This is a very belated birthday story for Kathy Whelton, who celebrated her special day Aug. 23. I started this over a year ago thinking I'd have it done in plenty of time. Best laid plans and all that ... But she knows why it's late and she forgives me. What a pal! P.S. Don't blame me if this doesn't go the way you expect. Sometimes you just have to write them as they come to you. Dutiful disclaimers: This story is based on the "Forever Knight" TV series to which I have no claim, other than a deep and abiding fondness and respect for the talent involved. The FK characters aren't mine, though I'd be awfully proud if they were. Permission granted to archive this story on Mel's FK fanfic site and the ftp site. ================================================ Department of Fate by Cindy Ingram October 1999 ================================================ Facilitator Cyrus hurried down the hallway, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming colleague. Barely a minute had passed since the summons had reached him, but he knew how the Overseer hated to be kept waiting. Pausing just long enough for a contrite smile and a breathless apology, Cyrus continued his headlong rush down the corridor, skidding to a halt scant seconds later outside the Overseer's office door. Facilitator Phineas was waiting for him. "Friend Cyrus, how good to see you!" Phineas smiled in greeting. "Your arrival is most timely." Cyrus, breathing heavily from his exertions, waved a hand in acknowledgement. "I came as soon as I received word," he gasped. "It sounded quite urgent. Whatever could have happened to warrant such a precipitous response?" "I fear I am as much in the dark as you, my friend. I, myself, have just arrived. As soon as I learned you were also summoned, I thought it best to wait out here so we could make our entrance together." "Very considerate of you, my dear Phineas. I'm most appreciative." "Not at all," the other protested modestly, then indicated the door. "Shall we?" "Certainly." The pair entered the reception area, where they were immediately ushered into the Overseer's office. The promptness with which they were received only served to increase their curiosity. Fortunately -- or not -- it didn't take long to learn the nature of the emergency. "It's the de Brabant/Lambert fiasco, of course," the Overseer informed them sourly. "We seem to concern ourselves with little else these days." Seated behind the massive desk that dominated the room, the Overseer sighed in exasperation. His fingers formed a steeple as he leaned forward to stare solemnly at his two best facilitators. "Things have taken a turn for the worse, gentlemen," he announced ominously. "Again, sir? But I was under the impression everything had been straightened out." Phineas protested. "Yes ... so we had hoped. But there have been, shall we say ... unforeseen complications." "Serious complications, sir?" Phineas asked. "I'm afraid 'serious' is something of an understatement. It's far worse than any of the other obstacles we've encountered in this case." "Oh dear," Phineas sighed. "Quite," the Overseer agreed. Cyrus, who up to now had followed the conversation with all the bewilderment of a football fan at a tennis match, finally spoke up. "Forgive me, sir, but I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the case. Perhaps someone could explain?" "I can do better than that, Cyrus," the Overseer replied. He motioned to a large screen on the wall behind him. "Observe." With a slight wave of his hand, the screen flickered to life, revealing images of three people, at least one of whom seemed in a rather bad way. Unless, of course, she was in the habit of taking naps on a cold, hard floor. Cyrus gasped in consternation as the only one of the trio still standing raised a long stick with a pointed end and aimed it at the back of another man kneeling beside the woman. *"Damn you, Nicholas!"* Another flick of the Overseer's wrist, and the image froze. "Oh dear." Phineas' voice was fraught with distress. "Oh dear, no. No, this won't work at all. It's not supposed to end this way. Don't they understand?" "Apparently not," the Overseer intoned dryly. "Which is exactly why I've summoned the two of you here." Despite the scene he had just witnessed, Cyrus remained confused. "Forgive me, sir," he ventured again, "but I'm afraid I *still* don't understand." The Overseer lifted a folder from his desk and handed it to Cyrus. "You'll find all the pertinent facts in there. It would be best to familiarize yourself with them as soon as we're done here. But the situation, in a nutshell, is this: A thirteenth-century Crusader knight, born Nicholas de Brabant, and a twentieth-century pathologist by the name of Natalie Lambert are soul mates -- destined to live out their lives together." "But, sir," Cyrus interrupted, surprise momentarily robbing him of his normal circumspection. "Isn't that somewhat ... unlikely ... considering