All right, here goes my attempt at an FK Christmas tale, late I know,
but it kind of took on a life of its own. I was expecting 3-4 parts,
HA! I should have known my muses would never be so predictable! 

Hopefully, everyone will excuse its tardiness in exchange for its
originality. It's a little unusual, especially for a X-mas story, no
elves, no Santa, very little Nick. But it -does- have lots of Tracy
and lots of Lacroix, time travel and the occult. What else could you
possibly want?! <eg> I'm putting it under an adult header (wow, my
first 'adult' story!) because of some adult language, a couple of
fight scenes and one rather steamy love scene. An R rating I think, if
that bothers you, delete now.

This story has no real place in the FK time line, other than being in
season three that is. Basically Lacroix hasn't shown much interest in,
or even seen Nick's new partner. HF, AtA and LK haven't and won't
happen, and by part four of this story I throw even that questionable
time line out and throw it all back into 19th century England
so…prepare yourselves for weirdness. Special thanks to my two
wonderful beta readers Ren and Shana, for putting up with me and my
attempts at humor, fixing my spelling and historical misconceptions,
stroking my ego when I needed it and kicking my butt when I slacked
off. Thanks guys! 

Legal stuff: Forever Knight and its cast o' crazies are owned by
people who are not me. This story was written for free and I will
except no money for it…heaps of praise and a medal are all I want, and
maybe a nice marble statue in my honor <eg> Any Dark Perks or CERK
Perks have my permission to archive this where ever their little
twisted hearts desire, Mel can archive it at www.fkfanfic.com too, all
others please ask. Now on with the show…Enjoy!

'Tis the Season (1/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

"Oh dammit to hell," Tracy groaned as she read the innocent looking
memo sitting in the center of her desk. 

"Careful Tracy, Santa's watching." Nick smiled and glanced up from the
Dickens report as his usually cheerful partner let loose a string of
curses that would have made Dennis Leary blush. He knew what she was
looking at, 81 kilo had been given the unenviable assignment of
working Christmas Eve, Day -and- New Years. 

"Santa can go screw an elf." She mumbled, slamming her desk drawer
open and grabbing her bottle of Tylenol. She glared at her partner,
he'd probably volunteered them to work again, Nick had told her
earlier that month that they should work, since they didn't have any
family like the rest of the precinct. She wouldn't put it past him,
after all, that's how she'd ended up working Halloween, and
Thanksgiving before that! "An elf and the reindeer he rode in on."

Nick raised an eyebrow at that and was about to comment when Reese
stalked up to their desks. 

"Knight, Vetter, got one for ya," The Captain looked down at his two
best detectives and grimaced. Tracy looked like she was about ready
strangle her partner, and judging by the pile of paperwork on her
desk, and the relative emptiness of Nick's, he was pretty sure he'd
call it justified. Looks like he'd have to have another 'chat' with
Knight about respecting his partner. 

Reese shook his head, but that would have to wait, they had more
pressing business now. "Twelfth and Tanenbalm, cleaning lady just
called it in, and sounds like it ain't a pretty one, been there
awhile."

"Great," Tracy griped, yanking at the child-proof cap with all her
strength, "Just the thing to get me in that 'Christmas Spirit.'" 

Nick took the bottle from her and easily popped the lid before handing
it back and turning to Reese. "We're on our way." And with that he
headed out the door, not even checking to make sure Tracy was
following.

Tracy glared at her partner's back, then at the now open bottle. She
quickly downed three tablets with what was left of her luke warm
coffee and made to follow him. 

Reese put a restraining arm on her shoulder and pulled her to a stop.
He stood there a moment, looking like he was going to say something,
but then shook his head and seemed to change his mind, "You get the
Donor write-up done?" 

Tracy nodded. "Yeah, top of the pile next to the key board," She
turned back as if to grab it for him.

"That's alright, I'll find it." Reese nodded, "And Trace-"

"Yeah Cap?" Tracy pulled on her coat and waited.

"Don't let Knight or anyone else push you around," Reese paused,
"You've got just as much right to that shield as anyone else, and
you've more than proven it in your time here."

For the first time in weeks a genuine smile curved Tracy's lips,
"Thanks Cap, I needed that."

"And I mean it. Now," Reese smiled back at her, "Go catch me some bad
guys."

Tracy nodded and gave a small salute, "Yes sir!"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

By the time Nick and Tracy were about half way to their destination,
Tracy's mood had again soured. She'd tried to talk to Nick but he'd
pretty much ignored her, deciding instead to listen to that creepy
Nightcrawler guy. 'What is it with Nick and that guy?' she thought
bitterly, her suspicious mind acting overtime, 'Is he the president of
his fan club or what?'

Tonight's topic was 'Family, Love and Tradition.' It usually was
lately, or some variation of it Tracy had noticed. 'Seems ol' Worm-
boy's got the holiday blahs too,' She smirked as the DJ launched into
yet another tirade about the hypocrisy of the season. A small laugh
bubbled past her lips as he made a rather spiteful comment about how
naughty children should be thankful for the coal.

Nick shot her a glare.

Tracy glared back. What, she wasn't supposed to even listen to him
now? Well, Nick's private obsession was no business of hers. One thing
their partnership had taught her was that everyone had secrets,
especially Nick, and sometimes you should just stay out of it. It had
taken her months to figure Nick's big secret out. Months of tiny
slips, paperwork, and research into Nick's past. Eventually it had
been a report on the Morris case that had given him away, 'Uses blood
as a paint thickener my ass!' She thought. 

Nick snapped off the radio as they turned down Twelfth.

Tracy just looked out the window at the darkened storefronts and
closed cafes. "There's just something morally wrong about a closed
Buckstars." She commented wryly.

Nick just shrugged, apparently not appreciating her coffee humor. 

Tracy sighed. Well, when had they ever been on the same page anyway?
When she'd finally figured him out, well, she'd felt like she'd been
kicked in the stomach. At first she'd been angrier than hell, wanted
to confront him. Then, before she'd really had a chance to do anything
about it, that feeling had seeped out of her and some sort of cold
acceptance had settled in its place. She could deal with it. She could
live with the secrets and lies if she had to. After all, she let her
father get away with lying about Bruce, Vachon with pretty much
everything, why not Nick? Nick was a damn good cop, he got cases
solved, and in the end that's all that mattered, right? 

As soon as Nick pulled the Caddy up to the crime scene, Tracy climbed
out, and stepped right into a large oily mud puddle, "Oh dammit!" The
blonde cursed as she felt the icy water slosh over the top of her new
suede half boots. "Bad enough I have to work every holiday between now
and kingdom come, but on top of that I have to go and ruin yet another
pair of shoes. Happens every time mother…" She trailed off, continuing
to swear under her breath as she stomped up onto the curb. 

A uniformed officer stared at her with undisguised shock as Tracy
finished up questioning the parentage of Kris Kringle. "Uh,
Detective?"

"Yeah?" Tracy answered distractedly as she squished her boot against
the cement, watching dark water ooze out. 

"I was wondering if maybe I could knock off early? We're almost done
here anyway and with only three days 'til Christmas and all, and I got
kids unlike you and Detective Knight…"

Tracy glared up and opened her mouth to tell him a little something
about duty, procedure and shouldn't they at least see if they'd need
him inside tonight before letting him book off, when Nick came up
beside her and said, "Yeah Tim, go ahead, we'll cover for you."

The Officer's face lit up, "Thanks, I figured you would, no family and
all." The man quickly headed for his car before they could change
their minds.

Nick smiled absently, oblivious as always to Tracy's thoughts, and
headed inside.

Tracy grimaced, stopping herself just in time from making an obscene
gesture at her partner's retreating back. She looked up at the
storefront, 'The Black Unicorn' one of those metaphysical new-agey
bookstores the tofu crowd liked to frequent. 

But then she noticed this particular one was sort of scary. The
brickwork that made up the outer walls was crumbling and stained, the
name and unicorn logo painted on the frosted window were slightly off
in some way. And the beast seemed to be glaring at you no matter where
you stood. Someone -had- tried to dress the place up a bit for the
holidays by stringing a few strands of colored lights around the edge
of the window, but the red and green blinking lights just seemed to
make it worse. Tracy looked for a moment, then mumbled, "Bah Humbug." 

The second Tracy entered the crime scene du jour, she knew something
was wrong. It was more than the over powering stench of death
effecting her, it was something far less tangible. She frowned and
moved into the circle of crime lights where Nick and Natalie crouched
over the body.

"Well somebody's going on Santa's naughty list," she heard Nat crack,
"Stabbed, looks like, eight, nine, ten times, something sharp,
probably a butcher knife. Bag and tag her boys!"

Tracy gave the body a courtesy glance as Nat's assistants zipped up
the three day-old corpse, making sure there were no obvious 'other
signs' on the body. 'Nat seems to have this problem with seeing fang
marks,' She thought sharply, 'Nothing like a ME with no problem
covering up vampire murders. Of course I'm guilty on that count too
aren't I?' If it were possible Tracy's mood soured even more. 

She walked over to Nick as he dismissed yet another uniform and waved
Nat and hers off. "So partner, you planning on it just being the two
of us? Planning on trying something are ya?" Tracy asked, her
annoyance coming through loud and clear.

"What?" Nick looked at her with confusion, "I just figured we could
handle this by ourselves, and no I'm not planning on having my wicked
way with you." He teased her with one eyebrow raised lasciviously. 

"Hrumph, your loss," She said tartly, moving to look at the stained
area where moments before one Merribelle North, the 23 year-old clerk
and victim, had lain. The shop had been closed for the past weekend,
apparently the co-ed had been killed Friday sometime after closing and
had just been found tonight by Rita Jinglemaker, the cleaning lady.

Finally Nick caught on that his partner was not 'Fa-la-la'ing her way
through the holiday season. "Uh, Trace? Something bothering you?"

Tracy looked up with an 'oh -now- you want to talk' look on her face,
"Nothing a little eggnog and a baseball bat couldn't fix," Ah sweet
sarcasm, truly man's greatest gift. She snapped on a pair of latex
gloves. 

Perplexed, Nick followed Tracy as she moved through the small two-
roomed shop. "Is it…your boyfriend?"

Tracy stopped cold in her tracks and stifled a laugh, "No, it isn't
Vachon, and he isn't my boyfriend." She moved on into the back of the
shop to a small kitchen and storeroom. She pulled open the
refrigerator and pulled out a half bottle of smoked oysters marked
'July.' She wisely decided not to open them.

Nick frowned as she so easily dropped the Spanish vampire's name,
she'd never done that before. "Your father then?" He tried again.

With a small exasperated noise Tracy stood and slammed the already
printed appliance shut, the image of her father sunning himself with
his secretary in the Bahamas this Christmas flashed before her, she
frowned, "What is it with this sudden interest in my personal life?"

"I," Nick's brows furrowed, "Nothing, we're partners and…"

"Well, maybe we should talk about -your- father then," Tracy knew
she'd just overstepped her bounds when Nick's face went suddenly
blank, and even as she mentally kicked herself for it she went ahead
and made it worse, "How is Herr Nightcrawler this Yuletide?"

Nick's face went from blank to out and out mad, pretty much confirming
Tracy's stab in the dark suspicion, "Look Trace, I don't know what you
think you know but-"

"Oh more than I want to, believe me," Tracy crabbed, "Let's just drop
it alright? Wouldn't want to actually get to know each other or
anything, we might bond." 

Nick grabbed her arm and turned her roughly to face him, "Tracy you'd
better stop looking into my affairs you-"

She cut him off, "Won't like what I find?" She arched a brow, "Too
late for that partner, and I'm done looking, I didn't like it and I
know all I need."

Nick dropped her arm and just stared at her, "And what are you going
to do?" 

His voice was cold, distant, but Tracy thought she could hear an
underlying threat. 'Oh, so if I compromise you it's snacky-time is
it?' Tracy thought, well, not like she hadn't heard the same thing
from Vachon and Screed countless times, and she decided to deal with
it the same way she dealt with every other vampire in her life. If she
found out he was hunting she'd take care of him, but until then she'd
just let him be. "Nothing." 

"Nothing?" Nick echoed, again trailing her as she made her way back
into the main room of the shop, switching off the crime lights and
making sure all the little plastic baggies of evidence had been taken
in by forensics.

"Look Nick," She turned, facing him full on probably for the first
time since she'd found out the truth several weeks ago, "I'm fine with
it, and as long as you don't do anything…illegal," She fingered her
badge through her coat pocket, "I'll be fine with it."

Nick couldn't stop himself from asking, "And if I don't?"

Tracy didn't say anything, she just turned on her heels and marched
out of the shop, effectively ending that dangerous conversation. 

>>>>>>>>>>

Holiday blahs got you down? Suggestion number 1228 in the Saint Nick
files: call up a pet store and ask if they give refunds if you forget
to cut air holes in the box… <eg> Send all comments (about the story,
not the joke) to anteros@juno.com

See disclaimers in part one, see 34 different reruns of 'It's a
Wonderful Life' between now and the 25th on channel 56!

'Tis the Season (2/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the precinct, not a
creature was stirring 'cause they wanted to stick me with the
paperwork." Tracy was talking to herself once again. It was a bad
habit, she knew it, but somehow she couldn't seem to curb it.
"Repression will do that to you," She mumbled under her breath. She'd
been walking on eggshells around Nick for the past two days, carefully
avoiding any mention of their conversation at the Black Unicorn, which
was difficult because it was now their number one case.

Just then Reese, Nat and Nick came wandering into the bullpen,
laughing and joking in a way she was rarely included in. When Nick saw
her he stopped abruptly, though the Captain and Nat continued right on
talking. 

'Nice to know he doesn't tell Nat much of anything either,' Tracy
silently commented, out loud she asked, "Anything new on the North
case?"

Reese went from jovial to all business in one second flat, kind of
impressive really. "Still can't get a hold on the owner of the shop,
some guy named Robert Crotchet."

Tracy racked a hand through her already mussed hair, "I found
Merribelle's roommate, Kathy Gibson. She's in Vancouver with her
family for the holidays, but I called her and she said Crotchet and
Merribelle had dated, but broke up last month. Said they were real
intense, had kind of the whole soap opera love-hate thing going for
them."

"Got a look at the report," Reese shook his jowled head, "Place sounds
creeped out to me. More devil worship than anything else, poison,
books on human sacrifice, maybe Merribelle just decided she didn't
want to play any of his reindeer games anymore and he lost it."

"Well," Nat chimed in, "I can tell you Merribelle was likely taken
completely by surprise, no marks at all to show she defended herself.
Who ever did it though was pretty clumsy, missed the heart by a mile,
most of the vitals too, it was blood loss that got her." 

Through this Nick stood stoically to one side, "We'll find him."

"If it was him," Tracy commented, "I mean, she was still working there
even after the break up, if she'd felt threatened chances are she
would have left. Could have been someone else."

The assembled gave her a strange look, "Most devil worshippers are
very nice people, pretty much hedonists, but nice. And besides, looks
like Crotchet is more just an occult scholar than anything else, plus
that was Merribelle's major in school, folklore and the occult." Tracy
defended herself.

The looks got stranger.

"Look, I'm not saying I think he's innocent, just that we can't close
the book on him solely on the basis of his religious beliefs." Tracy
finished hotly, not too happy about defending their most likely
suspect but wanting to make sure they were going after him for the
right reasons. 

"Right," Reese shook his head again, "Let's try and keep an open mind,
could be anyone. But I want this one closed nice and tight and wrapped
up in a bow sitting on my desk by New Year's people." Then, with that
last Yuletide wish, the captain walked off to his office and shut the
door.

Nat turned her eyes on Tracy and raised a brow, "So when you'd get so
interested in the occult." Her tone adding 'as if I didn't know.'

Tracy forced a smile and thought, 'Nice that the Coroner knows about
my ties to vampires, it'll make it so much easier to cover up if they
kill me.' She sighed, "You know me, just chalk full of useless
information," she let her eyes flick over her partner before returning
to the report on her desk.

Nat shot Nick an amused look, completely oblivious to the
undercurrents between the two. "Well, I think I've been dismissed, see
ya later Nick," She moved to kiss him on the cheek but his sudden
scowl stopped her. Nat frowned herself and headed back to the morgue
in a much less festive mood. 

"What was that about?" Nick asked as he took his seat across from
Tracy.

Tracy looked up, "There is supposed to be another employee, another
clerk named Jacob Marcel, we can't find him either. Can't rule him
out."

Nick nodded, he'd already heard about Marcel, college sophomore and
part time seasonal worker for the holiday rush, "That's not what I'm
talking about and you know it," he hissed.

Tracy arched a brow and moved a stack of files from her desk to
Nick's. "This is your share." 

"Tracy," Nick almost growled her name, "We have to talk."

"Talking won't change anything, we can work with this, we have for the
past year after all." Tracy stood suddenly, "I'm going to go back over
to the Unicorn, see if we missed anything." 

Nick frowned, "We've been over that place a dozen times Trace, sit
down."

Tracy pulled on her long leather duster, "Just a drive then, to clear
my head." She didn't add that she wanted to get away from him for
awhile, she didn't need to, they both knew it.

"Fine." Nick said flatly, opening the top file and staring down at it
unseeingly.

"Fine," Tracy echoed, and headed for her car.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

As Tracy was letting her car warm up she rummaged through her glove
compartment looking for her other bottle of Tylenol, "Like I'd
actually put it in there," She griped, "I'd actually be able to -find-
it if I did."

"Talking to yourself Trace?" Came an amused voice from her left.

She paused briefly to wonder how he'd opened her car door without her
hearing, then continued to dig through the out-of-date maps, receipts
and chocolate wrappers that filled her glove box. 

"Talking to yourself but not to me." Vachon commented, laughter
filling his voice.

"Where've you been?" Tracy gave up and slammed the box shut, "Haven't
seen you in two weeks."

Vachon frowned, "I've been gone three."

Tracy smiled slightly, "Wanted me to count the days did you?"

Vachon blinked at her and closed the car door.

Tracy waited as he walked around and climbed into the passenger's
side. An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

Tracy looked at his profile a moment, he still didn't know she'd found
out about Nick, caught them both in a lie, he'd been gone when she'd
found out. 'Good thing he was, probably would've staked him,' she
thought with a small giggle.

"What's so funny?" He turned those big brown eyes on her.

Tracy shrugged, "Nothing." 

Vachon waited, she usually would talk just to fill the silence but
this time she seemed content to just sit there and watch the
temperature rise on her dashboard. "So…" He trailed off.

"So…" She echoed with a smile, "Where'd you go?" 

Vachon blinked at her, she wasn't pushing, or demanding like he
expected her to. No, she actually just seemed to be making
conversation. "Here and there," He shrugged.

"Ah," She nodded sagely, a quirky smile tilting her lips, "Lovely
weather there this time of year." 

"Aren't you curious?" Vachon asked, and was startled that it sounded
like whining, even to him. 

Tracy paused and looked at him, "I figured you'd tell me if you wanted
to, one thing I've learned is you usually don't tell me anything
unless you want me to know." 

Vachon frowned, then shrugged and smiled, "I was in Phoenix, brought
you something in fact."

Tracy smiled at his eagerness, he looked a lot more like 5 than 500.
"Oh?" She arched a brow, "If it's a rattle snake, I don't want it."

Mock horror filled his face, "How'd you know?!" He smiled, "No, close
your eyes."

Tracy frowned, "What?"

"Don't you trust me?" Vachon smiled.

The obvious response to that was 'Hell no!' but that answer was not
exactly diplomatic, she shut her eyes. She might have felt a bit more
charitable if she hadn't known from Screed that Vachon had been with
Urs for the last couple weeks, but on the other hand, maybe she
wouldn't. 

Suddenly she felt Vachon's cold hands on her throat, she jumped and
her eyes flew open. 

"Whoa Trace, calm down!" Vachon smiled at her.

A second later Tracy realized he was fastening a necklace and managed
to stop herself from screaming for the SWAT team. She closed her eyes
again, not really wanting him to see just how much she didn't trust
him.

"There," Vachon announced when he'd finished, "Open your eyes and
look."

Tracy did, then angled her rear view mirror to take a look. It was a
beautiful turquoise and silver choker. "It's lovely, did Urs pick it
out?"

Shock flashed across his face, then guilt, finally his usual blank
expression and a blink, "What? No, Urs wasn't with me."

'Lie number 178 for the Vachon files,' Tracy thought with a sad smile,
"It's a wonderful present Vachon," She leaned forward and kissed his
cheek, "Thank you."

He frowned, "Heading home?"

"No," Tracy shook her head, "To a crime scene, nothing that would
interest you though." She mimicked a bite and smiled, "Not a fang mark
in sight."

Vachon frown deepened, "Urs wasn't-"

She cut him off, "She called Screed last week."

Blink, "Oh."

Another sad smile, "You coming along?" She asked as she released the
parking break and shifted into reverse.

"No," Vachon shook his head, "See you around Trace huh?"

"Sure," Tracy smiled, "And thanks again for the gift, it's beautiful."

He nodded, then he was gone.

Sighing Tracy pulled out of the lot and headed towards the Black
Unicorn, not because she thought she'd find anything new, but because
she didn't have anywhere else to go.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

Fruitcake had a large variety of uses: sidewalk chalk, bear repellant,
solar panel, and my favorite, cannon fodder! Just bring your family
out into the back yard on Christmas Eve, load up your cannon, point it
skyward. Tell the kids you're hunting reindeer! Send all comments to
anteros@juno.com 

See disclaimers in part one, see Santa at any mall and finer bowling
alleys.

