Deja Vu
Part Two

by Nancy Kaminski
(c) April 1997

.Natalie stared at the ancient vampire, a wave of terror washing over her. You knew he would show up sooner or later. Well, it happened sooner. "What do you want?" she asked curtly, as if mere rudeness could drive him away.

"I will not permit this." His voice was low and dangerous; the barely-contained anger emanating from him filled the loft with a tangible presence. "I allowed Nicholas to playact at mortality, I tolerated his foolish delusions. But now my tolerance is at an end. You are at an end."

Natalie found herself backing away from him until she was pressed up against the kitchen counter. Her chin lifted defiantly. "You don't dare hurt me. Nick would never forgive you. You'll drive him even further away." Her voice trembled but she forced herself to stare directly at him.

"Mortals do not tell me what I may or may not dare!" he hissed. "Your meddling with what is mine is over!" He moved with vampiric speed and seized her by the neck, his eyes glowing incandescent red and his fangs bared.

"Mademoiselle Natalie?" Nick's voice called from the balcony. "Whatever is cooking smells delicious." He started down the stairs and froze when he saw the tableau below, his hand reaching to his waist as if for a dagger no longer there. Then he saw Lacroix's face.

"Demon!" he gasped, then crossed himself. "In nomine Patris, et Filie, et Spiritu Sanctii..." He rushed down the stairs. "Release her, demon!" He grabbed a knife from the counter and leaped at Lacroix.

Lacroix brushed him off easily with a sweep of his free arm, then dropped Natalie. She crumpled to the floor in a heap, her hands clutching at her bruised throat. In a daze, she saw Nick stagger for a second, then rush at Lacroix again.

Lacroix caught him in a parody of an embrace, gripping the wrist of Nick's knife hand and squeezing until the fingers opened and the knife clattered to the floor. He smiled coldly down at him as Nick struggled futilely against the iron embrace. "Well, Nicholas, what have we here? This is no way to greet your oldest friend."

Nick panted, "Demon! I remember you, you were at the inn..." He started swearing, in French and Brabantish, as he continued struggling.

Lacroix swung around to face Natalie, dragging Nick with him. "Well, well, this is a curious turn of events, Doctor. Lost his English, has he? What else has he lost---besides immortality, that is? His memory, perhaps?" He addressed Nick in Brabantish, speaking sharply. Nick answered, his voice contemptuous.

Lacroix just smiled, then centered his gaze on Nick. He stared at him, speaking softly as if to a child. Nick's eyes became vacant and his struggles gradually ceased under the force of the hypnotic stare.

Natalie's heart sank. Oh, God, he's whammied him! Obviously, the mortal Nick was no resister. "Lacroix, what are you doing?!"

Lacroix stared at Natalie with golden eyes, his lips twisted in a cruel smile. "Why, my dear Doctor Lambert, I am going to restore Nicholas' memory---and everything else he has lost. Then I will take care of you. Or perhaps I will allow Nicholas to do so. He will be hungry. That would be poetic justice, wouldn't you say?" He ran his hand caressingly through Nick's hair, then down his cheek. He gently tilted Nick's head to the side, baring his neck. Looking triumphantly at Natalie, he drew back his head and struck.

"No!" Natalie levered herself to her feet and began pounding her fists on Lacroix's broad back. Sobbing, she screamed, "Stop! No! You can't do this! No!" She heard the awful animal snarlings rumbling from his chest as he bit into Nick's neck. She flailed at him, hitting blindly with no effect. "Noooooo!"

Suddenly Lacroix roared, an inhuman animal scream of pain. He jerked away from Nick and violently threw him across the room, where he landed in a boneless heap, his head hitting a table leg with an audible crack. "What have you done to his blood?!?" he screamed, coughing and spitting, the blood spraying in arcs across the kitchen floor. He staggered across the floor, his face contorted with pain.

Natalie cringed away from the enraged vampire as blood droplets spattered her face. She closed her eyes, waiting for a renewed attack, but it never came. Instead, she heard the whoosh of displaced air as Lacroix leaped up and then crashed through the skylight into the night. Glass and wood shattered and fell on the floor in tangled, glittering heaps.

Silence fell over the loft. Natalie slowly straightened up from her crouch, numb with shock. In the sudden silence she could hear the soup simmering quietly on the range. The image of Lacroix's basilisk face, his fangs bared in rage, hovered in front of her face. She half expected him to return, but the seconds dragged on and the silence remained.