they were born more than seven hundred years apart?" "Exactly. Which is *why* steps were taken to rectify the situation," the Overseer responded, a slight note of censure creeping into his voice. "Unfortunately, those ... measures ... have created an entirely new set of problems." Taking in stride his superior's subtle reprimand, Cyrus forged ahead, albeit more tactfully this time. "Forgive me, Overseer, but ... what steps did we take, exactly?" His question was greeted by silence, interrupted at last by Phineas, who cleared his throat rather noisily. The Overseer gazed at Cyrus in stony reproach until he'd made his point. Then he spoke. "We made him a vampire." "What?!" Cyrus gasped, too flabbergasted to hide his shock. Open-mouthed, he stared at Phineas, who studiously avoided his gaze. "More accurately," the Overseer continued, "we *allowed* him to be turned into a vampire." "But ... but ..." Cyrus sputtered. "Why?!" The Overseer turned his gaze on Phineas, who finally found his voice. "It seemed the only plausible way," he said, shrugging awkwardly. "You see, de Brabant was actually supposed to be a fifteenth-century dairy farmer. Doctor Lambert would have been his childhood sweetheart. They were meant to marry, have fourteen children and live out their lives in boring and ignominious bliss until they both expired, at a rather advanced age, within a few days of one another." "Obviously, it didn't work out that way," Cyrus observed. "Quite right," Phineas sighed. "There was some ridiculous bureaucratic snafu, and the next thing you know, they were eight centuries apart." The Overseer's voice intruded. "As I said, Facilitator Cyrus, the details are in the file. Study it carefully before you leave." Cyrus nodded. "If I may ask, sir, where are we going?" "Phineas is going to Toronto to make contact with Doctor Lambert. You are taking a somewhat longer journey, I'm afraid -- to the thirteenth century, to be exact. You will travel back to the point in time when de Brabant is about to be brought across and make certain he knows enough to avoid the pitfalls leading up to this moment," the Overseer said, indicating the frozen scene behind him. "Once that is accomplished, we shall allow events to unfold accordingly. And *this* time," he added, with a pointed glare, "we shall have the correct ending, shall we not?" "Of course, sir," Phineas quickly assured him. "With the help of Facilitator Cyrus, I'm certain we'll soon have the entire matter set right." Without further ado, the pair excused themselves and hastily exited the office. Once outside, Phineas heaved a loud sigh of relief. "I fear this case has sorely tried his patience," he said, turning to Cyrus. "It's been extremely high-maintenance, what with one thing and another." Cyrus frowned. "I confess I was rather surprised at the unorthodox approach taken," he admitted. "But in light of the enormous error made, I suppose it was the most practical solution." Glancing down at the file still clutched in his hand, he shook his head. Then, his brow clearing, he faced Phineas with a determined smile. "Actually, I quite welcome the challenge this case offers," he cheerfully insisted. "Never let it be said that Facilitator Cyrus balked at a few minor obstacles, eh?" Phineas, though somewhat less exuberant, nodded in agreement. "While you're in the thirteenth century, I'll pop in to see Doctor Lambert, as the Overseer instructed, and explain the situation to her. If they're both aware of the dangers, the odds of a successful outcome will be greatly increased, don't you think?" "Oh my, yes!" Cyrus nodded emphatically. "One can never take too many precautions. Now, if you'll excuse me, dear Phineas, I must retire to study this file. The sooner I know all the facts, the sooner we can get these two back on their proper course." With that, he sketched a quick bow and hurried off down the hallway, almost as rapidly as he'd come. +++++++ Paris, 1228 The shadowy recesses of the large banquet hall afforded Cyrus an excellent vantage point from which to observe his unsuspecting client. Gazing across the room at the knight in question, he felt a rush of excitement surge through him. He'd never journeyed in time before, and he'd always had a certain fascination for this particular period in history. He was more than gratified by the chance to experience it first-hand. In fact, he felt positively giddy. But even as he congratulated himself on his good fortune, Cyrus resolved not to lose sight of his primary reason for being there. The mission entrusted to him was of the utmost importance, and he was determined not to fail. He would wait, and watch, and when the right moment presented itself, he would approach Nicholas de Brabant and reveal the purpose of his visit. Despite his good intentions, however, Cyrus' fascination with the medieval drama surrounding him led to a relaxed vigilance on his part. Thus, he failed to notice when the blond