'Tis the Season (3/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

"Why am I back here?" Tracy asked herself as she pulled up in front of
the Black Unicorn. "They've been over this place with a fine tooth
comb already," She continued as she climbed out of her Taurus, ducked
under the police tape and used the key to let herself in.

Immediately the same feeling of unease from the first night slammed
into her. "Oh yeah, write that in your report Vetter," She sighed as
she shone her flashlight around, "'The crime scene was filled with
'bad vibes.' While you're at it might as well tell them you've seen
ghosts, believe in vampires and might be a reincarnated classical
violinist." She snorted, "Then I'll hand over my badge and let the
nice men in white coats take me somewhere with padded walls and
jackets that buckle in back." 

She crept forward and examined the bloodstain, a shiver raced up her
spine. "You're being ridiculous." She stalked over and switched on the
light, "And you're talking to yourself again." 

She sighed and circled the shop, making sure all the rooms were empty.
Of course they were, she was just being paranoid. Once the circuit was
complete she went back to the front room, "I'm missing something, I
know it." She chewed her lip and closed her eyes, dragging a long
draught of air into her lungs. 

The shop smelled of incense and leather bound books, and…mold. Tracy
opened her eyes and frowned. Nick had probably missed it the first
time simply because he'd never been alone in the place before,
actually her partner hadn't returned to the crime scene since that
first night, trusting the uniforms and forensics to find everything. A
whiff of something damp and cold seemed to float past her, she had the
sudden impulse to call Nick or Vachon, they could pick out what was
causing it in a second, but she quickly dismissed that, "Do it
yourself Vetter."

She crept along the creaking wood floors and tried to determine where
that draft was coming from. Again she closed her eyes and followed her
other senses, "Use the force Tracy." 

When she banged into a counter she opened her eyes, "But don't forget
to look where you're going," She mumbled self-decrepitly and grinned,
she was back in the kitchen, "Probably those damn oysters." 

She opened the 'fridge again and saw the same mollusks staring back at
her, there was also an empty bottle of catsup and a box of baking
soda. "Mmm, mmm good." She stood and slammed the door. 

She was about to leave when she realized something, the 'fridge hadn't
been cold. She opened it again to make sure, no it was definitely room
temperature in there. Frowning she walked around to see if it was even
plugged in, but it was pressed so tightly against the wall she
couldn't tell. 

Chewing on her bottom lip Tracy crouched slightly and prepared to push
the refrigerator, "You've got -way- too much time on your hands
Vetter." She mumbled and heaved. "Christmas Eve and you're moving the
furniture <oomph!>"

Surprisingly, it didn't budge. 

Tracy stood. Now that wasn't right. The thing was practically empty,
it couldn't be -that- heavy. She walked around and looked at it from
the other side, then she saw them…hinges. "My, my what do we have
here?" She frowned and walked back around, looking for the latch.

Finding it quickly, it was easy now that she knew she was looking for
one, she undid the small hook and eye latch and pushed the
refrigerator again. It swung to one side and revealed a small opening
cut through the drywall, a ladder led down. 

"Curiouser and curiouser," She mumbled, trying to peer down into the
darkness, a small light seemed to flicker from the depths. 

"Hmm," She pulled out her cell phone and pressed the speed dial for
Nick's cell. "Come on, pick up, pick up." 

Suddenly a moan echoed up from the tunnel. "Oh hell," Tracy started to
close the phone just as Nick picked up.

"Knight."

"Nick, I found something at the Unicorn, I think someone might be
hurt, get over here now!" And with that she snapped closed the phone,
pulled her gun and climbed onto the ladder. 

"So help me God if this leads to Screed's place I'm quitting the force
and joining the post office, better hours, more guns. ...Stop talking
to yourself Vetter." She whispered as she descended into the darkness.

The further down Tracy went the louder the moaning sounded. There was
a strange affection to the sound, an echo or something. Tracy moved
stealthily down the ladder, "Here goes nothing," She whispered, her
breath making a small white cloud before her. 

When she reached the bottom she discovered she was in a basement, the
place was obviously divided into two rooms, just like the shop above.
Her gun at the ready, she mouthed a silent prayer to St. Jude, an old
habit picked up from her Uncle Sonny, though why they both decided to
pray to the patron of lost causes was beyond her.

She spotted the door to her left, the flicking glow of candlelight
beckoned her, the only light now was that door and a tiny speck coming
from the kitchen high above. Stepping lightly she moved towards the
slightly ajar door. Another moan sliced through the silence, this time
quickly followed by a sharp slapping noise and a scream. 

"Great," Tracy whispered, "So much for waiting for back-up."

Taking a deep breath she swung open the door and stepped inside.

The sight that greeted her was horrific. The shop owner, Robert
Crotchet, was hanging from the ceiling from his bound hands, his bare
feet barely skimmed the damp cement floor. Marcel had what looked like
a poker in his hands and was just about to press it into his employer
again when he saw Tracy.

"Freeze!" Tracy finally remembered to yell, "Metro Police!"

The scraggly, twenty-something blonde just laughed at her, "You can't
hurt me, I'm too powerful for that!"

"He's crazy," Crotchet managed to gasp, "He killed Merribelle, going
to kill me….thinks he's a demon or something…"

"Shut up!" Marcel shrieked, waving his poker and running towards the
back of the small cement room.

"I said freeze!" Tracy yelled, "I will shoot if I have to!"

"You can't hurt me, I already told you," Marcel's voice had taken on
the icy calm of a mad man, "I can escape, I have this box you see!"

"Crazy," Crotchet groaned, "Forces he doesn't understand…don't let him
use it, won't know where he'll go…when…mess everything up…"

"I know what I'm doing!" Marcel yelled, suddenly angry again, "You two
always treated me like a child, but I'm better, I know the true way! -
I'm- the one who figured it out!"

"Never!" Crotchet suddenly seemed to come to life, screaming like a
banshee at the black clad youth behind him. He flailed against the
ropes that held him, Tracy could see blood begin to race down his
arms, his words became incoherent quickly, then again, they might have
been in another language. Whatever the case, they seemed to scare
Marcel, because the student suddenly lost all color and began to
shake.

"Stop it!" Tracy yelled, "Both of you!"

"This has got to end!" Marcel reached for a small suitcase sized box.

Thinking it held a gun, Tracy cocked her gun, "Don't move!"

Marcel's wild eyes met her, then he smiled and grabbed the box,
wrenching it open. 

There was a flash of pure white light.

Crotchet screamed. 

Tracy's gun went off.

Then…everything went black.

>>>>>>>>>>>

Ways to annoy Santa, 1) Leave him a note that you've gone away for the
holidays and would like him to water your plants. 2) Leave a plate of
milk and cookies with a note that says "for the Tooth Fairy." 3) Throw
a surprise party for him when he comes down the chimney. 4) Decorate
your tree with Easter eggs. 5) While he's in your house find his
sleigh and sit in it. When he comes out tell him he shouldn't have
missed a payment and fly off. Send all comments to anteros@juno.com

 

Disclaimers in part one, rum in egg nog.

Graphic fight scene ahead, be forewarned. 

'Tis the Season (4/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

The first thing that permeated Tracy's stunned mind was that she was
laying on cobblestone. Cold, damp, filthy cobblestone. 

"What the-?" She mumbled, raising to her hands and knees. She looked
up, she was outside, a full moon shone down on her, a few frozen black
clouds flitted by. 

Then she noticed Marcel. The scraggly blond was about thirty feet
away, sitting in the middle of what Tracy finally recognized as a
street, looking just as dazed and lost as she felt.

She groaned, training kicking in when the rest of her refused to
function. Her hand found her gun lying next to her and quickly scooped
it up. Climbing to her feet she pointed the weapon at him and yelled,
"Freeze!" 

Marcel's head snapped up and a look of pure disbelief flashed across
his face. Like a cat, he was instantly on his feet and running down
the block still clutching the strange box, leaving the fireplace poker
forgotten in the street. Tracy froze a second, watching Marcel
disappear into the fog. "Stop!" She yelled, pulling the trigger. She
waited for the recoil. 

Nothing happened.

She glanced down at her gun then back up, Marcel was gone. "Oh just
great," She muttered, snapping open the weapon she grumbled, the
blasted thing was hopelessly jammed, it would take a gunsmith to fix,
"Guess slamming it against the ground didn't help it much." 

Looking up finally, she reholstered her useless gun and pulled her
coat tighter around her. Now that she had a second to think, she
realized she had no idea where she was or how the hell she'd gotten
there. She was on a deserted city street, but not in any part of town
she recognized. She glanced up and down the street and noticed for the
first time that it was lined with gaslights. "Something tells me we're
not in Kansas anymore Toto," She whispered.

She started walking, turning corner after corner, looking for anything
familiar, or failing that, a pay phone or taxi. But the town seemed
deserted. She kept walking, she relaxed slightly when she saw that the
street signs were in English, even though she didn't recognize any of
the names, "Bradford and Hilldeen, Panyfine and Westbury," She read
them off, passing closed store fronts and dark homes, "Where the hell
am I?"

"Why, you're 'ere luv, roight where you wants ta be." An English voice
sounded from her left.

Tracy stopped walking when out from a darkened alleyway stepped two
men. There was something odd about the way they were dressed, but she
didn't bother to process that immediately, instead she moved slightly
back, maintaining a comfortable distance. 

The men moved closer.

"'Ere now," The shorter of the greasy pair sneered at her, "Ya ain't
bein' at all friendly are ya?"

Tracy looked from one man to the other, her cop's eye dissecting them.
They both had flat caps pulled over dark hair and their features were
enough alike to suggest a close relation, probably brothers. They wore
heavy but thread-barren coats, but they'd left them hanging open. For
the first time Tracy noticed that where ever the hell she was now, it
was at least 15 degrees warmer than Toronto had been. The men were
both obviously drunk, but not so much as to make them any less
dangerous. 'This probably isn't going to be pretty.' Tracy thought,
instinct and common sense both agreeing that she should get out of
there.

"Maybe tha lady is shy 'arry," The larger one laughed when Tracy
continued to back away. 

"Nonsense Carl, 'ores can't be shy!" Harry leered at her then, "and
you can tell she's a 'ore by 'ow she's dressed, plus bein' out in tha
night like this? Nah sumpthin' fer a lady, nah at all."

Tracy glanced down, under her leather duster she was wearing khakis
with a blouse and vest, not exactly risqué by anyone's standards.
"Look, I'm just looking for a phone, I'm not looking for any trouble."
She said slowly, though she really didn't expect these two to just
point her in the direction of the nearest 7-11. No, there was going to
be trouble, she could already tell. 

"Ooo, a fureniner!" Carl exclaimed, clearly not liking her accent.

"I'm in England?!" Tracy yelped, completely dismissing their
disapproval, she didn't care what they thought of her, she only wanted
to know where the hell Marcel had taken her!

"Where'd ya think ya was?" Harry snorted, "Bloody Yank, don't even
know she's en London!"

While his brother was glowering at her, Carl just leered. Apparently
he didn't care if she was wacko. "I've got a two shillin's wit your
name on 'em, one fer each o' us." He grabbed at his crotch and nodded
towards the alley.

"I'm not for sale," Tracy said calmly, moving to walk around them. Her
mind was going a mile a minute, London! How the hell had she gotten
here?!

"Well then," Carl shot Harry a look, "Maybe we just won't pay." 

And with that the pair grabbed for her. But even though most of her
mind had been elsewhere, that in no way meant Tracy had forgotten her
immediate surroundings. When they came at her, she was ready.

As Carl's hand shot out to grab her arm Tracy easily slipped to the
side and had him in an arm lock before he could blink. A second later
he was on the ground. 

Harry came at her next, raising his arm to cold-cock her, at the same
time Carl swept his arm to knock her legs out from under her.

Tracy easily dodged the fist and sweep, but had to step back to do so,
this left her way too close to Carl's legs. One sharp kick to the back
of the knee and she stumbled forward.

Harry laughed and grabbed for her hair, but Tracy quickly regained her
balance and before his hand reached her she swung her leg in a swift
roundhouse kick to his ribs. She followed that up with a powerful
side-kick that sent him crashing into the wall behind him.

By then Carl had managed to climb to his feet and with a roar of rage
lunged at Tracy.

Her back kick caught him full in the mouth, blood splashed to the
ground as his lip tore into his broken teeth. He fell back a few
steps, hate burning in his eyes as he held his ruined mouth.

Harry took that moment to regain his wits and pull a knife.

Tracy retreated a few steps, careful to keep track of where Carl was
in the corner of her eye. Suddenly she became aware of a third person.
Turning slightly she discovered an elegantly dressed man standing not
twenty feet away, apparently enjoying the show. 

"Very impressive," The man nodded at her, touching the brim of his
hat.

At first Tracy was just going to dismiss her audience as irrelevant,
she after all had more important things to worry about, but then
something clicked in her mind. She knew him! Turning wide eyes on the
man she called him by name, "Lacroix?!"

Lacroix looked surprised and Tracy thought he was about to say
something else when Harry lunged.

Cursing herself for getting distracted Tracy turned her full attention
again on the brothers. As Harry rushed her she turned to her left and
missed the knife by scant inches, she grabbed his wrist as it passed
her and turning so her back was parallel to his she elbowed him first
in the floating ribs, then in the back of the head. 

Carl chose that moment to intervene, and while still holding his
brother's arm in a half lock she swung into a full roundhouse kick to
the side of Carl's head. Her momentum was enough to wrench Harry's arm
from the socket, which of course made the knife drop.

Tracy quickly pushed Harry away to the ground and dropped into stance
to defend herself from the enraged Carl. He swung a punch at her face,
but it was so wide she wondered how he even expected to hit her.
Easily ducking the blow, Tracy reached up and slid her palm under his
cap and over his head, a quick pull down brought his face in contact
with her knee. Burying her hand in his hair she pulled his head up and
then slammed it down again, bringing her knee up hard to meet him
again. She repeated this a few times until he was practically
unconscious, then she dropped him, letting him slump to the ground.
When his head hit the cobblestone he was out.

Turning to where she'd last left Harry she found Lacriox had him
jammed up against one of the walls of the alley several feet away. Had
the forgotten brother managed to climb to his feet and come after her
while her back was turned again? Had Lacroix saved her, or had he just
taken advantage of the situation and was about to feed?

'Where's the knife?' Tracy asked herself, she glanced down and saw
that it was gone. Looking back up she saw where it had gotten to,
Lacroix was holding it to Harry's throat. Again Tracy wondered, had he
picked it up or taken it from Harry?

"That's no way to treat a lady," The vampire hissed at the blubbering
would-be rapist.

"Lacroix," Tracy said in warning, the cop in her not wanting to see a
man murdered…even if he deserved it.

Lacroix turned his eyes on her, though he still held Harry and the
knife, "Do I know you?" He asked with some annoyance.

Tracy's mind raced, suddenly she took in Lacroix's clothing and what
had been nagging her about her attackers' garments was thrown into
sharper relief. Lacroix was dressed very elegantly, no big surprise
there, the publicity photos she'd seen of the radio host had already
proven he had an eye for fashion. But Lacroix was wearing a great coat
and top hat for god's sake! Breeches and tall boots! And something
told Tracy that it wasn't for a costume party, no, Carl and Harry's
clothes we dated too, just not as noticeably. 

Tracy stared open mouthed, 'oh my god,' she thought, suddenly the gas
lights and lack of cars made sense. And hadn't Carl offered her a
shilling? Not a pound, but a shilling. And what had Crochet said?
'Won't know where he'll go…when…' She went white, 'I'm in the freakin'
past!' She thought frantically.

Lacroix glared at her, "Not going to say?"

Tracy shook her head slightly, realizing he was waiting for her to
answer. What had been the question again? Oh yeah, 'Do I know you?'
"No," Tracy forced a smile, it came out looking more like a smirk, "I
just know -of- you."

"From who?" Lacroix demanded.

Tracy's mind raced, the scary thing was…this vampire was the closest
thing to home that she had at the moment. "Well," She ran a hand
through her hair nervously, not sure what to tell him, then she
shrugged, the truth could work, at least…part of it, "From Nick."

Lacroix blinked, then suddenly pulled Harry off the wall and slammed
him back. He let the man fall to the alley floor and turned his full
attention on Tracy, "Oh really?"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

At last things begin to get interesting! <eg> Send all comments and
gingerbread billy-clubs to anteros@juno.com

 

Disclaimers in part one, go ahead, read 'em, I dare you!

'Tis the Season (5/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) 


Tracy glanced at the two fallen men and shrugged, well, they weren't
going anywhere for awhile and it's not like she could report them to
the local authorities anyway, that would raise too many questions
about her own identity. Sighing she looked back at Lacroix, who was
watching her intently, "Yeah, from Nick." She turned and walked out of
the alley, pausing at its mouth and looking back at him.

Lacroix immediately realized she wanted him to follow her, intrigued,
he did.

They walked in silence for several blocks, side by side in the night.
Finally, when it became obvious she wasn't going to say anything,
Lacroix asked, "Do you have the slightest idea where you're going?"

Tracy stopped mid-step and looked at him, the shadow of a smile fell
across her lips. "Not a clue." She admitted. 

Lacroix raised an amused eyebrow. 

Tracy began walking again, slowly and again making sure he was
accompanying her, "I have to find a man named Jacob Marcel, can't
leave the city 'til I do." Tracy laughed lightly, it was such an
unbelievable situation it didn't really seem like it was happening, "I
don't know anyone in this city, have no money, just these clothes that
are apparently so wrong it's not even funny, no clue as to what I'm
going to do." She cast Lacroix a sidelong glance, "Basically I'm
completely screwed." She laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

Lacroix nodded at her with a light twitching of his mouth.

"Oh, I'm Tracy Vetter by the way." She paused and held her hand out to
be shaken.

"Lucien Lacroix," He said with flourish, taking her hand and bringing
it to his lips.

Tracy grinned, she could get used to treatment like this! Suddenly it
occurred to her that while Lacroix would be alive in 1996, right now
he was living very much as an 19th century gentleman. 'This could make
things interesting.' She thought, beginning her trek up yet another
unfamiliar street.

They walked in a thoughtful and strangely surreal silence before
Lacroix asked, "You and Nicholas?" 

"Friends." Tracy stated firmly, not willing to go into anymore detail.
Despite the fact that she knew Lacroix to be a vampire, Tracy was
comforted by his presence, his voice, face, his tie to Nick and
Toronto made him somewhat familiar. He was her only anchor to her
time, maybe even her only possible ally, no way she was going to ruin
that by telling him a fairy tale about time travel and magic boxes!

"Friends," Lacroix repeated, tasting the word. "And how close of -
friends- are you?"

Tracy shot him a glare, "We're not lovers if that's what you're
asking."

Lacroix chuckled at that, "I never said you were," Then when Tracy
began to look offended he quickly added, "I meant, how much do you
know about," He was watching her very closely now, "Each other?"

Tracy squirmed under his close scrutiny but kept looking him in the
eye, "You mean do I know what he is?"

Lacroix raised an eyebrow, looking slightly pleased, "Yes, how much do
you know?"

"Enough," Tracy shrugged, "More than he wanted."

"So he wasn't the one to tell you?" Lacroix was intrigued.

Tracy took a deep breath, "No, I sort of figured it out on my own,
Nick wasn't too happy…but he was dealing."

"And where is Nicholas?" Lacroix's voice was nonchalant, but his eyes
were intense.

Tracy felt her first true trill of fear since her arrival flash
through her at that look, she swallowed and answered truthfully, if a
bit cryptically, "I have no idea, last I saw him he was quite a time
removed from here and now."

Lacroix seemed to mull that over, maybe the idea of allowing her her
secrets was amusing him, but in any event, he didn't press her. In
fact, he didn't say anything, but at last took her hand, placed it
lightly on his bent elbow and began leading her north. 

'Apparently he isn't going to let me try and walk back to Toronto,'
Tracy thought wryly, and as she didn't know what else to do, she let
him lead her. Finally, after several blocks Tracy asked, "Where are we
going?"

Lacroix gave her a brief glance before returning his eyes to their
path, "My townhouse." He answered simply.

Tracy blinked in surprise. Clearly this man was quite willing to help
any friend of Nick's, whether she volunteered information or not. On
the other hand, maybe he was just taking her home to kill her. 

Silence fell again, but this time it was slightly strained.

They walked another block before Lacroix managed to hail a passing
handsome cab. Tracy hesitated before climbing inside, eyeing the
strange contraption and horses with unease. At last it was sinking in
that this was -not- her time, she had no idea what to do, if it wasn't
for Lacroix…

Lacroix sighed and made to help her inside, his 'help' constituting
pushing her in and quickly following. He gave the driver his address
and looked at her, "Is that acceptable?"

"Going to your townhouse?" Tracy clarified, she was distracted
slightly by how surprisingly similar the cab smelled to its modern
counterpart, cigarette smoke, stale sweat and just the barest hint of
vomit. Ah, the comforting stench of home. "Well," She again turned her
attention on Lacroix, "I suppose that depends on what you think is
going to happen once we're there."

