Hi all,

The following is the fourth in a series of post Last Knight 
stories. Yes, I know it's been a long time since the last one. <G>
The previous stories are titled "Puzzles," "Excess Baggage," and 
"Unfinished Business." They are available at Fkfanfic.com and 
the ftp site as well as my own FK fiction page at:      
  http://patriot.net/~piercelh/kathy.html

Briefly, everyone survived Last Knight--but you knew that 
anyway.<G>  Natalie has some 'hunter' characteristics, and she and
Nick are closer than ever. There is a lot more LaCroix in this
story than the previous ones.  Although it is helpful to read the
earlier stories, this one can stand alone pretty easily.

This entire story will be posted under an Adult header for 
mature themes, explicit violence and some mild sexual content.
If you are not subscribed to the Adult header and would like
to receive this story, drop me a line with an age statement and I'll
send it to you. If the topic of homosexuality makes you 
uncomfortable, you may want to skip this story.

This was not an easy story to write. I'd like to thank Nancy Kaminski, 
my intrepid beta reader and fountain of moral support,
Leslie GrantSmith for her helpful suggestions and encouragement,
and Jenny Holbrook  for her kind enthusiasm. I assure you, all the
mistakes are my own.

Oh yeah, Nick and Co. belong to J.P. and Co., I am only 
borrowing them for a short time. No copyright infringement is 
intended. 

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. Flames
will be used to make s'mores and with bathing suit season
approaching, I really don't need the calories. <g>

Permission is granted to archive this on the web site and the 
ftp site. All others please ask first.



Date: Thu, 23 Apr 1998 00:21:50 -0400
From: Kathy Whelton <103045.2473@compuserve.com>
Subject: ADULT: More Deaths Than One Must Die (01/16)


Please see standard disclaimers in part 00.


   "And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,
    None knew so well as I:
    For he who lives more lives than one
    More deaths than one must die."
            
           Oscar Wilde          
        ~from The Ballad of Reading Gaol~
          

More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 01/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Natalie Lambert was dragged from the depths of a very pleasant
dream by a rather annoying sensation on her left shoulder.  She 
swatted at it, half asleep, until her hand made contact with what was 
very obviously a face.  Her fingers wandered over the features and 
she pried open one of her eyes. Nick. Natalie swatted again, more 
earnestly this time, but to no avail. The sensation returned the 
moment her eye closed again. "What are you doing?" she asked 
in a sleepy voice. 

The sensation ceased once more. "I'm gnawing on your 
shoulder," Nick replied in a voice that was far too chipper for the
hour.

"That's nice," she murmured, still uncommitted to being awake.
She could feel the dull edge of his front teeth as they brushed
lightly against the skin. "Why, may I ask, are you doing that?"

"I thought it would get your attention."

He was right. It did. Natalie shifted onto her back and looked
at him. He had that dreadfully enthusiastic, puppy dog look that
she had never been able to resist, his golden hair curling into his
eyes. He lay across the bed fully dressed. There was no indication 
that he had even slept at all.

"The treatments," he reminded her. "You promised that we
could start the treatments today."

"What time is it?" Natalie responded, disoriented by the lack of
light in the bedroom of the loft. He could tell her virtually any
answer at this point and she'd  believe him.

"It's three p.m.." Well, it was almost three p.m.. A few minutes
here and there shouldn't matter so much. It had taken quite an
effort on his part not to wake her an hour earlier. She could get into
an amazingly deep sleep for a mortal; not even his random 
movements in the room had caused her to stir. 

"Three o'clock! Nick, I just got into bed at eleven." Natalie
sank back more deeply into her pillow, exasperated. At times 
Nick could be one of the most self-centered individuals she had
ever come across. This was shaping up to be one of those times.
"Besides, I said maybe. Maybe we could start the treatments
today. It depends on what turns up in the samples back at the lab." 

"So," he paused. "When do you think you might be able to get
back to the lab to check on them?" he asked hesitantly. He could
tell she wasn't pleased by this little intrusion. It had been rather
unfair of him to wake her. Just because he was too excited to sleep,
didn't mean she had to be.

"Like I told you this morning, Nick. It takes at least twelve hours
before I can gauge the reaction. I mixed the Cytovir with the blood 
samples from you and Vachon at eight this morning. That means..."

"Eight tonight," he finished it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have 
woken you." He kissed her lightly on the shoulder. "Go back to
sleep."

Something was telling her that she should be happier about 
all this.  After a very rough year, Nick was finally excited about
trying for a cure again. Why was it, though, that it always seemed
to be the 'miracle' cures that he got so excited about?  The ones 
that promised a quick result but always with some degree of risk
as well. The antiviral drug that she had stumbled upon was the 
first big break they had had--well, since the litovuterine-B disaster 
a few years ago.  It was about time--they deserved a break after all they
had been through. Still, someone had to be the voice of restraint
and reason here. It seemed like she'd just been elected. "Nick,"
she cautioned. "I don't want you to get your hopes up too high."

Nick tried to keep the disappointment from his face. "But you
said that things were looking good."

"In vitro, Nick. In the test tube." She rested her hand
alongside his cheek. "The decrease of the extra nucleotide that's
in your blood is dramatic. There's just no way to know what's 
going to happen once we try it out on you. I really want to proceed 
with caution here, Nick. I don't want a repeat of the last time."

He suspected that the episode with the litovuterine-B had
ultimately been harder on her than it had been on him. It was 
a massive disappointment, there was no doubt of that. He 
had been so sure that the vampire was gone. Still, once the 
drug-induced haze had cleared, he still had his memories of 
his day in the sun.  She had given him that. For that he would 
always be grateful to her. It was the closest he had come to 
being human in almost eight hundred years. He was ready to 
try again. He needed to try again, if not for himself, then for this 
woman who had given so much to him.  "I know, Nat. I won't get 
carried away this time, I promise.  You said it yourself though, 
the only real way to test this thing is in me. Besides, right now 
we have Vachon willing to act as a control. Who knows how 
long he'll hang around? He might suddenly decide that 
he doesn't feel like being a pin cushion."

That statement caught her attention. His leaving now would be
a big setback to her research, not to mention what it would do
to Tracy. Outwardly they still appeared to be 'just friends,' but 
Natalie was well aware of how deceiving appearances could 
be. "He said something to you?"

"No," Nick responded. "But he may well leave without a word.
That's been his style in the past," he reminded her.

Natalie knew it, but she didn't have to like it. In the 'real world,'
the one that didn't have vampires in it, a drug like this would 
go through years of rigorous animal testing before a researcher would
be allowed a clinical trial. In a way, it made poor Screed's death
even more unfortunate. He was the only vampire she had ever
met who might even *consider* creating a research specimen  or
two for her.  She stifled a grin at the thought of proposing such
an idea to Nick. "All right," she said finally. "If the tests look good
tonight, then ...we'll see about doing a test dose on you." She
could see him brightening as she spoke. "You have to promise
me Nick, no going behind my back this time. You stick to the
program and that means laying off the blood and trying to eat 
in addition to the medication."

Nick grinned broadly. "You're the boss. I'll do anything you
say,  Scout's honor."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Somehow I'd find that more 
comforting if you'd actually *been* a boy scout."

Nick shifted his weight to face her. The sleep was still heavy
on her eyes and her  long chestnut hair was askew. He had 
never seen anyone quite so beautiful in all his years. "I just 
want you to know that I am serious about this, Nat. And I do 
appreciate all your efforts--even if I do complain a lot sometimes."

"You? Complain?" she asked in a mocking tone. "Never."

Nick slid his arm beneath her, chuckling. "Guilty as charged. 
I'll try not to torture you too much during the experiment."

She cringed at the choice of his word 'experiment.' Although he
seemed to take it in stride, it always made her feel like a mad 
scientist.

"You know," he started slowly. "If  I'm going to cut down on the
blood as much as possible..."

"We can't be together," she finished it for him. "I know, Nick,"
she said tenderly.  She had been guilty in that regard as well. They
had managed a degree of intimacy, as long as his blood consumption 
remained  relatively high.  Without it, Nick wouldn't even  attempt to 
be with her. It was often hard enough to coax him even when he had 
recently fed. His fear of harming her, of biting her again, consumed 
him at times, as much as he might like to hide it from her. She found 
herself in the contrary position of encouraging him to keep his blood 
intake high. "It doesn't mean that I have to like it."  Natalie shifted in 
the bed until they were facing one another. "You know, we haven't 
started the treatments yet."

"Are you trying to tempt me into cheating already?" he asked
innocently. Nick slid his hand over the silky skin of her shoulder, 
displacing the thin strap of her nightgown. He leaned his forehead
into her's.

"I don't know," she smiled. "Is it working?"

Nick pressed his face to her hair and inhaled deeply, nuzzling her
temple with his lips. It was working all right. He could feel the
desire in him stir; the desire of man and beast. "I need to feed,"
he said quietly. 

"I'll be here waiting." Natalie trailed her hand across his
arm as Nick rose and headed down the stairs to the main level
of the loft.


end part one
comments welcome

Date: Thu, 23 Apr 1998 00:21:57 -0400
From: Kathy Whelton <103045.2473@compuserve.com>
Subject: ADULT: More Deaths Than One Must Die (02/16)


Please see standard disclaimers in part 00.

Warning: N&N mushy stuff and sexual content ahead. If N&N 
are not your thing, feel free to move to part 3.  


More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 02/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Nick swallowed deeply from the bottle, then set it down on the
bedside table. In the beginning he had tried to be furtive about his
feeding; it disgusted him that this was a part of their intimate
life together. He assumed that it would repulse her as well, but she
had put a quick end to that. His blood consumption was a fact
of life for them, an unfortunate one, but one that she could deal 
with, one that they could both deal with. 

He looked at her, curled up tightly in the sheets, the long
waves of her hair gathered around her face. Even now, close to 
a year after they had nearly lost everything, it was difficult for
him to believe that she was really here.  It was next to impossible 
for him to believe that she still could love him after getting a glimpse 
of what he really was, and the things that he had done. But
love him she did, that much was obvious. "Hey," he called 
softly. "Do I inspire such passion in you that you've already 
fallen back to sleep?"

Natalie stretched her arms up over her head and arched her 
back. "I was just resting my eyes...and thinking about you."

Nick sat down on the bed next to her. "And just what is it you
were thinking about?" he asked seductively.  He ran a finger across
her collarbone and again slid the strap of her nightgown off of her
shoulder. Nick could feel the desire that had dissipated somewhat
beginning to build again. He only prayed that the beast would 
stay away long enough for him to show her what she meant to
him. His hand came down to rest gently on the curve of her breast. 

"You, me, the usual stuff," Natalie answered. "How much I want 
you." She ran her hand across the smooth silk of his shirt and pulled
him towards her. Natalie pressed her lips against his, steeling
herself for the strong, coppery taste she knew she would find there. 
She parted her lips and let her mouth soften against his. Nick teased
her delightfully as she did so, nibbling gently on her lips. 

Nick eased himself into the bed beside her and slid his arms
around her. He kissed her, tentatively at first, then with ever
increasing intensity. The taste of her was delightful. He worked
his way down carefully, sliding his lips down the nape of her 
neck and onto her shoulders. He teased at her shoulder, the 
same one he had gnawed on playfully earlier.  "Are you still 
mad at me for waking you up?"

"That depends," she returned, smiling, "on just what your 
intentions are, sir." 

"My intentions," Nick tugged the top of her nightgown down
and pressed his lips against the warm, soft flesh of her 
breast, "are totally dishonorable, I assure you"

Natalie drew a quick breath at the feel of his lips against her. 
"In that case, you may continue." She let herself melt into the
softness of the bed, giving herself over to the pleasure he seemed
very willing to provide. He moved to the other breast and took it
carefully, lovingly in his mouth.  She could feel the heaviness
growing between her legs, the powerful need to have him within
her.

Nick quickly pulled off his shoes and trousers and pressed the
length of his body against hers, twining their legs together. As 
much as he anticipated the warmth of her body next to
his, each time he found it to be a delicious surprise. He pulled her
even closer to him, his hands wandering over her sumptuous 
curves. He brushed his fingers against her moist curls and heard 
her groan in response. He wanted nothing more than to make 
love to this woman, slowly, deliberately, as she so richly deserved. 
Nick felt his own needs begin to grow as well.  The needs of the beast as
well as the man.  He could hear the quickened tempo of her heart,
smell her musky desire for him. His eyes had taken on the amber
glow that always signified his arousal, and his fangs were aching to 
descend. 

Natalie slid her hands across him. She would never get used to the
firm, cool silk of his skin against her own.  She could feel his 
fingers as they pressed within her, gently easing their way.  He was
always so careful with her, as if he were afraid she would break.
She moved herself strongly against him, signaling her willingness
to have him within her.

Nick chuckled softly. Natalie had not turned out to be the shy,
demure lover he had somehow thought she would be, but a woman
who was very capable of making her needs known. "Getting
impatient, are we?" His voice was deepened with the vampire. 
He was more than ready for her, the scent of her blood filled the air, 
calling him to her. Nick pressed the firm edge of his erection 
against her leg, and began rubbing against her.  "Well, I'm afraid 
you'll just have to wait a bit."

He slid his hands slowly down the length of her legs, taking 
her foot firmly but gently in his hands. Natalie protested briefly 
at the interruption, but was silenced by a look from her lover.  
Nick massaged her foot, lightly at first, then with increasing 
degrees of firmness, his cool fingers gently encircling her foot 
almost completely. He held her ankle in one hand, slowly rotating 
the foot with the other, pressing against the sole. Natalie was 
delightfully surprised by the warm sensations of  growing 
pressure she sensed in her groin. He eased the first foot to the 
bed, the torturously repeated the procedure with the other. 

"Nick," Natalie called softly. She wasn't at all sure what it was he
had done, but whatever it was, it had worked. Her need for him 
had grown urgently; she wanted desperately to feel him 
within her. "Please..."

Nick lifted her feet off of the bed, kissing them lightly. He crossed
her legs at the calves and positioned himself on his knees 
between her legs. He felt the desire surge within him. He could 
never get enough of looking at her this way, open and wanting 
him and only him.  The scent of her came to him again, warm and 
musky. Nick felt his fangs drop, suddenly taking on a life of their 
own. He slammed his eyes shut in a desperate desire to hold 
on long enough to finish this for her. Nick pressed his weight 
against her legs, sliding  his member effortlessly into her. Natalie's 
warm sheath engulfed him, sending his senses and his control 
reeling.  He growled softly in the back of his throat and began 
thrusting within her.

Natalie felt him enter her, filling the desperate void that he had 
so skillfully created. She could see his eyes closed tightly, whether
it was for her benefit or his, she didn't know. His muscles were
straining with his efforts to maintain control. She reached down and
gently raked her fingers across the lengths of his thighs in an effort
to reassure him. 

His thrusting was creating delightful waves of pleasure within 
her and she willed herself to relax into the sensations.  A soft 
moan escaped from her lips as he continued to move within 
her. She pulled her knees even more tightly towards her body, 
allowing him to press himself more deeply. She could feel the 
violent sensations building within her, threatening to send her 
cascading over the edge.  "Nick," she cried in a voice that was 
more a scream than anything else, her body begging for 
release.

Then, suddenly, there was nothing. Natalie heard him give 
a strangled cry, then abruptly he withdrew from her, his cool 
seed spilling on her leg. Nick had slid away, she could see 
him huddled on the far side of the bed,  his fangs firmly 
planted in his own wrist.

"Sorry," he said quietly, licking the wounds closed. His eyes
fled to the ceiling and away from her. What possible value could
she get from tormenting herself this way? He could never make 
love to her in the manner in which she deserved--he was so damned
afraid of letting it get out of control, of hurting her, of killing her
as he had very nearly done a year ago.

Natalie closed the gap between them on the bed. Sorry was the
one word they were forbidden to use in the bedroom. She eased
her body next to his. "There's nothing to be sorry about, I was
having a fine time."

"Yeah, sure you were," he answered succinctly, his eyes still 
fixed on the ceiling. 

"I was, really." She slapped his chest lightly. "It was very...interesting.

Where did you learn that one?"

Nick cast a quick glance at her. "You don't want to know," he
responded coolly.

"I do, really." Although in all likelihood she already knew the 
answer. Anything to keep him from sinking into himself.  She was
beginning to wonder if their love making was doing him more 
harm than good. He always had such high expectations, ones
they were unlikely to ever achieve, especially if things remained
as they were.

A sly grin stole over his face. "It was in a brothel, in Damascus,
if you must know."

"So it was before..."

"Yes, I was alive at the time," he responded wryly. 

"Nick!" She hated when he talked like that, but at least he was
smiling. A grin stole over her own lips.  "So that's what you were
*really* doing over there."

"Well, it was a very...educational trip, in many ways," 
he conceded.

Natalie pulled the comforter tightly around them and 
snuggled close to his cool body. "I just hope you didn't pay 
too much for that."

"Natalie Lambert!" he exclaimed with feigned indignation. He 
slid his arms around her, gathering her close to him. "That isn't 
quite the way it was supposed to end," he teased.  She had a 
way of bringing light into his darkness like no one he had 
ever met.  She should be repulsed by him and his feeble 
attempts to please her, instead she soothed his ridiculous 
male ego with humor.

"No?" she asked innocently.

"No." Nick tightened his arms around her, burying his face in her
hair, the delicate scent of her blood still calling to him. "Someday..."
he said wistfully. "Someday, I'll spend the whole day making love to 
you, like you deserve to be made love to."

She heard the break in his voice and slid her hands across his
back. She loved him more than her own life. How could he think 
that she ever needed more than this moment?  "Nick," she 
whispered softly. "If nothing ever changes, I'll be perfectly happy."
She gave him a tight squeeze. "Do you hear me?"

Natalie felt his nod against her shoulder. She pulled back and
faced him squarely. "But let's not think like that now. This drug
*is* going to work. We *have* to think positively." 

"Think positively," he echoed.  If only thinking could make it so.

She spared a quick glance towards the clock and groaned. She
shifted her weight towards the edge of the bed. "I better get going,"
she announced. "I'm on at five tonight." Natalie stood and headed
towards the bathroom. "Care to join me?" 

Nick stretched languorously on the bed. "Naw, I think I might 
try and get some sleep after all."

Natalie grabbed a pillow and lobbed it directly at his head. "By
all means," she growled, "get some sleep."

Nick easily caught the pillow and slid it under his head. "Thanks, I
will," he replied with a grin. He watched as the bathroom door
closed behind her and listened as the water for the shower 
came to life. If only... 

end part 2
comments welcome
Kathy 103045.2473@compuserve.com

Date: Thu, 23 Apr 1998 00:22:05 -0400
From: Kathy Whelton <103045.2473@compuserve.com>
Subject: ADULT: More Deaths Than One Must Die (03/16)

Warning: This section contains offensive language 
and extremely explicit violence that may be disturbing 
to some readers.


More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 03/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998

Brian Boswell glanced at his watch for the third time in as 
many minutes. He needed to go. His parents would be sure 
to notice if he broke curfew, especially on a school night. The 
last thing he needed was to get things stirred up again with them.  
Things had finally begun to settle down in his relationship with 
them and he wanted to keep it that way. 

It wasn't like anything was happening anyway. The Tuesday 
night bar scene was hardly an exciting one. None of the few 
regulars that he knew had made an appearance tonight. A 
handful of couples danced slowly in the middle of the floor, 
their actions motivated as much by boredom as anything else. 

Still, he had needed this tonight. He needed to get away from 
the scene at home, at school. He needed to be where he could 
just relax and be himself. Brian tossed a tooney onto the bar 
to cover the price of the diet cola he had nursed for the better 
part of the last two hours.  "Keep the change," he called to the 
bartender as he stood to go.

"Gee, kid," the man behind the bar returned. "Do you think you
can spare that much?"

Brian's face colored brightly. A couple of bucks was about all
he could spare.  As it was, far too much of what he earned 
delivering pizzas went back into his car. At the rate he was saving
money he'd be living at home until he was sixty-five.  He didn't
even want to think about where the money for college would
come from if that football scholarship didn't come through. 

Brian stepped through the door and immediately pulled his jacket 
close around him. There were places where November could still
rightfully be considered autumn; Toronto just didn't happen to be 
one of them.  A stiff wind blew down the street, sending the few
pedestrians scurrying even more quickly towards their destinations.
He only hoped that his car battery would make it through 
another long winter. 

"Hey, queerboy!" A voice called suddenly from the darkness
of an adjoining alley.

The words chilled Brian in a way that the cold wind had not. He
stood perfectly still, hoping that the words were not being directed
at him.

"Yo, Boswell, we're talking to you. What are you, deaf too?"
the voice derided. 

A body emerged from the darkness to join the voice.  Brian 
didn't know whether to be relieved or not. He recognized the tall,
lanky figure as Chris Connolly, a fellow senior at the prep school 
they both attended. Chris was quickly joined by three other young 
men. Brian recognized them, but couldn't quite put names to their 
faces. He had only transferred to Waverly at the start of the current 
school year. 

"Hey guys," Brian tried to keep his voice light. "I heard you, I
just didn't think that you were talking to me."

"And why wouldn't we be?" Chris asked with a broad grin. 
"You're a fag, aren't you?" He pointed his thumb over his shoulder
at the building behind him. "And this is a fag bar, isn't it?"

"This place?" Brian asked, his voice cracking. "I just stopped
in here for a beer. I had no idea..."

"A beer!" The largest of the three anonymous boys guffawed
and struck his buddy on the shoulder. "See, Josh, I told you he
was smart. Is that what you were here for last week, too? They 
must have some beer."

"He's not so smart." Josh was doubled over in laughter. He wiped
the tears of mirth from his eyes and continued. "Or he wouldn't
be a homo now, would he?" 

