Permission granted to archive at Mel's fanfic site, Cousin
Mary's Tracy Pages, and Jadfe.  All others please inquire.

I don't own the characters... just out to play with them for
a bit.
Profanity warning... the vampires want to use the word
"dam*"  a few times.

I would like to thank my beta-reader.  Laurie, you're the
greatest!  Your comments and suggestions were invaluable in
getting this story finished.  Thanks a million!


#7...Tap Dance
By Lorelei Sieja


"Forever."

LaCroix blinked, the stab that pierced his cold heart was
immediate.  He could never lose this one.  Their lives had
been so entwined for centuries.  If anything ever happened
to Nicholas, it would be like losing a part of himself, the
best part.  If only they could work through whatever kept
them in constant conflict and return to the relationship
they had once enjoyed.  Didn't Nicholas know by now that he
only wanted what was best for him?  To protect him from
himself?

Nicholas was still so weak.  LaCroix would stay with him
tonight, but first he must speak to Natalie.  She was in
danger because of her ignorance.  He would have to enlighten
her before he could finally succumb to his own weariness.

Slowly so as not to disturb his child, LaCroix eased himself
from the guest bed.   A scowl crossed the younger vampire's
face, even as he reached out blindly in his sleep for the
comforting presence already missed.  LaCroix would hurry
back.  His son needed rest.

The apartment was silent although day had not yet dawned.
Young Vachon had redeemed himself immeasurably in the
ancient's estimation for the way that he plunged into the
icy waters last night.  LaCroix had sensed his son, and knew
with a certainty that he lay on the lake bottom, but he
searched for what felt like hours as the cold sapped his
strength.  When he finally found Nicholas, the distance to
the shore seemed almost insurmountable.  He snapped the
ropes that bound Nicholas to cement blocks and started to
swim.  His sodden clothing dragged him back with the
current.  The rushing waters of the Humber River where they
joined Lake Ontario tried to push him further away.  On he
went, straining himself beyond his limits, determined to
save his child or they would remain in the icy lake
together.

Then Vachon dove in and grabbed a hold of Nick.  Youthful,
strong, not yet affected by the cold, the Spaniard pulled
them both to safety.  LaCroix wasn't certain that Vachon was
even aware of how much he had needed his assistance just
then.  Still, he owed the Spaniard, and he always paid his
debts.

The arctic swim had exhausted Vachon, and Tracy was tired
because of her youthfulness and because her master and
brother to whom she was closely bonded were both exhausted.
LaCroix smiled paternally at the young pair sleeping
entwined in Janette's room.  Vachon, dark as night and
innocent in sleep, Tracy pale as the moon yet possessing a
maturity even Nicholas lacked, together they made a perfect
pair, two complementing halves of a greater whole.

Natalie was not his other half.  She was too much like him.
She was strong-willed, intelligent, skeptical of anything
she did not understand.  She was too independent.  He knew
she was falling in love with him.  LaCroix thought for a
moment, searching his heart, and he realized that if he were
to be truthful with himself, the feeling was mutual.  But
love was all that tied them.

Nicholas was his better half.  The boy was youthfulness to
his antiquity, fire to his ice, energy to his lassitude,
passion to his indifference.  He needed him!  Damn, but he
needed him!  When LaCroix had first realized just how much,
he had turned angry, hateful, brutally punishing Nicholas
for any infraction, as he strove to drive a wedge between
them that would give him his freedom at last.  Only, it had
not succeeded.  Each time he had hurt the golden vampire, it
had been self-torture.  Nicholas would stare at him with
those deep, stormy blue eyes, a look of longing on his face
even more profound than the hate with which he shielded
himself, and LaCroix would want to clutch him to his breast
and beg his forgiveness... only he never did.

He felt a stirring from Nicholas.  A sense of fear, and he
hurried to complete his task that he could return to comfort
his son.  Natalie lay in his bed, her chestnut hair splayed
across the black satin pillowcase, one stray lock partially
concealing her tired face.  He could hear her breathing, and
knew she was nearly asleep.

"Good day, my dear," he whispered as he perched on the edge
of the bed beside her.

"Is it that late already?" she asked, covering a yawn.

"You must lock the door tonight, my dear," he said then.
She opened her eyes and looked at him without
understanding.

"You are safe from me," he answered quickly, "but there are
other vampires here today.  Although you would like to trust
them, I am certain that Nicholas must have told you on more
than once occasion that he is dangerous.  Vachon is as
well.  The vampire wakes up at first, exceedingly hungry,
especially after such a trying night.  Instinct drives
them.  If they catch your scent, they will feed from you
before they are fully awake."

"What about Tracy?" Nat asked, not liking what she heard at
all.  "Is she dangerous as well?"

LaCroix scowled.  "No.  Although I am not sure why.  She
seems to be able to control her instinct to feed far greater
than Nicholas."

Natalie thought about it for a minute, then she laughed.
LaCroix didn't see the humor at the moment.  "It's probably
the difference between 20th century women and 13th century
knights," she explained.  When he still didn't seem to
understand, she laughed again.  "Tracy was young and slim as
a mortal.  Most women try to stay that way by constant
dieting.  We regularly practice denying our hunger.  You
might say she was "born" with control."

LaCroix gave a slight nod as he considered it.  Perhaps
then, Natalie would also exhibit such ability?  A seductive
smile spread across his features as he considered the day
she would join him.  Another tremor through the link
disturbed that line of thought.  He must return.

"What if I wake up before you guys," Natalie asked, growing
concerned.

"I will keep watch over Nicholas, and in the future I will
ask Tracy to watch over Vachon, although she sleeps
soundly.  If you must be up before us, try to move as
quickly as possible.  Lock the bathroom door behind you.  Or
prepare your breakfast and return in here to eat.  If you
need anything else, wake me."

Natalie nodded.  He was scaring her, but then, she knew that
was his intention.  Still, it meant that he cared about
her.  She got up then and followed him to the door.  He
kissed her once, but his mind was elsewhere.  Then she
locked the door behind him.  She blinked back the urge to
weep.  She would not be jealous of Nick!

LaCroix returned to Nicholas's bed and at once his son
relaxed in sleep.  He pulled him closer in his protective
embrace, hoping to drive away the monsters of his dreams.
With a heavy sigh, LaCroix returned to sleep.


Fear.  The sun.  Warmth.  Children laughing.  Remorse.  The
dreams overlapped, a confused miasma, distorted and
misshapen.  LaCroix gasped to wakefulness, wiping a red
sheen from his forehead.  The nightmare was his son's.
"Nicholas, wake up," he commanded, gently shaking him.

Nicholas had always been difficult to waken. Whenever
LaCroix had tried in the past, the younger vampire would
react on instinct, attacking fully fanged to bite him
viciously before awareness came.  It was one of his more
sensual moments.  However, the ancient was to be
disappointed, for this time Nicholas merely yawned and
smiled contentedly. "What is it, LaCroix?"

"Your nightmares are most distressing," he snapped.

"Hmm.  It wasn't a nightmare," he said dreamily.  "It was a
memory."

Impossible, the ancient felt!  Nicholas had no mortal
memories from before that night he'd come across.  He could
not possibly remember staring at the sun.  "Do you hunger?"
he asked, attempting to change the subject.

Nicholas stretched his arms above his head and yawned
again.  "It was beautiful, LaCroix.  So beautiful."

"Well, it was keeping me awake," he said.

"I love you, you know," Nicholas said then.  His hand
reached out towards the sound of his master's voice and
touched the familiar face.  He stroked the eternally
smooth-shaven jaw, his thumb tracing the lower lip.

"I believe the cold dunking has affected your mind," the
ancient stated coldly.

Nicholas laughed.  "On the contrary, LaCroix.  It opened my
eyes... so to speak.  I thought I was going to die.  Really
die.  I was trapped, and the sun was shining on me.  I knew
you weren't going to be able to come for me.  Not this
time.  So I stared at it.  For hours."

"But you're home now," LaCroix said, attempting to end the
tension of the moment.

"And do you know, after I grieved for all the harm I have
caused, for failing all those near to me, and even as I
thrilled at finally seeing the sun again, all I could think
about then was you.  How I was going to die, and I never
told you how much I loved you."

LaCroix tried to turn away as a tear slipped from his tight
control, but his son's hand swept it up and brought it to
his lips.  LaCroix stared as the boy's tongue tasted and
savored the minute offering, a sweet smile on his beautiful
face.

"You don't have to say it, Father.  I know."

He tried to.  LaCroix wanted to, for ages now, he wanted to
tell him.  It had been so easy to say those three little
words to Natalie, words he could not remember having ever
spoken before, not since he suckled at his mother's breast.
Then he felt his son withdraw from him and the moment had
passed.  LaCroix berated himself for the coward that he was.

"I'm blind, aren't I?" Nicholas asked.

"It would seem," the ancient stalled.

"That's what I thought.  For how long?"

LaCroix wondered.  It would be a frightening experience to
lose one's eyesight, yet Nicholas did not seem overly
distraught.  He seemed more content than LaCroix could ever
remember.  It must be some strange apathy induced from the
cold water.  "I am uncertain, Nicholas.  Sun-injuries take
longer to heal than most, and you still seem unable to feed
properly.  It may be awhile."

A small tremor shook him then, and LaCroix felt oddly
relieved, as though his son had at last returned.  "Will you
stay with me?" Nicholas asked in a small voice.

A smile spread on the ancient's face.  The image came to
mind of Nicholas at the age of five, clinging to his neck
because he was afraid of the dark.  Of course, Nicholas no
longer remembered the incident.  LaCroix pulled his grown
son in closer and settled back down to sleep.  "Forever," he
promised.


end, part 1

Tap Dance, part 2

Natalie was the first to waken, and then only because she
was in pain.  Her leg would not allow her the freedom to
roll about in her sleep freely, and the position she held
too long caused both arms to lose circulation.  Needle sharp
pain shot up her arms as the blood began to stir.  She
clenched her hands and stretched them, trying to speed the
process.

"Damn," she muttered.  Now she was awake and she really had
to use the bathroom.  All those times Nick had pushed her
away, not letting her sleep at his loft- not even on the
couch, not wanting to sleep at her apartment... and she had
thought he was just being pig-headed.  Now she wondered just
how dangerous he could be.  Only once had she ever came to
his loft and woke him, to see the uncontrolled beast
within.  He had nearly attacked her, stark naked and fully
fanged, and definitely not her sweet Nicholas.  That he was
probably still weak from last night's ordeal, and probably
still blind, did not comfort her at all.  Like injured
wildlife, an injured vampire was twice as deadly.

She eased her heavy cast off the bed and reached for the
awkward crutches.  She pulled on an over-sized Tee shirt and
her bathrobe, but still hesitated to venture forth.  She was
not going to wake her Roman lover just to take her to the
bathroom!  Frantically, she looked around the room.

Her coat lay over a chair in the corner.  She reached into a
pocket and pulled out the acrylic scarf, wrapping it around
her neck again and again, before tucking the ends inside her
bathrobe.  She grinned self-consciously, knowing what an odd
sight she must make, but one of the interesting tidbits of
vampire lore she had managed to glean from Nick over the
years was that he hated man-made fabrics.  His skin was very
sensitive and could only tolerate 100% natural fibers-
cotton, linen, and silk. Wool was acceptable, but any blend
in the wool fiber was painful.  She didn't know if the scarf
was as much protection as a braided garlic necklace, but it
would have to do for now.  She unlocked the door and
ventured forth as fast as her crutches would allow.


Her stomach reminded her rather loudly that she had not had
three meals yesterday.  She felt a little lightheaded as she
finished her sponge bath, her hunger stronger than her
longing for a hot soak in the tub.  Wrapping the scarf
securely again, she went into the kitchen to scrounge up
breakfast.  Before long coffee was brewing in the tiny,
two-cup pot and her oatmeal warmed in the microwave.  She
drank a glass of juice while she waited.

Then she heard sounds in the hallway.  Her heart skipped and
she brought one crutch up defensively.  Her eyes grew
wider.  The sounds emerged as Tracy stepped into the kitchen
wearing a little teddy and a sleepy grin.

"Not a morning person, are you?" Tracy asked teasingly.

Nat lowered her crutch feeling a little foolish.  "Actually,
Tracy, it's almost four in the afternoon.  That hardly
counts as morning."

Tracy poured herself a drink and sat at the table.  Natalie
felt a little cold even in the long bathrobe, but of course
Tracy wouldn't feel that discomfort anymore.  She poured
herself the coffee and took the oatmeal to the table.  Maybe
since Tracy was here, it would be okay to remain?  Lap
eating was so awkward.

"So how's Nick?" Tracy asked.

"I haven't looked in on him yet," Natalie answered.  "But
I'm sure he's going to need some time off.  Not like Reese
is going to expect him back anyway."

"So why the scarf?  Do you have a sore throat?" Tracy was
starting to look more awake as she sipped her drink.

Natalie blushed.  "Um, this must look really strange," she
stammered.  "But, LaCroix implied that Vachon and Nick could
be... rather, um, dangerous, in the morning."

Tracy laughed.  Her eyes were filled with amusement, but not
really directed at the mortal.  Natalie tried to laugh as
well.  "So he warned you about them, but not me.  I can be
like your protector then?"

"Something like that," Nat said, forcing the cooling oatmeal
down. They sat in quiet companionship then.  Natalie
considered the young woman before her.  Tracy was much
deeper than she first appeared-- not the ditsy blonde bimbo
that some disgruntled cops on the force thought she was.
Although, Tracy seemed to use the dumb-blonde stereotype
when it suited her.  Was it a role that she had learned to
manipulate, though, or had it been forced upon her because
it was what others expected?  Natalie was suddenly grateful
for her unruly chestnut mane.

Tracy was the youngest vampire Natalie had ever met,
although she hadn't met that many, actually. Even so, she
had a quiet maturity about her that even LaCroix lacked.
Suddenly, Natalie knew what it was.  Tracy was a woman.  It
had been ages since Natalie had had a girlfriend to confide
in.  Maybe Tracy was someone she could really get to know,
to trust, and to develop that kind of relationship with.
The thought made her smile.

Tracy bolted from the table, tipping the chair over in her
haste.  She grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator and
blocked Vachon's path as the vampire rushed into the
kitchen, fully fanged and hungry.  "Drink up," she said,
pushing the bottle into his hands.

He ripped the cork and drained half the contents in a few
swallows.  Natalie stared, not even breathing, until the
amber light faded from his eyes and the dangerous beast
receded behind the childlike innocence of the eternally
youthful conquistador.  "Good day, Vachon," she said
nervously.

He grinned, unaware of the fright he had given her.
"Morning, doctor," he answered.

"I'm going to get dressed," Nat said, putting her dish in
the sink.  "I want to see Nick before I go in to work.  Will
you be able to drive me?" she asked, looking at Tracy.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed.  She wasn't sure what was going to
happen.  Reese didn't want her alone, period, and LaCroix
didn't want her alone among mortals.  Those two men were
making her life incredibly complicated.



Natalie pulled on another pair of sweatpants with one leg
removed, but opted this time for a more feminine sweater.
She pulled a brush through her tangled hair.  Maybe she'd
make a salon appointment to have it shampooed.  In a few
days she could get a fiberglass walking cast and then a
shower wouldn't be impossible, but in the meantime she was
beginning to feel sorry for herself.  "Enough of that,
Lambert!"

The door to the guestroom was open.  Natalie peeked around
the corner.  Nick sat up in bed, pillows propped behind him,
and held a glass of breakfast.  LaCroix was standing nearby,
gently scolding him.  Life was getting back to normal, she
realized.

"You must feed, Nicholas," LaCroix said.

Nick brought the glass to his lips slowly.  Natalie saw the
amber light of hunger, and yet she could see the slight
tremble of his hands.  He wanted it, craved it, but seemed
afraid.

"Wait, Lucien," she said, coming inside.  "Maybe it is too
soon?  Surely he will drink when he gets hungry."

LaCroix squared his shoulders obstinately.  "He must feed
before you may examine him, doctor."

Nick took a drink then.  His fangs erupted and he downed the
glass, holding the now empty container out for his master.
Natalie was about to sigh with something like relief when
she saw Nick stiffen and gag as he heaved back the contents
of his stomach.  LaCroix must have been expecting as much,
for he swiftly produced a container and caught most of the
mess.

A dark sweat broke out on Nick's brow and his coloring
turned a pale gray.  He rolled over to his side and pulled
the cover up over his face.  Natalie hurt for him.  She
wanted to go and comfort him, but wasn't sure right now if
he was safe to be around.

LaCroix patted his shoulder gently.    "You may rest a few
moments, Nicholas.  Then I will return to assist you with
your bath."

There was no response from the mound beneath the covers.
LaCroix rose, took the container and left.  Natalie turned
and followed him.


Once away from the guestroom, he held the container towards
her, leaning away from it as much as his long arms would
allow.  "Perhaps, doctor, you would care to examine this and
tell me what is wrong with my son?"

It would be a good idea, she thought, although there was
probably a better way than to intentionally make a sick man
puke.  "Put a lid on it, and Tracy can carry it for me,"
Natalie said curtly.  "And don't worry, it won't bite you."

"It has a most foul odor," he said, sneering scornfully.

Natalie looked at the blood in the container.  It had a
faintly metallic scent like blood should, but only a trace
of the odor associated with the bile of the human
counterpart.  "I hardly smell a thing," she said.

"You should smell nothing."

Natalie looked at him with surprise.  She knew that vampires
still had the same organs as mortals, but they used them
differently.  She'd never really thought about how a healthy
vampire stomach was supposed to work.  All her work had been
directed at changing a vampire into a mortal, not how to
keep him healthy.  "Explain," she said, wishing there was a
vampire doctor somewhere to share a long discussion.

LaCroix fastened a lid on the container and set it down.
"We have no need for digestive fluids, as we don't digest
our food as much as absorb it.  That is why there is no
waste by-product," he said briefly.  He turned to leave in
an attempt to end the private discussion of vampire
biology.  He was obviously very uncomfortable with it.

"So what are you planning to do for him, then?" she asked.

LaCroix remained with his back to her, but his shoulders
slumped slightly, and she sensed his distress quite
clearly.  "Whatever I can," he responded.

"I'm working in the dark here, Lucien.  I don't know what is
wrong or how to fix it.  But I have a suggestion."

She waited for any sign that he was interested in her
advice.  He gave a slight nod of his head, and then she
continued.  "Mortals- especially children- sometimes get a
flu, and they start vomiting, and then their stomachs get so
irritated, that they can't keep anything down.  We tell
parents not to let their children eat anything for ten
hours, not even water.  Then they can try sips of water,
then maybe a saltine cracker... the trick is to slowly work
food back into their systems without upsetting their stomach
again."

"I really am not interested, doctor," LaCroix sniffed.

"What I mean is, maybe Nick shouldn't eat anything all
night.  No blood.  Nothing.  Just let his stomach rest."

"I must go to him," LaCroix said.

Natalie moved closer and touched his shoulder tenderly.  "We
will lick this, Lucien.  He will be well again."

LaCroix turned sharply and pulled her into a bone-crushing
embrace.  He kissed the top of her head before pulling
back.  "I... thank you, for your concern," he whispered.

Damn, she was a lot more than concerned!  But she knew he
had not meant to slight her feelings.  "I will call you,
after I've had a chance to run some tests on this," she
said.

Tracy came bounding around the corner then.  "LaCroix!  Just
the one I want to see."

LaCroix permitted a slight smile for her.  "What is it,
Tracy?"

"Um, it's work, sir," she stammered.  "My partner isn't
going to show up, and I really have to."

He nodded as he understood her dilemma.  He should have
realized it himself, but he'd been so concerned for Nicholas
that he almost forgot about her entirely.  It probably
wouldn't be wise to let her know that.  "Do you feel up to
working solo tonight, or should I send someone to keep an
eye on you?"

Tracy's mouth dropped open.  She was speechless for a few
seconds.  "Solo?  You mean, alone without a vampire
bodyguard?  I think I can handle it, really!"

"Remember the lessons I have taught you, my child," he said
as he kissed her farewell.  Then he slipped into the
guestroom and pulled the door shut behind him.


end, part 2.

Tap Dance, part 3.


Nicholas had fallen back to sleep.  LaCroix hesitated to
disturb him, but he was dirty.  The scent of lake water
clung to his hair, sand and algae had dried on his skin, and
now some of his breakfast stained his front.  LaCroix pulled
the covers back and nudged his son.  "Come, Nicholas.  It is
time."

He awoke, only this time LaCroix was pleased to see fangs.
Some things were getting back to normal.  He tugged his arm
gently, prodding him to get out of bed.  Nicholas shrank
back, fearful.

"No, not now," he pleaded.  "Let me sleep.  I don't want to
go anywhere."

LaCroix scowled.  "Come, my son.  You will not be permitted
to hide in here until your sight returns.  You might as well
learn to navigate the halls right now.  Let us go!"

Nick allowed his master to pull him from the bed then, but
he clutched LaCroix's arm tightly.  LaCroix walked a little
slower than normal, but he made no other concession.
Nicholas walked beside him, feeling disoriented.  LaCroix
had lived here for four years, but tonight the apartment was
an alien land.  He found himself thinking more,
concentrating more, and his stomach hurt from the worry.
Turn right at the door, sixteen steps to the bathroom.  Then
LaCroix started to leave.

