Dances with Werewolves, 17th in the Dance series of Original FK fan fiction





 
#17... Dances with Werewolves
By Lorelei Sieja 
 
(Author's note: This story is an xover with Early Edition and The Pretender. It 
should not be necessary to be familiar with those TV shows to enjoy this story, 
but if you would like to know more, or view a picture of these new characters, 
click Gary or Jarod .)  
 
  The couch was grossly uncomfortable. LaCroix had tried for hours to find rest, 
  but as the sun fell ever lower in the western sky, he gave up. Above the Raven 
  in his own cozy apartment was a perfectly wonderful, empty bed with satin 
  sheets and a velvet quilt. If only he had been able to convince Nicholas to 
  come back with him, he would be well rested by now, but no, the stubborn boy 
  had insisted that he was completely capable of taking care of himself. That 
  would have been almost humorous under other circumstances. 
  If he were to be truthful with himself, he hadn't put up much of an argument, 
  either. While Nicholas was always welcome under his roof, that demon child was 
  another matter. In the past year he had had vampires, mortals, carouche and a 
  cat living with him, but he had to draw the line with that one. At least 
  Daniel had been an appealing child, but Cody was simply too small for the 
  eternal gift. He wasn't even house-broken yet! LaCroix could not imagine an 
  eternity with such a child. One day Nicholas himself would stake him. 
  LaCroix straightened with a muffled groan, then went to Nicholas's computer 
  and logged on even before his routine ablutions. It would still be night in 
  Romania, but not for much longer. He had to reach Zuhayr at once. 
  The phone rang several times on the other end. "Where are you," LaCroix 
  muttered angrily, when at last the ringing stopped. 
  "Zuhayr here." 
  "Yes," LaCroix said. "It took you long enough." 
  The ancient vampire gave a long-suffering sigh at the Roman's rudeness. "What 
  do you want, Lucius. I told you we would contact you when we had something." 
  "Jarod. What does he look like? Would you recognize him if you saw him?" 
  Zuhayr's tone changed immediately. "I have pictures," he said. "Have you found 
  him? I'll fax them at once!" 
  "I am sure there must be many mortals by that name," LaCroix said. 
  "True. But this Jarod goes only by that name. His last changes frequently. He 
  is on the lam." 
  The computer beeped as it prepared to send a document to the printer. LaCroix 
  glared at it impatiently. Slowly the tops of two pictures appeared, the 
  background, a patch of dark hair on one and a fireman's hat on the other. 
  Curse words in a dozen languages came to mind, but LaCroix said nothing. 
  At last the page was done. LaCroix snapped it up and stared at the images. 
  Although the uniforms and last names and professions were different, both were 
  clearly the same Jarod Nicholas had met. "That's him!" 
  Zuhayr cheered. "You must convince him to come, Lucius. Of his own choice, 
  it's no good otherwise. He is far too intelligent to risk coercion, and if he 
  decides to slip away, you will never find him again." 
  "I don't see what you expect this one mortal to do," LaCroix huffed. 
  "Lucius!" Zuhayr closed his mouth and forced himself to calm down. Few could 
  get him as riled as the stubborn Roman general and he was not proud of his 
  lack of control at the moment. "Lucius," he said again, more quietly. "We are 
  getting nowhere. I have eight of the finest minds in the world gathered here. 
  Jarod is Nicholas's last hope." 
  LaCroix clenched his fists and fumed at the computer. At least if he were on 
  the telephone, he could throw the equipment at the wall with a satisfying 
  crash, but this new free-long distance communication over the internet didn't 
  even offer him that much. Then, as the immediate rage began to fade, he 
  considered what leverage he might use. "Do you know his weakness?" 
  Zuhayr chuckled. "That's the Lucius we all know and love. Of course I do. 
  Jarod is searching for his past. He wants to know who his parents are, he 
  wants to see them again. He wants a name to call his own. And in the mean 
  time, you could promise him safety while in Romania. The boy's been running 
  for four years now." 
  LaCroix closed the program without so much as a "thank you". As soon as 
  Nicholas was settled, he would speak with Brother Jarod. 
  * * * * * 
  First a deep breath. The lungs filled, lifting the chest cavity as undead 
  tissue cast off the last vestige of deathlike slumber. Cold blood circulated 
  slowly. Dreams faded, nightmares dissolved. For a moment, he scrubbed at his 
  eyes, waiting for his vision to clear, before he remembered that he was blind. 
  Heaving a sigh Nick Knight awoke, resigned to face the new day. 
  "Dad-dy!" Soft, sweet-smelling arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hold as 
  baby lips pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. 
  "Cody," Nick stated. This was his son. The memories were slow in returning, 
  but the one named LaCroix seemed confident that they would all return in time. 

  "Uh-oh!" the child blurted. His fear was instant, alarming Nick. 
  "What is it?" he asked, fighting off a wave of dizziness as he sat up in the 
  large bed. 
  Cody stared at his lap, dark red and soaked with blood. He touched it, the 
  thick, red stickiness covering his fingers. "Uh-oh! Owie!" 
  Nick felt the child's hand, bringing it closer to his nostrils. With his sight 
  gone, he had to rely on other senses. The scent of blood was heavy, but it was 
  cold. Cody's blood. His strong hands moved over the child, searching for a 
  wound, even as he reached out through the faint bond he had discovered that he 
  shared with the child. 
  Cody was not in pain. There did not appear to be any wounds at all. Nick felt 
  the soggy diaper and realized at once the source of the blood. A faint smile 
  broke on his face. 
  "You are not hurt, Cody," Nick said reassuringly. "You are just young. You do 
  not have full control over your body as yet. This will pass. As you become 
  more like me, you will not have to wear diapers any more, as this function 
  will become obsolete." 
  "Okay, Daddy?" Cody asked, still a little fearful. 
  "Yes, you are okay," Nick said. He helped the child to take off the stained 
  pajamas and soggy diaper. Then, pulling the naked boy onto his lap, he scraped 
  his whiskers on the exposed belly, grumbling playfully. Cody squealed and 
  struggled in his arms, patting his face with baby hands. 
  Nick's stomach rumbled and his fangs lengthened. The child's blood called to 
  him. Nick nuzzled the small throat and nipped without conscious thought. Cody 
  returned the bite, sucking his blood intensely. 
  The blood warmed him, comforted the dull ache in his gut, satisfied the 
  longing he had not been aware of until it was no longer present. Then Nick 
  felt too warm with growing arousal. Shocked, he pulled away from the child 
  suddenly, tearing his throat from Cody's grasp. 
  "Daddy?" Cody whined, struggling in his arms. 
  The cold, familiar presence drew near and the hair on his neck tingled. Nick 
  stood, turning towards the doorway knowing LaCroix was there. "Good evening," 
  he stammered awkwardly. 
  "I sensed you were awake," LaCroix said stiffly. "Do you require assistance?" 
  "No," he said, suddenly self-conscious. "Yes. Could you show me where the 
  bathroom is? I can't seem to remember." 
  LaCroix blinked, startled at the simple request. His precious son and his 
  eternal suffering... would it never end? "This is your home, Nicholas, your 
  loft apartment. I had thought it would be more familiar to you than mine, 
  where you have also stayed in the past." 
  Nick shrugged indifferently. 
  LaCroix covered the distance between them, reaching out through the bond. 
  Nicholas seemed embarrassed, but he was at a loss to know why. His son's scent 
  assailed his nostrils. He stood behind Nicholas, his hands on his son's 
  shoulders. 
  "It is polite, young Cody, to close the wounds after you feed," he said 
  quietly. LaCroix caught the child's attention before he leaned close to lap at 
  the blood spilling down Nicholas's throat. The eternal taste of honey and wine 
  aroused him like no other. Tenderly, he continued the simple task until the 
  blood slowed and ceased to flow. 
  Nick shifted uncomfortably. First, he'd felt aroused by his own son and now by 
  the stranger he was to call father. He pulled away from the ancient one. "Cody 
  needs a bath," he snapped. 
  LaCroix smiled sadly. His son desired him, yet was refusing him. Some things 
  never changed. "As you wish, Nicholas." 
  * * * * * 
  Urs came in as soon as she heard the bathroom door close. LaCroix stood 
  staring out into the night, a sad stoop to his once proud posture. She laid a 
  hand on his shoulder and smiled. "He will come back." 
  LaCroix inclined his head slightly, the only sign that he had heard her at 
  all. Nicholas had been ill for nearly a year now, and it was getting 
  progressively worse. He could not feed and keep the blood down. Natalie said 
  it was something like an ulcer, but without blood, he would not heal. In an 
  unfortunate accident last winter, he had been blinded. After many months of 
  struggling to overcome the disability, all the fight seemed to leave him. 
  Nicholas had wanted to die. Then recently he suffered another injury to the 
  head, again suffering amnesia. The complaisant golden vampire with the 
  sightless blue eyes bore little resemblance to his once proud, eternally 
  contrary progeny. 
  "Actually, he seems much better than he did only a few weeks ago. Stronger 
  somehow. I know that he is still not well, but he walks without a cane, and 
  the vomiting is much less. Perhaps I notice it more, since I've been away from 
  him," she amended. 
  One arm raised to indicate the bed Nick had shared with Cody that day. Urs 
  went to it, catching the scent of spilled blood and silently began to pull up 
  the sheets. She had flown home the moment she had heard Nick was in danger, 
  but now that the crisis was past, she would be returning to Dallas as soon as 
  possible. She would clean up his apartment one last time before leaving, 
  though. 
  "This isn't Nick's," she blurted suddenly. She would know Nick's scent 
  anywhere. 
  "It is the child's." 
  "Oh," she stammered. "He's a cute little thing, though." 
  "Children are too immature to handle the dark gift. He will not be permitted 
  to exist." 
  "LaCroix! He must!" Urs said urgently. She tossed the laundry down the stairs 
  and flew to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. LaCroix glared at her, his 
  eyes a menacing amber shade. 
  Urs held her ground. Although she was naturally compliant, a truly docile 
  creature, she dared to challenge him. LaCroix could not have been more 
  surprised. 
  "Just recently Nick was giving up!" she cried. "He had no hope. No desire to 
  fight, to keep trying to find a cure to this illness. Now he has the will to 
  live. Cody! Can't you see how important the child is to him?" 
  LaCroix shuddered. That she might be right annoyed him. Somehow the child had 
  become more important to Nicholas than his own vampire family, those who had 
  loved and cared for him for centuries. "It will not be my decision to make," 
  he spat. "You can be assured that the Enforcers will take care of the matter." 

  "LaCroix! How can you say that? Cody is Nicholas's child, now your grandchild! 
  You could protect him." 
  LaCroix pulled her hands from his shoulders and held them firmly. "Even I must 
  obey the rules of our kind. This is not within my power." 
  "Then Nick will chose death," she said flatly. 
  LaCroix winced. 
  Urs sighed as she turned away. The faster she cleaned up, the faster she could 
  leave. She loved Nicholas, but she could not stand by to watch him die. It was 
  time for her to move on. 
  The sound of laughter interrupted LaCroix's dark mood. Happy cries rang out 
  from the bathroom among the sounds of water splashing over the floor. The 
  corners of LaCroix's lips raised ever so slightly; the child did have an 
  infectious laugh. It was oddly deep and husky for such a small one. Then came 
  the rare sound of Nicholas' own pleasant laugh, and LaCroix blinked rapidly 
  before a trace of sudden emotion embarrassed him. 
  The door opened, revealing two wet vampires wrapped in towels. Nicholas cocked 
  his head slightly. LaCroix felt him reach out through their bond as easily and 
  naturally as if it were always his custom. "Father," he said, still smiling. 
  "I'm glad you're still here. I don't remember where my clothes are." 
  "After breakfast I shall give you a thorough tour of your apartment," LaCroix 
  offered, leading Nicholas towards his walk-in closet. 
  "I'll take the little one," Urs offered, reaching out for Cody. "Brother Jarod 
  dropped off a few bags of his things." She averted her eyes when Nick's towel 
  slipped lower on his hips, angry with her desire that had quickly sprung to 
  life. 
  Cody wiggled in her arms, patting her cheek enthusiastically. "Hungry!" 
  "Yes, little man, I expect you are," she said, smiling as she left. 
  LaCroix selected clothing and placed the items in Nicholas's hands. "We have a 
  lot to do today," he said. "I wish to speak to your friend Jarod as soon as 
  possible." 
  Nick dropped his towel and began to dress. LaCroix was momentarily startled 
  for his capricious child was usually far more modest, but then Nicholas was 
  not really himself these days. He watched in silence, struggling to keep his 
  own desires from flooding their link. 
  "Why?" Nick asked. 
  "Zuhayr believes that Jarod can help you." 
  "Help me what?" 
  "Help discover the cure for your illness," LaCroix started to explain. 
  "Am I ill?" 
  "Nicholas!" LaCroix instantly regretted his sharp tone at his son's hurt 
  expression. "Nicholas," he said again, more softly. "I realize that you have 
  many questions. Forgive me, but try remember that I have never had much 
  patience." 
  "You said I had amnesia before," Nick said, his eyebrows puckering. "You 
  helped me then. How?" 
  "Through the blood, my son." He took a brush and pulled it through the tangled 
  golden hair of his favorite child. Nicholas stood still, hanging on his every 
  word. 
  "When we feed, we experience everything through the blood of our victim. Their 
  thoughts and feelings, their memories, even their talents, become ours for a 
  brief time. The last time this happened you spent a weekend with me. I told 
  you stories of our shared past and we drank from each other continually. In 
  this way your memories were quickly restored." 