"Now, guys," Chris commented sternly. "I think you're being a
little hard on Brian here. I consider homosexuality to be a perfectly
acceptable alternative lifestyle. Don't you, Brian?" he asked with
mock seriousness.

The red in Brian's face became even deeper, if that were truly
possible. The wisest move was undoubtedly to step back into the
bar and get help, but still he hesitated. The false ID in his pocket
seemed suddenly to be burning a hole in there. If he went in for 
help, all hell would undoubtedly break loose.  They had done 
nothing but laugh at him--perhaps that was all they planned to do.
"Look guys, I don't want any trouble. You've had your laughs; can
we all just go home now?"

"Sure, Brian," Chris slapped him on the back. "We were just
having a bit of fun. Sorry if we were a bit rough on you."

Brian eyed the four uneasily.  Chris held his position standing
next to Brian. Two of the others lounged casually against a 
parked car. Brian noticed that the smallest of the boys held 
back, as if he were desperately wishing to be somewhere 
else.  He looked familiar as well, but Brian couldn't quite place 
him. The laughter had died to an occasional snicker. "No problem," 
he managed. He started to ease his way down the street towards 
his car. It was parked only a block away; he could practically 
see it from where he stood. "I gotta run."

"Sure," Chris responded. "We need to get going, too. We'll
see you in school tomorrow."

School tomorrow. Brian walked down the block at a brisk pace,
his heart pounding.  A wolf whistle sounded behind him, followed
by laughter. How the hell was he supposed to go to school
tomorrow? And why  had he ever left Central to begin with?
There he had had to deal with the occasional stare in the 
hallway, but at least he had friends. Who the hell cared if 
Waverly had the best football coach in the province?  

Chris Connolly watched as Brian hurried down the street. It was
important that the timing be perfect. If he acted too soon, the
noise might attract attention and some busybody might call the
cops. If he waited too long, Boswell might actually make it to
his car. The guy could run; you had to give him that. A few more
steps... "Get him," he said quietly to the three boys gathered
closely around him. 

Brian felt his heart leap at the unmistakable sound of running
that echoed from behind him. He bolted, his hands fumbling in 
his jacket for his keys as he ran.  He quickly measured the distance
to his car. He could make it. He *had* to make it. There'd be no
escape from these guys if they managed to catch up with him.
Brian stopped short as he came to his car. He slid the key into the
doorlock, only to feel his arm pulled roughly away.  For the first 
time, his anger flared. He struggled to pull his arm back. "Let me
go," he said sharply.

"Sorry, Brian." Chris joined the two who now had Brian
by the arms. "Close, but no cigar." He gestured with his head
to an adjacent alley. "Take him in there," he instructed. He pulled
the car keys from Brian's hand. "I don't think you'll be needing these
for a while."

Brian thrashed wildly, his arms and legs flailing. It was almost
as if he were possessed by a spirit other than his own. His right 
foot made contact with the largest boy. He felt the boy's grip on 
him loosen, giving him some small hope that he could beat this.  
Brian inhaled deeply and let out the loudest scream for help that he
was capable of. He felt his panic rise to even higher levels as
he looked down the deserted street--there was no one there to
hear his cries for help.

"You, shut up!" Chris delivered a sharp elbow to the bridge
of Brian's nose. "I said get him in there," Chris commanded 
angrily. "Do you want the whole street to see this?" He grabbed 
Brian roughly by the collar and pulled backwards, adding his 
strength to the other two attackers. 

The alley was dark; the only light came from a single streetlamp, 
now a seemingly impossible distance away.  The light 
hit the side of a large dumpster, creating an almost surrealistic 
landscape in the corridor of concrete. A large rat looked up briefly,
unimpressed by the presence of the interlopers, before returning 
to his meal.  Brian felt a sharp pain in his head as he was thrust 
against the concrete wall of the alleyway. Warm blood coursed 
from his nose which throbbed mercilessly with every beat of his 
heart.  He struggled to lose the hold that pinned his arms to the 
wall, but they held him tight.

"You know, Brian," Chris started in a deceptively mild tone. "I 
think I've reconsidered my previous statement concerning 
homosexuality. I think you're a fucking pervert!" he spat. "And this
is what we do to perverts." Chris swiftly brought his foot up 
and kicked Brian strongly in the crotch.

Brian doubled over in agony, the previous pain mild in 
comparison.  He tried desperately to pull his hands inward 
in a futile gesture of protection, only to have them forced even 
further apart. He felt a sudden wave of nausea sweep over him 
and he began retching. Brian felt the acid sting of the diet cola 
as it slid back up his throat.

"Jesus Christ," Josh exclaimed, disgusted. "He's going to puke
all over us." 

"Hold him tight," Chris responded. "I'm not done with him yet."
Chris reached into his coat and withdrew a long, cylindrical object.
"He can puke all he wants once I'm through."

"What the hell is that?" Josh joked. "A baseball bat for midgets?"

"It's a nightstick." Chris held the tapered end in his hand and
slapped  the larger end on his open palm. The sharp sound 
cut through the silence that had suddenly descended on the 
alley. "My Dad has a whole collection of stuff like this. It's for 
keeping unruly suspects in line." He looked at Brian, still 
crouched over in pain. "Brian here is looking pretty unruly. 
I think maybe we still need to teach him a thing or two." He 
paused. "Straighten him up," he instructed the other two.

Brian felt himself being pulled roughly from his stooped 
position. His breath came in ragged gasps. "You're pretty brave
here with your friends, Chris," he managed. "Why don't we try
this with just the two of us?"

"Good try," returned Connolly angrily. "But that's sort of the point."
He slammed the end of the nightstick into Brian's abdomen.
"I don't want to be with you at Waverly." Chris pulled the stick
back then pounded it once again into Brian's abdomen. "I don't 
want you on the team." He pushed the stick forward a third time.
"And I sure as hell don't want to be in any shower room with you,"
he snarled through gritted teeth.

Brian felt something snap inside with the first impact. He 
struggled once again against the strong arms that held him 
tight. He could feel his strength waning; if he didn't get away 
now, he knew he never would. He opened his mouth, but a 
raspy cry was all he could manage. There was no way that 
anyone beyond the alley would hear. He spotted the fourth boy, 
pressed against the concrete of the opposite wall, his eyes two 
round saucers. "Please," he cried, a thin sound now. "Help me!" 
The second and third impacts were lesser somehow, not as 
severe. It was almost as if they were happening to someone 
else.  He felt the weight of his body sag, supported now, rather 
than held by his captors.

"Pull down his pants," Chris instructed loudly.

"No, Chris," Josh returned. "He's had enough." Josh had had
more than enough as well, but he wasn't about to admit it, not
in front of these guys. 

"I said pull them down." Chris reached forward and unbuckled
Brian's belt with one hand. The second boy grasped hold of
the waistband and tugged strongly. Between the two of them,
Brian's pants and underwear slid to his knees. "Maybe I do feel
like a bit of baseball after all," Chris commented with a grin. He
swung the small bat back, then brought it sharply across Brian's
genitals, a distinct red welt rising immediately. He repeated the
motion several times, finally drawing blood. "Looks like I hit a
home run!"

"That's it, I'm done." Josh felt his stomach churning. The first 
thing he was going to do when they left here was puke his guts 
out. He let go of Brian's arm and began backing out of the alley.

"Me, too." The second boy released his hold and Brian dropped
immediately to the ground. He took off down the alley at a slow
trot, desperate to catch up with his friend.

Chris knelt down beside Brian's still form. He was curled
tightly into a ball, moaning softly with every breath. "But I'm not
quite done yet, am I Brian?" he asked softly. "I feel sort of badly 
that you didn't get a date tonight." Chris pushed the end of the
nightstick up against Brian's rectum. "That is why you came here
tonight, isn't it?"

Brian's eyes widened as he felt the stick press against him. He
opened his mouth to protest, but no sound would emerge. 
He could feel a thick, coppery taste in the back of his throat. 
Something was broken, something deep inside. He shook his 
head vigorously from side to side, the only defense he had 
against this final violation.

"Methink you doth protest too much...or something like that; I
never was very good in English." Chris gripped the stick tightly 
then shoved it vigorously into Brian's anus. He shifted his fingers, 
now slick with perspiration and thrust again.  He could feel the
soft tissues resist, then suddenly give way.

Chris looked up and saw  Mark still pressed against the far wall, 
still staring as he had done throughout. He couldn't remember 
which of his idiot friends had decided to bring this little dweeb 
along for the trip; he'd find out, though.  "Mark," he said softly,
rising to his feet. He grabbed the younger boy firmly by the collar.
"Do you want this to happen to you?" He pressed Mark's head
around and forced him to look at Brian's writhing form. He shook
the boy vigorously when he received no answer to his question.
"Do you?" he reiterated.

Mark managed to find his voice. "No," he said tremulously.

"Then you keep your mouth shut. You don't tell your Mummy.
You don't tell your Daddy. And don't even *think* about going to
the cops." Chris abruptly released the hold on Mark's collar. He
shoved the smaller boy roughly towards the end of the alley. Mark
glanced once over his shoulder, then headed towards the street
at a run.

Brian screamed silently into the night. At some undefined point
he realized that he was alone.  *They* were gone. All of them. 
He began pulling himself slowly along towards the mouth of the 
alley. He still had some strength in his arms, but he didn't trust 
himself to even try and stand. It didn't hurt anymore; not so much, 
anyway. He was just so cold, horribly, dreadfully cold. His car 
wasn't far, if only he could make it there he'd be all right.  He 
stretched his arms out and laid his head down.  He was so tired.
If only he could rest, just for a few minutes. Brian closed his eyes 
and felt the darkness overtake him.

end part 3
   


Date: Thu, 23 Apr 1998 00:22:12 -0400
From: Kathy Whelton <103045.2473@compuserve.com>
Subject: ADULT: More Deaths Than One Must Die (04/16)

More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 04/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998

"If you make one more of those little paperclip people, Nick, 
I'm going to have to hurt you."

Nick glanced up across his desk into the cold, blue eyes of 
Tracy Vetter. There was no doubt in his mind that she 
meant every word of what she was saying.  He dropped the 
twisted piece of metal.  His eyes slid involuntarily towards 
the phone.

"And you're not going to spend the next ten minutes staring at
that phone, either."

Nick looked at her closely. That last command sounded almost
like a growl. He didn't suppose...  No, Vachon wouldn't dare. 
"Sorry," Nick responded. "I expected to hear from Nat a while 
ago." He glanced at the clock. It was almost one-thirty. He had
expected to hear from her quite a while ago. She told him she'd
have some results by eight o'clock. He sighed. Just because 
they weren't busy didn't mean that things were slow at the 
morgue.

"Well, you could help me read through a few of these reports. 
That'll help pass the time." Tracy's tone was softer, as were her
eyes. She didn't know the details, but she knew that Natalie had
seemed very excited about some discovery she had made in the
lab. She had a pretty good idea that it had something to do with
Nick and his desire to be cured of his vampirism. She just wished
that he'd see fit to confide in her from time to time.  They were,
after all, supposed to be partners.

Nick looked at the stack already neatly piled on his desk. He
had done his share, more than his share. It wasn't his fault that
he could read faster than she could. "Sure," he responded 
grudgingly. He held his hand out to accept the proffered files.

  
"Nick, Tracy, can I see you in my office for a minute?" 
Captain Reese stood  impassively in the doorway of his office. 
At least his detectives were together for once, even if they didn't 
seem to quite have this partner thing down yet. It had been 
almost two years now; and he was beginning to wonder if maybe 
a change  might be in order. Some people were just not meant to 
work together.

"Sure, Captain." Nick rose a little too eagerly. He shrugged 
lightly at Tracy and headed towards the office.

Tracy dropped the files back onto her desk. Great, she thought 
to herself, it would take her most of the weekend to get through
the rest of them on her own. It was good thing that she had
nothing that even resembled a normal life. Tracy hesitated as
she rounded Nick's desk. Those little paperclip people were
awfully cute. She couldn't make them herself. She had tried, she
just couldn't get the metal to smooth out enough. Tracy quickly
scooped them off Nick's desk and into her pocket; it wasn't like
he'd miss them or anything.

"Close the door behind you,"  Reese instructed as Tracy
entered. He had taken his seat and was staring at Nick and Tracy
with a grim expression. "We have a homicide in an alleyway off 
of Church Street. The five hundred block," Reese paused and inhaled
deeply. "The report I have from the scene is from a uniformed
rookie--he's pretty shaken. I'd go there myself, but I'm knee deep
in monthly reports. Nick, I'm counting on you to go there with a
clear head and get this thing sorted out."

"What's the story, Captain?" Tracy questioned.

"The victim is a young, white male," Reese answered. "He 
appears to have been the victim of a beating--beyond that the 
details are a little sketchy. Natalie is already on her way. Keep 
in touch people, and please, keep together on this one."

Nick and Tracy rose in unison to go. "We'll keep you informed
Captain," Nick stated as they exited the office.

"I notice he didn't say anything about *my* clear head," Tracy
complained as they left the building.

"At least it beats doing paperwork," Nick replied, grinning.


-------------

The body was covered--that was never a good sign, especially
in an area that was out of view of the public. Keeping the body 
uncovered was almost a matter of pride among the crime scene
people; not to mention the frenzy the forensics' people went into
if the slightest item was disturbed. 

Nick spotted Natalie immediately, kneeling over the body,
seemingly lost in concentration.  The  lights of the crime
scene unit cast a harsh glare across her face.  He stood behind 
her for a moment before speaking. "Any ideas on a cause of 
death?"

Natalie began answering without turning around--another bad
sign. That usually meant that she was either mad at him, or she was
struggling to maintain a professional demeanor. Last he checked,
she had nothing to be angry with him about. "I'm still working
on that." Natalie pulled back the sheet that had been placed over
the body. "There's no sign of a gunshot wound, or any other
puncture wounds, as far as I can see. He took quite a beating. My
best guess is that there is some internal damage, but that's just
an educated guess at this point."

Brian Boswell wore all the signs of the beating he had taken
earlier. His nose was clearly broken, his eyes slightly discolored,
indicating that the facial trauma had occurred prior to his death. He
was curled in a fetal position, his pants still around his ankles. 
Much of his lower torso was caked with dried blood.

"How about a time of death?" Nick questioned.

"I'd say about two hours, give or take. It's a little tough out here
in the cold." Natalie straightened and faced Nick. "He didn't die
right away. It looks like he crawled some distance down the alley
towards the street after he was beaten." She didn't even want to 
think about how long he may have lain there, waiting for help that
never came. 

Nick stepped slowly along the course that the victim had taken
earlier. He stopped at a small pool of blood and vomit that was
left behind. "Here," he said quietly. "Make sure the forensics' 
people get some samples of this."

"The first officer on the scene found this, too." Natalie held
a baton-like instrument in her gloved hand. "This may well be our
weapon."


"It almost looks like police issue," Natalie speculated.

"Yeah," Nick agreed, staring at the object. "But not from 
Toronto, and not from now. This could be an important piece of the
puzzle. Do you want to hold on to it, or should we take it with us?"

"I'll keep it with me. I'll need to match it up to any injuries."

Tracy joined the pair. "I guess this is what Reese meant about
keeping a clear head."

"Any identification on him?" Nick asked.

"A little too much, actually." Natalie held a baggie out to Nick.
"According to one, he's an eighteen-year-old  student at  Waverly 
Preparatory School. According to the other, he's a twenty-six-year
old merchant marine from the States. Take your pick."

Nick shook his head sadly. "What is it that makes these kids 
want to grow up so fast?"

"It's the way of the world these days," Natalie responded 
with a sad smile. "That's the officer that discovered the body."
Natalie directed them to a young man in uniform, slumped 
against the bumper of her car. "I think he's been out of the 
Academy all of a week--he's pretty upset."

Nick touched her arm lightly. For the first time since arriving, he
allowed himself to respond to her in a less than totally professional
manner. He could see the strain on her face. "How are you?" he
asked gently. 

"I don't get this, Nick. I just don't get it." Natalie shook her head.
"Hopefully we'll turn up something that begins to make some
sense of this." She glanced up at him. "See you back at the 
shop?"

"As soon as where done here," he replied. Nick looked over
at the uniformed officer. He smiled. "Don't worry," he assured her.
"I'll be kind."



   
The officer straightened as he saw the detectives approach. His
heart had finally begun to slow down, now he could feel it begin
race again. He just hoped that he could get his mouth to form a 
coherent sentence.  His hand hesitated halfway between a 
handshake and a salute. "Detective Nick," he fumbled, "I mean
Detective Knight."

"Just Nick will be fine." Nick smiled warmly and reached to
shake the outstretched hand. "And this is Tracy. Welcome
aboard."

"Thank you, sir...I mean, Nick. I'm Williams, Tony Williams." He
shook his head. "This is just awful."

"Tony," Tracy prompted. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Williams straightened his shoulders. "I was on patrol when I
noticed the victim, lying there in the alley, just like that. I called
it in after ascertaining that he was dead."

"What if he wasn't dead?" Nick asked abruptly.

"Excuse me, sir?" Williams asked, confused.

"I said, what if he wasn't dead? What if this was a ruse 
to lure you into the alley?"

"Well, I..." Williams stammered.

"Then it might be you who's about to be carted off to the morgue," 
Nick stated as gently as possible. "Where's your partner,
Tony?"

Williams turned an even deeper shade of red. "He had some
personal errands to take care of."

"I think you need to collect your partner from his errands, then
get back to the station and figure out how you're going to put all
this in a report. Does that sound about right to you?" 

"Yes, Detective." Williams felt his shoulders sag. "Thank you, sir,"
he added quietly.

Nick's face softened. "You did okay here, Tony. You just have to
remember that there are rules for a reason. We want you with us
for a long time. Now, go and collect your partner. Good luck 
explaining this to Reese."

"Thanks," Williams responded with a grin. "Thank you , sir."



"Whew," Tracy giggled as they stepped away from the car. 
"Was I ever that green?" She quickly pointed her forefinger at Nick.
"Don't you dare answer that."  She looked up and down the street.
The small crowd at the scene was dissipating. A handful of
storefront businesses looked open: a convenience store, a video 
rental outlet. "So, where do you want to start?"

"I don't know, *Detective*. Where would you go if you were a
merchant marine on shore leave?"

"The bar," she returned in an embarrassed tone,  
looking towards the next block.

"Then the bar it is," he replied, grinning. "After you."



end part 4
comments welcome
Kathy 103045.2473@compuserve.com


More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 05/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998

If it could be possible, there was even less light in the bar than
there had been out on the street. Nick scanned the room quickly.
If they had heard the commotion outside, the patrons certainly 
gave no indication of it. The low music throbbed on endlessly; 
Nick couldn't quite remember when music ceased to sound like 
music, he just couldn't wait until things came around full circle 
again. Despite the hour, and the quality of the sound system, 
the dance floor was nearly full, the couples pressed tightly together, 
swaying to an uneven beat.

He felt Tracy stiffen as her eyes became adjusted to the light. 
Nick placed a firm hand on her elbow. "Why don't we start at the
bar?" he said quietly.

"Nick," Tracy whispered, grateful for once for her partner's
sensitive hearing. "These are all guys."
 
"I noticed, Tracy." Their presence had already begun to attract
some attention. Several of the people closest to the entrance had
stopped dancing and turned to look at them. "Let's get on with this."

"Excuse me." Nick pressed his way up to the bar and hailed the
man behind it. "I need to ask you few a questions." He slid the
identification across the bar. "Was this man in here earlier tonight,
maybe a couple of hours ago?"

The bartender looked at him warily. "Who wants to know?"

Nick felt for his wallet and flipped open his badge. "Detective
Knight, Metro Homicide. This is Detective Vetter."

"We don't want any trouble in here."

"I'm not here to give you any. I only want an answer to the
question. Have you seen this man in here before, maybe 
earlier tonight?"

"I've seen him before," the bartender acknowledged. "But I 
just got here around midnight. Joe was on the bar before then."

"Is Joe still around?" Tracy asked.

"In the back." The bartender indicated a doorway behind the
bar.

"Well, do you think you could get him?" Tracy returned, 
frustrated by the slow response. This place was making 
her distinctly uncomfortable and she wanted to be out of  
there and done with this as soon as possible.

The bartender disappeared into the back room.

"What's up, Tracy?" Nick leaned closer to his partner. He could
see the flush creeping into her face, feel the extra warmth from
her skin.
   
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't care what people do in
their own homes." The couple beside her was locked in a 
passionate embrace and she turned away from them. "I just 
don't want to see it. This makes me really uncomfortable."




    ---(-----(-----<@    Troyes, France 1300   @>----)-----)-----


LaCroix snapped the book shut as he heard Nicholas' tread
on the stair. He fought to keep his expression neutral. Nicholas
was late; he had expected his return hours before. This irritating
habit that Nicholas had begun to develop in choosing his meals
was beginning to wear on his nerves. It was one thing to take care,
it was quite another to spend half the night traveling. It made the
entire system far too inefficient.  "Trouble with the hunt?" he
questioned as Nicholas entered the dimly-lit room.

"Not at all." A thin smile crossed Nicholas' lips as he thought 
of her, young and so full of the rich promise of life. He could
still feel her desire for him coursing through his veins, the warmth
of her body pressed close to his. Nicholas unclasped his mantle
and tossed it away before collapsing into the nearest chair.  "Why
do you ask?"

"The time, Nicholas. I had expected you before now." The 
recent kill had brought an all-too-brief bit of color to Nicholas'
pale face; his long, golden hair was a wild mass of tangles from
the wind. At least he had managed to shave.  As hard as he had 
fought to instill Roman notions of cleanliness into both his 
treasured children, LaCroix had to admit that a lesser standard 
of grooming suited Nicholas quite well.