"Don't go!" Nick said.

"You will figure out where everything is, Nicholas."

"Please?"  His voice had dropped to a whisper.  LaCroix
hesitated.  There had to be a fine line between helping him
and doing so much that it actually hindered him.  Right now
Nicholas was frightened, and still very weak.  It would not
hurt to comfort him this once.  LaCroix nodded, then
realizing that his son would not understand the gesture, he
spoke.  "Very well, Nicholas."

Nick pulled off his own soiled clothing, but his movements
bore none of his usual grace.  LaCroix could not help but
stare at the gray complexion, the prominent ribs, and the
old scar from his crusader days that was more livid now
against the pallor of his illness.   LaCroix moved to fill
the tub; the younger vampire was too weak to stand in the
shower just now.  Once safety situated in the hot water
Nicholas seemed less distressed.  LaCroix excused himself.
"I'll bring clean pajamas," he said.

Nick nodded. The hot water was very soothing.  Briefly he
relived the cold of the lake and shivered.  If there was a
heaven on earth, it had to be like a hot bath.


The phone rang again.  LaCroix glared at it, but Tracy must
have already left and Vachon wouldn't answer it.  He put
down the pajamas and lifted the phone.  "Speak," he said.

"Diggon, sir," the voice said nervously.

One of the two vampires he'd placed at the hospital to guard
over the mortal boy, Jeep.  LaCroix could care less if the
mortal lived or died, but it would matter a great deal to
his son.  He didn't want Nicholas any more upset at the
moment than necessary.

"We got someone, forty year old male, Jon Blakely.  He
slipped past the police officers and came after the boy with
a knife.  The police have arrested him."

LaCroix sighed.  This could get very messy.  He would
probably have to let Nicholas's mortal friends apprehend the
criminal.   But if they failed to incarcerate him then
LaCroix would see to a more permanent retribution.  "You
have done well."

"The hospital will be releasing the boy tomorrow," Diggon
continued.

The unspoken question was what would LaCroix like him to do
next?  The mortal child could still be in danger.  It was
highly probable that the attempt on his life was not made by
the one in charge but merely a hired associate.  So where
should the boy go?  He indulged in a sly smile.  The safest
place in the city was probably in the home of the biggest
crook, which happened to be one of his children.  The young
vampire owed him some favors.  It was time to call one in.

"Remain with the boy.  I will see to it that Detective
Vetter takes him to a safe house.  You will accompany them
there, and give whatever assistance to my child as he shall
require.  Have Samson follow my daughter Tracy.  He is to be
very discreet and not let her know he is there.
Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

The line was disconnected.  Tracy would try her wings
tonight, but still be protected.  Diggon was a trustworthy
lackey.  LaCroix wasn't certain of his lineage or even his
intelligence.  He was stocky and dark, a little heavy set,
and the dourest vampire LaCroix had ever met. LaCroix had
never seen him smile or heard him laugh in all the centuries
that he had been using his services.  Diggon had only
recently moved in to Toronto, and the first thing he had
done was look up LaCroix.  He must have gambled away his
money again, the ancient thought distractedly.  That was
usually the case.  After he had worked for a few years and
stashed more away, he would disappear.

While the issue was still on his mind, LaCroix dialed Don
Constantine, his youngest "son", whom he had brought across
very late in life.  In mortal years, he was somewhere in his
90's.  LaCroix had chosen not to train him, to cultivate him
into his family.  He had had a few dealings with Constantine
over the years and making him immortal was merely a way to
repay an old debt.  If Constantine failed to survive his
infancy, it would not affect LaCroix in the slightest.

LaCroix had access to Constantine's private line, however,
so he was able to bypass the ranks of secretaries and
bodyguards.  "My son," he said coolly.  "I require a
favor."  Then he briefly informed him the nature of the
favor.  Later he would need to speak with Nicholas's
captain, to ensure that Tracy was placed in charge of the
boy.  Now, it was time to return to Nicholas.


Nicholas was nearly asleep.  LaCroix smiled indulgently at
him.  "It is time to get out.  The water will soon turn
cold."

"I don't want to get out yet," Nick said.  "Sometimes I
wonder if I'll ever feel warm again."

It was a common belief that vampires were unaffected by the
temperature.  This was only partly true.  Vampires could not
regulate their own body temperature.  They did not sweat
when too warm, and seldom shivered.  But, if they got cold
enough, their undead existence would slow and simulate death
until they were warmed again.

"Then perhaps you would be more comfortable in my hot tub,"
LaCroix suggested.

"You have it set up already?"  Nicholas had known he was
planning to have one installed.

"Yes," he said.  "It is in the back den.  Shall I take you
there?"

Nicholas nodded.  He stood and accepted the towel LaCroix
placed in his hands.  He put a hand on LaCroix's arm and
walked beside him silently.  Again, Nicholas memorized the
steps and directions, strengthening his other senses until
sight was restored.  LaCroix hoped he would make this
adjustment quickly, although he didn't mind at all the
opportunity to take care of his favorite son.

"Will you join me?" Nick asked as his stepped into the hot
tub.

LaCroix smiled.  "If you wish."

For long moments they sat in companionable silence. LaCroix
would spend most of the night with him, he decided.

"Have you spoken with Captain Reese yet?" Nicholas asked.

"Not yet."

"Maybe I should give him a call.  I really am not up to
going in tonight," Nicholas said.

LaCroix almost laughed at the absurdity.  Nicholas would not
be going in for a long time!  But he wisely kept quiet.
That they would argue about it eventually, he was certain,
but he would not waste this peaceful evening.  "Your captain
will not expect to see you, Nicholas.  He was there when I
pulled you from the lake.  According to their perception,
you were dead.  You spent a number of hours "clinically
dead", but had a miraculous recovery when Tracy started CPR.
Unless you feel like hypnotizing your captain, the
paramedics, and Natalie, you will not be returning to work
for a while.

Nicholas looked solemn.  His head cocked wistfully to the
side.  "I cannot hypnotize now, can I," he stated.  Without
sight, that was another skill he lacked.

"You should not hypnotize your captain again, anyway, my

son," LaCroix said gently.  "He is a persistor."

"A what?"

"One who persists.  It is rare and more common among
children than adults.  Persistors are easily hypnotized, but
they seem to sense that something has been taken from them.
They worry at it, subconsciously perhaps, trying to reclaim
their memories.... This causes severe headaches, and if it
continues, can even cause minimal brain damage.  One can
give a persistor a suggestion to act, but cannot safely
alter memories of past actions."

"So that explains why he's been so crabby," Nicholas said,
smiling sheepishly.

"I expect him to come by much later," LaCroix said.  "You
may speak with him then, if you wish."  He told him then of
his intention to place Jeep MacPete with Don Constantine for
safekeeping, until the murderer was captured.  He enjoyed
the sly smile that spread on Nicholas's face.

"So now you're going to say "I told you so" for bringing him
across," Nicholas said with a laugh.

"I would never stoop to such childish nonsense," LaCroix
sniffed.

"Sure you would," Nicholas taunted, splashing water in the
direction of his master's voice.  LaCroix blinked the hot
chlorinated water from his eyes and dunked his mischievous
son.  They splashed quite an amount of water from the tub
before the game ended.  Suddenly Nicholas was too tired to
play.  LaCroix helped him from the tub and into his pajamas,
half carrying him back to bed.  LaCroix sliced his wrist
then to nourish his son's weakened body before letting him
drift back to sleep.



Natalie looked at the slides she'd made again and again.  It
would be easier if she knew more about vampire biology, but
if LaCroix's description was accurate, then Nick was one
sick vampire.  The slides showed an equal mix of
hydrochloric acid, mortal blood, and vampire blood, and the
only part that was normal was the mortal blood.  Nick's
stomach was bleeding.

She called Tracy then and coaxed her to pay a visit to the
morgue.  Tracy wasn't too interested in the experiment Nat
suggested, but she was easily coerced.  Nat gave her a pint
of mortal blood, then told her to make herself vomit, so Nat
could study what normal would be.  Tracy's contained no
vampire blood at all and only minute quantities of
hydrochloric acid and pepsin.  There was none of the other
digestive enzymes found in mortals.  It explained why they
could digest small amounts of wine, but why Nick said her
milk-based shakes tasted like poison.  Without the chemical
rennin, milk would be indigestible.

So why did Nick have so much hydrochloric acid?  Had forcing
him to consume protein shakes for years somehow stimulated
it, causing it to multiply?  Was it then a positive step?
But why wasn't he able to digest the shakes then?  Why were
they coming back?

"Maybe it is like an ulcer," Tracy suggested.

Nat glanced at her skeptically.

"I mean, I've only seen him lose it a few times.  The first
time was at your car accident.  I'd say he was pretty
distraught then.  The next was the night he brought you some
cat food.  He was really intense about seeing you again.
Then last night, he heaved up the lake water.  Nick's been
morose and bitchy ever since Christmas, and I'd bet that is
at least part of it."

"You may be on to something, Tracy," Nat admitted.  It was a
comforting thought as well.  Otherwise, she'd have to accept
full responsibility, that her tests and experiments were to
blame.

Tracy smiled.  "So, what's the cure?"

Nat shrugged.  "We're still in the dark there.  All we can
do is try one thing, and if it doesn't work, then try
another.  Either way, he's not going in to work for a
while."

The young detective shrugged.  Reese hadn't paired her up
with anyone else yet.  He already mentioned that he wanted
to go talk with Nick later and ask him what he remembered
from his assault.  Tracy hadn't seen Nick since last night.
She didn't know how much he had improved, if at all.

"I'll see you later then," Tracy said.  "Call me when you're
ready to go home?"


end, part 3.


Tap Dance, part 4.






Captain Reese shook his head. Jon Blakely's lawyer had come
through, bail had been set and if he couldn't bring more
serious charges against the crook, he would walk. That
Blakely was probably linked to the murders of Jason Wilton
Jr. and Janice Whitcomb didn't matter. Without more
evidence, like an eyewitness, all they had on him was
attempted assault on the MacPete boy.

He still wasn't sure who the concerned citizens were that
had come to MacPete's aid. It seems that Blakely had made it
past the officers disguised in nurse's garb - one of the
oldest tricks in the book - so old that it should not have
been successful, and yet it was. Before Blakely could harm
the boy, two unidentified men disarmed and immobilized him,
handing him over to the much-chagrined police.

Well, the MacPete-Whitcomb case was one of Nick's.  Maybe it
was time to pay him a visit.  Reese had already tried
calling Nick three times, but the phone number he'd been
given was for the nightclub and the lackey who answered the
phone refused to forward his call. Grabbing his coat and
keys he left his office.

The bullpen seemed quiet tonight without Nick there. The
officers were all a little subdued. One of their own had
nearly died. No matter what they felt about Knight
personally, he was one of them and they protected their own.
Schultz smiled at him as he went past her desk.

"Here, Captain. Take these to him, will you?" She indicated
a bouquet of daisies with a helium "Get Well Soon" balloon
attached with a few ribbon streamers. "It's from all of us."

Reese gave her a smile. "Thanks, Schultz. All of you. I'll
tell him."

The roads were mostly clear tonight; the traffic, road salt,
and plows had managed to clear all but a few scattered
patches of ice. It was still damn cold out. His breath made
cloud puffs inside the car although the heater buzzed on
high. Winter wasn't so bad, really.
He didn't mind the snow, the storms, the short days...  but
did it have to be so blasted cold!

He couldn't park within easy distance of the Raven.  Since
it reopened on New Years Eve, it had been doing a booming
business. He grumbled as he pulled the scarf tighter around
his mouth and nose and hunched over to walk the rest of the
way. Why couldn't Toronto be further south - like near
Cancun?  He pushed past the bouncer at the door and made his
way to the bar.

 The young bartender smiled at the bouquet in his arms.
"Gee, are those for me? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Reese grunted. "I came to see Detective Nicholas Knight.
Where is he?"

"In bed, I hear. Someone tried to do in the miserable
bastard again." The bartender grinned as he wiped a damp
spot on the immaculate, newly refinished dark cherry wood
bar. "Would you care for a drink?"

"Take me to him," Reese said, pulling out his badge.  It
didn't hurt to try intimidation once in a while.

The bartender shrugged, unimpressed. "He's upstairs, if
you're a brave sort. I'll wait for you here, in case you
change your mind about that drink."

He did point Reese in the direction of the stairs. The
captain turned down a hall, past the pool table, to find the
stairs. Grabbing onto the railing, he pulled himself up,
huffing uncomfortably long before he neared the top. He
shifted the flowers and knocked.

Moments later, he knocked again. Then the door opened and
Nick's father, Mr. LaCroix, loomed at the entrance.  He
didn't speak, but merely narrowed his eyes at Reese, the way
one might inspect a particularly annoying insect.


Reese pushed the flowers forward. "The officers sent these
for Nick," he said, as though that gave him the right to be
there. Then the captain forced himself inside before LaCroix
could shut the door on him. "I'd like to speak to him."

"Nicholas is resting," LaCroix stated.

"Yes, I can believe that. He had a rather traumatic night
last night. How is he doing?"

"As he is asleep, I do not wish to ask him how he is doing
right now," LaCroix said. He looked irritated.

"Look, you don't like me, LaCroix, and believe me, the
feeling is mutual. But Nick is still my officer. He owes me
an explanation for last night. He also needs to give a
statement concerning his assault, and he may be able to keep
a criminal behind bars tonight. I really need to speak with
him. If you could tell him I am here, I will be brief, and
he can go back to sleep."  Reese felt his voice rising, and
he struggled to keep it controlled.

"On the contrary," LaCroix said.

Reese waited. He glared at Nick's father, because being
angry was better than being scared.

"I don't dislike you at all," LaCroix explained. He smiled
at Reese's look of surprise. "You have a lovely wife who
works as a secretary at the elementary school, where your
younger daughter attends the third grade. Both girls are
bright, well adjusted students. The oldest plays the violin
- or attempts to play it, but the second daughter is more
interested in soccer. You were promoted to captain after
Cohen's demise, and you bowl on weekends..."

"What the hell," Reese shouted, taking a step closer him.

LaCroix leaned against the wall with a look of indifference.
"I figured that since you were investigating me, perhaps I
should learn a bit more about you myself."

Reese clamped his mouth shut. That stupid, incompetent
private investigator had blown his cover. This intimidating
man had known he was tailing him - had probably been feeding
him false clues intentionally. Denise had been right when
she told him to fire the investigator.

"That was an error in judgement, on my part," Reese said.
That was as much of an apology as he would give.  "The
investigator was fired last week."

"Ah. But, I still see him in my club, snooping into my
affairs. Perhaps, he doesn't understand simple English?"

"He is still tailing you?" Why wasn't Reese surprised? The
jerk couldn't take no for an answer. "I will speak to him
again."

"Why? Have you been satisfied? Am I no longer under
suspicion?" LaCroix was enjoying this far too well.

Reese gritted his teeth. He was tired of feeling like a
cheap amusement. "Oh, I still suspect you, Mr. LaCroix. You
are guilty of something, I am sure of it. But I have decided
not to go behind Nick's back to prove it. I'm gonna keep my
eyes on you, mister."

LaCroix laughed then, but there was no joy in the sound.
"And that is why I like you. Nicholas is still so gullible.
If Voodoo were to apologize for all the pain he had caused,
my son would believe him. However, you at least seem worthy
of the regard he has for you."

Reese didn't know how to answer that. He shifted the flowers
again; the vase seemed a few pounds heavier suddenly. "So, I
still need to see Nick," he said.

"Absolutely not. You are welcome to sit and wait, but I will
not wake him," LaCroix said firmly.

"You don't seem to understand," Reese shouted, losing his
control.

"I understand perfectly," LaCroix shouted back.

A weak voice called out in the silence that loomed between
the two men. "LaCroix?"

The angry father glared at Reese, then turned away,
dismissing him.  Reese followed him as he walked down the
hallway. LaCroix opened a door and stepped inside.

"Yes, Nicholas?"

"Is something wrong? Are you angry?"

Reese looked around LaCroix at the young man in the bed.
Nick's always-pale color looked ashen. He struggled just to
sit up. He looked a little lost and confused, more like a
small boy than the formidable police detective of the 96th
precinct. Reese knew he'd come close to dying - hell, he'd
been dead until the CPR revived him - but still the captain
had not been prepared for just how awful he looked tonight.

"It doesn't concern you, my son," LaCroix answered gently,
none of his former anger evident now. "Your captain is here
to see you. Are you up to visitors?"

Nick hesitated before he nodded. "I guess. Will you show him
in?"

Reese looked at him. Was this some sort of archaic
etiquette? Show him in? He was right here. He grunted. "Ah,
hello, Nick," he stammered. "These are from all the folks at
work. They're concerned for you, and wish you a speedy
recovery."

Nick sniffed, closing his eyes as he did so. "Flowers," he
said. "Thanks. Just set them down anywhere."

Reese put them on the dresser at the foot of Nick's bed.
"Mind telling me what the hell you were doing last night?
You went out without clearing it with me, and no back-up.
You're partner didn't even know where you were. What were
you thinking?"

LaCroix watched the interplay between Reese and his son. The
captain had not said anything to Nicholas that LaCroix
hadn't tried to tell him, and yet Nicholas seemed to listen
better to his captain. When LaCroix had forbidden him to go
undercover, his obstinate child had merely gone ahead and
done so anyway.

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered. There it was again. The now
familiar ache in his gut, the foul taste in his throat and
the metallic tingling in his mouth. He swallowed hard,
breathing slowly, struggling to keep it down.

"I found Jacob Schloss," Nick said, when he felt he had
quieted his stomach.

Reese hesitated. In what shape had he found him? "Where?"

"At the bottom of the lake. He'd been tied and thrown over,
just like me."

Reese shivered. There could only be one thing worse than
being hog-tied to cement and dumped in a frigid lake in
winter, and that would be to share a watery grave with a
corpse. It must have been awful. If Nick hadn't needed
counseling before, surely he would now.

"I'm so sorry, Nick," he said softly.  "This is from another
case of yours, but we have a Jon Blakely in lock-up," Reese
said. "We have him for the attempted assault of Jeep
MacPete. Tracy's been running a background on him, but his
rap sheet's been petty stuff before now.  We have to let him
out on bail tonight, unless you have anything else on him.
I brought some mug shots. Wondered if you could pick him
out."

"Could be he's the one who attacked me, and killed Schloss,
too," Nick said. He leaned back against the pillows and
closed his eyes. He was so tired. He could feel his father's
presence in the room. If he sent him any message of his
exhaustion, he was certain that LaCroix would drive Reese
away. The thought of his father's protectiveness made him
smile.

 "Are you saying that the MacPete/Whitcomb killer is also
Schloss's killer? Are you sure?" Reese wondered if Nick was
quite awake.

"Hmm. Could be. MacPete said his boss wanted him to alter
the description on a piece of land he was selling, saying it
was in the middle of Amish country.  MacPete grew
suspicious, and that's when the bodies started to pile up."

"Nick, take a look at these mug shots. Tell me if any of
them look like the man who attacked you. I'd love to keep
him locked up, if I could."

Nick hesitated. "I don't know, captain. He hit me from
behind."

"Just look at the photos," Reese said again, waving the
file.

"I think it is time for you to leave," LaCroix said firmly.

Suddenly Nick clamped a hand over his mouth. LaCroix flew to
him, holding a basin to his chest with the air of much
practice. Nick threw up then, the vile liquid slipping past
his hand and into the basin. Nick trembled, looking far
weaker than he had only moments ago. LaCroix set the basin
aside, then taking a damp washrag he cleaned Nick's hand. He
refolded the rag and placed it in Nick's still outstretched
hand for Nick to wipe his face. LaCroix touched his cheek
affectionately.

"Is there anything I can bring you," he asked solicitously.

Nick shook his head. "Maybe in a little while," he
whispered.

"Would you like me to stay?"

"No, Father. I'll be all right for now," he said.

LaCroix rose and carried the basin and rag. He gave Reese a
chilling glare. "Do not upset him again, or I will have to
ask you to leave," he warned, and then he was gone.

"Jees, Nick. You look like hell," Reese said awkwardly. He'd
known Nick had been thoroughly chilled last night, but he
really looked ill. Maybe he had been wrong not to insist
that LaCroix take him in to the hospital?

"I'll live," Nick said.

"If you would just look at these mug shots, Nick, then I'll
go and you can get some sleep."

Nick sighed. "Fine. I'll look," he said. He held out his
hand. Reese picked up the file from where he'd dropped it on
the foot of the bed and placed it in Nick's hand. Nick
grabbed it awkwardly. Then he felt it with both hands,
laying it in his lap and opening it. He touched the pictures
without really looking at them. He picked up one, moving his
fingers across the backside, then flipping it over to feel
the glossy side.  "What's this one look like?" he asked.

Reese swallowed, just beginning to understand what Nick was
telling him. "Oh dear God, Nick! Are you blind?"



end, part 4.

Tap Dance
by Lorelei Sieja





Nick looked at him, perhaps just responding to the sound of
his voice, for Reese saw now that there was no recognition
in the deep, blue eyes. "I got whacked pretty hard on the
back of the head," Nick explained. "It's temporary, but
Natalie doesn't know for how long."