Reality hit her with a hammer blow. "Ohmigod, Nick!" She raced over to the recumbent form sprawled gracelessly on the floor near the couch. She knelt next to him fearfully, half-expecting him to be dead.

He was unconscious, and he felt feverish again. There was an ugly oozing gash on his throat and a lump on the back of the head where he had hit the table. Relieved he was alive, she ran up the stairs to the bedroom to get her medical bag and ran down again, taking the stairs two at a time.

She wrenched open the bag and laid out her instruments with trembling hands. She checked his vital signs. All normal. She ran her hands over his limbs, checking for broken bones. Nothing. His pupils were equal and reactive to the beam of her penlight. A wave of relief washed over her. She sat back on her heels, buried her face in her hands and stifled the sobs that threatened to burst out. Not now! I have to think!

She gathered her wits and forced herself to be calm. She straightened Nick's arms and legs so he was lying more comfortably, and propped a pillow under his head. As far as she could tell, he might have a mild concussion, but that was all. Lacroix hadn't taken much blood, thank God.

She neatly bandaged the throat wound and considered trying to move him off the floor, but discarded the idea. There was no way she would be able to lift him without help. At least he's lying on carpeting and not the hardwood floor. She retrieved an afghan from the couch and tucked it around him, then took his temperature. It was slightly higher than normal, but nothing to worry about. The stress had probably sent it up again.

Natalie became aware of a burning smell. The soup! she thought, and wearily rose to her feet. Taking the pot off the burner, she thought ruefully, Well, so much for your first meal, as she examined the burned noodles stuck to the bottom of the pot. I think it's a trifle overdone. She shrugged and left it in the sink.

She dragged an armchair over to where she could watch Nick and dropped heavily into it. Waves of exhaustion flowed over her as she took up her vigil again.

She forced herself to think about what had happened. Something in Nick's blood made him poisonous to vampires, or at least to Lacroix.

It must be another side effect of the serum, she mused as she watched over Nick for the second time in twenty-four hours, although a more fortuitous one than the memory loss. Maybe it means he won't be able to be brought across again. She smiled tiredly to herself. Sort of like mosquito repellent, only for vampires.

But did that mean the only reaction to Nick's regained mortality Lacroix and his blasted Community would consider was killing him? And her? Why can't they just face reality and leave us the hell alone? It's not like we're going to tell the world vampires exist. Who would believe us, anyway?

