The characters and the FK universe don't belong to me. They belong to James Parriot and company; however, but since they're not using them, I'll take 'em home with me.
Major spoilers needs be mentioned about BMV, AtA, LK and Fever.
Permission to archive this granted to Mel's FKfic site. Other interested parties, drop me a line; no unauthorised distribution or duplication, please.
All comments directed to DPangel79@aol.com; truth is preferred, ego stroking praise always welcome. 
This was inspired by a thousand different people and things. Laura Griffin gets a wave and thanx for getting me back into fandom. 
This is dedicated to the cousin I never knew; may his painful battle with AIDS be over and may he sleep peacefully in the Summerland.
 
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan
*************************
PROLOUGE: the present
And the hot night settled in. The scratches had healed
and the gash that had marred her forehead had knitted itself shut.
But she had not washed the blood off. The platinum blonde
hair was stained black with her own dried vampiric blood. She glanced down
at her hands. They, too, were dirty and bloodied. Filth had crusted
underneath normally clean, elegantly trimmed nails and her clothes clung
loosely to her body, heavy with the evidence of previous events.
*I look like the lone survivor of a massacre,* she mused.
A pained, thin smile spread across her face.
As a mortal, rumpled clothes alone would have inspired a
desparate need for a long, hot shower. But now, as a vampire stuck in this
miserable hot world, the blood and dirt felt right. The proper reflection of
what had become of her lost, precious world.
She stepped a little closer to the unmarked gravesites.
Once there had been one. She had made the second as a mortal. The last two
were fresher; forged by vampiric hands and joined together so that the silent
occupants would be together even in real death.
She touched each of the graves, murmuring their occupant's
names wistfully.
"Flickering flames, my dark angel, flickering flames."
She twisted around, shocked by the shadowy presence. Her
lamentations had distracted her enhanced senses. Foolish and dangerous.
Actually, more like stupid.
"What do I do now?" She asked, desparation straining her
voice.
"I don't know, my dear."
His answer burned a hole in her cold, dead heart. Bitter
tears welled up and dripped crimson trails down her porcelain cheek. She
turned back around and faced the dwindling waterfront. Staring blankly
towards the old city, she imagined what it used to be like. The CN Tower and
the sky scrapers, before their buckling infrastructure shattered thousands of
dreams as broken window glass rained down on the city. Beautiful, glittering
death.
The presence came up behind her, close enough so that
she could hear the delicate rippling of his black silk shirt. Wrapping a
strong hand around one of her own, he forced her to loosen the steely fist she
had made with her fingers. When they finally released, a small metal box
dropped into his hands. Quickly examining and then opening it, he made a
slight huff of surrendered disgust.
It was a silver box. Quite simple; but the inside bore
two rings tied together with the most miniscule ribbons. He touched them with
a strong finger and closed the box, handing it back to her.
"No." She didn't bother to face him, she just pushed
away his outstretched hand with hers. "It's your legacy more than it is mine."
"Then why hold on to it?"
"Like Pandora, I've managed to trap hope," she inhaled
sharply, taking in hot, tainted air. "However I grow weary and am not able to
keep the trap locked anymore. I'm offering it to you this once. If you do
not wish to have it, I'll return it whence it came and be going."
He touched her blood matted hair, feeling the rough
sticky texture and pondered for a moment. His own words from what seemed like
a lifetime ago echoed in his ears. Would she listen to his words any more
than he did back then? Would she call him the Devil? Bid him join
Memnoch's tortured souls? Or even choose to join them herself? How strange
it was that he was thinkng about them... and him, at this moment.
Abruptly, she dropped to the ground and seated herself
in a crosslegged position. Pale, delicate fingers wandered over to the
nearest grave and played idly with the grimy soil.
Thunder rumbled in the distance; a loud booming crash
throbbing through the warm ground.
He snarled, dropping the silver box in her lap. "You
know where to find me," and he took off, abandoning her to herself.
"Yeah, yeah. Of course I do."
Checking to see if he was really gone, not just
tucked away in the black shadows, she stood up again. Turning the box in her
hands over and over, she listened to the clinking of the rings against the
box's sides. Preparing to bury it in the two conjoined graves, she changed
her mind. Once more, facing the waterfront, she pulled her arm back and
snapped her wrist sharply, releasing the tiny box over the water.
It splashed lightly on touchdown, then disappeared
into the shallow, murky depths; swallowed up for all eternity, for all she
cared.
Thunder rumbled and crashed again.
As she was walking away, it happened. A teeny drop
of water hit her face. Then another. And another. And another. Soon the
droplets increased in size and number. *Rain... rain!* Her mind reeled with
shock. Incresasing rapidly, the drops doubled, then tripled, falling harder,
making an audible sound on the murky depths before her.
It began to downpour, rain falling in sheets now,
pounding her arms and legs and head. The heavy rainfall pooled in her matted
hair and finally loosened the hardened blood. Watered down blood sheeted down
her back, arms, face and fingers, dripping to the parched ground, forming a
sickly, pink-crimson puddle.
She lifted her head, letting clean, replenishing
rain wash her features and trickle down the lines in her eternally young face.
Everything was washing clean. Despite the cloud
cover, the environment around her seemed to sheen with renewed vigor.
Everything...
For the first time in ten years.
Tracy Vetter brought her gaze back to the fallen
city and laughed, defeated. Pain and pleasure. Joy and hate. Love and
revile.
All in one savage, breathtaking moment.
"You were right, Nicholas. Damn you for it."
*****************
end part (01/13)
Send all comments and rain forecasts to DPangel79@aol.com
Disclaimers in pt 1. Author's tip... note that this starts at the 20yrs ago
mark and goes on through the rest of the story in a linear fashion. :-)
 
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan
*****************
20 years ago...
Darkness. Murky, impenetrable darkness. Comforting,
inky, endless darkness.
Or so it seemed.
The world came back in a flash of white brightness. 
Painful and blinding, the bright white faded into a dozen hues of red; dark
red shadows playing against crimson patches in an endless dizzying array.
Instinctively, she clawed out, pushing against unknown
forces. Ripping and shoving, the curious red world started to gain more
colour. Shadows took outlines and outlines began to turn into recogniseable
shapes.
Sensing her immediate surroundings now unoccupied by
hinderances, she jerked up and focused her eyes.
She was in the morgue.
And she was not alone.
She gasped, realising the hospital gown that had barely
covered her in the first place was giving her unknown visitor a show.
Wrapping the excess fabric around and tucking the exposed back in on itself,
she attempted to gain a sense of decorum before her flushed cheeks could give
away her embarrassment.
But they never reddened. *How odd,* she mused.
She looked at the stranger sitting next to her.
And that was when she noticed.
Other than the fact that she was in the morgue, half-
dressed, totally confused and apparently being baby-sat by a silent visitor,
something was weird. She had to focus to detect his dark grey shirt and
stone-washed blue jeans. At first, she thought he had red hair, but after
forcing the reddish haze from her view, she realised it was brown. In fact,
everything had a reddish haze.
"Why am I here? Who are you?"
The stranger made no effort to move; he merely spoke in
a quiet monotone. "Now that you are awake, this is for you to drink and these
are for you to wear." He handed her a dark wine bottle, filled to the brim,
and a set of fresh clothes.
"Well, if you don't mind I'll get dressed first." 
She hopped off the table, reeling with vertigo for a
moment. She slid on the black jeans, noting how form fitting they were.
Snapping the bra hooks, then sliding the loose silk blouse on, she smiled
inwardly. Whoever her secret benefactor was, they sure knew her style and
size.
She removed the bottle from the man's outstretched
hand. Uncorking it, she sniffed the thick liquid.
It was blood.
Shocked, she reeled back and bumped roughly into the
gurney. Why would she need this? She wasn't a--
But that was when the Beast reared it's vicious head
for the first time. Like a caged, rabid animal, it clawed its way to the
surface, demanding the contents of the bottle. Blinking stupidly for a
moment, she felt the growing presence of two pointed fangs. The Beast
grappled with her will power, locking her disparately reeling mind in a fight
over her self control.
"I'm a-- oh, my god, I'm, I'm a-a vam-- vampire?! "
Her strange visitor was silent; he neither nodded nor
flinched at her blurting realisation.
But even through the shock, the beast was still
growling and clawing at her. So, mimicking the movements she had seen Vachon
do a dozen times, she placed the bottle opening to her lips and tipped the
bottle up.
Thick, warm fluid poured down her throat. She
gagged, briefly nauseated by her first taste of vampiric nutrition. It hit
her stomach like a heavy brick, settling uneasily, at first. But within
moments she felt light headed, vertigo swooping in on her. Flying high, the
blood tingled and she began to taste the slightest hints of veal and vino
muscat. Her mind flooded with the memories of another person. She could see
their first friend. Smell the perfume that always reminded them of their
mother, hear their laughter after their favourite joke, feel what they felt
when they had last made love and more. It was, to say the least, extremely
erotic.
But now the bottle was empty. Drained clean.
Nothing left to take in, to savour, to relish. She paused, sensing the
rampant Beast receding back into the shadows and the two sharps canines
shrinking back to human normal.
The man finally spoke again. "If you are prepared,
we will go now."
"Go? Where?"
"He will explain all to you. The sun will be =
rising
soon. We must leave."
"But I-- oh, hell. Okay, let's go."
The man stood up. Following suit, she headed for
the door and peered into the hallway. Empty and abandoned. She gestured for
the impassive man to lead, but before he walked in front of her, he went over
to her forgotten death bed and gingerly placed a small object where her head
had been. Then he surreptitiously stepped out of the room.
She glanced back to the empty gurney. The object
that had been totally oblivious to her up until now was resting peacefully on
the wrinkled white sheet. She furrowed her brows in confusion.
It was a single, unopened, white rose.
* * * * 
The man had led her to an indistinct tan sedan
and driven them wordlessly to the destination, wherever the hell that was, he
had vaguely referred to.
For the duration of the car ride, she pondered
her curious new situation. Who had brought her across? Where was she going?
Who had supplied her the clothes and blood? Who was the passive man driving
her to her destiny? Why?
The car stopped. Half-alert, she opened the door
and stepped out, looking around.
She was standing in front of the Raven.
The man pushed open the door and pointed towards
the inside. It seemed empty and dark; far more ominous and silent now more so
then when it had been bustling with vampire and mortal patrons. She walked
in, suddenly nervous about the fate prepared for her. Following the
continuing gestures of the man, she treaded lightly down the stairs, across
the floor, over to the bar, finally sitting on a barstool.
"Thank you, Michael, that will be all for now. Go
home and forget all about this."
The man, apparently named Michael, turned around
and headed briskly for the door, closing it behind him as soon as he stepped
out.
"I do hope this hasn't been tedious for you." The
voice traveled from the shadows behind her like silk rustling in the wind.
"Um, no. I do have questions, though."
"Of course you do, Ms. Vetter. Everyone does
when they are as new a vampire as you are."
Tracy squinted into the shadows, trying to see
the person behind the voice. Her eyes adjusted amazingly fast; the red hue
returned and the outline of a tall man jumped into her field of vision.
He stepped out of the darkness. Dressed all in
black, he had one large silver poison ring gracing his right hand and a sharp
looking dagger pinned through his collar. The short, upright hair was
slightly receded, a light silvery brown in colour.
Tracy's jaw dropped. "Lacroix?!"
He smiled. His presence was intimidating and
alluring all at once. Like a wolf sleeping next to the oblivious sheep herd.
And she was a ewe.
Walking so smoothly she thought he was gliding
across the Raven's floor, LaCroix reached over the bar, retrieving two bottles
and two glasses.
"Are you hungry, my dear?" he asked
insinuatingly.
"I, uh-- " Tracy stammered. Being alone in the
club with *him* was bad enough. Feeling the whole world anew as a newborn
vampire was even worse. Now she had to answer questions relating to both, at
once. "No, I don't think so."
He gazed at her with searching eyes. There was
a lot he would have to sort out and explain to her. "Do you feel in control?"
That triggered a defensive response. "Well,
considering I've lost two friends to death, been shot, died myself, been
brought across, waken up half-nude in the morgue and brought here to you f=
or God knows what... I'm doing pretty damn good, thank you!"
Lucien Lacroix chuckled. She had potential.
"No, no. Are you hungry?"
"Oh," Tracy looked down, embarrassed by her
sudden outburst. "No, I'm in-- control. I guess I'm not hungry. Why? What
is it that is supposed to tell me that I'm hungry?"
He tapped one of the glasses with a long finger.
"Depends on who you talk to, I suppose. Some call it the 'Beast;' some, the
'Hunger.' It is the part of you, my dark angel, that drives you to feed. The
part of you that takes away the mortal self-control... if you let it."
"The part that Nick hid from me." Her tone
was stained with bitterness.
Lucien detected the bitter tone as easily as
he noticed Nicholas' guilt complex when it surfaced. *She felt,* he thought,
amused, *that he has betrayed her. That he never trusted her.* "Do you think
he didn't trust you?"
"Trust?" The word caught in her mouth.
"Trust?!" Tracy stood up and paced, her fury inflamed by her new nature. "He
didn't trust me. He knew I knew about vampires and he played dumb! How much
else is there? Is he the reason I lost Vachon?"
LaCroix was about to answer; but he paused,
realising she was talking about things she wasn't supposed to remember.
Things he had taken from her. Things lost in the power of vampiric mesmerism.
Changing the topic to suit his curiosity, he
questioned her, genuinely interested. "So, you recall Vachon and... "
"Screed." She finished his sentence without
a beat. "Yes. they were my friends. They were..." Tracy paused, searching
her piecemeal memory. "killed by a girl. No, no. Screed got sick."
He merely nodded. She apparently had been a
better Resistor than even he had taken her for.
"And... oh, my God! That means... " She
trailed off, reeling from the pieces of the puzzle slamming together in her
head. "You-- you, uh, coughed that one night when Nick was all weak and,
you... you, uh... "
"You listened to the program. I'm honoured.
I had no idea."
She smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I never
could quite admit to it. Dad would hate the idea that I-- "
"What?"
"Oh, no. Dad. Mom. They think I'm dead."
Tracy looked at the door, suddenly worried.
Lucien rose up and clasped a firm hand on
her shoulder. She struggled briefly, then stopped, twisted around and met his
eyes with an anxious stare. "The last thing the police commissioner needs is
to find that his little girl is a vampire, her partner always has been one and
that this same little girl is now part of a world he has no idea nor control
of."
She huffed, forcing the inevitable
conclusion upon herself. Releasing the cool hand from her shoulder, she sat
back down on her barstool and looked over her shoulder at him, finally
gesturing for him to sit.
"So how much more is there?"
"Enough to fill a decade's worth of diaries."
Tracy Vetter shook her head, surrendering
to the overwhelming amount of information she was fated to learn. Uncorking,
sniffing and then pouring the wine glasses to the brim, she slid one over =
to her superior.
Accepting the glass and smiling lightly,
Lucien Lacroix seated himself and began to explain everything.
****************
end part (02/13)
Send comments and white roses to DPangel79@aol.com
Disclaimers, part (01/13). Lost a part? E-mail me for a replacement.
 
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan
***************
It had been three days since Tracy Vetter had been
escorted by Michael, her silent guide from the morgue, to the Raven and Lucien
Lacroix.