Reese sank onto the side of the bed. Nick shifted his legs
over to make more room for him. With a heavy sigh, Reese
gathered up the photos and closed the file. Blakely had won.
City of Toronto had lost again.

"Nick, I don't know what to say," he stumbled. "I'm sorry to
bother you. You get well, you hear?"

"Captain," Nick asked, picking up the sound of defeat in the
man's voice. "Wait. Maybe I can still help?"

"I don't see how," Reese said awkwardly, immediately sorry
for his choice of words. But Nick didn't seem to notice or
take offense.

"Well, the man who hit me doesn't know I'm temporarily
blinded. And I'll bet he never expects to see me again- not
up and alive, at least. Maybe, if he does, it will shock him
into saying something he shouldn't."

Reese nodded. It was a long shot, expecting a clever crook
to hang himself, but seeing a corpse could give one a shock.
"I hate to ask you to come in tonight, Nick, when you're so
sick, but we could really use you."

Nick leaned back against his pillow. He felt so weary. Did
he have the strength to do as he had suggested? Probably
not.  Maybe LaCroix would help him? Yeah, when pigs fly. But
he would ask.

"Do you want to come back with me, Nick?" Reese asked.

"No." He closed his sightless eyes. "Let me speak to my
father. I'll try to come in before midnight. Okay?"

Reese didn't like it, but he wasn't going to argue with a
sick man. "Fine. I'll try to hold him until you get there,
then."

Nick didn't say anything. Reese noticed that he didn't even
seem to be breathing anymore. He must have fallen asleep.
Well, maybe Blakely had still won... Slowly, Reese left the
room.

LaCroix was sitting in the living room. He didn't say a word
as Reese left, closing the door behind him.  Reese shrugged.
He'd felt sorry for Nick before, tied to such a man, but
now, being sightless for however long, Nick's life must be
pure hell.


LaCroix rose and went to sit beside his son. He sensed he
was not really sleeping, but merely pretending. If he wanted
to send his captain away, LaCroix wasn't going to criticize
him. Nicholas still seemed to require much sleep.

"Father, may I go in to work tonight, for just little
while?"

LaCroix laughed. "That is absurd, Nicholas. You cannot
possibly expect me to say "yes"."

Nick tried to explain their plan to him. LaCroix listened,
but he also observed. Nick was exhausted. Gray shadows
shaded his face. His hands trembled. And Nick was afraid to
face his co-workers without his sight. Although Nick asked
to go, his entire body language was begging LaCroix not to
let him. LaCroix hesitated. Which should he listen to?

"I don't think you should go," LaCroix said firmly.

Nick sighed. He squirmed down in his bed and pulled the
covers up. He rolled onto his side, preparing to go back to
sleep. And that was it? No argument? No pouting?

"However," LaCroix continued. "If you rest first, and allow
me to nourish you again, then I will take you in, briefly."

Nick leaned up on his elbow, looking towards LaCroix's
direction. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes, Nicholas," he said. "I do not think it is wise, but
then, with you, nothing ever is."

Nick ignored the jibe. "Thank you, Father," he said, yawning
a wide, toothy yawn. He was asleep before LaCroix left the
room.

An hour later LaCroix sat beside his son, holding their
wrists together yet again. This was not as pleasant as the
blood kiss, but it was necessary. He still felt the gentle
tug, as Nicholas's blood sucked his ancient, potent elixir,
drawing it inside him to heal and nourish. LaCroix
experienced faint, chaotic sensations from his son through
the blood exchange.

Nicholas was terrified. Although he tried to appear in
control of his emotions, his son was once again afraid of
the dark, only this time it wasn't a child's fear. He was
afraid of eternal dark, of being permanently disabled, a
burden and perhaps even a target for the enforcers. Well,
that was one fear LaCroix could lay to rest.  He had a call
to place later to Aristotle.  There was a certain carouche
he felt could make a real difference, if she could be
located.

Nick stirred to wakefulness in the middle of the blood
exchange. For a short time, he would feel more energetic,
almost invincible again, but the sensation would fade. He
needed his master now. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.
He was grateful for the nourishment, grateful that LaCroix
was being so solicitous at the moment, but if this were to
be a permanent situation, would he survive? Would he even
want to?

LaCroix stared at his son's sleepy expression. Nicholas was
so much more open now. His sightless eyes were ultimately
readable, conveying his fears and feelings more eloquently
than speech. "Do you think you are up to this now, my son?"
he asked.

Nick nodded weakly. "Yes, thank you. Can you find some
clothes for me?"

LaCroix pulled items from the drawers and laid them on the
bed. He waited, willing to offer assistance when it was
needed, but hesitating to do too much. It was hard to watch
him struggle. His motions lacked his usual grace and he
tired quickly. Finally, however, he managed to dress
himself, even to tying his shoes. LaCroix took his hand then
and placed it on his own arm. Nick walked a half step behind
him, following him with only the arm for guidance. At the
stairs Nick transferred his hand to LaCroix's shoulder,
allowing the ancient to descend first.

The limo waited at the back entrance. LaCroix opened the
door and waited for his son to get in, then he walked around
to the other side. He observed his son openly. He'd selected
dark pants again, white shirt, and a simple, older jacket,
so that Nicholas would more closely resemble the "Amish"
undercover agent the murder-suspect would have met. He saw
his son shiver once, and he instructed the driver to turn up
the heat. A vampire shouldn't be bothered by the cold.  It
was yet one more sign of his son's illness.


At the precinct Nicholas again held on to his arm. He
suspected that none of his co-workers had been told yet of
his blindness. If the news reached their murder suspect, it
would ruin their plans. No one seemed to think it odd that
LaCroix assisted him, though, as Nick moved slowly past
them. The short trip in the limo had exhausted him. This
meeting had better be brief, LaCroix fumed silently.

Captain Reese nodded at them and opened a door, gesturing
for LaCroix to precede him. Inside were the suspect, Tracy,
another detective, and a police officer standing guard.
LaCroix stopped, letting Nick come to his side. He glared at
the suspect, wishing to get him alone. He would first
interrogate him and then he would drain him... but that
would make Nicholas angry. LaCroix would have to let the
mortals play around with their idea of justice first, then
he could always kill him later.

The suspect's mouth dropped open. He jumped to his feet,
toppling his chair over in his haste. "You! You're dead!" he
exclaimed.

Nick nodded in his direction. "If you say so."

The man stammered awkwardly, not yet realizing his own
mistake.

"You hit me, tied me, and threw me in the lake," Nick stated
firmly.

"I- I- it was, a mistake.  It wasn't you."

Tracy righted his chair and slammed him down into it. "You,
Mr. Blakely, can add assaulting of a police officer to your
charges. I guess you'll want to mention that to your lawyer.
To bad you've already made your one phone call."

"But, but," the man was stammering.

"Thanks for coming in, partner," Tracy said to Nick.

He nodded in her direction.

"Let's go," Nick whispered to LaCroix. Reese went out as
well. He gently touched Nick's shoulder.

"That went well," he said. "Thanks for coming down here."

"He didn't do it," Nick said heavily.

"But, he confessed!"

"He may have been the one to hit me," Nick clarified. "But I
never saw him before. I met an older, heavyset man with
thinning hair. I think the man I met is the leader. This man
may be an employee, but he is not the master behind it."

"Good Lord," Reese muttered under his breath. That meant
there was still another crazy out there, and Jeep MacPete
was still in danger. Hell, now even Nick was as well.
"Jeep's going to be discharged in the morning, too," he said
aloud.

LaCroix sent him a quick suggestion, catching the police
captain with just a glance. "You will put Detective Vetter
in charge of him. She will bring him to a safe house."

"Guess I'll let Vetter handle that," he continued, unaware
that his mind had just been altered.

Detective Sherman came up and clapped Nick roughly on the
shoulder, speaking with a loud, boorish voice. "Good to see
ya, Nick. Heard you joined the polar bear club last night.
Too damned cold for me to take a swim, I can assure you.
But, since you're here, why don't I take your statement now,
and we can get that out of the way."

Nick's hand tightened on LaCroix's arm. He was so tired he
almost felt like weeping. Sherman wasn't really a bad cop,
just an insensitive one. He wasn't incredibly bright,
either, but he was as loyal as a hound and just as doggedly
determined. "Later Sherman," he said.

"Now come on, detective. You know the wheels of justice
don't slow down for anybody. This won't be too bad."

The sounds of the bullpen were terrible. The thunder of
mortal heartbeats stirred his cold heart, even as his own
hunger threatened to escape his tight control. Nick felt his
fangs throb and wondered what shade his eyes were now. "Help
me, Father," he whispered, turning to bury his face against
his master's breast.

LaCroix saw the faint red hue around Nick's closed
eyelashes, saw the tips of fangs. He wrapped his arms around
his son securely. What may have looked like a loving,
supportive gesture to the mortals was really all that stood
between them and death at this moment.

Nick trembled against him, the beast demanding food.
LaCroix whispered softly into his ear, opening the link
between them to comfort and subdue his child. It was very
difficult to hypnotize a blind person, as they used the eyes
as the link to the brain. LaCroix was only able to influence
Nicholas because of the close bond he maintained. He quieted
the beast and commanded him to sleep.

The strength went out of Nick's legs. Then LaCroix lifted
him into his arms. He dismissed Sherman with a gesture and
faced the police captain. "I will take him home now," he
said firmly.

"Yes, of course," Reese replied. He preceded LaCroix and
opened the door for him. "I appreciate you bringing him down
here. Tell him we all hope he gets better soon."

"Jees," Sherman was saying as the door closed. "Didn't
realize he was feeling so poorly."

Reese glanced at him. "Sorry, Sherman. You're off this one.
LaCroix can be most difficult to work with. I'm going to
send Vetter to take his statement tomorrow."


end, part 5

Tap Dance
By Lorelei Sieja




At the Raven, LaCroix felt Natalie's presence as he carried
his son up the stairs. He felt a smile pull at his lips. It
had been a long, stressful few days, beginning with
Natalie's car accident, and LaCroix felt the need for a
little relaxation. Shifting his precious load somewhat to
reach the door handle, LaCroix stepped inside, the smile
still on his face.

"Lucian, I can't believe you took him anywhere! He is too
sick to go out. Now what's wrong? What did you do to him?"
Natalie's tone was biting. The ancient was tempted to
respond in kind, but he heard the concern behind her angry
words.

"Shush, my dear, or you might disturb him," LaCroix said
softly. "I will explain it all in a moment."

She followed him as he laid his son on the bed. Removing
only his shoes, LaCroix drew the covers over him. Quietly,
he turned to leave, pulling Natalie out with him.

"Captain Reese needed him to identify the man they have
arrested," LaCroix explained briefly. "It was against my
better judgement, but Nicholas seemed to feel it was
important. He nearly lost control in a room full of beating
hearts and I put him to sleep. End of story."

Nat pushed a hand through her thick hair, tugging at it in
frustration. "What do you mean, "identify"? Has his sight
returned then?"

"No." LaCroix went into the kitchen. "May I fix you some
tea?"

Natalie considered it. "Sounds great. Thanks. I'm sorry,
I've just been so worried, and I didn't mean to sound like
such a shrew."

"I know, my dear. Why don't you sit down? This will only
take a minute."

Natalie opted for the couch, pulling her heavy cast up on
the seat beside her, and laying the crutches on the floor
within easy reach. She should be getting back to the morgue,
but she just couldn't concentrate when she worried about
Nick like this. Then coming here to see him, and he wasn't
anywhere to be seen, she had feared the worst.

The microwave beeped, and shortly LaCroix joined her,
placing a steaming cup of green tea in her hands. He took
his favorite chair and sipped from his own beverage. Then,
he explained in more detail, until Natalie had no more
questions. "So, my dear. What is it that brought you here
tonight?"

"Has he vomited again?" she asked.

LaCroix nodded sadly. "Repeatedly."

She shook her head. "Then that is what is keeping him from
recovering. He's losing more than what he drinks. His own
blood is coming up as well. If we can't find what is causing
this and stop it, he will not recover."

LaCroix closed his eyes. Nicholas must recover. Anything
else was simply not an option. "Have you any idea what this
is?"

She shrugged. "It seems similar to a peptic ulcer, although
without x-rays it would be hard to diagnose for certain."

"This is a mortal illness?"  he sneered.

Natalie nodded.  "As far as I know, the only vampire illness
was the Fever."

"And tell me, how would you treat a peptic ulcer in a
mortal?"

"When the ulcer perforates - bleed s- then the patient may
be hospitalized for a month, to receive proper nutrition and
remove him from stress of job or family that may be at least
partially causing the over-production of hydrochloric acids
in the stomach. Severe bleeding would require surgery, or it
can be fatal."

"You cannot operate on a vampire," LaCroix commented. The
incisions would heal before the surgery was completed if the
vampire's system was functioning normally, and if not, then
the incision might not heal at all and the vampire could
bleed out, since their blood did not clot.

"I know. But maybe the x-ray isn't a bad idea. It's a start,
anyway."

"Where would this be done?"

"I have x-ray equipment at the morgue. But tomorrow night
should be soon enough. I think maybe he's had enough
tonight."

"I agree," LaCroix said. "If it is similar to an ulcer, as
you suggest, then how will that help? What will you
recommend?"

"I honestly don't know, Lucien. Ulcer patients are put on a
restrictive diet - soft foods only, and antacids to counter
the destructive hydrochloric acid. If I were to try and
relate that to a vampire, I guess I could say only the best
quality of his natural food, and only in small amounts,
offered frequently throughout the day and night - a glass
every hour. Never let the stomach become empty. And maybe he
should get some counseling, to help him deal with stress in
a more constructive manner."

LaCroix was silent and contemplative. Getting Nicholas to
agree to the dietary restrictions might be half the battle.
Still, his son was so weak right now that he seemed more
malleable than normal. "And how are you doing, my dear?" he
asked suddenly. "This has all been a bit much for you I
suspect."

Natalie smiled. "It has been a hell of a week, hasn't it?"
She finished her tea. It had warmed her a little. She was
tempted to lean back and take a nap herself, but knew she
would be missed if she didn't get back to the morgue
shortly.

"I'd like to examine him later then, this morning maybe? I
want to see if there's been any change to the retina."

LaCroix nodded his assent. "Just promise me, dear, that you
will not enter his room, ever, without me, until he has
recovered."

Months ago she would have balked at what she felt was a
possessive nature, but now she realized that LaCroix was
right, at least, in this instance. Nicholas was not safe to
be around. "I'd better be going then." She reached for her
crutches and struggled to her feet.

LaCroix put his arms around her, inhaling the fresh scent of
her hair and the warm, intoxicating aroma of her human
blood. "I have missed you," he whispered, holding her close.

"I have missed you, as well," she said. "I get a new cast
tomorrow. I'm hoping that it will make...  things... easier
for us."

LaCroix chuckled. "Here's to new casts then, my love."


Tracy climbed into her car and shut the door for privacy
before pulling out her cellphone. This was just too weird.
LaCroix had to be behind it. When he finally answered, on
the fifth ring, she asked him.

"Um, dad? Captain Reese put me in charge of Jeep MacPete,
and then he had this fuzzy-disoriented look.  Did you have
anything to do with this?"

"When you pick up the boy at the hospital, you will meet
Diggon. He has my instructions to see you both to the safe
house of my choosing. We will not discuss this over an open
line. I will explain it in detail when you return home, my
daughter."

"LaCroix, I'm a big girl now," she said, sighing into the
mouthpiece. "I don't need a body guard."

"Yes. And the murderer is an even bigger boy. This is for
Jeep's safety as much as your own."

"See you later, then," she said. She was itching to go home.
The precinct had been talking nonstop about Nick's visit,
and how he'd collapsed into LaCroix's arms. They were
worried for him, as it was such a surprise to see the
"Knightmare" in this weakened state. Tracy had to see him
for herself. Vampires weren't supposed to be affected like
this.  Her world was shaking, and she felt scared.

Taking Gypsy up to Father's House tonight hadn't helped.
Since she drove alone, she was more aware of the lighted
cross and other religious symbols, unable to turn away from
them and still keep her eyes on her driving. Mr. Whitcomb
had wept as he clutched Gypsy in his trembling hands. The
dog licked at his tears, whining mournfully. They both
missed Janice. Tracy suspected that his recovery might be
helped along, now that the canine was there with him.

"We found her a few days ago, actually," Tracy had told him.
"Nick, my partner, wanted to keep her for a while, because
he had a hunch that the dog would help with this case. But
he was only partially correct.  Nick found some important
information, and someone tried to kill him, throwing him in
the lake. Gypsy found him in time. He's still under the
weather, but she saved his life."

"You're a hero," he told his new pet. "I'm very glad for
you, Detective. I hope your partner gets better soon."

"Me, too," she whispered as she stepped into the silence of
the night.

Tracy parked in the nearest visitor spot and went into the
hospital. Somehow, LaCroix had arranged for all the
paperwork regarding Jeep's release to have been handled, and
the boy was dressed and waiting for her.

It was unusual, as most discharges occurred in the morning
hours, after the doctors had made their rounds, but perhaps
releasing him early was for the safety of the other
patients. Someone could still be gunning for this disabled
boy.

A uniformed officer followed them to the car and waited
until another man approached. Tracy sensed he was a vampire
before he arrived. This must be her bodyguard she thought,
eyeing him critically. At his nod, the mortal officer left
them. "And you are?" she asked, just as a precaution.

"Diggon," he answered briefly, giving the appropriate
response. "Do you want to drive or ride in back with the
boy," the vampire asked.

Tracy almost laughed. If it were Nick, she wouldn't have a
choice. "I drive," she said firmly. "It's my car."

The vampire shrugged and climbed in the back without another
word. She drove through Toronto traffic following his
cryptic directions. She wasn't sure if he didn't know his
way around the city, or if he was trying to throw potential
threats off their trail, but his route was circuitous at
best. Finally, she pulled up at a wrought-iron gate that
stood impressively twelve feet high, surrounding the
monumental home of the biggest crime lord in Ontario. She
felt her pulse quicken as the uniformed guard asked to see
her ID.

She flashed her badge, wondering if that was wise, under the
circumstances. The guard merely nodded and pressed the
buttons to open the gate and give her admittance. She drove
slowly towards the main door.

"Are you sure this is right?" she asked Diggon.

"Yes," he answered. Well, it was a good thing he didn't try
a career in communications, she thought snidely.

A valet waited by the front door to park her car.  Another
valet held the door open for her, Diggon and Jeep. The front
hall was magnificent. Polished wood walls, glass
chandeliers, imported carpets - all spoke of wealth and
power in a manner she had not ever seen before. Yet another
member of the household staff greeted them now. This one was
a woman of about forty. She wore a black dress with a white
apron, but her smile was friendly.

"Hello there, young man! You must be Jimmy MacPete!"

"Yes, ma'am," Jeep answered. "But my family calls me  "Jeep"
because I have another brother named Jimmy."

"Jeep. That's unique. If that is what you like to be called,
then Jeep it is. Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you
around."

Tracy coughed nervously into her hand. "Excuse me, miss -"

"Mrs. White," the woman answered promptly. "I'm his
housekeeper and all-around right-hand woman, I guess. I'm
supposed to show you some of the security he's added, so
Jeep will feel safer, and then take him to his wing." The
rest of her comments were directed to Jeep. "You're being
given Master David's old wing. He doesn't live here any
more. So you can have access to his toys, computers, books,
whatever, for as long as you need to stay here."

She pointed out the guards that stood around the house, both
inside and out, the high gate, the security cameras, and the
burglar system. Jeep visibly relaxed. The attempt on his
life had thoroughly frightened him, more so than even seeing
his sister and best friend dead. Then Mrs. White took them
to an elevator that brought them up to the third floor.

"Mr. Constantine used to be in a wheelchair," she explained,
when Jeep seemed impressed by the elevator. "But he's had a
miraculous recovery. I swear that man will outlive all of
us!"

Tracy glanced at Diggon, trying to hide her smile. She knew
she and the vampire would outlive all of the mortals. Diggon
didn't seem to find it funny. Maybe he had no sense of
humor.

Jeep exclaimed at the posh rooms that were to be his, even
if only temporarily. "Is this real? Can I really stay here?
Does he like, even know, that I'm... you know, black and
crippled? Am I going to get in trouble?"

"Oh you poor boy," Mrs. White exclaimed. She gave him a
quick hug. "Mr. Constantine looks like an ornery, ugly old
man, but he's not really awful on the inside.  You'll be
just fine here, Jeep. And you're to tell me if there is
anything, anything at all, that you want."

Jeep nodded, blinking back tears before they could fall and
embarrass him. "I would like to call my brother Jimmy, if I
could. Let him know I'm safe. Is that okay?"

Mrs. White nodded. "Certainly. You have to dial "8" first to
get an outside line. Don Constantine has a very high-tech
system, I don't know enough about it to explain it, but your
calls cannot be traced.   There's a phone right beside the
bed, and another at the computer desk. If you would like to
nap then, or what ever, breakfast can be served whenever
you're hungry. You won't meet Don Constantine until tomorrow
night. He sleeps most of the day."

A knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. White opened it.  Yet
another man stood there, looking like he'd swallowed too
large a pill and had to give up breathing permanently. "Miss
Vetter," he said, a nasal quality to his squeaky voice, "if
you'll follow me, Don Constantine will see you now."