"You'll be my guest," Lacroix smiled as she pretended to relax
slightly, he could tell she feared him, but there was no way he was
going to let this little enigma get away. When he'd been out hunting
tonight he had heard a fight, landing lightly he had discovered this
slip of a girl skillfully thrashing two ruffians twice her size. That
plus the combination of her strange dress, stranger mannerisms and
mysterious connection to Nicholas was enough to keep him utterly
fascinated. It seemed that he wouldn't be bored this Yuletide after
all!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

Lacroix's town house was surprisingly normal looking. After her few
visits to the Raven, Tracy had expected his home in this time to be a
bit more, well, Chez Dracula, but the two story brownstone was
actually…pleasant. That's not to say it wasn't obviously a rich and
opulent home, the house practically screamed money and station, it
just didn't scream 'Vampire!'

As they quitted the cab Lacroix paid and tipped the driver, then led
Tracy up the steps to the door. They had no need to knock, even at
this late hour, or maybe because of it given the owner, the butler was
at the ready to open the door. 

"Thank you Wadsworth," Lacroix nodded at the gray hared servant, "This
is Miss…" He paused and his eyes took on a devilish twinkle as he
continued, "Miss DeBrabant, my ward. Please have Mrs. Crenshaw prepare
the rose guestroom for her use."

The butler showed no outward signs that he thought anything was amiss,
either in his master's statement or Tracy's appearance, but simply
nodded and said, "Very well sir," And went on his way.

Tracy glanced at Lacroix, as she knew from countless forms and
reports, Brabant was Nick's middle name, at least in her time, maybe
it was his true last name in reality? She wondered briefly if there
was any connection to the Brabant Foundation there? Her partner the
philanthropist? Could be. "Uh, won't Nick mind me using his name? And
who's Mrs. Crenshaw?" She asked when the servant was out of earshot.

Lacroix raised an eyebrow, "I was wondering if you would recognize
that name, and Mrs. Crenshaw is my house keeper, Wadsworth, the
butler. Both very discreet, have no worries there my dear."

Somehow Tracy wasn't put at ease by his assurances, "And what's this
about being your ward? Isn't that for children? I'm 26 you know."

Lacroix gave her a disbelieving look, "I doubt very much you are of
age, but as my ward we'll at least be giving propriety a nod."

With a very unlady-like snort Tracy quipped, "Well, can't have the
neighbors talking can we?"

"No we cannot," Lacroix agreed solemnly, though his eyes twinkled, she
was such an amusing little thing! With another smile, Lacroix led her
into a darkly paneled on their right, "I'm afraid I must leave you now
Miss Vetter, I have some things I must attend to before the dawn."

"Tracy," She corrected off-handedly, eyes sweeping through the ornate
room, "What things?"

He arched a brow at her directness. Tracy turned her attention back on
him, just in time to see his eyes sweep down her body. "Things," he
repeated.

Tracy frowned, an uncomfortable warmth spreading through her middle,
and opened her mouth to say something, but his finger on her lips
stopped her.

"Hush, Mrs. Crenshaw will be down shortly to show you to your room,
I'll be back soon," He smiled as she glared at him, "No, I'm not going
to tell you where I'm going."

Tracy opened her mouth only to be cut off again.

"It is not as if you are volunteering much of your own," He reminded
her.

She shut her mouth with a snap, no she wasn't, and she wasn't going to
either. Here he was opening his home to her and she was giving him the
third degree? She sighed, "You'll be back soon?"

He smiled, "Before dawn."

Tracy rolled her eyes, surpressing the 'well duh!' that wanted so
badly to be said. Suddenly it occurred to her that she had no idea
what time it was, she pushed up her sleeve and glanced at her watch,
3:34 am. 

"What-?" Lacroix clasped her hand and examined the Casio closely.
"Hmm," He made a noncommittal sound and let her wrist drop. "I'll be
back by seven, but by then you will no doubt be sound asleep. So until
tomorrow evening…Tracy." He shot her one last devastating smile before
departing. 

Tracy sat down heavily on a delicate brocade settee. "What am I
getting myself in for?" She asked the empty room. Luckily for her
jangled nerves, no one answered.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Jingle bells, Screedy smells, 

Natty cuts up corpses, 

the Knight-mobile lost it's wheel,

and Tracy saved the day! Hey!

Send all comments and candy canes to anteros@juno.com 

 

Disclaimers in part one, those car keys…lost forever.

Special thanks to my wonderful beta and fact checker Shana Nolan for
all the info leading to Tracy's dress in this scene, it took a lot of
research on Shana's part and a lot of stupid questions on mine to get
it done. Thanks for putting up with me Shana! <hugs!>

'Tis the Season (6/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)


Mrs. Crenshaw turned out to be a middle-aged woman with salt and
pepper hair drawn back into a tight bun. Her 5'2 body was rail thin
and poker straight, Tracy wondered how it was even possible for the
woman to bend at the waist much less keep Lacroix's spacious townhouse
clean.

The housekeeper found Tracy slumped in a wing-chair before the parlor
fireplace and made a noise half way between a sniff and a tsk,
obviously disapproving Tracy's less than lady like posture. 

Tracy was instantly reminded of her third grade teacher Sister Maria,
and the late afternoon sessions with the ruler to the back of her
knuckles for climbing trees and playing with frogs. Tracy sat up and
climbed to her feet. 

The woman frowned, "So you're Miss Tracy then, hmm?"

"Yes ma'am," Tracy nodded, for the first time actually feeling self-
conscious about the way she was dressed, khakis and hiking boots were
probably not what most woman wore around here.

"Hmm," The woman looked her up and down and frowned, "Come on then,
I'll show you to your room."

Tracy nodded, actually she just wanted to ask for a shower, but they
probably hadn't been invented yet, though she didn't know for sure. As
a matter of fact, the only things she knew about this time period came
from Sherlock Holmes and Harlequin romances, not exactly the most
reliable sources. Tracy sighed as she followed the housekeeper
upstairs, she really was screwed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"This is your room here, the Rose Room," Mrs. Crenshaw indicated the
door next to hers. "Stay out of that one."

"Is that Lacroix's?" Tracy asked.

"Heavens no!" Her eyes narrowed, "I figured you'd know to stay out of
his on your own."

"Of course," Tracy rushed to assure her, not wanting the woman to
think she was Lacroix's mistress or anything. "I just thought that's
what you meant by…" The older woman looked somewhat appeased, and
Tracy suddenly wondered why she cared what the old bat thought. 

"Well, the Master's chambers are at the other end of the house," She
sniffed, "Yours are here," She pushed open the door and led Tracy
inside. 

It was a tastefully decorated rose room, hence the name Tracy
supposed. There was a rose colored oriental rug spread over the
hardwood floor and the walls were papered with an understated pink and
beige floral design. The bed was large and dressed in a dark pink
silk, a chest sat across its foot and a spindly-legged chair sat next
to it. There was a large wardrobe and a door that Tracy sincerely
hoped led to some sort of bathroom against one wall, a dresser and
what looked like a mini desk by the heavily draped window against
another. The over all effect was lovely. 

"Nice," Tracy let out a low whistle.

Again disapproval flashed across the housekeeper's face, apparently
ladies didn't whistle either, "Of course, the Master has excellent
taste."

Tracy began to get annoyed, she swept off her duster and draped it
over the bed, giving Mrs. Crenshaw full view of her shoulder holster
and service revolver, "So, is there anything around here I can wear to
bed or is it au natural tonight?" 

The housekeeper looked appalled, that cheered Tracy up immediately.
"You can borrow one of my nightdresses," the woman told her. "I'll
just get that for you now."

"Thank you," Tracy nodded, drawing off her holster and draping it over
the headboard of her new bed. She sat down to take off her boots and
looked up at the lingering woman, "Oh, and Mrs. Crenshaw?"

"Yes?" The woman had just managed to regain her composure, and was
again looking down her nose at Tracy.

"Do you think you could get me something to eat?" Tracy asked, "I'm
famished."

"Something to eat?" The woman looked at a loss.

"Is something wrong?" Tracy frowned, suddenly wondering if the
servants knew Lacroix was a vampire and assumed she was as well.

"No, It's just that Master Lacroix always dines at his clubs, there
isn't much for guests. If I knew you were coming I would have done
more shopping," Mrs. Crenshaw sniffed, giving Tracy the impression
that she had no idea that her master might be 'different.' "I suppose
I can find something for you though."

Getting real tired of being talked to like a child, Tracy forced a
smile and dismissed the woman with a nodded, "That would be nice,
thanks." 

Another sniff and Mrs. Crenshaw left, returning for only a moment
later to hand Tracy the gown and a wrinkled apple.

"Merry Christmas to you too," Tracy mumbled as the housekeeper left,
talking about inconveniences and silly American girls.

>>>>>>>>

Tracy woke up the next morning around ten, "Almost a year of night
shift and I still can't sleep 'til noon," Tracy groaned in disgust.
Then she remembered where she was and seriously thought about pulling
the covers over her head and hiding for awhile. She stared up at the
ceiling for a bit then gave up, she was awake, she was in London and
that was that. 

Sighing, she swung back the covers and climbed out of bed, she reached
her arms up in a stretch and the hem of her borrowed nightgown skimmed
her knees. She walked over and pulled back the drapes, allowing the
thin English sunlight to steam in. It was then she noticed them.

Draped over her bed, chair and chest were gowns, three of them. And
from the looks of them they'd actually fit her too! Gasping and
laughing at the same time, Tracy noticed several boxes littering the
floor, opening them she found undergarments, shoes, bonnets and a long
velvet cloak. The dresses themselves were simply cut, -that- was what
Lacroix had meant when he said he 'had some things to attend to before
the dawn!' 

She squelched the sudden urge to go jump on his bed and thank him like
a little girl, "He'd probably bite me," She laughed, "He's definitely
-not- a morning person!"

She looked down at the dove gray dress spread over her bed, he must
have come in while she'd been sleeping and done all this, a blush
stole over her face. Now -that- was an interesting thought. Shaking
her head she decided there was nothing she could do about that now and
walked over to the wall and pressed the buzzer Mrs. Crenshaw had said
would summon her. 

Tracy walked back to the clothes and picked up what could only be a
corset, "How humiliating, 26 and I can't even dress myself!"

While she waited for the housekeeper Tracy wandered into the small
bathroom. She'd been delighted last night to find a flush toilet and a
small sink, of course the water was ice cold, but beggars couldn't be
choosers. Washing off as best she could in the sink, there was a claw
foot tub but no faucet into it, she shivered at the cold. Tracy
brushed her hair and used something pretty close to a toothbrush on
her teeth, though she suspected they were boar's bristles she tried to
forget about that.

Mrs. Crenshaw arrived a few minutes later, looking much the same as
the night before, "Up already are you?" She asked, sniffing her
disapproval in a way that was truly beginning to get on Tracy's
nerves.

"Yes, I wanted you to help me dress," Tracy waved her hand at the
clothes.

The housekeeper's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't ask where the
clothes had come from. "Of course, Miss Tracy." She nodded, closing
the door firmly shut behind her.

Tracy smiled nervously, a bit uncomfortable undressing in front of a
stranger, but then took a deep breath and pulled the nightgown over
her head. The belly button piercing must have shocked the older woman
because she let out a strangled gasp.

Tracy stood there in her panties, that said 'Thursday,' and crossed
her arms over her chest, watching the woman slowly regain some color.
'Oh this is going to be -so- much fun,' she thought wearily.

First came a chemise, a sleeveless slip with a bit of flowered
embroidery on it, white roses from the looks of them. There were some
silk hose, feeling smooth against legs that were used to nylon panty
hose. And instead of underwear, there were pantlets, something like
drawers. They were knee length, with lace trim, and came in two
pieces, one for each leg, the parts were tied together at the waist
and had a button in the back. And to Tracy's infinite embarrassment,
they were also crotchless. For convenience's sake she'd imagine, but
still…

Next came the corset, oh joy. Tracy had to remove her belly ring, she
didn't want to feel it stabbing her all day did she? The corset fitted
tightly around her waist, shrinking, with Mrs. Crenshaw's sadistic
help, her waist down several inches. It went down over her hips and
also flattened what breasts she had, and the house keeper -did-
comment that that wasn't much. Tracy felt like one of Grandma Vetter's
pork sausages in the get up. Romantic period her ass!

After she'd been sufficiently tortured with underwear, Tracy and Mrs.
Crenshaw moved on to the actual gown. The first skirt went over the
corset and stayed next to body, it was full length, full cut and had
frills and lace at the bottom. But still, Tracy was somewhat pleased
by it, she'd been expecting a few dozen petticoats before actually
putting on any real clothes. 

All her excitement over the beautiful gown quickly passed when the
housekeeper held aloft the birdcage like thing that was to be her
bustle. "You have -got- to be kidding me!" Tracy glared at the
offending article. 

The housekeeper just snorted and tied it on over her rear. 

Tracy looked at her reflection in the mirror, "God! My ass is huge!"
She turned to side to side, but from every angle the gigantic
posterior remained. "And this is considered attractive?!"

Mrs. Crenshaw ignored her and held up a blouse for Tracy to slip over
her head. It was a soft off-white and actually not too bad. Tracy
calmed down somewhat, but had to suppress a growl when it was buttoned
up to her chin. 

Another skirt came next, this one going over the bustle. It was full
length, matching 

the style of other layers, dove gray color, same lace, some white
roses embroidered along the hem. Finally a short, fitted jacket went
on. It buttoned snugly under her breasts and was made of the same gray
silk as the rest of the outfit, Tracy sighed martyr style, "Just way
too many clothes for any ten people."

"Hussy," The housekeeper mumbled under her breath.

Tracy glared at the woman, but chose not to smack her, basically
because she still hadn't figured out how to move in the blasted
contraption yet! 

She tried to sit, to pull on some shoes, things that bore an uncanny
resemblance to the 'new' chunky heeled look back in her time, but had
a bit of trouble. "How do you sit in this thing?!"

The housekeeper snorted again and roughly grabbed Tracy by the hip and
shoulder and forced her into a semi-reclined position. Graceful, if
you didn't know the pain involved!

Grumbling, Tracy pulled on the shoes, and stood up. Too fast. 

She sat down again, "Ugh, corset bad, sweat suit good."

Mrs. Crenshaw just gave her another insulting look and headed off in
the direction of the kitchen, leaving poor Tracy to figure out how to
move on her own. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and mocha nogs to anteros@juno.com

 

See my disclaimers in part one, see the elf slave labor force at the
North Pole

'Tis the Season (7/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

A half-hour later Tracy had figured out how to move without killing
herself and was sitting in the ill-used morning room with the paper.
Tracy smiled to herself, finally she would find out the date without
looking like a complete psycho by asking what year it was!

"December 19, 1886," She read slowly out loud, "One hundred and ten
years…and five days." Shocked, she absently took a sip from the cup at
her elbow. 

"Ugh!" She set the cup down in disgust, "Tea? Eww!" 

Setting down the paper with its mind-blowing date, Tracy got to her
feet and went about the much more pressing business of finding some
coffee. 

Entering the kitchen was like facing the dragon in its den, Mrs.
Crenshaw looked up from where she was polishing the silver and glared
at her, "What can I do for you miss?" Somehow she managed to make
'miss' sound like an insult.

Tracy sighed, thinking that the housekeeper must not act this way
around Lacroix…he would have drained her. "I was just wondering if I
could get some coffee?" She made a face, "I'm not much of a tea
person."

Another sniff, "Ladies drink tea, or chocolate if you prefer."

"I -prefer- coffee," Tracy said evenly, trying to keep her annoyance
in check. She'd allowed this woman to peer down her nose at her, she
let her pull the stays on her corset until she'd started seeing stars,
she'd even let her pull her hair back into a bun, but there was no way
in -hell- she was going to let her deprive her of her morning coffee! 

"I'll put it on my shopping list," The housekeeper sniffed, then
returned to her polishing.

Realizing she'd been dismissed, Tracy turned on her heels and marched
back to the morning paper. She had to get out of there before she rang
that woman's scrawny neck!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It took about twenty minutes of Tracy pacing like a caged tiger around
the house for Wadsworth to suggest she get out. The butler must have
felt sorry for her, or been afraid she was going to break something,
but either way he offered to call her a ride to take her down to the
shops for the afternoon. 

Tracy warmed up to the idea of getting out immediately. Lacroix would
probably be incommunicado, a la Nick, for at least six more hours,
Mrs. Crenshaw was driving her up the wall and most of all she felt the
burning need to start the search for Marcel! 

Wadsworth smiled kindly at her, reminding her strangely of her Uncle
Sonny, someone she'd always been able to wrap around her little
finger. "But," Tracy began in her best damsel in distress voice, "I
have no…pin money." That's what they called it in those damn romance
novels, right? 

"Have the shop owners simply send the bills to the master," Wadsworth
smiled at her again before going to call the equivalent of a taxi.
Their regular driver had disappeared mysteriously several weeks ago
after a disagreement with the master, Wadsworth suspected he'd been
canned and was drowning his sorrows in Sussex. And of course, Master
Lacroix had his own rig, but there was no way Miss Tracy would be
allowed to drive herself anywhere! 

Tracy wasn't too keen on the idea of being anymore in debt to Lacroix
than she already was, but she needed to get out of the house and
agreed quickly. She ran upstairs, pulled on her cloak, gloves, tied on
a bonnet and grabbed her purse, er, reticule, shoved a few things
inside and was good to go. 

Then…she paced the halls for another hour waiting for the carriage to
arrive. Apparently the Victorians hadn't heard of the '30 minutes or
its free' rule. 

As Tracy climbed into the carriage, some little part of her brain
reminded her that she should have a chaperon, but her independent
streak just couldn't quite bend itself around that one, so she chose
to ignore it. Not to mention that the only one around for the job was
Mrs. Crenshaw, and she sure as hell wasn't going to ask her!

>>>>>>>>>

The area the driver took her was lovely, packed tightly with
picturesque little shops and boutiques full of doilies and little
porcelain knick-knacks. 

Five minutes later she was out of there.

After dismissing the driver, Tracy immediately pointed herself in what
seemed to be the direction of the 'bad side' of town, and started
walking. A few blocks south, she found exactly what she was looking
for. A jewelry store, and a rather shady one at that. The kind of
place that wouldn't ask too many questions. As she walked in the clerk
behind the counter eyed her suspiciously, but when Tracy shot him her
brightest smile he quickly warmed up.

"And what can I do for you today, Miss?" The shop owner beamed, hoping
no doubt that this fine lady was going to buy something very expensive
and not quibble over how much he'd tacked on to its true price.

But Tracy hadn't come there to buy, she was there to sell. After
making pleasant small talk about the weather, no matter the century
small talk is always the same, Tracy got down to business. "I have
some items I'd like to sell please," She smiled winningly at him,
ready to start negotiations.

"Oh?" The man raised an eyebrow and wondered what the beautiful young
woman with the strange accent could be about. 

Tracy pulled the turquoise necklace Vachon had given her out of her
bag, the shop owner's eyes widened. Then, to sweeten the deal, she
removed the cubic zirconium earrings she'd been wearing when she'd
'quantum leaped' back to merry ol' England. She felt a momentary
twinge of guilt for both items, after all, the necklace had been a
gift, one picked out by her almost boyfriend's girlfriend, but a gift
none-the-less. And the earrings, well, they were just cheapies from
J.C.Penney's, but she was about to pass them off as real diamonds. The
shop owner wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the man-
made stones and real gems, but who knew what damage she could cause
the time line! But hopefully, she reasoned, someone would lose the
earrings long before anyone invented more. And well, at least she
wasn't selling the watch! After giving her conscious one last swift
kick, Tracy smiled at the shop keep and placed the pieces on the
counter, "These."

The man's eyes nearly bulged from his head and his mouth fairly
drooled as he jammed in his eye-piece to examine the jewels. He
immediately quoted a price.

Now Tracy wasn't current on jewelry prices, or English currency for
that matter, and she had no idea how much her items were worth, but
she -did- have her cop's instincts and knew when someone was trying to
pull something over on her. She instantly quoted a price five times
what he'd offered. 

And so the bargaining began.

An hour later Tracy left the shop confident that she'd made a good
deal, she hadn't stopped haggling until the shop keeper had been in
tears and she'd squeezed every shilling she could out of him. So now
she had money, and the real games could begin. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Tracy's next stop was the shadiest working class pub she could find, a
place called the Roasted Beast. 

"No matter how bad it is, it can't be as bad as the Raven." She told
herself, "After all, it has windows and it's daylight," She nodded,
trying to convince herself she'd be fine. 

"You can do this Vetter," She whispered, and after squaring her
shoulders, setting her jaw and taking a deep breath, she went inside.

Being taller than most of the men, finely dressed and totally
unescorted, she got more than a little attention. But the look in her
eye kept most of the wolves at bay, this woman was obviously trouble. 

Tracy strode to the bar and ordered a pint, she next walked to a
corner table and seated herself. She watched the crowd through lowered
lashes, she had everyone's attention now, the question was…what was
she going to do with it? 

When the barkeep brought her pint he asked not so subtly, "Wot's a
purty lass like you doin' in a place like mine?" 

'Exactly how old -is- that line?' Tracy thought to herself before
answering, "I'm looking for someone, or at least, someone who can find
him for me," Tracy took a swig of her ale, fighting not to gag on the
warm thick brew.

