This is the eighth story in the "Dance" series, which began
with "The Last Dance".  The others can be found at Mel's
fanfic archive and on my website, at www.angelfire.com.  It
may not be necessary to have read the entire series to
follow the events in this story.

Disclaimers:  Father Pierre Rochefort (from "For I Have
Sinned) pays Nick a visit.  He speaks as one might expect a
priest to speak.  His counsel is intended for Nick's ears; I
am not attempting to proselytize the readers .

A special heartfelt thanks to my proofreader, Laurie.
You've been such a help!  I really appreciate your
assistance.

Permission granted to archive at Mel's fanfic site and
Cousin Mary's Tracy pages.  Others please inquire.



Dead Swans
By Lorelei Sieja


Nick sensed the anticipation of the others around him as the
lights began to dim.  The whispered conversations of
hundreds of patrons diminished.  Urs squeezed his hand
affectionately. She smelled wonderful tonight, he thought.
Following her scent, he leaned close to give her a friendly
kiss.  Tonight was going to be fun after all.

It had not been his idea to attend the Ballet.  He had lost
his eyesight two months ago, and it still had not returned.
Somehow, coming to "watch" something he could not see was a
waste of time, but it seemed so important to Natalie and so
he had agreed.  They all came, even the dog.

Perry glanced at him and licked his hand.  Nick had thought
the dog might stretch out at his feet and sleep, but Perry
seemed preoccupied with the comings and goings of the
patrons as they waited for the ballet to begin. Sometimes
Nick wondered what thoughts ran through the carouche's small
brain.  He seemed almost intelligent.

Perry woofed once.

"Sh-sh," Nick whispered.  It hadn't been his idea to bring
the guide dog tonight.  With all of his family around, he
didn't really need his help, but for some obscure reason
LaCroix had insisted.

Next to Urs sat Tracy and then Vachon.  Tracy had talked
almost non-stop from the moment they arrived, but as the
lights dimmed she became spellbound.  Nick chuckled as he
sensed her excitement.  Her commissioner father had taken
her to plenty of concerts and benefits when she was little,
but never once to the ballet.  This was all new to her.  She
hadn't even known the story.

Vachon had urged Nick to explain it, saying that he told
stories better, but Nick expected that Vachon had never seen
the famous Russian ballet before either.

Behind Urs was Natalie, the only mortal in his family
group.  She was also the only one shut off from him.  He had
never shared her blood.  He tried to picture her in his
memories, how she might look tonight with her chestnut hair
pulled back in a soft chignon at the nape of her neck and
curled tendrils framing her face.  He had always enjoyed
looking at her, admiring beauty for beauty's sake; he missed
that now.  He could hear her, though.  Her heart beat a
little faster with anticipation.  She was happy tonight.

Reaching out again, Nick sensed the ancient vampire master
behind him.  LaCroix's hand rested on his shoulder
momentarily.  One knuckle brushed his cheek in a small
gesture of affection.  He sensed a question from his sire,
although the words were unspoken.

"Nothing, LaCroix," Nick whispered in answer.  He wanted for
nothing.  Except his eyesight.


LaCroix felt his son's presence again.  The younger vampire
was there often now.  Perhaps it was the renewed sense of
family, or perhaps it was just the boy's insecurities
surfacing from his prolonged exile into a strange new
darkness.  Whatever the reason, the ancient enjoyed the
intimate bond.

"I love you, too, my son," he thought through their link.
Then the orchestra began the first overture that would
herald tonight's sell-out performance.  Natalie leaned in to
his shoulder and smiled up at him.  His gaze swept over her,
his children, their lovers, and Nick's carouche, and he
swelled with pride.

His thoughts drifted back two months, to the night he had
first whispered those words of love to his errant child,
words he had never dared to utter before.  It had been a
special evening, so much like now...


                  ****Two months before****

"I love you, too, my son."

LaCroix smiled, holding his son close to his breast.  It
didn't matter that the younger vampire had fallen asleep and
probably hadn't heard him.  He had said the words; he could
say them again.  Life with this one had always been
tempestuous.  This precious moment would soon pass and no
doubt Nicholas would find another reason to resist him, but
for now, for this moment, LaCroix was truly content.

Later he heard the other children return.  Tracy peeked into
the room and giggled softly. LaCroix opened one eye and
leveled it at her.  She smiled around slender fangs, half
aroused and wishing to join him, yet respectful enough not
to intervene.

"Mind if we hang out at the loft tonight?" she whispered.

LaCroix nodded his assent.  She grinned, before quietly
pulling Nick's door closed.

"Come on, everybody!" she said excitedly.  "We're going to
the loft!"

"Count me out," Nat sighed.  A sleepover with LaCroix's
youngest was not high on her list of things to do.  She
flipped through the TV channels, hoping to find a suitable
movie that she could fall asleep to.  Maybe she'd just crash
on the couch today, too tired to find the bed.  When the
last door slammed on their hasty departure, Nat pulled the
afghan off the back of the couch and covered up.  Just
before drifting off, Sydney decided to join her.

"Welcome back, traitor," she said, stroking him just behind
the ear.  He'd taken to sharing Nick's bed almost ever since
they'd moved in, but with the ancient vampire there today,
the cat must have felt it was just a bit crowded.

Nat rubbed her thigh just above the black fiberglass cast.
Her leg was throbbing tonight.  She'd been on it too long
again.  She surrendered to the exhaustion brought on by
stressful week.   Maybe, she wondered, as sleep fogged her
brain, when she moved on with the vampires she would find an
easier job.  What if she treated nothing more serious than
tennis elbow on a luxury ocean liner somewhere in the
Caribbean?

           *****

The sun had set and the young vampires were enjoying a
companionable breakfast before departing for night.

Tracy hugged her newfound friend Jody.  "It will be fine,
really!  Trust me!"

Jody just shook her head.  Some things never changed.  Even
in college, Tracy had been sunshine and enthusiasm, while
Jody had always been the voice of reason.  They'd been
almost inseparable then.  Even the few times they had gone
out with boys they had done it together as double dates.
After college they had gone to the Academy together.  Only
when Jody chose to finish the requirements for her pilot's
license and Tracy decided to follow the family tradition
walking a beat had they gone separate ways.

"Tracy, the last time I remember hearing you say that, we
almost got kicked out of school!"

Vachon laughed.  He draped an arm around Tracy's shoulder
and nibbled at her sensitive neck.  "That's a story I've got
to hear."

Tracy rolled her eyes at him, but Jody grinned.  "It was a
hot night in the spring, and we were walking past the
fountain out in front of the administrative offices... and
guess who wanted to go for a skinny dip?"

"Jody, nothing happened.  I told you to trust me then, and
you can trust me now!"

"Tell me more," Vachon urged.

"The police came by.  We were both in the all-together, and
they hauled us out, handcuffed us, and were getting ready to
bring us downtown."  Jody always used to blush when she
remembered this story.  Since her conversion, though, she'd
become a lot more comfortable with her own nakedness.

"So how did you get out of it?" Urs asked quietly.

"Miss Tracy "I-don't-take-advantage-of-my-name" Vetter tells
them her name, and they apologize, uncuff us both, tell her
not to mention it to her dad, and they drive off, breaking
the speed limit in their haste to get away!"

Three vampires laughed heartily, but Tracy was getting
impatient.

"So?  We didn't get expelled.  Now, you're coming with me to
visit Nick and LaCroix, and then, if it's all right with
them, you're coming with me up to Nick's cabin."

Urs quickly tidied Nick's loft, putting the empties in the
dishwasher and folding up the blankets that were scattered
all over the floor.  No one had slept in Nick's bed the
night before.  Instead they had all camped out on the living
room floor in what Tracy called a "slumber party".  As the
others flew out through the skylight, Urs turned off the
lights and hurried to catch up.


                            *****


Nick was at the piano, absorbed in music when the younger
vampires dropped in.  Urs would have waited until the end of
the song, but Tracy didn't.  She ran up and hugged him,
pecking his cheek in a hasty kiss.

"Hi, bro!  How are you?  Do you feel up to going to the
cabin this weekend?"

Nick chuckled.  "Hey, kid," he said.  "What are they feeding
you?  Blood laced with amphetamines?"  He turned around on
the piano bench and pulled her onto his lap, tickling her
ribs playfully.

"Nick-Nick-Nick!  Stop it!   Don't!"

He released her after returning a sibling's kiss on her
forehead.  "What's this about the cabin?"

"Well, I want to show it to Jody.  And I thought we'd go
sledding.  And your phone keeps ringing- I finally took it
off the hook.  Do you want to come?  I thought Vachon and
Urs and all of us would go."

Nick turned his head slightly, listening for the sounds of
the others and identifying them by their scent.  "Vachon, do
you really feel like spending a weekend locked up in a cabin
with Baby here and her girlfriend?"  He was still teasing
her.

Tracy huffed, but Vachon went along playfully.  "Well, Baby
can be a bit much to put up with at times, but when the
girlfriend is as pretty as this one, I'll manage."

Nick caught the scent of fear from Jody and misinterpreted
it.  "He's just teasing you, Jody.  Vachon is harmless."

Jody nodded weakly, a gesture that was lost on the blind
vampire.

Tracy whispered into his ear.  "She thinks that she's not
welcome anywhere because she's carouche."

Of course, Nick thought.  He should have realized.  At one
time, he too had been tactless and superior towards
carouche. But then, LaCroix was his teacher.  Still, Jody
was in Toronto at LaCroix's bidding, so maybe even the
ancient vampire was beginning to change?

Perry came bounding out of the Nick's bedroom where he'd
been enjoying a nap on the large, comfortable bed.  He
pranced around Jody excitedly, sniffing and nipping
playfully at her.  Jody knelt down and buried her face in
his silky coat.

"Hi there, boy," she whispered.  "Have you been behaving
yourself?"

The canine carouche woofed once in reply.

"Tracy," Nick said, "in answer to all your questions, I feel
fine.  No, I don't feel like going to the cabin this
weekend, but there's no reason why you and Vachon can't go
with out me.  He knows the way.  Jody, you are always
welcome in my home.  I hope that you have a good time."

"Aw, Nick!  You've got to come, too!  It won't be the same
without you," Tracy pleaded.  She sensed he was slipping in
to a depression.  The whole purpose of the cabin idea was to
cheer him up.

He yawned once.  She stared in fascination as his fangs
descended, and realized sadly that he was still not well.

"You go ahead and show it to Jody.  Vachon, you can even
borrow the Caddy.  It'll be safer than your vehicle for the
little ones."

"Thanks, bro!"  Tracy squealed, slapping Nick playfully for
teasing her.  "Now I'll ask LaCroix!"

Several magazines and a book fell to the floor as Tracy flew
from the living room.  Urs sighed, returning them to the
coffee table.

"You know, Knight.  I'm not such a bad driver.  You can come
along," Vachon said.

"No, it isn't that."  Nick stood and waited for a moment
until he got a sense of direction.  Then he walked slowly
towards the couch and sat down.  Perry, ever watchful, had
jumped to his side and now lay down on his feet.  "I'm still
really tired.  I wouldn't be much company, and if I want to
go back to work on Monday, I think I should just rest this
week end," Nick explained.

Vachon shrugged.  Urs circled behind the couch and reached
out timidly to touch Nicholas.  When he didn't pull away,
she put both hands on his shoulders and massaged them
lovingly.  He leaned back, a contented grumble rumbled in
his chest, almost like a purr.  Her hands moved to his
forehead.  Smiling, he reached up to take her hand, tugging
her until she came to sit on his lap.

Nick nuzzled her neck, making her squirm as the stubble on
his chin scraped against her sensitive skin.  Urs held him
close.  He'd been so moody lately, and loving hadn't been
one of the moods.

"You should go with them," Nick said.

Urs stiffened.  "No, Nick.  I want to be with you."

Nick sighed deeply.  "I really think you should go, love.
I'll just rest, and come Monday, I'll be well again.  Then
you can tell me all about your weekend."

Urs blinked back the urge to cry.  He was such a pig-headed
jerk sometimes.  She slid off his lap and knelt down next to
Perry.  "I'm jealous of you," she said to the dog.  "You've
taken over my place in his bed."

"Urs, that isn't true," Nick said.

She laughed lightly.  "Yes, it is.  But you had better keep
Tuesday morning open for me, or you're going to be in big
trouble."  She pecked him on the cheek.

Nick gave her a disarming smile.  "Thanks for understanding,
Urs."  He yawned again, his fangs fully extended.  Urs took
in his ashen color, the golden glow of his sightless eyes,
the uncharacteristic lethargy in his motions, and hoped that
he would be better soon.

Tracy bounded pack into the room.  "We can go!  We can go!
Let's get this show on the road!"

"Thanks, Knight," Vachon said.  "Sure you won't change your
mind?"

"No, thanks.  I'll keep the one I have," he answered.  He
leaned back and closed his eyes, unaware of when the younger
vampires left, for he had fallen asleep.




End, part 1.

Dead Swans, 02
By Lorelei Sieja



Vachon stopped to put the tire chains on before turning on
the gravel drive that would lead to Nick's cabin.  The main
roads had all been plowed, but the old logging trail had
seen little use.  He was grateful for the use of Nick's
Caddy this weekend. Because of the many spots of rust,
Vachon's beat-up old cargo van did not offer adequate
protection from the sun for Tracy and Jody. He smiled,
realizing what it meant to Nick to share his precious car.
Or perhaps... Nick was beginning to feel that he would never
use it again?