  "We're supposed to share blood?" he asked, uneasy with the erotic thoughts 
  that came to mind. 
  "Yes, Nicholas," LaCroix sighed, setting the brush down on the dresser and he 
  wondered how much longer they would play 'twenty questions'. 
  "And if I drink your blood, it will give me back my memories?" 
  LaCroix heard the hesitation in his son's voice. What had the boy so 
  distraught this time? "I am afraid that it will not be quite so simple," 
  LaCroix said. "Your illness has affected your ability to feed. I hesitate to 
  complete the blood kiss as you do not heal as you should." 
  "I don't remember being sick," Nick murmured. 
  LaCroix took his arm and guided him toward the stairs. "I will help you, 
  Nicholas, but it will take time." 
  Cody shrieked as they approached, slapping his hands on the kitchen table. 
  Spilled blood dripped over the edge and pooled on the floor beside him, where 
  Urs was quickly trying to wipe it up. 
  Nick smelled the blood. "I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot to mention that Cody 
  has his own cup. It should be in his things." 
  Urs rolled her eyes, but she gave him a forgiving smile. "Now he tells me!" 
  She rummaged through the sacks until she found a bright yellow plastic cup 
  with a white lid, two small holes punched in the raised spout. "Is this it?" 
  "Mine!" Cody declared, slapping the table again. 
  LaCroix winced at the noise. He pulled out a chair for Nicholas, then poured 
  him something to drink. He watched intently as his child sniffed at it, then 
  tasted it without comment. 
  "Urs, may I presume upon you to baby-sit this evening?" LaCroix asked quietly. 

  "For him?" she exploded. 
  Nick held the lidded cup and helped the child to take a drink with the skill 
  of much practice. "Why, LaCroix? Where are we going?" "We need to speak to 
  Jarod," LaCroix repeated himself. "And you must guard your strength. That 
  child is exhausting." 
  "Go bye-bye, Daddy?" Cody asked. 
  Nick tousled his hair. "Just me this time, squirt. I'll take you with me 
  another night." 
  Cody's eyes clouded up and two fat, red tears spilled down his cheeks. "Daddy! 
  Don't go!" 
  Nick pulled him onto his lap and held him close. He felt the child's fear as 
  powerfully as if it were his own. "I'll come back, I promise." 
  Urs lifted the child in her arms and hugged him, her own nurturing instincts 
  overcoming her initial reluctance. "And Nick always keeps his promises," she 
  added. 
  "Pway wiff me?" he asked. 
  Urs smiled. "We'll play a little bit, and I can read to you as well." 
  Cody seemed mollified at the prospect. "Okay. Wuv you, Daddy." 
  Nick rose, ignoring the remainder of his drink and planted a kiss on his 
  child's soft cheek. "I love you, too, Cody. Now you be good for Urs. She's a 
  very special friend of mine and I don't want to hear that you gave her any 
  trouble." 
  Cody nodded solemnly. 
  Nick put an arm around Urs. He leaned closer, inhaling deeply as he reached to 
  find her through the mental bond. She was harder to find than LaCroix or Cody, 
  but a faint trace existed. She seemed irritated and distant. "Have I offended 
  you?" he asked abruptly. 
  Urs shrugged. "Yes, Nick. But you don't remember it any more, obviously." 
  "Please accept my apology any way," Nick said. "I must have been an ass to 
  hurt you." 
  Urs gave him a kiss. "I already have. Now you two go and don't worry about a 
  thing. Do you mind if I take Cody shopping? He could use some toys and a few 
  more clothes." 
  Nick laughed. "Shopping. Isn't that the woman's cure for anything? Sure, love. 
  Take my credit card." 
  Urs pocketed the piece of plastic. "Just for that, it will cost you double," 
  she replied with a teasing note. 
  Nick whistled to Perry. The carouche bounded over with his harness in his 
  mouth. Nick slipped it on and buckled it, patting the dog lovingly. "Okay, 
  LaCroix. All set." 
  * * * * * 
  Jonathan leaned over his wife's neck and nibbled playfully. One hand pressed 
  against her abdomen, hugging her close to his body. "What do you say that we 
  just blow it off and stay home tonight?" he whispered in her ear. 
  "Stop that," Sam said, smiling to soften the words. "I'm almost ready. Why 
  don't you just go sit over there and let me finish?" 
  "I was sitting over there," he said, as he continued exploring her earlobe. 
  "But watching you dress is very distracting. I keep thinking how much fun it 
  will be to take it all off again...." 
  "Jonathan! It would be rude not to show up now. Vira should have dinner just 
  about ready! Here, read the paper or something. We'll go in ten minutes." 
  Sam slapped the newspaper against his chest, pushing him an arm's length away. 
  Jonathan brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them, drawing one into his 
  mouth to suck on it gently. "As you wish." 
  With feral, canine grace, he prowled across the room to recline on the sofa. 
  Sam felt her pulse quicken just watching him. Everything about him was 
  sensual, unfettered, wild... and free. Part of her longed to leave her own 
  kind behind and join him forever. Then she forced her thoughts away. 
  Jonathan flipped the newspaper open to the next page with indifference. The 
  headlines were uninteresting and the mortal news held little importance to 
  him. Unlike vampires, who preferred to live in large cities among their prey, 
  werewolves were more content on wide, country estates. They were reclusive on 
  the whole, although when they did interact with mortals, they generally held 
  positions of power and leadership. 
  He glanced at the pictures since he wasn't in the mood to read. There were 
  images of school children delivering paper poppies to veterans in a nursing 
  home reminding him that Remembrance Day was fast approaching. There were 
  pictures and announcements of the newly engaged and the obituaries. Those were 
  of old men and women, mostly. 
  Jonathan knew it was wrong, but thanks to his grandfather he felt little love 
  or empathy for old people. As far as he was concerned, the only thing the old 
  man ever did for him was die. He winced guiltily at the dark thought and 
  looked around his shoulder, half expecting to be chastised for it. 
  A name caught his eye. Tala... it was an unusual name, an Indian word for 
  "wolf". He had known a woman by that name once, had even considered her as a 
  mate at one time, but nothing had ever come of it. She, like many of his 
  generation, rebelled against their ways, running away to live among mortals, 
  isolated from her own kind. She was young, though... too young to die. The 
  small picture was dark and blurred - it could have been the Tala he knew, but 
  then again, it could have just been coincidence. 
  The obituary was brief. It did not list her age or where she was from or even 
  whom she was survived by. But it did list a last name. Ulric, which was not an 
  uncommon surname among his kind either. He had a good friend, Bertulf Ulrich, 
  that lived around here. Had he married Tala? If so, it was imperative that he 
  find him as quickly as possible! 
  "Sam!" he shouted. 
  "I'm coming," she snapped, "and don't ever use that tone of voice with me!" 
  Jonathan ducked his head sheepishly. Her first husband had been a tyrant... 
  Jonathan didn't want to be anything like him. "Forgive me, Sam," he asked. "I 
  did not mean it to sound that way. But, we must change our plans. I have to 
  find Bertulf right away." He showed her the obituary. "His life might be in 
  danger." 
  Sam nodded as she realized the seriousness of the situation. She didn't know 
  much about his culture, but enough to know that when a werewolf's mate died, 
  he or she was very fragile. Without a life mate, the surviving werewolf lost 
  the will to live, and without the comfort of close friends and loved ones at 
  that time, would often chose to follow in death. 
  "Where do we go first?" she asked. 
  "I don't know. She might not have been werewolf, but I have to check it out." 
  Sam scanned the obituary more thoroughly. "We'll start at the hospital then," 
  she said. She glanced down at her evening gown and with an efficient gesture, 
  clothed herself in a more appropriate outfit. A snap later and Jonathan was 
  out of his suit and tie, wearing casual denims and a sweater. 
  "Thanks," he said, smiling at her. "Shall we go?" 
  She looped her arm in his, and with another effortless twitch, she set them 
  down just outside of Toronto's general hospital. Jonathan held the door for 
  her, with the courteous charm that was as much a part of him as his wolf's 
  nature. 
  The receptionist would not give them any information on Tala Ulrich. When 
  Jonathan tried to convince her that he was Tala's brother, she then said she 
  needed some identification. Sam used her magic to create the needed documents, 
  but then the receptionist sent them to see the business office, which sent 
  them on to billing. Only when Jonathan agreed to be responsible for Tala's 
  medical bills, was anyone willing to talk to him about her case. 
  "We thought she was indigent," the doctor said quietly. "And there was really 
  nothing wrong with her - nothing that could have caused her death. She was 
  severely dehydrated and malnourished, but that could have been treated. She 
  just gave up." 
  "I'm too late," Jonathan murmured, sinking into a chair. He couldn't save 
  Bertulf... for he must have died first. Tala had been left all alone. The 
  young werewolf had paid the ultimate price for her foolishness. In turning 
  away from her own people, she had cut the ties that would have saved her. 
  Suddenly, Jonathan wanted to go home again. 
  Samantha patted his shoulder affectionately. "I'm so sorry, Jonathan," she 
  said. She knew he would grieve, even though he had not really known them. He 
  was tender-hearted and overly sensitive, two qualities she loved most about 
  him. But Jonathan was next in line to rule the pack. Now he felt the added 
  burden of responsibility. 
  "Do you know where she is buried?" Sam asked the doctor. "Or who made the 
  arrangements?" 
  "Yes. Father Rochefort," the doctor said quickly. "He was with her constantly 
  towards the end." 
  Jonathan stood slowly. He would visit the grave and thank the priest. There 
  was nothing more he could do here. Suddenly he felt very old. "Good night, 
  Doctor. And, thank you." 
  * * * * * 
  Jarod raced out of the mission, not knowing where to go. Usually when Miss 
  Parker caught up with him, he was prepared, ready to begin his next pretend, 
  but this time she had found him too soon. She was getting smarter, or else, 
  she was getting to know him too well. That could be dangerous. Jarod feared 
  for his freedom. No one else posed as much a threat to him as she did. She too 
  shared the rare genetic anomaly in her blood, the trait that made her more 
  intelligent than most, that gave her the ability to become someone else. Her 
  latent ability was undeveloped, as she was the daughter of one of the top men 
  in power at the Center, but once she discovered how to use it, she would know 
  where to look for Jarod. He would be unable to hide from her. 
  Someone fired. Jarod felt the sting as it burned past his arm. He clamped his 
  left hand over the wound, but he couldn't stop the cry of pain that also 
  alerted his pursuers of his exact location. He dropped instantly to the ground 
  as several more shots rang out, and rolled across the dirty alley. His arm 
  throbbed, but it wasn't bleeding much. He would have to ignore it for now. 
  He could hear Miss Parker swear at the sweeper for missing and command the 
  rest of her team to get him. Jarod was outnumbered, but he had the advantage. 
  He knew this area. Ducking around the corner, he closed the dumpster lid and 
  leaped on it, grasping for the fire escape above and pulled himself up. He'd 
  worked out this escape route and at least six others while he'd been in 
  Toronto, just for such an occasion. He knew the first apartment was occupied, 
  but the one next to it was temporarily vacant while the owners repainted. He 
  climbed onto the iron railing of the stairs and balanced precariously as he 
  prepared to leap to the neighboring balcony. Only after he jumped did he 
  remember that his arm was hurting. Another few drops of blood oozed from the 
  shallow wound. He heard one of the sweepers curse when it dripped on him. 
  Jarod swung himself up and opened the window. He'd come by last week during 
  the day to make sure that the windows were unlocked. He rushed through the 
  apartment towards the stairs. One sweeper was already coming up the stairs 
  inside the apartment complex. Jarod couldn't afford to take the time now to be 
  afraid. He couldn't chafe at the injustice that these people wanted him either 
  dead or imprisoned, that his childhood had been stolen, his identity erased, 
  his freedoms violated. Instead, his thoughts focused only on the goal. He 
  dropped a few marbles he'd bought for Cody, before he realized that 
  three-year-olds still put things in their mouths. Next he grabbed a fire 
  extinguisher and sprayed the stairs behind him as he continued to run. His 
  pursuers didn't slip on the marbles, but they did hesitate, allowing Jarod to 
  gain distance. Then they slipped on the chemical residue from the fire 
  extinguisher. 
  Once on the roof Jarod wedged a two-by-four through the latch. Miss Parker 
  started banging on it, cursing at him and calling him names, even as she 
  threatened to have certain of the sweepers' body parts cooked and served to 
  her for breakfast. The short pine board wouldn't stop them for long. Jarod 
  knew he would have to jump to the roof of the neighboring building. He'd 
  practiced leaping that distance on the ground and knew just how much speed he 
  would need, and what angle of lift would ensure success. Fear of falling never 
  entered his mind. Jarod had been trained to trust his intellect. It had never 
  failed him before. 
  He paused only to draw in several deep breaths, then he raced for the edge and 
  jumped. For moments he was air-born. The wind brushed past him and Jarod 
  wondered what it would be like to be able to fly. Then the far roof rushed up 
  to meet him. Jarod dropped and rolled, minimizing the impact. 
  The grappling hook and rope were still coiled where he had left them. 
  Expertly, Jarod swung the rope towards the roof across the street. He anchored 
  the rope on this end, then hand over hand, made his way to the next building. 
  Once there, he cut the rope, making it too short for the sweepers to use even 
  if they'd been brave enough, or stupid enough, to try. Jarod took the fire 
  escape again and soon he was on the ground. 
  The hospital was over a mile away, but Jarod didn't dare return to his 
  mission. The small wound on his arm was filthy. He'd have to get it cleaned up 
  or risk infection. Hospitals were crowded places. Even if Miss Parker followed 
  him there, it would be easy enough to lose her. Jarod ran, trying to listen 
  for sounds of the sweepers behind him, trying to stay alert to danger all 
  around. And one part of his mind began to work on the next step. Where could 
  he go from here? 
