  He'd just realized that last night, so he
decided not to see a doctor yet.  First, he must deal with
Nick, and then if the headache persisted, there'd be time to
make the appointment later.

"It's about some one in my department," he began.  Denise
knew the drill.  He wouldn't mention any names, but she
could usually figure out whom he was discussing anyway.  So
she waited and listened for clues.  "He's a really good
cop.  I respect him, and I like him.  He's- I don't know how
to explain it- almost like one of my own.  I feel very
protective of him.  I feel that way towards lots of folks on
the force, but there's just something about him.  Anyway,
recently I met his father."

Now Denise knew.  The first clue had been that the officer
was a male.  That knocked out almost half the force.  The
next clue was that it was someone special.  She only knew of
a handful of officers that had really affected Reese that
way.  But knowledge of Nick's father was all the gossip.
Everyone in the precinct had been talking about Lucien
LaCroix being Nick's dad.  It was really incredible, in a
way.  She sipped her coffee to hide the knowing smile.

"The man is bad news.  I had a gut feeling about him ever
since we met.  I just knew he was up to something, but I
didn't do anything about it, because I didn't want to offend
this officer.  Only, the man is abusive.  He's knocked his
son around on several occasions.  The officer has come to
work with blood on his clothes, too weak to stand.  He
refuses to press charges.  And I learned that the father is
filthy rich.  So, I hired a private investigator."

"You did what!"  Denise almost slopped her coffee.  She was
very alarmed to hear about the father/son difficulties Nick
Knight faced.  She really liked him.  He was always politely
old-fashioned around her and the girls, and he had nothing
but respect for her husband.  "That's a little drastic,
don't you think?"

Reese shrugged his shoulders.  "The father is a thief and a
crook.  I just know it, Denise.  How can I turn my back on
that and remain on the police force?"

"You suspect he is a crook," she amended.

"My instincts have seldom been wrong before, Denise."

"But you must be thinking that if you can arrest the father,
then you will be protecting the son."

Reese glanced up in surprise.  Had he been thinking that?
Not consciously, maybe... but was it his motivation?

"All right, Joe.  Let's assume that you uncover something
about the father.  Something that you can have him arrested
for.  How are you going to explain that to your officer?  He
will know you've hired a P.I.  You will lose his respect and
his friendship.  Most likely, everyone else's too.  It could
even hurt your career."

"But what if I'm right?  What if the father is really
committing a crime?  How can I ignore that?"  His head was
pounding.  He's been running through variations of this
scenario for weeks now.  He was no closer to solving the
dilemma.

"Joe, if you discover through normal channels something
about the father, then you may act.  You can even tell the
son what you've learned before you file the report.  But
fire the investigator, Joe, before it is too late!"

Reese was silent.  He wanted to do as she suggested.  It
would be so nice to just ignore the problem.  "But what
about the son?"

"He's a big boy, hon.  He doesn't need another bossy,
overbearing father-figure making decisions for him.  He
needs a friend."

Reese smiled at her.  How had he been so lucky to find a
woman like that?  She was wise when he asked for counsel,
but she was supportive of his decisions when he acted on his
own.  And she was damn good-looking, too.  He set down his
cup and it was as if he'd put down a great weight.  He
picked up a phone and dialed the investigator immediately.
Case closed.



Nick wanted to swing by Nat's, but he was afraid to see her
yet.  He'd scared her pretty good last night.  He'd scared
himself.  Taking the coward's way, he lifted the phone and
dialed.

Nat sounded sleepy when she answered.  "Hello?"

"Nat, it's me.  Nick."  He closed his eyes, fighting down
the hollow ache.

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment.  He
wondered what she was thinking.  Was she furious?  Would she
forgive him?

"How are you, Nick?" she asked softly.

He shrugged, unsure how to put it in words.  "Worried about
you."

"Well, I'm going to be fine," she said.  She was angry with
him, but more than that she was worried.  She tried to
lighten the tense moment with chatter.  "It's just a break.
I'll be on crutches for two months, I'm afraid.  I'm not
going in to work for a day or two, not until I can manage
without the codeine.  But, I'll be fine.  Really."

Nick nodded.  It was such a relief just to hear her voice.

"Nick?  Can you come over?  I think we should talk."

He tasted blood again.  Only, it wasn't a sweet taste.  It
was old, cold, flat... it was his own.  "I can't," he
gasped.  "I've got to go.  But, later.  I'll bring your cat
food."

Natalie laughed then.  Her laugh was the same- a
light-hearted, lightly teasing tone that soothed him more
than anything could.  He blinked rapidly, trying to calm his
confusion.

"I want you to pick up a case of Kozy Kat cat food from
Bargain Barn.  It's down the corner from the accident. They
close shortly, so you'd better get going.  Okay?"

"Why does it matter?" he asked.  The twenty-four hour gas
station sold cat food.

"Sydney likes that brand best.  And Bargain Barn isn't like
most stores.  It doesn't carry a standard inventory.  It
buys truckloads of damaged goods, liquidation sales,
whatever, and sells things for just cents on the dollar.  I
always stock up there first, then buy what I need at the
supermarket."

 Nick consented.  It was a small price to pay for his
humiliation over his near attack on her last night.  "I'll
stop by before dawn.  But if you're asleep, I won't disturb
you."

"Nick.  We really need to talk."

"Later, Nat.  And for what it's worth.  I'm very sorry."
Then he hung up.  He'd better get Tracy first, then the cat
food, then hope he made it in to the precinct before Reese
got too ticked off with him.  He still hadn't figured out
how to handle the captain's growing interference into his
personal affairs.  If Reese didn't drop it, he might force
Nick to move on.  Would he be able to?  Before when LaCroix
had tried to make him go, he'd wanted Nick to leave
Natalie.  Would the ancient leave Nat behind, or take her
with them?  Tracy would go, as would Vachon and Urs.  Who
else was there?  Schanke was dead; his wife and daughter had
moved away.  Cohen was dead.  Reese and Stonetree were some
of the only other people he cared about, but would he grieve
for them when he left?  Not for long.


"Hi Nick," Tracy called as she slid into the caddy beside
him.  She eyed him suspiciously while he drove down Fifth,
even as she kept up a steady stream of conversation.  Nick
was getting annoyed.  "Tracy," he said.  "I'm fine.  You can
stop the Clara Barton routine."

"The who?"

He parked in the store's lot, then rolled his eyes at her.
"Clara Barton, founder of modern nursing.  Nice lady.  But
I'm fine."

"You mean LaCroix didn't-"

"No.  He didn't.  Not yet, anyway."  Nick slammed the door
behind him.  Tracy jumped out to follow him through the
store.

Bargain Barn wasn't half as awful as most stores.  They
didn't carry any deli items or hot, cooked foods, so the air
contained no noxious odors of garlic or onions or butter.
It was only loosely organized, though, and cases of tuna
were right next to toilet paper.  He grew more impatient as
they drifted through the aisles.  Finally, the Kozy Kat food
appeared at the end of an aisle.  Nick grabbed two cases and
turned towards the checkout.

"Nick?  Wait up.  Isn't this the kind of food Janice
Whitcomb had in her apartment," Tracy asked, holding up a
tiny can of fancy dog food.

Nick glanced at it.  "Yes.  Looks like it."

"So why to do you think she and Nat shop at the same store?
This isn't anywhere near her apartment."

Another customer coming up the aisle behind them answered
for Nick.  "Because this is the cheapest store in the city
to buy canned goods.  If you're lucky, and your pet doesn't
care what brand of food you give it, then you can really
save a bundle."

Nick nodded at the old woman absently. She took twenty of
the tiny cans of dog food and dumped them into her cart.

"That'll keep your pet happy for a while," Tracy said,
making polite conversation.

The old woman just laughed.  "Oh not really.  That will feed
Nelson for four days, tops."

Nick picked up one of the little cans and stared at her.
"Nelson?  He must have quite an appetite."

She dug in her pocket and pulled out a crinkled photo of an
enormous Saint Bernard.  "This is my Nelson.  I give him
four of these and seven cups of dry kibble every day.  Then
he gets a fifth can at night with his medication mixed in to
it."

Nick stared at Tracy with sudden insight.  "That's it!
Tracy!  It's not a Pekinese!  I'll bet the ranch it's a
Golden Retriever!"

Tracy grinned.  "Come on, partner.  Let's get out of here!"

The old woman shook her head at the nonsense of youth.

DotH 09

Nick glanced at his watch. The animal shelter was probably
closed, but he'd go and check anyway.  If the murderer stole
the dog, he wouldn't likely leave it with a vet.  If the dog
had run away and a stranger found it, it was still more
likely to turn up at the shelter.

"But what if someone just kept it," Tracy asked.

He shrugged.  "Then, we're out of luck."

The dog pound was down a gravel road with just the recycling
center across the way. A tall chain-link fence surrounded it
with barbed wire and no trespassing signs everywhere.

"Reese is not going to like this," Tracy said.

"He doesn't need to know," Nick pointed out.  "Come on,
now.  You like dogs."

"Little ones."

Nick laughed then.  He lifted effortlessly into the air and
landed just inside the fenced enclosure.  Tracy grudgingly
followed.

The dogs set up serious barking.  Some were eager to see a
friendly face; some were fiercely protecting their little
square of the world, while some were just being sociable.
Nick thought how very much like mortals they were.

The dogs all had a fenced run and a small door to get inside
out of the weather.  Nick walked slowly down the rows and
rows of dog runs, looking at the assorted mongrels.  There
were lots of little curly-haired dogs, and mid-sized dogs,
but only a few that were of any size.  And on the other side
was a beautiful golden retriever.  She sat regally, not
jumping and yipping like the rest, with a narrow leather
collar and a leash clipped to the door of her cage.  Tracy
was excited, but Nick tried to temper his hopes with
realism.  Slowly he approached the dog.

She stood when he drew near.  Her tail wagged hesitantly.
"Gypsy?" Nick asked.  She sat and yipped once softly.
"Gypsy?  Is your name Gypsy?" he repeated, feeling slightly
foolish for counting on a dog as a material witness.

The retriever pranced happily, making dainty woofs.

"Nick!  I think we found her!"  Tracy clapped her hands.

Nick forced the lock on the cage and let the retriever
loose.  He felt its collar and searched for an ID tag.  It
listed the dog as "Gypsy" and the address was Whitcomb's
house.  Brave Janice had confidently put her home address on
the dog, expecting to move back one day, rather than the
temporary address of her apartment.  Only, no one lived at
the Whitcomb's house right now.  The place was empty, so no
one had been there to take the shelter's phone calls that
their dog had been found.  Nick knelt before the retriever
and buried his face in its soft, sleek coat.  Gypsy waited
patiently.

"So what now?  They won't be opened until after dawn," Tracy
said.

"We're taking Gypsy with us," Nick answered.  Tracy held her
breath.  Nick was being just like before, during the R.H.Loh
investigation... bull-headedly doing as he pleased, without
regard for police procedure.  But he'd been right then.

Nick broke the lock on the door to the shelter and went
inside.  It still smelled faintly doggy although the
linoleum floors were shiny clean.  Tracy held Gypsy's leash
and watched.  She had no idea what her partner was up to.
Nick flipped on the computer and drummed his fingers
impatiently while waiting for it to load.  Then he checked
into their records.

"How'd you know that they wouldn't have it locked up with
passwords," Tracy asked, as he changed the records to state
that Gypsy's owner had come to pick her up just before
closing that night.

"Because shelters run mostly on volunteer labor.  Too many
people coming in and out to keep passwords private."  Then,
he searched quickly for the record of Gypsy's arrival.
She'd been brought in during the afternoon of Janice's
death, even before the murder had been reported.  The name
on the record was Jimmy "Jeep" MacPete, the missing youngest
brother.

"Wow," Tracy said.  "Coincidence?"

"Maybe.  In this line, generally there isn't any such thing
as coincidence."

Tracy knelt down and patted the dog affectionately.  "If
only you could speak," she said.

Gypsy licked her cheek.  She seemed to smile as she drew
back her lips and panted.