knight abandoned his drinking companions and retreated to a large hearth on the far side of the room. It wasn't until Nicholas stood warming himself by the fire, gazing steadily into the flames, that Cyrus, with a slight start, realized his opportunity had finally arrived. Clutching the folds of his long tunic in one hand, he hurried across the chamber, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Arriving at the hearth, he addressed de Brabant's broad back. "Do forgive me for intruding, Sir Nicholas, but I wonder if I might have a word with you?" World-weary blue eyes turned his way, and Cyrus blinked, caught off guard by the arresting quality of the knight's gaze. It had an undeniable magnetism that left him momentarily speechless. Giving himself a sound mental shake, Cyrus cleared his throat. "Do forgive my presumption, but I assure you it's a matter of the utmost importance -- life and death, one might very well say," he added earnestly. Waiting for a response, Cyrus fought the urge to fidget beneath the weight of de Brabant's hard, assessing stare. He'd just begun to wonder if he'd mixed up his languages when he saw a gleam of amusement appear in the blue eyes. "I am listening," Nicholas allowed, his lips curving in a faint smile. Having given this initial overture a great deal of thought, Cyrus realized there was no gentle way to prepare a person for the kind of news he planned to deliver. So he opted for the direct approach. "I'm from the future," he announced grandly, then frowned. "Well ... not exactly the future ... there's more to it than that. But it's the simplest way to explain it, you see. Otherwise, we merely get bogged down in complicated details that really have nothing at all to do with the matter in question." Dismissing that possibility with a wave of his hand, Cyrus took a deep breath. "The point is, I've come here to keep you from making a terrible mistake eight hundred years from now." Pausing, he stared up at de Brabant expectantly. Nicholas stared back. Cyrus blinked and cleared his throat again. "I know this may be difficult for you to believe," he continued, less confident now. It had suddenly occurred to him that even the direct approach had its drawbacks. "But I *can* prove it," he added emphatically. One eyebrow rose. "And I suppose you'd like to know how," Cyrus surmised, recognizing a skeptic when he saw one. Pursing his lips in thought, his cherubic face turned solemn as he tried to recall suitably convincing tidbits from de Brabant's past -- things that few, if any, besides Nicholas would be likely to know. "Let me see, now ... ah! I have it! Remember that little incident with your father's sword? You took it without his permission when you were just a young lad and could barely lift it from the ground. You cut yourself rather badly but lied to your parents and told them you sliced your leg when you stumbled over a scythe." Cyrus chuckled softly, missing both the flash of surprise on de Brabant's face and the abrupt narrowing of his eyes. "Yes indeed, you were quite the young scamp in those days," he teased. "And remember when you slipped a snake into Father Henri's bed after he chastised your cousin Marguerite so severely that he made her cry? Or all the times you used to sneak out of your bed at night, so you could hide and listen to the stories the knights would tell?" Hesitating, Cyrus shifted his gaze to a point somewhere beyond de Brabant's left shoulder and coughed delicately, a faint rosy tinge suffusing his cheeks. "And then, of course, there was the matter of the cook's daughters --" A hand shot out and seized his shoulder in an iron grip. "Enough!" Nicholas growled, then studied Cyrus with a suspicious glare. "How do you know these things?" he demanded. "What manner of demon are you? What magic do you wield to see inside my head in this fashion?" Cyrus sputtered indignantly, offended outrage causing him to forget his somewhat precarious situation. "I beg your pardon, sir! I am no demon, and I really don't know what I've done to warrant such an insult!" He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Why do they always think we're part of that *other* operation?" he complained, then returned his attention to the glowering Nicholas. "As for *magic* ... I'll have you know, no self-respecting facilitator such as myself would ever stoop to such paltry trickery!" With an added "hmph" for emphasis, he glared sternly up at the knight. "I *know* these things, sir, because I read them in your file!" "My what?" Nicholas asked, his scowl deepening. "Your file! Your file! The recorded account of your *life*!" With an inarticulate cry of frustration, Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut, drawing in several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. As his annoyance faded away, he opened his eyes and smiled apologetically. "Oh dear," he said. "Please forgive me. I'm afraid I have a bit of a temper