Spoiler Warning:  This is my solution to 'Ashes' and 'Last Knight.'
Anyone still tightly gripping the security blanket of denial
may wish to tuck this story away until such time as he or she feels
capable of dealing with what comes before.

Disclaimers:  You know the drill.  Let's keep this moving.

Many thanks to Apache and Kathryn for revealing the title and author
of the lovely poem I quoted at the end of 'Pandora's Box,' and which I
have printed in its entirety below, because it says everything.

***
Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard
ground.
So it is and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into
the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.  Be one with the dull,
the indiscriminate dust.  A fragment of what you felt, of what you
knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, -- but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone.  They have gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled is the blossom.  Fragrant is the blossom.  I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the
world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave.  Gently they go, the
beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.  I know.  But I
do not approve.  And I am not resigned.

***

The Rekindling
By Erika Wilson
September, 1997


The screams were gone.  That's all that mattered.  The pale faces of the
children with their gaping mouths no longer held him trapped within
the prison of their torment.  He was free to float dreamless and
nameless within the cool, sweet nothingness that enfolded him like the
deep black water of a bottomless ocean.

A soft feather of awareness brushed against him and he flinched with
the pain of that slight contact.  He did not wish to feel anything.  He
was afraid to leave his soft cocoon of nonexistence to experience the
agony that must accompany awakening.

"You are a warrior," the slight thread of a thought slithered past.
"Pain is no stranger to you.  What is there to fear?"

"Never pain like this," he replied brokenly.  "Never was there pain
like this.  See, I will show."

"Ahhh yes, I see.  But the source of the pain has fled.  All that
remains is memory.  Weak and powerless as tattered cobwebs.  Come, reach
out.  You will endure."

"No; I am afraid."

"Here: take my hand, hold tight.  Whatever the pain, we will conquer
it, together."

Screaming silently with the effort and the agony, he reached out and
grabbed hold.  The power of the bond they shared poured into him and
battered past the excruciating pain that presaged his rebirth.  The
memories and knowledge of his life flooded back, culminating with the
final vision of wide gray eyes staring at him in horrified denial.

"Tracy!" He shouted, struggling to rise, but he sank back, curling
around the vast aching knot of hunger that tore at his insides like a
frantic beast.

"Here," said the voice from his dream as a bared forearm was held out
to him.  "We shared our lives; now we shall share our blood.  Brother."
The Inca smiled as Vachon sank his fangs into the proffered flesh and
fed ravenously.

His hunger temporarily assuaged, Vachon fell back limp and senseless.
The Inca regarded him intently.

"Much the same did I feel, pulling myself from the ground after you
had thrust a branch through my heart, child of my Master." He picked
up the unconscious Vachon effortlessly.  "And after the bomb I flung
into the bosom of Mother Moon had reached out its claws of fire and
rent the flesh from my bones.  You are fortunate to have someone to
assist with your resurrection."  And he launched them both into the
sky.

Vachon awoke to a familiar darkness and wondered if it had all been
some horrific nightmare.  There was a flare of light, and he saw the
face of his nemesis framed in the glow.  His brother, his enemy, his
savior.

While the Inca lit the candles he had been able to find, Vachon
watched, mesmerized by his quiet efficiency of motion.

"Why?" Vachon finally croaked.

The Inca looked over and blew out his taper.  He walked towards the bed
on which Vachon lay, making a slight detour to pick some green bottles
out of a broken crate.

"Here." He said, pulling out the cork and placing the bottle in
Vachon's trembling hands.

Vachon sucked on the bottle eagerly, desperate to quell the burning
need for blood that raged inside of him.  He had not forgotten his
question, however, and as soon as he was able, he put the bottle aside
and asked it again.

"Why?"

"We are brothers," replied the Inca, as if that explained all.

"So were Cain and Abel."

The Inca flashed him a toothsome smile.  "That is your mythology, not
mine."

"We have been trying to kill one another for centuries.  I was as good
as dead; why go to the trouble of bringing me back?  Did you miss the
chase?"

"I never wished to kill you.  The words of our Master instructed us to
treasure life.  You apparently misunderstood her meaning and I wished
only to point out your error.  You chose not to stay and listen.  You
fled; I pursued."

"But I tried to kill you!  That couldn't have made you particularly
fond of me."

"We battled to death and beyond. We shared the final gift of a
creature older and more powerful than death itself.  Our lives, our
deaths, our fates have been irrevocably entwined.  Were one of us to
kill the other, we would slay half ourself.  Do you not see that?"

Vachon felt again the power of the bond that had dragged him back over
the threshold of nothingness and realized that the Inca was right.  To
kill his brother now would be like thrusting a stake through his own
heart.

"No need to experience *that* particular sensation more than once," he
thought, picking up a fresh bottle and cradling it, more for comfort
than sustenance.  "Well, thanks," he said rather awkwardly.  "For
digging me up, and ... and everything."

The Inca pulled something out of a pouch.  "When I was digging, I found
this placed near you."  He dropped something glittering into Vachon's
hand and turned to leave.

"Wait," called Vachon.  "You're leaving? Just like that? What about our
little 'misunderstanding'?"

The Inca looked back with eyes that sparkled with what might have been
malicious humor.  "I think that has been cleared up."  He nodded at the
object in Vachon's hand.  "It took some time, but you have finally
found the path our Master wished us to follow."  And he was gone.

Vachon blinked a few times, then shook his head in disgust.  "He talks
like a badly translated fortune cookie."  He uncurled his fist and
looked at what lay there.  At the end of a golden chain, a small
heart-shaped locket dangled.  Offset from the center like a drop of blood
was a tiny dark red garnet.  He stroked the little gem curiously and the
locket sprang open.  If it had been possible, his heart would have
lurched.  Inside, preserved behind a glass shield, lay a lock of smooth
golden hair.

"Tracy," he whispered.

========================================================================

Vachon looked around the church, trying to estimate from the dust and
disrepair how much time had passed.  Unfortunately, he had never been
the best of housekeepers and the place looked pretty much the same as
he remembered: as if it had been abandoned for at least a decade.

"Damn the Inca," he swore.  "He could at least have told me the date."
Though he knew, for his kind, dates had little meaning.  It was only
mortals who needed to keep such close tabs on the passing of time.

Mortals -- and vampires who were tied to mortals.  He rubbed his
forehead, grimacing at the gritty feel of the dirt that clung to him.
He needed a shower badly.  The thought of the bathroom in Tracy's
apartment made him swing his feet over the edge of the bed.

"Won't she be surprised?  She'll probably faint again, though I don't
look half as bad now as I did after the crash."  A sudden thought froze
him into immobility.  "She thinks I'm dead.  She was the one who buried
me."  He gazed at the locket and rolled the chain around his fingers.
"Maybe ... maybe I should stay dead for her.  I'm the only vampire
she knows about.  With me gone, her life can get back to normal.
Besides, there's always Knight to keep an eye on her."

Screed was gone.  The Inca had taken off, with no indication that he
wanted to have anything more to do with his prodigal sibling.  Vachon
reached out for Urs, but he had known since his awakening that he
would find nothing.

