In recent months, real life commitments and time constraints have kept me
offline most of the time. I've even considered retiring from the FK fandom
since I'm falling so far behind. But, gosh darn it, that's something I
can't quite bring myself to do yet!

Sooo ... in a feeble effort to feel connected, here's a story featuring
Nick, Natalie, Lacroix, Janette, Schanke and Stonetree. It originally
appeared in the 1999 charity fanzine, "A Taste of Forever." Since I'm
rarely satisfied with anything I've written, I've tweaked it a bit. But for
those who may have already read it, be advised there aren't any major
changes, only some minor polishing.

Many thanks to Nancy Kaminski and Kathy Whelton for their wonderful
beta-reading skills and invaluable feedback.

Hope you enjoy!


=====================
Mortal Ties

By Cindy Ingram
Posted December 2000
=====================

He stood by the window, gazing into the darkness beyond the open shutters.
A view of nighttime Toronto stretched out before him like concentrated
splashes of light scattered across a black canvas -- a vibrant city
bustling with life even at this late hour.

But the same could not be said for the area surrounding the building he
presently occupied. The only illumination there came from the floodlight
mounted above the outside entryway and a lone street lamp situated on an
adjacent corner. At night, this part of the city was all but deserted, save
for the homeless men and women haunting the back streets and alleyways,
seeking temporary refuge in empty trash dumpsters and boarded-up
warehouses. Even the daylight brought little traffic his way.

It was everything he'd needed, everything he had longed for when he'd first
arrived in the city. In the isolation and anonymity, he had found his own
form of sanctuary.

But over the months the solitude had begun to wear on him, gradually
transforming his haven into a prison. He'd felt trapped, haunted by dark
memories that followed him from one life to the next, besieged at times by
dangerous impulses that hammered away at his hard-won control.

Inhaling sharply, he shook his head and turned from the window, the simple
gesture banishing, for the moment, that lurking sense of despair. With
squared jaw and determined stride, he moved toward the stairway that would
take him to the garage below. For more than a year, he had been alone here.
Now, that would change.

It was time -- time to start over again.

++++++++++

For the fifth time in as many minutes, Natalie Lambert shook her head and
sighed.

"I'm insane," she intoned darkly. "I am absolutely out of my mind. How did
I ever let him talk me into going along with this?" Moving around the
examining table, the coroner looked down, frowning accusingly at the late
Edward Pendleton who, not surprisingly, had failed to contradict her. A
surgical mask hid a grimace of frustration as she raised a scalpel to
continue with her first autopsy of the evening.

Grace Balthazar suddenly appeared at her side. "Let who talk you into going
along with what?"

Natalie managed not to jump, though her heart definitely skipped a beat.
Casting a sideways glance at the grinning woman, she scrambled for a
plausible cover story, since she couldn't confess the real reason for her
anxiety.

"Um ... Richie! My brother, Richie. He ... uh ... he and Sarah are taking
Amy to Disney World in a few weeks, and ... I agreed to take care of their
dog while they're gone." She smiled ruefully. "The problem is, I neglected
to clear it with Sydney first."

Grace stared at her in disbelief. "You're right," she agreed. "You *are*
out of your mind. One cat and one dog -- alone, all night, in your little
apartment for a whole week? If that isn't a natural disaster just waiting
to happen, girl, I don't know what is."

"Yeah, well," Natalie shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? I'm just a
cock-eyed optimist, at heart." She smiled weakly. "It'll be okay. I'm sure
we'll come through it with flying colors."

Either that, or go down in flames, Natalie thought sourly, her mind turning
from the fabricated tale she'd told Grace to the real-life dilemma that had
so monopolized her thoughts. Much to her surprise, it seemed she'd finally
met someone with a stubborn streak that surpassed her own, and that
"someone" was about to head down a very risky path. It was a course of
action she had argued against, but  to no avail.

Well, if the whole thing ended in disaster, she would at least have the
satisfaction of being right -- whatever small comfort that would bring.

Smiling again at Grace, she watched the woman fold her arms, looking every
bit as dubious as Natalie felt -- albeit for a different reason. But a
skeptical "Uh-huh" was the only reply as Grace turned and gestured toward a
tray of glass vials resting on the counter.

"Are those the blood samples from the Whitman case?" she asked.

At Natalie's nod, Grace moved to scoop them up. "Good. The sooner I get
these off to the lab, the sooner we'll get those results back." Heading for
the door, she called back over her shoulder, "I just hope you know what
you're letting yourself in for, honey."

Watching her friend and co-worker disappear into the hallway, Natalie
sighed again then turned her attention back to Mr. Pendleton. "So do I,
Grace," she muttered under her breath. "So do I."

++++++++++

Amid the controlled chaos of the 27th Precinct's nightly shift change, his
entry into the bullpen went largely unnoticed. Pausing long enough to scan
the room, he moved purposefully to a desk stationed against the far wall.
It was empty, save for the newly engraved nameplate resting on its surface
-- a tangible symbol of his latest incarnation that identified him to the
world as Detective Nicholas B. Knight.

It was a familiar name. He'd used it first more than a hundred years ago
when he'd served as a doctor in the Union Army and again in the 1960s as a
member of the Chicago Police Department. Though it was foolish to use it
again so soon, something had compelled him to do so. Perhaps because now,
as then, he was choosing to serve the mortals he moved among. Serve them,
rather than use them. Protect them, instead of preying upon them.

It was a name he could easily imagine keeping for the rest of his days. If
only ...

With a restless movement, Nick suppressed the wistful, half-formed thought
and seated himself at the desk. Picking up the nameplate, he studied it
intently, as if all the answers he sought lay hidden there.

So many lifetimes, so many names.

As Sir Nicolas de Brabant, crusader knight, he'd chosen a path that had
forever altered his perception of the world. He had become a vampire -- a
monster, a killer of innocents, a soulless shadow of the man he'd once
been.

Centuries later, however, a desperate need to atone had set him on a new
path. As a doctor in the Union Army, his goal had been to save lives, not
take them. Sustenance had come only from the dying as he'd eased their way
from this world to the next. It was a subtle distinction from others of his
kind, those who followed in the wake of armies to feed off mortals fallen
in battle, but one that had made all the difference to Major Nicholas
Knight.

Reclaiming that name now would serve as a symbol of his new life here and
all that he hoped it would be. If only he could stop looking over his
shoulder, wondering how long it would take for his master to catch up with
him -- how long it might be before he was forced to move on.

"Knight!"

Looking up, Nick saw Captain Joe Stonetree emerging from his office,
accompanied by two men. Stonetree motioned him over.

Rising from his chair, Nick mentally reviewed what he knew about the
various night shift detectives at the 27th. The younger man he recognized
as Austin Garrett, an athletic type who reportedly had an eye for the
ladies and who had been a homicide detective for almost three years. His
partner, Mike Danforth, was an eighteen-year veteran -- a big man with a
big heart and a no-nonsense attitude. The two were as different as night
and day, but together they formed one of Toronto's best homicide teams.
Captain Stonetree, it was said, had the golden touch when it came to
matching uppartners.

Once the formal introductions had been taken care of, the captain got down
to business.

"Before he moved here, Knight was with the Chicago PD for several years, so
he's no rookie, and once he's settled in, he'll be working on his own. But
for his first case, I want him paired with the two of you. You'll help him
learn his way around."

Noting Nick's sudden frown, Stonetree paused. "Is there a problem, Detective?"

Nick set his jaw and, though inwardly chafing, shook his head. "No,
Captain," he replied tersely. "No problem."

Stonetree nodded. "Good," he replied mildly, although the faint gleam in
his eye suggested he knew better. He turned to Danforth. "A call just came
in -- a woman's body was found in a rooftop boiler room at this apartment
building," he said, handing over a scrap of paper that bore the crime-scene
address. "I want you three to handle it. The details are sketchy, but the
Coroner's Office has been notified."

Danforth glanced at the paper in his hand then back up at Stonetree. "Who's
the ME?"

"Lambert. She's already on her way to the scene."

Nick was careful not to react to the name even as the other detectives
nodded approvingly.

"That's our first break," Danforth said gruffly. "Let's just hope we get so
lucky with the rest of the case."  Glancing at Nick, the burly detective
jerked his head toward his partner, who was already halfway across the
room. "Come on, Knight. It's time to introduce you to the not-so-sunny side
of Toronto."

Nick hesitated, then moved to follow but was stopped by Stonetree. "Hold up
a minute, Knight." Looking past Nick, he waved Danforth on. "He'll catch up
with you in the parking lot." Returning the wave, Danforth nodded and
exited the bullpen.

Turning, Nick found Stonetree regarding him with an appraising stare.

"Thought we should clear up something before you head out, Detective. I
agreed to let you work on your own ... *against* my better judgment. I've
never known a lone wolf to last very long on the streets, and I'm not
convinced you'll be the exception. But ..." Stonetree raised a hand to head
off the expected argument. "... you've got a damned fine record in Chicago.
And even though my head says I'm crazy, my gut tells me you've earned a
chance to prove yourself.

"Now, this ..." he continued, gesturing after the now-absent Danforth and
Garrett, "... doesn't mean I'm going back on that. But I'm not jumping into
it blind, either. You handle yourself right on this one, Knight, and you'll
work solo." Staring at Nick, Stonetree's face was impassive, his gaze
steady. "Now do us both a favor -- go out there and prove my gut knows what
it's talking about."

Then, with a final enigmatic look, the captain turned and disappeared into
his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

++++++++++

When the trio arrived on the scene, they found the rooftop crawling with
police personnel. Bright floodlights brought in to facilitate the
investigation were stationed in various areas, transforming night into day.
Squinting a bit as he passed one of the floodlights, Nick trailed Danforth
and Garrett over to the boiler room shed where the bulk of the activity was
centered.

There, through the open doorway, he spotted Natalie Lambert. She was
kneeling beside the body, clipboard in hand, jotting down notes. Mentally
preparing himself, Nick started to approach her but was stopped by
Danforth.

"Hang back a minute. Let's give her a chance to finish up."

Nodding his agreement, Nick saw Garrett move to intercept a passing patrol
officer, who pointed him toward the first uniforms on the scene. Garrett
wasted no time in seeking them out, and Nick turned his attention back to
the coroner.

It was the first time he'd seen Natalie in action. Her professional manner,
though familiar to him now, impressed him anew. It was clear she approached
her job with the same efficiency and attention to detail that she
demonstrated in their own work together.

A tingle of awareness ran through him and he turned to find Danforth
staring at him in open amusement.

"Friendly word of advice, Knight? Don't get your hopes up. The lady's
married to her job." Nick frowned, and Danforth held up his hands in mock
defense. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. It so happens you're not the first
one to take notice." His gaze flickered briefly toward Garrett as he
snorted softly. "For all the good it did him."

Stone-faced, Nick stared at Danforth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not," the big detective agreed, nodding good-naturedly. Then,
glancing at Natalie, who had just finished her preliminary examination,
Danforth shrugged. "Guess you'll just have to figure it out for yourself."
Looking at Nick, he jerked his head toward the coroner. "Now is as good a
time as any to start."

Swallowing his irritation, Nick followed Danforth over to the boiler room
where they stopped behind Natalie, waiting as she delivered final
instructions to the crew transporting the body. Finishing up, she turned
and collided squarely with Nick's chest. He quickly reached out to steady
her.

"Nick!" she exclaimed, then dismay flashed across her face as she instantly
realized her mistake. But it was too late. The damage was done.

Danforth stared at them, clearly surprised. "You two know each other?" he asked.

Nick gave a short nod as Natalie shook her head.

"Yes --"

"Not really --"

An awkward moment of silence followed, then Natalie hurried to explain.
"What I mean is ... we've met, but we don't really know --"

"I dropped by the morgue one night when Doctor Lambert was on duty," Nick
interrupted, his tone discouraging further questions. "We exchanged a few
words before I had to leave."

Lips twitching at the abridged version of their first meeting, Natalie
quickly turned her head and coughed. When she looked back, Nick was
relieved to see she had regained her professional mask.

"What can you tell us about the victim?" he prompted, ignoring Danforth's
speculative gaze.

Natalie's lips tightened as her expression turned grim. "Her name was Kelly
Markle, 22, a resident of this building. At this point, I'd say cause of
death was asphyxiation. She has a broken larynx, likely due to
strangulation. There are definite signs of sexual assault and heavy
bruising around the mouth and nose, suggesting extreme pressure was applied
-- probably by a hand over the mouth.

"As for TOD -- " Natalie stopped and sighed. "Because of the high
temperature level in the room, that's going to be a little harder to nail
down."

"Try sometime after six o'clock this morning," Garrett announced, joining
them in time to catch Natalie's comment. "The victim's roommate said that's
when she went to the basement laundry room to wash a load of clothes. When
she didn't come back, the roommate went looking for her. She found the
clothes in the dryer but no sign of the victim. She waited a while,
thinking maybe victim had stopped in at another apartment to visit with a
neighbor."

Garrett paused, glancing at his notes. "She finally called the police at
four-fifteen but was told it was too soon to file a missing person's
report. The officer she spoke with suggested she contact the building
superintendent for a search of the premises. It took a while longer to
track him down, but when she finally did ..." Trailing off, he motioned
toward the boiler room. "That's when they found her."

