Here it is, friends- the last story in my "Dance" trilogy,
which began with "The Last Dance" and continued in "Dance
With The Devil".  Both were fairly recent postings, but if
you missed them, you can find them at my website,
www.angelfire.com/wi/CourageKnight.  I don't know if Mel's
had a chance to post them to the list yet.  Still, this
story should be able to stand alone, even if you haven't
read the others.  Hope you enjoy!

Permission granted to archive at Mel's fkfanfic website, and
the FTP site.  All others please inquire.



Dance of the Undead 01/09
Part three of the Last Dance trilogy
By Lorelei Sieja


Last night had been perfect.  Tracy rubbed a tear from her
face, still startled by its red tinge, still surprised at
the hunger the sight of her own blood stirred in her,
although it was only one of many tears she had shed today.
She stared at the heavy, black curtains of LaCroix's
guestroom, overcome with strong, conflicting emotions.
"Damn you, LaCroix," she whispered.  Pulling a pillow over
her head, she tried again to sleep.

Last night he had taken her to Azure's.  The restaurant was
definitely one of the fanciest she had ever been inside.
LaCroix had reserved a private dining room set apart from
the main flow of mortal traffic.  She had dined well on the
many courses of excellent French cuisine, only slightly
deflated that they didn't serve pizza.

Later, the ancient vampire had taken her dancing.  He was
easily the best dance partner she had ever had.  Waltzes,
two-steps, ballroom dancing, he could do it all, although he
refused to show her that he could disco.  Tracy thought back
to her partner, Nick, and how she had watched with
fascination as he danced an entire night and half a day
away.  LaCroix was undoubtedly the better dancer, although
Nick possessed a certain passion that was missing in
LaCroix.  The elder's moves were perfect, precise, cold.

Then LaCroix had brought her to his apartment, to his
guestroom, and there he'd brought her across.  Although the
entire evening leading up to that point had been perfect,
the actual event happened and was over with so fast that she
hadn't yet had time to adjust to it.  And then LaCroix had
simply left.  She'd fallen asleep, and she slept alone.
There were strange images inside her, thoughts and feelings,
memories that were not her own.  The impressions were faint,
hardly detectable, but they were there.  They were
LaCroix's.  She knew now of his extreme, possessive love for
his son, Nick.  And Tracy wept again.



The door to her room opened.  LaCroix entered and stood at
the edge of her bed.  He looked magnificent, she thought,
although she quickly tried to stuff that feeling away, as
she stared at him coldly.  He wore a crimson smoking jacket
and black trousers; very proper and elegant, yet oddly
amusing with his bare feet and slightly sleep-tousled hair.
He had recently aroused from bed and was not yet fully
awake.

LaCroix held the bottle out to her.  "I sensed you were
awake," he said.  "I expect you are hungry?"

Her new fangs descended again.  They felt too large and
clumsy.  She snatched the bottle from him and drained it,
adding the now empty container to a growing collection of
them on the floor.  LaCroix blurred as her new vision
changed.  He was no longer pale alabaster, but cool blue and
shadows of black.  Still, she craved him and it made her
angry.

"Rest now," LaCroix commanded quietly.

"Yeah, sure, boss," she snapped.

In an instant he held her throat in one hand, pressing just
a bit too firmly for comfort, but not bruising her.  She
lowered her eyes, striving to control the rage that burned
within.

"You are young," LaCroix said coldly.  "I will excuse your
foolishness this once.  Do not let it happen again."  And
then he was gone.

She heard the soft click as her door closed behind him.  She
could hear him move down the hallway, and she could even
hear the soft whisper of satin sheets as he returned to
bed.  Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with sounds.  The faint
hum of electricity coursing through clocks and appliances,
the wind at her window, street noises, conversations, too
many sounds so far away and yet so clear... Vachon had never
told her it would be like this!  She felt betrayed.




Urs shivered in her sleep.  She wasn't cold, but something
was touching her.  Something cool ran lightly down the
length of her arm and came to rest on her smooth, flat
stomach.  Not sensing danger in Nick's well-fortified loft,
she returned to deeper slumber and tried to ignore the
sensual contact.

Cool fingers slowly moved up her abdomen to stroke her
lightly.  "Nicky!" she exclaimed, no longer able to sleep.
"It is the middle of the day!"

"I can't sleep," Nick whispered huskily.

"You might have better success if I move to the couch," she
suggested.

"Don't want to sleep now...."

He nuzzled her neck, rubbing the stubble of new beard
against her sensitive skin.  Urs turned in his arms to face
him.  "What am I going to do with you," she said, feigning
an irritation she didn't feel.

"Do you want a list?"

Urs didn't need a list.  Although she'd only been his lover
for a few weeks, already she knew all the right places.  She
knew what excited him and what drove him crazy with need.
She found nothing more irresistible than a man who was in
love with her.

And Nick was a man.  Complex, sometimes he was a dangerous
man, fueled with rage and the power to do great harm.
Sometimes he was lost and alone, like a stray kitten in need
of a kind word and a bit of food for his tortured spirit.
Sometimes he was playful, sometimes wretched.  Yet always he
treated her like a lady.  Urs loved him for it.
Later, their passion spent again, she lay curled up against
him, her head on his chest.  One arm held her close.  She
closed her eyes, reliving the moments just passed.  Nick
still seemed wide-awake.  She had not helped him to relax.
Was she no longer pleasing him?

The blood kiss they shared held their fears and concerns.
Timidly, she searched through the fading images.  Nick's arm
tightened around her and he placed a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Urs.  Don't ever doubt it."

She blinked back a sudden tear.  Of course, her own fears
would have passed to him through their kiss.  "Then what has
you so troubled tonight, Nick?"

"It's Tracy," he sighed.

Urs nodded.  She knew Nick had continued to hope that his
young mortal partner would walk away from the dark gift his
master offered her.  He had not tried to interfere, though.
Urs had been afraid that he would.  Urs didn't know what to
say to comfort him.  Tracy had to make her own decisions.

"Perhaps she chose the light," Urs whispered.

Nick shook his head.  "No.  I have sensed LaCroix's
satisfaction.  He was successful.  Like always."

"Will you be close like that to Tracy, too?"  Urs really
wondered about the link that ran between LaCroix and his
children.  She had never developed that skill with Vachon.
She didn't know any other vampires that did, at least, not
to the same level as they.  She was slightly envious,
longing for a close relationship with somebody.  Anybody.
"No," Nick answered her, interrupting her random thoughts.
"Not for awhile, anyway.  I will have to share blood with
her.  That is the first step to bring us closer.  But a link
such as I have with LaCroix only comes with time, and I
don't think all vampires can achieve it even then."

A small part of her crushed and broke.  She had no link with
Vachon now, after a hundred years.  That must mean she was
incapable of even this small tie of affection.

"This link is more of a curse than a blessing," Nick said.

"How so?"

"Imagine you are eight years old.  Your father is bigger,
stronger, and furious with you.  You can't hide, you can't
escape, and you can't even lie to save yourself."

Urs shuddered, knowing something of Nick's past through the
weeks they'd been sharing each other.  "But there are times
it comes in handy, does it not?  LaCroix was able to find
you and rescue you from Flavius because of this link."

Nick shrugged indifferently.  "I would have got away
eventually."
Urs wisely kept quiet.  Nick would have died, if not for
LaCroix.   But she knew he needed to believe the lie
himself.  "LaCroix loves you," she whispered.  "No matter
what else goes between you two, I envy you for that."

"Will you move in here," Nick asked suddenly, leaning up on
his side, intensely studying her face.

"Nick, I've been living with you for nearly a month now,"
she exclaimed.

"No.  I mean, here, in my loft.  Will you bring your things
over and move in with me?"

"Why?"

"Because I love you, Urs.  Because I don't want to live
alone anymore.  Because my loft isn't a home without you, it
is a dungeon."

"And?"

Nick grew silent, pensive.  Urs wondered what thoughts flew
behind the stormy gaze.  She yearned to touch him, to
comfort away the crease on his brow and the loneliness in
his soul, but she remained unmoving, waiting for his
response.

"I want you to feel at home here," Nick replied.  "I want
you to change it- move the furniture around, or throw it out
and buy new, or put some of your things around, so that we
can stop being two lonely vampires and start becoming one
great couple."

"What of your mortal friends," Urs asked softly.

"I've always kept my personal life separate from work," Nick
began.

 Urs was deflated.  She felt he was still shutting a part of
him off, keeping it separate from her, not allowing them to
become too close.

"But, I think, if you don't mind," Nick started.  Urs tried
to pull herself out of her thoughts and concentrate on what
he was trying so hard not to say.  "I mean, I won't make you
or anything, but I'd really like it if you-"

"If I what, Nick?"  Urs shoved him hard, pinning him to the
mattress.  She hissed at him, baring her fangs and lightly
scraping them along his sensitive neck.  If he didn't tell
her soon, she could just read it in his blood.

"Well," he gasped, his undead heart picking up a beat at her
seduction.  "I'd like the guys at work to meet you."

"Really?"  Her eyes returned to blue with her surprise.
"Why?"

Nick looked away from her, squirming boyishly as she still
held him trapped.  If he could have blushed, she was sure
he'd be six shades of red by now.  She enjoyed his
discomfort for another moment, then she drove her teeth into
his neck and drank from him.

Cool, sweet blood spurted into her.  Nicholas, her knight,
her lover, her protector... All at once, he was the father
she needed, the lover she desired, the son she could never
have.  He loved her and he wanted everyone to know it.  And
it would quell a rumor circulating at the precinct that Nick
didn't like women.  Urs allowed her joy to swell, spilling
over into the blood she offered Nick, as he returned the
vampire kiss.

"I could come to the precinct at the end of your shift?"

"That'd be perfect," Nick yawned.

His needs met, his desires fulfilled, Nick Knight returned
to the deathlike slumber of the undead.  Urs smiled to
herself.  Men.

 ==========

She read the newspaper caption again.  "Car Chase ends,
suspect arrested."  It was so brief, so nondescript, as it
sat mutely beneath the gripping photo.  He was in it.
Nicholas Knight, the star detective of the 96 th precinct,
was hanging on to the door of the speeding car as it
careened down the dark alley.  He could have been killed!
And he would never know how she felt about him!

That suspect had carelessly placed her chosen one in
danger.  He would regret that soon.  Very soon.  She clipped
the newspaper photo from the paper and added it to her
collection.  A small shrine of clippings and snap shots of
the young detective were fastened to the wall at the foot of
her bed, where he was the first and last thing she saw each
day.  He was smiling in some shots, but most pictures caught
a look of barely contained fury.  He was so reckless.  The
criminals he chased were scum, killing without conscience.
Didn't the detective know he should be more careful?
Probably not.  It would be her task to protect him.  And she
couldn't let him know she was doing it.  She would protect
his ego as well as his life.  She placed a tender kiss on
his likeness and blew out the candles.  It was time to take
care of Roy Bennett.

Urs straightened Nick's collar and kissed him lightly on the
cheek.  "I'll stop by around five, if that's okay," she
offered.

Nick pulled her in close for a hug, his fangs erupted
suddenly and his golden eyes danced with mischief.  "I could
just call in sick," he suggested.

"No, you can't.  Tracy's calling in sick today.  You'd
better cover for her."

Nick shrugged.  "You can't blame me for trying."

She kissed him again, then pushed him through the elevator.
"Good night," she said.  The look he gave her as the door
slowly closed made her smile.  He could be so innocent
looking one moment, and full of the devil the next.  It
wasn't hard to see why his master was so possessive of him.

She smiled sadly as thoughts of LaCroix came to mind.  At
one time she would have sought his affection over someone
like Nick.  She'd always seemed to wind up trying to please
one loveless man after another... until that night
Jacqueline had made her understand that she was still
searching for her father, a worthless man who had been dead
for more than a hundred years.  Now, she was beginning to
know herself, and perhaps, to even like herself.  That a man
as kind and caring as Nick could find her worthy was the
most incredible gift anyone could have ever given her.

Still, through the intimacy of the blood, she was getting to
understand Nick and LaCroix better, perhaps even better than
they knew themselves.  LaCroix was not a man incapable of
love, but rather, incapable of expressing it.  He did love
Nick, too much, perhaps.  Of that she was certain.  But Nick
didn't feel loved.  And that was the crime.  It forced them
both to drift through the centuries, lonely, hurt, hurting
one another, a true hell, if ever there was one.

She would go to the Raven to feed.  She was perfectly
willing to move in with Nick, but she would not eat here
unless he put in more appetizing fare.  Then, she hoped
LaCroix would let her visit Nick's new little sister.


Dance of the Undead, 02/09
By Lorelei Sieja


It was still early and the Raven was mostly empty.  LaCroix
leaned against the bar, glancing out over his establishment
with a pensive expression.  Urs wondered what dark thoughts
kept him so far removed.  Had something dreadful happened to
Tracy?  A moment of panic shook her.  Nick would be
devastated!  But, no... LaCroix was an ancient, surely he
would not fail in any task he set out to complete.  Clasping
her hands together to still the trembling, she approached
the silent proprietor.

"LaCroix?" she asked softly.  She waited, silent for many
minutes.  It was so much like when her father had still
lived with her... he'd been an abusive drunk, and she never
knew when she had to talk to him if he would respond with
slurred words or vicious attacks.

LaCroix had a notorious temper, but he wasn't a drunk and
she'd never known him to be vicious.  He was overly physical
towards his own fledglings, but he had never struck her.  He
had intimidated Vachon a few times... she smiled at the
memories.  There were a few times she'd felt like throttling
her immature master, too.

LaCroix finally turned his attention to her.  His expression
was carefully neutral, signifying to her the great strain he
was under.  "Yes," he said, giving her permission to
continue.

"I would like to visit Tracy, briefly, if you don't mind,
sir," she said.

For a moment gold filled his eyes, and the lips thinned into
a firm line.  Then he glanced away, forcing the careless
look again.  "I do not mind," he answered.  "However, the
churlish Miss Vetter may very well mind!"

So all was not well at the home, she acknowledged.  Just as
in mortal families, the "birth" and addition of a new member
to the family often caused growing pains and a period of
adjustment for everyone.  LaCroix must have known that, but
perhaps over the centuries he had merely forgotten.

LaCroix pushed away from the bar and lead the way to his
apartment.  Urs knew the way.  She wondered about the
formality, until she saw him pull out a key.  She swallowed
back a surprised remark, as she realized that he was locking
Tracy inside!

LaCroix pushed Urs to the side before opening the door.  He
stepped back as well and waited only seconds before a pair
of shoes, a dictionary, and lamp came sailing through the
opening.  His hand shot out to catch the lamp seconds before
it hit the floor.  "Tracy, you have a visitor," he said
coolly.

"Who the hell is it!  I don't want to see anybody!  Least of
all you!"

The sounds were half shouted, half sobbed.  Urs stepped into
the doorway bravely.  "Hello, Tracy," she said.  "It's me,
Urs."

Tracy had only met her twice, and didn't know her well, only
that she was Nick's girlfriend.  Still, the distraught
infant vampire flung herself at Urs, huge blood tears
staining her face as she sobbed.
LaCroix ignored the vile display as best he could.  "Call
downstairs, Ursula, when you are ready to leave," he said
evenly, then bolted the door.

Urs held Tracy, awkwardly comforting her.  This was a new
role for her.  She'd always been the one needing comfort.
Tracy was close to her in age, before she'd stopped the
aging process, and yet there was such innocence about
Tracy.  She had likely lead a very protected life.

"There, there," she murmured.  "Do you want to talk to me
about it?"

"Yes!  No!  I don't know," Tracy sobbed.  "It's all so
strange!  I didn't know it would be like this!  I'm scared!"

Urs pulled her closer and slowly walked into the kitchen.
She helped Tracy to sit in one of the chairs.  Then going to
the refrigerator, she pulled out one of the front bottles
and filled two coffee cups.  She warmed the blood in the
microwave, then sat at the table with Tracy.
The infant drank hers immediately, her eyes changing to
feral red.  Some of the beverage dripped on her chin, as she
still seemed uncomfortable around her new fangs.  Urs simply
passed her a napkin and got up to refill Tracy's mug.

"It's better warm," Tracy whispered, hiccuping softly.

"Yes.  I think so.  But it spoils faster, so we only heat it
a mugful at a time."

The second mug Tracy held in her trembling hands, staring at
the thick, red meal silently.  Urs waited.  Patience was a
gift, and she'd been given extra large servings.  She took
the moment to observe Nick's young partner.

Tracy looked exhausted.  That was not unusual.  Although
only adults were brought across, they were as infants.
Newborn vampires required much sleep, frequent feedings,
constant surveillance, and diligent parenting, in order to
survive.  Many infants did not make it.  But LaCroix was
nothing if not diligent.  He could be overly assiduous.

"I thought it would be special," Tracy began, whispering her
confession as though afraid the walls would record her every
word.  "I thought I would be special."

Urs hurt for her.  She knew well the need to belong, to be
important to someone.  But Tracy had never seemed the type
before.  Tracy had always seemed so confident, so full of
life and sure of herself.  What had LaCroix done to her?
Urs laid a hand on Tracy's hand and patted her consolingly.
"You are special, Tracy," she said.  LaCroix would not have
taken her, otherwise.

Two more tears slipped down her face.  "He took me to
dinner, and we went dancing, and then he did THIS to me, and
then he just left.  Like I wasn't important anymore.  I had
thought it would be beautiful, and I would be a part of
something, but I feel so alone."

"It is a bit like the "first time", isn't it," Urs
admitted.  "Don't you remember what that was like?"

"First time?"  Tracy looked clueless.

Urs stared at her big blue eyes, glistening still with clear
red tears, and felt a small knot of disbelief.  "You haven't
done it before?  Ever?  With a man?"

Tracy laughed at herself and shrugged her shoulders, trying
to hide her embarrassment.  "Who would do it with the
commissioner's daughter?  That'd be career suicide."

"Did you tell LaCroix before hand?"

"No."

"You poor kid."  Urs put her arms around Tracy and held her.

"And I'm still a virgin.  LaCroix didn't do anything.  He
just bit me and put me to sleep."

Now it was all starting to make sense.  Urs couldn't believe
Tracy had managed for her twenty-something years to keep
what she had lost while still a child so very many years
ago.  And here Tracy was feeling miserable because she
couldn't lose it.  It was almost ironic.  And yet, Tracy was
old enough to know desire and burn with need.  It was a need
that demanded to be filled.  And she had expected LaCroix to
fill it.

"Tracy," she said.  "The physical part of mortal sex is not
as important to a vampire.  We experience everything in the
blood kiss.  Still, usually, a master will seduce the
mortal, giving them both the physical intimacy and the blood
climax.  I don't know why LaCriox chose differently.  Maybe
he thought you would rather share your intimacies with
Vachon."

"But, I feel so awkward.  So ugly.  I feel like crying, and
I don't know why, and I'm so tired.  And LaCroix is so damn
bossy!"  Tracy's voice rose then, a little anger bleeding
through her misery.

Urs laughed lightly.  "Yes, he is a bossy master.  But
everything he says is for a reason."

"Like locking me up, like some prisoner!"

"Yes, even that.  It is for your safety."

Tracy glared at her with disbelief.  "My safety.  From
what?"

"From yourself, likely.  The world is a dangerous place for
a new vampire.  Although you are an adult in the mortal
world, you will be an infant vampire for nearly a decade.
Then, you may be a fledgling for over a century.  Vachon is
500, and Nick is closer to 800, and both are still
considered young in the community."

"That's archaic."

"That's right," Urs agreed.  She refilled Tracy's mug once
again.  She saw Tracy struggling to hold back from yawning,
and knew their conversation could not go on much longer.

"So why doesn't he just tell me what to do and not to do,
and let me go?"

"Because that would be like telling an infant not to play in
the streets, and then setting him down in the middle of the
freeway and walking away.  He will spend hours, weeks,
months, training you.  You will never be very far from his
watchful eye.  There is so much to learn.  How long it takes
will depend on how hard you try- how closely you pay
attention."

Tracy ran a hand through her short blonde hair, pulling it
out of her face.  The tears had stopped, and the reddened,
swollen eyes had healed to their formerly perfect shape and
color.  "What was it like for you?" she asked.