Nick turned off the computer.  "Let's go, Baby."

"Fine.  Buy you can carry the dog, just in case she gets air
sick."

"So what do we do with Gypsy?" Tracy asked as they drove
away.  "Do you want to take her out to Father's House right
away?"

Nick shook his head.  "No.  I think she knows something.  We
need to check in with Reese, and then I want to take Gypsy
back to the scene of the crime."

Nick felt uneasy as he approached the precinct.  He'd told
Reese he would see a doctor, but he hadn't yet and his
doctor wasn't up to seeing patients yet. And what would he
tell her when she would see him?  Maybe this stomach pain
would just go away.  Vampire bodies were self-healing.  He
didn't know what was causing the pain, but he knew that if
he could just feed and keep it down, it should disappear on
its own.

He lowered a side window a fraction for the dog.  "I won't
be long, girl," he said, patting her neck affectionately.
Gypsy woofed once, then settled down on the back seat to
wait.  Nick locked the doors, just to be on the safe side.

They were more than a little late when they clocked in.
Nick felt Reese's disapproving gaze, but the captain was
busy in conversation with someone. Nick pressed a hand
against his stomach and rubbed at the ache. He made a copy
of the addresses they'd been given, then signaled Tracy to
hurry.  She tried to check her messages, but Nick was
already out the door.

"Nick," Tracy called.  She closed her screen.  The messages
might wait, but her brother would not.  "You know Nick," she
chided as she joined him.  "If you don't start to remember
your coat, people are going to notice."

Nick pulled on the short leather jacket absently.  Then he
passed her the list of addresses.


There was a lot of footwork involved in her job, a lot of
chasing down the wrong rabbit hole, but it was interesting.
Something inside her seemed to thrill at the hunt, even more
so now that she was immortal.  Maybe it was because she was
no longer afraid.  Any of these leads could pull a gun and
start firing... but it didn't matter any more.

The clan of MacPete adoptees seemed to be nice,
well-adjusted, honest people.  They were all forthright in
their answers, until Nick asked them about Jeep.  It seemed
that although the thirty-eight assorted siblings kept in
close contact with one another, many of them even working
together, no one seemed to have an address for the youngest
member.  It didn't fit.

Gypsy went to each of the homes with them.  She seemed
friendly, and most of the siblings even called her by name.
Nick couldn't pin his finger on it, but he was certain the
dog knew something about this case.  If his gut didn't hurt
so much already, he'd be tempted to taste the dog's blood in
hopes of discovering what it knew, but the murder was
already a month ago. Any information locked in the blood
would be old and vague, and just the thought of biting
through dog hair was enough to make him nearly gag.

Tracy pulled her cellphone out and dialed work to access her
messages while Nick drove aimlessly through Toronto.  It was
getting late again by mortal standards.  He wondered how
many more siblings he should try to reach tonight.  He could
hear Tracy's messages, but he wasn't listening.  One was
Vachon, one an old girlfriend who was coming in to town and
wanted to get together.  Then Mrs. Wilton, the mother of the
deceased Jason Wilton, also one of their unsolved cases,
had called.  She said that she thought of something that
might be important, and would they please give her a call.

"Nick, maybe we should stop there next," Tracy suggested.

Nick shrugged.  They weren't very far from her home.  If
there were no lights on inside, then he'd suggest waiting
until tomorrow.

Mrs. Wilton gave them a sad smile as she opened her door for
the two detectives and their dog.  "It's too cold to be out
on a night like this," she said distractedly.  "May I get
you anything?"

"No, thanks," Nick answered quickly.

"Well, I wanted to tell you that Jason's best friend didn't
show up at the funeral.  I thought that was strange, but
then maybe he'd been sick, or just wasn't emotionally ready
to handle it.  So I didn't say anything.  And then today the
school called me and asked if I knew where he was.  He
hasn't been there since Jason died."  Her voice broke once
when she spoke, but she quickly recovered and dabbed at the
corners of her eyes.

"They called the boy's parents?  Notified children's
services?" Tracy asked.

"Oh, Jeep didn't have any parents," Mrs. Wilton answered.

Nick and Tracy both jumped at the odd nickname.  It was
highly unlikely that two Toronto boys would share it.

"Tell us about this Jeep," Nick said.

"Well, I don't know much, really.  They didn't often come
here, because of the stairs."

"Stairs?"

"Yes, Jeep is disabled.  He walks with crutches and leg
braces.  Jason's computer is upstairs.  They usually hung
out at Jeep's brother's, or at the library.  They were both
really computer-addicted, I'm afraid.  They spent too much
time at it, if you ask me."

"Do you have an address or phone number for this brother?"
Tracy asked.

Mrs. Wilton gave them Jimmy Assanto's number.  "I am worried
about him," she said.   "He's really a sweet boy. I'm
praying he hasn't met up with Jason's killer.  You've just
got to find him, detectives!"

DotH 10


Nick was deep in thought as they returned to the Caddy.
Jeep's sister and best friend were dead, murdered, and
nothing seemed to connect the cases except Jeep.  A disabled
mulatto teenager with computer skills was missing.  It was
time to question Jimmy Assanto again.

The Asian greeted them with worried eyes.  "Have you found
him?  Jeep?"

Nick grunted.  "We would have known to start looking for him
two days ago if you'd told us then.  So why now?"

Jimmy patted the dog absently, his hands trembling.  "The
temperature's dropping," he said.

Nick hadn't really noticed, but he'd been very distracted
lately.  "So?"

"I just know he's hiding on the streets.  But he's partially
paralyzed; he won't feel the cold and he could get
frostbite.  Please go find him- but you have to protect
him.  He's scared, or he wouldn't be hiding."

Tracy sat down on the couch and pulled out a notebook.
"Okay, Jimmy. Tell us about Jeep.  How is a disabled boy
going to hide on the streets? Do you have any idea what sort
of trouble he got mixed up with?  We're going to need
something to go on."

Jimmy told them a tale then, of a street-wise kid hustling
and making cons before he was eight years old, caught in the
crossfire of gang retaliation.  A bullet that nearly ended
his life, and left him paralyzed, saved him instead.  The
emergency room doctor called the MacPetes.  He told them of
a boy who wasn't expected to last the night, and he hated to
see him die alone.  The MacPete's had come to the hospital
and stayed with Jeep all night, and started adoption
proceedings the next morning.

"So Jeep knows the streets," Jimmy said.  "But it's
different now.  And I'm worried for him."

Nick nodded.  "We'll look, Jimmy.  And if you think of
anything else, do Jeep a favor.  Call us."



Tracy thought maybe her partner was really losing it when he
pulled up at a convenience store and loaded the truck with
bags of charcoal, lighter fluid, matches, and a sack full of
sandwiches.

"Nick.  I don't think you're supposed to warm salami and
cheese over a grill," Tracy said.

"Nope.  This is bargaining power.  The only thing the
homeless have of value is their information.  We're going to
buy it."

They pulled into several dark alleys, underpasses, abandoned
buildings, and at each place some one called out to Nick by
name.  They were distrustful of Tracy, although Gypsy drew
more than a few friendly pats.  Nick passed out the goods at
every stop, whether they had information or not, with the
stipulation that they let him know right away if they heard
anything.

Tracy felt oddly humbled.  She knew that poverty existed,
and sometimes she put money into the can of a Salvation Army
bell-ringer, but here was this 800-year-old vampire with the
guilt of the world on his shoulders, doing something about
it.  He treated them with quiet respect.  And his simple
gift of charcoal on a cold night might even save a life.

She checked the temperature on the radio.  It was nearing
zero.  She hoped they would find Jeep soon.

They didn't.  When the trunk was empty, Nick drove silently
towards Nat's apartment.

"Nick.  It's pretty late.  Don't you think she's sleeping?"

"I've got some cat food to deliver," he answered.  He
grunted as he lifted the two cases.  Tracy was alarmed.
Even a mortal should not have found the small boxes heavy.
Nick set the boxes on the hood of his car, leaning against
it.  She jumped out and tentatively touched him, relieved
when he didn't flinch from the contact.

"Nick?"

He didn't answer.  Instead, he doubled over, clutching at
his stomach.

"Nick?  What's wrong?  What do you need?"

He kneeled over a snow bank and vomited.  Tracy caught the
sent of cold blood on the snow.  It wasn't human or bovine.
It held Nick's unique scent.  He struggled to his feet then,
a fine sheen dotted his forehead.

"Nick?  Do you need to drink something?"

"No!" he said, more forcefully than he'd intended.  "No.
I'll feed later.  But, would you... come inside with me?"

Tracy nodded.  She went with him to Natalie's apartment, to
find the coroner sleeping.  Nick quietly left the cases on
her table and let himself back out.

"Nick.  Maybe you should come see LaCroix?"

He shook his head.  "No, kid.  I'll be fine.  Really."
Then, he grabbed her and glared at her, trying to look
forceful, but Tracy saw the fear behind the expression.
"Don't tell LaCroix.  Or Vachon.  Or anyone.  You hear!
I'll be fine."

Tracy started to argue, but Nick was adamant.  "Promise me!"

She nodded, suspecting she was going to regret it. "Okay,
Nick.  But you take care of yourself."

He drove her back to the Raven then and waited while she
went inside.  The loft would be cold and lonely tonight.
Just what he needed.  Secure in the knowledge that he was
evil, that he had failed everyone who ever counted on him,
that he had killed whatever he found beautiful and lovely,
Nicholas Knight went to sleep alone, but for one mournful
canine.

Nightmares plagued him.  LaCroix loomed over him, sneering
at his weakness, his need to seek redemption from the evil
he felt he had become. Natalie stood surrounded by hundreds
of glasses of protein shakes, scornful that Nick had failed
to drink even one of them.  Schanke, broken and bleeding in
the ashes of the plane, demanding to know why Nick had never
told him.  Richard Lambert, fully fanged and vengeful,
rising from his cursed crypt, denied the eternal salvation
that had been his heritage because of Nick's interference.
Urs, weeping bitter tears, unable to find love and happiness
in the life she shared with him.  And then he was surrounded
by enforcers armed with stakes, preparing to end his
existence and he was too weak to resist.

Late in the day the ringing phone woke him, rescuing him
temporarily from the torment.

"Nick, it's Natalie.  I just wanted to thank you for the cat
food.  Are you awake?" she spoke into the answering machine.

Nick lifted the phone.  "Hi, Nat," he said.

"You sound awful.  Talk to me, Nick," she said.

"I'm okay," he lied.  "It's just work.  Lots of unsolveds
and I'm getting no where.  How are you?"

"Better," she said.  "Although my arms hurt.  They're not
used to this workout I'm giving them.  But I haven't needed
the codeine all day, and I'm thinking I'll go in tonight, at
least for awhile."

"That's great," he said.  Nick wondered why he didn't feel
happier.  Hunger clawed at him.  He felt his fangs erupt and
was unable to force them back.

"Well, I'll see you then."  Nat waited, but he didn't
speak.  He didn't apologize or make any excuses, or say
anything.  She wished she knew what was going on.  Then she
heard a dial tone.  Nick had hung up.  Nat blinked back the
urge to cry.  "Jerk," she snapped, slamming the phone down.
She didn't believe it, but it helped to release some
tension.

Nat grabbed the crutches and made her way into the
bathroom.  A long hot soak would be nice, but even a shower
was out of the question until further notice.  Stripping
down to only her goosebumps, she took a washcloth and
cleaned up at the sink.  Life's a bitch, she thought to
herself, for not the first time.

"Let me help you."

She screamed, as she caught sight of her ancient lover.
"Don't do that!"

LaCroix kissed her neck, holding her against his solid
form.  He reached to take the washcloth from her.  With
gentle motions, he washed her back, sliding the warm cloth
lower to places she'd rather wash herself.

"I'm planning to go in to work tonight," she told him,
trying to stop the surge of emotion he stirred so
effortlessly.

"Hmm," he answered.  "Keep an eye on my son for me then."

She took the cloth back.  That was clean enough.  "Why?
What's up?"