"I stopped at the tavern," Nicholas answered honestly. It would
not please LaCroix, but there was no point in trying to hide it from
him. There were no secrets from LaCroix. 

He found himself increasingly drawn to the raucous atmosphere
in the local drinkery. The company was good. It had been so
long since he had enjoyed the easy camaraderie of fellow men. He
had forgotten how good it felt to share a laugh over a game of
dice. As long as he remembered to force down an occasional sip
of ale, they seemed none the wiser about his true nature. All 
LaCroix's warnings about shunning the company of mortals seemed
suddenly excessive. Indeed, he was beginning to feel the stirrings 
of friendship for some of the lads he had met. 

Nicholas stretched his legs towards the low fire and pulled off
his soft leather boots.  "Do you think we might stay here a while, 
LaCroix? Maybe once Janette joins us we could get some permanent 
lodging instead of these rented rooms." These accommodations 
would certainly do for the short term: a comfortable hall and 
bedrooms enough for all three, should the need arise. Still, a 
little more privacy might be in order if they were to remain for long.

"So you've taken a fancy to it here, have you?" LaCroix watched 
him closely. "Tell me, Nicholas, what draws you to this place? 
Certainly not the intellectual stimulation." 

Nicholas smiled broadly. He had already heard enough lectures
on the superiority of intellectualism during the Roman Empire
to last him several lifetimes. He leaned over and grasped his
master's hand gently. "There's a vigor about this place that I
haven't seen in a while. Paris has become so crowded and 
claustrophobic.  I like it here."

"As long as it's not the good people of Troyes that you're
becoming so enamored of," responded LaCroix. He had 
been aware of a fire in Nicholas that he had not seen in some 
time. He knew of the long hours his son was spending with 
mortal companions, indulging in their crude pastimes. He had 
been tolerant so far; it was an almost expected turn of events in 
the life of a fledgling. Perhaps it was time to lay these ideas gently 
to rest.  He rose from the chair and stood behind Nicholas. He 
rested his strong hands on Nicholas' shoulders and began 
kneading the taut muscles.  "The remnants of your mortal life are 
all gone now, Nicholas. It's time that you buried them for good."

Nicholas stiffened at LaCroix's words. With Andre's passing,
now almost a decade ago, he had lost whatever feeble connection
he still held to the mortal world. He found himself missing the
friendships of his mortal lifetime. "But you seek out their
companionship as well," Nicholas argued.

"Only for those things which they possess; their books, the
rudiments of theater returning to this vast wasteland, their
sustenance. *They* have no value to us," LaCroix emphasized. 
"We are all you shall ever need."

Nicholas threw his head back and looked into LaCroix's eyes.
"Don't you mean that *you* are all I shall ever need?" he teased.
He reached his hand up and placed it on top of LaCroix's, rubbing 
it gently. 

"Janette has her place as well," LaCroix said evenly.  He had 
no desire to minimize his daughter's importance in their lives. 
She was a vital link that held them all together. 

Nicholas stood, then turned to face his master. "It's just that
that place happens to be Paris right now?" he asked playfully.  The
heady lust he felt from his earlier hunt still burned within him.
Perhaps LaCroix was right, what need did he truly have for 
mortals and their mores? They certainly had nothing to compare
with the pure ectasy he felt when he drank from his sire. The
seductive pull of it nearly took his breath away; it was a desire that
no mortal could truly comprehend.  He slid his hand skillfully 
beneath LaCroix's tunic and caressed the alabaster skin of his 
master's chest--even to his fingers, the flesh was cool, its texture 
like silk. He would feel the power of LaCroix's blood in him tonight.  
Nicholas pressed LaCroix to him and kissed him firmly on the lips, 
sliding his tongue over the recessed canines.  

LaCroix gasped at the suddeness of Nicholas' actions.  Even after
nearly a century, Nicholas could still surprise him. He broke the 
kiss off with a smile.  He really must remember to send Janette 
away more often. "I was thinking of heading to bed," he stated 
without preamble.

"Sleep, LaCroix?" Nicholas grinned broadly. He ran his hand across
LaCroix's broad shoulder, loosening the tight fabric. "It's still 
several hours before sunrise."

"I don't recall saying a thing about sleeping," replied LaCroix.
He took Nicholas' hand in his own and led him towards the
bedchamber.


    ----(-------<@          -------(------(-----<@           
------(-----<@


"Nick." Tracy nudged her partner's arm firmly with her elbow. 
He could certainly pick the most inconvenient times to zone out. 

Nick returned to reality with a start. A grimfaced man stood
on the far side of the bar. This was 'Joe,' he assumed. He slid
the identification across the bar towards him. "Was he in here 
tonight?" Nick questioned.

Joe glanced at the picture on the student ID. "What's this all 
about? If this is a hassle over the kid's age, he had ID that put him
above the legal age."

"This isn't about underage drinking," Nick replied, leaning 
into the bar. "But it could turn into that if you don't cooperate."

Joe hesitated. "Yeah, he was here," he finally acknowledged. "He 
left around eleven, maybe."

"Was he alone when he left?"

Joe's eyes narrowed. "What is this about?"

"He's dead," Nick said bluntly. "Beaten to death a couple of 
blocks from here. We're just trying to put the pieces together. Now,
did he leave here alone?"

Joe leaned back, shaken. A few, short hours ago he was razzing
the kid about the amount of the tip he had left--now he was dead.
"He was alone."

"What about  any acquaintances, friends he may have had? Did
he meet anyone here on a regular basis?" Nick continued.

"Did he have a *lover*? Is that the word you're trying so hard
not to use, Detective?" Joe's eyes flashed.  "What makes you so
eager to think that someone from here was involved?" he asked
angrily.

"It was just a question, and one I have to ask," Nick said evenly.
"This is the last place he was seen; that makes this the logical
place to start.  Is there anyone that he saw here on a regular
basis?"

"No," Joe replied. "From time to time he'd leave with someone,
but no one steady and no one recently.  Have you considered the
possibility that this happened because he was gay, or is that 
something you'd rather not consider, Detective?"

"I've considered it," replied Nick. "It also may be nothing more
than a random act of violence. I'm not ruling anything out yet."
Nick leaned closer to the bartender. "Nothing's going to get 
swept under the carpet here. I'm going to find out who did this,
and why." Nick pushed away from the bar. "Thanks for your help."

"You'll let me know?" Joe called after them as they headed for
the exit.

"We'll be in touch," Nick confirmed.


"Well,  that was an experience," Tracy commented as they
stepped out into the cool night air. "You know, maybe he is right.
Maybe this is a gay bashing. It sort of fits with the information 
that we have so far. Maybe we should think about turning this
over to Hate Crimes Division." She turned to face her partner. 
"What do you think?"

Nick looked at her curiously. "I think that you seem awfully
eager to get rid of this case, Tracy. It's a homicide that's occurred
in our jurisdiction. That makes it our case in my book, and I intend
to see it through," he stated  firmly. "Are you with me?"

"Sure," she replied, not feeling sure at all. "Shall we check in 
with the uniforms, see if the rest of the canvass turned 
anything up?"

"Sounds good. Then we can head to the morgue and see if
Nat can give us an official cause of death." Nick lifted his head 
and stared off into the distance. The Raven was a few short blocks
from here. He had heard that LaCroix had reopened it, although
he couldn't quite imagine why."

"Have you been in there?" Tracy asked suddenly. "The Raven,
I mean. It's open again, you know. That is what you were 
looking at, isn't it?"

"No," he responded tightly. "I haven't been in." Nick stopped
to look at her. "Have you?"

"No," Tracy answered over her shoulder as she continued to 
walk. "My partner told me I wasn't allowed, remember?"


end part 5
comments welcome


More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 06/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998



Natalie peeled off her gloves and discarded them in the trash.
She often felt relief at the end of a post, but this was different. 
The level of violence that had been inflicted upon this young man
was incredible. She pulled the thin sheet back into place over him
and said a silent prayer; she had no desire to look at Brian Boswell's 
battered body any longer than she had to.  It had been a truly  horrible 
way for anyone to die, and she found herself wanting to do
everything she could to bring the 'people' who had done this to
justice .

She heard the soft swish of the morgue door her and glanced 
behind her. "Hey, guys," she said to Nick and Tracy. "I'm just 
finishing up."

"Hi, Nat." Nick stepped up behind her. He could hear the 
underlying strain in her voice.  Whatever it was that she had to tell
them, it wasn't going to be good. "What have you come up with?" 
he questioned.

"Pretty much what we expected," Natalie answered. "He was
beaten to death." Natalie put on another pair of gloves and picked
up the wooden instrument that was resting next to the body. "With
this." Natalie peeled back the sheet to reveal Brian's body. She
heard a sharp intake of breath from Tracy. He did, indeed, look 
far worse than he had in the darkened alley, the extent of his injuries 
more apparent. Natalie matched the tip of the nightstick with several
 circular areas on his abdomen. "It looks like whoever did
this drove the end of it into him, and with quite a bit of force. He
had lacerations of his liver, his spleen and a fractured rib which
punctured the right lower lobe of his lung." Natalie paused before
continuing. "He was also sodomized with it. His colon was 
ruptured from the amount of force that was exerted."

Tracy grimaced. "Is that what killed him?" She slid onto a nearby
stool. She'd been working hard to overcome her queasiness, but
this case wasn't making it any easier.

"He died of a combination of internal bleeding and hypothermia."
Natalie struggled to maintain a clinical tone. "The awful thing 
is that he probably lived for an hour or so after he was beaten. 
If someone had found him sooner, and he had received medical 
attention, he could have survived this. He was a young healthy 
man in excellent condition. It's all such a horrible waste," she 
finished angrily.  She looked closely at Nick. "Did you guys find 
anything?"

"He was seen at a bar a block up from where the murder took place
at around eleven p.m.," Nick stated. "But he left alone, at least
according to the bartender. Nothing turned up in the rest of the
canvass."

"It was a gay bar," Tracy piped in. "And he had been there before
tonight. We're beginning to wonder if he was targeted 
because of that."

Natalie shook her head. "I thought that this sort of thing didn't 
happen anymore, at least not in Toronto. What happened to our
enlightened society?" she said in dismay.

"It's usually when people feel the most enlightened that you 
should begin to worry," Nick commented dryly.  Some things 
never seemed to change.


   --{---{--<@         Troyes 1300       @>--}---}--



LaCroix refused to let the sleep take him--he wanted to treasure
every moment like this that  he could. He gazed at Nicholas' still 
form. A wild mass of golden hair framed the almost cherubic
countenance--his limbs were casually splayed across the oversized
bed.  It was not yet dawn, but already his son was caught in the 
deep slumber that held only the young of their kind. 

LaCroix  traced a gentle finger across Nicholas' chest, 
unconcerned that the gesture would wake him. Or was 
he hoping, perhaps, that it would summon Nicholas from 
his rest? He smiled to himself when he recalled the raw 
sexuality with which his son approached their encounters.  
Nicholas was certainly no stranger to the bedroom
when Janette had first drawn him into their little family, but the
transformation that occurred when he was brought across had 
only served to amplify Nicholas' innate sensuality.  Even he 
was surprised by the audacity with which Nicholas sometimes 
acted.  Never had he dreamed that such a confusing pile of 
passion and contradiction could exist inside of one being, let 
alone that he might one day be able to possess it totally.

A crash from the rooms below quickly drew LaCroix from his 
reverie. It was far too early for the charwoman , even though she
was a clumsy enough oaf to be responsible for the racket. He 
grabbed quickly for the nearest chemise and drew it over his
head.  "Nicholas." He vigorously shook the younger vampire.  A 
flood of human heartbeats suddenly filled the hallway downstairs.
LaCroix shook Nicholas even more strongly, and was gratified to
see the younger man stir. "Nicholas," he said urgently. "It would
appear that we have company." 

Nicholas shook off the remnants of sleep. He, too, could hear the
heavy tread of a large number of men filling the stairwell.  A stab 
of fear entered his cold heart. Somehow they had traced the string of
seemingly random deaths in the city to them. He glanced at his
master. "You have been discrete, LaCroix?" 

"Of course, Nicholas," La Croix responded, insulted by the very 
suggestion from his progeny. "Don't be ridiculous." He rose from
the bed and thrust aside the curtains  just as the door gave way 
and a motley crowd of townspeople filled the chamber.  LaCroix 
drew himself to his full height. "What is the meaning of this 
intrusion?" he thundered.

A rotund, ruddy-faced man stepped  from the crowd. The
smell of cheap wine grew stronger as he came forward into 
the room. He tucked his fingers into his belt loop and laughed.
"If you don't mind, I'll ask the questions around here. What *is* 
the meaning of this?" he asked jovially.

The crowd tittered in response. Nicholas looked carefully at the
faces now pressed into the room. The large man at the center
he recognized as Phillipe, Captain of the night watch, and one
who spent far more time patrolling the taverns than he did the 
streets. There were other familiar faces as well, none of whom 
cared to meet his eye at the moment. 

A diminutive woman made her way to the front.  "See, it's as 
I told you. The two of them in the bed together with another perfectly
good bed in the next room, and in the middle of summer as well."
She didn't even want to think of the condition that she often found
the bedlinens in.  She made a hasty sign of the cross. "It's
unnatural--it's an abomination against God and I want them 
out of my house."

"It would seem that Madame is now regretting her generous 
offer to allow you to lodge in her home. It is within her right, of 
course. She had no idea to whom she had made the invitation." 

"Phillipe," Nicholas stammered, "You know me. I...I..never.  
I'm not..." He swallowed. "I have no idea what this is all about. 
This woman is clearly confused."

Phillipe laughed again. "Nicholas, dear Nicholas.  I'm afraid that it
is you who are confused. " Phillipe's smile began to fade. "It's
quite clear that you are a pair of  God-cursed sodomites," he spat.
"We have no need of your kind in this house or in this city." He 
gestured to Nicholas, still in the bed. "Now, you, up and the 
both of you out of here, now."

Nicholas slid from the bed, pulling the coverlet close around his
naked form. He looked to LaCroix who stood unmoving in the
center of the room. "Certainly you don't mean now... like this?" 
Nicholas asked incredulously.

Phillipe's smile was back. "I most surely do mean now. In fact, the
blanket stays." He reached over and tugged the bed covering from
Nicholas' hand, exposing him to the crowd. "Or perhaps you'd like 
us to turn this matter over to the magistrate or, better still, the 
Bishop?" He quickly unsheathed a knife from his belt and made 
a slash  in the direction of Nicholas' genitals. "But you do *know*
 what the official penalty for sodomy is, do you not?" he chuckled.
"I'm actually making you quite a generous offer. I would suggest 
you take it." A nervous laugh passed through the crowd at 
Phillipe's last comment.

A low growl rose in Nicholas' throat and his rage flared. He 
wanted nothing more at the moment than to kill everyone who
stood there, smiling and laughing. He felt LaCroix's cool, strong
hand on his shoulder. 

"There are far too many of them, Nicholas," LaCroix whispered, his
voice thick with anger. "A crowd has gathered in the street as well; 
it would seem that we are the night's entertainment."

"Surely we are not to go along with this...this...spectacle?" Nicholas
asked, appalled by the thought. Where was the cool leadership that
he expected from his sire? Surely LaCroix would not see them 
humiliated at the hands of this rabble.

"Dawn is fast approaching," LaCroix returned, still speaking in 
hushed tones. He could, perhaps, tolerate the sun for a time, 
but Nicholas would surely not last were this to drag out past 
sunrise, not to mention the unwanted attention that a bloodbath 
would bring to their kind. "Let them think that they have the upper 
hand. Tomorrow is another night."

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder before heading for the door.
A small trunk stood at the foot of the bed. In it was everything of
value in the world to him: his sword from the crusades, letters
from Fleur and Andre, bits of jewelry from his mother. Who was to
say what might become of it in the hands of these ruffians, even
for a short time?

"Now," Phillipe commanded. He crossed the floor towards 
Nicholas, and shoved him roughly towards the door. "You, too." 
He turned and faced LaCroix and met the coldest pair of eyes 
that he had ever seen. He reached his hand out to hurry the other 
along as well, then let it fall, useless, at his side. A sudden chill 
went through him, one that sank to his very soul. Despite the 
crowd, Phillipe felt a stab of fear. Maybe this plan had not been 
the wisest course he could have chosen, after all. Maybe the pair 
would be better dealt with through more 'official' channels.

Nicholas felt his eyes go golden and his fangs drop. He angled his
head downward to avert his gaze from the crowd. This man 
before him would die, now. He felt himself pressed firmly from
behind. "Not now, Nicholas," LaCroix growled. "You will have
your revenge in good time." He grasped a firm hold of Nicholas'
arm and pulled him to the stairwell.

Below them was a large crowd of men, women, even children
spilling out of the doorway below and into the street. Outside,
a large number had gathered as well, many carrying torches. It was
as if the Fair had come early to Troyes this year.

Nicholas pressed against the stairwell, his face ashen. "I can't do
this, LaCroix, not like this." He looked down at his still naked
form.

"For goodness sake, Nicholas."  When would he ever get over
this ridiculous need to keep his body covered? Thank the gods 
he had been raised with no such excess of modesty. LaCroix
quickly pulled the linen undershirt over his head and slid it over
Nicholas' body. "There, now go," he instructed him.

Outside, Nicholas recognized a sprinkling of familiar faces among
the crowd. LaCroix was right. He had no need of mortal friendship,
not of this kind.

"We brought you a ride to the city gates," Phillipe's voiced boomed
out from behind them. An mule stood, unsaddled, in front of the
building, his halter held by yet another "friend" from the tavern.
"We'd really *love* to see who rides in front and who rides 
behind," Phillipe guffawed.

The crowd parted as LaCroix and Nicholas passed onto the street.
A smattering of small stones began to pelt them from behind. "A
few, short blocks, Nicholas, and we shall be away." Already the
sky to the east was brightening. It would not be long before the
younger vampire began to feel its heat.

A larger stone dropped from one of the numerous, upper story
windows. It struck Nicholas squarely on the head and he 
staggered into LaCroix, a thin trickle of blood streaming down his
face. Enough was enough. LaCroix sidestepped quickly into
an alleyway, leaving the milling crowd far behind.  He wrapped 
a strong arm around Nicholas' waist and took to the air.


    ---{----{---<@            ---{----{---<@            



Nick snapped his eyes open, vaguely aware of Nat and Tracy
staring at him. "Any chance of getting some prints off the 
murder weapon?" he asked quickly before either one could 
comment.

"Forensics did pull off some partials; they're not sure whether 
they'll be any use to us or not." Natalie gestured to the body
once again. "There's something else you should know. It's my
opinion that there was more than one person involved here."
She leaned low over the body and pointed to Brian's arms. "See
this?" she asked as Nick bent to look. "Finger marks. There's
no way you could hold someone like this and still strike them in
the abdomen."

"So you think that there was a second person involved?" Nick
inquired.

"At least one, maybe even two. He was in pretty good shape. It
would've taken quite a bit of effort to restrain him, I would imagine."

"Anything else?" Nick lightly touched her elbow.

"I think that's more than enough, don't you?" Natalie answered
grimly. "Just solve this thing, would you?"

Nick shifted uncomfortably. He was more than eager to know the
results of the tests that Natalie had run on the drug earlier, but
it seemed far from her mind at the moment. He could hardly find
fault in that; Natalie's dedication to her profession was one of the
things he loved most about her.  Another day, more or less, 
shouldn't matter all that much to him.

Natalie looked up from her clipboard. "Was there something else?" 
she asked, curious as to why Nick continued to linger. Of course,
she thought to herself. The test results. The very reason he had 
dragged her out of bed this afternoon. "I'm sorry, Nick, I wasn't 
thinking." A broad smile crossed her face and she rested a hand 
on his arm. "Things are looking good."

Nick's face brightened. "Really? How good?" he asked eagerly.

Natalie had been quite pleased when she finally got a chance to
look at the samples earlier in the evening. "The Cytovir seems to
be incorporating itself into growing chains of your DNA by viral
reverse transcriptase, displacing the 'vampire element', if you will.
When incorporation by the viral enzyme occurs, the DNA chain
is terminated." Natalie grinned at the confused look on Nick's
face. "Good enough that I think we're ready to try this thing out 
on you." She hesitated. "That is, if you're still game."

"Still game? Of course I am." It's all he had thought about for
weeks now, ever since Natalie had carefully broached the subject of
a new drug that she had found. As much as his mind told him to
not get too excited, his heart was sure that this would be it. He'd
finally be able to be the man that Natalie deserved to spend the 
rest of her life with. "When can we start?"

"Right now if you like," answered Natalie. "I had a test dose all
prepared and was about to give you a call when we got the report
about the homicide." She indicated the chair by her desk. "Sit down
and roll up your sleeve."

"Um..." Tracy interrupted. "Should I be like...leaving, or 
something?" This little visit was suddenly taking an unexpected 
turn. As fascinating as she found all of this to be, Nick had never 
seemed comfortable sharing this side of himself with her.

"Don't be silly," Natalie answered before Nick had a chance 
to open his mouth. He could be so damn difficult when Tracy 
was around. It drove her crazy at times. "This will take less 
than a minute. But you could watch the door; we don't need 
any company right now."

Nick watched as Natalie slid the thin needle into his antecubital
vein. He clenched his fist, half expecting the same reaction he had
had to the litovuterine-B. The experience was almost anticlimactic.
He shook his head at Natalie. There was nothing to delineate
this moment from the one that had gone before. He could still
feel the vampire, smoldering under the surface as it always did.