Jody was quiet as they drove through the winding,
snow-covered drive with its canopy of snow-laden branches
above.  Tracy was unusually quiet as well.  They had not
been to the cabin since right after Christmas.  Nick had
been with them, and they had made a party of taking down the
Christmas tree.  The paper decorations had joined the fire,
but the candles and glass ornaments were packed away.  It
was strange, but a part of Nick was traveling with them
now.  Vachon missed him, and that surprised him.

Finally they arrived.  Vachon turned off the engine and
pocketed the keys.  Tracy was once again her usual self as
she burst from the car and pirouetted in the soft
moonlight.

"Isn't this great!  I love it here!  It is so peaceful!  And
private!  Come on, Jody!"  Tracy scooped up a handful of
snow and threw it.

Jody had expected as much from her friend and ducked in
time.  The cold snow took Vachon by surprise, slipping
inside his collar.  He whirled around and flew into Tracy,
knocking her into the snow.  "You'll regret that, Baby!" he
warned, grinning around his fangs.  He shoved snow up inside
her shirt, making her scream.  The cold was not as offensive
as it would be to mortals; she objected more to his superior
strength.

"Kids," Urs huffed, bringing a few bags inside.  "Come on,
Jody.  I'll show you around."

They went sledding then, and much later Vachon built a small
fire in the fireplace.  Tracy took off her wet clothes,
draping them around on the backs of chairs to let them dry.
She pulled on an oversized Tee shirt and joined the others
at the fireplace.  They played a few card games, and then as
was their tradition at the cabin, the night ended with the
exchange of blood.  While mortal girls often shared secrets
at sleepovers, vampires just shared blood.  The results were
often the same.  Tracy came to know more about Vachon and
Urs every time they did.  Tonight, though, was the first
time Jody was a part of the game.

Vachon and Urs had treated her with kindness all night, but
neither of them seemed eager to give her the bloodkiss.
Tracy's brow puckered in confusion.  She reached out share
with her friend.  Jody seemed aloof as well.

Tracy wondered about it.  As mortals, women who were friends
would not kiss one another, or hold hands, or link their
arms around each other, although such gestures were common
in the past if old movies were a fair account.  Most women
today were too afraid of having their sexual preferences
questioned.  It raised barriers between them, which
irritated Tracy off to no end.  Yet, the first time Vachon
had suggested that she and Urs share blood, Tracy had felt
similar feelings of unease.  Now Urs was a good friend, her
brother's lover, and part of her family.  She didn't
hesitate at all to share with her.

Jody fidgeted uneasily.  Tracy moved closer and when Jody
did not withdraw, then Tracy sank her fangs into her throat,
craning her neck to share with her friend.  Jody returned
the bite.

Tracy didn't suck long.  The blood tasted foul.  She sensed
Jody's emotions, her memories, fleeting images of her life,
but Tracy didn't want to swallow the blood that pooled in
her mouth.  She felt Jody reluctantly suck from her, too,
and hesitantly, they both withdrew.  Tracy stared at her,
confused and embarrassed.

"I don't understand," she murmured.

"I am carouche," Jody reminded her.

Vachon came between the two friends and wrapped his arms
around their shoulders.  "I'm sorry, girls.  I didn't know
how to tell you, Tracy.  I figured you would just have to
find out for yourself.  That is why most vampires have
nothing to do with carouche."

Jody flinched and would have pulled away, but Vachon did not
let her go.  Instead, he plunged his fangs into her throat
and sucked hard, arousing her desire, bringing her pleasure
and release.  She wrapped her arms around his neck as though
to hold him forever.  When at last her trembling stopped,
she shyly backed away from him.  Vachon grinned seductively,
licking the last drop of her from his fangs.  Tracy smiled
at him, grateful that he had proven to Jody that she was
welcome.

A quiet settled among them, until Urs brought out bottles of
blood to pass around.  "So, vampires and carouche don't
usually do it together," Tracy stated bluntly.

"That's right," Vachon answered.

"But we can still be friends?"  She held her hand out to
Jody.

The carouche smiled, still basking in the pleasure Vachon
had given her.  She took Tracy's hand and clasped it.
"Friends, Baby!"

                              *****

The weekend had been delightfully peaceful, Natalie
reflected as she dressed for work.  After the horrendous
times they'd all been having - her car accident and broken
leg, Nick's bleeding ulcer and blindness, and the attempts
on his life, she had needed a little peace and quiet.

Part of the peacefulness was that Tracy was gone - not that
Nat disliked LaCroix's youngest, though.  She was developing
fond feelings for the perky young vampire, but Tracy never
did anything in slow motion.

Nick had spent much of the time just sleeping.  Nat was a
little concerned that he still seemed so tired, but at least
the nausea and vomiting seemed to have stopped.  When he was
awake, Nick was charming.  He seemed contented to just lay
around, take short walks with Perry, or play the piano.

LaCroix had been very tender towards her all weekend.  For
the first time in weeks she didn't feel like second-string
to his son.  Her cast wasn't as limiting as she had first
imagined.  They'd played in the hot tub and on the couch, in
the bedroom and kitchen, and he'd even taken her flying the
night before while soft new snow fell on the silent city.
Tonight, as she reluctantly dressed for work, she felt she
looked like a new woman.

LaCroix looked solemn as he fingered her hair.  She gave him
a wide smile.  "I won't be that far away," she said.

"Hmm.  I am just sorry to see it end."

"Who says anything has to end?  It won't be so bad when
Tracy returns."  She grinned at him mischievously.  He was
difficult to tease and she hadn't succeeded yet in making
him smile.

"That isn't it.  There is trouble brewing even now with
Nicholas.  I knew the cease-fire could not last."

Natalie scowled.  Nick had been fine.  Had she missed
something?  "What do you mean?  Maybe you're just looking
for trouble."

"Oh, Nicholas has behaved perfectly," LaCroix agreed.  "He's
being manipulative.  I ignored it, as I didn't feel like a
fight, but I cannot continue to let it pass."

"Just what are you accusing him of?" Nat asked, getting
irritated.  These two stubborn men seemed determined to make
each other miserable.  She had hoped that she could help
them to learn better ways to relate, but perhaps that was
impossible.

"Nicholas is dressing for work."

Natalie gasped.  "You can't be serious!  Reese will let him
back?  He is not ready yet."

"He coerced his captain into letting him return as soon as
he gets his doctor's permission, which he fully expects you
to supply."

Natalie sat on the foot of their bed.  "He did rest a lot,"
she said, giving it some consideration.   "And he's hardly
vomited at all.  Perhaps if he comes in with me, I can
repeat the x-ray and see if there's been any improvement
since Friday."

LaCroix growled angrily.  "Don't you see?  He's manipulated
you, and you aren't even aware of it.  He is not better at
all; he's merely been more discrete.  He's still vomiting
frequently and dumping it in the restrooms downstairs in the
Raven, so you wouldn't know."

Natalie sighed.  Although she knew LaCroix had no qualms
about lying when it suited him, she sensed he was being
honest at the moment.  "So what do we do?"

"He cannot go out and work among mortals, Natalie.  A hungry
vampire is a danger to everyone."

She nodded.  A knot of dread lodged in her throat as she
felt the brewing confrontation that seemed inevitable.

"We will go speak to him," LaCroix said with a sigh.  "Then
when he starts throwing things, you will go downstairs to
wait for Tracy.  She said she'd be by shortly to pick you
up."

"Throwing things," Nat commented dryly.  "Come on, LaCroix,
he won't do that, really, will he?"

LaCroix didn't answer.

Natalie followed him into the living room just as Nick
joined them.  He had shaved and was dressed all in black.
He called to Perry, patting the guide dog's neck
affectionately.  "Are you ready, boy?  We've got a big night
ahead of us."

"Is that so, Nicholas," LaCroix said, keeping his voice low.

Nick grinned boyishly.  Natalie was almost fooled by it.  He
did seem like his old self again, except that he was much
too thin these days.

"I've got work tonight, LaCroix, or have you forgotten?"

Natalie drew in a deep breath.  "Nick, I think it's a little
soon."

"Nonsense," he interrupted.  "It's been over a week.  I've
rested, and I've been working with Perry... I can do this."

"I'm sure you can, Nick, but I don't think you should go
back yet.  The x-rays I took last Friday showed no
improvement."

Nick straightened, the grin fell.  His chin lifted
stubbornly.  "But I feel better, Natalie, and that's all
that matters.  Now we'd better be going, or we'll both be
late."

LaCroix moved closer to Natalie and put his hands
protectively on her shoulders.  "Nicholas.  You are not
going to work tonight, and that is final."

"You don't have anything to say about it, LaCroix!" he
snapped.  "This is between Captain Reese and me.  He's
expecting me."

"If you bring in a doctor's release," he reminded him.

"What's happening, Nat," Nick demanded, his voice rising.
"Are you saying you won't release me?  Why!  Because he told
you not to?"

"Nick, don't be unreasonable," Nat said.

"Unreasonable!  He wants to keep me a prisoner in these four
walls and you call me unreasonable?  I have to get out of
here!  Tell me what to do, Nat.  What do you need, for me to
prove that I am capable of doing my job?"

Natalie brushed at her tears.  Nick's sightless eyes were
glowing yellow with flecks of red.  It was further proof
that it was not yet safe for him to go out among mortals.
She wanted desperately to comfort him; she felt like such a
traitor.  "Nick, I can't give you a release until your
stomach has healed, until you are eating better, and I am
convinced that you are in control.  Right now, you are not."

"Why are you doing this to me, Nat," he pleaded.

"She is doing nothing to you, Nicholas," LaCroix said.  He
had been silent long enough.  "You brought this upon
yourself."

Nick roared in frustration, kicking out viciously.  The
couch fell back to the floor with a thud.  Perry whimpered,
scampering out of the way.  Nat screamed.  Nick kicked over
the coffee table, then swung a fist at the wall, punching a
hole right through the sheet rock.  A picture slid off the
wall and dropped to the floor, breaking the glass.

LaCroix ushered Nat quickly to the door.  "Go," he said
sadly.

"Be gentle," she admonished, even as the sound of something
else breaking filled her ears.

LaCroix shut the door.  Then he whirled around and flew to
his son.  Nicholas was fully enraged.  Crimson eyes glared,
fangs lashed out and bit him.  LaCroix struck him in the
face.  While Nick staggered from the blow, LaCroix got
behind him, crossing Nick's arms and grasping the wrists
securely in a straightjacket hold.  Nick struggled
uselessly, cursing his master.  LaCroix held on, wondering
how much strength his child could find to continue this
altercation.

While he wasn't emotionally attached to his possessions, he
did grow tired of the constant mess his progeny created. He
flew up through the skylight to take the fight away from his
apartment.  He tried to hold Nick with one hand while he
opened the skylight, but Nick pulled free and swung his
fist, connecting squarely with LaCroix's jaw.

LaCroix fought in anger now.  He had tried to hold back, not
wanting to injure his son while he was still so weak, but
the next few blows were forceful. One to the face, two to
the chest.  Nick fell to his knees.  He doubled over and
heaved, cursing LaCroix between the vicious spasms that
shook through him.

LaCroix grabbed him and stuffed him inside the stairwell.
Once it had lead downstairs, but Janette had sealed off the
stairs years ago when a curious mortal exploring the roof
had watched her land.  Now it was an empty, dark square room
of cement brick.

"No!" Nick screamed, fighting for his freedom.

LaCroix shoved him away from the door as he slammed it
shut.  He slipped the bolt in the latch, locking Nicholas
inside.  Then he leaned against the steel door and
shuddered.

Nicholas pounded against it.  LaCroix heard him retch again,
his anger fading with his strength.  The ancient vampire
turned away.  He must get his own fury under control before
he could deal with his son.  He flew away, returning to his
apartment over an hour later. Silently, he started the clean
up.  He had known that tonight would turn unpleasant... so
why hadn't he been able to prevent it?  Had he been as
predictable as his son?  Was there something he should have
done differently?

Nicholas wasn't himself.  He was sick, blind, frightened,
and demanding. LaCroix was at a loss how to deal with him.
Nicholas would have to be fed now.  LaCroix wondered if he
would have to hog-tie him to do so.

He set the couch straight and restacked the books.  Pictures
were replaced.  The glass had broken on one of his
favorites, of Nick and Janette together.  He was just
getting a broom to sweep up the shards when someone knocked
at the door.  LaCroix considered ignoring it.  The knocking
continued.   It was probably Nick's police captain, he
decided. He opened the door and stared at a handsome, young
face of a priest.

The face was vaguely familiar.  Then a shiver went up his
spine and he recalled the name.  It was Father Pierre
Rochefort, an acquaintance of Nicholas's.  LaCroix glared at
him.

"I am looking for Detective Knight.  Is he here, sir?" the
priest asked.

LaCroix gave a slight nod.

Rochefort smiled.  "I've been worried about him.  May I see
him?"

"Now is not a good time," LaCroix said truthfully.  "He's
not himself these days."

"Yes, I think I knew that.  I had a feeling that he needed
my prayers.  And I had this overwhelming desire to see him.
Are you sure I can't just say hello?"

"I am sure.  I will tell him that you called," LaCroix said
firmly.

The priest glanced past him at the room beyond.  It was good
that most of the mess had been removed, he decided, or the
bothersome mortal might never leave.

"Tell him then that I've been praying for him," the priest
said.  He drew a business card from his pocket and handed it
to LaCroix.

The ancient shuddered.  "Good bye," he said coldly.