when it comes to any mention of that *other* place. I do apologize, and I assure you that I am no demon. Quite the opposite. If you like, we can find the nearest church and continue our discussion there. You may even douse me in holy water if it will help ease your suspicions," he added magnanimously. "No demon could possibly withstand that." For a long moment, Nicholas studied him, blue eyes narrowed in silent speculation. At last, he seemed to reach a decision and his frown eased, replaced by curiosity. "Thank you for the offer, but that won't be necessary. Why don't you just tell me what it is you want," he suggested. "Then you believe me?" Cyrus asked, peering at him intently. The knight heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'm willing to listen," he replied sharply. Then, folding his arms across his chest, he tilted his head, indicating a wish for Cyrus to proceed. It was the most he could hope for at this point, Cyrus supposed. "Well, the thing is," he began slowly, "a rather unfortunate mistake was made at the time of your birth. You were born in the wrong place and time, you see -- one of those annoying bureaucratic snafus that occur more frequently than we care to admit. It's quite embarrassing really." Nicholas nodded thoughtfully. "Ah," he responded, his tone noncommittal. He studied Cyrus with an air of amused skepticism. "And what is this thing -- this 'bureaucratic snafus' -- that happened so inconveniently?" Cyrus briefly contemplated telling de Brabant about his intended life as an obscure fifteenth-century dairy farmer. But gazing at the proud knight before him, he decided some things were better left unsaid. "It doesn't really matter. I couldn't possibly begin to explain the intricacies of bureaucracy -- earthly or otherwise," he replied quickly. "The point is, something is going to happen tonight ... something very important. It will change the entire course of your life and bring you together with the woman who was destined to be your soul mate." "Soul mate?" Cyrus clarified. "The one woman in existence who can make your life complete." Though he tried to hide it, Cyrus could tell de Brabant was intrigued. "Tonight, you say?" the knight asked, his studied nonchalance belied by the spark of interest in his eyes. "Yes!" Cyrus nodded emphatically. "A short time from now, you will be approached by a mysterious lady, possibly the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. And she'll invite you to ... um ..." The facilitator's cheeks reddened again as he ducked his head and searched for the right words. "... to ... ah ... to take ... pleasure ... with her," he finished awkwardly. Nicholas' smile widened into a grin. "But there's something you should know," Cyrus cautioned quickly. "This is no ordinary woman. She's a vampire. And she wants you to become a vampire, too." The knight frowned. "A vampire?" "Yes, it's a creature that --" "I know what a vampire is," Nicholas interrupted impatiently. "They don't exist." Cyrus sighed as he gazed at the uncompromising face before him. Personally, he thought it was rather silly to profess a belief in demons and magic but scoff at the mention of vampires. But he wisely chose to keep his opinion to himself. Instead, he waved the statement away. "Never mind, Sir Nicholas. You don't have to believe me at this point. You'll find out for yourself soon enough, and then you'll understand the importance of what I'm about to tell you. But for now, merely for the sake of argument, let us pretend that you believe me, hmm?" With a soft snort of laughter, Nicholas shook his head, then nodded good-naturedly. "Very well, my strange little friend. Let us pretend that I do." Placing a booted foot on the wooden stool beside him, he leaned forward, resting one arm on his thigh. "So," he whispered theatrically, "I suppose I am to resist this beautiful vampire's attempts to seduce me?" Cyrus shook his head so vigorously that he felt dizzy when he stopped. "No, no, no!" he exclaimed. "That is exactly what you must *not* do! If we are ever to set things right, you *must* become a vampire!" "Ah!" Nicholas nodded again. "Then this woman ... this vampire ... she is the one I am fated to be with?" Cyrus sighed even louder this time, struggling to contain his exasperation. Really, this de Brabant fellow was most trying. It would be much easier if he would just wait for an explanation, rather than trying to guess -- and incorrectly, at that. "No," Cyrus answered, a long-suffering note creeping into his voice. "She will come to mean a great deal to you, but she is *not* your soul mate. Will you please refrain from jumping ahead?" Nicholas straightened, his eyebrows climbing to his hairline, and Cyrus was instantly contrite. "Oh dear, do forgive me. It's just that this is a very complicated case, and it's rather difficult to explain if you keep interrupting." Offering the knight a conciliatory smile, he cocked his head and rubbed his hands together. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes ... you must go with the woman and do exactly as she asks. It's the only way you will ever be united with your one true love. However, it will take quite a while for you to catch up with her since she, too, was born outside of her proper place. And many things will happen to you before you find her. "That," he added, with a dramatic pause, "is why *I* am here." "To turn me into a vampire," Nicholas guessed, nodding thoughtfully. Taken aback, Cyrus shook his head. "Oh, dear me, no. That part is quite out of my hands. My task is to make sure you're prepared to deal with certain problems that lie ahead." He then proceeded to explain, smiling sadly. "You're a good man, at heart, Sir Nicholas. But, as a vampire, you will do things over the next few centuries -- terrible, vile things -- that will leave you with a tremendous burden of guilt to bear. That guilt will become so strong that it will take over your life, causing you to make some very foolish decisions ... one in particular. That outcome must be avoided at all costs." He raised a hand. "And before you ask, I am not at liberty to go into more detail on that point. Suffice it to say that, while a conscience is a good thing to have, it's generally best not to let yourself be overwhelmed by it. Try to keep things in their proper perspective, and don't judge yourself too harshly, no matter what awful, detestable things you do." As he completed the well-rehearsed speech, Cyrus eyed his charge with a hopeful expression. "Do you understand?" he asked. "No," Nicholas replied. "Oh." Cyrus' face fell. "Perhaps," the knight suggested, as a dangerous glint returned to his eyes, "it would help if you shared with me some of these horrific deeds I am fated to commit." Recognizing the "suggestion" for the command that it was, Cyrus swallowed nervously, concentrating hard. "Let me see now ... there was ... ah ... well ... the time you killed your wife. Not your true love, of course," he added hastily. "Just someone you married along the way." Nicholas stared at him, shocked. "And you lured countless innocent young maidens to their doom, draining them of their life's blood and callously disposing of their bodies so that their heartbroken families would never know what had happened to them." Nicholas stared at him, shocked and horrified. "And when your sister decided to stop having intimate relations with you, you were quite unreasonable about the whole affair. Oh! Not your *mortal* sister, of course," Cyrus added hastily in response to Nicholas' strangled cough. "It was your *immortal* sister, part of your vampire family-to-be. When she left you, you were in quite a snit and embarked on a bloody killing rampage across the continent." Nicholas stared at him, shocked, horrified, and dismayed. Cyrus remembered something else. "Oh, yes ... and you killed your dog." Nicholas stared at him, shocked, horrified, dismayed, and outraged. "AH-HAH!" he roared, grabbing Cyrus by the tunic and hauling the round face close to his own. "Now I am *certain* you are lying!" His voice dropped to a menacing rumble. "A man might succumb to temptation. He might *even* kill his wife! Accidents happen. But he would *never* ... kill ... his ... dog!" Arms flailing, Cyrus tried to choke out a response but could only manage a slight wheeze until Nicholas relented and released his stranglehold, albeit reluctantly. The knight glowered at Cyrus as he waited for an explanation. Smoothing his rumpled clothing back into place, the facilitator coughed a few times before continuing. "Yes, well ... that was a most unfortunate incident ... and quite out of character for you, in the normal way of things," Cyrus agreed, as he recovered his equanimity. "But you were forced into it, you see. You had no choice." Nicholas eyed him with a skeptical expression. "Who could possibly force me to commit such a heinous act?" he demanded, an arrogant tilt to his chin. "No one will ever wield that much power over the son of Gervaise de Brabant!" "Ah, but you haven't met Lucien LaCroix yet," Cyrus countered. "He's your father ... in vampire terms, that is. He's the one who will actually 'bring you across,' as they say. He's quite a force to be reckoned with, believe me. At this stage in his existence, he's over eleven hundred years old, and I'm afraid he can be a bit ... inflexible ... in some respects. He wants what he wants when he wants it, and woe unto anyone who gets in his way. And he wants you. He *always* wants you. You're his favorite, and he turns rather nasty when you try to get away from him." Nicholas frowned, a hint of alarm crossing his face. "When you say that he 'wants' me ... do you mean he *wants* me?" he asked, with a meaningful look. "Well ..." Cyrus cleared his throat uneasily. "Some seem to think so. But I'm afraid I haven't read his file, so I couldn't say for certain. Let's just concede