A lot had happened since then. She had fed and slept
under the Raven's roof. Thoroughly exploring the dark night club had been a
fun distraction from her lessons in history and vampiredom.
Sometimes, Lacroix had even stepped out and left her
alone. This was when she played around with her new found powers. She would
float off the ground and push her concentration to the maximum or practise
dashing about with blinding speed over the bar, up the stairs, around the
stage and all around.
At one point, Lacroix had captured an arrogant young
adolescent man and shoved him into the Raven like a father lion dragging a
terrified zebra to his cub. She had stalked the teenager all about the club,
terrorising him with surprise attacks and sailing pounces. Forcing him into a
corner, she would sit down and listen to the teenager's panicked heart and
laboured breath; occasionally, upon Lucien's request, she would hypnotise the
boy into doing bizarre things or would put him in her complete control.
Despite the macabre reality of it all that occasionally troubled her, Tracy
was immensly enjoying her education.
Even when she had finally drained the boy dry, it had
been entertaining. She waited until he had relaxed and was resting in a
corner where some of Janette's prized possesions had been housed. He looked
so small, so out of place, curled up next to wrought iron and carefully
painted walls in his ragged jeans and white t-shirt. 
Lacroix had told Tracy about Janette; how she had
adored this club and all of her adventures and tastes. Tracy liked what she
heard. Janette seemed like she would have been great to be around; as Lacroix
had put it, "a fine sister she would have made for you." 
And in the company of those idolised possesions,
Tracy's boy was hiding, weary from being hunted. His little heart was beating
softly, his eyes were closed and a little smile touched his face; he was
dreaming, most likely of someplace else other than here.
Tracy sauntered over next to him and knelt down,
placing her nose close to his sleeping face. She inhaled his adolescent
scent, catching the hint of aftershave he had dabbed on his chin in youthful
hopes of manly stubble. She touched his soft cheek, feeling the smooth face.
He stirred lightly. She smiled and traced a wandering finger down his jawline
and onto his virgin throat. So soft and tender, so easy a kill, so untouched
a quarry. She wanted him; and he was hers to take.
She leaned in fully, placing her body right next to
his. She placed her left hand on his chest and slipped her right hand
gingerly behind his head. She kissed him on the forehead and gently worked
her way down. He moved slightly, reacting like she had invaded his dreams.
Her lips and mouth dangerously close to his soft throat, she paused, savouring
the moment. Predatory fangs descended in her mouth and she smiled a toothy
grin before she plunged into his flesh.
His blood was so sweet and anxious to flow into
her mouth. It rushed with childlike fervour, a gourmet meal from his veins,
daring to please it's consumer.
Throughout the whole time, the youth had stirred
little. When his body went slack, she lowered him to the floor gently. He
was quiet and still, no longer moving, no longer dreaming. His dreams were
hers now. She had him inside of her and the fire of the adolescent male
burned in her. His last thoughts were of her, caught in some erotic childish
dream about girls and their inexperienced prom dates. A fine meal, and a
valuable experience.
"Was he worth it?"
She smiled, wiping a little trail of blood from
the corner of her mouth. "Yes, he was. It's always like this?"
Lacroix paused. He had gotten in the habit of
not keeping anything from her. His troubling experiences with Divia had even
been part of her massive education. "Not always, dear, every one is
different, and they are all not that easy a prey. Some you must work for.
And there are some that will make sure you can feel their hatred of you in
their blood. But I hope for your sake that most will prove an entertaining
and worthy hunt."
She nodded. She was his student, eager and
loving.
And he was enjoying teaching her. She was a
promising child. Nicholas had been difficult; far more difficult than her.
Where he had questioned, she listened. Where he had argued, she questioned.
Where he had outright defied, she argued. The modern age that she had grown
up in had created a different mentality than the one Nicholas had been given
in his day. Or in Lacroix's, for that matter. She reflected the youthful
cyncism and guarded curiousity; her faith in God and her faith in authority
was disillusioned like so many of her societal equivalents.
He looked foreward to releasing her to the world;
to show her everything her father and mortality had neglected. He wanted to
expand her world view from Toronto to all of the civilised world. She had so
much potential; and, he thought sadistically, she needed to rub her change in
the face of those who doubted her. One, of course, being Nicholas.
Especially now.
His reality had changed too. That dark and
disturbing night so long ago had heralded changes for everyone. Like the last
night of a play, events came to a head and released themselves with the stress
of a pent up fireball.
Tracy wandered over to his side and smiled. "Now
I know where Nick got that look."
Lacroix shot a glance her way. The smile stayed
on her face, untouched by the reprimanding glare. Giving up on it, he
softened the glare into an understated smile of his own.
She sighed. "I hope he's okay. I mean, I'm
still miffed at him for that secretive crap, but I still hope he's okay."
Lacroix turned around to face the young blonde.
"Yes, he is."
She blinked, curious at his response.
The master vampire shifted suddenly. "There's
more you should know."
"What? Oh, tell me he's not dead."
Lacroix winced. That night was a sore spot for
him. After some 2000 years of existence, change was not his favourite thing;
especially when it came to his family and his concerns.
He took her arm and guided her to the bar. *Too
harsh,* he told himself. "Where do I start?"
"Where ever you think you need to." Her mind was
open; she wanted to know the truth, no matter the cost.
Lucien Lacroix closed his eyes, drew a deep
breath and began relating that most peculiar night.
"The events that decided your immortality, I
would hope, are clear to you. Nicholas blamed himself for you getting shot...
he always finds a way to steal the blame for himself. He was going to bring
you across until Ms. Lambert interfered, accusing him of favouritism and
stopping him cold. He's always been like that around women he wants, so
damnedably sappy. So, with you lying close to death, he abandoned the room
and, I suppose, you.
"I've never been one for sentimentality; but I
despise tragedies. He came to me, concerned; wrapped up in a confusing whorl
of problems. This life was closing down on him and he didn't know what to do.
"We were all going to leave, you see. I closed
the club, shut down the radio program. Nicholas was going to join me, if he
hadn't waffled so badly. So much had changed. So many people were gone."
"Screed, Vachon... " Tracy paused, thinking.
"Schanke, Cohen..."
"Janette." Lucien added ruefully. "He thought
he lost you, too."
A silence filled the abandoned club. A heavy,
mosoleum-like silence.
"Anyways, I'll go on. Nichol-- Nick's always
had this annoying tendency to endear himself to female mortals, giving him his
attention and love and overly used emotions. With Natalie it was the worst.
Under the guise of curing his 'maladies,' they pushed limits left and right.
That night she came to him for an end; a conclusion sponsored by a whirlwind
of pain. Either he gave her immortality or she died, hopefully dragging him
with her to their precious little afterlife."
Tracy leaned forward, engrossed in her ex-
partner's and new sibling's fate.
"That's where I came in. Nicholas had her on
the floor, panicked. He claimed he had taken too much. He wanted to join her
so badly, I doubt he heard my words. Damned fool. After eight hundred years
of my lessons, he still failed to learn.
"I gave him what he wanted. I granted his
foolish wish. I was fully prepared to plunge him into death. To abandon me
fully, as if I was a curse to him. With stake raised, I began to bring it
down to strike home, but, suddenly, he was no longer underneath its point."
Leaning too far forward in anticipation, Tracy
fell off the barstool. Comically contorted, laying on the floor, she smiled
sheepishly and propped herself on her elbows. "Continue, please."
Lacroix cocked an eyebrow. Were these the times
of nobles and jesters, she would have been a valuable member of the court,
wearing bells. "Well?"
"It's safer down here."
"Ah, well. To return to more serious matters,
he had moved. Apparently at the last moment, Natalie had stirred. To her
side he flew, pathetically pleading for her to come back to him."
"She wasn't dead?"
He paused, stifling a snide comment. "No, she
was on the border between life and death. Unlike you, who was brought across
with practised grace, she could have easily been a failure. But with my
learned guidance, he finished what her started and brought her the rest of the
way across."
"But?"
"But what? But that means they're still around
as we are? Yes. Make no mistake though, I left there before sunrise with no
indication on whether I was staying or leaving. They think me gone and you
dead. She's still queen mistress of the dead and he's still the goody-two-
shoes homicide detective."
"But they're..."
"Yes, they're vampires; together now." The
words were poison in his mouth. "Let them have their intertwined fate. We
shall have ours."
Tracy's gaze was a loyal one; she was watching
his face, reading the emotions in his eyes and hearing them in his voice. She
seemed fully willing to follow wherever he went. Pulling herself off the
floor, she took his proffered hand, her lithe fingers brushing against the
silver poison ring.
Standing at her full height, she still was
dwarfed by his imposing stature. A look of mischevious glee danced in her
eyes. 
Lacroix cupped her tender cheek in his large,
strong hand. "What is it?"
"Can I pull a surprise visit on my new
brother and his undead queen of the dead?"
He chuckled. Potential, indeed. "Yes,
tomorrow night. And you'll send my regards along with you."
A big grin spread across Tracy's face. There
was planning to do.
***************
end part (03/13)
Send comments and vampiric textbooks to DPangel79@aol.com
Standard disclaimers, etc. in part (01/13). However, an eency PG for some
errant language.
 
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan
***************
"Come on, Nat. Won't you just let it go? It's been
two months!"
"No way. I still don't care how much it will screw
up my metabolism. I want chocolate!"
"Nat...!"
"Uh-uh. It's worth the pain! Give me the candy bar,
Nick!"
Natalie Lambert darted around the table, taking up
chase after the blonde haired man. Utilising her still novel vampiric speed,
she nearly caught up to him, but he had managed to leap across to the other
side of the table.
A wicked grin spread over Nick Knight's face as he
dangled the still wrapped candy bar just out of her grasping hands. "You
don't eat this anymore! Besides, vampires crave blood, not chocolate."
Natalie stopped and assumed a defiant pose. Arching
an eyebrow, she looked at him and deadpanned, "You cut your blood with wine; I
should be able to cut it with chocolate."
Nick hesitated for a moment, considering the
sincerity of her statement. Erring on the side of caution, he backed up and
dodged between the couch and the coffee table. "If I give up wine, you give
up chocolate?"
"That's not fair! You've been enjoying wine for eight
hundred years! I haven't hit a year yet! You're used to starving yourself.
Let me have that," she pointed at the candy bar, "and then I'll go to the
safer wine."
Shoving down laughter, Nick came out from behind the
couch. "You whine more than I do."
"Oh, that does it!!" Riling up fresh strength and
speed, Nat Lambert lept up on the table and flew across the room, tumbling a
startled Nick onto the floor, brusquely on his back.
Both of them started laughing as he rolled over and
pinned her to the floor. With his free hand, he brushed curly hair off her
face. Leaning in, he touched her cheek and attempted to kiss her soft lips...
As she wrangled free of his hold and kicked up
savagely. She thrust a kneecap into his family jewels and snatched the candy
bar out of his distracted grip.
Darting away and over to the edge of the couch, she
perched on the arm, daintily undoing the foil wrapper as if she were handling
an fragile and irreplaceable artifiact.
Nick, wincing, yet recovering quickly, stood up,
dusting off his rumpled clothes. Surprised at the shockingly vicious, yet
effective, attack, he was about to open his mouth with renewed objection...
until the phone rang.
"Yes, Knight."
Natalie balled up the wrapper and bounced it off the
reciver in his hand.
"I understand. Is that all?" A sneer, a flash of
fangs.
Nat just smiled. Holding the chocolate in plain
sight, she extended her tongue and licked the candy sensously.
"I... uh.. yeah, I'm still here."
Nat sighed in mock ecstasy and placed one end in her
mouth. Pulling back lips to reveal white teeth, she bit down on the candy
bar, hard.
"Th--that's no problem. Yeah, uh, I'm fine."
Extending his free hand, he gestured for her to give over the candy. She
snickered maniacally.
"When do you want me there?"
 A mischevious grim spread over her face.

"'Kay. I have pen and paper. Give me the
address." A sneer, again.
Natalie gave him a chocolate laden rasberry.
"Thanks. Bye."
"So, what's up?" she queried innocently.
"Nothing that can't wait until I finish with you!"
"Aaaah, hey! No! Wha-- hahahahahaha!" Nat
dashed off the couch and across the room. Laughing hysterically, her back
against the elevator door, she watched as Nick sauntered over, mischief on his
mind.
"We've got a little time before we have to be
there... " Once more, Nick leaned in, closing all her avenues of escape. He
could smell the chocolate on her breath. "Do you want the 'I told you so' now
or la-- ooh, shit!"
Natalie, sliding an unseen hand to the door
handle, opened the door, stepping aside ducking into a crouch and rolling away
all in one swift moment. Unbalanced as a cat on catnip, Nick fell forward,
crashing into the elevator floor.
She was giggling uncontrollably. She stepped into
the elevator, pressed the butoon and closed the door. Nick, still on the
floor, twisted and looked up at her. Flustered, he harrumphed, bracing
himself with his elbow and drumming his other hand's fingers on the florr.
"So we're going, eh?"
The giggling continued. Crimson tears dripped
down her cheek. She blinked through the bloody tears, forcing a straight
face. He arched an indignant eyebrow at her.
And, invariably, she started laughing out loud,
the sound echoing in the elevator car.
* * *
"I told you so."
"Oh, bite me."
"Been there, done that." Nick patted her knee
sympathetically.
After dropping by, checking out and signing off
on the crime scene, Nick Knight and Natalie Lambert were heading back to the
loft. Halfway through her initial examination, the Toronto ME had been
assaulted by wracking stomach pain. The candy bar, as Nick had promised, was
causing a distinct negative reaction with her undead physiology. But, dammit,
it was worth it!
Nick had ferried her away, telling the captain
that she had eaten something particularly spicy and that he was taking her
back for some antacid. Truth was, he was going to make her feed and then rub
in her nose the painful mistake.
The caddy purred it's way home, virtually on
cruise control.
"So, have you learned your lesson?"
Nat scowled. "And if I didn't?" 
"I'll have to put you across my knee and spank
you."
A thin smile forced its way through the grimaces
of discomfort. "Oh, sure, tease me, why don't you?"
Nick chuckled and repeated his earlier question.
"So, have you learned your lesson?"
"Yeah, yeah, I guess I have. I won't do it
again."
Nick smiled at her. Were he not enjoying the
humility she was attempting to fight back, he would have noticed the look in
her eyes.
The look of a chipmunk with a treeful of nuts,
or, in Nat's case, a drawerful of chocolate.
* * * 
Tracy, perching on a building ledge adjacent to
the warehouse where Nick and Nat lived, was waiting. She had seen the caddy
leave and then come back; two passengers both ways.
So bloody quaint. They were playing house.
Undead, dusk until dawn house, but still house.
A loud comment drifted up to her sensitive
ears. Tracy looked down at the garage to catch the door opening and Nick
digging around the trunk of the caddy. Nat was apparently giving him a hard
time. Tracy snickered and leaned forward to listen.
"I'll be fine, Nick! I know where the fridge is
and I know where my office is. I am not a child!"
Pulling his head out of the trunk, Nick reached
out and patted her shoulder. "I'm sure you do. I'll be back soon."