"Ah, pobrecita," he whispered.  "I hope you have finally found the
peace that was never there for you in either of your lives."

For the first time in nearly five-hundred years, he was completely and
utterly free.  Nothing to run from; nothing to stay for.

The desolation he felt at this realization was astonishing.

"Javier, you fool," he growled.  "Get a grip.  This is everything you
always wanted.  It may be an end, but it's also a beginning."  A
shudder ran through him as he heard himself echo the words he had
spoken a hundred years ago to Urs as she slowly realized the full
horror of what he had inflicted upon her.

"You are not Urs," he told himself firmly.  "Life has always been a
grand adventure, the world full of endless possibilities."  But the
words rang empty.  Somehow his world had shrunk to a pair of
light-filled eyes the color of softly-burnished pewter.

"Fine," he exclaimed in exasperation.  "If that's how it has to be,
great.  You've never made the sensible decision before, Vachon; why
start now and ruin a perfectly good losing streak?"  He rose
decisively and nearly collapsed as his knees refused to hold him.
Three bottles later, he tried again with more success.  He hesitated
to try flying after being so recently disinterred, so he decided to
take the Triumph.

Unfortunately, the bike was not in its customary location.  He stomped
about swearing colorfully, but he felt the dirt sifting into his shoes
and grimaced in disgust.  He really wanted that shower, so he trudged
back upstairs, rummaged under the bed hopefully and pulled out his
trenchcoat with a crow of satisfaction.  He slipped two full bottles
into the pockets for in-flight refueling and launched himself
unsteadily into the night.

The cool air in his face and the brilliant lights of the city below
helped revive something of his old strength and he flew with growing
confidence to the window of Tracy's apartment.

It wasn't locked.

"Ah Trace," he murmured warmly.  "You've read your 'Peter Pan,' haven't
you?"

He slipped inside and listened intently.  There was no one home, and he
saw that nothing much had changed.  He couldn't have been gone long,
then.  A heavy weight that he had not been aware of dropped away and he
headed cheerfully for the shower.

The shampoo and conditioner she had insisted on buying for him were
still under the sink and he luxuriated in warm frothy decadence for a
solid thirty minutes.

She hadn't even re-appropriated 'his' clothing drawer yet, and he
slipped into the clean shirt and jeans with a grateful sigh.

"Half a century of indoor plumbing has made you incredibly soft,
Javier," he muttered, but he did not deny himself the use of Tracy's
blow-dryer.

Clean, dried and dressed, he prowled about the apartment curiously.  He
still didn't know the exact date, but he figured it couldn't have been
more than a couple of months since his 'death'.  Then he smacked
himself on the forehead.

"You are such an idiot.  The worms must've gotten to your brain.  Try
the radio, hunh?"  He switched on the radio and tuned it to CERK but,
instead of the Nightcrawler, it was some other call-in program.  "Hmm,"
he mused.  "I wonder when that happened?  Well, whatever."  He clicked it
off and picked up the television remote instead.

There was a discussion program about a shooting at the police
station and the suspicious ease with which the perpetrator had
obtained the gun that critically wounded detective Tracy Vetter.

He had neglected to close the window, so no sound of shattering glass
punctuated his hasty departure.

When he reached her bedside, he saw how very bad it was.  He brushed
the back of his hand across her cheek and knew that it was only a
matter of time.  He had seen enough death, been the direct cause of so
much of it, that he was intimately acquainted with the feel of its
approach.

"Oh Trace," he whispered.  "What are we going to do about this?"  He
leaned over and breathed deeply.  Beneath the acrid hospital smells,
the warm scent of apricots and calla lilies rose to greet him.  "I
suppose I could let myself take the blame for this, for not being
there when you needed protection, but then I would start sounding like
Knight and, believe me, neither of us wants that."

He rested his head lightly upon her chest, closing his eyes as he
listened to the rhythmic sounds of her heart as it labored to drive
life through Tracy's dying body.  There was so much courage in that
sound, and so much struggle, that Vachon felt as if he might weep.

"I know there were things about me that frightened you, and, worse,
things that disappointed you.  You'd look at me with that transparent
little face of yours and I could suddenly see myself through your
eyes.  And I didn't always like what I saw.  But uncomfortable as it
made me feel, I think I would miss that."

He shifted his head and felt a small hard shape beneath his ear.
Curious, he fingered the chain around her neck and pulled out a
heart-shaped locket that was twin to the one that had been buried with
him.  He pressed the garnet and thoughtfully regarded the lock of black
hair that exactly matched his own.

He looked down at Tracy's pale face and smiled.  "So, that's how it was
detective Vetter?  I suppose I knew, in a way, but I couldn't afford to
indulge in such dangerous speculation."  He clicked the locket shut and
replaced it tenderly.

Smoothing the hair that emerged from under the bloody bandage, he
cradled her head between his hands.  "I don't think that you would ever
have come to me on your own; you'd never let yourself be quite so
impetuous.  But this is it, Trace; it's all or nothing.  You may hate
me.  You may never forgive me.  Fine, I can accept that.  It's the
alternative that I just can't bear.

His eyes changed to gold and he bent his head to her neck.  "Trust me,"
he whispered.

The alarm range at the nurses' station as the patient in room 204 went
into full arrest.  The cardiac team rushed in and worked on her grimly
until it was perfectly clear to everyone that her condition was not
going to change.  The machines were disconnected; a sheet was pulled
over her pale, serene face and everyone trickled silently out of the
darkened room.

"Now," murmured the figure concealed in a shadowy corner.  "Things get
interesting."

========================================================================

When someone came to wheel Tracy out, Vachon followed through the
halls to the hospital morgue.  The young intern left the room with a
slightly dazed look in his eyes and an uncertain memory of what he was
doing there.

"I feel like a character in a horror movie," Vachon muttered as he
stood on the roof of a nearby building with Tracy's white-sheeted body
in his arms.  "Now all we need is a lightning bolt or two."  His mouth
quirked in a wry smile and the air rushed in to fill the space where
they had been.

Back at the church, he lay Tracy gently on the bed and sat next to
her, studiously brushing the hair away from her face.  The wound in her
abdomen was gone and the terrible damage to her head had disappeared.
Vachon knew that he didn't have long to wait.

With a wrenching intake of breath, Tracy's eyes flew open.  They were
bright gold with no thought behind them, only a base, primal need.
Vachon was ready with an uncorked bottle and she wrapped her lips
around it and swallowed furiously until it was empty.  With an
ill-tempered hiss, she flung the bottle away and bared blood-stained
fangs at Vachon.

There was an amused glint in his eye as he pushed up his sleeve and
stretched out a pale forearm.  She grabbed his wrist and sank her teeth
into his flesh with a rabid growl.  Soon her snarls were replaced by
voluptuous purrs and her eyelids drooped with pleasure.

