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Detective Nicholas Knight stood in the doorway of Duncan MacLeod's home. From the disheveled looks and minimal clothing of his host, as well as the similar appearance (down to the obviously-borrowed kimono) of his lady companion, it was pretty clear what had been going on recently in the Beaches home. Nick recognized the dark-skinned woman from the Immortal swordfight he'd seen at Queen's Park. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything," the detective apologized. This did not assuage the hostile expression of the large male Immortal, nor did he seem any more likely to put up the tremendous, razor-sharp katana he held at the ready. The woman, however, seemed slightly more hospitable. She, too, had been brandishing a katana (Nick wondered idly why they were so into Japanese swords when neither one was Asian), but at the sight of him, she let her sword-arm drop to her side. "Detective Knight," MacLeod said coldly. "I already gave my statement to the police." "Mr. MacLeod, we don't have to continue this charade. I know what you are." MacLeod raised an eyebrow. "I know you're some kind of Immortal." Knight continued. "I know about the ritual combat, and the beheadings, and the Lightning....I saw it with my own eyes the other night at Queen's Park. Let me tell you right now -- none of this is of my concern at the moment." That got to MacLeod. "Come in," he said grudgingly, and closed the door behind the detective as he entered the living room. "As you must have realized," Knight continued. "I fully intend to keep your secret. I could have already turned you in if I didn't." MacLeod finally put up his sword, leaning its flat against one shoulder, the hilt cradled in his hand near his waist. He rested his free arm across his stomach. "What do you want with me?" The woman with MacLeod spoke up. "Detective Knight, before you begin, I want you to know something as well. I know what you are, too." Knight's jaw dropped. "What?" "I know you're a vampire," she said. MacLeod shot her an incredulous glare. "Brianna? What the bloody hell are you talking about?" "Duncan, Detective Nicholas Knight is a vampire. We're not the only Immortals who live in this universe." "That's crazy!" he cried. "There's no such thing as vampires!" "They're good at keeping themselves hidden," the woman named Brianna said. "Like we are. Come on, Duncan, you know there are psychics and shamans. There's magic of all kinds running through this world. Vampires exist. I've seen a whole bunch of them." MacLeod regarded the woman with slitted eyes. Then he looked back to Knight. "What do you say about this?" he asked the detective. Knight sighed. Well, it was only fair. As a sign of good faith, he said, "Yes, it's true. I'm an 800-year-old vampire. But I don't take human blood. I've given up killing. I still have my powers, though. Observe." Duncan MacLeod's eyes grew to obsidian saucers as Knight's face transformed. Where a moment ago there had been a relatively handsome human man, suddenly there stood a monster. His eyes glowed a feral, unnatural red, and his snarling lips pulled back to reveal long, wicked fangs. A guttural growl escaped his throat. Then, a second later, the monster was gone, leaving only the Toronto detective again. MacLeod's jaw moved up and down, but no sound came out. He held up his sword before him protectively. "Duncan, it's all right," Brianna reassured him. "Knight's cool. He's a Good Guy." The swordsman looked to her questioningly, then pulled back his weapon again. "Brianna, I'm going along with this only because I've been able to trust you so far." "Mr. MacLeod," Knight said, "I wish I could discuss this further with you, but I'm in a rather urgent situation right now and you may be the only person who can help me." Duncan plunked down onto a wicker armchair with white canvas cushions. He carefully propped the sword up beside him. "What's going on?" Brianna asked, standing beside the Immortal's chair. "In the course of investigating the recent beheadings..." Knight began. MacLeod countered, "I thought you were going to leave those alone." "I am...up to a point. You see, we ran some checks on a man who was beheaded at Casa Loma. He has been identified with a terrorist organization that sold him radioactive material. We think there may be a plot to set a dirty bomb somewhere in Toronto." MacLeod's eyes flew open again, his jaw set resolutely. "I am sure the Casa Loma man was of your Immortal race," Knight said. "Now, I don't know what your people's general attitudes towards mortals are, but I am a sworn officer of the law and I intend to protect the innocent mortals of this city. I'm hoping you may have some information, and that you're willing to help me. I've spent several hours among my own sources, but I haven't uncovered any useful intelligence. Your community seems to keep very much to itself -- and it doesn't have much contact with my...people." Knight had been at the Raven all night, but his grapevine had yielded no more fruit. Janette had begun to shoot him dirty looks for quizzing too many of her clientele. In frustration, he had decided to try his luck with MacLeod, the only Immortal he knew how to find. The woman, Brianna, said softly, "We Immortals