He tossed the card onto the coffee table.  Then fortifying
himself with several bottles of his best beverage for the
patience and control it might give him, he returned to the
roof to face his son.

There were no more sounds from the stairwell.  LaCroix
reached out through the bond tentatively, dreading the
contact when Nicholas was this distraught.  "Nicholas," he
said.

There was no response.  "Nicholas.  If you are quite
through, I will open the door now."

Still silence. There was a chance that when he opened the
door, Nicholas would attack.  He undid the lock and withdrew
the bolt.  The steel door screeched open.

Nicholas sat at the back corner, his knees drawn up to his
chin and his arms wrapped tightly about his legs.  His eyes
were wide but he said nothing.

"I regret doing this to you, Nicholas," LaCroix said
calmly.

Nicholas didn't move.

"Come now.  Stand up, and I will take you down stairs."

When Nick didn't obey, LaCroix spoke sharply.  "Are you
still begging for a beating?  Stand up at once!"

"It's dark in here," Nick whispered.

The ancient shrugged indifferently.  What would that matter
to a blind man?  He stepped closer, still wary of an attack
from his son.

Nick glanced up in his direction; his sightless blue eyes
filled with unshed tears.  "I hate you," he whispered.

LaCroix clenched his teeth, forcing his fangs to withdraw.
He grabbed one of Nick's wrists and pulled him to his feet.
Nick gasped in pain.  LaCroix half dragged, half carried him
out of the makeshift prison and down through the skylight to
his apartment.  Nicholas offered no resistance.

LaCroix took him back to his room and tossed him
unceremoniously on the bed.  Nick's face was bruised and
swollen from where he had struck him.  Natalie was not going
to like that.  Damn the boy!  Nick's hands were scraped and
bleeding as well. LaCroix tugged on Nick shirt to inspect
the rest of his injuries.  Bruises formed over prominent
ribs.  Nicholas was much too thin.

The ancient regretted hurting him.  There had to be a better
way of dealing with him, but he didn't have a clue.  He
pushed back Nick's sleeve and prepared to feed him.

"Go away," Nick whispered.  "Leave me alone."

"Never, my son," LaCroix promised.

Nicholas was too weak to resist.  LaCroix sliced their
wrists and held the wounds together.  He felt a tear
threaten to spill.  Nicholas could be so loving one minute
and hateful the next.  LaCroix cursed the day he ever met
the boy.  He took one bloodied hand and held it, remembering
how the other day that hand had so lovingly touched him.  On
impulse, he took a finger in his mouth and sucked away the
blood.  It was like a narcotic.  He needed more.  He took
the other fingers as well, until he consumed enough that he
saw through Nicholas's blind eyes the dark stairwell, felt
his terror and his pain as he tried to claw his way out.

LaCroix was filled with remorse.  "Forgive me, Nicholas.  I
should not have left you there."

Nick closed his eyes, enduring his master's ministrations in
silent protest.  The apology came too late.  He didn't care
any more.  He didn't care about anything.

When LaCroix left him, Perry jumped up on the bed beside
him.  Nick even felt too tired to touch the friendly
carouche.  He closed his eyes, letting his mind go blank.
It hurt to think.  He would do nothing.  It was all they
would permit him to do.  He could not remember a time when
he had ever felt quite as impotent.

                            *****
End, part 2.

Dead Swans, 03
By Lorelei Sieja


Reese called Tracy into his office.  "So how's Nick doing,"
he asked gently.

"Getting better," Tracy said vaguely.  She'd heard part of
the battle between her brother and master when they went to
the roof.  Maybe going away this weekend hadn't been such a
good idea; maybe if she'd been home she could have some how
prevented things from getting out of control?  But, why then
hadn't Natalie done so?

"He wants to come back, but his doctor thinks it's too
soon."

Reese nodded.  That was good to hear.  He had thought it was
too soon as well and was concerned that Nat being Nick's
friend might cloud her judgement.  "I think it's time to
give you a new partner, Tracy," he said.

"But Captain!  Nick's my partner!  And he is coming back!"

"This is just temporary, Tracy.  I'm pairing you up with
Will Ledford.  His partner is in the hospital having
surgery."

Tracy sighed.  She'd met Will once before, at the Christmas
program.  He'd been obnoxious, to the point of bordering on
sexual harassment.  She'd ignored it then, not wanting to
make a scene at a party, and she just hoped that it was the
alcohol impairing his judgement.  Nick was going to owe her
for this.

A knock sounded on the door, then Will opened it and stepped
inside.  "Ev'ning, Vetter," he said, his deep baritone
pleasant, if a little condescending.  "Captain?  You wanted
to see me?"

Reese nodded. "You and Vetter will work together, since both
your partners are out for a while."

Tracy sensed Ledford's displeasure at once.  His heart rate
changed and his body temperature altered.  Yet even without
the vampiric senses, she saw that look in his face that
said, "Dumb blonde."  Her chin jutted defiantly.

"Work together, you two.  Tracy, no more disappearing acts,
got it?  My blood pressure can't take that any more."

Tracy pushed out of her chair with a sigh.  The night had
just begun and already she felt tired.

She eyed this temporary replacement critically.  He was
devilishly good-looking.  Short, wavy black hair, piercing
blue eyes, just the hint of a shadow on his strong jaw.  He
was a few years older than she was.  Before Vachon, he was
the type of guy she could have fallen for... hard.  Now she
was offended by everything about him: his superior attitude,
his suave self-assurance, and something else she couldn't
quite put her finger on.  He seemed too slick.  If she
didn't know he was a cop, she'd probably guess him to be
into something illegal.

Ledford held out his hand.  She stared at it, swallowing
past her dislike before taking it and giving it a shake.
She gripped it a little too firmly.  Ledford's eyes widened
in surprise, then hardened as he looked at her.  The battle
lines had just been drawn.  The night had started out badly
and it didn't get better.

Ledford was rude, just short of offensive, all night long.
They stood in the parking lot for a full fifteen minutes
just arguing about who would drive.  Tracy would love to
ride around in his little black Jag, but she refused to back
down.  She felt that the entire partnership thing would be
pure hell if she didn't win this first confrontation.  He
was mulish and obstinate, though.  Then in anger she kicked
his tire with a toe.  A hiss of air escaped and within
moments it was flat.

"I drive," she said, smiling innocently.  "We don't have
time for you to change that now."

Ledford stared at the flat.  "That was a new snow tire.
Wonder what happened?"

Later, he insisted on buying donuts and coffee for her,
which she refused to eat.  Then he complained about females
and diets.  Tracy felt her fangs itch.  When he made a
disparaging comment about "the Knightmare", she slammed on
the breaks, spilling the rest of his coffee.

"Look, Will," she said through clenched teeth.  "This is not
going to work.  You have six weeks until your partner
returns, and hopefully, mine will be back long before then.
Now you can shut up, and we can muddle through, or I am
going to have to kill you.  Do you understand?"

Ledford tried to laugh off her absurd threat, but for a
moment he felt a chill up his spine like maybe she was
something dangerous.  He shrugged nervously and looked
away.  The rest of the shift they worked mostly in silence,
uttering no more to one another than was absolutely
necessary.  They responded to two calls, a man who might
have died from a heart attack while shoveling snow, and an
elderly woman who broke her neck falling from her icy front
steps.  They would investigate briefly, to rule out foul
play, but neither case looked like homicide.

"It's just too damn cold for the crazies tonight," Ledford
grumbled.  "Don't you have any damn heat in this bucket?"

Tracy turned up the heater, embarrassed that she'd forgotten
this mortal would feel the cold.  She didn't like him, but
she didn't really want to see him suffer.  Then, so she
wouldn't draw undue attention, she pulled on a pair of
gloves and a hat.

The night finally dragged to a close.  Tracy muttered a
good-bye to Ledford and went to pick up Natalie.  She
covered her mouth as she let a fanged yawn escape.  "Sorry,
Nat," she said, at the woman's startled gasp.

"Don't worry.  It's just so unexpected."

"Looks like more snow," Tracy said.

"Great.  Just what I need."

Natalie smiled as she stepped inside LaCroix's apartment.
Jody was sitting on the couch with Perry beside her, his
large head in her lap. A blissful look was on the dog's
face.  Jody scratched lightly behind his ears, looking at
him with adoration and longing.

"It's nice to see you," Nat said.  She knew Jody was still
uncomfortable around vampires and she tried very hard to
make her feel welcome.

"Hi, Jody!  I'm glad you stopped by!"  Tracy's exhaustion
faded as she grinned at her friend.

"I sensed Perry was very upset about something," she
whispered.  "I came to find out why."

Nat nodded thoughtfully.  She knew LaCroix and Nick were
psychically linked somehow, through the vampire relationship
of master and child.  Since Perry was Jody's master, they
must have a similar bond, although being bonded to a dog was
another of the weird things she was struggling to accept in
her new reality.

"Nick and LaCroix were fighting again," Nat said.  "It must
have frightened the dog."

"Perry naturally wants to protect Nick.  That's from his
training and instincts as a guide dog.  But now as carouche,
he has new instincts to fear and respect LaCroix, an ancient
and powerful vampire.  He was confused, and wasn't sure what
to do."

Natalie glanced down the hall.  Nick's door was opened.
She'd better go speak to him.

Nick was laying on top of the bed on his side, turned away
from her, fully dressed and unmoving.  "Hello, Nick," Nat
said hesitantly.

He did not respond.

"I know you were pretty mad last night.  I'm sorry I let you
down."

He still made no sign that he was listening.  Nat moved into
the room and sat down beside him.  She patted his shoulder
affectionately.  "Nick?"

Then she saw the deep purple bruise on his jaw and felt a
cold anger burn.  "My gosh, Nick.  What happened?"

His face remained expressionless.  He didn't blink or
breathe. Nat was becoming more concerned.  She knew he'd
been angry, but he'd reacted so violently - she'd never seen
him behave that way.  She gently examined him, discovering
the deep bruises over his ribs.  The odd bulge beneath the
bruise indicated they were fractured even without an x-ray.
In a simple fracture that did not pose a threat to the heart
and lungs, though, strapping the chest was generally
sufficient to offer protection and comfort.  She called
Tracy to bring her bag.  "I'll need you to get him up," she
said.  "Nick is being uncooperative."

Tracy spoke to Nick, while pulling him to a sitting
position.  Natalie taped his ribs securely.   Her anger with
LaCroix was immeasurable.

Tracy laid Nick back down then.  "Nat?  What's wrong?  Why
is he like this?"

Natalie shrugged.  "I wish I knew."

LaCroix had returned when she left Nick's room.  Natalie
laid into him.  "What the hell do you think you're doing!
You broke two ribs!  You could have dislocated his jaw!  DO
you get your thrills out of bullying him?"

LaCroix faced her, his posture stiff and controlled, but his
eyes were flecked with gold.  "It is none of your concern,"
he hissed.

Natalie approached the formidable vampire and pushed him,
driving him back.  "Not my concern!  I'm his doctor, and his
friend.  I saw that he was out of control earlier, but
you're a big boy.  Surely you can think of better ways of
dealing with it that to beat up a sick man!"

"He is willful, defiant and manipulative.  These are not the
actions of a man at all, but an overgrown child."

"Maybe its time I moved out!"

The voices grew loud as the confrontation escalated,
terrifying the young vampires in the room.  Only Jody dared
to speak.  Rising from the couch, she timidly approached
them.

"This isn't about either of you," she said softly.  "It has
nothing to do with whether you let him do this or that.  And
it isn't either of you with whom he is angry."

LaCroix and Natalie glared at one another before turning to
face the carouche.

"Then what is it, I beg you tell," LaCroix demanded.

"It's about being blind.  About being alone in the dark.  I
know that when I lost my eyesight for a few weeks I was
doing fine.  Others were proud of how well I seemed to be
dealing with it.  Then, one day, it hit me.  I was never
going to see again.  I would remain in the dark, separated
from the sighted world.  I was filled with rage.  And I was
hateful, trying to push everyone away from me.  And after
the rage, then I was despondent.  Later, I came to accept
it, and I learned to get on with my life.  The rage and
grief are a normal part of the process."

Natalie drew a deep breath.  "So how do we help him?"

Jody looked hesitantly at LaCroix.  He nodded, giving her
permission to advise him.

"Don't take anything he says personally.  Don't abandon
him.  He has to work through his grief.  But, don't let him
lay around doing nothing."

LaCroix closed his eyes.  He felt wretched.  Nicholas was
his life; he hadn't intended to hurt him.  The whispered
hateful words replayed in his memory.  The carouche told him
the words didn't mean a thing.  LaCroix knew, really knew,
that his son loved him... He regretted hurting him.  In
Nicholas's weakened state, the injuries he'd inflicted would
take days to heal.

He nodded to the young carouche, his only gesture of
gratitude.  "Dawn approaches.  You are welcome to stay.  I
have more beds in the lower levels."

"Thanks, but I've time to return to the loft," she said.
She patted Perry affectionately and bid goodnight to her
friends.  The sound of the skylight as it fell shut on its
hinges echoed in the ensuing silence.  Tracy and Vachon
drifted into their room; Urs and Perry went to join
Nicholas.  Only Nat and LaCroix remained.

"You shouldn't have hit him," Nat said.

"I know," LaCroix answered.

Nat forgave him then.  If he could admit his mistakes, he
could change.  She stepped closer.  Tentatively she wrapped
her arms around him.  He was stiff for a moment, until he
returned the embrace.  He kissed the top of her head and
sighed.  "My dear.  Do you ever regret knowing us?"

Natalie laughed softly.  "Never."