Natalie's head drooped. Her tired mind refused to think any more. It felt like she was struggling up an insurmountable mountain; her ears buzzed and the room swam before her eyes, and finally she slept.

~~~~~

Nicolas gradually became aware he was lying on a hard surface. No more cheap wine for me, he thought groggily as he forced his eyes open a crack. His head was pounding, he ached all over, and he felt uncomfortably warm. He gingerly felt the lump on his head. I don't remember falling, or getting into a fight...

The memories of the last day came crashing into his consciousness and he bolted upright, only to clutch his head and groan. The pounding intensified and his neck hurt. He looked around, forcing his eyes to focus.

He was lying on the floor of a large, dimly-lit room with a colorful knitted blanket draped over him. A few feet away, the beautiful woman, Natalie, sat sleeping in a large cushioned chair, her face drawn in exhaustion, her head propped on one hand.

Carefully, he felt his neck. There was a bandage of some sort stuck over his throat; he could feel it was sticky with congealed blood. He shuddered, remembering the face of the demon, the sensual lips speaking softly as the world slowed and contracted to nothingness. Everything had disappeared except that voice, boring into his brain and leaching away his will. There had been a bright, searing flash of pain and then nothing as he plunged into blessed oblivion.

Nicolas stood up and leaned heavily on the back of the couch until the dizziness subsided. He had to get away from this strange place---but how? He had no weapons with which to protect himself, no coins to buy food or another horse, no clothing save what he wore on his back.

He looked at Natalie again. She seemed kind, and she certainly was beautiful, but the things she had told him didn't make sense. How did he get here? For that matter, where was 'here?' And why was he here? She said he owned this house, that everything in it was his, but clearly, that was impossible.

He walked quietly around the room, wondering at the objects on the shelves, the incredible number of books---he had never seen so much wealth displayed so openly or carelessly!---and the eerie glowing lights on the metal boxes that decorated one whole section of shelves.

And why were there no servants? A house this large must have servants, but the only people he had seen were Natalie and the demon. For all he knew, he was far from any other habitation, a prisoner of these two strangers. Was he somehow caught in a fight between two demons? He found it hard to believe Natalie was a demon, but they were reputed to take human shape, so who could tell?

He felt a slight breeze and looked up. There was an opening in the ceiling, a sort of horizontal window, the frame broken and hanging down. An early morning sky cast its light through the aperture. The demon must have gone through there, he thought, looking at the shards of glass on the floor, if he just didn't disappear in a cloud of smoke, like the tales my old nurse used to tell.

He glanced again at the peacefully sleeping Natalie. He felt a twinge of guilt about leaving her, but if the demon was after him, perhaps it would leave her alone when he was gone. It was better for all if he left---if she were human, as she appeared, she would be safe, and he would have a better chance of eluding the demon.

A memory came to him unbidden. The beautiful courtesan, Janette, whispering, 'His name is Lacroix,' as Nicolas lay in the afterglow of their passionate embraces. The demon's name is Lacroix. He shuddered. He knows me and I know him, but why? I am a godly man. But the memories of his bitterness towards the Church in the wake of the things he had seen and done in its name on Crusade made a mockery of his piety. Perhaps he had invited Lacroix's unholy attention with his bitterness? He pushed the unwelcome thoughts away.

He quickly searched for some kind of weapon to take with him. If this place truly is mine, I can take whatever I please, he told himself, although he still felt like a thief. He found the knife he had snatched from the counter in a corner. The blade was as long as his hand; testing the edge with his thumb, he found it was wickedly sharp, and the wooden haft had a comfortable grip. He stuck it through his belt and felt better about facing---whatever. It was a poor substitute for his dagger and sword, but it would have to do.

There were apples and what looked like a loaf of soft bread enclosed in a thin skin, as transparent as water, and he folded them into a square of cloth he found draped over a chair.

He considered his clothes. It had been the depths of winter in Paris, but the breezes wafting through the opening in the ceiling were gentle and warm. It must be spring, or even summer, now, he thought. How could so much time have passed? Still, the garments he wore didn't seem enough if he had to spend nights in the open. There should be more clothes in the bedchamber. As quietly as he could he mounted the stairs and went down the hall.

A light burned softly on a small table. His mind shied away from wondering how a lamp could burn without oil.

Looking around, he saw there was a door slightly ajar in the corner of the room. He opened it and found garments hanging neatly in a row on odd wire triangles, not pegs as he expected. Pushing through them, he found what looked like a heavy black leather tunic. He disentangled it from the wire frame it was hanging on and donned it, finding it settled comfortably on his shoulders as if it were made for him. Another uneasy thought---perhaps it had been made for him. The leather was remarkably soft and supple, and there was some kind of a sliding metal tab up the front. He felt a little more prepared to venture out.

As an afterthought, he went over to the large chest and opened the carved box that had contained his ring. There were several more chamois pouches inside.