With set jaw, Natalie retrieved her medical bag, then turned to face the
men. "I'll head back to the morgue and get started on the exam. Hopefully I
can find something useful. I'll let you know." She gave Nick a brief nod.
"It was nice to see you again, Detective."

For a moment, she looked as if she might say more but apparently changed
her mind. With a small wave at Danforth and Garrett, she headed toward the
stairwell. The three men watched her leave.

"Hunh. If that don't beat all," Danforth remarked, shaking his head.

Nick eyed him warily. "What?"

"I've never seen Lambert that flustered." Straight-faced, Danforth winked.
"Maybe it's not a waste of time, after all." Ignoring Garrett's questioning
stare, he set off in the same direction Natalie had taken. "Come on,
partners. Whatsay we go talk to this roommate? Then we can start knocking
on a few apartment doors." Glancing over his shoulder, Danforth grinned at
Nick. "And once we're done with that, Knight, you can swing by the morgue
and see what Doctor Lambert's turned up for us ... seein' as how you
already know your way and all."

Garrett's puzzled gaze shifted to Nick as a gleam of suspicion appeared in
his eyes. Nick squinted back, his cold stare silently daring the other man
to speak.

They remained that way until Danforth's summoning bellow forced an end to
the impasse.

++++++++++

Sadly, the interview with the roommate gave them little to go on, and no
one else in the building appeared to have noticed anything out of the
ordinary. There were still a few tenants they'd been unable to contact, but
Nick feared that unless a sweep of the laundry room or Natalie's
examination and autopsy revealed something crucial, his first case here
could turn into a long, uphill battle.

Though irritated by Garrett's scrutiny and the knowing grin on Danforth's
face, Nick didn't argue when the senior detective sent him to follow up on
Natalie's examination of the victim. He needed to settle things with her
before more serious damage could be done.

Apparently, she felt the same way. She was waiting for him when he entered
the lab.

"Nick, I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't know what happened. I ... I guess
I just didn't expect to see you out on a call so soon. It caught me off
guard." She looked at him apologetically. He returned her gaze with a sober
stare.

"Natalie, I know you think it's a bad idea for me to join the force, but
it's done," he replied, his tone grave. "And if this is going to work, we
can't make that kind of mistake." He moved closer, intent on reminding her
how serious even the tiniest slip could be.

"I know. It won't happen again," she promised. Her voice was subdued, but
her tone was firm.

Meeting Natalie's determined gaze, Nick studied her silently for several
seconds, then nodded. He believed her. His stern expression softened. "No
harm done this time. I don't think they noticed anything," he lied. "But
from now on --"

The phone rang, interrupting him.

"Oops," Natalie said, as she held up one finger. "Hold that thought."
Perching on the corner of her desk, she grabbed the receiver. "Natalie's
Foot-in-Mouth Club -- what's your problem?" The mischievous smile directed
at Nick quickly gave way to a look of surprise. "Mom? Wait a minute!" She
checked her watch. "Where are you calling from? Shouldn't you be on your
way to the airport?"

After listening a few seconds, she smiled. "I know. I've missed you, too.
But it won't be long before you're back here ... *if* you'll get off the
phone and let Aunt Nell drive you to the airport!" she added, her tone
affectionately scolding.

Respecting her privacy, Nick listened only to her side of the conversation.
A slight pang ran through him as it suddenly struck him that, after all the
time he'd spent in her company these last several weeks, he knew almost
nothing about Natalie's personal life -- aside from the fact that she was
single and lived alone with her cat.

But that was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? Not to get too close to people.
Not to become involved in their lives for fear of destroying them. For he
had learned from the very beginning, the mortals he cared for most were the
ones most likely to be hurt. It was better to keep his distance, as he
should have done long ago with his own family ...

**********

Brabant, 1229

Evenings in his homeland had always been glorious this time of year, but
Nicolas de Brabant was blind to the nighttime splendor that surrounded him.
Returning here to his ancestral home had been a mistake, he knew that now.
He should never have succumbed to the selfish desire to see his mother and
sister one last time before breaking with his mortal past. It was sheer
folly, as he had been told more than once. But he had remained adamant.

Now, two days later, he was driven by a new and even stronger compulsion --
the need to put as much distance as possible betweenhis home and his
companions. Or, more accurately, between his sister and his master. To his
dismay, his lapse in judgment had exposed his precious Fleur to the same
darkness he had so readily embraced, threatening to forever extinguish her
loving heart and cherished innocence.

Shaken, Nicolas had acted quickly to rectify that mistake. A sleepless day
had followed his confrontation with Lacroix and Fleur in the garden, and
now, less than an hour after sunset, he stood in the castle courtyard ready
to bid farewell to his mother and sister for what he knew would be the
final time.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

An impatient Janette and a brooding Lacroix waited on horseback a short
distance away, the latter observing the leave-taking with an outward air of
disdain. But Nicolas could feel the heat of his master's smoldering gaze
even as he leaned forward to embrace his sister.

"But, Nicolas, why must you leave so --"

A gentle finger to Fleur's lips silenced her protests. "Shhh ... you know I
would not take my leave of you so soon after returning if it were not
absolutely necessary. My companions and I have been entrusted with an
important mission in the service of one whom I may not name. Our stop here
was to be brief, at best. We must reach our destination in less than two
days, and if we are to arrive in time, we must not tarry here any longer."

His sister, her memory of the previous night's events erased, seemed far
from mollified by his vague explanation.

"But, Nicolas, where --"

"Hush, Fleur," he said again, a tight knot forming around his heart. "Do
not question me in this. You must trust that I do what is necessary."

She stared at him silently, clearly weighing his words against the inner
turmoil reflected so plainly on her face. Abruptly, she relented and threw
her arms around his neck. "I do trust you, Nicolas," she whispered into his
ear. "Always. But I will miss you so. Promise you will hurry back?"

Her innocent plea twisted the knife in his heart, but he hid it well,
merely nodding as he tightened his embrace. Then, kissing her softly on the
forehead, he released her and turned to face his mother.

Alais gazed up at him, her normally serene face marred by a worried frown.
Her tone reflected both concern and determination. "Your sister may not be
allowed to question this ill-advised course, my son, but you cannot stop
your mother from doing so. If you must leave, why can you not at least wait
until morning? It is foolhardy to travel the roads by night, particularly
alone, without the protection of men-at-arms."

"We are used to traveling in such a fashion, Mother. It is faster that
way." A faint smile touched his lips, his gloved hand tracing the furrows
caused by her deepening frown. "I promise you," he added softly, "no harm
will come to us."

"You cannot know that, Nicolas." Alais sighed as she shook her head. "You
were always a stubborn child, and manhood has not changed you in that
respect. But by your love for me, you will bow to your mother's wishes in
this one thing -- if you cannot wait until morning to depart, then take
Geraud and four others to guard your way."

"Leaving you and Fleur all but unprotected? No, Mother, that I will not
do." He shook his head emphatically.

"Nicolas, it is not often that I insist, but I will not be denied the
comfort of knowing my son is safe on his journey. If you refuse their
company, I will order them to ride out after you. One way or the other, you
*will* have an armed escort."

A subtle vibration along the link that bound him to Lacroix drew Nicolas'
gaze to the waiting pair. His master's face was devoid of expression, but
the message he sent was clear. Nicolas closed his eyes briefly in useless
protest before answering with an almost imperceptible nod.

Turning back to Alais, he placed his hands on her shoulders, staring deeply
into her eyes. "Mother," he said, his voice soft but compelling, "there is
no need for an escort. We will leave as we came ... alone. You have no
cause for worry. Our journey will be a safe one. You must trust me in this."

As he'd spoken, her eyes had lost their focus. She gazed at him now, but
without truly seeing, and her words were a mere whisper.

"Trust ... yes. You must go ... no escort."

Before she even finished, he gathered her into his embrace, hiding his eyes
from her vacant stare. It was not the way he wanted to remember her, but
there was nothing he could do. She had given him no choice.

Swallowing his anguish, Nicolas allowed his head to rest on her shoulder
for one last time. "Goodbye, Mother," he whispered hoarsely. "Be happy."

Releasing her, he stepped back, still careful to avoid her eyes. Striding
to his horse, his cloak swirling behind him, he mounted in a single, fluid
motion. Without looking at his mother or Fleur, Nicolas raised a hand in
farewell, then wheeled his mount and thundered out of the courtyard,
leaving Lacroix and Janette to follow in his wake.

**********

The beat of pounding hooves faded slowly into Nick's subconscious,
gradually replaced by the sound of Natalie's voice.

"No, Mom, I told you, it's okay. I've got the night off, so it doesn't
matter what time your flight gets in. I can pick you up, then I'll get some
sleep after I drop you off at your place." Natalie glanced up as Danforth
and Garrett entered the morgue, waving at the pair and speaking hurriedly
into the phone. "Look, Mom, I've gotta run now. Duty calls. But have a good
trip, and give Aunt Nell my love, okay? Bye!"

Hanging up, Natalie faced the new arrivals with a sheepish grin. "My
mother's been visiting with her sister in California," she explained.
"She's worried about me not getting enough rest if I have to pick her up
later today, but a middle-of-the-night flight was the only one she could
get. And I'm afraid she's not quite the night owl her daughter is. Aunt
Nell probably had to pry her out of bed with a crowbar."

"Really? That surprises me. I always thought it was genetic," Danforth
said, winking at Natalie. "I, myself, come from a long line of night owls."

She laughed, her smile widening. "Well, if it is genetic, then I must have
picked it up from my father's side of the family."

"Does it really matter which side you take after?" Garrett interjected. "I
mean, you should never question perfection."

Natalie blinked, staring at Garrett in open-mouthed awe. "Oh, my ... that
was *so* good," she breathed. Folding her arms, she pursed her lips and
tilted her head, mulling over what he'd said. "In fact," she added, "I'd
say that's the best one yet. I might even suspect you've been practicing."

Garrett clapped his hand over his heart. "For you, Nat ... nothing less
than my best effort," he pledged solemnly, then promptly ruined the effect
by winking.

Natalie snorted softly as she snatched up a handy wad of paper and tossed
it at his head. Deftly dodging the airborne missile, Garrett grinned back
at her unrepentantly and Natalie shook her head as she looked at Danforth
and Nick. "He's really insufferable, isn't he?"

"But cute," Garrett added. "You forgot 'cute.' "

"Not to mention that little modesty problem he has," Danforth observed, his
voice dripping with good-natured sarcasm.

Standing slightly apart from the others, Nick felt a twinge of envy as he
listened to their light-hearted interplay. The banter, while entertaining,
only served to emphasize his self-imposed isolation. He might live among
mortals, but he no longer dared to get close to them in any emotional
sense. That was a mistake he'd made too often in the past, and the innocent
had always paid dearly for it. This time, he was more determined than ever
that history would not continue to repeat itself.

Fortunately, Natalie had recognized his resolve not to venture beyond a
doctor/patient relationship and, for the most part, had respected his
wishes. From time to time she would forget, and her natural humor would
assert itself. But, inevitably, she would remember and pull back behind a
wall of reserve almost as solid as his own.

Sometimes, however, during the day, when he couldn't sleep, he could hear
the sound of her laughter, see the brilliant smile that could light up a
room. And he would find himself wishing he could respond in kind.

With a silent sigh of regret, Nick roused from his musings just in time for
Natalie's rundown of her preliminary autopsy findings.

"As suspected at the crime scene, cause of death was asphyxiation, which
occurred after the sexual assault took place. I found traces of semen, and
we got lucky -- our boy's a secretor. Which means, when you find him, you
should have a pretty tight case. There's something else of interest, too --
the report said the victim was last seen wearing a red T-shirt underneath a
light denim jacket, but they didn't find a T-shirt on or anywhere near the
body. I did, however, find red cotton fibers in the ligature marks around
her wrists. I'd say he used it to bind her hands together, then he either
kept it or got rid of it somewhere else. If it's been discarded instead of
destroyed, and you can find it, there might be something on it that could
point us to the killer."

Danforth snorted. "Or better yet, maybe we could catch him sleeping with it
under his pillow. Which reminds me why we're here," he added, turning to
Nick. "Dispatch just called ... said the roommate's over at the precinct
waiting for us. Seems she's remembered something she thinks might help.
We're on our way over there now. You up for some overtime?"

Nick hesitated as he glanced at the morgue's wall clock. Dawn was still a
good three hours away, but Natalie had planned to come by the loft after
their shift ended to collect test samples from him.

A slight cough caught his attention and he noted Natalie's barely
perceptible nod. Turning back to the waiting detectives, he shrugged.
"Sure," he said. "Why not? Maybe we'll get lucky."

After a hasty exchange of goodbyes, Garrett exited the room, Danforth and
Nick hard on his heels. The latter two were almost through the door when
Natalie called out.

"Detective Knight! Uh ... before you go, do you think you could help me
with something?" She pointed to the file cabinets. "There's a stuck drawer
over here that I haven't been able to open. Should only take a second."

Nick avoided looking at Danforth, who had paused in the doorway. But there
was no escaping the amusement in the senior detective's voice. "Sure,
Knight, help the lady out. We'll just wait for you in the car. But don't
take all night, okay? I'd hate to have to come looking for you." Then he
was gone.

Frowning, Natalie stared after him. "What was *that* about?"