"Oh yeah?" The barkeep frowned slightly, casting a look over his
shoulder at the crowd.

"I'm more than willing to pay for information," She told him casually,
as if just making small talk.

"Does this feller 'ave a name?" The keep asked, "An' why ya want 'im?"

"That's my business," Tracy glared, but then decided some sort of
cover story might help swing the man in her favor, "He took something
from me, I'm going to get it back." 'Something' being my place in my
own freakin' time!' She added silently.

At her deadly calm voice and piercing eyes, the keep was a bit
unnerved. He nodded and walked away. Several minutes later a different
man, this one with a sly look and shrewd manner came up to Tracy's
table.

"'Ear yer lookin' ta find sum'un," The man, who introduced himself as
Jack Horner, said.

"That's right," Tracy nodded, looking over the man. He had the look of
a snitch, something about his eyes, she thought. But other than that,
he was a small man, maybe 5'4", with wiry red hair he'd parted down
the middle and a hook nose that made him look older than he probably
was. 24, she'd say, though it was hard to tell in the dim pub. "Jacob
Marcel."

"N'er 'eard o' 'im, but if 'e's out there I can find him fer yas,"
Horner boasted.

Tracy eyed her new snitch for a moment then laid out her terms, some
money now, more if he could find out anything. She gave him a
description, telling him also that Marcel would have an accent just
like hers. Finally she gave him Lacroix's address and told him to send
any messages her way if he found anything. 

Horner agreed, and scurried out of the pub like a hound on a scent.

Sighing, Tracy wondered if she'd just thrown her money away, then she
took another gulp of ale and paid the keep. 

After leaving the pub another man approached Tracy, he motioned her
into the alley next to the Roasted Beast and made as if he was going
to tell her something. 

Leery, Tracy followed.

Not surprising, he didn't have any information. He tried to mug her,
but as she'd been expecting it Tracy was able to deliver one sharp jab
to his nose and he went down like a ton of bricks. Wiping her hands on
her skirts, Tracy left him there and started back for the shops where
her ride was set to pick her up at six. 

She made it easily and even had time for some actual shopping. So when
the driver found her with several packages and he was none the wiser
that she hadn't spent her afternoon shopping for doilies and tea cups.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Religion or not, a manger is a damn comfortable bed! Send all comments
and limericks about mistletoe and vampires to anteros@juno.com 

See disclaimers in part one. And no those aren't the economy Christmas
lights sparking like that, it's a Lacroix and Tracy scene! <eg>

'Tis the Season (8/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

When Tracy arrived back at Lacroix's townhouse just after sunset, the
place was in an uproar. From the doorway Tracy could see the drawing
room, parlor and maybe even the library looked like a war zone, broken
furniture, smashed pictures, shredded upholstery, basically it looked
like a tornado had swung through the fashionable part of London and
chose to touch down in only this one house.

"Where is she?!" Came Lacroix's growl, Tracy watched as Mrs. Crenshaw
darted to the relative safety of the kitchen, apparently it was the
butler who was facing the Master's wrath. 

"How could you let her leave?!" Another shout, something crashed to
the floor, a lamp by the sound of it.

"Oh just great, someone has a temper," Tracy mumbled, dropping her
packages to the parquet floor and dashing off in the direction of the
clamor.

Lacroix had Wadsworth pinned to the wall and though his features were
still human, Tracy could almost feel the vampire about to lose
control. 

She cleared her throat.

Lacroix swung fierce eyes her way, they flashed gold for an instant
but then returned to their normal icy blue. 

Tracy raised a hand and waved merrily, as if she didn't even notice
that a man's life was hanging in the balance, "I'm back, miss me?"

The look he gave her was so utterly disbelieving it was almost
comical, but luckily for Wadsworth, Tracy controlled her mirth, "You
going to let him go?" She asked, flicking her eyes over the terrified
servant.

The man was instantly released and scurried out of the room after
shooting Tracy a grateful glance. Lacroix's full attention was on her
alone now, God help her.

"How dare you-" Lacroix began.

"Go shopping?" Tracy cut him off, doing her best to miss the point
entirely.

Lacroix starred at her in surprise, as if he couldn't believe how she
was acting. 

"You should sit down," Tracy smiled calmly at him, "Under normal
circumstances I'd be worried about your blood pressure."

Lacroix growled low in his throat again and stalked toward her,
backing her up to the wall without even touching her. He towered over
her and stared angrily down, almost trembling with rage, "You should -
not- have left." 

His voice was low, his words well measured, and though he hadn't
raised a hand to her Tracy flinched none the less.

"I-I had some things to a-attend to…" She offered, cursing herself as
her voice broke in the middle. 

Lacroix sighed, though it was obvious none of the tension had drained
out of him. He lifted a hand and drew cool fingers across her cheek,
"You are under -my- protection, but you will obey me."

On the inside Tracy balked at that, but her heart was pounding so
strongly against her ribcage, and anything but capitulation seemed
foolish. Instead, she changed the subject, "Thank-you for the dresses,
by the way."

Lacroix blinked and let his hand drop. A dozen emotions flashed across
his face, a slight frown of confusion, some frustrated annoyance, but
finally amusement. What was it about this young woman? There was just
something about her, something that called to him. He sighed again and
this time some of his anger really did leave him, "My pleasure Tracy."
He whispered into her hair, his mouth almost touching the delicate
shell of her ear.

A shiver raced up her spine and her knees buckled. Leaning heavily
against the wall, she nodded, then shook her head, she smiled
ruefully, "You certainly have an effect on me, Lacroix."

Lacroix raised an eyebrow at that and took a step back, he looked
around and frowned at the chaos around him, "So my dear, did you enjoy
your…shopping excursion?"

Tracy nodded, "It was a very productive outing."

Lacroix looked at her for a moment, eyes searching for hidden clues,
but finally he took another step away and led her into the relatively
untouched library. He sank into the oxblood chair behind a huge
mahogany desk, indicating she should take a seat on one of the smaller
chairs facing him, "You must tell me of your ties with Nicholas."

Tracy took a breath, steadying herself after the sudden change of
moods and topics, "Well, there isn't much to tell," She seated herself
and tried to think of what she -could- tell him.

Lacroix just raised an eyebrow, steepling his fingers and waited for
her to continue. 

Realizing that she had to give him something, Tracy plunged in and
started talking, deciding to just forget about the time difference for
now, "Nick and I are friends, we had a few laughs, for the most part I
think he sees me as some annoying side-kick more than anything else." 

The vampire regarded her with unreadable eyes, but she got the
distinct impression he didn't quite believe her. "Indeed? And your
current relationship is…?"

Tracy snorted, "He's mad at me."

Amusement lit up Lacroix's eyes.

Tracy ran a frustrated hand through her hair, completely ruining what
was left of her bun. Lacroix watched in fascination as her blonde
locks tumbled down. She began absently picking bobby pins from her
hair, heedless of the vampire's attention, "I've known about his,
your, kind for about a year now."

Lacroix nodded, watching her intently.

"Anyway," Tracy continued, "I knew about them, but not about
Nick…though I knew Nick."

Lacroix frowned slightly, processing that.

"Then a couple weeks ago, I found about him too," Tracy sighed,
pulling the last pin from her hair and holding it up to examine in the
light, "Three days ago I slipped and Nick found out I knew about him."

Tracy looked up at Lacroix with rueful eyes, "He was -not- happy."

"Yes, I can see that he wouldn't be," Lacroix chuckled, "So Nicholas
is not the sole member of our kind you are acquainted with?" He asked
smoothly.

Laughter lit up Tracy's face, "Not by a long shot." 

Tracy had one of those grins you couldn't help but respond to and in
spite of himself, Lacroix found himself returning it, "And you do not
fear us?"

"Of course I do!" Tracy gave him an exasperated look, then smiled,
"But 'Danger' is my middle name, even though my mother swears its
'Anne.'"

Lacroix chuckled at that. And Tracy suddenly realized that all of
those jokes people had heard a million times were new here! She could
make a fortune inventing tons of things, and writing too! 'Tom Sawyer'
by Tracy Vetter, 'The Sound of Music'…by Tracy Vetter. Tracy hid a
grin as she watched Lacroix rise from his chair. 'The Star Wars
Trilogy' by Tracy Vetter!

So lost was she in this most interesting of plagaristic ideas that
Tracy nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Lacroix's hand
briefly touch her shoulder. 

He raised an eyebrow at her, "There is a small get together at Lord
Wassailing's place of residence tonight, perhaps you'd enjoy
accompanying me?"

Tracy blushed and nodded as she climbed to her feet, "Sounds lovely,"
She answered, already knowing that there would be something
appropriate to wear awaiting her upstairs. "Let me just get ready."

Lacroix nodded crisply and moved aside allowing her to pass, "Oh by
the way, my dear."

Tracy paused in the doorway and looked back at him.

Lacroix glanced down at her dress and for the first time Tracy noticed
the blood stain where she'd wiped her hands and realized he could
probably smell the pub and fight all over her. He knew she hadn't been
shopping all afternoon, no matter what the butler and driver claimed,
"What -did- you do today?" He asked. 

He wasn't demanding an answer, actually he seemed amused more than
anything else, so Tracy just smirked and answered sweetly, "Wouldn't
you like to know?"

>>>>>>>>>>
Ah, such chemistry! Send all comments and rum laced fudge to
anteros@juno.com


See disclaimers in part one, more Lacroix and Tracy fun ahead!

'Tis the Season (9/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

The 'get together' was slated for after 9, Tracy was surprised at what
late hours society of this century kept, even the mortals didn't serve
dinner until nine. So as it was, Tracy had plenty of time to get
ready. More than enough in fact. 

After finishing her bath, hair wrapped securely in a towel, Tracy
wandered around her chambers wondering just what to do for the next
few hours. "Hmm," Tracy pulled on a robe and sat down at her little
desk, something Mrs. Crenshaw called her secretary. She looked at the
stationary in the drawer, pretty stuff really. Next she glanced at the
fountain pen and inkpot. No, she wasn't going to attempt that one yet,
she'd probably need another bath if she did! Deciding she needed a
treat, Tracy finally gave into temptation and slipped out of her room
and into the one next door.

Mrs. Crenshaw had specifically told her to stay out of the neighboring
chambers so, of course, she felt obligated to investigate. 

It was a lovely room, done in deep burgundy and teal, but despite the
dark colors it was obviously a woman's room. Tracy noted the delicate
furniture, the odd knick-knacks around the room. A figurine here, an
empty crystal vase there. She next moved to the wardrobe, finding it
full of dozens of beautiful stylish gowns, all at least six inches too
short for her. 

Tracy sighed and closed the doors, moving next to a small vanity table
sitting before a large leaded glass mirror. She looked down at the
upholstered bench sitting before it and decided to take a seat. There
was a box sitting in the middle of the vanity, next to it a set of
silver brushes, combs and other toiletries.

"Hmm, well, who ever she is," Tracy lifted a small matching silver
frame that held a likeness of her one-day partner, "She has lousy
taste in men."

The sound of a deep chuckle caused her to spin around. Lacroix stood
in the doorway, watching her snoop. 

"Oh!" Tracy wracked her brain trying to come up with a reason for
being there, but other that the really pathetic 'I'm lost' or the
equally bad 'I'm being nosy' she came up blank.

But Lacroix didn't seem the least perturbed about her being there, he
sauntered into the room and came to stand beside her. "This room
belongs to my daughter, " he nodded down at the picture Tracy still
held, "Nicholas's sister."

Tracy nodded and replaced the keepsake. "How long has it been since
you've seen her?" 

"Almost a year," Lacroix answered, almost casually, though his eyes
met hers in the mirror and watched her like a hawk. "Will you be ready
for the party tonight?" He continued.

Tracy nodded again and absently glanced down at the box, it was cherry
wood with inlaid initials. J.d.C. A name instantly presented itself to
her detective's mind. When she'd still been in 'discover-Nick's-
secret' mode she had done more than a little research into his past
and one of the names she'd checked out, actually one of the few names
she'd been -able- to track, had been their favorite late night radio
host. And imagine her surprise when it turned out Mr. Nightcrawler
also happened to be the owner of the most popular of undead clubs, the
Raven…the pieces had really started to fall together about then. But a
trace on the Raven had also turned up another name.

Tracy glanced at Lacroix, he was looking at her now with a small trace
of a smile on his lips. "Janette du Charme?" 

His smile broadened and he straddled the bench next to her, "My, my
but you certainly are full of surprises aren't you?" 

"Yeah, well…" She shrugged, butterflies began to flutter in her
stomach, gee he sure was close wasn't he? 

With one pale hand Lacroix flipped open the box, tiny pots of what
Tracy assumed were cosmetics lay in neat little rows, bouquets of tiny
horse hair brushes, and a large porcelain dish covered by a power puff
lay inside. She leaned forward slightly to get a better look, but a
sudden hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Here, let me," Lacroix whispered in her ear, a chill ran up her
spine.

"Um, alright," Tracy nodded, almost immediately knowing what he was
going to do. She closed her eyes and drew a breath as she felt his
hands skim her face, as if getting a feel for it before beginning.

First came some sort of fragrant cream, it smelled of lavender and
jasmine. Tracy felt a nervous giggle try to work its way out as he
gently coaxed the cream into the delicate skin of her throat and face.
Then she gasped as his hand dipped down the front of her dressing gown
and massaged a few drops onto her chest and the tops of her breasts,
she was rather disappointed when they failed to go below the lace edge
her chemise. 

Powder was next, talc from the smell of it. Tracy made the stupid
mistake of taking a good whiff, she sneezed. 

"God bless you," Lacroix mumbled.

Tracy raised an eyebrow, she knew it was probably more an automatic
response than anything, but still, it was kind of funny. Undead,
blood-sucking denizen of the night blessing you after a sneeze.
Luckily for her, he missed her amusement. She closed her eyes as he
blew off the extra powder, briefly wondering if she looked like the
Pillsbury dough-boy or something. His breath was cool, but sweet too.
She sighed at his gentle ministrations, when she opened her eyes that
same small smile hovered on his lips, she smiled back.

Next came eyeliner and some sort of wet coal dust on her lashes. Now
Tracy had never been too keen on letting other people near her eyes
with sharp instruments, but she let Lacroix do it regardless, though
he must have heard her heart race. 

As Lacroix applied the smallest hints of rouge to her cheekbones,
Tracy flashed back on playing with her 'Salon Barbie' head as a girl.
The same one that she'd used her dad's nail gun on to pierce the nose
with when she was nine. The memory of her horribly mutilated, one
eyed, purple lipsticked Barbie made Tracy chuckle.

"What?" Lacroix frowned slightly.

"Nothing," Tracy grinned, "Having fun?"

Lacroix looked mildly surprised by the question, "Yes actually, I am."
He shook his head just a little and smiled, "Take a look." 

Tracy looked at the mirror and apprised his work. Subtle, not overdone
at all. Actually, it was a lot less makeup than she usually wore on
her infrequent nights out back home. "Very nice." She nodded solemnly.

"Glad you approve," He chuckled.

Tracy turned sparkling eyes on him, "Going to do my hair too?"

"Only if I get to help you don your gown…" He trailed off with a
teasing leer.

"Hmm, I have no problem with that," Tracy leaned forward and brushed
her lips across his cool ones, in exactly the way she'd been thinking
about doing since he'd entered the room.

Abruptly Lacroix stood and looked down at her, obviously she'd
startled him. "I'll send Mrs. Crenshaw up to assist you right away, we
wouldn't want to be late." He made a slight bow and strode quickly
from the room.

Tracy just sat there a moment, staring at the empty doorway, "Was it
something I said?"

>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and brown paper packages tied up in string to
anteros@juno.com

 

See disclaimers in part one, see Mrs. Claus, Santa and the Easter
Bunny on Jerry Springer next Tuesday!

Note** I'm messing with the HoD flashback here, let's just say Urs was
brought across in 1880 instead of 1890 okay? <g>

'Tis the Season (10/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

They arrived at Wassailing manor well after ten, just after the other
guests had finished dinner. Tracy smiled to herself as Lacroix helped
her off with her cloak, good thing she'd remembered to grab something
from Mrs. Crenshaw's kitchen before they left, a girl could starve if
she didn't think ahead!

Besides their hosts, Trevor Makepeace, Fourth Earl of Wassailing, and
his good wife, Dorothea, Tracy was introduced to the dowager sisters
Noel and Holly Betford, as well as their brother Christopher. Col.
Kringle rounded out the party. Everyone was very nice, if a bit
restrained, and took the announcement that Tracy was Lacroix's ward
without a blink. 

Lacroix and Tracy weren't the only late callers, however, soon after
they'd joined the small group in the drawing room, the butler
announced the arrival of another couple, Anton Bourbon and his
companion Daphne Blackwell.

Even if Lacroix hadn't given her a meaningful look as the pair arrived
Tracy would have recognized Anton and Daphne for vampires, they simply
screamed undead chic. Pale, elegant and utterly predatory. She took an
unconscious step closer to Lacroix. 

And if her instincts screaming at her that they were dangerous weren't
enough, Tracy also knew exactly who Anton Bourbon was, hadn't Vachon,
Screed and Urs mentioned him at least a hundred times? She knew enough
to know that Vachon and the rest of 'the crew' were by now somewhere
in California, but if she guessed the years right, the infamous split
had happened just a few years earlier. Too late Tracy wished she'd
pressed the trio more for information on their absent crew member, it
sure would've come in handy now!

"Small world," Tracy mumbled under her breath, but Lacroix heard
anyway and shot her a questioning look. He had no time to drill her
though, as the couple was approaching them.

"Ah Lacroix!" Bourbon and Lacroix clasped forearms, "And who is this
beauty?" His eyes swept over Tracy with appreciation.

Tracy bristled under the inspection, Screed and Urs had never liked
the Frenchman, and neither did she. There were just some people you
instantly disliked, and Anton Bourbon was one of them. 

Lacroix smiled at Bourbon, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes,
"This is my ward, Tracy deBrabant." His words were polite, but his
tone was menacing, the overall message was clear, 'Mine! Hands off!'

A small frown marred Bourbon's handsome face, but he nodded none the
less. He then looked away and turned his attention over to their host,
"So Lord Wassailing, what diverting pastime do you have planned for us
this evening? Your invitation was worded most cryptically."

"I've been waiting for someone to ask!" The sixty-something Earl
grinned like a school boy as he motioned a servant to throw open the
doors that led to the parlor, inside dozens of candles burned, a round
table had been centered in the room and a mysterious woman sat facing
them.

"We're going to have a séance!" Dorothea gushed. "Doesn't that sound
like fun?"

Holly and Noel started talking over each other in excitement, the
Colonel and Christopher looked intrigued, and the vampires exchanged
amused looks. Only Tracy looked at all apprehensive.

"Is something wrong my dear?" Dorothea asked gently, putting a
comforting hand on Tracy's arm.

"No, nothing," Tracy forced a smile. 'Its just a parlor game,
something they did all the time in Victorian England, no need to
worry,' she told herself. Of course, she might have been a little
calmer if she didn't have a history of dangerous supernatural
encounters. A chill raced up her spine as she remembered the ghost her
childhood friend Sarah trying to lead her into the path of an oncoming
truck, if Nick hadn't been there…

Col. Kringle took her arm grandly, "Come my dear, nothing to worry
about, I'll protect you, eh?" 

She could feel Lacroix's eyes drilling into her back as she allowed
the middle-aged military man to lead her into the parlor. Well, what
did Lacroix want her to do? Shake the man off and throw herself into
his arms? Tracy blushed at the thought, actually that's exactly what
she wanted to do!

The group seated themselves around the table, alternating genders.
Tracy ended up with the Earl on her right and Lacroix on her left.
When everyone was settled, the Earl introduced them to Madam Olga.
Tracy relaxed a bit more when the Medium began speaking in an
outrageously bad Hungarian accent. 

"Ve must all join 'ands and seek tha spirit world," Madam Olga trilled
her R's and let her voice trail off into a whisper. She was dressed
like a B movie's idea of a gypsy, in garish silks and heaps of fake
jewelry. Her dark hair was covered by a bright red and green scarf,
and huge earrings weighed down each lobe. 

Tracy looked down at the felt covered table to hide her grin, the
scene was so cliché there was no way any of it could be real, no,
nothing to worry about here. 

Lacroix put a finger under Tracy's chin and rose her face to look at
him, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Then his cool palm slipped into
her warm one and they both tried to look suitably impressed at the
goings on. 

The rest of the table joined hands, and Madam Olga began to hum and
moan. Suddenly the Medium's head snapped up.

"There es one among us who should not be 'ere," She breathed.

Tracy shifted uneasily in her seat, the Medium caught the movement.
Tracy silently cursed herself for drawing the woman's attention, she
knew the first rule of a successful con job was to focus on the
weakest link, the believer, the fool. And to Tracy's chagrin she
realized she'd just shown herself to be the biggest fool in the room. 

Sure enough, Madam Olga turned her heavily lined eyes on Tracy and
said, "It is you, you should not be in this place."

Tracy wasn't sure how to respond to that one, but Lacroix saved her
somewhat by saying, "She is -exactly- where she should be," His voice
oozed with possession and authority.

Tracy grimaced, he made her sound like his favorite pet poodle or
something.