LaCroix lifted her and flew into her room, sparing her
aching shoulders the trip.  Then he sat and watched in
fascination as she dressed.  Natalie felt her face flush.
Somehow, sitting naked next to him in the hot tub was one
thing, but dressing in front of him while she learned to
negotiate a full cast that weighed more than expecting
triplets was downright embarrassing.  "Nicholas?" she asked
again.

"I am unsure what the problem is, Natalie.  He's been off
his feed.  He can't seem to keep anything down."

Nat stopped and stared at him with a strange, hopeful look.
"I wonder!  Is it happening?  Is he regaining his mortality
then?"

"No!" LaCroix sprang to his feet, the desire in his eyes
quickly replaced with disgust.  "This is NOT a good thing.
He can't eat anything- not blood, not food.  He vomits
everything.  And the hunger has him out of control.  That is
why he nearly killed you."

"But he's planning to go in to work," she said.  "I talked
to him."

LaCroix nodded.  "I will not allow him to work among his
mortal friends until I am assured that he is properly fed.
You will call me if you see any sign that he is losing
control?"

Natalie nodded distractedly.  She'd have to take some blood
samples.  Maybe, despite what LaCroix wanted to believe, the
vampire cells in his blood were changing somehow, weaker
maybe.  She wasn't sure how she felt about it.  For years
she had looked forward to his mortality to share a
relationship with him, but that was no longer an issue.  She
should be happy for him, only because it was what he wanted,
but she felt strangely melancholy.  Part of her would
grieve.

LaCroix knelt before her and lifted the white athletic shoe
as if it were made of glass.  She shivered deliciously at
the way his fingers caressed her foot before it was encased
in leather and securely laced.  His hand trailed up her
thigh.  She wore a most unglamorous sweat suit, the left leg
cut off just below the hip as nothing would fit over the
bulky cast.  She had considered a dress, but with the
temperatures expected to fall below zero and remain there
all week, she decided to be warm instead of pretty.

"You will move in with me, my dear, until you are more
ambulatory?"

Although it sounded like a question, Natalie heard the
unspoken command.  "Why, Lucien?  I can't be much fun right
now.  This thing hurts too much to snuggle, and even if you
whammied the pain away, I don't think it would be good for
the leg."

He lifted a length of her hair and let the strands slip
through his fingers.  "You will require assistance... I
promise not to cause you discomfort."  He pressed a kiss on
her neck.

Natalie felt a shiver up her spine.  It was so damned
awkward managing alone, but she could do it.  Still, she
wasn't out to earn any merit badges for courage and
independence.  "I can't be very attractive with this hundred
pound monstrosity," she said, weakening.

"On the contrary, my dear... A nightingale with wings
clipped still sings as sweet."

Natalie smiled.  "All right then.  I'll move in, but just
for now, and only if Sydney comes too."

LaCroix sneered disdainfully, making a face that made her
laugh.  "I will take you in to work, and you will call me
when you are finished," he stated.  "We will gather your
things then."

She kissed him.  "Thanks, Lucien.  I really appreciate
this."



end, part 10

DotH 11


LaCroix helped her into the morgue, enduring the scrutiny of
her coworkers until he was satisfied that she would be all
right for a few hours.  "Call me," he said, kissing her
before he left.  It was time to return to the Raven and wait
for his son.  Tracy was ready and waiting impatiently for
him as well.

"We're going to be late," she snapped.

"Tracy.  How was Nicholas last night," LaCroix asked
softly.  He noticed the sudden beat of her heart and felt
her anxiety through the link.  It alarmed him more than
anything she could have said.

"Um, he was pretty frustrated about some cases," she
hedged.

LaCroix took her chin and tilted her face to look at him.
"Tell me the truth, my daughter.  You know I can take it
from you."

She blinked red tears back, indecision pulling at her.
"Please, master.  If I tell you the truth, I will be
breaking a promise Nick forced me to make, and as you said,
I cannot lie to you.  So please don't ask."

LaCroix kissed her then.  She had told him enough.  "Please
wait downstairs, my dear.  I wish to speak with him alone."

Tracy nodded.  Her heart felt heavy as she worried for these
two vampires that had come to mean so much to her.

LaCroix felt his son's approach.  He sighed deeply, drawing
upon reserves of patience he didn't know he'd kept, as he
did not want this meeting to escalate out of control.
Nicholas opened the door and entered.  LaCroix remained
sitting, deceptively relaxed in his favorite chair in the
living room.  He took in his son's appearance, the black
leather jacket and dark, dangerous look, but he sensed fear
behind the façade.

"Reporting as ordered, sir!" Nicholas snapped angrily.

LaCroix wouldn't be baited.  He sipped from a glass of
excellent vintage.  He had poured one for Nicholas when he
felt his approach.  "Sit, Nicholas."

"I'm going to be late."

"And you will be later still if you do not comply."

Nicholas flung himself onto the couch with an injured air.
LaCroix sipped again, appearing to ignore him while every
sense he possessed was trained upon his contrary progeny.
It didn't take long to notice the amber look of hunger in
his eyes.  Nicholas took the glass and sipped at it, yet he
seemed to hold the blood in his mouth, hesitant to swallow.
LaCroix said nothing.  He wondered what stormy thoughts
disturbed his overly emotional son this time.  Why didn't
Nicholas talk to him, tell him what was the matter?  Why
must he always fight for every shred of information?  He
longed to share blood with him again.  They had not done so
for many weeks, almost since the hunter's attack on him.
Perhaps the boy was still unnerved by that frightening
event.

Nicholas finally swallowed.  He sipped from the glass
several times then set it aside.  LaCroix suspected he was
still hungry, but at least Nicholas should have fed enough
to control his nature for a few hours.

"You will see Dr. Lambert tonight," LaCroix asked with a
tone that was more of a command.

Nicholas stammered incoherently until LaCroix gestured for
silence.  "I have decided not to punish you for your
abhorrent behavior in this matter, Nicholas.  You have
convinced me that you were not in full control of the
moment.  However, the doctor is mortal and as such she will
expect an apology from you.  Now you will see her and you
will make such speech as to appease her."

Nicholas nodded numbly.  "Yes, LaCroix.  You are right," he
whispered.

The ancient wasn't sure he had heard right.  He had never
thought to hear those words uttered from this one.  He felt
a new closeness to his favorite.  Could he hope that their
years of tension and estrangement might be coming to an end?

"I've been thinking about going undercover," Nicholas said
then.  "We haven't found anything that can help us solve
Joseph Schloss's disappearance.  I was thinking that Tracy
and I might dress Amish and ask around."

"No," LaCroix said softly, his tone final.

Nicholas did not seem to have heard.  "It will only be for a
night or two.  I'm hoping to find out from whom he was
buying land, whom he saw, who might have seen him."

"No, Nicholas.  Absolutely not.  I will not permit it."

Then Nicholas glared at him angrily.  "LaCroix, this is my
job.  This is what I do.  You have no jurisdiction to
interfere with police matters!"

LaCroix felt the ice-cold finger of anger grip him hard, yet
still he kept his voice quiet.  "I have every right, my
son.  The Amish are an agrarian society.  They are farmers
and as such, they work in the day.  You cannot possibly pass
as Amish.  Since your captain is aware of your "sun
allergy", he would be foolish to give his permission for
this imprudent adventure.  You will not put Tracy in this
danger!"

Nicholas's eyes were glowing amber with flecks of red.
LaCroix would have found the sight erotic in any other
circumstance, but at the moment it only further alerted him
to his son's weakened condition.  Nicholas rarely lost
control of himself in front of LaCroix, and never that
quickly.

"May I go now, sir," he demanded sarcastically.

LaCroix gave his assent.  "Heed me, my son."  His only
answer was a slamming door.

Nick flew into the men's room of the bar and heaved.  It was
going to be a long night.

"Oh man," a mortal said behind him.  "That's one nasty
ulcer.  You better have that checked."

Nick flushed the red fluid stains from the urinal.  He
smiled wanly at the stranger.  "Yes.  You're right.  I'm
going to see her tonight."

"Oh, a lady doctor.  I got to get me one of those," the man
said.  They shared a laugh as they exited the small room.

Tracy smiled.  It was good to see Nick smile and laugh.
Maybe he and LaCroix had had a nice conversation after all.
She patted Gypsy as she got inside the Caddy.  "Did you and
Nick have a good time together?" she asked.  The dog made of
sad whine.  "Well, don't you worry," Tracy told her.  "We'll
have some fun now."

"Tracy," Nick said, trying to sound casual.  "I think we
should split up for a bit tonight."

"Why?" she asked, concern shading her voice.

Nick gave an indifferent shrug.  "I need to talk to Natalie,
and I'd like to be alone when I do.  I know LaCroix still
wants you chaperoned.  So I thought maybe you and Vachon
could check with the homeless tonight.  You can take Gypsy
with you."

Tracy smiled.  "Okay, partner.  Works for me."

Nick dropped her off in front of the abandoned church where
Vachon lived.  "Have him bring you back to the precinct when
you're through, and he can hang around until I return.
Okay?"

He watched protectively as she went inside.  Reaching out,
he sensed another vampire's presence.  Sure that she was
safe, he pulled away.  There was a lot to do, and so little
time.  First, the apology.



Nat looked up with concern when he came in to the morgue.
"Where's Tracy?"

"With Vachon," Nick answered.  He watched Nat work for a few
moments.  Her cast looked so large and heavy.  Nick hurt for
her.  "Natalie," he said softly.  He'd better do this soon
before he lost his nerve. Already his stomach was churning
and he tasted blood.  "I want to apologize.  I was out of
line three nights ago.  I scared you.  And I'm very sorry."

Natalie smiled at him.  Concern still clouded her face, but
not anger.  Nick wondered how she could so quickly forgive
him.  "Apology accepted, Nick," she said, and kissed him
lightly on the cheek.  "I've made you something."  She
pulled a fresh protein shake from her cooler.  It was pink
and frothy and it smelled dreadful.  Nick tried to conceal
the shudder of disgust and pretend interest.

"Ah, thanks Nat.  You really shouldn't have bothered.  I
know how difficult it must be for you now."

"I get around.  Now drink up, while it's still fresh."

LaCroix had forbidden this.  Truly, Nick didn't want to
taste it either, but he'd hurt Natalie enough.  He put the
glass to his lips.  If he didn't inhale, he wouldn't have to
smell it.  The chalky substance felt like poison.  It burned
his throat and injured stomach as it slid down.  He saw the
look of disappointment in her eyes when he set the glass
aside.  "I'll finish it, Nat," he promised.  "Just give me a
minute."

"I want to take some blood samples," she said.  "I haven't
checked you in several months, and I want to see if there's
been any change."

Nick lay down on an empty slab obediently.  He pulled up his
sleeve and waited while she swabbed his arm with antiseptic,
an unnecessary step for the vampire, but she always treated
him with the same concern she'd show a living patient.  It
was one of the many things he loved about her.

She drew several large vials before releasing him.  "Thanks,
Nick," she said.

"I've got to go," he said.  He really wanted to do something
for her.  Taking the drink, he opened his mouth and chugged
the entire contents.  Keeping his mouth firmly closed to
fight against the gag reflex, he smiled at her and left
quickly.  In the men's room down the hall he tossed the
shake back into the john.

Tracy was settled, and he had fulfilled LaCroix's demand to
apologize.  He had known that he should, but had been
putting it off.  In a way, he was grateful that the ancient
had forced him to get it over with.  It was something of a
relief.  Now he had to hurry if he still wanted to go under
cover and ask some questions and be back at the precinct
before dawn.  LaCroix need never know.  Besides, the ancient
had forbidden him and *Tracy* to do this.  Tracy wasn't
going to.


end, part 11

DotH 12


Nick dressed in dark pants with suspenders, white shirt, and
a thin dark coat.  He couldn't do anything about growing a
beard.  Actually, LaCroix had helped by denying Tracy the
option of coming, as among the Amish married men sported
full beards.  Clean-shaven, Nick would still be single.  He
found a suitable hat, then, leaving the Caddy at the
precinct, he flew to the park where he'd first seen Rachael
Schloss and her children.  Since Joseph Schloss had been on
foot and expected to be back shortly, Nick would concentrate
in that area and work outwards.