Nick shook his head, ducking her curious gaze. "Nothing," he answered
shortly. "Look, Natalie, I'm sorry about the samples ..."

She waved him silent. "That's okay. Actually, it should work out better
this way. I have some paperwork I need to stay and catch up on. So, after
you're done, you can give me a ring and I'll swing by the loft. Then I can
head home to change clothes and get a bite to eat before going to the
airport."

Nick nodded and turned to leave, but Natalie's voice stopped him again. "Nick?"

Glancing back, he found her regarding him with a tentative smile. "What you
said out there at the crime scene ... about how we met. Were you by any
chance ... making a joke?"

Though it pained him, Nick resisted the urge to smile back.

"Just telling the truth," he said instead, then hurried out the door before
he could see her smile fade.

++++++++++

Louie Falconi was not a happy suspect. Collared earlier that evening
outside McKenzie's Bar, the small-but-wiry mugger had failed to escape
uniformed officers Brunowski and Grayson, hindered as he was by a few too
many drinks under his belt. Instead, he'd been tackled and cuffed, then led
away to a patrol car, bound for the 27th Precinct and the incriminating
lineup that no doubt awaited him.

No, Louie wasn't happy, and he was determined to make sure no one else was
either. During the trip to the precinct house he'd sat quietly, fuming and
swearing softly under his breath. But as the trio approached the doors to
the station, his demeanor had changed abruptly. Something snapped, and
Louie went ballistic.

Struggling wildly and shouting obscenities at the top of his lungs, he was
half-led, half-dragged into the precinct. Bystanders scattered as several
officers moved in to help subdue him, but Louie had other ideas. Bracing
himself against a counter, he aimed a vicious kick at Grayson, forcing the
young rookie to release his grip in order to block the crippling blow.

Breaking free, Louie staggered backwards but quickly regained his footing.
Belligerent from the booze and high on adrenaline, he lowered his head to
ram full tilt into the nearest uniformed cop. Before he could deliver the
punishing head-butt, however, an iron vise clamped down on his shoulder,
halting him in his tracks.

Snarling, Louie glared at the hand restraining him and whirled about, ready
to spit out pithy obscenities at the interloper. But the words died on his
lips as steely blue eyes stared coldly into his. A voice spoke. Though low
and soft, it sent shivers down Louie's spine, conjuring up visions of
something dark and deadly.

"You don't want to make trouble for these officers ... do you?"

Despite the polite phrasing, Louie knew it wasn't really a question.
Something inside him shriveled beneath the stranger's steady gaze as
blustering words of defiance died on his lips. He told himself he was crazy
for being afraid -- that this guy, no matter how dangerous he seemed,
couldn't possibly do anything to him in front of all these witnesses. But
he wasn't convinced.

Instead, he slowly shook his head, breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief as
the iron grip on his shoulder eased. The stranger released him and stepped
back, affording Louie a glimpse of two other men -- one big, the other
young and athletic-looking -- standing off to one side, watching intently.
The stranger cast a brief glance in their direction before striding off
down the hallway, leaving behind curious stares and a flurry of speculative
whispers.

The arresting officers moved in, renewing their hold on Louie as they
hustled him away to a holding cell. But the mugger dragged his feet, his
gaze still locked on the rapidly retreating figure in the dark trench coat.

He continued looking back long after the stranger had vanished from sight.

++++++++++

The interview with Kelly Markle's roommate had turned up a new lead to
follow -- a potential suspect who resided in the same building. The
roommate had remembered an earlier conversation in which the victim had
expressed some uneasiness about the man, who had reportedly seemed
strangely interested in her.

Taking down the man's name and apartment number, the detectives relayed the
information to Stonetree, who told them he would assign someone from the
day shift to follow up on it. That done, the three returned to the bullpen,
where Nick wasted no time in booking off.

Danforth and Garrett watched him leave.

"I'm telling you, Mike, there's something weird about that guy," Garrett
muttered, his suspicious glare directed at the departing Knight.

Danforth eyed him skeptically. "Yeah? Why?" he challenged. "Because the
brass says he can fly solo, or because he caught the eye of a certain
hard-to-get coroner? Or maybe it's because he stopped a perp from turning
this place into a war zone." He snorted. "Oh, yeah. Those are all
*terrible* things. Maybe we should report him to the captain, ya think?"

Brushing aside the other man's sarcasm, Garrett instead focused on the
earlier altercation. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Mike! That
perp, and the way he calmed him down. In all your time on the force, have
you ever seen anything like that? Have you?" When Danforth didn't answer,
Garrett nodded triumphantly. "Didn't think so." He shook his head. "And did
you see his face ... the way he looked at that guy?" he asked. "Spookiest
damn thing I've ever seen. What he did just wasn't natural."

"Uh-huh," Danforth responded dryly. "Seeing as how I obviously missed
something, would you mind filling me in?" At Garrett's blank stare, he
clarified the question. "What exactly do you think he did out there?"

A disgruntled expression formed on Garrett's face as he ran a frustrated
hand through his hair. "I don't know," he grudgingly admitted, then met
Danforth's sardonic gaze. "I don't know!" he repeated in a louder voice.
"But he did *something*, Mike. And whatever it was ... I don't like it!"

++++++++++

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Natalie arrived at Nick's
warehouse. Parking the car next to the outside entrance, she approached the
door and pushed the buzzer, casting a self-conscious glance at the security
camera mounted on the wall. Her lips curled in wry amusement as she
contemplated the irony of a vampire with a security system. Especially one
like Nick, who had survived for so many centuries. Someone who, for all his
efforts to become human and his determination to refrain from killing, was
still among the deadliest of predators.

Even now, after having known him for almost five months, a part of Natalie
marveled at her unfailing ability to forget that fact. When they'd first
met, she'd said she wasn't afraid of him, but that wasn't entirely true.
Her fascination, however, had outweighed the fear, and she'd been drawn to
him in a way she couldn't explain. An odd flash of insight had told her
there was something more behind those cold, dead eyes -- something lost and
lonely.

The time she had spent with him since had strengthened that impression,
wiping away any lingering vestiges of fear. Though he carefully kept her at
arm's length, there'd been one or two occasions when he'd let down his
guard long enough for her to glimpse the man inside, a man she wanted to
know better. But he'd made it clear friendship wasn't an option. Theirs was
to be a strictly professional relationship. She acknowledged the wisdom of
that decision even as she lamented it. It was better to avoid any
distracting entanglements, to focus instead on their common goal. It was
smarter that way. Safer.

Still, a part of her couldn't help wishing that he would open up to her,
that he ...

The loud click of the security lock interrupted her thoughts.
Simultaneously, Nick's voice came over the intercom beside the door.

"It's open."

She smiled wryly. Short and to the point, as usual. Entering the building,
Natalie bypassed the stairs and opted to take the old freight elevator
instead. When she stepped into the loft, her eyes went first to the
half-lowered shutters outlined by the faint light of dawn that spilled into
the room, then to Nick, who stood off to one side, safely in the shadows.

Though his face was turned toward the windows and she could see little of
his expression, every muscle in his body spoke of a yearning so intense it
brought a lump to her throat. She stood quietly, biting her lip as the
patch of sunlight on the floor intensified, gradually encroaching upon the
shadows where Nick had taken refuge.

Finally, just as she opened her mouth to warn him, he raised the remote
control and triggered the shutter's closing mechanism. As the metal panels
slid into place, he turned to acknowledge her presence with a slight nod.

"You said you needed more samples?" His tone was even, his face devoid of
emotion.

So, the scene she'd just witnessed was yet another topic closed to
discussion. All right then, she could take the hint.

"That's right," she answered, assuming her best professional air as she
moved toward the dining table. Reaching it, she gestured to the nearest
chair. "If you'll have a seat here, I need hair and skin samples and a
small amount of blood. Don't worry. It shouldn't take long."

He eyed her curiously. "I'm not worried. You can take as long as you like."
Glancing toward the shuttered windows, he smiled faintly. "I'm not going
anywhere."

A teasing response was on the tip of her tongue, but she caught herself
just in time. Like the incident at the crime scene, she wasn't certain if
he was joking or simply stating a fact, so she contented herself with an
answering smile and set to work arranging her instruments.

It didn't take long to gather the samples she needed and pack them away in
her medical bag. That done, Natalie allowed her gaze to wander. "You've
been busy," she said, surprised at the new additions to his previously
spartan loft. A number of personal possessions had appeared since her last
visit, most notably, a striking grand piano.

"I decided to bring a few things out of storage," Nick said, shrugging slightly.

Natalie felt his eyes following her as she made her way over to the
instrument. Reaching it, she ran her hand lightly over the keyboard. "It's
beautiful. My mother wanted me to take piano lessons when I was a kid. I
wish now I had, but at the time ..." Her words trailed off as she glanced
up at Nick and smiled. "I don't suppose I could talk you into playing
something?" she ventured.

He studied her silently with a look she couldn't decipher, and Natalie
sighed inwardly. She'd done it again, even after she'd promised herself she
wouldn't cross that invisible line he'd drawn. Now, he was no doubt
searching for a polite way to put her in her place.

And then it came.

"Some other time, perhaps," he said softly. "I'm sure you're anxious to get
home. It's been a long night, and you still have to go to the airport."

Though gently spoken, the rejection stung. But to be fair, she had only
herself to blame. Hiding her disappointment behind a cheerful facade,
Natalie nodded emphatically. "You're absolutely right," she agreed. "I
mean, what was I thinking? It's hardly the time for an impromptu concert
and I'm hardly dressed for the occasion. Like you said, maybe later."
Crossing back to the table, she hurriedly gathered her things and headed
for the freight elevator, with Nick trailing behind. Once inside, she
turned to face him.

"Listen ... I have tonight off, but if you need to reach me for any reason
you can call my cell phone," she said. "Otherwise, I'll probably talk to
you tomorrow. Good luck with the case."

Without waiting for a response, she waved a cheery goodbye and released the
metal door. It clanged shut, effectively blocking him from view as the
elevator began its noisy descent to the garage.

++++++++++

As it turned out, Nick hadn't even made it to bed before Natalie called him
on the phone.

"Nick ... it's Natalie. I hope I didn't wake you."

Alone in the loft where no one could see, Nick allowed himself the luxury
of a smile, albeit a puzzled one. "No, I'm up. What's wrong?" he asked,
wondering why she sounded so exasperated.

"Look, I really hate to ask this, but ... you know those samples I took?
There's a problem."

His smile vanished. "What kind of problem?"

"They're ruined. I had them out on the counter, and I turned away for just
a second. Sydney ... well ... let's just say he sometimes gets a little too
curious for his own good -- not to mention mine. I just finished cleaning
up the mess. I really hate to ask this, but do you think I could stop by
again after I take my mother home? I know you're tired and need to rest,
but if we're going to keep an accurate record of our progress, we can't
afford --"

"Natalie ... it's all right," Nick interrupted. "You can come by. What time?"

"How does four o'clock sound? I'd make it later, but if my mother's not too
tired, we're going to meet up again for dinner."

"Four o'clock is fine," he assured her. "I'll be up by then anyway."

"Good." She sounded relieved. "Thanks, Nick. And again, I'm really sorry
about this. So is Sydney, by the way, since he *won't* be getting his
favorite treat tonight."

Nick smiled again, realizing that last remark had been directed elsewhere.
Her cat was clearly in the doghouse, so to speak. "Don't worry about it,"
he said. "And ... Natalie?" He hesitated, then took the plunge. "Have a
good dinner with your mother."

The line went silent for a moment. Then a slight tinge of surprise colored
her voice. "Thank you, Nick. I will. See you later."

Hanging up the phone, Nick stared down at it for several seconds before at
last turning to mount the stairs to his bedroom. With each step, his mind
retreated further back in time until he was again reliving that long-ago
night in Brabant -- the night he had parted from his mother -- and all that
had happened afterward ...

**********

Brabant, 1229

Nicolas grimaced slightly when the cup of spiced wine was placed before
him, but the inviting smile cast his way by the young serving maid went
unnoticed. He was too caught up in memories of that final parting with his
family, a bittersweet moment forever tainted by his unnatural influence
over them.

After leaving the castle, he, Janette, and Lacroix had ridden hard for four
hours, finally stopping at a modest hostelry in a small village situated
near the heart of Brabant. They had taken two chambers on the pretext of
staying the night, though in truth, they had no intention of remaining that
long. They would hunt and feed and move on, placing a healthy distance
between this place and wherever they would eventually take shelter for the
day.

With the horses safely stabled, they had seated themselves at a table in a
secluded corner of the inn's common room. But rather than follow their
customary habit of sizing up potential prey, Nicolas had sunk into a deep
depression equaled only by his master's brooding silence.

Janette soon abandoned her attempts to draw them out of their foul humor.
Annoyed with them both, she retired to the upstairs chamber where she
resolved to keep her own company until the hunt commenced. Her departure
was barely acknowledged as the two vampires sat quietly, each lost in his
own dark thoughts.

The minutes crept by until almost an hour had passed, and still they
neither moved nor spoke. Although their presence had aroused a certain
interest among the room's other occupants, such an air of menace surrounded
them that even the serving maid now kept her distance, waiting instead for
a summons that never came.

They might well have remained that way the rest of the night if not for the
sudden and tumultuous entrance of a new arrival.

"My Lord! Praise God, I have found you!"