are like humans. Some of us are good, some are not. Duncan and I care about innocent mortals. And we do know who that man was. He was an old enemy of Duncan's." MacLeod shot her a look, but said nothing. She continued. "We know there is a ring of Immortal terrorists. We suspect they had some plans to attack here in Toronto, but we didn't have any specifics. You say you have evidence of a dirty bomb?" Knight nodded. At MacLeod's quizzical expression, Brianna explained to him about the use of conventional explosives to spread radioactive fallout. Duncan grew very agitated at this, and leapt to his feet. "I was afraid of something like this!" he muttered. "They've upped the ante! We have to get to the Kraken!" Brianna remained calm. "Detective -- do your people have any idea what the target might be?" "None at the moment. We're all combing our sources. My partner and I are working with Metro Toronto police. There are two American FBI agents and some international anti-terrorist agents involved as well. We have a wide net, but we're not sure what we're looking for." "Damn," Brianna said. "Detective, we want to get a hold of these people...for our own reasons. But we don't know where or when they're striking either." Knight sighed. Her expression suddenly brightened. She started, as if she'd just had an idea. "However, Detective, we might be able to dig in some sources of our own -- though it may take some time." "The problem is," Knight said, "We don't know how much time we have." "We may be able to help you with that, too. Eventually. Soon." Knight rose to his feet and produced his card. "This is where to find me. If you learn any thing, please let me know as soon as possible." Brianna gazed meaningfully into his eyes. He was struck by their odd shade of intense blue, especially in a woman of her dark color. "We will call you the second we get something," she told him. "We Immortal types have to stick together." Knight nodded, and headed for the door. As he opened it, he turned to them. "I hope I'm not prying...but I'm very curious...how do you actually become Immortal? The way that your kind are Immortal, I mean." Duncan shrugged. "No one knows. We're born this way." "Actually," Brianna said, "We don't even know how we're born. All Immortals are foundling babies. No one has ever been traced to biological parents. We begin in a state of pre-Immortality, where we live and age as normal humans, until the first time we die. Then we awaken, reborn, as Immortals. We can't have children of our own, so we don't how the trait turns up." Knight's heart sank. "Thank you," was all the vampire said, and stepped out onto onto the street. Knowing the Immortals were watching him, but no one else was, he turned his face to the sky and took off in flight. Knight glided effortlessly through the air, skimming the silvery surface of the Great Lake. He was disappointed that the Immortals' origins were apparently as mysterious to themselves as to everyone else. If there was some way their Immortality could allay his curse, it wasn't an obvious one. Still, perhaps he could have Natalie Lambert look into it. The medical examiner, the only mortal who knew his secret, had been researching a cure for his vampirism for some time now. Maybe MacLeod, or Brianna, would consent to some tests. But this would have to wait until the current crisis passed, of course. The vampire flew westward, and presently, below him, he saw several narrow, curved strips of land that ran roughly parallel to the Downtown lakeshore. These were the Toronto Islands. He headed for them. The wooded landmasses were mostly parkland and devoid of habitation, though there was a small airport on the westernmost island, some resort homes on the easternmost, and an amusement park was located on the aptly named Centre Island. He landed in a secluded spot, and walked a pleasant tree-lined path to an iron-railed esplanade. It faced the city skyline. He leaned against the rail and gazed at the brightly-lit skyscrapers, and the sentinel-like CN Tower with its squat companion, the SkyDome Stadium. Somewhere in his adopted city there lurked a terrible menace; one not even his vampire senses could pick up. Soon, however, his senses did detect a presence beside him. He turned to face a newly-appeared visitor. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a stylish long black silk trenchcoat. A diamond stud sparkled in the cravat visible at his throat. His face appeared fortyish, and had the classical features of a Roman patrician, though with unusually fleshy, sensuous lips. His eyes were dark, both piercing and deeply-set at the same time. His platinum-blond hair was worn in a spiky buzz-cut, and it shone pale, as unnaturally pale as the man's white, white skin, in the moonlight. "LaCroix," Knight intoned. "Nicholas," LaCroix purred in a silky tenor. "You never call." Knight frowned. This was the vampire who had created him and Janette. This was the symbol of all that was predatory, all that was callous, all that Knight hated in vampires. LaCroix enjoyed hovering around Nick, tormenting him on many occasions. "I hear your voice often enough on the radio," Nick retorted. "Oh? You do listen to my Nightcrawler radio show after all? I'm touched." Though Imperial Latin had been