"Nothing?" she questioned, looking at him closely. She took his
silence as an answer. "Good." She pressed her hand on his
forearm. "This is an entirely different approach than the litovuterine
was. I wasn't expecting anything to happen. And  this was just a 
test dose. If there aren't any problems, I'll give you a full dose in
twelve to twenty-four hours."

Nick rolled down his sleeve and stood to go. He took her lightly
by the shoulders. "Whatever you say," he smiled. "You're the
boss." He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"The boss says that it wouldn't be such a bad idea if you booked
off early tonight."

"Can't," Nick responded. "We have to go notify Boswell's family
and see if they have any ideas who might have done this."

Natalie grimaced. She certainly didn't envy them that job. It was
tough enough to tell parents that their child had died; to tell them
that he had been viciously beaten to death would be incredibly
difficult. "Lucky you," she responded. "Well, take it easy and be
sure to let me know if you're having any problems."

"I will," Nick assured her. "I'll see you at home later?"

Natalie nodded. "Try and eat something," she called to 
his departing form. 

Nick brushed past Tracy with barely a glance and 
headed out the morgue door.

"Bye, Nat." Tracy waved as she turned to go. She would never
be able to adjust to this hot and cold running attitude of her
partner. She didn't know how Natalie could stand it. Maybe he
never treated her that way. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Tracy." Natalie smiled warmly. Her 
eyes met those of the younger woman.  She knew well 
how frustrating Nick's behavior could be. "Keep an eye on him 
for me, would you? Let me know if he starts acting weird."

Tracy rolled her eyes. "How am I supposed to tell?" she asked.
She quickly hurried after her partner. The way he was acting, he'd 
probably leave without her, and *she* sure as hell couldn't fly 
to where they were going.



More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 07/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


No one ever brought good news to the door at three-thirty in the 
morning; that was a fact of life that had never changed. Nick 
hesitated before ringing the doorbell of the Boswell home. 
This was a part of the job no one liked. It was never easy to bring the
news that a family member had died; it was especially tough 
when bringing the news of a child's death to his parents. 

Several lights were still on in the modest home, awaiting the 
arrival of the son who would never return. Tracy shuffled as she 
stood next to him and pulled her jacket more tightly around herself. 
Nick could feel the chill of the air around him as well. The 
temperature must have dropped precipitously for him to feel the 
difference. He supposed that there was no point in further delay, 
although he suspected that Tracy would rather stand out there 
all night rather than complete the task at hand. "Ready?" Nick 
asked, glancing at his partner.

Tracy's face was a grim mask. She shrugged silently in response
to Nick's question. It really didn't matter if she were ready or not.
In fact, this was one thing she would never feel ready for. She
hoped that Nick was prepared to do the talking on this one.  
How the hell were they supposed to tell these people what had 
happened to their boy?

The door opened almost immediately in response to Nick's ring. A
middle-aged man, his hair thinning on top, stood in the doorway,
his bathrobe wrapped tightly around him. 

"Mr. Boswell?" Nick ventured.

"I'm Frank Boswell," he replied cautiously. He glanced at the pair
standing on his front steps. He had traveled a gamut of emotions
in the last few hours, waiting for Brian's return---everything from 
seething anger to total panic. The serious look on the two faces 
before him told him more than he wanted to know.

"I'm Detective Knight, this is my partner, Detective Vetter."
We're from Metro Police." Nick flashed his ID at the man in 
front of him. "Mr. Boswell, I'm afraid we have some bad news 
for you. May we come inside?"

Frank Boswell swung the door open wide and allowed the pair
to pass. "It's Brian, isn't it?" He swallowed hard. "What kind of 
trouble has he gotten himself into?"

Nick stepped through the hallway and into a modestly-sized living 
area. A large trophy case dominated the room, well past its 
intended capacity with a vast array of athletic awards. The overflow
of awards were dotted about the living room, each carefully 
displayed.  "I'm afraid that it's a little more serious than that, Mr.
Boswell." Nick pulled the student ID from his breast pocket. "Is
this your son?"

"He's been in an accident." Boswell  took the ID from Nick's hand
and sank abruptly into the well used cushions of the sofa. "That 
damn car of his; I told him it was a piece of junk. He *had* to have it 
though. Poured every damn cent he had into it."

Nick took the seat directly opposite the distraught man. He spared
a quick glance at Tracy, still standing stiffly at the entrance to the
room. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Boswell. I'm afraid that 
your son is dead."

"Dead?"  Boswell repeated in a hollow voice. "There must be some 
mistake. Brian can't be dead." 

A sudden noise made all three turn their heads in unison. A frail,
middle-aged woman slowly made her way from the bedroom, her
hand covering her mouth. "Frank?" she started, her voice quavering. 
"What's this all about? Who are these people?"

Frank Boswell made his way to his wife's side. He wrapped a 
strong arm around her shoulders. "They're from the police,"
he answered carefully. "They're trying to tell me that Brian is 
dead...but that just can't be," he continued. "There must be 
some mistake," he said again.

"I'm afraid that it's true," Tracy confirmed, her voice gentle. "We're
very sorry for your loss."

"I told him that car was a piece of junk," Frank Boswell mumbled.
"Where, when?" He asked, his face a complex mask of grief and
confusion.

"Your son wasn't in a car accident, Mr. Boswell. Detective Vetter a
nd Iare from Homicide," Nick informed them. "I'm afraid your 
son's been murdered."

"Murdered?" 

"His body was found in an alley off of  Church  St.  He had been 
badly beaten." There was no need to bring any more horror into
the situation. They would learn the details soon enough. "According 
to the Medical Examiner's preliminary report, he died of a combination 
of internal bleeding and hypothermia."

Frank Boswell guided his wife to the couch and sat down beside
her. This was just so unbelievable. He kept thinking in the back 
of his mind that this was all a dream, that any moment he'd wake
up with Brian standing over him, laughing at the old man. "He 
never carried more than a few dollars with him...." He shook his
head numbly. This was all a dream, it had to be.

"Your son's wallet was still on him when his body was found.
We've pretty much ruled out robbery as a motive." Nick resumed
his seat across from the Boswells. He looked carefully at the two
people sitting across from him. The walls of their home were 
covered with pictures of Brian. From all appearances, he had a
rather impressive academic career as well as numerous athletic
achievements.  The question was, did they really know their son 
at all?  "Mr. and Mrs. Boswell, your son was last seen at a bar called  
The Spot. Are you familiar with it?"

Frank Boswell stiffened dramatically. His arm slid slowly off his
wife's shoulder. "I told him to stay away from that place," he said
through gritted teeth. "He had no business being there."

Nick and Tracy exchanged glances. "Apparently he was there
quite frequently," Tracy stated.  "What we need to find out is if
there is any connection between the bar and your son's death. 
Were there any...acquaintances who you were aware of that 
might be responsible for this?"

"Acquaintances?!" Frank Boswell jumped to his feet.  He strode 
across the room towards Tracy, his face a florid shade of red. "My
son was not a faggot, Detective! I don't care if he was at that bar
or not."

Nick slid quickly between the pair. "Easy, Mr. Boswell. We're not
making any assumptions here. We're just trying to figure out 
who killed your son. The fact is, he was seen at the bar just prior 
to his death. If you have any information about why he may 
have been there, we'd love to hear it."

Boswell pulled away and turned to face the trophy cabinet.  Brian
had been an amazing athlete, even when he was small. Some of 
these awards dated back to when he had been little more than a 
baby. All that was gone now. His son was gone. He dropped his
face into his hands and  began to sob silently.

"Forgive my husband, detectives." Mrs. Boswell's thin voice rose
from the couch where she remained seated. "He doesn't mean 
any harm." She patted the couch beside her. "Come and sit down,
Frank."

Frank shuffled to the couch and took his place beside his wife. Mrs.
Boswell took a deep breath, then continued, "Brian came to us 
about a year ago and told us that he was a homosexual, 'gay' I 
think is what they call it these days." She slid her hand into her 
husband's. "Frank didn't take it very well."

Frank pulled his hand away. "I didn't take it very well because it
wasn't true." He sprang to his feet and moved rapidly to the trophy
cabinet. "Look at all this, Detective. Does this look like Brian was
'gay' to you?" He paused. "He was just a bit...confused is all. All 
boys go through that phase.  He was seeing a shrink; we were 
going to get all this straightened out."

"Was your son seeing a therapist, Mrs. Boswell?" Nick asked 
gently. The woman sitting across from him had aged in the short
time that they had been in the room. 

She closed her eyes tightly, a single tear escaping. "It was more
to help him deal with us, but yes, he was seeing a counselor. As 
for the other, if Brian was in a relationship, he didn't tell me about
it. I didn't even know he was going to that bar again. He was a 
good boy," she said in a strangled voice.

"I'm sure he was." Tracy slid onto the couch and covered the
woman's hand with her own. "What about friends from school? 
Anyone there that you think could help us?"

"He just changed schools this fall," Mrs. Boswell replied. "We were
told that it would improve his chances for a scholarship. I don't
think that he had made many friends there yet. He did have an 
address book, though; I could get it for you, if you think it
would help."

Tracy exchanged a glance with her partner. "Please, that would be
helpful."

Frank Boswell stood staring into the trophy case for the long
minutes it took his wife to retrieve the address book. Apparently
he had said all that he intended on the subject. He barely gave her
a glance when she entered the room and handed to book to Nick.

"I took a minute to underline the friends that I know he was
particularly close to. I do hope that this will help."

"We hope so too, Mrs. Boswell." Nick handed her a small, white
card. "Please let us know if you think of anything else."

Mrs. Boswell looked over at her husband. "We will," she assured 
them as she ushered them to the door. "Just please find out who
killed my boy."

Tracy exhaled as the door slammed shut behind them. "Well, that
went well. Not." She paused for a moment. "You don't think that
the father had anything to do with this, do you?"

Nick pulled his collar up against the cool air. "No. He's just 
upset because his son isn't everything that he wanted him to 
be." He glanced at his partner. "Some parents take that a little 
harder than others."

Tracy grinned. "Tell me about it. So, what's next?"

A sudden wave of vertigo hit Nick and he grasped at the porch 
railing to steady himself.  The steps swam in front of him. He could
see Tracy mouthing words at him, but couldn't quite manage to
focus in on what she was saying. Then, just as suddenly as the
sensation had come upon him, it was gone.

"I said, are you all right?" Tracy reached for his arm.

"I'm fine." He shook her hand off. "Just tired. I didn't sleep today."
He stepped down the stairs and headed for the caddy. "Next is
that I drop you at your car and then we both go home and get
some sleep. We can phone up some of Boswell's friends this
evening. How does that sound?"

"It sounds great." Tracy looked at him closely. He seemed the 
same as he always did. Maybe her imagination was beginning to
work overtime from lack of sleep. She hadn't gotten much of it
herself lately. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Tracy, I'm fine." He opened the passenger side door for
her. 

Tracy slid into the passenger seat and closed her eyes for the short
ride back to the station. Her bed would indeed feel very good
this morning.


More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 08/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998 


Nick quickly scanned the floor of the Raven as he entered. 
At this late hour, few patrons remained. A mortal couple 
clung desperately to one another in the center of the dance 
floor. No music was playing, but that didn't seem to discourage 
their clumsy movements. The remainder of those scattered 
about the dimly-lit room were vampires; young ones. Nick 
could feel their surprise register as he entered the room. 
Seated alone at the far end of the bar was LaCroix, seemingly 
not the least bit surprised at his arrival. Some things never 
changed. Nick moved smoothly across the floor and slid 
onto the seat nearest his master.

LaCroix took a long, slow sip from his glass. "Nicholas, 
how good of you to finally pay us a visit.  It was unfortunate 
that you missed the grand reopening.; I even had a balloon 
with your name on it."

Nick forced himself to suppress a grin. "I did hear about it, 
LaCroix. I just couldn't figure out why you reopened the club." 
Nick glanced around. The atmosphere was far more subdued than
it had been  previously. There didn't seem to be a single stripper
in sight. As much as LaCroix seemed to enjoy his persona as 
the Nightcrawler, he had little affection for his position as owner 
and manager of the Raven.  Why LaCroix would force himself to 
revisit the scene of Divia's death on a nightly basis escaped any 
logic that Nick could perceive. He had never seemed the type 
for willing self-flagellation.

The needs of the Community demanded it, much to LaCroix's
dismay.  The Community in Toronto had all but disappeared
between the fever that had killed so many and the debacle that had
occurred with his daughter's return. 

Slowly, surely they had begun to filter their way back to the city. 
They were young ones mostly; those whose masters had been 
all too careless in their schooling. He had never cared for the 
role of wet-nurse, particularly when it was thrust upon him.  
How like Nicholas to be totally oblivious to the increasing numbers 
of vampires around him. He was far too preoccupied with his 
petty, mortal concerns, particularly his relationship with Dr. Lambert, 
to notice the change in his own kind. "*I* have never been one to 
go back on a promise made to one of my children," LaCroix 
commented icily.

Nick stared at his master in dull surprise. "You've heard from 
Janette?" He reached out and grasped LaCroix's hand lightly 
by the wrist. "Tell me."

LaCroix stared at his arm until Nick loosened his grasp and 
withdrew the touch. It would serve Nicholas right to let him wonder. 
"She's still not ready to see you," he answered. Indeed, she was 
not ready to see any of them. It was only her need to see her 'strays' 
cared for and her concern over a mortal child that compelled her 
to seek him out.

"So you have spoken to her." Nick stated flatly. It shouldn't be
a surprise that Janette had contacted LaCroix instead of him. What
he had done to her was unforgivable. All he wanted was a chance
to let her know that he understood. 

"She's not interested in your understanding."

Nick looked up, startled. It never ceased to amaze him how 
closely in tune to his thoughts LaCroix could be. Why had he 
even come here tonight? It was the last place he expected to 
end up after dropping Tracy off at the station. He had driven to 
the neighborhood with every intention of going over the crime 
scene again, alone this time, free to use his vampiric senses 
as he needed. Instead, he had landed here.  A dull ache had 
started to form across his temples and he began to rub them 
slowly. "She needs advice from you instead?" he questioned 
sharply.  From LaCroix, who could not be more pleased about 
his former child's return to the fold?

"So why are you here, Nicholas?" LaCroix looked at him closely.
"Surely not to rehash that old matter, or to comment on the
condition of the club." There had been some rather disturbing 
sensations emanating from their link for a good part of the evening. 
Indeed, he had been unaware of Nicholas' approach until he had 
been quite literally on his doorstep, and even now there was 
something...something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I was in the neighborhood," Nick answered. "A case."

"Ah, police business," LaCroix commented sarcastically. "I should 
have known." There seemed to be little else that occasioned his
son to cross his path these days. He took a long draught from his
glass, then set it down heavily on the bar.  

"No," Nick responded vaguely. That wasn't why he had come. 
That wasn't why he was here at all...unless...unless the case 
had shaken him more than he had realized. "Have you heard 
anything?"

"Only that it was a particularly...unpleasant affair." 

"I'm afraid you heard it right." The pounding in his head was 
now accompanied by a persistent ringing in his ears. He had to 
have been out of his mind to have come here, tonight of all nights. 
LaCroix seemed to know when he changed his clothes; whatever
would make him think that he could conceal his latest attempt for 
a cure? He could feel the creep of the sun as it headed towards the
horizon. He couldn't afford to be stuck here with LaCroix for the
day.  "I need to go." Nick stood abruptly, pushing the barstool 
out from under him.  The only other occupant of the club was 
a rather pathetic looking fledgling, who suddenly looked like he 
wanted to be *anywhere* else at the moment.

"Don't let me keep you from the good Doctor."

For one bizarre moment Nick fought the urge to tell LaCroix 
everything: the cure, the disturbing memories that Brian Boswell's
death had stirred in him. LaCroix's face was a tight mask. Was that
disappointment he saw lingering there in his eyes, or just the 
usual disapproval?  "This isn't about Natalie."

"Really?" LaCroix arched a brow. "I thought everything was about
Dr. Lambert these days. Her and your incessant guilt over what 
almost happened. Are you planning to spend the next half century
chained to her in a ridiculous need to assuage your conscience?"

Nick pressed his hands onto the bar and faced his master. 
"That's not why I'm with Natalie, and you know it."

"Do I, Nicholas? Do you? It seems that you were quite willing to
leave Toronto and Dr. Lambert not so very long ago." He paused
and looked carefully at Nicholas. There was something different
there. "Or perhaps you  feel that she is getting closer to this
ever elusive cure of yours?"

Nick pulled his hands off the bar abruptly. "I don't know why I 
even bother trying to talk to you." He turned on his heel and 
headed for the door before LaCroix could detain him further. 
"Goodnight, LaCroix," he called over his shoulder."

"Goodnight, Nicholas," LaCroix murmured.  He had been 
far too inattentive to this situation lately. It would bear much 
closer watching in the future.


Nick slid into the caddy and slammed the door shut behind him.
His headache had  continued to escalate and he rested his 
head against the back of the seat. He should go, already the 
sky to the east was lightening. The idea of spending the day 
in the trunk was only marginally more appealing than spending 
it dodging LaCroix's questions. It had been a foolish blunder to 
go the Raven this morning. He hadn't even given the drug that 
was circulating in his system a thought when he ventured towards
the Raven; he only knew that he needed to see LaCroix. 



      ---{---{--<@    Troyes, 1300    @>--}---}---   



"Get your hands off me!" Nicholas pulled strongly away from
LaCroix as the pair touched down in unison. Nicholas' hand 
went quickly to the side of his head. The wound had healed 
already, all that remained was a thin trail of dried blood down 
the side of his face.  LaCroix reached out a solicitous hand, 
only to have it pushed away.  "I said, get your hands off me," 
Nicholas snarled. "I'm fine."

LaCroix set his jaw firmly. "No doubt you are. I do suggest 
that we seek shelter from the day to ensure that you remain 
that way, however."

Nicholas glanced around the  lightly wooded glade where they
now stood. The dilapidated structure in front of them wasn't much.
>From the look of it, its occupants had befallen difficult times, but it 
was far enough from the walls of the city to have their presence go 
unnoticed. It would also protect them from the rapidly increasing 
light of the day. God pity any soul that ventured near them today.

The only drawback seemed to be that he would need to share the
space with LaCroix. He spun and faced his master. "I can't believe
you let them do that to us!"

LaCroix sighed, exasperated. The incident had been unfortunate,
to say the least, but regrettably unavoidable. If only Nicholas had
heeded his warnings to keep his distance from the mortal populace,
this whole thing might never have happened. "What would you have 
me do, Nicholas? Expose our true nature to the entire city?  No." 
He reached out and touched Nicholas' shoulder lightly. "We will 
visit the good people of Troyes tonight.  We will be avenged the 
wrong done to us."

Nick shook LaCroix's gesture off.  He no longer wanted to feel the
touch of the hand that had held him so lovingly just a few, short
hours ago. "And if they weren't wrong, LaCroix?" He took a step 
back, suddenly feeling a need to distance himself from his master, 
his lover. "Congress between men *is* unnatural; it's against the
laws of God and man. God knows I would never have..." He let the 
sentence fall unfinished between them. He had never understood
the attraction of one man for another in his mortal days. To think
that he had succumbed to such predilections. It was LaCroix. Only 
with LaCroix did he feel such unholy passions. It didn't feel wrong 
when they were together. The sensations that passed between 
them had no rival, not even the love that he felt for Janette. Deep in 
LaCroix's blood, he felt a passion for him that defied all description. 
Perhaps that was the forbidden fruit: to be loved so totally, so 
completely. "Maybe they were right to be repulsed by us, to 
drive us from their midst."

LaCroix stood for a moment, his mouth slackened in 
surprise. He knew how easily Nicholas could be swayed 
by mortal convention, but how he could so freely dismiss his 
own feelings in favor of a transient spasm of public morality
defied belief. "You can't be serious.  Surely what has passed 
between us cannot be judged by that rabble...or anyone else." 
He took a step closer to his progeny. There had been a 
certain...hesitation in the beginning of their physical relationship, 
but that was to be expected.  If Nicholas had taken offense in this,
he had certainly kept it well hidden.

"Oh, but I am serious, LaCroix." Nicholas could not tell if the 
burning he felt was the sun upon the horizon, or the sting of the
humiliation he had suffered. To be driven through the streets, 
reviled as a catamite by those he would call friend. "I want nothing 
more from you; not today or any other day. It's finished."

LaCroix's jaw tightened and he drew his shoulders back. Even
unclothed and in such humble surroundings, he managed 
to exude an air of power and dignity. "As you wish, Nicholas. 
I shall trouble you no further." He turned his back on his son 
and walked slowly towards the ramshackle building.

Nicholas felt his anger drop away. Beneath the composed 
facade, the desolation in LaCroix's eyes had been unmistakable. 
"LaCroix," he called weakly, but the elder man failed to respond. 
"I didn't mean..." He held his hand out to the departing figure, then 
let it fall. The words had been said; there would be no taking them 
back. There was no question now that the discomfort he felt was 
the rising of the sun, the thin chemise he wore offered little 
protection from its damning rays. He glanced in the direction in 
which LaCroix had departed, then headed abruptly the other way . 
A stack of moldering hay would suit him just as well this day. He
 would keep his own company for now.


     ----{----{---<@         ----{----{---<@       


Nick sat bolt upright in the caddy. The sky had lightened 
considerably since he had last glanced out the window. This time,
there was no moldy haystack in which to take cover. He looked 
over at the front door of the Raven. No, he had no desire to cross
that bridge again tonight. He turned the ignition over and stepped
heavily on the gas. With any luck at all, he still might have time
to make it to the loft with little damage done.




More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 09/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998



Nick stepped quickly off the elevator as it ground to a halt. The
shutters were already down; he had undoubtedly given Natalie 
more than a few moments of worry over his late arrival. She
turned from where she stood, just in front of the stove, as he
entered. He could already see the thin lines of disapproval 
forming around her lips. 