Torn from his sullen musings, Nicolas looked up, stunned to see a familiar
figure striding toward him. It was Dagobert, his family's longtime steward,
a man he had known well for most of his life. A man from whom he had parted
a short time ago and thought never to see again.

As the steward reached the table, Nicolas' shock wore off and he found his
tongue. "Dagobert!" he exclaimed, rising quickly from his seat. "Why are
you here?"

"Your lady sister sent me, my Lord. She knew not which direction you
traveled but sent us out to search the main roads." Dagobert gazed
earnestly at Nicolas, hat clutched tightly in his hands, his grizzled face
a study in sorrow. "Brace yourself, lad," he said, his voice gruff, "for
'tis sad news I bring."

The icy fist of fear gripped Nicolas' heart. "Tell me," he demanded, his
own voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

"It is your lady mother. She was taken ill soon after your departure -- a
sudden fit that struck her down." He hesitated, gazing steadily into
Nicolas' eyes. "Be brave, lad ... she is gone."

The world suddenly reeled about him, and Nicolas squeezed his eyes shut,
desperately willing it to right itself. But when he looked again at the
weathered face before him, the grief he found there was inescapable.

His mother was dead.

"But how?" he asked, trying to make sense of what he had heard. "She was
not ill when we left. She --" He stopped abruptly, swallowing an anguished
cry that rose in his throat. Dimly, he felt Dagobert's hand rest on his
shoulder.

"The truth is, lad, she was not in the best of health. There were times, of
late, when she was overcome by a certain tiredness, when she found it hard
to catch her breath. She hid it from most, and she would never allow word
of it to reach your sister's ear. Nor yours, my Lord, when you arrived. She
had no wish to worry you."

Nicolas stood transfixed, oblivious to all around him until Dagobert's
voice cut through the haze.

"Sir, my Lady Fleur bids you return at once," he said gently.

Nicolas nodded wordlessly, a strange numbness seeping into his chest. His
eyes closed briefly before meeting Dagobert's sorrowful gaze. "Saddle my
horse. I will be there presently, as soon as I collect my belongings."

With a quick nod, the steward departed and Nicolas turned toward the
stairs. It was only then he remembered his master's presence as his eyes
met and locked with Lacroix's piercing gaze.

"I must return."  It was more a plea than the statement of fact he had
intended. Nevertheless, he squared his shoulders, determined to withstand
the expected resistance.

There was none.

Lacroix stared at him, face expressionless, then turned away and reclaimed
his seat at the table. Nicolas could sense absolutely nothing from him, a
development that would have worried him any other time. At that moment,
however, all he felt was a mixed sense of surprise and relief.

Without another word, he turned and left the room.

**********

Pacing impatiently back and forth, Nick glanced again at the clock. Natalie
was two hours late, and repeated attempts to reach her by phone had left
him frustrated and edgy. Her cell phone was turned off or out of range.
When he had dialed her number at home, he'd discovered it was either busy
or out of order. It must be the latter, he thought, despite what the
operator had told him. He'd been trying for ninety minutes with no luck.

It wasn't like her to leave him hanging this way. Sometimes she was
unavoidably detained, true, but she always called to let him know she
wouldn't make it on time. And she'd never once forgotten an appointment.
Until now.

He didn't know whether to be worried or annoyed.

Nick looked up as the automatic timer kicked in, raising the shutters that
covered the loft's windows. The sun had set, and it would soon be time to
report to the precinct for his second night on the job. But if he left now,
he could still detour by Natalie's place to find out why she hadn't called.

Otherwise, he'd never be able to concentrate on the case.

++++++++++

The first thing Nick noticed when Natalie opened the door was her obvious
surprise at seeing him there. The second thing he noticed was how red and
swollen her eyes were, as if she'd been crying for a long time.

She stared at him, clearly caught off guard. "Nick ... I ... is something
wrong?"

Caught off guard himself, Nick didn't respond immediately. A remote part of
his mind was busy noting how different she looked from the way he normally
saw her. Dressed in jeans and an oversized flannel shirt, with her face
free of makeup and her hair pulled back in a loose pony tail, she seemed
impossibly young and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

Any irritation he'd felt over their missed appointment faded away in the
face of her obvious distress. "That's what I wanted to ask you," he
answered, his voice soft, tentative. "When you didn't show up at the loft
... I was concerned. Did ... did something happen?"

She closed her eyes, visibly dismayed. "The loft ... Nick, I'm sorry. I
should have thought to call --"

Brushing aside the attempted apology, he focused instead on the reason
behind it. He didn't know if she had purposely avoided his question, or if
it simply hadn't registered, so he asked again. "Natalie, what's wrong?
It's none of my business, I know, but I can see you're upset. If you tell
me what's happened, perhaps ... maybe I can help."

Though he knew she'd been crying before his arrival, Nick wasn't prepared
for the fresh onslaught of tears that greeted his words. They welled up in
her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she bit her lip and turned away. She
didn't make a sound, merely stood there, head bowed, arms wrapped tightly
around herself.

He took an involuntary step toward her, hand outstretched, then halted.
Slowly, he lowered his hand and his fingers curled into a tight fist as he
mentally cursed himself for overstepping his bounds. He'd seen how upset
she was. He should have moved more slowly.

He waited awkwardly until she'd regained some measure of control. This time
he didn't speak but let her take the initiative.

"I'm sorry, Nick." Wiping her cheeks with the palm of one hand, Natalie
took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, making a visible effort to
rein in her emotions. "Something did happen. My mother ..." Her voice
broke. She tried again. "My mother ... had a heart attack on the plane.
They made an emergency landing, but it was too late." Her voice fell to a
whisper. "There was nothing they could do."

Shocked, Nick stared at her wordlessly, searching vainly for the right
thing to say. That he had so recently relived the death of his own mother
was an irony that did not escape him. But he'd had a long time to adjust to
that loss, unlike Natalie.

He almost asked if she was all right but realized how ridiculous that would
be. "Have you been here by yourself all day?"

She shook her head. "No, Richie was here. He just left."

"Richie?"

Natalie stared at him blankly before realization dawned. "Oh ... that's
right. I forgot you don't --" She broke off and took a deep breath to
steady herself. "Richie's my brother. My younger brother. He lives here in
Toronto with his wife and daughter. That's where he is now. He went home so
he and Sarah could break the news to Amy."

Her voice broke again on her niece's name and she turned away, fighting
against another bout of tears. After a few seconds, she drew a shaky breath
and looked at Nick. "He didn't want her to know until he could be with her
... so we spent most of the day here at my place making arrangements."

Nick nodded. "That's why the line was busy," he said.

Natalie bit her lip in consternation. "I should have called."

"No ... no, it's all right," he assured her, shaking his head emphatically.
"How could you be expected to think about that?" He paused awkwardly. "Is
there anything I can do?"

Glancing down, she shook her head, then looked up again. "No, but thank you
for asking."  She hesitated. "About the samples --"

"The samples can wait."

Natalie nodded, and an awkward silence descended until she finally broke
it. "It's almost time for your shift, isn't it? You don't want to be late
on your second night."

It was early yet, but Nick suddenly realized his presence might be making
her uncomfortable. She probably wanted to be alone. "That wouldn't be a
good thing, I suppose," he agreed quietly, then searched her face
carefully. "Will you be all right?"

She nodded, summoning up a weak smile. "I'll be fine," she said. "I need to
get some sleep anyway. There's still a lot to take care of tomorrow."

"If there's anything I can do --"

"I'll be sure to let you know if there is," she promised, walking him to
the door. "And, Nick ... thanks for stopping by."

After she'd closed and locked the door behind him, Nick lingered in the
hallway. Through the walls, he could hear the muffled sound of her crying
as the brave front she'd assumed for his benefit crumbled. Standing there,
listening, Nick struggled with conflicting impulses -- torn between a wish
to comfort and his understanding of Natalie's need to be alone with her
grief.

Finally, with a sense of helpless frustration, he turned and left.

++++++++++

When Nick arrived at the precinct, he spotted Danforth and Garrett already
standing near his desk. But his attention immediately focused on a third
man, dark-haired with long sideburns and a receding hairline, who had
appropriated Nick's chair, his feet propped up on Nick's desk.

Frowning, the vampire crossed the room. As he neared the desk, three heads
turned his way and the conversation abruptly ended. Danforth motioned
toward the stranger. "Knight, this is Don Schanke. He's on the day shift,
so the captain had him follow up on that lead the roommate gave us on this
Tony Parker guy. He was just filling us in."

"Oh?" Nick restricted his greeting to a short nod. "Did he come up with
anything?" He stared pointedly at the detective's feet, which hadn't budged
from their resting place. His eyes moved to the man's face, and their gazes
locked as each sized up the other.

It was a case of mutual dislike at first sight.

Lowering his feet, Schanke rose. He stepped aside, smirking, and with a
small flourish gestured toward the vacated chair. "Yeah," he replied
smugly, "I came up with something. An alibi for the guy. He lives with his
sister, and she says he was there with her the whole day."

Nick felt a flash of irritation. "Did it occur to you the sister might be
lying?" he asked sharply.

Schanke's lip curled in a faint sneer. "As a matter of fact, it did,
Detective Knight. But unless you can work the same kind of voodoo on her
that I hear you worked on that perp last night, I'd say it won't get us
very far. I don't know how they do things in Chicago," he added
sarcastically, "but around here it takes more than a gut feeling to get a
search warrant."

"Schank," Danforth interrupted, "why don't you tell us what Parker said?"

Schanke's demeanor underwent a marked change as he turned to Danforth.
"Didn't talk to him," he said, all business now. "According to the sister,
he went to Hamilton to see a friend and isn't expected back until tonight.
She said she'd have him call as soon as he got home."

"Might be a good idea if we went over there now," Danforth mused. "The
sister could be telling the truth, or she could be covering for him. Either
way, we can't afford to lose time waiting by the phone."

A new voice chimed in. "Somebody mention a call?" Nick looked up to see
Jerry Lapinksi, the desk sergeant, waving a piece of paper at them. "Here's
one that came in a few minutes ago."

Garrett snagged the message. "That's it," he confirmed. "I'll grab my keys
and meet you at the car."

As Garrett left, Danforth glanced at Nick. "Why don't you sign us out?
We'll wait for you in the parking lot."

Nick nodded. Exchanging a final challenging look with Schanke, he moved away.

Once Nick had departed, Danforth cast a reproving glance at his day-shift
colleague. "He hasn't been here long," he remarked dryly. "Let's try not to
scare him off just yet."

Lapinski grinned. "From what I hear, I don't think he scares that easily."

"Oh, please!" Schanke scoffed. "You mean that fluke out at the desk last
night? He got lucky!" He snorted, then froze, a speculative gleam appearing
in his eyes. "Say, Lapinski ... you're pretty well-informed. Tell us what
else you've heard about our fair-haired boy over there."

Danforth groaned. "Okay, that's my cue to exit. You two old biddies can
stand here and gossip all night, but some of us have work to do." With a
disgusted shake of his head, he left.

Across the room, Nick watched from the corner of one eye as Schanke and
Lapinski stood staring after Danforth. Then, as if in response to a silent
signal, abruptly put their heads together. Taking note of the surreptitious
glances cast his way, Nick felt sure he was the main topic of conversation.
Focusing on the sign-out board, he extended his senses outward, tuning out
the surrounding noise as he homed in on their conversation ...

"Allergic to sunlight?!" Schanke's jaw dropped in disbelief. "You gotta be
kidding me! What kind of weird thing is that?"

"I dunno," Lapinski shrugged. "It's kind of funny they'd let him on the
force with something like that, but the word is he had a great record in
Chicago. And to find someone who actually *wants* to work nights? The brass
must think he's a dream come true."

"For now, maybe. But with an attitude like his, I bet it won't be long
before he turns into one big 'Knightmare,' " Schanke smirked, his fingers
forming quotation marks around the name.

Lapinski chortled appreciatively. "Knightmare ... ha! That's a good one,
Schank. You break me up. Wait till Jackson hears that." Clapping Schanke on
the shoulder, he strolled away, still chuckling.

Grinning, Schanke's eyes sought out the object of his derision only to find
the blond detective staring at him with an icy look of disdain on his face.
His smirk faded as he was struck by the odd conviction Knight had heard
every word he'd said.

That was impossible, of course. The man was clear across the room, and the
bullpen was far too noisy. The whole notion was ridiculous.

Still, as he lowered his eyes and turned away, Schanke found himself
suddenly eager to put some distance between himself and the 27th Precinct's
newest addition.

++++++++++

The lights were off in Natalie's apartment when Nick pulled up outside her
building. His shift had ended a short time ago, but instead of heading for
his own place, he'd found himself returning here.

The interview with Tony Parker and his sister had told them everything ...
and nothing. Parker was guilty, Nick was certain of it. There was something
in the guarded way he had watched them that had set off a warning alarm in
Nick's head. Danforth and Garrett had sensed it, too. But no matter how
many ways they had asked the question, brother and sister had remained
adamant, insisting they hadn't left the apartment all day. But Parker, an
out-of-work bus driver, was hiding something, and Nick bet that "something"
was a guilty conscience.

Thanks to the apartment manager, they'd learned that the siblings were
fairly new in town, having moved to Toronto from Winnipeg less than four
months ago. Once back at the precinct, Garrett had sent out an inquiry to
the Winnipeg authorities in hopes of turning up something useful. Now, all
they could do was wait.