Urs glanced away uncomfortably, but she was through hiding.
Hiding made one lonely.  In this life she was going to try
open honesty, like her knight, and see what developed.  "I
was miserable," she admitted.  "I cried for weeks."

"Really?  I can't imagine Vachon being a tough master."

"Oh, he wasn't.  He was really sweet.  But ignorant.  I had
wanted to die-- I had begged him to kill me-- and he made me
immortal.  I felt betrayed.  I followed him everywhere for
several decades, and I think he regretted bringing me
across.  He wasn't used to having anyone depend on him.  He
generally turned his fledglings loose on an unsuspecting
world, and felt a pang of remorse when they failed to
adjust."

"Yeah, I guess even for vampires, it's hard to be a good
parent if you didn't have an example to follow."

"Tracy dear, you need to sleep.  A new vampire spends much
of the day and night sleeping, and this is normal.  But, if
it is all right with you, may I come again tomorrow?"

Tracy stood up and hugged Urs again.  "I'd like that," she
said.
Urs waited as Tracy returned to her bedroom and closed the
door.  She waited a few moments longer, then her vampiric
hearing told her when Tracy lay down, and when her breathing
slowed even more.  Then, she looked around the apartment.

The place was a mess.  It looked like Tracy had had a
full-blown temper tantrum that lasted for hours.  Sighing,
yet grateful to have found something she could do to be
useful, Urs began to pick up the rooms.


Nick was whistling as he sauntered into the precinct.  Life
was good again.  LaCroix seemed a little mellower.  And now
with Tracy to take care of, perhaps he would have less time
to pick on him.  Nat had smiled at him when he'd swung by
the lab.  She seemed like herself again, like maybe they
could go on being friends.  Nat's hair had been fixed nice,
she'd even put on a bit of make-up-- not that her patients
ever complained of her looks, but Nick felt that it was a
sign that she was feeling good about things again.

And then there was Urs.  Why it had taken over a hundred
years for their paths to cross, he would never know.  But
then, a hundred years ago, perhaps he would not have wanted
to meet her.  Then he'd been trying so hard to reject his
vampiric nature.  Now, although he still yearned for a cure,
he wasn't going to put the rest of his life on hold.  He
would walk a fine line, the life of a vampire, yet not break
the laws of the mortal life he hoped one day to repossess.
That meant not killing.  But in every other way he was still
a vampire.  And now with Urs, he was a happy one at that.

"Good evening, Nick," Schultz called.  "Your partner called
in sick tonight and Reese wants to see you."

Nick smiled at the young officer and waved.  It came as no
surprise to him.  He and LaCroix had talked about how to
handle the time off that Tracy would need.  She didn't
really have any more vacation time accrued.  So, she would
take a few sick days, then Nick would use a little hypnotism
to convince people that she really was with him, even as he
rode his shift alone.  Hopefully, by the end of next week,
Tracy would be able to work at least a partial shift and she
could breeze in and out of the office between naps.

Reese motioned for Nick to take a seat.  He looked tired.
Nick concentrated on his captain's heart rate for a moment
and caught the slightly erratic rhythm with concern.  Reese
cleared his throat and coughed.  "Nick... Bennett's
arraignment is tomorrow morning at ten.  I don't feel I
should stick this with your partner, seeing how she's sick
tonight, and since you were the arresting officer... so I
thought I'd let you know so you can figure out how you're
going to get there."

Nick groaned.  He'd managed to make court room appearances
before, but it was always such a hassle.  It usually meant a
ride in the trunk, going in through the underground parking
lot, and having all the curtains in the courtroom drawn.
And still, he'd wrestle with hunger and the instinctual need
to sleep.  Maybe he should have just killed Bennett when
he'd had the chance and save the crown the expense.  He knew
Bennett was guilty.

Reese coughed again.  His eyes watered, and then he started
sneezing.
"Captain?" Nick asked, concern shading his voice.  "You
should be in bed."

"You sound like my wife," Reese grumbled half-heartedly.

"Denise is a smart lady," Nick reminded him.  He considered
sending Reese home with a hypnotic suggestion... if the
captain got any worse, he would do it.

"Otherwise, you can work at your desk tonight.  I don't want
you out on the street alone."

"But Captain," Nick complained.

"No buts.  I know Stonetree let you work alone, but it is
strictly against police procedures for a reason.  It isn't
safe.  You work with a partner, or you're out of my
precinct."

Illness was making Reese irritable, Nick thought.  He should
have hypnotized him.  "Sure, Captain.  Whatever."  He
returned to his desk, letting the door slam behind him.

More paperwork.  Nick tried to be a good sport, but after a
few hours he was desperate for a break.  He'd already been
to the lab.  Maybe he'd run by the Raven and see how Tracy
was doing.  He grabbed his coat and left.


LaCroix looked around his home with surprise.  Everything
was back as it should be.  The overturned furniture had been
righted; the various shoes and other items the infant had
thrown at him in her fury had been put away and all remnants
of shattered glass swept up.  Urs was sitting quietly on the
couch.

He stepped into the room and joined her.  He had a new
admiration for Vachon's fledgling.  She had calmed both
Nicholas and Tracy... she was a jewel beyond compare.

"You will have to share your secret with me, my dear."

Urs smiled shyly.  "I think, sir, that she would feel better
if you'd invite Vachon to visit her tonight," she said.

His eyes hardened at her presumption.  Yet, she was a timid
creature.  She would not have dared to speak to him on the
care of his fledgling unless she felt it was of grave
importance.  He did not pretend to understand the minds of
women... that Tracy should be a tempestuous shoe-thrower
like his other daughter was surely the curse of some ancient
Roman god reeking revenge on him still for his arrogance.

"If you think so," he answered with carefully controlled
tones, "then I shall ask him."

She smiled again, rising gracefully, and left.


LaCroix placed a phone call down to the bar.  He did not
want to make this request in person and perhaps be asked for
more information than he was ready to divulge.  The phone
call always allowed him the opportunity to hang up.  Vachon
sounded very surprised, even a little giddy.  "She is asleep
now," LaCroix said. "Perhaps if you came by in half an
hour."

Whatever it was that had the young detective so upset, he
wasn't sure he'd ever learn.  Her blood had been fresh and
sweet,  yet not addictive like Nicholas's.  Her emotions
last night had been overwhelming.  She'd been excited and
frightened, both of which were understandable, but the rage
had not been there.  He was just beginning to regret the
decision to take on another responsibility.  Nicholas was
more than enough for any parent to handle.

Then he felt his son approaching.  He was at once both
pleased and annoyed.  Pleased that Nicholas couldn't seem to
go more than half a day without him, and annoyed that no
doubt Miss Vetter's stormy crossing into her new life would
become yet one more bone of contention between them.  His
son was nothing if not predictable.

Nicholas didn't even bother to knock.  He just entered, as
though LaCroix's home was his by right.  LaCroix felt a rush
of pride.  His son was walking much taller these days.  His
shoulders were square, his back straight.  It was the
confident stride that he had possessed while yet a young
knight.  He was also more casually dressed with a cobalt
blue sweater beneath the sport coat.  It was a color that
went well with his golden hair, and yet not one he wore
often.

He held a bouquet of yellow daisies in one hand and a
concerned expression on his handsome face.  "Is she awake?"
he asked.

LaCroix shook his head, doubly grateful for Urs's
housekeeping abilities.  Hopefully, Tracy had not broken
every vase he owned.
Nicholas went to the tidy kitchen area and opened cupboards
at random.  He scowled, but said nothing.  Eventually, he
pulled out one of the crystal wine goblets and plopped the
flowers in it with some water.  LaCroix forced himself not
to complain.

"How is she?"

"Resting," LaCroix answered noncommittally.

"And?"

He heaved a sigh.  If only Nicholas could just learn to talk
without interrogating.  Perhaps it was time to change his
line of work.  "And she is resting," he repeated
forcefully.

"May I go see her?"

"Absolutely not."

Nicholas looked hurt; whether it was the words or the tone
of voice, he didn't know, but he did not want his sensitive
son anywhere near that turbulent creation until she'd had a
chance to calm herself by several knots.  The relationship
between master and child was absolute.  LaCroix was well
within his rights.  Nicholas knew that, too.

"I will tell her that you stopped by," LaCroix offered,
softening his voice.

Nicholas considered the offer only a moment, then he
smiled.  "Thanks.  I guess I'd better get back, then."

"You are always welcome here, my son."

Then Vachon chose the most inopportune moment to knock
loudly on the door.  Nick opened it, being closer, and
stared at the Spaniard.

"Tracy isn't up to visitors," Nick snapped at him.

"But, LaCroix invited me!"

Nicholas whirled on his master.  "He can see her, and I
can't?  Why!"

The moment had been ruined.  LaCroix wasn't certain whom he
should vent his frustration on, or what to do to salvage
what was left of the evening.  He pulled Vachon inside and
slammed the door.  Then he faced his angry son with cool
contempt.

"I'm going to see her," Nicholas said defiantly, and took a
step in that direction.

LaCroix clamped an iron hand on his arm and held him.  "No.
You will not."

Vachon stared at father and son nervously.  A fight was
brewing and he did not want to be in the middle of it.
"Perhaps I should come by later," he offered diplomatically.

"No.  Go to her at once and leave this one to me," LaCroix
commanded.

Vachon scooted into her room and closed the door faster than
most vampires could move.

"Unhand me," Nicholas demanded.

"You will not speak so disrespectfully," LaCroix warned
him.  Gold flecked his eyes.  His grasp on his child
tightened.  The skin beneath was already bruising, yet
Nicholas made no outward sign of his discomfort.

"Why not!  You're obviously hiding something, or you
wouldn't deny me.  What is it, LaCroix!  What have you done
to her!"

His hand shot out quickly, striking the insolent child full
in the face.  Nicholas flew backwards into the table,
tipping it over and breaking the crystal goblet.  Daisies
and water scattered across the floor.  Why were his children
always so untidy?  He needed a maid.  Or a bigger whip.

Nicholas picked himself up, wincing only slightly.
Brazenly, he took several steps towards Tracy's room.
LaCroix flew at him, taking him by the throat and throwing
him up against the refrigerator.  The tinkle of breaking
glass within only fueled his already potent fury.  He struck
his son several blows, while Nicholas struggled uselessly in
his grasp.  His fangs erupted.  He roared at Nicholas, yet
held himself back.  He did not want to take this fight that
far, not now that his son was beginning to share his blood
openly.  Taking blood in a rage was assault of the most
intimate kind among vampires.  Nicholas would not forgive
him for many, many years.

"Get out," he roared.  "Out now!  And if you wish to visit
again, you will ask permission before you cross my
threshold!"  Then he threw Nicholas into the door with
enough force to splinter the wood around the lock.

Nicholas clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out his pain in
front of his master, although LaCroix was aware of it
through their link.  He had torn muscles and bruised a few
bones, but he would heal.

"Yes, Master," he said, the sarcasm thick enough to choke.
In a final act of defiance, he left, but not through the
ruined door.  He flew straight out the living room window,
shattering the glass at his impact.

LaCroix slumped onto the couch.  "I should never have had
children," he said to himself.  Then he picked up the
telephone and called Urs.  "If you wouldn't mind, my dear, I
am in need of a housekeeper again."

end, part 02


Dance of the Undead, 03/09
By Lorelei Sieja


Nick flew over Toronto for twenty minutes while his injuries
healed and his temper cooled.  LaCroix could always push him
too hard.  No matter how much control he developed, no
matter how happy or contented he felt, LaCroix could always
drive him to a mindless rage and in less than a few
minutes.  He felt angrier now, but only at himself.  He
should not have gone over there.  And he felt a twinge of
jealousy.  Tracy had somehow replaced him in his father's
house.  She was in the guestroom with Vachon.  LaCroix was
now protecting her, training her, and driving Nick away to
do it.  He stormed in to the police precinct, slamming doors
as he went.

"Nick, where the hell have you been!  Get in here now!"
Reese bellowed.

Nick shut his eyes as the golden flecks threatened to
reappear.  Then with his fists clenched tightly enough that
his nails drew blood, he pushed into the captain's office.
He slumped into a chair and turned deaf ears to the
captain's tirade.  It was nothing compared to the wrath of
his father.  He fought back the sudden urge to weep by
concentrating only on his anger.

"I told you to stay at your desk.  I thought I made myself
perfectly clear," Reese was yelling.

Nick nodded, not even feigning interest.

"Mind telling me where you were?"  The question was still
shouted.  It was more a demand than a request.

"I went to see Tracy," Nick growled.

Reese slumped into his chair behind the desk then.  He
sneezed several times and wiped moisture from his eyes.
"Thank God."

That was odd.  Nick wasn't too angry to sense trouble.

"So she can give you an alibi, then?"

Nick sprang to his feet.  "What the hell for!  Are you
accusing me of something, Captain?  'Cause if you are, I'd
damn well like to hear the charge!"

"Bennett's dead."

Silence reigned in the small office for long moments.  The
closed door and walls gave only the image of privacy, since
the raised voices were plainly audible to everyone in the
bullpen.

"So?"  Nick demanded again.

"So it's a good thing Tracy can cover for you, Nick.  Tell
me now, when did you get to her place, and how long were you
there?"

"I didn't kill Bennett.  Why would I want to kill him?  We
had him behind bars."

"Bennett was afraid of you, Nick.  He told that to every cop
in the precinct, and more importantly, to his lawyer.  And
you were missing for an hour.  You have obviously been in a
fight.  Nick, I think you may need to call a lawyer."

Reese's voice had become very soft.  That was more
intimidating than the shouting.  Nick looked at himself, as
though noticing for the first time his own disheveled
appearance.  Blood spattered on his sweater from the blows
to his face, which had already healed.  He should have worn
black today!  Black better concealed these little
indiscretions.  His coat sleeves were torn in places,
probably from his defiant, if foolhardy, exit.

"I'll ask you again, Nick.  When were you with Tracy?"

Nick sank back into the chair.  He held his head in his
hands.  Tracy couldn't vouch for him- she'd been sleeping.
Vachon could only cover about three minutes- not enough to
create his alibi.  Only LaCroix could clear him.  And the
master was furious with him now.  How could Nick even ask
him?  "Tracy was sleeping when I got there.  I put some
flowers on the table and left."

He dug into his pockets and pulled out a receipt from the
florists for the bouquet.

"Damn it, Nick," Reese said, his voice barely above a
whisper.  "Why can't you and Tracy learn to just follow
orders?"


Nick was taken into the holding room and interrogated for
three solid hours.  Two detectives from the day shift that
he had never liked were called in to handle the case.
Johnson and Bunati were thick as thieves and about as
honorable.  They'd been friends since their academy days, a
few million donuts ago.  And they had no love for Nick, whom
many considered the precinct's star detective, but whom they
knew to be an arrogant, ignorant, sonofabi*ch, and now was
their chance to prove it to the world.

Nick was getting hungry.  The beating had taken a lot out of
him, and then his twenty-minute flight over Toronto hadn't
helped.  Combined with stress, it was a constant struggle
just to keep his fangs concealed.

"You're hiding something, Knight!" Bunati shouted.

Nick snickered.  If only they knew.

Johnson shoved him roughly.  "Think this is funny?  Think
this is a g*ddam joke?  How's thirty years to life sound to
you, you bastard!"
"I did not kill Roy Bennett," Nick said again.  Talking to
these two was useless, but at least the machine was
recording his words.  "I arrested him.  He confessed.  He
was going to jail.  What could I possibly hope to gain by
killing him?"  Besides, his blood would be spoiled.  The
blood of pedophiles always left a bad aftertaste.  Nick laid
his head down on his arms.  It must be nearly dawn.  He was
so tired.

Johnson shook him.  "It's not time to sleep yet, Knight.  We
haven't even begun here yet."

"We are finished here," Knight said calmly.  "If you're
going to charge me, then do so.  I won't speak to you again
without a lawyer present.  If you haven't enough evidence to
hold me, then I'm going home.  Sun's coming up."

Bunati's cell phone rang.  He answered it, an evil grin
spreading on his fleshy face.  Then he hung up.  "So you
were at the florists tonight?"

Nick nodded.  He'd already told that to the captain.

"Knight, you're under arrest for the murder of Roy
Bennett."  He turned to his partner as his grin broadened.
"That was the medical technician at the coroner's office.
There were flowers with the deceased."

Nick stumbled along through the corridors, too tired to care
anymore.  He'd been down here not that long ago, when was
it?  Last year?  It wasn't so bad.  Maybe Natalie would
bring him something to eat.  Schenke had come to visit him.
He missed him.

The doors rattled and clanked shut.  Nick rolled onto the
narrow cot and went to sleep.


Urs came to the precinct just before dawn, like she'd
promised, but Nick was no where.  She asked around the
bullpen, but the officers there seemed terribly upset.
Something was happening.  She could sense it.  Their mortal
hearts were beating much too fast.

One officer stepped forward then and extended his hand.
"Hello, miss," he said.  "You must be looking for Detective
Knight.  I saw a picture of you last week.  You're even more
beautiful in person."

Urs ignored the empty compliment.  "Do you know where he
is?  Please tell me.  He was expecting me this morning."

He gestured to a private room and offered her a chair.  This
could not be good, she worried.  Not good at all.  The
officer was breaking into a sweat.

"Knight's been arrested," he said softly.

"For what?"

"For the murder of Roy Bennett.  He was found beaten to
death in his cell tonight."

Urs waved her hands helplessly.  "Nick wouldn't have killed
him.  Surely you know that."

The officer shrugged.  "I don't really know him, Miss.  Nick
cannot give us an alibi for his whereabouts at the time of
the murder.  And he returned to work looking like he'd been
through hell- blood on his clothes and his jacket torn.  I
have to tell you, it doesn't look good for him at all."

Urs stood then and paced in the tiny room.  Nick was at
work, except when he went to visit Tracy.  That was his
alibi.  Why didn't he tell them that?  "May I please see
him?"

The officer nodded.  He led her down the cement stairs to a
dark, lower level.  There was a dampness to the air there,
from the stone, but it went beyond physical discomfort.
There was a sadness, and a sense of despair.  Urs cringed
inwardly at the thought of her gallant lover spending even
an hour in such a dreary place.

She saw him lying on the narrow cot, his back turned to her,
and sensed he slept from hunger and exhaustion.  There was a
narrow window at the top of his cell.  It was secured with
bars, but no curtain.  A small rectangle of light from the
street lamp beyond shone on a patch of the floor.  That
light would soon be sunlight and her Nick would be in
danger.  She pointed at the window.

"This cell is unacceptable," she told him.  "That he is very
allergic to sunlight is part of his public record.  You must
move him at once, or have that window blacked out
completely."

The officer stammered.  "Of course, Miss.  I'll see to it."

She locked the officer into a hypnotic trance then and
requested he let her in to see Nick.  Then she told him to
sit down on the floor and take a nap.  It would give her a
little privacy at least, while she decided what she should
do next.

She sat down next to Nick on the narrow cot and caressed
him.  He didn't stir.  She reached to brush a lock of his
hair back from his face and gasped at the pale, tired
expression.  He must feed, or the day would be pure torture
for him.  She bit her wrist and held it near his mouth.

She stared intently, waiting for a sign of life from him.
The small wound had nearly healed over before his fangs
descended and he awoke with a roar.  She clamped a hand over
his mouth to quiet him.

"Urs!  What are you doing here," he asked, confused.  He
couldn't remember falling asleep and he wasn't entirely sure
where he was.  Then, slowly, the previous night returned to
haunt him.  It was all his fault again.  His anger with
LaCroix had backfired and now he was in jail for a murder he
didn't commit, and only LaCroix could clear him.  But his
master had a new fledgling now.  And he was undoubtedly very
angry with Nick.  How could he even ask him?

Urs offered her arm to him again.  Nick didn't hesitate, but
gently bit into the soft, tender flesh and drank a brief
meal from her.  Then he pulled her into his arms and crushed
her to him.  "Oh, my Urs.  What are we going to do now?"

"You must call him," Urs said gently.

Nick shook his head; the anguish in his expression was
tearing at her.  "No.  He won't come.  And if I name him as
my alibi, and he refuses, then my credibility will be shot."

"He loves you, Nick.  You know that!"

"He threw me out of his house, Urs.  He as much as told me
not to come back."