Urs spooned next to Nick's back, wrapping her arm around his
waist.  Perry took up most of the bed.  She tucked her feet
beneath his great bulk and he laid his head on her legs.
Before long Sydney jumped onto the bed as well.  He walked
boldly around the carouche, purring loudly as he selected
the best place in the bed.  He curled up beneath Nick's
chin, nestling close to the vampire.

"How do I love thee," Urs whispered into his ear.  She
didn't plan to try to seduce him.  He was hurting now; she
only meant to comfort.  She knew the original words to the
famous poem, but instead, she paraphrased it to be more
appropriate.

"Let me count the ways.  I love thee to the depth and
breadth and heighth my undead soul can reach.  I love thee
to the level of every night's most quiet need... by moon and
flickering candlelight.  I love thee freely, completely,
with all the passion of my mortal days.  I love thee with
the love I lost when no more could I live in the sun.  I
love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my
existence, and if thee so choose, I shall but love thee
through eternity." **

She closed her eyes.  Although she was sleepy, as all
vampires were when the sun rose high, she felt unable to
sleep.  Then, with the barest movement, she felt Nick reach
for where her hand rested against his stomach.  He clasped
her fingers in his, giving them a gentle squeeze.  She
caught the faint scent of his blood and knew he was
weeping.  Her own tears slipped quietly down her face then.
And like a thief, sleep crept up on them.

                        *****

The next afternoon Natalie announced she was moving back to
her apartment for a while.  LaCroix glared at her, turning
his fear and grief into anger.  "You will not!"

She squared her shoulders and thrust her chin up at him.
The gesture had none of the adolescent rebelliousness so
common to his children, but was more like an adversary
prepared to do battle in a war she expected to win.  She was
not afraid.

"I cannot be Nick's doctor, his friend, and his father's
lover. It is too many different faces right now.  If I
remain here, he will come to despise me.  What then will
happen to your little family?"

LaCroix turned away.  He had suspected all along that
Nicholas would come between them.  He was not happy to learn
that he had been right.

"Lucien," Nat pleaded.  She came closer, until she stood
right behind him, her arms wrapped around him. "This is not
"good-bye."  I still love you, and I still plan to join you
one day.  But right now, Nick needs you.  I have to do
this."

"The cat stays," LaCroix said angrily.

Natalie was shocked.  LaCroix hated animals! "Why?" she
demanded.

"Because, it brings Nicholas comfort."  He didn't add that
it was also a form of insurance, that she would be
returning.

Natalie released him.  She went to Nick's room and quietly
pushed open the door.  Nick was still asleep, although Urs
had left an hour ago.  Perry lifted his head to look at her,
until he was assured that his charge was in no danger.  Then
he went back to his nap.  Sydney was sleeping on Nick's
pillow, one paw resting on Nick's shoulder, and his tail
wrapped around his neck, a living twitching collar of fur.
Natalie smiled at her pet.  "Traitor," she whispered.
Sydney ignored her.



End, part 3.

(Author's note:  I did not list my website address correctly
in the first post... it is
www.angelfire.com/wi/CourageKnight.  Sorry for any
inconvenience.)

Dead Swans, 04
By Lorelei Sieja



Urs stayed with LaCroix all night, as they took care of
Nick.  He obeyed LaCroix's commands, but otherwise he was
uncommunicative.  He got out of bed when told, dressed and
shaved, drank on command, but he was like a zombie.  LaCroix
was calm and solicitous through it all, but there were times
when Urs caught him staring at Nick with such sadness that
it about broke her heart.  She didn't know how much longer
any of them could take this.

LaCroix grew impatient.  He almost hated to look at him, at
the deep bruise on his face and the look of pain that his
broken ribs caused.  He apologized once more, which was
twice more than was his custom, yet still Nicholas was
silent.

It continued for days.  LaCroix couldn't stand it any
longer.  He sought refuge in his sound booth below, cursing
at his listeners more vituperatively than usual.

Urs was growing a little restless herself.  Nick wasn't much
company, but she would not leave him alone.  She knew
LaCroix expected her to stay with him, even though he had
not actually issued the command.  So, she kept up a steady
stream of conversation as she looked for things to do.  She
straightened the clutter on the coffee table, emptied the
dishwasher and put the glass bottles in the recycling bag in
the closet, and rinsed out Natalie's dishes.  Nick had
always hated it when she cleaned, but now he said nothing.
She even missed hearing him yell.  Any reaction was better
than this state of living death.

Among the items on the coffee table was a small white
business card with the name of a priest.  It surprised her.
Vampires didn't usually associate with religious.  On the
back of the card was scribbled a hand-written message.
"Nick, give me a call.  I'm praying for you."

It brought a smile to her face.  Nick had such an affect on
people.  They either loved him or despised him.  No one had
ever met her crusader and remained indifferent!  She decided
to give the priest a call.  "Nick, love?  I'll be back in a
few moments," she said, as she went to the den at the back
of the apartment.  She hoped the hum of the hot tub pumps
would block Nick's ability to listen in to her conversation.

Nervously, she dialed the number, unsure what she would say
if he answered.  She almost hung up when a voice spoke.  The
voice was pleasant, youthful sounding, and slightly
accented.  "Hello?" he said.  "May I help you?"

Urs panicked.  Maybe if she were very silent, he would just
hang up.  Maybe she should hang up.  What should she do?

"Hello," the voice said again, this time without making it a
question.  "I am Father Pierre Rochefort.  Bless you, child,
for calling.  Please let me know how I can help you.  Would
you like me to come to visit you in person?  Would that be
easier than talking over the phone?"

"Uh-huh," Urs agreed, grateful that he seemed to understand.

"Where shall I meet you, my child?"

Urs stammered.  If she hung up now, no one would ever know
she had called him... but he had a gentle voice and he did
seem to know Nick.  She drew a deep breath and blurted it
out.  "Nick needs you.  He's at the Raven," she said,
feeling tears press against her closed eyelids.

"Thank you," the priest said, sounding relieved and
grateful.  "I will come at once."

Urs hung up then.  For many minutes she didn't move.  When
she could finally control her tears and the fear that she
would make Nick angry, she emerged from the room.  Nick was
no longer on the couch.  He had made his way to his room,
where he lay on the bed, his sightless eyes staring at
nothing.  Sydney curled up on his stomach and Perry lay
beside him.  Urs smiled wistfully.  Even the animals sensed
his need.  She poured herself something to drink and flipped
through the TV channels to find some distraction.

Before long the priest arrived.  He extended a hand
nervously, but when she didn't rush to shake it, he put it
back in his pocket.  "Good evening," he said. "I am Father
Rochefort.  And you are Urs, aren't you?"

She invited him inside, growing more worried about whether
she'd done the right thing.  She vaguely remembered him.
He'd been kidnapped, together with Tracy and Nick.  He had
comforted Nick then, with no more than the touch of his
hand.  Urs doubted that would help her lover much now, but
maybe it wouldn't hurt, either.

"Urs, perhaps you could tell me what is going on?  Nick has
been in my prayers for five years now, but recently I've
been having this feeling that he's in great pain.  I came a
few days ago, but Mr. LaCroix told me then was not a good
time."

Urs sat on the couch and gestured for him to join her.  She
told him about Nick's attempted murder and how he lay at the
bottom of Lake Ontario near the mouth of the Humber River
for nearly 24 hours, and as a result, he was now blind.

A pained look crossed the priest's face.  "I think I
understand," he said.  "When I pray for him, I am filled
with a terror of the dark.  Only, I've never been afraid of
the dark before.  I thought that maybe some one was after
him.  In his line of work, it is not an unusual assumption."

Urs wondered at the priest's perception.  Was he maybe a
little too clever?  How had he known Nick was hurting?

"I will go see him now," Father Pierre said, rising.

"Maybe I should go with you," she cautioned.  When the
priest disagreed, she tried to explain.  "Nick's strong,
Father.  And angry.  I wouldn't want him to hurt you."

"I will be fine," he reassured her.  "God will protect me."
Then he walked into Nick's room and closed the door behind
him.  Urs clenched her hands nervously.  She would hover
just outside the door and try to remain alert to Nick
through their fading link.  If he tried to attack, maybe she
could react fast enough to save a life.

"Good evening, Nick," Father Pierre said.  The young police
detective stretched out on the bed gave no response.  Pierre
was not surprised.  He'd counseled many parishioners and
learned how people dealt with grief.  He pulled up a chair
and carried on the conversation alone.  He talked a little
about the parishioners whom Nick had met.  Over the years,
there were quite a few whose lives had been helped or
altered because of the brooding detective. Then he mentioned
that he'd been concerned for Nick.  "Would you like to
receive the seventh sacrament tonight?"

"No," Nick said quickly.

"Why not?"

Nick signed heavily, as though speaking was too much work.
"I am not dying, unfortunately."

Father Pierre nodded.  He remembered things that he probably
should not.  Nick had hidden his memories, which was
something required by the culture of which he was a part,
but as the priest continued to pray for him, bits of the
memories returned.  They were frightening, terrifying
memories, too strange to be his imagination.  Pierre
recalled that Nick had not been to Mass in many, many years,
and certainly not since Vatican II.

"It is no longer called "Last Rites, my son.  Now it is the
"Anointing of the Sick."  It is appropriate to receive this
sacrament whenever you are seriously sick or injured, or
before going in for surgery."

Suddenly, Nick rolled over on his side and hung over the
edge of the bed.  He coughed as he threw up into a shallow
container.  Father Pierre watched sadly.  It didn't seem so
frightening to see him vomit blood, since he remembered what
Nick fed upon, but it concerned him that the coughing seemed
to cause Nick great pain.  Nick clutched at his chest as
tears of blood formed in his eyes.  Father Pierre sat beside
him.  Hesitantly he patted Nick's shoulder in a gesture of
silent support.

The coughing stopped.  Nick didn't move, as he permitted the
priest's contact.  Silently, the tears fell.  Father Pierre
continued to comfort him and the tears came harder.  Nick
buried his face in his pillow, unable to stop the torrent in
spite of the pain it caused, all the while Father Pierre
remained in contact with him, patting his back and
whispering soft, soothing words.  At length, exhausted and
spent, Nick whispered desperately.

"I can't live like this, Father."

"That's good to hear," the priest said.

Nick was surprised by the response.  "You'd let me end this
miserable existence?"

Father Pierre brushed the sweat-damp hair from his
forehead.  "I would never condone suicide, if that is what
you are considering, my son.  But that you are miserable
enough to want to change your life is a wonderful step in
the right direction."

"You can't help me," he said.

"No.  I can help no one.  I am just a man.  And you are just
a vampire."

Nick started to say something, but another painful coughing
spell interrupted him.  He heaved over the side of the bed,
not fast enough to make it into the container.  "Why are you
here," Nick asked, when at last he could speak.

"I cannot help you, but by the Grace of God, I hope to help
you help yourself," Father Pierre explained.

Nick was still for a long time.  Father Pierre wondered if
he had fallen asleep.  Then Nick sighed heavily.  He pushed
up from the bed, wincing.  Father Pierre offered him
assistance.  He arranged the pillows and helped Nick to sit
more comfortably as he leaned against them.

"You've lost weight," the priest commented.

"I can't keep much down."

"So, what about your life do you want to change?"

"I don't want to be blind any more," Nick said promptly.

"We are all blind, Nicholas, in different ways.  Some of us
are blind to the poor, some are blind to the sin and
corruption in their own lives.  Blindness comes in many
forms.  Perhaps this blindness is God's way of helping you
to see more clearly."

"God is punishing me, you mean," Nick said angrily.

"No.  God does not punish us, not like this.  His punishment
is usually to withhold His Grace and His special blessings,
allowing us to suffer the consequences for our selfish,
sinful choices."

"I don't know why you're here.  God doesn't care what
happens to me anymore.  I am already damned."

Father Pierre took his hand and held it firmly.  "No, Nick.
You are not.  The damned are in Hell.  Any creature that
walks the earth still has the hope of salvation."

Nick fell silent.  He was damned!  That had been his belief
for 800 years!  It had to be true, didn't it?  But Father
Pierre was a priest, a spiritual father, whom he should
honor, according to the fourth commandment.  Could he be
right?  Was there still hope for him?

"I don't even know where to start," Nick said miserably.

Father Pierre hesitated.  He'd been wondering for months
what words of counsel to give this melancholy vampire.  This
lost sheep needed so much!  But where to start?  How to
begin?

He remembered how Nick had risked his life to protect Tracy
and him.  Nick was brave, selfless, and honorable, but
towards his father he was quick-tempered and that was a
source of constant strife.  The young priest took a
handkerchief and wiped the last of Nick's tears away, before
touching the fading purple bruise.  "Tell me about this."

Nick shrugged, trying for indifference.  "I'm blind.  I walk
into things all the time."

"Yes.  Now tell me the truth."

"LaCroix hit me," Nick sighed.  "But I hit him first."

Father Pierre sighed.  "That is as good a place as any to
begin.  LaCroix is your father?"

Nick nodded weakly.  "My vampire father.  I don't remember
my mortal one."

"And fighting with this being is how you keep the Fourth
Commandment?"

Nick rubbed absently at his sore ribs.  He didn't answer at
first. He had never considered that the Commandments would
still have any meaning for him, once he'd become a vampire.
He broke them all regularly.

"LaCroix is evil," Nick said.  He shuddered at the partial
untruth.  He knew he still loved him, although at times, he
despised him.  "How can a God expect me to honor evil?"