Switching off the Caddy's engine, Nick settled back in his seat and stared
up at Natalie's darkened windows. Extending his senses, he easily isolated
her heartbeat from the others in the building. Its accelerated rate and the
sounds of restless movement told him she'd had little luck falling asleep.
He sighed.

Despite his work on the case, Natalie Lambert had weighed heavily on his
mind. In the short time he'd known her, he'd come to realize what a private
person she was. Despite her self-assured manner and quirky sense of humor,
he sensed a deep reluctance in her to open up to others. She wasn't someone
who could easily share her pain. Nor would she admit to any degree of
vulnerability.

Though she had family who mourned along with her, in her own way, Natalie
was as alone in her grief as he had been all those centuries ago ...

**********

Brabant, 1229

"Nicolas, this is madness! You cannot go back there now." Janette ceased
her restless pacing, swinging around to face him, her eyes glowing with a
fire that, for once, had nothing to do with the vampire.

"I must!" Nicolas insisted. His earnest gaze implored her to understand
even as he reached out to embrace her. Though she resisted at first, he
maintained the gentle pressure, and finally she relented, allowing him to
draw her close.

Guiding her head to rest on his shoulder, he nuzzled her hair. "Please
understand," he entreated softly, his arms tightening around her. "I must
go back."

Janette pulled back to gaze up at him. "To do what, Nicolas -- return, only
to leave again?" Exasperation tinged her voice. "And how will you explain
that?"

He looked away, refusing to meet her eyes. Despite his plea for
understanding, Nicolas knew he would find no support in their lovely depths
for what he planned to do.

As if to confirm the thought, a sharp hiss of indrawn breath greeted his
silence, and he turned back to face Janette's disbelieving stare.

"Oh, mon cher ... tell me you do not plan to stay there," she ordered, her
incredulity swiftly giving way to alarm.

Nicolas hesitated. "Perhaps ... for a time," he admitted. "But only until
arrangements have been made for Fleur and --"

"No! This is impossible! Why can you not see that?" Shrugging free of his
embrace, Janette paced away before whirling back to face him. "He will not
allow it." Her voice was firm with conviction. "Not this time. Not after
everything that has happened. It was a mistake to indulge you that way, and
he will not repeat it."

Nicolas' expression hardened. "He cannot stop me, Janette."

A sharp laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head, her dark tresses
brushing enticingly over creamy white shoulders. "If you believe that,
Nicolas, then you have learned nothing these last few months."

He stared at her in stony silence and Janette stared back. But her face
gradually softened, and a beguiling smile touched her lips. This time, she
was the one who initiated the embrace, pressing her body enticingly against
his as she twined her arms around his neck. Face turned upward, she gazed
deeply into his eyes, and even in his grief he could not deny the effect
she had on him. His arms encircled her, his lipseliciting a seductive moan
as they pressed softly against her throat.

"Stay with me, mon amour," she whispered. Her sweet breath tickled his ear,
sending ripples of pleasure down his spine. "There can be no mortal ties
for our kind. You must accept that. We are not of their world any longer.
Believing otherwise will bring nothing but pain."

So lost was Nicolas in the heady sensations Janette aroused in him, he
barely heard the words. But as his fangs gently grazed her throat, the
memory of his mother's face intruded and triggered a fresh surge of grief.
Abruptly releasing his hold, he withdrew a few paces, inhaling deeply as he
struggled against conflicting emotions.

He felt, more than heard, her approach and raised one hand to ward her off.
"Please, Janette ..." She stopped, waiting silently, until he lifted his
head. His gaze was sad but determined.

"Dagobert is waiting at the stables. I must go."

She stared at him steadily. Though she hid it well, he could sense the
distress that lay beneath the calm facade. "And what of us, mon cher?" she
asked quietly. "We cannot return with you, surely you know that."

He reached out, his fingers caressing her face. "I will find you," he
promised. "When everything is settled, I will find you."

Janette looked dubious but said no more. She watched in silence as he
gathered his things. At the door, he paused, longing to take her in his
arms again but knowing it was wiser to resist. Not certain what else to
say, he turned and left.

As he passed through the common room, Nicolas didn't need his eyes to tell
him Lacroix was no longer there. When he reached the stables, he knew why.
His master was inside, waiting for him.

Bracing himself, Nicolas stepped through the door, prepared for the icy
glare certain to greet his arrival. But he froze in horrified disbelief as
he instead saw Dagobert's lifeless form dangling from Lacroix's arms. As he
watched, the elder vampire released his grip, dropping the body on the
straw-covered ground.

Lacroix turned to his fledgling, Dagobert's blood still fresh on his lips,
and smiled as he licked the drops away with great relish. "Ah, Nicolas ...
how fortuitous. You have arrived in time to help me dispose of the body."

Nicolas' appalled gaze fastened on the empty husk of a man who had been
more of an uncle to him than a servant. "What have you done?" he whispered
even as he silently cursed himself. He should have foreseen this.

Lacroix's eyebrows rose. "I should think that would be obvious. I have
dined. I suggest you do the same before we move on. We have a long ride
ahead of us, and the day will pass far more pleasantly if we are well-fed."

Nicolas continued to stare at Dagobert's body. "You killed him."

"Of course I did." There was a faint edge to Lacroix's voice now. "Did I
not just say as much?"

"You killed him to prevent me from going back." His eyes sought out
Lacroix's face, a slow rage building inside him.

"Do not speak such nonsense, Nicolas." Lacroix's voice was cold, his gaze
implacable. "I killed him because I was hungry and he was there. There was
never any question of you returning with him."

Nicolas' rage boiled over. "You cannot keep me from going back!" he
shouted, his eyes blazing red as his fangs swiftly descended.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself slammed hard against a wall,
suspended some two feet off the ground by an iron grip around his throat.

"I can do anything I wish!" Lacroix growled, baring his fangs in a feral
snarl. "*I* am your master! *You* are my child! The matter is settled, and
I will brook no further disobedience from you, my insolent whelp!"

Nicolas glared. Unable to free himself, he slowly averted his gaze, forcing
his body to hang limp in apparent submission. But the instant he felt
Lacroix's grip ease, he braced himself against the wall and raised both
legs. Planting his feet firmly on his master's chest, he shoved with all
his might, causing Lacroix to stagger backwards and affording Nicolas a
precious moment of freedom.

That was all it took.

Moving with unearthly speed, Nicolas was out the door in a heartbeat. But
he wasn't fast enough. Lacroix was on him in a flash, and the intensity of
the rage flowing from the elder vampire burned him like a flame. Before
Nicolas could react, he felt himself lifted up and hurled through the air
with unnatural force.

His last conscious thought before slamming headfirst into a tree was that
he had failed his mother yet again.

**********

Nick slowly emerged from the painful memories, drawing in a shaky breath as
he did so. No matter how strong the desire, there was nothing he could do
to erase the haunting regret that would forever shadow his final moments
with his mother. No more than he could take away Natalie's pain by
maintaining his silent vigil outside her apartment building.

Still, it wasn't until the first hint of dawn appeared in the sky that he
finally put the Caddy into gear and headed home.

++++++++++

By the time Nick arrived at the precinct the next night, word had spread
about the death in Natalie's family. Stopping by Danforth's desk, he
feigned ignorance of the news as the burly detective filled him in.

"So, anyway, the funeral's at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon," Danforth
said. "A few of us here are going out of respect for Doctor Lambert. You're
welcome to come along," he offered, glancing across the desk at Garrett,
who had yet to acknowledge the other detective's presence.

Nick hesitated. "I'm afraid I can't."

Garrett's ears perked up. "Oh, yeah! You've got that little sunlight
problem, haven't you? Man, that must be tough," he said, his voice oozing
with false sympathy. "But, hey ... if you like, I'll be happy to give your
condolences to Nat."

Nick glared at Garrett but refused to take the bait. "That won't be
necessary," he replied coldly.

Garrett shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I'm sure she'll be wondering --
considering the way you two seemed to hit it off."

"Austin, my boy, sometimes you can be a real horse's patootie." Though
Danforth's tone was mild, the look he shot Garrett spoke volumes. The
admonishment had a surprising effect on the brash young detective, who,
with a mulish set to his jaw, looked both resentful and shamefaced as he
silently shifted his gaze to the floor.

Nick also stared at the floor, resisting the urge to throttle Garrett ...
or worse. "Any word from Winnipeg?" he asked instead.

Danforth turned to his partner, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Yeah. Came in this afternoon," Garrett replied shortly. Danforth pointedly
cleared his throat, and Garrett grudgingly continued. "It seems our
Tony-boy has a few priors. Mostly small stuff -- a couple of shoplifting
charges, minor theft, criminal mischief, drunk and disorderly. But five
months ago, he was picked up on a charge of attempted sexual assault
involving a waitress. Unfortunately, the lady changed her mind about
testifying and he was kicked loose."

"And not long after that, Tony and his sister pulled up stakes and moved to
Toronto," Danforth added sarcastically. "Gee, you think the two could be
related?"

"Why not ask him?" Nick suggested. "It's not enough for a search warrant,
but it gives us cause to bring him in for questioning. If we can shake him
up enough, he might change his story."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Danforth said, grinning. "Let's send the
uniforms to pick him up."

As Garrett called to set the wheels in motion, Danforth followed Nick to
his desk. "Look, Knight ... give him some time, okay?" he said, gesturing
toward his partner. "He doesn't like competition, but he'll come around."

Nick turned, annoyed. "If this is about Doctor Lambert, I told you, there's
nothing --"

Raising a hand, Danforth cut him off. "That's not what I'm talking about,"
he said. "What I mean is, Austin likes being top dog in the pack. You're
the outsider threatening his territory. Right now, he's a little antsy
about it. Just give him time to get used to the idea. He might surprise
you."

Nick wasn't convinced, but to avoid any further discussion, he nodded.
"We'll see."

Danforth grinned. "One way or another, eh?" He clapped Nick on the
shoulder. "Good enough. Now, let's get our act together. We've got a
suspect to question."

++++++++++

Later that night, Danforth wondered if he'd been overly optimistic about
his partner's eventual acceptance of the new detective on the force. He and
Garrett had been parked outside the suspect's building for three hours now,
watching the comings and goings of various tenants, and Garrett had yet to
stop complaining.

"I'll say it again, this is crazy," Garrett grumbled. "All we're doing is
wasting our time. We won't get anywhere this way, not after that stupid
stunt Knight pulled. I mean ... we bring this guy in for questioning, lean
on him a little, and just because he doesn't snap right away, Knight gets
all weird. He starts telling him he's going to slip up -- that he's going
to dump the girl's shirt and we'll be there to catch him when he does.
Yeah, right! Like he can make it happen just by saying it? I mean, what
kind of an idiot would take a risk like that when he knows we're dogging
his trail?"

"I dunno. That kind of an idiot, maybe?" Danforth asked, nodding toward the
building.

Garrett turned, and there, jogging down the front steps with a brown paper
bag tucked beneath his arm, was Parker. Within seconds, the man reached the
sidewalk and headed toward the side of the building. Without even checking
for possible observers, he quickly disappeared into the alleyway.

Garrett scrambled out of the car as Danforth grabbed for his portable
radio. "Knight!" he barked. "Suspect has entered the alley on the east side
of the building! Head him off, but keep out of sight! We're right behind
him!"

He waited just long enough for confirmation, then took off after his partner.

++++++++++

Seconds after Danforth's call, Nick landed softly on the fire escape
overlooking the alley. From this vantage point, he could see Parker
directly beneath him, standing hunched over a metal trash barrel. A few
yards away, Danforth and Garrett were flattened against a wall, concealed
in the shadows, watching and waiting.

No sooner had Nick registered their presence than a loud clattering noise
pulled his attention back to the suspect. An empty can of lighter fluid lay
on the ground next to the man, and a rasping sound reached Nick's ears as a
match was lit and tossed into the trash barrel. An instant later, flames
erupted from the metal container, bathing the alley in an eerie glow.
Instead of retreating, however, Parker stood his ground, gazing into the
mini-bonfire, seemingly mesmerized by the dancing flames.

A deep bellow cut through the night as Garrett suddenly launched himself
out of the shadows. Parker's head snapped around, the spell broken. In an
instant, he was off, with Garrett in hot pursuit. Leaving his partner to
chase down the suspect, Danforth raced over to the barrel. Dropping to one
knee, he used his shoulder to tip it over, spilling the precious contents
out onto the ground.

There, in the middle of the charred rubbish, lay the smoldering remnants of
Kelly Markle's red T-shirt. Satisfied that Danforth had salvaged that
crucial piece of evidence, Nick took to the air. With centuries of practice
and predatory instincts to guide him, the vampire had little trouble
tracking his quarry as he followed the sound of running footsteps and
pounding hearts.

Landing softly on a neighboring rooftop, Nick found himself gazing down
into yet another alleyway. This time, however, the only person in sight was
Garrett.

Gun drawn, the detective moved cautiously down the alley, narrowly missing
the hidden recess where Parker had taken refuge. As Garrett passed,
oblivious to the man's presence, Nick could hear Parker's telltale
heartbeat accelerate.