he's very fond of you and leave it at that, shall we?" Eager to distract his client from any further speculation on that point, Cyrus forged ahead. "I should also warn you he's rather unhappy that, after living on human blood for so many centuries, you swore off killing and began drinking cow's blood instead." Cyrus smiled suddenly, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous twinkle. "Clever, isn't it?" he asked smugly. "The way we managed to work in the cows?" At the confused look Nicholas gave him, Cyrus was abruptly reminded of what he *hadn't* told de Brabant. His smile vanished, and he hurriedly changed the subject. "Yes, well ... getting back to your earlier question about the dog ... LaCroix forced you to kill him. In his mind, he was teaching you a lesson." Cyrus heaved a noisy sigh. "He does that a great deal, I'm afraid, and he never seems to catch on that it generally has the opposite effect from what he intended. The more you resist, the more ... creative ... he becomes in tormenting you. One of his favorite pastimes is killing the various women with whom you become infatuated -- you do that rather a lot, you know -- or, he tricks *you* into killing them." The facilitator paused, shaking his head sadly. "To be fair, though, you often wind up killing them with no encouragement from him whatsoever. But he enjoys that, too -- standing by and watching, then gloating afterwards when you're sick with remorse." Nicholas stared at Cyrus. "So ... are you saying that, from this night on, any woman I love will die?" he asked slowly. "Yes. But only for seven hundred years or so, and then, as I've already told you, you'll meet a *very* special woman!" Cyrus beamed at him encouragingly. "She's the love of your very long life -- the woman you were meant to be with -- and finding her will make everything you'll endure these next few centuries absolutely worth it." Nicholas appeared to contemplate that for a moment as he stared off into space. Then, his gaze returning to Cyrus, he demanded, "What manner of woman is she ... this one true love of mine?" "Oh, she's a *lovely* girl," Cyrus assured him enthusiastically. "Quite beautiful, in fact!" Nicholas' lips curved in a faint smile. "And quite devoted to you. When you look at her in that certain way you have, she can deny you nothing." The smile grew wider. "And you're quite fortunate in that she's uncommonly intelligent, too." The smile vanished, replaced by a frown. "She's a doctor, you know," Cyrus added. Nicholas frowned harder. "A doctor?" he asked suspiciously. "Yes. You know ... a physician?" Nicholas' brow cleared. "Ah ... she's a midwife, you mean." "No." Cyrus shook his head. "I told you, she's a *physician.*" The frown returned. "Of course, she doesn't exactly *treat* people. Her patients are already dead. She examines them to discover how and why they died." "That cannot be," Nicholas objected. "It is a coroner's place to do that." "Exactly!" Cyrus clasped his hands together, beaming at Nicholas and nodding vigorously. "That's *exactly* what she is!" "Impossible," Nicholas argued, scowling. "A woman may not be a coroner -- only a knight or a freeholder may claim that position." "Well ... things have changed a bit over the years," Cyrus acknowledged. "And a coroner's work is somewhat different in this time than it will be in the future. She doesn't merely examine them, you see ... she dissects them. She cuts them open, even removes the organs, so that she can find out exactly what killed them. It's quite impressive when you stop to consider it, don't you think?" Noting Nicholas' appalled expression, Cyrus sighed. Perhaps focusing on Natalie Lambert's professional accomplishments was the wrong approach to take. Better to extol her many virtues, he thought. Switching tactics, Cyrus smiled sympathetically. "Ah well, I dare say it does sound rather strange at this point," he conceded. "But don't worry. You'll get used to the idea." He shook his head admiringly. "She really is quite extraordinary, you know, even for the twentieth century. She's strong-willed, outspoken, *fiercely* independent. No damsel-in-distress mentality there, I promise you. She's definitely not one of those soft, helpless clinging vines. No, indeed. Quite the take-charge person is your Natalie. Always in control. Never one to give up. *Very* tenacious. And she's done a remarkable job of whipping *you* into shape, I must say. Even though you don't always make it easy for her. You're a bit of a rascal in that respect," he chided playfully, wagging his finger in good-natured admonishment. During Cyrus' recitation, Nicholas' smile had grown increasingly strained. "And you say I love this woman?" he asked, in obvious disbelief. "Oh, deeply!" Cyrus assured him. "Why else would you suffer through all her treatments when, down deep in your heart, you don't really believe they'll work? Drinking vile-tasting protein shakes, letting her stick you