The priest drew in a breath.  He offered a quick prayer for
guidance.  He felt incredibly unprepared for this counseling
session.  How did one comfort a vampire?  What words of
wisdom could he, a mere mortal, give to this ancient being?
He was humbly inadequate.

"The Bible is a guidebook for living," he began.  "It tells
us how to think, to act, and to deal with one another.  If
we follow it, we are not necessarily protected from the evil
of this world, for our reward will be in heaven."

Father Pierre could tell Nick was listening.  His eyes were
unfocused and severe depression radiated from him almost
thick enough to see.  The priest continued speaking, hoping
that something he said would bring him a small measure of
comfort.

"Once there were two children in my parish, whose father
forbid them to come to church.  They slipped away to make
their confession, fearing that the sin of their absence
would send them straight to hell.  I told them they must
honor their father's wishes.  That to miss Mass because they
could not attend was not a sin, and that they should pray
every day for his salvation.

"It took two years, but their father's conversion was
complete.  Now he is a deacon in the parish, and they are
two of nicest kids in confirmation class.  They know their
faith better than the others in the class, for persecution
often makes us stronger."

Father Pierre stared at the golden hues coming to Nick's
once blue eyes.  It startled him, but when he saw fangs he
realized that the injured vampire was getting hungry.  He
felt apprehensive, that maybe he should leave, but he wasn't
sure he had been able to help Nick.

The door opened and quietly Urs approached.  She handed Nick
a plastic mug.  The vampire drank from it slowly.  Father
Pierre watched in odd fascination.

"I should apologize to him again," Nick whispered.  "I hurt
him."

The priest nodded.  "That is a good start, my son."

"Will you come to see me tomorrow?"

"Yes," Father Pierre said.  "I will, as long as you need
me."

"Thank you," Nick said, wincing as he lay down again.

Urs escorted the priest to the door.  She held out her hand
then and shook his, wondering at the strange sense of peace
she felt from the contact, so different from the pain
usually associated with religious people.  "Thanks for
coming," she said softly.

Father Pierre smiled at her.  "Good night, Urs."



End, part 4.

DS05

Dead Swans, 05
By Lorelei Sieja



Nick shuddered.  He felt like he was back in the stairwell
on the roof, locked in a dark tomb, alone and unwanted. Why
did the dark make him feel that way?  Until now LaCroix had
never locked him in a dark room, not in all the years they
had known each other.  Oh, the vampire master had chained
him before, had held him prisoner in assorted dungeons and
chambers over the centuries, but never, ever in the dark.
There had always been a candle, or small window, or more
recently, a light in his cell.  So why did the dark frighten
him so?  It made no sense.  It was childish and
unreasonable, yet even so his undead heart palpitated and
his hands felt clammy.

He knew that this time he had deserved LaCroix's punishment,
that he had behaved like a willful child.  Something inside
had snapped.  He had been out of control and he knew it, but
he had been powerless to stop the rage.  When LaCroix had
wrapped his strong arms around him, holding his wrists, it
had been oddly comforting.  Although Nick still struggled
against him, it had been reassuring that the ancient master
would protect him even from himself.  If LaCroix had just
held him a few moments longer, perhaps his fury would have
run out and the entire episode could have ended
differently.

Then Nick had hit him hard, right in the jaw.  Nick's
knuckles still smarted from that forceful blow.  It was a
wonder that he hadn't dislocated the ancient's jaw.  Until
then he had been unaware of LaCroix's emotions, as his own
consumed him, but then he was dealt a double blow as he was
struck both with his master's fist and his rage.

The dark cement cell surrounded him.  Nick gasped as he
returned to the damp prison in his memories.  But the
stairwell hadn't been damp... not really.  It was on a roof,
not in the basement, and it not damp in late winter.  Why
had he thought it was damp?  Nick struggled to recall
something that danced just out of reach.

He had been in a dark, damp prison before.  He remembered
feeling the moss that grew on the walls, the hard-packed
dirt floor that was slick where the moisture bled through.
It reeked of urine and feces and vomit.  But this was not
the stairwell into which LaCroix had thrown him.  What was
it?

The memory terrified him.  Nick clamped down on his
thoughts, refusing to tarry there any longer.  LaCroix had
locked him on the roof in a dry stairwell, where he could
not injure himself or others until he brought himself under
control.  The master hadn't left him there for much more
than an hour.  And when he had released him, Nick stabbed
him mercilessly with his cruel words, the words he knew that
would inflict the most pain.  Nick had fought dirty.

There had been times in the past when he had hated his
master, but he did not feel that way now.  LaCroix had been
more tender and solicitous in the past year or so than he
had ever been before.  It seemed to have started sometime
between the demon possession and the time he had lost his
memories from a gunshot wound.  LaCroix had come to his aid
on both occasions.

Then there was that one memorable night Nick had danced with
Urs at the Raven.  LaCroix had closed the nightclub to the
public and held a private party in Nick's honor.  He had
felt loved, welcomed, and cherished.  All night long he had
danced with his new lover, while his master rejoiced with
him.  He had basked in the glow of acceptance.  Nick yearned
to return to that moment.  He could still see then.

Nick blinked back the tears of blood.  It was not LaCroix's
fault that he was blind.  Nor was it Nat's or Urs's or
anyone else's, for that matter.  It was time he stopped
blaming the world.  Clenching his teeth to stifle the cry of
pain, Nick forced himself to get out of bed.  Perry jumped
to his aid, bringing him to the small grand LaCroix had
purchased for him, another symbol of the ancient's
benevolence where Nick was concerned.

He fingered the ivories, sighing wistfully at their lonely
melody.  He had been playing more frequently lately, since
painting was out of the question and listening to television
was uninspiring.  He sat up straighter to ease his sore ribs
and tried to play the song that pranced in his imagination.
He wept as he composed the stormy, fervid theme. It would be
his gift to LaCroix.

                             *****

Shortly before dawn, LaCroix climbed the stairs to his
apartment with a heavy tread.  It was once a lonely place,
but it had been a refuge of sorts.  Now it was painful.  In
the past he would have simply beaten Nicholas into
submission and eventually everything would return to
normal.  That was no longer an option.

The sound of music filtered through the closed door.  It was
unusual in that he did not recognize the piece.  LaCroix
knew a great deal about music and composers.  The style was
unmistakable, though.  It was Nicholas's, and it was
original.  He leaned against the door for what felt like an
eternity, drinking in the muffled sounds of his son's
music.

The song was passionate.  At times it was soft, romantic,
peaceful, and then there were demanding passages that made
his undead heart beat fiercely.  There was conflict in the
music, but also a sense of harmony.  Then abruptly the music
stopped.  LaCroix felt a moment of concern.  He pushed open
the door and rushed to look in on his son.

Nicholas sat on the bench, his hands resting in his lap.
The piano stood silent, expectantly.

"You did not finish it," LaCroix observed, reigning in his
emotions.

"Because it does not yet have an ending," Nick whispered.

LaCroix watched his son.  At least Nicholas was speaking to
him again.  This was an improvement.  Sadly he noted the way
Nicholas's clothing bagged on his thin frame.  The bones and
veins in his hands were too prominent.  LaCroix was becoming
disheartened.  Perhaps this illness would have no end?

"It is late. Good day, Nicholas," LaCroix said softly.  His
words still sounded stiff.  Although in his mind he had
forgiven his son for his hatefulness, his heart was still
sore.

Nick stood and followed his master's voice.  Usually he
knelt before him when he begged forgiveness, but he was too
weak now.  He wasn't sure he'd be able to get back up.  The
words were already sticking in his throat and he had yet to
say anything.  He reached out, touching the familiar black
overcoat, grasping the lapels with melting snow still
clinging to them.  He stepped closer, until he lay his head
against his master's breast.

LaCroix did not move.  Nothing with Nicholas was ever
simple.   He remained stiff.  Seventy times seventy he had
forgiven this one, and he would forgive him again.  But was
Nicholas truly sorry?  Or was he merely lonely tonight?

"Please, master," Nick whispered.  "I did not mean it.  You
must know that.  I was hurting and I wanted to make you hurt
as much as I did.  I'm sorry."

LaCroix gently put his arms around Nicholas, mindful of the
broken ribs he had given him.  Then Nick craned his neck,
offering his blood to him.  It was the ritual, the final act
of submission.  LaCroix knew that in the blood he would
taste Nicholas's true feelings and know if the young vampire
were sincere.  His fangs descended, but he denied himself
the right of dominance.  Nicholas was too weak to give up
his blood right now.

"I forgave you days ago," LaCroix answered truthfully.

"The song is for you," Nick said.  "It is our song.  It is
the story of my feelings for you.  I did not know how to end
it."  He hesitated, drawing in a breath.  His voice
lowered.  "I was afraid that this time you would not forgive
me."

LaCroix eased out of his coat without dislodging his son
from his embrace.  Then he loosened the silver pin from his
collar to bare his throat.  He drew his fangs lightly across
his son's sensitive neck, arousing him.  "Drink from me,
Nicholas.  Then, you may finish the song."

Nick nuzzled the smooth neck hesitantly.  This was not part
of the ritual.  He should be feeding his master now, and not
the other way around.  Did LaCroix no longer desire him?
Now that the master had frequent access to Natalie and
Tracy's blood, was he no longer valued?  He licked at his
master's throat, raising the jugular vein until it throbbed,
demanding release.  Nick heard LaCroix's quick intake of
breath.  Still, he held back.

Wondering at his child's hesitation, LaCroix opened himself
to the link they shared.  He staggered at the weight of
Nicholas's depression and almost closed the link again.
Then he sifted through the miasma of emotions, discovering
the current feelings of insecurity.  He lifted Nicholas and
carried him to his room, there to reassure him.  Gently his
fangs entered his son and waited, not drinking from him
until Nicholas returned the blood kiss.  United in blood,
they discovered the depth and breadth of feelings neither
was able to express.

Nicholas shared his bed the entire day and his sickness did
not surface once.

Late in the afternoon Nicholas yawned and stretched
sensually, much like Natalie's cat uncoiling from a nap.
LaCroix smiled, taking advantage of the fact he could gaze
at his son all he wanted without annoying the younger
vampire.  His son, his creation, was still the most
beautiful young man he had ever laid eyes on.

Nicholas reached out for him with cool, slender fingers to
caress his lips and slide over his face as though to
memorize the familiar features.  A smile graced his son's
countenance. LaCroix felt a sharp pain, as he was reminded
again just how much this one meant to him.

"Who is Fleur?" Nick asked.

LaCroix's smile faded.  "Why do you ask," he snapped.

Nick flinched at the sharp tone.  He reached out again,
tentatively this time, feeling the scowl that now puckered
his master's brow.  "You were thinking of her last night.  I
saw her through your blood.  She was someone you had
feelings for.  What happened to her?"

LaCroix started to get up, but Nick held him back with a
hand on his thigh.

"She was mortal, Nicholas," LaCroix said sternly.  "And she
died.  End of story."  Nicholas no longer remembered his
mortal life, since the shooting that had taken away his
memories.  LaCroix had given him back many of his vampire
memories, but these painful ones were best left buried.

"Are you afraid that will happen to Natalie?"

Damn the boy, LaCroix thought angrily.  While his blindness
did keep him from seeing, it was strengthening his other
abilities.  Nicholas had never been so receptive to
LaCroix's thoughts and feelings before.

"You miss her, don't you.  Why did she move out?  Is it
because of me?"

"My relationship with Natalie does not concern you,
Nicholas," LaCroix said firmly.  "Come now.  Time to get
up."

Nick grinned around his fangs.  "But, Master, I am
hungry..."

"You impossible child," LaCroix said with amusement.  He lay
down again to appease his son.



That day marked a turning point of sorts.  Nicholas still
seemed depressed, but he was more responsive.  LaCroix
thought he might actually be gaining back a little weight.
He wanted Natalie to repeat the x-rays, but she suggested
that they wait until next weekend.  She wanted to be certain
that the next set of films would show some improvement, to
encourage him.

Nicholas began going for a walk every evening, at Father
Pierre's suggestion.  The first day he only went around the
block, but the second day he was gone for nearly half an
hour.  LaCroix was concerned for him, but permitted this
small act of independence, as he trusted the carouche to
protect him.  Gradually, LaCroix noticed that the bouts of
vomiting came less frequently, and were less severe.  He
waited eagerly for the appointed day, certain of what the
x-rays would reveal.

One night they all accompanied Nick on his walk: Urs, Tracy
and Vachon stayed near him, while Natalie and LaCroix
followed several paces behind.  The snow banks were still
nearly waist-high, but there was a warmth to the air and a
scent of spring.  Nick felt his undead pulse quicken with
the new hope of the world as it fought back winter's death.
It would not be long now before the pussy willows were out,
along with the hardy little crocus blooms.  And the days
would slowly get longer, imprisoning him indoors for greater
periods, but even that dismal thought could not darken his
hopeful mood.

Tracy didn't talk about work at all anymore.  Perhaps
LaCroix had warned her not to?  Nick sighed wistfully, the
sound escaped unnoticed among the many street noises.  He
knew LaCroix would not yet let him return to work, and he
knew deep down that he really wasn't ready for it, but he
missed her stories.

Instead she chatted about Jody, and going canoeing sometime,
and a new movie that was coming out soon, and would Vachon
teach her Spanish?  Nick grinned as he listened to her flit
from subject to subject with as much ease as a butterfly in
a garden of wildflowers. He hadn't tasted Tracy in some
time, he realized.