Standing motionless, the vampire watched as Parker slowly emerged from the
niche, moving noiselessly toward the unsuspecting Garrett. Clutched tightly
in Parker's hand was a broken bottle with a jagged edge. He raised it into
position as he neared the detective, poised to strike a lethal blow.

It was over in an instant.

With little more than a faint whooshing sound to announce his arrival, Nick
had Parker pinned against the wall, the bottle dangling uselessly from his
hand. Staring intently into the man's stunned eyes, Nick felt his own burn
bright with the feral glow of the vampire. As his lips parted to
accommodate his extended fangs, a low rumbling growl escaped him. At the
unearthly sound, Parker's face grew stiff with fear and his fingers lost
their grip on the bottle. It dropped to the ground, shattering into tiny
fragments.

For a timeless moment, nostrils flared as they inhaled the heady scent of
terror, and golden eyes focused hungrily on the pulsing artery in the
mortal's neck. But the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps intruded, and
Nick bowed his head, breathing hard as he fought to reassert control over
the vampire.

Loosening his grip on Parker, he turned to find Garrett and Danforth moving
toward him, guns leveled on the suspect. Reaching into his pocket, Danforth
removed a pair of handcuffs and tossed them to Nick. Only after Parker was
secured did the two men relax their guard.

A short time later, uniformed officers escorted Parker away as Danforth
bagged the remains of the T-shirt to send off to forensics. That done, the
burly detective glanced at his companions and heaved a sigh of relief.
"Chalk one up for our side," he said, flashing them a triumphant grin. "If
this one isn't signed, sealed, and delivered, then my Aunt Fanny is the
Queen of England. Mark my words, boys, Mr. Parker will be going away for a
very long time."

Interrupted by a sudden yawn, Danforth glanced down at his watch. "Son of a
gun! Did you know we missed lunch? After we file our report, what say we
drop by Murray's Diner and do a little celebrating? I'll even spring for
the tab."

Before Nick could decline the invitation, Garrett beat him to the punch. "I
don't think so," he said, his tone flat.

Nick turned to find the younger detective staring at him intently, an
enigmatic expression on his face. But it was replaced by a huge grin as
Garrett abruptly stuck out his hand.

"If anyone's paying for this, it's gonna be me," Garrett continued. "It's
the least I can do for the man who saved my hide."

Though Nick was again on the brink of refusing, something in Garrett's
steady gaze silenced him. He'd have to think of some way out of it, of
course, but at this moment, he couldn't bring himself to rebuff the man's
overture. Instead, he reached out to grasp the proffered hand and gave it a
firm shake.

Danforth deliberately cleared his throat. "Pardon me for interrupting such
a beautiful moment, but if you guys are through with all the mushy stuff,
we should probably get back to the precinct." Chortling at his own wit,
Danforth gleefully ignored the twin glares his comment drew as he turned
and headed for the car.

Nick started to follow but stopped when he noticed Garrett hanging back, a
slight frown creasing his forehead. The detective was gazing toward the
alley where they'd apprehended Parker. As he turned back, Nick looked at
him questioningly.

Garrett's puzzled frown deepened. "Knight, when you grabbed Parker, did you
hear something ... odd?"

Nick's expression revealed nothing. "Like what?"

"Like ... I don't know. Like something growling. Something big."

Nick took a moment to ponder the question. "Like a lion?"

Garrett's frown vanished, replaced by obvious relief. "Yeah, that's it.
Like a lion! That's *exactly* what it sounded like!"

Nick nodded solemnly, then shrugged and shook his head. "Nope. Don't think
so. Sorry."

With that, he moved toward the Caddy, leaving an open-mouthed Garrett
staring after him.

++++++++++

On the day of Anna Lambert's funeral, Nick found himself unable to sleep.
His thoughts revolved around Natalie and what she must be going through. He
had debated with himself whether or not to send flowers, but in the end had
decided against it. He hadn't wanted to draw undue attention to their
connection. Instead, he'd chipped in for the large wreath sent by the
precinct.

But after a long and tedious day, Nick realized he couldn't let the need
for discretion keep him from acknowledging her loss in a more personal way.
And it was that resolve that had brought him to her brother's front
doorstep, where a post-funeral gathering was even now taking place. He'd
found the address on a bulletin board at the Coroner's Building -- a notice
intended for co-workers who couldn't make the funeral but who wanted to pay
their respects in person.

He certainly fell into that category.

When the door opened, he was ushered inside by a young woman who identified
herself as Sarah, Natalie's sister-in-law. His obvious reluctance to
venture beyond the foyer sent her off in search of Natalie, who appeared
scant seconds later. She looked tired but composed. Also a little startled.

"Nick, I ... Sarah didn't tell me it was you."

Surprising her had become a habit for him, it seemed. "I didn't really
introduce myself," he explained, his tone apologetic. "I hope it's all
right that I'm here."

"Of course it is. I appreciate it." She glanced uncertainly toward the
living room. "Would you like to come in and sit down?"

He shook his head. "Thank you, but I'm on my way to the precinct. I just
wanted to pay my respects ... and tell you that I'm sorry for your loss."

Averting her gaze, Natalie bit her lip and nodded. Then, meeting his eyes
again, she smiled sadly. "I guess that's something you know a lot about,
isn't it? Loss, I mean."

This time, Nick was the one taken by surprise. Natalie must have sensed his
discomfort, or felt that she'd crossed the line. She abruptly changed the
subject.

"Listen, Nick, I know you can't stay, but ... I do want to thank you for
coming here." She paused as her eyes locked with his. "It means a lot to
me."

Perhaps he only imagined the underlying emphasis to her words, but real or
not, he was all too aware of the conflicting feelings warring inside him.
He found himself both dismayed and pleased that his presence would matter
that much to her.

"Sis?" A man appeared in the doorway behind Natalie but stopped when he saw
Nick. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's okay, Richie." Natalie waved him over. "This is ... a friend. Nick
Knight, one of the detectives I work with. He came to offer his
condolences." She turned back to Nick. "This is my brother, Richard."

The two men shook hands. "Knight, is it?" Richard looked thoughtful. "I'm
with the Crown Prosecutor's Office. I've worked with quite a few
detectives, but I don't recall hearing your name before."

"Nick is fairly new on the force, Richie," Natalie said. "He transferred
here from Chicago."

Richard nodded. "That would explain it. It's good to meet you, Nick."

Nick also nodded. "I just wish it could be under better circumstances. I'm
very sorry about your mother."

"Thank you." Like his sister, Richard seemed to have trouble accepting
condolences. He swiftly changed the subject, glancing down at Natalie as he
placed a comforting arm around her. "You holding up okay?"

She nodded, offering up a faint smile. Her brother returned it, then
switched his attention back to Nick. "I'd better get back to the others.
Thank you again for coming. And I hope we'll be seeing more of you. Nat's
friends are welcome here anytime."

With a final nod, Richard disappeared into the living room, leaving behind
an awkward silence.

"I'd better go," Nick said abruptly, then, hesitating, looked at Natalie.
"Is there anything I can do?"

She gazed at him a moment before shaking her head. He wondered briefly what
was going through her mind, but not knowing what else to do, he took his
leave of her and started down the walk.

He could feel her eyes following him as she stood in the doorway, but he
didn't look back.

++++++++++

Ironically, it was Richard Lambert who would be handling Parker's
prosecution, as Nick learned the following evening. Natalie's brother had
arrived at the precinct shortly after the shift change, disappearing into
Stonetree's office for a preliminary rundown of the case.

After Parker's arrest, Nick, along with Danforth and Garrett, had spent
much of the previous night completing the paperwork on the Markle case.
Once in custody, Parker had willingly confessed to the murder, though he'd
tried to turn the blame on the victim by claiming she had first led him on,
then spurned him.

With all the information they had gathered, the outcome of the trial was a
foregone conclusion, Nick thought grimly. And although it would be a mere
formality as far as justice was concerned, for the friends and family of
Kelly Markle, it would provide a painful yet crucial sense of closure.

He, better than anyone, understood how powerful a need that was. No matter
how hard it might be for them, they would be driven to seek it out -- just
as he had done, even in the aftermath of Lacroix's wrath ...

**********

Brabant, 1229

When Nicolas at last struggled back to consciousness, he found himself
sprawled on his back in a small chamber of the inn's cellar. At first, his
mind was clouded by a burning hunger, making it difficult to concentrate.
But then a sudden influx of memories bombarded him, taking precedence over
the compulsion to feed.

Still groggy, Nicolas climbed to his feet. As he paused to steady himself,
he took stock of his surroundings. Even without light, he could see quite
clearly the empty shelves that lined the walls to either side of him and
the stout wooden door that sealed the room. A narrow slit in that door
afforded him a limited view of the rest of the cellar.

Sacks, barrels, and other food-filled containers were stacked just outside
the door. Their presence explained the mystery of the barren shelves around
him; the inn's storage pantry had been swiftly converted into a make-shift
prison.

Bowing his head, Nicolas closed his eyes and concentrated intently until he
felt the subtle vibration that was Janette. She was somewhere above him,
sleeping, oblivious for the moment to his questing touch. He lingered for a
few seconds, then, with some trepidation, reached out further, searching
for signs of Lacroix's presence. He felt nothing.

Opening his eyes, he sighed. His failure came as no real surprise. He had
learned early on that his master was more than adept at shielding himself,
even when at rest. In truth, it would have surprised him far more had he
been able to sense the elder vampire.

Still, his brief connection with Janette had told him all he needed to
know. If she remained, it was certain Lacroix was close by.

Nicolas frowned. Though no outside windows were visible, he knew
instinctively that the sun was rising, which meant his injuries must have
been severe indeed to have rendered him unconscious for so long a time. No
matter, though. He was awake now, and even if he could not leave the inn
until dusk, he had no intention of remaining meekly imprisoned until his
master deigned to release him.

Peering down through the narrow opening in the wood, Nicolas could barely
make out one edge of a large metal bolt that secured the door. A faint,
derisive smile curled his lips at Lacroix's carelessness. The elder vampire
must surely know such a pitiful lock would never hold him. Or had he made
the unlikely mistake of underestimating his fledgling?

Nicolas' smirk vanished, however, as he placed his shoulder against the
door and shoved. Under normal circumstances it would have given way easily
enough. But to his dismay, he found that his recent injuries, coupled with
the fact he had not fed well in some time, had left him in a seriously
weakened state.

The door creaked ominously, but the bolt remained firmly in place.

With a growl of frustration, he slumped against the wooden barrier. It
seemed he was the one who had underestimated Lacroix, rather than the other
way around. And without the blood he needed to regain his strength, he had
no more chance of escaping this room than he had of walking unscathed in
the sunlight.

He realized something else, as well -- Janette had been right. He had been
foolish to think Lacroix would do nothing to stop him. Now, he was paying
the price, though not as irrevocably as Dagobert had paid. And not as
drastically as Fleur, a woman alone, without a male relative's support and
protection, would pay.

A fresh wave of despair inundated Nicolas as his mind turned again to his
mother's death. He had to go back, both for Fleur's sake and to honor their
mother's memory. No matter what Janette or Lacroix said, this was one
mortal tie he could not bring himself to sever.

But for the moment, he was trapped, unable to go anywhere until Lacroix
chose to release him. So, resentful but resigned, Nicolas settled down to
wait.

The hours passed slowly as he fought to stay awake, struggling against the
growing lethargy that further depleted his strength. As the day progressed,
both the innkeeper and a kitchen maid came and went, often stopping just
outside the door to gather supplies. But repeated efforts to draw their
attention proved useless, for under Lacroix's influence, they neither saw
nor heard him.

Over the next few hours, Nicolas could sense the sun rising high in the
sky. And with it rose the hunger inside him. It refused to be kept at bay,
tearing at him relentlessly, invading his mind, taking over his thoughts.
Eventually, it was the blood lust, rather than any desire to escape, that
fueled his desperate attempts to summon the mortals each time they visited
the cellar. Still, to no avail.

At long last, the sun set. Soon afterward, Nicolas heard the outer door
open, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He surged to his
feet, hands pressed flat against the surface of the door as he peered
through the narrow opening. His eyes saw what his senses had already told
him. It was Janette, followed closely by a young man with a slackened jaw
and vacant stare -- a young man who was clearly in her thrall.

As Nicolas watched, his lover moved quickly and gracefully across the room,
halting outside the door that separated them.

"Janette!" His hoarse whisper reverberated through the cellar. His eyes
burned, and though it was her name on his lips, his gaze was riveted on the
mortal beside her. The man's coarse tunic hid the throbbing pulse in his
neck but did nothing to mute the sweet siren's song of his blood as it
called out to the hungry vampire.

Janette's seductive murmur pierced the haze of blood lust clouding his
thoughts. "I have brought you something, mon amour." The bolt slid free,
and the door swung open, removing the barrier between him and that which he
most desired.

Nicolas' burning gaze remained locked on the mortal's neck as he slowly
advanced, seemingly in a trance as deep as that of his unsuspecting victim.

Janette breathed softly into his ear, "Take him, mon ame." A dark urgency
colored her voice. "Take him inside you, and assuage the hunger that
consumes you." Her breaths came faster now, tickling his face, stirring the
hair on his neck. Her excitement was palpable as it fanned the flames of
the blood lust burning inside him. "*Take* ... him!" she ordered. Her soft
lips caressed his ear, then moved lower as her tongue traced a cool, moist
path down the curve of his jaw.