Nat glared at him. Eight hundred years and he
still acted like a normal man. Maybe, it was time to pull that cast iron
skillet out. An old friend from her college days had given her the heavy
skillet with the promise that she would use it should she ever settle down
with a man. A good, hard  might do Nick some good; unfortunately, his
thick, immortal head might dent the cast iron.
Starting the caddy and backing it out, Nat
watched him, snickering at the potential humour of banging him with a frying
pan. She giggled and waved.
Nick waved back and drove off.
Tracy smiled wolfishly from her obscured perch.
*Perfect,* she thought, *absolutely perfect.*
All Trace had to do was wait...
**********************
end part (04/13)
Send all comments, candy bars and frying pans to DPangel79@aol.com
Blah, blah, blah..... that's boring speak for all those disclaimers an=
' stuff.
 2 words... that's it, they're not the real bad ones...
 
It Never Rains (05/13)
by Shana Nolan
******************
Stretched out on the black leather couch, Nick Knight
stirred restlessly. It was the second day his dreams had kept him out of his
warm and comfortable bed; it was the second day he had woken himself up,
panicked.
And Natalie Lambert was getting sick of it.
As a mortal, holding hopes and dreams of an exotic
eternal lover, she could stand the empty bed. She could tolerate waking up
alone.
But now, as a vampire, as Nick's vampire, the empty
bed made her edgy and unhappy. After so many years of denial, hope, dreams,
pain, love, misery and longing, she refused to return back to them. She would
not abandon what had freed her from them.
She was his, finally. His lover, his companion, his
student, his friend, his sole confidant, his childe, his consort, his
signifigant other. He didn't have to restrain himself anymore; and he didn't,
up until two days ago.
The dreams were horrible. That one miserable night
of death, chaos and shattered hopes was haunting him with a vengeance. Every
one who had died and everyone who had left were torturing his subconscious.
Even the ending wasn't as it really happened. In his dreams everything went
wrong. The stake struck home. Natalie never came back.
Nick grumbled something under his breath and rolled
onto his side. A wistful smile touched Nat's face. She was watching him from
the loft balcony like a doting mother eagle. She refused to interfere. She
would not wake him up. The one time she had, he had lashed out blindly and
nearly throttled her; if she had been mortal, he would have crushed her
windpipe with ease.
So she let him endure it. *If it doesn't kill you,
it'll make you stronger.* she reminded herself. She couldn't, she wouldn't
for anything. His conscious was torturing him for a reason.
He stirred again. It was so hard to resist him.
She wanted to soothe him, comfort him and drive off those horrible dreams with
a big, heavy stick.
Natalie padded down the stairs. Making a beeline
for the black fridge, she was digging for something to eat. No matter how
hard she tried to maintain the standards she had set for Nick and eventually
herself, she now knew how bad the cravings were. Blood hunger was stronger
than her worst chocolate and coffee cravings. But she made herself consume
the cow's blood just like she made Nick. It was gross, she had to admit, but
without it, there was no cure, no returning; that was something they still
were striving for, and she would bring them both back together. She would go
back to her chocolate and she would prove to him that coffee really was the
fifth food group.
Uncorking a green bottle and placing the cork in her
favourite, but abandoned coffee mug, she took a swig. It was bitter, cold,
but nuking it would wake up Nick with incessant beeping. She touched the mug
idly, brushing fingers across the logo. "The two great things in life: coffee
and more coffee." The cup was brimming over with corks again. She had
demanded that he stopped dropping the corks on the floor; it drove her crazy.
Before she had moved her stuff into the loft, she had
thrown him out for the night so she could scrub it down and clean it properly.
Men, even the immortal ones, were horrible at housecleaning. It seemed
organised, but after one corner loaded with dust bunnies, the book shelves and
washed countertops were nothing. While working through and dusting, Nat had
run into a cork. Then another, and another, and another. Soon she had close
to a dozen; not long after that there were two dozen. But it wasn't the
amount of corks that broke the camel's back; it was the cork near the end that
was covered in splotchy green mold and blackish red stains. It was
disgusting. She had poked it with a dinner fork to make sure it wouldn't
scurry away.
So when Nick had returned from his night's exile, the
shoebox full of corks was waiting for him on the dining room table. The fuzzy
green one, however, she had hidden for more devious purposes. Laying a trap,
she had placed it in the pocket of one of the pairs of his dress pants and
laid the booby-trapped pants out for the next night's shift. The shoe box
brought a cocked eyebrow; the fuzzy pocket cork, as a desk sergeant had told
her, recieved a shriek of terror in the middle of the bustling precinct. 
Natalie giggled uncontrollably. He still didn't have
a clue that that had been her doing. However, if she coulnd't keep herself
from laughing out loud, she would wake him up and blow her little secret.
A grumble murmured up from the couch. His voice was
tinged with stress this time. It wouldn't be long before he shocked himself
awake or he fell off the couch by squirming too much. All Nat could do was
sit at the table and wait.
"Mmm... nooo, taketoomu... allgone... waitnono...,
mmm... can'twon't... AACK!" Nick rolled off the couch and dropped on the
floor with a loud  He leaped up instantly, glancing about wildly,
finally calming down enough to see that it was not that night again. Focusing
for a moment on Natalie's steady gaze, he harrumphed and sat down unhappily.
"Again, eh?" Nat's voice was genuinely sympathetic.
Assorted french curses muttered up from the couch.
She snickered. Getting up and bringing the bottle
with her, she sidled over and sat down by him, rumpling his already disheveled
hair.
Nick shot her a look. She burst into fit of giggles,
pushing against him playfully.
He sighed and snatched the bottle away from her hand.
Covering her mouth, fighting for a serious composure,
she touched his cheek gently. "It was a bad one, huh?"
He noddeed, enjoying the caress. "Yeah, same as
before. I always wake up just as the stake point hits my back. Dammit, it's
so frustrating. It didn't happen that way, but I just can't get it out of my
head."
Picking up the mini flashlight on the coffee table,
she flicked it on and aimed for his right ear. "Well, it isn't showing
through. Maybe there's a cork jammed up in there."
He blinked at her for a moment. Her composure
melted away. She fell backwards, laughing out loud.
The boyish huff said it all. There was something he
was missing out on. "It's not that funny, Nat."
"Oh, wait, hahahahha, I'm so-sorr-sorry! Hahaha, oh,
Nick... " She stuck her hand over her mouth, muffling the snickers and
giggles. "Geeth, okay, I'm listhening..."
"Sure you are. It's just that, that dream won't
stop. Tracy dies, you die, Lacroix kills me. Over and over and over.
Everything falls apart. Janette, Schanke, you, Cohen, Tracy; all gone." Nick
sat upright, exaggerating Lacroix's stature. "'Memnoch's tortured souls.'"
The giggles had faded into an embarrassed smile.
She hated it when she was the only jovial face in a room full of mourners.
"But that's not real, Nick. You're here, with me, Nick, I love you and 
you need me."
He looked at her silently. There was misery in
those eyes of his.
"Don't blame yourself, okay? Do you hear me?
You're still a cop. I'm still an ME. We've got each other now and if you
forget that I'll kick your butt into the next century."
"Yeah, okay, but--"
"But, what? Two partners in one year? Two
friends? Gone forever? You can't help that, Nick. Schank and Trace were--"
"Victims? Of what, Natalie?"
Nick and Nat jerked around. To their alarm,
another voice had finished Nat's sentence. Stepping out of a dark corner, a
trim woman dressed all in black emerged from the shadows, platinum blonde =
hair shining off the loft lighting.
"Tracy?!" Two voices chorused in shock.
Tracy Vetter smiled sarcastically. This was going
to be fun. Strolling down the stairs, she reveled in their facial
expressions. She was about to regally seat herself in one of the chairs when
she was suddenly swept up in a fierce bear hug.
"Oh, you little bitch! We thought you were dead!
How'd you do it? How are you? You look great! Where've you been?"
Natalie's words spilled forth like a tidal wave.
Silent with abject terror, Tracy froze. She
wasn't used to this kind of reception, especially from Natalie Lambert. It
was so unnerving.
"I, uh, lemme go Natalie! Is this really
necessary?! Hey! You can't break me but you're pretty close!"
Nat released the young blonde. Stepping back and
next to a dumbfounded Nick, she waited as Tracy smoothed crumpled fabric a=
nd gained back a little dignity.
Nick spoke up first. "You were dead. You got
shot, they said that you... " 
"Some of us are harder to kill than everyone
thinks we are."
"But, then, who...?"
Tracy walked over to the fridge and peered
inside. "Man, and I thought I was bad. Oh, yeah, he said this was yours,
Nick. Found it in one of the boxes I was looking through." Pulling a
tightly bound notebook from a pocket, she tossed it over to her ex-partner.
Catching it easily, Nick examined the notebook.
Old and leather bound, he had a strong feeling what it was from and whom it
was from. Undoing the antique laces, he pressed open the parchment paper.
Natalie was looking over Nick's shoulder; Tracy, still exploring the fridge,
was searching for something other that bovine blood.
An old book of hand scrawled poetry. In the far
right corner of the first page, a dedication written in overdramatic,
romanticised letters caught Nat's attention.
She read out loud, ignoring Nick's backward glance.
"'To Nicholas: a fyne inspiration and a good entertainment. Lord Byron.' 
Geez, Nick, I hate it when you leave out the interesting stuff out."
Tracy snickered from the other side of the fridge
door. Giving up, she pulled a a bottle from the back, poured part of it into
a cup and warmed it up in the nearby microwave. She glanced for a second at
the cork filled coffee cup and placed the cork in her hand obediently into the
cup.
Natalie started to giggle again.
* * *
Beating the sunrise by an hour, Tracy snuck into the
Raven, attempting to dodge the inevitable sarcasm over her tardiness. Down
the stairs, past the chains and down the hall to her room. She darted with
lightning speed; only to bump headlong into the very person she was dodging.
Smashing into Lacroix like a runaway truck, she
blinked, stunned. He wasn't supposed to be there.
"Hello, I trust all went well... " He intoned,
letting the sarcasm drip from his tongue.
"Yes, actually." Tracy went around him, brushing
against his arm. Reaching the little room, she headed for the closet. "They,
uh, seem happy. He seems to have forgotten about the Byron notebook; he said
to tell you thanks."
"He knows I'm still here?"
Tracy stripped off the black t-shirt. "Yeah.
Kinda figured it out, considering it wasn't his fangs that did my making."
Lucien smiled slightly. Nicholas wasn't too
dense; just more so than the average post.
Pausing, Tracy glanced over at the tall man
blocking her doorway. He was watching her, admiring what he apparently
appreciated as fine feminine beauty. She didn't take herself for a supermodel
or a siren; her mother used to say that was the worst vanity. Of course, her
mother wasn't a size 4; Trace always wondered secretly if her mom was just
jealous. But apparently, he didn't.
Taking unknown initiative, Lacroix stepped into the
tiny room. He sat down on the floor level bed and startled as he came down on
an unknown lumpy surface. Pulling the thing out from underneath him, he found
himself looking at a stuffed pink bunny with a studded leather collar around
its neck. He held it up to her questioningly.
Tracy smiled sheepishly. He wasn't supposed to
know about that. "I haven't figured out how to get its head off yet." She
grinned and slid a fresh pair of jeans on, hoping her unintentional strip
tease would alive any more comments regarding the bunny.
He shook his head in slight disbelief. Janette
never had anything like a stuffed animal in her room; of course in her era, a
stuffed animal was made of real fur and skin, not acrylic and cotton. And it
was certainly never pink.
Tracy, having finished dressing, bent down and 
kissed Lucien's forehead. Pulling back, but pausing long enough to stare into
ice blue eyes for a long moment, she smiled softly. She couldn't believe she
ever mistrusted him. Given time, she would never deny him anything he wished
of her.
***********
End part (05/13)
Send comments and cork filled mugs to DPangel79@aol.com
Same old, same old, as found in part 1... except for a reference to DK 1&2. :)
Okay, maybe a few.
It Never Rains (06/13)
by Shana Nolan
****************
Three years later...
"Immortality is a gift that does not belong in the
category of disease."
"Immortality is an illusion."
"An illusion of eight hundred years, Nick? Plagues, wars,
kings, cultures, religions, countries; you've had a front row seat to all of
that and you're calling it an illusion? What do you see, *Nicholas*? Eight
hundred years of Hell passing in the blink of a nightmare ridden eye?
"For daylight? For garlic? So you can hold a crucifix?
You've got companionship. You've got sex. You're not missing much, I was
there recently, trust me on this. Does the Holy Roman Empire and souvlaki
hold that much sway over you?" 
Nick Knight paused. This was an old arguement; except
that it was Tracy, not Lacroix, arguing with him. He took a deep breath and
responded, "I want to die as a mortal like I should have seven hundred and
seventy-one years ago."
"What, no wife, house, two kids and a dog?"
"If it's an option, yes. Too much death. Too much
blood. Too many eternal nights and forbidden days. I can't remember what the
sun really looks like, Trace."
"Bright. Yellows--"
"Trace."
"And whites and pinks--"
"Tracy."
"And oranges."
"Tracy!"
Tracy paused, a small smile on her face. Fighting like
brother and sister; it was almost quaint. She sighed melodramatically.
"Listen, I like what I am. So does Lucien. If you and Nat want to find a way
to grow old and die together, go ahead, I won't stop you."
"Will he?"
A growl murmured in her throat. Lacroix had warned
her about this. "I can't do that, Nick. I may choose to spend my time with
him, but that doesn't mean I can predict or control him. If you're so worried
about it, talk to him yourself. He's at the Raven, just like I am."
There was a stifling silence. The two of them had
gotten together off and on for three years now to talk and keep in contact,
but they always avoided the topic of *him.* Lacroix was a sore spot; both
knew each other's opinions of him and therefore didn't push limits. Recently,
though, Lucien Lacroix, master vampire to both of them, was popping up in
conversation more and more.
Nick walked to the center of the CN Tower deck and
reached for a green bottle. He passed it over to Tracy, letting her take a
swig as he gazed out onto the vista before him.
"Okay, okay, I'll talk to him. He's wanted to see
Pompeii again, find out if they've restored the parts he frequented. Maybe
we'll go."
"Do you love him?"
"'scuse me?"
"Do you love him?" Nick stared at Toronto's lights.
"Not like you and Nat. Eh, I don't know. I don't
really care, to tell you the truth. He's taught me a lot of stuff and I think
he actually cares." Taking another drink and passing the bottle back, she
leaned on the railing. "If dedication and affection make love, I suppose I
can live with that."
"I don't think I've ever been kind to him."
"At least you never tried to stake him."
Nick hesitated. "Well, uh, not really. More like I did."
She smacked his arm. "What?!"
"Yeah, I, uh, staked him. It was flaming, too."
"Oh, geez, not a model son back then, eh? Flaming? That's gotta hurt."
"That was six years ago."
Tracy raised an eyebrow. "Hey! You're the museum cup cop!"
"What do you know about that?"
"I was the commissioner's daughter, remember? Dad
called you the museum cup cop."
"Oh, well, so much for leaving the past. So are you two
going?"
"Yeah, maybe. Gotta see the world, explore my immortality, try some french cuisine."
"Want some advise?"
"From the eight hundred year old angsting son?"