Vachon teased her mercilessly.  His quiet, laid-back manner
was the perfect foil for her zealous enthusiasm.    Nick
tried to picture them in his mind as he sensed their
presence.  Vachon would drape an arm around Tracy's shoulder
and occasionally lean in close to nibble on her ear just to
distract her.  She would slap him good-naturedly, and huff
when she realized that he was toying with her.  Then she
would slip her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, as
two could play that trick.  Vachon might squirm as his
lustful desires, never very far from the surface, sprang
forth in full force.  They might just have to take a detour
and rejoin the group later, Nick thought, grinning to
himself.

Urs was quiet, as usual.  He squeezed her fingers gently.
He felt her eyes on him, and offered her a smile.  She said
nothing, but in the tenuous bond they now as lovers shared,
he felt her contentment.  Maybe he and Urs would be able to
join Tracy and Vachon on that canoe trip?

Nat and LaCroix talked quietly.  Nick wouldn't listen in.
He sensed his master's sadness that she had not yet moved
back in with them.  Nick wondered at it himself.  Sydney
remained at LaCroix's apartment, and Nat came by every day
after work.  But she nearly always returned to her apartment
for the day.  He felt somehow responsible.

Their walked concluded, returning them to the Raven.  "Can
we hang out downstairs for a while," Tracy asked, "Nick and
I?  Please?"

The ancient seemed about to deny it, but then he hesitated.
"Do you wish to go with her, Nicholas?"

Nick shrugged.  "Whatever you say," he sighed.

LaCroix wasn't sure if he liked this new complacency.
Something was lacking in his once lusty Crusader.  He
sighed.  "You may stay up with Tracy for a little while.  Do
not tire yourself out."

"Thanks, LaCroix!" Tracy said, pecking him on the cheek. She
swung open the door and bolted past the bouncer, dragging
Vachon in her wake.


LaCroix and the vampire bouncer shared a sigh at the
impetuosity of youth.  The bouncer held the door for
Nicholas, as the blind vampire descended the stairs smoothly
with Perry's assistance.  LaCroix turned away from the
crowded nightclub then to bring Natalie in the private door
in the rear.


"Will he ever be well again," he whispered.

"Yes, Lucien!" Nat said forcefully.  "There isn't any other
option."

He gave her a weak smile.  "Come, my dear.  We'll go inside
before you get chilled."



End, part 5.

DS06

Dead Swans, 06
By Lorelei Sieja


Tracy smiled at Nick, looping her arm through his.  "I still
remember that first night you and I hung out here together,"
she started to say.

"You have a perfect memory now, Baby.  You'll always
remember that night like it happened yesterday."

"I know.  But it was just so special.  I learned a lot about
you then... I got to see more of who you really are, and not
just the vampire, either.  Do you remember?  You promised me
the last dance."

Nick remembered.  He'd been truly happy that night.  He was
in love with Urs, at peace with LaCroix, and happy with the
world.  Would his unlife ever be like that again?

"I'm claiming that dance tonight, bro."

"I can't dance anymore," Nick stated.

Tracy took their drinks from Patrick.  Nick held her arm as
she led towards a dark booth in the back.  Business at the
nightclub was booming since the fire.  Nick wondered with
wry amusement how the vampire hunters would like to learn
that their plans had only increased the vampire owner's
wealth.  He was bumped several times and nearly lost his
balance once.  Perry growled menacingly then, scattering the
thoughtless mortals away.  Someone started to complain about
the dog until he noticed the special harness.

"Oh, sorry, man," he stammered.

Nick ignored him.  He slipped into the booth with a sense of
relief.  Walking anywhere was still a challenge.  He
constantly felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff
and each step might possibly pitch him over the edge.

Perry sought refuge from the crowd by lying down underneath
the table.  He rolled over on to Nick's feet.  His charge
wouldn't go anywhere without his knowledge.

For a time the conversation died.  Tracy, for once, seemed
to have run out of words.  Nick sipped at his beverage,
still pure and uncut.  Natalie didn't think the wine would
be safe for him until the ulcer was gone.  He didn't really
object; Tracy still had to drink the pure stuff, too.  He
smiled at his new little sister.

"Need some oil?" he asked her.

He could just imagine the puzzled look that she must have
pulled, as Vachon burst out laughing.

"Your tongue froze up," Nick explained, then prepared
himself for the playful slap that was sure to follow.  Tracy
didn't let him down.  "So what's happening at work?" he
prodded.

She stammered a few moments, trying to brush off the topic.
"Nothing important, really...."

"Tracy, it's okay to talk about it.  Sure, I miss working
there, but hearing about your night kind makes me feel
connected still."

So Tracy told him about working with Ledford, and the battle
they'd had over who drove.  She made him laugh.  She'd
learned how to make any detail into an amusing story, like
the time the water cooler sprung a leak, and when Reese when
to get a drink it dumped two gallons into his tiny paper
cup.  Even Urs joined in the laughter.

Later Alma and Jody came by to join them. The booth was
crowded, so they had to pull up chairs.  Nick leaned against
the wall just listening to much of the conversation.  The
blood was sitting better tonight.  He didn't feel any
queasiness at all.  Then it struck him.  He was surrounded
by vampires and carouche, and they were all friends.  Well,
except maybe Alma.  At the moment, it seemed that he had
more vampire friends than mortal ones.  Nick smiled at the
irony.  The priest had been right about one thing.  Being
blind had made him see his friends for what they were.  It
didn't matter if they were vampire, carouche or mortal; what
mattered was who they were.

The mortal crowds were thinning.  Nick sensed that morning
would soon approach.  Jody talked about leaving, but Alma
invited her to bunk at the Raven for the day.  Then, as
Patrick locked the front door, the drummer put on a CD of
Middle Eastern folk music.  Nick heard tables being pushed
aside, then Tracy tugged on his arm.

"I'm claiming my dance, bro," she said, laughing.  She put
an arm on his shoulder and guided his hand to hers.  Urs did
the same on his other side.   A line dance, Nick realized.
He'd danced them before.  With all the dancers linked
shoulder to shoulder and the beat of the music to guide him,
he wouldn't step on any toes.  This was a dance he could
do.

The song was an easy tempo, the dance no faster than
walking, but the music was uplifting.  It was impossible to
listen to without tapping one's toes or wanting to sing or
at least to smile.  Nick did them all.  He even knew the
words to the song and sang them.  Tracy got more than a
dance.  She got the entire CD.  When the last song ended,
though, Nick was exhausted.

Tracy kissed his cheek.  "Thanks, bro.  That dance was worth
waiting for."

Nick called to Perry.  "Come on, boy.  Let's go."

The carouche came to his side at once.  Nick took the handle
and followed the dog's lead through the bar and up the
stairs.

LaCroix scowled at him.  "You're up late," he said.

"Yes, I'm sorry," Nick said sleepily.  "I had a debt to
pay."


Monday came again.  LaCroix had worried that Nicholas would
again insist on returning to work, but as Tracy and Natalie
left, Nicholas just smiled and said good-bye.  LaCroix
doubted seriously that his protégé had at last learned his
place.  Instead, he suspected that Nicholas truly did not
feel up to it.

He was keeping a little more down lately.  Although still
too thin, he did not appear to be losing any more weight.
He was generally complacent, but there was still a sadness
about him.  An air of defeat, that bothered LaCroix more
than the violent tantrums of the past.  Although he knew
Nicholas was not yet ready to work a full shift among
mortals, it was time to get him out and doing something.
LaCroix would have to consider the possibilities.

They tried a game of chess.  Nicholas held the positions of
the pieces in his memory, as LaCroix narrated his moves.  It
worked passably well for the first half of the game.  Then
Nicholas seemed to lose interest.  He lost quickly.

"I have some work to do downstairs," LaCroix said then.
"Would you join me?"

Nick stood.  Without comment he went to get Perry's
harness.  LaCroix scowled.  He didn't miss the conflict, but
he definitely missed his son.

The soundbooth was a mess.  He had neglected it in recent
weeks.  Two boxes of unanswered fan mail sat on the couch;
assorted CDs out of their cases lay on the paper-cluttered
desk.  He could spend the entire night just putting things
away, but then who would do the show?

An idea began to form.  One didn't need to see to ramble on
over the airways.  Sometimes he wrote out his musings, but
often he just spoke extemporaneously.

"Sit at my desk," LaCroix instructed him.  "The other
surfaces are covered."  Then he trained him how to load the
CDs and cue the sound system.  Nicholas listened, learning
quickly.  He did not attempt to put away the CDs after they
played, but merely stacked them on the desk.  LaCroix spent
the next hour putting others away and watching his son.  The
work was not difficult, and did not tax him, but it didn't
seem to interest him, either.  Still, it kept them together
for hours in quiet company.

LaCroix didn't read his fan mail.  He could not understand
the mortal penchant to drool over celebrities, and he
certainly never intended to become an object of drool
himself.  In fact, he was often rude and insulting, yet his
faithful listeners returned night after night just to hear
him speak.  It was faintly nauseating.

Urs had caught him throwing out unopened mail one evening,
though, and in her quiet, naturally submissive way, she had
shamed him.  He made the proper Roman response, by
delegating the task of reading said mail to her.  He stacked
the two boxes near the door for her to collect later.  Then
pouring a beverage, he sat on the loveseat and smiled
contentedly as he admired his son.

                              *****

Nick slipped a blank cassette in the tape player.  It took
some fiddling around before he knew which was the record
button.  Then he seated himself at the piano and played his
newest composition. He had worked out the ending after his
latest reconciliation with his master.  This would be his
farewell gift. It was time to move on.

The song ended.  Nick sat for long moments, letting the last
vibrations of the strings fade away.  He thought about
saying something into the tape, but his thoughts wouldn't
translate into words, not in any language.  He turned off
the tape recorder.  Pulling out the tabs to prevent it from
being accidentally taped over, he put the tape inside its
case and painstakingly tried to write something on the
label.  Once he had excellent penmanship, but now he wasn't
sure if it was even legible.

Next he took a sheet of paper and a pen.  He had to write to
Natalie, but she needed to be able to read it.  He folded
the paper again and again, then felt the creases, using them
to keep his sentences straight and not overlapping.

"Dear Natalie," he began.  Already he didn't like it.  He
had been composing the letter in his thoughts for days.
Now, it still sounded juvenile.  First he thanked her for
all the work she'd done for him.  He mentioned how much he
valued their friendship.

"We always knew this day would come, when I must move on.
It hung between us like a specter, intrusive and meddlesome,
keeping us from true intimacy.

"Do not worry for me.  I am resigned to my existence.  I
promise I will not walk into the sun, but neither can I
remain a burden to my family.  It is time to make my way
alone.  Please, forgive LaCroix for whatever hurt has come
between you.  Go to him.  And may you both find happiness.

"Love, Nick."

He couldn't reread it, to see if it was clear or well
written.  Neither could he ask Urs or anyone to read it for
him.  Good or awful, it would just have to do.  He had taken
several weeks to come to this decision.  He wasn't really
getting any better.  He'd have good days, and then terrible
ones.  With Perry's help, he could manage somehow.  He
didn't need LaCroix to provide for him.  He blinked hard and
tried to swallow the vile taste in his mouth.  He didn't
really want to go.  This was finally feeling like home.  He
felt loved, cherished even.  But, LaCroix was falling in
love with Nat, and she with him.  They were apart now
because of Nick.

He had tried to suggest to LaCroix that maybe it was time
for him to move back into his loft.  LaCroix had forbidden
it.  He had even forbidden Nick to speak of it again.  He
didn't dare talk to Urs or Tracy about it, as they would
tell LaCroix.  No, the only option was to just go alone,
quietly, discreetly, and hope that he would be gone before
they even knew to start looking.

He had already established his nightly walk as a habit, so
no one was suspicious tonight when he walked out with
Perry.  Nick didn't dare carry a suitcase.  He felt
miserable as the door to the Raven swung shut behind him.
There were a lot of pleasant memories there.  He recalled
dancing with Tracy and Urs, sharing the blood kiss with
Janette and various others in one of the back rooms, and
even the cleaning up after the fire had been fun part of the
time. Still, the one he would miss most was the tyrannical
master from whom he had spent centuries trying to escape.
He shut the doors on his thoughts, determined not to give in
to his mourning while he was still too near LaCroix.
Setting a swift pace, Nick walked to the bus stop.

The night proved fruitless.  Aristotle and Merlin both
refused to help him relocate.  Neither was willing to cross
LaCroix.  Nick called Don Constantine, but had a similar
answer.  "Cousin Tommy" Constantine at least offered him a
place to stay, but he told Nick that he would not keep
secrets from his powerful master.  Nick hung up disgustedly.

He wandered around, but because he wasn't paying close
attention, he got disoriented.  Nick no longer knew where he
was or where he was going.  He continued to walk, but
nothing smelled or sounded familiar.  Wearily, Nick found a
park bench and sank into it.  Part of him felt like a kid
who had just failed to run away from home, but he wasn't a
child, and he wasn't running away.  He didn't really want to
go.  He just wanted Natalie and LaCroix to be happy
together, and he didn't want to be a burden any longer.
Maybe once he got established he could write to them and
tell them how he was doing.  By then, maybe even Urs would
join him.  For now, he was lost somewhere in the city.  He
didn't know where to go.  His first step at independence
hadn't been very successful.

Nick closed his eyes and leaned back.  If he just stayed
here and let the sun find him, it could finish the job it
had started on his eyes....
But no.  Suicide was not an option.  He sat up straight and
tried to think more clearly through whatever options were
still open to him.