Moments later, her eyes fluttered, all trace of gold gone.  She looked
down at what she had in her mouth and gave a muffled squeak of dismay
as she spat out his arm and slammed herself back against the
headboard.  She looked at Vachon with enormous, disbelieving eyes and
pressed her hands over her mouth.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head from side to side.  "No. I
remember now; you're dead.  I buried you.  Down by the lake next to
Screed.  I remember.  I spent the entire night digging that damn hole
and crying."  She looked at him in pained confusion.  "Why couldn't I
remember that before?"

"Someone made you forget."

"Yes, that's right, someone.  A tall man, very pale with terribly cold
eyes.  The owner of the Raven, the one you said wasn't ... wasn't
one of you.  That's who it was.  He told me that you had left.  But
you didn't leave; I remember now.  You were sick.  You made me hold
the stake and when I wouldn't do as you asked, you threw yourself on
it.  You died."

"Yes, well, I got better.  We do that sometimes."

"We," she whispered as she reached up and pulled the bandage from her
head and stared at the blood staining it.  "I'm dead too, aren't I?"

"Not ... exactly, no."

"But I'm like you now, a ... a ..."

"Vampire, Tracy.  Go ahead and say it."

"I ...  I ...," She choked on her confusion and her eyes flamed.

"Ooof!" he exclaimed as her shoulder collided with his chest and she
slammed him onto the floor.  Grabbing his shirt, she began pounding his
head against the hard flagstones.  "How <slam>.  Dare <slam>.  You
<slam>.  Do <slam>.  That <slam>.  To me <slam slam>.  Without <slam>.
Asking?!" <slam>.

"Ungh ... Tracy ... please ... you're ... strong ... enough
... ufff ... for that ... to hurt."

She stopped suddenly, shoving him roughly to one side as she stood up.
"Nick: he's one too."  She stomped her foot.  "Ooooh, how could he not
trust me?"  She loomed over Vachon.  "Did he know about ... ?" She
pointed an accusing finger at him.

Vachon nodded apologetically.

"All this time?  All those things I said and did and he was just
laughing at me the whole time?"

"Not laughing, Trace; he was trying to protect you."

"Oh sure, letting me think that bullets could actually hurt him was a
real good way of protecting me.  How do you think I got shot?  Nick was
facing an armed assailant.  I was covering his unarmed butt.  And when
the perp fired, the damn bullet went right through Nick's damn
immortal hide and into me."

"I'm sorry, Trace; I know it's not easy to understand the rules that
Nick plays by.  But he didn't keep you in the dark to protect you
against normal, human assailants."

Comprehension began to dawn in Tracy's eyes and Vachon nodded.  "We
have our own version of the police force.  Any time a mortal finds out
about us, the entire community is place at grave risk.  When you turned
out to be a resistor and I ... decided not to kill you, Nick made it
quite clear that you were my responsibility."

"Well, I'm sorry if I put a crimp in your free-wheeling lifestyle,
Vachon," she replied angrily, but there was a pained look on her face.

He got to his feet slowly and walked up to her with a slight smile on
his face.  She refused to retreat, lifting her chin stubbornly.

"It's true," he admitted, running a knuckle under the curve of her
jaw.  "I did feel that way at first.  I very nearly left, dropping you
back into Nick's lap."

"Well, what stopped you?" she asked flintily, trying to ignore the
distracting caress.

"The easy answer would be Vudu," he replied as he rubbed a thumb along
her cheekbone.  "I heard him talking to you on the phone, lying through
his teeth, and I couldn't let him do that to you.  I didn't know he was
the bomber.  I didn't know he had planted the detonator on you.  I just
knew that I didn't like hearing someone lie to you."

She pushed his hand away impatiently.  "But you lied to me all the
time!"

"Only about things that might have gotten you killed.  I don't think
you understand how precarious your position was, Tracy.  I couldn't say
anything that might jeopardize your safety.  You'll understand
eventually."  He reached out and gently ran his fingers through her
hair.  With his other hand, he pulled the locket out from under his
shirt and opened it.

With a gasp of recognition, she placed a hand to her throat and drew
out the matching locket.

Vachon compared the hair in his locket to the hair wound around his
fingers.  "Yours?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Yes," she replied softly and regarded the strands of dark hair in her
own locket.  "Yours."

"I know."  He pulled her against him, closed his eyes and breathed in
deeply.  It was there, fainter perhaps, without human warmth to heat
her blood, but it still clung to her; taste of apricots, scent of
calla lilies.  He remembered how it had felt in the hospital as he
buried his fangs in her throat and the sweet fruit in her veins poured
into him.

He looked down at her with eyes filled with fire and watched entranced
as the silver in hers washed over with gold.  They were the same now;
there was no reason to hold back.  He bent his head to her neck with a
rumbling purr.

"No."  She choked and pulled away, covering her face with trembling
hands until she felt the vampire subside. "This is all too much. I
... I can't deal with it yet."

Vachon lifted his hand and then dropped it.  "It's going to get harder
Trace.  I have to go and figure out someway to make sure your 'body'
isn't missed.  The last thing we need right now is that sort of
publicity."

"My body?"  She looked at him blankly.  "But can't I just ... ?" Her
voice dwindled as she saw the expression on his face.

He shook his head regretfully.  "You're dead Tracy, and you've got to
stay that way.  Everyone that you know, your family, your friends, must
never know the truth.  You wouldn't be able to hide what you are from
them and that would be a death sentence -- theirs and yours."

She staggered over to the bed and sat down.  "What have you done?  You
saved me from death but now you say I have to give up everything that
made life worth living.  What insane kind of trade-off is that?"

Vachon started to walk towards her, but she turned her face away and
he stopped.  "Trace, I'm sorry," he said, feeling uncharacteristically
helpless.  "It's tough, I know." He could feel the hours of the night
slipping by and he knew that he didn't have much time to work out a
solution.  "Look, I have to leave for a little while.  Try to rest.
Drink a little something.  It's been a rough night.  Give yourself some
time."

He heard her muttering as he took off through the attic window.

"Time.  Well, I guess I've got plenty of that."

========================================================================

Vachon flew very fast, trying to escape the feelings of frustration
and regret that Tracy had left in him.  He knew that letting her die,
when he had the power to do something about it, would have left him
feeling infinitely worse, but the look in her eyes still hurt.

"It's nice to know that some things haven't changed."  He muttered to
himself.  "She can still make me feel like I just crawled out from
under a rock."  He looked around and realized that he wasn't anywhere
near the hospital.  Instead, he was heading directly towards Nick's
loft.

"Well, I guess I could use some help.  There's also his doctor friend
with all the good connections.  She could really make this much easier.
I just hope he gives me enough time to explain *before* he bites my
head off."

Somewhat cheered by this plan, he swooped down towards the roof of
Nick's building.  He nearly fell out of the sky with surprise as the
skylight exploded outwards and a pale, black-garbed figure streaked
past, narrowly avoiding a collision with him.

"LaCroix!" he exclaimed.  "Wow, he's sure in a big hurry.  I hope he and
Nick didn't have another one of their little 'discussions.'"  Vachon
floated cautiously through the busted skylight.  "I really don't want
to catch Knight in a bad mood."