Tracy swallowed. She should not fear this crime lord. He was
just a mortal after all! But why was she being singled out?
She glanced at Diggon nervously. He seemed unconcerned.
Well, he was either a lousy bodyguard, or she truly had
nothing to worry about. She gave Jeep a parting smile and
followed the pinch-faced secretary through the massive house
to a small but cozy library on the ground floor at the
opposite end.

"You couldn't have found a room farther away for the boy,
could you," she said, foolishly opening her mouth with
sarcasm to the most powerful mortal in all of Toronto. Then,
she felt an icy dread creep up her spine as the old man
approached her. He felt familiar.
The hairs on her neck tingled with the sense of a vampire!

end, part 6.

Tap Dance,
By Lorelei Sieja




"Ohmygosh," she blurted, feeling faintly nauseated.

Don Constantine laughed. "Forgive me, child, if I have
frightened you. I merely wanted the opportunity to meet you.
I met your brother several times in the past, and
indirectly, I can thank him for my eternity." He poured two
drinks and passed one to her. The scent of blood stirred her
and her fangs erupted.

The old man smiled broadly, showing her his own needle-sharp
fangs. He looked to be at least ninety years old if he was a
day, with a well-wrinkled face and sagging skin. His hands
had enlarged knuckles, although he didn't seem to suffer the
pain of arthritis any longer. In fact, he stood erect and
seemed to exude perfect health, despite his ancient
appearance.

Tracy sipped her beverage to still her nervousness. Still,
there was something about this vampire. He seemed more than
familiar although she was certain she had never laid eyes on
him before. He felt, almost like Nick... Her eyes widened at
the possibility. "Are you... um, are you by chance related?"

Don Constantine laughed heartily. "You're bright as well as
beautiful! I couldn't ask for a nicer little sister,
although I'm sure you didn't fare as well in the bargain. I
am also a child of LaCroix... until you, I was his youngest,
although to look at me I think others might feel I was
instead his parent! Amusing, no?"

Tracy searched for a chair and sank into it. "You are Nick's
little brother?" she whispered incredulously.

Constantine continued to laugh. "Vampire families are such
complicated things, aren't they?"

"But you live alone. LaCroix doesn't boss you around?"

Constantine settled onto another chair and surveyed his
library with an odd sense of both pride and humility.  "It
is a long story, my dear. I'd be glad to tell you sometime.
But LaCroix brought me across as payment of an old debt. It
had nothing to do with wanting me to join his family. I
don't think he particularly cared whether I survived my
conversion or not. I managed. If I needed his assistance, I
think he would come to my aid, but it is a delicate
situation. Much of my wealth was not gained through legal
means, and his favorite son is a police officer. So, we keep
my connection to the family mostly secret. I, in exchange,
have been slowly ending my illicit connections as I prepare
to move on.

"I can't stay here much longer. Eventually the mortals would
notice that I am in better health than most of them. And I
feel damn good for a man who just celebrated his hundredth
birthday!"

Tracy laughed. The old crook was charming, and she felt very
comfortable around him as she sensed now that he was also a
very young vampire. His abilities would not be much better
than hers, and as a brother he would not dare to harm her.
Still, it was weird to have such a crooked brother, when all
of her mortal relatives and even her vampire brother were
cops. Constantine then told her a few stories, how he'd
helped Nick to hide from LaCroix, then helped LaCroix to
find him again...  and briefly told how Nick had helped his
great-grandson two years ago.

"Do you ever see him any more?" she asked, referring to
David Constantine.

"Yes, but not as often as I would like. I go every Father's
Day, and I go alone - flying, so that I do not lead any of
my mortal enemies to him and his family.  When David passes
on, I will break those ties as well.  I cannot keep in touch
with his son, my great-great grandson, forever."

Tracy felt a sense of urgency then, and a yawn shook her. It
was time to go. Dawn must be approaching.

Constantine seemed to feel it as well. "Now, don't you worry
about a thing, Tracy. LaCroix thought that this was the
safest house in Toronto for Jeep, and I happen to agree. As
for his rooms being so far from mine, that is because I do
not want to accidentally drain him if I wake up hungry."

Tracy blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I do tend to run on at the
mouth."

"Don't ever change. I like it. It's fresh and honest. And,
welcome to the family. Although I'm sure it would not look
good to associate with a criminal, perhaps when you move on,
we could become more acquainted."

"I think I'd like that," she said, surprising even herself.
He seemed more like a kindly, somewhat doddering old uncle
than a powerful crime lord. She gave him an impulsive hug
before she turned to leave.

"One more thing, Tracy.  You'd better call me "cousin"
instead of "brother".  It tends to raise a lot of eyebrows.
I like "cousin".  It implies the family relationship,
without getting down to specifics."

"Cousin Constantine?" she asked, trying the name out.

He laughed, wiping moisture from his eyes.  "You may use my
given name, Thomas."

"Cousin Tommy," she said, grinning broadly.

"Cousin Tracy. Have a safe journey, my dear."

Diggon was waiting for her by the front door. The valet
returned her car keys to her. It had been a long, strange
night. She still had to pick Natalie up at the morgue, but
then she could look forward to a soft bed and a sound sleep.

"So how's Nick really doing," Tracy asked Nat later as they
were driving home.

"I'm not sure," she answered.  "I had suggested one
treatment, and now I think it was the worst possible one to
suggest, and we're going to try the opposite.  I feel like
I'm doing more harm than good."

Tracy gave her a reassuring smile. "Nat, Nick's alive,
right?"

"He would debate that."

"Hey, it's Nick we're talking about though.  He would argue
the spots off a Dalmatian.  But he is more alive now than
when LaCroix pulled him up from the bottom of the lake?"

Nat smiled.  "I guess you're right."

"I heard he fainted at the precinct tonight."

That made the coroner laugh.  "That's not even close.  Don't
you just love how gossip works?  Actually, Nick got a little
too hungry, and LaCroix restrained him and put him to
sleep."

Tracy had a good laugh at that too.  They were still
chuckling as they ascended the stairs into the apartment.
Sydney wrapped himself around Nat's cast, rubbing against
the plaster and purring loudly.

"Hi boy," Nat called to him.  "Did you miss me?"

"Hello, we're home," Tracy called to the empty apartment.
No one sat in the living room, and a quick peek in Nick's
room revealed an empty bed.

LaCroix's door was closed, and Nat was reluctant to open
it.  She heard muffled sounds within.  She didn't have to
work hard to imagine what they were doing.   Tracy's sudden
fangs and golden eyes were further proof.  Tracy blinked,
regaining her control instantly.  "Um, sorry, Nat," she said
awkwardly.

Nat shrugged, trying to conceal her embarrassment.  "I think
I'll go find something to eat."

The kitchen table was set with a place setting for one, and
a hand-written card in LaCroix's bold script stated that
dinner would arrive shortly.  Tracy whistled as she caught
sight of the note.

"Looks like he's buttering you up for something," she
teased.

"Yeah, right.  With this ton of bricks leg of mine."

The doorbell rang then.  Tracy volunteered to answer it.  A
delivery boy handed her the Chinese takeout: LaCroix's idea
of "fixing dinner".  She handed him a tip, but he said the
meal had already been paid for.

Natalie sat at the table, suddenly ravenous, as she examined
the assorted items.  Tracy sat with her, enjoying her own
meal.  "I met another big brother today," she said, and went
on to tell Nat about Constantine.  Nat didn't seem too
surprised.  She hadn't ever met him, but she remembered when
Nick went up against the old crime lord to try to help his
great-grandson escape.

"Strange how that all worked out," Nat said.  "At the time,
I thought that turning a criminal into an immortal was about
the stupidest, dumbest thing LaCroix had ever done, but he
actually helped to put Constantine out of business.  The old
man is slowly closing his operation down.  Guess he's got
other interests than money and power now."

Nat finished most of her food, closing the containers and
storing the leftovers in the refrigerator.  She could take
it in to work tomorrow for "lunch" at around midnight.  Then
she heard LaCroix and Nick approach.  She glanced up and
smiled at them.

LaCroix looked much the same as always, completely dressed
in immaculate black, only his eyes held a hint of
amusement.  Nicholas was the most changed.  His eyes, too,
looked amused.  His hair was tousled and hung boyishly over
his forehead, and he wore only a pair of black jersey lounge
pants, his feet and chest were bare.  Telltale red bite
marks were still visible on his pale throat.  He held
LaCroix's arm tightly, the only outward sign that his vision
had not improved.  LaCroix directed him to sit at the
kitchen chair.

"I believe you wanted to examine this irascible child,"
LaCroix commented.  He placed a friendly kiss on her cheek.

"Yes, I do," she said.  Knowing that Nick had just been fed
on what LaCroix considered the best possible food, now was
probably a good time to examine him.  "How are you feeling?"
she asked.

Nick grinned.  "Pretty good."

She took her stethoscope to listen to the sounds of his
stomach.  "How often are you vomiting, Nick?"

His smile faded.  Guys always hated to talk about their
health, she realized, and that apparently didn't fade with
time.

"Almost every hour," LaCroix answered for him.

She took the otoscope then and shined it in his eyes.  Nick
never flinched, nor did he show any sign that the small
bright light was painful. What the light revealed was not
encouraging either.  There had been no visible change.

"So what's the verdict, doc?" Nick asked.  Although he tried
for casual nonchalance, Nat heard the silent plea.  She
really didn't know what to tell him.  Vampires always
healed, didn't they?  But the sun always killed... what if
this was permanent?

"It's too soon to tell, Nick.  But, you get to come in to
the morgue tomorrow.  I'm going to take some x-rays to see
what's going on inside."

"I have given my consent," LaCroix added.

Nick shrugged.  The morgue wasn't top on his list of places
he wanted to be.  He wasn't sure what was.  He was missing
Urs, but he didn't want her to see him like this.  He felt
strangely restless.  Sleeping most of the day and night, he
was no longer really tired.  He accepted LaCroix's
assistance to the couch in the living room.

"Is there anything else you require," LaCroix asked.

Nick shook his head.  "No, thanks."

"Then, I think that I shall retire.  Call me if you need
anything."

"Good day, LaCroix.  Good day, Natalie."

Natalie kissed the top of his head.  "Don't stay up too
late," she said.

Tracy watched the couple leave, just beginning to wonder
where Vachon was.  She plopped on the other end of the
couch.  Nick turned, putting his feet on the center cushion
and smiled at her.  Tracy pulled her feet up as well,
feeling very much at home now with her older brother.  Six
months ago she hadn't really known anything about him.
She'd thought he was some straight-laced, old-fashioned,
tea-totaling geek.  The only part that had been true was the
old-fashioned part, although she'd been off by more than a
few centuries on that one as well.  Now she knew him to be
passionate, sensitive, moody, and even full of fun at
times.

"So what was that with the light, Nick?  You didn't even
flinch."

Nick shrugged.  "I damaged my eyes staring at the sun."

"Smart.  Real smart, bro."

He laughed.  Tracy was the only person treating him just
like always.  She wasn't tiptoeing around, acting like he
was made of eggshells and might break.  For some reason,
that pleased him.  He relaxed in her company.  "I guess," he
said.  "But for centuries I have missed the sun.  Then
suddenly, I thought I was dying.  The sun was shining on me
and I was powerless to seek shelter.  So I just stared at
it.  It is beautiful."

"Well, I hope you're eyes heal quickly.  I am not looking
forward to breaking in a new partner," Tracy said, teasing
him.  "I got to meet another brother tonight."  Then she
told Nick about Don Constantine, "Cousin Tommy", in as
amusing a tale as she could make it.   Nick laughed and
laughed, but she noticed as she continued that he looked
tired and his complexion turned gray.  "Maybe it's time to
go to bed," Tracy suggested.

Nick shrugged.  "You go ahead.  I've been there all night."

Tracy pecked him on the cheek, just as a knock sounded at
the door.  She pulled it open, knowing it was Vachon.

"Hi, love," she said, "Hello, Urs.  I was beginning to think
you weren't coming."

Vachon gave a toothy yawn.  "The Raven was really hopping
tonight.  The band just didn't want to quit.  But I'm beat.
I feel like I could sleep until Tuesday."

"Good night, then, Nick," Tracy said again, as she pulled
her Spanish lover into her room.

Urs came in hesitantly, closing the door behind her.  She
hadn't seen Nick since a few days before he drowned, and
then they had quarreled.  She wasn't sure if he even wanted
to see her.  But LaCroix had called earlier, and
specifically asked her to come.  "Hello, Nick," she
whispered.

end, part 7.

Tap Dance, part 8.
By Lorelei Sieja




"Hello, Urs."  His face looked neutral.  At first she
thought she had seen a smile, but now he seemed
indifferent.  He didn't get up and hug her, or kiss her, or
even look at her.  She fidgeted nervously.  Maybe this
hadn't been a good idea after all.

"I'm glad to see you up."

An awkward silence fell between them.  Urs came further into
the room.  She leaned against LaCroix's favorite chair for
support.  Nick looked tired.  She yearned to comfort him,
but there was a stubborn look that would deny any attempt.
He could be so obstinate!

"I've been worried about you," she said.

"Well, don't be.  LaCroix's always there, making sure to
pick up the pieces, to keep me out of trouble.  No one else
needs to ever worry about Nicky, LaCroix's favorite pet."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, blinking back tears.
He was intentionally pushing her away.  She knew that, and
yet, it was working.  As much as she wanted to be with him,
to help and to comfort him, she wouldn't stay if he truly
didn't want her.

"I'm just not very good company right now, Urs.  Maybe you'd
rather sleep somewhere else today."

Urs sniffed.  She wiped away a tear and backed up towards
the door.  "Good day, Nick.  Call me sometime."  She
wouldn't come back otherwise.  She looked at him longingly
one last time, wondering if it really was going to be the
last time.

LaCroix stormed into the living room.  "Urs, stay," he
commanded.  "Nicholas, don't be such an ass."

"Sir, please," Urs whispered.  "Don't.  Maybe it's better if
I just go."

"Better?  Nonsense.  Nicholas, Urs is here because I asked
her to come.  As much as I enjoy your company, I'm sure that
you tire of mine.  And I don't want you to be alone.  Now
apologize to her this minute."

Nick got to his feet, his face contorted in anger, his jaw
set firmly.  "You bastard!  Stop running my life!"

"Or what, Nicholas?"

Nick flew at him, but LaCroix took one step to the side.
Nick missed him, crashing in to the wall.  Urs gasped,
clamping a hand over her mouth.  Nick slid to the floor and
stayed there.  How had he not seen his master move?  How had
he missed?  Her gallant knight looked small and lost as he
drew his knees up to his chin.

LaCroix folded his arms across his chest.  "I'm waiting,
Nicholas," he said.

Nick blinked back tears of frustration and embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Urs," he said softly.

LaCroix heaved a sigh.  "I am going back to bed.  Good day,
children."

"LaCroix!" Nick cried.  "Don't go yet?"  He stretched out
his hand.

LaCroix looked at his son.  Part of him wanted to bring this
child to his breast and hold him there forever, but part of
him was furious with him.  No matter how much he proved his
love for this son, Nicholas still rebelled against him.
"Help yourself," he said.  "Since you object to my
"interfering" in your life."

"LaCroix!"  Nick sounded scared.  "I'm sorry.  Please don't
leave me here."

Urs stared.  She didn't understand any of this.  What help
did Nick need?  Why was he so frightened?  What new torture
had LaCroix discovered to visit upon him?  The ancient
turned to her.  "You will stay the day with him.  I will see
you when I wake."  Then he left.

Nick hid his face in his arms.  Urs saw him shake and knew
he wept, but she still felt clueless.  She sat down beside
him, putting an arm around his shoulders and just stayed
with him.  Shortly, her own tears mixed with his.  She felt
lethargic, drained and weary.  Day had arrived.  The
apartment was filled with the sleeping, but this troubled,
sensitive man she loved needed something.  If only she knew
what.

Nick was quiet now.  His shoulders no longer shook, but
still his face was concealed.  Urs wiped her eyes, then
tentatively touched his tousled hair.  When he did not
resist, she grew a little bolder.  She put an arm around his
shoulder and hugged him. "Nick?  Come to bed?"

He looked up then, but not quite at her.  His eyes seemed
strange and unfocused.  If he was really ill, maybe she
should wake LaCroix?  Nick pressed a hand against the wall
and struggled to his feet.  When she would have moved away,
he reached out awkwardly and grabbed her, pulling her
close.

"Urs.  Don't leave me here.  I... I can't see.  I don't know
where I am, exactly."

Urs looked at him in shock.  Now it made sense.  He had
tried to push her away, being stupidly male, rather than let
her see him this way.  "LaCroix was right," she said.  "You
were being an ass."

Nick shrugged.  "I'm sorry, Urs."  He put his hand on her
arm.  "Just lead.  I will follow."

Urs walked slowly, suddenly grateful that LaCroix's
apartment was always so tidy.  She wanted to know how long
this would last, but if Nick had known, he most likely would
have said something.  Instead she would take him to bed and
make love to him.  In the blood kiss, she would discover
what he seemed unable to share through any other means.  And
once they were in bed, their naked bodies pressed together,
Nick was no longer disabled.  It was as if everything that
had happened since the last time he had held her was all
just a nightmare and this was the only reality that
mattered.

Nearly an hour later, Urs cuddled up against him, stroking
his bare chest although he was sound asleep.  For a short
time she felt linked to him, sensing his dreams and thoughts
more closely than she would have ever believed possible.  On
the plane of the imagined, he danced beneath a golden sun,
felt its warmth on his flesh, and yet he was neither
frightened nor hurt.  Later the sun faded, replaced with
darkness.  Her stomach hurt then.  She rubbed at it,
wondering at the sensation of pain.  The door opened and
LaCroix came inside.

She gazed at him curiously, pulling the blanket around her.
He gestured to her to stay.  Lifting a bucket she just
noticed sitting on the end table, he sat down on the edge of
the bed near Nick and waited.  Nick groaned in his sleep,
moving about restlessly.  Then suddenly his hands flailed
out and he sat bolt upright, vomiting into the waiting
bucket.

LaCroix rubbed his back between the shoulders until the
spasms ceased.  Then he helped Nick to lie down again.
Within moments Nick was sound asleep, oblivious to his
master's presence.

"I am sorry, Urs, for bringing you here.  You do not need to
stay with him if you find this too distasteful," LaCroix
said.

She placed her hands over his and took the bucket from him.
"It is not so bad," she said softly.  "Just strange.  I
hadn't known what was wrong.  I will be able to help him
next time.  Does this happen much?"

"Unfortunately," he sighed.  He brushed at Nick's hair.

Urs emptied the bucket in the bathroom and returned.  She
curled up in Nick's arm, offering LaCroix a shy smile.  He
returned her smile before leaving.  Odd, he thought.
Vampires usually slept rather soundly.  How could he and Urs
keep waking when Nick needed them?  He was too tired to
think about it now.  He returned to his bed, to Natalie's
warm embrace and to his own pleasant dreams.

Nick was exhausting, Urs grumbled to herself.  He was
constantly hungry, probably because he couldn't seem to keep
anything down.  He'd vomit and then he'd need to feed.
Finally when the sun hung low in the evening sky and it was
nearly time to get up, she gave him her blood through the
wrist, bypassing his sick stomach.  He was much too sleepy
to notice or to care.  No wonder why LaCroix had summoned
her!  After spending a night and day with his son, the
ancient must have been about at his wit's end.  She hoped
that Natalie would know how to help him, and soon!  Rolling
away from him and pulling the pillow over her head, she
struggled back to sleep.  An hour later when she felt the
others arise, Urs remained in bed.  Maybe she'd go late to
work tonight.  Her boss should understand....  When LaCroix
came in to help Nick she feigned sleep.



Nicholas seemed petulant today, LaCroix quickly realized.
He had hoped that reuniting him with his lover would comfort
him.  It had comforted LaCroix.  After a full day's sleep
with few interruptions he felt better able to deal with this
most difficult child.  He led him into the bathroom to
assist with his shower.

"Do we have to go in to the morgue tonight?" Nick
complained.  "I don't want to go.  Can't it wait?"

"We do have to go in tonight," LaCroix said firmly. He
smiled at the stubble of beard on his son's face.  It was so
charming, in a way.  It made him look boyish somehow, and
Nick often went for days without shaving.  It would never
grow into a beard.  This was as long as it would get, for
the same reason that LaCroix himself never needed to shave
at all.  LaCroix had been immaculate when Divia brought him
across - his hair recently cut and his face clean-shaven.
That was his immortality.  Nicholas, however, had been on a
two-day drunk.  His hair had been shoulder-length and his
jaw covered with several days' stubble. Now his hair grew
very fast, as his vampire nature strove to maintain him as
he was exactly at the moment of his conversion, and his
beard would grow just this far and stop.

Nicholas preferred the shorter hairstyles that were
currently popular, which meant that he required frequent
cuts, but the dark blonde stubble on his chin was there as
often as not.

"Do you wish me to shave you?" LaCroix asked.

Nicholas cocked his head slightly as he considered it.
"Show me how to do it myself?"