A soft whimpering sound invaded his thoughts.  Nick was
silent, as he tried to pinpoint the direction.  Taking
Perry's harness, he urged the carouche to help him find the
source of the sounds.  Cautiously he approached.  Perry
sniffed it out and the sound gasped in fright.

"Don't hurt me, doggy?"

"This is Perry.  He won't hurt you," Nick reassured the
small voice.  "Who are you?"

The voice sniffled and coughed.  Nick lowered himself,
sitting back on his heels, and extended a hand.  "My name is
Nick."

"Charlie," she said.  "Mommy calls me Charlie."  She took
Nick's hand and clung to it.

Her hand was tiny and the fingers were like ice.  Nick let
go of Perry's harness and touched Charlie's face.

The girl shrank back from the contact.  "I won't hurt you,"
Nick promised.  "I'm a police officer.  Why are you outside
without a coat?"

"Where's your uniform?" she asked timidly.

Nick smiled.  "I don't wear one.  I used to be a detective,
before I lost my eyesight."

"Oh."  She seemed satisfied and she was perfectly willing to
trust him, Nick realized sadly.  Although he would not harm
her, there were plenty that would.  She was too little to be
out here, alone in the winter after dark.

"Where do you live?" Nick asked.

The little girl started to cry.  "I don't know," she said.
"I'm lost."

Nick unbuttoned his coat and pulled her to his chest.  There
was plenty of room for the coat to button around them both.
Then Nick went back to sit on the park bench and held her.
"I'm lost too, Charlie," he said.

She giggled even as she shivered.  "But you're big!  Big
people don't get lost!"

Nick laughed too, not because he found anything amusing at
the moment, but because he hoped it would comfort the
child.  "Big people just make bigger mistakes," he said.

She started to cry again.  Her hands were like ice where
they touched his skin.  He had to get her inside somewhere
soon.

"Tell me how you got here," Nick suggested.

She hiccuped and wiped her tears with her fingers.  "I don't
know.  They were shouting, and I got scared.  I ran out the
back door and I just kept running."

"Who was shouting, Charlie?"

"Mommy and Daddy."

Charlie could not have run very far from home, Nick
thought.  Somewhere, very near, should be two worried
parents.  "Do you know your parents' names, or your
address?" he asked the child.

"No," she said.  "But I'm going to be four on my next
birthday!"

So she was three years old.  She was tall for three, and
very articulate.  Her birthday must not be very far away.
Nick felt his cellphone in his coat pocket.  He could call
the precinct.  Chances were the parents had already called
to report a missing child.  Only, he didn't know where he
was, either.  He couldn't possibly let any of his coworkers
know he was lost as well.

"How did you get here?" Charlie asked.

"I wasn't paying attention, and I got turned around. "Since
I can't see," Nick explained, "I can't read the road signs."

"I can see," she volunteered helpfully.  "But I don't read
yet."

"Well, maybe we can help each other."

She seemed encouraged.  "Okay!  How?"

Nick stood, holding her close to him.  Her teeth still
chattered, but she seemed better now than a few moments
ago.  "We are in a small park, I think," Nick said.  "I
smell pine trees, and the street noises are different than
when there are buildings all around."

"Uh-huh," she agreed.  "Mommy brought me here sometimes to
play on the swings."

"Do you know the name of this park?"

"No."

"Do you see a sign anywhere?"

"No."

This was getting him nowhere.  Nick was thinking that maybe
he'd have to swallow his pride and call the police anyway.
Then Charlie squirmed in his arms excitedly.

"But there is a little sign on the street corner!"

Nick started forward.  He felt the difference when he
stepped off the snow-covered lawn and onto sidewalk again.
He walked to the corner, and followed the child's directions
until they were touching the street sign.  Charlie craned
her neck to read the letters aloud.

"R-I-V-E-R-D-A-L-E," she said proudly.  "I know my ABC's
real good.  Mommy taught me!"

They were on Riverdale somewhere, near a small neighborhood
park.  Nick wasn't familiar with this area.  "What's on the
other street sign?" he asked.

"M-A-N-L-E-Y," She said.

Nick grinned.  "Now, I can get us out of here, Charlie," he
said.  "Thanks!  You were a great help."

Now he knew where he was and he had a phone.  He could call
for help.  But, whom should he call?  Not the police, or
Tracy would let LaCroix know where he was.  He couldn't call
any vampire friends, as none in the community would go up
against LaCroix.  So, he'd have to call a mortal. If only
Schanke were alive.... Then he knew, and he placed a call to
Father Pierre.



End, part 6.

DS07

Dead Swans, 07
By Lorelei Sieja



Charlie was still shivering.  She wrapped thin arms around
his neck and leaned against him, closing her eyes.  Nick
pulled the lapels of his coat closer and wrapped his scarf
more securely around them both.  With Perry's help, he found
his way back to the park bench to wait.

It wasn't long before Nick heard a car approach and slow
down.  Father Pierre called out to him.  The young priest
hopped out of the car and hurried to get them inside.  "She
should be in a seat belt," he admonished Nick, as he tried
to buckle a belt around the two of them.

Nick shrugged.  "You try taking her, then."

Father Pierre saw the large, frightened eyes, the way the
child clung to Nick as to a lifeline, and decided to ignore
it this once.  "Care to tell me what you were doing way out
here?" he asked.

"It's a long story," Nick said evasively.

"And what are you going to do about the child?"

"I thought we'd get her warmed up, and then we'll try to
figure out where she lives."

They traveled to the rectory in silence.  Father Pierre
assisted them into his home, then helped Nick take off his
coat.  Charlie still clung to Nick tightly.

"Hello, Charlie," Father Pierre said, when Nick had
introduced them.  "Your clothes are very wet.  I bet you
could use a warm bath, and I'll find you something warm and
dry to put on."

"You have to stay with me," Charlie informed Nick.

"But," Nick started.

"Mommy doesn't let me take a bath alone."

Nick sighed in resignation.  He let Father Pierre guide them
to the bathroom and run the water.  The priest left then,
abandoning Nick to the domestic task.  Charlie was fairly
independent though.  She just wanted him in the room with
her, to talk to her, while she took off her own wet things
and climbed in the tub.  Later, Father Pierre knocked.  He
did not want to come in, but handed Nick an armful of
clothing.

"I always have clothing here," he explained.  "We ship the
summery things off to our mission in Peru, and the warmer
items I keep here for the homeless, fire victims, whatever.
Charlie?  When you're through in there, I'll make you some
hot chocolate.  Do you like hot chocolate?"

"Yes!" she called out, and decided that bathtime was over
already.

Later, as she sat on Nick's lap in the kitchen, dunking
marshmallows in her hot chocolate and sucking on them,
making a sticky mess, Father Pierre again tried to find out
what Nick's plans were.

"Charlie ran away from home when her parents were arguing,"
Nick explained.  "I found her in the park on Riverdale.  She
could not have run very far.  Her home has to be around
there, but she doesn't know her last name or her address."

"So why not call the police?" Father Pierre questioned.

"You can call them later," Nick said.  "I just didn't want
to talk to anyone there yet."

Father Pierre sighed sadly.  "I had figured as much.  Are
you running away from your problems as well, then?"

"Don't start with me, Father," Nick snapped.

"Is he your Daddy?" Charlie asked incredulously.

Nick laughed then.  "Charlie, he is a priest."

"Oh," she said sagely.  "We don't go to church anymore."

Father Pierre looked at the girl intently.  "But you used to
come?  Charlie, that's for Charlotte, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"Father, do you know her?" Nick asked eagerly.

Nick heard a chair push back as Father Pierre got up and
hurried from the room.  He came back shortly with a book of
sorts.  Nick listened as he flipped through the pages.

"This is my date book from a few years back," the priest
said absently.  "Lists all the sacraments I offered,
baptisms and such.  How old are you, Charlie?"

"I'm almost four," she said excitedly.  The marshmallows and
hot chocolate had refortified her; she was no longer tired.

Father Pierre muttered to himself as he flipped through more
notes.  Then he stopped.  "May 10th, I baptized Charlotte
Madison, infant daughter of Beverly and Michael Madison."

"That's my mommy and daddy," Charlie said.  She sounded very
sad.

Father Pierre smiled.  "That's great!  I'll give them a
call, and you can be home in no time!"

"NO!" Charlie gasped.  "NO!  Don't tell them I'm here!  You
can't do that!"

"Sh-sh," Nick comforted her, surprised by her distress.  Her
heart rate increased and she was definitely afraid.  "Why,
honey?  Why don't you want to see your parents?"

Large tears spilled down her cheeks.  Father Pierre reached
out to her, patting her hand comfortingly.  "I make them
angry," she whispered.  "All they do now is fight.  Maybe,
if I can live with you, they can be happy again?"

"Charlie," Father Pierre said softly.  "Charlie, I would
love to let you stay here with me.  But I do need to talk to
your parents first, okay?  I should let them know where you
are, so they won't worry."

Charlie exhaled loudly.  "Okay.  You can call them."

Father Pierre brought over a wet wash cloth for her sticky
fingers.  "I have a nice playroom over in the church
basement.  Would you and Detective Knight like to wait there
while I talk to your parents?"

"Sure," she said.

Father Pierre showed Perry the way, as Nick and Charlie
followed through the corridors that connected the rectory to
St. Johns.  Charlie exclaimed at the site of the large
roomful of toys.  She squirmed down from Nick's arm and
raced all around delightedly.

"We run a day care through the parish," Father Pierre
explained, "mostly for low-income families.  The church
subsidizes it, as they can't charge the parents enough to
make ends meet."

"Build with me?" Charlie pleaded.  She ran back to grab
Nick's hand and pulled him over to the blocks area.  Father
Pierre watched as the vampire sat down with the small
child.  Together they stacked the wooden blocks into a
sprawling design.  The priest smiled before returning to the
rectory.


Nick felt a little foolish at first.  Charlie wanted to
build a zoo out of the blocks, with dozens of small
enclosures.  She placed plastic animals in each cage,
keeping up a steady stream of chatter as she worked.  Nick
stretched out on his stomach to get more comfortable.  He
knocked over the blocks when he tried to help, but Charlie
didn't mind.  Nick found that he was able to visualize the
entire block zoo in his head.  He lost track of the time as
he played with the little girl and he found himself
relaxing, forgetting about his own problems.  The constant
pain his stomach gave him faded into the background.  Nick
even laughed with her, as the lions escaped from the zoo and
went to the grocery store because they didn't like their
Purina Lion Chow that the zookeeper always fed them.

Neither of them heard when others came into the room.  At
some point, Charlie looked up and saw them.  Her sudden
silence alerted Nick.  He sat up slowly, reaching out with
his senses.  Four mortal adults and one vampire... Nick felt
a moment of fear and anger, then he tried to mask his
feelings by focusing on Charlie.

Charlie came to Nick and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I'm staying here," she said firmly.

Father Pierre came and sat down with them.  He called to the
others to join them.  Nick heard LaCroix's disgusted grunt,
and almost laughed at the picture the ancient Roman general
must make, seated on the floor in a playroom full of toys.
Then he heard the other mortals; two of them were crying.
Nick felt the pain return.

"Charlie, your mom and dad have been in the rectory with me
for the past two hours.  So have Nick's Dad and his
girlfriend.  We had a lot to discuss.  Would you like to
know what we talked about?"

Charlie tightened her grip.  Nick was grateful he didn't
have to breathe.

"Charlie, your mom and dad were arguing because they haven't
enough money to meet their bills.  That can make grown-ups
really angry, but it wasn't your fault.  We talked about
different things they can do to change things.  For one,
you're going to start coming here to play during the day
when your parents work.  Would you like that?"

Charlie looked around the playroom.  It was just as nice as
the day care she went to now, maybe even nicer.  "Will Nick
come, too?"

"Maybe sometimes," Father Pierre said.

Nick choked.  "Now wait a minute, Father," he muttered.

"I'll get to you later," the priest silenced him.

"Charlie," a man's voice said plaintively.  Nick knew it
must be her father.  "Baby, I love you.  I'm so sorry that
we frightened you.  Parents sometimes argue.  You've heard
kids argue at day care?"

She nodded.

"And a teacher usually breaks up the fight, and the children
are still friends.  Well, Father Pierre here was like our
teacher tonight.  Your mommy and I are still friends.  Can
you forgive us, baby?"

Charlie hesitated.  She looked at them, and back at Nick.
Then she gave Nick a kiss and got up from his lap.  She
walked over to her parents.  Nick heard them smother her in
their arms, showering her with kisses.  The mother was
crying and laughing, and LaCroix was snorting disgustedly.

"Nick," Father Pierre began, "Charlie overheard her parents
arguing and assumed she was the cause.  Instead of
confronting them, she tried to fix things on her own by
leaving.  She's only a little girl, and that sort of
behavior is excusable.  But among adults, facing the
problems and discussing them is a lot more productive."

"Our situations are not the same," Nick said firmly.

"Ah, but they are, my son," LaCroix said.  Although Nick
could sense that the ancient was thoroughly annoyed, his
voice fairly purred.  Nick was confused. Was the ancient
ready to break a few more ribs or not?  "You assumed that
you were the cause of whatever conflicts exist between
Natalie and me, and you chose to run away."

"I was not running away," Nick snapped.  "Children run
away.  I was moving on."

"Then, why are you here, playing with blocks in the basement
of a church," LaCroix demanded, growing impatient.

"Stop that and behave yourself," Father Pierre said to the
ancient vampire.  Nick's mouth dropped.  "This is a
sanctuary, and I will not force Nick to go anywhere with
you.  If you wish him to return home, you had better try a
different tactic than that."