There were a lot of small specialty shops that were only
open days.  A few businesses were still running and of
course, he could try all the bars.  Closing his eyes, he
tried to concentrate on being Amish.  He had been to Germany
during the period now labeled the Reformation, when the
Mennonite church had been founded.  He could speak the
language, an antiquated German dialect.  His manners must be
more European, more tightly controlled.  He should appear
awkward and uncomfortable among the Canadian "Englishers".
Although he knew that Amish ordnungs varied, the one from
which Joseph hailed seemed to be very strict.  When he felt
prepared, Nick entered the first door.  Circulating among
the bar's patrons, he asked over and over, "Please, have you
seen my brother, Joseph?  Joseph Schloss?"

Some patrons laughed at him and ignored his question.  Some
stared, pointing at him.  Some reacted as though he carried
a disease, shrinking away from him.  Finally the bouncer
forced him to leave.  Nick went into the next opened
business and then the next.  He suspected he was getting no
where, but hopefully, some one would tell some one that
someone was looking for Joseph.  He hoped if he shook enough
trees, a few nuts would fall.

He felt like he'd been walking for hours.  Hunger was making
him weak.  He would ask only a few more, then he'd better
go.  Would he even have the strength to fly back now?  Maybe
he'd have to take the bus.  Nick shuddered at the thought.

A young man called out to him. "Hey, freak!"

Nick stopped at the ugly slur.  He wondered how an Amish man
would respond, but knew it would be different from his
desire to drain the cruel man a few quarts.  "Please,
melaasich gsicht," (molasses face) he said, struggling to
keep his voice controlled.  "I do not want trouble.  I am
just looking for my brother."

"There was another "Haamish" boy here a few weeks ago.  If
you want information, go to the footbridge over the Humber
River and wait.  Someone will come to take care of you."

Nick was ready to nod his agreement when he realized that
would be a mistake. "Entschuldigung, faulenzer (Please,
lazybones), where?  What is this place?"

The other snorted.  "Why did you ever leave the farm, boy?
See this road right here?  Follow it that way to High Park.
You can't miss it."


Nick thanked him before the young man disappeared.  He could
follow him, but Nick knew the man had only been a
messenger.  It wasn't likely that he was involved in the
murder or abduction, and he might not know anything useful.
It would be best to keep the appointment, even knowing that
it was probably a ruse intended only to get rid him.  He
would have to be careful.

He flew southwest through the city to the small bridge, then
sat and waited.  They wouldn't expect him to arrive so
quickly.  He was so tired.  He hoped they didn't take long.
Traffic was light this time of night.  There were few cars
in sight, and no pedestrians at all.  He shook his head,
struggling to stay alert.  If only he could take a short
nap... maybe the hunger would let him sleep better tonight.

Nick saw a car park and a man get out.  He walked with his
hands in his pockets.  He could have a gun, Nick knew, or he
could just have cold hands.  It was below zero tonight.

The man came closer.  Nick had never seen him before, not
even paging through the rap sheets of known offenders.  He
looked to be about fifty, with hazel eyes and a fleshy
face.  A cigar hung from his lips.  It was unlit, but it
waggled when the man spoke.

"Hear you've misplaced your brother," he said to Nick.
"Terribly careless of you, really."

"Joseph came to town to buy land," Nick said, keeping his
accent fairly thick.  "He never returned.  Do you know
anything about him?  Can you help me find my brother?"

"Oh, I can help you," the man drawled.  Nick felt a flutter
in his stomach.  He hoped he wouldn't lose it now.  He
swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the man.

"Seems he didn't like the land I sold him.  He got real
mean.  Wanted his money back.  Now, I wouldn't stay in
business long if I did that.  So I told him to go home.
Only, he didn't take my advice.  Or he took it too
literally, 'cause he sent himself to his eternal home."

Nick had a foul taste in his mouth.  Could the man be
telling the truth?  Could Jacob Schloss have killed
himself?  He didn't know the man at all, except from what
Rachael had said.  It was possible, but how would Rachael
accept that news?

"What was wrong with the land you sold him?" he asked.
"Where is he now?"

The man laughed.  "I'll show you."

Then something struck the back of Nick's head and pain
exploded through him.  He went to his knees.  Cold sticky
blood dripped down his neck.  His strength fled.  He was
going to lose consciousness.  Now, he'd failed Rachael too.
Tracy would worry about him, Nat would worry, and LaCroix
would be furious.  He had failed them all again.  He
couldn't stop the retching this time.  Soon he lay in a pool
of his own vomit.

"Get him out of here," the man said.

Nick felt his arms being tied behind him.  It was just
rope.  When he'd regained his strength he could break it
easily.  Then they tied his ankles.  The rough ropes were
tied too tightly, chafing his sensitive skin.  Then the
mortals lifted him and swung him out over the railing of the
bridge.  Nick felt a moment of panic.  Not the lake!  Not
tonight!  Although he was immune to hypothermia, he did not
look forward to the cold dunking.  Then the hands released
him.  He fell too quickly.  The ropes that bound him were
also tied to cement blocks, and they were pulling him down.
"I'm sorry, father," he thought.  He hit the cold water,
where the river joined Lake Ontario.  It was the last thing
he felt, as the water and the injury sucked his strength
away.


LaCroix dropped the CD he'd been holding.  It fell to the
floor and rolled a few feet before clattering and coming to
rest.  Damn him, LaCroix thought.  Nicholas was in pain
again.  That boy was exhausting!  He would have to find
another line of work.  LaCroix had been trying to stay tuned
to him all night, in case his control should fail him, and
so the pain he felt was quite severe.  He put his hand to
the back of his head and it came away sticky with blood.

He roared in rage.  Some one had been able to take Nicholas
by surprise and strike him from behind?  Something was
terribly wrong.  He would get to the bottom of this
immediately.

LaCroix clutched his stomach as he sensed his son's
distress.  He heard the whispered apology across the
distance that separated them.  And then, nothing.  All
feelings from his son stopped.  That meant Nicholas was
either dead or sleeping without dreams.  He hoped the later,
prayed for the later.  He closed his eyes and concentrated,
trying to rouse his son.  He tried pleasant memories, erotic
ones, angry ones, but he felt nothing.  Trying a different
tack, he reached for Tracy.  She was totally unaware of
trouble.  Damn him!  Nicholas must have gone off alone.  Not
quite thinking rationally where his son was concerned, he
flew towards the precinct to confront the mortal captain.



Tracy entered the church.  It seemed different now.  Before,
she had been afraid of the dirt, the dark loneliness of the
abandoned building.  Now the haunting presence of its former
spiritualism caused a different sort of fear.  There were
places in the church she knew she did not want to go.

She sensed a vampire presence, but knew before she opened
the door to the apartment that it was not Vachon.  Urs
looked up and smiled sweetly, a pile of mending on her
lap.   "What are you doing?" Tracy asked.

"Mending," she answered briefly, stating the obvious.

Tracy came in and sat near her.  It was one of Nick's
jackets, a short black leather bomber-style identical to the
one he'd been wearing tonight, except for the bullet holes
that went in the front and out the back.  Urs was
meticulously patching the holes with leather scraps she'd
cut from yet another leather jacket, its damage from a
machine gun being to severe to repair.  There were three
more jackets on the floor, already mended.  Tracy held one
up and admired the work.  The patches were perfect, blending
into the jacket almost as though part of the original
design.

"Some how I can't see Nick wearing this, no matter how well
you've fixed it," Tracy said bluntly.

Urs blinked back tears.

"I'm sorry, Urs," Tracy said, once again kicking herself for
her loose tongue.  "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Its okay," Urs said, sniffing slightly.  "It is part of
what we were fighting about."

Tracy helped herself to the refrigerator and returned with
two glasses.  "Want to talk about it?"

When Urs hesitated, Tracy encouraged her further.  "He's my
brother now, Urs, and my partner.  And I know what he's
like.  He's passionate and loving and mulish and stubborn
and wonderfully old-fashioned, and sometimes you just want
to throttle him."

Urs laughed even as a new tear slid silently down her pale
cheek.  "He hates for me to do anything," she confessed.
"Like work is beneath my station now, as his lover.  But I
can't stand feeling like a kept woman.  I have to be busy.
I have to do something."

Tracy nodded.  She understood Urs perfectly.  If LaCroix had
not allowed her to return to work, she would have gone crazy
by now.

"I cleaned the refrigerator, and he got mad at me, like I
was taking food away from his housekeeper or something.
Then, I did his laundry, and he yelled.  When I asked if I
could patch his clothes, he started to throw stuff.

"He doesn't want to wear garments with bullet holes in them,
and I understand that.  It would cause suspicion among the
mortals with whom he works.  But it is such a waste that he
just throws his old clothing away.  I wanted to mend them,
and give them away to someone who needs them."

Tracy nodded.  "Do you want me to speak to him for you?"

"No," Urs said hesitantly.  "In fact, I don't think you
should tell him we talked.  He feels so guilty about
everything.  I left, not because he hurt my feelings, but
because I didn't want to keep hurting his.  I wish I could
just wave a magic wand and make him happy."

"Urs, he loves you.  Leaving him isn't going to help.  And,
I really think he needs you right now.  Honest."

Urs finished the patch and broke the thread.  "Maybe.  But
he knows where I am."

"And he will never come and ask you to come back.  Because
he's sitting there, lonely and miserable, and thinking that
he's doing you a favor by letting you go.  Come on, Urs.
You know I'm right."

She hesitated.  "Maybe."

"He dropped me off, expecting Vachon to "baby-sit"," Tracy
said, her sarcasm thick.  She objected to her overprotective
men, but Urs was almost envious of her.  No one had ever
really cared whether she lived or died, not like that.

"I don't know where he is right now," Urs said.

"Right.  So, will you hang out with me tonight?  I don't
want to get Nick into trouble with LaCroix.  And, as it
happens, Nick wants me to go check in with the homeless that
we visited last night.  You can come along, and we'll trade
Nick's coats for information."

Urs smiled then.  She transformed into something so sweet
and precious, like a trillium in the spring, a rare
wildflower that needed protection from the elements.  Tracy
wondered at the protectiveness she felt towards this vampire
that was at least a hundred years older than she was.  It
was more like the blind leading the blind, she thought, as
they prepared to enter into the dark, dangerous places of
the city where a mortal woman with any sense would fear to
go.


end, 12.

DotH 13


LaCroix stormed through the brightly lit bullpen and forced
Captain Reese's door open.  It slammed into the back wall
with enough force to rattle the framed documents hanging
there.  "Where is he!"

Reese stilled the panic inside and remained deceptively
calm.  He pushed his chair away from the desk, folding his
hands on the expanse of his stomach to still them from
trembling.  "Where is who?" he asked.  He was proud of the
way his voice sounded, deep and controlled.  He could not
let this man know the fear he instilled.

"My son!  He is in danger.  Where did you send him!"

Reese's brow puckered.  Something more was going on here,
and he hadn't a clue.  "What makes you think he is in
danger?  Other than the fact he has a dangerous job.  Why is
tonight any different?"

LaCroix had no time for this.  He placed his hands on the
captain's desk and glared at him.  "Where is he!"

"He and Tracy should be out checking leads on a case.  Same
as last night and the night before."  Reese didn't know why
he was telling this man anything.  LaCroix was the
manipulative, controlling sort and didn't need any
encouragement.

"He is not with Tracy.  They separated.  He told me he
wanted to go undercover tonight to find Joseph Schloss's
killer.  I forbade him to go.  Did you give him permission!"

Reese stared, unable to answer at first.  For just an
instant, the father's angry face seemed to contort into some
kind of beast.  Reese blinked.  He must be letting his
imagination run wild.  He disliked this man, but he didn't
believe that he actually saw what he thought he saw.  Not
for more than a second, anyway.