The spell surrounding him broke, and the hunger that had been too long
denied came raging forth. Tearing loose the coarse material covering the
man's throat, Nicolas reared back his head, and with a loud roar, lunged
forward, burying his fangs deep into mortal flesh.

So famished was he, that as he fed, Nicolas barely registered the images
and sensations that came with the blood. It was not until he had drained
the man dry and released his grip on the body that he was overtaken by wave
after wave of emotion -- irresistible lust, aroused by the dark beauty
approaching him; the abject terror flooding him as she revealed her true
nature; regret that came far too late, followed by concern for the wife and
child waiting at home for his return. And there was more, so much more.

Nicolas stood there for endless moments, blissfully lost in the sensations,
until Janette twined her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers,
kissing him with unrestrained ferocity. She greedily licked away the drops
of blood still lingering on his lips, then sighed in contentment as their
amber gazes met.

"C'est magnifique!" she breathed, overcome by the stolen memories. "Who
would have thought --"

His mouth swooped down, capturing hers as he ruthlessly silenced whatever
she had started to say. When they pulled apart at last, she laughed
breathlessly, running her hand gently through his hair.

"I knew you would come to your senses, mon amour. All you needed was a
little time."

The words had a sobering effect on Nicolas, cooling his ardor as they
called to mind the the events that had led to his imprisonment. Squeezing
his eyes shut, he struggled for control. When he again met Janette's gaze,
his eyes had returned to a brilliant shade of blue.

"This changes nothing," he said, his hands moving to grip her shoulders,
"except that you must come with me now. When Lacroix finds out you have
freed me, he will punish you."

She stared at him in amazement. "You have not changed your mind?"

He shook his head. "I cannot abandon Fleur when she needs me most. You must
understand, and you must come with me!"

"Nicolas ..."

"Please, Janette, do not fight me on this. I cannot leave you here to face
Lacroix's wrath alone --"

"Nicolas!" Something in her voice stopped him. She sighed. "He would only
follow us. Besides, it was Lacroix who told me to release you." At his
disbelieving look, she shrugged. "It is true. He said that if you were
still intent on pursuing such a reckless course, he would do nothing to
stop you."

His surprise turned to skepticism. "He expects me to believe this?"

"He *expects* you to behave as a child of Lacroix should," she replied
sternly. "But if you will not, then he will not force you to continue on.
We have both learned how stubborn you can be, and we will not risk our very
existence to keep you with us."

Nicolas laughed harshly. "There is more to this, Janette. You know it. I
know it."

She shrugged. "Believe what you will, Nicolas. I speak the truth."

Despite Janette's seeming conviction, he refused to accept her words --
Lacroix's words -- at face value. But unless he sought out his master and
pressed the issue, something he was not prepared to do, he would have to
proceed as planned. Nevertheless, he would remain on his guard until he was
well away from here.

Glancing down at the body sprawled at his feet, he hesitated.

"Go, Nicolas," Janette told him, reading his mind. "I will dispose of it.
Lacroix and I will be long gone before notice is taken of his
disappearance."

He nodded, leaning forward to bestow a lingering kiss -- one of gratitude,
as well as parting.

"I *will* find you again, Janette," he promised fervently, echoing his
words from the previous evening.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. "Perhaps, Nicolas," she allowed. "But
whether he will take you back when you do, I cannot say."

Silence fell between them as each contemplated the enormity of what he was
about to do. He longed to deny the truth behind her words but could not. He
had thought, when he had chosen to come across, that he would be able to
turn his back on his mortal life with few regrets. But that was before he
had taken his sister's memories. Before he had stolen his mother's will.

The tainted memory of that final parting would haunt him forever, and the
decision he made tonight could cost him no less dearly. But what else could
he do?

Janette gazed intently into his eyes, her expression grave. Shaking her
head at what she found there, she sighed. "Mon cher, I feel your pain. But
you cannot help your sister. You are no longer the man she knew. If you try
to stay, there will be too many questions. You are too young, Nicolas, you
cannot control them all. You would not be able to hide what you are. You
know this."

Nicolas stared helplessly into the sapphire depths of her eyes, each word
she spoke striking a fresh blow to his grief-stricken heart.

"And what would happen to her then, mon amour?" Janette continued. "What
would happen to all those who associate with you? What will your noble
principles have gained you then?" Reaching up, she cradled his face between
her hands. "Please, Nicolas, you cannot do this," she pleaded softly.

And suddenly, with heart-rending clarity, he knew she was right. As much as he
wished otherwise, there was nothing more he could do for Fleur. He had truly
forsaken his mortal life. He could never go back to it.

"I know," he whispered, and his eyes closed briefly as an aching sense of
loss welled up inside him. Then it subsided, as quickly as it had come,
leaving behind an empty space where his heart had been. With a last
lingering kiss, he released Janette and moved toward the stairs.

"Nicolas, wait!"

He turned, one booted foot resting on the first step. She stared at him
incredulously.

"You still intend to return?"

He smiled sadly. "Not to stay."

She shook her head. "Then why?"

"To say goodbye."

With that, he mounted the cellar stairs and disappeared through the door,
bound for home.

**********

Nick emerged from his memories in time to see Natalie's brother exit the
bullpen. Before his thoughts had been drawn deep into the past, he had, by
virtue of his vampiric hearing, been privy to at least part of the
conversation that had taken place between Richard and Stonetree -- the only
part that had truly interested him.

But Nick didn't have long to think about what he'd heard. Stonetree was
already heading his way, pausing briefly to motion for Danforth and Garrett
to join them.

It was the first time Nick had seen the captain since their meeting the
previous night when they'd discussed Nick's status with the department.
Though Stonetree had urged him to reconsider his request to work without a
partner, Nick had remained adamant, and the captain had finally conceded.

Nick stood as the trio reached his desk. "Good work, Detectives," Stonetree
said, turning to include Danforth and Garrett. "The Crown Prosecutor's
Office isn't wasting any time filing on this one." Pausing, he looked at
Nick. "Speaking of wasting time, didn't anybody tell you it's your night
off?"

Nick shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure there were no loose ends to wrap up."

"Uh-oh. I'd keep an eye on him, if I was you, Captain," Danforth teased. "I
think he's bucking for your job."

Stonetree chuckled, but a shout from across the bullpen cut short the
good-natured razzing. "Cap!" Lapinski yelled. "Captain Cohen's on the line,
returning your call."

Stonetree nodded. "Put it through," he instructed, already moving toward
his office.

As Nick watched Stonetree depart, he caught sight of Don Schanke standing
by the sign-out board. The day-shift detective was staring at Nick, a sour
expression on his face.

Noting Nick's abrupt frown, Garrett followed his gaze and shook his head.
"Don't let him get to you, Nick. Schanke's a good guy, just a little slow
warming up to people. Give him time. He'll come around."

Nick heard Danforth's soft snort, but when he glanced his way the big
detective was gazing innocently at the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to the
conversation. He suppressed a smile as he turned back to Garrett. "Maybe
so, but I won't hold my breath."

Garrett grinned. "Hey, as long as you're here, why don't you hang around
for awhile and have lunch? We never did get to celebrate the other night.
Instead of Murray's, I say we check out that new Mexican place just down
the block."

"I appreciate the invitation, but I can't." Nick's regret wasn't entirely
feigned, but the earlier conversation between Stonetree and Richard Lambert
weighed heavily on his mind. "There's some information I need to get and
something I have to take care of."

Without waiting for a reply, he was gone.

++++++++++

The house reminded him of Natalie, though Nick couldn't say why. Perhaps it
was the warm light that shone through the windows, as inviting as the
incandescent glow that lit her face each time she smiled. Or it might have
been the straightforward way it faced the street, ready to handle anything
life might throw at it.

Even a slightly edgy vampire.

As he hesitated on the sidewalk outside the house, Nick tried to imagine
what life there had been like for Natalie, and failed miserably. The truth
was, he knew very little about her.

But he *could* imagine what it was like for her now, returning to the house
so soon after her mother's death. And that's why he'd come.

At his knock, Natalie opened the door. Her face registered her surprise.
"Nick ..."

He cleared his throat self-consciously. "I hope I'm not intruding. I, uh
... I saw your brother at the precinct tonight. You probably know we caught
the guy who killed Kelly Markle ... and that Richard was called in to
handle the case?"

She nodded slowly. "He was here when he got the page."

"Yeah, I know. I heard Stonetree asking about you," Nick explained. "Your
brother didn't say much, but he did mention his concern about leaving you
here alone. So I thought ... since I had the night off ..." Lapsing into an
awkward silence, he shrugged.

A sad smile tugged at the corner of Natalie's mouth. "That's my baby
brother, always trying to watch out for me. He didn't want me to stay here
tonight. He wanted us to come back and do it another time, but I --"

She broke off in mid-sentence, frowning. "Wait a minute." She stared at him
in mild alarm. "Nick, you didn't tell Richie you were coming here, did
you?"

When he shook his head, her apprehension changed to puzzlement. "Then how --"

"I'm a cop, remember?" he said, a faint smile curving his lips. "It wasn't
that hard to find out your mother's address." Pausing, he looked past her
into the house. "May I come in?"

A chagrined expression crossed Natalie's face. "Of course ... sorry," she
said, stepping quickly aside to allow him entry.

Nick followed her into the living room and, at her invitation, seated
himself on the sofa. He looked around. The room was neat, yet comfortable,
and the decor was warm and unpretentious -- oddly enough, many of the same
qualities he'd begun to equate with Natalie.

On the floor, at the opposite end of the sofa, were scattered items she had
obviously been sorting through, including a box of photographs, some strewn
around the spot where she must have been sitting. Nick's eyes fell upon one
photo in particular -- a black and white snapshot of a lovely woman with
large, luminous eyes holding a chubby little girl with curly hair. It was
clearly Natalie as a child, and the woman, judging by the resemblance, must
have been her mother.

"Congratulations."

Startled, Nick looked up and found Natalie standing beside him. "On solving
your first case," she said, answering his puzzled look. "And, too, Richie
told me Garrett might have been killed if you hadn't been there. You did
good on both counts."

Nick shrugged self-consciously. He was relieved they had caught the killer
and glad he'd been able to save Garrett from injury, or worse, but he
wasn't entirely comfortable with the praise he'd received. He hadn't
exactly followed police procedure on the case. Garrett had been endangered
in the first place because Nick had used the vampire to set up that
situation. Though if he hadn't, how long would it have been until another
woman had turned up dead?

With a faint sigh, Nick silenced the nagging doubts. Now was not the time
to worry about his own moral dilemmas. Tonight, Natalie's pain took
precedence. Despite his resolve not to get involved, he'd found he couldn't
stand by while she faced this night alone.

After all, he knew, firsthand, how difficult it could be ...

**********

Brabant, 1229

How strange it was that a place he had so recently considered his home, his
birthright, suddenly seemed so foreign to him. Nicolas had never felt such
a strong sense of intrusion as he did making his way through the deserted
passageways of his ancestral abode.

He was an interloper here, a supernatural creature that no longer belonged
in this world. It was just as well he had chosen not to announce his
arrival. It would make it all the easier to leave once he had accomplished
his mission.

During the long ride back to the castle, Nicolas had begun to question the
wisdom of a public reappearance. His return clearly meant that one of the
riders sent to fetch him home had succeeded, yet how could he explain
Dagobert's absence? He could claim they were beset by brigands on the way
back, resulting in the steward's death, but that would raise more questions
than it would answer. And he had no body to present to Dagobert's family.

There was also the matter of his mother's funeral Mass, which he would not
be able to attend. That, more than anything, left him little choice but to
keep his return a secret. It had not been difficult. The hour was late, and
most of the castle's inhabitants had retired for the night. Leaving his
horse tethered in a nearby wooded grove, it had been a simple matter to fly
over the stone walls and gain entry through an upper window.

Relying on his powers and his knowledge of the castle to escape detection,
Nicolas had gone first to the chapel where his mother's body lay in state,
awaiting burial in the family sepulcher. But the moment he had stepped
through the door, such a feeling of weakness had overtaken him, as if the
power of the vampire were being drawn out of him in the same way he drained
the blood from his victims.

He tried desperately to look upon his mother's face but found his eyes
unable to tolerate the bright light that seemed to emanate from the large
cross positioned above her head. He turned away from its brilliance,
grimacing in pain but not yet willing to retreat.

Instead, he forced himself to turn back, noticing for the first time that
he was not alone. In the sanctuary, sitting beside the catafalque that held
his mother's body, was Fleur. Head bowed, hair shining in the flickering
candlelight, rosary beads clutched tightly in her hands, her lips moved in
silent prayer.

As Nicolas stood there, watching, she completed the rosary and made the
sign of the cross. It was more than he could bear. Summoning what little
strength he had left, he staggered out the door, driven from the chapel by
the force of his sister's faith.

Once outside, he collapsed against the stone wall of the corridor, the
burning torches mounted on either side of the chapel door casting eerie
shadows across his face. Slowly, his strength returned, accompanied by an
overwhelming compulsion to flee that holy place.

Nicolas closed his eyes in despair. If he had retained any lingering hope
he could actually stay, even for a brief time, it was gone now. He could
not help his mother. He dared not help Fleur. He would have to leave before
his presence could be discovered.

But first, there was one more thing he had to do.