She pulled him to her, as she lay down beside him.  She held
him now, not as lover, but mother.  Ironic, she realized, as
he was by far the elder vampire, but there was something so
helpless about him at times.  "What was the argument about
this time?"

Nick sighed.  His eyelids were heavy.  She felt so
wonderful... if she stayed much longer, he'd be sound
asleep.  "Tracy," he whispered.  "I was angry that he
wouldn't let me see her, although he invited Vachon in."

Urs laughed.  "Nick, Nick.  What am I going to do with you?"

"Hmmm," he mumbled.  "I can think of a few things."

"Tracy was miserable today.  I think LaCroix was afraid to
let you see her, afraid you would blame him about
something."

"But," Nick started to interrupt.

Urs placed a slender finger on his lips.  "Sh, love.
Imagine yourself a year ago.  What if Natalie had decided to
become a vampire and LaCroix was her master.  Now, as an
infant vampire, she's too young to be excited by a large
number of visitors.  So, LaCriox has to choose.  Does he let
Janette, Natalie's new sister, spend some quality time with
her?  Or you, her brother, her lover, and best friend?"

Nick grunted.  "Tracy really cares for Vachon, doesn't she?"

"Uh-huh," Urs agreed.

"I was such an ass," Nick said.  Urs agreed again.

"But it changes nothing.  I told them I went to see Tracy.
No one knows Tracy's staying at the Raven.  They all assume
I was at her apartment, which isn't anywhere near there.
LaCroix can hardly tell them I was at his house, unless he
reveals our relationship.  And LaCroix doesn't care about
mortals.  He even tried to frame me last year for a
different murder, thinking it would force me to move on."
"Nick, you have to at least talk to him."

"No," Nick said firmly.  "And promise me you won't go to
him, either."

Urs didn't want to, but Nick insisted.  Then she watched as
he fell back to sleep.  She went after a roll of duct tape
herself and covered the window, then roused the helpful
young officer from his sleep. She had promised Nick she
would not go to LaCroix.  So, she would have to find a phone
quickly and call him.


end, part 03


Dance of the Undead, 04/09
By Lorelei Sieja


Reese laid his head down on his desk.  He hurt all over.
His sinuses were throbbing, his chest ached from coughing,
and his head felt like over-stretched rubber bands, but it
was all nothing compared to the pain and responsibility he
suffered for Nick's sake.  Tracy had tried to warn him that
she felt Nick was at the end of his rope.  She'd suspected
he was a problem waiting to happen.  A week off must not
have been enough.  Perhaps he should have required a psych
evaluation of him, after the way he'd bungled that Bennett
arrest.  And now it was all too late.  And somehow, Reese
felt responsible.  The sun was rising.  It was past time to
go home.  Denise was waiting for him, as were his two little
girls.  Life would go on for him.  But for Nick Knight, he
would be an old, old man before he saw freedom again.

"Captain," Officer Schultz called.

"Here," he answered, speaking to the faceless voice in the
box and wondering briefly what Schultz actually looked like.

"There's a man here to see you.  He insists that it is
urgent."

"About what?  Who?"  Reese didn't give a damn about urgent
anymore.

Then his door slammed open, banging into the wall behind it
and swinging half shut again.  A tall, dark figure filled
the doorway.  He was oddly familiar.  Reese searched his
memory, slightly rumpled by fever, and found a name.  Lucien
LaCroix, nightclub owner and one-time suspect in a murder
investigation.  He had been cleared of wrong doing, although
Reese strongly suspected he was still guilty of something.
Reese had very good instincts about people, and this man was
trouble.

"What the hell!" he demanded.

"You are holding my son behind bars," LaCroix accused.  His
voice was deep, powerful.  It sent chills up Reese's spine.
Which of the many miscreants downstairs hailed from this
man's genes?  He didn't remember seeing any LaCroixs on the
arrest reports.  Reese rubbed at his headache and gestured
towards a chair.  "If you'll sit down, then, Mr. LaCroix,
perhaps we can sort this out."
"Just what is it that you think Nicholas has done now," he
insisted.

Nicholas?  Reese must be sicker than he thought.  Nothing
was making any sense.  Nick LaCroix.  No, he was certain
that they had no such criminal.

LaCroix was suddenly looming over him.  There were odd
yellow flecks in his frosty blue eyes, and his manner was
that of a cornered beast.  Reese had never sensed such
danger from another man in his entire life.  Still he tried
to calm the flutter in his stomach.  He stood up slowly,
trying to match the enraged father with whatever courage he
could muster.  He stared into the gold-blue eyes and spoke
with quiet control.

"You will sit down and we will discuss this calmly, or you
will leave.  The choice is yours."
LaCroix felt a moment of pleasant surprise at Nick's mortal
captain.  The man was brave, not easily intimidated.  He was
in control of himself and that made him a good leader,
worthy of the respect Nick gave him.  LaCroix nodded almost
imperceptibly and took the chair indicated.

"Tell me your son's name again," Reese asked, pulling out a
pencil to take notes.

"Nicholas Knight," LaCroix replied.  He enjoyed the look of
shock as it spread across Reese's face.

Reese dropped his pencil.  At first he wanted to deny what
this ominous man claimed, and yet, somehow he sensed the
truth of it.  Although there was little resemblence other
than the pale complexion and blue eyes, there was a
similarity that ran far deeper.  Nick also possessed that
quiet, ominous nature.  He intimidated others easily- at
least half the force was afraid of him.  But why hadn't Nick
said something when LaCroix was a murder suspect?  And Nick
had been assigned to that case!  That would never have been
allowed if the family connection had been known....

"Nick listed his father as deceased on his employment
record," Reese began, the many ramifications of LaCroix's
simple statement just beginning to surface in his mind.

"And so he is correct.  His biological father passed away a
very long time ago.  I have been his parent and guardian
ever since."  LaCroix was beginning to enjoy himself.
Making up stories and partial truths as they went along was
rather amusing.  No wonder Nick liked playing cop so much.

"Nick never said anything," Reese muttered.

"I am sure you've noticed that he can be rather headstrong.
He always was a most difficult child."

Reese grinned at that.  If this powerful, intimidating man
felt Nick was a handful, no wonder Reese was living on
aspirins and blood pressure medication these days!  Then
Reese told LaCroix briefly why Nick had been arrested,
without giving away any details of the murder itself.

LaCroix nodded slightly as he listened.  "I know my son
would not kill this person.  I don't know where he was all
night, but I can verify his location between midnight and 1
am."

Reese swallowed.  That was the time in question.  He thought
back, reviewing what he'd told LaCroix, but he was certain
that he hadn't said something he shouldn't.  "How's that?"
Reese asked noncommittally.

"He was with me.  He came to visit a sick friend, but she
was sleeping.  He brought her a bouquet." LaCroix took a
limp daisy from his pocket and laid it on the desk.

"Nick came back looking like he'd been in a fight," Reese
continued.  "There was even blood on his clothing."  The
sweater was now evidence, as they waited for the lab to have
the blood cross-matched with that of the deceased.

"Yes, I know," LaCroix said calmly.  "He got disrespectful
and I was forced to put him in his place."

Reese nearly choked.  "What kind of father are you," he
gasped.

" "Spare the rod and spoil the child" is a rather famous
quotation from a well-known book, I believe," LaCroix said
coolly.

Reese just shook his head.  "So when, exactly, was Nick
allegedly at your house?  And can anyone else, not related
to him, verify that?"

"I told you that already, Captain Reese.  Perhaps you had
better right it down this time.  He was at my apartment from
midnight until 1am.  I live above my nightclub.  There was a
bar full of customers to verify when he came and at least
three who noticed when he left."

Reese sighed with relief.  Nick was innocent after all.
Bennett had been found dead at 1am.  He'd been beaten to
death right in his cell.  The guard on duty had been knocked
unconscious and could remember nothing.  Nick had been
captured on videotape leaving the precinct at 11:48 PM.  His
bouquet receipt had been stamped at 11:54.  It would have
been difficult to get to the Raven by midnight, but not
impossible.

"Why didn't Nick tell us he was with you himself?" Reese
wondered aloud.  "It could have saved him the day in jail."

LaCroix offered a slight shrug.  "I shall ask him later and
tell you if you like."

"Oh, I'll let him out now," Reese said.  "I can have the
paperwork put through immediately.

LaCroix stopped him with a gesture.  "No rush, Captain. The
sun is up now and he surely is sleeping.  Let him stay here
for the day.  But I wish to see him tonight before he
returns to duty."

Reese nodded.  "Yes, Mr. LaCroix.  I'll tell him.  And thank
you for coming in."


"Nick, it's time to wake up," Natalie called gently.  The
doors had been unlocked since dawn, but the vampire had
slept soundly all day.  She moved to the narrow cot and
touched him.

He looked so small lying there.  Like some lost stray.  The
borrowed prison shirt was two sizes too large.  She set his
own blue sweater on the foot of the bed.  The bloodstains
had proven to be his own blood and not that of the victim.
She'd washed the rest of the blood away then and dried it
with a hair dryer, so he could wear it home.

She pulled a packet of plasma from her coat pocket and held
it under the vampire's nose.
Nick awoke with a jerk, fully fanged and slightly panicked.
Nat patted his cheek consolingly.  "It's just me, Nick.
Here, drink this.  You look like hell."

Nick took the packet and pierced through the plastic with
his fangs, draining the contents in moments.  Another packet
followed and then he blinked at her sleepily.

"Nat, I've been arrested again," he confessed.

"And you've been cleared again, Nick.  You should have told
me six years ago how exciting life with vampires would be."

He leaned against the cement block wall and stared at her,
slowly becoming more alert.  "I what?  Who?"

"LaCroix came in and had a little chat with Reese.  He
signed your release, but because of your sun allergy, they
just let you sleep here."

Nick nodded, not quite comprehending.  Urs must have broken
her promise.  Nick felt betrayed, even though he was pleased
that LaCroix had come to his defense.  Perhaps, the ancient
wasn't really replacing him?

"Nick?  LaCroix wants to see you and Reese is sending you
home.  Tracy's still out sick.  Do you want a ride?  Are you
awake yet?"

Nick simply nodded not sure which question he was
answering.  Home for a bath would be great.  A shower wasn't
going to cut it tonight.  He ached in places that shouldn't
hurt.  Natalie pulled him to his feet.  She undid the
buttons on the prison shirt and pulled his own sweater on
over the smooth, firm chest.  Nick didn't resist her help.
She hadn't realized that he woke so slowly, still half dead
to the world.  That would be something interesting to add to
her notes, she thought.  Taking his arm, she guided him
through the door.

They walked up the stairs and were greeted by nearly
everyone.  Some of them waved, others cheered.  Nick merely
nodded in their direction, like some crown prince, still
barely aware of himself at all.  Nat concealed a smile.
Once outside, Nat offered again to drive him somewhere.
Nick declined.  With a friendly peck to her cheek, he lifted
into the air.  Well, at least he wasn't behind the wheel,
she thought to herself.


Nick entered through the skylight.  His room was empty and
very tidy.  He wondered briefly what day it was... he didn't
think it was the day his housekeeper was supposed to
work.... Opening his senses, he could not detect Urs.  A
moment of panic filled him.  Had she left him?  "Urs!" he
called out, even knowing she wasn't there.

A framed 8 x 10 photo of them dancing at the Raven stood on
his dresser.  He hadn't seen it before.  He lifted the
picture and smiled.  That night had been something special.
Nick had felt special.  Surrounded by people who cared about
him, his master had made him feel honored and cherished.
And then there was Urs.

Her smile was infectious.  It turned up not just the corners
of her lips, but it danced in her eyes as well.  This
picture was untouched, as the eyes of both dancers were
flecked with golden lights of desire.  He should be furious
with Tracy for taking the picture without his knowledge, but
he was very glad to have it.

Setting it back on the dresser, he went to his closet for a
change of clothes.  Inside, some of his things had been
pushed aside and women's clothes took up the space.  Not
many.  A few blouses, a couple of dresses, a few pairs of
shoes on the floor.  He smiled.  If Janette had been moving
in, he would have required the services of a master
carpenter for many months to produce the storage space
necessary to keep her happy, and here Urs was very
cautiously slipping her things in trying not to disrupt his
life too much.

The water splashed a soothing song as it slowly filled the
oversized tub.  He lit several candles, which he kept in
there just for such occasions.  The scents of melted
perfumed wax combined with the soft, flickering lights did
much to calm him. Shedding the clothes he'd slept in, Nick
slipped into the hot water and closed his eyes.

What did it all mean, he wondered vaguely, allowing his
thoughts to drift.  He tried to imagine LaCroix arriving at
the precinct at the hour of dawn to come to his defense.
What had LaCroix told them?  Had any part of it been truth?
And why hadn't he then come to the jail to tell Nick?  Was
he still angry?


It didn't really matter one way or the other.  Nick had been
wrong.  He would have to go make his apology.  Over the
years that had become easier, since he'd had so much
practice at it.  That LaCroix was partly responsible, he had
no doubt.  LaCroix could have handled last night so
differently.  He could have explained his actions to Nick,
instead of just dictating decrees and demanding absolute
obedience.  Nick's mouth tugged in a self-deprecating grin.
No, LaCroix couldn't have behaved otherwise.  One didn't
teach an old vampire new tricks.

And what about Roy Bennett?  Who else had a motive?  His
victims had been children and both were dead.  The parents
were still grieving, still in a state of shock.  The
attacker had to have been very tall and strong, judging by
the coroner's report.  There was very little evidence other
than the flower.  Bennett had been beaten to death, then his
hands laid across his chest and a single rose placed in
them.  There were no fingerprints anywhere and no weapon.
The killer had used his hands.

That didn't matter, either.  The case had been given to some
one else.  Nick was not to go near the investigation.



He heard the lift door open and close and felt a faint
presence.  It was Urs.  A moment of betrayal pierced him,
but he pushed it aside.  He would wait to hear her
explanation.  He didn't have to wait long.  She knocked
softly at the door.

"Come in," he invited.

She stepped inside, carrying a bottle and two glasses.  Nick
recognized the label of one of the Raven's mid-grade stock.
"Would you care for some," she asked.

Nick nodded.  The business of procurement was nearly all
from willing blood donors these days.  The older, more
exciting ways of taking blood was getting to be too
dangerous.  Nick knew that a fairly large percentage of the
bloodmobiles were owned and operated by the night shift, so
maybe returning to the consumption of his natural diet would
not betray his deeper convictions.

Urs pulled out the cork and Nick's senses were at once
assaulted with the sweet fragrance.  He felt his fangs
descend and he grinned at her wickedly.

"Join me," he urged, his voice deep and husky.

She poured two glasses and passed them both to him.  Then
slowly she removed her clothing.  "I thought you might be
angry," she admitted.

Nick glanced away, unsuccessfully trying to hide the truth.
"I was a little surprised that you would lie to me."

"I did not, Nicholas Knight," she said.  "You told me not to
go to him.  So I called."

Nick laughed.  "I'd forgotten what talking to a woman could
be like, Urs.  Next time I'll make sure to be more clear."

"There won't be a next time," Urs said, as she stepped into
the hot water.  "You are going to learn to control your
temper, to get along with your family, and to trust me."

"Yes, ma'am."  They didn't waste any more time on idle
conversation.


Nick took extra pains in dressing that night.  To confront
LaCroix would take just the right blend of pride and
humility.  He must be strong, powerful and dangerous, true
to his vampire heritage, yet, he must bend in respect before
the ancient, more powerful master.  And even more difficult,
his actions must be sincere and not mere social
conventions.

Urs disagreed with his choices.  She removed the tie, pulled
off the knit vest, and undid the top three buttons of the
royal blue silk shirt.

"Urs, I have to go to work later," he reminded her, trying
to push her hands aside to re-button the collar.

"So, put the vest on later.  Ties are dreadful, and vests
are stuffy-looking.  Loosen up.  Trust me."

Nick shrugged.  He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then
left by the skylight again.


The Raven was fairly quiet.  The night was still young and
the mortal customers didn't stop by as much in the middle of
the week.  Nick nodded at the bartender.  Patrick had been
one of the eager young hotbloods to join LaCroix last week
in Nick's rescue.  Although it irritated Nick, as he was
certain the rescue had been unnecessary, he was grateful
that their timely entrance had saved Tracy and Pierre
Rochefort any further suffering.  "Is he home?"

"That he is," Patrick answered.  "Can I get you something?"

"No, thanks."  Nick drew in a deep breath and headed towards
the upstairs apartment.  He stood outside the door for many
long moments.  No doubt his master had felt his approach,
and yet said nothing.  Nick raised a fist and knocked.

"Enter."

That was it.  He had had to get permission to cross the
threshold, he realized, as LaCroix's angry words drifted
back through his memory.  Nick stepped inside.

LaCroix sat in his favorite chair, one leg casually crossed
over the other, a book on his lap, and a glass beside him on
the end table.  It was a familiar sight; reminiscent of
centuries of evenings he had spent with the ancient.  He was
struck with melancholy so fast and painful that it brought
tears to his eyes.

Nick approached his master.  "I am sorry, LaCroix," he
began.

The ancient did nothing, not even deigning to lift his
eyes.  He continued to stare at the book in his lap.
Longing drove Nick now.  He felt none of the usual
indignation at groveling before his master, he only wanted
to be loved and cherished again.  "I was out of line.  I had
no right to interfere with you and Tracy, and I was wrong to
defy you.  Please forgive me."

LaCroix set the book aside and eyed his errant son coolly.
"Well, Nicholas.  Your theatrics have improved over the
years.  Perhaps you should consider a career on stage."

Nick winced.  LaCroix was still very angry with him.  He
dropped to his knees then and took LaCroix's hand to lay a
kiss upon his ring.  "Thank you for coming in to the
precinct.  Thank you, father."

LaCroix laid his other hand on Nick's head.  The long
fingers brushed through his hair, down the back of his neck,
and trailed across his cool shoulders laid bare by the
loosened collar.
"You owe me a new window," LaCroix said.

Nick looked up at him hopefully.  If that was all the
penance LaCroix would require, then he'd gotten off rather
lightly.

"You will not interfere with my training of Tracy, either."

Nick nodded.

"And you will explain to me why you failed to call me for
help last night."

Nick tried to turn away, but LaCroix caught his face in a
gentle yet firm hand.

"A simple phone call, and you would have spent the day with
Urs, instead of that wretched jail.  Why must you always
torture yourself?"

Nick was silent for more moments than LaCroix's patience
would tolerate.

"Tell me at once," he demanded, his voice becoming hard.
"Or I will take it from you."

"You were angry.  I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"So you didn't even ask.  How foolish.  Do you honestly
think I would be so angry as to leave you to their barbaric
justice system?"

Nick had no answer.

"How often must I show you that my feelings for you are
forever?  I could no more disown you, than I could tear off
my own hands and feed them to the fire."

LaCroix stood then, drawing Nick into his arms.  He held him
close, wishing that he had the words to express himself, or
wishing that Nicholas would see in his blood the depth of
his feelings.  Yet, even as he comforted one child, he felt
the presence of the other, and knew her anger was growing.
He glared at her.  Tracy tilted her chin up at him, a small
act of defiance, and quietly returned to her bedroom.  He
would have to urge Nicholas to leave shortly, or they would
become embroiled in yet another confrontation.

"Do you have the night off, my son?"

Nick slowly waded through his confusion to return to the
present.  "No, LaCroix.  I should be going soon."

"Then, give my regards to your captain.  He is rather
admirable, for a mortal."

Nick blinked, surprised, and wondered just what had
transpired between his master and his boss.
"Go now, Nicholas.  But, you are welcome to return."

Nick clasped his hand firmly, then turned to leave.


end part 04


Dance of the Undead, 05/09
By Lorelei Sieja


Tracy paced in her bedroom.  LaCroix and Nick.  She'd seen
them together several times now.  They were so close.
Despite the fact Nick kept their relationship secret, they
were closer than most fathers and sons, and she envied
them.  She had tasted LaCroix's love for him in his blood.
It had been nothing short of fantastic the way LaCroix had
come to rescue them from that nutcase, Flavius.  But, it was
really only to rescue Nick.  The fact that Tracy and the
priest had also been saved was immaterial.  Her own father
largely ignored her, and now she was less than second place
in her new family.  Tracy wept again, the strange blood
tears that left her not just tired but also hungry.