"I thought you were going to be home early this morning, Nick? 
This is *not* the time to be pushing it, no matter how good you feel."

Nick crossed the loft in a few, hurried steps. He pressed his body 
firmly against hers and rested his forefinger on her lips. "Shh,"
he said softly. Nick drew his arms around her and held her tightly.  
He laid his head against her soft shoulder, allowing her hair to form
a natural pillow for him. She had just showered and smelled 
delightfully of roses. 

Natalie hesitated for just a second before returning the embrace. 
She felt the coolness of his forehead against her face. If the drug
was working, it would seem that there had been no miraculous 
transformations in the past few hours. "Nick," she started hesitantly,
"What is this all about?"

He tightened his arms briefly before easing his hold on her. "I just
needed a hug," he said quietly. "Did you know what a complete
and utter idiot I can be sometimes?"

Natalie's warm laugh started from deep within her. "As a matter 
of fact, I do," she responded jokingly. The smile faded from her 
lips as she pulled back and faced him. He wasn't joking--and this 
had nothing to do with her. "This isn't about being late, is it?"

"No," he acknowledged sadly. "Another time, another place." 
Another life so far removed from this, it was hard for even 
him to connect the two.

Whatever it was, it was serious.  Natalie slide her hands 
over his shoulders. "Anything you want to talk about?"

It was nothing he could talk about, certainly not with Natalie. 
How could he ever expect her to understand his feelings for 
LaCroix when he didn't begin to understand them himself?  
What would she think of him if she knew they had been lovers, 
or that he had behaved so cruelly at the end? He brushed a 
stray lock of chestnut hair from her eyes.  There were some 
things better left unsaid.  "No," he responded. "Not this time."

"Fine." Natalie pulled from his arms, irritated. It was probably too
much to hope that someday he'd feel no need to conceal his past
from her. "How are you feeling?"

"Great," he lied. At least the headache had subsided to a dull 
roar. "Just tired. I think that maybe I tolerated a bit more sun
than usual this morning." He held his hands up for inspection. 
"See, not a mark on them, and it's pretty light out there."

"That's wonderful," Natalie responded enthusiastically, looking at
his hands. They were, indeed, free from any marks from the 
sun. "Did you eat anything?"

"I did. Tracy and I stopped on the way back to the station. I 
managed to get half a donut down," he answered proudly.

"Donuts, Nick? If you're going to eat, at least pick something 
healthy." She pinched the skin around his waist. "I don't want you
getting all soft and flabby on me." Natalie slid her arms around him
again. For the first time, she let herself feel a tiny glimmer of hope 
that this might really be the answer.

"And you told me you'd always love me, no matter what," he said
with mock seriousness.

"And I always will," Natalie responded quietly. She rested her 
head against his chest, secretly hoping to hear the beating of 
his heart, but met with nothing but that horrible silence that 
she knew so well. Soon, she told herself. One small step at 
a time. "Right now, I need to draw some blood from you. Sit," 
she commanded, pointing at a kitchen chair.

Natalie efficiently drew the blood from his arm. "I have 
some tests to run on this. If things look good, I'll give you a second
dose of the medication before you go in to work tonight. Why
don't you swing by the morgue on your way in?"

Nick watched as she packed up her medical bag. "You're leaving?"

"I need to get this to the lab," she said, indicating the tube of
blood. "I think it'll be better if I sleep at my place today." There 
would be less temptation, for either of them that way." Natalie
kissed him quickly on the temple. "Remember, no blood, and please
try and remember to feed Sydney when you get up tonight."

"As if he'd let me forget." Nick stood as Natalie headed for the
elevator. "I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight," Natalie managed just as the door closed. She clasped
her bag tightly to her chest. Hopefully tonight there would be 
wonderful news for them both.

Nick crossed the loft and pulled open the refrigerator door. 
The interior was far more crowded now, stuffed  with food 
for Natalie and cat food for Sydney. He reached past and 
grabbed the half-full green bottle that was nestled in the 
back. It held little appeal for him; he wasn't sure he could 
drink it if he tried. He pushed the bottle back into the fridge 
and smiled to himself.  A little headache he could take, if that 
was the price he had to pay for becoming human.

Nick felt something wind around his legs as he headed up the 
stairs. In one, swift movement he reached down and scooped
Sydney into his arms. "Looks like it's you and me today, buddy.
I hope you're up for it." Sydney purred briefly, then strained to be
free of Nick's arms. "Only interested in your next meal, are you?"
Nick hoisted Sydney into the air and looked into the feline's eyes.
"Well, I do know how that can be, don't I? But not for much longer
...not for much longer." What harm could there be in feeding him
again? "Just don't tell Nat, will you? This is between us guys."
Nick placed Sydney back down on the floor and headed once
more to the refrigerator.


--------------


Tracy stepped cautiously amid the debris that lay scattered 
across the stairwell. She tried the wall switch for the light, but
with no success. Fumbling in the darkness, she inserted her key
into the lock and pushed the door open. "Vachon," she called 
to the dim interior.  "Vachon, are you home?"

"Where else would I be?" he answered, suddenly standing before
her. She didn't jump and he was almost disappointed.  Startling
Tracy Vetter had become one of his favorite hobbies, he'd hate to
have to give it up.

"Any number of places, I would imagine," she responded. As 
much as she tried to brace herself, his sudden entrances never
failed to surprise her. She was just getting better about not reacting
to them. She looked about the apartment. He had done little to
improve the decor since moving in several months ago; most
of his few belongings remained packed loosely in crates scattered
about the living area. At least it was clean. That was more than
you could say about the church.  

"Can you tell me why we went to all the trouble of finding you
a basement apartment with all the modern conveniences if you 
weren't going to have the electricity turned on?" Her voice was 
tinged with irritation. All she wanted was to be home in her nice, 
warm bed. She didn't appreciate an added detour on her 
way home to play messenger.

Vachon took her hands in his and lead her carefully to the couch.
"The modern conveniences were for you, if I recall. I prefer 
candlelight." He brushed his fingers softly through the ends 
of her hair.  The soft flicker of the flames cast a soft glow to 
her face. "Everything looks so much nicer in candlelight, 
don't you think?"

"It's not going to work, Vachon," she responded, although it
was actually working quite well. It was amazing how quickly  
the real world slipped away when she was with him. "You can save 
the charm for some other occasion when you need it more."

Vachon let his hand fall, grinning. "So what brings you here this 
morning?" he asked. "If not my charming company."

"Get your phone turned back on, Vachon. Natalie Lambert's been
trying to reach you for over a day. She's started giving Nick that
new drug that she's been working on and I think she wants to
draw some blood from you."

"Really." Vachon straightened on the couch.  "Any luck so far?"

"I...I don't know," she answered hesitantly. "It's hard to say with
Nick. He seems pretty much the same to me." Not that she was
any good judge of Nick Knight. The fact that he had hidden his
vampirism from her for so long still grated on her. She could 
accept the fact that he had just been trying to protect her, it was
the fact that she missed it for so long that was hard to take. As 
was the way he still treated her, more like a pesky little sister than
a partner--or a friend.

"Vachon," she started slowly. A question had been on her mind
for some time, and it didn't seem that there would be a better 
opportunity than this. "Why are you so interested in helping
Natalie and Nick with this? I mean, what's in it for you?"

"Does there have to be something in it for me?" he questioned.
"I like them, Natalie especially, and I owe her, both of them really.
Is that so hard to understand?"

"No...I guess I was wondering if this cure was of any interest to
you...personally?" Tracy watched carefully for his reaction.

Vachon laughed loudly. "You mean, am I interested in being 
human again? Afraid not, Trace. I like what I am. I've never 
led you to believe anything else."

"I know you haven't." Tracy leaned forward on the couch. "I guess
I just don't understand why Nick feels so differently." It wasn't
something that he seemed ready to discuss with her anytime soon
either.

"Maybe if I had a master like..." Vachon stopped abruptly. That
had been a mistake. 

Tracy edged towards him eagerly, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"Nick has a master? And you've met her?" Tracy stopped for a
minute to think. "Since you just met Nick here in Toronto, she
must be here too." Tracy shook him lightly by the arm. "Tell me!"

"It's a him," he stated flatly. This was a fine time for Tracy to
start acting like a detective.  

"What's a him?"

"Knight's master. He's a him. This isn't a dinner party, Trace. 
It doesn't necessarily go girl, boy, girl, boy."

"Oh." She sat back against the couch.  Another useful piece of 
information to store away.  "Are you going to tell me more or not?"

Vachon sighed. He had said far too much already. Now he would
have to say more, if only for Tracy's sake. It wouldn't do to have
her bring this up at the wrong time, or in the wrong place. Tracy
had stayed away from the Raven so far, but he wasn't taking any
bets on how long that would last. He sometimes thought that
this was all a game to her, and she had no idea how dangerous
it could really be.  "Listen to me. I'm only telling you this
for your own protection." He paused. "Knight's master is a two 
thousand year old Roman general, who would not take 
your knowing about him lightly."

Tracy's jaw hung in disbelief. "Two thousand years old. 
Wow. That's incredible," she responded.  She couldn't 
begin to imagine what it would be like to live so long, to 
see so many changes in the world. "He must be a 
fascinating man to talk to."

"I suspect that Knight doesn't feel quite the same way." He 
had never been able to make sense of the relationship between 
the two. On the surface they seemed to barely tolerate one 
another, but the brief glimpse he had had when he drank 
Knight's blood had told him that the relationship went far 
deeper. He just couldn't tell whether the predominant feeling 
that they had for one another was love, or hatred.

Now he really had her curiosity aroused. "What do you 
mean by that?"

"Knight's master makes your father look like Ward Cleaver, 
Trace. And his main mission in life seems to be keeping Knight 
on the straight and narrow, vampire-wise that is." He could 
almost see the wheels turning in her head. She wasn't about 
to leave this alone. "This is serious, Tracy. Deadly serious. 
If he even has an inkling that you know about us, about the 
Community, you'll be dead. I won't be able to protect you and 
I don't think Knight will either."

"What about Natalie?" she questioned. "*He* must know about
Natalie, she seems to have managed to stay alive."

Vachon threw his hands up. "I don't know what goes on there, and
I don't want to know." After Divia, the less he had to do with
LaCroix and any of his family, the happier he was. "I just want you
to promise me that you'll leave this alone." He only prayed that
LaCroix never found out he was helping Knight on this ridiculous
quest of his. The thought of what might happen made his 
stomach turn.

Tracy looked into his dark eyes, so full of concern for her. "All
right," she relented. "I promise. There, are you happy now?"

"Relieved is more like it," he replied. He ran his fingertips 
lightly over her hand. "Can you stay a while?"

"No." Tracy rose to her feet. "I have to run. I have to 
pick up some school records for a case we're working 
on." It was amazing the number of mindless tasks that 
could only be done during daylight hours.

"Anything interesting?"

"Hmm," she hesitated. "I suppose so. A young man was 
brutally beaten to death in an alley off of Church St..  It's shaping
up like maybe it's a hate crime--he was coming out of a gay bar
when it happened."

"And that doesn't interest you?" This was a change. Usually he
couldn't get her to stop talking about her cases.

"It's not that...exactly. I just think that it might be better handled
by someone else. Someone with better ties to the gay community,
maybe."

"Someone different from you?" He looked at her closely.  This was
a side of Tracy he hadn't seen before. 

"I didn't mean it that way." She dropped back onto the couch,
frustrated. She didn't know what she meant, that was the problem.
She'd always come up with the 'right' answers during sensitivity
training classes. If anyone had suggested she'd have a problem with
this, she'd have been indignant. She was open minded.  Hell, 
half the people she knew weren't even...well, people. The image 
of the bar earlier in the evening played in her head. It had 
embarrassed her to see men in one another's arms, kissing 
one another, touching one another. Nick had been no help at 
all. As usual, he wasn't interested in what she was thinking or 
feeling. "I guess I just have to wonder why he was at some sleazy 
bar in the middle of the night. He wasn't even of legal age."

"So you're saying it's his own fault that he was murdered?" 

"Of course not. He didn't deserve that." No one deserved what 
had happened to Brian Boswell. "You should have seen his 
parents, Vachon. They were devastated. I'm not sure they had 
to be put through all this." She shook her head sadly.   

"Don't worry." Tracy came to her feet once again. "I'm trained to
leave my personal feelings out of this, remember?" She managed
a thin smile. "Shall I tell Natalie that you'll be by?"

"You may," he answered. "And if you need anyone to 
talk to..."

At least it was more than she had gotten from her partner. 
"I know, Vachon, thanks." Tracy stepped awkwardly to the door. 
She could never quite figure out how she was supposed to 
say good-bye to him. She settled for a quick hug, then stepped 
through the door into the daylight.



More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 10/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Nick glanced at the clock as he hurried into the bullpen area of the
precinct. He was running late. The stop he had made at the morgue
had taken longer than he had anticipated; not that he could quite
bring himself to care. 

He allowed himself a smile. The cure was working; he was even 
more sure of it now than he had been earlier. Even after not feeding 
for over a day, the blood in the refrigerator still had no lure for him. 
Natalie was hopeful as well. She tried to hide it from him, but he 
could see it in her eyes, that little spark that hadn't been there in a 
long time, the way she was humming to herself as he entered the
morgue. Oh, she had fussed and drawn more blood, then fussed
some more. Finally she deemed it reasonable to give him a second
dose of the medication, all the while cautioning him not to get his 
hopes up.

The headache that had retreated with some sleep had returned 
with a vengeance. Nick slid into his chair and gently massaged his
temples, his elbows resting atop his desk. He had considered 
mentioning it to Natalie, but had discarded the idea. She would only 
worry needlessly and probably put everything on hold; he would let her 
know soon enough, and by then she could tell him to take two aspirin 
and call her in the morning. He grinned again. He wouldn't  have too 
far to call--he had every intention of waking up every morning right 
beside her.

"I think they're waiting for you."

Nick jerked his head back, startled. He had been totally unaware
of Sergeant Miller's presence behind him. "Who's waiting for
me?"

"The Captain and Tracy," she responded. "They're in Reese's office
with someone who has some sort of information about the Boswell 
case. Reese has called out twice looking for you."

Nick stood and faced the Sergeant. A sudden wave of dizziness
swept over him and he grabbed the back of his chair for support.
"Is it a witness?" he managed.  

"Beats me," she shrugged. "All I know is that he gave me a bad 
case of the creeps when he came to the desk."

"Thanks." He groaned inwardly as she walked away. It was 
probably too late to beat a hasty retreat back to the morgue, Reese 
would hear that he'd been here. Not that he'd trust himself to drive, 
or fly, anywhere at the moment.  Besides, it would be nice to get a 
break on the case.

Nick froze as he entered the room. 

Reese was there, seated behind his desk, a distinctly uncomfortable 
look on his face. "Here he is now," Reese stated as Nick entered,  a 
frown crossing his face as he took a quick glance at his watch. He 
gestured to the seat opposite the desk. "This gentleman has some 
information regarding the Boswell case. He was most...adamant
about you being here for the discussion."

"It seemed only logical to wait for the primary investigative officer.
Wouldn't you agree, Detective?" Lucien LaCroix turned his head
to face Nick, a smile on his lips.  He sat relaxed in the hard backed 
chair, the tips of his fingers pressed together.  The glare from the 
fluorescent lights made him seem even paler than usual, a stark 
contrast to his neatly pressed, black silk suit. "Otherwise, I may find 
myself here the entire night, endlessly repeating the same story."

Nick moved into the room with carefully measured steps, his face
a mask. He nodded to Tracy, who stood resting against the far
wall of the room. "I'm quite sure that Detective Vetter would have 
handled your statement just fine, Mr. ...Um..."

"LaCroix," LaCroix supplied smoothly. "Lucien LaCroix."

"Of course...Mr. LaCroix." Nick propped himself on the edge 
of the Captain's desk, his eyes scanning the ceiling as if the 
answer to a  puzzle could be found there. "The incident at the 
Raven last year," he said suddenly. "How could I have forgotten?" 
Nick's mind raced to come up with all the possible reasons for  
LaCroix's visit; none of them were good. They all led to his growing 
fear that somehow LaCroix had learned of his latest attempt for a 
cure and this charade was part of some plan to stop him before 
the treatments were complete.

Reese snorted loudly. He certainly had not forgotten Lucien LaCroix, 
nor did he see any reason to change the opinion he had 
formed of him at the time. This guy was wrong, dreadfully wrong 
and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. "It seems that Mr. 
LaCroix is a busy man. In addition to owning the Raven, he also
has a nightly radio talk show. Calls himself the Nightcaller."

"Nightcrawler," LaCroix corrected, the slightest note of irritation 
entering his voice.

"Whatever," Reese shrugged. "Unless it has something to do with
hockey, I'm afraid I wouldn't know. Anyway, Mr. LaCroix has a
tape he wants us to listen to. He claims it has some bearing on
the Boswell case."

LaCroix arched a brow. Perhaps he had overestimated the Captain
at their last meeting--hockey, indeed. "I do not *claim* anything.
I have a tape here of a young man who says he was an eyewitness
to the murder.  If it's not something that you'd be interested in...
I'll be on my way. As you said, I am a busy man." LaCroix unfolded
his hands and moved to stand. 

"Play the tape," Nick stated firmly. If LaCroix was playing games
over the death of an innocent boy, he would regret ever coming
here tonight. 

LaCroix leaned forward and pushed the 'Play' button on the tape
deck. There were a few seconds of tape hiss, and then a 
quivering teenage voice spoke.

      "He's dead, I tell you, Nightcrawler, he's dead."
      "Of course he is. That's no reason to be quite so upset. 
       Tell me, my friend, who is that has so recently departed this       
        world for the next?"
       "Jesus, I don't even know his name. He was a fag,
        a queer. We were just supposed to give him a hard
        time, maybe rough him up a bit...I never knew this
        was going to happen."
        "Of course you didn't. That would make you responsible
        for your own actions, would it not?"
        "I...I didn't *do* anything. I only watched. Honest,
        Nightcrawler."
       "Watched while a fellow human being was brutalized and
        murdered. That's not so bad now, is it?"
       "Nightcrawler??"

The recording ceased, obviously cut from what came after. 
The tape hissed again. LaCroix smiled enigmatically and, pressing the
'Stop' button, leaned back in his chair.

"This went out over the air?" Reese asked. It was a wonder that
they hadn't been flooded with calls regarding the killing.

"I make it a practice to take calls off the air as well," LaCroix 
responded evenly, "ever since a rather...unfortunate incident which
occurred during one of the station breaks. This particular call 
wasn't ---well-suited for last night's show." 

"How do we know any of  this is for real and not some publicity
stunt?" Tracy's brows knit together. She had no fond recollections 
of LaCroix either. Although they had never proven any involvement 
in the Hamid Karam homicide, the story he had given never seemed
quite right. It was also the case that led to Vachon's apparent death, 
and at her hand. 

"This is a copy," LaCroix replied. "The master is available at the
station for your inspection, should you feel that is warranted."

"This is all well and good," Reese interjected. "But no names are
mentioned. We still don't know who these people are or how we
go about finding them. It's a big city out there."

LaCroix slid his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled
a small piece of paper. Nick recognized the precise handwriting
as LaCroix slid the paper across the desk to Reese. "The equipment
in the studio was recently refurbished. I had a caller identification
system installed. This is the number which was displayed."

"I thought you guaranteed confidentiality to all your callers?" 
Nick challenged.

"If someone is fool enough to confess to being a participant in
a homicide, I feel it's only my civic duty to see that they are taken
off the streets."

"Tracy." Reese handed the paper to the young detective. "Run this
over to communications and see if they can come up with a 
name to go with this number. It's probably a pay phone, but you
never know." 

Reese looked evenly at LaCroix. What was it about this guy that
made him feel he was only getting a small fraction of what was
really going on? "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"I think I've done more than enough, Captain. I leave the rest in
your capable hands." LaCroix rose from the chair. "I assume I'm
free to go?"

"Of course," Reese muttered. "Just be available if we need access
to your studio or those tapes."

"As you wish, Captain." LaCroix turned, catching Nick's eye as 
he did. He nodded  his head slightly. "Detective."

Nick stepped quickly from Reese's office, hurrying to keep pace
with LaCroix's long strides. He couldn't let LaCroix leave without
hearing the answer to one question. Nick reached out and 
grabbed LaCroix lightly by the arm. "Why?" he asked, puzzled over
LaCroix's actions. 

"Why what, Nicholas?" LaCroix responded.

Nick glanced around quickly. Few in the station seemed to be 
paying them any mind.  "What's your interest in this case? " Nick's
eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And don't try to tell me that you're
only being a good citizen."

"Nicholas, my boy, are you accusing me of some ulterior motive?
I'm crushed." 

LaCroix's lips curled into a thin smile, but there was something 
there in his eyes.  Maybe he had some need to see justice served 
in this as well. Nick let his hand fall and took a step backwards. 
"Thanks," he said simply.  "I'll let you know what we come up
with."

"Are you quite sure that you're all right, Nicholas? You don't_look_
well." Even as close as they were standing, the link between them 
was chaotic, even erratic. The color of Nicholas' face was a ghastly
shade of gray. All the result, no doubt, of some bizarre, new dietary
regime designed to bring him back to the mortal world.  Well, he
could eat green cheese for all the good it would do him, Nicholas
would never make it back.

"I'm fine," Nick answered brusquely, turning away. "I need to get
back to work."

"Of course," LaCroix replied. "You do that," he ended, turning on
his heel.



"We got him." Tracy hurried across the bullpen, a look of 
satisfaction on her face. "The number belongs to a home in
suburban Toronto."