Nick and Natalie lay sprawled on the floor beneath him, and he dropped
down immediately.  Natalie was almost gone; he could hear her heart
laboring to pump what little blood remained in her veins while it
slowly starved to death.

"LaCroix?" he wondered aloud.  "Did you finally overreach yourself,
doctor?"  He shook his head and turned away, unwilling to do anything
until he checked with Nick first; she was his mortal, after all.  He
started to reach out to the detective and pulled back in shock.

Blood oozed from a shallow gash in Nick's skull.  Vachon stared at the
wound, waiting for it to close, but he knew that it wouldn't.  There
was nothing seriously wrong with the detective; he was simply
unconscious from a blow to the head, probably inflicted with the
ornate staff that lay on the floor nearby, snapped in half like a
toothpick.

Unwilling to believe what his eyes and ears were telling him, Vachon
placed a reluctant hand on Nick's chest.  The heartbeats were as strong
and sure as any mortal's.

"Dammit Knight," he swore.  "What the hell happened here tonight?"  He
looked back over at the doctor.  She had a minute left, maybe two.
Vachon paced between them as he thought furiously.  Knight was no
longer one of them, while the doctor was almost a part of the
community already.  She had tried to help Screed; she *had* found the
cure that saved the rest of them.  And now Vachon needed her help
again.

"No more ties, remember, Vachon?  No more responsibilities?" he muttered
savagely to himself as he dropped to Natalie's side.  He raised his
wrist to his mouth and hesitated for a moment longer before he closed
his eyes and ripped open the skin with his teeth.  He held the bloody
flesh to Natalie's lips, almost hoping that he would be a second too
late.

He wasn't, though.  Natalie clung to life with a strength that
astonished Vachon and he knew that he hadn't made a mistake.
Surrounded as she was by death, this one treasured life: all life, any
life.

She would do well.  He, however, was surely going to pay.  Maybe not 
today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday.  Oh yes, he would pay for this
night's work.

Alarms rang in his head.  The sun would be up soon, and he couldn't
leave Natalie here, not with First Hunger and Nick lying there like a
brunch buffet.

"Oh heck," he grimaced.  "I've always wanted to have a slumber party at
the church."  He scooped Natalie into his arms, staggering as his own
severely-taxed strength threatened to give out.  "It'll be fun," he
grunted, lifting them both into the air by sheer force of will.  "We'll
have a pillow fight and you and Tracy can complain about the men in
your lives."  He looked down at Nick one last time.  "Sorry, Knight, I
know this isn't how you wanted things to work out, but we all have to
learn to live with the choices we make."

He rose up through the skylight, gradually gaining speed as the first
fingers of the dawn nipped at his heels.

========================================================================

The sun rose ponderously into the sky, burnishing the city with its
golden glow.  A bright wave broke over the edge of Nick's building and
poured down through the shattered skylight.  Slowly the rectangle of
light crept across the floor until it washed gently over Nick's limp
form, exploring those features which had not been touched thus for
years beyond counting.

He lay on an anvil, a white-hot bar of metal that some giant hammer
was pounding with great rhythmic strokes.  He felt himself being
changed, reshaped by those constant, throbbing blows.

Slowly the pounding diminished until it became the familiar pulse of a
beating heart.  The sound echoed in his ears and he yearned towards it,
remembering the hot gush of blood though his lips, propelled by that
warm, living throb, and then he remembered everything.

"Natalie!" he cried hoarsely, and whimpered at the pain that slammed
through his head.  He touched a hand to his scalp and brought it away
covered with dark, sticky blood that shone sullenly in the light.

Light?  He turned his head and looked straight into the heart of the
sun.  It burned with a fierce, blinding fury and he flung himself
desperately out of its reach.  His eyes teared painfully, but he felt
no other effects of the sun's touch.  He blinked rapidly and the room
came into the view as his eyes slowly adjusted.

"I ... don't understand," he rasped.  "I should be blind.  I should
be burned."  He rose shakily to his feet and staggered over to where he
had last seen Natalie.  She had been lying on the floor, drained past
all hope of recovery, and then LaCroix ... .

"LaCroix," he echoed and picked up the broken pieces of the staff that
he had placed in his Master's hands.  "I asked you to do this one last
thing for me.  As a friend, as a father.  But instead you left me here
and took the one thing that I cared for more than life."  He looked at
the wood in his hands and waited for the killing rage to fill him, to
give him the strength to hunt LaCroix down and finally put an end to
his unholy existence.

It did not come.  He felt only exhaustion, pain and an ineffable sense
of loss.  There was a strange tightness in his chest and the back of
his throat ached.  A terrible sob wrenched through him and the pieces
of the staff clattered to the floor as he buried his face in his
hands.  He collapsed to his knees, rocking back and forth as he wept
eight-centuries' worth of tears.

Gradually the wracking shudders eased, leaving him limp and strangely
peaceful.  He breathed in deep gulps of air, bemused by the painful
rasping that accompanied each lungfull.  He looked again at the pool of
sunlight pouring onto the floor from the skylight and dragged himself
to his feet.  He reeled drunkenly into the square of light and stood
there with his head bowed, letting the bright warmth cascade over him.
Slowly he lifted his hands and raised his face to receive the gentle
benediction that soothed his hurts and washed his soul clean.

It was everything he had yearned for, striven for, suffered for, but
at what cost?  He looked again to the place where he had lowered
Natalie's limp body after betraying her faith and her trust.  He knew
that he had to discover her fate, if it took him the remainder of his
mortal years.

========================================================================

Blood was all she knew.  It was all she felt: her blood, rushing forth
in an undammed flood; his blood, filled with the memories of all who
had been sacrificed before her; and the blood she craved -- all blood,
any blood.  A source was place before her and she drained it, though it
was thick and cold and unalive.  When that was gone, she cried her
outrage, demanding more vital sustenance.

"No," came a voice. "I'll do it, Vachon."  Soft flesh was offered to her
and she thrust her fangs into it joyfully.  The blood was cool and
somewhat sluggish, but there was a heady tingle in it that
strengthened her and fed some deep need within her.

"Tracy, c'mon, take it easy," another voice intruded. "You're too
young; you shouldn't let her take so much."

"Oh, and I suppose you're not white as a sheet yourself?  You've been
reanimated for less than a day; give it a rest."

"She needs more than you can give, Tracy.  Her transition was a lot
rougher than yours."

"Is that my cue to thank you for such a great time last night?  Well
you can forget it, mister ... ungh ... geez, she's not slowing
down at all, is she?"

"Told ya.  Here, try to get her to take another bottle.  You'd better
have one for yourself, too."

"Oooh, Vachon, I feel dizzy."

"All right Miss Anemia 1996, come over here and sit down.  No, I'll
hold the bottle for you.  That's right, drink it all down like a good
little girl."

"You gonna tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story, too?"

"If you like."

"Mmmhmm."

