The Charade AKA LaCroix and the Raven
a Forever Knight story
by Elisabeth Hurst
©1995
The Raven was silent. A lightless silence that hung heavily on the air. The doors were sealed so tightly that not even the tiniest sunbeam could enter to relieve the pall of gloom that hung over everything. Tables and chairs were scattered everywhere. Left where they had been thrown in the brawl that erupted just before closing. Urs and her crew had thrown the fighters out of the Raven. Then they had closed the doors and headed into the cellar for the day, leaving behind a litter of furniture, glasses, cigarettes and one sleeping mortal.
Oblivious to the heart that beat in the room below, the new owner of the Raven relaxed in the apartment upstairs and contemplated the crystal goblet of his favourite vintage cradled in his hands. It had been a good night and LaCroix was savouring the success of his latest scheme. Any remaining doubts had vanished when Nicholas arrived at the Raven tonight. Twice the errant child had sought out his master, looking for advice, accepting the help that he spurned before. LaCroix drank deeply and refilled the goblet from one of the bottles that stood in a Grecian urn next to his chair. His cold smile barely reached his eyes. Yes. All in all it was a very good plan.
So many years of taunting Nicholas, following him from place to place through the centuries. From the moment Nicholas declared his absurd intention to become mortal once again -- to reject the gift that had been bestowed upon him -- LaCroix had felt compelled to regain control, to re-assert his ownership of this rebellious protégé. Now, finally, it seemed that success was at hand. And he had Janette to thank for it. LaCroix delicately wiped away the blood tear from his eyelashes. Dear sweet Janette. He would miss her over the next few years, but so long as Nicholas remained in Toronto, he must also stay. Once Nicholas was back in the fold, he would find a way to make up for the years of neglect, to show Janette how deeply he appreciated her loyalty. Perhaps soon.
The first step in his plan was to buy the Raven. When Janette heard how he intended to use it, she sold it to LaCroix for a song--literally--and his promise that he would not let Nicholas know where she was. And so, for a night and a day, LaCroix had stayed with Janette, playing his violin and singing the ancient lullabies and madrigals of Janette's mortal youth. They had shared so much. He could still feel her bittersweet love echoing through his veins with her blood. Soon, he had promised his beloved daughter, soon Nicholas would return to them, leaving the shackles of mortal life behind once again.
The redecoration of the Raven had begun the next day. Every lingering trace of Janette's presence had to be erased from the club. Alma's suggestions had been extremely helpful. Hire Urs and her crew to provide entertainment and give the club and aura of grunge, instead of the gothic elegance that Janette brought to all her bars. Change the music. Introduce the dregs of humanity. And, most importantly, add more light. Too bad Alma had left with Janette and Miklos. He could grow to like that girl. Although, after the first night, he had to turn down the lights. It was impossible to entice a lonely mortal to join him in a dark corner when everything was so brightly lit.
The hardest part had been changing his own persona. A couple of nights watching television had helped. He could not understand how mortals could sit for hours watching that drivel? Perhaps in another two thousand years? Perhaps not. LaCroix shrugged and drained his glass, dabbing his lips with a black lace handkerchief. He must not drip blood on his new clothes. That would spoil his carefully constructed avuncular image. A good thing Janette had built so many closets into the apartment. If he had to wear those boring nightclub owner clothes for too long, someone would definitely suffer.
Wiping a finger around the inside of the goblet, LaCroix licked the red drops that clung to his flesh. Being a father was so difficult. So many sacrifices had to be made for his children. But Nicholas could not be allowed to escape.
In the depths of the Raven, Daniel awoke to utter blackness. Disoriented, he sat up and promptly cracked his head against the edge of a table. *Shit* Where the hell was he? Cautiously, he began to move around. Sliding his feet across the floor and feeling his way with his hands. There had to be an exit somewhere. All he had to do was find it. Daniel avoided several obstacles--chairs and tables he thought--and began to feel more confident. This wasn't so hard after all. Until he reached the chains. Tangled, wrapped in the metal links, he crashed to the ground, tearing some of the chains from the ceiling, knocking over a table and breaking the glasses and ashtrays that covered its surface. Daniel lay stunned, bleeding slowly from several shallow glass cuts.
LaCroix was on his feet and at the top of the stairs in less than a heartbeat. Who had dared to invade his sanctum? Nostrils flared with bloodscent. Hunger awakened, drawing fangs from their sockets and turning eyes to gold. A mortal? For him? How thoughtful. LaCroix descended into the club, stopping at the bar to light a candelabra. It was much more stimulating when the prey could see death approach.
At first, the light brought tears to Daniel's eyes, blinding him. The relief at seeing someone else was overwhelming though. "Thank god. I thought there was no-one else here. That I would be stuck here for hours, waiting for the bar to open."
"You're welcome." LaCroix stood over Daniel and surveyed the mortal's predicament. "You are in a mess, aren't you?"
"Please? Help me. I'm stuck." Daniel struggled to free himself from the chains, only succeeding in slashing himself on a jagged piece of glass.
"Sssh. Of course you are." LaCroix placed the candlestick on the floor behind Daniel's head. Gently, he brushed the hair away from the mortal's face, wiping away the tears.
Daniel blinked rapidly and stared into the face of the being that crouched above him. Golden, glowing eyes and sharply pointed fangs filled his vision. Fear sped up his heart and pumped the blood even faster through his veins. "Who...what are you?"
"I'm your saviour." With extreme tenderness, LaCroix helped Daniel to sit up. "I'm here to set you free."
Reaching around, as if to unwrap the chains, LaCroix brought his fangs to Daniel's neck and bit savagely into the vein. Ecstasy. Daniel moaned softly and pressed upwards into the vampire's embrace. Red heat flooded into LaCroix. Bringing life. Images of men and women twined through the blood. Mortal and immortal joined in the same rhythm. Rapture. On and on. Until Daniel ceased to care about anything else. Until the flow of blood slowed, the human heart strained and stopped. The vampire was replete.
LaCroix blew out the candles and dropped the body in a crumpled heap. Let Urs and the others clean the mess up later. After all, that's what he paid them for. It was time for a well-earned rest before once again assuming the persona of Nicholas' friend. Such a burden. LaCroix was not sure how long he could keep up the charade. People were already beginning to talk. Some cousins had actually dared to impugn his character, saying that he had become a mere shadow of his former self. An unholy smile exposed his fangs, lit up his eyes. Perhaps he should invited them to join him at the Raven for an evening of pleasure -- his pleasure.
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Fin