Madam Olga gave Lacroix a withering look and Tracy cheered somewhat,
looked like someone was a fellow feminist… 'Maybe I can talk her into
burning our corsets with me later,' Tracy thought with a smirk. She
shifted again in her seat, but this time only because her
undergarments had apparently decided to declare mutiny. She'd have
bruises tomorrow for sure!

"Is there anyone from the beyond you would like to contact?" Again the
Medium's gaze settled on the believer.

Tracy's mind raced, the idea of making peace with Sarah's ghost
presented itself, but then again Sarah wouldn't even be born for
another century would she? Then Tracy remembered this was all just a
parlor game, something bored aristocrats did to pass the time, no more
real than fortune cookies or pro-wrestling! "Um, that's okay, I'm
fine," She smiled weakly. 

"I say," The Col. interrupted, "I'd like to talk to someone, my old
CO."

"The spirit world clings to Miss deBrabant," The Medium sparred the
military man a brief, but dismissive, look, "Strong and untapped is
her power."

Tracy flashed on Star Wars, "The force is strong in this one, Obe
Wan," She mumbled under her breath, luckily no one heard. 

The Gentry all looked very impressed by the Medium's proclamation, the
vampires just looked amused and again Tracy was the center of
attention.

"Is there anyone you want to talk to Miss deBrabant?" Dorothea
pressed. 

One name presented it to herself then, someone who'd been dead for
over 130 years, Comtesse du Montaigne, her killer, or rather,
Faubert's killer, but it amounted to the same thing didn't it? Tracy
shot Lacroix a look. No, maybe she'd better not ask about that one. By
Nick's reaction to that case she'd figured out he must have known the
Comtesse, and if Nick had known her, maybe Lacroix had as well. And it
was probably better in this case to let sleeping dogs lie.

"It must be someone you knew. To call a spirit back there must be a
personal connection." The Medium exhaled, letting her words sweep
across the gathering dramatically. 

'Great,' Tracy thought. She went over her mental list of dead people
she knew. Some morbid part of her mind offered up the faces of the
five people she'd killed in the line of duty, she shuddered, no she
didn't want to talk to any of them again. Besides, same problem as
before, none would even be alive for another eighty or ninety years.
That went for all her relatives too, so no chatting with Grandma
Vetter after all, that carrot cake recipe would stay lost forever. She
looked up, all eyes were still on her, Madam Olga and Lacroix's
especially. 

Tracy looked the Medium straight in the eye, "I can honestly say
there's no one I can think of I'd like to talk to right now," She
grinned then, "But thanks for asking."

Madam Olga shrugged elegantly then began rocking and humming again,
"Then I shall move onward, I shall ask tha spirits if any wishes to
speak." 

As the Medium shut her eyes and continued to sway Tracy allowed
herself a somewhat disgusted sigh, she didn't want to be here. She
didn't like this sort of game. It hit too close to home and some part
of her just plain objected to people playing at it like this. 

Lacroix squeezed her hand to get her attention and she turned her face
towards him. He raised a questioning brow, but whether he was asking
about Bourbon, the séance or why her bustle was hanging crookedly from
her hips after all that fidgeting, Tracy didn't know. 

Suddenly Madam Olga's eyes flew open and her head snapped up, "The
spirits tell me there is a killer among us!"

Everyone gasped, though Tracy noticed the vampires exchanged smirks as
well. Daphne and Bourbon looked like they were going to burst out
laughing any second. Tracy rolled her eyes, oh yeah, this was fun.

A general hubbub broke out around the table as the guests began
whispering to each other, it was then Tracy realized she wasn't the
only one there taking this game a little too seriously.

"But," The Medium said, calling all others to be silent with a wave of
a ring-filled hand, "They were done for duty."

"Must mean you Col.," The Earl commented.

But the Army man shook his head, "Not me."

Tracy wondered if either of the men at her sides had noticed that her
hands had begun to sweat? And was it her imagination or were Bourbon
and Daphne staring at her?

"There were five," The Medium went on, a slightly unearthly gleam in
her eyes. Eyes that settled on the believer.

Tracy gasped, and would have leapt to her feet if Lacroix hadn't held
her in place. Tracy looked around at the table full of people,
realizing after a moment that she should have denied it. She opened
her mouth to protest but Lacroix had already begun to speak.

"Nonsense!" He scoffed, rising to his feet, "Lord Wassailing, I will
not stay here and have my ward insulted this way!"

The Earl looked immediately abashed, "Sorry old boy, wife's idea to
invite her, didn't know she was a looney."

Madam Olga said nothing, just frowned and swept to her feet, leaving
the room and presumably, the house.

Lacroix continued to glare at the Earl, "In the future I would
recommend some forethought in planning these little 'get togethers.'"
He held out a hand to Tracy, "Come my dear, we're leaving."

Tracy took his arm and rose, gratitude shinning in her eyes. As if
from a great distance she could hear the Earl and his wife protesting
their departure and apologizing profusely, but she just wanted to get
out of there and quickly followed Lacroix to the hall.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Soon enough they were in the carriage riding home. Neither had said a
word since they'd donned their coats.

Tracy shot Lacroix a glance across the bench. What -could- he be
thinking after her bizarre reaction? She sighed. She was glad he
wasn't pressing her for an explanation, though she was a bit confused
why he wasn't. She certainly would have if the roles had been
reversed! Shrugging, she closed her eyes and let the cool night air
bathe her flushed face.

Lacroix sat in silent reflection, just directing his team through the
wet icy streets of London with the barest flicks of the reigns. They
were almost home before he asked her simply, "Are you a hunter?"

Tracy started, she'd grown used to the quiet and even his whispered
words sounded loud in the darkness. She'd been looking at the darkened
storefronts and slick unlit cobblestone streets, the strangeness of it
all reminding her just how much she didn't belong in this time or
place. She turned and stared at his profile, processing his question,
"You mean…of your kind?"

A barely discernible nod.

Tracy shook her head and a humorless laugh escaped her, "No Lacroix,
all my victims have been mortal." She turned away and watched the
passing buildings in mutely. 

She'd never been completely comfortable with that aspect of her job.
After a shooting she was always nagged by the possibility that she
could have somehow prevented it. Most cops went their entire careers
without ever having to fire their gun in the line of duty, she'd done
so countless times, and been forced to kill no less than five times.
Sure the precinct always patted her on the back and I.A. never
blinked, but still, she couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't in some
way her fault, getting herself into situations where that was the only
possible conclusion. 

Tracy shook herself out of her dark musings and glanced again at her
silent companion, wondering what Lacroix was thinking. She
reconsidered her words for a moment and thought she'd better add
something, "Though in all the cases they say it was self defense." She
didn't sound too convinced, and didn't volunteer anything else either,
just turned back and stared morosely into the night.

Lacroix didn't comment, and whatever his thoughts might have been, he
kept them to himself. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and Ouija boards to anteros@juno.com 

Disclaimers in part one, plums in Christmas pies.

Warning: I got a bit gory in the last scene of this part, I don't
know, visiting relatives always seems to bring out the horror writer
in me <eg>

'Tis the Season (11/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

After a rather restless night Tracy woke well before noon. Shrugging
on a thick robe and slippers she made her way down to the kitchen, a
prayer that Mrs. Crenshaw had had time to buy coffee on her lips. 

As she stumbled into the kitchen she was almost tempted to kiss the
housekeeper. She could smell and see the most perfect of all beans
percolating on the stove, "Coffee!" She cried joyously, immediately
swinging open cupboards in search of a mug.

Mrs. Crenshaw whacked her with a wooden spoon, "Here now, I'll bring
you some when it's ready, go wait in the morning room!"

Rubbing her red hand Tracy grumbled and headed towards the library,
she didn't want to deal with all the glass and sunlight of the other
room this early. When she saw Lacroix sitting behind his desk she
stopped cold. 

"You're up," She said.

"You do have a knack for stating the obvious my dear," Lacroix's eyes
swept up to meet hers as she entered the heavily draped room.

Tracy walked over and stood before the fireplace, warming herself and
staring at the vampire.

He went back to reading the paper, a glass of something not quite wine
in his hand, completely ignoring Tracy's presence and her watchful
gaze. 

Finally Tracy took a deep breath and spoke, "Look, Lacroix, I'm sorry
about last night, I," She broke off as his icy blue eyes met hers, "I
was…in a mood." She finished lamely, not knowing for sure what she
meant by that. 

Lacroix quirked a brow. He motioned for her to come closer.

Tracy took one tentative step towards him, but then strode
purposefully to his side. She came within a foot of Lacroix, trying to
show she wasn't frightened of him. "I'm not sure why I, er, freaked
like that," She gave him a lopsided smile, "I don't do well with that
kind of thing." 

"That kind of thing?" He repeated, setting down his glass and turning
to face her.

"Yeah," Tracy nodded, "Psychics, the supernatural, exorcisms,
reincarnation…ghosts." 

Lacroix reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. His
eyes were thoughtful, "Sounds like you have some experience in that
area."

"Yeah, my life is one big gothic novel." She sang mockingly, suddenly
a bit too aware that she was still in her robe. Sure she was a lot
more covered than anything she had in her regular wardrobe back home,
but it was the principle of the thing. She blushed.

Lacroix's patient smile took on a playful edge as if he'd caught the
change in her thoughts. And knowing what he was, he probably had.
Tracy blushed harder.

It was then Mrs. Crenshaw walked in with a tray of coffee and scones,
she cleared her throat rudely and gave Tracy a disapproving look. The
Detective looked down at Lacroix and realized she was way too close
for propriety's sake, especially propriety 1880's style. "Sorry," She
mumbled to no one in particular and retreated back to a chair by the
fireplace, snagging part of the morning paper as she went.

Lacroix shot her a surprised look, but said nothing. The rest of the
morning was spent in comfortable silence as the pair perused the
papers and drank their respective breakfasts.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

That afternoon Tracy went out, with Lacroix's permission and a
reluctant Mrs. Crenshaw in tow to chaperon. She wasn't expecting to
get nearly as much accomplished today, but she figured disobeying
Lacroix two days in a row would be tempting fate. Never mind that she
hadn't -known- she'd been disobeying him the day before, but the
vampire had made it abundantly clear that that is how he'd seen her
little 'shopping' trip. 

Sighing Tracy walked up one fashionable street then down another,
looking for anything interesting. There seemed to be an awful lot of
places that sold buttons for some reason, quite a few tearooms and
haberdashers galore. Finally, after much griping by Mrs. Crenshaw,
Tracy found a halfway interesting shop. A bookstore. 

Of course, the housekeeper had to make a few comments about 'ladies
not reading,' and 'you don't want to get a reputation as a blue-
stocking,' but Tracy ignored her. The shop was called, Figgy Pudding
Book Sellers, for reasons that escaped Tracy's Canadian mind,
"Honestly, the English have such weird names for everything!" She
commented. 

And the housekeeper scolded her for talking to herself. 

"Can I help you, miss?" An eager young clerk called from behind a
stack of books.

"Just looking," Tracy answered back with a smile. The shop smelled
like all used bookstores smelled, of leather, old paper, glues and
inks. She smiled and fell into her old habit of looking for her
favorite type of books, true crime/detective.

To her surprise it turned out she had read most of the detective
stories already, at least all those worth reading. She scanned the
front page of a particularly bad one called 'Night at Death House,'
then put it down with an embarrassed smile. She'd actually read that
one when she was eleven. 

Next she headed over to the occult section. Maybe should could find
something about time travel and magic boxes? Since it was quite in
fashion for high society to dabble in the black arts, the section was
quite large. Unlike the detective novels, Tracy had read only handful
of the books here. Most likely because a majority had been debunked
decades ago she reasoned, picking up one that claimed that
'unchristian thinking' was at blame for male pattern baldness and
impotency. "Uh-huh," Tracy smirked and put the book back. It was then
that she noticed a flyer pinned to the side of another bookcase, a
flyer for 'Madam Olga's Spiritual Readings'! 

Tracy ripped the paper down and memorized the address before stuffing
it in her pocket. She then looked around and spotted the housekeeper
perched on the edge of a chair carefully avoiding all the 'unlady-
like' books. 

"We can go now, Mrs. Crenshaw," Tracy called out as she made her way
to the door.

"About time," The woman sniffed. 

Tracy rolled her eyes. She'd spent an hour twiddling her thumbs while
the housekeeper had picked out the perfect color embroidery thread,
but fifteen minutes in a bookstore was too much to ask? "Yeah, it was
torture wasn't it?" She nodded in mock agreement, wondering what the
woman would think of her other favorite pastime, going a couple rounds
in the kick-boxing ring with her old college buddies. 'She'd probably
keel over and die from the unseemliness of it all!' Tracy thought, and
her mood lifted considerably. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

That night Tracy was left on her own. Well, not totally alone,
Wadsworth and Mrs. Crenshaw were both in the house, but Lacroix had
gone out.

Tracy had eaten dinner alone at the huge gleaming dining room table, a
piece of furniture that probably saw very little actual use. She'd
then retired to the library where'd she'd helped herself to Lacroix's
most expensive bottle of brandy and propped her feet up on his desk
while she read the book she'd found sitting on his desk. Defiant, yes.
Childish, oh yeah. But did it make her feel better? No.

"Damn, damn, damn." Tracy mumbled, tossing the book aside and climbing
to her feet. Lacroix hadn't told her where he was going. Not that she
had any right to ask in the first place, but… 

"Well, he did have a life before you came along," Tracy told herself,
"He probably had plans, long standing plans that he couldn't just
ignore." Even faced with logic she didn't feel any better. 

Lacroix had forbid her to go out, which would normally be enough to
get her out and wandering the cold London streets out of sheer spite,
but the truth was she had no where to go. Sure she planned on paying
Madam Olga a visit, but 2 AM was hardly the time to show up
unannounced at someone's door. Especially if the last time you saw
said person your supposed guardian had thrown a fit. Then there were
the man she'd hired to help her track Marcel, but he'd only been at it
one day, plus he were supposed to come to her if he found anything,
not the other way around. 

Tracy stalked through the darkened ground floor rooms, the servants
had both gone to their quarters on the fourth floor so she didn't
worry about waking them. And there was enough light from the moon
shining in through the windows to light her way, so she didn't bother
bringing the lamp either.

Tracy let out a frustrated growl. She would have been searching
Lacroix's rooms, but a couple things had stopped her. One: It would be
an invasion of privacy. She snorted, yeah, that would stop her. Two:
He'd probably be able to tell that she'd gone in there and would be
angry. That gave her pause, but she was still tempted. Three: He'd
locked his door. Well, there you had the real reason.

"Gee," Tracy mumbled, digging around the kitchen for something to pick
the lock, "Acts like he doesn't trust me or something!"

Then she heard a noise. Soundlessly closing the drawer, Tracy
straightened and stained her ears.

There it was again, a slight scrapping sound. Coming from the library.
Almost a tapping, but not quite. Tracy moved to investigate, wishing
she hadn't left her gun tucked with her old clothes upstairs in that
trunk. 

She thought about running upstairs to retrieve the broken weapon, if
only for intimidation purposes, but in the end she just scooped up a
large brass candlestick off the parlor mantle and crept towards the
library door. She pushed it slightly ajar, she'd left the reading lamp
burning so its soft yellow glow illuminated the still room.

Then she saw him. Someone was standing next to the corner bookcase,
almost out of her line of vision. She pushed the door open a little
wider. 

His back was towards her, but she could see that it was a man. He was
dressed all in black, shorter than her, with a slight build and dark
blonde hair under a fashionable black hat. From what Tracy could tell
he was looking for something, pulling off books and flipping through
the pages restlessly.

"You might as well come in," the man turned and looked straight at
her, "I can smell you anyway."

Tracy straightened, "Bourbon." 

He bowed slightly, "So good of you to remember me Miss deBrabant."

Tracy entered the library boldly, hoping to God he wasn't listening to
her heart race, "What are you doing here?" She asked point blank.

The Frenchman gave her a twisted smile, "Such manners, Lacroix would
be disappointed."

Tracy's eyes narrowed, "Lacroix is-"

"Is not here," Bourbon shut the book he was holding with a snap and
strode over to her. His eyes fell on the candlestick she still held
and he laughed humorously as he swept it from her grasp, "And what are
you planning on doing with it? Hmm, little Miss Tracy?"

Tracy took a step back, "If you know Lacroix isn't here, why are you?"

"Why to see you of course," He smiled at her with all the warmth of a
barracuda and set her weapon aside.

Tracy didn't respond to that, just took another step back.

"You are Lacroix's newest pet," The Frenchman gave up all pretext of
being a polite caller and swept off his hat to run impatient fingers
though his oily hair. "And Lacroix has insulted me for the last time."

"You're going to kill me," Tracy stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes," He smiled again.

"Lacroix will kill you if you touch me," She promised.

"My dear," He took a step and closed the distance between them, "He'll
never know it was me."

And with that he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her to him. But he
obviously hadn't counted on Tracy fighting back. 

Twisting her body down and under his still outstretched arm, Tracy
forced the vampire to bend the arm that held her at an unnatural
angle. When his elbow was perpendicular with the floor, she jerked to
the side and grabbed his wrist at the same time. With a fierce pull
she tore his arm from the socket.

Bourbon let out a howl of pain, his fangs extended and his eyes turned
blood red. Using his superior speed, he grabbed at Tracy with his good
arm and twisted her violently around so her back was to him. He was
about to wretch her head to one side, when Tracy flung her head back
and caught him square in the face with the back of her skull. As his
nose broke, cool blood poured into her hair. 

At the same time she stomped with all her weight on his instep and
twirled away. As she escaped his broken grasp though, she forgot to
mind the other dangers in the room. The edge of her dress caught the
smoldering coals of the fireplace and greedy flames leapt to life. 

Screaming, Tracy pulled her skirt up and tried to smother the fire out
with yet more of her voluminous dress. Bourbon charged her, sweeping
them both down to the carpet below. 

Flames licked at their legs as Bourbon tried to pin her wrists above
her head. With all of the vampire's weight on top of her, and the
heavy, burning silk encasing her legs Tracy began to panic. Bourbon
laughed as he saw her fear and shoved his face down for a brutal kiss.

When he forced his tongue into her open mouth, Tracy bit down. Hard. 

Blood spurted everywhere, he tried to pull away but like a pit-bull
Tracy refused to let go. Finally the muscle tissue began to give and
Tracy's sharp teeth severed the bloody flesh. 

Jerking himself off her, Bourbon retreated a bit, enough for Tracy to
flip over to her hands and knees. She spat out the bloody chunk of
tongue and began to stand. Her outer skirt was now a smoldering hell,
but she was able to strip the damaged silk off like a snake's skin.
Tossing the blazing fabric aside, Tracy pushed herself up and was
immediately tackled by Bourbon again. 

His fangs sunk into the top of her shoulder as they flipped over the
desk, landing with a thud next to the jimmied window. Trying to pry
his face off her bleeding shoulder proved impossible, he was just too
strong. But then Tracy realized that maybe that was the best place for
him, as long as he was there, he couldn't go for her neck.

Holding him to her, like an unnatural child to a bloody breast, Tracy
dragged them both closer to the window. Closing her eyes, she punched
through a pane of glass and then grabbed at the wood strip that had
held it. When it finally came, she plunged it straight through
Bourbon's back and into his heart.

He instantly went limp. 

She scrambled out from under him and scurried to the false protection
of the corner. She stared at him and he stared back with eyes he
couldn't close. He wasn't dead yet, Tracy realized, but he was dying.
His face was covered with blood, his, hers, it blended together with
no discernible difference. 

Tracy was panting, she looked down at her hand, a jagged scratch cut
across the top of her wrist, but it wasn't very deep. She could feel
the blood dripping from her chin. Bourbon's, all of it. She scrambled
tighter into the corner near the desk. She could feel the cold
December wind streaming through the broken pane, and the heat of the
not quite dead fire radiating from the fireplace. But her eyes were
filled with the sight of Bourbon's death.

"Tracy?!" Came a yell from the front hall. 

Lacroix. Tracy closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks to whatever
god looks over cops and time travelers. When she opened her eyes
Lacroix was rushing through the library doors and taking in the scene
before him.

The room was a shambles, the furniture overturned, everything that had
been on the desk strewn across the room. The burning remains of
Tracy's gown. And blood. Blood everywhere. "Tracy?!" His voice was a
roar of rage and fear, he was so panicked he couldn't even calm down
to listen for her.

"I'm here," Tracy's voice sounded small even to her own ears. 

Lacroix instantly rushed around the desk, pausing only an instant to
notice Bourbon's near dead body before he was at her side. His eyes
were wide as he looked at her, her face was covered in blood, the
tendon between her neck and shoulder savagely bitten, her gown ripped
and scorched, her hair was matted with gore and her white hands doused
with even more blood. "Oh Tracy," he whispered, his voice filled with
sorrow as he pushed a lock of bloody hair from her cheek.

Tracy's eyes filled with tears, "He was going to kill me, I had to."

Lacroix's face registered shock and he looked back at Bourbon before
turning back to her, "I know, I didn't think you had-"

Tracy cut him off by throwing herself into his arms, "Oh God,
Lacroix."

Lacroix wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently, before
scooping her into his arms and carrying her upstairs. He didn't bother
to pull the drapes, if Bourbon wasn't dead yet, he would be by dawn.

After taking Tracy to her chambers, he pressed the buzzer for Mrs.
Crenshaw.