That would be time-consuming.  However, they were in no
particular rush, and LaCroix felt solicitous at the moment.
He pulled his son in front of him as they both stood at the
sink.  Taking Nicholas's hand, he guided it to the mirrored
cabinet and to the razor and shaving cream inside.  Nicholas
seemed very absorbed in the activity as he smoothed the
cream over his face, while LaCroix merely enjoyed watching
him.  It seemed that as long as he kept him busy, Nicholas's
mood was much improved.  It would take serious thought to
come up with enough activities to occupy his son, but
certainly it would be worth it.

Nicholas felt for the faucets and rinsed the razor, then
continued to scrape at his face.  He wasn't doing too badly,
considering.  "Am I finished?" he asked shortly.

"You've missed two spots," LaCroix answered.  "You can find
them, as the shaving cream is there still."

He scowled with concentration as he felt his face, removing
the last of the shaving cream with the razor.  Leaning over
the sink, he washed his face and accepted the towel LaCroix
passed to him.  Nicholas beamed proudly.

LaCroix told him then to find the shower and adjust the
water temperature.  Nicholas swallowed nervously.  "It's
easier to do in your shower," he answered as he felt his way
around the small bathroom awkwardly.

"And why is that?"

"Because your faucet leaks.  The faint sound of the dripping
water leads me there."

LaCroix laughed.  "Shall I then remove the washers on all
the faucets and cause them to leak for you, my son?"

"Don't laugh at me," Nicholas whispered, already sinking
back into the petulant mood.

LaCroix chuckled more as he pulled his son closer.  "I am
not laughing at you, Nicholas.  At least, not at your
present disability.  But you make me laugh.  You are my sun,
the light of my world.  You have the power to make me happy,
even as you can burn and injure me with no more than a
careless word or glance."

Nick became thoughtful; LaCroix was seldom so poetic. Then
he felt his master's hands begin to undress him and he
pulled away.  "I can do that myself," he insisted.

LaCroix took his son's hands and placed them on his own
shirt.  "Then undress me instead," he offered.  Together
they showered and shared blood.  It was the only way to
start a new day.


Tracy and Nat had left for work already by the time the two
vampires settled in the kitchen for their breakfast.
LaCroix poured Nick's mug only half full and warmed it in
the microwave.  "Drink as much as you can, my son, and leave
the rest," he said.  His own glass he filled, three times.
Caring for Nicholas required a lot of work.  He checked in
on Urs once, before they left.  The day must have worn her
out.  Perhaps it had been devious and underhanded to bring
her here... but he felt much better.

"Are you sorry that I invited Urs?" he asked Nicholas.

"No," he sighed.  "I'm sorry that I've been so awful to
her.  I love her.  But I just can't seem to tell her that.
I mean, I seem to always say or do the wrong thing and hurt
her feelings."

"I know exactly how you feel," LaCroix said ironically.  He
led his son away then, fully aware of the sweet smile on
Urs's face before he closed her door.

Tap Dance
By Lorelei Sieja



Natalie was waiting for them when they arrived and lead them
to the lab.  The cold, steel shelf usually held only corpses
and she felt awkward as she directed Nick to lay there.  She
slipped on the lead protective apron, but LaCroix refused to
wear one.  He even refused to leave Nick's side during the
process.  Stubborn old Roman, she muttered under her
breath.  Secretly, she was glad that Nick could depend on
him during this crisis.   She took several views of his
abdomen, then had him remain there while she developed the
films.

The images were not encouraging.  He did have a large ulcer
on the stomach lining.  She pulled at her hair in
frustration.  All her work, six years of trying to help him,
and she had made him this way.  It was really all her
fault.  She would work forever to help him recover, even
though it meant joining him in immortality, but nothing
would ever erase her guilt.  She grabbed the films and
brought them out into the lab.

"So what's the bad news," Nick asked.

"What makes you think it's bad?" she asked, trying to keep
her voice light.

"I can smell your fear, Nat," Nick answered softly.  "You
are nervous, anxious."

Nat glanced at LaCroix.  He merely shrugged.  "Okay, Nick.
I'll be straight.  You have a hole in your stomach.  You
have too much hydrochloric acid, which is making you vomit.
This hole is also bleeding, which is keeping you weak and
inhibiting your ability to heal.  And there isn't anything I
can do for you."

Nick gulped nervously.  A dark sheen appeared on his brow at
once as his fear nearly overwhelmed him.  "You mean," he
whispered.  "I'm going to stay like this?"

"I didn't say that," she said, more gently now.  She took a
facial tissue and dabbed at the blood sweat on his face
tenderly.  "But, you are going to have to help yourself on
this one, Nick."

"How?"

Nat glanced at LaCroix for encouragement.  They had
discussed this before and it would not come as much of a
surprise to him.  He nodded.  She drew a deep breath and
continued.

"You have to learn to deal with your life differently."

Nick snorted disgustedly.

"I mean it, Nick.  You get so upset about things.  You
brood, and you always feel that everything that goes wrong
is your fault.  This irritates your stomach; it in turn
produces more acid."

"So you're telling me this is all my fault?" he demanded.

"No, Nick," she said.  "It is mine."

He jumped down from the steel table.  Reaching out towards
her, he found her shoulder, then her face.  He brushed at
the tears he knew where there.  "How could it be your fault,
Natalie," he asked quietly.

"I'm afraid that forcing you to drink mortal food caused
this in the first place," she confessed.

"You forced me to do nothing, Nat.  I'm stronger than you,
even as weak as I am now.  I did it on my own.  You are only
guilty of trying to help me.  For that, I will always love
you."  Nick knew his master was there, and sensed his
unease.  But Nick drew her into his arms anyway and patted
her back.  This wasn't about sex.  This was friendship.
LaCroix would have to deal with it.

Nat pulled away first, drying her eyes.  She continued
quickly, using her role as physician to help deal with her
feelings.  "Anyway, Nick.  No more guilt trips.  Maybe you
should find a counselor or someone you trust that you can
talk to.  You must learn new ways of handling your
emotions.  Other than that, I recommend small, frequent
feedings, only pure blood uncut with wine, hourly if
possible.  Next week I will x-ray your stomach again, to see
if there has been any improvement.  I expect that when your
stomach has healed, then your vision will return as well."

"But you don't know that."

Nat didn't answer at first.  He was her best friend, though,
and he deserved the truth.  "No, Nick.  I don't.  However, I
have no reason to believe that it won't.  You have always
healed before.  Broken bones, stab wounds, gun shots, even
drowning.  Don't worry about it.  And that's the whole
secret.  You can't worry about things any more.  Not if you
want to get well."

Nick nodded glumly.  He buttoned back up his shirt.

"Nicholas," LaCroix said.  "I wish to speak to Natalie about
a private matter.  I will return shortly."

He shrugged, feigning indifference.  As he heard the door
close behind them, however, his stomach lurched and
twisted.  The lab loomed around him, suddenly a frightening
and lonely place.  He couldn't remember where everything
was, although he had been here lots of times before.  The
steel bed was in the center, and there was a sink
somewhere.  Without warning, he needed to find the sink.
The metallic taste in his mouth intensified.  He clenched
his jaw and breathed slowly, willing the nausea to pass even
as he groped blindly.  He didn't know why being alone in the
dark frightened him so, only that it did.  He hadn't been in
the dark for eight hundred years!  Always before, no matter
how late it was, or how much fog blocked out the moon, he
could see something.  Now there was just nothingness.  It
was like death.  Lonely.  Terrifying.  Blood filled his
mouth.

Then he heard it- the faint drip, drip.  He reached out with
his other senses.  The room was empty of life.  There was no
one to see him stumble, no one to help him or to laugh at
him.  With his hands in front to protect him, slowly he
moved one foot in front of the other in the direction of the
sink.  He walked right into the sink, then felt around its
steel sides until he reached the faucets.  A feeling of
accomplishment overwhelmed him.  He heaved into it, turned
on the faucets to rinse it down, and straightened in time to
smile at LaCroix and Natalie when they returned.



LaCroix brought Natalie down the hall and into her room,
closing the door before speaking.  He knew Nicholas had
excellent hearing, and it seemed to have magnified since his
blindness.  "I discovered this evening that when he is able
to do something for himself he seems much happier," LaCroix
told her.  "I let him shave himself, although I was willing
to do it for him, and through the entire experience, he
seemed more pleasant."

"That makes sense," Nat agreed.  "A disability can make
anyone feel stupid and incapable, like a burden.  And some
of it is true.  They need help doing thinks they used to
take for granted.  Anything he can learn to still do for
himself should help him feel better about it."

"But there is still a mortal out there somewhere with
murderous intent towards my son," LaCroix reminded her.
"Normally, I would not give that a second thought.  However,
I fear for him now.  He is not healing.  Even something as
insignificant as a bullet would might further injure him."

"You have a point.  You should speak to Reese about getting
police protection."

LaCroix sniffed indignantly, but Nat continued.  "Think
about it, Lucien.  This is a police matter.  Nick will know
if a vampire is tailing him.  In your apartment he is
probably safe enough, but sooner or later- and the sooner
the better, actually- he is going to want to venture beyond
those four walls.  If you have a vampire tailing him, he
will resist, maybe even try to lose him.  If the police are
discreet, Nick shouldn't be aware of them at all."

LaCroix kissed her.  Not a chaste kiss, but a passionate
one.  Natalie responded, although she felt a bit like he was
merely staking his territory.  These possessive
old-fashioned vampires were somewhat amusing, in a way.
Suddenly LaCroix ended the kiss.  He looked concerned.  It
had to be Nick, she realized. She and LaCroix returned
quickly to the lab down the hall, not sure what she expected
to find.  Instead, Nick smiled at them from the sink.  She
rushed to him and saw the telltale red mixed with water at
the bottom.  She looked at him curiously.

"Nick?"

He shrugged, starting to feel a little foolish.  "I found
it.  Without any help."

She blinked back tears again.  If only she could wave a wand
and make his life easier.  If she could believe in vampires,
surely there must be fairy godmothers, too?  "Thanks for
coming in, boys," she said lightly.  "See you later?"

LaCroix offered Nick his arm to escort him away.  "Yes,
Nat.  And good luck with your new cast.  Perhaps you would
like to try the hot tub after work?"

"Yes!" she said emphatically.



Nick settled into LaCroix's limo and sipped at the small
flask his master handed him.  Going to the morgue hadn't
been too bad after all, but now it was over.  What would he
do with the rest of the night?  He sighed, leaning back on
the comfortable leather seat.

The limo didn't travel far before Nick heard the engine shut
off.  He sat up curiously. They couldn't be home already.
He heard street noises, an ambulance in the distance, doors
swishing closed, and mortal hearts in syncopated rhythm
beating all around.  "Where are we?" he asked.

"At your precinct, Nicholas," LaCroix said.  "Captain Reese
was quite insistent about something he called "your
statement"."

Nick wrinkled his nose.  The expression was similar to a
child facing a plate of vegetables.  LaCroix almost
laughed.  "I will stay with you," he said.  "Now try to
drink a little more before we journey inside."

Nicholas complied, then opened his door and stood, waiting
for LaCroix's arm to guide him further.  He was dreading
this.  During the last visit he had managed to conceal his
blindness from everyone.  He had been so weak still, that
LaCroix's support could have been misinterpreted.  Now he
felt a little better, although he still doubted his
control.  They would know.  They would all talk about him,
unaware that he could hear every word.  That was the worst
part.

"Stand tall," LaCroix admonished him.  "When preparing for
battle, you must act as though you have already won the
war."

Nick gripped his arm more tightly.  He understood the
metaphor for what it was, encouragement more than
criticism.  He squared his shoulders, striving for the pride
and confidence that he usually brought to work with him.
LaCroix lead then, and Nick walked surely, using his vampire
senses and his trust in his master to keep him from harm.


"Hi Nick!" called a woman's voice as soon as he entered the
bullpen.

He noted the direction, the slight sibilance in her voice,
the scent of her blood, and knew at once who had spoken.
"Good evening, Schultz," he replied.  "Thanks for the photos
you gave to Tracy.  That was really sweet."

Nick guessed she would be blushing now.  He heard her pulse
quicken and she shifted nervously at her desk.  He gave her
what he hoped was a pleasant smile.

"Where to, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked, surveying the busy,
noisy room.

"Captain Reese's office, I guess," Nick said.

LaCroix steered him through the room, trying to discourage
the mortals, and yet they swarmed around Nick, welcoming him
back and asking about him.  "When are you getting back to
work?" they asked repeatedly.  So far, not one of them
seemed to notice his disability.  LaCroix wondered how long
his son would continue this charade.  Then he felt Nick's
presence seem to double, as his son exuded the air of a
prince.

"I won't be returning for a while," he informed them.
"Maybe not until my eye-sight returns."

Many of them gasped, stunned to speechlessness by his
statement.  A few whispered words of sympathy, but Nicholas
shrugged it off.  "It is nothing.  Merely a temporary
inconvenience. Come, Father.  Let's see the captain."

LaCroix smiled.  His son was many things - arrogant,
stubborn, foolish, defiant, but one of the things he loved
most was that he could be so unpredictable.  "As you wish,
Nicholas," he answered, parting the crowds.


end, part 9.

Tap Dance, part 10
by Lorelei Sieja



Td10

Reese set them up in a small room with Detectives Vetter and
Roberts to take Nick's statement regarding his assault.  It
took over an hour, during which time Reese noticed Nick's
health deteriorate rapidly.  He had never seen anyone go
downhill like that.  Twice his Father pulled what looked
like a liquor flask from his pocket and passed it to Nick.
He tried to hurry them along, so that LaCroix could take him
back home, but he still wanted to try something.

"Nick, do you think I could set you up with a sketch artist,
and have you describe the man you spoke to?  We'd have no
way of knowing how close she follows your description, but
it might give us a start."

"It's worth a try," Nick agreed.

Reese went to the door and signaled.  The young artist came
in with her charcoal and paper, ready to begin the sketch.
Reese listened for a few moments.  He nodded as he heard
Nick describe the man in great detail.  This had been
Tracy's suggestion actually.  He touched LaCroix's shoulder
then and gestured.  "If I might have a word with you?"

LaCroix hesitated.  It was not a good time to leave Nick
alone with mortals.  Tracy smiled.  "I'll stay, sir," she
said.  He stood and followed the captain into his office.

"I'm worried for Nick's safety," Reese began.  "I think I
should assign a few blues to watch your place."

"I agree," LaCroix said.

Reese stuttered his surprise.  "You do?  I mean, of course.
Good.  I'll take care of it."

"Not quite," LaCroix said.  "Nicholas will object.  If he
senses you have placed guards around him, he will become
elusive and uncooperative."

Reese laughed.  "Yep.  Sounds like him."

"Also, I suspect that Nicholas will want to return to work
soon.  Maybe I can get him to agree to only part-time.  I'm
sure you have noticed that he simply is not up to a full
shift yet."

Reese grumbled awkwardly.  "LaCroix, that man is sick.  I
don't know what he needs, but work is the last thing you
should be considering."

"Nicholas is a man.  And he needs to be doing something, to
feel important and useful, as though he is contributing to
your mortal society," LaCroix snapped.  At once he realized
his slip, but the captain didn't seem to.  "We don't know
how long his blindness will last.  I know that will limit
his usefulness to the force, but there have been blind
investigators in the past.  I am certain that Tracy will
still want him for her partner."

"I just don't know," Reese continued, stalling.  "HQ isn't
going to like this, not one bit."

"That is their problem.  If I learn that Nicholas has been
fired because of this disability, I will slap a lawsuit
against the city immediately.  This IS an equal-opportunity
employer."

Reese clenched his teeth and glared at Nick's Father.
Having met LaCroix sure explained a lot about Nick.  The
bullish arrogance and stubborn independence, for sure.  But
Nick was often right.  Going off on his own, breaking rules
and procedures... he'd done it before when he believed Rita
Whats-her-name was playing a virtual vampire game with him,
and again when he went undercover to find Joseph Schloss.
So he had his own way of doing things... he did have good
instincts.

"All right, LaCroix.  I'll speak to my superiors about it.
I'll let him and Tracy try it out for a few weeks, but I
want to see a clean bill of health from his doctor before I
put him on the streets."

LaCroix agreed.  Satisfied that he had accomplished what he
intended, he returned to collect his son.  The sketch artist
showed her picture to them.  It was a middle-aged man,
rather overweight, with nondescript eyes.  His thinning hair
was brushed back.  The eyes were so deeply set that he had a
somewhat cross-eyed look.  His teeth were slightly crooked.
Reese whistled.  "Jees, Nick.  You remember all this from a
single, brief encounter?  That's fantastic."

Tracy got up from the table where she'd positioned herself
between Nick and the artist.  She smiled broadly, but her
eyes betrayed her concern.  "Thanks for dropping by, Nick"
she said.

LaCroix saw then how tightly his son clenched the arms of
his chair.  There were dents in the wood.  He hunched down
in front of Nick, covering his trembling hands with his
own.  Reese looked on curiously, ignoring LaCroix's glare.
"Please leave us alone," he stated.

Tracy helped to herd the mortals from the room, Detective
Roberts, the artist, and her captain, pulling the door
shut.  Nick relaxed a little when he sensed they had left.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  His fangs
descended.  "Will it ever be safe for me to be around them
again?" he asked miserably.

"No more guilt, Nicholas," LaCroix chided gently.  "Come,
feed from me, enough so that you can walk out of here."

Nick leaned forward hesitantly.  LaCroix pulled him into an
embrace, cradling his head in one large hand.  He craned his
neck to expose the tender skin.  Nicholas sank his teeth and
sucked hungrily for a few moments only.  He withdrew,
turning to lay his head against his master's shoulder.
LaCroix reveled in the moment.  If only there were more of
them.  "Come, Nicholas.  It is time to go."



Urs wasn't there when they arrived at the apartment.
LaCroix suspected she was down in the bar, but if he wanted
her to spend the days with Nick, then she would probably
need her nights to recover.  Nick, however, was exhausted,
and was no longer pleasant to be around.  He didn't want to
undress and return to bed. He did not want a drink before
bed.  He did not want to be alone.  When LaCroix lost his
patience and scolded him, Nick promptly vomited all over
himself, the bedding, and the carpet.  He apologized
immediately, weeping in his guilt and shame, which further
annoyed LaCroix.

"Nicholas, stop it at once," he snapped.

Nick fell silent, the picture of dejection.  LaCroix
sighed.  What to do with such a one!

"You will clean up this mess yourself," he ordered.  "Then
you will wash yourself.  After which, if you would like to
join me, I will be in the hot tub."

Nick's mouth dropped open.  He hardly ever cleaned anything
when he was healthy, and never had he cleaned LaCroix's
apartment.  He wouldn't have the faintest idea where to look
for anything.  "But, Father?" he pleaded.

LaCroix hesitated.  Perhaps he had been a little harsh.
Then again, perhaps not.  "The bucket is next to you on the
end table.  Sponges are underneath the sinks in the kitchen
and the bathroom.  You may pile your soiled clothes on the
bed and I will wash them for you."

Nicholas was mute.  LaCroix turned and left before he could
change his mind.  He took a beverage and slipped into his
hot tub, but kept his thoughts on his son as he sensed his
progress through their link.  He would not relax until
Nicholas had completed the task.  Sitting and waiting was
much worse than doing it himself.

Nick wasn't sure where to begin, but sitting on the bed in
his own vomit and feeling sorry for himself was getting him
no where.  He unbuttoned his shirt as the wet fabric was
getting uncomfortable.  Wadding it up, he wiped his chest,
then laid the shirt on the bed.  Shortly his jeans
followed.  He felt for the bucket, knocking it to the
floor.  He found it, then hesitantly made his way to the
door, stepping wide around the wet stain on the carpet.  He
could smell it, and therefore avoid it.

The sink in the bathroom was a little closer, and he had
been there a few times since his blindness.  He touched the
wall with the knuckles of one hand as he walked, counting
the steps.  Then a left turn.  He fumbled to get the bucket
beneath the faucet, but the bucket was too large.  He had to
fill it in the tub.  The sponge was exactly where LaCroix
said it would be.  There were other bottles and containers
there.  Some of them were probably cleaners, but Nick
hesitated to try them.  What if he tried to clean the carpet
with mouthwash?  Of course, he might be able to discern some
products by their odors, but he was too nauseated to sniff
them.  No, plain cold water was probably best.

He walked more slowly back towards his room, not wanting to
trip and spill the full bucket.  He patted at the spill,
rinsed the sponge, and patted at it again, repeatedly.  It
seemed to take an inordinate amount of time.  He'd have to
try harder to hit the bucket in the future, as cleaning up
was nasty.  Stripping the sheets and blankets from the bed
was easier, and nothing had soaked through on to the
mattress.  He dumped the bucket water down the toilet,
returned the sponge under the sink, and the bucket to the
end table by his bed.  He was more than worn out.  But he
also felt pleased.  Cleaning up a mess wasn't an
accomplishment he would brag over, but he did feel a little
less like an invalid.  Emboldened, he found his way to the
refrigerator and drew out a bottle.  He sniffed the cork -
yes, it was blood, not wine.  Then he broke a glass when he
reached for one, though, and he cut his finger when he tried
to pick up the shards.  Maybe this was a mess he couldn't
handle.  Taking the bottle with him, he tried to retrace his
steps.  The hot tub was past the bathroom.  He listened for
the quiet hum of its pumps.  Shortly, he stood beside it.