with needles, forcing yourself to take all sorts of disagreeable pills ... some of which have had fairly nasty side effects, I might add. Not to mention staunchly resisting the carnal temptations that assail you night and day -- all for her sake!" Dumbfounded, Nicholas stared at him. "Carnal temptations? Why should I resist my carnal temptations?" When Cyrus merely eyed him sternly, the knight stiffened defensively. "If we are truly fated for one another, as you say," he argued, "it would be only natural to satisfy those urges, would it not?" Cyrus started to reply, then hesitated, a slight furrow creasing his brow. He really hadn't meant to bring up that part of it, but the words had slipped out before he'd realized it. He certainly had no desire to explain the situation in detail. Especially since, considering what he knew of de Brabant's rather lusty nature, he was certain it would not be well received. Unfortunately, he saw no way out of it. "In the normal way of things, you wouldn't have to," he reluctantly admitted. "But, as I've already explained, this won't be a normal situation." "Then explain it again -- more thoroughly this time," Nicholas ordered. His tone left no room for argument. Cyrus sighed, resigned to the awkward task. "Well ... as a vampire, you won't be able to ... enjoy ... a woman in quite the same way you do now." Aghast, Nicholas stared at him. "Are you saying I will no longer be able to lie with a woman?" Cyrus frowned, confused. "Oh, you'll most certainly be able to lie with them. You just won't be able to ... to ... to have *sex* with them," he explained, blushing profusely. "But you won't miss it," he promised, before his conscience forced him to add, "... much." Dropping his gaze, Cyrus suddenly discovered an enormous fascination with Nicholas' left boot. "That's why you resist the feelings you have for her, you see. If you try to do what you *want* to do ... or any of the things leading up to it ... then you'd wind up killing her." He looked up again. "Do you understand?" he asked for a second time, but with far less optimism than before. Much to his surprised relief, however, his rather troublesome client nodded. "Yes," Nicholas said. "Yes, I believe I do. I'm to become a vampire so that I may live long enough to find my true love -- seven hundred years or so, you said? -- and we can finally be together ... but not be together." His gaze hardened. "It makes perfect sense." "Yes, it does!" Cyrus agreed enthusiastically, happily missing the sarcasm behind the words. "And as I told you, she's extremely bright! It might take a while, I admit, but she's working very hard to find a way to make you human again so that you may live out the remainder of your mortal days together." Nicholas folded his arms. "Will she succeed?" he challenged. Cyrus hesitated. "Well ... I'm not privy to that information, but one would assume so. Otherwise, what would be the point of all this? The important thing to remember is that it won't do you any good if you let your guilt overwhelm you, causing you to make that terrible mistake that I'm not allowed to tell you about. So whatever you do, don't ... feel ... guilty!" Cyrus broke off and cast a hurried glance around the room before turning back to Nicholas. "Dear me, this has taken much longer than I had expected. I really should withdraw, and you must return to your companions." Suddenly, Cyrus spied Janette entering the banquet hall. "Shhh! Here she comes. Now, get back to the table and remember everything I've told you. All you have to do is get through these next few centuries and you'll be just fine!" Instead of following instructions, however, Nicholas turned to stare at the dark-haired beauty, who had halted a few steps inside the doorway. Cyrus tugged impatiently on his arm. "Go on, go on!" he scolded. "We don't have all night." Clearly captivated by the vision before him, Nicholas nodded slowly and started across the room. He halted once, tearing his gaze from Janette long enough to look back at Cyrus, who made little shooing motions with his hands. When he at last reclaimed his seat at the table, Nicholas snatched up a cup of spiced wine and downed the contents without stopping to draw breath. Cyrus moved closer, watching as the raven-haired temptress approached the table, her smoldering gaze fixed intently on her lover-to-be. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Nicholas looked up, and his eyes locked with hers. "How much do you want me?" she mouthed. Though the words were lost in the din of the noisy hall, their meaning was clear. Cyrus held his breath, watching as Nicholas rose from the table and slowly approached her, his gaze never leaving her face. When he reached her, she lifted a slender hand to lightly caress his cheek. From where he stood, Cyrus had an excellent view of the lascivious light shining in de Brabant's eyes as the knight leaned in close, intent on capturing her mouth with his. But she stopped him just short of his target. "How much do you want me?" she asked again, the husky timbre of her voice carrying its own darkly seductive promise. Still holding his breath, Cyrus waited as Nicholas' gaze shifted to meet his own. The knight looked at Cyrus, then looked at Janette, looked back to Cyrus, then back to Janette. His eyes found Cyrus a final time before returning, at last, to settle on Janette. Shaking his head, he sighed. "Alas, dear lady ... not enough." With a regretful smile, he raised her hand to his lips, then moved away to rejoin his cronies at the table. It was a clear dismissal of both vampire and facilitator. Nonplused, Cyrus turned toward Janette, who stared after Nicholas, disbelief clearly etched on her lovely face. Seconds later, however, a mask of indifference dropped into place as she shrugged and tossed her head. Aiming a withering glare at the knight, who was once again sharing toasts and swapping bawdy tales with his companions, she turned her back and stalked away. With her went any hope Cyrus had of salvaging the situation. He was still standing there, trying desperately to pinpoint what had gone wrong, when he heard a voice whisper in his ear. With a start, he turned to find a beaming Phineas beside him. "I do hope I'm not intruding, Cyrus. I thought I'd pop in and let you know that everything is set on the Toronto end. I've spoken with Doctor Lambert -- such a lovely woman, she is -- and I'm confidant she's quite prepared to avoid those nasty little pitfalls I warned her about. In fact, I suspect she's looking forward to the challenge." Phineas clapped his hands together in eager anticipation. "Now, if things are settled here, then all that's left is to sit back and watch the happy ending!" he concluded. His smile faded, however, as he took in Cyrus' glum expression. "Friend Cyrus?" "I'm afraid there's been another ... complication. He's decided he doesn't want to be a vampire," Cyrus said morosely, pointing first to a jovial Nicholas, still carousing with his friends, then across the hall at Janette, who was carefully eying an impressive-looking knight -- a Sicilian, judging by his heraldic badge, with broad shoulders and long black hair. "What?!" Phineas gasped, shocked. "But why?" Cyrus shook his head, completely bewildered. "I don't know! Things seemed to be going so well. I just don't understand what happened." As Cyrus' shoulders slumped despondently, Phineas placed a consoling hand on his arm. "There, there, Cyrus. I'm sure whatever it was, it had nothing to do with you. We all know de Brabant was never very happy being a vampire. It appears this time around he realized it sooner, rather than later. It's regrettable, but hardly your fault." Cyrus smiled wanly. "Thank you, Phineas. I do appreciate your kind words." He hesitated, biting his lip unhappily. "I suppose there's nothing left for us to do now but report this to the Overseer." Phineas sighed. "An unfortunate necessity, my friend," he agreed. "But first, we'd best make a stop in Toronto for another talk with Doctor Lambert. She must be made aware of this unpropitious development." Motioning Cyrus to follow, Phineas moved toward a dark and isolated corner of the hall, the better to make their exit unobserved. But Cyrus hung back, gazing forlornly at de Brabant, who seemed intent on drinking himself into a stupor. Meanwhile, a few feet away, he could see Janette casting her seductive spell on the all-too-willing Sicilian knight. At last, Cyrus reluctantly joined his colleague in the shadows, turning to him with pleading eyes. "Perhaps we're being too hasty," he protested weakly. "There might still be time to fix things, Phineas. I'm certain if we just put our heads together, we can come up with a way." Phineas shrugged. "I wish we could, but I'm afraid it's too late, my friend," he said. "Once the window of opportunity has passed, events must follow their own course." "But can we be absolutely positive we've passed that point?" Cyrus persisted, still loathe to accept defeat. "I would say it's almost a certainty," Phineas replied, nodding toward the far side of the chamber. Following his gaze, Cyrus turned just in time to see Janette depart the banquet hall, followed closely by her eager Sicilian. "Oh dear," Cyrus sighed, as the pair disappeared. "Doctor Lambert will be *so* disappointed." Knowing it was hopeless, yet compelled to ask, he regarded Phineas with a beseeching look. "Isn't there *anything* we can do?" "Yes," Phineas replied, just before he blinked out of sight. "We can hope the doctor's partial to dark-haired Italians." ======= Finis? Comments, complaints and lavish words of praise to: "Cindy Ingram" ================================================== My FK fiction page: http://people.mn.mediaone.net/nancykam/cific.html ================================================== What's another word for thesaurus? ("Say good Knight, Gracie." -- G. Burns)