"Okay.  Well, once upon a time, there was a young, enthusiastic police
officer with hair the color of sunlight.  One day, she was sent to
investigate a possible B&E at the Bear residence and ... Trace?  Hey,
Tracy, don't you want to know what she found?"  There was a soft
chuckle that turned into a weary sigh and everything became deathly
quiet.

With the silence came a sudden shift of awareness.  Natalie found
herself hold a bottle pressed to her lips and an odd, metallic-tasting
fluid filling her mouth.  She'd been around enough blood to realize
what she was drinking and immediately choked.

"Ugh," she exclaimed as she wiped at her face.  "And I thought snorting
cola out your nose was bad."  She looked at the bottle again and found
herself chugging the remaining liquid with undeniable urgency.

"Okay, okay," she gasped, trying to establish some control of herself
as she gingerly set the empty bottle aside.  "Oh Nick, is this anything
like what you felt? Day in, day out for all those centuries?"  She
hugged herself as she was wracked by painful shudders.  "How could you
bear it?" she whispered hoarsely as she hunted down a fresh bottle and
pressed it to her lips with shaking hands.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, the hunger within her receded to a dull
clamor and she was able to do more than pull corks and pour blood into
herself.  She had no idea where she was.  There were iron candelabras
draped with wax and spider webs; the walls and floor appeared to be
made of stone and all the windows were covered with drop-cloths.

"Well, I'm either in a community-sponsored haunted house, or the lair
of a vampire with a really keen sense of humor."  She looked at the
bottle in her hand.  "And since I've never known community events to
serve punch spiked with actual blood, I'm betting on the vampire with
the nouveau-gothic fashion sense."

Then she sensed another presence in the room with her.  She didn't know
how she knew; the knowledge was simply there.  She slipped off the bed
and crept warily towards a large, ragged chair that was turned
slightly away from her.

Tracy was cradled in Vachon's arms with his dark head resting on her
golden one.  Natalie reached a trembling hand towards Tracy's cheek,
unable to believe what she saw could be true.

Tracy's eyes blazed fire and she hissed at Natalie, revealing her long
white fangs.  Natalie stumbled backwards, knocking a candelabra to the
floor.  The clamor woke Vachon, who pulled Tracy back just as she was
ready to launch herself at Natalie.

"No, Trace, it's okay; it's just Natalie."

The gold faded from Tracy's eyes, replaced by horrified embarrassment.
"Natalie!  Oh gosh, I'm so sorry."  She shook off Vachon's hold and went
over to help right the candelabra and pick up the scattered candles.
Natalie stopped her with a touch.

"Tracy, how?  I ... I was at the hospital when ... ."

"Vachon brought me across.  Just like he brought you."  The women turned
to look at Vachon, who squirmed uncomfortably.

"Both of us, Vachon?" inquired Natalie.  "What, a sudden urge for a
harem?"  Then she pressed her fingers to her forehead.  "No, wait, this
doesn't make any sense.  Vachon, you're supposed to be dead, too, and I
was ... I was ... ." She paused with a lost, frightened look in her eyes.
"I was supposed to be with Nick.  Omigod, what's happened to Nick?!"

She flew at Vachon, knocking him and the chair backwards.  She hardly
noticed as she kneeled on his chest and grabbed his shirt.  "What have
you done with Nick?  Why did you take me away?"

"If you'll get off my chest and let me up," grunted Vachon, "I'll tell
you the whole story."

========================================================================

They formed a triangle on the bed, each clutching his or her own bottle
of blood from which to drink.  It was full day outside and they were
all feeling the strain of the past night's extraordinary events, coupled
with the urgent need for rest.

Struggling doggedly to remain awake and coherent, Vachon recounted his
resurrection at the hands of his brother, the Inca.  He looked
searchingly at Tracy while he told of finding her in the hospital and
his decision to bring her across rather than letting her die, but she
would not meet his eyes.

"Then you left her here and went to Nick's; why?" Natalie asked,
observing the constraint between the other two.  "It must have been
close to dawn; what was so urgent?"

"I needed help disguising Tracy's disappearance."

"You mean, you wanted to preserve the illusion of her death," Natalie
elaborated.  "And you thought Nick could help?"

Vachon shrugged.  "Actually, I thought you might have some ideas.  You
know your way around a morgue better than any of us."

Natalie sighed.  "It certainly wouldn't be the first sleight of hand
I've pulled for the community, but this time there are some ... added
complications."  She reached over and touched Tracy gently.  "Tracy, is
this what you want?"

Tracy bowed her head and looked at her hands clenched in her lap.  "I
don't really have a choice, do I?"  She straightened and glared at
Vachon.  "It's not like I had a choice about any of this."

Vachon bore her recriminations stoically.  He had known from the
beginning that it might come to this.  "I didn't have a choice either,
Trace."  He fingered the golden locket that lay bright against his
shirt.  "Your death was simply not an option I was prepared to live
with."

Involuntarily Tracy's hand reached for the chain around her neck and
the look in her eyes changed from open hostility to something a bit
softer.  "I guess ... I guess I just have to get used to the idea,"
she stammered.  "But I don't want my family hurt any more."

Natalie patted Tracy's shoulder sympathetically.  "We'll work something
out, I promise."  She turned back to Vachon with ill-concealed
impatience.  "So you were heading for Nick's; what happened then?"

"LaCroix came busting through the skylight like a bat out of hell."

"LaCroix?!" Natalie exclaimed.  "What was he doing there?"

Vachon looked at her in puzzlement.  "You were drained; wasn't he the
one who ... ?"

Natalie shook her head.  "It was Nick.  It was our final attempt to cure
him."  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "But he couldn't stop himself.
He took too much."

Vachon rubbed his hands wearily over his face.  "You walk up to a
vampire who's been half-starving himself for years, denying himself
the outlet of feeding from live prey for decades, and just offer him
your neck, expecting him to be able to stop after a sip or two.
Incredible."

"We were both at the end of our endurance, Vachon," Natalie retorted.
"You said you had no choice; well, we didn't either.  It was a risk we
were willing to take."

Well," Vachon stated quietly.  "Then I guess you'll be glad to know
that it worked."

Both Natalie and Tracy stared at him in shock.

"What.  Did.  You.  Say?" Natalie inquired carefully.

"Nick is no longer a vampire.  He's mortal.  Your 'cure' must have
worked and my guess is that LaCroix knocked him on the head and took
off in a fit of pique.  Nick was unconscious when I left, but he had a
strong, steady, human heartbeat."

"Omigod, omigod," Natalie murmured excitedly.  "I have to go.  I have to
see him.  Omigod."  She grabbed Tracy and shook her while smiling
radiantly. "It worked!  Didja here that?  It worked; we did it!"  She
jumped from the bed and headed for the stairs.

Vachon flew in front of her.  "Oh no you don't.  I think, in all the
excitement, you've forgotten one small detail."

"Vachon, please, get out of my way, you don't understand, I have to
go."

He picked up a bottle of blood and held it out in front of her.  She
found herself reaching for it, unable to resist the imperious demands
of the hunger that had made its home within her.  "You can't leave this
place until the sun has gone down, Natalie.  That's the rule,
remember?"

