Dancing the Knight Away, 16th in the Dance series of Original FK fan fiction





 
#16... Dancing the Knight Away
By Lorelei Sieja 
 
  Nick stood before the sink in the bathroom and rubbed his hand over the 
  stubble of beard, trying to decide if he felt up to shaving tonight. He hadn't 
  shaved in weeks, yet the beard was still only a two-day growth. It would never 
  grow any longer. 
  He thought of his master's eternally smooth jaw. LaCroix had come from the 
  baths when Divia brought him across. He had been impeccably groomed and 
  immensely self-satisfied at the moment of his conversion, having recently won 
  a major victory; all of Rome lay at his feet just ripe for the plucking. He 
  was powerful and wealthy, practically a god among men. That was his 
  immortality.
  Nick used to wonder why LaCroix hadn't properly prepared him before his 
  conversion. How long could it have taken to let him shave once, then never 
  need do it again? Instead, Nick had been on a two-day drunk, his blood potent 
  with new wine as he tried to drown the taste of disillusionment in women and 
  song. Yet LaCroix was the personification of self-restraint. He would not have 
  made a mistake in bringing him across. Nick decided then that LaCroix must 
  have wanted him just like this: slightly scruffy, a little dangerous, 
  passionate, moody, and needing. 
  The night of his conversion, Nick had needed something. Someone to trust, to 
  believe in, something to replace the faith he had lost somewhere between the 
  battlefield and a Saracen prison camp in the Holy Land washed red with blood. 
  Eight hundred years later, Nick felt he was still in need. He leaned his 
  forehead against the cool glass of the mirror as he felt tears threaten to 
  overwhelm him again. "Enough!" he cursed himself. He was through brooding, at 
  least, for tonight.
  He stood straight, holding the edge of the sink until he felt strong enough to 
  move and decided he would not shave again. It took too much effort. There were 
  158 days left of this existence, he would do only what he felt like doing at 
  any given moment, and nothing more. Nick returned to the bedroom he used when 
  he stayed above the Raven and dressed with care. Tonight he would return to 
  the loft. LaCroix had to let him go!
  Perry woofed once and wagged his tail. *Why is it so important? * he asked 
  through the psychic bond that he shared with the vampire.
  Nick feigned indifference as he shrugged his shoulders. "Who ever said that it 
  was?"
  Perry barked, more loudly this time. 
  "Look," Nick said, with a trace of annoyance. "I know that the time is coming 
  when I won't be able to manage on my own any more. But for as long as I am 
  able, I have to. I need to. I can't be a helpless dependent for the rest of my 
  life. Can't you understand that?"
  Perry licked Nick's hand tentatively. It didn't matter if he understood or 
  not, LaCroix was the one the vampire would need to convince. Perry trotted to 
  the corner to fetch Nick's cane, a present from the witch, Samantha. It was 
  intricately carved with healing symbols, painted white with a red tip. Nick 
  didn't need the white cane because he was blind, for Perry guided him 
  everywhere, but the vampire was simply too weak to walk much without it. 
  Nick buckled Perry's harness on, then took the handle with one hand and the 
  cane in the other. "Let's go, boy," he said.
  *It is cold tonight, * the carouche warned. 
  "Ah, yes. I remember," Nick said vaguely. It was mid-November in Toronto. He 
  reached into his closet for the short leather bomber jacket. 
  Perry shook himself all over. Nick could be such a brick. 

  The living room was too quiet. Natalie was in Romania. Tracy would be at work 
  already. Vachon and Urs were downstairs in the Raven. Only LaCroix remained in 
  the apartment with him. Nick waited, resigned to the argument LaCroix was sure 
  to give him. 
  LaCroix rose and slowly drew near. Silently, the ancient zippered the jacket 
  and turned up the collar to shield him from a cold wind. "Take care, 
  Nicholas," he said.
  Nick cocked his head. "That's it? You're not going to fight me on this?"
  LaCroix laughed humorlessly. "Would it do any good?"
  "No."
  The ancient sighed. "Keep in touch."
  Nick could have laughed at the irony. LaCroix was finally giving him his 
  freedom, only because he was totally dependent on his master for his very 
  survival. The strange ailment that had plagued him for more than a year 
  affected his ability to feed. Only vampire blood would stay down, and only the 
  blood of his master would soothe his pain. Nick had been ready to end his 
  existence, but he had promised to wait six months while Zuhayr's team of 
  doctors sought a cure. Nick would have to return to LaCroix daily just to 
  feed. 
  "Nicholas," LaCroix said quietly. "I shall be glad to visit you at the loft. 
  You would not need to come here."
  "No, that's not necessary," Nick said. 
  The ancient reached out tentatively and stroked the stubbled cheek. Nick's 
  features were hollow and gaunt, the curse of his illness, but there were still 
  the boyish charm and spirited defiance that had first enticed him. Their 
  relationship had been a yo-yo of ups and downs on a taut string, but for the 
  first time it felt like Nicholas was truly pulling away from him. The boy 
  believed that he would die, and he was severing his ties. There was nothing 
  LaCroix could do to comfort him. He had never felt so powerless before. 
  LaCroix opened the door for him. "I shall see you soon then. Good night, 
  Nicholas."
  Nick leaned on the cane, wincing as though each step he took was painful, as 
  he turned and walked away. The carouche instinctively slowed his own pace. 
  LaCroix blinked away the telltale traces of his concern. His beloved son 
  walked like an old, old man. "Please, Zuhayr," he whispered in the still 
  silence of his empty home. "Do not fail me now." 

  The cab was waiting for him when he reached the curb. It wasn't far to his 
  loft, but the distance was too far to walk these days. As he felt the cab dart 
  through traffic, Nick thought about what he would like to do with what little 
  time he had left.
  Work was out of the question. Nat's parting gift was to ensure that he was on 
  disability leave until further notice. Captain Reese had come to the loft to 
  visit him, promising him that the precinct would cover his medical bills. The 
  money wasn't important; but the captain's visit had further depressed him. 
  Reese had been polite, but he hadn't been able to hide his shock at Nick's 
  condition. Until recently, Nick had been able to conceal the truth from 
  everyone, including his ancient master. Now he couldn't even fool a mortal.
  * You could depress a hyena, * Perry growled softly.
  "Sorry, boy," Nick said. He ruffled the carouche's fur behind the ears. "But 
  you're right. No more grieving. If I have but a few months left, I should 
  enjoy every minute. I want to see Cody and take him to the zoo. I want to go 
  dancing, and spend a weekend at my cottage with Urs and Tracy. I want to go to 
  a concert with Janette, and spend the night on The Liberty with Vachon-"
  * You can't possibly think you will accomplish all this tonight, * the 
  carouche interrupted with a note of humor.
  Nick laughed. "No, Perry. We'll take it just one night at a time. Let's start 
  with Cody, okay?"
  Perry heaved a sigh. He'd been afraid Nick was going to say that.
  Nick wandered through his loft apartment. He touched the end table, where he 
  stored his gun and badge when not on duty. He touched the smooth, shiny 
  surface of the grand piano and the rough texture of one of his paintings. 
  Perry sighed at the heavy emotions emanating from his vampire ward. 
  * Is this how you enjoy every minute? * 
  Nick laughed. "Sorry, Perry. Old habits." 
  The vampire went to the refrigerator next and pulled on the door. It was a 
  useless appliance for him these days, but he could still feed Perry before 
  they left. He rubbed at his own stomach and winced. LaCroix had offered 
  himself, insisting that Nick feed well during the day, but it was never 
  enough. 
  The refrigerator seemed to have more bottles in it than he remembered. Had 
  someone filled it with Perry's bovine product for him? Nick lifted the nearest 
  bottle and sniffed the cork. Something tantalizing and familiar tingled at his 
  memory. Nick yanked off the cork and took a swallow.
  LaCroix's own ancient blood soothed over his palate, instantly calming the 
  chronic pain he suffered. Nick leaned against the refrigerator, overcome with 
  emotion. Why had he done this? Why would his master give him this, give him 
  freedom? LaCroix had always wanted to hold him close, to smother him as he 
  tried to remake him in his own image. Now, when Nick could not survive without 
  his blood, he gave it to him freely? Nick blinked, rubbing at a stray tear 
  with the back of his hand. "Thank you, master," he whispered.
  *Take some with you, * Perry suggested, nudging Nick's hand with his nose.
  "Good idea," Nick said. He poured an amount into a small flask and slipped it 
  inside the breast pocket of his jacket. He filled Perry's dish and waited for 
  him to feed, before they returned to the waiting cab below. "Take me to St. 
  John's," Nick told the driver, giving him the street address as well. He 
  smiled, thinking that the next few months could make this driver a very rich 
  man.
   
  Father Pierre wrapped Nick in an impulsive hug. "I'm so glad you came! Cody 
  has missed you! Are you ready to take him home?"
  "No," Nick said quickly. How could he take on a commitment for the next twenty 
  years when he might not have four months left? Then the conversation was ended 
  as Cody caught sight of him. The three-year-old orphan child fairly flew 
  across the room. With a shriek of delight, he leaped into Nick's arms and 
  hugged him tightly. 
  "Unka Nick!" the toddler exclaimed, kissing his cheek. "Unka Nick, go 
bye-bye?"
  "Yes, Cody. We're going out. Do you like trains?"
  "Uh-huh," the child said agreeably.
  "Let me get his jacket," Father Pierre offered. "Just wait here."
  "Whatsa train?" Cody asked.
  Nick laughed. "Trains are steel cars that ride on tracks. They're big and fast 
  and noisy. You'll like it."
  Father Pierre returned and helped the toddler pull on a winter jacket, hat and 
  mittens without dislodging him from Nick's arms. Then he tightened the 
  shoestrings and tied them in double knots. "Nick, he kicks off his shoes 
  regularly. If you hear something hit the ground, you might want to check it 
  out."
  "Do you hear that, Perry?" Nick asked, grinning at his carouche. "Keep an eye 
  out for the shoes."
  "Woof!" Perry barked sharply. This was not part of his job description. 
  "Go bye-bye!" Cody squealed, jumping in Nick's arms and swinging his feet. 
  Father Pierre laughed. He opened the door and escorted the vampire and child 
  to the waiting cab. "Have a good time," he wished them.
   
  The zoo was opened all year, but it drew fewer visitors when the weather 
  turned cold. Nick could not visit it in the summer, as the longer days meant 
  that the sun did not set before closing time. He paid the passage for the 
  three of them to ride the small train that circled through the zoo. It would 
  give Cody a view of all the animals, and it would not tire Nick excessively. A 
  few other patrons boarded the small train. Nick sent them to other cars with a 
  gentle hypnotic suggestion. 
  Perry sat on the floor blocking the car's exit from Cody. If that cub ever 
  survived his childhood, it would be a miracle, he thought crossly. 
  Cody climbed up on the hard plastic seat and looked out of the side window. 
  "Bye-bye!" he shrieked. "Lookie-lookie!"
  "What do you see, Cody?" Nick asked conversationally. 
  Some of his next words were unintelligible. Nick had been around children 
  before in his long life, and in the past year he had spent a lot of volunteer 
  hours at Father Pierre's day care, enough to know that Cody was very delayed 
  in his maturation. Although he was three years old, some eighteen-month-old 
  toddlers were more developed. Father Pierre assured Nick that there was 
  nothing physically wrong with Cody. It must have been that his former 
  environment was not as stimulating as it could have been. The Day Care 
  teachers agreed. Cody needed lots of adult interaction, lots of field trips 
  and experiences, and above all, lots of conversation. 
  The whistle blew shrilly. Cody clamped his hands over his ears and shivered, 
  frightened by the loud noise. Nick winced as well. "That's a whistle," he 
  explained, patting the child on the back. "It is warning us that the train is 
  about to move."
  Sure enough, the conductor called out, "All Aboard?" and the train began 
  moving, slowly at first. The cars rattled and clanked as old steel connections 
  held firm. Then, the chug-chug feeling as the wheels spun over steel tracks 
  increased in tempo. Cody lost his moment of fear and laughed excitedly. 
  "Bye-bye!" he sang.
  "What was it like," Nick asked, as he tried to sense the child. "Why do you 
  enjoy going bye-bye? Were your parents kind to you?" For a moment he felt 
  insanely angry, hoping that the unknown mortals had not abused this precious 
  child. 
  "Whassat?" Cody asked, pointing out the window.
  Nick remembered the layout of the zoo from the last time he'd been here with 
  Natalie, about four years ago. Since he wasn't aware of any recent remodeling 
  projects, they should be going around the polar bear cage now. Nick liked this 
  zoo, as the cages were designed to be as close to the animal's natural 
  environment as possible. The Brabant Foundation had funded some of projects 
  over the years. Nick reached out with his senses, made stronger these past 
  months, and he smelled the blood of the bears, caught the scent of fish on 
  their breath, the tang of icy saltwater as it flowed over the stone caves of 
  their dwelling. 
  "Those are Polar Bears," Nick said. "They are huge, white carnivores, feeding 
  mostly on seal and fish."
  "Bears?" Cody asked, clearly confused.
  "Yes, Cody," Nick said patiently. "There are many kinds of bears. Tonight you 
  will see Polar Bears, Black Bear, Grizzly Bear, and even Koala Bears, which 
  aren't really bears at all."
  "Whassat?" Cody asked excitedly, as the next animal display came into view. 
  Nick laughed. He'd forgotten how exhausting little mortals could be, and was 
  glad he could sit for most of the trip. Patiently, he told Cody about each of 
  the different species they passed, and answered thousands of questions. He 
  retied the sturdy white shoes repeatedly, as Cody kicked them off and Perry 
  fetched them back, again and again, like some new toddler game the child had 
  invented. He bought Cody a milkshake, and tried to teach him how to sip 
  through a straw, and then he convinced a nice-smelling woman to take Cody into 
  the restroom and clean him up and change his diaper. She hadn't even needed a 
  hypnotic compulsion, either, he thought with surprise. Finally, when Cody was 
  nearly asleep with exhaustion, Nick brought him back to the day care.
  "You tell Father Pierre to find him a good home," Nick told Edna, one of 
  teachers on the night shift.
  She just smiled, her dimples joining the folds and creases of a long, happy 
  life. "He's working on it, Nick." 