"Haven't I been through enough?" Tracy whined, the hint of smile
lighting her eyes. She sat on the trunk at the foot of her bed with a
damp cloth in hand, trying to wash off some of the blood. Lacroix had
bandaged the bite and her arm, now all she really needed was a bath
and lots and lots of sleep.

Lacroix smiled at her, "Oh my poor darling, scared of the help?"

Tracy gave a dramatic shudder, "Aren't you?"

He chuckled appreciatively and made to open the door, but Tracy's
quiet voice stopped him.

"Stay," She whispered, so softly that he wondered if he'd imagined it.

Turning to look back at her, he saw she was just looking at him with
pleading eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Mrs.
Crenshaw burst into the room, her robe tied tight and her hair up a
thousand pins and rollers.

The housekeeper, of course, screamed when she saw Tracy and Lacroix
slipped out of the room before either of the women noticed. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and dark pink mouth guards to anteros@juno.com

 

Disclaimers in part one, bad movies about giant gorillas in a theater
near you

'Tis the Season (12/18)

BY: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

The next day Tracy managed to sleep past noon, actually, it was almost
three before she rolled out of bed. 

"Urgh," Seemed to sum up how she was feeling. Every part of her body
seemed to be stiff and aching. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire
and it felt like something had crawled in, died and started to grow
fuzz in her mouth. Pulling on her robe, she somehow made it down the
stairs and poured herself a cup full of mud. Apparently Mrs. Crenshaw
had expected her up earlier because she'd obviously made the coffee
hours ago, though from the taste Tracy would guess weeks.

Tracy made her way to the library next, her morbid curiosity working
double time. 

Sunlight steamed in from the uncovered windows, most of the clutter
was gone, and the housekeeper was on her knees scrubbing the carpet. 

Tracy crept in and walked around to where Bourbon had fallen, but his
body was, of course, gone. Someone had put a piece of wood over the
broken pane of glass, and swept away all the debris. Tracy then
glanced up and saw the streaks of blood in the corner where Lacroix
had found her. She shuddered, drawing back into the middle of the
room.

"Mrs. Crenshaw?" Tracy began, trying to think of what to say about
what had happened the night before. She hadn't given the housekeeper
many details, merely telling her she needed a bath and that she wanted
to be alone. 

The housekeeper looked up and smiled, then her eyes fell on Tracy's
bandaged hand. "Oh! What happened to you?!"

Tracy's eyes widened, then she realized the housekeeper had been, as
Screed put it, 'whammied.' 'Does she even realize she's cleaning up
blood?' Tracy wondered. "Nothing," She told the woman, "Just a
scratch, tree branch."

"Have to learn to be more careful," Mrs. Crenshaw nodded and went back
to work, "Silly girl."

Tracy shook her head slightly and walked out of the memory-drenched
room. She thought about getting dressed and going out, but she really
didn't want to even look at a corset today. She decided to go back to
bed.

>>>>>>>>>

When she woke for the second time, the sun was setting. Not wanting to
sleep her way back to 1996, she dragged herself up yet again and was
pleased to notice most of the aches were gone. She went to the
bathroom and slowly peeled the bandage off her shoulder.

There was a small bruise, but nothing like it had been last night, and
no sign of a break in the skin at all. "Must be all that vamp blood,
made it heal faster." Tracy theorized. She'd read in one of the many,
many vampire books she purchased after meeting Vachon and company,
that vampire blood was pretty much a cure all, pour it on a wound and
presto, no more boo-boo.

This in mind, she unwrapped her arm and was thrilled to see only a
thin pink line, the scratch was almost completely gone. "Better than
Bactine!" She grinned.

Taking care of the rest of her toilet, Tracy next paced around her
room wondering just how unseemly it was for a woman to wander around
the house at seven o'clock at night still in her robe and slippers?
"Oh hell, who cares?" She shrugged and bounded down the stairs, her
fifteen-hour nap having left her with just a tad too much energy. 

She skirted to a stop at the foot of the stairs as Lacroix emerged
from the library, book in hand. "Lacroix!" She wasn't sure why she was
so surprised to see him, it was his house after all. 

"Tracy," He nodded politely, though his eyes held concern, "How are
you feeling?"

"Bright eyed and bushy tailed!" Tracy grinned, "Though I can't believe
I slept through the entire day!"

"Nothing wrong with that," The vampire dead-panned, amusement
twinkling in his eyes. 

Tracy smiled, then her eyes slipped past him to the library door, "Is
it…all cleaned up?"

He nodded, then moved, taking her arm and leading her straight into
the parlor.

"Hey!" Tracy yelped, "What? I can't even go in there?"

Lacroix raised an eyebrow at her, "You'd only brood, and after seven
centuries of Nicholas, I don't want to go through any more of that."

"I -don't- brood," Tracy stuck her tongue out at the master vampire,
feeling surprisingly good despite last night's ordeal, "I carefully
reevaluate situations." She smiled impishly.

Lacroix gave her a look before sitting her in one of the wing-chairs
by the fireplace, another chair faced it and a small squattish table
sat between them. He seated himself and began arranging a chessboard
on the table.

"Want me to play with you, huh?" Tracy asked, her voice dripping with
double entrée. 

Another strange, but amused look, "Do you know the game?"

"Yeah, my Uncle Sonny taught me when I was little," Tracy nodded,
sitting forward and arranging the white pieces for herself. Then what
he said before came back to her, her head snapped up, "Did you say
seven centuries?!"

Lacroix looked her in the eye, "I brought him across in 1228, I
thought you knew that."

"He didn't exactly give me dates and times!" Tracy's mouth fell open,
"Gee and I thought Vachon was old!"

Lacroix just raised an eyebrow.

"So how old are you?" Tracy asked, gesturing with the rook in her
hand. 

"I became a vampire in 79 AD," He told her, though his voice and face
were expressionless, it was obvious he was hoping for a big reaction.

He got one. Tracy fell out of her chair.

He looked down at her, laughter rumbling in his chest. "Are you quite
well?" 

"No!" Tracy immediately yelled, the seemed to calm somewhat, "Um, yes.
I suppose so." She smiled weakly, giggling suddenly, "Sorry, kind of a
shocker."

"Indeed," He nodded as she climbed back into her chair.

"My move?" Tracy asked after she finished placing her pieces. 

He nodded, sitting back and watching her as she decided on a strategy.


They spent the rest of the evening playing chess and talking. Tracy
was hopelessly outmatched, though she did manage to keep Lacroix on
his toes. She seemed to be incredibly fond of making her pawns into
queens, and once even managed to beat him after gaining no less than
three new queens and massacring his remaining pieces, giggling through
out. 

They talked about nothing really, his past mostly, but then they spoke
on other things as well. Topics like honor, duty, and family all
tumbled easily from both their lips. It was surprising to both how
many views they shared, though their thoughts on killing were -
slightly- different. 

Lacroix sat back again and sipped from his wine glass, watching Tracy
with a ham sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other,
trying to figure out a way to save her bishop. She'd drawn her knees
up under her and had somehow along the way managed to get him to wrap
his jacket around her robe encased shoulders. She seemed so sweet and
innocent, it was hard to imagine her besting Bourbon only the night
before, Lacroix shook his head, steepling his hands before him.

She looked up at him then, looking all of twelve with her eyes shining
in triumph. She moved her knight and proclaimed, "Checkmate."

Lacroix smiled, he couldn't remember when he'd spent a more pleasant
evening. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and shiny new menorahs to anteros@juno.com 

Disclaimers in part one, the character of Ebenizzer Scrooge in 'A
Christmas Carol.'

'Tis the Season (13/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

The next day Tracy awoke with a purpose, she called Mrs. Crenshaw and
was dressed and out the door long before Lacroix even -thought- about
rising for the day. She didn't bring a chaperon this time, it was ten
AM and she was on a mission.

Her first stop was 25 B Jollyelf Lane, better known as 'Madam Olga's
House of Spiritualism.' It was a surprisingly ordinary little house,
in a quiet residential area. The only noteworthy difference from the
dozens of other squat dark brown buildings lining the lane were the
multi-colored beads hanging in the window, other than that it could
have been anyone's home. 

Taking a deep breath, Tracy marched up the short icy walk and quickly
rapped on the door before she lost her nerve.

A moment later the door swung open and there stood Madam Olga, still
in her robe, but with eyes that were already lined heavily and cheeks
rouged, so obviously Tracy hadn't forced her from bed. "Ah, Miss
deBrabant, I've been expecting you!" The Medium quickly motioned the
blonde inside and shut the door. 

"You were?" Tracy allowed her coat to be taken and followed the woman
into a small but functional kitchen.

"But of course," Madam Olga smiled mysteriously and poured Tracy a cup
of tea.

Tracy hid her grimace and thanked her.

"You wish to ask me something, no?" The Medium pressed.

"Yes, I do," Tracy drew the assent out slowly.

Madam Olga seated herself across the small table from Tracy and took
her hand, "You can ask me anything my dear, I know you need help."

Tracy nodded, she looked the woman in the eye and asked, "You're real
aren't you, I mean you knew…"

"How many you've killed?" The woman nodded, then looked at her
speculatively, "But there has been another, hasn't there?"

Tracy drew a sharp breath, "How?"

"Madam Olga sees all, knows all," The Medium asserted. 

Tracy still wasn't sure if the woman before her was a fake or not, but
she did know she had to get home somehow. Too many people counted on
her in her own time, it's where she belonged. She looked at Madam
Olga, with her painted face and pounds of fake jewelry, and blurted
out the whole story, about being a cop, Jacob Marcel, time travel,
everything. The only part she left out was the existence of vampires,
saying instead that Lacroix was the ancestor of someone she knew in
her own time.

When she finished, Madam Olga blinked. It was a reaction so familiar
to Tracy she couldn't help the bubble of nervous laughter that escaped
her. What would Vachon have said if she'd been telling him this story?
He probably would have told her she needed a vacation and that she was
imagining the whole thing!

"So this Marcel character has a Vessel of Time?" The Medium asked
slowly.

Tracy nodded, wondering if the woman was just making up terms to
pacify her. "Vessel of Time?" She echoed.

"Yes," The Medium nodded, "Only explanation."

Tracy just stared, taking a sip of the foul boiled leaves in her cup.
"So, can you help me?"

"Perhaps…" Madam Olga trailed off, placing her open palm on the table
in expectation.

It took a moment for Tracy to realize she wanted money, but then she
sighed and reached into her reticule, pulling out a considerable
amount of cash. She kept placing coins in Madam's hand until the
Medium declared that the spirits would help her…from the kindness of
their hearts, of course.

"Come see me on the morrow," Madam Olga put the back of her hand over
her eyes, "I must commune with the world of the spirits!"

Tracy recognized a cue to leave when she saw one and knowing she'd
probably just tossed half her money down the drain, she headed off to
her second destination. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>

When she arrived at the Roasted Beast it was nearly four, so Tracy
ordered a meal with her pint of ale. The food was a rather interesting
mix of brown and gray lumps. Tracy ate her roll slowly while she
worked up her courage by poking at what must have once been an animal,
vegetable or mineral, but now failed to resemble any of the above.

"You looking for Horner?" The barkeep asked as she paid her bill,
giving him a generous tip as well.

"If he's around," Tracy answered with a shrug.

The keep pointed towards the back room.

"Thanks," Tracy smiled and headed through the doorway that led into a
small dark room where her snitch and two other men were playing darts.

Tracy leaned up against the wall near the door and watched the
proceedings for awhile until someone noticed her.

'"Ey, 'oo's tha bird?" Asked one of Jack Horner's cohorts.

As the red hared man turned, he smiled, "Miss deBrabant! Checking up
on me?"

"Maybe," Tracy arched a brow in a way that would have made Lacroix
proud, "Should I be?"

Horner shrugged, motioning for his friends to leave them alone, "Been
workin' I 'ave, just that all work an' no play make Jack a dull boy."
He laughed at his own joke.

"As long as you do what I'm paying you for as well, otherwise Jack
will be a bruised boy," Tracy smirked playfully.

Horner laughed, patting Tracy on the arm, "Ya know, you're all right!"

Grabbing his arm, Tracy spun him around and pinned him against the
wall, "Sure am," She grinned, "Now, get back to work!"

As she let him go he looked back at her and grinned, rubbing his arm,
"Remind me of me dear ol' mum ya do!"

Tracy laughed, shaking her head, "You know Jack, you're like the
little brother I never wanted."

He bowed and grinned at her, "Well, back to the salt mines luv, should
'ave something for you soon." And with that he left.

Tracy called out after him, "As long as it's information and not
salt!"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When Tracy returned home shortly after dark she was in high spirits,
though she had nothing tangible for her efforts, she'd renewed her
contacts and hopefully set up another avenue to explore. Yes, she felt
like she'd done a damn fine job today!

When Lacroix saw her he didn't even bother to ask her where she'd
been. Apparently somewhere along the way he'd decided to give her a
bit of freedom, because he just smiled at her and asked if she'd had a
good time.

Tracy grinned back, "Just peachy!" She leaned up and kissed him on the
cheek.

"You smell of peaches, you know," He said suddenly.

Tracy started, then blushed shyly, "I heard apricots."

Lacroix closed his eyes and breathed in, "No, definitely peaches,
fresh peaches and calla lillies."

Tracy just blushed brighter, looking down at the floor as if hoping it
would swallow her up.

"Do you have any plans for tonight my dear?" He asked then, almost
hesitantly.

"Only to follow you around like a faithful puppy," Tracy teased,
hiding her earlier embarrassment, "You know, biting your ankles,
piddling on your friends' shoes."

Lacroix's face after that was so priceless, Tracy burst out laughing.

"Quite amusing," He said drolly.

"I thought so," Tracy grinned, wiping her eyes, "So, what do you have
planned?"

He held up two tickets to the Nutcracker's Suite, Tracy snatched them
away and squealed.

Lacroix smiled, "You're pleased." 

Tracy grinned, and threw herself into his arms, "Yes, I am! It's one
of my favorite ballets!"

He laughed and twirled her around before setting her back down, "Go on
then, there's a gown upstairs and Mrs. Crenshaw is waiting."

With one last grin, Tracy raced upstairs, pausing at the landing to
twirl around once more before continuing on her way.

Lacroix smiled, it promised to be a most delightful and diverting
evening ahead.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and coffee scented candles to anteros@juno.com

Disclaimers in part one. The next scene contains the adult sexual
situations some have you have been waiting less than patiently for
<eg> If that type of thing bothers you, skip over to part 15, if not,
prepare yourselves for smoochies!

'Tis the Season (14/18) 

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)


As they returned from the ballet, Wadsworth opened the door for them
and Lacroix quickly rushed Tracy in away from the wet flurries of snow
that had begun to fall. 

Cheeks rosy, eyes sparkling, Tracy turned and allowed him to help her
with her heavy cloak. From their private box they had watched the mice
battle the toy soldiers, and Tracy had thought of Screed and laughed.
The mysterious Uncle had reminded her of Lacroix and the bratty little
brother…Nick. "Thank you Lacroix, that was wonderful!"

He smiled benevolently at her, then seemed to look past her to where
Wadsworth and the housekeeper stood. At the butler's small nod,
Lacroix swept off his own great cape and handed both his and Tracy's
cloaks to Mrs. Crenshaw to put away. 

"The night is not over yet my dear, I have another surprise for you,"
Suddenly Lacroix looked almost…well, shy. 

Tracy's brow furrowed slightly, but a smile lit her eyes, "A surprise?
For me?"

"Yes," Lacroix nodded sharply, "In the parlor, come." And with that he
took her arm and led her across the foyer to the closed double doors
on their left, dismissing the butler and housekeeper with a wave of
his hand.

"Close your eyes." He ordered brusquely, and after shooting him one
more puzzled look, Tracy obeyed. 

She heard him open the doors, and allowed him to lead her into the
parlor. She could see the flicker of candles even through her shut
lids, she smelled wax and…pine? 

Lacroix, watching her slowly taste the air, smiled. She was already
putting the pieces together. He moved slightly ahead and turned to
watch her reaction, "Open them."

Tracy slowly opened her eyes and gazed in wonder at the scene before
her. A Christmas tree! It was decorated with tiny painted wooden dolls
and colored balls, candy and cookies hung from dipping branches and
dozens and dozens of small tapered candles twinkled from every bow.
There were no presents under it, and nothing else in the darkened room
seemed touched at all, but the tree stood there as proud as could
be…dropping needles and wax on what was probably a priceless Turkish
rug. She felt tears began to prick the backs of her eyes, "I-I-I…" She
couldn't think of anything to say.

Lacroix watched her, from opened mouthed awe to stuttered words, her
reaction was priceless, he chuckled. But then she turned adoring eyes
on him and his smile disappeared. He cleared his throat, "I thought
since your family is German…such a silly pagan practice really…" He
trailed off.

Tracy stood there a moment, looking from the tree to Lacroix and back.
"Its so beautiful, reminds me so much of when I was a kid."

"Kid?" Lacroix sneered, "A goat?"

"No, it's a colloquialism for child," Tracy laughed and was a little
embarrassed as a few of the tears she'd been fighting back managed to
slip down her cheeks. She tried to wipe them away without Lacroix
seeing, but of course he noticed.

Lacroix stepped closer to her and captured her hand in one of his own
just before it reached her face. With the other, he carefully wiped
her tears away and kissed them from his fingertips.

When he stepped back Tracy wondered why she was still standing, surely
her wobbling knees couldn't be holding her up! Suddenly her head
snapped up, "Wait! I have something for you too!" She grinned and
rushed past him as inspiration struck. 

Lacroix stood there in bemusement as she bounded up the staircase,
hiking her skirts up to her knees and taking the steps two at a time.
When she returned she was happily out of breath and had a small, black
wrapped box, the name of a prominent jeweler was embossed on the side.
He arched a brow.

She dimpled up at him, "Go ahead, open it!"

Sighing, but fighting a smile, he sank into a wing chair near the tree
and carefully began to peel back the shiny paper.

"How did I know you wouldn't be one for shredding the wrapping?" Tracy
chuckled and perched on the arm, watching him with sparkling eyes.

Giving her a disapproving look, one which he knew she'd ignore,
Lacroix returned his attention to the package and ripped the remaining
paper away. A small rectangular box remained, he ran his thumb across
the red velvet of the case, prolonging the suspense.

"Well?" Tracy prompted, "Open it!"

He looked down, hiding his smile as she leaned in and fairly bounced
with excitement. He opened the case and found an exquisite pin in the
shape of a sword. It was a very distinctive piece, finely crafted and
quite elegant. 

"It reminded me of you the second I saw it!" Tracy gushed. "I wasn't
going to give it to you until New Years, I figured you wouldn't want
to do…" She trailed off, suddenly aware she was about to stick her
foot in her mouth. "Um, do you like it?"

Lacroix just nodded and continued to stare down at the pin, as if it
would give him some clue as to what he was feeling at the moment.

"Here," Suddenly uncertain, Tracy took the box and drew out the pin,
"Let me put it on you. Look up."

Lacroix turned unreadable eyes on her, then raised his chin and
exposed the high starched collar and deep red of his cravat. His eyes
though, still watched her.

Tracy gulped, and for a moment she looked at the scant half inch of
flesh above his collar, she noticed the place under his jaw where a
pulse should have been, it was still. She became aware of just how
close she was to him then, just a few inches, she could just slide
down the arm and she'd be in his lap... Strange. She knew from Urs it
was possible for a mortal and vampire to be together, but she'd never
really trusted Vachon enough to try. But Lacroix, someone she knew so
much less about, she trusted completely. 

Tracy closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath, when she
opened them she could see amusement sparkling in Lacroix's. She smiled
somewhat guiltily at him and extended slightly trembling hands to him.
She let her knuckles brush against his jaw line as she gently tucked
the pin into the edge of his collar.

She smiled in triumph, as if she'd just preformed some great feat.
"There," She grinned up at him, "Looks great."

"I'm sure it does," His voice was a mere whisper, soft and pleased. 

Tracy felt herself blush. What was it about this man that turned her
into a tittering school girl? She laughed quietly at her own
nervousness.

"Something funny?" He sounded a little offended.

"Hardly," She smiled and shook her head, "Everything's wonderful."

Lacroix sighed as if to say 'why ever do I put up with you?' But then
just wrapped his hand around her upper arm and gently pulled her into
his lap. 

He arranged her so carefully Tracy almost laughed. He painstakingly
tucked her skirt around her legs, as if to please propriety and make
sure he didn't see anything a gentleman shouldn't. When he looked back
at her face he found her smiling, he smiled back and cupped her cheek
tenderly. "You swear you're not Nicholas's?" He asked again, one last
time, the smallest hint of pleading in his voice.

Instead of getting annoyed, Tracy just touched the pin at his collar,
then skimmed her hand up to the side of his face, "I don't belong to
Nick, or anyone else," she smiled, "But I'm -with- you." She bent her
head and captured his lips.

The kiss was sweet at first, gentle and almost timid, but they both
quickly grew bold. 

As Tracy pulled his lower lip into her mouth, she wrapped her arms
around his neck and pulled him close. Lacroix responded by letting his
hands roam free over her slim form, one hand settling on her hip and
holding her firmly in place.

Lacroix invaded her mouth with his tongue, they dueled for a moment
before losing themselves in the sensations completely. His hand
slipped up to cup her breast, kneading the flesh through the fabric of
her corset with strong fingers. 