She stared at him in horror as the appalling reality of her and Nick's
situation set in.  "How could this have happened?"  Her bewildered eyes
grew hard and she laughed, a cruel mocking sound that caused Vachon to
close his eyes against the pain.  "What a huge joke.  What a rich comedy
of errors.  Nick finally regains his mortality while I -- I get brought
across by a slack-jawed Spaniard who has suddenly decided to take
responsibility for the lives of everyone around him."  She hauled off
and backhanded him viciously across the cheek, sending him reeling.
"Well I, for one, am not particularly grateful for your interference."
And she continued down the stairs.

"No," he said, rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand. "You may not
go."

Natalie halted in midstride.  "What?" she asked.

"I did not give you leave to go.  Come back and sit down."

She looked at him blankly and found herself turning around and
resuming her seat on the bed.  "What are you doing?" she asked
breathlessly.

"Something I really didn't want to do," he answered wearily.  "I am
your Master.  That gives me a certain amount of ... influence over
you."

Natalie was horrified.  Tracy looked outraged.  Vachon was feeling very,
very tired.

"Look," he sighed.  "It's been a really long day.  Can't we all just get
a little sleep?  I'm sure we'll feel much better if we do, honest."

"Why don't you just command us to go to sleep," Natalie growled
through gritted teeth.  "Oh Master."

Vachon groaned and threw himself into the armchair.  "Do what you want.
Go outside and fry yourself like an egg on the sidewalk.  I don't care
anymore."

There was a studious silence which Vachon hoped would last long enough
for him to become unconscious.

No such luck.

"Did you at least leave some kind of note for Nick, to let him know
where I was?" Natalie asked pointedly.

"I didn't have a pen on me, okay?"

Natalie rumbled ominously, but her voice remained painfully polite.
"If we can't go outside, may we at least use your phone?"

"No phone." Vachon sighed wearily.

"What about your cellular, Vachon?" Tracy asked.

"Ohhhh, I don't know.  It's probably with the coat you buried me in.
The account'll be closed by now, though."  They just stared at him and
he waved his arms about loosely.  "It's around here somewhere; please,
feel free to look."

He tried to ignore the sounds of their searching and their acid
comments, but he just couldn't get to sleep.  "Now I know why I always
live alone," he muttered grumpily as he shifted around in the chair
trying to get comfortable.

"Eeeew," Tracy called out.  "I think I found the coat."

"Is the phone there?"

"I'm checking.  Yuck, this is really gross. There must have been a lot
of rain after I buried him; it's absolutely caked in mud.  Oh, here it
is.  Gee, I hope it still works."

"Let me try.  Ha!" Natalie smiled.  "I'm getting a dial tone."

She called Nick first.  "Nick? Nick, pick up, please, it's Natalie.  I'm
at Vachon's church.  We've got to talk.  Come as soon as you can.  And
Nick, whatever happens with us from here, I ... I'm happy for you.
'Bye."

She stared at the phone for a while until Tracy squeezed her shoulder
encouragingly.

"Hey, you two made it this far.  Who knows?  maybe miracles can strike
twice."

"I think that's lightning, but I appreciate the sentiment.  Now," she
said more briskly.  "Let's see if we can start setting up the old
switcheroo for you."  She dialed the hospital.  "Hello?  Toronto General?
Yes, this is Dr. Natalie Lambert from the Coroner's office.  I was
wondering if you still have Detective Vetter's personal effects over
there.  They weren't sent along with the body and we wanted to make sure
that ... What?  Of course she's here.  She was transferred this morning;
didn't you get the paperwork?  Really?  Well, isn't that always the way?
But she's here now.  Yes, I'm sure.  You will?  Great, and I'll send you
copies of the documentation, just so all the T's are dotted and the I's
crossed.  Yeah, uh huh.  Okay.  'Bye."

Natalie put the phone down with a sigh.

"Look," Tracy whispered with a nudge as she pointed over to Vachon.
"Fast asleep."

"Hmmmm," Natalie pondered with narrowed eyes.  "So he is.  Y'know,
Tracy, that 'Master' thing really bugged me."

"Me, too," Tracy agreed.

"I think our 'Master' there might need a small lesson in humility."

"What did you have in mind?" Tracy asked as a big grin split her face.

"C'mere."

Vachon had been right.  He would indeed pay for this night's work.

========================================================================

Nick had driven to the Raven, on the wild hope that LaCroix had not
yet left town.  He wasn't sure what good would come of confronting his
one-time Master -- Nick could not force him to reveal Natalie's fate,
but there were no other options open to him.  He parked the caddy
recklessly and let himself in through the back.

He stepped carefully into the darkness, sensing nothing, hearing
nothing.  He could not remember ever feeling so helpless before and his
heart began to pound in his chest.  He stretched his arms out, trying
to recall where the light switch might be.

"Merde," he swore softly as he barked his shin painfully against an
unseen obstacle.

"Is this what you are looking for?" a low, familiar voice inquired.
The lights snapped on and Nick met LaCroix's eyes with a thrill of
terrified recognition. "Why are you here?" LaCroix asked
dispassionately.

"You know perfectly well, LaCroix. Where is she?" Nick growled,
desperately trying to overcome his feelings of utter fragility before
LaCroix's massive presence.

LaCroix regarded him with bland curiosity and strode over to a cabinet
to pour himself a drink.  "Why Nicholas, whoever do you mean?"

"Stop toying with me, LaCroix.  What have you done with Natalie?"

In a flash, Nick found himself dangling in the air, his breath cut off
by the twist of fabric in LaCroix's grip.

"You are in no position to demand anything of me," snarled LaCroix, his
twisted features scant inches away from Nick's face.  "And I no longer
have any interest whatsoever in 'toying' with you.  I do not have your
precious doctor; I have done nothing to her."  He released his grip
abruptly and Nick thudded heavily to the floor.  "Considering the
circumstances," he continued urbanely.  "It might behoove you to cease
blaming me for all the misfortune in your life and begin looking
towards the true cause."  He returned to his drink and took a sip. "You
killed your beloved Natalie, not I."

"Not ... dead," Nick grated painfully.  "Gone."

LaCroix lifted an eyebrow in faint surprise.  "You've misplaced her?
Nicholas, how very careless of you."  He swirled the liquid in his
glass and finished it with one quick swallow.  "But there is nothing I
can do for you, even if I were so inclined, which I most definitely am
not.  I know nothing of the good doctor's current state or whereabouts.
So, I would thank you to leave.  I believe you know the way out?"

Darkness enveloped Nick once again.  "LaCroix, please.  I need your
help."  He cried out hoarsely.

"Once you were a hawk."  The voice echoed all around him.  "Such a gift
I gave to you that Kings would have sacrificed their wealth, their
power, all who were precious to them, to receive it.  But you flung it
back in my face.  Like Icarus, all that you had was not enough; you
yearned for the sun and your wings have melted away.  You scorned my
gift, my love, my very self, and now you beg my help.  Good-bye
Nicholas.  Do not seek me out again.  Ever."