"Amish?  I did not even give Nick permission to pursue this
case.  Until a body shows up, it isn't even a homicide.  We
have standard procedures, and if he went undercover, then he
has violated them."  Reese was getting angry himself.  He
didn't know how this father had sensed his son might be in
danger, but Reese didn't like the sick feeling he was
experiencing now, either.  Without another word to the
father, Reese tried to contact Nick's Caddy.  "81 Kilo,
respond.  81 Kilo, respond, please."

Nothing.  Both Nick and Tracy were away from their vehicle.
He tried their cell phones next, but still did not reach
them.  It would have alarmed him greatly if it had been any
other duo, but this pair was notorious for disappearing.

"Tracy doesn't respond, either," Reese started.

"Tracy is fine," LaCroix spat.  "It is my son you should
concern yourself with!"

Reese rose from his chair and got into LaCroix's face.  "If
something is wrong with Nick, how do I know you aren't the
cause?  You could have hurt him yourself, and then came
running in here claiming to be concerned."

"You are wasting my time," the vampire snarled.  "I will go
search for him myself."

"Wait," Reese said, surprising himself.  This man was
dangerous.  In his present mood, Reese couldn't stand the
thought of unleashing him on the unsuspecting of Toronto.
He should keep LaCroix close, keep an eye on him.  "I don't
even know yet that Nick is missing.  You could be wasting my
time.  But let us assume that you are correct.  Where will
you start?  Perhaps we should work together."

LaCroix narrowed his eyes at the mortal captain.  Reese was
afraid of him, he knew by the man's elevated blood pressure
and the faint perspiration that dotted his forehead every
time they met.  But Reese was controlling his own fear and
trying to do his job as he saw it.  LaCroix nodded almost
imperceptibly.

"So you think Nick was going under cover as Amish.  My guess
is that he would start near the park where Schloss had told
his wife to wait.  Come with me, we'll take my car."

Out in the parking lote, Reese couldn't hide the look of
shock when he saw Nick's Caddy parked there.  "He never goes
anywhere without it," Reese stammered.

"Amish men would not drive themselves anywhere," LaCroix
said.

Reese felt the fear tighten into knots.  Maybe LaCroix was
right?  He got into his car and waited pointedly for his
intimidating guest to buckle his seat belt.  LaCroix sighed
before complying.  Then he shifted into gear and left.

Reese wondered at this errand... he had only LaCroix's
conviction Nick was in danger, and the Caddy that had been
left behind.  He half expected to find Nick, blow his cover,
and chew him out for disobeying procedure.  Somehow, having
his father along when he found him seemed all wrong.  Would
this only create more tension between them?

At the first place they stopped in, LaCroix pulled out a
photograph of Nick.  Reese glanced at it, a bit surprised
that the father would have been so prepared.  It was a black
and white photo, faded with age, and Nick was dressed in
period clothing from a few decades past.  His expression was
somber.  They must have had it taken at one of those
gag-photography booths now so popular at amusement parks.

Several patrons recognized him.  Nick had been there
earlier.  They progressed down the street, finding others
who recognized him, which Reese found encouraging.  LaCroix
looked distant.  He placed a hand against the brick wall of
a building to steady himself, looking suddenly very, very
old.

"Nicholas is no longer in this area," he stated with
conviction.

Reese could have argued.  He should have insisted they
continue working the street hoping to find some inkling of
where he'd gone, but something told him that LaCroix was
right.  There was nothing else to learn here.  He sat behind
the wheel of his car and wondered where to go.

LaCroix indicated a direction with his hand.  "That way.  We
will question Tracy, but I am certain she knows nothing of
this."

Following LaCroix's almost psychic directions, he led them
to a dark alley where Tracy's car was parked.  Reese got out
hesitantly, searching the shadows.  This was not a safe
place to bring anyone, and no matter what his personal
feelings for the abusive parent in his car, he had no wish
to see him come to harm.

"Perhaps you should wait here," Reese said.

LaCroix ignored him and got out of the car with as much
poise as though he were entering a theater.  He took the
lead then, and Reese had to hurry to keep up.  They hadn't
gone far before a big golden retriever barred their advance,
growling fiercely.  Moments later a woman emerged from the
shadows.

"Captain?  LaCroix?" Tracy asked hesitantly.  "Gypsy, down
girl.  They're friends."

The dog obeyed, but remained tense and protective.

"My dear," LaCroix said, his voice soft and comforting.
Reese marveled at the man as his anger and concern was
carefully concealed.  "Do you know where Nicholas is?"

"Um, yeah," she said nervously.  "He wanted to talk to
Natalie, and then he said he'd meet up with me at the
precinct.  Why?"

"And would you mind telling me, Detective Vetter," Reese
interrupted, "what you are doing here, in this neighborhood,
without your partner?  You don't even have your phone turned
on."  Reese's voice was firm, with none of the patience
LaCroix had shown.

Tracy shrugged sheepishly.  "I found the missing brother,"
she said, gesturing towards the building.  "He needs medical
attention, and I think he should be under protective
custody.  He's related to both the Wilton and Whitcomb
cases, and I don't want him to be next."

Reese pulled a phone from his pocket and called for the
ambulance.  Then he followed Tracy back into the shadows.

Nick's girlfriend Urs was there.  So she and Tracy were
together?  Reese did not like this at all.  A female
detective and a civilian alone out here?  Tracy and Nick
were going to get an earful when he got them together.

The boy looked to be in his teens.  The whites of his eyes
were huge, showing his fear although he tried to sound
tough.  The three vampires could clearly see the
discoloration in his skin, the beginnings of frostbite, but
the police captain could see very little in the dark.  He
pulled out a small pocket flashlight and tried to shine it
on the boy.

"Mind telling me how Jason Wilton and Janice Whitcomb are
related to you," he asked.

The boy trembled.  "I didn't do nothing!  Honest!"

Reese patted the boy's legs, meaning the gesture to be
comforting.  Instead his hand landed on the cold metal of
his braces.  Damn.  The streets were no place for anyone,
least of all a disabled kid.

"It's our boss, I'm sure," the boy continued.  "I don't even
have a name.  We never met, only online.  He hired Jason and
me to do some work for him, and he mailed us money.  But I
suspected he was doing something illegal.  He had this piece
of land that he sold, over and over, and he kept asking me
to change the ad.  The last time, he said to put down that
it was an Amish farm, right in the middle of an Amish
community.  I said I didn't want to do it, unless he told us
where this place was, so we could see for ourselves.  He got
ugly.  Threatened us.  I ran to my sister for advice.  When
I left to talk to Jason, he was dead.  When I went back to
Janice, she was dead too!  I've been hiding ever since.  I
don't know what to do.  I don't want to die!"

Tears streamed down his face, making him look much younger.
Urs comforted him with her quiet, motherly ways.  They could
hear the ambulance then as it pulled into the alley.  Reese
scowled at Tracy.  "Return to the precinct, and do not go
anywhere until I return."  Then he went into the ambulance
with the boy.

Tracy looked at her master.  "What's up?  What's wrong?"

"Nicholas," LaCroix sighed, sounding his age.  "I believe he
has found your killer."

DotH 14

LaCroix returned to the precinct with Tracy, but he did not
remain.  The bright lights, the noise, and the press of
mortal heartbeats were pure torture.  He needed dark and
quiet to concentrate.  "I will wait for you at the Raven.
Call either Vachon or me when you are finished here," he
informed her.

"LaCroix?"  She touched his sleeve tentatively.  "Is Nick
going to be okay?"

He closed his eyes.  He wanted to believe that, and yet, he
still felt nothing from him.  It wasn't that unusual.  When
the vampire Flavius had abducted him, he had taken him
through a river to hide their presence, and a priest had
shielded Nick from the bond that he shared with LaCroix.
But this felt different.  He didn't think a priest was with
him now.  He could sense him, vaguely.  He knew Nicholas was
in pain.  His head was hurting, as was his stomach, and he
was thoroughly chilled.  But he could not sense a
direction.  It was almost a ghost of his son, rather than a
vampiric presence.  It concerned him deeply.

"I hope so, Tracy," he breathed.  Next he contacted two
younger vampires and commanded that they protect the
teenager Jeep and capture alive any mortal that tried to
harm him.  It was a long shot, but he would try anything to
find his son.



LaCroix stopped in the morgue to bring Nat home.  She knew
immediately that something was wrong.

"Nicholas," he answered, as though that explained
everything.

"Well, you were right about the stomach ailment, anyway,"
she said.  "I took a blood sample earlier, and the vampire
element is stronger than ever before.  Whatever is causing
this, it isn't onset of mortality."

When LaCroix didn't give her a smug look, she became more
concerned.

"My son is missing.  Again."  He faced her then and tried to
give her an encouraging smile.  "Let us get you home, my
dear.  You must be exhausted."

"Missing?" she asked, as he flew her into her apartment.
That was such an exciting way to travel, and a definite
bonus in the "shall I" debate of her impending immortality.
"What happened?"

He sat distractedly on her couch while she tossed items in a
bag.  "I am unsure," he sighed.  "We had angry words before
he left for work."

Nat had thought Nick looked strange during his visit.  His
apology had almost seemed like a farewell.  Had he finally
had enough?  Maybe he was running away, moving on, to start
a new life and a new identity.  She needed LaCroix to talk
to her, tell her what was going on, but the ancient vampire
seemed only very tired.  Maybe after they were settled, she
could get him to open up before drifting off to sleep.

She went into the bathroom and packed a smaller bag of
toiletries, then started to look around.  Sydney was
hiding.  She wanted to hurry, as LaCroix was not the sort of
vampire to keep waiting, but just like kitty nature, her pet
was nowhere.  She glanced at LaCroix.  His head was tilted
back against the couch and his eyes were closed.  He had
fallen asleep.

She came around to look at her vampire lover, so sweet in
his slumber, and gasped.  Sydney lay curled up on his lap.
The amber eyes of the cat glanced at her lazily, as though
staking a right to his territory.  "Traitor," she whispered
lightly.  She returned to packing, adding cans of kitty
food, the kitty box and bed, kitty dishes, and realized that
Sydney had almost as much stuff as she did.  Then she nudged
her immortal lover back to wakefulness with a caress to his
neck.

LaCroix sleepily dialed a number to summon his limo.  This
was more cargo than he felt like carrying.  He returned to
his slumber until the driver rapped at her door, then he
carried Natalie into the limo, leaving everything else for
the driver to get, including the hissing, snarling feline
trapped in his carrier.

LaCroix brought her things into his bedroom.  Natalie
watched with uncertainty.  She really did not feel up to
intimacy and thought she had explained that to him earlier.
"Where does the cat sleep," he inquired.

"Anywhere he wants," she answered lightly.  At LaCroix's
disdainful glance, she continued.  "Cats sleep off and on
all day.  Thus the expression "cat nap".  Sometimes he
sleeps with me, sometimes on the sofa... and he really loves
to sleep in a patch of sunlight."

LaCroix shuddered, but he took the cat bed into Janette's
bedroom and set it on the carpet near the window.  Then he
opened the blinds.  "If it will encourage him to sleep away
from me, it will be worth it," he muttered.

Natalie smiled to herself.  A lot of men pretended not to
like cats, but she had met precious few for whom the
feelings were genuine.  She suspected that LaCroix and
Sydney were going to get along, if not fabulously, at least
moderately okay.

Before long she lay in bed with him, snuggled against the
firm, cold chest.  Her eyes were heavy.  Then LaCroix told
her everything, from the first moment Nick entered his
apartment earlier that night when LaCroix had forbidden him
to masquerade as Amish, until the moment LaCroix knew he'd
been injured.  He glossed over the visit with Reese, only to
highlight that the police were now looking for Nick as well.
"Are you certain he is still in Toronto?"

LaCroix grunted.  He wasn't certain of a thing.  Only that
the thread that connected him to his son seemed more tenuous
than it had ever been since he had brought the boy across.

"Could he be running?  Moving on?"  Natalie whispered.

"No! That is not the case," he said firmly, a little louder
than he had intended.

Natalie waited a few moments, until the echo of his angry
outburst had faded.  "It's just that Nick's seemed so
stressed out lately.  I don't know what he's thinking, but
he seems like an over-stretched rubber band- one more yank
and he'll break."