"Uh, yeah, I'm going to ignore that." Nick pulled
himself upright and faced his ex-partner sister. "There'll come a time,
Trace, when you look upon your old life, your mortal life in particular, and
there'll be nothing but ruins. Grimy dust in the wind. Ashes where a fire
once burned. It happened to me. It happened to Janette. He'll never admit
it, but it happened to Lacroix, too. Like I said before, immortality is an
illusion, made up of crystal clear memories transposed upon cruel here and
now. You may live to see a thousand years of culture and change, but your
heart will long for what it cannot have. 
"I'm glad I wasn't the one who brought you across that
night. Hell, I nearly killed Nat as is. I can't be someone's master anymore;
I don't even want to be a vampire. In that, there's no role model; no teacher
in the arts of our kind. I'll be mortal again. I'll die mortal. You want to
live and continue on in this night which you love far more than I ever have.
If you can take Lucien Lacroix's company for a millenia, good. He needs
companionship as much as you or I. Apparently, you can appreciate his cruel
humour; I see a lot of him in you."
Tracy looked deeply into Nick's eyes. This was not the
man she had been partnered up with so long ago. Her partner would never do
this. But as a brother in that peculiar vampiric way, he was reaching out and
trying to help her. "I can't see it. I'm sorry, Nick, but I can't. I have
to live with the pain of never knowing Vachon as well as I would have liked
to. I get to watch my parents age and die, believing their little girl
already killed by the bullet of a crazed criminal. That hurts."
"I had a sister; Fleur." 
"And you lost her?"
"Like all vampires with lingering mortal family, yes.
It'll always hurt. Dust and ashes."
Tracy glanced at the antique watch in her pocket. "I
have to get back. There's stuff to do. I, uh, thanks, Nick, take care. I'd
tell you to keep in contact, but that'd be pointless if I'm leaving."
"You'll remember my words?"
"Yes. Crystal clear memories transposed over cruel here
and now." Tracy hopped up on the railing to take off.
"'Upon,' not 'over.'"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it." She took to the air, heading
back towards the Raven.
Nick watched her leave and shook his head sadly. "I
doubt it."
* * *
Surrounded by test tubes, syringes and medical tools of
assorted kinds, Natalie Lambert was pushing a thirty-six hour marathon.
Determined, closer than ever before to an elusive cure, she tapped the loaded
syringe free of bubbles and rolled her sleeve up once again.
It was so much easier when the researcher was also the
guinea pig; no arranging schedules or explaining processes. The victim was the
torturer; the reactions were so much simpler to note and adjust for.
When it was Nick she poked, prodded and experimented on 
he would frustrate her whenever he couldn't describe the effects of her
concoctions. The problem of being away from modern medical diagnosis
frequently reduced his descriptions of gastrointestinal stress or severe
abdominal cramping down to "That really hurts my stomach." 
So, having spent the last three years as her own lab rat,
the notes, research and evidence were piling up and actually beginning to make
sense. She could now be near garlic for longer than ten seconds without her
stomach lurching. What Nick called the "Beast" had diminished in her,
weakened by fierce antiviral treatments rather than starvation.
"Yow! I hate when I miss!" The needle hit home finally,
and a rush of icy, tingling shocks burned up her arm. The tingling spread to
her chest and she inhaled sharply, gagging as the sensation overtook her
lungs. The world blurred and spun fast for a moment. Nat dropped the emptied
syringe on the desk and shut her eyes, waiting out the initial effects. 
When the world stopped whirling, she opened her eyes and
glanced around the room. Everything was duller now, much like when she had
still been mortal. She pulled the mirror out of the desk drawer and examined
her face. Psychosomatic or not, her cheeks were lightly flushed.
Concentrating for a moment, she attempted to make her eyes
change out. Stubbornly refusing, they remained green as her picture from the
first grade. 
A laugh escaped from her throat. Grabbing the nearest
notebook, she quickly read down the list of chemicals, extracts and
supplements she had dosed herself within the last thirty six hours. Fifteen
syringes and two tall glasses of stuff that could make gasoline taste good.
Was that enough? Was that the cure making her feel like she had eaten spicy
Mexican?
Crossing hopeful fingers, she glanced at the clock on
the wall. Two hours until dawn. Sunrise... the best way to find out if
everything actually worked.
* * *
Two hours later, bleary-eyed and tired, Nick Knight
emptied the last of the bottle and drummed his fingers on the dining room
table.
Nat was late.
And hopefully not a pile of cinders somewhere in Toronto.
Picking up the phone, getting ready to dial the Coroner's
Office, he stopped, startled by a strange sound.
Bursting out of the elevator like a rampaging elephant,
Natalie Lambert was jumping, twirling and skipping about. She dropped the
attache case on the couch and dashed over to Nick, grabbing his hands and
pulling him off the chair.
Following along like a confused child, he let her drag him
about the loft for a bit before finally tightening his grip on her arms.
"What is it, Nat?!"
Natalie started to giggle gleefully and kissed him
forcefully on the lips. She pushed off his hands and spun in place
momentarily, laughing out loud.
"Nat! Natalie! Hey, Nat!!"
Slowing down for half a second, she stared at Nick's
confused look.
"What?"
"I did it! I did it! I did it!" Nat grinned and walked
over to the confused vampire.
Getting caught up in the contagious joy, he wrinkled his
brow and wrapped his arms around Nat's waist. He leaned into her jovial face
and whispered, "Did what? Did what? Did what?"
Pausing dramatically and grabbing a hand from around her
waist, she put his cool fingers against her neck.
And he froze.
She had a pulse. A normal, healthy, mortal pulse.
Nat giggled as his jaw dropped. 
"Oh my God, you did it... you did it! The cure? Mon
dieu! You found it! You did it!"
She spun out of his grip and let out a peal of joy.
Nicholas de Brabant's laughter echoed through the loft.
******************
End part (06/13)
Send comments and vampiric cures to DPangel79@aol.com
Disclaimers, comments, etc. as usual. Warning: PG-13 for language, graphic
scenes. 
This was hard to write. 
 
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan
*********************
10 years ago...
The flame licked up the edge of the building. Glimmering
orange light illuminated the night sky.
Soon, the flame was joined by another. And another. And
another. As if the sun had risen early, the skyline of Toronto lept into
view. Crackling and sizzling, the flames spread. If it had not been for the
acrid black smoke pouring into the sky, the illumination of the fire would
have drowned out the moon.
It was the closest thing to daylight that Tracy had seen
in ten years.
* * *
Hacking so hard he woke himself, Nick deBrabant sat up in
bed sharply. The window next to him had filmed over with dark grey soot and
the frame was hot to the touch.
Panicked, he threw off the covers and bolted for the
door. Opening up to dark hallway, Nick fumbled for the light switch.
Nothing. And he no longer had the gift of vampiric
vision. He padded out into the hall, counting door frames to the kitchen.
When his hand painfully slammed into the counter, he forced himself to think
clearly for just a moment.
The flashlight was in the drawer beneath the knives.
Nick cringed briefly. If he survived this, the first
thing he'd do is move the knives out of survival's desparate grab.
* * *
The acrid smoke tingled her nose, even from this distance.
Standing on the edge of the waterfront, Tracy was staring, entranced by the
dancing bodies of destruction.
A firm hand came down on her shoulder. She huffed,
nonplussed.
"It's time to leave. Now more than ever before."
Lacroix's words were insistent.
"Why? No, I don't want to, I mean--"
Stopping her protesting by putting a finger to her lips,
he sighed heavily. "You like to watch death?"
"No, but it's so, so... "
"Enchanting?"
"Hypnotic."
* * *
He had found the flashlight; but not before he had
pricked his finger against the tip of a steak knife.
Turning it on, the hallway in front of him had a sickly
grey haze hanging just above the chair rail; the little light beam was barely
piercing the smoke cloud.
Nick darted down the hallway and pushed open the door.
He roughly shook the sleeping form still in the bed.
"The phone's off, the beeper's off and I already told you
I wasn't interested. Go away." she mumbled into the pillow.
He snorted. There was no time for this. "Natalie
Lambert Brabant, get your ass out of bed, NOW!"
Whether it was the use of her full name or Nick's booming
yell, Natalie jumped, falling hard on the bedroom floor. Coughing from shock
and smoke, she looked up at Nick questioningly. "What?"
"There's a fire and the power's out. We have to go."
"But, Nick, I don't see the-- "
She was cut off by an ear shattering crash. Part of the
fire escpae from the condominium above had come loose and plunged past the
bedroom window. Streaking hot coals chased after it, some settling on their
own fire escape and outside window pane.
Natalie stood up carefully and peeked through the filmy
glass. Their fire escape was surrounded by hungry fire, the metal frame
blackening in the oppressive heat. It seemed like some archaic creature
rising up from hell's pit, beckoning her in.
Nick's hand wrapped firmly around her arm and pulled.
Unbalanced and off-guard, she tripped and stumbled with his hauling grip.
Hacking and fighting panic, they ran down the hall, past
the kitchen and toward the door to the common hallway of the building.
Natalie's hand reached the doorknob as her other hand quickly released the
deadbolt. Feeling the door shift, she pushed hard.
The door swung open. Natalie glanced up and down the
hallway. The battery-run flashlight barely touched the gloomy black.
"Is it clear?" Nick's voice was tinged with fright.
"Yes it i-- " Natalie gasped. The wallpaper in the
hallway seemed to ripple as a yellow glow appeared from nowhere.
She hauled back, instinct propelling her roughly into
Nick as she slammed the door, panting in heart pounding horror.
Just as the backdraft exploded down the hall.
* * *
"No matter how hypnotic it is, we need to leave."
She turned around, her outline illuminated by the
citywide fire. "Why, so you don't have to watch him die? So you don't have
to watch the physical destruction of the Raven?"
"This has nothing to do with him." Lacroix stated
evenly.
"That's bullshit if I ever heard it. We've been gone
seven years and the night we return here the very thing we come back to enjoy
is being burnt to a cinder." Tracy's voice was edged with barely caged fury.
Lacroix paused. Was she right? Was he resigning
Nicholas to his own fate; or should he dare to risk his own incineration
trying to preserve his now mortal son?
"Mortal or vampire, he's still your son."
Tracy's voice permeated his ancient ears. When he
finally looked up at her, her eyes were glowing a hot orange.
She turned around angrily and stepped foreward.
About to set a foot down, she stopped and looked down.
A grave. Vachon's grave.
She jumped back, not wanting to touch the dirt. A
momentary pang of anguish pierced her cold heart. A growl filled the air.
Turning around to face Lacroix once more, she hissed through extended fangs,
"I will not let them die!"
And, with that, Tracy took to the air, heading
towards the burning city.
* * *
Nick's eyes were watering and his throat ached from
the toxic smoke. Hanging onto Natalie after she had slammed into him, he felt
a brief wash of comfort run through him.
It was short lived though. The door knob was
glowing hot now. The fireball that had ravaged the hallway with blinding
force was beginning to eat it's way though the drywall.
"What do we do now?" Nat's expression was marked
with tension.
Nick hesitated. As a vampire, he could have broken
through a window and flown to saftey. They both could have.
But they were no longer vampires. Seven years of
mortal pleasures proved that. Nick had thought that the vampiric nature was
gone; that its instincts and inabilities had faded. The powers were gone; the
Beast was dead. Mortal mind and mortal heart ruled over him as eight hundred
years of endless night faded with human memory.
Until now. A seizing panic jolted his stomach.
His blood felt like it was boiling. His mind flashed through all the times in
his immortal life he had been threatened by brandished flame. The echo of
the Beast flared up in fierce protection, throwing his flight instinct into
full swing.
"Balcony, now." Nick spun Natalie around by her
shoulders and pushed.
Fighting for self control, Natalie jerked
foreward. Her feet didn't seem to work; they were heavy and clumsy. "Nick.
Ladder. Fire escape ladder."
His heart was pounding. "Okay." He sidestepped
back into the kitchen, reaching for the chain ladder under the sink. Slipping
his arm through cold steel chain, he headed for the master bedroom.
Natalie blinked. Her mind was racing. Fire.
Smoke. The smell of burning fabric. The crackling of burning embers.
She had to fight it. She had to leave. By the
time she had snapped out of her train of thought, Nick had already come back
for her. He was moving nearly as fast as he had when he was a vampire.
"C'mon, let's go."
Nat nodded. Running back to the now open window
and extending a hand to help Nat onto the ladder's first wrung, Nick glanced
around for the last time.
The front door bowed with heat. With a loud
, the fire exploded into full view, breaking the door to ash and
splinters.
Nick's eyes widened with horror. He hated being
this close to fire. Like a cruel intruder, it threatened, once again,
everything he treasured.
Natalie was halfway down the ladder by the time
his hands wrapped firmly around the first wrung. The window sill creaked
against the stress, swaying the chain ladder back and forth. "Foot, hand,
foot, hand," she repeated over and over. She would not give into fear. The
ladder swayed, dangerously. She was mere metres away from the ground.
Touching greatful feet to solid ground, she kept a
hand on the bobbling ladder, steadying it for Nick. He was moving fast;
climbing down smoothly with nary an indication of stress or panic in his
movements.
But it was then the loud metallic groan started.
* * *
Flying had been a rush for her since the first
time she did it; moving effortlessly through open space was exhilirating. 
Even with the oppresively hot fire below her.
Tracy paused, hovering, getting a grasp of where
she was and where she needed to go. The University of Toronto was blackened
with smoke. Power had gone out all over the city. Even the hospital to her
far left was dark, its backup generators struggling feebly against the
destructive fire.
Only the orange glow of the flames, illuminating
outlines and shadows, lifted out of the city. Tracy squinted, feeling the
heat ripple against her vulnerable face and skin. Small blisters broke out on
her hands and her fingers tingled. She ignored the pain. Spotting the
precinct, she traced Spadina Street up to the circle. Much of the landmarks
her father had drilled into her so long ago were crumbling into piles of ash. 
The sharp scream of bending steel and rebar
pierced her sensitive hearing. With the suddeness of a lightning strike, a
thousand windows shattered under cruel heat.
Tracy watched, deadly enraptured. Pieces upon
pieces upon pieces of glittering glass shards rained on the city, lacerating
and slicing as they fell. It was like watching a giant snowglobe after being
shaken. Tracy could do nothing but watch, unable to tear away her gaze.
Scanning over to Bickford Park, she caught a glimpse of the condominiums where
Nick and Natalie lived.
It was engulfed in rampant flame.
"Oh, God, no... "
* * *
Natalie winced as the building groaned and buckled
against the strain and heat. Feeling like she was caught in a dream, she
shook her head.
Landing lightly on the ground, glancing around the
street, Nick let out a breath of relief and indicated the open pavement in
front of them.
A growl murmured through the building and started
to grow into a howling shriek. Harsh squeals of exploding pipes stung their
ears. Then the shaking started, the buildings infrastructure crumbling in on
itself.
Embracing then pushing Natalie towards the open
pavement with him, Nick ran for unburning ground.
* * *
Watching from a hovering distance, Tracy sighed in
relief as Nick and Natalie escaped the building's destruction.
Running down the street, illuminated by spreading
flames, Tracy watched as they dodged charred debris. From their point of
view, the path was clear; however, as Tracy saw from hers, a potentially
deadly obstacle loomed in harm's way.