  He should go to Nick's first and warn him. If Miss Parker were to find a 
  connection between him and Nick, she might try to use that against him 
  somehow. He knew Nick's father could protect him though. The old longings, the 
  desperate yearning for a father of his own, nearly crippled him. Jarod forced 
  the thought away. He had to concentrate! 
  * * * * * 
  Urs slung the vampire infant onto one hip and grabbed her purse. Cody was 
  exhausting! He was a cute kid, but she was ready for bed and the night was not 
  even half over! Nicholas was going to owe her, and so was LaCroix, for a very 
  long time. As the expression went, hell would freeze over before she ever 
  babysat again. 
  Cody bounced in her arms, swinging his feet. "Go bye-bye!" he shrieked. "See 
  Daddy?" 
  "Hold still," she snapped, "or I might drop you!" 
  Cody grabbed her hair with sticky baby fingers. "Oh-oh," he said solemnly. 
  "Wuv you, Urth." 
  She couldn't resist a smile as the baby lisped around the thumb in his mouth. 
  "No screaming in my ear, no wiggling, and no more running off and hiding, do 
  you understand? How can I keep an eye on you and protect you from harm if you 
  play hide-and-seek with me again?" 
  "I be good," he said sadly. 
  Urs laughed. "Okay. Then let's go to the mall. We'll find you some toys and I 
  think you need more clothes, judging by how often you get dirty. How's that 
  sound?" 
  "Bye-bye!" he screamed delightedly. 
  Urs loosened her hold momentarily, letting the child drop a few inches on her 
  hip. He shut up and clung to her tightly. Then she rose through the skylight. 
  A few toys were just what they both needed right now, and she breathed a 
  silent thanksgiving to Lillith that vampires were barren. 
  * * * * * 
  LaCroix was impatient to get to Jarod as quickly as possible, but Nicholas was 
  full of questions. He wanted to know everything. What was his relationship 
  with Urs and Janette, and Tracy, and who was Father Rochefort, and how long 
  had he been a cop, had he been sick, had he been blind? He remembered a big 
  man with black hair and skin and a kind but scary voice, and someone named Don 
  who smelled of garlic and donuts, and who was the old man with gnarled fingers 
  and rheumy eyes? When LaCroix explained that the old man was Thomas 
  Constantine, his little brother, Nicholas wanted to know all about vampire 
  families. The questions were endless, but LaCroix struggled to answer each one 
  patiently. 
  At last they came to the Fourth Street Mission. LaCroix steeled himself before 
  going inside, as the stench of food and sweat was almost intolerable. Nicholas 
  reacted badly. He clenched his stomach and doubled over. LaCroix grasped his 
  shoulders, hurrying him to the curb before he retched. LaCroix closed his 
  eyes, angry that he hadn't waited to come until later after the soup kitchen 
  had closed. 
  Nick leaned into his arms, trembling slightly. "I'm sorry," he stammered. 
  LaCroix held out his wrist. "Drink," he commanded. 
  Nick's fangs erupted, but he hesitated. "I can't." 
  "You can and you do. Often. Now drink." 
  The memory of that morning drinking from his own child, of the feeling of 
  intimacy and yearning, and the shame of desiring that from his son or his 
  father, was too strong. Nick pushed the wrist away. "No!" 
  LaCroix lashed out, acting more on habit or instinct than conscious thought. 
  He struck Nicholas across the face. The younger, weaker vampire stumbled, 
  tripping over the carouche and falling to the ground. LaCroix fumed, angry at 
  himself for the loss of control, angry at Nicholas for forcing him. 
  Nick leaned up on one elbow, wiping at the blood that oozed from his lip and 
  wincing. "Now that I remember," he said sarcastically. 
  LaCroix glared at him. "You stubborn, insolent whelp. You are weak, you need 
  to feed. Why do you refuse?" He reached down to offer Nicholas a hand up, but 
  the younger vampire flinched as he heard the him approach, throwing up his 
  arms as though to ward off another blow. With a growl, LaCroix pushed the arms 
  aside and hauled him to his feet. Then he pulled Nick against him and held his 
  wrist before the younger vampire's lips. 
  "Please, don't," Nick begged, his voice barely a whisper. 
  LaCroix had lost all patience. He tore open his wrist and forced the bleeding 
  wound into Nick's mouth. Moments later he felt his son begin to drink. 
  The blood flowed from him through his child, strengthening their bond. He felt 
  Nicholas's embarrassment and desire, his confusion and his need, but he did 
  not understand. Time was passing and he only wanted to find Jarod before the 
  mortal slipped from his grasp. 
  Nick forced his fangs to recede, then licked the wound to close it. He 
  trembled as the ancient fluid strengthened him, calming his stomach and 
  stirring his desires. Was this what it was like to be vampire? Or was he 
  really sick, a freak, vulgar in his insatiable need? He was ashamed to voice 
  the question, afraid of the answer. Pulling away from his master's hold, he 
  reached for Perry's harness and closed his feelings behind a wall of steel. 
  "Let's go," he said flatly. 
  LaCroix once again opened the door to the mission. "Where would Jarod be?" he 
  asked, scanning the crowds. 
  Nick lifted his chin, drawing in a breath as he tried to sense the room. "By 
  now he should be through serving soup but still cleaning up," he said, "but he 
  is not here." 
  Nick urged Perry to lead him through the dining room, down the hall, to the 
  small rooms in the back where he and Cody had stayed. Jarod's room was empty. 
  The narrow cot was neatly made, but no item remained behind to imply that 
  Jarod would ever return. LaCroix emitted a growl of frustration. 
  Nick heard a sniffling sound and turned to head in that direction. The 
  simple-minded young man, Freddy, sat on the floor at the end of the hallway, 
  wiping his nose on his sleeve. 
  "Nick!" he cried, his trembling voice revealing his fear. "Nick! Brother Jarod 
  is gone!" 
  "Where did he go," Nick asked, trying to calm the frightened boy. 
  "He ran away, away from the bad people," Freddy sobbed. "What am I gonna do?" 
  LaCroix silenced the sniveling mortal with no more than a glance. Easily 
  hypnotizing him, he extracted the details of Jarod's disappearance. Jarod had 
  ducked inside, stripping off his monk's robe and pulling on a black tee shirt 
  and running shoes. He had told Freddy that he would try to return, but if it 
  were impossible, that Freddy would be provided for. Then he had run out the 
  back door. Moments later shots were fired. A pretty woman in a short black 
  leather skirt and dark sunglasses barreled into the mission, demanding to know 
  where Jarod was. The men with her searched the mission thoroughly, and then 
  they all left just as suddenly as they had come. 
  LaCroix ran back outside. Reaching out with his predatory senses, he tried to 
  find any trace of Jarod. Nick caught up with him and latched on to his sleeve. 

  "I'm going with you," he said firmly. 
  "No, Nicholas. This is too dangerous. And time is of the utmost importance!" 
  Nick tightened his hold. "Take me with you! I know which way he went!" Nick 
  started down the ally, pulling LaCroix after him. Then he pointed to a small 
  spot of blood. The scent was fading, and the amount was so slight, LaCroix 
  would have missed it all together. Nick shuddered. "They shot him," he 
  whispered. 
  LaCroix dipped a finger in the blood and brought it to his nostrils. There was 
  almost no scent left. How had his son known it was here? "Are you certain that 
  this is Jarod?" he asked quietly. 
  Nick nodded once. Then he lifted into the night sky, still clutching LaCroix's 
  sleeve. Perry barked and leaped after him. Together the odd threesome flew low 
  over the area, as Nick followed the faint trail. His eyes were glowing, his 
  fangs erupted, yet LaCroix knew that the younger vampire was not hungry. This 
  was the predator. He smiled proudly at the skills his protege displayed, that 
  even blinded and weak, he was a superior hunter. 
  Nick followed the faint blood trail to the hospital. There he landed and 
  nearly collapsed in his sire's arms. "I can't find it now," he uttered in 
  defeat. "There is too much blood here. The trail is lost." 
  LaCroix stared at Nicholas, torn between wanting to protect his child and 
  needing desperately to find the mortal, Jarod. "How long ago do you think he 
  was here?" he insisted. "Could he still be here?" 
  Nick shook his head, a blood tear slipping from his eye. "I don't know... 
  sorry... I've failed again." His eyes closed and he went limp. 
  LaCroix scooped him into his arms, alarmed again at how light Nicholas had 
  become. "We will find him," LaCroix promised. "Come, carouche. Let us return 
  to the loft." 
  Perry barked. He darted towards the hospital and back. Perhaps he could still 
  find the trail? Nick didn't need him just now. He had to try. 
  LaCroix didn't understand what had the carouche worked up, but he simply 
  ignored it. "Do as you will," he snapped. 
  Perry took off, wagging his tail excitedly. The vampires depended too much on 
  the blood scent. He could track someone even if they weren't bleeding. A pity 
  that vampires weren't more intelligent, or they would know that. 
  * * * * * 
  Father Rochefort rubbed his eyes and grabbed a robe. The knocking at his front 
  door was quite insistent. Once again he wondered what a full night's sleep 
  would feel like. If God had meant that his servants should survive on less 
  than six hours of sleep a night, then the least He could do was give them a 
  spiritual amphetamine for the strength to greet each new morning with grace 
  and a smile? He chuckled to himself, as the image of popping such a heavenly 
  pill came to his groggy mind. "Thanks, Lord. I guess it helps in this line of 
  work to have a sense of humor." 
  He opened the door and gazed at the strange couple. For a moment he thought 
  they were friends of Nick's.... He felt something strange from them, but it 
  wasn't as pronounced. From most vampires he felt the tiny hairs on the backs 
  of his hands tingle, a cold dread in his gut and a premonition of danger. Now 
  he wasn't sure what he felt. 
  The young man was well dressed and carried himself with a princely bearing. 
  The woman was older, perhaps old enough to be his mother and yet the priest 
  was fairly certain that she was much more than that. Moments later when he 
  invited them inside, the sparkling diamond and gold wedding band confirmed it. 
  "How may I help you?" he asked as he gestured them into the comfortable, if 
  perhaps a trifle shabby, living room. 
  "I am Jonathan Wiltierna," the young man began. "My sister's name was Tala. We 
  lost touch and I cannot find her. I understand that you buried a young woman 
  by that name. Could you please describe her to me?" 
  Father Pierre nodded compassionately. "I will try. She was young, perhaps 
  twenty-three or four, she never gave us any personal information. She had long 
  braids that came to her hips, her hair was black, and her eyes were so dark 
  that you didn't really see the iris at all. She may have been beautiful at one 
  time. She was emaciated when I met her." 
  Jonathan blinked rapidly. That certainly sounded like her. And the way she 
  died had sounded very familiar. He had seen his own father waste away after 
  his mother's death... Jonathan hadn't understood it then. He'd been angry at 
  his father for abandoning him. But he had seen it often enough to know that 
  the pain of separation was very real. 
  "She hadn't left anything behind, or I would gladly give it to you," the 
  priest was saying. "Only a few dollars, which we spent on her child." 
  "Child?" Jonathan's head snapped up. 
  "Uh, yes," the priest stammered. "Her son, Cody." 
  "Where is he now!" 
  'Oh dear,' the priest worried. He had talked Nick into adopting the little boy 
  and Nick had finally accepted the responsibility. Those two belonged together! 
  The vampire shared a close bond with the little boy; it would crush him to 
  lose him now! And it was somehow all his fault! But he had never imagined that 
  Tala would have a relative. She had been adamant in the hospital that she was 
  all-alone in the world. 
  "A young man in my parish has adopted him," Father Pierre stammered, trying to 
  find a way out of this mess that wasn't an all-out lie. Nick had started the 
  adoption proceedings, but Nick wasn't "young" by any stretch of the 
  imagination. 
  "This must stop at once. I will have her child! It is my right and my 
  responsibility." 
  Father Pierre tried to calm him, but Jonathan was halfway out the door 
  already. 
  "You tell this man to bring my nephew to me within twenty-four hours, or I 
  will contact the police!" 
  * * * * * 
  The loft was empty when LaCroix returned with Nicholas' form cradled in his 
  arms, and it was a disaster. That demon child must have ignored Nicholas' 
  command to behave himself. All of the cushions from the couch and chairs were 
  strewn beneath the kitchen table. A large blanket was spread over the table, 
  hanging down the sides and one end was draped over an overturned chair to 
  create a crawlspace into the makeshift fort. A brown paper grocery sack had 
  been cut open and spread over Nick's coffee table, where it was destroyed by 
  layers of paint in a dreadful combination of colors. The washing machine was 
  spinning on the last cycle, and the sacks of things that Jarod had brought for 
  the child had been spilled out onto the floor. He shook his head, feeling a 
  moment of empathy for young Urs. He wouldn't have thought they'd been gone 
  long enough for an army of children to have created such a mess. 
  He carried Nicholas up to bed and laid him down, quickly examining him. The 
  evening had exhausted the younger vampire. He would need rest and blood. 
  LaCroix slashed his wrist and held the wound to a matching slash he made on 
  his child's forearm. Nicholas never even stirred as his vampiric nature drew 
  in the sustenance it craved. Tenderly, he brushed at the wild blonde hair that 
  spilled down Nicholas's forehead. 
  LaCroix stood abruptly. Withdrawing his cellphone, he dialed Janette. She did 
  not answer immediately, so LaCroix focused on their mental bond and sent her a 
  sharp rebuke. 