Nick leaned his weight against the wall partition in front of 
Reese's office. He had the terrifying feeling that if he sat down 
now, he might never make it back to his feet. The ringing in his
ears was back, obscuring all but the loudest of sounds. Maybe this
was all that mortals could hear. He no longer had memories enough
to compare it to. "You seem more enthusiastic," he commented.
"I thought you didn't want this case?"

"It's growing on me," she responded. She looked at him, puzzled,
and reached a tentative hand towards his head. "Hey, you have
some gray hairs here."

Nick snapped his head forward and raked his fingers through 
his hair. "They've always been there," he replied quickly.  "You've
just never noticed."

"Do you know how much time I've spent looking across our 
desks at the top of your head?" she asked, a bit annoyed at his 
abrupt dismissal. "I'm telling you, something's different." She 
reached her had out towards his hair once again. 

"And I'm telling you they've always been there." Nick grabbed
her hand and squeezed it tightly. He saw the pain flash across her
face, followed quickly by fear. He had never seen a fear of him in
her eyes before.  Nick quickly let go of her hand. "Tracy...I'm 
sorry. I didn't mean..."

Tracy rubbed one hand with the other. "Sure, no problem. Let's
just get going." She grabbed her coat off the rack and headed 
swiftly for the door.



More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 11/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Tracy pulled the car up the long drive and killed the ignition. She
had driven, Nick claiming rather unconvincingly that the Caddy
was giving him some trouble. She glanced at him, his head 
resting against the seat, his eyes closed. He hadn't spoken a 
word the entire drive; not that that in itself was unusual, it was
the *way* he hadn't said anything that was troubling her.  Maybe
this was the odd behavior Nat had asked her to be on the lookout
for. Who was she to judge? Nick had made it perfectly clear that
her input wasn't welcome in this. Her wrist was turning an ugly, red
color where he had grabbed it. She would have a nasty bruise there
tomorrow. "Hey, Nick," she called to him. "We're there."

Nick startled awake, dazed for a moment. Tracy's car, the Boswell
case, it all came back to him in a rush. He looked out the window
at the impressive Tudor-style home. "This is the address 
Communications got from the telephone company?"

"One and the same," she responded. "How do you want to 
handle this?"

Nick considered before answering. "Let's give him the benefit of the
doubt. Let's see if he's willing to talk to us." Nick opened the 
door and eased his way out, uncertain at first if his legs would 
hold him.  Going to see Natalie was fast becoming a priority. 

The door swung  open slowly in response to Tracy's repeated 
knocking. She flashed her badge into the face of a bespectacled,
middle-aged man. "I'm Detective Vetter, Metro Homicide. This
is my partner, Detective Knight." Tracy glanced down at the 
notepad in her hand.  "Are you Mark Huntley?"

The man eyed the two cautiously. "Mark is my son," 
he announced. "What's this all about?"

"I'm afraid we need to speak to your son, Mr. Huntley. May we
come in?" Nick took a step closer to the threshold of the doorway,
pressing the door open with his hand. 

"Of course," Mr. Huntley responded, stepping aside. "Mark is
in bed. I would like to know what this is all about before I wake
him. One of the students at his school was killed last night, and he's
been very upset all day."

"That's what we're here to talk to your son about, Mr. Huntley,"
Tracy responded.

"You can't think that Mark knows anything about this. He was
home in bed last night when it happened."

"It's okay, Dad." Mark stood halfway down the stairway from the
second floor, clinging firmly to the railing, his face a colorless 
mask. He could feel his heart racing wildly in his chest. At least
the lying was over. Now all he had to worry about was what
Chris Connolly would do once he caught up with him.

"Where you home in bed last night, Mark?" Nick called up the
stairs."

"No," Mark answered, his voice quavering. He took the 
remaining steps down to the foyer. "I snuck out after my 
parents were asleep. I was there. I saw the whole thing." He 
dropped his eyes to the floor. He'd give anything not to see it, 
happening over and over again inside his head.  

"Mark!" his father exclaimed. "You can't be serious."

"It's true, Dad," Mark lifted his tearstained face. "I'm so sorry."
He turned to Nick and Tracy. "I had no idea things would go
that far."

"We need you to come down to the station; we need the names
of the boys who did this. Do you think you can do that for us?"
Nick asked gently.

Mark nodded his head.  He reached up and ran his fingers over
the lapel of his pajamas. "Can I change first?"

"Go ahead," Tracy responded. "We'll be waiting."



--------------------

"What do you think?" Nick asked as he entered the observation
area. Reese and Tracy stood grimfaced, their backs to the window
that overlooked the interview room. Beyond them, Nick could
see Mark Huntley, still slumped in the chair where he had spent
the last hour.

"He's taking responsibility; he's given us what we need," Reese
reviewed. "I think it'll be all right to release him into his parents'
custody, at least for now. The juvenile authorities may have a 
different opinion in the morning."

"So what's with the long faces?" Nick countered. He expected that
Tracy, at least, would be happy to see this case drawing to a
close.

"Chris Connolly." Reese stated flatly.

"Yeah?" Nick ventured, still confused by their reaction.

"As in Commissioner Christopher Connolly, Sr., ranking member
of the police commission."

"It's a common name," Nick shrugged. "It doesn't mean they're 
related."

Tracy spoke for the first time. "Connolly has a son that would be
about the right age. I'm pretty sure he goes to Waverly and 
Huntley did say that Chris' father was a cop."

"So what if it is him?" Nick responded, annoyed. "Are we 
supposed to look the other way on this one? What about Brian
Boswell? He's still dead, no matter what connections his killer 
might have."

Reese shifted uneasily. "Calm down, Nick. No one said anything
about covering this up. As far as I'm concerned, the animal that
did this deserves to be put away forever. I'm just saying that 
this is going to attract a lot of the wrong kind of attention to
whomever is involved. Commissioner Connolly has a reputation
for being brutal when he's crossed." Reese snorted. "I guess the
apple doesn't fall far from the tree." He moved to the doorway.
"I'm going to get on the phone to the Crown Prosecutor. I want
to proceed very carefully here; I don't want any mistakes made.
While I'm at it, I think I'll see if I have any overdue library books."
He glanced at his detectives. "You two may want to do the same.
This is going to get ugly."


"Well, that's just great," Tracy exhaled in disgust. She crossed her 
arms and leaned against the wall. "I guess I better get used to 
doing nights around here. I sure won't be getting promoted any time 
soon, not if Connolly has anything to say about it."

"And I thought you liked it here." Nick managed a thin smile. He
had suddenly never felt so tired. All he wanted to do was go home
and crawl into bed. And see Natalie. He had to go see Natalie.
Something was definitely not right here.

"Easy for you to say," she remarked bitterly. "A few more years
and you're gone; onto bigger and better things, no doubt." Tracy
pressed her hands to her hips. "Well, this is the only life *I'll* ever
have, and the only career I ever wanted. I don't want to go
through it with a political albatross like this hanging around
my neck."

Nick stared at her, taken aback. This wasn't about either one 
of them.  "A young man is dead, Tracy, and only because someone
didn't care for his sexual preference. Doesn't that bother you,
just the least little bit?"

"Of course it bothers me," she answered. Almost as much as her
own response to this case had bothered her. She never expected
to feel the way she did; she just...did. 

"This job is supposed to be about doing the right thing, whether
or not it's 'comfortable' or politically expedient." Nick shook his
head slowly. "At least I thought that's what it was about." Nick
turned and headed for the door. "I'm going to see how the 
Captain is doing. I need to check on my library books too; I have a 
few that are *way* overdue," he said grimly.



More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 12/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998



"I suppose you heard all that?" Tracy placed the receiver in its
cradle and glanced across the desk at her partner. "It was my Dad,"
she continued without waiting for an answer. "He wants me off the
case. He says the press will have a field day with one Police 
Commissioner's child arresting another's."

"I already told you, Tracy," Nick responded without looking up.
"I'll make the arrests--alone. You don't need to worry about being
involved any longer." Nick glanced at Reese's office door. Reese
had been on the phone with the Crown Prosecutor's office for
hours. Apparently he had found time to squeeze in a call to
Commissioner Vetter as well. The warrants had better come down
soon; there wasn't much left to the night and this wasn't something
he was eager to hand off to the day shift.

"It's not that..." Tracy started before being cut off by the sounds
of shouting from the entryway of the station.

"Gun in the precinct!" an unidentifiable voice shouted across
the room.

The words came to her very clearly and Tracy plunged to the floor,
her heart racing. She tucked herself up under the desk; the events
from a year ago, the ones that had very nearly cost her her life,
played vividly in her mind. She found herself shaking uncontrollably, 
furious at her body's betrayal. She was a police officer, she should 
be able to get past her fears and respond as needed to the situation. 

"Hey." Nick poked his head around the corner of her desk. He had
dropped to the floor as well and she took some small comfort in
that. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Tracy nodded silently, forcing herself to meet his eyes.  The 
concern she found there was genuine. She took several deep 
breaths and made herself  focus on the present.  "Is there only
one?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he whispered.  "And I think it's Frank Boswell. I'm going 
to see if he'll talk to me. You stay here," he instructed. "No heroics."

"Don't worry." She managed a thin smile. "You go get yourself 
shot all you want; I'll be right here."


"I want to see whoever is in charge!" Frank Boswell stood, revolver
in hand, at the entryway to the bullpen. "And I want to see him
now!"  

Nick stood slowly and surveyed the scene. Whatever officers and
visitors had been at the desk had scattered at Boswell's arrival,
providing him with no clear target. He was waving the handgun 
about wildly, fixing it on no one in particular. The door to Reese's 
office opened and he emerged, calmly stepping out into the open 
area. "I'm Captain Reese," he stated firmly. "You need to put the 
gun down, Mr...."

"Boswell," Nick supplied, stepping forward.  "Brian Boswell's 
father," he added in Reese's direction. "What's this all about 
Mr. Boswell?"

"You!" Boswell shouted, enraged. "You didn't tell me what they
did to my boy."

"I told you as much as I thought you could stand to hear at the
time," Nick responded. He tried desperately to focus on Boswell's
heartbeat, but to no avail. The dull buzzing in his ears continued
to block out his usually sensitive hearing. "I am sorry for what
happened, Mr. Boswell," Nick took another step forward, "but this 
isn't the way to handle it. You need to put the gun down." Nick 
pressed strongly with his will, but saw no change in Boswell's
demeanor. Whatever it was that Natalie's drug was doing, it 
seemed to be interfering with his ability to hypnotize as well.

"I assure you, Mr. Boswell, we're doing everything possible 
to solve  this case," Reese interjected.

Boswell's features hardened and he trained the gun on Reese. "Oh,
you're doing everything you can, are you? Can you tell me why
you released a suspect tonight--into his parent's custody?" Boswell 
shouted. "Is that your idea of  'doing everything you can?'"

"Where did you hear that?"  Reese questioned, surprised that  word
of the arrest had gotten out so quickly.

"A reporter came to the house, wanting my reaction.  Told me all
about it. He said you might try to cover this thing up."

"Damn press," Reese muttered under his breath.  When he found 
out where the leak was, there'd be hell to pay.

"No one is going to cover this up," Nick said quietly, stepping
even closer to Boswell. "I give you my word on that." Nick held 
his hand out in Boswell's direction. "Please, give me the gun."

Boswell's face clouded. "I had to be sure...I had to do that much
for him." His voice thickened, his head shaking in disbelief. The
grotesque circumstances of Brian's death seemed to be making it 
all the more difficult to accept. Brian looked so fragile, lying there in 
the morgue. He wanted so much to sweep him into his arms and 
take him home, but Brian would never be coming home again. The 
bitter battles they had fought suddenly seemed so petty. How could 
it be he would never have the chance to say he was sorry? "I said 
so many awful things to him in the past." His voice cracked. "I only 
wanted what was best for him. I wanted him to be happy; I wanted 
him to be normal." He looked pleadingly into Nick's eyes. "Is that 
so bad, for a father to want what's best for his son?"

"No, of course not." Nick's face softened. How often was the worst
damage done with only the best intention? LaCroix had struggled
for eight-hundred years to remake him in his own image. All the
good intentions in the world couldn't begin to undo the hurt they held 
between them. "Brian just couldn't be what you wanted him to be. 
It wasn't within his power. Can you understand that?" 

"I think so...maybe," Boswell said hesitantly. His grip on the
revolver had loosened appreciably, the barrel was pointing, 
almost casually, towards the floor. "And now it's too late."

A number of officers had risen from their crouched positions, and 
were carefully easing their way behind Boswell.  Nick spared a
sharp glance in their direction--the last thing  this situation needed 
was a sudden burst of heroism. "I don't think it's ever too late to 
understand."

Boswell's features tightened. "Of course it's too late," he said
bitterly. "He's dead, isn't he? He's dead and I can't even remember
the last time I told my boy that I loved him."

"You just did." Nick walked over and eased the revolver from
Boswell's hand. "You just did."

"Do you think he knew?"  There was a desperate quality to 
Boswell's question.  If only he could believe that Brian died 
knowing he was loved. 

"Yeah," Nick said softly. "He knows." Nick paused. "I'm afraid 
we're going to have to place you under arrest." Nick gestured 
to a pair of uniformed officers. "These officers are going to 
bring you downstairs."

Boswell nodded vacantly. It no longer mattered what happened
to him. He stood passively while his hands were cuffed and he
was led away.



"That was a nice job you did there, Knight," Reese offered. 

Nick checked the cylinder. "It's not even loaded." He handed 
the gun to Reese. He was so tired. He just needed to have this 
thing over and done with so he could go home and get some 
sleep. "How are we doing on the warrants?"

"Signed and sealed," Reese replied. "You just need to pick them
up on the way to get Connolly and the other two." Reese looked at
Nick carefully. "Are you sure you're up for this? You don't look 
very well."

"I'm fine." The words were garbled. The buzzing in his ears 
escalated intensely, almost painfully. Nick reached his hand 
out towards Reese,  looking desperately for something to grab 
onto. The lights of the station swam before Nick's eyes, then 
abruptly went out. 

"What happened?" Tracy rushed to Reese's side. Nick's crumpled 
body lay on the floor at Reese's feet.

Reese crouched over and placed a hand against Nick's cheek. "He
was standing there, talking. Next thing I knew he was on the floor.
Jesus, he's cold." He pressed his hand to Nick's carotid artery.
"I don't feel a pulse here. Somebody, call an ambulance!" he
shouted over his shoulder.

"Wait!" Tracy yelled. She knelt beside Nick and brushed Reese's
hand away. "I feel a pulse," she lied. Or did she? Tracy pressed
her hand further into Nick's neck. Maybe there was something
there. "He just passed out. He hasn't been feeling well the
past few days--the flu or something."

Tracy slapped Nick's cheek, hard. "Nick, wake up!" 

Nick's eyes fluttered and his head lolled in response to Tracy's
voice. "Est-ce que quel qu'un a vu mon epee?" he mumbled.  

"Does anyone know what he's saying?" Reese called to the crowd
of officers who were now ringing the scene.

"It sounds like he's looking for a sword," Officer Boudreau 
responded, puzzled. 

"Sure." Tracy forced a laugh.  This was not looking good. "Nick!" 
she called more urgently. "Time to wake up." She pulled him to 
a sitting position and rested his back against the side of a desk. 
She pressed her lips to his ear. "We're at the station Nick, you 
*have* to wake up."

"Quel qu'un doit donner a boire aux cheuveux."  

All eyes turned to Officer Boudreau who had worked his way 
closer to Nick. "He said someone should water the horses??" 
Boudreau shrugged. "He's not making a lot of sense."

Reese glared at Boudreau. "No kidding." He turned to Tracy. "We
need an ambulance here, Tracy. He needs to go to the hospital."

Tracy cautiously pried open one of Nick's eyes. A golden orb stared
sightlessly back at her. "No hospital," she stated, more strongly 
than she intended. "You know how Nick feels about hospitals, 
especially after the last time." She tossed it out, hoping it would 
appease the Captain. "I'll take him home. He'll be fine." At least 
she hoped he would be. 

Tracy bent over and whispered urgently in Nick's ear. "You have 
*got* to help me, Nick. Can you hear me? You have got to stand
up. I can't carry you all by myself and you can't stay here any longer."

Nick seemed to nod in response to her words. She grabbed him
by the hands and struggled to pull Nick to his feet. "Come on,
partner. We'll go water the horses, just you and me." Tracy 
wrapped one of Nick's arms around her shoulders and was 
grateful to feel him shift at least some of his weight onto his own
legs.  She half-dragged, half-carried him towards the doorway.
"Would you give Natalie Lambert a call?" she asked over her
shoulder, struggling to keep the strain from her voice. "Tell her
what happened and ask her to meet me at Nick's."



More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 13/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Tracy slumped against the wall of the elevator, her arms aching. 
Try as she might, she couldn't budge Nick's body an inch further
than where it now lay on the floor of the lift. Somewhere on the ride 
over to the loft, he had totally lost consciousness and she had
been unable rouse him at all. It had taken every ounce of energy 
she had to get him this far. 

She glanced at him quickly and felt a thread of fear run through 
her. The sprinkle of silver she had noticed earlier was now far more
pronounced and his face had taken on a grayish hue she had never
seen anywhere before--except maybe at the morgue. She scrambled 
to her feet at the thought he might actually be dead. Could they
die like this? Hell, before Screed died they seemed to be under the
impression that they couldn't get sick either. Tracy fell to her 
knees beside him and pressed her hand to his neck, uncertain of
what she expected to find.  Could you even do CPR on vampires?

"Tracy!"

Tracy spun at the sound of her name to find Natalie rushing 
towards her. She didn't know whether to be relieved that at least 
someone who should know something had arrived, or to feel pity 
for the stricken look on Natalie's face. "How?" 

"When the elevator wouldn't come down, I took the stairs," she
explained quickly. "Let's get him on to the couch." Natalie slipped 
her hands under Nick's arms and together they managed to drag 
Nick's body across the floor and onto the sofa. 

Natalie's heart was pounding furiously in her chest. The changes
that had occurred in Nick in just a few short hours were horrifying.
His hair was now almost completely gray, his face lined and worn.
She fought to regain her composure; she was his doctor, he 
deserved to have her thinking clearly. "What happened?"

"I don't know, Nat. He just fell to the floor." Tracy scrambled to 
think. "There was a hostage situation at the station..."

"He didn't get shot?" At least it would be something she could
begin to treat.

"No, no." Tracy dismissed the idea. "No weapons were discharged.
He was standing there talking to Reese, then he went down like
a ton of bricks. No warning at all."

"And he's been like this ever since?" Natalie questioned. She sat 
beside him an the couch and pressed her hands against his face.
He was as cool as ever, but there was a distinctly different feel to
his tissues--his face was soft and almost spongy  in texture.

"He was still arousable at the station," Tracy hesitated. "He was
speaking...in French...about horses and swords."

"You are kidding?" Natalie looked at Tracy in disbelief. She had
never known Nick to slip like that, no matter what the circumstance.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Tracy returned.  "I'm sure no one 
made anything of it. They all thought he was delirious."

Natalie pulled open her medical bag and pressed the diaphragm 
of her stethoscope to his chest. His heart was silent for what seemed
an eternity, then finally, a single beat. Natalie's shoulders sagged
in relief. "It must be some sort of reaction to the medication," she
said, more to herself than to Tracy. "It has to be. But what kind
of reaction?" She turned and faced Tracy. "There was no indication
before he collapsed that anything was wrong?"

Tracy felt her face flush. Of course there had been. She had  been
too damn busy trying to respect her partner's privacy and earn his
respect in return that she hadn't done the one simple thing she had
been asked to do.  "He seemed to be having some headaches,"
she started, "and some dizzy spells."

"And you didn't think it was worth mentioning to me?" Natalie
questioned sharply. "After I asked you specifically to keep an eye
on him?"

"What am I supposed to be, his keeper?" Tracy snapped. "He didn't
*tell* me he was having headaches or dizzy spells. He never tells
*me* anything, unless it has to do with a case. Nick has made it very 
clear that he has no use at all for me in his personal life."

"I'm sorry, Trace," Natalie's voice softened. She knew how hurt 
Tracy was by Nick's continued indifference to her. Could Tracy 
even begin to understand the hole that Don Schanke had left in
Nick's heart? "You're not his keeper. I'm not supposed to be 
either. Nick's a big boy; he knew something was wrong and he
chose not to tell me about it. Let's hope we get a chance to ask 
him why."

Tracy grimaced. Nick was looking worse by the minute. "Do you
think you can help him?" she asked cautiously.

"Oh, I'll figure this out," she said through gritted teeth. "If only
so I can have the pleasure of staking him for being so damn stupid." 
Natalie's mind was awhirl with possibilities. An antidote would 
be the most logical choice, but what drug could she use that 
would reverse the previous one she had given him? And who was
to say what effect it would have on a vampire, or if Nick had that
kind of time to wait? An exchange transfusion might be the
simplest solution, if shecould just get enough blood to do it
with. She glanced up at Tracy. "Do you think you could get some
blood from Vachon?"

"Sure," Tracy answered hesitantly. "Are you going to try one of 
those exchange transfusion thingies like you did with Vachon?" She
didn't want to mention that it had been Nick's blood that had made
the whole idea work in the end.

"I think it's our best bet for now," Natalie answered. "At least it's
a place to start. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. I'd do anything for Nick; you know that."

There were long stretches of time when Natalie forgot all about *it*. 
Forgot that she was not quite the same woman as she had been 
before she almost died at Nick's hands. She made a conscious effort 
to avoid being out in the midday sun, and, every now and then, she 
would enter a public place and know instantly that there was a vampire 
present, but that was usually as far as it went. Whatever lingering effects

there were from Nick's bite seemed to impact her far less than they 
had initially feared. 