LaCroix sighed sadly.  "I too have noticed he is more
despondent than normal.  However, I am certain that tonight
he defied my wishes and went undercover.  We found a number
of witnesses to that effect.  He was injured from behind,
which could not have happened to a healthy vampire, and then
suddenly our bond faded.  He is here in Toronto, but I have
no explanation for the faintness of our link."

"But he's okay," she insisted.  "Isn't he?"

LaCroix hesitated, before he finally nodded.  "Yes.  I
believe so.  I think this killer has no idea of Nicholas's
special nature. I sense he is hurting, but nothing more.  I
am only sorry that he must always suffer."

Natalie brushed the tear that escaped the ancient's
control.  "You need to tell him, Lucien.  You must tell him
how much you love him."

"If he doesn't know by now through the blood kiss, then why
waste my breath?"  LaCroix almost sounded like his proud,
arrogant self again.

"Because he deserves to hear you say it.  We may show our
love through hundreds of little actions every day, the small
things we do- like the way you brought me here, and my cat,
and how you're trying to make me feel more comfortable and
still make me feel special even though I'm suddenly a
hundred pounds heavier.  But, we still need to speak the
words."

"Natalie," LaCroix whispered, his words sounding slurred
with exhaustion.  "I love you."



Vachon showed up at the precinct a little before dawn.  He
looked confused at his daughter sitting in a chair near his
lover's desk.  It always made him nervous when they hung out
together, worrying about the subject and content of their
discussion.  They looked at him with expressions of concern.

"What?" he asked, wondering if he'd managed to screw up
again.

"It's Nick," Tracy explained.

Vachon was relieved.  He wouldn't be sleeping alone again,
and Nick was always in some sort of trouble.

"And LaCroix's gone, too.  He left with Natalie.  Will you
take me home?"

Vachon grinned seductively.  "It'd be my honor," he said.

Tracy slugged him playfully.  "You are so bad.  My brother
is missing, maybe hurt, and you can still think about that?"

Vachon shrugged, guilty as charged.  "It will be dawn soon-
you can do nothing more tonight.  You'll help him best by
getting a good rest and being clear headed tomorrow."  He
put one arm around Urs and the other around Tracy.
Whispering too low for the mortals, he continued.  "I think
we'll all rest better if we do it together, don't you, Urs?"

Tracy clapped a hand over her mouth to cover the embarrassed
squeak.  She looked subconsciously at Urs.  They had never
shared blood before.  But somehow, it did not seem wrong.
She knew it would bring them closer, at least for a time,
and she would understand the pensive look that was so much a
part of Urs.  Breaking free from Vachon's embrace, she
flicked off her computer and grabbed her coat.  "Lead on,"
she said.

DotH 15

Nick blinked, his eyes stinging at the harbor water.  Slowly
he returned to consciousness, although he still felt so
tired.  His arms and legs were like dead weights, too heavy
to move.  His clothing was wet as well.  The water was
incredibly cold.  Normally, he was unaffected by
temperature, but this was definitely unpleasant.  The heavy
wet clothing chaffed at his sensitive skin.

Water was in his nose and mouth.  Yes, he realized, it was
even in his lungs.  He was no longer able to breathe.  He
had drowned.  Ice water filled his stomach, burning the
tender, injured tissue.  If only he could retch, he might
drive the pain away, but he had no strength left to move.

The water looked different.  It was no longer black and
fathomless, but faintly green.  He could see small fish,
clusters of algae, and sand particles suspended in the
arctic liquid.  As he watched, the green lightened as well.
It warmed slightly.  A ray of sunlight pierced the water.

Nick tried to scream.  Sheer panic gripped him.  The sun was
his worst nightmare, more deadly than stakes, more powerful
than vampire hunters... only fire was as terrifying, and
what was fire but a piece of sun, burning, roiling,
destroying all in its path?  Although he'd managed to escape
near death from the vampire hunters, this time he could see
no exit.  He could not move, and the sun was coming nearer.
He did not want to die!  LaCroix, he screamed without making
a sound.  Help me!

Still the sun drew nearer.  It was full day.  The ancient
vampire would be powerless to do anything until nightfall,
and by then it would be too late.  Nick felt a strange calm
steal over him.  It was truly finished now.  No more
running.  No more guilt.  He was surely damned, and would
now be sentenced to Hell, where he belonged, where he would
pay for his sins, but he would be unable to harm the
innocent again.  "I am sorry," he thought, offering the
simple parting to the living and undead, all those whom he
had failed.  It was brief but sincere.

Then the sun's ray touched him.  He looked up through the
deep, murky water of Lake Ontario and saw it, bright and
round.  He had not looked upon it for nearly 800 years.  It
looked different, distorted as it was by the water's motion,
but still it was beautiful.  He knew he should close his
eyes against the bright light, but since he was dying, it
really didn't matter.  He had wanted to see it for so very
long.  And so he stared.

The water started to glow as well.  It warmed slightly while
the sun filled it, and Nick was not quite as uncomfortable.
Little schools of fish darted into the sunlight.  He watched
them as they snapped at small pieces of algae.  Something
startled them and then school was out as the fish split into
smaller groups and fled in all directions.  A larger fish
darted into Nick's view.  He was just quick enough to catch
two little minnows in his mouth.  It was nature's song, the
eternal cycle, to either live or die, a cycle mocked by the
vampire.  Oh, mortals could still dance as they were meant
to, living and dying, but the vampire was no longer a part
of it.  He merely existed.  Forced to dwell among the
shadows, to drain the essence from the living and hurry them
along their ultimate journey toward death, still the vampire
himself was an outcast.

Nick wondered about vampire death.  It was a rare thing, and
not one he had much experience with.  He had thought
Francesca dead, only to find her nature reincarnated in
Frank's body.  Nick had been forced to kill her again.  Was
she dead now?  Would he meet her in hell?  Or had she
somehow escaped the grim reaper again, and was even now
laughing at him as he lay powerless in his watery sunlit
grave?

LaCroix had beheaded his master, his mortal daughter, Divia,
and sealed her inside an Egyptian tomb.  Many centuries
later she had escaped, her head returned to her shoulders
and her savage, cruel nature still intact, to reek vengeance
and havoc on all who knew LaCroix.  Nick had killed her
again.  Together, he and LaCroix burned her body and
scattered the ashes.  Was she truly gone now?

Nick wondered if he would be damned for killing the vampires
as much as for killing mortals.  The commandment said not to
kill.  Thou shalt not kill.  It was brief and immediate.  It
did not give allowances for any exceptions: except in
self-defense, except to eat, except if the other deserved to
die, except vampires.  If the words were to be taken at face
value, then capital punishment was a sin.  Consuming meat or
even the blood of animals a sin.  War was a sin.  And Nick
was even more the sinner.

The sun was starting to fade.  Please don't go, Nick begged
with only his thoughts, for he controlled nothing else.  Now
he saw several suns, three, then four, big orange balls of
fire.  Little spots of fire broke off into swirls of color
at the edges of his vision.  He felt such peace.  It was
like a last request, to finally be able to see what his
heart had so desired, before going to his reward in hell.
Somehow, the eternal punishment would be less severe now.
He would cherish this memory for eternity.

Fleeting images of children danced before him, between him
and the suns, in his watery crypt.  He saw a little girl all
dressed in white, her golden tresses, the same shade as his,
draped around her like a cape of silk.  He looked at her
with a child's eyes.  For a moment he knew her.  Fleur.  He
was a child, and together they played in a courtyard in the
full light of day.  He heard laughter.  Her laughter.  It
was musical and sweet.  Nicky, she called him.  I love you,
Nicky.  And I love you, Fleur.  I will protect you always.
The image passed.  He could not remember who Fleur was.

He felt unconsciousness creep upon him.  Nick fought against
it.  He didn't want to miss a moment of this rare gift.  He
would remain awake as long as he could see.  His sodden
clothing had chaffed raw wounds and yet he barely noticed.
It wasn't until the sun itself began to fade, that Nick
could no longer fight.  Blackness took over.  Slowly, the
water cooled again.  His father might be up soon.  LaCroix
would be angry when he learned that Nick had defied him.
Then he would be worried.  Nick knew he would never find
him, never learn what had become of his prodigal child, for
when his existence finally fled from his undead body, it
would become but a pile of ash, scattered by the water.  He
felt sad for LaCroix.  Although there were times he almost
hated him, Nick knew that the ancient vampire had been
constant.  LaCroix had always tried to protect him, and in
his own way, Nick knew that he loved him.

There was something he should have told him!  Nick couldn't
remember though.  Something he'd meant to say for a year
now....  It was just there, standing just beyond the limit
of his understanding, but Nick only knew that it was very
important.  He had to tell LaCroix before he died.  Tell him
what?  And, if he could remember, tell him how?  He was
trapped, dying.  But if he didn't tell him soon, he would
never have another chance.  Nick tried to fight, tried to
remember.  The pain was worse now.  Nick grasped on to the
pain and welcomed it.  As long as he hurt, he knew he was
not yet dead.  Focusing, he felt each wound rubbed raw by
his clothing, burning in the ice water.  He felt the throb
in his skill, his old blood slowly flowing from it still.
He felt the dull agony of his stomach and the burning in his
eyes.  It was intense.  Remember, he chanted to himself.
Feel and remember.



LaCroix had slept fitfully all day.  Natalie winced as he
shifted, occasionally bumping against her splint.  He awoke
in a blood sweat, his eyes wide and fearful, and yet he
could not remember his dream.  Nat knew he dreamed only of
Nick.  As soon as darkness drew near, he prepared to leave.

"But how will you know where to look," she asked.

"I will look everywhere," he answered, his voice heavy with
dread.

"Make sure you keep your phone on, then, so Tracy or I can
call you if we hear anything."

He nodded and placed a hasty kiss on her forehead.  Natalie
swallowed past the lump in her throat as he flew out through
the skylight.  She wasn't sure for whom was she more
concerned- the errant son, who may be injured and dying, or
the grief-stricken parent who would never recover
if anything were to happen to him.

She struggled with her toilette then and spent a few minutes
playing with Sydney.  She might as well have stayed at her
apartment.  Nick had better be okay, she thought angrily.
She was going to have to sit him down and give him a good
talking to.  There was no keeping up with him, with the
constant worry.

She'd need a ride in to work tonight.  Tracy was not in her
room; she must not have come home at all last night.
Natalie found the phone and tried Vachon's church.  His
sleepy voice squawked into her ear.  "Yeah?"

"Is Tracy there?" she asked.

A moment later the phone was passed along and Nat heard
Tracy.  She still sounded sleepy.  Nat went to the window
then and pushed open the curtain.  It was still lighter out
than was normally safe for vampires. LaCroix's age gave him
strength, but a part of her still worried for him.

"Hi, Tracy," she said.  "I'll need a ride in to work
tonight.  Can you come get me?"

"Sure, Nat," she promised and hung up.  Nat wondered if she
would even remember.




LaCroix flew for hours.  The constant strain was wearing on
him.  He fed and flew again, repeating the cycle, searching
for any sense of his son with growing trepidation.  In his
nightmares, Nicholas had seen the sun.  If it were true,
then his son was truly dead, beyond the ability to heal.
LaCroix refused to accept that.  He would not believe it
until he held the ashes of his son in his hands, until he
felt completely severed from the link they shared, which
even now, though slight, was still there.

He could not find a direction.  He felt the grief that was
always so much a part of Nicholas, but he could not tell
from where it came.  Whether he flew north of the city or
south out over the harbor, he felt no closer and no farther
away.

"Damn you, Nicholas!" he spat, using his rage to give him
strength.


Tracy smiled sheepishly at Natalie as she helped her into
the morgue.  "I'm really sorry I was late," she apologized
again.  "I really do not remember you calling."

"It's okay," Nat said.  "I know I called a little early, and
if you slept anything like LaCroix did last night, then you
must be beat."

Tracy turned away, hoping Nat would think she was really
grieving instead of blushing.  She had slept well.  Very
well.

"So, what are you going to do?" Nat asked.