The one bright spot in this whole misadventure was Vachon.
At last they had been able to share their feelings for one
another.  Vachon was tender where LaCroix was rough.  Vachon
was sensitive, where LaCroix was self-centered.  Vachon was
irresponsible, ardent, carefree.  Tracy could hardly wait
until her servitude to LaCroix was over, and she could move
in with her Spanish lover.

"It is time," LaCroix said.  Tracy opened her door and
returned to his living room.  He stood very still, a tall,
imposing figure of a man, and yet she knew that he was
furious with her.  She chewed her lower lip nervously.  How
had Nick managed to live with this guy?   She had a new
respect for her moody partner.
"Sure thing," she said lightly, striving to keep the quiver
from her voice.  She surveyed the room.  Some one had
cleaned up and she was damn sure it hadn't been LaCroix.

Suddenly LaCroix was standing too close, glaring down at
her.  She resisted the urge to step back.

"You will refrain from throwing or breaking any thing else
while you remain in my home," he warned.

She nodded agreeably.  "Right.  I got it."

His cold hand grabbed her chin and tipped it up to see her
eyes.  She did not resist.  Instead, she forced a bright
smile.  "I told you, LaCroix.  I never make the same mistake
twice."

"That will be refreshing," he said cryptically.  And that
was the end of it.

"Our only predator, man, can be a dangerous enemy.  We need
our enhanced hearing and vision to protect us, and yet these
very skills can be overwhelming. Tonight you will learn how
to filter out many of the sounds your new sense of hearing
can detect."

Tracy was instantly alert.  This was something useful.  For
now she could forget that she was angry with him.  The deep,
sultry tones of his voice were mesmerizing.  She discovered
she could easily listen to him all night.  He was an
excellent teacher.


Nick hesitated before going in to the precinct.  Last night
he'd been taken in to custody.  No doubt there would be a
few dozen inane conversations, all various assortments of
"welcome back" and "we never believed you'd done it".  If he
could avoid it in any way, he would.  Raking his fingers
through his wind-tousled hair, he braved the masses.

The bullpen fell silent at his entrance.  "Damn," he cursed
under his breath.  Then they struck all at once.

His arms were grabbed and he was half dragged, half carried,
to the table at the back, where a huge "welcome back" cake
and a punch bowl were waiting.  Nick just hated social
functions with food.  There was no way he was going to be
able to escape having to taste that horrible smelling,
sugary mass of ingredients- half of which hadn't even
existed the last time he'd had any solid food.  Then Natalie
appeared from the midst.

Her smile was a beacon in the fog.  She held out a knife for
him.  "They wanted to do something special for you, Nick,"
she said aloud.  Then whispering so that only a vampire
could hear, she added, "so say something appropriately nice
and I'll give you a treat!"

Nick caught the amusement in her face.  It warmed him all
over.  Holding the large knife carelessly and waving it
around as he spoke, Nick rambled on.  "Thanks, all of you.
This is great.  Really."  He sliced and served and continued
to make stupid remarks.  Nat remained at his side, pouring
the punch.  Then she passed him a small paper cup just like
everyone else's, but the scent of the red liquid inside
almost brought out his fangs.  Nat grinned at him.  He
drained the cup and tossed it away before any coworkers
accidentally took a sip from the wrong cup.  "Thanks, Nat,"
he said.  "I needed that."

"Any time," she answered.  "But, I'd better get back to
work.  See you later."
Before long Captain Reese called for Nick.  He went inside
the small office with a slight sense of dread.  Just what
had LaCroix told him?  Nick had forgotten to ask his
master.  He hoped now that he didn't change the story too
much, but then, there really was no evidence to connect him
to the murder, now that the blood on his sweater had been
identified as his own.

Reese gestured to the chair and Nick sat.  The captain
looked even worse tonight than last.  His eyes were red and
puffy, and he was breathing mostly through his mouth.

"Nick, I met your father last night," Reese began.

Nick nearly choked.  LaCroix had told him that!  What else?

"I think that information of your relationship should have
been brought out as soon as he was brought in for
questioning regarding that headless corpse two months ago.
I'm very surprised, Detective, and more than a little angry
that it was not."

Nick rubbed his forehead.  "I'm sorry, Captain.  I would not
have let my personal feelings get in the way of the
investigation.  Surely, you know that."
"Nick, we have rules for a reason.  No one should have to
investigate his own father, or mother, or wife....  But,
that is over now.  I just want you to be sure that nothing
like this ever happens again.  If you can't trust me as your
captain, then maybe you need to be on another precinct."

"Captain, I do trust you.  It's not that," Nick stammered.

Reese stood then.  He walked behind Nick and laid a hand on
his shoulder.  "Good.  Because he admitted that he hit you,
Nick.  You know you don't have to live like that.  You can
bring charges against him."

Nick stood up.  This had gone on long enough.  "Captain, if
that's all, I really should get back to work."

Reese nodded, still looking overly concerned.  "Tracy's
still out tonight, and Roberts' partner is out, too.  So I'm
teaming you with him, just for the night."
Nick glared at him.  "Roberts doesn't do homicides,
Captain.  You can't be serious."

Reese returned to his desk, the sign of his authority.  The
patient, concerned older friend was once again his
superior.  "I can, and I just did.  No one works alone.
Roberts needs someone with him.  You're available.
Dismissed."



Matt Roberts was down the hall from Nick.  He knew the
officer, but not well.  Roberts had been with the force for
nearly thirty years.  He was a good cop, but he hadn't
advanced far because he was also a good husband and father.
He didn't let the job take up too much of his life.  He
didn't seem to mind, though.  Nick couldn't remember ever
seeing the man angry.

"Hello, Nick," he said, his lips curving in an easy smile.
"I see you've just received your sentence.  Sorry about
that."

Nick shrugged.  It wasn't Roberts's fault.

"Well, if you're ready then, I've got to go to the Hampton
Middle School, there's been a break in."

Investigating petty theft and juvenile crimes.  Not really
something he was interested in.  And it wasn't like Roberts
was going to be in any danger.  Nick grabbed his coat and
followed his temporary partner outside.  "I drive," he
stated firmly.

"'S fine with me," Roberts answered.


The middle school had suffered more than petty theft.
Whoever had broken in had vandalized the computer lab.
Thousands of dollars worth of equipment destroyed, smashed
and then kerosene poured on top.  The vandals had lit a
match, but it was the work of amateurs.  The fires had
smoldered, melting plastic and fouling the air, but without
spreading or destroying evidence.  Still, the computer lab
was beyond salvageable.

"We're fairly sure it was a couple of kids," one officer
informed them.  "The unlocked window they must have crawled
through is pretty narrow and there are some partial
footprints that look to be about a size 8 shoe."

"What kind of ornery cussedness would do something like
this," one of the technicians grumbled as he dusted for
fingerprints.

Nick had wondered that himself.  Who would want to damage a
school?  Even some of the worst criminals he'd ever dealt
with still had a soft spot for children.
"It's just kids," Roberts answered, as if it were no more
than a harmless prank.

"No," Nick said.  "This is not the work of some child upset
over getting a low grade.  This is malicious.  This is the
work of a kid headed into a life of crime."

Roberts chuckled softly.  "You don't know much about kids,
Knight.  At this age, any kid is salvageable.  All it takes
is a caring adult at the right time."
Nick shrugged, unconvinced.  Thirteen-year-olds were being
tried as adults now for a variety of crimes.  Apparently the
legal system didn't feel they were "salvageable."

Another technician whistled through his teeth.  "Well, if
you bring in any suspects, we should be able to nail them
with this evidence."

Roberts and Knight joined him as he stared at wet streaks on
the wall, forming a small puddle on the carpet.  Nick
grimaced in disgust.  It was urine.  DNA tests would be as
good as fingerprints.

"Well, let's get started then," Roberts said to Nick.

Started?  On what?  They had a damaged school, a couple of
footprints, and six hundred possible suspects, if the
student even went to this school.  "Where to?" Nick asked.

Roberts smiled, looking at his watch.  "The janitor was here
until 7 PM.  The fire department was alerted to the fire by
9:24.  The crime happened during that time.  So, we question
possible suspects, to see who was unaccounted for at that
time."

Nick got behind the wheel of his caddy and heaved a sigh.
How many of the six hundred kids would they get to this
week?  Tracy had better be studying her lessons hard!  She
was going to owe him for this.

Roberts gave him an address.  Nick followed it to a quiet
residential area.  The homes were lower income, smaller
dwellings, but generally well cared for.  It looked like a
nice place to live.  Nick parked in the driveway and shut
off the engine.  "So, which suspect is this one?"

His partner laughed lightly.  "Oh this isn't a suspect,
Nick.  This is my "little brother's" house."

At Nick's puzzled expression, he explained.  "I'm a
volunteer in the Big Brother program.  I meet with troubled
boys and help them sort things out.  This is Ramero Sanchez'
house, but he goes by "Digger".  It's a long story.  Anyway,
he might give us a few leads."

Roberts led, Nick followed close behind.  A thin,
nervous-looking woman answered the door.  Her face blanched
when she saw them.

"Officer Roberts!  What's he done now!"

He smiled and spoke softly.  "Nothing, Maria, I'm sure of
it.  I just want to talk to him, if you don't mind.  I know
it's kind of late.  I could come back tomorrow."

She opened the door wider and invited them inside.  "No,
no.  Is okay.  He's still doing his homework."  She went to
the stairs and called.  Immediately loud steps sounded from
the room over their heads, a door slammed, and a boy of
twelve came barreling down the stairs.  "Yeah mom?  Oh, hi,
Matt!  How goes?"
Matt shook Digger's hand manfully.  "Digger, this is Nick
Knight.  He's hanging out with me tonight.  You were at
basketball earlier, weren't you?"

The boy nodded vigorously.  "Right.  We're practicing every
night now.  There's a tournament next month, and we hope to
place."

"You boys are doing great, too.  Did everybody show up
tonight?"

Digger became suspicious.  "Why, Matt?  Something going on?"

"Could be."

"I'm no rat, Matt.  Go ask some one else."

Matt put one foot on the bottom stair and leaned against the
hand railing casually.  "Of course, you're not a rat.  I'm
not asking you if you know who did it.  Just if anyone was
missing from practice.  I could wait and call the Y tomorrow
morning.  But my guess is that the kids we're looking for
are going to be pretty scared about now.  I'd like to find
them, before they do anything even more stupid."

Digger seemed uneasy.  He shifted awkwardly on his feet and
stuffed his hands in his pockets.  "What did they do?"

"Busted the computer lab at school.  Burned it."

Tears sprang to Digger's eyes instantly, then his face
contorted with anger.  He started cursing vilely in
Spanish.  Nick stared, wondering when a kid would have
learned such words and from whom.

Matt put a comforting hand on Digger's shoulder.  "It was a
mean thing to do, Digger.  I know those computers meant a
lot to the school.  But it really is important to find the
kids who are responsible."

"Three guys missed practice," Digger said sullenly.  "Rock,
Pony, and Logan.  Jees, Matt.  I can't think that any of
them would do such a thing!"

"Maybe they didn't.  I'll just visit with them, find out
where they were.  Okay?"

"I go to the Lab everyday for reading.  What am I going to
do now, Matt?"  The tears now spilled down his face.  He
swiped at them with a hand, still trying to be more angry
than miserable.

"We'll think of something.  Sorry to bring you the bad
news."

Digger nodded, then turned and ran back up the stairs.

The mother apologized for his rudeness.  "He doesn't read
well, Detective," she explained to Nick.  "He's been failing
in school since we moved here, three years ago, until he
started working on these computers.  Now he understands
better what he reads, and he's getting a C!  I think, if he
works hard, he could do even better.  But, without the
computer, and with all the cutbacks, and a lack of
volunteers, who is going to teach a twelve year old to
read?"

"Perhaps at least some of the computers are salvageable,"
Nick said.  He knew it for a lie, but felt the need to offer
this woman some small hope.  She shrugged, not believing him
for a minute.

Back in the caddy, Roberts gave Nick the address for Rock's
house.  "It's the closest one," he explained.  "Rock's been
in trouble before, but he's been clean for almost a year
now."

"Why the nick names?" Nick asked.  "Are they like junior
gang members in training?"

Roberts laughed.  "No.  It's just something the boys club
has been doing.  When a boy who's been in trouble decides to
turn his life around, he's encouraged to take a new name.
An outward sign of the commitment to change.  They pick
their own names.  Some of the names make sense only to the
boys.  I don't think Rock's name will surprise you much,
when you see him."

They pulled up in front of a house that was an architectural
twin to the one they had just left.  Roberts knocked.  At
once they heard movement inside and a woman's loud voice.

"Get your ass back in that chair and don't move!  I'll get
the damn door!"

Roberts grinned at Nick.  "She's a tough mother, but she
loves that kid."

The door opened with a jerk and a short, heavy-set woman
stood in the way, her hands on her hips and a look of fury
on her round face.  She looked Native American, Menomonee
maybe, Nick thought idly.  "What the hell's he accused of
this time," she demanded.

Roberts smiled politely and extended a hand.  He waited
while she considered accepting it, then he shook her
warmly.  "He missed basketball practice, ma'am.  I just came
to see if he's doing all right."

"I-" Rock started to explain, but his mother cut in again.

"I said shut up and study!"

Nick smiled at Rock consolingly.  The boy was short for
twelve.  His feet didn't even touch the floor while he sat
at the kitchen table.  But he was solidly built, like a
rock.  He smiled back at Nick and wiggled his fingers in a
small gesture of welcome.  Then, with a nervous glance at
his mother, he buried his face in a Western Civilization
textbook.

"I kept him home," the mother explained.  "Lazy bum failed a
history test.  The teacher's going to give him a chance to
take it over tomorrow."

Roberts nodded then and smiled at her.  "That's fine,
ma'am.  The boys know that school comes before basketball,
even if they forget it once in a while.  So he's been here
all night?"

She nodded, suspiciously.

"Thank you, ma'am.  Good luck on your test, Rock."

Dark hair nodded without a face appearing from behind the
book.

Nick climbed back behind the wheel.  Poor Rock, he thought,
knowing how tough a demanding parent could be to deal with.
But although she was course and loud, she obviously cared a
great deal, to insist he learn and behave.

"That mother wouldn't lie to cover for him," Roberts said.

Nick agreed.  She didn't seem like the type.  That left them
with two leads.
Pony wasn't at home when they arrived.  In fact, no one was
home.  The house was dark, the door was locked, and Nick
could not hear the presence of a mortal heartbeat within.
They went on to the last place, Logan Martin.

Angry shouts emanated from the Martin house, accompanied
with the sounds of a beating and a child's cries.  "Where'd
you get the damn money!  Answer me, you little shit!  You
steal it?  You selling?"

The boy denied it all, sobbing and begging him to stop.
Roberts banged on the door, trying to make himself heard
over the noise within.  Nick was ready to kick the door in,
but Roberts stopped him.

"Open the door!" Roberts demanded again.

The door opened, revealing a young man holding his belt and
the tear-stained face of a frightened boy behind him.  "What
the hell do you want," the man demanded.

Roberts flashed his badge.  "I'm Detective Roberts; this is
my partner, Nick Knight.  I'd like to ask Logan a few
questions."

"Good luck.  The little shit won't answer me.  Why the hell
do you think he'll listen to you?"  The man threw his belt
onto the floor and grabbed Logan by his shirt.  "You did
something, didn't you!  Why the f*ck do I put up with you?
You're worthless."

Nick grabbed on to the man's arms with a firm hold.  He
wasn't old enough to be Logan's dad.  Nick wondered what the
relationship was.  "If you strike him again, I'll bring you
in on assault charges."

"Yeah right.  It's my fault if the kid breaks the law- I'm a
lousy guardian, but how dare I try to discipline him and
learn him right from wrong.  You guys are really screwed,
you know!"

Nick released him roughly.  Roberts moved into the house and
took a seat at the kitchen table.  "Come talk to me, Logan."

The boy was tall and thin, and his arms were covered with
welts.  He walked stiffly.  Nick guessed the beating had
been going on for some time before they interrupted it.

Nick remained standing in the background.  Roberts knew the
boy; he could question him first.  Nick only half listened.
He looked around the house, noting all the signs of
neglect.  Paint pealed from the walls.  The disgusting odors
from the kitchen sink could not have been edible foods, but
were more like rotting garbage.  There were smells of cat
urine, mildew, and a faint odor of marijuana and smoke.  The
clutter everywhere implied that no one ever put anything
away.  A baseball bat tossed carelessly on the floor caught
his attention.  Winter was nearly there; baseball season
should have been long over with.  The bat should have been
at the bottom of the pile, not on top.  He went to examine
it.

The wood was damaged.  Several splinters were missing.  In
one of the knicks was a small sparkle of glass shard.  The
boy was still avoiding Roberts' questions, but his heart
rate accelerated while Nick approached with the bat in his
hands.  Nick laid the bat on the table.

"Logan.  You were using this bat tonight, weren't you?"

Logan stammered, trying to deny it.

"If I bring this in, what are the chances that the
fingerprints will match those found at the computer lab?"

"Fingerprints?" Logan asked, his voice cracking.

Roberts nodded.  "Yes, son.  We got fingerprints.  And a
couple of shoe prints.  One of them looks like it could
match your new tennies."

Logan started to cry.  "Lots of kids wear tennis shoes.
That don't mean nothing."

"Logan.  Who was in it with you?" Roberts asked softly.
"You and Pony broke in to the school tonight, didn't you?"

Logan refused to answer.  Silent sobs shook him.  The young
man lunged for him, but Nick stepped in his way.  "Just what
exactly is your relationship to the boy," he demanded.

"He ain't no kin of mine," he answered.  "He's my
girlfriend's snotty little brother.  We been taking care of
him for two years now, and I'm sick of it!  Little shit
never does a lick of work around here, he don't mind
nobody.  Just takes up space."

"Well, we'll take him off your hands then.  And if you ever
come near him again, you'll regret it.  Got it?"

The young man paled and stepped back.  Then anger contorted
his features.  "Fine.  Take him.  Lock him up and throw away
the key.  Bye, brat."

Logan continued to cry.  "Are you going to lock me up?"

Roberts shook his head.  "I think you're in a lot of
trouble, Logan.  It would be better if you answered me
truthfully.  Then I'll do what I can to help you, I
promise."

"Come on," Nick said.  "I know a better place to talk."

Logan took Roberts' hand and walked with them outside.  He
didn't grab a coat.  Nick wondered if he even had one, which
made the new shoes even more suspicious.  They were an
expensive name brand.  He knew the night air was cold, as
Roberts' breath made wisps of moisture when he spoke.  Nick
pulled off his leather jacket and set it around the thin
shoulders of the boy.  Then he drove them to a fast food
place.  He had heard the boy's stomach growling all through
the initial questioning.  Giving him a full stomach and
getting him away from the abusive boyfriend might help him
to open up.  If not, there was always hypnosis.

But Logan was ready.  As he wolfed down the double
cheeseburger, large fries, and chocolate shake with huge
bites that would have given a grown-up indigestion, he began
to tell the officers more than they could have imagined.
Logan pulled out a pocketful of change and a sales receipt
for his new shoes.  Added together, the amount was $100.
"It was Mr. McLean's idea," the boy said.  "He paid me and
Pony a hundred a piece to trash the place.  He said the
school wouldn't mind, because then the insurance money would
buy us new computers, and he said no one would get caught.
Our computers were old, and we didn't even have Internet,
and we couldn't get money to replace them because the high
school gets everything."

"You want me to believe that the principal is behind this?"
Roberts asked incredulously.

Logan nodded.  "Believe what you want, Matt, but it's the
truth!  Ask Pony!  She'll tell you the same."

"Do you know where we can find her?  No one was home when we
stopped there earlier."

Nick swallowed back his surprise to learn that Pony was a
girl.

"Sure.  She must'a gone shopping.  She'll be back now."

They drove back to Pony's house, and sure enough, a few
lights were on.  A red Radio-flyer wagon was parked by the
front door, and a slim young girl with a pony tail stuck
through the back of a baseball cap came to get a grocery
sack from it.  When she saw the strange car park in her
driveway, she ran inside and bolted the door.