The sudden, intense vibration she felt was almost unbearable. It
was as if her skin were on fire. She took a sharp breath inward, 
unable to care if Tracy noticed or not. There was only one 'person' 
who never let her forget the changes that had occurred that night-- 
LaCroix. She had no need to glance up at the skylight to know he 
was there, she just did.  The message he was sending her was 
as undeniable as his presence. "Tracy," she said abruptly. "You 
need to go. Forget about the blood."

"Forget about the blood? But...?" Tracy glanced down Nick's body.
No signs of recovery were evident to her; if anything, he looked 
even worse.

"Change of plan," Natalie said hastily. There was no doubt in her
mind that Tracy would not survive a meeting with Lucien LaCroix,
not if the rage she sensed from him were real and not some game
he was playing with her mind.  Natalie stood and faced the younger 
woman. "Go to Vachon's. I'll call you if I need you."

Tracy's brows furrowed. There was a quality of fear in Natalie's
voice that she had never heard before. "If you're sure," she 
ventured.  Tracy straightened her shoulders. "I won't be at Vachon's, 
though. I have a case to close." She looked at her partner's body. 
"We have a case to close, and I think it's past time
for me to do something about it."

Natalie slid her hand under Tracy's elbow and escorted her to 
the elevator door. "I'll give you a call later. Don't worry; he'll be
fine."


In a flash he was in front of her, pressing her back into the cool 
metal of the elevator door. She looked up into his face and saw 
nothing but hatred and a barely controlled fury; his ice blue eyes 
were ringed with gold. "What have you done to him?" he hissed.

Natalie's heart beat wildly in her chest, her breath coming in ragged
gasps. There may be nothing she could say, or do, to prevent him
from killing her where she stood, but she'd be damned if she was
going out without a fight. She mustered every inch her frame 
would allow. "I only did what Nick wanted. I tried to make him
human," she said defiantly.

"Is it truly worth that much to you?" he growled at her.  "That you
would see him dead rather than leave him as he is? Are you that
desperate to have him as a mortal man?"

"It has nothing to do with me," she insisted.  "It's what Nick wants." 
Natalie could feel her courage returning as she spoke. It
was about time he answered for the torment he had inflicted
on Nick for all those years. "Besides, you're a fine one to talk about 
leaving Nick be. You're the one who has hounded him across eight 
hundred years. You've made his life miserable; is it any wonder that 
he'd do anything to get away from you?"

"Is that what Nicholas has told you? " He pressed her even further
into the unyielding door. "Or is that what *you* want so desperately 
to believe? There was a time when Nicholas was quite content to 
live as he is. That time will come again. It must come again."

"Why?" she pushed the palms of her hands against him; a futile 
gesture, but the struggle somehow made her feel better. "So you 
can have him?" She spat the question at him.  "As what? Your 
son, your slave...your lover? Which is it, LaCroix? Or don't you 
know yourself?"

LaCroix eased his weight from her body. Doctor Lambert never
faltered in her ability to amaze him. He sent her a cool, thin smile.
"You're far more perceptive than I've given you credit for, Doctor."

"If you're expecting me to swoon, or catch a raging case of
the vapors over this, I'm afraid you have another thing coming." 
Natalie pressed her forefinger into LaCroix's chest. "Nick's choices 
were exactly that--Nick's choices." At least she hoped to God it
was Nick's choice. She would put *nothing* past this creature
who stood in front of her. "He's the one who made them; he's 
the one who has to live with them."

LaCroix spun away, releasing his hold on her.  He quickly crossed 
the room to where Nick lay motionless on the couch. "And is this 
an example of that choice? Is this the kind of mortality he seeks, 
Doctor, the kind that ends in death?"

"Of course not." Natalie floundered for an explanation. "Something
went wrong; I don't know what, not yet." Still, the drug had 
eliminated the extra nucleotide from his blood.  They had come
very, very close.

"There is no way back," he said quietly, the fire suddenly gone
from his eyes. "At least not alive." LaCroix glanced down at his 
son's still form. There was life in him yet; undetectable by mortal
means perhaps, but he could feel it through their link. The vampire
would not die, not this way.

His denial would almost be amusing if Nick's life didn't hang in the
balance. "Janette found a way," she said simply. "We will too."

"Janette?" LaCroix stepped closer to her again. "Tell me, Doctor 
Lambert. Did you ever see Janette in the sun, or see her eat 
anything, anything at all?"

"No," Natalie hesitated. "But I felt her warmth, I heard her heart 
beating. She was mortal," Natalie stated with certainty.

"Perhaps," he uttered smoothly. "But even if I am prepared to 
accept that--and I'm *not* prepared to accept that," he stated with
an arched brow, "it was truly a one in a billion happenstance.  
You'll never manage to repeat the process, not with all the 
technology you can muster."

"Come on, LaCroix." She had him now. Maybe he didn't realize
how much of their past Nick had revealed to her. "Why else would 
you have gone to such lengths to keep the Abharat from him, or 
the jade cups from Altun Kinal? You're terrified of losing him--just 
admit it."

"Why else, indeed?" LaCroix paused. Could she be trusted? It was
hard to say. It was obvious how much she loved his infuriatingly
stubborn son, but she might not be above using the knowledge
to suit her own purposes, either. "What is the one thing that 
Nicholas cannot live without?" he posed.

"If you're talking about the blood, I can synthesize..."

LaCroix rolled his eyes. Maybe she wasn't quite so perceptive
after all, or maybe she was just far too enmeshed in this modern day
mumbo jumbo she called science. "I was not speaking literally, Doctor."

The one thing that Nick couldn't live without. 

Natalie sat abruptly on the couch beside Nick. No. It couldn't be. 
This was all some horrible joke LaCroix was playing on her, on 
them. He couldn't be telling her the truth. She looked up at his
impassive face, it held no clues for her. "Hope," she said in a 
small voice. "Hope that there is a way back."

"Precisely," he responded. "And  what do you suppose flames that
fire above all else? Surely not the vague myths and rumors that
he has chased diligently over the last two centuries."

She looked up at him, astonished by his revelation. "You," she
said simply. "Nick believes there is a cure because you've tried
so hard to keep it from him." Natalie shifted her gaze back to Nick.
The degeneration of his body seemed to have stopped---at least
there was no further evidence of it externally. Who knew what was
going on inside? "He has no idea?" she questioned softly.

"None," LaCroix stated flatly. "And he is never to find out." His 
voice had taken on the air of a command, one that he expected
to be obeyed. After two thousand years, he was still very much 
the general. "That is part of the deal."

"The deal?" she questioned, puzzled. "What deal?"

LaCroix eased his way around to the back of the couch. "Left as he
is, Nicholas could remain this way for quite some time. Eventually,
the vampire will regenerate itself. Your 'treatment' was not
sufficient to kill him, merely to place his 'condition' into dormancy.
Still, time will pass, his superiors will wonder. This life as he knows
it will be over."

"Why do I assume you have some alternative plan in mind?" she
asked sarcastically.

"It would be possible for me to hasten the process, to restore 
Nicholas to the condition he was in prior to your little experiment."

Natalie jumped to her feet. "Let me guess, in return for your help,
I disappear. With Janette gone, that leaves only *you* for Nick
to turn to. Forget it, LaCroix." If Nick's condition was reversable,
she would find a way to do it. They had time. If she had to leave
Toronto with Nick in tow, so be it.

"I was thinking of nothing quite so...melodramatic," he responded
smoothly.

"What then?" she asked, puzzled. 

"You supply the hope for a while. I find myself growing weary of it." 
He was finding himself growing tired of a great many things lately. 
Nicholas' promise of friendship had never quite materialized and 
his indifference was far more difficult to tolerate than his antipathy 
had ever been. At least then there had been the struggle, something 
they could both appreciate. Now there was nothing.

"And all you want in return is my promise to never tell Nick that
there is no real hope for a cure?" There must be more to it than 
that, there had to be. 

LaCroix was within a hair's breath of her in an instant. "Don't
take my demands lightly, Doctor. What happens to you is 
immaterial to me. What is important is that Nicholas survive long
enough to get these ridiculous notions of a return to mortality out
of his head, and it will happen, sooner or later, it will happen."

"I won't stop trying to bring him back across," she insisted.  A lot
had gone wrong with the Cytovir, but a lot had gone right.  The drug 
had brought the vampire element in Nick's blood down to the
point where it was almost immeasurable. She'd lose precious time
searching for the cure if she needed to bring him back from this
state of dormancy first.

A wry smile crossed LaCroix's lips. "I wouldn't expect you to.
In fact, I'm counting on just the opposite."

"Fine." Natalie waved her hand at him in irritation, then stepped
away from Nick's side. "Do...whatever it is you do."

"There's no need for you to stay and watch." 

If anything, LaCroix's words seemed to strengthen her resolve. 
Natalie planted her feet firmly and crossed her arms. She had no 
intention of going anywhere and leaving Nick defenseless in 
LaCroix's hands. She could at least serve as his witness.

LaCroix shrugged lightly. "As you wish." 

LaCroix sank to his knees, his upper body resting against the 
seat of the couch. He brushed a stray lock of hair from his son's
face.  Despite the massive insult to his body, Nicholas appeared 
to be at peace. He supposed that one day his ever impetuous 
child would manage to inflict enough harm upon himself that even 
he could not salvage him, but that day had not yet come. LaCroix bit 
deeply into his own wrist and placed it over Nicholas' mouth. He 
rested his forehead on top of his son's and reached out through the 
tenuous link that still bound them together. "Bois," he mumbled, 
unaware that his words were even audible. "Bois."

Slowly, almost imperceptively, Nicholas responded. He could 
feel the hot fire of his sire's blood trickling down his throat, 
reawakening the beast in him. The memories swirled through him,
almost overwhelming him in their intensity. They pulled at him, these 
visions from the past, a flood of overwhelming power. He wanted 
more, he had to have more.  With a stunning swiftness,
Nicholas pushed LaCroix's wrist from his lips. He wrapped a hand
around the back of LaCroix's head and pulled him close, angling 
LaCroix's head to more fully expose his neck.  With a low, inhuman
growl Nicholas struck, forcefully impaling his fangs into LaCroix's
throat. The soft sounds of his feeding reverberated through the
otherwise silent loft.

If Nicholas' actions took LaCroix by surprise, he showed no 
outward sign of it. He slid himself onto the seat of the couch,
pulling his errant child into his lap. He wrapped his arms around
Nicholas, holding him close, murmuring words of encouragement
into Nicholas' ear. The turbulent emotions that washed over him
via their connection were nothing. The searing pain as Nicholas'
fangs tore into his throat was inconsequential. If only for a brief 
moment in time, he felt complete. 

Natalie stood, transfixed by the scene playing out in front of her.  
A part of  her felt she should leave, that she had somehow stumbled 
into a drama which needed no audience, but a larger part of her 
was so utterly drawn to what was happening she couldn't begin to 
tear herself  from them. A quiet calm had descended on LaCroix's 
face--a look she had never quite seen on him before. It was as if 
the mask which he normally held so firmly had finally been pulled 
away. What she saw amazed her. "Damn," she muttered lightly under 
her breath. Of all the motivations she had subscribed to LaCroix 
over the years, love had never truly been one of them. How could
you behave so cruelly to someone you obviously cared so very 
much about?

The pace of Nicholas' drinking gradually slowed, then stopped
completely. LaCroix gently disengaged himself from the embrace, 
laying Nicholas' still body across the couch. Outwardly, little had
changed. Natalie threw a questioning  glance in LaCroix's direction.

"It will take a bit of time," he informed her. "He'll sleep the day; by
nightfall he should awaken, in much the same condition as you
have always known him." LaCroix pressed his hand against the
armrest and attempted unsuccesfully to rise from his seat.  He had
allowed Nicholas to feed far more than was wise; he had placed 
himself at a grave, physical disadvantage should the good doctor
be prudent enough to exploit it. 

Natalie rushed to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of blood 
from the back. Nick must have pushed them back there, she 
thought regretfully. He had been so damn sure that this was going
to work. She thrust the bottle into LaCroix's hand. "Sorry," she
stated apologetically. "I'm afraid it's all we have."

LaCroix grimaced. Unfortunately, he was in no position to refuse
her offer. He took the bottle from her hand and downed it swiftly.

"I can get more," Natalie offered.

"No!" LaCroix returned, more forcefully than he had intended. The
taste of cow blood was even more vile than he recalled. "One was 
more than enough, I assure you." He rose from the couch, sparing 
a backward glance at his sleeping son. LaCroix reached a tentative 
hand towards him, then halted.

"Go ahead," Natalie said softly. "I won't tell." 

LaCroix ran his fingers lightly across Nicholas' hair.  Already its
soft, golden color was returning. What a magnificent creature this
child of his was. Totally exasperating, completely infuriating, but
magnificent nonetheless.

Natalie turned away towards the staircase. "I'll fix the bed upstairs
for you. I can head back to my place for the day."

"That won't be necessary." LaCroix straightened abruptly. "I'll 
be leaving now."

Natalie looked towards the window in alarm. The sky had 
brightened considerably in just the last few moments. "Don't be
ridiculous. It's far too light out there--you'll never make it." She
could scarcely believe her own words. LaCroix was practically
offering to immolate himself and here she was, arguing with him.

"And see the regret in Nicholas' eyes when he wakes; the 
revulsion when he realizes what has transpired?"  He had seen 
more than enough of that to last him through eternity.  "I'd much 
rather face the sun." He was surprised to see the genuine look 
of concern on her face.  "I can tolerate far more light than Nicholas," 
he assured her. "I'll be fine."

"You can take my car if..."

LaCroix held his hand up to silence her. He looked up to the 
skylight and was gone.


*Bois= Drink

end part 13


More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 14/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Nick shifted his weight on the step and watched as the 
stream of sunlight slowly inched down the staircase and 
away from him. He had hoped that by today he would have 
no need to hide from its radiance. He had hoped. It was 
beginning to sound like a broken record in his head. He could 
hope all he wanted. He was no closer to the sun than he had 
been seven centuries ago, and he knew it.

He drank deeply from the green bottle in his hand, grimacing at
the taste. After every setback, he was finding it harder and harder to
accept the vile fluid as sustenance. Would the day come when 
he could tolerate it no longer? Maybe that was what led him to 
grasp so desperately at this latest attempt for a cure; that and his
nagging fear that there truly was no way back, at least not for him,
not in this lifetime...Natalie's lifetime.

Nick braced himself against the wall as he heard the elevator
mechanism engage. Natalie. It was time to face the music. 
This time he didn't even have the excuse the litovuterine had so 
conveniently provided. He knew very well what he was doing. He 
had gone contrary to every rule Natalie had set down; every rule 
he had agreed to abide by, all because of some ridiculous hope 
that this drug might really be the answer.

Natalie slid the door of the elevator open, startled to see Nick 
poised on the staircase. She felt her heart skip a beat at the sight
of him. It wasn't that she hadn't believed LaCroix, he would never
have left Nick's side had there been a doubt in his mind, but the
transformation which had occurred seemed nothing short of
miraculous. The gray was totally gone, the indirect light from the 
sun reflecting off the golden highlights in his hair. If anything,
his face seemed even more youthful than she remembered. "Hey," 
she said softly. "I thought you'd be asleep for hours yet." Her eyes 
widened at the sight of him, perched above the patch of sunlight. 
She knew he'd be upset at their latest failure. Maybe she had 
underestimated just how upset he would be.

He caught the glimmer of concern in her eyes and managed a tight
smile. How like Natalie to be concerned about him when he had
made a total ass of himself. "Don't worry," he assured her, "I wasn't
planning on frying myself--I just needed to see it." The sun had 
slid from the staircase, creating an amber pool on the floor of
the loft. Nick grabbed the remote and slid the shutters to the closed
position. There didn't seem to be much point in torturing himself
with the sight of it any longer.

"I'm sorry," he said bluntly. "I screwed up."

"Gee, Nick, do you think so?" Natalie dumped her bags on the 
dining table and walked across the loft to face him. She had 
rehearsed this a thousand times today while he slept; while she
watched him sleep, still afraid that he might not wake up.  "Do
you know how frightened I was for you?" She questioned him
severely. "What on earth were you thinking, Nick?"

"I guess I wasn't thinking," he responded tonelessly. "I said I was
sorry."

"You're sorry?" Like that was supposed to be some sort of 
explanation for his behavior, or maybe he didn't feel she deserved
one. She was, after all, only a mortal. *She* couldn't begin to 
understand where he was coming from. Natalie pressed her 
fingers against the bridge of her nose; she had promised herself 
that she wouldn't lose her temper over this. "And that's supposed 
to make it all right, Nick?"

He pressed the bottle to his lips and swallowed in silence. What
the hell was he supposed to say? That he couldn't bear the thought 
of  this existence any longer? Putting it into words did neither of
them any good. "I thought it was working."

Natalie walked to the end of the staircase and forced him to meet
her eyes. "It was working," she said heatedly, "but it was also killing 
you. I thought we had decided a long time ago that that was not an 
acceptable alternative.  The symptoms had to have been there, Nick. 
I *know* they were there. The most recent blood samples I took from 
you showed a massive hemolysis of all your cells. Why in God's 
name didn't you say something to me?"

A perfectly reasonable question. It frightened him how quickly
he could summon a perfectly reasonable lie to answer it. The 
truth seemed far too frightening to say out loud. "I thought it might 
be my last chance," he finally managed  in a small voice. "I thought 
if I could just tough it out..."

Natalie's shoulders slumped, her anger deserting her. "Nick," 
she sighed, exasperated.  She climbed the few steps that separated 
the two and sat down beside him. "Why didn't you tell me?"
How many times had he had his hopes raised, only to see them
destroyed in the end? How many more attempts  before he could 
no longer bring himself to even try? "This was a beginning--I kept 
trying to tell you that. Just because this particular medicine didn't 
work, doesn't mean that we won't find some derivative of it 
that will."

He looked at her carefully. "I wish I could believe that."

"You can."  Now all she had to do was figure out a way to 
back it up.  "Next time, though, I'm getting a big cage and 
locking you up. Screw your delicate sensibilities; you've been 
demoted to lab rat," she said lightly.

Nick's expression remained flat. He sipped again from the bottle
in his hand.

"Hey." She jostled him gently with her shoulder. "That was 
meant to be funny."

Nick forced a smile. He reached out and touched her hand, tenderly
intertwining his fingers with her own. "Sorry," he apologized. "It
was funny, really."

"I guess I won't give up my night job to go on the comedy club
circuit," she said ruefully.  Natalie linked her arm through his. "It's 
not just the cure, is it?  Something else is bothering you-- 
something's been on your mind for the last couple of days, 
ever since the Boswell case." She searched his face carefully. 
"It's LaCroix, isn't it?" 

When wasn't it LaCroix? How much of what happened had 
Natalie seen, or understood? He cringed at the thought of 
glutting himself like a fledgling on his master's blood. LaCroix's 
blood. He had forgotten the incredible, seductive power of it. He 
could still feel it within him, its passion burning brightly, calling 
him. Nick nodded tightly in response to her question. 

"Anything you can talk about?" she prodded. 

"Probably not," he responded, not meeting her eyes. 

"You can't avoid it forever, Nick," she ventured. Whoever the 
hell said that men and women couldn't communicate had 
obviously never met these two. "If you can't talk to me, you 
need to at least talk about it with him. You need to settle 
this between you."

Nick swiveled abruptly to face her. "What makes you think there
is anything to settle?" His voice rose sharply. "Did he say something
to you?"  Would LaCroix stop at nothing to get Natalie out of his
life? Airing their dirty linen was low for even him to stoop.

"He didn't need to, Nick," she said as kindly as possible. "It's been
obvious to me for a while that your relationship must have been
rather...complicated at one time," she hesitated, uncertain whether
to go on, "that you two had probably been lovers."

Nick stood suddenly and turned away from her, stunned by her
words. How repulsive it all must seem to her; the exchange of 
blood alone was foreign enough to her ideas of sexuality. What
must she think of him being with a man, with LaCroix, of all people?  
"We used to go at one another like two animals in heat-- just a 
couple of rutting beasts, that's us." He'd say it all before she had 
a chance to, before he had to see the look of disgust on her face. 
"Is that what you wanted to hear?" He grasped the railing
of the stairway tightly, his fingers blanching in response.

Natalie could feel the color rise in her cheeks. It was probably the 
last thing she wanted to hear, but she had opened the door, now
she had to step through it.  She closed her eyes tightly and rose 
behind him. "I don't believe it was like that." She resisted the 
temptation to rest her hand on his back, she knew he would only 
shrink from it.  "I would never believe it of you, and after this 
morning, I don't believe it of LaCroix either. I saw how much 
he cares for you."

"I thought you'd be appalled," he stated quietly without turning
around.

"Well, I was, at first," she answered honestly.  She still had a 
picture in her head of the two of them that she could have lived 
very happily without. "All you ever let me see was how much you
hated him. You tried to kill him. What was I supposed to think?"

Nick forced himself to face her. "It wasn't always like that." How 
could he begin to explain something he didn't understand himself?  
It had been good between them.  The incredible intimacy of sharing 
blood could be frighteningly seductive, even more so with someone 
as powerful as LaCroix.  For them, their relationship was something 
that transcended the mortal concept of gender. He reached out and 
lightly brushed the side of her face. Her own experience with him 
had been so horrific. "There was a time when I wanted to be with 
him; I wanted what he had to offer." It was a hard thing to admit to 
her, it was even harder to admit it to himself.  "And then when I had 
enough, I shoved it right back in his face."

"And what is it you want from him now, Nick?"  