Halting outside the door to his mother's chamber, Nicolas extended his
senses. Satisfied no one was near, he drew a deep breath and stepped
inside, closing the door softly behind him. Turning, he moved swiftly to
the large coffer positioned against the far wall and forced it open,
pulling forth an ornately carved wooden box. Inside the box was his
mother's jewelry, including the very piece that had drawn him there.

It was the first thing he saw when he raised the lid of the box -- a simple
gold chain with an intricately carved pendant. Set in the middle of that
pendant was a rare star sapphire -- a stone Nicolas' father had said would
complement, but never surpass, the beauty of his lady's eyes.

She had worn it almost constantly for as long as Nicolas could remember.
When he had entered the service of Lord Delabarre, she had tried to give it
to him, instructing him to bestow it on the woman who would one day hold
his heart. But Nicolas had refused, gently insisting that she wait and
present it to the lady herself.

Now, that would never happen. And though he could not honor her wish in
full, neither could he leave behind, for the second time, her final gift to
him. At the very least, he would keep it near him as a remembrance of the
woman he had loved and admired above all others. He reached for the
necklace.

"Really, Nicolas, stealing from the dead? I would have thought you above
that sort of thing."

Whirling, Nicolas came face-to-face with his master. "Lacroix!"

"Yes, I believe it is. I am so pleased you have not forgotten me,
particularly in light of this ill-advised preoccupation with your mortal
past." A pale hand lifted to push back the hood of the dark traveler's
cloak, revealing the icy blue eyes and patrician features of his sire.
Lacroix's mocking tone hardened. "But I am *not* pleased that you have made
it necessary for me to return to this place."

With raised eyebrow, Lacroix scanned the room, a look of disdain upon his
face, then returned his gaze to Nicolas. "Now, if you are quite finished,"
he continued, "it is time to leave -- once and for all. I have found
suitable shelter for the day not far from here. Janette is there, waiting
for us."

Recovering from his surprise, Nicolas stared at his master. "So it *was* a
lie." A faint trace of bitterness touched his voice. "When you had Janette
release me from the cellar, you never intended to let me go my own way."

Lacroix answered his accusation with an enigmatic stare. "My intent was to
let you discover for yourself the futility of clinging to this life -- of
believing there can still be a place for you here." His lips curled in a
humorless smile. "And you have done that, have you not?"

Realization dawned. "You were there ... at the chapel. You saw it all?"

"Enough. And felt the rest. I did warn you there are some things best
avoided, particularly by our kind. Ridiculous trappings of *faith* ..." He
spat out the word. "... are among them." As Lacroix circled behind his
errant fledgling, his voice dropped to a soft, yet compelling, whisper.
"But those are minor difficulties, easily circumvented. The real danger
lies in dwelling on what has been left behind."

His master leaned in closer, weaving an insidious spell around him as only
Lacroix could do. "*We* are your family, Nicolas. Janette and I are all you
have and all you will ever need. Nicolas de Brabant no longer exists. You
are Nicolas ... my son, my protege ... my creation!"

Somehow, Nicolas resisted the urge to turn and meet Lacroix's gaze. He
stared resolutely ahead, struggling to hide his emotional turmoil from his
sire's piercing eyes. But there was no way to shield himself from their
vampiric link.

Lacroix stepped back, silently waiting. Nicolas could feel the intensity of
his gaze. Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, he finally relented
and turned to face his master. Lacroix's anger was almost palpable, his
bitter stare slicing through Nicolas with the ease of a finely honed sword.

"Need I remind you, Nicolas, that you had the chance to take a part of this
life with us? The *best* part. But you chose not to do so." He paused, his
eyes narrowing. "Unless, of course, you have changed your mind ..."

"No!" The hoarse protest had escaped his lips before Nicolas even realized
it. He cleared his throat and looked away. "I have not changed my mind,
Lacroix," he said, his voice subdued. "Fleur will remain here, as we
agreed."

For an instant, Nicolas thought he detected a faint disturbance in the link
binding him to Lacroix, but it was gone before he could be certain. When
his master spoke again, his face was impassive, his voice cool and
detached.

"Then I repeat, Nicolas ... there is nothing for us here. It is time to depart."

Before Nicolas could reply, however, a faint noise from the outer
passageway signaled the approach of two mortals. Lacroix heard it as well
and arched one eyebrow, clearly waiting to see what his offspring's
response would be.

He didn't have long to wait. Without hesitation, Nicolas returned the
jewelry box to the coffer, motioned for Lacroix to follow him, then strode
across the chamber to a tapestry-covered wall. He pushed aside the hanging
fabric to reveal a hidden recess, and within seconds, both vampires were
concealed from view.

The door opened, and a familiar voice floated across the bedchamber,
eliciting a sharp hiss of indrawn breath from Lacroix. "Please, dear
Mathilde, there is no shame in forgetting it. Grief has robbed us all of
our wits. 'Twas an oversight that can be remedied easily enough."

At the sound of Fleur's voice, Lacroix had gone utterly still -- a deathly
calm that went far deeper than mere physical movement. A worried Nicolas
shifted uneasily but tried to concentrate on the conversation taking place
between his sister and his mother's longtime serving woman.

"Still, I should have remembered it, m'lady," Mathilde insisted, the old
woman's voice thick with emotion. "It held such a special place in her
heart, even more so after she lost your dear father."

"I will hear no more of this." Fleur's voice, in turn, was gentle and
surprisingly steady, though Nicolas could detect the underlying current of
grief. "You have served my mother well for many years, and you are not to
worry yourself over this for one second more." Her pronouncement was
followed by a moment of silence, interrupted only by the slight scraping of
wood upon wood.

"That's odd. Mathilde, did Maman mention that the coffer was in need of repair?"

"No, m'lady, I had no idea there was anything amiss."

"No matter. Nothing seems to be disturbed, but we should have it seen to as
soon as possible. Ah ... here it is." In his mind's eye, Nicolas envisioned
his sister holding up the sapphire pendant. "Maman always meant for Nicolas
to have this. She tried to give it to him once, when I was but a child. He
would not take it. He wanted her to keep it."

A soft sigh reached his ears. "He would still want that, I think."

"That he would, m'lady. I am that sure of it. 'Tis a pity he cannot be here
to tell you himself. There has been no word?"

"None that brings good news. I fear they will not find him in time ... if
at all. To think that he was here, and then --" She broke off, her voice
faltering.

"There, there, m'lady." The sound of rustling fabric told him Mathilde had
moved to enfold Fleur in her comforting embrace. "The funeral Mass is not
for some time yet. He could still come riding through the gates. And if he
does not, you must be strong ... for his sake and your dear mother's. There
is nothing else to do."

A soft sniffle reached his ears. He imagined Fleur wiping away the tears as
she straightened her slender shoulders. "You are quite right. We will hope
for the best and do what we must. Come, Mathilde ... we have tarried here
long enough. We must take Maman's necklace and place it where it belongs."

Long after the door had closed behind them and their footsteps had faded
away, Nicolas remained motionless. He felt as if the last piece of his
mortal self had been ripped away, leaving behind a raw and gaping wound.

Finally, he stirred and emerged from the niche, holding back the tapestry
so his master could follow. But Lacroix did not move. He stared straight
ahead, his pale face etched in stone, apparently oblivious to the strained
silence around them.

Nicolas' nerves were stretched taut as he waited for a reaction, dreading
the consequences of their unexpected encounter. Just as he neared the
breaking point, something flickered in Lacroix's eyes and his frozen gaze
focused on Nicolas' face.

Nicolas waited, his arm still supporting the tapestry, hardly daring to
breath. More seconds passed, then Lacroix moved, brushing past him. He
walked slowly to the middle of the chamber and stopped but did not turn
around.

Nicolas released the tapestry. Without a word, he strode toward the door.

"Nicolas."

He halted, looking back at his master. Lacroix regarded him soberly, his
face devoid of emotion.

"Are you quite certain we are finally finished here?"

Nicolas allowed his gaze to roam about the familiar chamber, hardening his
heart against the pain of loss that assailed him as he did so. "Yes,
Lacroix," he whispered at last. "I am certain. As you said, there is
nothing here for me now ... or ever again. We are done."

And this time, when he rode away, he felt no urge to look back.

**********

The painful images faded away as Nick surfaced to find Natalie staring at
him. Had she said something? "I'm sorry, I  was --"

"Zoned out?"

He looked at her, startled, as a faint smile touched her lips. "I've
noticed you have a tendency to do that from time to time," she explained.

He smiled apologetically. "It's a bad habit I've developed." He almost said
more but changed his mind. "What were you saying?"

She shook her head. "Nothing important." Glancing at the pile of
photographs on the floor, Natalie bit her lip. "Guess I've made quite a
mess here, eh?" Sighing, she reclaimed the spot she had recently vacated,
sinking down on the carpet with legs folded Indian-style, her back resting
against the sofa.

As her gaze fell on the same picture that had initially drawn his
attention, she reached to pick it up. "That's my mother," she said softly.
"I was four years old when it was taken. It was my first vacation at the
beach ... and one of my earliest memories."

Nick studied the photo and the sweet face that beamed up at him with such
open delight. Stealing a glance at Natalie's profile, he could still see a
great deal of that little girl in her. But the shining innocence had been
tempered by years of reality, the delight now shadowed by a weary sadness.
An unexpected pang shot through him.

When Natalie spoke again, her voice had taken on a faraway note. "It was a
long time ago, but I've never forgotten it. We spent the day splashing
around in the water and watching the waves roll in. Richie played in the
sand with Dad, while Mom and I walked up and down the beach picking up
seashells. I'd never seen one before. They were so beautiful. We even found
a big orange starfish. I was so excited; I thought it was a giant seashell.
But Mom told me it was really an animal -- the kind that lives in the ocean
-- and that mermaids kept them as pets."

She laughed softly. "Naturally, I wanted to take it home with me, but she
reminded me that somewhere out there was a very sad mermaid looking for her
lost pet. So, instead, we carried it over to a tide pool. She said it would
stay there until the sea came in and took it back home.

"Later on, she got pretty put out with Dad, though I didn't realize it at
the time. He was a very pragmatic and scientific sort, and when I started
talking about mermaids, he patiently explained that they were mythical
creatures and didn't really exist, so they couldn't possibly keep starfish
as pets."

"What did your mother do?" Nick asked, gazing down at her.

A rueful smile curved her lips. "She looked my father straight in the eye,
smiled sweetly, and said it seemed a bit rude to insist that something
didn't exist just because we'd never seen it. She said the polite thing to
do was to give them the benefit of the doubt."

An involuntary laugh escaped Nick's lips as he pictured the scene. Natalie
might have inherited her father's practical nature, but he suspected the
stubbornness he'd observed in her came directly from Anna Lambert.

But when he looked back at Natalie he sobered instantly, taking in her
bowed head and convulsing shoulders. She was crying in heartbreaking
silence, her hands covering her face in a vain attempt to hide the tears.

Without a moment's hesitation, Nick was beside her, gathering her into his
comforting embrace. He didn't speak, but held her tightly, rocking gently
to and fro as she poured out her grief on his shoulder.

Several minutes passed before her heartfelt sobs subsided, replaced first
by soft sniffles, then silence. Nick continued to hold her, rubbing her
back with a gentle, soothing motion. He spoke without thinking. "When you
were talking to me earlier and I didn't hear you, it's because I was
remembering someone I lost a long time ago ... my mother."

He felt her sudden stillness and wondered which of them was more surprised
by his revelation.

Without lifting her head from his shoulder, Natalie spoke. "When did you
lose her? I mean ... was it before or after ..."

He glanced away. "After," he said, his tone flat and final. The barest
sound of an indrawn breath reached his ears, as if Natalie had wanted to
say more but suddenly thought better of it. Even as he held her, he could
sense her retreating behind their unspoken agreement not to delve too
deeply. Instead of relief, however, Nick felt a sharp pang of
disappointment.

That was when he realized that, once again, he stood at a crossroads --
just as he had that night in his mother's bedchamber. Only now, his chosen
path ran in another direction. Before, he had tried to cling to a life he
no longer desired. This time, he was holding at arm's length the very
things he sought to regain.

If he had any chance of becoming human again, it would not come from
isolating himself. Contrary to what Lacroix had told him that night in
Brabant, and on countless nights since, his hope now lay not in severing
the ties that bound him to the mortal world and to his humanity, but in
strengthening them.

By turning away from Lacroix and distancing himself from Janette, he'd
already taken the first step down that long road. Now, it was time to take
another -- to accept the friendship that Natalie offered, and to offer his
in return.

Tilting his head, he allowed his cheek to brush against her hair. "Will you
tell me about your mother?" he entreated softly.

Nick thought for a moment she might not answer. But seconds later, her head
moved ever so slightly against his shoulder in a nod of silent assent.

And as she began to speak, her voice halting at first, then gaining in
confidence, he tightened his embrace. She would tell him about her mother,
and when she finished, he would tell her about his. And through that
sharing, they would find a way to help each other heal.

Exactly as friends should.

=======
Finis

Comments, complaints and lavish words of praise to:
"Cindy Ingram" <cgi271@airmail.net>
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My FK fiction page:
http://people.mn.mediaone.net/nancykam/cific.html
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What's another word for thesaurus?
("Say good Knight, Gracie." -- G. Burns)