Logan jumped out of the car and ran up to knock on the
door.  "It's me, Pony.  Logan!  Let me in, we gotta talk!"

"I got nothin' to say to you.  Go away," she shouted.

Matt knocked on the door again.  "Pony.  This is Officer
Roberts.  My partner and I need to speak to you."

The door parted slightly and she peered at them through the
narrow opening.  "Prove it."

Nick pulled out his badge, but Roberts just smiled at her.
"Cut the crap, Pony."

Her thin arm shot through the opening and grabbed Logan by
the throat.  "I should'a known better than trust you!"

Nick intercepted her assault.  "Open the door, Pony."

She closed it to undo the door chain, then opened it wider.
She picked up the grocery sack from where she'd dropped it
and led the way to the kitchen.
Contrary to Logan's place, this home was spotless.  The
sparse furnishings were tacky and old, but clean.  Two
little girls sat at the kitchen table with candy bars melted
on their faces and apples in each hand.  Pony set the sack
on the counter and started to put the contents away,
blithely ignoring the two officers and her partner in
crime.

"Where's you dad, Pony," Matt asked gently.

"Split.  Been gone a month this time.  Maybe he fell asleep
on the wrong tracks this time, how the hell should I know."

"And you've been taking care of the kids all by yourself?"

"I take care of them even when he's home, so what's the big
deal?"

Nick noticed as she opened the cupboards and refrigerator to
put away the items in the sack that what she had just
purchased was all the food in the house.  Nick felt
ashamed.  He spent so much time solving homicides, tracking
down killers, that he'd pretty much ignored a bigger crime,
child neglect and abuse.  He'd have to call his agent and
find out what the Brabant Foundation could do to help.

"Pony.  Tell us where you got the money for these
groceries."

She opened her mouth to sass, but Roberts held up a hand to
silence her.  "The truth, Pony.  I think you know you're in
deep trouble."

"He lied to us."

"Who?"

"Mr. McLean," she whispered.


end, part 05


Dance of the Undead, 06/09
By Lorelei Sieja


Nick's caddy was crowded, with four kids and two officers.
Pony had insisted on giving her little sisters baths and
packing them a suitcase before she'd go with them.  Nick
admired her courage.  He could sense her fear, and yet she
bravely comforted the little girls, who looked to be about
six years old.  They drove to the precinct then.  Nick
called ahead; someone from children's services would be by
to pick them up.  They had fallen asleep, so Nick carried
one twin and Roberts carried the other.  Pony and Logan
followed closely.

It was well after midnight before the children were settled
and the papers were filed.  When the search warrant finally
came through, Nick and Roberts set off again for Mr.
McLean's.

"So what are we looking for," Roberts asked, unsure how they
would be able to corroborate the children's story.

"Evidence," Nick answered lightly.

McLean didn't answer the door, so Nick kicked it in.  The
noise brought the principal out of bed, swinging a golf club
defensively.  "What the hell are you doing in my house!"

Roberts flashed his badge in one hand and the warrant in the
other.
McLean swung the club again.  Nick's hand lashed out and
stopped the club in mid-swing.  His golden eyes glared at
the principal.

"You're already guilty of contributing to the delinquency of
minor children, destruction of public property, and misuse
of power, and I'm sure we could add a few more charges to
the list.  Do you really want to add assaulting a police
officer to that?"

"I've done nothing," McLean shouted.  "What are those little
punks accusing me of this time?"

Nick would have to calm him down to get him in his hypnotic
clutches.  It wasn't going to be easy.

"Which little punks are you referring to," he asked, keeping
his voice low.  "I think you're forgetting your biggest
mistake.  I mean, no one would take the words of a couple of
delinquent children against a respected man like yourself.
But what about the janitor?  That window in the computer lab
was unlocked.  The janitor would have made certain
everything was closed up tight... but you went back inside.
You opened that window for the kids to gain access.  No
doubt the fingerprints on this club will be an exact match."

By the end of his monologue, the principal was captive.  He
admitted to everything.  Roberts cuffed him and brought him
out to the caddy.  "You've got a silver tongue, Knight.
Sure you don't want to transfer to my division permanently?"

Nick shook his head.  "I like homicide.  I get less back
talk."


Tracy was an excellent pupil, LaCroix realized with
surprise.  She was attentive and eager, almost driven.  She
didn't ever want to quit, even though she could barely keep
her eyes open.  Only when he insisted that the lessons were
over, did she return to bed.

LaCroix followed her into her room.  It was necessary in
order to assert his dominance over her that they exchange
blood frequently in the beginning.  The first night she had
been so emotional, that he closed himself from her
feelings.  Now he was curious to see what she would offer
him through her blood.

The attentive student was gone and a timid girl stood in her
place.  Tracy stammered, afraid of him, and unsure what he
wanted.  "What is it?  What have I done now," she asked.

LaCroix offered her an indulgent smile.  "Nothing, my dear.
It is simply our way."  He loosened the buttons at his
collar and waited.
She stared at his throat.  Her eyes grew large, and if her
new pale complexion could have blushed, she would have been
crimson.  He caught the quickened pulse of her undead
heart.  He would wait a moment longer, and see if she would
defy him.  He didn't understand her hesitation.  She was
obviously attracted to the idea.

"But, we can't, can we?" she whispered, taking a step
backwards.  "I mean, what about Vachon?  I mean, it isn't
right."

"You are thinking like a mortal, Tracy," LaCroix gently
chided her.

"This is not only right between master and child, but it is
demanded."

"You mean, you and Nick do this too?  Oh my gosh."  Her
heart beat again.

LaCroix was growing impatient.  He was certain Urs would
never have hesitated such a command from her master... why
did he always have such willful children?  "Submit at once,"
he commanded.

Tracy drew in a breath, taking a step closer, and then
another.  Her eyes remained fixed on his throat.  He caught
the scent of her arousal even as her fangs erupted and her
eyes became golden.  LaCroix opened his arms and let her
strike first, letting the anticipation of tasting her
build.

She plunged her teeth into him awkwardly, without finesse,
yet with an enthusiasm that warmed him.  He carefully
concealed many of the recesses of his memories, not wanting
to flood the infant with too much all at once.  Instead, he
allowed only recent events to pass, rescuing her and
Nicholas, the renewed closeness in his little family, his
pleasure at her progress.  Then, he returned the bite,
completing the circle, and drank from her.

Tracy's blood was sweet and fresh, though now it was cold,
when the last time he had tasted her, she had still been
warm and human.  He found a host of images and sensations:
her jealously of Nick, her love for Vachon, the new
friendship she was building with Urs, and the need to
belong.  He realized then how he had blundered on her first
night.  He cradled her head with one large hand, letting the
short, silken strands slip through his fingers.  The other
hand was placed intimately at the small of her back, holding
her close.

She responded to the small gestures with abandon.  Rising on
her toes, she clung to him.  One hand slipped beneath his
shirt, the other wrapped behind his neck.  She suckled
harder, demanding, giving, and then exploding as her passion
crested.  Her body quivered in his embrace.  Slowly, she
withdrew from his neck, but she did not let go.
"It still feels kind of wrong," she whispered.  "Incestuous,
somehow.   I mean, you are like my father, aren't you?"

LaCroix bit back the angry retort.  She'd better not torment
him for eight hundred years with her mortal conventions.
"Does this feel wrong," he asked instead, holding her
close.

She didn't answer at first.  He tipped her chin up and was
startled to see tears in her eyes, but he didn't sense guilt
from her, not the heavy, self-deprecating kind that Nick
carried around with him like some self-induced torture.  She
seemed uncertain, frightened, but not ashamed.

"This is our way," LaCroix explained.  "My blood feeds you,
nourishes you, strengthens you, in a way that the blood of
mortals cannot.  Your blood returned to me marks you as my
child, protects you from others of our kind, and binds us
together for eternity.  That the exchange is also
pleasurable can only be advantageous."

She nodded then.  "Thank you."

LaCroix loosened his hold on her, and placed a chaste kiss
on her forehead.  "Rest now, my dear.  I believe Vachon will
be by later."

She grinned broadly.  "Good night, dad!"

He shook his head as he turned and left.


Urs showed up at the precinct a little before dawn.  She'd
missed Nick the night before, and hoped that he hadn't
changed his mind.  She didn't really care if the mortals
knew her or not.  She only wanted to know that Nick cared
about her enough that he would include her in this part of
his life.  The desk clerk smiled at her and welcomed her by
name.

"You must be Urs.  I've heard so much about you- through the
grapevine, of course- Nick never says a word to anyone.
Come on in and have some cake!  Nick will be back shortly."

The clerk looped her arm through Urs's and led her through
the bullpen to the rear, where a nearly demolished chocolate
cake remained.  "It was a welcome back cake," the clerk
explained.  "We're so glad that he was cleared so quickly.
It sure didn't look good at first, you know.  Now tell me,
how did you and Nick meet?  How long have you known him?"
Urs smiled.  Which question should she answer first?  And if
the clerk never shut up, how could she answer any of them?

Several other officers then joined her at the cake table.
The men introduced themselves.  She could have sworn that
two of them were flirting with her, and wondered how they
dared to cross Nick that way.

 "I lost a lot of money on you," one older man was saying
good-naturedly.  "But a prettier bet I've never seen.
"
Then she was overwhelmed with relief as she sensed Nick's
approach.  She just smiled at their nonsense chatter and
within moments, Nick was at her side.  Nick put his arms
around her possessively and gave her a kiss in front of the
others.  She sensed he was angry about something.  For a
moment she wondered if she'd been wrong to come, but then
she realized that he was angry with the flirters.  She
responded by putting her arms around him and returning the
kiss ardently.

"I'm glad you came," he whispered softly.

She smiled at him.

Nick faced his coworkers then.  "I see you've met my Urs,"
he stated possessively.  "Sweetheart, these thugs are the
officers dedicated to serve and to protect this community.
That's Schultz, Roberts, Markham," and he quickly introduced
them.

Captain Reese pushed his way through the crowd to welcome
Urs as well.  Nick's voice grew softer as he introduced his
captain.  Urs acknowledged that while Nick's coworkers often
irritated him, he held the captain in great regard.  She
gave the mortal a warm smile.

"Now you two kids get out of here," Reese said kindly.  "I'm
sure you can think of better places to be.  See you tonight,
Nick."

As Nick left, he could hear some of the whisperings going on
behind him.  It felt good to give them something worth
talking about.  They whispered about his gorgeous
girlfriend, and wondered how he'd managed to get a girl like
that.  The women officers laughed knowingly.  Urs moved
closer to him, embarrassed by the comments they weren't
meant to hear.

"Where's your coat?" she asked.

"I loaned it to a kid," he replied.  "Come with me!  We've
got some shopping to do."

"Shopping?  Nick- it's getting late!  The sun will be up
shortly."

He grinned.  "That's okay.  We'll shop from the loft."

His method of shopping was a totally new experience.  While
logging on to the Internet, he slowly removed her clothing.
As he placed a huge order for computers, software, and
furniture to be delivered to the Hampton middle school, Urs
repaid him in kind.  Then, while he typed the commands to
the small laptop instrument of modern technology to complete
the transaction, he made love to Urs.   The automatic
shutters closing against the light of day roused them from
their near slumber on the floor of the living room.

"Shall we to bed?" he asked, lifting her in his arms.
"You're a good man, Nicholas Knight," she answered.  She
laid her head on his shoulder as he flew up the flight of
stairs.

He shrugged off the compliment.  "Giving a few computers to
a vandalized school doesn't exonerate me of a thing," he
said.  "Those kids need so much, and I've done nothing for
them."

"We can't do everything, Nick.  You are a good cop.  Right
now, you track down criminals to protect the innocent.
That's your task, and you're good at it."

"But if you could have seen those kids- the kinds of homes
they lived in, the heavy responsibilities they shoulder-"

"My knight.  Still out to save the world."

"You just don't understand," he snapped.

"Yes I do."  Urs kissed him on the lips.  "You're kind and
caring.  And you'll hurt for those kids until you think of a
way to help them.  That's another thing I love about you."

"LaCroix would be disgusted if I told him," Nick said
softly.
"Because he sees an act of kindness as a show of weakness.
It takes a big man to know that isn't so.  We were all
mortal children once, Nick.  I think, deep inside, he's
proud of you for what you do."

Nick laughed.  "Don't ever let him hear you say that," he
said.  He kissed her again, before drifting off to sleep.



Vachon was only too eager to spend his day with Tracy.  Urs
was Nick, and Bourbon seldom came around any more.  Vachon
didn't mind being alone for brief periods, but Tracy was
something so new.  She was exciting, exhausting, tempting,
delicious... he'd never felt that way for a woman before.
Not even for Urs.

He wasn't sure what he felt for Urs.  She had been beautiful
and lonely, and was victimized by being a woman in a man's
world.  What he'd given her was the power to create her own
destiny.  What she'd done with her gift was to drift through
the years, still lonely and beautiful, and still acting like
a victim.  Only now, in the arms of another emotionally
unbalanced vampire was she beginning to come to terms with
herself.  "Ironic" came to mind.

Tracy was different.  For one thing, she wasn't his
fledgling.  He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
Nick had demanded that Vachon be responsible for her, once
she'd discovered the existence of vampires, and so he had
spent almost one full year keeping a watchful eye on her,
and being terrified that the impetuous mortal would come to
harm and Nick would be after him with a vengeance.  Tracy
had not been an easy mortal to protect.  Maybe it was her
youth, or the relatively sheltered childhood she'd had, that
made her think she was invincible.  No doubt she would also
be an exhausting fledgling.  He grinned as he imagined a
weary LaCroix battling Tracy's stubborn-streak night after
night.

That first day he'd spent with her had been as close to
heaven as he figured one of his kind could ever get.  He'd
never had a virgin vampire before.  There was a unique
innocence in her blood.  He wondered if that would remain,
now that she'd become immortal.  She made him feel honored,
that she'd given him such a gift, and he was feeling very
territorial of her, something that vampires just did not
do.  It was becoming too confusing.  He'd have to give up
thinking about it.



An incessant ringing pulled into Nick's dreams, demanding
his attention.  The vampire within held him captive,
refusing to allow him to awake when no immediate danger
could be detected.  Vaguely, he heard the voice leave a
message on his answering machine.  He was even aware that
the voice was Natalie's.  But what she said went unnoticed.
"Nick, please stop and see me on your way in to work.  We
have a problem.  Nick?  If you're home, you'd better get up
now.  The sun set an hour ago.  Nick!"  The machine cut her
off.

Winter was a mixed blessing for the night shift.  The longer
nights gave them more freedom, but the shorter days were not
quite sufficient to meet their needs.  Nick was more prone
to oversleep in the winter than any other time of year,
since the setting sun was no longer a sign that it was time
to wake up.

Twice more Nat called, leaving urgent messages.  Finally,
she came in person.  After knocking on the door downstairs,
she took her key and let herself up.  Hesitantly, she
stepped inside.  She'd known Nick's new girlfriend would be
there.  She wasn't sure how she felt about it.  She
definitely did not want to have to go into his bedroom to
wake him.

This time when she called the vampire awoke.  Now a mortal
was near and that was a potential threat.  Fully fanged and
not quite conscious, he flew from the bed.

"Nick!  It's me, Natalie," she said urgently to the
dangerous beast before her.  Then, blushing brightly, she
turned her back.

Urs came down quietly and handed Nick a bathrobe.  She
cinched the belt, then went to the refrigerator to get their
breakfast.  Nick shook his head, rubbing sleep from his
eyes.

"Nat?  What is it?  What brings you here so early?"

Nat laughed as she turned around again.  "It isn't early,
sleeping beauty.  You're late for work."

Nick looked absently at his wrist, but he hadn't put his
watch on yet.  He glanced at the large wall clock and
grinned at her sheepishly.  "Sorry, Nat.  I don't know what
happened."

"Yes, well... I have a few ideas.  Anyway, I wanted to talk
with you before you check in."

Nick accepted the mug Urs had warmed for him.  "What is it,
Nat?"

"Mr. McLean's dead."

Nick nearly choked.  He swallowed hard and set the cup down
on the table.  "But I just arrested him last night."

"I know.  Mr. McLean got a lawyer and made bail, then
returned home.  He was beaten to death in his home, maybe
around two this afternoon.   It looks like the perpetrator
used his own golf club to do him in. There are no prints on
the club except McLean's."

"So, why are you telling me this instead of Reese?"

"You're not going to be on this case.  He gave it to Johnson
and Bunati."

Nick wasn't following her.  He knew he was a little groggy
still, but she obviously was upset about something.  "So why
does this involve me?"

"You arrested Bennett right before he was murdered.  There
does seem to be a connection."

"I didn't kill him!"  Nick was defensive.

Nat gestured for him to take a seat.  She put a cup of water
and instant coffee in the mic for herself and joined him.
"I know you didn't, Nick.  I don't think you're a suspect
this time.  At least, Reese doesn't suspect you.  But I
think Johnson and Bunati do.  They might try to trail you,
or dig into your records."


"You said McLean was killed around two!  You know I couldn't
have done it!"

Nat patted his hand reassuringly.  "I know that, Nick.  I
didn't mean to upset you.  I just thought I'd better warn
you about them.  And I hear that your records aren't exactly
correct, now that LaCroix's identified himself as your
father.  My guess is that they're going to dig pretty deep."

Nick nodded, struggling to bring his anger under control.
None of it was Nat's fault.  She was right to warn him,
before he broke Johnson and Bunati's necks.  "There isn't
anything else to connect these two murders, is there? I
mean, besides the fact that I arrested both of them?  No
flowers with McLean?"

Nat shook her head.  "Nope.  Both were beaten to death, but
one used a golf club, the other used only his hands.
Flowers were with one and not the other.  One was out on
bail, one was still in holding.  Nothing else similar
between them."

Nick drained his mug, then stood up to leave.  "Guess I'd
better go get dressed.  If you'll excuse me."

Both women smiled at his retreating form complete with bare
feet and sleep-tousled hair.

"There's something so boyishly endearing about him," Nat
murmured.

"That there is," Urs agreed.


End, part 6


Dance of the Undead, 07/09
By Lorelei Sieja

A phone call to LaCroix informed Nick that Tracy was not yet
ready for even a short appearance at work.  Nick felt uneasy
and wished that he could at least see Tracy, reassure
himself that she was doing okay, or find out if she was
happy.  He wasn't going to ask, though.  LaCroix knew how he
felt.

"Tell her I said "hello"," Nick asked.

"You may tell her yourself," LaCroix volunteered
magnanimously.  "I think that you should stop by after your
shift.  I would like your opinion on whether she is ready
for a public appearance."

Nick almost choked.  LaCroix would ask for his opinion on
anything?  He would have to record this date and treasure it
always!  That must also mean that Tracy was doing fantastic,
or LaCroix would never had made the offer.  Nick grinned.
Despite being trailed by a couple of amateur day-shifters,
tonight was starting out great.

"I think tonight you should bond with her," LaCroix
continued.  "If you'd like to invite Urs along, you could
stay the day.  We'll celebrate Tracy's progress together."

Nick felt strangely embarrassed.  He'd suspected LaCroix
would want him to bond with Tracy, and yet the pronouncement
solidified his fears.  Bonding was such an intimate act.
Would he want this with his junior partner?  A small part of
him did.  He felt oddly excited and hesitant at the same
time.  "What does Tracy feel about this?" he hedged.

"She will have no choice in the matter," LaCroix stated
firmly.  "Not if she wishes to maintain her mortal life as a
police detective."

The hesitation was quickly overshadowing the excitement.
"Maybe it is a little soon, then," Nick said.

"I will see you here tonight."

A silence filled the phone line while a storm of emotions
washed over Nick.  He had defied LaCroix a few days ago and
paid the price again.  And he had promised not to interfere
with LaCroix's training of his new offspring.

"I'll be there," he whispered before hanging up.

Urs came up behind him.  She wrapped her arms around him and
kissed his broad shoulders, her hands holding him close. He
didn't have to tell her a thing, since she'd heard both
sides of the conversation.  For a few supportive moments she
said nothing, just reassured him with her presence.

"What does this bonding mean," she asked then.

"It is how LaCroix teaches us to develop the mental link
between one another," Nick whispered flatly.  "We will act
as lovers, sharing blood and baring our inner selves."