Did he even know? He had slowly come to realize how much a
part of his existence LaCroix truly was. Even if he were to attain
the mortality he sought, a large part of his life would be missing
if LaCroix wasn't in it. "Companionship," he uttered. The very
words LaCroix had once said to him.  If only LaCroix could learn 
to accept him on his own terms.

"Maybe you need to say that to him, Nick. Maybe he needs to hear
it from you."

"I can't be what it is he wants me to be anymore." Nick shook his
head. "I can't go back to that life."

"I know that, Nick. I think that he knows that too. You need to give 
him a chance," she said earnestly, "at least then you'll know."

Nick looked at her carefully. "Since when did you become such a
fan of LaCroix's?"

Natalie smiled and shrugged lightly. "Odd, isn't it?" she admitted. 
"Look, I'm not saying I'm all for this. After the things he's done
to you, I find it very hard to understand why you feel like you need
him in your life." She felt herself growing angry just thinking 
about it, but in the end, it had to be his choice. "I know I could never 
forgive him; it just seems like you need to."

Nick reached out and pulled her close. "Thanks." He brushed his
lips lightly on her hair. "For everything." What had he ever done in
his life to deserve her? 

"You don't need to thank me, at least not today. I nearly killed you,
remember?"

Nick stepped back from her and grinned. "Oh, yeah, I forgot that."

Natalie slapped him lightly on the chest. "Don't think you're 
getting out of this one so easily, mister.  I assure you, your 
penance will be costly," she promised. "As for the rest...well, 
that's up to you to decide. I just don't want you to feel that you 
need to hide yourself from me, Nick. I don't claim to understand 
this, but I think I know you pretty well;  I know you'll do the 
right thing."

Nick nodded silently and ran his hand along her arm. "I'm going
to hop in the shower. I booked off work, but I thought I'd swing by 
the station and check in with Tracy. I see the arrest of Chris 
Connolly made the front page--suddenly she's a hero."

"Yeah," Natalie agreed, "it was all over the news as well. 
 At least her father will be happy." 

"Then I thought I should swing by the Raven," Nick continued. 
"I owe him at least a thank you for what he did."

Natalie nodded as Nick slowly headed up the stairs. "Just one 
thing, Nick?" she called up to him. She could barely keep the
merriment from her voice. "Don't borrow any of my lingerie." 

"Naaat..." he whined loudly from the top of the stairs.

Natalie just giggled. Revenge could be sweet indeed.


end part 14
comments welcome


More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 15/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Nick could see her blonde head, bent intently over the keyboard
of her computer terminal. He crept up cautiously behind her and
dropped the small object onto her desk.

"Hey!" Tracy spun at the sudden intrusion. "What the...?" Her eyes
widened as she saw Nick leaning casually on the edge of her desk.
She reached out and picked the item up. It was another one of 
those paperclip people,  just like the ones she had scooped from
his desk two nights ago, only this one was far more elaborate 
and carefully made.  "Nick!" Tracy glanced carefully around the room.
If anyone else was surprised to see him, they were certainly
keeping it well hidden. Well, why would they be surprised to see 
him? People recovered from the flu all the time.

"A gesture of gratitude," he informed her. "Thanks for bailing me
out last night. I owe you one." He had to admit that there were
some distinct advantages in having a partner who also knew his
secret. Maybe it was time to lay his guilt over Schanke to rest--God
knows Schanke would have forgiven him long ago.

Tracy set the tiny figurine down on her desk. "You don't owe me
anything. I'm just happy to see that you're all right." She looked
at him closely. He looked fine. He looked damn fine as a matter
of fact. "Everything is okay?" she ventured.

"Same as always." Nick flashed her a grin that didn't quite extend
to his eyes. 

"I'm sorry about that," she returned softly. "I know how hopeful
you were."

Nick shrugged. "They'll be other chances." He shifted his weight
against the desk.  "I came to congratulate you on the case. You
made quite the splash in the media." The city had been outraged
when the details of Brian Boswell's death had come to light. The
police department and Commissioner Vetter had done everything 
possible to see that the publicity reflected well upon the department
and Tracy Vetter.

"I feel like such a phony," she exclaimed in disgust. "It wasn't 
my case, it was yours, but before I got a chance to say anything,
my father was pushing me in front of the TV cameras." She shook
her head in irritation. "Sometimes even I don't believe the 
lengths he'll go to."

"Tracy," he whispered conspiratorially. "I don't want my picture 
on the front of the Globe and Mail. You did me a favor by handling 
the publicity.  Besides, you did make the arrests and you did a good 
job of it. That couldn't have been easy. You had no idea the press 
would react the way they did. Considering how you felt about
everything..."

"There you go again," she erupted, "assuming how *I* felt." Tracy
leaned forward in her seat. "I was uncomfortable in that bar, I admit
it..."

"And you did suggest we turn the case over to Hate Crimes," 
Nick interrupted.

God, did she really say that? "Okay, okay." Tracy sank against 
the back of her chair. "But that didn't mean I thought of Brian Boswell 
as any less of a person, or that his murder didn't deserve to be solved.  
I was uncomfortable. I was just trying to sort out my feelings on this 
one, you know, bounce my ideas off of you. I thought that's what we 
were supposed to be doing."

"And I wasn't much help." Nick crossed his arms over his chest.

The corners of Tracy's mouth tightened. "Quite frankly, no," she
responded. "But maybe I wasn't as clear as I could have been,
either." Tracy hesitated. Something had been on her mind for a
while now, and for once, she seemed to have his attention. "You
know, if this partner thing isn't working out for you, we can always
call it quits. I'm far enough out from the shooting now, you don't
have to stick around because of some misguided sense of loyalty."

"That's not it at all." He shifted his weight off the desk.  But was it?
He would never feel for this young woman what he had felt for Don
Schanke, but maybe it was time he stopped measuring their
relationship against some invisible mark on the wall--one which
she had no hope of attaining.  Maybe it was time he began to value
Tracy for what she could bring to the partnership.  "I'm sorry if
it seems that way.  I just have too many things on my mind 
sometimes, too much old baggage. I very much want to continue 
as your partner, that is, if you still want me."

Tracy flashed him a broad grin. "Partners," she agreed. She 
looked at him curiously, her eyes sparkling.  "I don't suppose 
you'd like to share whatever old baggage it was that was making 
you just *so* pleasant to deal with on this case?"

Nick leaned over closely to her. "Absolutely not," he stated with
certainty. 

"I was afraid of that." Tracy sank back, chagrined.

"But I do want to have you for dinner Saturday night." Nick saw
a puzzled look cross her face. "Let me rephrase that." He smiled.
"Natalie and I request the honor of your presence for dinner on
Saturday night."

Tracy brightened temporarily, then slumped back. "I can't.  I still
have all those reports to read, and now with this new paperwork
as well..." 

"Bring them." Nick looked to the ceiling, exasperated. "Come early,
we'll get through them in no time. Oh, by the way, dress up. Natalie's 
going to make me pay big time for messing up. You might as 
well enjoy this too."

"Only if you're sure," Tracy hesitated. Social invitations from Nick
and Natalie had been few and far between. The last thing she 
wanted was to feel like a third wheel.  "I don't want to intrude."

"You won't be intruding," Nick said softly, "and I am sure." He 
flashed a grin at her and turned for the door. "See you on Saturday."

"Goodnight, partner," Tracy returned. "See you on Saturday."

----------

Nick slid into the Caddy, pulling the door shut behind him. At least
justice had been served. Chris Connolly would go away for a long
time for what he had done, connections or no connections.  Maybe
things were changing in the world, or maybe they had never
changed at all.


         ---{---{--<@     Troyes 1300    @>--}---}---


LaCroix heard the old woman's neck snap with a satisfying crack,
then let her body fall abruptly to the floor. Even he had had more 
than his fill of blood this night. He shuddered at the thought of her
coming across by some random chance.  Better to see that there
was no chance at all. 

"Nicholas," he called urgently. "Come. It's time for us to go." It
would be disaster for them to be caught by the light of day in the 
wake of the carnage they had spread this night. In a few short 
hours the town would be in an uproar.  They could make many 
miles towards Paris and Janette in that time. 

"It's gone." Nicholas turned from the belongings that were strewn
about the room. "Everything's gone: my sword, my mother's jewelry." 
He clutched at the tattered remains of a single letter from Fleur--it 
was the only link he had now with his mortal past.

"Good riddance," LaCroix stated sharply. "I've told you time and
again to dispose of those ties to your mortal life, not to mention 
the difficulty in hauling them about wherever we went." He noticed 
the stiffening in Nicholas' face, but paid it no mind. There were 
more urgent matters at hand now. He could sulk over the loss of 
his sword for the rest of eternity if he liked. "It's time to leave 
this place."

"I'm not going anywhere," Nicholas returned. "Not until I 
find *him*."

"The captain of the watch?" LaCroix questioned. "You said 
yourself he'll be on duty until dawn. Can't you be satisfied with 
those we have sought revenge upon already tonight?"

"No," Nicholas stated bluntly, "I can't." He could still feel the 
sting of humiliation in his cheeks, he could hear the laughter 
as they were driven out into the streets. No man could do that 
to him and live.

"Very well," LaCroix softened. At least this was an aspect of his
son that he could understand and accept. "But take no chances in
being trapped another day in this town. There are those 
knowledgeable in our ways who will tear this town apart looking
for those responsible for these deaths."

"I understand," Nicholas replied. He raised his hand slightly 
towards his master. He'd give anything to take back the awful 
words he said this morning. "LaCroix..."

LaCroix turned suddenly, ignoring the entreaty. "I'll see you in 
Paris in two nights, then. Don't keep us waiting," he said sternly.

Nicholas let the hand drop. "I won't."

------

Nicholas leaned casually against the wall of the narrow 
passageway, his eyes trained on the large clumsy figure stumbling
towards him in the dark. It would seem that Phillipe had partaken
even more heavily than usual tonight. It was a pity really, he 
wanted nothing to dull the man's senses in his last moments. 

"Good evening, Phillipe." 

The disembodied voice seemed to come from nowhere and from
everywhere. Phillipe stopped abruptly and spun around. 

"I said, good evening. " Nicholas stepped slowly out of the
shadows. "You could at least give me the courtesy of a reply."

"Nicholas!" Phillipe exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. This
was one young man he had not expected to see again. He glanced
carefully around, peering into the dark. At least Nicholas 
appeared to be alone; he saw no sign of the older man, the one
whose eyes had turned his blood to water.  Still, a sense of unease
stole over him.  The narrow streets were empty in the last hour
before the dawn. He took a cautious step backwards. 

"So you do remember me," Nicholas stated calmly, "even with
my clothes on."

Phillipe took another step back. Even with a significant lead he
would have trouble beating the younger and more agile traveler
back to the tavern where he had left his companions. "No need 
to be upset over what happened this morning. We were just 
having a bit of fun. Why don't you come back to the tavern with 
me, I'll buy you a drink?"

"A bit of fun?" Nicholas echoed. He took a step closer to the
Captain. "Maybe you didn't notice, *I* wasn't having much fun."

Phillipe looked about frantically. There was no doubt in his mind
that the younger man could thrash him soundly, should he so 
choose. He opened his mouth wide to raise an alarm.

"Don't!" Nicholas intoned, a roughened edge to his voice.

The words echoed strongly, not only in his ears, but in his mind
as well. He stood, unable to move, as Nicholas approached. He 
felt the sweat pour down his face as Nicholas grasped him firmly
and pressed him into the cool wall of stones behind him.

"Don't say a word." Nicholas' intense look broke into a menacing 
grin. He stepped back ever so slightly, freeing Phillipe, and then
dropped his eyes to the ground.

A feeling of relief washed over Phillipe. Apparently he hadn't been
too far wrong this morning--this dandy in front of him had no
stomach for this sort of thing. He slid his bulky form across the 
stones and made his way rapidly down the narrow street. He 
spared a quick glance behind him, the passage was clear. 

"Not so fast." Nicholas stood before him again, leaning casually
against the side of a building. "Where do you think you're going?"

Phillipe's head spun about.  The passage behind him was still
empty. There was no way Nicholas could have gotten past him 
in the narrow alleyway. "How?"

"How doesn't matter." Nicholas moved forward with carefully
measured steps. "In fact, nothing matters to you anymore. " His lips
peeled back, what little light there was illuminated his fangs.  His 
eyes glowed a bright amber.

"My God!" Phillipe exclaimed, rapidly crossing himself. He turned
as fast as his large frame would allow and bolted towards the
far end of the alley.

Nicholas forced himself to wait the endless seconds it took for 
Phillipe to make it almost to the end of the alleyway. Almost.
Timing was everything, after all. He flew forward, forcing Phillipe's
body into the unforgiving wall.  The acrid smell of urine filled
the air. "I think you'll find your God has very little to do with 
any of this," Nicholas growled. He could feel the man trembling
uncontrollably. This would be sweet indeed. He pressed the man's
head to the side and sank his fangs into his fleshy neck.

The man's weight sank heavily into his hands. Nicholas released 
him, allowing Phillipe's body to drop unchecked into the dirt. He 
brushed the back of his sleeve against his  mouth, the pale images
of the man's pathetic existence swirling in his head. A miserable 
ending to a miserable life.  At least it was done. He had his 
vengeance, now he could move on.

Nicholas glanced to the sky. The dim light of predawn could 
be seen in the east. The first stirrings of the townspeople were 
becoming audible. Already he could feel the lethargy of the day 
upon him, draining him of his energy. How tempting it was to 
find a darkened cellar and allow himself to sleep. He shook 
off his weariness, LaCroix's words echoing strongly in his head.  
If he wasn't careful, today's sleep might well be his last. He spared 
a quick look around before taking to the open sky.

LaCroix watched as his son rose rapidly from the alleyway. The
boy would not get far today, already the dim light of the coming 
day must be singeing his delicate skin. No matter. Nicholas had 
done as he was told, at least this once. He wouldn't lose this 
precious child to any overzealous demon hunters today.  LaCroix
glanced upwards.  He had best be on his own way. He pulled his
cloak tightly around him and flew into the sky.


         ----{---{--<@       ----{----{----<@      


end part 15

Thanks again to Nancy Kaminski and Leslie GrantSmith for all
their help and support. Thanks also to everyone who took a minute
to let me know they enjoyed the story, I really appreciate it.

More Deaths Than One Must Die
part 16/16
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1998


Nick eased his way through the crowd and onto the main floor of
the Raven.  He was amazed at the number of vampires present,
and by their relative youth. How had their numbers swelled so
in Toronto without him even noticing? 

He spotted a familiar face by the end of the bar and made his way
towards it. "Is it always like this?" He raised his voice to be heard
above the crowd.

Vachon spun to face him. "Knight!" He had to be about the last 
person he expected to see here tonight. "Yeah," he answered. 
"Seems like new ones arrive almost every day."

The bartender placed a wineglass full of red liquid in front of 
Nick. He brought it cautiously to his lips: human. He would have
to do something about that...but for tonight... He took a large
swallow; maybe it would help him get through this evening. The
doors to LaCroix's private chambers were closed tightly, and the 
broadcast booth was dark.  Evidently the show would be on tape
tonight.

"Sorry about what happened." Vachon dropped his voice so it
was almost inaudible, even to Nick. "Tracy told me."

Nick took another mouthful from his glass. "Thanks," he said
quietly. He suspected that Vachon thought he was totally insane
for even trying, which made him appreciate the Spaniard's 
assistance even more. He also knew how wary anyone in the 
Community was of crossing LaCroix, he certainly couldn't blame
them for that. "I do appreciate your help."

"As long as it doesn't get around." Vachon followed Nick's eyes,
still fixed on the closed doors of LaCroix's apartment. "Apparently
he's in quite a mood. He left orders not to be disturbed--for 
any reason.  So far, no one seems inclined to disobey."

As if he needed any outward indicators of LaCroix's mood. The
dark emotions he sensed through their link had been buffeting
him all evening. He finished his glass with a final swallow and set
it on the bar. "I guess I'll take my chances."

"Good luck," Vachon called to the retreating figure. He had the
distinct feeling Knight would need it.



Nick pressed open  the heavy door. The room was illuminated 
only by candles. LaCroix sat immobile in the desk chair, facing
away from the door and Nick.

"I suppose the young Spaniard would be most unnerved to know
that I was well aware of his complicity in all of this."

Nick let the door fall shut behind him. Of course he knew. LaCroix
had known every move he had made for the last eight centuries,
why should this be any different? "Do me a favor, let's keep Vachon
out of this? He's only doing it to help me. This is between you and me."

"And what makes you  think you are in any position to ask favors
of me?" LaCroix questioned, his back still to Nick. 

Nick closed his eyes tightly. He could still see the vivid images 
of LaCroix's memories swirling in his head: his horrific childhood
at the hands of an abusive and uncaring father, his brutal rise in
the armies of Rome, his shame over Divia, and underscoring it
all, his love for his 'son.'  After all this time LaCroix had finally
let him have a glimpse over the carefully constructed walls in his
mind. "You do," he answered succinctly. "You and the things you 
shared with me today."

It had been pure folly to allow Nicholas into those things which
he held closest to his heart, to lay it bare before his scrutiny.  
Nicholas was so fond of playing judge and jury. "If you're here to
gloat, Nicholas, I suggest you take it elsewhere. I'm really not in
the mood for your recriminations tonight." 

"No recriminations," Nick stated quietly. "Not this time." He
stepped further into the room. "I came to thank you for what you
did today."

"Indeed." LaCroix turned and faced Nicholas for the first time. "And 
what brings about this sudden change of heart? Could it be
that you've finally seen the absurdity of this quest of yours?"

"No," Nick said simply. The bitter disappointment from earlier 
was still etched upon his heart. "I haven't. I just think I understand a 
little more than I did yesterday." Nick planted his hands on the 
desktop. "As for gloating, what exactly do I have to gloat about? I've 
lost--again. You've won. I'm still what *you* want me to be.

If only it could be so simple.  He had opened himself to another in
a way he had never done before, and for what? So he could see
the gift he had so lovingly bestowed on Nicholas denigrated
yet again? "Is that what you truly believe? That this *existence* 
is what I desire for you," he asked bitterly, "when I know you 
could have so much more?"

"I can't be that anymore," Nick said wearily. He sank into the chair
behind him. "How can I ever make you understand that this is not 
about you? It never has been. This is about me." 

It had been about Nicholas for the last eight hundred years.  
He was as tired of this endless game as Nicholas was. "So 
what does that leave us with?"

"I don't know, LaCroix.  I honestly don't know." His understanding 
of LaCroix had changed so radically over the past year--their 
recent sharing of blood only served to amplify his confusion.  He 
had thought he was beyond any temptation that LaCroix have to 
offer, yet there it was, ready to overtake him as it had so very long 
ago.  But was he ready give up his dream of the light? Step away 
from everything this life had to offer--his love for Natalie, his hope 
for mortality? "I'm not ready to come back to you," he answered 
slowly. Could he honestly say now that that would always be true?

'Not yet ready.' The words caught at him in a way he would not 
have thought possible. LaCroix kept his face carefully neutral--
Nicholas could be so cruel, never more so than when he was 
the least aware of it. "Then why are you here, Nicholas? What 
could you possibly have to say to me, given the recent choices 
you've made?"

"That I need you." Nick smiled. "As much as I hate to admit it. 
You're a part of me, a part of my life.  I just need  you to accept 
me for what I am, not for what you want me to be."

LaCroix had always felt that compromise was death, worse 
than death, it was weakness of the highest degree. The only 
thing Nicholas asked of him was to accept the unacceptable. 
He pressed the tips of his fingers together. This would require 
some consideration.

Nick watched as LaCroix sat in silence. He didn't really expect an
answer--there was no easy answer. He spotted the ornately carved 
marble chess set across the room. "Play much these days?" he 
asked, inclining his head in the direction of the set.

"There has been a distinct lack of a suitable challenger of late,"
LaCroix commented dryly.

Nick walked over to the set and picked it up. "Why don't we have
a go at it?" He placed the set down on the desk between them and
fingered the pieces lightly. They were as lovely as he recalled
them being.

"I wouldn't want to keep you from your pressing duties."

"The case has been closed. Thanks in large part to you, I may add."
Nick bowed his head deferentially. He had no doubt that they
would have tracked down Connolly and his crowd sooner or later.
Sooner suited everyone involved just fine, as did a very cooperative
eyewitness. For once it was good to see LaCroix using his persona
as the Nightcrawler for something other than harassing him.

"Not nearly so satisfying, is it?" LaCroix's gaze bore steadily into
Nicholas' eyes. He heard the distinct beat of Nicholas' heart as he
called forth the painful memories of Troyes.

"No," Nick answered honestly. "It's not. But it is the *right* way
to handle things." He was more than a little glad that he had not
been the one to make the arrests after all. Some memories, and 
some habits, die a bit harder than others.

"The *human* way, you mean?" LaCroix countered.

Nick sat down abruptly. He had no desire to take this argument
any further tonight. "Are we going to play or not?"

"As you wish." LaCroix stretched his hand out towards 
the board. "I'll take the white."

A petulant look crossed Nick's smooth features. "You went first
last time," he announced.

"That was fifty-two years ago. Surely you're not serious?"

Fifty-two years ago or last week, what difference was it to them?
LaCroix had gone first, in fact he always went first. "Fine, go 
ahead." Nick's features softened. It felt good to put away the
pain, even for a short time. He reached across the desk and 
took LaCroix's hand lightly as he moved to the pawn. "I'm not 
sorry, you know," he said softly. He saw the look of hesitancy 
cross LaCroix's face. "About us, I mean. My only regret is for the 
way it ended--the way I ended it. I am truly sorry for that."

LaCroix placed the pawn on the board. His fingers tightened 
subtly around Nicholas' before he released the grasp. "I do believe
it's your move, Nicholas."



~finis~