Opening the first, he found a round, gold locket on a short chain. There was a glass-covered dial with numbers inscribed around it under the protecting lid. He puzzled over it for a moment---what was it?--- then set it aside. He opened the other pouches, discovering another gold ring, elaborately carved, and a delicate silver chain with a jeweled pendant.

Hastily stuffing the jewels in one of the pouches, he tied it to his belt. Better leave before Natalie awakens, he thought. Picking up the cloth holding his food, he checked the knife at his side and quietly went downstairs.

Natalie hadn't moved. He could hear her quiet exhalations in the stillness of the room. He went and stood over her thoughtfully, then picked the blanket that had covered him from the floor and carefully draped it over her. She shifted slightly, sighed, and snuggled down further into the chair.

"I am sorry to leave this way, Mademoiselle," he whispered. "You have my thanks for your help. Perhaps I will see you again." He brushed a lock of hair where it had fallen across her face, then turned to find a way out.

There was a large metal door at the far side of the room. Pushing experimentally, he slid it sideways slowly to avoid making noise and looked behind it.

There was no hallway or stairs, just a small metal-lined room with more of those mysterious knobs on the wall. Perhaps this is a storage room, he thought, and let the door slide gently back into place.

He spotted a smaller door on the other side of the kitchen area. Keeping his eye on Natalie, he pulled on the handle. Nothing. Impatiently, he tugged again, and had to take a quick step backwards to keep his balance when the handle turned and the door swung smoothly open.

He peered around the edge of the door. Behind it was a flight of stairs. He stepped through and gently shut the door behind him. With it closed there was little light. He felt his way down, across a landing and down another flight to another door, this one metal and much more substantial than the one at the top.

He remembered to turn as well as pull the handle this time, and the door opened with a loud squeak. He froze and shot a glance up the stairs---no reaction from above, no sound of discovery and pursuit.

He stepped through and found himself in another large, dimly-lit room smelling of damp and strange acrid, metallic odors. At the far end of the room was a door with a dusty glass window that supplied the only illumination.

He paused to check if there was anything of use to him, but the room only contained more mysterious objects. There were four large metal---carts? They had wheels, but nowhere to hitch an animal---things, at any rate, painted bright colors. The nearest one was a particularly odd color, the sickly blue-green of the sea just before a storm. Each cart had wondrously clear and large glass windows.

He moved around the room examining the shelves, but could find nothing that looked remotely useful. Time to find out where I am, he thought, and went over to the door.

This door was more difficult to open, but after some experimentation he managed. Cautiously, he went through it and into the deserted, sunlit lane. The door swung closed behind him and shut with a solid thunk. He turned and tried to open it again, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked; there was no going back now.

He looked at his surroundings, and the headache that had receded with the urgency of escape returned threefold. Although above was the blessedly familiar sky, everything else was more alien than even the exotic cities of the Saracens.

There was stone everywhere, not a scrap of green. No grass, no trees, no fields...nothing. And the buildings---they loomed over him like huge blocks, all angular shapes and graceless walls. Nicolas suddenly felt small and very much alone.

The air was filled with the sounds of distant battle---clashing metal, a sort of roaring neither human nor animal, and a regular dull thudding, as if a giant heart were beating.

Steeling his nerves, he took a deep breath of the strange-smelling air and followed the wall of the building from which he had emerged, down the lane towards what looked like a larger street. His eyes darted everywhere but he saw no evidence there were any other people in this city of stone and noise.

As he neared the corner the roaring became louder. In fact, it sounded as though it was approaching him. The noise increased, and he put his hand on the hilt of his stolen knife.

Suddenly, a large metal cart like the ones in the room he had just left screamed past him at an impossible speed. As he flattened himself to the side of the building in terror, he had an impression of a man sitting inside the cart. How can it move by itself, his mind screamed. Magic! I have fallen into a city of sorcerers and demons!

More of the magic carts streamed past him, each occupied by a blank-faced person. One that passed was blaring with a cacophony of demonic music so loud the noise of its drums pummeled his chest like a physical force.

The high forbidding buildings seemed to lean over and surround him. In the distance, he could see even taller buildings, gleaming like jewels, their roofs reaching to the wispy clouds. And towering over even the tallest of them was a needle-slender spire, looking like one of Constantinople's pagan minarets grown monstrously huge, until it scraped the dome of the heavens.

He was trapped. There was nowhere to go but back, and he could not go back---the door was locked. His heart pounded and he trembled with an unreasoning fear even greater than the fear he had felt the first time he had gone into battle.

A high whining scream penetrated his numbed brain. Automatically, he looked up. A huge gleaming bird-shaped thing was flying through the sky. It screamed like all the souls in Hell, its red tail flashing in the sun.

Paralyzed with fear, he backed into a recess in the wall and sank to the stone pavement. The familiar feel of ordinary sun-warmed bricks against his back mocked him with their normalcy in the insane, hellish city.