"And when you've bonded with Tracy, then you'll be able to
sense her when she's in trouble?  Help protect her?"

"Yeah.  Something like that."

"Then it sounds like a good thing, Nick.  I think she would
want this, if she were given a choice."

Nick turned slowly and gathered Urs into his arms.  The hugs
he gave her were distracted as he remembered his training at
LaCroix's hands... sometimes erotic, sometimes brutal.  "I
have to go," he whispered into her ear.


LaCroix was restless.  Tracy was sleeping again, Nick was at
work, and he felt the need for.. . something.
Companionship?  Just some one with whom to converse.  Not an
interrogation, and not a discourse on proper vampire
etiquette.  He searched through his more recent memories,
those of the last century or so, and tried unsuccessfully to
recall with whom he ever had such a relationship.

One face appeared before him- Nicholas's mortal doctor
friend.  A smile touched his lips.  Thanks to Urs, he was no
longer concerned about any romance there.  One willing
vampire in the bedroom was much better, so to speak, than
one mortal lady in waiting.   Nick hadn't yet forsaken his
foolish quest, but at least he was living and feeding like a
vampire once more.  Still, LaCroix missed his little
discussions with coroner.  She had a quick mind and droll
wit he found singularly refreshing.  He almost missed their
confrontations.

He donned his long cloak and stepped from the Raven for an
evening stroll.  New parenthood had its drawbacks.  He was
feeling a little trapped.

The moon was bright.  It alone could almost lift the gloom
that had settled around him.  He breathed in deeply, letting
it's energy revive and satisfy him.

His mindless walk brought him across town until he stood
before the coroner's building.  Perhaps it was time to pay
her a visit.  A small argument with her, and then he would
be better able to concentrate.  LaCroix extended his sense
of hearing.  When he established that she was inside alone,
he made his entrance.

Natalie looked up from her computer and made a startled
gasp.  She stood up and took a step back before recovering
the spirit that he so admired.  "What do you want," she
stated.

LaCroix smiled.  Such a simple question, and yet, one
without an answer.  What did he want?  LaCroix could argue
that he had no wants.  He was ancient and powerful.  And
yet, here he was, early in the evening, yearning for
something he could not yet define.  "I merely came to see
you, my dear," he said smoothly.

"Yeah right," she muttered.  "And I'm the queen of
England."

LaCroix moved closer, circled behind her and inhaled.
Natalie had an unusual scent all her own, beneath the
formaldehyde that permeated the morgue.  The younger
vampires said it was "apple pie."  Something like cinnamon
and ginger.   "You are more lovely than the queen," he
replied.

Natalie fought against the woman's blush that warmed her.
This was LaCroix speaking.  He wanted something, and judging
from past experiences, it would only hurt Nick somehow.  She
felt a need to protect him from further pain at this one's
hands.

"Look, I've got a lot of work to do," she snapped, "so why
don't you just state your purpose and move on."

LaCroix leaned against the desk and folded his arms before
him.  She was pleasant to look at.  Her wild, chestnut hair
was any man's desire to touch.  Her wide-set eyes were both
hopeful and innocent, intelligent yet alluring.  She was a
woman in every sense of the word.  A worthy oponent.

"I thought that perhaps it was time to have a chat about you
and your relationship with my son."

"I think I know where you stand on that one, LaCroix."

"Ah yes, but do we?"

"You'd be much happier if I never saw him again."

He smiled indulgently.  "Oh no, my dear.  That is not it at
all.  I do not tell him with whom he may chose to spend his
time.  And I do not even mind the amount of time you waste
placating him with his senseless quest."

"I find that one hard to believe," she said derisively.

"I only object to doing anything that will harm him.
Encouraging him to live on a starvation diet, or testing
strange potions and elixiers, the outcome of which cannot be
safely predicted.  These things are harmful, and any caring
parent would object."

She knew he was referring to the failed cure she had tried
almost two years ago.  The lidovuterine had made Nick sick,
and when criminals shot him, he had nearly bled to death
before the vampire reemerged and healed him.

"LaCroix, we've been over this before.  I don't see the
point."

"I think perhaps you sense a change in your relationship."

"I've met Urs, if that's what you're getting at."

LaCroix was silent for a few moments, gathering his
thoughts.  "It is more than that.  Things were changing
between you even before Nick became involved with Urs."

Natalie nodded.  He was right, of course, which really made
her angry.  She hated a man that was always right, even if
he wasn't really a man at all.   She thought back over the
past six years.  At first, Nick had been cold and distant,
establishing the unspoken ground rules of conduct.  He would
allow her to search for a cure, but kept himself apart from
mortals.  She had urged him to get involved in society then,
to learn to behave like a mortal, while waiting for the
physical cure.  They moved to becoming friends, then close
friends.  For a brief time, they had wished for a romantic
relationship, which had almost ruined the friendship they
had built.  Romance with a vampire was impossible.  It hurt
them both to pretend otherwise.  Lately, she found them
moving back towards friendship, but it had altered.  She saw
him more and more as- immature?  She kept wondering how a
man could live for 800 years and still be such a child.

"Perhaps," LaCroix thought aloud, "you have not grown apart
as much as you have merely grown."

Natalie looked at him with surprise.

"You, my dear, are six years older.  You've gained
experience and learned by it.  You are wiser for your
experience, while Nicholas is today exactly as he was six
years ago.  You are no longer his confidant as much as- an
older sister."

Tears welled up in her eyes.  Natalie turned away from him
crossing her arms defiantly, and yet, he had voiced what she
had only suspected but had not dared put to words.  Time was
a cruel master, as it was not one she could fight.  Even if
she joined him in his eternal unlife today, she could not go
back to being younger.  And she wasn't ready to make such a
decision.  She liked her life.

LaCroix reached out and touched her hair.  It was every bit
as soft as it looked.  His hand moved lower to rest on her
shoulder.

"Some day, my dear, when you are ready to make the decision,
I would ask you to consider joining me."

Natalie whirled around and glared at him.  "Why?  So I can
play house and be Tracy's big sister?  Forget it, LaCroix!"

He smiled at her.  "Oh, dear Natalie.  I would never chose
you for a child.  You are far too independent."

"Then what the hell are you talking about?"

He took her hand and brought it to his lips.  He kissed it
gently.  "I would ask you to join me as my mate."

Natalie was speechless.

LaCroix smiled broadly.  "Good evening, my dear," he said
before leaving with a flourish that left her quite unable to
breathe.


Reese wasn't there.  He'd taken a sick day.  His replacement
was Captain Collins, from days, pulling a double shift.
He'd had orders that Nick would ride with Roberts again.
Nick didn't even try to argue.  One more night with Roberts
couldn't be so bad.  The aging police officer was always
pleasant and Nick admired his calm manner.  It was so
relaxing compared to the centuries spent in LaCroix's
company.  And besides, if they had a really, really boring
shift, maybe Johnson and Bunati would fall asleep on the
trail.

"Come on, Nick," Roberts called cheerfully.  "We've got to
get there before 9 PM.  They strictly enforce a curfew."

"Where are we going, and why?"

Roberts waited until they were in the privacy of Nick's car
before answering.  "Juvie Hall.  That's were Logan is.
We're going to take him out to get him something to wear at
court."

Nick pulled out of the parking lot and turned in the
direction of the juvenile residential facility.  "What about
foster parents?  Can't they find a place for Logan?"

Roberts shrugged.  "Not enough homes.  Too many kids.  And
it's always harder to place the boys."


The boy was thrilled at seeing Matt and Nick.  He hugged
them both.  Nick noticed he was still wearing the faded blue
jeans, T-shirt, new tennis shoes, and Nick's leather jacket
that he'd had on the night before.  They took him to the
mall, where Roberts bought him a few new things, including a
dark suit for court.  Logan wasn't impressed with the suit.

"Trust me," Roberts responded.  "When you appear in front of
the judge, you want to look clean, smart, and remorseful.
Don't act like some brainless twit.  Got it?"

Logan nodded.  "How's Pony doing?  Do you know?"

Roberts frowned.  "No, not for sure.  I know they couldn't
place her with the twins.  They went to a nice place on the
east side, but she's back with the Piersons."

Nick wasn't following much of their conversation. They
seemed to have known each other for some time.  Logan
eventually filled him in.
"The Piersons are really popular foster parents.  They
always have a house full.  Pony lived with them before for a
few months, until her dad showed up and took her back."

It was too bad, Nick thought, that siblings couldn't be kept
together.
"Did you hear about the school?" Logan asked excitedly.  "We
got all new computers today!  Somebody donated a whole new
lab!  We didn't even have to wait for the insurance money!"

Roberts looked surprised.  Nick tried to.

"What do you think 's going to happen to me?"

"I don't know, son," Roberts replied.  "You'll probably get
some community service.  Maybe that's all.  You stay out of
trouble here, and work hard on your schoolwork.  We got
McLean's confession.  And I'll be there for you.  Okay?"

"How 'bout you, Nick?  Will you come, too?"

Nick hesitated.  Kids cases would be tried in the morning,
for sure.  "I'll see," he hedged.

Nick watched the headlights from his rear view mirror.
Johnson and Bunati were right there, not doing a great job
of remaining inconspicuous.  Either they were real idiots,
or they took him for one.  He pulled up at Juvenile Hall and
waited while Roberts walked Logan back inside.  Then he got
out of the car and sauntered up to the two detectives.

"Nice night for a cruise, huh?" he asked, knocking on the
window glass.
Bunati looked uncomfortable, but Johnson just glared at him.
"You're a bit off your beat, Knight," he growled.

Nick shrugged.  "I figured I'd give you two the grand tour
tonight.  Then maybe tomorrow we'll head south.  How's that
suit you?"

"Cocky sonofabi*ch," Johnson snapped, jumping out of the
car.  "Keep it up.  It's all just a g*ddamn joke to you,
isn't it.  But I'm on to you.  You're going to mess up, and
I'll be there to cheer."  He grabbed on to Nick's shirt.

Nick smiled boyishly, ignoring the unspoken challenge.  "I'm
counting on it, Johnson.  See ya 'round."


Tracy waited impatiently for LaCroix.  He had gone
downstairs to set his radio program tapes and speak with the
bartender before beginning tonight's lessons.  She was
beginning to get a little house-crazy.  Sure, her new
existence promised her forever, but it was beginning to feel
like she'd spent an eternity in this gothic prison
apartment!
So far LaCroix had taught her to filter out extraneous
sounds and smells, and to control the color of her eyes.  He
encouraged her to feed constantly, and she was still
sleeping more than she was awake.  How much more was there
to learn, she wondered?  Had Nick really spent a century or
longer under LaCroix's constant tutelage?  She missed her
partner.  How much longer before he would come see her?  Was
he disappointed that she had chosen this life?

Finally, she heard LaCroix return.

"When can I go back to work?" she asked.

LaCroix ignored her request.  He took a seat and pulled out
a newspaper, flipping it open and casually appearing to
read.

"LaCroix?  When?"

Still he ignored her.  Tracy felt her irritation rise.
She'd put her entire life on hold for this man- this
creature- and he didn't even have the decency to listen to
her?  "I have a life, you know!" she snapped.  "A life which
is waiting for me!  I can't just hide here in your little
temple of gloom until you feel like sending me away!"
LaCroix folded the paper and tucked it back under his arm.
With barely a glance in her direction, he left, turning the
key in the lock to keep her inside.  Tracy let loose a
scream of irritation.

The night was too long to be here all alone!  If only Urs
would come and visit.  Or Vachon.  What day was this
anyway?  She found her watch and checked.  It was Monday
night.  Vachon didn't play at the Raven tonight.  He'd have
the night off.  And she obviously was going to have the
night off as well.  If only she could go out, maybe they
could have a real date together, do something fun, besides
just cuddle in bed at sunrise.

That was it.  She had to get out of here.

The lock was solid, even her new vampire strength- which
didn't seem as strong as Nick's- could break it.  She glared
up at the skylight, but she hadn't yet learned to fly.
She'd tried on her own a few times.  Vachon made it look so
easy.  But she hadn't yet been successful.  She hadn't been
the commissioner's daughter for nothing though.  She'd had
countless opportunities to practice crawling out through
windows back in high school.  The window in the guestroom
where she'd been staying was locked, and it was a steep drop
to the pavement below, but the bathroom window overlooked
the fire escape.  Although it too was locked, it did not
prove to be vampire-resistant.  Chugging another bottle of
her new sustenance, she slipped out the window and set off
in the direction of Vachon's church.  Hopefully, she would
get there before he left for the night....


Vachon grinned when he opened the door.  Tracy stood there
looking so lost and scared and dangerous that she'd never
looked more desirable.  "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice
suddenly thick.

"Nothing," she snapped, pushing past him to come inside.
She flopped onto his couch, the antique legs wobbling
precariously.  "I'm bored.  I want to do something.
Anything.  Let's go somewhere!"

Vachon let the door close and turned slowly to admire his
new lover.  Her hair was tousled.  Her complexion was a
little paler these days, but not noticeably so; Tracy had
always been fair.  Suddenly his face lit up with mischief.
"Let's go flying, Querrida?"

"Can't.  I don't fly yet.  LaCroix's taking his damned slow
time with these stupid lessons.  And tonight he's taking off
completely."

Vachon didn't seem surprised.  "There is much to learn," he
said calmly.  "Flying is not generally one of the first
lessons."

"But you learned it all in one night!  You told me.  She
only spent one night with you and then she went to join her
mother sun, or something."
"That is not really the best way, though, Tracy.  She left
us, and we were not well prepared.  We would never have
survived if she'd tried that today.  It is much harder for
our kind now."

"I don't want to talk about it.  I want to do something!"
Tracy jumped to her feet and paced the length of his living
room.  "I'm going to scream with boredom!"

Vachon grabbed his leather jacket.  "I know just the thing.
Trust me."


Before long, Tracy was strapping on a parachute as they rode
a small private plane above the city of Toronto.  Vachon's
idea of taking a fledgling flying....

"How can you afford this?" Tracy asked, fairly giggling with
excitement.

Vachon just gave her one of his infamous looks, the one that
said, "how do you think?"

"Vachon!  That's dishonest," she spurted, as she eyed their
pilot, wondering if he was okay to fly while suffering the
effects of vampire hypnotism.

"Oh, and it would be more honest to rob a few of my
victims?" he asked lightly.

Vachon double-checked her harness and went over everything
again.  Then, at the right moment, they leaped from the
airplane together.
Tracy screamed.  Wind slapped her hard in the face, making
breathing almost impossible, if she'd had to breathe.  Her
stomach flipped as she plunged earthward, fear burned, even
though she knew that she was almost indestructible.

Vachon maneuvered nearer.  He grabbed her hand and kissed
her passionately even as they continued to fall.

Tracy's eyes became golden.  "Vachon, I love you, you crazy
fool," she screamed, trying to be heard over the rush of
air.

Vachon released her and drifted apart.  The time came to
pull their ripcords.  Both parachutes opened to slow their
death-defying descent.  Then all too soon they were on the
ground making love in the dark field.

"Let's do it again," Tracy gasped.

Vachon was suddenly silent.

Tracy kissed his neck again, feeling her desire quickly
rekindle the flames they had just fed.

"Tracy, does LaCroix know you are here with me?" Vachon
asked softly, suspicious of what he'd gleaned from her
blood.

"LaCroix can go to hell," she breathed, licking his ear
lightly.
Vachon sat up abruptly.  "You may have a death wish, Tracy,
but I'm not willing to join you.  We're going home now!"  He
leaped to his feet, grabbing her wrist and pulling her with
him.

"I am not going back.  Let me go!"

"Tracy.  No one defies the General.  No one."

"Coward!  You're afraid of him!"

Vachon started off, nearly dragging her along.  Tracy
struggled uselessly in his grip.  He was much stronger than
her, which fueled her anger.  She shouted obscenities at
him.

Vachon chuckled.  "Querrida, you don't quite have the knack
for that yet."

Tracy stumbled, grasping for a weapon in the dirt.  Her hand
came up and flung loose pebbles and dirt into Vachon's
face.  He let go of her and covered his eyes, crying out a
painful surprise.  Tracy used her police training combined
with her new strength to deal two blows to the back of his
neck.  Vachon crumpled to the ground, still conscious but
barely moving.  Then she took off running as fast as she
could.


End, part 7


Dance of the Undead, 08a/09
By Lorelei Sieja



Nick parked at the precinct and cut the engine.  "Matt," he
said softly, unsure how to word what he wanted to say.  "I
know I didn't want to ride with you, and I expect either
your partner or mine will decide to show up tomorrow night,
but.  I just wanted to say.  Uhm.  It's been- enlightening-
to be here."

That didn't quite say it either.  Roberts was a good man.
He made a difference in the lives he touched.

Roberts clapped him affectionately on the shoulder.
"Thanks, kid," he said.  "I like Father Flanagan's motto-
that there is no such thing as a bad kid.  Just kids who
need us.  If I can turn even one away from crime, then it's
all been worth it."

"Well, for Pony and Logan, I sure hope you succeed."

"We will, Knight.  You helped them, too.  You've given them
one more role model.  You'll be a "knight" to them now,
always."

Nick shrugged off the compliment and slammed the car door
behind him.  It was time to return to the mundane task of
paperwork.  Being a cop would be so much better if he never
had another form to complete.  Tracy had better hurry back
to work.

The day-captain was waiting for him, and motioned Nick
inside the office quickly.  Nick reached out with his extra
senses in concern.  Was something up?  The captain's pulse
seemed a little rapid.  He was worried about something.

"A call just came in for you, Nick.  A family emergency.
Your father requested you go home at once."

Nick stared at him for a full moment, uncomprehending.

The captain touched his shoulder awkwardly.  They didn't
really know each other, but he felt that Reese would have
done something similar.  "Go on, Nick.  Take the rest of the
night off.  Just let us know if there is something we can do
to help."

LaCroix must have called, Nick realized.  What could be the
emergency?  Tracy?  Fear lodged in his throat and the room
seemed to spin.  He staggered, bracing himself, and shut his
eyes tight until he was certain they were blue.

"Nick, go home.  No use getting all worked up until you know
more.  Your father wouldn't expand on it.  He didn't call
for assistance.  He just wanted you to be there."

Nick nodded, unable to trust his voice.  Then he ran from
the precinct, not even bothering to stop and grab his
jacket.  Roberts watched him go with a sad look.  "Family,"
he whispered.

Nick left the caddy behind and took to the skies as soon as
he cleared the building.  He reached out to LaCroix with
their bond.

The master was furious!  The rage struck Nick squarely,
nearly knocking him out of the air.  Nick closed the
intimate contact and concentrated on getting to the Raven
quickly.  Rage he could handle.  If LaCroix was furious,
then it was undoubtedly directed towards Tracy.  She was all
right.

He took the skylight entrance, sensing LaCroix was
upstairs.  The master paced furiously in his living room,
his fangs descended and his eyes glowing red embers of
fury.  He turned his anger loose on his favorite son.  "I'll
stake her myself!" he roared.

Nick looked around the living room, puzzled.  There was no
sign of a fight.  The room was tidy, if a bit empty.  "Where
is she?" he asked, hesitantly.

"How the hell should I know!  She snuck out of the window!"

Nick laughed, unwisely.

LaCroix grabbed him by the collar and pinned him up against
the far wall, slamming him into it with force.

Nick dropped the smile and went limp in his father's grasp.
He knew the anger was not really directed against him and a
fight right now would solve nothing.  He stared patiently at
his master, keeping his eyes calm and blue.  It was like a
splash of cold water on the ancient.  Eventually he released
his son and turned his back on him.

"I thought she was doing so well," Nick said.  "We were
going to celebrate tonight.  Please tell me what happened?"

LaCroix didn't respond for some time.  Nick didn't move from
the wall.  He'd learned over the centuries how to deal with
the ancient one, even if he didn't always apply his
knowledge.  Tracy was all that mattered now, not his pride,
or their centuries old contest of wills.

"She shows no respect," LaCroix said thickly.  "She is
bright, inquisitive, and a quick learner.  But she is a
manipulative, deceitful brat."

"She is head strong," Nick consented.  "She is not like us,
but a woman of this century."