"Well done, Nicholas," LaCroix said.  "I'm pleased you
decided to join me."

Nick showed his still bleeding finger to LaCroix.  The
ancient took the digit in his mouth and sucked away the
blood until the shallow wound closed.  "Perhaps, you would
not object to using a plastic mug for now," LaCroix
suggested.

Nick pulled the cork from the bottle and took a few small
sips.  Replacing the cork, he floated it in the tub to warm
it, and snuggled back against his master.  He felt oddly
like a fledgling again.  He had to relearn how to do so
much, but he also felt very safe and protected.  Nick closed
his eyes and dozed.


LaCroix remained in the hot tub far longer than he had
intended.  With Nick asleep against his chest, he hated to
move.  Periodically, the bottle Nick had brought would float
past, and LaCroix took a sip, although he generally avoided
drinking straight from the bottle like a boorish plebeian.
All through his nap, Nicholas didn't seem to dream.  Neither
his memories of the sun, nor any of his other nightmares
plagued him, but instead he remained in restful slumber.
The time came though, and LaCroix knew he must move.

Nicholas did not want to waken.  LaCroix was half tempted to
leave him.  Instead, he remembered the child Nicholas had
been, feigning sleep in order to be carried to bed.  LaCroix
pulled his bathrobe on, and carried Nicholas.  He would have
to lay him in his bed, as the other was still unmade.  He
set a bucket near the bed on the end table, and a bathrobe
in easy reach, should he awake.  Then LaCroix dressed.
Perhaps he would venture into the Raven for a while.

"Nicholas," he said.  "I will be downstairs.  Call me if you
need anything."

"Hmm," was the only response.




Nick struggled.  A ton of water pressed on him, pinning him
down.  He gasped, drawing in a breath, and sat up suddenly.
It had been only a dream.  He was safe, in his room in
LaCroix's apartment.

He was also naked.  "LaCroix?" he called.  There was no
response.  Nick shook his head, trying to drive away the
muzzy feeling.  He remembered going to the morgue and the
precinct... then he must have fallen asleep in the hot tub.
He took a deep, even breath.  No nausea, yet.  Just in case,
he felt the bucket on the end table.  Something soft rubbed
against his ankles.  Nick felt around and found his robe.
He pulled it on and cinched the belt.  Rising, he groped
around for the dresser that was just like LaCroix's.  He
opened a drawer and felt through the folded pants until he
found some denims.  He pulled them on, but they were too
big.  Some how a pair of LaCroix's must have been put in his
drawer by mistake.  Too lazy to change again, he just cuffed
up the hem for LaCroix was taller than he was.  The waist
was a little loose, too, and the jeans rode low on his
hips.  It was a good thing he wasn't expecting any company.
He was ravenous.  The contemptible pains and nausea were
returning.  He grabbed the bucket, just in case, to carry it
with him to the kitchen.

Nick counted the steps to the door, but it wasn't there.  A
moment of panic washed over him.  Disoriented, he fought
against rising fear.  Hesitantly, with one hand
outstretched, he took another step and then another.
Finally, he found a wall, then the doorframe.  He must have
miscounted, he decided, or taken smaller steps.  Gathering
his courage, he released the doorframe.  Turning to the left
he counted steps again, moving his feet slowly over the
carpeted floor.

He bumped into a piece of furniture that should not have
been there.  The panic returned.  Nick set the bucket down
by his feet and reached for the object.  He touched smooth
black leather and a soft furry ball.  Sydney hissed, clawing
at Nick's groping hands.  Nick pulled his hand back with a
surprised cry.  His right hand hurt.  Bringing it to his
mouth, he licked at the bleeding scratch, fully three inches
long.  "Damn cat," he cursed, baring his fangs and hissing
at it.  Sydney hissed back before scampering away. Nick
heard something tip over as the cat flew past.

He felt the leather again.  It was the couch, but it
shouldn't be over here!  The kitchen table belonged here.
Had someone redecorated while he slept?  Nick felt so turned
around; he no longer knew where to go.  He sat on the floor,
pulling the bucket into his lap and held on tight.  Within
moments he heaved into it.

'Calm yourself,' Nick thought, remembering his master saying
as much to him a thousand times over.  Calm down.  He was in
the living room.  LaCroix's pants had been in his dresser.
The door had not been where he expected.  The obvious answer
was that LaCroix had laid him in his room.  Of course...
Nick had stripped his own bed.  He laughed at himself, but
the sound came out shallow and nervous.

"Okay.  I'm in the living room," he said aloud.  "But can I
find the kitchen?"

He wasn't really hungry any more, but it had become his
objective, as though achieving it would give him purpose.
He set the bucket down, unwilling to carry it around any
more.  The bedroom should be back the way he'd come.  The
kitchen would be at 2:00, roughly.  There would be a coffee
table and another chair in his path.  Nick stood and reached
out with his senses.

Chairs and tables did not emit vibrations like living
beings, but somewhere that damn cat still lurked and Nick
didn't want to step on it.  Moving slowly, he felt the
coffee table with his shin, then next he came to the chair.
From there on was empty floor space until the kitchen
table.  He was starting to feel better about himself, until
he stepped on something sharp.

"Damn," he swore again.  The glass he'd broken earlier...
now his foot was bleeding.  Nick was sorry he'd ever gotten
out of bed.  He tried to pull the glass from his foot.  The
bigger pieces came, but a smaller one eluded his clumsy
attempts.  Nick's fangs erupted with his anger.

He gave up.  Walking wide to avoid more glass, he finally
reached the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle.  Limping,
leaving spots of blood as he walked, Nick tried to retrace
his steps to LaCroix's bedroom.  Only, he was disoriented
again.  He banged into a corner and didn't know where to
go.  Frustrated, weak, bleeding and depressed, he sat down.
Eventually someone would come.  They would find him and
rescue him.  Nick the gimp.  Nick the useless.  He wiped
tears of anger and chugged from the bottle.  He tugged off
the robe and wadded it into a ball for a pillow.  This was
as good a place as any for a nap.  Nick lay on his side,
pulling his knees up until the pain in his stomach was less
noticeable.

Something tickled his hand.  Nick felt a warm, rough tongues
lick at his scratch and heard a rumbling sound that could
only be Nat's cat Sydney.  He was still mad at it, but he
didn't want it to leave him all alone.  He remained
motionless as the cat continued to lick the blood from his
hand.

"Did you come to apologize then?" he asked softly.

"Prrrup?" the cat seemed to ask.

"I'm sorry then too, for all those times I hissed at you."

Sydney moved closer, almost touching noses with this big,
fanged furless cat.  He liked Nick better now that he seemed
less like competition.  Deciding to let bygones be bygones,
Sydney curled up under Nick's chin and settled in to share a
nap.  Nick draped an arm around the cat, hugging him close
and drifted to sleep.

end, part 10.

Tap Dance,
by Lorelei Sieja

An hour later Nat and Tracy stared at the strange sight of
the half-dressed vampire and a cat napping in the middle of
the hallway.

Natalie had come home a little early, having signed out
before her doctor visit.  She felt so much more mobile with
the smaller, lighter fiberglass cast in fashionable black.
She'd had her choice of colors and almost settled on the hot
pink, but a strange quirk had made her take the black.
After all, it was a vampire's favorite color.

Tracy had brought her home, and together they talked about
Nick and the struggle to help him rediscover some
independence.  As they stared at him, they wondered at the
circumstances that brought him there.  They looked around,
seeing the broken glass in the kitchen, the bloody
footprints, the bucket in the living room, the mess in his
bedroom... and signs that LaCroix's bed had been slept on as
well.

"Looks like he's had a rough night," Tracy commented.

"But it wasn't all bad," Nat said.  "I've been hoping he and
Sydney would become friends.  Looks like I got my wish."

Sydney glanced at Nat scornfully, then closed his eyes
again, contented to remain curled up against his new
friend.  She pulled out a coin and flipped it, leaving Tracy
to handle the laundry and Nat would sweep up the broken
glass.


LaCroix came in shortly.  His eyebrows raised at the sight
of his son on the floor.  "Just leave him there," Nat
suggested.  She patted the couch. "Come join me?"

He sat on the other end and pulled her new black cast onto
his lap.  He stroked her cold, bare toes, warming her.  "You
do know, my dear, that your leg could heal tonight if you
chose to join me," he said lightly.

Natalie laughed.  "Believe me, I have thought of that!"

"And?"

She smiled at the longing she heard in his simple request.
"Not yet, Lucien.  You have enough on your hands, with Nick
and Tracy.  When I join you, I may be very jealous, wanting
you exclusively for myself.  I'll wait."

They watched the end of a movie then in companionable
quiet.  Urs joined them, and then Vachon.  Tracy curled up
in Vachon's lap, dozing off.  The phone rang, interrupting
them. LaCroix answered it, walking into his room and closing
the door for privacy.

"Yes," he said.

"I found the carouche you were looking for.  Jody has more
than a few questions.  What shall I tell her?"

LaCroix hesitated.  "Is she there?"

"Yes.

"Please put her on," LaCroix said.  The voice of a young
woman came over the phone.  LaCroix could hear her
nervousness.  He told her then, briefly, that he had need of
a favor and would she meet him at dusk.  She listened
without comment.

"I will see you tomorrow," she said, before hanging up.

LaCroix sighed.  He hoped this was not going to be a
mistake.

He glanced again at his son.  The floor could not be very
comfortable.  The carpet was not pure wool; Nicholas's bare
skin would be irritated.  He knelt by his son and began the
process of trying to wake him.  Nick didn't respond to his
gentle caress, or the images he sent through their bond.  He
nudged him a little more firmly, speaking to him in his
native French.

Suddenly, the vampire lunged at him, fanged and fearsome,
striking his jugular with deadly accuracy in spite of his
disability.  LaCroix smiled broadly, pleased with his son,
and patted his back affectionately.  He relished the sensual
tug as his blood nourished his hungry child.  Then Nicholas
pulled back.  The vampire was under control, but the man was
disoriented and fearful.

"LaCroix?   What happened?  Where am I?"

The master reached out to comfort his son, resting his hand
on one bare shoulder.  "I'm sorry I had to wake you.  We are
on the floor of my apartment, in the hallway.  Do you
remember how you got here?"

Nick touched a small bump on his forehead, wincing
slightly.  It came back to him.  "I woke up in your room, I
guess.  Only, I thought I was in mine.  I got turned
around."

LaCroix closed his eyes and shuddered.  "Forgive me,

Nicholas.  I never even thought about that."

Nick shrugged his indifference and cocked an impish
half-smile.  "I figured it out, eventually.  What ever's
knocked over in the living room, I didn't do it, Sydney
did.  Then I cut my foot on the broken glass in the
kitchen.  When I ran into the wall over here I just gave
up."

"Come into the kitchen, Nicholas, and Natalie will look at
your foot," LaCroix said.

Nick let LaCroix help him up.  He tested his foot.  It was
still sore.  LaCroix put an arm around him, so he hopped
along without putting weight on it.

Natalie hopped along on her crutches.  "You know, Nick,
between you and me, we make quite a pair," she said, lightly
teasing.  Nick just grinned.

Urs brought over her medical bag.  Natalie took out the
magnifying glasses and a tweezers.  She put his foot on her
lap.  There were several large cuts, and they were still
open wounds.

"I pulled out the bigger glass chunks," he said, reaching
for his foot.  "This is the only one that still feels like
something's in there."

"You're right," she answered, pulling a thin shard a half an
inch long out of his flesh.  She wiped it with hydrogen
peroxide then, since she no longer trusted his vampire
nature to heal it.  As the wounds were still open even after
more than an hour, she wrapped it in a gauze bandage.  "All
done," she said, as she lifted his foot from her lap.

"Thanks, Nat."

She grabbed his hand then. "And what's this?"  There was a
long fresh scratch as well.

"Ask Sydney," Nick replied with a shrug.  "It's okay.  I
guess we've called a truce."


Nat gave him an impulsive hug.  "Glad to hear it.  Now, if
you'll excuse me, I think it's bed time."

Nick heard the rhythmic sounds of her crutches, the softer
shuffling of Vachon's easy gait, Tracy's sleepy giggle as
she whispered "good night, Dad," to LaCroix, and even the
almost silent movement of air as LaCroix departed.  Only one
remained.  "Aren't you tired, Urs?"

She gathered up the empty bottles and glasses to put them in
the sink.  The others didn't seem to realize yet that such
insignificant clutter posed a real danger to a blind
person.  She pushed in the kitchen chairs, and picked up the
bathrobe Nick himself had left on the floor.

"I'm a little sleepy, but I'll wait up with you for a bit.
I suppose since you just woke up, you're not ready for bed?"

"Come here?" he asked.  Urs came.  Nick stood, trying not to
wince at putting pressure on his sore foot.  He reached out
and placed his hands on her shoulders, then pulled her in
for an embrace.  "Why do you put up with me?" he whispered.

Urs held him tight, inhaling deeply.  She loved the scent of
him.  She loved everything about him!  She could tell him it
was because she loved him, but she had said so before... how
could she make him believe it?

Nick straightened, pulling back a little to end the intimate
moment.  "Take me to the door of our room, please."

Urs let him lean on her a little as she walked to the room
they shared.  At the door he stopped her.  "Now, in the
room, is everything where it belongs?  Nothing on the
floor?"

"Everything looks fine, Nick," she said.

"Good.  I remember that LaCroix put in a piano recently.
Will you take me there?  Then you can go to sleep.  I'll
join you in a little while."

Urs looked across the living room.  The coffee table would
be in the way, as the baby grand was tucked in the back
corner near a window.  She walked to the table, as Nick
counted the steps, then around it, and on to the piano.
Nick smiled wistfully as he touched the satin finish of the
new instrument.  He had yet to play it.  He hugged Urs
quickly and gave her a kiss.  "Thanks, love," he said
dutifully, but his thoughts were already someplace else.

"Enjoy yourself, Nicky," she said sweetly.

Nick pulled out the bench and sat down.  He hadn't played in
weeks.  Lightly, he trailed his fingers over the tops of the
keys, locating middle C.  Then he began to play.  Solfegetto
first, by the younger Bach.  It was a simple piece, but
sweet, and it gave him confidence.  He didn't need to see to
play.  If his eyesight never returned, he could always do
his Ray Charles imitation in the nightclub.  Next he played
Rachmaninov, then Tchaikovsky, then Chopin.  On and on.  For
a while he forgot that the apartment was filled with the
sleeping.  He even forgot about his blindness, and the
hunger and pain that was becoming his constant companions.
As he brought the Raindrop prelude to a close, he laid his
hands in his lap.  That was enough.

Urs was like a raindrop, he mused.  He'd heard a poem once
that claimed joy was rain.  "Bit by bit the river grows,
till all at once it overflows..." Later, the poem said joy
was tried by storm.  Well, his life was a storm right now,
but Urs was constant.  She was a jewel of morning dew, clear
and sweet and fresh.  He didn't deserve her.

Now came the hard part.  He closed the lid over the keys and
stood up.  It was ten steps to the coffee table, if he
started at the right angle.  When he felt ready, he retraced
the path, feeling pleased when he bumped into the low
table.  Around that, twelve steps to his door, then eight to
the bed.  His reward was to nibble on Urs's ear and share
with her the peace he had discovered in music.



LaCroix sighed contentedly.  He had always loved to listen
to Nicholas play.  Today's concert was a milestone, of
sorts.  It seemed that his son was beginning to find himself
again.  His choice of pieces had all been sweet, perhaps
bittersweet, but not tragic.  Then with a sudden insight,
LaCroix knew what career his son should consider whenever
they did move on.  He had been a teacher before, sharing his
knowledge and love of archaeology, but perhaps he could try
teaching music.  Nicholas Chevalier, Music Professor at
Oxford perhaps?  Or maybe some small university in Vienna?
He would speak to Aristotle about setting up such an
identity, for when the time came.

He shuddered then.  On a foolish whim he had invited not
one, but two carouche to visit this coming evening.  He had
better get some rest.

end, part 11.

Tap Dance,
by Lorelei Sieja


Natalie was the first one to wake up again.  She remained in
bed with LaCroix for as long as she possibly could, but
there was just no way she could put off the inevitable any
longer.  Still, LaCroix had convinced her that Nick was not
the sanest person when he first awoke.  Last night when
LaCroix tried to wake him, he had attacked the old Roman!
She took her scarf again and wrapped it around her neck
several times.  Then donning a nightgown and bathrobe, she
unlocked the door left the safety of LaCroix's room.

It was fully dark outside, she realized with surprise.  The
vampires didn't usually sleep that long, but then they had
been up late.  She had breakfast and was just fixing a cup
of coffee when the doorbell rang.  Natalie opened it.

A pretty young woman and her golden retriever stood on the
landing.  The woman looked as surprised to see Nat as Nat
was to be facing the strange vampire.

"You live here?" the woman asked nervously.  "I must have
the wrong address, please forgive me."

"No, wait," Nat said. "This isn't my place.  Whom are you
looking for?"

"Mr. LaCroix."

Natalie smiled.  She motioned for the woman to come inside.
"Then you found him.  My name is Natalie Lambert."

The woman stepped inside. She stared at Natalie's
outstretched hand before accepting it.  She walked too
erect, held herself too aloof, almost as if she had to prove
something.  Natalie tried to make her feel more welcomed,
but really didn't have a clue what the woman's problem was.
She went to the refrigerator then and sorted through the
bottles for the one she knew LaCroix preferred.  She poured
a generous amount in a crystal glass and offered it to the
vampire.

"I was just having some coffee," Nat said, giving her a
friendly smile.  "Would you care to join me?  I'm afraid the
others aren't up yet."

The woman stared at the glass, her pretty brown eyes widened
in surprise.  Nat was shocked to see red tears before the
woman blinked them away.  Her hand shook nervously as she
accepted the glass.  "My name is Jody," she said.

Nat smiled.  Jody Something.  The rest didn't matter.  As
she had learned, most vampires changed their surnames every
time they moved.  Only LaCroix seemed brazen enough to break
with that tradition.  Nat took the couch, as she still found
that propping her cast up as much as possible eased her
discomfort.  Jody perched on the edge of LaCroix's black
leather chair, remaining alert and ready to bolt.  She
sipped at the bloodwine Natalie had given her and smiled
appreciatively.

"Not bad, for human," she remarked.

Nat gasped, inhaling a little coffee, which started a
coughing jag.  She blushed in embarrassment.

Jody fidgeted.  "I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

The coroner took another sip of coffee and set it down on
the table.  "Knew?  I haven't a clue what's going on, Jody.
Other than, I am the only mortal in a house full of
vampires."

"And carrouche," she whispered.

Carrouche.  Nat had only heard the term once before, during
the fever.  Screed had been carrouche.  He had been a limey,
an uneducated sailor from England's past, and he fed on the
blood of rats.  Nat shuddered at the thought.  She recalled
how Nick had reacted around him, a little superior and
incredibly tactless.  Only Vachon had mourned Screed's
passing.

But this pretty young woman was nothing like the dirty
sailor with the unintelligible accent.  Her hair was cut
short and stylish; her make-up was subtle, almost completely
concealing the pale complexion of the undead.  She wore
snug-fitting blue jeans and a rose colored sweater - she was
the most "un-vampire" looking vampire Nat had ever met.

The dog sat beside her, gazing adoringly at the young
woman.  Then Natalie smiled.  "You mean your dog is
carrouche?  Should I get him something to drink, as well?"

Jody nodded hesitantly. "And he is my master."

Life had taken some strange twists since Natalie had first
discovered Nicholas Knight undead upon the slab in her
morgue, but this was definitely one of the strangest.  She
got up to fetch a bowl of something for the dog.  She got a
cereal bowl and one of Nick's bottles without the wine.

"Thank you," Jody said, as she set it on the floor for
Perry.  He lapped at it eagerly, his eyes became golden,
glowing orbs and his already long canine teeth seemed to
grow more deadly looking, even as he wagged his tail in
typical doggy fashion.

Jody pulled her fingers through her hair as she gave a
nervous little laugh.  "When I left Toronto, I swore I would
never return."

"Why is that?" Nat asked.

"Oh, no good memories, I guess.  First, my mortal friends
kind of forgot I was still alive, after the MS struck.  They
were uncomfortable around me, and avoided me.  Then a
carrouche attacked my dog, and Nick wanted to destroy him.
When Perry brought me across, it was the best thing that had
ever happened to me.  Did you ever have a really great day -
like, imagine winning the lottery, and getting promoted, and
falling in love, all at once, and you're just bursting with
joy, but you can't tell anyone.  And what's worse, no one
would really care, anyway."

"It's too bad that Nick wouldn't let you talk to Tracy
before you moved on," Natalie said softly.

"But she's not a vampire!"

"Well, no, at the time she wasn't, but she did know about
vampires.  Only, Nick knew she knew, but didn't want her to
know he was, and it is really very, very confusing."

Jody stared at her.  "Do you mean Tracy is a vampire now?"

Natalie nodded.  "Actually, she's Nick's little sister."

Briefly, a bright happy smile came to Jody's face, turning
her pretty looks into something truly eye stopping
gorgeous.  But then the smile faded and her nervousness
doubled.  "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," she
stammered.  "Maybe I should just go."