   
  A dark figure hovered in the shadows of the Raven, cursing each hour that 
  passed, as he wondered where Knight had gone to. Two months he'd been 
  following him, studying his habits and discovering his weakness. The time had 
  almost arrived...
  Nick stopped by the Raven before returning to the loft. Urs was dancing 
  tonight. He felt a twinge of guilt as he sensed her joy and abandon in the 
  dance. He loved her once, briefly... and if he were to be honest with himself, 
  he still did. His loins stirred and his teeth ached to feel her tender flesh, 
  to drink her bittersweet blood, to make love to her until she cried out in 
  ecstasy. But she was unfinished business.
  Urs had come a long way since that crucial night over a year ago, the night 
  the vampire Jacqueline had fallen to her death. Nick had taken Urs to the 
  Hilton that night to comfort her, yet in her arms he had himself found 
  comfort. With Urs, Nick had begun to accept who he was, his true nature, the 
  vampire and the man.
  After two wonderful weeks Nick had asked her to move in with him. She had been 
  there, nursing him after Flavius's vicious attack. She had been there, helping 
  him to adjust to Tracy's decision to come across. She had helped to create the 
  beautiful signature quilt Tracy made for LaCroix. Urs was quiet and 
  unassuming, and yet, she had done more to reunite him with his family than any 
  other being in the history of his long existence. Nick had to help her now. He 
  had to set her free, get her to move on, to lessen the blow of his own 
  mortality. 
  When the band took a break, Urs joined him at his table. "Hello, Nick," she 
  said, offering a tentative smile. 
  Nick gave her a broad, easy grin. He had been an ass lately and they both knew 
  it. One thing he had learned at LaCroix's hand was the art of apologizing. 
  "Good evening, love," he whispered, his voice dark and suggestive. "Almost 
  done?"
  Urs touched his shoulder, then stroked his cheek tenderly. "I can be. Do you 
  have something on your mind?"
  "No," he said slowly. "Not something... someone. There is someone who's been 
  on my mind a lot lately. Someone I need to show just how sorry I am for 
  ignoring her, and I think it is going to take me a long, long time."
  He turned his face to capture one of her fingers with his teeth. He sucked on 
  it gently, scraping his fang tips across the tender flesh, before releasing 
  it. He felt Urs's interest grow, as her heart beat twice in quick succession.
  "Nicky, you're back," she murmured.
  Nick rose then and pulled her into his arms. "A dance first, my love?"
  Urs glanced around the nightclub nervously. "Is that a good idea, Nick?" she 
  asked.
  Nick winced, angered by the reference to his failing health, but he quickly 
  recovered. "I have fed well, Little Bear. Just one dance."
  She led them through the maze of tables and into the center of the floor. Nick 
  pulled her close, moving into the slow dance suggested by the CD piped over 
  the speakers while the band took a break. She laid her cheek against his 
  breast, her hips molded to his own. He inhaled deeply, relishing the faint 
  trace of shampoo, perfume and the scent of San Francisco in her blood. "I've 
  missed this," he confessed.
  "Me too," she said.
  The dance ended. Nick knew it was the last dance he would share with her. A 
  moment of melancholy threatened to overwhelm him. He blinked quickly. 
  "Nick, are you all right?" she asked.
  "Yes," he said. "Just tired. Ready to go home?"
  "Always."
  She didn't comment on the waiting cab that took them to the loft. Nick paid 
  the driver a large sum and thanked him. "That's all for tonight," he said. 
  "Will you come by tomorrow evening, about the same time?"
  The driver agreed. "Sure think, Mr. Knight."
  Upstairs, Nick concentrated on all his thoughts on Urs. He poured her a drink, 
  then sat on the floor in front of her. When she would have objected, he kissed 
  her feet. "Sh, my dear. You must let me do this."
  She still seemed uneasy for a few moments, but Nick took one foot in his hands 
  and began to massage it. He knew she loved to dance, but he also knew that her 
  feet were often sore by the end of the night. He tugged gently on the toes, 
  rolling them between his fingers, and then sucking on them, as he made love to 
  her feet. Urs relaxed completely.
  When both feet had been caressed, Nick moved upward slowly. He brought 
  pleasure to her, offering her his wrist to release the first of her building 
  orgasms. With great care, Nick wooed her and seduced her, satisfying her many 
  times before the lethargy of day stole over them. 
  "My Nicky," she murmured contentedly as she snuggled up to him after they 
  finally made it to his bed. 
  "You know that I'll be going to Europe soon," Nick began. Now that she was 
  drowsy and happy it was probably time to reveal the next step of his plan. 
  "Um-hum," she said. "Have you heard from Zuhayr then?"
  "No," Nick said. "But I'm sure it's only a matter of time." The lie rolled off 
  his tongue with practiced ease. It was only a matter of time, after all. If 
  Zuhayr didn't find the cure, then he was honor bound to end Nick's suffering. 
  "And I thought that when I'm gone, maybe you would like to take some courses 
  at the University. You seem to have enjoyed your quilting class."
  "Oh, Nick. I've never really thought about that. I'm not college material. I 
  never even finished high school before my family sold me into the business."
  Nick kissed her forehead and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You are smart, 
  Urs. And talented. And you have an eternity to develop your abilities. But 
  this school is different. It's a small, private school for fashion design in 
  Dallas, Texas. I took the liberty of sending for the information." Nick 
  reached over to the nightstand and pulled a large envelope out of the drawer.
  Urs leaned up on one elbow. "Gee, Nick, you're really serious about this, 
  aren't you? Why?"
  Nick forced a boyish grin. "I like the quilt you made for LaCroix," he said. 
  "I think I'd like one myself, sometime."
  He handed her the envelope. She sat up and crossed her legs, tearing it open 
  with childish enthusiasm. "Me! Go to college! What a strange notion," she 
  said, giggling nervously.
  Nick touched the glossy brochures. He couldn't learn a thing from them, but he 
  had researched the school thoroughly over the internet with his 
  Braille-adapted computer. He'd already paid for her tuition, and made 
  arrangements for her to take their night courses, and even paid for her to 
  have a private apartment near the campus, which was located on the second and 
  third floor of a high rise office building in the downtown area, not more than 
  a few blocks from the local hangout for the "night shift". He listened as she 
  poured over the brochures, learning of her interest through senses other than 
  sight. 
  "Oh, Nick. This really looks like fun. Textiles, and weaving, and introduction 
  to fashion design, and a history of fashions - hey, I'd be pretty good at that 
  one! But look at the price. Nick, that's just out of the question."
  Nick kissed her hand and grinned broadly. "No, it isn't, Urs. It's already 
  paid for."
  "Nick!" She stared at him. "Nick - no, it's too much! I can't take this from 
  you, it doesn't matter that you can afford it. I can't. And I won't be able to 
  pay you back for a long time."
  "You could pay your tuition with the sale of only two or three quilts. You 
  already have a good sense of color, I remember from before. With what you 
  learn at this school, you'll be able to pay your own way next term. Please, 
  let me do this for you. It would make me happy to know that you were doing 
  something you'll enjoy, after I'm gone."
  Urs still thought he was referring to his trip to Romania. "Really, Nick? Do 
  you really think I should go?"
  Nick laughed heartily. "Of course, I do, Urs. Otherwise I wouldn't have paid 
  for it!"
  She shoved him playfully. "Oh, you're impossible."
  "Flattery will get you everywhere, my love," he said, gathering the papers 
  back into a pile which he placed in her lap. "Go to the school. I know you'll 
  enjoy it."
  Urs yawned, covering her mouth politely with a delicate hand. "Very well, Sir 
  Knight, if you insist." She set the papers aside, to look at more carefully 
  tomorrow. "I love you."
  Nick was nearly asleep before his head hit the pillow. "Hm. Love you too." 

   
  Natalie blew out a breath that lifted the hair from her forehead and she 
  sighed. It was so damned frustrating! And exciting, and terrifying... For 
  years she had had to do her research in secrecy, and only when work wasn't 
  overwhelming her, and when Nick was being cooperative. Now as she poured over 
  her notes, translating them to the room full of hostile vampires and a single 
  mortal, she was appalled at just how little she had been able to learn in five 
  years.
  Dr. Luka Kovach was the one bright spot in this whole misadventure. He smiled 
  at her now, encouraging her wordlessly with his compassionate eyes. He had 
  gorgeous eyes. Nat stared into them, losing herself for a moment. He reminded 
  her of Nick some how... what was it?
  Luka looked like a lost little boy, but there was something about the eyes, an 
  ancient look that spoke of unbearable pain and suffering. He was compassionate 
  and tender, yet manly. Natalie wondered what had put the sadness there. He was 
  a doctor, and intelligent, and gorgeous, and kind! Women should be falling all 
  over him!
  Nat drew a deep breath and tried again. "I was trying to help Nick become 
  mortal again, because he asked me to help him. I'm not anymore," she said 
  firmly. More eyes glared at her, as though she had just uttered vile profanity 
  at a wedding, or suggested dancing nude at a wake. "At first, I thought that 
  something I had done was the cause of his current illness. But that just 
  doesn't seem to fit."
  The vampires were unconvinced. She rolled her shoulders to relieve some 
  tension as she surveyed the room. They were an intimidating lot. All six of 
  them were men, making her wonder just what the statistics of women to men were 
  in the vampire community. 
  Booker was a slim black man, who looked to be roughly in his early fifties. He 
  had been a surgeon in life, but he had not practiced medicine in years. He had 
  a nervous twitch that made the corner of his lip pull up in a sneer.
  Charles and Dudley sat side by side. She wasn't sure which was which, except 
  that one was younger by a few years. Both vampire infants, they had been 
  general practitioners in the last decade. Zuhayr was the master of one of 
  them. He sat patiently at the back of the room, a calming presence, and the 
  only reason why she didn't run from the chamber in mortal fear. He was not a 
  doctor and did not pretend to know how to help, but he was a good facilitator. 
  He kept this from becoming a lynch mob.
  Takis was mid-forties, with dark hair and handsome, European features, but the 
  look of smug arrogance spoiled it. He had been a gynecologist, and Nat wanted 
  him thrown out. What could he possibly hope to contribute? It showed her the 
  hopelessness of this endeavor. They had to find a cure for a sick vampire 
  soon, and no one knew any more than she did. 
  Then there was Dr. Taylor, an orthopedist, and Dr. Simm, an ophthalmologist. 
  Nat shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Nick," she whispered.
  "So you thought you could make him mortal again. And how did you hope to 
  accomplish this feat?" That was from Takis, as he looked down his aquiline 
  nose at her. 
  "I tried to find him something to drink besides blood," she began, before she 
  was interrupted again.
  "Like what? How could a vampire survive without blood!" Charles and Dudley 
  spoke together. 
  "What made you think that the blood was what kept him vampire," Luka asked 
  quietly, genuinely interested.
  "From his blood samples," she said, turning to him. "Early on I detected the 
  nucleotides unique to his blood, which I labeled the "vampire" virus. This 
  virus was always much more prevalent after feeding. Then, if he didn't feed on 
  blood for a long time, this virus was in smaller numbers and less aggressive. 
  Only, my protein shakes weren't enough. While it weakened the vampire element, 
  it didn't make him any more mortal, just a weak vampire."
  "So could these protein shakes have caused his current stomach ailment?" 
  Natalie winced, but Luka's comment, like the man, was honest and not boiling 
  with innuendo. "I thought so at first. The vomitus was equal parts blood, 
  vampire blood, and stomach acids. Since vampire stomachs have no stomach 
  acids, that much was probably a result of his trying to digest my protein 
  shakes for six years. I thought that this was just an ulcer then. We tried to 
  treat it by having him consume only small amounts of pure blood, and finding 
  other ways to deal with stress-"
  "Vampires do not suffer from stress-related illnesses, Doctor," Takis sneered. 
  The way he said "doctor" sounded like an insult. 
  "And you know this because?" she snapped. "Have you done your research? Or is 
  this just the indoctrination you've been fed from your master?"
  Takis rose from his chair swiftly, but Zuhayr quickly intervened. "I believe 
  your seat will suit you just fine," he said calmly. Takis glared a moment 
  longer before he sat down again. 
  "Children, no more pointing fingers," Zuhayr said. "These are the facts. 
  Nicholas is ill and slowly dying. We have four and a half months to find a 
  cure. I have gathered you all here to work together. If anyone is not capable 
  of this, speak now!"
  Nat looked hopefully at Takis, but the arrogant former gynecologist remained 
  silent. 
  The vampires were still not convinced that her protein shakes weren't the 
  cause. She was compelled to mix up batch after batch of her recipes, which 
  were studied, then fed to vampire volunteers, who promptly threw them up 
  again. Not one was able to keep the liquid down, making her appreciate Nick's 
  efforts all the more. She remembered watching him fight the gag reflex, and 
  how irritated she would get with him. She shook her head sadly. She owed him a 
  big apology.
  "Hang on, Nick," she prayed. "We'll beat this yet." 