Nick's words had a calming effect on his master.  LaCroix
moved stiffly towards the refrigerator and poured them each
a tall drink.  Handing one to Nick, he sank into the couch.
Nick moved then to join him, suspecting that the worst of
his father's wrath had subsided.

"I cannot train a fledgling that refuses to obey," LaCroix
said.

Nick was beginning to sense what the emergency was.  Not so
much that Tracy was missing, but that LaCroix didn't really
want her back.  This could be very dangerous.  If anything
happened to her, Nick's life in Toronto was over.  He would
miss her, grieve for her.  And it would become the final
straw in the burdens of memories that separated him from his
master.  LaCroix was grieving, almost asking Nick for
guidance, without actually voicing the words.  The
realization almost choked Nick beyond the ability to speak.

"Children today have not been taught to respect authority or
to obey," Nick said, keeping his voice low and soothing.
"It isn't just Tracy.  She has never had to obey anyone in
her life.  Not her father, not even Captain Reese."

"She lead me to believe that her father was-" how to word
it?  Just like him, she had implied.  "Rather dictatorial,"
LaCroix finished.

Nick nodded.  "But he's all hot air.  He tells her what to
do, she complains, caves in to him while he's there, and as
soon as his back is turned, she does what she damn well
pleases.  As far as I know, he never actually forced her to
obey him.  I know she loves him, but I don't think she
respects him at all.

"And when Captain Reese gave her a three-day suspension
following a shoot-out, she ignored him and chose to go
undercover without following police procedure."

LaCroix eyed him critically.  "So you're saying that she is
a brat to everyone and I shouldn't feel singled out?"

This isn't working, Nick thought frantically.  "No, that's
not it," he said.  "But you'll have to change your way of
training her.  I was brought up to obey my father, the
church, the lord Dellebarre, then my commanding officer.
Janette knew to show obedience and respect towards all men
in general, regardless of her true feelings for them; even
her husband was more a master to her than a lover.  But this
is something you will have to teach Tracy."

"Perhaps, I do not know how," LaCroix breathed so softly
Nick wasn't certain he'd heard correctly.

Nick drained his glass.  This was the worst battle he'd ever
fought with LaCroix and one he couldn't afford to lose.  He
struggled with his own anger, trying to maintain control.
"You're not going to let a perky little blonde twit best you
at anything, are you?"

LaCroix's grip on his glass tightened.  The glass shattered,
slicing his palm with the small shards.  Nick flew to
LaCroix then and knelt on the floor before him.  He took the
hand in his and looked up at LaCroix.

"Please, master?  Try again?  Don't give up on her?  I beg
you!"

LaCroix didn't answer.

Nick gently brushed the glass shards from LaCroix's hand,
then licked at the small, bleeding wounds until they
healed.  LaCroix watched his golden son and felt the ice
cold anger melt from his heart.  "I will grant your request,
Nicholas.  She will have another chance."

"I will look for her," Nick volunteered.  "I will bring her
home."
LaCroix nodded vaguely, lost in thoughts.  Nick lifted
through the skylight and soared out over Toronto.


Nick couldn't sense Tracy specifically, as they hadn't yet
bonded, but he could still sense her as a vampire.  He
opened himself to that sense, floating low over the
buildings, searching for vampires.  He felt the odd tingle
and concentrated on it harder.  It was probably Vachon.  The
New-World vampire was very hard to sense, and the tingling
feeling was different somehow from most vampires.  Nick
wouldn't have been able to sense him at all, accept that
he'd been sharing blood with Vachon's fledgling recently.
That connection, of knowing Urs, helped him to identify the
Spaniard.

Vachon wasn't who he was looking for, but if Vachon was
nearby, chances were that Tracy was as well.  Nick zeroed in
on Vachon and soon landed on a vacant field near the lake.
Vachon groaned as he sat up, rubbing his neck.

"Where's Tracy?" Nick asked urgently.

"Hell of a greeting there, Nick.  Hi to you, too."

Nick stared.  Vachon's forehead was cut and bleeding.  His
clothing was in disarray, his hair more wind-blown than
normal, and he was definitely in pain.  Fear for Tracy
welled up again.  "What happened?"

"She didn't tell me, Nick.  Honest.  I would never have
taken her up without LaCroix's consent."

Tracy had run off, and spent time with Vachon.  Now the
Spaniard was hurt and fearing LaCroix's retaliation.  "What
happened to Tracy," he repeated.

"She went ballistic.  When I would have brought her back to
the Raven, she attacked me and ran off.  Hell of a punch she
packs, too."

Vachon staggered and Nick flew to support him.  He stared at
the younger vampire intently, warring with his conscience
which told him to offer Vachon assistance, and the need to
find and rescue Tracy quickly.  "Will you be all right?" he
inquired.

Vachon laughed sarcastically, then winced in pain.  "Yeah,
until LaCroix kills me.  Nice knowing you, Nick."

"You must go to him and tell him everything," Nick said.
Vachon didn't believe him.

"He will respect you for showing courage and he'll listen to
your story.  It is your only hope.  If you run, he will hunt
you forever.  I know this!"

Vachon stared at him with large, fear-filled eyes.  Nick
felt almost sorry for him.  Nick bared his wrist and held it
out to him.  "Take my blood.  LaCroix will listen to you."

Vachon sank his teeth into the proffered wrist, gulping the
thick, sweet taste of LaCroix's favorite.  He pulled back,
the pain receding from his neck already, and smiled.  Nick's
blood in his mouth would cast a presence for a brief time.
LaCroix would sense it.  It was like bringing Nick's
blessing with him.  He would have to fly to the Raven
immediately, and both knew it.  He nodded quickly at Nick
then took to the sky.

Nick searched the field.  He found the two discarded
parachutes, the signs of their recent tryst, then the site
of their struggle.  Nick sensed the faint traces of vampire
already fading.  He saw Tracy's footprints in the dirt and
followed them.

For over an hour Nick pursued her.  At times he'd lose
track, but then a hunch- a sense of vampire- would lead him
back.  Tracy was running wildly, without direction.  She
seemed to be avoiding people, too.  Finally, he saw her.
She was slumped up against a dumpster, sobbing.  Nick ran to
her.

"Tracy!  What are you doing here," he demanded, pulling her
into his arms to comfort her.

"What the hell do you care," she shouted, shoving against
him.

"Sh, sh," he soothed.  "I'm sure that we can work this out.
Sh..."

"I'm not going back," she sobbed.  "You can have him all to
yourself.  Damned arrogant dictator is so blasted archaic!"

"Tracy, you must come with me now."  Nick tightened his arms
around her.

Tracy screamed.  She bit him in the arm, shoving him hard.
He fell back against the dumpster.  Tracy started hurling
things at him, broken glass from the pavement, rocks,
anything she could get her hands on.  Nick slumped to the
ground, shielding himself from her assault.  One large rock
struck him firmly and blood welled from a cut above his
eye.  Tracy took off running away from him.  Nick staggered
to his feet and ran after her.  She rounded a corner and ran
across the busy street.  As Nick stepped into the street to
follow her a car barreled into him, throwing him twenty feet
in the air before he hit the ground again.  Nick groaned,
unable to move.

The driver slammed on his brakes and rushed from the car.
"Oh-my-g*d," he stammered fearfully.  "I didn't see you-
oh-my-g*d, someone call an ambulance!"

Nick groaned.  He would need to feed soon.  Something inside
was broken.  He could feel it already repairing, feel the
instinctual hunger burning behind his eyes.  "No ambulance,"
he ground out between gasps.  "I'll be fine, really.  Not
your fault."

"You're not safe here in the street!  Tell me what to do!"
The man was nearly hysterical.  Nick caught him in a trance
and calmed him.

"Drag me off the street.  Then you may get in your car and
drive away.  You will forget that this happened," he said,
his eyes burning with hunger.

The man complied.  He pulled Nick's body to the sidewalk,
then drove away.  Nick looked off across the street.  All
sign of Tracy was gone.  He'd lost her.  And now he had to
return to LaCroix and admit defeat.  Nick scrambled to his
feet, then leaned against the wall of the building behind
him to catch his breath. He no longer had the strength to
fly.  He'd have to hail a cab.


Vachon was still there when Nick arrived.  LaCroix was
sitting calmly in his chair, sharing a glass of bloodwine
with the young Spaniard companionably.  Nick did a double
take, wondering if he'd entered the wrong apartment by
mistake.

Vachon looked very uncomfortable, but otherwise he was
unmarked.  LaCroix eyed Nick speculatively, as he sipped
from his crystal goblet.  "You look a bit worse for wear,"
he said smoothly.

Nick glanced down at his shirt.  The fabric was torn and
bloodstained.  He felt almost dizzy with hunger.  "I almost
had her," Nick confessed.  "But she's really upset about
something.  She got away.  I'm sorry."

LaCroix merely nodded.  "You could use a drink, Nicholas.
Then you may return to your loft.  I suspect Tracy has
enough sense to seek shelter before sunrise."

"You aren't going to abandon her?" Nick blurted fearfully.

LaCroix held up the book he was reading.  Nick read the
title and stared back at his master in confusion.  LaCroix
was reading "The Strong-Willed Child."

"No, my son.  This was your idea.  You told me I would have
to train her differently, so I am seeking alternatives.
Tracy will return on her own, I am certain."

Nick drained a bottle of LaCroix's finest human vintage,
savoring the release from his pain and hunger as much as the
thick, heady sensation of the mortal offering which he
denied himself so often.

"I had a case of that delivered to your place yesterday,"
LaCroix said, not looking up from his book.  "Urs mentioned
something about not having anything to eat."

"Thank you," Nick muttered.  He didn't feel like getting
into that battle again.  Still, he should have thought about
Urs himself.  She wouldn't want to drink cow, that was
certain.  Hell, he didn't really want to anymore, either.
He glanced again from Vachon to his master and decided to
call it an early night.  Quiet and thoughtful, he returned
to the loft.


Tracy ran down another dark alley.  There were too many
people!  They looked so strange, with their flesh pulsating
in red hues and their faces obscured in shadow.  Her fangs
itched.  The noises of the city were overwhelming her
again.  She couldn't concentrate.  She couldn't remember how
to block them out like LaCroix had taught her.
LaCroix!  She hated him.  She hated Nick.  They deserved
each other!  She wanted to go home, to turn back the clocks
to before all this happened.  If only she could go back to
being ignorant about Nick and his family of vampires!

An arm grabbed her.  Tracy tried to fight it, but she was
running out of strength.  After fighting Vachon and Nick,
and fleeing blindly for nearly two hours, she was
exceedingly hungry.  She knew she mustn't show her fangs,
and yet she was having difficulty concealing them.
The hands tightened around her neck.  Tracy reached for
them, clawing at them futilely.  She tried to scream, but
nothing came out.

"You hurt Nick," a voice whispered in her ear.  "For that,
you will die!  Just like all the others!"

Tracy wouldn't die.  She knew that.  But she was losing
consciousness.  Her neck was severely bruised.  Something
was being crushed.  Lights pressed against her eyes.  She
tugged at the massive hands around her neck weakly.  Then
all was black.  The attacker dropped Tracy's limp form to
the ground and left.


LaCroix read the book swiftly.  It was only partially
helpful, since it was written for the two-parent, religious
home with toddler children, but then, Tracy's temper
tantrums were remarkably child-like.  And he was actually
surprised that anyone in this century would condone
punishing a disrespectful child.  It was certain that
Nicholas had never read it.  Perhaps he'd send it home with
Urs some day.

Eventually Vachon stood and asked to leave.  LaCroix nodded
at him.  Although he'd been furious when Vachon had first
arrived, he realized that Tracy was in this alone.  Vachon
had done nothing to encourage her or incite her; in fact, he
had been the pawn in her defiant deliberations.  He knew
Vachon was not generally dependable.  It must be Nicholas's
influence on him.  His son had so many wonderful, admirable
qualities.  If only he would accept his vampire nature, and
learn to control his defiant tendencies!

LaCroix was almost ready to retire himself when he felt
her.  Tracy was screaming out for him, begging for help!
LaCroix flew through the skylight, heedless of dawn's
approach.

Tracy's sobbing was constant.  She was terrified and in
great pain.  The sky was lightening already.  His vampiric
sight was useless in the murky glow of predawn.  He closed
his eyes and followed her through their tenuous link alone.

He found her in an alley.  She was dirty, shivering, and her
neck was severely bruised.  She couldn't speak.  As he came
to her, though, she reached out for him, clutching him to
her.  Tears stained her frightened face.

LaCroix looked angrily in both directions but could not see
the attacker.  He would have to find the culprit later.  He
scooped Tracy into his arms and flew swiftly to the Raven.
Her thin arms wrapped around his neck firmly, almost in a
chokehold, and through the link he sensed a turmoil of
emotions from her, but not one of them was the anger she'd
shown last night.  He was certain he would never understand
women.

Back in the security of his apartment, she still did not
release her grip on him.  Although he despised these
emotional outbursts, he was perplexed at her actions.  He
carried her in to her room and tried to lay her on the bed.
She needed to be fed, but part of her punishment- only a
part- would be to deny her his healing blood for a time.
She should suffer the consequences of her actions, to a
degree.
"You came for me," she sobbed, sounding surprised.

LaCroix remained impassive.  "I always protect my family,"
he repeated.

"But I thought it was only Nick you loved.  That you didn't
feel anything for me!  I didn't think you'd come!"

LaCroix brushed at her tears with a thumb.  Judging by the
bruises, her neck had been crushed by massive hands.  If
she'd been mortal, she would have been dead.  Even as a
vampire infant, she'd come fairly close to dying anyway.  He
felt a rage building within him, but now was not the time.

"I see that I will have to add trust to the list of things
you must learn, beginning with obedience."

Tracy clung to his hand, bringing it to her lips and kissed
it.  "Yes, master," she whispered.

LaCroix stood abruptly.  "You must rest.  I will deal with
you later."  Then he retreated and closed the door behind
him.

End, 8a


Dance of the Undead, 08b/09
By Lorelei Sieja



Urs helped Nick out of his ruined clothing while the tub
filled.  It was becoming a daily ritual, she thought.  Nick
did seem to run in to more than his share of trouble.  She
felt a twinge of empathy for his master.  "You look like you
were run over by a train," she mused.

"No, it was just a car," he answered tiredly.

 He stepped into the hot, bubbly water.  Urs stepped in
behind him.  She took a soft sponge and began to smooth away
the dirt and dried blood from his broad back with gentle,
sensual motions, trailing soft kisses in the wake.  Nick
leaned forward, shuddering slightly, to give her better
access to the more tender spots.  His eyes were heavy.  He
was weary, yet he knew his thoughts were in turmoil and
sleep would be a long time coming.

Urs shifted to wrap her legs around him, and guided his head
back to rest upon her breast.  Careful not to drip soap in
his eyes, she soothed the dirt away from his face, massaging
the new, smooth skin that covered recent injuries.

"What is it, my love?" she whispered in his ear.

"Tracy."  He sighed.  Urs waited quietly, continuing the
mesmerizing motions that would relax her knight.  "He'll
hurt her."

"Of course," she answered.  "We only hurt the ones we love."

"I mean tonight.  He'll punish her for running away."

"You cannot interfere, Nick.  You know that.  The master has
absolute control over the training of his children."

Nick nodded mutely.  He knew that only too well.

"But I believe that they will be fine.  You'll see."

"How can they?  Tracy's never been treated harshly before."

Urs kissed his forehead, then returned to the gentle
massage.  "Tracy needs to feel loved.  Her mortal parents
never made her mind.  She mistook their permissiveness for a
lack of concern."

Nick listened, but he didn't want to believe.  "It takes
more to be a parent that to beat your kids when they're
bad.  I met some abused kids yesterday.  Poor, miserable
kids."

"There is a difference between discipline and abuse, Nick,"
Urs chided.

He was silent, unconvinced.

"One is done in love."

Logan's sister's boyfriend hadn't loved him.  He'd beaten
the boy in anger.  Pony's father didn't love her.  He hadn't
hit her, but he had neglected her.  Rock and Digger's moms
cared very much, although they were strict, enforcing the
set rules.  But what about LaCroix?  Nick's nearly perfect
memory could recall in painful detail the many times his
master had hurt him.  Sometimes Nick had done nothing to
warrant the abuse- merely chased yet another elixir that
might heal him from the metaphysical curse that damned him.
LaCroix hadn't hit him in love then, but in anger.

"You're wrong, Nick," Urs whispered, sensing his thoughts.
She wondered about that for a moment.  Was he purposefully
projecting them for her?  Was she learning to recognize his
many moods?  Or had they begun to bond through their
frequent blood sharing?  She would ponder it later.  For
now, he needed her.  She felt his longing, but wasn't sure
whom it was for.

"LaCroix was harsh and angry, but it was only because he
loved you too much.  He is terrified of losing you."

Nick thought about her words.  The warm water had soothed
the last of the aches away and her gentle, constant
massaging had him almost asleep.  He wanted to believe her.
Still, thoughts of Tracy enduring the same sort of
punishments worried him.  If only he could have convinced
her to chose another path.

"LaCroix will want me to bond with her tomorrow," he
whispered.  It still felt strange.  He'd had no restraints
before, when he'd bonded with Janette.  She was his sister
then, but also his lover, his seductress, and the queen of
his heart.  He'd fallen for her while still a mortal, and it
had taken him centuries to learn to let go a little, to
realize that vampire relationships were never monogamous.
But Tracy had seemed so much like a kid sister.  Bonding
with her frightened him.  How much would it change his
"mortal" life here as her partner?

"And so you will," Urs answered.  She stepped from the tub
and pulled the plug to drain the water out.  Holding out a
towel for Nick, she grabbed another for herself.  "I think
that I will spend tomorrow night with Vachon.  You may call
me when this bonding is complete.  All right, my love?"

Nick gave her a wet hug.  "Anything you say."  He carried
her to bed then.  The time for talk had ended.


As soon as darkness covered Toronto with it's blanket of
protection, LaCroix entered Nick's loft.  Nick and Urs sat
up abruptly, instantly awake.  They turned twin looks of
innocence at him.  LaCroix almost smiled at them.  They made
an interesting couple.

"Tracy was attacked last night," LaCroix said, the golden
flecks in his eyes betraying his deeper emotions.  "I was
able to rescue her, but the perpetrator still roams.  I
expect you to find her and kill her."

Nick blinked.  How could LaCroix give him a command that he
knew would be disobeyed?  "Who?" he asked, stalling while he
tried to wake up fully.  "Why?"

LaCroix hauled his naked son from his bed in one fluid
movement and glared into his eyes.  "Your little mortal
killer, Nicholas.  She strangled Tracy and left her for dead
because she saw her strike you.  I cannot hunt her down
myself, as I must remain with Tracy.  You will do this."

"I will find her," Nick said slowly.

"And kill her!"

Nick swallowed.  It was a hell of a way to wake up in the
evening.  But there was no way to answer that question.  If
he agreed, LaCroix would suspect he was lying.  To answer
truthfully would be just as disastrous.  He remembered what
Urs had tried to tell him last night.  She felt that LaCroix
truly loved him.  Well, now was time to show her how wrong
she was.

"I will see her brought to mortal justice, master," he said
firmly, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

LaCroix held him longer, glaring at him.  Then the ancient
released him with an angry hiss.  "Your mortal justice
system fails more that it succeeds, but we shall see what
happens then."

Nick felt such a wave of relief that he was confused.  He
wasn't certain if LaCroix was angry with him or not.
Tentatively he opened the link between them and reached out
to sense LaCroix.  What he felt was liquid rage, directed
against the faceless enemy that had dared to harm one of
LaCroix's own.  It was the protective instinct that Nick had
felt only too often.  He felt strangely warmed by it now.
LaCroix was including Tracy under his protection.  She was
no longer on the endangered species list.

LaCroix flew out of the skylight then in a rush of air.  Urs
jumped from her bed to hug Nick.

"You were so brave, my knight.  And he did not harm you.  He
does care!"

Nick shrugged, unwilling to forgive centuries of painful
memories for one morning's reprieve.  Then he recalled what
LaCroix had said about the killer.  He called the assailant
"she".  A woman had tried to strangle Tracy, after seeing
her hit him.  Was she also Bennett's killer?  And McLean's?
Bennett had not actually hurt Nick, although he had
threatened him.  And McLean had swung a golf club at him.
The killer wouldn't know that Nick was never in any real
danger, unless the killer also knew he was a vampire.  But a
woman?  It would have to be one really big woman.