"Would you tell me more about yourself?  You said you are
carrouche. What does that mean?  Is that what makes you so
nervous? Does it bother you to be around vampires?"

Jody laughed without humor.  "Oh no.  It doesn't bother me a
bit.  But carrouche are second or even third class
creatures.  Most vampires refuse to associate with us, or to
come to our aid, and some would prefer that we were denied
the right to exist."

"But what makes you carrouche?  What makes you different
from them?"

"We have the blood of animals in us," she whispered.
"Carrouche are considered abominations by some because of
this.  Carrouche can be animals, brought across by vampires,
or people brought across by carrouche... either way, we are
"impure".  Most carrouche prefer to drink animal blood,
although human is acceptable."

Natalie nodded slowly as she listened.  It reminded her a
little of the racial problems that had been more prevalent
in the recent past.  Things were starting to change - there
were more racially mixed marriages and multi-ethnic children
in the schools... but change was slow in coming.

"Did Nick treat you unkindly?" she asked.

Jody shook her head.  "Never.  When I was a blind
dispatcher, he was very kind.  He made me feel like a woman
again, instead of a cripple.  After Perry brought me across,
Nick seemed only very sorry.  I tried to tell him how happy
I was, but I don't think he really understood.  He spent the
rest of the night with me, giving me a crash course I guess,
as he tried to teach me what I would need to know to
survive.  He begged me to stay longer, but I had to get out
of Toronto.  I couldn't let anyone see my sudden, miraculous
recovery.  So Nick sent Screed to look after me for a
while.  The only thing he hadn't taught me, was how other
vampires would despise me.  That I learned from experience."

"So, why did you come?  Do you know why LaCroix wants to see
you?"

"Only that he said he needed a favor, and I owe him my
life."

Natalie looked up as Vachon, Tracy and Urs joined them,
observing their reactions to Jody.  Urs seemed a little
formal, but that was just Urs.  Jody, however, might have
read it as prejudice.  Vachon smiled his lazy, sexy smile
and waved.  Tracy reacted with her same childish excitement,
bouncing into the room with a squeal.

"Jody!  Jody!  Is that you!  I just can't believe it!  How
are you!"  She almost attacked her old friend, eliciting a
warning growl from Perry, which she ignored.  Drawing Jody
in for a hug, she stammered on enthusiastically.  "You look
great!  How've you been?  Where've you been?  How long can
you stay?  It's so good to see you!"

Jody was quite overwhelmed, unable to get a word in to
answer a single question.  After a moment, she returned the
embrace.  Tracy, like her other mortal friends, had
abandoned her when the illness struck, but Tracy then
apologized.  She had forgiven Tracy last year, before she'd
come across.

LaCroix cleared his throat, tugging Tracy's attention
through their link.  "Calm yourself, child.  You'll frighten
my guest away with such nonsense."  He hadn't realized that
Tracy knew this carrouche.  If he had, he might have
reviewed his plan with her first.  Now, it was too late.

Tracy stopped bouncing, but her smile was just as
infectious.  "Oooo, a guest of LaCroix!  I didn't know you
had friends in such high places, Jody!"

"I didn't, either," she said, giving Tracy a meaningful
look.  "So how long?  When did you do it?"

"She's still a baby," Vachon answered lightly, as he passed
Tracy something for breakfast.

LaCroix listened as the younger vampires conversed.  He was
pleased that they were making Jody feel welcomed.  He would
have been hard-pressed to do it sincerely, and yet it was
imperative if his plan was to succeed.  But he wished to
speak to Jody alone, while his son still slept.  It was time
to hurry the children and Natalie along.

Tracy was reluctant to leave.  "I'd really like to talk some
more, Jody.  Will you be in town for a while?  Do you have a
place to stay?"

Jody glanced at LaCroix hesitantly.  "I don't know," she
answered.

LaCroix put his hands firmly on Tracy's shoulders as he
guided her towards the door.  "I will be sure to get her
phone number for you, my dear.  Now run along, or you'll
make Natalie late."

Tracy reached up and pecked him on the cheek.  "Be good to
her."

Finally, the door closed and a peaceful silence filled his
living room.  He leaned against the door as he studied the
young carrouche before him.  Jody was pretty woman.  Such a
shame that his son had not brought her across.  It would
have saved her much heart ache and embarrassment.  As for
the dog beside her, it was quite unusual that he still
lived.  Dogs made the worst carrouche.  They could be quite
vicious.

"I never thanked you properly," Jody said to break the
silence.

LaCroix waved her comment aside, but she persisted.

"You stood up for me, when no one else would.  I will never
forget it."

Now was the time, he realized.  He had come to her aid last
summer, when the council raised a stink about the two new
carrouche, and discussed sending enforcers to destroy them
both.

He had argued that as long as they adhered to the code they
be permitted to exist. He had to call in a lot of favors in
order to sway enough votes on the council, but he had done
it for Nicholas.  Although the boy knew nothing of the
issue, LaCroix hadn't wanted him to suffer any more guilt on
Jody's behalf.

Then the moment was shattered with Nicholas's frantic cries
for help.  LaCroix flew to his room.  Nicholas was still
mostly asleep, trapped in his nightmares.  His arms flailed
at the air, struggling with the phantoms in his mind.
LaCroix sat beside him.  He'd learned from experience that
to take the flailing arms was the worst thing to do.
Instead, he tried to wake him, baring his throat in
expectation for his son's attack.

He didn't have long to wait.  Nicholas tore into his neck
savagely, but what began as self-defense quickly turned to
need.  Nicholas clung to him desperately, as he drank his
master's blood.  LaCroix held him, comforting him for a few
moments before pulling away.

"Come now, my son.  Enough of this," he chided softly.

Nicholas withdrew his teeth.  His fingers stroked LaCroix's
face almost hungrily.  "It's all true, isn't it," he
whispered, still trembling.

"I did not share your nightmare, my son, but I have learned
that they seldom bare any resemblance to reality."

Nicholas shrugged, trying to feign indifference, although he
still seemed shaky.

"I have a visitor, Nicholas.  Can you dress yourself and
join us in the living room?"

"I don't want to see anybody," he said petulantly.

"Au contraire.  You do want to see, very much, I think.  And
so you will come and you will mind your manners.  My only
question is if you require any assistance."

Nicholas's expressive face scowled his displeasure only
moments before he lunged for the bucket on his nightstand.
LaCroix sighed. Nicholas hadn't heaved once all day long,
and he had hoped that this part of his strange affliction
was over.  Such hopes had been premature.  This bout was
particularly violent.  Nicholas's shoulders shook as he
continued to cough.  LaCroix didn't need a doctor's skill to
catch the scent of his son's blood wafting from the
container.  Nicholas returned it to the nightstand, his
strength spent.  He sank back onto the pillows.

"Please, Father.  Don't make me do this," he pleaded softly.

LaCroix wished he could comfort him then.  He wanted to do
anything to make life easier for his precious child.  Only
the belief that the best thing for him now was to come out
and meet the two carouche gave him the resolve.

"You will do this, now, Nicholas.  Later, we will do
whatever you wish."

Nicholas set his jaw stubbornly.  "Promise?"

LaCroix nodded, forgetting for a moment that such a gesture
was useless.  "Yes."

Nick tossed back the covers.  "Will you lay out my clothes,
then?"

LaCroix pulled open the dresser drawers.  Until recently,
nearly everything Nicholas owned had been black, which
simplified dressing.  Perhaps Urs wouldn't mind putting away
the brighter colors for a while.  "I will see you shortly,
my son," he said, pulling the door closed behind him.



Jody stood there, speechless.  LaCroix guided her back into
the living room before answering her questions.

"He didn't know I was here," she stammered.  "Why didn't he
sense me?"

LaCroix shrugged.  Of all Nicholas's problems, this was
probably of the least concern.  "He has always been rather
excitable.  Strong emotions sometimes weaken our senses."

"So what's going on?  Why is he sick?  I heard about the
Fever that swept through Toronto last year, and then
something about a vampire with the power to poison.  Did he
meet her?  Is he poisoned?"

LaCroix refilled their glasses, bringing one out for
Nicholas as well.  Then he briefly explained Nicholas's
unique condition.  "I don't think there has ever been a
blind vampire before.  Oh, we've all suffered injuries to
the eyes, straying a moment too long in the sun, but once we
feed, the injury heals promptly.  Forgive me, child, but
since you were once blind, I thought perhaps you might help
him to face this condition.  We have no idea how long it
will remain.  So far, there has been no sign that it has
begun to heal."

Jody gave a sigh of relief.  She settled more comfortably in
her chair, pulling her feet up and tucking them underneath.
She gave LaCroix a beautiful smile.  "You only want me to
help your son?"

He nodded, scowling.  She didn't seem to realize the
seriousness of the situation.

"Whew... I was thinking you were going kill me."

"What ever for," he snapped.

Jody lowered her eyes.  "Because when you spoke for me at
the council, I heard their sentence.  I was free, but if I
failed to live up their code, then the task of seeing me
dead fell on your shoulders."

"You were afraid I might destroy you, and yet you came at my
summons?  Why?"  This dainty carouche puzzled him.  He
needed to understand her.  Understanding was important to
manipulation.  Without it, he felt powerless.

"Because, after I licked the disease, I decided I'd never
run away again.  Life is too precious to hide in fear."

LaCroix heard his son's approach then.  He changed the
subject, discussing nothing of importance, but allowing the
sound of his voice to guide his son safely to him.  Nicholas
came straight to the couch, trailing a hand along the back
of it as he moved to sit at the other end.

"Nicholas," LaCroix began.  "Do you remember Miss Jody
Fraser?"

end, part 12.

Tap Dance
by Lorelei Sieja





Nick held out his hand.  She took it, and he clasped it
firmly.  "Jody?  Jody Fraser!  My favorite pilot.  How have
you been?"

LaCroix sat back and listened to them visit for a while,
before he left them alone.  He put the empty bottles in the
dishwasher and tidied the little kitchen, remaining close
but unobtrusive.  He wasn't even sure what he wanted Jody to
do for him, but as their conversation continued and Nicholas
seemed more relaxed, LaCroix felt that the encounter had
been worthwhile.

"I found that I had to rejoice in all the things that I
could do for myself, and not to grieve for the things I had
to give up," Jody was saying.  "I still had my mind.  I had
a voice, and I was able to work dispatch.  It wasn't
anywhere near as exciting as flying rescues, but it was no
less important."

Nick shrugged.  "I know I need to go back to work.  I
haven't even tried to speak to my captain about it yet, as I
really haven't been up to it.  But I have to do something.
Merely existing isn't enough."

"Working homicide is pretty dangerous, Nick. Even for a
sighted man.  You might not be able to do that now."

"But it's my job.  It's what I do, what I'm good at.  And I
like to think it's important," Nick said.

"I know.  Like I once flew helicopters.  Don't worry,
though.  You'll find your dance."

"My what?

Jody laughed.  "Think of it this way.  You used to waltz.
You probably knew a lot of dances, the Fox Trot, maybe even
the Charleston.  But those are for sighted people.  If you
tried to dance them now, you'd look like a blind man.  You'd
step on a lot of toes and be a real klutz."

The thought of not dancing again hadn't even occurred to
him.  She was really depressing.

"So," she said, trying to get his attention back.  "You've
got to learn how to tap."

"Who says I don't?" he grumbled.

"Tap dancing is something you can do.  You don't need a
whole ballroom, just a small stage.  You don't need a fancy
costume or even a partner.  You just find the rhythm and let
go.  And pretty soon, people will be paying real money to
come and watch you tap.  And they won't say "look at that
blind man", they'll be watching an artist perform."

Nick fell silent.  He knew she was the voice of experience,
and she was probably right about working homicide.  But was
there a place for him in the department somewhere?

Jody reached down to pet her dog affectionately, as she
reached a decision.  "Nick?  Would you like to keep Perry
for a while?  Until your eyesight returns?"

Nick shook his head.  "No.  LaCroix hates dogs.  He would
never let me keep one."

"But LaCroix is the one who invited me here.  Surely that is
what he had in mind."

"And just how could Perry help him," LaCroix asked, keeping
his voice neutral.  Inviting the carrouche to visit was
quite enough for one day, allowing one to dwell under his
roof was probably more than he could tolerate.

"Perry can give him independence and freedom.  Perry is
still a guide dog.  He is trained to be the eyes for the
blind.  With him, Nicholas can go almost anywhere.  In an
emergency, he can even fly with Perry, but a dog doesn't
have the discernment to conceal his nature from mortals.  I
have to be very careful with I take him flying."

LaCroix wanted to forbid it.  His lovely apartment was
becoming crowded.  For years he had lived alone, and now he
shared it with Tracy, Vachon, Urs, Nick, Natalie, and the
cat.  Was there even room to add a carrouche?  As he
considered it, he wondered whom would he want to leave?  Not
any of them, really. Except maybe the cat.  "Show us how
Perry could be of assistance."

Jody left briefly, to get Perry's harness.  Nicholas called
to him.  "LaCroix?  You can't seriously be considering
letting him stay.  You hate dogs.  You know you do.  Don't
do this to me."

"I absolutely detest cats," LaCroix said.  "I cannot stand
the vile, furry, bewitched little creatures.  I hate how
their hair clings to my clothing, or the way it flies up my
nose.  I hate how they claw up the furniture.  I hate the
way they smell.  However, I find that I must endure a cat to
please my lover, and so the little beast and I will learn to
get along.  Because I love you, if this guide dog will help
you, I will tolerate it."

Nicholas blinked, swallowing past a thickness in his
throat.  He reached out for LaCroix timidly, first holding
him close, then nuzzling his sensitive throat with his
fangs.  LaCroix returned the embrace.  "May I, Father?" he
whispered hoarsely.

LaCroix's answer was to nip his son and crane his neck to
bare the vein.  Nicholas sank his fangs and drank.  LaCroix
tried to hold back, tried not to take too much, but
Nicholas's sweet elixir was almost intoxicating.
Reluctantly, LaCroix withdrew, while still holding his child
close.  He felt Nicholas tremble.  The weakness that seemed
to plague him was replaced with new vigor, if only
temporarily.  Nicholas seemed greatly improved when Jody
returned.

LaCroix stepped back and watched.  Perry knew just what to
do, but Nicholas needed to be trained to recognize the dog's
gestures.  Perry leaned against his leg, pushing him away
from colliding with the furniture.  The dog warned him about
stairs, and steered him safely around potential hazards that
Jody placed on the floor.  After they had drilled in the
apartment, Jody took them out for a walk around the block.
LaCroix flew to the rooftop to watch, feeling strangely
wistful.  Perry would restore a sense of independence to
Nicholas, and Nicholas would not need him as much.  He
heaved a sigh.  This was a good thing, wasn't it?

Then he saw the two men following his son.  He felt a moment
of concern until he recognized them from the precinct.
Captain Reese had placed guards around Nicholas, as they had
discussed.  The officers kept a discreet distance and
Nicholas didn't seem aware of them.  This was also a good
thing, in that the guards would be free to do their job, but
it also concerned LaCroix.  If he was unaware of the guards,
then the killer could also take him by surprise.  LaCroix
looked all around from his position on the roof.  The drive
to hunt had not been this strong in decades!

As he saw Nicholas and the carouche enter the back door to
return to the apartment, he entered from the skylight.  He
didn't have to ask them how it went, as Nicholas was
grinning broadly.  He knelt down and patted the carouche
affectionately, uttering the kind of nonsense that mortals
often spoke to their pets.  LaCroix shuddered.  And so now
his home would have to include the carouche.  Certainly,
there must be something Natalie could do to speed his son's
recovery!

"When you finish with Perry, then you need to remember to
take off his harness," Jody said.  "Have one place to hang
it, so you'll know where to find it.  And don't forget to
love him.  Dogs are pack animals, and very social. They
crave attention and affection."

Nicholas fumbled with the straps on the harness, but Jody
just let him figure it out.  Then he hung it on the doorknob
of the front hall closet.  "Jody, I know how hard this must
be for you.  Are you sure you want to leave him here?"

He heard her sniff and knew she was very close to tears.

"Do you have a place to stay while you're in town?"

"No, I just got in last night.  Aristotle let me bunk on his
couch."

"Why don't you stay at my loft, then?  I won't be using it
for a while.  I know Tracy will want to see you," Nick
said.  "And that will give us all a chance to see how this
works out."

LaCroix got Nick's keys from his bedroom for him and handed
them to Jody.  "That is an excellent idea, Nicholas.  If you
don't mind cow, there is even a supply in his refrigerator."

Jody laughed nervously.  "Cow is fine.  Thank you.  I can't
tell you when I've ever felt quite so... welcome.  If you
don't mind, it's been a long couple of nights, and I'd like
to get settled in."

LaCroix gave her directions to the loft.  He volunteered to
have his limo take her, but Jody said she'd rather fly.  At
the door, Perry whined, expecting to go with her, and unsure
of what to do.

"You stay with Nick," she whispered.  "You can help him now,
just like you always helped me.  I'll see you around."

Perry lay down with his head on his paws.  Jody turned her
back sadly and left.

"LaCroix?" Nick asked.

"I'm here, my son."

"You promised.  We could do whatever I wanted, if I came out
to meet your guest.  Remember?"

Inwardly LaCroix groaned, wondering what mischief his son
was cooking up now.  "But you look worn out, Nicholas.  I
think you should rest."

"That's not what you promised."

"Tell me then, what it is you wish to do," LaCroix said,
hoping to steer him away from what could become a tense
moment.

"Would you take me flying," he whispered hopefully.  "I
haven't been in over a week, and I'm afraid to go alone."

LaCroix smiled.  This was a simple request, and one that he
would enjoy as well.  But Nicholas did look tired.  "If you
will lie down for a little while, then I will gladly take
you."

Nicholas shrugged agreeably.  When he started to walk, Perry
jumped up and went with him. The dog didn't know his
destination, but kept him from walking into the furniture
wherever he went.  At his room, Nick sprawled on the
covers.  He patted the space beside him.  Perry jumped up,
turning around and around, then plopped down comfortably.
Nick rubbed his fingers through the sleek coat for a few
moments, until he fell into a sound sleep.

LaCroix scowled at the furred beast on the bed.  There would
have to be a few ground rules laid out if this was going to
succeed.  Still, the dog didn't have a bed of his own here,
and Nicholas did seem to be resting soundly.  LaCroix
decided to slip downstairs into the Raven for a while.



"Hello," Reese spoke into the phone.  It was that damned PI
again.  This guy really didn't seem to understand English.
If he kept it up, and LaCroix pressed charges against him,
then it would all come out how Reese had hired him in the
first place.  This was one mistake that just did not want to
go away.

"You are not going to believe this," the PI said excitedly.
"I found the connection you were looking for.  He's not only
crooked, he's from an entire family of thieves!  That man is
a Constantine!"

"You are really nuts.  I've never heard anything more
ridiculous," Reese snapped.  "And I told you, this case is
closed.  You're fired.  Now leave LaCroix alone and don't
call me again!"  He hung up, but within moments it rang
again.

"He's a Constantine, I'm telling you," the PI insisted.

"He is French.  Constantines are Italian," Reese pointed
out.

"Ha!  "LaCroix" is a French name, but it isn't really his.
He's Italian.  He served as a General once, stationed in
Rome, I think.  He is a cousin to the notorious Don
Constantine, right here in Toronto!"

Reese shuddered.  Somewhere along the line the PI started
making sense.  LaCroix did have a certain Roman look about
him.  Maybe it was the nose.  Or the aristocratic bearing.
But just being related to the Constantines was not a crime
in itself.  Actually, it made him think more highly of
LaCroix.  The man had changed his name, his identity, even
tried to change his nationality.  He obviously wanted
nothing to do with the powerful crime lord.

"I'm going to say this very, very slowly," Reese growled,
losing what little patience he used to have.  "You are
fired.  F-I-R-E-D- Fired!  Do not call me again!  Do not
continue to follow him.  Or I will have you arrested!"

Strange, but as irritated as he was, the awful headaches
were over.  He hadn't had one in over a week.  He stood in
his doorway and looked over the officers as they worked.
The place seemed empty somehow, yet only Knight's desk was
vacant.  Tracy's desk was almost empty.  She'd been mostly
doing paperwork while her partner was out.  He'd probably
have to pair her up with some one soon.  It just seemed kind
of final.  Like maybe Knight wouldn't be coming back.

"Tracy," he called. She looked up and smiled.  Getting up
from her desk, she came into his office.

"You want to see me?"

"Tell me where you took Jeep MacPete," he said.

Tracy hedged.

"Look.  This is just I.  And it will go nowhere else.  I
want you to tell me where you took him.  Where you think is
the safest place for him."

She swallowed.  "I took him to Don Constantine," she said.

Reese nodded.  The PI was probably right.  "I guess it was
LaCroix's idea, wasn't it?"

She didn't answer.

Reese sighed. "Fine," he grumbled.  "How's Nick doing?"

Tracy smiled.  "Better, I think."

"Tell him we're thinking about him.  Now get out of here."