   
  Nick stretched lazily. LaCroix's bed was large and comfortable, with a faint 
  trace of Natalie clinging to it, although the sheets smelled of laundry soap 
  and fabric softener. The mortal holiday, Thanksgiving, had come and gone, the 
  time for reflecting on one's many blessings. A faint smile twitched at the 
  edges of his lips. He was two weeks closer to the end. That was something to 
  be thankful for.
  Urs had left for Dallas a few days ago. Already she had called him twice, just 
  to thank him and tell him all about her new friends. The next semester 
  wouldn't begin until January, but she would be all moved in and settled before 
  then. She sounded so happy, it made him feel better about leaving her. 
  Janette had been harder to send away. As his child, she was more aware of his 
  pain. Nick had been forced to use guilt to his advantage, by telling her that 
  her worry was upsetting his stomach. Only then had he been able to convince 
  her that it was time to move on. She should be in Paris now, with her new 
  lover Amaru. Nick liked Vachon's twin, the responsible one of the pair. 
  Janette would grieve for him, he knew, but not for long. 
  He couldn't send Tracy away. LaCroix would not want her to be on her own for 
  many years yet. He still wasn't sure how he would deal with her, but he knew 
  something would come to mind. He also knew that she would adjust once he was 
  gone. She was fond of him, maybe she even loved him, but she didn't need him. 
  Besides, she still had Vachon. 
  "You are awake," LaCroix said quietly, as he came to sit on the edge of the 
  bed.
  Nick smiled. "So it would seem," he said, stretching again. He arched his 
  back, his elbows bent and hands near his shoulders. With a sensuous, toothy 
  yawn, he relaxed again and rolled onto his side, closer to his master. 
  LaCroix chuckled softly as he patted Nick's back. "You are getting lazy in 
  your old age, my child."
  "M-hum. Come here, old man. I want you," Nick said, tugging on LaCroix's 
wrist.
  The ancient pushed him over enough to make room, then he stretched out beside 
  him, pulling Nick into his arms before offering his wrist. "Old man, is it? 
  When did you become so disrespectful?"
  "Since always," Nick said, nipping the wrist playfully. "It's one of my most 
  endearing qualities."
  LaCroix growled in Nick's ear, teasing him, wanting him, but denying himself 
  even a taste. "You impudent brat," he said. "Time to get up."
  Nick snuggled more deeply into the arms that held him, keeping his eyes closed 
  and ignoring the gentle command. LaCroix scooped him into his arms then and 
  lifted him from the massive bed. "Perhaps you need some assistance, my child?"
  Nick laughed, and struggled half-heartedly to get down. "Okay, okay, I'm up," 
  he said.
  LaCroix carried him to the master bath before setting him on his feet. "I 
  shall expect you shortly, Nicholas," he warned, before closing the door.
  Nick showered quickly and dressed in the clothing LaCroix had laid out for 
  him. The trousers were soft and fit well, they must be fairly new. The shirt 
  was soft as well, a warm, brushed silk. He wondered briefly what color they 
  were, but assumed they would be black, for it was LaCroix's favorite color. He 
  raked his fingers through damp hair, settling it into place. Then he joined 
  LaCroix in the living room.
  "So what are your plans tonight, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked.
  "Vachon and I are going out later," Nick said. "There's a club on the east 
  side, the Silver Chains. He wants to check it out, but Tracy says she's never 
  going set foot in there again. We had to go there on that one case, the Hunter 
  baby."
  LaCroix nodded as he recalled the case. Natalie had been considering her own 
  nesting urges, and having to autopsy an infant affected her deeply. "What sort 
  of club is it? I don't recall hearing about that one." 
  Nick smiled. He could not remember a time when he and his master had ever sat 
  and engaged in such small talk before. It was rather amusing. "Really?" he 
  said, feigning surprise. "It seems to be just your kind of place, actually. 
  You'd fit right in."
  LaCroix scowled. His child was toying with him and he wasn't sure he approved. 
  Still, Nicholas was looking a little better these days. He was feeding daily, 
  without coercion, and he was able to walk without the cane most of the time. 
  "Perhaps I shall join you and the Spaniard then," he said smoothly. 
  Nick laughed. "Great. I'll save a dance for you."
  They fell into a companionable quiet then. Nicholas seemed in no great hurry 
  to be going. LaCroix reached out to him through their bond, but once again he 
  sensed only peace from the young knight. LaCroix had been fooled before into 
  believing that this was a good sign. Now he knew that it meant Nicholas was 
  consciously controlling the bond, manipulating it. This was what Nicholas 
  wanted him to sense. His scowl depended. 
  Nick rose and walked around behind LaCroix's chair. He wrapped his arms around 
  the elder's neck and leaned down, giving him an affectionate hug. He nuzzled 
  the ancient's throat, licking at it, seeking permission before he struck. 
  LaCroix chuckled. His child was still manipulating him, but he was also being 
  delightfully loving. LaCroix patted Nick's hand and craned his neck in 
  offering.
  Nick bit gently and sucked for only a moment. LaCroix breathed in deeply, 
  searching his son as he drank for any crack in his pleasant façade. Briefly, 
  just a flash, LaCroix caught the truth. The depression, thick and suffocating, 
  nearly smothered him. Then, as soon as it had begun, it was gone. Nicholas was 
  lapping at the twin wounds to close them, the fingers of his hands roaming 
  playfully across LaCroix's breast. 
  "Until later, master," Nick said, straightening, then he whistled for the 
  carouche. "Come here, boy!"
  Perry trotted to the door and waited patiently as Nick slipped the harness 
  over him. 
  "I have some business to attend to first, my son. If I miss you at the club, 
  then I shall visit you tomorrow at sunset."
  "Good night," he said.
  LaCroix stared at the door for long moments. He knew what he had to do... He 
  closed his eyes and shuddered. 

   
  The music was too loud.
  Vachon ignored the discomfort as he and Nick danced in the dimly lit 
  nightclub. Tracy had not wanted to return to the Silver Chains with them. 
  Something about the bondage culture still bothered her. Nick had surprised 
  them both when he offered to come with him. Only a few weeks ago he had been 
  closer to death than any vampire should ever be. 
  Nick had been ill for a year now, although he had managed to conceal it at 
  first. Something had happened to him and he was no longer able to feed. This 
  in turn affected his ability to heal, which increased his need to feed. It was 
  a vicious cycle, which left the handsome vampire blind and severely depressed. 
  In fact, he had been determined to end his suffering by simply starving 
  himself. Vachon still wasn't sure who had been able to convince Nick to wait 
  six months, but now the ancient Zuhayr was gathering the finest physicians in 
  the world to work on the problem. Nick, though, wasn't holding out hope. He 
  was keeping track of the number of days. When he reached 182 - six months - he 
  expected Zuhayr to honor his death wish.
  Vachon feasted his eyes on his dance partner. Nick was a fantastic dancer. It 
  didn't seem to matter what the music was - from middle eastern folk tunes to 
  mid-thirteenth century Musettes to acid rock - Nick absorbed it, internalized 
  it, then immortalized it as he moved across the dance floor. 
  Vachon could sense the interest of every Dom, male and female, in the club. He 
  pushed more than a few away with an amber glare and a mild suggestion. He was 
  very defensive where Nick was concerned.
  Nick didn't seem to realize the stir he was causing, either. That was one of 
  the things Vachon loved most about him, for while Nick was exquisitely 
  passionate, fantastically gorgeous, he was also incredibly innocent. Vachon 
  would have willingly submitted to him. Still, with Nick's weakened physical 
  state, it was better if these mortals considered Vachon to be the Dominant in 
  their relationship. 
  Nick's hips moved with the exaggerated beat, pulsing erotically. Vachon was 
  drawn to him like a moth to flame. He stared at the exposed vee where the top 
  buttons of Nick's white silk shirt were undone. The smooth, firm chest beneath 
  was so seldom seen and well worth the view. Nick should go into modeling, 
  Vachon decided, once he shook this strange illness and put back on a little of 
  the weight he had lost. It would be much easier on him than police work and 
  that body deserved to be captured on canvas and film. He smiled even as he 
  forced his throbbing fangs to retract. Before the blindness, Nick had always 
  been very self-conscious, keeping layers of clothing buttoned securely. Vachon 
  still hoped the ancient would find the cure for Nick soon, but in the mean 
  time he would enjoy this new, freer, more sensual side of him.
  Nick grinned at him, the tips of his fangs just barely visible. "Javier? 
  You're drooling."
  "Do you blame me," he countered. He put his hands on Nick's hips and pulled 
  him in closer. "Come with me," he commanded, playing his part.
  Nick submitted, letting Vachon draw him towards a dark corner. He moved into 
  the younger vampire's embrace and sank his fangs in the tender skin behind the 
  ear. Vachon groaned, somewhere between pain and ecstasy. Then he returned the 
  blood kiss. 

   
  'Did they think they were being discreet?' Tyrone sneered disgustedly from his 
  position near the back of the nightclub. He snubbed his cigarette into the 
  ashtray, glaring at anyone who dared to approach him. This was some weird 
  club. It wasn't his idea of a good time. He would never have come in, if he 
  hadn't been following Knight. The vampire homicide cop was certainly giving 
  him an interesting tour of the city.
  He stared at them as they clung to each other. They shuddered and moaned, 
  obviously in the height of sexual release. Tyrone rubbed himself angrily. 
  There wasn't time to pick up some bimbo tonight. He sensed that after nearly 
  forty years of planning, his revenge was about to be complete. 
  Knight pulled away from the dark-haired one and Tyrone saw his fangs before 
  they retracted. He glanced around sharply, but no one else in the club was 
  watching. These weird sadist morons weren't even aware of the danger that 
  danced in their midst! It was kind of funny, really. Knight had sent him to 
  prison on drug charges and one count of manslaughter and yet how many had the 
  vampire killed?
  The younger vampire pulled Nick's shirt away from his neck and licked at the 
  twin wounds. The gesture was both tender and erotic. Tyrone cursed. He was so 
  hard now it hurt. Maybe he should postpone for one more night? He couldn't 
  afford to have his concentration less than perfect. Vampires were too 
  dangerous. 
  "Master, would you like another drink?"
  Tyrone nearly jumped. The scantily clad girl had come out of nowhere. She 
  carried a tray of empty glasses and a small pile of tips. The tips didn't look 
  like much, considering the view she was providing in her short leather skirt 
  and leather bustier, with all the zippers half lowered. Her cleavage went 
  nearly to her navel.
  "I'd rather give you something to drink," he grunted angrily.
  She set the tray down on his table and beamed at him. "Yes, Master!"
  He nearly choked on his tongue as she knelt under the table and crawled 
  between his knees. She took his zipper in her teeth and pulled. His hard cock 
  sprang to attention. Tyrone groaned. He must have crossed over into the 
  twilight zone. 
  He felt her warm mouth encase him and begin to work him eagerly. He closed his 
  eyes for a moment and relaxed. He was so near to exploding already, this 
  shouldn't take long.
  Her fingers worked inside his jeans and cupped his ass as she sucked harder. 
  He started thrusting, nearly deep-throating her in his need. He had almost 
  forgotten how good it could be. Prison had nearly destroyed his ability to 
  enjoy sex at all... thanks to Knight.
   
   
  The blood kiss brought a temporary flush to Nick's pale face. Vachon stared, 
  mesmerized by his beauty. The twin wounds at Nick's throat continued to bleed. 
  He leaned forward to lick at them again. Small drops of blood stained Nick's 
  collar. Vachon doubted anyone could tell in the dimly lit club, but it was 
  probably time to take him home before Nick was too tired to move on his own. 
  He was so much worse these days, and LaCroix seldom let him out of his sight. 
  Vachon didn't want the evening to end on a sour note. 
  "One more dance," Nick said, grinning broadly.
  Vachon cleared his throat before he tried to sound authoritative. He was going 
  to tell him no, but Nick was already moving to the music. He shrugged. What 
  harm could one more dance pose? Still, Nick's motions were not quite as fluid 
  as before. Vachon slowly danced towards the exit, bringing Nick with him. When 
  the number ended, he pushed them out the door.
  Nick laughed. "Okay, boss. Take me home."
  "You know, Nick," Vachon snapped angrily, "if you took better care of 
  yourself, I wouldn't have to act like your master."
  "I don't need a lecture," Nick said. His eyes blazed gold for a moment. 
  Sensing his loss of control, he drew in a deep breath and blinked. Vachon saw 
  stormy blue once more. 
  "I'm sorry, Nick. But I am getting tired and I promised Tracy I'd meet her 
  later."
  Nick shrugged, no longer angry. He was like that. He could go from anger to 
  tranquility in an eye-blink, unless the target of his anger was his master. 
  Then Nick could brood and nurse his hurt feelings childishly for ages. 
  Vachon used to envy him. Nick had a family who loved and supported him, but 
  Vachon valued his freedom too much. Recently LaCroix had accepted him into the 
  family. It was a gift he no longer wanted.
  "The Loft or the Raven?" Vachon asked as he mounted his bike.
  "Loft," Nick answered.
  Neither of them saw the dark figure hovering in the shadows, listening to 
  every word. 

   
  Perry pranced around the motorcycle, sniffing at his charge. Nick seemed to be 
  fine, but the carouche sensed something wrong. He felt ill at ease and he 
  didn't understand why. He would not relax until this one was safely home, 
  preferably in his bed. Then Perry could leave him for a while to hunt. He 
  licked his lips hungrily.
  "Hi there, boy," Nick said, laughing lightly. "You didn't have to wait for me, 
  you know. You can trust Vachon."
  Perry barked. That was debatable.
  Vachon grunted as he revved the bike. He'd never minded carouche before, but 
  he was willing to make an exception for this one. "Ready, Nick?" he called.
  Nick put his arms around Vachon. "Yes. Let's go."
  Vachon started with a lurch, zipping from zero to just past the speed limit in 
  the shortest possible distance as his tires spun dirt at the carouche. Then 
  his irritation was forgotten as his bike chewed up the road. He loved to feel 
  the wind in his hair, the motor thrumming, the comfort of another behind him. 
  He licked his fang tips, remembering the heady taste of Nick.
  Perry was waiting at the door to the loft when they arrived. Vachon watched 
  Nick dismount and approach the door. He looked tired, but not unstable. He 
  could make it upstairs without help. He waited while Nick tapped the numbers 
  into the lock and opened the door. 
  "Thanks, Nick," he said then. "I had fun tonight."
  Nick turned in the direction of his voice and smiled. "Me, too. Say "hi" to 
  Tracy for me."
  Perry turned his nose to the sky. There is it was again, a different scent. He 
  briefly considered going hunting now, but pushed the thought away. As soon as 
  Nick was settled... 
  He accompanied Nick to the lift and into his loft apartment, although it 
  wasn't really necessary. Nick could navigate the entire warehouse alone now. 
  Once inside he watched his charge pour himself something to drink and settle 
  at the piano. Although the vampire was obviously tired, he didn't seem quite 
  ready to sleep.
  Perry went to the couch. It was a little narrow for walking in circles, but he 
  managed a few good turns before flopping down to get comfortable. The music 
  tonight was restful. Perhaps his fears for Nicholas were unfounded. 
  Finally, Nick closed the lid over the keys. "I guess I'll retire," he said, 
  rising slowly. Perry jumped down from the couch. He licked at Nick's hand and 
  wagged his tail.
  "You need to go out? Why didn't you hunt while I was in the nightclub?"
  Perry barked. That was an unsavory neighborhood, and he preferred squirrels to 
  rats anyway. 
  "Okay," Nick said. He pressed a switch on the skylight that opened it a few 
  inches. Perry would be able to wedge his nose beneath the glass and lift it 
  when he returned. The photocell would seal the skylight at sunrise. Then Nick 
  rode the lift down with Perry. 