  "Yes," she said, when at least she answered the phone. 
  LaCroix let his irritation flood over their bond. She was becoming insolent 
  now that she was separated from him by a generation. "Come here," he 
  commanded. 
  "Oui, Lucien," she said, a little petulantly. 
  Pocketing his phone, he removed Nicholas's shoes and drew the quilt up over 
  him. He would not leave him unattended, but as soon as Janette arrived, he 
  would search for Jarod. It seemed almost a hopeless cause, but LaCroix could 
  not give up now. He would continue to hunt for him until it was too late. And 
  then he did not know what he would do. 
  * * * * * 
  "Come on, Jarod, time to get your feet wet," the officer said, giving him a 
  friendly pat on the shoulder. 
  Jarod forced a smile although the officer's gesture caused his wound to 
  reopen. A small spot of blood stained the dark sleeve of the shirt he'd 
  borrowed, the navy blue uniform of a police officer. It had seemed the right 
  disguise at the time. If his new partner responded to a call, it could take 
  him away from the area and his pursuers swiftly. 
  "It was real fortunate you got here tonight," the officer remarked. "Although 
  I sure wish they would tell me these things. Steve called in sick, and Barb is 
  on personal leave." 
  "Let's go," Jarod said simply, as he climbed in beside his temporary partner. 
  "So what's the call?" The officer shook his head, clucking his tongue in 
  disbelief. "A missing child report. The babysitter took him to the mall and 
  he's gone." 
  Jarod blinked rapidly, nearly overcome with emotion. Ever since his own 
  abduction, so many years ago that he could no longer even remember it, he was 
  overly sensitive where it came to children. They belonged with their parents! 
  In his pretends, he did whatever he could to reunite families. 
  The senior officer kept up a steady stream of chatter. Jarod gazed out the car 
  window as Toronto passed by. It looked a lot like Seattle... or was it 
  Asheville? Too many cities... too many pretends. They were all blending 
  together in his thoughts, and in every memory was Miss Parker. 
  Jarod didn't understand his feelings for her. Sure, she'd given him his first 
  kiss. They'd both been about thirteen at the time. Jarod wasn't sure of his 
  own age. The Center had never celebrated birthdays, and although they kept 
  detailed records on every word he had ever uttered, no one seemed to know what 
  day he was born, or to whom, or even when he'd been abducted. Jarod could get 
  in to any computer database in the Center, but he could not find his own birth 
  certificate. 
  He didn't even know if the picture he carried were really his mom or not. 
  Someone had whispered once that she was, but later recanted and claimed that 
  she had only been his adoptive mother. For one awful month he'd actually 
  thought that Mr. Parker was his father until that blood test had proven false. 

  "You sure are a quiet one," the officer commented. 
  "What? Oh, sorry..." Jarod said, trying to force the melancholy away. A quick 
  look in the rear view mirror assured him that the sweeper's black sedan was 
  not yet pursuing him. He rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. "Long 
  night." 
  "Yeah, I guess. Moving is sure hard on a body. I read once that moving causes 
  as much stress as death and disease... I wouldn't really know. I was born 
  here." 
  The police car pulled in front of the mall's back exit where the management 
  offices were located. Jarod's partner stepped out and waited for him to 
  follow. 
  Inside the lights were too bright. Jarod glanced at his sleeve, hoping the 
  dark wet stain would go unnoticed. A crowd of concerned citizens pressed 
  around a pretty, petite blonde woman, who sounded frantic. Jarod worked his 
  way over to her. With a gentle, compassionate voice, he tried to reassure her. 

  "We'll do everything we can to find him, ma'am." 
  "You don't understand," she blurted. "I have to find him! Tonight! He's the 
  only reason Nick has to live for. And he's just a baby! Who would kidnap a 
  baby!" 
  "Nick?" Jarod asked. 
  "Nicholas Knight," she said. 
  Jarod's partner uttered a sound of surprise. "The Nicholas Knight? Of the 96th 
  precinct? I didn't know he had a kid! Who's the mother?" 
  The babysitter put a dainty hand to her forehead and rubbed. Jarod saw her 
  exhaustion. He put an arm around her and guided her to a chair. She felt cold, 
  like Nick did. And sunrise wasn't too far away. He guessed she was vampire 
  too. "Cody?" Jarod whispered. "Someone took Cody?" 
  Urs nodded weakly. 
  "Do you know if they were... your kind?" 
  She glanced at him swiftly, her brows puckered. "Who are you?" 
  "I'm Jarod." 
  "Oh dear. Nick asked me to baby-sit, because he had to find you." 
  Jarod felt a chill run down his spine. He was not a timid person. In the past 
  four years he had driven racecars and landed jets. He'd climbed mountains and 
  jumped out of airplanes. But every time he had a run-in with the Center his 
  stomach twisted in knots and his heart pounded in his chest. He hated them, 
  that they had such control over him. "Tell me what happened here tonight," he 
  said softly. 
  Urs told him about how annoyed she'd been with the baby. Cody had trashed the 
  apartment, and his favorite game was hide-and-seek. When she first realized he 
  was missing, she thought he'd only been playing with her again, although she 
  had forbidden him to hide from her. She'd searched thoroughly, getting more 
  frantic as each minute passed. When she'd rushed into the parking lot, she'd 
  caught a glimpse of a lady in black leather yanking Cody into a car. Cody'd 
  been crying. Urs tried to catch up to them, but they took off. Then 
  whispering, she added that before she could fly after them, a careless shopper 
  had hit her with his car. 
  "Are you alright?" Jarod asked. 
  Urs nodded. "But I'm sure they don't know how to take care of him! He'll be 
  hungry!" 
  Jarod nodded. "I'll get him back. I promise." 
  He felt a little guilty ditching his partner. That hadn't been in his original 
  plan. Usually when he left a pretend behind, he did it smoothly, with transfer 
  papers or whatever else was required, but there just wasn't time. He knew Miss 
  Parker had taken the child only to use as bait. Jarod knew what he had to do. 
  "They'll take him to the airport," he said. "But we'll have to hurry." 
  "I'll give you a lift," Urs offered. "If you don't object." 
  Jarod returned her shy smile with one of his own. Urs stepped in front of 
  Jarod. If she'd been mortal, she'd be six shades of red by now. What ever had 
  prompted her to fly this man anywhere? She had never done that before for any 
  human. But she knew that Jarod knew about Nick and LaCroix, and had guessed at 
  her nature as well. She knew that for some reason LaCroix wanted Jarod. With 
  that thought firmly in her mind, she found strength. 
  "Put your arms around me then, and hold on tight." She took hold of his 
  tentative grasp and gave his wrists a yank. Jarod's heart rate accelerated and 
  she felt his sudden, uncomfortable arousal. Pretending ignorance was her 
  customary defense. Then she lifted effortlessly into the night. 
  Flying was the one gift that had made her life worth living. Although she had 
  wanted Vachon to give her death instead of eternal life, she was able to 
  forget her feelings of despair and regret whenever she took to flight. Now was 
  no different. The cooling autumn temperatures slapped at her face and hands, 
  her short blonde curls would be windblown and tangled, but none of that 
  mattered. For the time it took to reach the airport, she was as free as wind, 
  as light as feathers and as graceful as a dove. 
  On her back, Jarod's desire was short lived. At first he'd been alarmed at the 
  sudden assent and speed with which they traveled, but now his heart pounded 
  excitedly. His blood called to her, sweet and innocent and so unlike any man 
  she had ever met before. She thought back to his discomfort earlier and 
  wondered if this thirty-something hunk were still a virgin? She shook her 
  head. Life was too weird sometimes. 
  At the airport they landed behind some bushes near the small hangar, which was 
  used by the private sector exclusively. Jarod's eyes were wide with wonder and 
  childish joy. "Thank you! That was - the most wonderful experience I have ever 
  had! I'll treasure it always!" 
  Urs shrugged off the praise as though it were no big deal to her, but secretly 
  she was pleased that he found as much pleasure in flying as she did. 
  Jarod suddenly ducked back into shadows, pulling Urs behind him protectively. 
  She smiled, but resisted the urge to laugh at his expense. She was never in 
  any danger. At least, not from his mortal enemies. 
  The black sedan was coming towards them, but it was still a short way off and 
  driving in a safe, unobtrusive manner. "What are we going to do?" Urs asked. 
  "I have to exchange myself for the child," Jarod sighed. 
  "NO!" Urs blurted. "I mean, you can't! What will they do with you when they 
  get you?" 
  Jarod glanced at his feet. She could smell his fear and sadness, yet his voice 
  betrayed none of his deeper emotions. "Not much. I escaped before, several 
  times. I will do so again." 
  "But Jarod, Nick needs you," she whispered. 
  "Cody needs Nick. I can't let them take him. If they discover in his blood 
  what I did, they will dissect him. They want me alive." 
  "Maybe we could-" 
  "No. Urs, don't reveal yourself at all. If things go wrong, you must get back 
  to Nick and tell him to look for Cody at the Center. In Blue Cove, Delaware." 
  Urs began to tremble. She was not afraid for herself. She had been prepared to 
  die for a century. She was afraid for Nick and for Cody, and oddly enough, for 
  this brave, selfless innocent. She touched the middle of his back and patted 
  him gently. "Be careful." 
  He nodded silently. 
  The car stopped a short distance away, between Jarod and a small aircraft. 
  Four doors opened at once, like some synchronized military invasion. Two 
  sweepers in front, one in back, and Miss Parker all stepped out of the 
  vehicle, with Cody squirming in the arms of the third sweeper. Another car 
  pulled up behind them, with Sydney, Bruts, and two more sweepers. Miss Parker 
  aimed her gun at Cody. 
  "Jarod!" she shouted, flinging a vile curse. "Jarod! I know you're watching! 
  If you don't give yourself up immediately, the brat is dead!" 
  Cody whimpered, struggling against the stranger. "Wanna go!" he cried. 
  Jarod stared, horrified. Not even Miss Parker could be that heartless, could 
  she? He watched, as if in slow motion, she cocked her gun. "Jarod! You don't 
  think I'll do it? Should I shoot off one of his fingers to prove it to you? Or 
  perhaps a thumb? The one he prefers to suck?" 
  "No!" he yelled, lunging out from behind the bushes. He heard a tattoo of 
  clicks as six guns were cocked and aimed at him. 
  "Don't shoot!" Sydney commanded. "The Center wants him alive!" 
  "Let the baby go. My life for his. Put him down," Jarod demanded. 
  Miss Parker chuckled, as though Jarod had said something immensely funny. "I 
  don't think so, Jarod. He may yet prove useful. You've been far to slippery in 
  the past, but with his life in the balance, I'm sure you'll learn to be more 
  cooperative." 
  "I won't come with you," Jarod stated, quickly calculating the distance that 
  separated them and the relative speeds at which any of them could run. He had 
  a fair chance of getting away even now, as long as they didn't actually hit 
  him. "You'll have to kill me. Let him go." 
  Miss Parker grabbed Cody's thumb and twisted it. Cody screamed, kicking the 
  sweeper with a solid shoe. The man hunched over, protecting sore genitals as 
  he swore. Miss Parker rolled her eyes in disgust. "Why does Daddy continue to 
  hire such incompetents," she growled. She yanked Cody from the sweeper and 
  pressed her gun to his temple. "Now, Jarod. I'm out of patience. Get over 
  here, Now!" 
  Jarod blinked back tears of frustration. Slowly, he took a step towards her. 
  He should turn around and run. He had no doubt that they would shoot Cody, but 
  he knew that vampires were not supposed to feel pain - not like mortals did, 
  anyway. He knew there was a chance that they would drop Cody, expecting him to 
  die, and leave him behind. Urs could save him and bring him back to Nick. 
  Jarod knew this, and yet, he just could not bring himself to let them harm 
  that little boy. 
  "Move!" Miss Parker shouted. 
  Like an errant schoolboy about to be disciplined, Jarod walked towards his 
  captors. Five sweepers surrounded him, snapping on handcuffs and forcing him 
  to his knees. Jarod struggled uselessly, angry that he'd been caught, angry 
  that Miss Parker had won. 
  "Please let him go," Jarod begged. "A child belongs with his father!" 
  "Load him in the plane," she commanded, ignoring Jarod. 
  Sydney and Bruts boarded; Miss Parker climbed in behind them. Then the 
  sweepers began to kick Jarod as they cursed at him. He heard Cody crying, and 
  maybe he heard Urs cry too. He hoped not. She had to get back to Nick. Only 
  Nick and his father now could save the baby. Stoically, Jarod suffered the 
  blows in silence until he passed out. 
  * * * * * 
  Urs jumped into the air, letting the wind carry away her tears. Why had they 
  treated him so harshly! She'd heard each kick clearly, and knew the bruises he 
  would suffer. If they valued Jarod so much, why didn't they treat him better? 
  He was kind and just and would work for them willingly, if only he felt it was 
  the right thing to do. But then, since he refused to help them, they must be 
  using him to do evil. Their actions further convinced her that they were evil 
  people. She had to find Nick and LaCroix quickly! 
  Janette greeted her at the loft. Nicholas was sleeping and LaCroix had gone 
  out in search of Jarod. Even Perry seemed to be missing. "Where is LaCroix," 
  Urs asked urgently. 
  Janette gave an indifferent shrug. "Out. He did not file a flight plan before 
  he left." 
  "Please! I must find him immediately! Jarod's been taken prisoner, and they 
  were hitting him! They took Cody, too!" 
  Janette's porcelain mask slipped momentarily at the mention of the child's 
  name. Urs would have thought it amusing under different circumstances. So the 
  ice queen had not been unmoved by the annoying, adorable little boy? "I will 
  summon him," she said. 