~~~~~

Natalie stretched, yawned hugely, and cast a sleepy eye downwards to where Nick was...

He's gone. She struggled to her feet, trying to disentangle the afghan from around her legs. Wait a minute. How did this get here? I covered him with this last night. She plucked nervously at the fringe as she looked around for him, oddly touched that he cared enough to tuck her in. She dropped it on the end of the couch, and called, "Nicolas? Nick? Are you here?"

Her voice echoed through the loft. No answer. She ran upstairs and looked in the bedroom, then the bathroom, then started methodically looking everywhere, including the closets. Nothing, although one closet's contents were disarranged, the shirts jammed together, something the previous Nick would never have tolerated. He was fanatical about his clothes. He must have been looking for something else to wear. There was no way he could get into the rest of the warehouse. The two doors leading to Nick's storage areas were solidly locked.

The now-familiar panic started to set in again. Could he have gone outside? He probably didn't use the elevator. She didn't think he could figure it out, and anyway, it made so much noise she would have been woken up by the din. But if he found the stairs to the garage...

She ran downstairs. The garage stairs door was slightly ajar, the lock's tongue caught on the jamb.

She practically flew down the stairs and wrenched open the metal door at the bottom. "Nicolas!!" she called again. She paused, her hand resting on the Caddy's fender, straining her ears for some reply, some sound. Her voice echoed through the cavernous garage. "Where's your daddy, huh? See him go by?" she murmured as she patted the fender. There was no answer, either from Nick or his beloved car. She hurried to the alley door.

She glanced up and down the alley and headed for the street. A semi lumbered past and sounded its air horn at an unsuspecting driver at the corner intersection. Natalie flinched at the noise, imagining how it would seem to Nick. In his world, the loudest sounds would have been those of nature, the crack of thunder and the din of a rainstorm. There was nothing that compared to what she considered the normal background noises of city life.

She reached the corner and stopped. Left or right? She looked left. There was no one on the street, nothing unusual in this warehouse district. Pedestrians were few in the busiest of times. She looked right, and her breath caught in her throat.

Nick was huddled in a recessed doorway, the entrance to the offices of a long-closed hardware distributor. For a moment all she could think about was how he looked in the sunlight. A shaft of the morning sun slanted down and illuminated his face, throwing the angles and planes into sharp relief. There were golden glints in his dark blond hair and his eyes were bluer than they had ever looked under artificial light. He's so beautiful, she thought.

She hurried to him and crouched down beside him. His dark blue eyes were haunted as they fixed themselves on her face. Another horn blared, and he flinched, shrinking back further into the doorway.

She touched him gently on the arm. "It's not what you are used to, is it?" she asked softly. He shook his head but said nothing. "Come back to your home," she urged, taking his hand and standing up.

He looked up at her and finally spoke. "What is this Toronto?" he asked, his voice strained. "Is everything here magic? Is everyone a demon, or a sorcerer? Why am I here? Can I not go back to my home?"

Natalie ached for him. He looked so lost, like a little boy who had run away from home and discovered how frightening the world could be. "Come with me, Nicolas. I promise, I will explain what has happened."

Slowly, he stood up. She saw that he had wrapped food in a dish towel, and had the big kitchen knife stuck in his belt. Just like a child running away from home, she thought and immediately felt ashamed at the comparison. No, he is a grown man, a brave man, thrown into a situation he couldn't hope to understand.

Together they went back down the alley. "This door, Nicolas," she called when he veered towards the garage door further down the side of the building. "That door needs a key to open, and I don't have one."

He watched warily as she punched the code into the security panel, and jumped slightly when the door unlocked with a metallic clunk. Once inside, though, he relaxed a little.

Natalie watched him as she punched the button for the elevator. "Don't worry. It's just a machine," she explained soothingly as the elevator mechanism ground its way down the shaft. When the door opened, she practically had to pull him into the elevator car. He went reluctantly.

"What is this? I saw this room, only it was upstairs before."

"All this is, is a box that is pulled up and down with ropes. It will take us to the next floor." He said nothing, just braced himself for another unpleasant experience, staring fixedly at the elevator wall.

She pushed the button for the loft and the elevator creaked upward. When the door opened to reveal the loft, Nick practically jumped through it to stand once more on familiar ground.

He went over to the kitchen table and sat down, tension visible in every line of his body. "You said you would explain everything. Please do so." His voice was edgy, with a hint of authority behind the curt politeness. Natalie was reminded that in his world, he was used to being respected and obeyed by almost everyone he met. He couldn't pigeon-hole her into any of the social hierarchy he knew, but he had obviously decided she wsa not quite his equal, and spoke accordingly.

"First, some food." Anything to delay the inevitable. She went back to the grocery bags, pulled out a package of sweet rolls and then put some water on for tea.

She arranged the sweet rolls on a plate and put it on the table in front of him. Sitting down, she started, "It's a long story."

Nick picked up a sweet roll, examined it, and then took a tentative bite. A look of appreciation swept across his face and he made quick work of the pastry and then took another.