   
  Tyrone grinned as he heard the vampire get up from the piano. He had been 
  watching him for nearly two months now. Thankfully, Knight was a creature of 
  habit, making his job so much easier. Soon Knight would let the dog out, and 
  then he would go to sleep. 
  Tyrone pulled the can of spray refrigerant from the trunk of his car, leaving 
  the trunk slightly open. Stuffing a small, short stick in his pocket, he went 
  to Nick's door and sprayed the hinges well. The cold metal would not work as 
  smoothly and the door would open or close in slow motion. Then he leaned the 
  stick against the door. 
  His receiver crackled in his ear and he winced. That damn lift interfered with 
  the transmission. Why couldn't he just take the stairs - were vampires lazy as 
  well? They were coming; Tyrone had to move. He quickly climbed back inside his 
  rental car, a small, nondescript black four door, and waited.
  There was Knight. "If you see a sweet bitch, give her a good roll," Nick said. 
  The dog barked at him, then strode down the street, his nose sniffing at the 
  trash on the sidewalk.
  Tyrone watched the door swing closed slowly, slowly, then stop. The old stick 
  trick had worked. The door didn't latch. He turned the volume off on his tap, 
  then dialed Animal Control from his cell phone.
  "Hello, Hieroff? This is Mr. Jones. That dog is out again."
  "Yes, Mr. Jones. You said it was a Golden Retriever?"
  Tyrone sighed. How did such idiots get jobs, much less keep them? "Yes. And he 
  is vicious. I want him picked up immediately."
  "On my way, Mr. Jones."
  "Don't come alone. He bites, and he'll tear your arm off. You'll need a 
  muzzle."
  The city employed reassured him that he knew how to handle it. "And thanks for 
  letting us know, Mr. Jones. We'll get that dog off the street before someone 
  gets hurt."
  Tyrone flipped off the power and waited. There was nothing he could do now 
  until Hieroff called back to say it was done. He wasn't too worried about 
  overpowering Knight, but he didn't want to test his strength against that 
  demon dog. 
  He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it. Thanks to that 
  slave girl in the club, he was much more relaxed than he had been in weeks. He 
  didn't really need the cigarette either, but it would help to pass the time. 
  He drew in deeply and held his breath for a moment before letting the smoke 
  and air out in a long, slow sigh.
  Odd, but he could thank Knight for this as well. He hadn't smoked before he 
  went to prison. He couldn't afford it... not with a wife and child to support, 
  and not even a high school education. He closed his eyes against the memory of 
  his little son, a cop's bullet through his chest. Stevie had been only three 
  years old! Tyrone had emptied his chamber into that cop before Knight took him 
  down. The cop didn't even have the decency to die, and his shooting of Stevie 
  had been investigated and pardoned. The cop took an early retirement though 
  and walked with a permanent limp.
  It wasn't the other cop that Tyrone blamed; he was an idiot. He blamed Nick 
  Knight. Knight was the one to gather enough evidence against him to get a 
  warrant; Knight was the one to draw his gun first. 
  Tyrone had died that night, along with his son. The young man, struggling to 
  provide for his family in the only way he knew how, ceased to exist, and was 
  replaced with an automaton powered by silent rage. He did his time. He endured 
  countless beatings and sexual assaults, working out daily until he could 
  defend himself, and always his one goal was to get out and get even. He had 
  sworn that he would see that Knight suffered everything that he had. 
  The phone distracted him. Tyrone pulled it from his pocket and pressed the 
  send button. "Yes?"
  "We got 'im, Mr. Jones. You weren't kidding. He went berserk! Snapped my pole 
  in two, tore the muzzle to shreds. We shot him with the hypodermic gun I don't 
  know how many times. But he's in custody now."
  "I want him dead, Hieroff. That's what I paid you for. Destroy him!"
  "Well, now, I will, but I have to do this carefully. That dog has a license, 
  and there could be problems."
  "Just do it!"
  "I will," the city employee vowed. "I just couldn't sleep nights if I let that 
  beast go and he bit someone's child. But wait until my partner is off, and 
  I'll mess up the paperwork real good."
  "See that you do. And when it's done, burn the body. There'll be no evidence 
  that he was ever there." Tyrone turned off his phone and pocketed it. It was 
  time. He checked his pockets. Everything was set. "So, Nicholas Knight... you 
  get to meet the fiddler."
   
   
  Chapter three:
   
  Nick shifted on the couch to a more comfortable position. He should go on 
  upstairs, get undressed and climb into bed, but he felt a little lazy. The 
  couch was good enough... and he was so tired. He'd had fun tonight, though. 
  There'd been little of that lately. The strange illness that kept him blind 
  and weak was getting worse, and with his increased dependence on LaCroix, he 
  had seriously considered ending his long existence. Zuhayr was still 
  optimistic, but Nick wasn't holding out any hope. He'd had that crushed too 
  many times in the past. Instead, Nick was preparing for death. He was settling 
  his affairs, providing for the people he cared about and spending time with 
  them as a way of saying good-bye.
  Then suddenly the door opened. Nick sat up groggily. "Perry?" he asked. 
  "Um, hello, you don't know me, but I've seen you around with your dog," the 
  stranger said is a rush. His voice was high pitched and nasal sounding. "I'm 
  real sorry to tell you, but someone just hit your dog. I thought you should 
  know."
  Nick jumped to his feet, wheeling slightly as he tried to clear the cobwebs 
  away. "Where is he? Take me to him!"
  "He's a goner, mister. It was a semi- never even stopped. I only got a partial 
  on the plates. If it's any consolation, I don't think he suffered."
  Nick rushed to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle. He didn't bother to 
  sniff the cork to ensure that it was Perry's cow or not. If Perry had been 
  hurt, then he would need blood fast. 
  "Please, take me to him," Nick said again, approaching the stranger.
  "Okay, I'll take you, mister, but I warned you."
  Nick ran down the stairs holding the railing. He was tempted to fly, but 
  didn't dare in the stranger's presence. He hesitated at the door. The air felt 
  warm. The sun must be on the horizon. He didn't have much time. 
  The stranger came up and offered his arm. He was shorter than Nick by a few 
  inches, but his arm was solid and well-muscled. There was something vaguely 
  familiar about him. Nick didn't have any close neighbors; he wondered where 
  the man was from.
  "This way," the man said and led Nick across the street. 
  Nick inhaled deeply. He didn't smell blood, carouche or other. The accident 
  must have happened a few blocks away. He heard the sound of a car door or 
  trunk opening, then he felt a bumper press into his shins as the once helpful 
  neighbor shoved him roughly.
  "What?" Nick started to ask, confused.
  "Sleep well, Detective," the mad said, his voice low and no longer friendly. 
  Then Nick felt the sharp sting as a bullet was fired at close range. It 
  pierced a lung as it flew right through him. He heard crying then, and sirens, 
  and wind, but it was all a muffled confusion as the small wound began to burn. 

  "Perry!" he called. He lost his grip on the bottled blood. It clattered as it 
  fell to the street and broke.
  The man laughed, but the sound was not pleasant. He yanked Nick's wrists 
  behind his back and snapped on handcuffs. "I wasn't lying about that much, 
  Detective. The dog is dead. But don't worry. Soon you'll be seeing him again. 
  If dogs go to hell, that is."
  He gave Nick a shove. Nick felt himself fall forward into the trunk of a car. 
  The man stuffed his legs in before slamming it shut. Nick winced. The space 
  was narrow and confining. He tried to think. The wound was burning, clouding 
  his thinking, and the rising sun was making him groggy. He tried again to 
  reach Perry, but he could not find him. 
  He should try to reach his master, Nick realized. But maybe not just yet? If 
  he wanted LaCroix to stop hovering over him, then he should stop calling him 
  at the first sign of trouble. 
  This man had shot him and cuffed him with standard issue handcuffs. He thought 
  a semi truck could kill his carouche. The man obviously didn't know about 
  their special abilities. Nick wasn't in too much danger. At the moment he 
  couldn't free himself, but that would change. He needed to think... he was so 
  tired. The gentle motion of the car was lulling him away, and as his blood 
  oozed onto the carpeted trunk, Nick's strength fled with it. He blinked, 
  struggling to stay awake. Tonight he would break free... Then he might even 
  forget his promise not to kill... he'd at least taste this man to find out 
  what really happened to Perry. 

   
  Cody was all cried out. No one came to help him. No one cared. He really was 
  all alone! First Daddy went away and he didn't come back. That was when 
  everything started going all wrong. Mommy wasn't nice any more. She smelled 
  bad. She used to smell of shampoo and cedar. He would ride in the backpack 
  carrier all day, clinging to her long braids, and her scent would fill each 
  breath, comforting him even when he slept. After Daddy left, the shampoo smell 
  went away, and when they moved to the noisy place, then he could no longer 
  smell cedar or pine, either. Now there was a yucky smell in the air that 
  confused him and sometimes made him cough.
  Cody shook the crib rail angrily. He was not going to cry any more. That nice 
  man with friendly smile and sharp teeth, he had been good to Cody. He read to 
  him, just like his real daddy used to do. He sounded a little like his real 
  daddy. Cody couldn't quite remember what Daddy looked like. That man had told 
  him he wasn't Cody's daddy, but he could call him "Uncle Nick." 
  Uncle Nick hadn't come by to see him for a long time. These people weren't 
  nice to him. They were always saying "No!" They were impatient, and they 
  didn't carry him like mommy and daddy always did. They wanted him to walk, and 
  they got angry when he had accidents. The one teacher with the gray hair took 
  away his underwear then and put him in diapers. He didn't really mind. He 
  thought underwears were a dumb idea anyway, but Mommy used to come when he 
  cried. These people were busy. They had lots of crying children to help. Cody 
  felt another tear slip down his face, in spite of himself.
  It was time to go look for Uncle Nick! Cody examined the crib carefully. It 
  was smaller than his crib in Mommy's house. He pulled the teddy bear Edna had 
  put in the bed with him over to the corner and stepped on it's head. "Sorry, 
  Teddy," he said. 
  It wasn't quite high enough. He grabbed his blanket and wadded it up, stuffing 
  it under Teddy and tried again. The feet of his pajamas were slippery, but he 
  was strong. Bending his knees and bouncing several times on the mattress, he 
  lunged for the crib rail. Success! He felt the rail on his stomach, his feet 
  suspended above Teddy's head. For a moment he was scared as he looked at the 
  floor way below. If he let go, he could fall back into the bed, but then what? 
  No, he had to go find Uncle Nick. 
  With renewed courage, he swung first one leg over the rail and then the other. 
  He clung to the rail as he lowered himself. His feet were still off the floor, 
  and he was staring Teddy in the face. "Can I make it?" he asked. 
  Teddy's head seemed to nod as the mattress shook a little from his struggling. 
  Cody smiled and let go.
  He fell to the floor with a quiet thud, his soggy diaper taking most of the 
  force. Cody shuddered once, almost ready to cry, but then he realized he was 
  free! He reached through the crib slats for Teddy and tugged. 
  Teddy's body came through easily, but his head caught. Cody knew what that was 
  like. "Sorry," he apologized again. "Come, Teddy. Go bye-bye!" He yanked 
again.
  Teddy came free. Cody hugged him and grinned, his thumb finding its way back 
  in his mouth. "Go now," he whispered.
  The door to the nursery had been left partially opened and a soft light 
  filtered through. There were no other children sleeping in his room right now, 
  but there was another bedroom next door where some older kids usually slept 
  and a bunch of kids were playing in the playroom. He could hear them talking. 
  Last night when Cody had woke up, the teacher wouldn't let him get up and 
  play. She had simply changed his diaper and put him back to bed. He didn't 
  like that at all. But he knew better than to try to play now. Besides, he had 
  to find Nick. Cody looked towards the door that Father Pierre always took. 
  Father Pierre was really nice. Cody liked him almost as much as Nick, but 
  Father Pierre had lots of kids to take care of. Nick didn't have any. 
  Two boys started arguing. The night teacher with gray hair, Edna, turned to 
  stop them. It gave him just enough time to dash to the door and quietly slip 
  out. Nobody saw him. The door closed with a soft click. 
  The hallway was dark and strange. Cody hardly remembered it at all, since he'd 
  been crying when he'd first come here. Mommy gave him away! She didn't want 
  him anymore. She never came to visit! And then, then, one day, he knew she was 
  really gone, just like his daddy. 
  But Cody could smell things. Father Pierre's scent was everywhere. Cody 
  couldn't tell which way to go by his scent, but Uncle Nick's scent came 
  stronger from one direction. Cody would know his scent anywhere. Nick smelled 
  sweet, like honey and fruit, and something else Cody couldn't quite place - 
  yeast maybe, like bread? Cody rubbed his stomach. He was really hungry. He 
  hoped he could find Nick soon!
  Cody found a door that brought him outside the brick building and into a cold, 
  dark night. He shivered from his wet pajamas. Well, if he got cold enough, 
  maybe he could take them off. He climbed down the stone stairs and hurried 
  along, eager to follow Nick's trail now, while it was still dark and there was 
  less traffic to mask the scent. 
  The streetlights were burning, casting little circles of amber light. Cody 
  didn't need them to see, though. He could see well in the dark, so he kept to 
  the shadows. He didn't want anyone to bother him. 
  When he'd walked a long way, he came to the end of his path. A street loomed 
  in front, blocking him from the other side. Cody hesitated. The cars were 
  noisy and they scared his mommy sometimes. She'd told him to stay away from 
  streets.
  But Nick went this way, Cody was sure of it! He could smell Perry here as 
  well! Cody swallowed his fear. Maybe, if he made himself really small, the 
  cars wouldn't see him? He got on his hands and knees and crawled onto the cold 
  pavement. One car whizzed past, but it didn't stop. Cody crawled as quickly as 
  he could, holding his breath, and feeling faintly dizzy before he reached the 
  other side. When he came to another street, he didn't even hesitate. He knew 
  just how to do it!
  On and on Cody went, running until he was too tired, then walking, crawling 
  across each street, and always keeping to the shadows, somehow knowing that 
  the few people out at this time wouldn't leave him alone if they saw him. 
  Mommy had always distrusted people - everyone except Daddy.
  He was getting closer! He just knew it! Nick and Perry's scent was very 
  strong. But a man in a car was nearby. Cody crouched down behind the car to 
  listen. 
  The man was angry. His voice sounded different, too. Cody shivered and it 
  wasn't just from the cold.
  "Hello, Hieroff?" said the man. "This is Mr. Jones. That dog is out again."
  Cody looked around. Yes! There was Nick's dog! Perry was three blocks away. 
  Cody almost yelled to him, when he heard the man again. 
  "Yes. And he is vicious. I want him picked up immediately. ...don't come 
  alone. He bites, and he'll tear your arm off. You'll need a muzzle."
  'No!' thought Cody. Perry wasn't vicious! He glanced down the street to watch 
  the Golden Retriever. He would have to warn Nick!
  Perry had his nose to the ground and was sniffing. Something small and fury 
  darted out to cross the street and the dog chased after it. Cody smiled. His 
  dog was good. Perry could take care of himself.
  The man in the car was getting out now. Cody ducked under the car further. He 
  didn't want to be seen. And now he didn't know where his dog had gone. He 
  would just wait here until the dog came back, and then they could be together. 