Roughly twenty metres away, a telephone pole
swayed in the heat. The wood body was cracking and the wires tightened
against pulling strain. Looking like a writhing snake through oppressive
waves of heat, it warned of its eventual fall.
A growl rose in Tracy's throat. She couldn't stop
the pole; however, a firm shove might throw the two mortals out of the way.
Using all her pent up energy, she rushed foreward.
But she was not fast enough.
The pole came crashing down, wires swingly wildly
in the din. The blocky form of the wood pole closed in on the ground, moving
faster as momentum built.
Nat screamed. She skidded to a halt, Nick right
behind her, but it was already too late.
"Nooo!" Tracy's voice cut through the night.
The pole struck home. Coming within a metre,
Tracy was dragged down by heavy, entangling wires.
Anger and fear permeated every fibre of her
being. She tore at the entangling wires, pulling and shoving roughly against
their weight. She refused to let this bring her down. Harsh curses uttered
up from the pile of monstrous wires Tracy was buried in.
Ripping free, finally moving efficiently through
the fallen pole's destruction, she pulled debris off from where she had last
seen Nick and Natalie.
The smell of fresh blood hit her nose. Suddenly
locked in an internal battle between the Beast, panic and her will, she shook
her head. There was no time for this; she had to save her friends.
A hand, a tangle of curly brown hair. Grabbing
the pole in a firm grip, Tracy heaved the murderous wood away and out of harm.
And gagged.
She wasn't prepared for the gore. She fled to
them, straining to hear heartbeats. Leaning down to Natalie, she touched her
cheek and shuddered. There was no fliching, no stirring, no aknowledgement of
the touch. Running a hand to her neck, Tracy searched desparately for a
pulse.
There was none to find.
A crimson tear welled up in her eye.
Turning to Nick, her own heart lept up as the
faintest of heartbeats reached her ears.
"Nick... Nick, can you hear me?" she lifted
his head, pleading softly against death's raised scythe.
A groan came from him as his eyes slitted open.
Pain was blinding him, blurring events and environment with murky black haze.
Moving gently, touching his back to check for
shattered bones, Tracy braced him against a close heap of wires. Pulling back
her hand, she grimaced as slick, hot, black blood trailed down her wrist and
arm.
Her willpower reeled, the Beast lept foreward
and her stomach turned. She couldn't help, even though she desparately wanted
to. She wanted to flee, run away and never return; but panic held her tight.
"Tr- tracy, ah, dieu, where... where, que,
wha-- "
She jerked up, shocked. He was conscious,
struggling with his words, mixing his languages, lost in blinding pain and
muddled thoughts.
She reached her clean hand out and clasped his
tightly. "Nick, partner, hey, don't you leave me." She leaned in, letting
him feel her lean body next to him in an act of comfort. "Nick, no... come
back."
"Where... where... Nat... "
Tracy cringed. "She's gone. I'm so sorry,
Nick, she's gone."
His grip loosened. He was giving up.
"No... hey! Don't you leave me." she paused,
knowing it was futile. If his injuries didn't do him in, his crushed spirit
would. "Nicholas, brother, we need you still. You don't have to die. Don't
die, Nicholas... "
A spasm wracked his body. Tracy braced her
bloodied hand behind his neck, smearing splotches of crimson in his hair. He
was so weak, even with the involuntary muscle spasms, she cradled him against
her like a frail child. Slowly, ceasing shaking, he murmured something.
Tracy lowered her ear. "What?"
"I'm- I'm sorry abou-about... " His voice was
a hoarse whisper.
"Sorry about what, Nicholas?" Using the most
soothing tone she could muster, stinging red tears trailing down her cheek,
she pleaded softly against fate.
"I should have helped you... I, in, in the
hospital." Nick coughed, bringing blood into his mouth.
"In the hospital? When I got shot?"
He nodded his head, coughing and inhaling
sharply.
"It's okay. I understand. It's all over now.
I understand. It's okay, stop worrying, I'm not angry. It's okay. It's all
over now."
Unconsciously rocking him, she felt a hard
shudder wrack through him. He coughed violently, blood running down his chin.
Shaking with exhaustion, quaking with pain, Nick was clinging to life a
thread.
Tracy shut her eyes, weeping silently.
When the shaking finally ceased and the
tenseness melted away from his body, Tracy lifted her head and screamed,
railing against death, fate and the fire around her.
And screamed and screamed. Her voice echoed
through the smoke-filled night, piercing the ears of every living soul.
****************
End part (07/13)
Send comments and mourning robes to DPangel79@aol.com.
Standard disclaimers, etc. **Warning: PG13: adult situations** and there'=
s a
little more graphic stuff left over from part 7. 
 
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan 
***********************
Her clothes were battered. Her hands, arms and face were
covered in blood. His blood.
Firefighters had put out the flames, but not before the
city was virtually levelled. University of Toronto was in shambles, Eaton
Centre was a ghastly skeleton, city hall was a pile of rubble and the sky
scrapers were blackened frames without windows. CN Tower had fallen into the
Sky Dome, laying on its side like a beached whale. The streets were littered
with ash and glass shards. Power was still out and would probably stay that
way for a while.
Lost, not caring about anything, Tracy meandered down
random streets.
Stopped in front of a crumbled wall, she looked up to
find herself standing in front of the wall from the shell of a familiar
building.
The building where Nick and Natalie had lived.
Stepping over brick and rebar, she floated up and over
half standing infrastructure, pausing as a glint caught her eye. Coming from
what was once their condominium, amongst others, a heap of forgotten human
possesions sat forlorn. She could pick out a child's doll, a tattered
magazine, a crumpled yamaka, a shattered picture frame and something small,
reflective and rectangular.
Tracy leaned down and picked it up. A small silver
pill box. She pried it open with delicate fingers, reading words of lovingly
engraved sentiment inside the lid and closed it, clutching it protectively.
Nick's silver box; given to him by Nat.
"Dining on ashes?" A melodic voice drifted to her ears
as she turned around, coming face to face with Lucien Lacroix.
"You could say that. What are you doing here?"
"Making sure you're alright. I was becoming concerned
with your welfare."
"Touching," her tone was darkly bland.
His voice was tinged with honesty. "They are gone?"
"Yeah, they are. Not that you tried to help. So, I
suppose the Raven's gone too?"
"Yes, it is. It seems that everything is gone now.
There is nothing left to hold either of us here. But, if you like, we do have
time for a burial."
She sighed and jumped down to the street level, taking
a seat on the dirty pavement.
He drifted down to join her, taking curious notice of
her blood coated hand.
"A memoir of something which I have no intention to
ever forget."
Lucien stood over her, watching every movement. This
was the point where she would either continue her eternal life or walk into
the sun and be done with it all. "What will you do?"
"I don't know."
"That's a good start, my dear." He crouched down,
leveling himself with her. Touching the blood stained hand, he pondered his
own future. 
Everything had changed, this time permanently.
Nicholas, his son, would never come to him again, for neither praise nor
criticism. A hollow feeling touched him for a moment. He shook it off,
focusing his attention to the person who needed him most.
"Can we put them with Vachon and Screed?"
"If you would like. I don't think they will mind."
Tracy nodded. Her world was in a jumble and she
wasn't ready to sort it all out and deal with it.
Lacroix took her hands and pulled her off the ground
so she was standing again. "We have a few hours left until daylight. We'll
set them in and still have time to procure a room across the way. With a
view, if you like."
Tracy gazed into his ice blue eyes. He was trying
to help her. And, she supposed, he was right to do so. There was no
deception here; only a strong hand to guide her along. She wrapped herself
around him, embracing his solid form, using him as an anchor to the real
world.
He froze, set off balance by her clinging embrace.
Unaccustomed to such affection, he accepted her, condemining his silk shirt to
dry cleaning hell.
* * *
The suite was beautiful: vaulted ceilings, opulent
fabrics, comfortable furniture, graceful open spaces and, of course, heavy,
sun-blocking window shades.
Escorted straight to the bathroom by Lucien's strong grip,
he ordered her to throw her soiled clothes in the plastic bag he handed her
and to rinse off before staining the tiles of the bathtub spa.
Grumbling at his insistent tone Tracy stripped off the
grimy clothes, peeling them off like a slimy second skin. Setting the filled
plastic bag down and turning on the shower, she stepped inside, letting water
beat down her battered body. The pressure stung as it washed down her small
frame, pooling at the bottom in a blackish puddle.
Opening the door and walking casually in, Lucien turned
the bathtub spigot on and poured the essential oils into the warm water.
Unbuttoning the cuffs of his fresh shirt and rolling the sleeves up, he
stirred the bubbling, scented water with his ringless hand.
Bundling the old, now indelibly stained shirt up, he
sighed and placed it in the plastic bag with all her discarded clothes.
Stepping back out of the bathroom for just a moment, he retrieved the pillar
candles, specialised shampoo, incense stick and a match, all of which supplied
by a more than willing room attendant.
Lighting the candles and setting the incense stick to
drift its gentle smoke around the small room, he lowered the lights and sat
down, waiting for her to emerge from the shower.
Shutting off the water and stepping out, water reflecting
off her pale body, she paused briefly as she caught Lucien LaCroix watching
her every movement. He extended a hand to her, smiling ever so slightly.
Tracy set her hand in his and let him guide her to the
tub, taking the steps carefully and glancing around the room. Slipping into
the warm, scented water, she leaned her head against the bathtub rim and shut
her eyes, trying to lose herself in the environment. Nag Champa drifted to
her nose and candle light flickered against her closed eyelids.
Drawing warm water into the ice bucket, he cupped her head 
in his free hand, pouring the water into and over her platinum blonde hair.
Doing it once more, then finally pulling off the poison ring in order to
prevent its damage and inevitable tangling, he worked his strong fingers into
her scalp, rubbing and massaging gently up and down. Placing a small amount
of shampoo in one hand, working it into the shoulder length hair, she sighed
quietly, giving into whatever he had in mind for her.
Rinsing the shampoo foam out with the ice bucket once again,
he placed his hands under her arms and pulled her partially out of the water.
Leaning in to speak softly into her ear, he queried, "Would you like me to
stop?"
Tracy shook her head and murmured a quiet "no." The room's
environment and his surprisingly gentle treatment of her was letting her lose
all the horrid images trapped in her mind for a short time.
Taking the sandalwood soap and working a small lather into
the natural sponge, he ran it over her skin, scrubbing slightly, beginning
with her shoulders and neck. Moving appropriately as he ran the sponge over
her, she let the feeling of coming clean wash her tortured thoughts also. So
closely poised on the point of breaking, her heart lifted ever so slightly at
his doting pampering. It was as if he knew exactly what she needed in order
to heal and move on.
Reaching every part, every nook, every curve and fold over
her skin, he finally set the sponge down, draining the soapy water and drawing
fresh, steaming water. Dropping back into the water, the new heat tingling
clean scrubbed skin, she returned to her original seated postition and
relaxed.
Tilting her head back, Lucien kissed her forehead. She
reached out and took his hand, clasping onto it firmly.
Pulling his hand out after a short span of silence and
stepping away from the tub, he retrieved a white towel. Setting it unfolded
over an arm, he reached into the water and took the hand she had reached out
with a moment ago. Bringing her to a standing postion and wrapping the towel
around her, he dried the beaded water off her soft skin, soft cotton brushing
against her like brushed velvet.
Taking a last moment to pull excess water away from her
hair, he tossed the damp towel into the shower stall and slid the black silk
robe that had been hanging on the towel rack onto her, taking one last
appreciating glance over her lithe frame and flowing curves. Turning her
around, he kissed her forehead once more and left her to make her own way out
of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Stepping over to the full length mirror, Tracy stared at
herself for a long moment. She had never taken herself for a supermodel or a
perfectly proportioned woman, but with the black robe hanging off her
shoulders and the candles dancing in the barely lit room, she quietly accepted
her body, deciding that if Lucien Lacroix appreciated it, that was good enough
for her.
Tying the robe and opening the door, she walked into the
main room of the suite, claiming a high backed couch with tan coloured fabric
and soft padding as hers. Adjusting the pillows as to rest on her side, she
looked about, taking in the huge suite. However much it was, it cost a bloody
fortune for this much luxury and space; and Lacroix didn't seem to mind.
Turning on the television, handing her the remote and a wine
glass filled to the brim with dark red fluid, Lucien seated himself on the
couch's companion chair. He retrieved his silver ring from a pocket, slipping
it back on and unrolled the cuffs of the dark shirt.
Tracy sipped at the wine glass. "Thank you."
He glanced up at her, surpirsed that she was speaking
louder than a whisper, much less speaking. "You're welcome, my dear. It 
was my pleasure."
She smiled slightly. "If I had known this about you
beforehand, I would have been a more frequent visitor to the Raven."
He arched a eyebrow at her, chuckling. "I don't do this to
just anyone, you know. I have a reputation to maintain, after all."
Setting the glass and remote on the table in front of her,
Tracy stood up and came over to him. He looked up into her face, catching a
glint in her young eyes. "Yes?"
Not saying a word, she sat down in his lap and leaned her
head into the crook of his shoulder. Pulling her legs into the chair and
settling against his strong chest, she sighed as she snuggled into him and the
chair.
Lost for words, Lacroix wrapped his arms around her and
held her, letting her fall asleep peacefully in his protective embrace.
* * *
The television entertaining itself in the background,
Tracy dozed on the couch. Stirring and rolling over, she opened her eyes,
focusing on the news program.
Tracy yawned and stretched. The blanket fell to the
floor, exposing the black silk robe still wrapped around her. She peered up
over the couch back and looked around the suite.
She was alone. Lacroix had stepped out, leaving her to
sleep. Tracy sat up, pulling the blanket off the floor, and ran her fingers
against the filled green bottle on the table. Touching the remote, she picked
it up, turning the volume up higher.
"'And now we go to weather with Mark Ryder.'
"'Thanks, Jon. Well, our weather today in the southern
half of Ontario is still on it's warming trend. Breaking all the average
highs this time of the year, it shows no sign of ending. Rainfall is nowhere
to be seen in the radar, so watch your water use, folks, public works promises
a water conservation program should this trend continue.'
"'What are the odds on that, Mark?'
"'Well, presuming that it breaks before summer, we
should be okay. If not, well, Jon, we'll just have to hope the contaminants
released in the Toronto Fire don't contaminate the water table.'
"'That was a bad fire, eh, Mark?'
"Sure was.'"
Tracy turned off the television in disgust. "You
have no idea," she muttered at the now silent appliance. Standing up and
walking over to the balcony doors, she stepped outside, tightening the robe
around her. 
The waxing moon cast a light blue hue over the vista
before her. On the fifth level of the luxurious hotel, she gazed down on Lake
Ontario, avoiding the ruined skyline of Toronto. She could feel the emptiness
of where the CN Tower once pierced the sky. The burned ruins mirrored her
mentality: destruction creating a foundation of new life. Sighing and going
back inside the suite, Tracy retrieved a glass from the honour bar.
Turning the television back on and flipping
channels, she settled on an American movie she hadn't seen since she was 16.
Pouring room temperature blood into the glass and sipping, she laid back in
the couch cushions.
As a teen, life was rebellion and teenage
troublemaking. As an officer in blues, she was a father-pleasing cop and
suppressed rebel. As a homicide detective, however short that was, she was
finally becoming her own person. As a vampire, now, she had power,
immortality and isolation from what was her life before; and she had him.