Tracy shrugged.  "I'm not sure.  But I thought I'd start by
taking Gypsy back to Mr. Whitcomb.  Vachon's going to hang
out with me."

"Fine," Nat said, wondering why she felt like Tracy's
mother.  "But keep your phone on.  Right?"


Tracy nodded and left.  Gypsy yipped once as she climbed
inside her car.  "I miss him too," she told the dog as she
stroked the long, feathery coat.  "But you're going to meet
Mr. Whitcomb now, and I think he really needs you."  She
stopped first at her desk, listened to several of Reese's
lectures, and filled out some paperwork, before she could
finally slip out.  Reese gave her the "thou shalt not work
alone" lecture, until she explained she was just going to
take the dog to the rehab facility and she'd be right back.
He started to object, but she was already out the door.
Reese rolled his eyes in defeat.

"I can almost understand him now," Vachon said cryptically
as Tracy pulled on to the Gardiner Expressway heading out of
the city.

"Who?  What?"

Vachon cocked a half-smile at her.  "LaCroix.  Nick told me
once that LaCroix got so angry at him that he chained him up
in a dungeon and kept him there for three years."

Tracy shuddered.  She knew her master had a vicious streak,
and Nick had often seen it.  She didn't like the image of
Nick, gallant and heroic, chained like a common criminal in
a cold, damp hole.

"I mean, it must get tiring, always flying in to his rescue,
worrying about him.  If he's locked up, he can't get into
trouble."

"Vachon, that's despicable."

The Spaniard shrugged.  He felt like locking Nick up
himself, except that he probably wasn't strong enough.

Gypsy suddenly lurched across the back seat and started to
bark.  Tracy winced, momentarily losing control of her car,
at the painful racket.  "Stop it," she commanded, but the
dog grew only more insistent.  Tracy pulled over and parked
just short of the bridge.  Maybe the dog needed to whizz or
something.  She opened the back door.  Gypsy bolted from the
car and took off.

"Come back," Tracy called.  Nick hadn't kept the dog on a
leash, because she always stayed right near him.  He would
not be happy if Tracy let the dog get lost.  "Gypsy!
Stop!"  She glanced around quickly, then flew in pursuit
with Vachon right beside her.

Gypsy ran onto the bridge, her nose low to the ground.
Halfway across, she pawed at the bottom, whining and barking
frantically.  Tracy landed near her.  "What is it, girl?"
she asked.

Vachon held his hand over the spot.  He looked up at Tracy
with sad eyes.  "I sense a vampire was here," he said.

Tracy knelt down and looked more closely.  "I don't see
anything."

"You wouldn't," Vachon whispered.  "Even the ash blows
away."

Tracy fumbled with her phone.  Natalie would know what to
do.  Maybe she could take a sample or something.  Good old
Natalie would be solid in the crisis.  Tracy had to dial
three times before her frantic fingers found the right
buttons.

"Natalie.  You've got to come here right away," Tracy
explained.  "Bring your medical kit.  Gypsy's found
something, and Vachon says its vampire."



end... part 15

DotH 16


Natalie didn't know whom to call.  LaCroix was flying.  If
she called him, he would go straight to Tracy, but she
needed to be there, too.  She might call an ambulance, but
they wouldn't pick her up.  Finally she called Nick's
captain.  Reese could be persuaded.  When she was in his car
enroute to Tracy's location, then Natalie called LaCroix.

"I don't understand this," Reese grumbled as he neared the
bridge.  "Why did LaCroix know something was wrong with Nick
before anyone else.  What clue did Tracy find?  I'd really
like to know what is going on."

"I wish I could tell you," Natalie answered truthfully.  She
stared out at the dark city while wondering how to settle
Reese's concerns without betraying too much.  "I know you
don't like LaCroix.  I didn't used to, either.  Theirs is a
complicated relationship.  But, they really do care for each
other deeply.  They are very close.  So close, that they can
sometimes feel one another's pain."

"I've heard of that kind of crap among identical twins, or
mothers and their children, but never, ever from two
unrelated people."

"Well, Now you have," Natalie said.

Reese saw Tracy's car, but she was on the bridge.  He parked
near her car.  LaCroix was standing on the railing, and it
looked like he was preparing to jump.  Reese threw open his
door and shouted.  "Don't do it!  Stop!"  But it was too
late.  LaCroix, the powerful, sinister, sometimes abusive
father of his missing detective, dove to his death in the
frigid waters of the lake.  Reese stared, unable to breathe.

Natalie grabbed her crutches and hobbled closer to the
vampires and the golden dog.  Gypsy lay on the cold ground,
her head on her paws.  She glanced up at Nat mournfully.

Vachon pointed to the pavement.  "I felt a presence here.
LaCroix says it was Nick's blood.  Although the sunlight
destroyed it, there is still a presence.  He says there
isn't enough blood to be worried.  He thinks Nick is down
there."

Natalie looked over the railing, but in the dark her mortal
eyes could see very little.  Reese joined her.  He seemed to
be swaying as he wiped his forehead.  "Dear God," he
prayed.  He hadn't liked the man, but he hadn't wanted to
see him dead.

"He's okay," Nat said, patting Reese's arm.  "He thinks Nick
is down there.  You'd better call an ambulance."

"Do you think he should," Tracy asked.  She knew how risky
that would be.

"Yes, it will be fine," Nat reassured her.  "Nick may need
help."

"Natalie, you're not thinking clearly.  If Nick is down
there, he's beyond help," Reese whispered, trying to console
her.  "And I'm not sure we can do anything for Mr. LaCroix
now, either.  Damn.  I knew he loved him, in his own way,
but I didn't think he'd jump."

"Captain, call that ambulance," Nat said firmly, "or I
will."

Reese took out his cell phone and made the call.  He felt
numb.  The coast guard would have to be called to dredge the
bottom for bodies.  The thought of his detective now a cold
lifeless corpse made him shudder.

The others all leaned over the bridge waiting expectantly.
Reese looked too, knowing there was nothing to see.  He
heard the siren of the ambulance.  Then, something bobbed in
the water. Tracy squealed.  "It's them!  It's them!  Come
on, let's go!"

Reese stared at the shadowy figure in the water below.
Someone was trying to swim, and he was carrying something
large.  Tracy was already on the shore, but her boyfriend
had plunged into the frozen water to aid in the life-saving
effort.  Natalie hobbled along, but Reese had to huff and
puff to even catch up with her.  He made it to the shore at
the same time as the swimmers.  LaCroix and Vachon collapsed
to their knees, water already turning to ice on their hair
and clothing, as they dropped their bundle.  Reese stared at
the frozen, still body of Detective Knight.


Tracy clutched her hands, stunned silent.  Natalie
maneuvered herself carefully to the ground to sit on the
snow.  She touched Nick's frozen face.

"LaCroix, can you sense him?" she asked.

"He lives," LaCroix stated.  Reese looked at him in
disbelief.  The man wasn't even shivering.  He should be
dead.

Natalie prepared to start CPR, but Tracy stopped her.  "Let
me," she offered, gesturing towards Nat's cast.  The coroner
was shivering, but she was too worried to notice her own
pain.  Tracy straddled her dead partner and started applying
pressure to his chest.  Nat put a palm beneath Tracy's hand
and over Nick's chest.  "Not too hard, Trace," she
cautioned.

Tracy stopped for a moment and puffed air into Nick's
lungs.  Nothing happened.  His clothing was completely
frozen.  While she continued in her efforts, Vachon and
LaCroix tore the frozen material from him.  Reese hurried
back to the highway to direct the ambulance.  He was certain
that Nick was dead and that nothing would bring him back.
That Natalie and LaCroix in their grief would refuse to
acknowledge it didn't surprise him, but surely Tracy and her
boyfriend knew death when they saw it?

The ambulance drove down the embankment and stopped near
Nick.  The rear door was flung open.  A team of paramedics
pulled out a stretcher and hurried to him.  One knelt down
to speak with Tracy, as she continued the CPR.  "How long?"
he asked.

"Get the defibrillator," Nat ordered them.  "Now!"

The paramedics looked dubious.  They would do as they were
trained, and let the doctors declare him dead, but he looked
beyond hope. Transferring Nick to the stretcher, with Tracy
still straddling him, they carried him back towards the
waiting ambulance.  LaCroix discreetly told the driver not
to leave yet.

"Okay, clear," a paramedic called.  Tracy stepped away from
Nick and watched as the electricity jolted his frozen body.
There was a single heartbeat that made her cheer.  "Clear!"
the paramedic called, and shocked him again.  Twice more.

Suddenly Nick stirred, gagging.  Nat helped him to turn as
he vomited lake water and blood.  Reese felt tears sting his
eyes as he saw life return to him.  LaCroix groaned, a sound
somewhere between relief and pain.  Natalie gave orders to
LaCroix, who then told the EMTs what to do, and zombie-like,
they carried out the doctor's orders.  They did not take
Nick's vitals, or start an IV, but they did bandaged the
open wounds on his arms and legs.

Natalie touched Nick's cheek, still cold as ice.  After
ridding his body of the water, he had taken two deep breaths
on his own.  It would be another eleven minutes before she
knew if he would take another.

Tracy touched LaCroix's arm.  "Sir, you should get out of
your wet things.  They're frozen solid."

LaCroix didn't seem to notice.  He endured her touch
distractedly while he kept a watchful eye on his son.  Tracy
worked at the buttons and buckles.  They would have been
impossible with mortal strength alone.  She ended up tearing
the fabric in places as she forced his clothing away.
Accepting a blanket from the paramedic, she draped it around
him, then went to assist Vachon.

Reese just stared.  Once he had feared LaCroix, had even
tried to find some fault that he could have him arrested,
and yet the man had plunged into the icy depths to save his
son, the child whom he loved yet often hurt.  If he had
succeeded, if LaCroix had been in jail tonight, Nick would
have died.  He would never forget the sight of that man
diving from the bridge into the lake.  It would haunt his
dreams for a long, long time.

Natalie sighed with relief as Nick took another breath.  She
touched his still, frosty face tenderly.  He remained
unconscious, which was probably just as well for now.  This
injured, the vampire in him would be sure to react.  "I
think we can take him home now," she said to LaCroix.

"But he should go to the hospital," Reese insisted when none
of the paramedics said a word.  "He still looks critical to
me."

LaCroix stared into the captain's eyes, wondering if he
needed to be hypnotized.  "I will watch over him," he said
firmly.

"As will I," Nat assured him.

"I'll head back into the precinct, then.  Call me, keep me
informed," he said to Natalie.

LaCroix carried Nick to Tracy's car, while Vachon rearranged
a few of the paramedics' memories.  That they had been
called to the lake was a matter of record, so that much had
to remain.  Even knowledge of LaCroix's arctic dive was
retained, as well as their efforts to revive Nick.  But
after that, their memories altered.  They reported that Nick
was alert and coherent and much improved before they left.

Nat and LaCroix sandwiched Nick between them on Tracy's back
seat.  LaCroix cradled his head, as he held him close,
tucking the borrowed blanket around him.  "Lucien, he will
be all right, won't he?" Nat whispered.  "He's so cold.
I've never seen him like this before."

The ancient shivered once, the first sign of discomfort he'd
made since his swim.  Natalie reached over Nick's still form
to touch his face.  "Will you be all right?"

"I am always all right," he snapped, although his teeth
chattered.

Silently, Tracy turned the car heater up full.  Even Vachon
was shivering.  She just felt drained, strangely lethargic.
She wasn't even sure she was hungry.  About three days of
rest would be nice, though.  She blinked, struggling to
remain alert as she brought them home.

LaCroix carried Nick up into the apartment.  Vachon
struggled on his own, so Tracy hung back to offer Nat
assistance if she needed it, and carried her bag for her.
When they entered Nick's bedroom, LaCroix had already sliced
both their wrists and held the wounds together.  He gave
Natalie a worried look.

"His body does not take what it so desperately needs," he
said.