  The man came back first. He had Uncle Nick with him. Cody grinned. He would 
  wait just a little longer, until the man went away and then Nick would hold 
  him and make him feel special again. He crunched lower under the back end of 
  the car. Two pairs of men's shoes were close enough to touch almost. Cody held 
  his breath.
  A siren started to blare several blocks away. Cody covered his ears. It was 
  such an ugly sound, and it was coming closer. Sirens meant some one was in 
  trouble. Sometimes they meant someone was hurt. Cody shuddered.
  Then something bit him! It hurt so bad! Cody screamed. He forgot that he had 
  to be quiet, because it hurt so much. There was a loud thumping sound above 
  him, too, and the trunk slammed shut. The bad man got back in the car and 
  started the engine. Cody cried harder, coughing at the stink from the car and 
  the scent of blood and the pain. He should never have crawled under that car! 
  He hurt worse than he had ever hurt before. He put his hand on his shoulder 
  and touched the sore spot. His hand was all bloody. Cody screamed again. 
  "Unka Nick? Wanna go home!" he cried.
  But no one came. Cody couldn't cry any more. He could hardly stand either. He 
  crawled back to the sidewalk, to a shadowed doorstep and huddled as far away 
  from the wind as he could. 
  His shoulder was bleeding bad. Worse than a splinter or a blister, or when he 
  fell off the slide in Father Pierre's playground and cut his forehead. Cody 
  started to suck his thumb again, but it was sticky. He didn't want it that 
  bad. 
  The door opened behind him. Cody held very still. Big feet stood too close, 
  and a tall man closed the door, locking it. Then he tripped over Cody. Cody 
  cried again. Now he had to get away, too. He tried to stand, but his legs 
  didn't work right. 
  "Where did you come from?" asked a man's voice. 
  Cody just cried. The man hunched down to look at him. Cody shrank back, 
  looking furtively for his escape.
  "It's okay, don't be afraid," he said. He had a kind voice, too. It was deep 
  and gentle.
  Cody was scared and cold and hurt and bleeding. His dog was gone and he didn't 
  know what to do. He reached out to the kind man. 
  The man seemed startled when he hugged him. He stood up. Boy he was tall! Cody 
  felt so tired. "Go bye-bye," he whispered. He wasn't going to be awake much 
  longer.
  "My name is Jarod," the man said. "Where are your mother and father?"
  "Gone," he answered truthfully. 
  "You're bleeding," Jarod said, surprised. "You need a doctor."
  "No!" Cody exclaimed. 
  "Sh," Jarod comforted him. "I'll take care of you." 

   
  LaCroix knocked on the door to the rectory. "This is all your fault," he 
  muttered to himself. "Damn you, Nicholas."
  The light flicked on, momentarily blinding him, then the door was pulled open. 
  The young French priest gave a startled gasp, uneasy in his presence. LaCroix 
  smiled sardonically. 
  "Good morning, Rochefort," he said calmly.
  Father Rochefort nodded nervously. "Yes, good morning, LaCroix. Would you care 
  to come in?" He stepped back, making room for the ancient vampire. 
  LaCroix followed him into the formal living room, a pleasant, comfortable 
  place filled with hand-me-down furniture and hand-knit afghans, a mix of 
  castoffs and gifts from the parish. LaCroix settled in the recliner, the least 
  offensive chair in the room. 
  The priest folded his hands and started twice to ask the purpose for his 
  visit, but he stammered incoherently. Finally, he cleared his throat and chose 
  a subject. "Nicholas seems well. He's been by several times this week, thank 
  goodness. Only he can handle the child, Cody. My staff is begging me to call 
  social services to take him away. I wish I could help him, though. He's really 
  a sweet little boy, just such a -"
  "Nicholas is not well," LaCroix interrupted. 
  The priest shut his mouth, squirming uncomfortably. It amused LaCroix. The 
  young man did not like him, he didn't trust him, and he didn't understand him 
  at all, and yet, his training as a priest forced him to treat LaCroix with the 
  same polite manner as he would a visiting Bishop. LaCroix would never 
  understand the philosophy of those Christians. In Rome, the big people were 
  treated with respect, and the little people were trod underfoot. That was the 
  way of things. It seemed more honest to him. One always knew who one's enemies 
  were.
  "He seemed fine," the priest stammered. "We talked for some time two days ago. 
  He told me about his family, Urs's decision to go to school, and he seemed 
  happy."
  "He is saying good-bye," LaCroix said firmly. 
  Silence wrapped around them. LaCroix watched the information register as the 
  young priest considered his words. Then the young mortal nodded. "Yes, I 
  believe you are right. How stupid of me not to see it for myself."
  "I find that I am in your debt, priest," LaCroix snapped. It was time to state 
  his purpose and get out of here. He knew instinctively that the sun hovered on 
  the edge of rising. "You alone were able to turn my son away from his 
  self-destructive behavior. I ask you to do so again. Save his life, and you 
  shall have my protection for the rest of your mortal days."
  The priest rose, pacing a small circle as he avoided looking at the 
  intimidating vampire in his living room. "You do not need to do that, 
  Monsieur. I will speak to him, as it is both my duty and my honor. No form of 
  payment is required."
  "Never the less, the offer stands. Because of your friendship with Nicholas, 
  you are in danger from others of our kind. I am accorded an amount of respect, 
  as befits my age and rank in the community. With my protection, none would 
  dare to harm you. Good day."
  The priest stared at the empty place the vampire vacated, as the front door 
  softly clicked shut. "Poor Nicholas," he murmured. "No wonder you have an 
  ulcer."
   
  Chapter four:
  Jarod held the small boy, patting his back softly, as he glanced around. 
  Although the sun had risen, it was still a dark, shadowed street - no place 
  for a child. His mission wasn't far from here, but would it be safe for the 
  child? It never occurred to him to take the child to a hospital. Jarod had 
  been a doctor before, and a child psychologist, and an FBI agent, and even of 
  thief. Like a chameleon, Jarod pretended to be many things, because he didn't 
  know who he really was. 
  Holding the small boy close, he hurried through the streets, leaving the small 
  warehouse where he was gathering the information to prepare for his next 
  identity, towards the Fourth Street Mission.
  He had come to Toronto for a rest. After four years of running, he was worn 
  out. Sometimes he was so lonely that he considered turning himself back in to 
  the Center. He missed Sydney, the only father figure he had ever known, the 
  psychiatrist who had trained him, developed his ability and intelligence. 
  Jarod had not known anything was unusual about his childhood. He had not known 
  any better. He had started breaking out of his room more out of boredom than 
  any desire for freedom. For a year it went unnoticed, but then one night his 
  playful exploits were discovered and the center reacted violently. He had been 
  thrown into a cell where he was ill treated, humiliated, and starved. The 
  growing resentment planted the seeds of his rebellion. Later, when he'd 
  discovered that his simulations were being used to hurt people, he swore to 
  set things right.
  So he had escaped. He called Sydney sometimes, as he needed his advice and 
  guidance. The world was a strange and wonderful place, but it could be 
  overwhelming to a man raised in isolation. Jarod had never been to a grocery 
  store before, or crossed a street, or learned how to say "hello" to a 
  stranger. He knew nothing of women at all, as his only contact had been a few 
  hours in the company of a girl his age, Miss Parker, and a first kiss when 
  they had both still been children. 
  Jarod felt a strange pain when he thought of Miss Parker. He missed her, too, 
  although he wasn't sure why. She wanted him caught, dead or alive, and she had 
  made it her crusade to see him brought down. She seemed like a cold, heartless 
  bounty hunter, but Jarod knew she had a beautiful soul. She was as much a 
  victim of the Center as he had been. Oh, she had not been exploited as he had, 
  but she was almost just as isolated. She too had no freedom. She had to serve 
  the Center. No one ever left or retired... they just ceased to exist. 
  He forced his troubled thoughts away. He had to be alert if he wanted to keep 
  his freedom. He knew if the Center ever caught him again, they'd kill him 
  before they allowed him to escape. 
  So now he was known as Brother Jarod, an itinerant member of the Glenmary 
  missionaries. He had obtained an abandoned building, hired the homeless to 
  help him clean it, and he ran a soup kitchen there. His doors remained open 
  and unlocked all the time, so no one had to sleep outside in the cold. Right 
  now few came there to sleep, but it was still relatively mild. He worried for 
  them, wondering who would care for them when he had to move on.
  Being a brother was one of the easiest disguises, though. He had discovered 
  quite by accident two years ago that when he pretended to be a religious, few 
  people ever looked him in the face. They lowered their eyes mostly, in a show 
  of respect. When Miss Parker had happened to catch up with him, none of the 
  people he had met and worked with had been able to recognize his photograph. 
  They couldn't remember that his hair was dark and his eyes were brown. They 
  only remembered that he was tall and he was someone they trusted.
  That kind of bothered him. It seemed wrong to take advantage of their trust, 
  but he never really told the lie. He never said he was a Brother. People just 
  assumed that when they saw him dressed in the brown monks' cloth, a rough hemp 
  rope belted at his waist and sandaled feet. Still, maybe it was like lying to 
  encourage their misconceptions, but that was what he was. Jarod was a 
  pretender. 
  He didn't know how to stop. He had been trained from his earliest memories to 
  become other people, to think and act like them, to predict their next 
  actions... and the Center used his simulations to carry out their sick little 
  power games. Now, although Jarod was free, he could not stop. He didn't know 
  who he was. He could never pretend just to be himself. 
  Jarod turned the last corner and hurried along to the door of his mission. The 
  title painted over the door still seemed odd to him. One of the homeless 
  patrons had chosen it and had done the work himself. 
  "Our Lady of Perpetual Help" was lettered in Old Bookman script with bright 
  blue paint. The patron had given Jarod a tiny card with a picture of the icon 
  on it. Jarod had nodded, pretending he knew what it meant. So far he hadn't 
  been able to find any information about it, though, and none of the homeless 
  seemed to notice that he was the most ignorant brother they had ever met. 
  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Three bodies were stretched out on 
  the floor still deep in sleep. They smelled and their tattered, layered 
  clothing was filthy, still he felt such sorrow for them. They were the 
  forgotten ones.
  The main room was a large open hall, now filled with rows of folding chairs 
  and tables, which had been donated by area churches. It had taken some 
  convincing to show them the need for this soup kitchen, as there was one 
  already in existence, but the homeless were also without a means of 
  transportation. It would be better to have a lot of little soup kitchens 
  around the city, than one big one that required volunteers to locate, pick up, 
  and transport the hungry masses. 
  Just off of main hall were the kitchen, a single bathroom, and several other 
  smaller rooms. He had plans to remodel, adding larger bathrooms with showers 
  and tubs, but that would take time. 
  Jarod used one small room as his bedroom. It held a single cot, a table and 
  chair, and a curtain for the window and that was all. It wasn't a cheery 
  place, but then he'd learned that brothers were expected to live simply. Now 
  he laid the small boy on his cot and inspected his wounds. Gently he cut away 
  the soiled remains of a yellow blanket sleeper. 
  A bullet hole went clear through the boy's right shoulder. It wasn't serious 
  as far as bullet wounds went, but the boy had lost blood and the wound looked 
  dirty. 'Who would want to hurt a child?' he thought angrily. 
  Jarod opened his bag. He'd been a doctor many times in his pretend life and 
  the homeless that came to him were often in need of medical care. He treated 
  infected cuts mostly, some chest coughs and pneumonia. He'd stitched up larger 
  wounds from broken glass or street fights, but he hadn't treated any bullet 
  wounds in a while. Sometimes it seemed he used his first aid kit almost as 
  much as his laptop. He flushed the wound with distilled water, then 
  antiseptic, before covering it with gauze and adhesive tape. Then he examined 
  the child further.
  The boy looked to be about three years old. His fingers were still pudgy soft 
  with baby fat although his ribs were too prominent. His diaper was soaked and 
  he was thoroughly chilled. His hair was tangled golden ringlets of wispy baby 
  hair that covered his forehead and much of his ears, but it too smelled like 
  wet diapers. Jarod blinked back tears of compassion. This poor little boy! He 
  deserved a home and a mother who loved him! All children did! Jarod would find 
  out who had done this to him and see that she or he suffered for it. Then he 
  would not rest until he found the boy a loving home.
  He filled a basin with warm water from the small bathroom and bathed the 
  unconscious child. His eyes were blue, Jarod noted, as he lifted an eyelid to 
  check the dilation. The child was unusually pale as well, no doubt from the 
  loss of blood. Jarod would test his blood later for vitamin deficiencies. For 
  now, the child would need breakfast and something to wear when he woke up. 
  Jarod touched the child's face tenderly. "Don't worry any more, little one. 
  I'll take care of you," he promised.
    
  Chapter five:
  The car lurched to a stop. Nick awoke, cursing as the sudden movement made his 
  wound bleed again. He was hungry. His fangs descended and his stomach rumbled. 
  He would need to feed to stop the bleeding. He yanked on the handcuffs and 
  cursed again. Simple stainless steel and he couldn't break them! An idiot had 
  caught him off guard and kidnapped him. Nick was furious with himself.
  He tugged on the cuffs again. Then he saw an image of them in his mind 
  clearly. Nick felt that thing again, that power that he had only recently 
  discovered. It pressed on his forehead with such force that the bullet wound 
  was forgotten. At first he tried to stop the images, but then he had an idea. 
  It was a long shot, but worth a try anyway.
  Nick forced himself to relax, ignoring the pain as the images pounded in his 
  mind and just let them happen. He saw the cuffs again and the locking 
  mechanism. Nick focused on the lock. He became the key. He imagined himself 
  inside the cuffs, shifting shape to become a perfect fit. Then he turned.
  It didn't work at first. He tried again and again. The metal grew warm and the 
  fine blonde hairs on the backs of his hands began to sizzle. The car started 
  forward. Nick clenched his teeth, then tried once more. This time he heard the 
  soft click. The handcuffs sprang open. 
  He pulled his arms in front, rubbing at his chaffed wrists. He had managed to 
  open the lock! It worked once, so it could work again. Nick tried to picture 
  the trunk. 
  He had no success. 
  The car continued to take him away. Nick could tell that the sun was fully up 
  now. He was hurting and hungry and he needed to sleep, but he did not want to 
  sink into the deep slumber of the undead while at the mercy of this inept 
  crook. He tried to reach the man with a hypnotic punch even through the steel 
  that separated them.
  He felt the cold hatred of the other man. It was glacial ice of mammoth 
  proportions. Nick was stopped short. What had he ever done to him? He knew he 
  had probably sent this man to prison once, and so he would expect animosity, 
  but the power of this man's hatred was nearly overwhelming.
  "Why?" Nick asked, sending his thoughts to the other without thinking.
  The man cried out in pain. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Get out of my head, 
  vampire!" He drew his handgun and fired through the back seat into the trunk 
  again. 
  The first bullet missed, but the second pierced Nick's lower calf. He cried 
  out in anger and rage. The gun suddenly became too hot to touch, forcing the 
  man to drop it. 
  "Damn sonofabitch," the man cursed vehemently. 
  Nick blinked. He was so tired. Now his leg was bleeding, draining him of more 
  needed blood and energy. He slipped into the man's head once more, this time 
  very carefully. "You forgot something," he thought. "You must return to the 
  loft..."
   