"I am never assuming anything again," she said to
the old movie. It answered with the a building moment of music as the hero
stepped into a dark room.
A knock at the door startled her. She jumped,
nearly spilling the glass all over herself. Answering the door, she opened
it to find the room attendant standing in front of her anxiously.
"Hello, madame. I know the gentleman said he had
his daughter with him, but I, uh, thought... " His voice trailed off, caught
in his throat by pleasant surprise.
Tracy chuckled. It was creepy being called a
daughter by the man who had bathed her earlier. She gazed at the attendant
sympathetically and smiled. "Would you like to come in?"
His eyes widened ever so slightly. "I, well, I'm
off shift in a bit, but I really shouldn't... "
She touched a cool hand to his arm. His heartbeat
sped up and he pulled back suddenly. Tracy watched, sensing his mortal
vulernability. Mortals were so fragile, their limited strength and span
bothering her failing sense of life. She gestured gently for him to walk 
past her, to the main room of the suite.
He thought for a moment, figeting with his hotel
uniform. Finally shaking his head, he touched her hand. "No, I can't. I'll
do whatever you need me to, but I won't anger the gentleman. He's protective
of you; and I can't risk my job. I wish you a good night and I'll send the
maid in the morning."
He turned around and hurried away, Tracy watching
him as he went. It was strange, being so distant from humanity. 
Smiling lightly as she shut the door, Tracy returned
to the couch, settling in to relive something from her own past.
 
********************
end part (08/13)
Send all comments and essential oils to DPangel79@aol.com
Once more, all disclaimers, permission and credits are in part 1; if you have
lost a part, please contact me and i'll get it to you. 
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan
***************
3 years ago...
Paris. French capital of romance, wines and notorious
attitudes.
But since Tracy had no want for romance and couldn't drink wine
(except for a wee bit in the sangre ), notorious attitude was all she had
to work with.
Sitting at a secluded table in the back of the darkened
nightclub, Tracy Vetter sipped at a wine glass. Having found a bar that
catered to her kind, she looked about the room, scanning the dancing bodies
for an evening entertainment.
Sensing at least seven vampires mingling amongst the mortal
patrons, Tracy smiled to herself. It was almost like being at the Raven, but
this time she was one of the vampires. Emptying the glass and strolling over
to the bar, Tracy sat down on a barstool and summoned the bartender.
But he never arrived. In fact, he seemed to have disappeared.
She sighed and ran a hand through her blonde hair. "What will
it take to get a response around here?" she muttered.
A nearby voice responded to her comment. "Well, perhaps I
should retrieve the bottle for both of us. It seems I need a refill also."
"Thank you, I-- " Tracy paused, gaping at the source of the
voice.
Tall, thin and classically beautiful, she had pale skin and
dark, curled hair. Wearing a crimson velvet dress and a smile to match her
appearance, she quirked an eyebrow at Tracy. "Do I know you?"
"You're, uh, no you couldn't be, Nick said everything was
taken care of, but still... "
"Nick... "
Tracy paused, wondering if she was getting herself into
trouble. "Knight, um, from Toronto... ?"
The woman sighed. "Ah, Nicolas. My name is Janette, but I
don't know you. You are from Toronto?"
Realisation dawned on Tracy. She smiled warmly. "Yes, I
was. My name is Tracy. I was Nicholas' partner after Schanke, after you
left, I suppose. But that was when I was still mortal."
Janette looked at the young blonde before her and recalled
the life she had left behind... again. It was so difficult to uproot
everything she ever had and loved. It was equally hard to remember what she
was missing. "How is he?"
Tracy winced. Despite time, it still felt like her hand was
covered in his blood. "Oh. You haven't kept in contact with anyone, have
you?"
The older vampire shook her head. "Why? Has something
happened?"
"Yes, much has happened. I'm afraid to say that Nicholas is
dead."
Janette paused, shocked into silence. "And Lacroix?" she
whispered.
"Lucien is fine. He saved my life, brought me over and
taught me."
"But Nicolas is... "
"It happened a few years ago. He and Nat gained their
mortality back and had a rather normal life until the fire." Tracy paused. A
lump was forming in her throat. "That fire burned down most of the city and
killed a lot of people, them included. I couldn't save him, I wasn't fast
enough. It destroyed the Raven, too."
Finally fetching the bottle and pouring a full glass, only to
down it entirely in one gulp, Janette took the hand of the young blonde and
indicated a table even more secluded than the one Tracy had occupied before.
"I want to hear more. Is Lacroix here?"
"No. I left him to seek myself. I was lost in a misery I
couldn't throw off while still near that burned out husk of a city. I lost so
many people there, it was like their ghosts were around every street corner,
waiting for me."
Janette's look was a knowing one. She nodded. "I
understand. I think we have much to discuss."
* * *
Retiring as the sun began to rise into the french sky,
Janette opened the door of her Parisian apartment and gestured for Tracy to
enter.
Stepping in and closing velvet drapes over the lightening sky
in the window, she sighed. "It's not home, but it'll have to do. You're
welcome to pass the day here as long as you're in Paris. We are family now,
we must look out for each other. Yes?"
Staring at the lavish decoration, Tracy glanced over at her
"family." If only her real family had been like this. "Thank you. That's
very kind. Is there anything I can do for you?"
The dark-haired vampire pulled off her heels and dropped
them on the floor. Loosening her hair out of it's silver clip, the black
curls fell onto her shoulders as she sat down on the high backed Victorian
couch. "I don't think so, cherie, just humour Lacroix's lost daughter and
tell me some more."
"I don't know what to tell you. Did you ever meet Javier
Vachon? He was a vampire from my mortal days."
"Yes. He was a young one. He was with that poor lost
childe Urs... you knew them as a mortal?"
"Yes, I did. But they're gone too. I guess everything
kinda hit the fan. It seemed like everything that could go wrong was going
wrong, and yet there was no one to talk to; to reach out to. Vachon was a
friend; I would have liked him to be something else. If only you could
know..." Tracy paused and remembered a trick Lucien had taught her. Reaching
into her thigh high boot and withdrawing a miniscule dagger, she unsheathed it
and picked up a crystal goblet from the 17th century baroque table.
Glancing over at Janette and then closing her eyes, she ran
the razor sharp edge of the blade across her wrist and held the now bleeding
wound over the goblet.
Thick crimson blood pooled, filling the cup to the halfway
point. Turning up her wrist and putting it to her mouth, Tracy suckled at the
healing wound. With her free hand, she held out the goblet to the woman she
had respected even before she had met her.
Hesitating, standing up from the couch and studying
Tracy's expression, Janette considered the proferred cup. It would be rich
and intoxicating; as rich as Nicola's was and as rich as her own had been the
first time. The blonde vampire heiress to Lacroix's legacy was willing to
share her intimate memories of her life and unlife to Janette, someone she
barely knew.
But it was a gift she knew she would not be able to turn
down.
Clasping the finely figured crystal goblet in a delicate
hand, she held it up to her lips and sniffed. It was young and laiden with
the smell of the 20th century, but it was strong and thick with ancient
wisdom. Tipping the glass, she sighed and let the fluid pass her lips.
And staggered back. She could smell smoke, and feel fire
burning her skin. Her eyes welled with tears already shed, her anger flared
with echoing fierce words. Falling back into the plush fabric of the couch,
she gasped as she felt the phantom form of a dying Nicholas in her arms. His
last words pierced the cold heart that he had revived. His ghostly mortal
blood coated her hand. She blinked and fought for control. "How ironic," she
whispered.
Tracy watched and waited. Some of the pain that had
scarred her mind and heart felt lessened, the echo of her memories no longer
hollow and lonely. They were now a part of someone else. It was strangely
comforting.
That someone else was now staring at her hand, as if the
blood was staining it painfully crimson. "Maybe I shouldn't have left. Was I
wrong? If I had stayed-- "
" -- you would have likely died, too. I should have. I
don't know if I *don't* want to die, yet. And I don't think they prescribe
anti-depressants to vampires."
A smile curled Janette's lip. "In my day it was a leech
and a little bit of religious cleansing. I don't think a cross nor a slug
would change your will."
"Probably not." Tracy's face lightened a little. "I don't
think you were wrong. I don't think any of us should feel bound to something.
We are the children of the night, not the prisoners of the night. But I could
be wrong. I mean, hey, everything happens for a reason, right? You left
because you felt you needed to. So did I. And wouldn't it be funny if Lucien
found us both again at the same time."
"It would be indeed. But I need to rest, and so should
you. Tomorrow night I'll show you some of the sites, and perhaps we can
indulge in some French cuisine." She stood up and slid the gloves off her
slender arms. Heading towards the bedroom, she turned to her newfound sister
once more. "The guest bedroom is to the left of my door. The bed is soft and
the windows heavily curtained. I shall see you in the morning, cherie. Good
night."
Tracy smiled. "Good night."
Turning off the light in the main room, Tracy entered her
day's haven. The four poster bed had a goose-down comforter and a damask
royal blue duvet. The provincial style vanity had various toiletries,
treasures and candlesticks arranged neatly on its highly polished top. A
matchbook with the Raven's logo sat on the bedside stand; she touched it
wistfully.
Stripping off the dress and pulling back the covers, Tracy
settled into the soft, elegant bed and shut her eyes.
She drifted off immediately, slipping into a restful,
nightmare free sleep.
******
end, part (09/13)
Disclaimers back in part one.
Y'all will have to forgive me on the french... I'm trying to be trilingual in
RL... it's a slow process!
It Never Rains (10/13)
by Shana Nolan
*****************
Tracy stirred uneasily. She was having the
nightmare about the fire again. And like every other time it scared her awake
when everything went wrong and she felt herself dying.
Jerking up into a sitting position, she glanced
around the dark room and wiped the beaded blood sweat off her brow.
She was still in Paris, sleeping in the spare bedroom
of a fellow vampire and family member. She was still immortal and miserable.
Crawling out of the covers and slipping on a silk
robe, Tracy padded across the wood floor and opened the door, sighing and
pulling her hair out of her face.
In the main part of the room, Janette was already up,
pulling back the heavy curtains to reveal the french night sky. She glanced
over at her sleepy blonde guest and smiled. "Did you sleep well?"
"Up until that horrible dream, yeah. Not that that's
unusual or anything." She sighed.
"Of what?"
"That damned fire. I always wake up right before I
get burned to death."
"How disturbing. But that isn't how it happened,
though."
"Yes, I know. I guess part of me died inside when it
happened and my sub-conscious interprets it as whole death. Ugh, I would kill
to be able to drink coffee again."
"You do kill, ma cher."
Tracy shrugged. "Yeah, but they're never coffee
fiends. Speaking of breakfast... "
Sliding off her own robe, the long black nightgown
rustled as she headed towards her own bedroom. "In the kitchen. The wine
rack on the counter has them sorted by dates. Help yourself." Janette closed
the door behind her, leaving Tracy alone in the room.
The young blonde grumbled, "It's still not coffee."
And with that thought stuck in her head, she padded into the kitchen.
* * * 
The flat was lit with candles, incense and dim,
glowing light. Wrapped in a red velvet cloth, draped over the chaise, the
trim of her hip length dress peeking out on top of her right thing, Tracy
watched the front door and waited. 
Janette had arranged some "entertainment" for their
evening, and at present, was fetching them to the apartment. Tracy had been
left the task of "fancying up" the place, making it sufficiently erotic and
mysterious. Anything that had been made of exquisite velvets, silks or
damasks, Trace pulled out and placed appropriately. Some of the antiquities
the young blonde had arranged in meaningful locations, showing off some of the
distinct style and flair that was Janette DeCharme.
The sound of two heartbeats and three soft voices
drifted into Tracy's hearing range. Janette's softly accented voice was
wooing the unwitting victims into the women's lair. She heard a " ...fine
dinner, I want to make sure the meal is memorable." 
Tracy chuckled and shifted her legs, exposing more
of the black nylons and the spiked black heel. She sighed and laid back,
letting some of her cleavage be exposed by the soft velvet.
The door latched and opened. Gesturing the men
in, Janette cast an amused and approving glance over to the laid out blonde. 
They were young and delicious. Both wearing
black suits with onyx-buttoned henleys, the first one was olive-skinned and
blessed with the deepest brown eyes Tracy had ever seen. His thick black
tresses were pulled back in a loose ponytail and a singular silver and tiger
eye ring graced his large, lineless hands.
The second one, who stood slightly behind him,
was equally exquisite. Lighter skinned and green eyed, his soft brown hair
combed at the part, he looked like a nobleman in gentleman's clothes. He was
slightly shorted than his darker companion, but that didn't bother either of
the women.
A small, playful smile touched Janette's lips.
"Tracy, may I introduce Phillippe, an art buyer at the Louvre with a
magnificent taste in Romantic painting." The darker man bowed and went over to
kiss Tracy's outstretched hand. "His friend is Michele. He has a studio just
outside of Paris. The both of them seemed lost at a gallery function, so I
rescued them and invited them to dinner. I suppose it is ready, cherie?"
Michele bowed slightly to Tracy and clasped
Janette's nimble hand in his. Tracy smiled warmly and pulled Phillippe closer
to her, breathing in his musky smell. "Oui, ma chere. And I took the liberty
of chilling the wine. Shall we go in?"
The dark haired vampire licked her lips. "Yes, to
the kitchen, then. Very good, petite. Almost better than I've ever done."
"'Almost?' Ah, but I wouldn't want to ever out-do
you." And with that, Tracy stood up, leaned close to Phillippe and whispered,
"It's time for dinner, I think."
* * *
Gently grasping a full hand of blonde hair,
Phillippe pulled Tracy closer to him. She fell easily into his lap, enjoying
the attentions fo the now drunk Parisien art buyer. Sharing an intoxicated
laugh, he set his glass down on the table next to them.
"Michele, I promised you a fun night, non? These
ladies know how to keep us entertained, right, Janette?"
The dark-haired vampire smiled and sidled up next to
the man that was trying to cop a feel. She pushed his hand off of her ass and
sat it down on his own leg. She picked up her glass of bloodwine and downed
it. "Yes, I do. But it is drawing late, and I am a bit tired. What do you
say we close the evening, Tracy?"
Twisting so her front was pressed against his,
leaning foreward in his lap, Tracy smiled sadistically. "Yes, it is." And
with that, she kissed him and let her hands roam up and down his chest.
Janette smiled. Her young sister was ambitious and
wild. Taking a cue and taking a chance, she stood back up and pulled Michele
with her. She brushed a hand across his neck and moved them towards her
bedroom. 
Michele turned her around and pushed her up against
the wall next to the door. Janette snarled, keeping control of the situation.
She drew him closer to her and pulled his neck prone to her. Giving Trace a
fanged smile, she kissed and then bit down into Michele's neck.
Tracy, sitting atop the squirming Phillippe, felt her
own pointed fangs drop into her mouth. She smiled, keeping the sharp tips
hidden. "Relax, mon amour, I know how to keep a man happy."
Phillippe let out a small groan. "Cherie... "
Leaning down, brushing lips against his neck, she
bared the fangs, smelling the salt on his skin. About to pierce the skin, she
pulled back and pushed Phillippe away from her.