LaCroix's native tongue, he spoke English with the perfect inflection of a British aristocrat. Nick's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time for your banter right now, LaCroix. So, whatever you've come here to tell me, get it over with." "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You've become as impatient as your little mortal friends," the ancient vampire admonished. "But, actually, I've come to talk to you about some of the new friends you've made." "What are you talking about?" "You know what I'm talking about. A certain fraternity that parallels ours." "You mean the Immortals?" "Yes." "What do you know about them? Hardly any vampires have heard of them at all." "When you've been around as long as I have, you hear things. From the dawn of time they have been among us. They may even pre-date us -- I have heard that one of them may be as old as human civilization itself. But there may be more stories about them than you think. Consider human mythology. There are the Six Bounteous Immortals of Zoroastrianism. The Eight Immortals of Chinese folklore. Even the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? From the Bible?" "They say St. John of Patmos had picked up some very old tales of their exploits. But the details of their operations are from well before my time. Continuing in that vein, so to speak -- do you know how many religions have figures who die, or visit the Underworld, then return? Think of Mithra, of Hercules...of Jesus, of course..." "Jesus was an Immortal?" Knight spat incredulously. LaCroix shrugged. "I can't say for sure. Again, that was a little before my time. And needless to say, I've never been invited to any Immortal's dinner parties." Knight shook his head. "LaCroix, what is the point of all this?" "All I'm saying is that you need to tread carefully. There may be a good reason why our kind has avoided their kind for millennia. They won't take kindly to your getting mixed up in their affairs." "Well, I was perfectly willing to let them be, but I won't let them destroy an entire city of innocents." LaCroix rolled his eyes. "Oh, there's that tiresome policeman's duty of yours again." "I don't care how many of their own kind they behead. But as far as I know, they don't need to prey upon the mortals. They don't even need to feed on them, the way we do. They're threatening them purely out of spite, or arrogance." LaCroix gave him a sideways glance. "Be careful what you consider arrogance. It may backfire on you. They may consider you arrogant, for presuming to tell them what to do. And beheading, which they do so well, will finish you off as easily as it does them." Knight crossed his arms and glared at the elder vampire. "Oh, and one other thing," LaCroix said. "And this is definitely within your purview. Be wary of that mortal, Fox Mulder." "What do you know about him?" "I know that unlike everyone else in these enlightened times, Mulder Believes. He is close to uncovering the Truth about your nature." "How can you possibly know about that?" LaCroix smiled wickedly "I have my sources. Let's say a little bat told me." His aspect grew serious. "Listen to me, Nicholas. Have a care. If Mulder persists in his little investigations, the Enforcers may get wind of it." Knight's eyes flew open in horror. The Enforcers! A shadowy cabal of vampires, their purpose was to hideously destroy any mortal who accumulated convincing and concrete evidence of vampirism. Those creatures of the night would kill, burn, and demolish anything or anyone who even came close to proving the existence of the vampire race to the skeptical, scientific world. Even vampires themselves feared their inquisitions and retributions. "Now," LaCroix continued, "I couldn't care less if the Enforcers make a meal -- or a bonfire -- of your little friend, but I know how sad it would make you to lose him." Knight's mind raced. "Well...not even his own partner believes his allegations," he ventured, mentally reviewing what, exactly, Mulder had uncovered about him. True, Knight had nearly blown his cool back at his apartment when the FBI Agent had dangled the cross in front of him. He had been lucky that it was so small and plain. If it had been a few inches bigger, and with an actual carving of the crucified Jesus on it, he wouldn't have been able to hide his revulsion so well. But he'd dodged the bullet, so to speak. As far as he could tell, all Mulder's evidence was circumstantial. "Mulder hasn't got anything solid on me," Knight concluded. "Just keep an eye on him...at least, if you want him to live." LaCroix placed his hands in his pockets, and turned to go. "Wait, LaCroix...do you know anything about the Immortal terrorist plot to bomb Toronto?" Knight called after him. LaCroix smiled like a crocodile. "Nicholas, don't ask Daddy to do your homework for you." Knight glared at him. LaCroix said nothing, and took off into the night. Nick cursed under his breath. When LaCroix got that way, there was no use trying to convince him to cooperate. He may have known something, or he might just have been bluffing -- it was impossible to tell. His only hope in solving this case in time now lay with his questionable trust in the mysterious Immortal, Brianna.
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