  Tyrone shook himself. He was exhausted and not thinking clearly. Maybe he'd 
  better return to the loft before he took Knight to Chicago. He needed to keep 
  the vampire alive long enough to suffer the tortures he had planned for him, 
  and he had no idea how to procure blood for him. Knight had bottles of the 
  stuff in his refrigerator. Tyrone would grab a few and then they could be on 
  their way. He'd have to hurry. The demon dog should be dead by now and the 
  other vampires would be held prisoners by the daylight. He was safe enough for 
  now, but he intended to be far, far away before sunset. 
  Nick felt the car turn around. He had no idea how far they had traveled from 
  the loft as he had been unconscious, but he didn't think they had gone very 
  far. He tried again to pop the trunk.
  Perseverance paid off. The trunk opened suddenly. The kidnapper slammed on his 
  brakes, squealing tires. Cars all around started blaring their horns and 
  slamming on brakes. The one right behind them had not been able to stop in 
  time. He rear-ended the car. The bumper crumbled, torn steel sliced into 
  Nick's thigh even as the morning sun started to burn his exposed flesh. Nick 
  screamed as he flew from the trunk.
  He put his arms over his head, a pitiful shelter from the sun. His skin was 
  smoldering. His chest and legs were still bleeding. Then another car slammed 
  into him. Nick was thrown more than thirty feet, crashing headfirst into 
  brick. He crumpled to the pavement, bleeding and broken.
  More cars rammed into each other. Horns were screaming, steel ripped and glass 
  shattered. Pain and suffering were all around him. Nick winced guiltily. He 
  had caused this accident, but somewhere that kidnapper could still see him; he 
  had to get away! Nick struggled to move. He couldn't stand. Both legs hurt too 
  much. His hands were blistering; he could smell the foul odor of searing 
  flesh. Nick groped the pavement anxiously, dragging his body along. He felt 
  the cold circular shape of a manhole cover. Lifting the lid, he threw himself 
  down; the lid clang shut behind him. The tunnel rushed up to meet him. He felt 
  cold water splash around his legs, but the cement under most of his body was 
  fairly dry, if a little slimy. Algae and filth covered the surfaces. He pulled 
  himself further until the small beams filtering down through the manhole cover 
  were no longer a danger, then Nick gave in to his exhaustion.
  Somewhere a siren started up. Good, he thought in a daze. Maybe help was 
  already on its way for the unfortunates in that mess outside. There was 
  nothing he could do.
   
   
  Chapter six:
  Lori leaned against the door to the nursery and drew in a deep breath. "You 
  really do love children," she reminded herself. "You love your job. And Cody 
  is just one little boy!" Drawing in a deep breath, she entered Mary's Little 
  Lambs day care center. 
  A chorus of greetings welcomed her, as five children latched on to her legs 
  and hugged her. "Lori! Lori! We missed you!"
  She touched each one of them and greeted them by name. Then she smiled at 
  Lisa, one of the day shift teachers. "How was today?" she asked. 
  Lisa grinned. "Very peaceful. Nick must have kept Cody with him."
  Lori felt a twinge of guilt at the relief she felt. It wasn't really Cody's 
  fault, as much as his parents. He was undisciplined, rambunctious, and had no 
  social skills. He was inquisitive, demanding, and his speech was severely 
  delayed. There were tots in the birth-to-two year old room that were more 
  developed than he was. If she could work with him, one on one, she knew she 
  could help him learn, but in the three-to-fives group, with as many as twenty 
  other children at once, there just wasn't time. It might be best to put him 
  into the other room with the younger children, but there was no room for him 
  yet. 
  Lisa grabbed her purse and jacket. "Enjoy your night!"
  "Why don't we go outside," Lori suggested, as it would soon be dark. 
  "Yay," the children cheered, running for the racks were their jackets and 
  outdoor clothes were stored. She helped them start their zippers, pull on 
  boots, and find matching mittens, then led them through the hallway to the 
  back door leading to a fenced-in play yard. They could play for about half an 
  hour before she had to take them inside again. She leaned against a fence post 
  as she watched over them, her thoughts drifting back to the pretty little boy 
  with curly blonde hair. 
  "Penny for your thoughts," Father Pierre offered softly.
  Lori jumped, then smiled at the handsome priest. She was glad that the pink on 
  her cheeks could just as easily be from the cold as her embarrassment. "Ah, 
  Father, nice to see you," she stammered.
  He smiled, oblivious to the thoughts and fantasies many of the young women had 
  about him. "I came to see how Cody was getting along," he said.
  "I don't know," she said quickly. "He's with Nick."
  Father Pierre's eyebrows knit together. How puzzling, he thought. The last 
  time he'd talked to him about adopting Cody, Nick had been adamant. Well the 
  Lord worked in mysterious ways. He smiled, knowing that they would be good for 
  each other. Cody needed a caring adult with patience and fortitude; Nick 
  needed only to be loved. Father Pierre would give them some time alone for a 
  few days, before he dropped in to visit. 

   
  Vachon dropped into the loft. He'd had a good time with Nick last night, and 
  wanted to tell him so. No, that wasn't quite it. He was worried about him. 
  Nick wouldn't appreciate that, though. Maybe coming had been a bad idea? He 
  knew Nick needed his space. 
  Nick's bed was neatly made though- too neat for him to have even used it. Had 
  he slept on the couch again? Vachon smiled as he quietly crept downstairs to 
  sneak up on him.
  Only, the couch was also vacant. He looked around, growing a little uneasy. 
  There were no glasses or empty bottles on the counters or in the sink. He 
  lifted the lid on the box where Nick kept his watch, it was also gone. He must 
  have changed his mind and slept at the Raven, he realized. Well maybe he'd 
  catch him later. Vachon flew out through the skylight. 

   
  Ben Adams stared at the report again. The Golden Retriever the night shift had 
  brought in was scheduled for extermination. He hated that part of his job, but 
  at least the unfortunate beasts would see an end to their suffering. Most of 
  the time the dogs he put down were starving, sick, abused, neglected, pitiful 
  animals, but this dog was beautiful. Cautiously he approached the cage again.
  "Hello, there," he said softly. The report claimed the dog had been violent, 
  but this animal looked up at him with sad, knowing eyes. 
  "Did you really do all that stuff?" Adams asked. "Attack those two dog 
  catchers? Bite the muzzle in half? You don't look like a tough guy."
  Perry kept his irritation in check. After a few hours cooling off in the 
  pound, he knew that he'd have to play it smart if he wanted to get out. He 
  gave a pitiful whimper and slowly sat up. He raised one paw, as if offering it 
  to shake and whimpered again the way that collie always did on TV.
  The man chuckled. "You want to make friends, huh? Well, it's nice to meet 
  you." 
  Perry shook his head, making sure the light bounced off his new license. Tracy 
  had bought it for him as soon as they got back from Chicago. The man noticed 
  it and gave a startled whoop.
  "Well, you are someone's pet! I just knew that you couldn't be a stray. Will 
  you let me read that tag?"
  Perry remained motionless, as the man was still uneasy around him. The man 
  nudged his license with a pencil, keeping his distance.
  "Nick Knight? You're Knight's dog! Holy bejeeses, it's a damn good thing I 
  waited! You just sit tight and I'll give him a call straight away."
  Perry lay down again and rested his chin on his paws. Mortals could be so 
  tiring to be around, but this one seemed harmless. He watched and waited as 
  the man dialed Nick's loft. He could hear the phone ring again and again. He 
  rolled his eyes. Nick could sleep through anything. 
  Ben Adams hung up and sighed. He looked upset again. "My shift is almost over, 
  boy, and I really hate to go when you're still here. Hieroff seemed so intent 
  on having you put down. Don't know what you did to tick him off so, he's 
  really a nice guy when he wants to be."
  Perry was beginning to feel apprehensive. He knew he was stronger than mortals 
  and could survive almost anything, but the pound had a large oven in which 
  they cremated the remains of the animals they destroyed. He had to stay out of 
  that oven! He sat up and barked once, not too loudly. 
  Adams snapped his fingers. "I'll call the precinct. I know Nick works nights, 
  but he should have reported you missing by now."
  That was good thinking, Perry acknowledged. He wondered how Adams knew Nick, 
  but somehow his vampire charge had left a positive impression on him. 
  The phone rang twice before he heard Nick's Captain Reese answer it. 
  "Hello, I'm Ben Adams at Animal Control," the mortal began. "And I have Nick's 
  dog here. Do you know where I might get in touch with him?"
  Reese sounded surprised and worried. He asked if Ben had tried Nick's loft, 
  then he asked about the Raven. 
  "No," Ben said. "But I had thought that maybe Nick might have called you to 
  report that his dog was missing."
  Reese sounded even more concerned. Perry liked him. He was a little tough on 
  Nick, and his blood pressure was tantalizingly intense, but he was sharp 
  minded and he knew trouble when it was brewing. Reese said he'd call Nick's 
  father and send someone to pick him up shortly.
  Perry barked once and smiled, wagging his tail happily. Ben laughed. He even 
  reached his hand inside Perry's cage and tentatively patted his fur behind the 
  ears. "You'll be going home soon, boy," he promised.
   
  Reese dialed the Raven immediately. It rang and rang, which irritated him. It 
  was late enough that Mr. LaCroix should be awake by now. Finally he heard that 
  smooth, deep voice answer, "Yes?"
  He felt a shiver down his spine. That man always gave him the creeps. "Nick's 
  dog was picked up last night. He's at the pound. Do you have any idea where 
  Nick is, or why he hasn't reported his dog missing?"
  Mr. LaCroix's manner changed at once. His words were clipped and urgent. "I 
  will look into it directly."
  The line went dead. Reese stared at the phone for a few moments. "Good bye to 
  you, too, Mr. LaCroix," he said sarcastically as he hung up. Well, if Nick 
  didn't call in shortly, he'd send a car to the loft. 

   
  LaCroix shot from the skylight of his apartment and flew to the loft, ignoring 
  the discomfort of the setting sun. The western horizon still glowed, but 
  already the evening star was out overhead. 'Damn you, Nicholas,' he thought 
  with irritation. 
  He knew Nicholas was severely depressed, but he had agreed to wait six months. 
  Just last night LaCroix had had a call from Gammaus. Natalie hadn't had any 
  news, but she sounded hopeful. Tired, and frustrated, too. LaCroix smiled 
  briefly as he recalled her conversation. The smile faded. He had to find 
  Nicholas immediately.
  Nicholas was still moody and depressed, but he generally kept his promises. 
  LaCroix was livid. That one was driving him to distraction. Nicholas had 
  better have a damn good excuse this time.
  The loft was empty. LaCroix flew from room to room, looking for some sign of a 
  struggle, anything that could give him some idea of what had happened to his 
  precious child, but all was as it should be. Nicholas was simply not there. 
  The phone rang, startling him. He glared at it while it continued to make 
  noise and interrupt his ability to think. When the answering machine kicked 
  on, he was surprised to hear Tracy's voice. He lifted the receiver. 
  "Yes?" he snapped.
  "Uh, hello, Dad," she stammered nervously. "Is Nick there? Is he all right? I 
  just got in to work and Reese told me his dog is in the pound."
  LaCroix closed his eyes, striving to shut out the image of his son lying 
  injured in some obscure location. "No, Nicholas is not here. I don't know 
  where he is."
  "I'm coming right over. I'll stop and pick up Perry first. Don't touch 
  anything!"
  "I beg your pardon," LaCroix growled menacingly.
  "LaCroix, I mean it. I'm a cop, and I know what do to. Let me treat it like a 
  crime scene - I might find something."
  She could be right, he realized. He cleared his throat. "Do hurry." 
   
   
   
   
  Chapter seven:
  Nothing made sense! The child was too little to be a threat to anyone. Why had 
  he been a target? His wound was definitely behaving abnormally. It seemed to 
  be healing at an amazing rate, even though the child grew increasingly weaker. 
  Jarod felt a cold fear. Had the little boy been a test subject, as he had 
  been? He needed to know. If the child were being hunted by evil people, as 
  Jarod was, then taking him to a hospital would be a death sentence. 
  The child's condition had not improved all day. The wound was no longer 
  bleeding, but it seemed that his heartbeat was slowing down. He was so cold. 
  Jarod gave him another blanket but it didn't help. Jarod held him close then, 
  trying to warm the small body. Still, the boy seemed to be dying. 
  Jarod stared, tears filling his eyes. Poor little boy! Robbed of a chance to 
  live... it was so wrong. When he could not bare it another moment, he pulled 
  out his cell phone, pressing the number stored in memory. 
  After two rings, a quiet, gentle voice answered. "Hello?"
  Jarod clutched the phone, silent tears streaming down his face.
  "Hello?" the man's voice asked again, growing concerned.
  Jarod shifted wiping away a tear. He breathed deeply, unsure of himself, or of 
  why he called.
  "Is that you, Jarod?" Sydney asked. "Something's wrong. Tell me about it." 
  "He's, he's dying," Jarod whispered. His voice cracked. "I can't save him."
  Sydney nodded, a paternal smile of understanding on his face, even though his 
  eyes were sad and full of compassion. "And that makes you feel angry."
  "Why, Sydney?" he demanded. "Why does he have to die? He's only a little boy! 
  His life was stolen!"
  "Death is a part of life, Jarod," he began, hoping to comfort his surrogate 
  child from across the miles. "We are born, we live awhile, and then, then we 
  die. It is inevitable."
  "But he hasn't lived!" Jarod shouted. "I told you! They shot him! I treated 
  his wounds, but he's growing cold and he looks so pale. I don't know what to 
  do, Sydney! I can't fix this."
  "Who shot him, Jarod?"
  Jarod ignored the question. He knew better than to give Sydney any information 
  that could lead back to him. His feelings toward the elderly psychologist were 
  confused. Sydney had been with him for as long as he could remember, he was 
  the only father-figure he had, and yet, Sydney had used him for the Center's 
  evil games. And if Sydney ever caught up with him, he would imprison him 
  again. Still, Jarod loved him. And at times, he hated him for it.
  "I'm sorry," Sydney said then. "There is something you can do for the child. 
  When death is inevitable, we can ease the patient's suffering, to make the 
  journey as pleasant as possible. Put on soft music, light a scented candle. 
  Remain in contact with the patient, rub his back or forehead, sing to him, 
  talk to him, let him know that someone cares and will miss him. These are all 
  ways we comfort the dying."
  Jarod nodded, wiping away more tears. Then he simply hung up. Sydney pulled 
  the phone away from his ear and stared at it with that same gentle, knowing 
  smile. Jarod didn't hang up because he was rude, but simply because he had 
  never been taught the custom of saying good-bye. Sydney had been his teacher. 
  He had encouraged his intellect, and taught him how to be a pretender, but he 
  had never taught him the simple social graces.
  Jarod pulled out his laptop and logged on, searching for a music program. What 
  sort of music did one play for the dying? There were Requiem Masses, but they 
  seemed a little heavy for a child. The children's music was often silly and 
  mindless, but then he found a song that said it all. It was under a "Disney" 
  file, called "Stay Awake". He downloaded the song and set it to play 
  continuously.
  The scented candles weren't hard to find. Jarod had boxes of them donated to 
  him when he'd first opened the mission. Some were broken or damaged and the 
  gift shop had needed the tax write-off. Jarod lit a dozen of them. He breathed 
  in deeply, experiencing the mixed scents of melted paraffin, jasmine, 
  bayberry, lemon, and vanilla. Then he lay on the cot and pulled the small, 
  cold body into his arms and hugged him. 