  Urs followed, watching Janette intently and more than a little jealous of the 
  skills LaCroix's children possessed. Janette turned a full circle until she 
  found a direction that pleased her. She didn't move, or close her eyes, or say 
  a word and yet Urs felt something as though Janette's very presence seemed to 
  double briefly. Then she turned to Urs and smiled. "He is coming." 
  The two returned inside. Urs helped herself to a beverage, automatically 
  pouring one for Janette and fulfilling the role she saw herself in, that of 
  the lesser being and servant. Janette accepted the glass without a word of 
  thanks. The two sat in silent company until LaCroix flew into the center of 
  the room. 
  "What!" he roared. 
  Janette flinched, but refused to be intimidated. "Urs asked to see you." 
  Urs clasped her hands together to still their trembling. Quickly, she told 
  LaCroix everything - that Jarod and Cody were both on a plane, possibly 
  heading towards Blue Cove. 
  LaCroix sank into the couch and held his head in his hands. "We are too late," 
  he murmured. 
  "But we can go after them," Urs insisted. 
  "We may never find them." 
  "We have to try," she urged. 
  LaCroix tilted his head up to look at her. She was a pretty child, unusual 
  with her darker complexion and pale blonde curls. He had wondered before at 
  what ancestry produced such exotic features. He gave her a paternal smile. 
  "We shall try, Ursula. But not tonight. Nicholas is exhausted. We will need a 
  well-formulated plan, for we will get but one chance at this. Go to him and 
  rest." 
  Urs dipped her head submissively. "Yes, sir." 
  Janette stared at the ancient vampire. Although she knew he could not age, 
  tonight he looked old. His shoulders slumped and his hair looked more gray 
  than blonde. The haughty demeanor was missing and instead she saw a grieving, 
  lonely man. She knelt before him and rested her hands on his thighs. 
  "Perhaps you should take your own advice?" she suggested. Her fingers soothed 
  over his trousers, working their way higher, suggesting more intimate 
  activities. 
  LaCroix placed his hands over hers, gently turning her down. "Thank you, 
  Janette," he said. "Return to Amaru tonight. Ask him and his twin to join us 
  here at dusk, if they will." 
  Janette nodded, unsure of her feelings. LaCroix had never turned her down 
  before. Was he no longer interested? Or was he getting even with her, 
  punishing her for her rudeness and disrespect this past year? But he only 
  looked old and tired. She did not see the angry, vindictive master of her 
  past. Cupping his chin in a dainty hand, she tipped his face up to meet hers 
  and placed a kiss full upon his lips. 
  "Good day, then, Lucien," she whispered huskily. 
  * * * * * 
  LaCroix paced restlessly. Janette was with Amaru and Urs was with Nick. He was 
  alone. He did not mind being alone, for usually he was his own best company, 
  but tonight he felt a yearning that demanded to be satisfied. He wished 
  Natalie were here with him, and then he was angry with himself for wanting her 
  when her work was so important to them both. Perhaps he would go out hunting? 
  But that game paled, a trivial substitute for what he truly desired. He 
  slumped onto the couch again. It would be a long day and no doubt he would 
  find little rest at all. 
  The phone rang. He glared at it and considered simply ignoring it. Although 
  his son usually slept like one dead, LaCroix did not want to risk letting the 
  mortal invention disturb him. He lifted the contrivance to his ear and 
  growled. "What!" 
  "I miss you, too, Lucien," Natalie's voice softly teased him from across the 
  world. 
  LaCroix felt a sudden tightening in his groin, his undead heart pulsed, and 
  the room glowed in amber tones. He was annoyed at his response to the mere 
  sound of her voice, and yet this was exactly what he needed tonight. "Why are 
  you calling here," he snapped, when he really wanted to ask her what she was 
  wearing. 
  "Now don't get huffy with me. I'm lonely and surrounded by beautiful but 
  arrogant men all night long. Why aren't there more women here? What is the 
  ratio of males to females among you? Am I going to be a minority?" 
  "Who is it that you find so comely," he continued, struggling to keep the 
  growl in his voice although the corners of his lips were beginning to curl. 
  "Oh, let's see. There is that doctor from Chicago, Luka Kovach. He's 
  absolutely divine. I bet half the city is missing him now. And the 
  gynecologist Takis, although I can't stand him, actually, but he is quite 
  good-looking. And of course, your old nemesis Zuhayr. He's strikingly 
  handsome, and pleasant, and very romantic. But I wanted you to know that I 
  have stayed away from them, although I realize that is probably a mortal 
  custom and it shouldn't bother you one way or the other. I really miss 
  you...." 
  LaCroix could hear the longing and loneliness clearly, now that her teasing 
  faded. He sighed. It pleased him that she had not had sex with anyone... of 
  course, sex with a vampire was a life-threatening experience for a mortal and 
  she would not be safe with anyone younger than he. That did still leave 
  Zuhayr, though. He felt his eyes change at the mere thought of that insipid 
  self-absorbed boorish vampire touching even a single hair on her head. Vampire 
  matings were never monogamous. He had willing shared Janette and Nicholas with 
  others, and with each other... he did not understand these strong, decidedly 
  mortal, emotions. 
  "A pity that you are so far away tonight," LaCroix said, trying to cover 
  deeper feelings with light-hearted banter. "I would be only to glad to... 
  offer you the comfort that you desire." 
  He heard her soft laughter, her voice sounded husky and sensuous. Two were 
  playing this game. 
  "Lucien, I am wearing the teddy you gave me. The black lace teddy... you know 
  I would never have owned such a thing a year ago. You've certainly left your 
  mark on me." 
  LaCroix chuckled, speaking around full fangs. "In more ways than one, I'm 
  sure. And in more places, as well." 
  Natalie rubbed at her neck, feeling too warm. "How soon until you can mark me 
  again?" 
  "Not soon enough," he said evasively. He was not ready yet to tell her the 
  news of Jarod and Cody. In fact, he couldn't remember what if anything he had 
  told her about Cody at all. Instead they just talked, making love with their 
  words. It was definitely the most erotic phone call he had ever had. 
  "Well, Lucien," she said later. We've accomplished nothing here. I was 
  thinking about flying home this weekend." 
  "No," LaCroix said. "We have a bit of a situation, but as soon as it is 
  resolved, Nicholas and I will join you." 
  "What's wrong?" 
  Even over the phone he could hear the rise in her heart rate. "Nicholas is as 
  well as can be expected," he quickly stated, hoping to put her at ease. 
  "What is it? LaCroix, tell me!" 
  He winced at the use of the surname Nicholas had given him so many years ago 
  as a mortal child of five. Although most called him by that, Natalie only used 
  it when she was sharpening her claws for a fight. "Nicholas's child is 
  missing. Jarod is, as well. He's been kidnapped." 
  Silence floated over the earpiece. His smile deepened as he could almost 
  visualize the emotions playing across her face. First would be surprise and 
  confusion, then skepticism and finally, most likely, disgust. He was not far 
  from wrong. 
  "Child? What child? Not that Serena lady again? The controlling b - ah, - 
  vampire in Montreal?" 
  "No," he said slowly. "I am sure you are aware that he has created children in 
  the past. I cannot name them all at the moment. They don't usually survive 
  their infancy." 
  Natalie cleared her throat impatiently. "LaCroix. I'm not going to like this, 
  am I? You are being purposefully vague, which you only do when you are trying 
  to manipulate me. Spit it out!" 
  He chuckled. It seemed easier than getting angry. Anger over the telephone was 
  incredibly unsatisfactory when there was no one around on whom to take out his 
  aggression. "The child is named 'Cody'. He is a mortal about three years old." 

  "Three years old!" Natalie exploded. "What the hell is going on over there! 
  What ever possessed Nicholas to do such a stupid thing! He told me about 
  Daniel. Three years old! What are you going to do? Kill this one, too?" 
  LaCroix's good humor ended abruptly. "Calm yourself, or I will not answer a 
  single question," he warned. He heard her draw in a deep breath and expel it 
  in a rush. He waited another moment before continuing. "The child was the same 
  one he'd been visiting at that priest's day care. The night Nicholas was 
  abducted, the child had run away and come searching for him. The bullet which 
  passed through Nicholas then struck the child, unbeknownst to anyone. The 
  child nearly bled to death. I am still not sure why he came across instead of 
  simply dying. It would have saved me the trouble." 
  "Are you going to kill him then?" she whispered, unsure she wanted to hear the 
  answer. She missed him. She loved him. But she wasn't sure she could ever live 
  with him. 
  "No." LaCroix was surprised by his own response. "At least, I am undecided. 
  Children are not allowed. It is our code. Yet Nicholas seems quite attached to 
  it. I do not want to upset him at this time." 
  Natalie sighed. "I suppose that he is feeling guilty that this happened and is 
  suffering for it?" 
  LaCroix grunted. "You know how he can be. Although he still has not regained 
  all of his memories. He seemed oddly contented earlier, before all this 
  happened with Jarod and Cody." 
  "Will you be able to rescue Jarod?" Natalie asked hesitantly. 
  "I will," he said, with more conviction than he felt. They changed the subject 
  then, whispering a few more heartfelt yearnings to each other and ending the 
  conversation on a pleasant note. Reluctantly, he hung up the phone and 
  wondered just how much longer until he had his family under one room again. 
  * * * * * 
  Urs cuddled up against Nick's back, spooning around him as close as she could. 
  She had missed him. A month ago when he had expected to die, he had helped her 
  to get settled in Dallas where she would attend night school classes. She had 
  suspected then that he was severing all ties, and yet, she did not want to 
  wait around and watch him die by inches. She'd come home just last week when 
  she'd heard that he had been abducted. 
  Nicholas slept soundly without moving for many hours. She drifted in and out 
  of rest, awaking in time when she felt his stomach ailment return. His violent 
  dreams disturbed her. She did not sense them clearly, only the suffering, fear 
  and anguish. Yet, when he did awake, Nicholas seemed unaware of the dreams at 
  all. 
  "Hello, Urs," he whispered groggily, rolling over to face her. 
  She hugged him. "My knight," she said. She leaned her cheek against his chest. 
  This was where she wanted to be. Only here. This was where she was happiest, 
  in the arms of a vampire who loved her. This was better than college, better 
  than work, better than moving on... but this was only temporary. 
  He recalled the conversation from the day before. "I don't know how long until 
  I get all of my memories back. Will you please tell me how I have offended 
  you," he urged. 
  "Even when you get your memories back, Nick, you'll probably not know what 
  you've done, so I guess that it doesn't matter." 
  Nick tightened his arms around her, leaning his cheek against her soft curls. 
  "Yes, it does, Urs. Please tell me." 
  "You want to help others all the time..." she began, as she pulled away from 
  him. "It is who you are. But you won't let anyone help you. You keep me at 
  arm's length... You tell white lies, thinking to protect me from the truth. 
  But I sense your deception and it hurts." 
  She rested her head on his shoulder. His hand found the small of her back and 
  patted it gently as he considered her words. "I'll try to remember that, Urs. 
  And I'm sorry." He kissed her hair, finding something familiar in her scent. 
  She tipped her head back to capture his mouth with a warm, inviting kiss. 
  The desire he'd tried to deny earlier rose again, strong and overpowering. 
  Without memory and without eyesight, he made love to her as though it were the 
  first time. His touch was delicate and curious, sensual yet innocent. Urs 
  responded with abandon, giving herself to him completely. Later, sated and 
  sleepy, she snuggled once again against his side, her head resting on his 
  shoulder. 
  "Urs," Nick asked hesitantly. 
  "Hm?" 
  "Total honesty... what is it like between vampires?" 
  "What is what like, Nick," she murmured, fingering the still open, sensitive 
  bite wounds on his throat. 
  "This," he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze. "I mean, recently I found 
  out that both you and Janette are my lovers, and that I've been intimate with 
  Tracy as well, who is my little sister. Vachon implied that we have exchanged 
  blood... isn't this wrong?" 
  Urs leaned up on an elbow to gaze at him. His blue eyes were clouded, confused 
  with troubling emotions. She smiled as she patted his cheek. "No, Nick. What 
  we feel when we exchange blood is perfectly normal. It is different for us 
  than mortals. The blood satisfies our sexual desires, regardless of age or 
  gender." 
  Nick considered that briefly. She felt that sharing blood with many partners 
  was normal. She obviously was not jealous to learn that he'd shared with 
  others... but he could not bring himself to tell her how the blood of his 
  little boy had aroused him. 
  He reached out with senses he did not understand. LaCroix was nearby, and 
  others as well. Nick yawned, feeling the lethargy steal over him again. He did 
  not understand it. He could not even remember how he had wound up here in bed, 
  either. Well... a few more moments wouldn't matter. He closed his eyes and 
  returned to sleep. 
  * * * * * 
  The plane lurched, tossing Jarod around like so much luggage. He groaned as he 
  fought his way back from the fog of unconsciousness. His head was throbbing, 
  but it was nothing compared to the guilt he suffered for the trouble he had 
  brought to his new friends. Nick didn't deserve to be involved in this! Nor 
  Cody, either. 
  Angrily, he struggled to his knees, groaning as he felt each new bruise. The 
  chains that held him captive did not allow him much freedom of movement. He 
  glanced around for the video camera he was sure to find. It was mounted to the 
  bulkhead. He lunged forward, brought to a sudden halt by the short chains. His 
  arms were throbbing. "Sydney! How could you do this! Damn you!" he shouted. 