Nicholas awoke on his own with a wide, sensual yawn.
LaCroix smiled as he watched him.  At first he looked young
and innocent, wiping the sleep away, then he became
disoriented when he remained in the dark... then finally he
came to a kind of quiet acceptance.  LaCroix spoke to
announce his presence.  "Are you hungry?

Nicholas seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking
his head.

"Then I believe we have a date," LaCroix reminded him.
Nicholas stood, and took LaCroix's arm.  With Nicholas in
tow, LaCroix left the room, lifted through the skylight, and
soared out over the city.  Nicholas's hold tightened,
clinging to him as to a lifeline at first.  Eventually, he
relaxed, as he rediscovered the joy of floating so
effortlessly, defying the laws of physics.  The moon
accompanied them, a thin sliver of its former glory, but
even Nicholas seemed to sense its mystery and power.
LaCroix flew until his own hunger warned him it was time to
stop.

The others were all home, waiting for them, wondering where
they had gone.  Natalie looked disapproving as he had tired
Nicholas severely.  Nicholas sat on the floor in front of
the couch.  He called to Perry, who licked at the sweat on
his face affectionately.  Urs brought beverages for him and
LaCroix, setting his on the coffee table.  As the
conversations drifted around him, Nicholas smiled
contentedly.  It had been a pleasant evening.  He'd made a
new friend in Perry, and had been in LaCroix's company all
night long without a fight.  He leaned against Perry, and
the two fell asleep.  Much later LaCroix carried him to bed,
but Nicholas had no memory of it.

Tap Dance
by Lorelei Sieja



Keith Crowley cursed as he straightened the clerical
collar.  These things were blasted uncomfortable, how did a
man of the cloth stand it, unless it was meant to be a
penance?   It was necessary, though.  Somehow, the police
had a fairly accurate description of him and it was no
longer safe to walk freely in Toronto.  He was closing down
his businesses, preparing to leave town, and the disguise as
a minister permitted him some measure of freedom.  He would
visit the jail tonight, to see what that nephew of his was
up to.  He used a shampoo-in hair color, and hoped that with
the costume, he would not draw too much attention.

"I didn't ask to see no priest," the younger Crowley
complained.

Keith shook his head with a sad patient look until the
police officer left.  "Shut up, you incompetent fool!"

His nephew gasped.  "Uncle?"

"Tell me about this!" Keith demanded, as he pulled a sketch
of himself from a vest pocket.

"It's not me, I didn't say nothing!  It's that dang Amish
guy.  The second one.  He didn't drown, and he's an
undercover cop!"

Keith grabbed a part of his anatomy and glared at him
threateningly.  "You're lying.  I saw him puke blood.  We
watched for half an hour, and he never came up for air.  He
was dead!"

"Well, he had a miraculous recovery.  Go see him for
yourself.  They called him Detective Knight.  Now what are
you going to do to get me out of here?"

"I'm working on it," Keith lied.  "But it's harder to work
now that my face is plastered all over town.  I may have to
move out, and help you from somewhere else."

His brother's son wiped his nose on a sleeve.  "Whatever you
say, boss."

He called for the officer to let him out, without a single
backward glance.  He wouldn't miss that incompetent fool.
He believed him though, as his nephew lacked the
intelligence to tell a convincing lie.  He would have to
find out where this Detective Knight lived.  This time, he
would make sure the cop died, if for no other reason than
because he was annoying.




The apartment had an empty feel.  Nick stirred, stretching
as he awoke.  Perry sniffed him hesitantly, then licked his
face. Nick patted him affectionately.  "It's just you and
me, boy.  I guess we're alone here."

He sensed that it was night.  The instinct to avoid the sun
remained strong even without his eyesight.  Reaching out
through his mind, he sensed LaCroix was nearby, perhaps in
his soundbooth downstairs.  Nick knew if he called him,
LaCroix would come.  Tonight was different.  For the first
time since he'd lost his sight, he didn't mind being alone,
not with Perry there.

An hour later, he had showered and dressed and slowly sipped
at pure human, while Perry lapped up cow blood.  Nick was
feeling emancipated, and he wanted to go out to celebrate.
He considered several destinations.  It didn't really matter
where he went; only that he needed to go somewhere, as
though to prove to himself that he could do it.  He wasn't
quite ready to go to the precinct.  He wanted to feel more
confident before facing his coworkers.  He didn't really
want to go to the Mall, and listening to some videos seemed
about as interesting as watching paint dry.  Then he knew
where he wanted to go.  He needed to go visit Jimmy MacPete,
Jeep's older brother.

It didn't really have anything to do with the case.  He
didn't know what, if anything, had been happening since his
swim in the lake.  He'd given them a description of the man
he'd met on the bridge, but as far as he knew, no one had
been apprehended.  But Jimmy had severe disabilities.  He
discovered his own "tap dance", as Jody had called it, his
skill with computers, and turned it into a thriving
business.  Nick needed some reassurance.  He knew Captain
Reese was not going to want him back on the force until his
eyesight returned.  Nick didn't want to wait.  He would have
to be confident in his own ability, before he tried to
convince the captain.

Nick called the bus depot first for information on which
busses to take, and how close they would bring him to his
destination.  He memorized the times, as he would need to
take the bus back, as well.  The blood wasn't sitting well
tonight.  He forced himself to drink more, knowing he would
need the strength before he went out among mortals.  When
all was ready, he called to Perry and put his harness on.

Perry seemed eager to go outside as well.  Although being
carouche, he would not need the frequent walks to visit fire
hydrants like mortal dogs, Perry still required exercise.
Nick felt his father's presence stronger as he went down the
stairs, and he felt the old knot of dread.

"Nicholas," the ancient said with deceptive calm.  "What a
surprise to see you."

"Good evening, LaCroix," Nick answered, trying to sound more
self-assured than he felt.

"Where do you think you are going, my son?"

Nick turned his head, listening.  The Raven was busy.  He
felt vampires and mortal heartbeats all around.  This was
not a private place.  LaCroix noticed his hesitancy.  "Would
you care to step into my office?"

Nick allowed LaCroix to lead him and Perry inside.  "I am
going for a walk," he stated then.  When LaCroix didn't
launch immediately into a list of a thousand reasons why he
could not go, Nick continued.  "Please.  I must do this.
I've called the busses, and I know where I'm going.  If I
get lost, I will call a cab.  I even brought my phone."

LaCroix eyed his son critically.  Nicholas had managed quite
well this evening.  He was dressed, black shirt, black
jeans, and black coat.  Urs must have taken his suggestion
to heart.  He did seem to have his heart set on going out.
LaCroix was not inclined to disappoint him again.

Still, there was a killer out there.  By now he should have
figured that the Amish man he'd tried to drown and Detective
Knight were one and the same.  LaCroix was tired of waiting
for the police to find this tiresome mortal.  He wanted him
found and punished severely for the pain he caused his son.
But would he allow Nicholas to be the unwitting bait, luring
the killer to act?

Nicholas's skills of sense and perception still seemed
weakened.  Perhaps LaCroix would accompany him on this
journey, and if the killer appeared, he could deal with
him.

"Please, Father?  I need to do to this, alone," Nicholas
whispered, a quiet desperation in his voice.

"Very well," LaCroix heard himself answer.  "Tell me exactly
the route you plan to take, the address of this MacPete, and
when you expect to return."

Nicholas gave him the information.  LaCroix clapped his
shoulder affectionately.  "Go then.  But do me a favor, and
be careful?"

Nicholas cocked a boyish grin.  "Always," he answered.  As
soon as he had left, LaCroix dialed the police to give them
Nick's agenda.  Then he discreetly lifted into the night sky
to follow him at an unobtrusive distance.

Nick inhaled deeply as he and Perry stepped outside the
Raven.  The night air was cold and crisp.  He felt a tingle
of excitement and a trace of fear, but he had prepared well
for this outing, and it was certainly harmless enough.  He
turned and Perry walked beside him, guiding him to step down
at the curbs, to wait for the red traffic lights, to avoid a
patch of ice.  Four blocks away, he waited ten minutes for
the bus.  He had counted out the fare at home, over and
over, to make sure that he had the right coins and wouldn't
keep the other passengers waiting while he fumbled
clumsily.  Nick told the driver what exit he wanted, before
taking a seat near the front.

He detested busses.  They smelled and they were dirty and
they had an almost tomb-like feel about them, but tonight as
he rode alone but for Perry, he felt like a king.  He made
the transfer to another bus without incident, and soon was
knocking on MacPete's door.

There was no response at first.  Nick felt a moment of
panic. What if Jimmy wasn't home?  But when he knocked
again, he heard Jimmy call.  He announced himself and the
door opened.

"Detective!  I didn't expect to see you," Jimmy said.
"Sorry I didn't hear you at first.  I had the music turned
up kind of loud."

"That's fine," Nick answered, feeling a little foolish now
for coming.  "I should have called.  This isn't work
related.  I've been unofficially laid off for a while."

"Hmm," he answered.  "Well come in.  Can I get you something
to drink?"

Nick shook his head.  He heard the soft metallic sounds as
Jimmy steered his wheelchair through the living room.

"Well, come in then, and sit down for a bit.  If you
remember, the couch is at 11 o'clock, and I have no low
furniture blocking the way.  I keep the aisles wide enough
for the chair to get through."

Nick found the couch and relaxed a bit when he was safely
seated.  He had only been here twice before.  Now, he
struggled against the frightening feeling of becoming
disoriented.  He had to remain alert, to keep everything
clear in his mind.

"So you got a dog already?  That's pretty amazing.  I've
heard how there's never enough guide dogs for all the people
that want them, and some folks are on a waiting list for
years."

Nick nodded.  "Well, Perry belonged to a friend of mine.
He's on loan until I get my sight back."

Jimmy conversed easily.  They talked first about Jeep, and
the case, but moved on to discussing computers and Jimmy's
business and then disabilities in general.  Nick found
himself relaxing even more, like he didn't have to pretend
to be brave in front of him.

"So have you talked about going back to work?" Jimmy asked
later.

Nick tried an indifferent shrug, but Jimmy wasn't blind.
"That's what you're really here about, isn't it?" he asked.

Nick felt embarrassed.  "I guess.  I'm sorry, I shouldn't
have bothered you," he mumbled.

Jimmy laughed.  "It's no bother.  I'm glad that you felt you
could talk to me.  People always like to seek out others who
share a common bond.  That's why we have horse and pony
clubs, dog clubs, homemakers clubs and fan clubs.  You are
suddenly in a different world, and none of your friends can
share this experience with you.  Maybe they are very nice
and solicitous, but they really do not know what it is
like."

"So what do I do?" Nick asked.

"You'll have to figure that out on your own.  It should be
something you enjoy.  Maybe you'll do something very similar
to what you used to do, maybe you'll switch careers
entirely."

Nick quickly thought about some of the other departments.
He'd worked two shifts in juvenile division with Roberts,
when he had met Pony and her friends.  He had helped those
kids, but he had felt grossly out of his element the entire
time.  If only his vision would just return.  Suddenly his
stomach started to twist and the foul taste tingled in his
mouth.  "May I use your restroom," he said.

Jimmy gave him specific directions.  He reached for Perry's
harness and left, praying he'd get there in time.


Tap Dance
by Lorelei Sieja


Td15

LaCroix had followed his son the entire time, but he was not
entirely pleased that Nicholas had not suspected he was
being followed.  He seemed oblivious to LaCroix, the police,
and the three mortal hoodlums that appeared to be following
him as well.  When the thugs overpowered the two police
officers, knocking them unconscious, LaCroix seethed with
indignation.  How dare these mere mortals threaten his son's
safety!

LaCroix flew down immediately, showing great restraint when
he stopped himself from killing them.  He knocked them out,
possibly using what might be called "excessive force", but
tossing them around helped to relieve some of his anger.
Partly, he was angry because this trip had seemed so
important to Nicholas.  Having his father come to rescue him
was not going to sit well.

But perhaps Nicholas didn't need to know?  Quickly, he
roused the two police officers and adjusted their memories,
until they took out their handcuffs and tossed the thugs in
the back of their car.  When he heard them call in for
back-up, he went to the MacPete house to check on his son.

An older man stood inside, holding a gun to the throat of a
disabled young man that fit Nick's description of Jimmy
MacPete.  His son was coming down the hall, his hands
raised.  No where could he see the dog.  Nick was walking
alone, speaking.  LaCroix opened his senses, trying to
discern what was happening, without yet giving away his
presence.

"Ah, it's you, again," Nick was saying.  "The man from the
bridge.  You were going to tell me where Jacob Schloss was,
but I didn't quite catch what you said."

"You'll have to tell me how you survived the lake, Detective
Knight," the man sneered.

Nick had cleared the hallway and stood now in the center of
the room, both hands up.  His voice was calm.  "How are you
doing, Jimmy?"

Jimmy swallowed.  "I've been better," he answered.

The man laughed.  "Well, Detective Knight.  You've put a
real kink in my business since you've seen me, and posted
that stupid picture of me.  You can't believe how difficult
business had become.  I'm going to have to pull up stakes
now and move.  But first, you and I and your buddy here,
we're all going to take a little trip.  You're going to
drive, and if you do anything to call attention to us,
you're buddy's going bite it."

Nick moved closer, turned a little.  LaCroix watched,
wondering what game his son was playing.  The man didn't
seem to realize that Nick was blind, and Nick didn't seem to
be fearful.  LaCroix hesitated.  Bullets were not harmful to
healthy vampires, but he was not going to let this man
target practice on his son!  Still, he watched and waited.
The man lifted his gun from MacPete's throat and aimed it at
Nick, turning with Nick to keep him in view.  When his back
was to the hallway, Perry made his appearance.  He leaped
from the bathroom and knocked the man to the ground.  His
jaws wrapped around the man's throat.  He did not bite, but
his angry snarls were threatening.

"The gun, Nick!  He's still got the gun!"  Jimmy shouted.

Nick flipped over Jimmy's wheelchair, tossing him to the
floor just as a bullet fired.  There was a pinging sound as
it struck the wheelchair, but he didn't smell blood.  It had
missed Jimmy.  The sound the bullet made told him exactly
where the gun was.  Nick lunged for it, flinging it from the
man's hand.  Perry growled, tightening his grip.  The skin
broke and a spot of blood oozed.  The man started to scream.

Then the front door was kicked in and the officers shouted,
"Freeze!"

Nick smiled at them.  "Glad you could make it.  Arrest this
man for the murders of Jason Wilton, Janice Whitcomb, and
Jacob Schloss."  Then, he commanded Perry to let the man
up.

"Damn dog!" he cursed.  "I should have shot him back when I
shot Janice."

Nick chuckled.  "Oh, it's a different dog.  This is my guide
dog."  It didn't hurt to let the man know that he'd been
brought down by a blind man.  Nick felt rather proud of
himself.  He had managed alone.  Wait until he told LaCroix!

LaCroix was tempted to run inside and congratulate his son
along with the officers, but he remained outside, enjoying
the look of confidence on that dear face.  Then, he lifted
into the air and slowly flew home.  It would be interesting
to hear Nicholas's version of the story.

Jimmy righted his chair and pulled himself back into it.
"Thanks, Knight.  You saved my life," he said.  "Me and
Jeep, we owe you."

"Just doing my job," Nick answered, still basking in his own
success.  He rode to the precinct in a squad car and walked
proudly inside.  Schultz greeted him cheerfully, admiring
Perry.  "It's so good to have you back," she exclaimed.
"The place just hasn't been the same without you."

"You did it, Nick," Tracy cheered.  "You solved the case.
But you know, you should keep your partner more informed."

He listened to more good-natured teasing, and he sat in on
the questioning of the man they had arrested.  It was all
getting to be a bit much, though.  Suddenly he was very,
very tired.  Tracy whispered to him, as she passed him a
pair of sunglasses.

"Your eyes, Nick.  You're losing it."

He slipped the glasses on.  Before he'd always known when
his eyes were golden because of the way things looked.  With
vampire vision, warm-blooded things pulsed in tasty crimson
hues... but apparently, when he was both blind and tired, he
lacked control.  He needed to go home very soon, but there
was something else he had to do first.

He remembered where Reese's office was.  He'd been called in
there hundreds of times.  Concentrating, he approached the
door and knocked.  When Reese answered, he and Perry went
inside.

"Good to see you, Nick.  Alive and well.  Glad we finally
got that bastard.  But you were damn lucky tonight, do you
know that?"

Nick nodded.  "Yes, I do.  But I still want to come back to
work.  I'm ready for this.  Maybe I can't see, but I still
can think.  There is a lot I can do.  I want you to give me
a chance."

Reese cleared his throat.  He'd already spoken to the higher
ups, and they were not happy.  Still, legally, they did not
have a right to fire him.  "Nick, homicide is just too
dangerous.  Think about it.  This year you've been shot at,
how many times?  You were hit once.  You almost died.  This
is not the place for you."

"So transfer me.  But just don't fire me.  There's got to be
something I can do.  What about working in juvenile again?
Obviously traffic cop is out."  Nick grinned.  There were
almost as many jokes about blind traffic cops as blind
umpires.

"Fine, Nick.  Your father already had this conversation with
me a week ago.  And I've already cleared it with the
commissioner."

Nick was shocked.  "LaCroix?  He came to see you?"

"Yes, he did," Reese answered.  "He threatened me with a law
suit if we didn't give you a chance."

Nick grinned and shook his head.  The more he thought he
knew his master, the more the ancient could still surprise
him.

"As soon as you get the okay from your doctor, you can come
back to work."

Nick held out his hand.  When Reese took it, he shook
warmly.  "Thank you, Captain.  You can expect to see me next
Monday, I think."

"You take care then, Nick.  And have a good week end."


"Do you want me to take you home," Tracy asked, when he left
the captain's office.

"No, thanks," he answered.  "Perry and I are going to drop
in on Nat, for old times sake, and then I'll call a cab.
But thanks for the offer."

She gave his hand a squeeze, not wanting to start the rumor
mills again if she kissed him.  Nick endured a dozen
farewells as he left.  He used to think that he had no
friends there.  They were just annoying, with their constant
gossip, their betting pools, their smelly food and boiled
coffee, and the way they were always trying to get him
matched up with one girl or another.  But now he realized
that he missed their teasing.  It was a different sort of
friendship.  They weren't the kind of friends for whom he
would grieve when he moved on, but they were friends just
the same.  Folks who treated him like any other mortal.

It was only a few blocks to the morgue, but by the time he
got there he was ravenous and the flask he carried was
empty.  When he pushed open Nat's door, she smiled with
surprise and started towards him.

"Stay away, Nat," he warned, leaning against the door.  He
cocked his head and listened.  Only one heart, beating a
little too fast.  They were alone.  "I am hungry."

She opened her cooler. Nick felt his fangs erupt.  She
placed the bag in his hand.  Then he pierced the plastic and
tried to drink.  Small sips.  As the packet emptied, he felt
calmer.  Then he gave her an embarrassed grin.  "Hi, Nat.
It's been a long night.  I caught a killer and I got my job
back."

Nat came closer then.  She lifted his sunglasses, relieved
to see the clear blue eyes.  Reaching up, she kissed his
cheek.  "I'm proud of you, Detective Knight."

"I'm kind of proud myself," he answered.

"Since you're here, do you mind if I take some x-rays before
you go?  I'll have them developed, and tell you what I find
when I get home."

Nick shrugged.  It wasn't really why he'd stopped in, but he
would need her signature before Reese let him back to work.
It didn't take long, and then he kissed her good-bye.  By
the time the cab dropped him off at the Raven, Nick was
thoroughly exhausted.

LaCroix greeted him at the door, and drew him into his
bedroom, where the ancient began to undress him.

"I can do that myself," Nick insisted.

"Hmm, I'm sure you can," LaCroix answered gently, without
stopping.

"I caught a killer tonight," Nick said, unable to conceal a
yawn.

"Good for you," LaCroix said.  He helped Nick into a silk
pajama top and began to do up the buttons.  Nicholas stood
patiently, half asleep on his feet.

"And Reese says I can go back to work on Monday."

LaCroix thought Monday was a little premature, but he would
speak with Natalie before starting this argument.  Nick sat
on the bed as LaCroix helped him with the pajama bottoms.

"Thanks for speaking to Reese about my job," Nick said.

"You're welcome."  He pulled back the covers, guiding his
son to lie down, before he pulled them back up.

Nick yawned again, his fangs full and beautiful in the dim
light.  "Master?" he whispered.  LaCroix loved this moment
best, when Nicholas was guileless, for he was so like the
child he had once been.

"Will you stay with me for a little while?"

LaCroix smiled.  He stretched out on the bed, pulling his
son in to his embrace.  Not much had changed in over 800
years.  He felt his son's hair, still as soft as silk.  He
felt the quiet peace steal over Nicholas, as he relaxed for
the day.  The boy was nearly asleep, and yet the ancient
remained, reluctant to leave.

"LaCroix," Nicholas whispered.

"Sh-sh.  Time to rest," he said.

"I love you."

LaCroix blinked.  He felt his own fangs descend then as his
emotions threatened to spill over.  He remember all the
moments like this that he had allowed to pass, too cowardly
to speak what had always been in his heart. He recalled the
carouche's words that she was not going to live in fear any
more.  It was time that he stopped permitting his fear of
rejection and abandonment keep him from speaking.  He hugged
Nicholas closer.  "I love you, too, my son."

The end.


To Be Continued....