   
  Natalie rubbed at the ache in her neck and groaned. What she wouldn't give to 
  be back in Toronto right now, sitting in Lucien's hot tub, and him rubbing 
  away all her tension. She smiled wistfully. With any luck, he would be 
  bringing Nick here soon. Luck? Hell, they needed a damn miracle.
  "Here, let me help," Luka offered quietly. 
  Before she could object, his strong hands were on her shoulders, massaging 
  with a firm, expert touch. "So tell me about Nicholas," he asked. "How did you 
  meet?"
  "Ah, that feels wonderful," she said, leaning her head forward and rolling her 
  shoulders. "I met him in the morgue, actually."
  "That sounds like an interesting story," Luka said.
  Natalie found herself relaxing for the first time in weeks since she'd 
  arrived. She told him how Nick had been "killed" as he tried to save some 
  people from a pipe bomb. When he'd awakened on her autopsy table, her life 
  changed forever. "He's so moody," she said, with a note of exasperation. "He's 
  like, still a knight, governed by the code of conduct that went out with the 
  Middle Ages. He is compassionate and caring, filled with self-doubt and a 
  sense of guilt that just won't quit. I used to fancy myself in love with him. 
  Now, I just love him, like a brother, or a son." 
  Luka was quiet, letting her speak, while he rubbed her shoulders, neck, and 
  forehead. "I met Zuhayr a few years ago," he said. I had been playing with my 
  daughters one afternoon, when I needed to run to the store. They asked to go 
  with me, they begged to go, but I told them "no". It was too dangerous. Our 
  land was racked by sniper fire and unrest. I left them home." 
  His voice trembled for a moment. Natalie felt the anxiety grow in her stomach 
  as she sensed what was yet to come. Luka wore the face of one who had suffered 
  a terrible loss. She knew, before he told her, that he would return from the 
  store to find his children dead, his wife buried, in the rubble and aftermath 
  of a mindless attack. 
  "I wanted to die," he said. "I had to die. My reason for living was no more. I 
  lay down in the rubble and I did not move for days. My neighbors, some of 
  them, tried to console me. They buried my children and my wife. Then, Zuhayr 
  came. He convinced me that I had to live, to honor the memory of my loved 
  ones."
  "Did you know then that he was a vampire?"
  Luka smiled shyly. "In my country, the old ones all believe in vampires. I 
  grew up on stories of the undead, the myths were as real to me as my lessons. 
  When I felt his cold hand, when I saw that he seldom breathed, and that he 
  could not go out in the daylight, I knew. I also knew better than to let him 
  know."
  "Do you think that this will work? Will we honestly be able to save Nick?" she 
  murmured.
  "I would not be here if it was hopeless," Luka replied. 

   
  Just after noon, Jarod had his young, mentally challenged assistant, Freddy 
  sit with the child, while he left once to get some supplies, which he took 
  from the city coroner's office. He considered leaving money behind to pay for 
  the items, but that would alert someone that the items had been taken. For 
  now, the missing things might go unnoticed for some time.
  He set up his makeshift lab quickly, drawing samples of the child's blood and 
  discovered that he was iron deficient and lacking in vitamins, but his blood 
  was also strange in other ways. It was missing white blood cells almost 
  entirely, and in their stead was a strange nucleotide he had never seen 
  before. Some one had been experimenting on this child! It was just too 
  horrible to imagine. 
  "I won't let them take you back," he promised the still small form. "You might 
  die here, but you won't suffer any more. I will do what I can for you. The 
  rest is up to you. If you want to fight, to come back, I will protect you. 
  Please fight. Come back! You don't want to die. You are too young to die!"
  The child stirred then and he awoke briefly. 
  Jarod laughed, wiping away his tears. "You're alive," he whispered in awe.
  The boy looked at him. "Hungry," he announced.
  "Of course you are," Jarod said happily. "I'll fix you something right away."
  Cody watched as the man opened a can of soup and heated it. It looked yummy, 
  but it didn't smell right. It was red and thick, but it made his stomach turn. 
  "No-no," he murmured.
  Jarod nodded. The boy would have to eat soon to get back his strength, but it 
  could wait a little while. The child was rubbing his eyes sleepily. He lay 
  back down and became so still that Jarod ran to feel his wrist for a pulse. It 
  was there, although it was slow. The child stirred, pulling his hand way.
  Jarod smiled. "Do you know who hurt you?" he asked, brushing at the wispy 
  blonde bangs.
  "Bad," the child whispered. "I want my Daddy!"
  The boy closed his eyes then and his chest rose with a deep breath. Jarod 
  hoped a corner had been turned, and the child would recover... Knowing sleep 
  was probably the best thing for him, Jarod turned on the baby monitor he 
  procured that morning and quietly slipped out. There was much yet to do before 
  he could serve today's soup.
   
   
  At four he opened his doors. Only a few homeless were hovering outside then, 
  but he knew more would come by later. He helped one old woman to a chair and 
  served her himself. 
  "'afta noon, Brother Jarod," she said, giving him a wide, toothless smile.
  "Good afternoon, Edie," he said pleasantly. Freddy, his young mentally 
  challenged assistant, was busy dishing the other guests, so Jarod pulled out a 
  chair and sat with her. "Tell me, Edie. What sort of things does a little boy 
  need?"
  She grinned at him. "Oh, you aren't so little, Brother Jarod!"
  Jarod blushed, uncomfortable at the way she was ogling him. He wasn't quite as 
  naïve as he had been four years ago, but he was certain he wouldn't want to 
  find out what was on her mind at the moment. "I mean for a little boy, about 
  this big," he said, holding his hand thirty-one inches off the floor. 
  "Well, why didn't you say so," she cackled. "A little one, huh? Somebody dump 
  him on your doorstep? Poor little guy. Don't let Social Services have him! You 
  hear? If you have to hide him here yourse'f, you do that!"
  Jarod just nodded, hoping she would be able to help him.
  The woman took several spoonfuls of soup and stuffed half a sandwich in her 
  mouth. He ignored the two sandwiches she tried to slip surreptitiously into 
  her pockets. His guests were welcome to take the sandwiches, or to come back 
  in a few hours and eat again, but nearly all of them felt the need to squirrel 
  food away in pockets, under hats, even inside their pants. Jarod blinked 
  rapidly. Although he had been raised without love, he had seldom ever felt 
  hunger, and then only as a punishment to coerce him into cooperating.
  "If he's young enough, he'll need diapers," she began. Jarod nodded, 
  indicating that this was so. 
  "Boys'll go through between six and ten diapers a day, so buy as many as you 
  need, depending on how often ya feel like going to the laundro-mat. Then 
  plastic overpanties, so a soggy diaper don't get you all wet. Overalls are 
  best for little kids, because their shirts stay tucked in better, and half a 
  dozen shirts. Being October, get 'em long sleeved. Socks, shoes, undershirts 
  if you can afford 'em, to be extry warm. And a jacket. That ought to do 'im 
  fine."
  "Thanks, Edie," he said, committing her list to memory. "May I listen to your 
  lungs after you've eaten?"
  She laughed heartily until she started coughing. "No, no, Brother Jarod. I'm 
  doin' jess fine now. You done me real good. I tells all my friends, Brother 
  Jarod is the best."
  Jarod excused himself and hurried into his bedroom. A quick check revealed 
  that the child was still sleeping soundly. He pulled out his cellphone and 
  dialed a large department store and began to place his order. He charged the 
  clothes to Mr. Parker's private credit card, figuring that with the birth of 
  his own son last fall, the bill would go unnoticed. 
  The department store clerk was very helpful and suggested a few other items as 
  well, when it became obvious that it was going to be a large order. "Do you 
  perhaps require a diaper bag? A child carrier? A car seat? Baby shampoo?" 
  Jarod listened to her describe each item and it's function carefully. He 
  ordered everything except the car seat. In this pretend, he didn't have a car. 

  "I will be sending someone to pick that up within the hour," he said, and 
  thanked her for her assistance before ending the call. "Thank you, Mr. 
  Parker," he added softly, a sly smile spreading across his face. It was 
  strangely satisfying to charge his expenses to the one man who had made his 
  life what it was. Mr. Parker had stolen him from his parents. Then he became 
  the quiet Glenmary missionary again, Brother Jarod, and wondered how long he 
  could maintain this identity now with the child to care for.
  The crowd was getting larger when Jarod emerged. Freddy was quietly dishing 
  soup. He grinned at Jarod as he continued to perform the simple task. 
  "Freddy," Jarod said. He had to lean closer to the young man's ear and speak 
  loudly to make himself heard. "I need you to run an errand for me."
  "Sure thing, Brother! Where?" 
  Jarod gave him careful directions three times and had him repeat them back to 
  him. Then, satisfied that Freddy wouldn't get too lost, he patted the young 
  man's shoulder and took over serving. 

   
  "Here's the things you asked for, Brother," Freddy said when he returned, 
  struggling with three large plastic sacks and a cardboard box. 
  "Thank you, Freddy." Jarod gave him a friendly smile. "Set them down over 
  there and I'll look through them after everyone has been served." He had to 
  repeat the instructions once more. It was always noisy at suppertime and 
  Freddy had a difficult time comprehending things. 
  "Bless you, Brother Jarod," an old woman said as he ladled today's hearty beef 
  and vegetable soup into her bowl. 
  "How's your hand, Lydia?" 
  She waggled three bandaged fingers at him. "Still there, Brother. I guess I 
  won't lose 'em this time."
  He nodded as the line of hungry moved her away from him. "Let me look at them 
  before you leave," he said. 
  A scuffling sound caught his attention. Jarod turned the volume up on the 
  monitor he had shoved in his pocket, but all was silent again. The small, 
  wounded boy slept on. The electronic baby monitor was so the boy wouldn't wake 
  up alone. Jarod wanted to be there for him. 
  He kept on smiling as he served the soup, although he felt like weeping for 
  them. He had served 72 people yesterday, young and old, men, women and even 
  children, and it looked like he would nearly double that today. He was not 
  going to be able to keep this up on his own. He would have to find help.
  The monitor alerted him to more sounds from his room. "Freddy, will you take 
  over here for a little while?" he asked. 
  The retarded man beamed. "Yes, sir, Brother Jarod. I can do that!"
  Jarod patted his arm encouragingly before he left. He lifted the plastic sacks 
  and hurried to his room.
  Cody was just sitting up. He stared at Jarod with wide blue eyes, his thumb 
  stuck firmly in his mouth. 
  "Good evening," Jarod said quietly. He hunched down on the floor until he was 
  eye level with the little boy. "Do you remember me?"
  The boy nodded his head solemnly.
  "Good. Then you know that I want to help you. I have some clothes here for 
  you. Let's see what they look like."
  He pulled the new clothes out of the sacks and awkwardly dressed the child. A 
  yellow and white striped shirt with a yellow collar, a pair of red corduroy 
  overalls, socks, white leather shoes with laces, and a bright red hooded 
  sweatshirt. When the child was all dressed, Jarod saw the six new undershirts 
  at the bottom of a sack. Well, maybe he wouldn't need one tonight. 
  The child sat quietly while Jarod dressed him, without offering any 
  assistance. "Where's Teddy?"
  "Teddy?" Jarod asked.
  The boy's eyes filled with tears. "Did he go bye-bye too?"
  Jarod thought quickly. There was only the bloodied toy bear with the child 
  when he found him. "The toy, is his name Teddy?"
  "My Teddy?" 
  "He's, um, having a bath," Jarod replied. "He was very dirty. What is your 
  name?"
  "Cody."
  "Cody what?"
  The boy shrugged. The thumb returned to his mouth. 
  "Why do you do that?" Jarod asked curiously. 
  "Ith gooth," Cody said around the soggy digit.
  Jarod pulled Cody's thumb out and looked at it closely. He let go and the 
  thumb returned. "I guess it might be a symbolic gesture, reminding you of the 
  comfort and safety of your mother's arms when she nursed you as an infant, but 
  I don't recall ever seeing someone suck like that before. How do you do it 
  while you sleep?"
  Cody shrugged, grinning around his thumb. The man was funny!
  "How about something to eat?" Jarod said, getting to his feet. Cody reached 
  out to him and Jarod lifted him easily. Cody clung to him. Jarod hesitated to 
  bring the small boy out into the main hall, but he couldn't ignore the others. 

  He was relieved to see that everyone had been served and they were all seated 
  and eating. Jarod found two chairs side by side and sat down in one. Cody 
  would not sit in the other, though. He chose to remain on Jarod's lap. Freddy 
  brought them each a bowl of soup, then he sat and joined them.
  The soup was filling. Jarod had learned to prepare food soon after his great 
  escape. He'd been a French Chef in one of his pretends, and a cook at a greasy 
  truck stop, too. Cooking for a crowd was so different, though. He started 
  early in the mornings just after his four a.m. walk, with stew beef and bones, 
  browning the beef, then simmering the bones for hours. Later he added onions, 
  potatoes, turnips and parsnips, then later still tomatoes and tomatoes and 
  tomatoes. Shortly before dinnertime, he added pounds of macaroni and some 
  seasonings. It was hot and filling and it didn't taste too bad, he thought to 
  himself. 
  Cody picked at his soup. Jarod hoped the child wasn't developing an infection. 
  He felt Cody's forehead, but it was still cool and dry. One of the guests 
  passed the plate of sandwiches along. Cody accepted a half a peanut butter 
  sandwich, but he didn't eat that either.
  "Don't worry about it," an old woman said, noticing Jarod's concern. "Kids 
  will eat when they are hungry."
  Jarod nodded. That was good to know. "Thanks." 
   