Nick stumbled back through the doorway into the blinding light and
clambered into his car.  He sat there numbly, wondering if he were
thankful that LaCroix had not bothered to kill him.  With nowhere left
to go, he started up the car and began to drive.

The city looked foreign to him.  He was used to patterns of street
lights defining boundaries and glowing windows illuminating only what
was within reach.  This city appeared infinite; a great sun-washed
expanse of steel and stone, absolutely teeming with life.  He stared
with wonder at the crowds of people and cars that surged and flowed in
an ever-moving tide around him.  The rhythms of the night had always
been slower, softer, more tentative than this bright, noisy press of
urgent activity.

He was bewildered and overwhelmed.  The vampire was gone, but there was
nothing to take its place.  He felt empty inside and lost in this
strange, unfamiliar world.  The one person who might have helped him
bridge that distance was gone -- almost certainly dead, but he could not
stop until he knew for sure.  He eased the car out of downtown traffic
and drove to the lake.  He parked in a place where he and Natalie had
often come to sit and talk until the stars began to fade.

Now the sunlight dancing upon the water dazzled his eyes, giving him a
headache, while the oppressive heat made him sweaty and uncomfortable.
He got out of the car and strode irritably towards the shade of some
nearby trees.  A cool breeze whispered through the leaves and he leaned
against a trunk, grateful to escape the unrelenting hammer of the sun.

"Oh Nat," he sighed wearily.  "Is it too late?  Have I forgotten too
much?  He rubbed his hands over his face and up through his tangled
hair.  Wincing in pain, he brought his right hand down and stared at
the flakes of dried blood edging the nails and the smear of new blood
staining his fingers.  "Oh, I had forgotten about that."  He murmured.
Curious, he held the blood under his nose and sniffed.  He recognized
the smell, but that was all.  His heart lightened as he realized that
he had no urge to feed.  The beast he had fought to conquer for
centuries was well and truly dead.  He looked at the sunlight dappling
the ground beneath his feet like the patterns from a stained-glass
window and smiled.  Then he laughed, and kept on laughing.

Like his tears before, this laughter crashed through him
uncontrollably until he was limp and sore and also freed of some
inexplicable burden.  He returned to the car and rested his head back
against the seat.

"All right, Knight," he muttered.  "You're supposed to be the
detective.  If LaCroix didn't take her, how else could she possibly
have disappeared from the loft?"  He rubbed his hands lightly along the
steering wheel.  "One, either she left under he own power, or two,
someone else took her."  He remembered the sight of her lying on the
floor like a broken doll and shuddered.  "No, she could not have made it
on her own.  Someone took her.  So, the question is, who?"  He sat up
decisively and started the car.  "I guess we should take another look
at the scene."

Back at the loft, he re-examined the area where he and Natalie had
lain.  He circled the section of the floor, trying to observe it from
every possible angle in order to reconstruct the series of events.  The
two pieces of the staff lay where Nick had dropped them, and there was
broken glass everywhere.

No, not everywhere.  The pattern of debris was slightly marred where he
had woken up and there was another similar disturbance a few feet
away.

"So," he exhaled.  "LaCroix was telling the truth.  He tapped me on the
head with the staff and smashed through the skylight.  The pieces fell
down onto Nat, and then someone moved her."  He crept closer, placing
each foot gingerly.  With a soft exclamation, he bent down.

On the floor directly beneath the skylight there were two distinct
footprints, traced out by pellets of dirt that had been tightly
pressed into the pattern on the soles of the shoes or boots.  Similar
bits and scuffs showed that the wearer had walked between and around
both bodies, but he had never moved beyond the immediate vicinity.  He
could only have entered and left through the shattered skylight.

"A vampire," Nick stated grimly.  "But he took Nat and left me; why?"  A
sudden thought chilled him to the bone.  "Enforcers?" he wondered
anxiously.  "But again, why only her?  She was already dying."  He shook
his head in angry frustration and continued looking for evidence of
Natalie's abductor.  "First find out who, Knight, then maybe you'll
know the why."  Near the center of Natalie's outline, he found a small
speck of fluff.  He took it over to the kitchen and began dissecting it
carefully.  It consisted of dust, bits of cobweb, a few specks of what
appeared to be wax and one wavy black hair approximately eight inches
in length.

"Wax.  Cobwebs.  Dirt.  Thick-soled shoes.  Shoulder-length black hair."
Nick repeated it to himself.  "That means something to me, but what?"
He paced the length of the kitchen.  "A vampire with long black hair,
wears dirt-encrusted shoes, knows Natalie, lives in a place with dust,
cobwebs and candles ... ."

Moments later, the caddy screeched out into the waning daylight.

========================================================================

"Quiet," commanded Vachon.  "Someone is coming."  Tracy and Natalie
stopped their sniggering and perked up their ears.  Neither one could
hear anything unusual.

"I don't--" Tracy began.

"Shhh," shushed Vachon.  "Your ears are too young yet.  Stay here.
I'll check it out."

"But what if it's--" Natalie began, but Vachon was gone. "--Nick?"  She
stomped over to the top of the stairs and peered down irritably.  "And
I thought Nick was a pretty rude vampire, but that Vachon has the
manners of a troll.  How do you stand it, Tracy?"

Tracy shrugged.  "By insulting him regularly, I suppose.  It doesn't
improve his behavior any, but it makes me feel better."  She grinned
widely.  "Actually, I think it's kinda cute.  Don't you?"

Natalie regarded her skeptically.  "If flippant surliness is your bag,
yeah, I suppose it could be somewhat endearing."  She looked down the
stairs again anxiously.  "I prefer the self-tormented, moody type
myself."

Nick burst into the church and halted with a shocked exclamation when
he came face to face with Vachon at the foot of the stairs.  "Vachon!
It was you after all!  Why aren't you dead?  Where's Natalie?"  He stared
at Vachon more closely.  "What happened to your hair?"

Vachon tugged his fingers through his hair ruefully.  He'd managed to
unweave most of the cornrows that Tracy and Natalie had braided in
while he slept, so he no longer resembled a startled sea urchin, but
now his hair slanted out stiffly around his head like a ziggurat.
"She's upstairs."  He answered, deciding that Nick's other questions
could wait.  "But Nick, she's--" Vachon sighed as Nick pounded up the
stairs past him. "--a bit different."

Nick halted with one foot on the top step as he found himself staring
thunderstruck into Natalie's luminous blue eyes.  His hand ached to
caress the porcelain perfection of her face and stroke the tumbling
wealth of honey-brown hair, but he found himself incapable of any
movement whatsoever.

He stood below her, red-faced, sweaty and panting breathlessly.  She
suddenly felt as if she had increased somehow, or that he had
diminished.  "Oh Nick, you're hurt."  She exclaimed with familiar
concern as she reached out and lightly touched the fresh blood that
dotted the wound on his temple.  "You'll have to be more careful about
that sort of thing now."  She looked at the blood on her fingertips
and brought it to her lips.