  Silence greeted him. They felt sure that he would not escape, chained as he 
  was in the cargo hold like some animal while they rode in first class. He 
  hated them. He hated that they wanted to control him, and he hated that they 
  had stolen his identity, but right now, he hated how they made him feel. Like 
  a slave. Degraded. Humiliated. Debased. 
  Jarod threw himself towards the camera again. "I hate you, Sydney!" he 
  shouted. He knew the psychiatrist could hear him. He felt trapped, and it had 
  nothing to do with his chains. He was trapped by his intelligence, the very 
  thing that made the Center want him. He was imprisoned by the society that 
  refused to keep tighter controls on the businesses and research facilities 
  within its boundaries. But most of all, he felt betrayed by the only father 
  figure he had ever known. The plane dipped suddenly and twisted. Jarod was 
  thrown against the bulkhead and knocked out. 
  He didn't know how long he was unconscious. When he awoke he was in a cage, 
  undoubtedly somewhere deep in the bowels of the Center. It was not his private 
  suite from which he had escaped, nor was it one of the cells in sublevel 27 
  which he had been locked in before. This prison cage was separate, solid steel 
  bars on four sides, in the middle of a large room of cement block. There were 
  no windows, no signs, nothing to indicate where he was, only the ubiquitous 
  video cameras. Jarod should be used to them by now. He had been under their 
  invasive surveillance for as long as he could remember, but after four years 
  on his own, he found them utterly intolerable. 
  The handcuffs had been removed. He rubbed his arms, wincing as his hands 
  passed over his shoulder. Slowly, he unbuttoned the dirty police uniform 
  shirt. His ribs were covered with dark bruises, and the flesh wound in his arm 
  was infected. He tossed the shirt onto the cot. 
  "Was this your idea, Sydney!" he demanded, displaying the bruises for the 
  camera. "Is this how you treat your lab rats now?" 
  "I'm sorry, Jarod," came a quiet, gentle voice. 
  Jarod whirled around to face the elder man, angry at the tears he felt 
  pressing against his eyelids. Part of him was glad to see Sydney again, and 
  that infuriated him. "Sorry for what," he spat. "Not sorry enough to let me 
  go!" 
  "They had no call to abuse you, Jarod," Sydney said. 
  "Just keeping me is abuse! I don't want to be here!" 
  "You know that they will not let you leave, Jarod. You know too much. No one 
  ever leaves the Center. Miss Parker and I are prisoners as much as you." 
  "I don't see you in a cage," Jarod said. He gripped the bars and shook them 
  violently. "I'm not helping you any more! You and your warped little sims can 
  just go to hell!" 
  "You will work for them, Jarod. The child's life depends on it." 
  Jarod's legs buckled and he sank to the floor. His shoulders slumped, his long 
  arms wrapped around his legs as he curled into a tight little ball. He rocked 
  slowly and let the tears fall unchecked. "It won't work, Sydney. They might as 
  well let Cody die. A life in captivity isn't worth saving." 
  "You will come around, Jarod. They have no intention of killing the child, but 
  I'm sure you can imagine how miserable they can make his life." 
  "Go away. I don't want to see you again." 
  Sydney inclined his head with a sad smile. "I'm leaving, Jarod. But if you 
  wish to talk to me, you have only to ask." 
  Jarod waited until he heard footsteps retreating, before he turned to look in 
  the direction his mentor had left. "I thought you loved me," he whispered. 
  The desolation was nearly overwhelming. For first time in his life, Jarod did 
  not know what to do. He had no identity of his own. He did not know who to 
  pretend to be. 
  Time blurred. The windowless level revealed no sunrise, no sunset. The lights 
  flicked on or off at the whim of the Center, regardless of Jarod's natural 
  circadian rhythms. He didn't know when it was day or night. No food was 
  brought to him. No one came to talk to him. No demands were made, no promises 
  or lies. Jarod was alone, in the twelve-foot cage with only a cot, a sink and 
  stool, and the unblinking eye of the camera. His anger swelled, taking on a 
  life of its own, insanity personified. Jarod shouted at the camera, but no one 
  came. He tore the cot to shreds and banged on the bars of his prison with the 
  pieces, but all to no avail. Finally, he slumped in a corner and refused to 
  move again. The hunger was nothing compared to the emptiness within. 
  * * * * * 
  "Hi, pop!" Tracy called as she flounced into the loft. LaCroix glared at his 
  youngest. She was too impertinent for her own good. He would relish the 
  opportunity to remind her of her place, but he didn't really have the time 
  right now. "What is it?" he snapped. 
  Tracy glanced up the stairs meaningfully. "How's he doing?" 
  LaCroix nodded almost imperceptibly. "The same." 
  "I was thinking," she began. 
  "That's a relief." 
  Tracy glared at him, but then she ignored the caustic remark. "I mean, about 
  his amnesia. It's just too weird." 
  "How so? This has happened before, if you remember." 
  "I do. But that time he was shot. I mean, if he'd been mortal, he would have 
  died. I held him, I saw his brain tissue bleed on the pavement. When the 
  vampire repaired him, growing new tissue, it made sense that he had lost 
  memories. But a mere bump on the head should not have affected him like this." 

  LaCroix grumbled. He had thought the same himself. But then, Nicholas never 
  followed the rules. 
  "And his memory is too selective. I mean, true amnesia should be right across 
  the board. Either you have memories or you do not. But Nick remembers me 
  perfectly. He can't remember you or Natalie. He remembers Cody, but not his 
  illness. He remembers Perry but not Jody. He remembers everything about being 
  a cop, and playing piano, and his cabin up north, but nothing about that creep 
  from Chicago - Tyrone Johnson." 
  "Get to the point," LaCroix interrupted. At times he found Tracy's enthusiasm 
  refreshing, her total honesty endearing, but today he just found her tiring. 
  "This isn't physical. I think it is emotional amnesia." 
  "Nicholas is NOT mentally unstable," LaCroix hissed. 
  "I didn't say that he was. It's just that, well, you know this has been a hard 
  year for him. He's been under a lot of stress. He was even suicidal, although 
  you wouldn't let him take that way out. I think he just shut down. No more bad 
  memories, no more stress. It's sort of like a safety valve." 
  LaCroix rose from his chair in a swift, sudden movement. Tracy flinched, but 
  he did not come towards her. Instead he flew to the window and gazed out over 
  the city of Toronto. "So you feel that this too is my fault?" he whispered. 
  "No, sir." She wanted to go to him, but something held her back. LaCroix would 
  not want her pity. "Maybe you are responsible for some of the stress in his 
  life, but he alone is responsible for how he reacts to that stress. He could 
  try a lot better methods than stuffing and stewing." 
  LaCroix grunted, feeling a moment of amusement. "Stuffing and stewing" did 
  rather accurately describe his capricious, precious son. "If you are right, 
  then how do we help him?" 
  Tracy shrugged. "I'm not sure. I suppose that when he is ready to face the 
  issues, then he will remember on his own. And trying to keep his life as 
  stress-free as possible should help." 
  LaCroix said nothing. Tracy watched him silently for a few moments. It was 
  time for her to report back to work... a job she found less and less 
  fulfilling now that Nick wasn't there. She went up to her ancient master and 
  put her arms around him. "Take care, Dad." 
  He turned and drew her in to a quick embrace. "I will be leaving with him 
  soon, to search for Jarod. Then we will be going to Romania. Would you like to 
  stay here, until I send for you, or would you prefer to travel with us?" 
  "I'd better wait here," she said, surprised that he was offering her a choice. 
  "Cody's disappearance from the Mall last night is all over the news. Maybe I 
  can run a little damage control?" 
  "Diggon will be here with you," LaCroix said. "And you should contact Merlin 
  to help you with the "damage control", as you so aptly put it. Here's his 
  number." 
  Tracy read the card, memorizing it before she put it in her pocket. She gave 
  LaCroix a brilliant smile. "Sure thing, Pop!" 
  "Tracy," LaCroix warned, his voice taking on a hard edge. "Merlin is ancient. 
  You WILL show him every respect." 
  "Yes, sir," she said quietly. Then she grinned. "Not like you!" She pecked him 
  on the cheek and flew out the door before he could say another word. LaCroix 
  shook his head. He must be getting soft. 
  Nick tossed about in his bed, struggling against the sheets, which in his 
  nightmares imprisoned him. Cold blood sweat broke out on his brow. Fire burned 
  inside, branding his stomach, twisting him into knots. He sat up abruptly, 
  vomiting into the basin LaCroix held for him. Nick trembled from the last 
  vestiges of his fear, no longer remembering the dream at all. 
  "LaCroix?" 
  "Good evening, Nicholas," the vampire master said quietly. 
  Nick cocked his head, listening to the sounds in his apartment. "Where is 
  Cody?" 
  LaCroix sat down on the bed. "Nicholas, I will tell you after you have fed." 
  "No!" he stated. "Tell me now!" 
  LaCroix caught his hand where he rubbed at his stomach absently and held it. 
  "Jarod and Cody are gone. Did he ever tell you the names of those who pursued 
  him?" 
  "Gone? You mean kidnapped? We have to go look for them!" 
  "Jarod told Urs that they would take him to Blue Cove, Delaware. We need to 
  find more information before we pursue them. As soon as you are ready, I 
  thought we would start with your friend Aristotle." 
  Nick jumped out of the bed promptly, momentarily unbalanced. LaCroix steadied 
  him until he was able to walk on his own. He still felt lost in his own 
  apartment. The memories were slow in returning, but each day brought some 
  small fact back from the misty abyss of the unremembered. Quickly he showered 
  and dressed before joining the others downstairs. He identified each of them 
  by scent. Janette, Urs, Amaru and Vachon all sat around his kitchen table. 
  "Let's go," he urged, unwilling to be delayed by this impromptu family 
  reunion. 
  LaCroix brought him to a halt. "Not until you have fed, my son," he chided. 
  Nick stammered awkwardly. Although Urs had told him that sharing blood was 
  normal in all vampire relationships, there was still something about the 
  ancient that made him uncomfortable. "LaCroix, later! We must hurry!" 
  "If you are to accompany us, Nicholas, you must be strong. Otherwise, I will 
  leave you behind." 
  Nick's mouth dropped. "You wouldn't!" 
  LaCroix said nothing. He allowed his age and power to slip through the 
  barriers he usually maintained, as he intimidated the younger vampire into 
  compliance. 
  Timidly, Nick stepped closer. He held his hand before him, moving until his 
  knuckles brushed against the long coat LaCroix had donned. Another step 
  brought him into the circle of his master's embrace. 
  He was hungry. Ever since Cody had disappeared, he had felt such an ache in 
  his gut that would not be appeased by mere blood. The bottled variety came 
  back up instantly. LaCroix's cold, ancient fluid soothed at least for a time, 
  but always he felt the burning dread of worry. 
  LaCroix tilted his head to bare the carotid artery for his precious son. It 
  was increasingly difficult to mask his deeper emotions, but for some reason 
  Nicholas was still afraid of him. He sensed it in the way the younger vampire 
  trembled whenever they touched, the way he kept himself an arm's length away, 
  and over their shared mental bond that remained open now that his memories 
  were locked away. 
  Nick licked at the sensitive throat, bringing the artery close to the surface 
  as it pulsed with thick, rich blood. His fangs lengthened, and he felt the 
  change come over him. Restraint was destroyed in an eye blink. All that 
  mattered was the blood. He struck, sinking his teeth in deep, drinking 
  heartily, sucking, craving, desiring all that his master had to give. 
  Slowly, he gulped the blood, soothing his tortured stomach. Nick felt the 
  passion build and crest, the tremors shook through him. Although he was 
  embarrassed that so many were present to witness this intimacy, he was 
  powerless to stop the sigh of contentment that escaped. Withdrawing from the 
  throat, he buried his face in his master's shoulder. 
  A gentle hand massaged the back of his head. A whispered word of endearment 
  caressed his cheek. Then LaCroix steadied him, stepping back. "Shall we go?" 
  Nick nodded, his face still downcast. 
  Before they got as far as the door, however, there was a buzzing sound below. 
  Automatically, Nick tapped the intercom. "Yes?" he asked. 
  "Nick? It's Father Pierre. May I come up?" 
  Nick felt restless and anxious to go, and yet, one did not say "no" to a 
  priest. LaCroix grunted disdainfully when Nick told him to come right up. 
  The lift rattled as it carried the visitor. Father Pierre entered, extending 
  his hand in welcome. Nick accepted it and gave a warm shake. A vague memory 
  stirred. He recalled that the priest was very young, with dark hair and a 
  gentle face, and he remembered sitting in a large room surrounded by children 
  and toys and a warm, contented feeling. Beyond that, there was nothing. 
  "Nick, I'm sorry to bring you such news at this time. But I was wrong to urge 
  you to adopt Cody. I thought he was an orphan. I am so sorry to tell you this, 
  but his uncle came to me yesterday. Nick, we must turn the child over to him." 

  Nick felt a stab somewhere around his heart. "No," he breathed. "No! Cody is 
  my son. He is my responsibility!" 
  LaCroix stepped in front of Nicholas protectively. "The child belongs to 
  Nicholas. There is nothing your mortal laws can do." 
  The priest stammered apologetically. "I realize that this unfortunate 
  circumstance is all my fault. I encouraged Nick to get involved. I thought 
  that he and the child would be good for each other. The mother told me that 
  there were no living relatives. I had no reason to doubt her. But this man has 
  brought birth certificates, and a will, listing him as the child's legal 
  guardian." 
  LaCroix narrowed his eyes at the priest. "That would be just fine if the child 
  were still mortal." 
  Father Pierre gasped. "What? You mean? You didn't! Not a baby! Oh dear God, 
  what have I done!" 