Natalie watched with some amusement as he tore through that one, too. She had dreamed of a time when she could watch him eat without him making horrid faces, but faced with the prospect of explaining how he had spent the last eight centuries dampened her pleasure considerably.

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. He had relaxed a bit with the food. "Well?" He took yet another sweet roll, but didn't eat it. "A long story is best started at the beginning."

The kettle whistled and she jumped up to take it off the heat, glad for the momentary reprieve. She made two mugs of tea and brought them to the table. "It's tea," she explained. "Let it cool off a bit before you try it."

Cradling her mug in her hands, she started again. "You asked if the city is magic. Well, it isn't---it's just different from what you are used to."

She paused, rotating the mug between her hands nervously. Now came the hard part. "Nicolas, many years ago you were...enchanted...by Lacroix. The one you called a demon. I---we---you and I, that is---have been trying to remove the enchantment, and we finally did yesterday." Oh God, was it only yesterday? "There is just one problem. You have lost your memory of all the years you spent under his spell."

Nick sat motionless, his meal forgotten. "How long was I under this spell?" he finally asked.

Natalie swallowed. "Eight hundred years." The bald statement hung in the air.

"No," he whispered. He pushed the mug of tea away from him and stood up. He walked to the windows and looked blindly out on the alley below. "No. Tell me this isn't true." His voice cracked with emotion.

Natalie got up and went to stand beside him. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder and said sadly, "It's true. Look around you. Things have changed. The world is different. Your eyes tell you this is the truth." A host of emotions slid across his face---despair, fear, sorrow, confusion."I'm sorry," she added helplessly.

He continued staring out the window, his breathing ragged. "If this is true, it means my family is dead. I will never see my sister or brother, or my mother, ever again," he whispered. Tears ran unnoticed down his face. He turned to her. "Do you know their fate?"

She shook her head. "I only know your sister married, and had a son named André. You never mentioned your brother or your mother. I'm sorry I can't tell you more."

"Mother, Michel, Fleur...oh, God, may your souls rest in peace." He turned away from her, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with grief.

Natalie drew him to her and embraced him. She rubbed his back and murmured with tears in her eyes, "I'm so sorry, Nick, I'm so sorry."

They stood embraced in sorrow, Nick's tears hot on Natalie's neck. She pressed her cheek to his chest, hearing the all-too-human sounds of grief pouring from him, but rejoicing at the same time to hear the reassuring, regular beat of his human heart.

His sobs gradually faded away and finally he sighed and disengaged himself from her arms. "Forgive me," he said, embarrassed at his display of emotion.

"It's all right. If you want to rest for a while..."

"No, there must be more to...my story." He took a deep breath to compose himself and rubbed his reddened eyes. He said resolutely, "I need to know all of it."

Natalie sat back down at the kitchen table and sipped at her now-cool tea. Nick sat down and leaned on his hand, staring fixedly at the table. He poked at the half-eaten sweet roll and said, "Please. Tell me." He looked up at her, his eyes pleading yet fearful at what she would say.

Natalie spoke quietly, telling him of his life with Lacroix and Janette. She told him of the terror, the killing, his regrets and his search for humanity and forgiveness. She spoke haltingly, pushing her French vocabulary to its limits. Nick never interrupted her. His face remained set and expressionless.

Finally Natalie stopped, exhausted, and sat back in her chair. Nick was staring fixedly at the wall, his eyes focused on nothing. The tea had long since cooled. Stiffly, Natalie rose and started heating water again, thirsty after having talked for almost an hour.

After two steaming mugs were before them, Nick pulled himself together and finally spoke. "And now what?" he asked. "How do I learn to live in this new world? How do I go back to being a 'cop'" ---the English word sounded strange in his mouth--- "and pretending everything is just as it was?" He sounded depressed and discouraged.

"I don't know. All I know is that I'll do whatever I can to help." She took his hand. "I know that I love you, Nicolas de Brabant, as much as I love Nick Knight. I will always be here to help you." She smiled crookedly at him.

"Does Nick Knight love you?" he asked seriously, his eyes searching hers.

"I think he does," she said softly. "Although he never used that word, he did say things that told me so, before I 'cured' him. He said he always would, no matter what happened."

Nick clasped her hand between his. "I think I shall have to remember everything very soon, so he will be able to keep his promise to you." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "The sooner, the better."

"Yes," Natalie replied. "The sooner, the better."

(continued)

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