"No, I won't, I can't. Aah, no, I can't do it."
Stumbling off and away, Tracy braced herself against
the windowsill. Casting a gaze out the window, she sighed. "Oh, Gods, no...
this can't be happening... "
Releasing the grip on Michele, Janette let his
slack body drop gently to the floor. Coming around to a stunned Phillippe,
she quickly mesmerised him into passing out and joined Tracy at the window.
"What's wrong?"
"I couldn't. I don't know why. I froze, I
couldn't, I just... "
Janette sighed. The burden of something was
destroying her. She guided the younger vampire over to the unoccupied chair
and sat her down. "Stay here. I'll be back."
Going off to the kitchen, Janette shook her head.
Tracy's heart was broken, her resolve fading once more. Whatever had made her
leave Lucien was eating at her again, ripping at her very soul. Suspecting
the obvious, and muttering a silent curse to Nicholas, Janette uncorked a
bottle and poured its contents into a glass. 
Re-entering the main room, she knelt in front of the
blonde and held out the glass. "You need to feed, ma chere. I won't let you
starve while you're with me. Whatever it is, we'll work through it. Let me
help you."
Taking the glass and bringing it to numb lips, Tracy
sipped and choked back a sob. "'Cruel here and now.' 'Ashes and dust.' Oh,
how I should have listened, how I should have made it so that would have never
happened. I've lost everything I used to have. I liked what I used to have.
I'm alone and adrift, and all I can do is continue on in this endless night.
How could have I not seen the truth?" 
"What truth? And you're far from alone. Don't get
caught in that trap, Tracy. Nicolas did, and where is he? Where was he for
most of his life? He couldn't enjoy what he had and when he did, he went too
far. Binge and purge, cherie. He said those things to you, didn't he? Tried
to make you see it his way; don't do it, you can't. It'll destroy you slowly.
Please. Lucien would kill the both of us. Move on. Forget. Enjoy. Take
your sleeping feast over there."
Tracy stared at Janette for a moment, then
sighed. "How?"
That caught the thousand year old off guard. She
hesitated, "I don't know."
"Great. Just great. Now if only we were singing
in Italian and up on a stage. At least that way my life would be an opera
instead of a soap opera."
"Cher... "
"I'm, I'm okay. I need to sleep, maybe think a
little. I need to rest, some sleep would do me good. I... I'm sorry,
Janette, I thought I was past this."
Janette laughed slightly. "If I could put up
with Nicolas, I can put up with you."
*****************
end, part (10/13)
Comments and reasons for Trace to get over it to DPangel79@aol.com
Disclaimer, blah, blah, comments, yadda, yadda... on to the show.
:-)
It Never Rains 
by Shana Nolan
************************
One year ago...
"'And today in the world perspective, we go to Andie
Lauer at the news desk.'
"'Thanks, Mike. Today our focus goes to the great
north. The remarkable struggle that Toronto residents have undergone since
the Great Fire of 2006 is an example of human perseverance. After the near
complete destruction of the city and all its infrastructure, the surviving
residents began to rebuild and start anew. After nine years of mourning and
cleaning up the rubble, the new CN tower has been raised and a plaque is at
the base, made in memoriam of all the victims. The hospitals and the
University of Toronto are powered up and staffed again. Children can play in
the streets.'
"'However the homes have not returned. The
neighborhoods filled with cars, BBQs and bustling activity are now empty
streets with dead grass and bare concrete foundation. The shopping centres
that were once lauded as marvelous and a must-see for the tourist trade will
not be coming back.'"
"'Andie, what loss of life was there?'"
"'There were 624 injuries, 156 of those later dying
due to lack of immediate care. It has been estimated that nearly 3000 people
died in the fire, but there is no way to confirm this number, as the heat of
the fire likely cremated a number of trapped victims.'
"'The mayor of Toronto has estimated that the damage
done to his city approximates to 3 billion dollars, U.S. The reconstruction
of the hospitals and schools have been assisted by a number of charitable
funds, but the city still may be under repair for the next thirty years,
despite the innovations in construction that the 21th century has yielded.'
"'With luck and good fortune, the city may return to a
status of a comfortable living soon. Those who have been rendered homeless
have been at least temporarily been placed in houses and shelters until they,
the determined few, rebuild their own homes and give themselves back their
lives.'"
"'Thank you, Andie. Ours hopes and prayers continue
to go out to the survivors of the Toronto fire. Life must continue, whether
or not we want it to. Well, America, it's time to sign off and head home.
This is Mike Landers of the nightly news out of New York, New York. Good
night, and God bless.'"
* * *
Mayor Joseph Pollock of Toronto, Ontario stared out
of his makeshift office and sighed. He had a view of the new CN tower and
could see the receding lines of Lake Ontario. The smell of tar and fresh
concrete mixed with demolition explosives and ash and rubble drifted into the
little cramped space. But he didn't really smell it anymore. It was
ignorable; it was normal.
But the irresistable urge to paste a picture of Hawaii
or the French countryside nagged at him. He hated taking over a city when it
laid in so much ruin. How easy it would be to forget the ruins if he could
stare at a Hula girl while filling out work orders and city contracts.
His secretary, hidden beneath paperwork, computers, and
phones, was sipping at tea and rubbing her temples. She didn't have a life
since she "volunteered" to help the mayoral office. But she was cheery enough
and had stories of better days to keep him and his dour visitors in a good
mood. And she kept the coffee going. Her medium length blonde hair was tied
up in a scrunchie and her glasses were hanging off her blouse. She was
fighting with a typewriter, trying to reset the ribbon so that she could fill
out an archaic form for rebar and steel gerters.
Joseph shuffled over to her desk and leaned down. He
pulled the pen out from behind her ear and signed the stack of papers that
needed his authorisation. "Hi, Moll. Wanna get take-out, or do you still
have that leftover lasagna in the mini-fridge?"
Molly Taylor, overworked and still cheery, glanced up from
the typewriter and smiled. "Nope, we ate the lasagna for lunch. You think
the Thai place will deliver if we promise them a space in the new Eaton
Centre?"
A grin forced its way onto his worn face. "Maybe. It's
worth a shot, anyways."
A knock sounded on the paper thin door. Shrugging his
shoulders, the mayor shuffled over and opened the door. A tall, thin woman
was standing before him, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, her hair tied up
in a scarf. He blinked, and then moved aside. "Come in, please."
Stepping in and shedding her coat, the woman searched for
a place to sit. Molly, beaming like a Tupperware saleswoman, pushed her
chair towards the stranger. "Here you go, luv. I've lost a few things
underneath this metal monster, it's time to dig 'em out."
The woman nodded gratefully. "Am I interrupting?"
The mayor extended a hand. "Not at all. Joseph
Pollock."
"Natalie Knight, financial advisor. Is this where I can
donate to the city funds and/or charities?"
Molly banged her head against the bottom of the desk.
"Yow! Uh, what do you mean, donate?" 
The woman slipped off her glasses and scarf. Her hair
went past her shoulders, the platinum blonde standing out against the black
blouse. Her blue eyes were seemingly kind, but she didn't strike the mayor as
a millionare with money to spare.
"So, Natalie, what can you do for us? Do you have a
specific charity in mind or are you unfamiliar with what's available?"
A dark smile touched the young blonde's face. "Actually,
I just needed to drop a cheque off and wasn't sure who to make it out to."
Popping out from underneath the desk, Molly opened a
drawer and started digging things out. "Well, we have a stamp for the mayoral
office, the mayor specifically, the public works department, the hospice fund,
the police commision, the memorial fund for fire victims, the college trust,
the-- "
Joseph elbowed his overactive secretary. "I think that's
enough, Molly. Don't you have a typewriter to fix?"
"How about I leave it here and the two of you can fill it
out appropriately and then distribute it?"
Molly, who was about to open her mouth and respond,
suddenly found it covered so she couldn't get out her two cents. The mayor
smiled. "It's your money, ma'am. However you'd like to do it."
The young woman stood up out of the chair, withdrew an
envelope from an inside pocket of her blazer. Opening the envelope, she
withdrew a blue piece of paper and gestured for a pen. The mayor handed over
one immediately.
A moment later, 'Natalie Knight' stood up and started to
put her outer garb back on. Handing over the cheque and sliding on her
glasses, she smiled briefly.
"When I was young, Mayor Pollock, I used to dream of a
perfect world. That perfect world got shattered when I shot my first perp,
arrested my first rapist, busted my first crack house and so on. But I don't
have those concerns anymore. I don't have delusions of perfection. This
money won't change the world, but it'll help foster the dreams of the young
again. Good night, mister mayor."
She stepped out of the office and walked down the stairs.
A black Lincoln with tinted windows was waiting, its back passenger door open.
She stepped into the car, seating herself and picking up her glass, sipping at
the bloodwine.
"Madame Vetter?"
Closing the door and pointing towards the road, Tracy
Vetter sighed. "Yes, Phillippe?"
"Why did you give them money and not tell them who you
were?"
"Because, Phillippe, I owe it to old friends. And in the
course of humanitarian deeds, the mayor of Toronto doesn't need to know a
vampire, an immortal creature that preys on humanity for its culture and
blood, actually cares about their future lives. Now drive, mon amour."
* * *
Gaping openly, Pollock handed the cheque over to his
secretary. Examining it thoroughly, she gasped as she looked at the amount
for the fourth time.
"Holy mother of God."
"No kidding."
"It's real... it has to be. The watermark seal of the
trust is right where it should be."
"What's the signature?"
"N. Knight."
"The trust's name?"
"The DeBrabant Foundation."
"And, Molly, for the benefit of making sure I didn't
hallucinate that number, please read out the amount of that cheque."
"Four hundred and seventy-eight *million* dollars."
"Molly?"
"Sir?"
"Could you, uh, call the bank president and deposit that
now?!"
"'Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.'" Molly
whispered, dashing out the door. 
****************
finis, part (11/13)
Comments and black Lincolns to DPangel79@aol.com
Weeeeell, if youse all have noticed, I finally can see an end to this thing.
But of course, that's because I said in the presence of two DPs (*waves to
Mary and Laura*)that I'd finish this before starting the monster writing
project that I'm mapping now. A bard's work is never done. 
Disclaimers, yadda, yadda are in part 1. Not that any of us want to read
those depressing things *again.*  However, the character of Daniel in this
section isn't based, at least not intentionally, on the real Daniel or
otherwise. *knowing wink*
It Never Rains (12/13)
by Shana Nolan
******************
"I'm sorry, Lacroix, I don't know where she went."
Lucien Lacroix growled and sat down in the plush chair behind
him. After two months, he had finally figured out where his lost dark angel
had gone to. How ironic it was that Tracy had found Janette, now Lucien's
"grandchilde," out of all the vampires and out of all the civilised parts of
the world. He crossed his arms and looked at Janette's lovely pale face.
"Why is it that I have to keep hunting down all of you?"
Janette sauntered over to the chair and sat on the arm next to
him. She smiled affectionately, and shrugged. "Children like to run away
from what they can't control. You should know that by now, cher."
"Yes, I should and do. But this is Tracy, not Nicholas. I
am loathe to think she took after him so well."
"Nicola put the pain on himself. Tracy is trying to get rid of
the pain put on her by the world. She watched him die; you don't think that's
good enough reason for her to run away from the pain?"
"Mortals die, Janette."
She stepped off the arm of the chair, offended by his harsh
reply. Her anger flared briefly. How could Lacroix be that cold about his
son and her second master? "Yes, they do," she hissed. "But he died nine
years ago because you brought him over eight hundred years ago. Perhaps if
you had not, he could have died as a 'mortal.' But he was your vampire son
for a very long time. Don't you dare forget that."
"I brought him over because you wanted him."
"I seduced him. I loved him. But you wanted him too, Lacroix."
"And he pushed me and my gift to him like a pariah. He forsook
his vampire nature for mortality. If he had stayed a vampire, he wouldn't
have died."
"If he had stayed a vampire he would have continued to hate the
community and himself. The last time he and Tracy talked before the fire,
they argued over that. And they argued over you."
"I'm honoured," he quipped lightly.
"You should be."
Lacroix stared at the icy glare she was giving him. He had no
power over her now and she was daring him to try and prove otherwise. His
tone softened and he broke away from her stare. "Well, there's nothing more
to do then. I'm sorry if I offended you, cherie. I will find her, though."
"I'm sure you will." Janette stepped forward and offered a
slim hand which he kissed gently in departure. "I'm sure you will."
* * *
"What do you think, Phillippe?"
"Very pretty, amour. What is it for?"
Tracy Vetter, bedecked in a crimson red velvet dress, turned to
see a different view of herself in the mirror. "There's a ball in the new
City Hall tonight. They're holding it for the contributors to the
Reconstruction Fund. I figured I should at least make a showing, considering
I gave them nearly half a billion."
"As yourself, or as Madamoiselle Natalie Knight?"
"As Madamoiselle Knight, of course. Besides, that's who the
invitation is made out to."
"Of course. But do you think it's been long enough for no one to
recognise you for who you really are?"
"I hope so, Phillippe. There won't be many people from the
police departments and I've never met the new Commisioner since Dad died. I
think the only problem might be some of political people, but I doubt they
would put two and two together between shaking hands and kissing babies."
Phillippe, dressed in his customary black pants and black dress
shirt, walked up behind and put his hands on Tracy's small shoulders. "Would
you need an escort, by chance?"
Turning around and leaning into his strong frame, Tracy ran a
finger up and down is chest. "S'il vous plait?"
His hunger burned. It had been a while since she had been this
warm to him. Putting a hand behind her neck, he leaned in and kissed her
passionately. Falling into his strong, muscled body, she lost herself in the
moment.
Running his hands down her frame and towards the slit in the back
of the dress, he teased her with light touches. Breaking away from
Phillippe's mouth and moving her lips against the flesh of his neck, she
savoured the smell of his skin and considered biting down. 
But she stopped as soon as he tried to move her away from the full
length mirror. "No, mon amour. I have to get ready for the ball. We will
have plenty of time for that afterwards." 
The look on Phillippe's face was a frustrated one, but he
acquiesed. Knowing that if pushed the issue she would deny him anything the
entire night, he shoved his desire for her down. "May I ride with you in the
back?"
Reaching for her Italian stiletto heels, she smiled at him. "Yes,
Daniel will drive tonight. Now, go get changed. Your Armani is in the second
closet."
* * *
The new City Hall of Toronto looked like a castle amongst the rest
of the recovering ruins. The huge double doors were wedged open and the odor
of catered food wafted down the porcelain white steps. A few of the other
guests mingled in on the steps, the light from the inside glittering and
shining off their elegant attire. 
The night air was cool and fresh; Tracy breathed it in deeply as
the Lincoln pulled up the red carpet that had been rolled right out to the
curb. Cutting the engine and stepping around the front of the car, Daniel
opened the passenger door.
Stepping out with a delicate, heeled foot, Tracy smiled. Daniel was
dressed in a black suit and a red tie. She touched the tie briefly and
quirked an eyebrow.
"It's better than a red suit and a black tie, Trace."
"Too true, Daniel. We'll be just a few hours. Go park the car and
enjoy the night."
Phillippe stepped out of the car and winked at the other vampire.
"Just don't have too much fun."
Walking Tracy and her escort walk up the stairs, Daniel grinned.