  Nicholas clamped a hand over his mouth as his vampire stomach threatened to 
  heave. Urs rushed to place a bucket in his grasp just in time. LaCroix 
  supported him, for the violent spasms seemed to shake the strength right out 
  of him. When at last it was over, a heavy silence fell. Urs took the bucket 
  away and Nicholas collapsed into his master's arm. 
  LaCroix held him close to his breast as he glared at the priest. "You will 
  leave now," he hissed. 
  "I'm sorry," Nick whispered. 
  Urs stepped forward. In her quiet, unassuming way, she took charge of the 
  situation. "Father, no one meant to bring the child across. It was an 
  unfortunate accident, but it cannot be undone. Also, Cody is no longer here - 
  he's being held hostage. We were just going after him. When we return, LaCroix 
  will be meet with this uncle and straighten everything out." 
  The priest nodded slowly in understanding. Then he stepped closer and laid a 
  hand on Nick's shoulder. At once LaCroix felt his son's agony lift. "Forgive 
  me, Nicholas," Father Pierre whispered. "I did not mean to upset you. I will 
  pray for you and the child. Perhaps this is somehow all part of God's plan." 
  Nick struggled to stand free from LaCroix's support. His face was ashen and 
  his hands trembled slightly, but he stood erect. "Thank you, Father," he said. 
  "I will call you when we return." 
  The priest let himself out. When the lift was empty, the vampires ventured 
  forth. 
  Aristotle met them at the door. His apartment was humming with the sound of 
  the computer equipment he maintained. With a gracious flair he welcomed them 
  inside, serving his finest vintage in crystal goblets. No one was ever quite 
  sure of his age, only that while he was perhaps as old as LaCroix, he had 
  always been more Nicholas's friend. The ancient Roman had little fondness for 
  him, but he remained civil. 
  "Now," Aristotle began, when everyone had been served. "You are looking for 
  someone. Mortal searches are simple things, really. Far easier than searching 
  for one of us. What is his full name?" 
  "He doesn't know," Nick said. "He just goes by 'Jarod'." 
  Aristotle's brow puckered. The simple task just got a bit tougher. "That is 
  peculiar. What is his age then?" 
  "He doesn't know that either." 
  "Birthday?" 
  Nick shook his head. 
  "Where does he live?" 
  Nick sighed. "Why don't I tell you what I do know, and then we'll take it from 
  there." 
  Aristotle sank into his computer stool. "Fine," he said, sounding defeated 
  already. 
  Nick told him what little Jarod had mentioned in the few days that he had 
  stayed with him. Jarod had been kidnapped as a small child, raised in a 
  laboratory, and trained to be a pretender. The only people he knew in his 
  sheltered childhood were a psychiatrist called Sydney, Miss Parker - the 
  boss's daughter, and Bruts, a computer whiz and grunt worker. He knew a Mr. 
  Rains, who was evil personified, and Angelo, an autistic-savant who had once 
  been nearly as brilliant as Jarod but was the unfortunate victim of one of Mr. 
  Rains illegal human experiments. For a while he had thought his father was 
  Major Charles, although he had no proof, and later a blood test revealed that 
  they shared no genetic similarities. 
  "They are destroying his life," Nick ended. "He has to live in hiding, running 
  from place to place. He is afraid to get close to anyone, for fear the 
  Center-" 
  "The Center?" Aristotle and LaCroix exclaimed together in a loud burst. 
  Nick jumped at the sudden noise. He nodded tentatively. "Yes." 
  "Nicholas, why didn't you tell me this sooner," LaCroix whispered, defeat 
  mingling with fear as he rubbed at his forehead. 
  "Do you know this place?" Nick asked urgently. 
  Aristotle swore, something he rarely did. "Nicholas, the Center is notorious, 
  even among our kind. No one willingly confronts them. They are just too 
  powerful." 
  Nick set his chin stubbornly. "I'm going to get my son! I'm not afraid." 
  Aristotle started to rebuke him, but LaCroix gestured for silence. "Nicholas. 
  The Center has been around for a very, very long time. If you had your 
  memories, you too would have recognized that. We've dealt with them before." 
  "Tell me now." 
  LaCroix drew a deep breath. "The triumvirate, the power behind the Center 
  among other things, began before I was born. They weren't known as the Center 
  then... but they were no less involved in world affairs. Who do you think 
  orchestrated the murder of Julius Caesar? Or Charlemagne's rise to power? Or 
  the tangled alliances that plunged the world into war with the death of that 
  Serbian, Gavrilo Princip?" 
  "But, they are just mortals," Nick murmured. "Aren't they?" 
  "They are mortals who know about us, Nicholas. What do you remember of Nazi 
  Germany?" 
  Nick looked inward. That word was powerful, evoking strong emotions. He 
  recalled pain and shame, but he could not remember the reason why. He 
  shuddered, uncertain that he wanted to remember at all. 
  "The Center supported Hitler. They were doing genetic experiments, using 
  vampire blood to try to create a perfect species. The Arian race would be 
  stronger, heal faster, and be virtually indestructible. You, Nicholas. They 
  were using you in their experiments." 
  Nick felt the terror rise and nearly overwhelm him. LaCroix was at his side at 
  once, comforting him. 
  "It is over, Nicholas. It was a long time ago. But that is the power you would 
  have us conquer tonight." 
  Nick gulped, wiping sweaty palms on his trousers. "You beat them before, 
  LaCroix, you can do it again." 
  LaCroix sighed. "I see I am getting no where with you. What would you have me 
  do, Nicholas? Blow them up, drain every last one? They KNOW about us! They are 
  too dangerous!" 
  Nick wasn't listening. He nodded, talking to himself. "It could work... I 
  think I learned enough from Jarod to fake it." 
  "Explain yourself," LaCroix demanded. 
  "You'll be a recent appointee of the triumvirate to take over the pretender 
  program. I'll be your star pretender. We won't use our vampire abilities to 
  rescue Jarod, then... we'll outsmart them at their own game." 
  LaCroix laughed. "Nicholas, you are absurd! But I like it!" 
  Nick set his glass aside. "Vachon and Amaru could be your personal security 
  detachment, Urs your secretary. Janette might be your daughter and associate, 
  the vampire equivalent of Jarod's Miss Parker? Who else do you think we should 
  get?" 
  "I will come," Aristotle said solemnly. "If you idiots manage to get inside, 
  you'll need me to get into their computer system. I'm sure the Center has more 
  sophisticated technology than anything either of you have ever seen." 
  "I don't see much these days," Nick admitted with a grin. He clapped his old 
  friend on the shoulder. "But I'd be grateful for your help." 
  LaCroix smiled. It was good to see Nicholas like this, excited and focused. 
  "We must plan carefully, my son," he cautioned. "We will get only one chance. 
  And the consequences could prove deadly." 
  * * * * * 
  Cody tossed the spoon to the floor and laughed. He kicked his feet, causing 
  the high chair to teeter precariously, then he slapped his hands down on the 
  mashed potatoes on his tray. Soft white globs splattered out, painting the 
  lady in the white lab coat and getting her glasses smudged. He giggled again. 
  Squishing his fingers, the warm potatoes mushed in his hands, then he rubbed 
  them into his hair until his fingers were clean. 
  "Go bye-bye!" he asked, slapping the tray again. 
  "No," the lab tech snapped, catching his wrists. "Don't do that!" 
  Cody moved his hands across the surface of the tray from side to side with 
  sudden, jerky motions, sending the last of the potatoes to the floor. 
  "That's it," the lab tech snapped. "If you play with your food, then you shall 
  go hungry!" 
  "I hungry!" Cody stated firmly. "Wanna eat!" 
  The tech took the tray away and set it in a sink. "Now you will have to wait 
  until dinner." 
  Cody squirmed as the woman washed his hands and scrubbed at his hair with a 
  wash cloth. "Where Daddy?" 
  She lifted Cody down from the high chair and spoke into the camera that was 
  mounted in an upper corner of the room. "Subject does not seem especially 
  bright. Speech is delayed, and coordination seems to be as well. It is not 
  known if this is environmental or hereditary at this point." 
  Cody ran to the door and tried to pull on the knob. "Go bye-bye, now!" 
  "Cody, I want to see you do a puzzle," the tech said, trying to sound 
  cheerful. 
  "No." 
  "Cody, this is fun. Let me see what a bright boy you are." 
  "No!" 
  "Cody, look, see? This is a fun puzzle." 
  Cody glared at the tech. With a swift motion, he brushed the puzzle off the 
  low table onto the floor. "Go now!" he demanded. 
  "We have ways to make little boys cooperate," the tech hissed. 
  Cody was unimpressed. He dragged one of the small chairs over to the door, 
  using it to reach the doorknob. The knob was stiff, it didn't want to turn. 
  Cody gripped it firmly with both hands, grinding his teeth as he tried to 
  force it to open. The tech grabbed him and lifted him off the chair. Cody 
  kicked his feet, striking the tech firmly in the chest. She nearly dropped 
  him. "You little brat," she cursed. 
  "Enough," snapped another woman's voice, as the door opened and she stepped 
  inside. "Remind me to put it in your record that you should never work with 
  children. You just don't have a knack for it." 
  "Miss Parker," the tech said, instantly apologetic. "Perhaps you'd like a try. 
  This child is hopeless. He does not belong at the Center." 
  "Cody," Miss Parker said sweetly. "I have a new tricycle for you. If you will 
  stay close to me, I will let you ride it in the hallway. Would you like to 
  show it to your friend Jarod?" 
  Cody nodded his head, sucking his thumb. He reached out to the lady with a 
  trusting hand, sending a glare over his shoulder to the incompetent tech. The 
  new lady was the same one who took him from Urs. Maybe she was ready to take 
  him back. 
  The tricycle looked new. It was bright, shiny red with a white stripe and red 
  and white streamers in the handlebars. He hopped on and began at once to pump 
  the pedals. The trike scooted ahead to the end of the short hallway. He turned 
  and grinned at Miss Parker, waiting for her to catch up with him. "Where my 
  daddy?" 
  "Jarod is this way," she said, leading him down the hallway to the left. They 
  entered an elevator, riding it down several levels. When the door opened, it 
  was only a short distance to Jarod's cell. 
  Cody rode right up to the cell until his front tire bumped into one of the 
  bars. "Jarod," he shouted, excited to see somebody he knew. 
  "Cody," Jarod whispered. He blinked in confusion. Hunger and lack of sleep 
  made him groggy. "Is it you?" 
  "Wanna go bye-bye," Cody said sadly. 
  "Me too." 
  Miss Parker walked closer, her high heels clicking a noisy tattoo on the 
  cement floor. "How touching. Maybe we should do a blood test on him, maybe 
  he's really yours." 
  Jarod shook his head. His lips were dry and cracked, his tongue didn't quite 
  want to work. "Impossible," he stammered. 
  Cody was three years old. Three years and nine months ago, Jarod had still 
  been innocent of the ways between men and women. Although he had been 
  thirty-something when he had escaped from the center, he had never been in 
  love, never been kissed, or hugged, or loved. 
  Cody climbed down from the tricycle and tried to fit between the narrow bars 
  of the prison. "Uh- Uh!" he demanded, reaching for Jarod. 
  Jarod took his small hand and held it, reassuring himself that Cody was really 
  there, that he was still alive, and not another vision that lurked somewhere 
  between dreams and nightmares. The hand was cold, but that was normal, Jarod 
  recalled. He had to get Cody out before the center did any experiments on his 
  blood, before they discovered the strange anomalies of the vampire child. 
  "Please, Miss Parker..." he whispered. "Please, let me hold him, just for a 
  minute?" 
  "I don't trust you, not even for half a minute," she said snidely. 
  "You hold the gun," he pointed out. "Once you had a soul, not that long ago. 
  You were somebody loveable. Thomas loved you.... Please?" 
  Miss Parker flinched at the mention of her deceased fiancé. Two years ago she 
  had thought she could take a leave of absence, get married, and have a life. 
  But Thomas had been brutally murdered. Although she had no proof, she knew the 
  Center had him killed. "If you try anything, Jarod, I swear, I will shoot the 
  child," she vowed. 
  Jarod crawled away from the door to his cell. He was weak and dizzy, his face 
  unshaven, his hair uncombed. He felt dirty all over and was ashamed to let her 
  see him like this. Miss Parker unlocked the door, holding her gun in one hand 
  as she shoved Cody through the narrow opening, quickly locking it again. 
  Cody ran into Jarod's arms and hugged him. Jarod cuddled the small boy. "Do 
  you remember your daddy, Cody?" he whispered. 
  "Uh-huh." Cody stared at him with solemn eyes. 
  "I want you to think about him," Jarod said, keeping his voice too low for the 
  sensitive camera to pick up. He had discovered that vampires had excellent 
  hearing. "Think about him all the time. Try to picture him in your mind. Call 
  to him. Nick will come for you, Cody. You have to believe that! Don't ever 
  forget him!" 
  Cody wrapped his arms around Jarod's neck. "I hungry," he whispered. 
  Jarod was weak, but he could not refuse. Craning his neck to offer it to Cody, 
  he patted the child's back, trying to keep Miss Parker from realizing what 
  exactly he was doing. Cody must have been very hungry... the small child 
  continued to suck from him, draining his blood and the last of his strength 
  away. "Remember, Cody," he whispered, just before he passed out. 
  Cody licked the wounds, closing them as Nick's daddy taught him to. The prison 
  door rattled as Miss Parker entered, pulling him from Jarod's lap. "Sydney," 
  she snapped at the camera. "Get a doctor down here. Your prize guinea pig 
  isn't doing too well!" 