"Maybe because he's still so cold," she guessed.  "Before
I've given him blood directly into the stomach."  She gave
him a questioning look, and LaCroix merely nodded.  As she
set up to give him the transfusion, she noted the odd hue of
his skin.  It had a decidedly reddish cast to it.  Almost
like sunburn, only she knew that vampires literally burned
in the sun, right down to a fine ash.

"We've got to get his body temperature up, at least to
vampire normal," Nat was saying.  "Tracy, fetch some towels,
warm them in the microwave, and we'll lay them around him.
LaCroix, can you turn the temperature up in this room?
Vachon, I could really use some pain reliever.  Can you find
me an aspirin, or anything, and a glass of water?"

They left to do her bidding, just as she slipped the needle
into Nick's stomach.  Slowly at first, the blood was taken
in, much slower than she would have expected.   When it
finally emptied, she started to give him a second, but Nick
gagged and coughed, heaving the blood back up.  LaCroix
grabbed a hot towel from Tracy to absorb the mess.

"I don't understand," Nat gasped.  Nick needed blood.  He
would not heal until he got it.

"Neither do I," LaCroix confessed.  "But I told you he has
been unable to keep anything down.  Apparently, his stomach
is still injured.  We will continue to warm him, and I will
try to feed him again shortly."

Natalie nodded.  "Okay.  But, first you go take a warm
shower and put something on.  I don't need two patients."

LaCroix did not move.  Although he still shivered, he was
reluctant to leave Nicholas's side.

Natalie swung her crutch at him.  "Get out of here, Lucien!
Go!"  She smiled at him.

With a dignified sniff, he departed.

Vachon returned then with two tablets and the glass of
water.  "I begged 'em off someone down in the bar," he
confessed.

Natalie took them and swallowed.  Her leg was throbbing
badly enough that she wished she hadn't left the codeine at
her apartment.  In a few more days she would get a walking
cast, and hoped that the pain would be less severe.

"So what about Nick," Tracy asked.  It was so hard to see
him like this, unconscious, injured, so near to death.

"All we can do is wait," Natalie answered.  "You two go get
some rest."

"But we can sit up with you," she offered.

"No.  LaCroix will not sleep at all, I'm sure.  It is the
worst part about being a parent.  Some doctors call it the
dance of the hours.  When parents pace the floor in the
waiting room, back and forth, for what seems like an
eternity, waiting for some word- some sign- that their child
will be all right."

Tracy yawned as she thought about the image Nat created. A
dance of hours... an apt description for mortal parents, but
it was euphemistically brief for the dance LaCroix and
Nicholas made.  Theirs was more infinite.

"Well, you call us, if you need anything," Tracy said,
covering a yawn.  "Come on, Vachon.  Maybe you need some
company in your shower?"

DotH 17

Natalie felt her eyes growing heavier.  She fought back
sleep by doing a more thorough examination on Nick. His body
temperature was slowly warming, although the reddened skin
still looked like sunburn, especially where his clothing had
not offered any protection.  His face and neck down to the v
where his shirt had been was redder than his chest.  He had
probably been in the water all day.  Had some of the
sunlight filtered down through the water to touch him?
Enough to damage the skin but not to kill?

LaCroix returned, looking much improved in his silk pajamas,
his hair still damp, and the ubiquitous beverage in his
hand.  He took his son's hand in his own and held it.

"You should rest," he told Natalie after a long silence.

"I couldn't.  I'll just wait up with you for now."  She
yawned once.  "So, tell me the rest of the story."

LaCroix didn't need her to clarify the request.  He had been
telling her about Nicholas's childhood, and he knew she
would not let up until she'd heard it all.  He sighed
wearily.  "It isn't a happy tale," he confessed.

'Why am I not surprised,' she thought to herself.  "Tell it
anyway.  Think of it as practice, before you tell Nick."

LaCroix thought back... he had not dwelt on these memories
much, as they always elicited feelings of guilt and self
doubt, two emotions he forbid himself to indulge in.

"I concealed the father's body, as well as the priest's.  I
gave Nicholas other memories, and then I fled."




LaCroix thought back over the centuries, recalling that
period as clearly as yesterday.  How he had loved that
child!  He had come to Brabant, prepared to bring him
across, to keep him forever!  But all that had changed the
moment he killed the boy's father.  Those deep blue eyes
staring up at him in fear... it had been as a stab wound to
the heart.

And so, he had covered his tracks.  The father's body was
never found.  He had often wandered off, staying away for
months at a time.  No one would even begin to worry until
LaCroix was long gone.  The priest had been another matter.
LaCroix hadn't killed him.  He didn't even want to touch
him, but he needed to remove that horror from the child's
memory, so he dropped the body behind a monastery and left
him to be buried.  There was an investigation, but it had
never been closed.

Then he carefully gave the child new memories.  Nicholas
missed his priest, who had been his teacher and friend most
of his young life.  But he didn't even remember the stranger
LaCroix, whom he loved.  That memory was gone, locked behind
the power of suggestion.  Perhaps in his dreams visions of
the pale gentleman in black danced just beyond his reach,
but they faded away in the light of day.

LaCroix flew away from the small castle in Brabant, feeling
like he had torn out a piece of himself.  Nothing had hurt
more, not even when he'd killed his daughter, for Nicholas
had seemed more like his own flesh and blood, his own child,
than the prostitute's daughter ever had.  He stayed away for
two years, then unable to resist, he checked back in on the
boy.

He was not pleased with what he saw.  The mother refused to
remarry, since no body had ever been found to prove her
husband's death.  She would not risk committing adultery.
Instead, the father's brother took control of her lands,
managing the estate poorly.  He detested young Nicholas,
whom the peasants respected and obeyed, and so he had sent
him away to serve as squire to the lord Dellebarre.

Dellebarre was hateful to the boy, treating him more like a
slave than squire.  Nicholas performed his tasks silently,
still praying to the god that had forsaken him, but he
missed his home and sister.  LaCroix longed to comfort him,
to take him away, but still he resisted.  If he had not
killed the boy's father, his life might have turned out
differently.  LaCroix could only try to make amends.  So he
came to Dellebarre in a dream and threatened him, compelling
him to treat Nicholas better, to knight him swiftly, and
love him like a son.  Satisfied, LaCroix left again.

Only, Dellebarre was incapable of loving anyone.  Perhaps
the uncle had paid him to get rid of the young heir, or
perhaps Dellebarre had a scheme of his own, but Nicholas was
framed for murder and sentenced to join the Crusade in the
Holy Land.

When next LaCroix looked for him, the castle in Brabant was
but a shell of its former self.  No one remained, no peasant
or noble, except for the two women, Nicholas's mother and
little sister.  They lived on the edge of poverty, alone in
the stone fortress.  They knew not where Nicholas was, only
that when the Crusade had ended, he had not returned.
LaCroix made them forget him, and he returned to Paris to be
miserable.

Then that one fateful night Nicholas showed up in the very
inn where LaCroix and Janette were staying.    LaCroix had
refused to bring him across as a child.  Instead, he gave
the boy boy the chance to live the life to which he had been
born.  Each time their paths crossed, thought, LaCroix saw
less and less of that brave and tender child, and more of a
man plagued by frustrated dreams and failing faith.  He
watched as the young knight, still favoring his side from
wounds received in battle, drank himself to near oblivion,
and LaCroix made the final decision to bring Nicholas into
his family.

"So you see, Natalie," LaCroix said, finishing the tale.
"It is not the loss of his mortality for which he grieves.
It is the loss of his faith.  I did not take that from him,
nor can I give it back."

Natalie listened thoughtfully.  The sad story of his
childhood was that others had always directed his steps.
His mother had not allowed him the normal activities of
play, as she pushed him to be the man of the family too
soon.  The priest had been pushing him towards religious
orders, the father towards the military.  The uncle had
pushed him away from his inheritance, and Dellebarre had
pushed him in to battle.  Then LaCroix had pushed him into
an eternal life.  Perhaps, what Nicholas needed most was not
his mortality, but just his life.  The right to decide.  The
right to make his own decisions.  That was something LaCroix
could give him, but would he?

Her reverie stopped as Nick started to cough.  LaCroix
clutched him to his breast, holding him, comforting him,
until the spasms stopped.  Nick was still too weak to move.
His arms hung limp, his head leaned against his master.

Natalie touched his cheek and spoke soothingly.  "We're
here, Nick.  You've had a rough day, but you're going to be
all right."

LaCroix gently laid him down.  He took Nicholas's wrist and
stroked it with a finger.  Then taking the knife, he tried
again to give him blood.  This time, he felt a faint tug, as
his son's vampire nature reached out to claim what it needed
to heal.  He could have laughed for joy even as he felt a
little lightheaded.  Natalie wordlessly refilled his glass
for him, while he continued to nourish his son.  When the
vampire no longer drew his blood, he pulled their arms
apart.  He licked at the wound on Nick's wrist until it
closed.

Nick stirred slightly.  His eyes fluttered open, but his
hands flailed out aimlessly.  "LaCroix?  Where are you?"

LaCroix took one hand, Natalie took the other.  "We're right
here," Nat said softly, patting him reassuringly.

"It's dark in here," Nick whispered.

It was nothing of the sort.  The lights were turned on.
LaCroix was speechless.

"Yes," Natalie said, to comfort him.  She got up carefully
and took out her otoscope, fitting a clean tip on it.  As
she continued to speak soft words to Nicholas, she flashed
the light directly in his eyes.  There was no reaction to
the light, no sign of recognition.  Something had burned a
whole on the retina of both eyes. In mortals, that would
result in permanent blindness, but how it would affect
vampires, she had no idea.

"Just rest," she cooed.  "We will stay with you."

He dozed then.  A few hours later, LaCroix repeated the
blood ritual, and the small sores on Nick's arms and legs
healed.  The strange red color faded from his skin.  But
when they asked if he would like to try to drink something,
he shook his head no.

Natalie yawned yet again.  She simply could not stay up a
moment longer.  Nick seemed to have turned the corner.
Although still blind and very weak, he was healing.  She
kissed him goodnight and struggled to her feet.

"Let me assist you," LaCroix offered reluctantly.

Nick trembled.  "Don't go?  Please?"

Nat declined the offer.  "You stay with him.  Come and wake
me when you need to rest," she said.


"I'm sorry," Nick whispered.

"Rest, my son."

Nick fought the temptation to sleep.  He had to speak now.
There might never be another chance.  He'd learned that
today as he faced his own mortality.  "I'm sorry.  I should
have listened to you.  And whenever you want to me to move
on, I will go.  As you wish," he said.  He was gasping for
breath, red sweat dotting his forehead from the minute
exertion.

"Sh-sh-sh.  Do not tire yourself."

But still Nick fought.  He had wanted to tell his master
something that day, while he lay trapped at the bottom of
the lake.  Something terribly important.  He shook his head,
struggling to remember.

"Where is it?" he asked, his voice still barely above a
whisper.  "I have to have it back.  Please, tell me where it
is?"

"Where what is, Nicholas?  What do you want?"

"My pocket watch.   I want it back.  Father!"

LaCroix blinked back sudden tears.  Could it be?  He had
given him a watch a century ago, engraved with a single
word: Forever.  Nicholas had returned the gift on Father's
Day a few years back.  LaCroix had kept it, burying the
hurt, telling himself that this day would come, and his son
would regret his impetuous action.

"I have kept it for you, Nicholas," he said.

Nicholas didn't seem to hear him, trapped as he was
somewhere between nightmares and dreams.   He struggled
weakly, tossing on the bed, whispering over and over, "Where
is it?"

LaCroix released his hand momentarily, and Nick cried out as
if in pain.  The ancient went to the dresser and opened a
small drawer.  There he took out the silver watch.
Returning to Nicholas's side he placed it in his hand.

Nick's fingers tightened around it and his struggles
ceased.  His features relaxed.  "Forever," he whispered.

LaCroix watched him sleep.  He was still so weak.  It might
be days before he was fully recovered, and yet LaCroix knew
that the worst was over.  The dance had ended.  He stretched
out in the bed beside his son and held him close.  He
whispered a promise into his son's ear then.  "Forever."


The end.


To be continued in "Tap Dance," the seventh story in this
series, coming very soon.