Tracy moaned into his mouth and rolled her hips, grinding her bottom
into his appreciative loins. 

Suddenly Lacroix broke their kiss, Tracy made a protesting sound and
glared at him. 

He grinned, the sight of this tempting woman, scowling at him with her
passion-dark eyes and kiss-swollen lips was truly enchanting. He
dropped one more quick kiss on the tip of her nose and scooped her
into his arms, "Up stairs." He whispered into her hair.

As Tracy realized he wasn't ending their activity, just moving it to a
more appropriate location she smiled and buried her head in his neck,
showering his throat and jaw with small kisses.

He was enjoying the feeling of her in his arms so much, Lacroix almost
missed a step and fell, twice. But eventually they made it to his
bedchamber and he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Now," He said, lowering her onto his large canopied bed, "I have you
in my clutches."

Tracy grinned, "No place else I'd rather be."

He leaned down and with one arm on either side of her, kissed her
soundly. Tracy kept busy by untying his cravat and tossing it in the
general direction of the wardrobe, next came the shirt buttons.

Lacroix slipped his hands up and unclasped the pearls around her neck,
pulled the combs from her hair and the earrings from her lobes, all
without breaking the kiss. 

Not to be out done, Tracy backed into the pillows against the
headboard and beckoned him to follow her, whispering little half words
under her breath as she inched. Kiss, inch, kiss, inch.

He turned to place the jewels on the night table. No sooner had he
done that then Tracy had his coat half way down his arms, effectively
binding him. "You're mine," She whispered, dipping her lips to his
throat.

A passion-filled groan escaped him as he fought his way loose and
quickly stripped off his coat, vest and the shirt that she had so
thoughtfully unbuttoned for him. Again he gathered her in his arms,
one hand capturing her chin as the other traced delicate patterns
across her back. 

Tracy ran her hands up his chest, dismayed to find an undershirt,
"They wore way too many clothes back now," she mumbled.

"What?" Lacroix began to draw away, but was soon lost again in her
kiss.

Dipping her hands lower, Tracy easily undid his belt, a fact that
caused Lacroix's whole body to stiffen. But when she tried to open his
fly, and discovered his breeches had none, she was at a loss, her hand
skimmed lightly over his crotch looking for access. Lacroix pulled her
away and quickly divested himself of his remaining clothing, boots,
trousers, and several articles of undergarments Tracy had no names
for. 

When he was finally before her Tracy just stared, he was so gorgeous.
Pale, muscular, he looked almost like a marble statue, a Roman god
cast forever in stone. Her eyes roamed hungrily over him and he
allowed the inspection, standing before her next to the bed, where she
still sat fully clothed, waiting with almost bated breath until her
eyes again met his. 

"You're so beautiful," She whispered, almost in awe.

Lacroix moved slowly towards her again, his hand cupped her chin and
he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, cherishing her with his mouth.
When he pulled away Tracy just watched with wide eyes as he pushed up
her skirt to just above her knees. Gently, almost reverently, he
slipped off her shoes and untied her garters. As he slowly rolled her
thick cotton stockings down he kissed each knee. 

Next he drew her up to a kneeling position and moved behind her as he
unfastened her dress. He moved down the series of tiny pearl buttons
and traced a long lingering kiss along her spine, at last having to
break contact as he reached the top of her corset.

Tracy held her breath as he pooled the silk of her dress around his
arms and lifted it off her body. She sat there, almost humbled by his
tenderness. He began to unlace her stays and Tracy shivered as his
strong hands worked out the tight cords.

"Cold?" He asked.

Tracy just shook her head. No, of all the things she was feeling right
now, cold was definitely not one of them.

"Good," He pressed a kiss into the back of her neck.

Slowly, with agonizing care Lacroix stripped her of the rest of her
underclothes, a process that took much too long in Tracy's estimation.
But then again, she also realized the sweet torture of the
anticipation added much to the experience. 

When the last of her garments were finally gone, Lacroix stepped back.
A lamp that one the servants had lighted on their arrival home burned
behind him, throwing him into a bit of a silhouette, but bathing Tracy
in a golden light. 

She waited for him, giving his eyes the same freedom he'd allowed
hers. Her heart began to beat frantically, she could feel her body
reacting to him even though he wasn't touching her. She took a ragged
breath and forced herself to focus on remaining still. She wouldn't
call him to her, she wouldn't beg. She waited.

At last Lacroix was at her side again, he said nothing as he drew her
to him and kissed her. His hands swept down her body, tracing her
breasts, stomach, curls, thighs. On the way back up they moved slower,
teasingly so.

Tracy grinned into his mouth, two could play it that game. One thing
Tracy Vetter was not, was passive. As they kissed she turned herself
so she was kneeling before him, Lacroix quickly raised to his own
knees to sustain the kiss. She moved her hands roughly down his body,
lacing through the light whorls of chest hair then reaching around to
skim his back and buttocks. When she reached back around and cupped
him, he jerked back violently, too bad she was still holding him.

He groaned at the sweet pain and pulled her down with him as he lay
back. 

She kept one hand on him, rubbing, caressing, and let the other cup
the side of his head as she kissed and nibbled the side of his neck. 

Lacroix for his part was awash with sensations. He wondered briefly if
she hadn't mastered these skills with another of his kind, surely she
couldn't have just stumbled by pure chance on that perfect spot on the
side of his throat? He lay on his back, Tracy tucked half on top, half
on his side, he left one hand trail up and down her back, cupping her
sweet backside, then up to her smooth shoulders. The other just stayed
at her waist, making sure she wasn't going anywhere. 

He closed his eyes as she began to move, throwing her thigh over him
she slid up and mounted his thighs. Slitting his eye partially open
again he saw her grinning down at him.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" She asked cheekily.

Lacroix arched a brow and faster than she could follow, flipped her
over onto the feather mattress. "And what would you like me to do?" He
asked, his tone mocking though his eyes were serious, then, a flash of
yellow.

She stared up at him wide eyed, suddenly acutely aware of just what he
was. "Please…" She whispered finally, "Be with me."

He looked down at her, listening to her heartbeat, feeling it in the
places their flesh touched. Their thighs, his groin and her stomach,
his hand at the side of her throat. He leaned down and captured her
lips again. 

Tracy groaned, hoping he wasn't going to kill her but not really
caring either. "Lacroix." She moaned.

"Lucien," He corrected, trailing a kiss along her chin, scrapping the
flesh with his bottom teeth, he turned his attention next to the siren
call of her jugular, "Say my name," He demanded in a whisper as he
nipped at her flesh.

"Lucien," She wiggled against him, relishing in the feel of his cool
flesh against her heat. "Lucien, please, I want you, I need you."

"Tell me," He slid a hand down, reaching beneath her and cupping her
hips against his.

Tracy knew what he wanted, he wanted her to surrender herself
completely. Give herself completely. Throw caution to the wind and
tell him he could do whatever he wanted, take her, kill her, bring her
across, anything. And while part of her was screaming 'YES!' She
couldn't do it. She closed her eyes tightly, her whole body stilling
beneath his fingers, his lips. "Please Lucien," She whispered, so
quietly she could barely hear herself, "Love me."

He froze, matching her in the unnerving stillness. Then he sighed and
drew back, looking down at her.

Tracy opened her eyes and stared back. She wasn't challenging him, she
didn't know what she was feeling, maybe he could figure it out.

"Tracy," He sighed, his hand coming to the side of her face as her
eyes filled with tears. He traced his thumb pad across her cheek,
staring at her as if trying to memorize her face. Tracy began to
tremble beneath him.

He rolled to his side and dragged her with him, holding her tight
against him, "Do you want me to let you go? Is that what you're
asking?" His voice was neutral, but slightly weary.

Tracy pressed a kiss to his chest, "I want you to want me to stay,"
she whispered, "As I am, as we are."

For a long time he didn't move, just stared up at the canopy high
above.

She inched her hand across the expanse of his chest, dipping into the
sprinkling of curls, "Can we?" She whispered.

He took her hand and kissed her fingertips, "We can be whatever you
want," He promised, then turned and kissed her again.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and snow angels to anteros@juno.com

Disclaimers in part one, honest! ;-) 

'Tis the Season (15/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

When Tracy woke, she was cradled in Lacroix's arms. Sighing happily,
she cuddled in closer. 

"Comfortable?" He purred in her ear.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, "You're awake."

"Seems we've had this conversation before," He smiled, dropping a kiss
on the tip of her nose. 

Tracy grinned and sat up, stretching her arms above her head.

Lacroix enjoyed the view before pulling her down to his side, "Go back
to sleep," He growled.

"But I'm awake now!" She wiggled in his arms.

"I'm not," He mumbled into her hair.

"Let me up," She giggled, "I want breakfast."

"Me too," He sleepily nipped at her neck, not coming anywhere close to
breaking the skin.

"I need coffee," She pleaded, trying to tickle him, unfortunately he
wasn't ticklish. But he seemed to appreciate the effort, because with
a small chuckle he released her. 

"You and coffee," He yawned, rolling over and going back to sleep.

Tracy gave him one last look, surpressing the urge to poke him in the
ribs to see if he really was as out as he seemed. Grinning, she
slipped from the bed and pulled on his robe. 

She quickly sprinted down the hall and slipped into her own room,
hoping neither of the servants had tried to check on her last night.
After getting dressed, not an easy task without assistance, Tracy
headed down stairs in search of her blessed java.

She found Mrs. Crenshaw in the kitchen. The housekeeper didn't throw a
meat cleaver at her, glare or even look at her oddly, so Tracy assumed
their secret was safe. "Coffee please?" She whimpered playfully,
making puppy dog eyes at the cantankerous housekeeper.

"Go into the morning room, the papers are here." Mrs. Crenshaw
actually gave her a small smile, "I'll bring you the pot when it's
ready, some toast too."

Tracy grinned, maybe the housekeeper was actually starting to warm up
to her! 'Or more likely,' She thought wryly, 'She's trying to lull me
into a false sense of security while she slips arsenic in my coffee!'
Smiling even broader at that thought, Tracy leaned over and kissed the
housekeeper's cheek. "Thank you, Mrs. Crenshaw."

"Get!" Mrs. Crenshaw shooed her away, but a smile hovered on her thin
lips none-the-less.

>>>>>>>>>>

Happily ensconced with her paper and coffee, Tracy was humming
tunelessly to herself as she scanned the headlines. Most of them were
of little interest, she recognized the odd name, a politician here, a
writer there, but for the most part they were meaningless babble to
her. After a few minutes of trying to decipher an editorial about the
Crystal Palace, something on the adjacent page caught her eye.

It was a police sketch of an 'Unknown Suspect,' Tracy quickly scanned
the short accompanying article.

Seemed Scotland Yard was currently on the look out for a young man:
age approximately 21-27, hair: blonde, height: 5'6". He was wanted in
connection to a break-in at a shop on the north side, a place called,
'Fezziwig's Emporium of the Odd and Unusual.' He'd apparently stolen a
rare and priceless book on Druidic Magic and had nearly killed a clerk
who'd surprised him coming out of the stock room. 

Tracy eyed the sketch again, a feeling of dread washing over her. No,
no doubt about it, it was Jacob Marcel. 

"Damn it," She whispered.

"Watch you language!" Mrs. Crenshaw yelped as she walked in, whacking
Tracy on the back of the head with her hand, before refilling her cup.


Tracy just nodded absently, her mind already racing on to what she'd
have to do today.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

This time Madam Olga, who was practically glowing with energy and
excitement, opened the door for Tracy before she even had time to
knock.

"Come in, come in! Quickly! I have much to tell!" The Medium hurried
her inside, completely foregoing the niceties of tea in her rush to
get them both seated at the kitchen table.

"What did you-" Tracy began only to be cut off.

"It is indeed a Vessel of Time, but he has little control you see,"
Madam Olga pulled out a piece of paper with what looked like runes
written on it and pointed earnestly, "See?"

Tracy frowned at the paper, squinting as if that would make the
symbols make sense, "Not really…"

"So much talent," The Medium made a disgusted noise, "But no training!
That is your problem! If there was but time I could make you one of
the greats!"

"Um, thanks," Tracy said uneasily, "But about Marcel?"

"Ah, that one," Madam Olga shuddered, "He is full of evil, and he's
been looking for you!"

"-He's- been looking for -me-?" Tracy's jaw dropped.

"Yes! He cannot return to his own time without recreating the scene as
it was," The Medium insisted, "It was folly and chance that brought
him here, but he needs you to set it right."

"Because I accidentally hitched a ride with him," Tracy nodded,
following the logic if not understanding the particulars, "He needs me
to come with him so we can go back to our own time."

"Exactly!" Madam clapped chubby hands in delight.

"But," Tracy frowned, "If he's been looking for me all this time how
come he hasn't found me? I mean, I've been looking for him too!"

"Ah, but he did not expect you to rise so high so fast," The Medium
told her with the arch of a painted on brow.

Tracy thought about that a moment, of course! Marcel had probably been
looking for her in rented rooms and boarding houses, or maybe even
alleyways and prisons, there was no way he could have known she would
run into a member of high society who would take her in as a ward!
Tracy reeled at the implications, "How do I find him?" 

"That," Madam Olga put a hand over her eyes, "I do not know, the
spirits are vague and unfocused."

Tracy narrowed her eyes, suspecting the Medium wanted another payment,
"Is there anyway I could -help- them focus?"

Madam Olga's hand dropped, "No, you'd need much more training for
that."

Tracy frowned, "But…"

The Medium held up a hand to cut her off, "This I will ask you Tracy
Vetter." 

Tracy gasped, she had never told the Medium her real name, using
instead deBrabant as Lacroix did. The psychic was an odd mix of
charlatan and the divine, smoke and mirrors and genuine power, how
could she trust, or -not- trust her? "What?" Tracy whispered
fearfully.

"Do you -want- to go back?" She asked.

'Do you want to go back?' A simple question really. Something Tracy
had been trying to avoid asking herself for days now. She knew she -
should- go back, she -belonged- in 1996, not 1886. And there was
nothing for her here, no family, no job, no life. But there was
Lacroix. Tracy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That was the
kicker. Somewhere along the way she'd gone and fallen in love with
Lucien Lacroix. 

'He is a killer, he's an over-bearing, authoritative,
manipulative…'Tracy sighed, 'Kind, caring, loving man.' But she had a
duty; someone had to bring Marcel to justice! Not only that, but who
knew what kind of damage she would cause if she tried to stay in this
time, one slip up about…anything, from facts about WWI to the Wright
Brothers to the Market Crash, could devastate the world! And what
about her family back home? What about her job? She loved being a cop,
it was who she was! And what, what about her house plants?! Tracy's
world was crashing down around her ears, she could feel her heart
pounding like a jack hammer in her chest. In all the time she'd been
here, she'd never really doubted she'd be able to find a way back.
Maybe it was the 'latent powers' the Medium kept insisting on, but
somehow she'd known it was only a matter of finding Marcel and that
damned box and she could return to her own safe and comfortable world.
And now that her guess had been confirmed? She didn't know if she even
-wanted- to go! She opened her eyes and looked into Madam Olga's
heavily-lined slightly unfocused ones, "I don't know."

The Medium nodded sagely, "This too, I know. And does not really
matter, after all is said and done. The game is already in play. What
will happen, will happen."

Tracy opened her mouth to argue.

"Go, go now to your, how do you call him?" Madam Olga frowned, then
smiled, "Ah yes, 'snitch.' Go to him, the next piece will come soon." 

Tracy wanted to ask more questions, press for more information,
basically grill her, but the Medium practically pushed her out the
door. 

"Go. If the fates allow I shall see you again, Miss Vetter," Tracy
looked at the psychic, she looked very weary now, drained, "But for
now, I must rest." And with that, she shut the door. 

Tracy stood there on the stoop a moment, trying to process all the
facts and emotions swimming through her head. After a while she shook
herself out of her musings and hailed a passing hack. Right now she'd
do as Madam Olga had suggested, she'd go see her snitch.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

Tracy arrived at the Roasted Beast at about one and immediately went
to the bar and asked after her favorite informant, "You seen Horner
around?"

"Sure 'ave," The keep looked up from polishing a glass, with a rag and
his own spit, and nodded, "Seen 'im in 'ere not a 'our ago, left ya a
note too."

Tracy ripped her attention away from the glass, and the thoughts of
how many pints of ale she'd drank in this place, and asked for the
note.

"'Ere you is," The keep handed her a folded piece of paper, trying on
some gentlemanly airs as he did so, "Can I gets you a pint as well, my
lady?"

Tracy bit down on her tongue to keep the 'Hell No!' down. No sense in
alienating one of her best sources for information, "Sure, sounds
great." She told him with a pasted on a smile before heading back to
her usual table.

As she read over the note, she discovered that Horner had found
Marcel. He was at an abandoned church, at 38 West Toddy Street. Tracy
blinked, what was it about her and men who lived in abandoned
churches? 

She read on, Horner was going to check it out and come for her at
three. If she was reading this note she was to stay at the pub and
wait for him, they'd go together once he knew it was safe. "Damn
chivalry!" Tracy growled, gulping down some ale as the keep brought it
before she remembered that rag.

Choking, she flinched as the barkeep pelted her on the back, hard. 

"You all roight?" He asked.

"Fine," She glared down at the note again, wondering if he'd sent
anything to Lacroix's townhouse about how she should meet him here.
Shaking her head and truly hoping that that wasn't the case, she
decided to just go ahead and order herself lunch, looked like she was
going to be here awhile.

>>>>>>>>>

Comments and hot fudge sundaes to anteros@juno.com

 

Disclaimers in part one, marshmallows in my hot cocoa please ;-) 

'Tis the Season (16/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

Horner's note had said three, it was past three. Well past. In fact it
was going on five. Tracy looked anxiously out the pub's narrow
windows. It would be dark soon, where could he be?

Not that she exactly minded being stuck at the pub, actually, she was
enjoying it. 

Through out the course of the day she'd chatted amicably with the
barkeep, whose name turned out to be William Beast. He was a widower,
but had three children, all daughters. Betsy, May and Nancy. And
somewhere along the way, she'd been invited back into the kitchens
while she waited. Tracy suspected William was getting a bit
protective, after all, he got a slightly different clientele at the
Roasted Beast after dark. But still, it was a pleasant pub, loud,
raucous and fun. And when she'd found out William and a good number of
his customers were retired bobbies… she'd felt right at home. 

She grinned as Betsy, William's oldest daughter, a ripe old 17, poured
ales and cursed like a sailor at the men sitting at the bar. 'Or like
a Vetter,' she thought with a smirk. 

Tracy was standing in the doorway, between the kitchens and the main
room. William swore he'd tell her the second Horner came in, but Tracy
wasn't the exactly the most patient of souls to begin with, he was
lucky she wasn't outside pacing!

About an hour ago she'd discarded her cloak in exchange for an apron,
an apron now liberally coated with flour and lard after 12-year old
Nancy's attempt to teach her how to cook. Tracy sighed and again tried
to wipe the greasy feeling off her hands. For the first time since
she'd found herself in this time, she was actually starting to feel
like she -could- stay here. Guilt stabbed through her, it would be
wrong to stay. Despite the feelings she'd developed for Lacroix, or
how at ease she was beginning to feel with people like the Beasts, she
didn't belong here. 'Marcel has to be brought in,' Tracy reminded
herself, straightening her back and slipping on to a stool at the bar.


'He's broken the law here too,' A small voice reminded her. 'He could
just be sent to jail in this time…' Tracy's traitorous heart latched
on to that immediately even as her mind objected. She could just talk
to Lacroix and…

Suddenly the door of the Roasted Beast crashed open. Lacroix stood
just outside, and he did -not- look happy.

"There you are," He hissed, striding into the now silent pub.

"Lacroix-" Tracy began, only to be cut off when the object of her
affection hauled her roughly off her stool and to her feet.

"I worry after you the entire day," He growled low in his throat,
"Only to find you schlepping drinks in a place like this!"

"Hey!" Tracy tried to pull her arm free, but his hand was like an iron
band on her upper arm.

"Where's your cloak? Never mind," He began pulling her towards the
door, "After all I've done for you!"

The barkeep walked up to them, "Miss Tracy? Is he-he bothering you?"

"William, I," Tracy tried to think up some way to explain this.

"No, I am -not- bothering her!" Lacroix said in a hushed, angry
whisper. But it seemed to get his point across, because the keep's
eyes glazed over, he nodded and then walked away.

"Lacroix!" Tracy yelped, "You can't just-!"

"On the contrary," His eyes settled on her, flashing gold for just an
instant, letting her know just how close to losing it he was, "I can
do -anything-."

An involuntary shiver raced up her spine.

"After all I've done for you!" He growled again and physically dragged
her out of the pub.

"I wasn't, I was-" She rushed to explain, but had no idea what to tell
him.

"I open my home to you," He continued to rant under his breath, "I
open my heart and-"

"What?" Tracy froze, digging her heels into the frozen ground. "You-?"

He glanced at her again, looking more furious than ever for letting
himself slip, "-Now- you chose to listen!" And with that he shoved her
into his carriage.

As he shook the reigns the horses jumped to obey their angry master.
He was silent, practically shaking with rage as he drove them back to
the townhouse.

"Lacroix, I wasn't-" Tracy whispered.

"Back to 'Lacroix' now, are we?" He snapped, his eyes focused on the
rain-slicked street.