"I have to get in to work," he said suddenly.

Urs nodded.  She laid out clothes for him while he took a
quick shower, and poured him some breakfast.  He drained the
glass, and gave her a quick hug good-bye.  "I'll call you,"
he promised.  She smiled.  Only if he remembered, she
thought to herself.

The precinct was deadly quiet when he returned.  Reese was
back, but other than that, Nick could not see what was
wrong.  He scanned the bullpen.  Some of the officers had
been weeping.  Others wore cold, blank stares.  Reese came
to Nick then and put a hand on his shoulder.
"How is everything at home, Nick?" he asked quietly.

Nick shook his head to clear away the confusion.  Last night
he had left for a "family emergency", he recalled.  He
thought fast, trying to find an acceptable explanation.  "My
sister was missing," he said.  "Someone attacked her.  She's
going to be okay.  Her assailant told her that she would die
because she had hit me."

"Johnson is dead," Reese stated.

"Oh no," Nick breathed.  He sank into a chair.  "Johnson
threatened me yesterday, too."

"Then you are the unifying link in these murders," Reese
said.

"So now we know how to flush out the killer," Nick stated,
getting to his feet again.  He started pacing restlessly, a
plan formulating in his mind.

"I don't follow," Reese said.  His voice still sounded raw
from his cold, but otherwise he looked much improved.

"We set up a mock fight.  Bunati, probably.  He's already in
danger, if she took out Johnson.  Then, we have Bunati
tailed until they catch her in the act."

"She?" Reese asked, not liking Nick's plan at all, but not
able to find the flaw.  "This murderer is a woman?"

Nick nodded.  "A big woman, I'd say."

"Not Bunati, though," Reese said.  "The guy just lost his
partner."

"And he probably wants to find the creep that did it," Nick
retorted.  "I would, if I were him.  Besides, he's already
in danger."

"Well, I'll ask," Reese responded.  He stepped in to his
office then.
Schultz approached Nick hesitantly.  He wasn't in the mood
for small talk, but he calmed himself as he saw the young
officer wipe her eyes and take a breath.  "Watch yourself,
Nick," she whispered.  "Bunati hates you, you know."

He gave her half a smile.  "It won't be a real fight,
Schultz.  We'll just fake it."

She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her desk.  Reese
came out then and talked with Nick some more about their
plan.  They talked about locations to stage the fight, and
where Bunati should go afterwards.

The fight needed to be somewhere that the killer would be
sure to notice, and yet away from populated areas.  Nick
suggested then that Bunati return home.  Johnson had been
killed in his house, and so had McLean.  Bennett had been
killed in lockup, but then, he'd been denied bail.  Tracy
had been assaulted in an alley, though.  Nick suggested that
Bunati take several alleys to get home, and that they not
lose his trail for a second.  Nick glanced out a window and
spotted Bunati's car approaching.  It was time to put the
plan in motion.

Nick went to the parking lot just as Bunati got out of his
car.  They argued loudly.  Bunati blamed Nick for his
partner's death.  Nick hoped Bunati remembered that this was
an act, as the porcine officer was almost too believable in
his vituperative slurs.  They shoved each other, then
parted.

It was planned that the argument should happen over several
locations, to ensure that the killer actually saw them.
Nick went to a corner gas station, where Bunati riled him
some more.  Then Bunati tailed him as he drove to the final
spot, an empty lot whose building had been bulldozed and
most of the rubble cleared away.  They slammed their car
doors and neared each other.

Nick didn't have to pretend to be angry.  Bunati and Johnson
had been a thorn in his saddle for nearly three years.  The
only reason that they hadn't come to blows before was the
fact that they worked opposite shifts and had very little
contact.  Nick had stepped on their professional toes a few
times too many, solving cases that had been theirs to start
with.  Nick didn't care about their mortal egos.  It was
only important to catch the killers and protect the
innocent.

Bunati was livid with rage.  He blamed Nick totally for his
partner's death.  He swung at Nick, and he didn't pull his
punch.  Nick doubled over gasping for air.  Bunati hadn't
hit him with just a fist.  He had something on under the
glove.  Before Nick could react, Bunati struck him again and
again.  His right hand had a sheath of protective metal -
"brass knuckles"- and his gloveless left hand sported a
large ring whose sharp setting flayed open Nick's cheek.

 The officers watching the fight from a secluded distance
could not tell if it was real, or if they were just
excellent actors.  Either way, the well-trained officers
would not blow the operation now unless Nick called them for
help.

Nick fought down the vampire.  He couldn't strike Bunati in
a rage now.  He couldn't risk killing the bait.  It was the
best chance to capture Tracy's assailant and bring her to
justice.  Still, as Bunati pummeled into him and he gasped
for air, Nick struggled to pull his own punches.  He
concentrated on his anger more than the pain.  He could not
have LaCroix coming to rescue him and blow the whole set
up!  Nick hurt all over.  His face was bleeding profusely.
His ribs were bruised.  He tossed Bunati, but the other used
his greater bulk to knock Nick to the ground and pin him.
The weakened vampire didn't move.  It hurt his ego to let
this fat, self-important oaf best him in a fight, but as
soon as Bunati felt he'd won, then he would leave and they
could catch their killer.  Nick forced himself not to fight
back.

"I always knew you were a coward," Bunati challenged.  "And
one of these days I will kill you.  Not here.  Not with the
precinct watching, golden boy.  But very soon."  He slammed
his fist in to Nick's face then.

Nick felt his grip slipping from him.  "Go to hell, Bunati,"
he whispered.  Anther blow followed, and Nick was rendered
unconscious.

Bunati got up and brushed the dirt from his clothes.  He
shrugged, then left to follow the route towards his home.
Not a bad night of work, he thought wryly.  Go in to the
precinct, beat up a punk, and return home.  And get paid for
it.  He belched.  It had been too much exercise after a
heavy meal.  Damn Knight.  Now he'd have to chomp on a few
antacids.
Strong hands grasped him from behind and started to choke
him.  He couldn't even cry out for help.  He clawed at the
vise-like grip and prayed the undercover cops would arrive
in time.


end, 08b


Dance of the Undead, 09/09
By Lorelei Sieja




"Nick!  Nick!  Wake up!  I've called for an ambulance!"

Nick struggled.  Everything hurt.  He tried to open his
eyes, but one was quite painfully swollen shut.  "No
ambulance," he whispered.

"It's on the way, Nick," the officer reassured him.  "You
just rest.  Damn him!  This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Call Natalie," Nick urged.  She could help him.  He didn't
want to go to the hospital.  It was always too messy, and
potentially dangerous.  Too many minds to wipe and any one
of them could be a resistor.  And besides the minds, all
their documentation had to be cleaned up as well.

"I'm here, Nick," Natalie answered.  Several cops moved away
to give her room.  She knelt in the dirt beside him and
cringed at the sight.  "You're a mess, Nick.  What happened
this time?"

"Bunati laid into him," one of the officers volunteered.
"It was supposed to be a set up, to trap the killer.  Only,
Bunati got carried away with the part."

"And you didn't fight back," Nat asked, surprised.

"Couldn't risk killing him," Nick whispered.

Nat took some gauze bandaging from her bag and touched it to
the lacerated cheek.  "Looks like you need a few stitches,"
she said aloud, for the mortals' benefit.  "Just rest.  I
hear the ambulance now."

"No ambulance," Nick stated again firmly.

"Yes, ambulance," she replied, just as firmly.  "Nick,
you've got to stop using yourself for a punching bag.  Maybe
LaCroix has the right approach, to let you suffer the
consequences of your actions once in a while.  Besides, a
medical report will be necessary to file charges against
Bunati."

"Not necessary," he whispered.  He could take care of Bunati
himself.  As soon as he cooled down enough that he didn't
kill him.

The emergency rescue vehicle pulled up then.  One reached to
take Nick's blood pressure.  Nat quickly told him that she
had already done so, and gave him some numbers that sounded
more believable than the truth would have.  They checked the
dilation of his eyes, and each limb to see if he had any
broken bones.  Then they transferred him to the stretcher.
Nick complained loudly, insisting that he didn't need to go
to the hospital.  Natalie overrode him, claiming she was
family, and promised to meet him at the hospital.  She
laughed at the dangerous look Nick gave her.

In the emergency room, Nat convinced the doctor to tape
Nick's cheek instead of stitching it.  They x-rayed his
chest then, but none of his ribs were broken.  He was
bruised and cut severely, and one doctor seemed concerned
that he might have a concussion.  Nat convinced them to let
Nick go home and she would make sure that he was not left
unattended.  Reese appeared at the hospital before Nick
could be released.

"Oh, my g*d, Nick," Reese said without his usual tact.

Nick winced.  He glared at Nat for making him go through
this.  "What about the killer?" he asked.

"Oh, we got her right in the act.  Lesley Baker, 41 year old
female, 6'1", 270 pounds.  We searched her apartment.  Nick,
she's been trailing you for some time.  She had maybe a
hundred photos of you taped up on her walls.  Hard to tell,
but I'd guess she's been doing this for about four months.
We may have two more unsolveds that we can pin on her.  I
don't know why we didn't find the connection sooner, but
although she was taking out people she saw as a threat to
you, you work nights and she kills days."

Nick shuddered.  He couldn't stand the thought that these
people had died because of him.
"A moment more and we'd have lost Bunati," Reese continued.
"As it is, I'm sure he'll be well enough to face charges."

"Captain, no.  He was overwrought, because he just lost his
partner," Nick hedged.  He didn't like Bunati, and could
care less what happened to him, but Nick knew he'd never
been in any real danger.  He just wanted all of this to be
over.

"Doesn't matter," Reese stated.  "I'm sure the judge will
take his emotional status under consideration, but he does
not deserve to carry a badge."

"Well, I will be all right," Nick stated firmly.  He
struggled to sit up.  His head hurt terribly.  He clamped
his mouth shut as he forced his fangs to withdraw.

"I'm sure you will," Reese admitted.  "Regardless, you've
got three days leave.  Go home and rest."

Three days!  Between his "grandma's" funeral, the week of
leave he'd taken after nearly ripping Bennett's heart out in
front of witnesses, one night in jail, and the family
emergency, he'd spent precious little time actually working
in what seemed like months!  "This is all your fault," he
blamed Nat.

She smiled at him innocently.  "I think that you and your
"sister" can use these three days, Nick.  Hopefully, things
will get back to normal around here then."

Nick hadn't thought about that.  Tracy had to return to work
soon.  And he would have to help get her ready to work among
mortals.

A nurse rolled in a wheelchair and insisted Nick take it.
He tried to hurl a few oaths at her, but as he struggled
just to stand he was hit with a wave a nausea and he nearly
collapsed into the chair.  Damn that Natalie!  A bottle of
blood out in the field would have healed him and made all of
this so unnecessary.  But then, Bunati would have got off
free.  And if he had assaulted Nick, perhaps he had hurt
others in the past.  Nick bit back any further retorts, as
he let Natalie help him in to her car.

"Thanks, Captain," she called to Reese, before pulling away
from the curb.

Nick closed his eyes, wincing at each bump in the road.
Natalie pulled several packets of plasma from her bag and
set them in Nick's lap.  Nick took one and cast a
disparaging glance at her before he bit into it and drank.

"You really tick me off," Nat said then, exploding at him.

"The feeling is mutual," he muttered.

"Just because you're indestructible is no reason to keep
putting yourself in danger!  That was the stupidest setup
I've ever heard of!"

"We got a killer off the streets," he reminded her.

"The end does not justify the means.  Nick, grow up!  Take
care of yourself!  If you truly still want to be mortal,
then stop taking advantage of being a vampire!  Bunati
nearly killed you tonight.  I will not help you to regain
your mortality, unless you can convince me that you would
survive the outcome!"

Nick drank his blood in silence.  In a warped, feminine sort
of way, she made a little sense.  He drank more, feeling the
cuts begin to heal and knew the bruises were fading as
well.

"Natalie," he whispered.

"What!"  She was still angry.

"I'm sorry."

She took her eyes off the road and glanced at him.  His
innocent-looking blue eyes were begging for her
forgiveness.  She felt so protective of him then.  LaCroix's
visit came to mind.  Nick had somehow replaced her little
brother.  She smiled wistfully.  "You're forgiven, again,"
she said.

Natalie parked in front of his loft and turned off the
engine.  "And I'm sorry I got angry.  I just care about you
so much, and I get tired of watching you suffer."

Nick grasped her hand and squeezed it.  Then he got out and
waved as she drove away.
His loft was empty.  Urs had tidied it before leaving.  He
guessed she had returned to Vachon's church for now.  He had
three days leave.  That should be more than enough time to
bond with Tracy and get her ready to return to work.  He
showered quickly, drinking some of the special, mortal
vintage Urs kept in his refrigerator.  Bovine blood just did
not sound good after the beating he'd had tonight.  He
shaved the dark stubble from his jaw, and then dressed
carefully.

Thoughts of bonding with Janette came to mind.  She had come
to him his first night as a vampire.  He had still lain in
bed, in a simple linen tunic.  She had been attired in the
most exquisite of gowns... but none of that had mattered.
She had bewitched him while he was still mortal, and he
burned for her.

It was so different with Tracy.  She was not attracted to
him.  Nick could hypnotize her, to make her more amenable to
this ordeal, but he wouldn't do so unless she asked him to.
He pulled on a light blue silk shirt and left the top
buttons undone.

But Tracy was attracted to Vachon, he realized suddenly.
Nick chose to wear the snug, black leather trousers that
laced up the front, and his black leather jacket that he'd
got back from Logan.  Still feeling strangely nervous, Nick
flew to the Raven.

The crowds seemed to part for him as he entered.  He heard a
few mortals whistle at him.  He worked his way towards the
stage where Vachon was tuning up getting ready to start
another number.

Vachon eyed him coolly.  "Take good care of her, Knight," he
warned.

"The same to you," he said, thinking of Urs.  They gave each
other a smile then.  Vachon adjusted the shoulder strap and
began to play.  Nick shrugged.  Was he the only one to feel
awkward about this whole thing?  Perhaps he was spending too
much time among mortals.  He took the stairs two at a time
and hesitated outside the door.  Should he knock or just
enter?

A pleasant thought slipped into his mind while he considered
it.  "You are always welcome, my son."  Nick turned the knob
and stepped inside.

The furniture had been removed or rearranged to open up the
floor space.  Large throw pillows and soft furs were spread
before the fireplace.  LaCroix's favorite chair remained,
and he sat in it, holding his rebec fondly in his lap.  Nick
took it all in before turning a questioning look at his
master.

"You still owe Tracy a dance," he replied.

Nick grinned.  That night seemed so long ago, he realized.
So much had happened since then.  But, most of it had been
good.  He considered his growing relationship with Urs, and
felt suddenly too warm.  He and Nat seemed on better ground
now than they had ever since
Schenke's death.  She was still bossy, but in a friendly,
sister-ish sort of way.  He wasn't sure how to handle
Reese's growing knowledge of his complex family situation,
but somehow he suspected that it would all work out.  The
most important thing, he realized with a start, was that he
and LaCroix were no longer tearing each other's throats
out.  He smiled at his master, allowing his sense of peace
to filter through the link they shared.

The ancient allowed a slight smile to lift the corners of
his lips as well.  Then he positioned the rebec and began to
play.

Nick turned as he heard the door to Tracy's room swing open.

Tracy looked so very different from his annoyingly "perky"
junior partner.  She was pale, but her vampire complexion
glowed with a brightness all its own.  She wore a rose silk
dress that wrapped in front and tied at the waist.  It was
loose at the neck and exposed plenty of cleavage.  Her long,
shapely legs were bare of nylons or shoes.  She took a step
into the room and pirouetted around.  Her skirt flared out,
baring too much of those long legs, before it settled down
smoothly over her hips again.

"Do you like it?" she asked, sounding for a minute like his
old partner again with the softly spoken, slightly insecure
words.

Nick took a step closer, feeling a bit insecure himself.
"It's lovely," he said, his voice suddenly husky.  "It's
you."

She grinned broadly and took large, rhythmic steps until she
swirled in front of him.  "May I have this dance, monsieur?"

Nick bowed formally and accepted her small hand, bringing it
to his lips for a kiss.  "Oui, mademoiselle."

She put one hand tentatively on his back, feeling the
muscles through the thin fabric as though he'd worn nothing
at all.  The other hand was held in his and she glanced at
him awkwardly.

Nick hungered at the amber lights in her eyes.  Tracy was
attracted to him!  He was so stunned that he nearly
tripped.  She giggled nervously, pulling him in closer.

He regained his composure by concentrating on the dance.  He
didn't think about her small hand slipping inside the
waistband of his trousers, or the soft fragrance of her
hair.  She smelled wonderfully of lilies and apricots, just
like Vachon had always claimed.  Now she carried another
scent as well.  Nick leaned in closer and inhaled.  It was
ever so faint... sandalwood?  The scent of their master.

Tracy leaned her cheek against the bare skin of his chest,
as Nick just noticed that somehow she had slipped a few more
buttons loose.  She inhaled as well and tightened her
embrace around him.  "Hmm.  You smell of honey and wine,"
she commented.

LaCroix had always said as much.  Nick picked up the pace of
the dance, swirling her around and around.  He knew his own
eyes were golden now, but it did not matter.  This was what
he had come here to do.  LaCroix would demand it of him.
Did it matter if he chose to enjoy it?  This was not about
being unfaithful to Janette, or to Urs, or even to Natalie.
This was about being faithful to his own culture.

He and Tracy would exchange blood repeatedly in a short
period of time, drinking nothing but each other, until he
could sense her thoughts and feelings, and she could sense
him.  It was the dance of the vampire, the Dance of the
Undead.

He brushed a kiss across the top of her fair blonde hair,
smooth like silken threads. Tracy tilted her head, her lips
parted, her fangs extended.  Nick stared at them now.  They
were new to her, the sign of her new existence.  They were
so erotic.  He felt his blood quicken and his teeth itched.

Tracy nipped the smooth planes of his chest lightly.  Nick
felt a growl escape.  He fought to hold back.  It seemed
important to him that she make the first moves.  This must
be her decision, not just LaCroix's.  His body trembled,
demanding completion.  He hugged her tightly.

Tracy put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
Then she bit into the soft skin over his jugular, piercing
the vein and sucking from him firmly.  Nick groaned, biting
her back and completing the circle.  His blood flowed into
her; hers flowed back to him.  In the passion of the moment,
he did not see clearly the images contained in her blood,
only her sense of wonder and excitement.  Tracy was happy
with what she had become.  And she felt like part of the
family.  Her bite on him tightened, almost painfully,
creating delicious spasms of pleasure as she sucked.  Nick's
passion exploded then.  He shared her feelings of unity, of
pleasure, of family.  He hadn't even realized how
desperately he needed to feel the family bonds until he
experienced them through her.

He clung to her still, as his senses returned, and gently
licked at the twin wounds in her throat.  They danced again
and again.  The rebec sang on, a bittersweet tune of ages
past, of love and tragedy, of hope and denial, while the
dancers repeated the blood kiss that bound them together.
Slowly, Nick felt Tracy's presence in his mind.  She was
enjoying him.  She was enjoying herself.  He also sensed his
master's pleasure at watching his beautiful children perform
before him.  Then he felt that mischievous glint of the old
Tracy as they both were struck with a thought.  He tried to
conceal it from his master while they danced ever closer to
the ancient's chair.  Then at once they were before him.
Tracy took the rebec and gently laid it aside, while Nick
took the bow as well.  LaCroix glanced at them in surprise.
They each took him by a hand and pulled him into their
dance.

There was no music now, only the song of their spirits.
Together, LaCroix's children wrapped him into their dance
and shared the blood kiss with him.

LaCroix sighed contentedly, before drinking their rich,
eternally youthful elixir.  He was grateful now that Tracy
was family.  Life could never be better than this.


The End.


From the author:
Thank you for reading this series!  I hope that you have
enjoyed it.  If you are missing parts, all three stories are
archived on my website at:
www.angelfire.com/wi/CourageKnight.  I have had two requests
to continue this series.  Whether or not there ever is a #4
is dependent on reader response.  Thanks again!