LaCroix glared at the young priest, struggling to keep the
vampire under control.  Natalie patted his hand soothingly.

"Nick," she said.  "I moved out, because I thought I was
coming between you and LaCroix.  I was wrong to do that.
Just as you were wrong to move out, thinking we could then
get back together.  Nick, we're a family now.  You two are
all the family I have.  Please come back home."

Nick remained silent. He could hear that Natalie was
sincere, but all he could sense from LaCroix was his
irritation.  "Did you find my tape?" he asked his father
shyly.

"Yes, Nicholas."

"What did you think of it?"

"You know how much I love to hear you play," LaCroix said.

Nick waited, hoping to hear a more complete answer.  LaCroix
closed his eyes, blocking out the distractions of the
mortals in the room.  He reached out to his prodigal child
yet again.  Nicholas was conflicted.  He wanted to come
home, and yet he was afraid.  Afraid of what?

"I loved the composition, Nicholas," LaCroix said then.  "It
is very moving.  The ending though, is a promise of hope.
If this is truly how you feel, then you must want to stay
with us."

Nick hesitated.  He did want to go home.  He was weary, and
moving to a new place would be impossible without
Aristotle's help.  He didn't know where else to go, but
LaCroix was angry.  Nick rubbed at his ribs.  "Are you going
to break any more bones?" he asked defensively.

LaCroix shuddered.  He hadn't planned on it, but now that
the younger vampire mentioned it, it might not be such a bad
idea.  Natalie poked him.  LaCroix glared at her before
turning back to face his child.  Nicholas was verbally
challenging him, but as he opened himself to sense his son,
all he felt was regret and fear.  Nicholas wasn't
challenging his authority.

"No, Nicholas," he said.

"Are we all going home?" Nick asked.

Natalie nodded.  "Yes, Nick.  I'm coming back, too."

Nick shrugged his shoulders, feigning indifference, but no
one was fooled.  He got to his feet.  The others all stood
then as well.  Charlie said good-bye, and her parents
thanked him for helping their little girl. Natalie hugged
Nick, pulling LaCroix in as well.  Then Father Pierre
escorted them outside.

"Good-night," he called.


End, part 7.

DS08

Dead Swans, 08
By Lorelei Sieja



LaCroix opened the door and touched Nick's arm to help him
in the car.  The younger vampire jumped, startled at the
sudden contact and still fearful.  LaCroix scowled.  He had
said he wouldn't break anything tonight... except, now,
maybe his promise.

Nick sat down on the soft leather cushion of the limo and
patted the seat beside him until Perry jumped up and got
comfortable.  LaCroix shut the door with a slam.

The ride to the Raven was made in silence.  Nick still
sensed LaCroix's displeasure. It rolled off the ancient in
waves, each more powerful than the one before.  Nick rubbed
at his stomach, hoping he'd make it home before he lost it,
yet dreading the moment when LaCroix would unleash his
anger.  The ride seemed especially rough tonight, each
bounce and curve accentuating his misery.  Finally he
shouted at the driver to stop and before the wheels had even
ceased turning, Nick threw open the door and rolled out,
kneeling in the snow to heave.  Dark red vampire blood
stained the brown curbside slush.

Perry jumped out, whining companionably, as he leaned close
to his charge.  Natalie hunched down beside him and rubbed
his back as the spasms continued to shake him.  LaCroix
stood near, his arms crossed on his chest and his entire
demeanor one of barely concealed rage.

When at last the spasms passed, Nick pushed back, sitting on
the ground, and stared up in the direction he sensed his
master.  "I changed my mind," Nick said, trying to summon
more courage than he felt.  "I'm not moving back in with
you."

"Yes, you are," LaCroix growled.

"Lucien, shut up," Natalie said.  "Nick, what's wrong?"

"Ask LaCroix.   I sense his anger.  I don't want to be on
the receiving end any longer."

Natalie started to laugh.  LaCroix glared at her, but Nick
was more confused than ever.  She put an arm on his shoulder
and hugged him consolingly, even as she laughed harder.

"LaCroix isn't angry with you, Nick.  He is furious at
Father Pierre," she explained.

"My dear, that will be quite enough," the ancient vampire
commanded threateningly.

"No, it won't!"  Natalie got to her feet and challenged
him.  "Didn't you hear a word Father Pierre said in those
two hours?  He was telling us that we need to communicate
more, to tell one another when we are upset, rather than
stewing about it.  Now obviously, Nick is still upset about
something.  So let's get it out in the open immediately and
deal with it!"

"I'm not much of a sharer," Nick and LaCroix said in tandem.

Natalie stared at them, then laughed again.

"So, you're both going to learn. LaCroix, are you angry with
Nick now?"

"Yes," he said, surprising her.  "For putting us through
hell tonight.  I'm always there for you, Nicholas.  When
Flavius hurt you, and when you were demon-possessed, when
you lost your memories, when you were sick with Fever...  I
came to you every time you needed me.  You ungrateful child,
to run off like this without even saying good-bye!"

"Would you have let me go if I had?"

"Of course not."

Nick glared at him, as though the answer justified his
actions.  Natalie sighed, as she felt this moment of truth
in the slushy curbside of downtown Toronto was
disintegrating.

"You always treat me like a child," Nick accused.  "You even
see me as one.  I know it from your blood.  You have this
image of me, as a seven-year-old!  LaCroix, I can take care
of myself!"

"Tell him, Lucien," Natalie demanded.  "It's past time he
knew."

"Knew what?" Nick asked.

LaCroix looked from the formidable face of his lover to his
child's confused expression.  Drawing a weary breath, the
ancient began.  "Nicholas.  I was not thorough when I helped
you to regain your past.  You assumed that I could not give
your mortal memories, and that is not correct.  You see,
I've known you since you were five years old."

Nick's brow puckered as he considered that.  "Why?  Why
didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Some memories were not pleasant, and I didn't feel they
were worth remembering.  However, if you wish, I will share
them with you, although perhaps you would not mind if first
we went someplace more private?"

Nick still didn't move.  He reached out with his senses.
LaCroix did not seem furious now.  He seemed only weary.
Nick yawned, feeling much the same himself.  He reached out
then with a hand, and waited for LaCroix to take it, pulling
him to his feet.  "You were there?  When I was little?"

"Yes, Nicholas."

Natalie held her breath.  Were these two obstinate beings
finally going to work beyond their barriers and develop a
new closeness?  Her hopes were dashed then, when Nick just
shrugged.  He grinned at them boyishly.

"I have enough trouble with the memories I've got; I don't
need any more to deal with.  But thanks.  I'll ask you to
tell me sometime.  Now, maybe we should go?  I think the
sun's coming up."

LaCroix pulled him close for a quick, hard embrace, and
slapped his behind playfully.  "You irascible child.  By all
means, let us depart."



When they entered the apartment Nick was immediately
surrounded, as Vachon, Urs, Tracy and Jodie all welcomed him
back as though it had been years instead of hours since they
had last seen him.  He laughed good-naturedly, enduring
their affection.

Natalie popped a cork and poured for the vampires, filling
their glasses and wondering at the strange twists her life
had taken as she passed out the drinks.  For six years she
had tried to make Nick mortal.  Now, she only wanted to help
him become healthy again, even if it meant reaffirming the
vampire within him.  Finally, they drifted off into their
separate bedrooms for the day.  Natalie loaded the empties
into the dishwasher and tidied up, before retiring.  She
peeked in Nick's open door, feeling oddly like a worried
mother checking in on a sick child.  Nick always looked
incredibly young in his sleep.  Urs curled up against Nick
on one side, and Perry staked out his half of the bed on the
other side.  Sydney joined the menagerie, as he stretched
out on Nick's chest.

Natalie smiled.

Sydney looked at her with golden eyes.  He yawned then, his
sharp kitty canines glinting in the dim light.

"Good night," she said.

LaCroix was still awake and waiting for her.  His arms were
folded behind his head, and a slow smile spread on his
face.  What showed of his chest above the covers was smooth
and bare, tantalizing her with what must lay beneath.

Natalie slowly removed her clothing, pretending indifference
to the sensual being in the bed.  "I must confess," she said
calmly.  "That being Nick's almost step-mother for these
past few weeks has given me a greater understanding for what
you go through.  I'll have to reconsider my options
carefully."

LaCroix tossed back a corner of the covers, encouraging her
to join him.  "Really, my dear.  And why is that?"

"Because being his parent is bound to give anyone gray
hair," she explained, pouting playfully.

"I can remedy that, my dear," LaCroix promised, pulling her
into a close embrace.

Natalie gasped as her breath caught.  This ancient vampire
could be so infuriating, so pig-headed stubborn and
arrogant, and yet, he made her pulse race and her blood burn
almost effortlessly.  "Oh, Lucien!" she gasped, nipping the
sensitive spot on his throat.  "Let's do something fun
tomorrow.  Go somewhere, do something.  As a family.  Is
there anything at the theater?"

LaCroix's answer was to roll her onto her back and keep her
pinned.  "We'll talk of this later, my love," he said, his
voice strangely deep and gravelly.  The time for talk was
over.

                           *****

Nick grinned, feeling loved and pampered.  Being blind
wasn't all bad, he decided.  First, Urs had awakened him and
they had made passionate love.  Then Vachon had shared his
shower, and LaCroix had fed him on his own ancient blood.
Then Tracy helped him to dress in the formal attire
tonight's festivities would require.  Finally, Natalie had
clucked over him, straightening his bow tie and hair, and
tucking a flask into the breast pocket of his coat.   Even
Perry had been bathed and brushed, as he too would accompany
them to the ballet.

Nick had been hesitant about going.  It wasn't like he could
see anything.  But the music was familiar, and he loved
Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake".  He could remember the ballet in
great detail, and while enjoying the company of his family,
he would see the entire performance through his mind's eye.

On the ride to the theater Tracy and Vachon were bickering
playfully.  LaCroix huffed like an aggravated parent, and
Natalie scolded Perry for drooling on her evening gown,
while Urs just leaned her head against Nick's shoulder
affectionately.  Nick wondered what families were supposed
to be like, but he decided that this one was worth keeping.
He knew that he and LaCroix would have more battles in the
future, but for once, Nick finally understood what eternity
meant.  LaCroix would always be there.  He would always care
about Nick, and he would always want to be a part of his
life.  These four vampires, and the one mortal,
eventually-to-be vampire, were his family.  He didn't have
to try to be the perfect child, or the perfect cop.  He
didn't have to pretend to be something that he wasn't. They
had seen him for what he truly was - even less than what he
was, yet they still loved him.  They had worried about him
when he was gone and had come searching for him
immediately.  They were family.

Nick wondered if LaCroix knew how symbolic this ballet was?
To be here tonight, on the eve of his transformation, as he
stood at the threshold between two worlds, the world of what
had been and the world of what could be?

In the ballet, Prince Siegfried was also at a threshold.  It
was his 21st birthday and his mother told him he must soon
be married.  He fled from her, seeking shelter in the
forest.  Nicholas used to identify with the prince.  How
often he had fled from his father, into metaphorical forests
of stone?

The prince then went hunting.  That wasn't even symbolic.
Hunting often relaxed Nick, even as it disgusted him.  The
prince saw a swan and took aim, preparing to shoot... only
the bird transformed into a lovely girl, Princess Odette.
She was symbolic of whatever mortal friend Nick had made
over the centuries, whoever it was that LaCroix was trying
to force him to leave.  She was pure, sweet, and fleeting,
ethereal light to Nick's cursed darkness.

But in the play, Odette and her companions had been turned
into swans by the evil magician Von Rothbart.  Only true
love would save her.  The prince, noble character that he
was, promised to love and marry her.

Von Rothbart, the symbolic LaCroix, tried to trick them.  At
a ball thrown by the Queen, Rothbart's daughter Odile danced
with the prince, convincing him that she was Odette.
Siegfried declared his undying love for her.  She laughed
triumphantly, and he realized his mistake.

He fled to the lake and begged Odette's forgiveness.  She
offered it, but remained with the other swan maidens
imprisoned under Rothbart's curse forever.  In a final act
of desperation, Siegfried and Odette throw themselves into
the lake and drown, breaking the evil spell by the power of
their love.

Nicholas sniggered.  Tonight the story struck him as
stupid.  If Siegfried had truly loved Odette, how could he
have not seen through Odile's deception?  If Odette had
truly loved him, how could she have let him drown?  Nick
didn't weep for the tragic end of the lovers; instead he was
convinced that they were ignorant and foolhardy.

It was time he bury his own dead swans.  LaCroix was not an
evil magician.  He could be evil, yet he could also be
loving.  He was the sum of both and capable of either, like
every sentient being on the face of the earth.  Nick needed
to forgive him his shortcomings and accept him as he was.

Nick had been foolish many times in his long life.  There
were times when LaCroix had tried to trick him, and he had
fallen for it, sinking in to decades of despair.  If he
could forgive his master, then perhaps he could also forgive
himself?  It wasn't an issue of transferring blame, but
rather to accept it and to move on.  He had killed so many
people... some innocent and some not quite.  But he hadn't
killed anybody today.  If he took life one moment at a time,
it wasn't quite so overwhelming.  Yesterday no longer
mattered, and tomorrow would be here soon enough.

As he listened to the familiar ballet of tragic love and
death and beauty, Nick just smiled.




The End.

To be continued....



 **NOTE: Original poem, "How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth
Barrett Browning

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