Tracy flinched. She sat there, unsure what to say, knowing why he was
angry, but was there really any explanation she could give that would
mollify him? She shivered, as much from his reproach as from the cold
December night.

He must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, because
in a flash he had his cape off and around her shoulders, then he
determinedly turned his eyes back to the road. 

"Lucien," She began again anxiously, "I was just trying to find-"

"Jacob Marcel?" He finished for her mockingly, then his voice took on
a bitter quality, "What is the great mystery of yours? It grows
tiresome, you know. I was finding him for you, there is no need to go
and-"

"Wait! You were looking for him…for me?" Tracy looked at him wide-
eyed. 

"Of course I was!" He glanced at her, "Where do you think I was not
three nights ago when Bourbon-" His jaw clenched involuntarily.

"Lucien, this is my fight," Tracy started to put a hand on his arm,
but a sharp look from him stopped her. She took a deep breath, "How
did you even find me?" 

His eyes locked on hers, "I will always know how to find you." 

Tracy just stared at him for a moment, she then noticed the carriage
had stopped, they were back at the townhouse. She turned and jumped
from the carriage, marching deliberately towards the door. 

He was next to her in an instant, half leading, half pulling her
inside. But he didn't stop at the door, he pulled her straight up the
stairs and thrust her in her room.

"What are you doing?!" Tracy gasped.

"I cannot deal with you now," Lacroix's words were slow and measured,
the barest tremble of rage still rumbling beneath his breath, "I will
speak with you later."

And with that, he withdrew and shut the door.

Tracy stood there shocked for a moment, then leapt and tried the knob.
Locked. 

"Dammit Lacroix!" She pounded on the heavy oak, but it only seemed to
laugh at her blows. 

After several futile minutes, she turned her back to the door and slid
down, resting her head in her hands. Then she heard someone in the
hall.

"Lacroix?" She called out, jumping to her feet.

"No, you naughty, naughty girl, it isn't the Master," The housekeeper
told her through the door.

"Mrs. Crenshaw!," Tracy yelped, "Let me out!"

The older woman just laughed, "No, that's the best place for you! You
have the Master beside himself, he's locked himself in the library,
drinking I'd say!"

Tracy closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the door, "I'm
sorry I upset him, but please, Mrs. Crenshaw, you have to let me out
of here. Please," She whispered.

There was silence on the other side of the door and for a moment she
thought the other woman was going to comply. 

"I must make sure Miss Tracy stays in her room," Came a voice at last,
it was the housekeeper's, but in a slow monotone.

Tracy laughed bitterly as she listened to the housekeeper walk off.
How could she argue with that? The enormity of the situation hit her
then, Marcel was still out there, and most likely he had Horner. And
if he did it was all her fault. Lacroix wasn't going to listen to her
tonight, hell, maybe never again! 

She closed her eyes and drew a slow steadying breath, "Think Vetter,
think." 

Tracy opened her eyes and began to pace, "Start with the facts, first
rule of detective work."

"Well, what do I know?" She asked herself, "Fact, you sent Horner out
to find Marcel. Fact, Horner left you a note saying he'd found him.
Fact, Horner never came back. Conclusion, Marcel has Horner."

Tracy ran a hand violently through her hair, scattering pins
everywhere. Guilt washed over her, she was responsible for Horner's
predicament, she had to save him. "But how do I get out of here?"

She stalked back to the door, rechecking the knob, looking at the lock
and hinges, judging if she had any chance of getting it open. She
grabbed one of the fallen pins and worked on the lock for a bit, but
gave up in disgust, she couldn't get it to catch. 

Back to her feet and more pacing, "Probably couldn't get past Mrs.
Crenshaw and Wadsworth if I went out that way anyway," She sighed.

She next checked the window. It slid open easily. "This might work,"
She whispered, ignoring the blast of cold air that stung her face.
Leaning out, she noticed the two-story drop and realized jumping to
the frozen ground would just result in at least a sprained ankle,
possibly broken bones. "Or maybe not," She chewed her lip
thoughtfully.

She was just about to give up and go back to work on the lock when she
noticed the tiny decorative ledge about four feet under her sill. If
she could manage to lower herself to that, then she could walk along
it to the rose lattice at the side of the house! Tracy looked down at
her bustled and corseted frame, "There's no way I can do that in this
get up."

Turning on her heels she marched purposely to the trunk at the foot of
the bed and drew out her old clothes. Quickly stripping off her gown
and undergarments, she redressed in the outfit she'd arrived in. As
she slid on her holster and donned her duster she had a surreal
feeling of déjà vu. So much had happened since she'd last worn these,
but it was again almost midnight on Christmas Eve. "Ho ho ho," She
mumbled, walking over to the window and preparing to duck out.

She had one leg out over the icy sill before she saw the writing desk
out of the corner of her eye and thought of Lacroix. If anything were
to happen to her he'd never know how she felt. Troubled by the idea
that he'd think she'd just left him, she hurried to the desk and
pulled out a piece of the stationary she'd admired only a few days
ago. 

After a bit of fumbling, she figured out how to work the fountain pen
and set it to paper. "Now, what do I say?" She bit her lip, if she -
did- manage to get herself killed she didn't want him to read this
note and think she had been some sort of nut. If she died it didn't
really matter where she'd come from did it?

Sighing, she hurriedly scrawled something:

Lucien,

If you find this letter, chances are I didn't make it. You have to
understand that I had to go, I couldn't ignore my duty, no matter how
much I wanted to. I guess you really can't escape your destiny after
all. I just wanted you to know that my days here with you were some of
the best of my life, and that I love you.

Tracy


Tracy reread her note and wiped a tear from her eye, "That about does
it," She sighed, setting down the letter and slipping out the window
into the night.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Comments and visions of sugar plums to anteros@juno.com

 

Disclaimers in part one, reindeers on roof tops

'Tis the Season (17/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

With her hiking boots and khakis, it was relatively easy to scale down
the rose lattice and descend to the small garden below. Hailing a
passing hack, however, proved a bit more difficult. But finally after
much hand waving and whistling, a carriage did pull over and she
quickly gave the driver the address of Marcel's Church. 

The ride was over much too soon, not really giving Tracy enough time
to come up with a plan of attack. She paid the driver and jogged up
the steps to the door of the crumbling house of worship. She paused
and mouthed a prayer to St. Jude, not that it had done her any good
last time, but she kept hoping.

When she pushed open the door, she found the place was ablaze with
candles, obviously Marcel had been expecting company. She crept
stealthily forward, drawing her useless gun out of sheer habit. Once
past the anteroom, she entered into the main room of the church. It
was a long narrow room with a high vaulted ceiling and huge altar
lighted with dozens of candles far at the other end. Tracy gazed down
the long aisle, Marcel was there, dressed the same as the last time
she'd seen him, though his clothes looked a bit more worse for wear
than hers. 

Her snitch, Horner, was suspended from the ceiling by his bound hands.
Burn marks, probably made with a poker, etched his bare chest. He was
still, but the rhythmic movement of his chest assured Tracy he was
still alive and breathing, at least for now. She looked at her poor
snitch, obviously Marcel needed to recreate a lot more of the scene
than just her presence.

Her eyes next turned to Marcel himself, the blonde would-be demon was
hunched over a book, possibly the one he'd stolen from Fezziwig's. He
hadn't noticed her yet, she noted with relief. 

As she moved silently forward, Tracy scanned the area for the box. She
didn't see it. 

Suddenly Marcel's head snapped up as if he'd sensed her. "So the cop
approacheth!" He let loose a deranged laugh, "And right on cue!"

Tracy cocked her gun, "Listen to me Marcel, I'm not going to play any
of your sick little games, let Horner go."

"Horner?" Marcel looked confused, "Oh, you mean him?" He gestured
towards the limp snitch, "He was a lot of fun you know, screamed for
hours!"

Tracy swallowed the bile raising in her throat, "Put your hands in the
air, step away from the pulpit."

Marcel just smiled at her, "That didn't work last time, what makes you
think it will this time?"

"Put your hands in the air and step away from the pulpit," Tracy
repeated, and hoping he'd buy her bluff added, "I will shoot if I have
to."

"You know, the definition of insane is to do the same thing over and
over again and expect a different result," Marcel moved away from the
pulpit, but instead of towards Tracy, he moved to the alter, "How does
it feel to be crazy?"

"What ever you're planning Marcel," Tracy called out, "Don't even try
it."

"I didn't know we'd come here," Marcel laughed, pulling the box from
under the altar, "Hell, I didn't know two people could even go at the
same time!"

"Marcel," Tracy warned.

"Time," He repeated with a chuckle, then he looked at her, "Your gun
doesn't work does it? Otherwise you'd have used it by now."

Tracy cursed, tucking her broken weapon in her belt, she moved down
the aisle towards Marcel, preparing to beat some sanity into him if
necessary. 

"But we have to do this exactly the same," He sang out at her, as if
reciting a song from Sesame Street. "There has to be a gunshot."

"Too bad that isn't going to happen," Tracy growled, she was within
feet of him now. 

Marcel didn't look at all worried.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Came an outraged shout from behind
her.

Tracy spun, "Lacroix!" 

The vampire stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of the candle
filled church, hanging, bloody Horner and of the two strangely dressed
blondes who seemed intent on killing each other. "Tracy, what-?" 

Marcel didn't even bother to acknowledge the new comer, "Not quite the
same," He said, waiting for Tracy to turn and see him pointing a
pistol at her, "But close enough."

Then, as if in slow motion, Marcel reached with one hand to open the
box, and with the other, he fired.

There was a flash of pure white light.

Tracy heard Lacroix shout her name. 

Marcel's gun went off.

Then…everything went black.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When the stars began to fade from her eyes the first thing Tracy saw
was her partner standing over her, "Nick?" Her voice cracked.

"I'm here Tracy," Nick pulled her to her feet, that's when Tracy
realized she'd been on the floor, "Got here as fast as I could. You
all right?"

Tracy looked around, she was back in the Black Unicorn's basement!
"How?"

Nick gave her a concerned look, "You okay Trace?"

Tracy nodded, she looked over to Crotchet and Marcel then. The shop-
owner was still hanging from the ceiling, motionless now, whether
unconscious or dead she couldn't tell. Marcel was down too, shot
through the chest. Tracy looked down at her hand, her service revolver
was quite literally 'the smoking gun.' "I killed him?" She dazedly
asked Nick.

"Self-defense, Trace," Nick looked very worried now, "Did you hit your
head? What happened?"

"What happened?" Tracy repeated, as if tasting the words. She looked
down at herself, her clothes, her gun. Had it all been a dream? Some
hallucination brought on by stress and oyster fumes? She looked at
Nick, "I came back to the Unicorn, found the passage, followed it
down."

Nick nodded, indicating she should wait a second while he called for
an ambulance.

Tracy ran her hand through her hair and looked around, the box was no
where to be seen, though Marcel did still clutch his fire place poker.
How could she have imagined all that? "Some people have their whole
lives flash before their eyes, I get reruns of 'Quantum Leap.'" She
mumbled.

"What?" Nick frowned, slipping his cell back in his pocket after
finishing his call.

"Nothing," Tracy gave him a pathetic attempt at a smile, "Just talking
to myself."

Nick frowned.

Tracy felt herself slip into 'cop-mode,' almost as if reciting lines
from a play she finished her report, "I found the ladder and proceeded
to call you for back-up. I heard the sounds of the two men below and
moved down the ladder immediately. There I found Marcel in the process
of torturing his employer. I pulled my gun, identified myself as the
police and told him to freeze. He didn't, I shot. Then," Tracy broke
off and took a steadying breath, in reality she had no idea what had
happened next, but she sure couldn't tell Nick that!

"Then?" Nick prompted.

"Then, you showed up," Tracy shrugged, as if that had been obvious.

Nick gave her a strange look, but then nodded. "Come on, let's get out
of here."

"What about them?" Tracy looked at Marcel and Crotchet.

"They're both dead," Nick told solemnly.

"How do you-?" She broke off at Nick's look, "Oh yeah, right."

Nick had her go up the ladder first, probably thinking she might fall,
but Tracy just put one shaky hand over the other and eventually
climbed back into the kitchen. An ambulance and patrol car were just
pulling up as they made their way into the front of the store.

From then on it was as if Tracy was on automatic pilot, she told Nick,
Reese and forensics what they wanted to hear. Anything, as long as she
could get out of there. Her head was pounding and she felt like she
hadn't slept in days. All she wanted was to go home and crawl into her
nice warm bed. 

"Correction," She whispered as she slid behind the wheel of her
Taurus, "All I want is to go back to 1886 and slip into Lacroix's nice
warm bed, but then, that didn't really happen, did it?" She rested her
head on the steering wheel, trying to wrap her mind around the truth.
Fact: what she remembered simply wasn't possible, therefore, she must
have imagined the entire thing. "Deal with it Vetter."

She sighed and turned on the radio as she waited for her car to warm
up. The Nightcrawler's melodious voice seemed to swell and fill the
empty darkness of her Taurus.

"Greetings my children, and, since it is past midnight, perhaps I
should wish you a Merry Christmas as well," The last was said with a
humorless chuckle. "Ah Christmas, what a-"

Tracy leaned forward and snapped the radio off, angrily dashing the
tears from her eyes. The last thing she needed was for the people she
worked with to see her bawling in her car like a baby! 

Sniffing, she shifted her car into gear and drove home. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Send all comments and out of date egg nog cartons to anteros@juno.com

 

Disclaimers in part one. Last part, Merry Christmas!


'Tis the Season (18/18)

By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

Tracy was still going through the motions when she at last got to her
building and steered into her spot and parked. Trying to do everything
right, despite the fact that all her old habits seemed strange and
abnormal now, like she hadn't done them in a very long time.

Turn off heater.

Turn off headlights.

Take out key.

Unbuckle seat belt and get out of car.

"Check, check, check and check," She mumbled as she shut the car door
and walked slowly to the entrance of her building. It was one AM,
normally the middle of her shift, but Reese had sent her home early,
and for once she'd been way too tired to argue.

"First a shower, then bed," She listed off as she reached for the
door. But before her hand could close around the knob, she heard
something.

A rustling, coming from the alley. 

Always curious, Tracy felt her weariness lifting somewhat. "Probably
just a cat," She acknowledged, but she walked over to see what it
could be none the less. 

Rounding the alley, she discovered Screed going through a dumpster.
She wasn't too surprised, ever since they'd met the carouche had made
her block part of his personal hunting grounds. And despite
everything, Tracy found herself smiling. Though it had only really
been two days since she'd last seen her friendly neighborhood rat
catcher, it felt like a lifetime. "Any luck?"

Screed jumped at the sound of her voice, obviously his attention had
been elsewhere, "Ah, heya Baby Jane, didda 'ear ya come about," He
smiled that awful grin at her, "Nah, no luck, all tha lil ratsies seem
ta be hy-bur-nappin' er sump'thin."

"Too bad," Tracy smiled, leaning back against the alley wall and
closing her eyes.

"'Ey Luv?" Screed dropped the birdcage he was holding and came to
stand next to her, "Wot's tha matter like? Ya looks all drainedy ya
does."

Tracy cracked her eyes and smiled slightly, "Mmm, just tired, had a
rough couple of decades I guess."

"Been thare, done that," He nodded sagely, then gave her a speculative
look, "I 'ear Vachonetti is back in town."

"Yeah," Tracy snorted, remembering that oh so -lovely- encounter in
her car, "He gave me thi-" She reached up to her throat, the necklace
wasn't there. 

"Baby Jane?" Screed put a hand on her shoulder, "Wot is it Luv? Ya
gone as white as o' sheet ya 'ave!"

"I-I sold it," She mumbled, reaching up to her ears, her earrings were
missing too, "Oh my God."

"Tracy?" Screed looked at her anxiously.

Tracy reached into her pockets and withdrew a hand full of coins, her
change from her last carriage ride. She stared at them a moment, then
her head snapped up, "Oh Screed! I could just kiss you!"

Screed looked at her, shocked, "Huh?"

"I won't," Tracy grinned, pouring the coins into his hand, "But I
could!" And with that she ran off back towards her car.

"Girl jus' gets stranger an' stranger tha mo' I knows 'er," Screed
shook his head and pocketed the coins. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Tracy sped all the way over to the Raven and practically ran to the
door. Then she stood outside for a half an hour trying to figure out
what the hell she was going to say.

"Hi Lacroix, remember me? Tracy Vetter, we were an item a hundred and
ten years ago and-," Tracy racked a hand though her hair, pacing
outside the club's door. The bouncer was looking at her oddly, but she
didn't think he could hear her mumbling under her breath, and if he
could, well, she didn't really care.

"This is ridiculous, he probably won't even remember me," She almost
left then, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Just go in there, see if he's here, just look," Tracy took a deep
breath and strode into the club. Her eyes quickly scanned the place,
looking for him, hoping Vachon or her partner wasn't around to see her
about to make an ass of herself.

She looked towards the bar, but he wasn't there. In the handful of
times she'd been to the Raven, she'd never run into Lacroix, made her
wonder if he made many appearances in the club or if she'd just always
missed him. 

Her eyes then swept to the back. Urs had once mentioned the owner had
his broadcast booth back there. There was a mirrored window, she
couldn't see inside, but she just had a feeling he was in there. After
all, Nightwatch shouldn't be over quite yet. 

Drawing together all her courage, she walked to the back of the club,
ignoring the offers to dance and drinks as she went. She marched past
the hall that led to the bathrooms and around the side of the sound
booth. When she reached the door, she saw the 'On Air' sign blink off.


He was in there, and in a moment, he'd open the door and come out.

Her heart leapt to her throat, she felt panic surge through her, "Oh
please, remember me," She whispered, raising her hand and rapping
lightly on the door. "And please, please, please don't hate me."

"Come in." 

His voice, his smooth as silk voice. Tracy gasped, she'd never been
more scared in her life. Slowly, she pulled open the door and saw him.

He was sitting at a control table: pushing dials, adjusting resonance
and pitch. He didn't look up at first, just said, "If you are looking
for an autograph look elsewhere, I'm in no mood for company tonight."

Tracy stood there, still holding the doorknob, her palms sweating,
"I'm not here for an autograph," She said quietly.

His head snapped up, if it were possible he went several shades paler.
He was wearing the pin she'd given to him, his hand flew to it, "No…
it can't be possible." He whispered.

Tracy shifted her weight from one foot to another, "I-I just got here,
from there, I-" Her eyes met his, "A few hours, that's all…"

He looked at her, his eyes trailing up and down her slim form. She
looked exactly as he remembered her; nothing had changed, the same
face, hair, clothes, smell, same mortal heartbeat, everything. He
stood and walked to her, watching her with an unreadable, but
determined expression. 

His hand came up and brushed against her cheek. She closed her eyes
and leaned into the touch. 

"I saw you vanish," He whispered cautiously, letting his hand drop.

She opened her eyes and leaned against the door jam, "Happened twice
actually, the first time brought me there, the second time brought
me," She looked at him, her expression a little lost, and sighed,
"Brought me back."

"You're," He frowned, "Tracy Vetter..." 

Tracy nodded, watching him intently. 

"Nicholas's mortal partner," He added.

Again she nodded.

"And I thought the name was a coincidence," He brought his hand up
again and cupped the side of her face. "Makes some sense now, the
speech, the manners, you're from here then I take it?"

"Yeah. I want, I wanted to tell you," Tracy began hesitantly, "Back
then. But I was sure you'd think I was insane and-" Her words trailed
off, her voice catching in her throat. Her eyes filled with tears but
she stubbornly refused to let them fall. "And you were- I had to-"

"Hush," Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently
and soothing her, just as he had over a century ago. She still felt so
-right- in his arms.

Tracy pulled herself together a little and looked up at him, "I wanted
to stay, but Marcel-" She broke off again, not knowing how to explain.


Lacroix looked down at her, his eyes unreadable, "Tell me."

Tracy stared at him for a full minute, then started talking, the
entire story pouring out in one long, nearly incoherent sentence. 

But Lacroix seemed to understand. Or maybe, he had his Tracy back and
he didn't care how. "It's impossible." He whispered into her hair,
kissing the crown of her golden head.

"Not impossible," A voice sounded behind them.

Tracy and Lacroix's heads shot up as they looked at the dark plump
woman standing in the hall. She had short neatly bobbed hair and wore
a stylish slate gray Donna Karen suit, but Tracy recognized her
immediately. 

"Madam Olga!" She gasped, then her eyes fell on the box the Medium
carried under her arm, "What are you-?" Lacroix pulled Tracy closer to
him, turning slightly, as if to shield her with his body. 

But Madam Olga hadn't come to take Tracy away, no, she just smiled at
the couple, "I said, 'not impossible.' It's a miracle," She winked at
Tracy, "'Tis the season you know."

And in a blink of white light, she was gone.

Lacroix and Tracy looked at each other. Then Lacroix leaned down and
kissed her gently, "My Christmas miracle," He whispered, "Welcome
home." 

>>>>>>>>>>>>

And so we reach the end! Woohoo! I'd again like to thank my two
wonderful, glorious, talented and dentally hygienic beta readers Ren
and Shana, without whom this story would be about as readable as a
Xmas list written by a drunk elf. Thanks girls! ;-) Send all comments
and stockings hung by the chimney with care to anteros@juno.com