"No such thing."
Sauntering up the stairs and smiling like a noble in the courts of
old Europe, Tracy pulled her gold leafed invitation out of her long velvet
coat and handed it to the official looking man standing next to the large
double doors.
"I'm assistant mayor, George Clark, Miss Knight. It's a pleasure
to meet you. The city owes you its thanks for such a miraculous donation."
Tracy nodded politely. "Call me Natalie, please. And this is my
escort and associate, Phillippe leClaire."
"Phillippe, Natalie," Clark gestured to the room full of milling
socialites. "Go on ahead and enjoy yourself. The buffet is along the west wall
and there's an open bar. The bartender's the best in Toronto, ask him for
anything, I dare you." The assistant mayor elbowed Phillippe. 
Tracy's lips curled into a playful snarl. "Anything?"
"Anything!" And with that, Clark stepped away and joined
another group of minglers.
"Um... Phillippe, why don't you go and peruse the cuis-- crowd.
I'm going to find out if this bartender can do 'anything.'"
His curly black ponytail falling over his shoulder, he kissed
Tracy's gloved hand and set off into the crowd. She watched him hungrily; he
knew she was in a playful mood and was milking it for all it was worth.
But rather than mulling over something that could endanger the
mortals around her, she strolled over to the bar and seated herself next to a
finely dressed and coiffed man.
"What will it be madame?"
Tracy smiled warmly. It wasn't Miklos, but it was worth a shot.
Locking onto the bartender's heartbeat, she discreetly murmured, "Bloodwine."
His eyes glazed, he reached underneath the bar and withdrew a
bottle of deep red Merlot and filled a wine glass half full. Setting the
glass below Tracy and her neighbor's view, he made a series of motions;
moments later, he presented the glass to her, filled to the brim with dark red
fluid. She smelled the fresh blood mixed with the Merlot and smiled. "Thank
you."
Her handsome neighbor watched as she took a sip. "Pardon me.
This is silly, but what did you ask for? I've never seen a wine that dark
before."
Swallowing and watching the bartender step away with a towel
wrapped around his wrist, she grinned playfully. "A rare vintage; but I was
told that I could 'anything' and indeed I have. I would recommend it to you,
but I think it might prove too strong. One has to acquire a taste for it,
after all."
"Marcus Donovan."
"Natalie Knight."
They shook hands, Tracy noting the strength of his grip and
silently appreciating it.
"So you're the one who donated half a billion. Wow. I'm
surprised they haven't given you a velvet throne and a jewel encrusted crown.
My corporation could only take $20,000 out of the kitty. So what's your
secret? What family or what corporation do you belong to? And how do I get
in?"
Tracy laughed. This was going to be fun. "Actually it's a
family trust. Old money in a high interest account. I have no heirs, no
husband, and all the time in the world."
"You're alone?"
Tracy could practically smell the adrenaline pumping through her
new found companion. "Not really. Phillippe," she gestured to her dark
haired escort chatting up a group of rich old ladies, "is a friend and
associate. But I am 'unattatched' as it were."
Marcus smiled and took one of Tracy's gloved hands and grasped
it firmly in his own. "Care to waltz?"
Finishing her glass and licking a errant drop of bloodwine from
her lip, she stood up and accepted.
The orchestra at the second level balcony started up a lively
Chopin. Gliding across the floor like swans on water, Tracy was pleasantly
surprised at the grace and form. It was like he had been dancing for
centuries.
"You have a marvelous style, Marcus. Were you a courtesan in a
past li-- "
"May I cut in?"
Marcus froze, his reverie shattered. He turned around to face
the intruder and gaped as he looked up into cold blue eyes.
"You son of a bitch. How did you find me?!"
Lucien Lacroix stared at his daughter, "Now, now, my dark
angel, don't cause a scene."
Tracy's eyes were glowing. Acting foolishly chivalric, Marcus
stepped in between the two vampires and boldly stated, "Excuse me sir. The
lady obviously does not want to speak nor dance with you."
Lacroix laughed sardonically.
But Marcus was still on a roll. "Take your leave, sir."
Tracy hesitated, shelving her own anger for the moment.
Placing a hand on Marcus' shoulder, she leaned into his face and whispered,
"Take *your* leave, monsieur. Thank you for your time, but forget you ever
met me." She slipped a fifty into his coat pocket, "Buy yourself a drink."
Marcus walked back towards the bar leaving Lacroix and Tracy to
themselves. Holding out his hands, Lacroix gestured for her to finish the
waltz with him. She gave in, falling into his infinitely more practiced steps
across the floor.
"How did you find me?"
"Why did you leave?"
"I had to. How did you find me?"
His gaze was a displeased one. "The same way I always found
Nicholas. But Janette told me that you would be here. Why do you insist in
coming back here when there is nothing left for you?"
A growl touched her lips. "This is my home. I have the power
to bring this city back to the way it used to be."
"By masquerading as 'Natalie Knight?'"
"How else could I give them what Nicholas would have liked them
to have? This was their home. They met each other here, they lived here,
they died here and they are buried here. Would you rather have me pay the
tuition of an inbred European blue blood? Or better yet, leave it to stagnate
in a forgotten account until money as we know it is obselete?"
"Ma cher, you're overreacting. Your concern is to your family,
your community and yourself. That money will build a *mortal* city. There
are no vampires in this city anymore. Come home to me and be done with this
foolishness."
Tracy felt like a lost child again. In the space of minutes,
Lucien Lacroix had ripped away what little of a life she had created for
herself. She had been deluding herself into believing that by taking their
names and using his money, she could heal her broken spirit and the city all
in one fair shot. "So what do I do?" She asked quietly.
The contempt for her actions dropped out of his voice. "What
you think you need to do."
"Nothing more?"
"Donate the money if you wish. Play the charade. Delude
yourself a little longer. But do it and be done with it." Stopping and
pulling away from her, Lacroix touched her hand one more time before leaving
the city hall and disappearing into the night.
Now flustered, Tracy threw up her arms and headed for the double
doors. Walking down the stairs and by Daniel, who was smoking a cigarette
next to the car, she stopped. "I'm stepping out. Take the car back when
Phillippe is ready to leave. I'll come home when I'm done."
Daniel tapped the ashes off and nodded as she took to the air.
* * *
Once more above the city, her mind searching for something to
latch onto, Tracy surveyed the changes since she had last seen the city from a
bird's, or rather vampire's eye view.
It was comforting to see the rebuilt hospital and university, but
there were areas where rubble still darkened the landscape. Little trees and
new playground equipment dotted the parks.
Coming up to Bickford park, she came back down to the ground and
crossed the street. In place of the condos, and then the rubble of
aforementioned condos, was a construction zone with flags and caution signs.
A six story apartment building was coming together, it's steel frame jutting
out from the plastic covering.
Alighting over the fence, Tracy walked into the heart of the
construction area. She stifled a slight, pessimistic laugh when she came
across the hard hat sign and continued on. In a corner of the site, a pile of
rubble and discarded materials drew her keen senses. Useless rebar, drywall,
brick, nails, concrete and the many other dozens of things that the
construction workers had tossed in were at the top of the pile. But Tracy
could see that there was something more.
Her sharp eyes detected the lingering charred remains of the
previous building. An old door knob, and a melted gob of copper wires were at
the top. But, in her curious nature, she hoped that that was only the top of
the treasure pile.
Picking up and moving aside the top layer, Tracy took off her
gloves, heels and hosery and tucked her dress up to her knees. Wading in up
to her calves, she started sorting through the rubble, trying to seek her own
holy grail. Reaching an area with a plateau of flat steel sheets, she shifted
and pushed around the pile, dirtying herself thoroughly. Pulling three layers
of steel off, the glint of brass or bronze caught her eye. The last layer of
steel grunted and squealed as she pulled it loose. The largest piece of the
group was ungangly and wobbled in her hands. Finally hefting it away from the
diminished pile, she stepped into the space now open to her.
And fell in.
The scraps and materials that had been beneath the steel sunk
underneath Tracy's weight like sand. Dropping at least 2 metres, being
scratched and slashed all the way down Tracy winced. Trying to protect her
face, she felt a gash being ripped in her left hand. *What a wonderful evening
this has turned out to be,* she thought cynically.
Blocked up in a tight hole, now stuck with only a small amount of
light illuminating her current predicament, she growled and took stock. If
nothing else, her dress was completely ruined. Blood was dripping from a
hundred different wounds, and when she ran a hand through her hair to clear
her view, her hand came out sticky with her own blood. *Great, now what? Do
I scream like a frightened ninny and get arrested for trespassing in the
process? Do I climb this mountain of shit or do I fly out? If I call for
Lacroix, he would hear me... *
Huffing, she decided to heft herself out, using the gift of
vampiric levitation as an aid.
Twenty minutes later, cursing, growling and muttering, Tracy had
emerged from her hole from Hell. Jumping down onto solid ground, staring at
her unharmed gloves, heels and hosery, she sighed and plopped down on the
ground, picking debris out of her hair, clothes and skin. Mostly glass and
metal shards, she paused as she started to wedge out a rather large chunk of
brass from her foot. Taking in a deep breath, she yanked it out, blood
oozing out of her heel pad.
Ignoring the crimson puddle, she brushed off the brass plate and
tried to read the light engraving. It was part of a apartment designation.
Part of the letter had been broken off, but she could still figure out to
whose door it belonged to.
"5B," otherwise known as the condo occupied by one Nick and
Natalie Brabant.
"How ironic." Tracy murmured. "Ten years and I still can't get
rid of you." Reaching an unbloody hand into the remainders of her dress
front, she pulled the silver pill box out from it's snug hiding place in her
bra. Comparing the brass placard and the silver box, she blinked and put the
silver box safely away in her bosom. Arranging her unmarred ball clothes like
a shrine, she placed the brass plate in one of the shoes and stared at her
makeshift shrine.
And left, taking back into the air, before her emotions betrayed
her and she cried once more over the ruined building.
*************
fin, part (12/13)
No mortals, vampires or brass placards were harmed in the writing of this
story.
Comments and bloodwine to DPangel79@aol.com
Last part of the story, and yes, I'm sad to say I still have to do spoilers
and disclaimers. But they're back in part one. I'm done! Woohoo! 
It Never Rains (13/13)
by Shana Nolan
*************************
Epilouge: the present
And the hot night settled in. The scratches had healed
and the gash that had marred her forehead had knitted itself shut.
But she had not washed the blood off. The platinum blonde
hair was stained black with her own dried vampiric blood. She glanced down
at her hands. They, too, were dirty and bloodied. Filth had crusted
underneath normally clean, elegantly trimmed nails and her clothes clung
loosely to her body, heavy with the evidence of previous events.
*I look like the lone survivor of a massacre,* she mused.
A pained, thin smile spread across her face.
As a mortal, rumpled clothes alone would have inspired a
desparate need for a long, hot shower. But now, as a vampire stuck in this
miserable hot world, the blood and dirt felt right. The proper reflection of
what had become of her lost, precious world.
She stepped a little closer to the unmarked gravesites.
Once there had been one. She had made the second as a mortal. The last two
were fresher; forged by vampiric hands and joined together so that the silent
occupants would be together even in real death.
She touched each of the graves, murmuring their occupant's
names wistfully. "Screed. Vachon. Nick. Natalie."
"Flickering flames, my dark angel, flickering flames."
She twisted around, shocked by the shadowy presence. Her
lamentations had distracted her enhanced senses. Foolish and dangerous.
Actually, more like stupid.
"What do I do now?" She asked, desparation straining her
voice.
"I don't know, my dear."
His answer burned a hole in her cold, dead heart. Bitter
tears welled up and dripped crimson trails down her porcelain cheek. She
turned back around and faced the dwindling waterfront. Staring blankly
towards the old city, she imagined what it used to be like. The CN Tower and
the sky scrapers, before their buckling infrastructure shattered thousands of
dreams as broken window glass rained down on the city. Beautiful, glittering
death.
The presence came up behind her, close enough so that
she could hear the delicate rippling of his black silk shirt. Wrapping a
strong hand around one of her own, he forced her to loosen the steely fist she
had made with her fingers. When they finally released, a small metal box
dropped into his hands. Quickly examining and then opening it, he made a
slight huff of surrendered disgust.
It was a silver box. Quite simple; but the inside bore
two rings tied together with the most miniscule ribbons. He touched them with
a strong finger and closed the box, handing it back to her.
"No." She didn't bother to face him, she just pushed
away his outstretched hand with hers. "It's your legacy more than it is mine."
"Then why hold on to it?"
"Like Pandora, I've managed to trap hope," she inhaled
sharply, taking in hot, tainted air. "However I grow weary and am not able to
keep the trap locked anymore. I'm offering it to you this once. If you do
not wish to have it, I'll return it whence it came and be going."
He touched her blood matted hair, feeling the rough
sticky texture and pondered for a moment. His own words from what seemed like
a lifetime ago echoed in his ears. Would she listen to his words any more
than he did back then? Would she call him the Devil? Bid him join
Memnoch's tortured souls? Or even choose to join them herself? How strange
it was that he was thinking about them... and him, at this moment.
Abruptly, she dropped to the ground and seated herself
in a crosslegged position. Pale, delicate fingers wandered over to the
nearest grave and played idly with the grimy soil.
Thunder rumbled in the distance; a loud booming crash
throbbing through the warm ground.
He snarled, dropping the silver box in her lap. "You
know where to find me," and he took off, abandoning her to herself.
"Yeah, yeah. Of course I do."
Checking to see if he was really gone, not just
tucked away in the black shadows, she stood up again. Turning the box in her
hands over and over, she listened to the clinking of the rings against the
box's sides. Preparing to bury it in the two conjoined graves, she changed
her mind. Once more, facing the waterfront, she pulled her arm back and
snapped her wrist sharply, releasing the tiny box over the water.
It splashed lightly on touchdown, then disappeared
into the shallow, murky depths; swallowed up for all eternity, for all she
cared.
Thunder rumbled and crashed again.
As she was walking away, it happened. A teeny drop
of water hit her face. Then another. And another. And another. Soon the
droplets increased in size and number. *Rain... rain!* Her mind reeled with
shock. Incresasing rapidly, the drops doubled, then tripled, falling harder,
making an audible sound on the murky depths before her.
It began to downpour, rain falling in sheets now,
pounding her arms and legs and head. The heavy rainfall pooled in her matted
hair and finally loosened the hardened blood. Watered down blood sheeted down
her back, arms, face and fingers, dripping to the parched ground, forming a
sickly, pink-crimson puddle.
She lifted her head, letting clean, replenishing
rain wash her features and trickle down the lines in her eternally young face.
Everything was washing clean. Despite the cloud
cover, the environment around her seemed to sheen with renewed vigor.
Everything...
For the first time in ten years.
Tracy Vetter brought her gaze back to the fallen
city and laughed, defeated. Pain and pleasure. Joy and hate. Love and
revile.
All in one savage, breathtaking moment.
"You were right, Nicholas. Damn you for it."
*****************
end part (13/13)
end "It Never Rains"
This is the first extended story I have ever done. I hope to do more and
continue writing. Just as the silver box is Tracy's and LC's legacy, the
inspiriation of the FK muse is mine. Thank you for taking the time to read my
story. Send all comments to DPangel79@aol.com.

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