   
  Chapter eight:
  LaCroix stood when he felt them approach. The skylight opened and Tracy and 
  Perry soon stood before him. LaCroix glared at the carouche. 
  "What do you know about this!"
  Perry cowered, shrinking back before the ancient's rage. 
  "LaCroix, stop," Tracy pleaded. "Let's figure out what happened and lay the 
  blame later!"
  Perry wagged his tail once, in a hopeful gesture. LaCroix turned away, 
  effectively dismissing him. The carouche, temporarily pardoned, bounded for 
  the lift door. They had to go down to the street to search for the vampire. He 
  knew Nick wasn't in the loft any more.
  Tracy had different ideas. She tried to replay last night as she spoke aloud. 
  "Nick and Vachon went out dancing..."
  Perry woofed impatiently.
  "Did anything strange happen there? Anybody confront Nick?"
  No. It was a pretty strange club to begin with, filled with weirdoes, but no, 
  nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He paced restlessly while she 
  talked. Some of her questions seemed irrelevant, but then somewhere along the 
  line she started to make sense.
  "There is no sign of a struggle," she said.
  "I figured that out some time ago," LaCroix snapped angrily.
  "So for some reason Nick went out on his own. He wouldn't have gone out the 
  skylight, so we'll go downstairs."
  Perry yipped excitedly.
  "Stay with us," Tracy commanded. "You are not to run off on your own to search 
  for him. We need to stick together until we know what happened!"
  At the door, Tracy knelt down. She pointed to the stick that still kept the 
  door from latching. "This is the stupidest trick," she remarked. "A juvenile 
  stunt, which wouldn't have worked on anyone but a blind man."
  Then she went into the street. LaCroix followed her. He didn't see anything 
  unusual, but she did. She searched the area and found the broken bottle, which 
  he would have ignored. Street trash seldom interested him. She pointed out 
  that it was green glass and blood. Nick must have dropped it. 
  LaCroix examined the glass and Perry sniffed at it. It was mostly dried now; 
  it must have been here all through the day. Perry pawed one of the bigger 
  pieces and whined. LaCroix lifted it gingerly. "Not all cow blood, I'm 
  afraid," he said then.
  "What do you mean?" 
  "This smells of Nicholas."
  Tracy pulled out an evidence bag from her pocket and held it open for him. "I 
  wish Nat was here to check it," she began.
  LaCroix glared at her disdainfully. 
  "I trust you're right," she said. "But, maybe we should get the police to help 
  this time. And they'll want evidence."
  "No police," LaCroix snapped.
  Tracy ignored him for a moment. She examined another puddle of blood a few 
  feet away from the spilled cow. She followed the stains to the sidewalk, to a 
  doorway, and then they stopped. She retraced her steps and spotted something 
  on the curb. Pulling another evidence bag, she picked it up. 
  "This was done by amateurs," she said. "Look at this." She held out the 
  evidence bag. In it was an empty shell casing. "Someone tried to shoot Nick, 
  and probably stuffed him in the trunk of a car to dispose of the body. It 
  looks like there might have been two of them, and they had a disagreement. A 
  mortal was shot, and he crawled to that doorway. So, the cops could help speed 
  this investigation. There's an injured partner out here somewhere, and he's 
  the fastest way to find Nick."
  "Very well," LaCroix said. Although bullet wounds were nothing to vampires, he 
  knew that in his son's present condition, it was far more serious. Somewhere 
  his child was hurting and there was nothing he could do. "Call them. I will 
  see to the coroner, that he identifies the sample as Nicholas's."
  Tracy took her cellphone and contacted Captain Reese. She briefly told him 
  what she'd discovered. 
  "Oh no," he breathed. "I'll send a team out now to help with the 
  investigation." 

   
  Nick sat up suddenly. Something was chewing on his hair! He swayed, nauseated 
  and dizzy, pain shooting through him in too many places. He cried out. The 
  furry creature squeaked and scurried away. 
  It was dark. Nick couldn't see a thing. He rubbed at his eyes, but that made 
  him gasp again. A large swollen lump covered much of his forehead, dried blood 
  crusted on the side of his face. What had happened to him? Where was he? He 
  tried to think, but that hurt, too. He hurt. And he couldn't remember 
anything.
  Tentatively, he felt around, discovering what he could. Short wavy hair, cut 
  above the ears but longer on top, and stubbled whiskers. The stubble felt 
  familiar. He didn't think he wore a beard, but maybe he didn't shave 
  regularly. Was he a vagrant? 
  There was that large, painful bump on his forehead. Briefly he remembered 
  hitting it against a brick wall. Forcefully, again and again, he felt the 
  brick slam into him in his memories. Had someone thrown him? Why?
  The blindness felt wrong. It wasn't familiar. He felt lost and alone. This 
  must be temporary, probably a result of the blow to his head. Perhaps his 
  sight would return soon, along with his memory?
  Next he felt the pain in his chest. There was a hole in his shirtfront and the 
  fabric was stiff. Beneath there was tender skin. He had been injured there, 
  but it was already beginning to heal. Was the stiffness in the fabric his own 
  blood? How long had he been running?
  He continued further. There was nothing in his pockets. No wallet containing a 
  driver's license... He was crestfallen. A driver's license would have 
  confirmed his hope that this blindness was temporary. Also, he had no money, 
  no ID, and no thoughts about where to go from here.
  Continuing his inventory, he patted his trousers. The fabric was torn. Again 
  he found a hole in the fabric, stiff with blood, only the wound was still open 
  and oozing. There was not an exit wound, either. The bullet must still be 
  inside. He would need to find help soon. The other leg was cut as well, a gash 
  that was long and jagged, a deep cut of unknown origin. 
  Again the sense of urgency swept over him. Something was wrong. Why did he 
  have to run and hide? Why was someone shooting at him? Could he be wanted by 
  the police?
  Cold fear slapped him. Maybe he was a criminal? A murderer perhaps? He didn't 
  feel like one now. He should remember if he had been a killer, but the feeling 
  of guilt was familiar. Nick had a sinking feeling. He must avoid police and 
  public figures, at least for now. That it was night now, Nick did not doubt, 
  nor did he question how he knew. He only knew that he had to get out of here. 

   
  Captain Reese rubbed his forehead. It was all happening. He had worried about 
  Nick coming back on the force. It was no place for a disabled man! But this 
  was weird. Who was after him? 
  Natalie's replacement had called and confirmed that some of the blood at the 
  crime scene was Nick's. Until then, he had been hoping that there was a simple 
  explanation for everything. That Nick had simply gone out with a friend and, 
  neglecting to tell anyone, lost track of the time. Now with a shell casing and 
  blood samples, it really looked like he was the victim of a crime. 
  They could still hope to hear from the perpetrators, if this was a kidnapping, 
  but Reese wasn't holding his breath. 
  They had brought in Nick's father, his girlfriend Urs, and then his girlfriend 
  Janette for questioning. Both women had been out of town, but returned 
  recently. Reese shook his head at that one. The bullpen scuttle had called his 
  detective the "ice prince" for years, claiming that he didn't have a sex life, 
  and now he had two gorgeous women drooling over him! They seemed to know each 
  other too, and take that in stride. It was weird. But no weirder than his 
  father. That man could scare the scowl off a jack-o-lantern. Much later Tracy 
  was questioning her boyfriend, the longhaired Spaniard who had played in the 
  band at the Policeman's Ball last Christmas. Reese went to listen in on the 
  questioning.
  Vachon had been the last person to see Nick. They had gone out bar hopping 
  together, and Vachon left him at the door to his loft around 5:45 AM. That was 
  barely half an hour before Animal Control picked up his guide dog Perry. 
  Vachon seemed innocent though. He was a good friend of Nick's and it was clear 
  that he was worried about him.
  "Do you think this has anything to do with Chicago?" Vachon asked, when Tracy 
  had thanked him for coming in.
  Reese scowled. "You mean, when your boat was blown up? Didn't they ever catch 
  that guy?"
  Vachon shook his head, although he looked embarrassed. He had addressed his 
  question to Tracy and clearly forgot Reese was in the room.
  "Then that's as good a place to start as any. Tracy, call Chicago and get a 
  list of suspects. Let's see what they've come up with."
  The list was inconclusive, though. Chicago PD had pulled a list of all the 
  perpetrators Nick's "real" dad, Nicholas Knight Sr., had ever sent to prison. 
  They too felt that since this crime seemed targeted at Nick specifically, then 
  it must be someone with a grudge. They'd ruled out some perps because they 
  were either dead or back in prison, but the final list they faxed to Tracy 
  still had more than forty names on it. Tracy chewed off a thumbnail as she 
  read the first file. This was going to take time, while her brother was out 
  there somewhere, bleeding and weak and hungry. It was so damned frustrating!
   
   
  Chapter nine:
  Jarod scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hand. Cody had sat on the 
  kitchen counter all the time he was washing up dishes and putting things away, 
  but then the boy grew tired again. Jarod put him to bed and turned on the baby 
  monitor. No one was sleeping here yet, but it would be a few hours before they 
  started to drift in, and then only if the temperature dropped. The homeless 
  with whom he had talked seemed to prefer to sleep outside beneath what ever 
  starlight managed to filter down through the lights of the city. Jarod wanted 
  to check out the street where he'd found Cody to see if anyone was looking for 
  him. 
  First he asked Freddy to sit in his room and watch Cody while he slept, then 
  bracing himself against the strong wind, Jarod stepped outside. He wondered if 
  brothers were allowed to wear warmer trousers underneath their cassocks? It 
  was definitely getting colder.
  When he returned to Gateway Lane there was a commotion in the street. Several 
  squad cars, their lights flashing, had blocked off the road. Yellow tape 
  marked the area where Jarod had found the boy early this morning. Someone was 
  looking for him! Jarod slipped back into the shadows unnoticed. 
  He stared, taking note of the people involved. Later he would use his skills 
  to discover who they were and what connection they had to the boy. There was a 
  young blonde woman with a professional manner. She seemed to be in charge. 
  There were several police officers, and a tall man with short-cropped white 
  hair. He was dressed all in black and had an imperious air about him. He 
  snapped with barely concealed rage when any officer dared to speak to him. He 
  was Jarod's prime suspect at the moment. Jarod felt the hair on his neck 
  tingle as he followed him with his eyes. That man was dangerous. 
  Jarod slipped back into the shadows. He would take a circuitous way home to 
  make certain he wasn't being followed and thought about the mystery and the 
  people involved. If there were a sensible explanation for any of this, then it 
  would be on the news. Jarod would need to find a place to watch television. If 
  there were no mention of the missing boy or the shooting accident, then Jarod 
  would know that the people's intentions were not honorable.
  Jarod was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't see a man step out in 
  front of him. They collided; the other went down with a cry of pain. The 
  fallen man rolled away and half sat up against the wall, swinging a section of 
  lead pipe menacingly.
  "Excuse me," Jarod apologized. "Are you all right?"
  The man was gasping, obviously in a great deal of pain, yet he held the pipe 
  firmly. "Who are you!" he demanded.
  Jarod knelt down slowly, keeping just out of reach of the pipe. "You are hurt. 
  I can help you," he said kindly. "I am Brother Jarod."
  The man shrank back. He nearly dropped his pipe as fresh blood soaked through 
  his stained shirt. He must have reopened a wound. "How do I know you're 
  speaking the truth," the man demanded.
  Jarod was momentarily at a loss for words. The brown cassock was usually a 
  give-away. No one ever questioned him. Then he realized that the man was 
  blind, as he reached out with one hand, the other still clutching the 
  potentially lethal weapon.
  Jarod slowly moved a little closer and kept his voice soft and gentle. With 
  such injuries, the man would not survive the night without help. "I have a 
  mission not far from here. Come with me. I will tend your wounds and give you 
  a safe place to rest."
  The man felt the coarse fabric of his cassock and the rope belt. Then he 
  blinked back tears as his pain and fear nearly overwhelmed him. He lowered the 
  pipe to the ground. "Forgive me, Brother. I didn't know," he whispered. 
  "May I take you to a hospital?" Jarod asked, already doubting the man would 
  let him. Many of the homeless he had met had a profound distrust of anyone in 
  a profession. 
  "No! 
  "Then you are coming with me," Jarod said. 
  The man nodded. Jarod took his hand and helped him to his feet. "What are you 
  doing out here all alone?" he asked.
  Nick staggered, nearly falling. Jarod put both arms around him to support him. 
  He still held the pipe, using it as a cane. "I don't know," he whispered.
  Jarod shook his head. Being a brother was a lot of work.
  At the shelter he led the man to the room opposite his bedroom. It was the 
  only room in the shelter that he kept locked. It had a cot and more bedding, 
  and a cabinet where he stored medicines and supplies. Carefully he helped the 
  wounded man onto the cot. 
  Nick sat down gingerly; each breath was painful. He was a little alarmed to 
  discover that he could hold his breath so long without passing out, but since 
  it felt better to do so he continued. He heard the brother pull up a chair.
  Jarod flashed his light in Nick's eyes. There was no reaction at all. Then he 
  lightly lifted the wild blonde hair to examine the large bruise. "There is a 
  lot of dirt and gravel in the cut at the center of this bruise. It will be 
  painful, but I will need to clean it," Jarod said.
  "Do it."
  "What is your name?" Jarod asked conversationally, as he filled a basin with 
  water and brought a washcloth, towels, and soap. 
  Nick shrugged. "I, I don't remember." 
  Jarod gently washed the dirt from the man's forehead. He would need to call 
  him something, and if this man was being hunted by the same people, then Jarod 
  had better find out who they were quickly. Hiding two people would be harder 
  than one. 
  "This lump on your forehead could be why you can't remember," Jarod said 
  gently. "Memory is stored in the frontal lobes. This isn't a severe injury 
  though, so it should all come back to you."
  "When!" There was a desperate sound to his voice.
  "I don't know," Jarod replied. "Maybe a few hours, maybe days."
  "What about my eyesight," Nick whispered. "Could it be from the same injury?"
  Jarod saw the terrified look again, before the man struggled to conceal his 
  true feelings. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to wake up scared and 
  blind, knowing someone was after him, someone wanted to kill him, and not 
  remember why. "I'm sorry, sir," Jarod said, touching his arm compassionately. 
  "I'm afraid that you were blind before this injury. Check out your watch."
   
  The man touched his left wrist and found a watch there. Without even thinking, 
  he opened the crystal and felt the sturdy raised hands. It was nearly nine 
  p.m. "Damn," he cursed.
  "Your shirt is ruined. Have you been shot!" Jarod exclaimed, as he began to 
  cut away the shreds of the man's ruined shirt. 
  Nick felt his chest, felt blood on his fingers. "I don't remember. I woke up, 
  and there was a big accident, and I crawled into the shadows and hid. I was 
  afraid. I think... I think someone is after me."
  Jarod stared at him. He was very familiar looking. He had the same blue eyes 
  and blonde hair as Cody. It was too bizarre that there would be two people, 
  terrified for their very lives, with similar bul