A hand clamped around her wrist and jerked her hand away.  "No."
Commanded Vachon.  "You mustn't taste his blood.  Ever."

"What?" Natalie blinked, somewhat bewildered by her own behavior.

Nick looked at the two of them, sensing the undeniable connection
running between them.  A bitter taste filled his mouth.  "He's right,
Natalie," Nick forced out roughly.  "One taste is never enough.  You
would always crave more."  Unable to bear the sight of the truth before
him, he looked away and saw Tracy observing everything with wide,
interested eyes.  "Tracy," he whispered and brushed past Natalie and
Vachon to stand before his partner.  He touched her face with a little
smile which faded quickly.  "You were right.  I should have trusted you."
He held out his hands.  "I'm so sorry."

She took his hands and then wrapped her arms around him tightly.  "It's
all right Nick, really. I ... I'm glad I don't have to leave everyone
behind."

Nick pulled away and looked at her sharply.  "You too?"  He frowned at
Vachon.  "Been busy, have you?"

Vachon opened his mouth and then shut it with a small shake of his
head.  "It's a long story," he replied finally.

Nick sat down on an unopened crate.  "I'd like to hear it, if you don't
mind."

"Sure, as long as you get off that crate.  It's the last of our
supply."

"LaCroix is still around; you can get more from him."

"That's a relief. I've all these extra mouths to feed, y'see."

Nick snorted and handed Vachon a bottle.  "Here.  Now get on with it,
will you?"

When Vachon had finished the tale and the bottle, both with help from
Natalie and Tracy, Nick gazed at Natalie with searching eyes.

"How do you feel about all this, Nat?"

She laughed shortly.  "Angry, upset, swindled."  Then the hard
expression on her face softened.  "But I'm also astonished and
intrigued.  There is so much more to this that I never imagined."  She
gazed at him in wonderment.  "There is a clarity of the senses that is
simply dazzling.  I can finally understand what you found so compelling
about being a vampire."  She dropped her head.  "And I also know why you
struggled so desperately to be free of it.  It is an incredibly
beautiful and seductive trap, isn't it?"

"Yes," Nick replied softly, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb
softly across the back.  "So now that you know all this, what are you
going to do?"

She squeezed his fingers and smiled enthusiastically. "I still think
there must be a way to cure this condition scientifically."  She
laughed a bit ruefully.  "And now I have the perfect test subject to
try my protein shakes on."

Nick stared at her. "Nat ... ."

She pulled her hand from his with some reluctance.  "It's okay, Nick.  I
understand if you want to get away from all this.  You've paid your
dues, many times over.  You should have the chance to live your life."

He stroked the hair away from her face tenderly.  "That's just it,
Nat," he explained.  "I don't think I can.  Not yet.  All I know is how
to be a vampire; I need someone who can help me learn to be human
again."

A twinkle appeared in her eyes.  "Funny you should say that, 'cause I
need someone who can show me how to function as a vampire."  She
slanted a look at Vachon.  "But not so much that I lose site of what it
means to be mortal.  That *is* okay with you, isn't it, oh Master?"

He looked at her under stormy brows as he unknotted yet another
recently discovered corn row.  "You betcha."  He tilted his head at
Nick.  "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into here,
Knight?"

"Not really, no," Nick replied.  "But that's all part of the adventure,
isn't it?"  He started to get up and staggered a bit.

Natalie steadied him and regarded him suspiciously.  "When was the last
time you ate?"

"What, you mean food?"

"No, I mean moonlight and fairy dust.  Of course I mean food.  You've
been mortal all day and you haven't eaten a thing, have you?"

"I ... I guess not, no."

"Hasn't your stomach been pinching and growling?"

"Was that hunger?  It felt so innocuous, I guess I just ignored it."

Natalie rolled her eyes.  "Well, it looks like we both have our work
cut out for us.  She looked at Tracy.  "Well, Tracy, what about you?  Any
plans?"

Tracy looked at Vachon, who gestured blankly with his hands,
indicating that he sure wasn't calling any of the shots here.

"I ... I guess I need to move on," Tracy stammered.  "I couldn't stay in
Toronto even if I wanted to."  She looked at the three of them.  "But I
don't want to lose any of you.  You're all I have left ... now."

"Hey," Vachon assured her with lopsided smile.  "You couldn't get rid
of me with a stake through the heart; what makes you think you can get
away from me now?"

Natalie also went over and put an arm around Tracy.  "You and Vachon go
on ahead.  Nick and I can follow, once we've cleaned up all the loose
ends around here."  She regarded Vachon with a wry twist to her lips.
"It would probably be best to have an experienced, active-duty vampire
around anyway, just in case of supernatural emergencies.  Right, oh
Master?"

"Right," sighed Vachon as he gloomily foresaw the number of torments
that his irrepressible fledglings would undoubtedly inflict upon him.

"Well then," Natalie affirmed briskly.  "It appears that the sun has
now set, so we'll get Nick his first meal, and I'll get back to the
office to prepare Detective Vetter's 'body' for burial."  She
anticipated Vachon's caution.  "I'll be back before dawn, oh Master.
Promise."  She paused on the way down the stairs.  "By the way, how do
you feel about cats, Vachon?"

Vachon blinked rapidly and made a small sound of distress deep in his
throat.  He whirled away and grabbed Tracy's hand.  "C'mon Tracy, you
need to learn how to fly."

Tracy's eyes lit up.  "I get to fly?  Wow!"  And the two of them
disappeared through the attic window.

"So, Nick," Natalie asked him with a good-natured nudge.  "When do I
get to learn how to fly?"

Nick shrugged dismissively.  "Flying is easy."  He took Natalie's arm
and led her down to where his Caddy was waiting.  "Landings, now, they
can be a bitch."

"I hope Vachon thinks to tell Tracy about that."  They looked at each
other and laughed.

~~~

In the office of the Raven, LaCroix poured two drinks and handed one
to his guest.  "So," he finished.  "That appears to be the current
situation."

"I knew something had happened," the visitor murmured thoughtfully.
"That is why I returned, but this ... ?"

"Yes," nodded LaCroix.  "Quite the little tangle our Nicholas has woven
himself into.  It should be amusing to see how he manages the
situation."

"And you say that Natalie ... ?"

"Indeed.  The Spaniard brought both her and Nicholas' new partner
across.  Without asking anyone's permission, apparently.

"Ooooh, cheeky, isn't he?"

"Quite," replied LaCroix.  "But he has certainly left Nicholas in
an ... interesting position.  Though he has regained his mortality,
Nicholas still remains alienated from everyone he cares about.  I
should think he will find it difficult to maintain his mortal
preferences when continually faced with such ... enticing reminders of
what he once was."

"Do you think he might actually return to us of his own volition?"
asked his guest as she arched her eyebrows delicately.

"My dear, you, of all people, should know that everyone has his
limits."

"Especially our poor Nicholah," Janette said and raised her glass.

LaCroix touched it with his own. "*Especially* him."


FIN
========================================================================

Well, I've left myself plenty of kindling to chop. Haven't I?
Erika <WILSONE1@Westat.com>