  * * * * * 
  Samantha sat on her haunches and watched her young husband as he raced across 
  the hillside. She had transformed herself into wolf form using her magic, 
  which was not quite the same as Changing, but it did offer her an interesting 
  glimpse into his life. The fur coat was comfortable. She could get used to it. 

  Jonathan was magnificent. His powerful shoulder muscles bunched and stretched 
  taut with each fierce leap. His paws thundered across the earth. His tongue 
  lolled to one side and he was panting heavily, yet still he ran like one 
  driven, as he struggled to control his rage. The moonlight glinted off his 
  silver-tipped, black coat, adding to the magic of the moment. Sam held her 
  breath and stared in awe. Life with him was something new, something precious 
  to be treasured. 
  At last the werewolf collapsed on the ground in front of her. He flopped onto 
  one side and lay, barely moving but for the rise and fall of his deep chest. 
  Sam hovered over him. Tenderly, she nuzzled him, licking at his fur coat to 
  comfort him with her presence. 
  Slowly, Jonathan shimmered and Changed, returning to the handsome young man 
  she had married. He remained on the ground, exhausted and naked. Sam twitched 
  her nose and became herself again, dressing both of them in casual clothes. 
  "Why is this child so important?" she asked softly. 
  Jonathan stretched. He sighed as he moved to lay his head in her lap. She 
  scratched behind his ear, tugging gently on the thick ruff of hair. 
  "I'm not sure," he said, as he tried to verbalize emotions he didn't 
  understand. "Other than the fact werewolf children suffer when brought up by 
  mortal parents. As they mature more slowly, they are frequently compared 
  unfavorably to their mortal peers. Their wolf-nature is denied... sometimes 
  they never quite recover." 
  "But this is more personal," Sam suggested. "Isn't it?" 
  Jonathan shrugged. "I guess." 
  "Perhaps you feel you must give this child what you never had? Love, support, 
  freedom...." 
  "I would be a good father!" Jonathan snapped, sitting up suddenly. 
  "I never said you wouldn't. But, you should consider the child's needs, not 
  your own. With an open mind, let us meet this man who wants to adopt Cody." 
  Jonathan ducked his head sheepishly. "Of course, Samantha. You are right." 
  * * * * * 
  Vachon drove them to the airport in his battered, rusting van. By the time 
  they arrived, LaCroix had reached a pilot willing to fly them to Delaware 
  immediately. Amaru tossed their hastily packed luggage into the cargo hold, 
  while LaCroix escorted Nicholas inside. Aristotle went over their destination 
  with the pilot, a mortal ignorant of the ways of the nightshift, but who 
  understood the language of money well. He had worked for LaCroix on other 
  occasions and been well compensated. 
  The plane was fairly large and the ultimate in comfort. Overstuffed chairs and 
  couches were bolted to the carpeted floor in small conversational 
  arrangements, instead of the rows of narrow seats common to commercial jets. 
  Aristotle went to far corner and plugged in his laptop. "I'll try to get 
  inside their system before we land," he said to no one in particular. "I think 
  that they should send a limo out to meet our plane. Force them to accept us 
  before we step inside the Center." 
  Janette sighed. "This all sounds so very dull," she murmured. Her fingers 
  trailed over Amaru, igniting an amber glow to his dark features instantly. 
  Vachon and Urs drifted off together, to find a dark corner themselves. LaCroix 
  helped Nicholas into a seat directly over the wing. It was the safest part of 
  the plane he had heard, but until now he had never given it a second thought. 
  Nick leaned back wearily. He was already restless and the plane hadn't even 
  lifted yet. 
  "I know my first wish," he said suddenly. 
  LaCroix shifted uneasily. He had never actually promised, and yet, he knew his 
  son would cry foul if he backed out now. "You wish the trip to end?" he 
  suggested, stalling. 
  "I want your protection over Cody." 
  "No." LaCroix glared at the younger vampire. 
  "Why! Then what is this trip all about, LaCroix? Why should I help you find 
  him, if you mean to do him harm!" 
  Nick tried to stand, but LaCroix restrained him. Although the flight was as 
  smooth as they come, he didn't want to risk Nick injuring himself. 
  "You must help him," Nick pleaded. "Please!" 
  "I cannot, Nicholas. The Code cannot be broken." "Damn the Code! If you love 
  me as you claim, you would do this without forcing me to beg!" 
  "Nicholas, we do not bring children across-" 
  "You brought Daniel!" 
  LaCroix's eyebrows raised in surprise as he considered his child. "So. Another 
  memory." 
  "Harm him and you will destroy me," Nick murmured. There was no threat in his 
  voice, only a quiet conviction. 
  "Nicholas, I-" 
  "I'll do anything!" Nick blurted. "Anything! Tell me what I can do to change 
  your mind!" 
  "A trade?" LaCroix replied, already warming to the possibilities. "You will 
  grant me a wish for each wish?" 
  Nick hesitated only a moment. He sensed he was treading in turbulent waters. 
  "Yes." 
  "Very well. I wish for you to explain to me your reticence in sharing blood." 
  Nick clamped his mouth closed. He had expected to perform some menial act, to 
  serve the master and confirm his power over him, but this moment of truth 
  caught him by surprise. "I'm not sure that I know myself," he whispered 
  truthfully. 
  "Try." 
  "It is so... sensual," Nick began. 
  LaCroix waited, patiently allowing the younger vampire to put words to his 
  confused emotions, while he moved tentatively along their bond. He sensed 
  Nicholas's embarrassment as clearly as his desire. He always had been one of 
  strong conflicts. 
  "It is incredible, what I have shared with Urs, and yet, I learn that she and 
  I were only casual lovers. I haven't had a chance to share with Janette for 
  comparison. But one morning, I... I... experienced that same," Nick broke off. 
  He turned away from his master, struggling to conceal his shame. 
  "What, Nicholas," LaCroix prodded firmly. 
  "I felt aroused by my own child." 
  Nick was silent for so long that LaCroix wondered when he had finished his 
  telling. "And?" he said. 
  "And? And isn't that enough! I was turned on by a baby! How sick can you get! 
  I should let him alone, far away from me, but I find I need him! I want him 
  back! And I fear for him, that others will harm him, but how can I know that I 
  will be any better?" 
  The self-loathing was so thick that LaCroix could almost see it. "Nicholas," 
  he whispered, trying to calm his child. "The taking of blood is always an 
  erotic experience. This is what we are. Why does this distress you?" 
  "He is my child, LaCroix. This is wrong!" 
  "It would not seem wrong, Nicholas, if Cody were older. You and I have shared 
  such for centuries. You have enjoyed it, and even desired it. When I drink 
  from you, I mark you as mine. It protects you from many who might seek to do 
  you harm. When you drink from me, you are strengthened and confirmed in our 
  nature. This is what it means to be vampire." 
  "I did not feel this way when I drank from Jarod," Nick whispered miserably. 
  "You drank from him?" LaCroix had not known. That might come in useful, but 
  probably not. Too much time had passed for Nick to maintain any vestige of 
  Jarod's incredible talents. The skill gained in blood was temporal at best. 
  "You had been injured, had you not? Perhaps your vampire nature was acting in 
  desperation. The instinct to survive was all consuming, blocking the more 
  erotic experience in an effort to take what was needed as quickly as possible. 
  If you drink from him again, I am sure that you would find it a more intimate 
  encounter." 
  "But what about Cody? He is too young to know what this is about," Nick 
  murmured. 
  "Yes, Nicholas. He is," LaCroix agreed sadly. 
  Nick was silent for a time. LaCroix was not pleased to have won the argument, 
  but the Code would not bend for Cody. The child vampire would not be permitted 
  to exist. 
  "So, we have a deal," Nick said then. 
  "What?" 
  "The trade. I explained myself to you, and now you will protect Cody." 
  "Nicholas!" LaCroix exploded. 
  Nick smiled widely, a look of devilish innocence on his cherished face. 
  "Nicholas," LaCroix repeated. "You just said that Cody was too young for the 
  gift. How can you force him to live an eternity as a little boy? Never to grow 
  up, never to learn how to protect himself, never to be four years old, though 
  he may exist for centuries?" 
  "He won't," Nick said quietly. 
  "I don't understand." 
  "He hasn't had much of a life, LaCroix. His parents ignored him, then 
  abandoned him. He would not have been on that street that night, if he had not 
  been looking for me. He should still be mortal, he should still live with two 
  loving parents, and have all the joys and trials of childhood. But that was 
  taken from him. I cannot give it back or undo the wrongs that have been 
  visited upon him. But I can give him time. For sixty-five years, the span of a 
  normal life, I will protect him. I will love him as he deserves to be loved. 
  Perhaps I could spoil him just a little. Then, when his mortal days would have 
  ended, I will give him eternal sleep. But it shall be my task and no one 
  else's. This is the deal." 
  "Do you honestly think you can do this, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked, gazing at 
  his child with admiration. 
  Nick blinked rapidly, the telltale trace of his emotion clinging to his long 
  lashes. He nodded firmly. "I will do it." 
  "Then we shall bind this pact in blood, my son," LaCroix challenged. 
  Nick touched the buttons at his throat, slowly undoing them. He had known that 
  it would come to this. Perhaps he had desired it, just as LaCroix had 
  suggested, even as it terrified him. He slipped to kneel before his master. 
  His fangs had lengthened already in anticipation. Words came to him, a ritual 
  from the distant past, a memory out of time and sequence that he could not 
  place. He voiced them now, wishing he could see the ancient one before him to 
  know how he was affected. 
  "All that I am, and all that I have, I offer to thee, my master, my teacher, 
  and my dearest friend." 
  LaCroix's voice was thick as he responded in kind. "I vow my eternity to 
  protect and to cherish thee, my child, my brother, my closest -" He could not 
  complete the ritual. He drove his fangs into his son's throat, tears of 
  passion streaming down his chiseled features. 
  Nick felt his blood flow out of him as his master suckled. He caught one of 
  the tears on his fingertip and brought it to his lips to taste. The desire was 
  incredible, the promise nearly suffocated him with its intensity. Then he 
  returned the bite. 
  The ancient circle was complete. Blood flowed from one to the other, cold 
  blood made hot with need. Nick felt the tremors build and shudder through him, 
  even as his master trembled in his arms. The taste of LaCroix deepened, until 
  he tasted himself in his master's blood. He tasted his own arousal, his own 
  completion, as the passion crested and burst in a shattering explosion of 
  ecstasy. Tenderly, each removed their teeth, lapping at the sensitive throat 
  of their beloved, yet still they clung to one another. 
  "I need you, LaCroix," Nick murmured, awestruck. "How could this be wrong, 
  when all that I am cries out for you?" 
  LaCroix kissed the golden head. For once no lecture came, only the quiet 
  contentment over their bond. His son had finally come home. 
  A motorcade was waiting for them when the plane landed. LaCroix nodded to 
  Aristotle, acknowledging his efforts. Then he assumed the role Nicholas 
  himself had selected for him. The arrogant, evil, powerful, manipulative Lucas 
  Venduros, the new head of the pretender program. 
  Vachon and Amaru had been briefed on their roles as well. They were to act as 
  LaCroix's bodyguards, willing to take a bullet for him. The vampire twins 
  shrugged indifferently. A bullet would likely pass right through them both and 
  into the ancient vampire anyway, but they were willing to play the game. 
  Urs had changed. She wore a tight-fitting short skirt, a soft, feminine 
  sweater, and a tasteful touch of jewelry. As LaCroix/Venduros' secretary, she 
  might also share his bed when the mood struck him. 
  Janette would be "herself"- a spoiled, pampered daughter of the powerful 
  master. She was dressed in an expensive suit of emerald suede that skimmed 
  over her hips like second skin. Once inside the Center, she was to capture Mr. 
  Parker's attention and distract him. 
  Aristotle always looked like the bookish sort. He would be LaCroix's 
  equivalent to Mr. Bruts, in charge of research and technology. 
  Nicholas was sound asleep. Perry nuzzled him, nipping at his fingers to wake 
  him. Groggily, Nick rubbed at his eyes. 
  "Get up," Amaru hissed, yanking him to his feet. He was rough and insulting, 
  just in case anyone from the Center was watching. It had been discussed just 
  how the pretender should be treated. Aristotle had been able to access some 
  Center archives and learned that as gifted and valuable as Jarod was to the 
  Center, they treated him abominably. Nick had argued that perhaps they should 
  show the center a better way, but LaCroix reminded him that they could only 
  fight one battle at a time. 
  Nick rose swiftly, swaying unsteadily on his feet. Perry bared his teeth and 
  growled menacingly at Amaru. "Down boy," Nick whispered. He patted the Golden 
  Retriever affectionately. "Remember, we must all play our part. You too." 
  Perry's tail hung low between his legs. He was still angry with himself that 
  he had been unable to track the mortal. Now, he was denied the right to 
  protect his charge as well? 
  Nick took a grip on Perry's harness, then exited from the plane. He felt the 
  bond between himself and his master weaken. LaCroix must already be in one of 
  the cars, he realized. Janette had left with him. Nick let the guide dog bring 
  him towards one of the other vehicles. Vachon nudged him along, nearly 
  knocking him down. "Keep it moving, pretty boy," he snapped. 
  "Where is Lucas?" he asked nervously, beginning the charade. 
  "Shut up and get in." Vachon opened the door for Nick and pretended to shove 
  him, although it was with a gentle touch that he guided his friend into the 
  rear seat of the limo. He got in beside him; Amaru got in on the other side, 
  sandwiching their Pretender safely. Perry lay at Nick's feet, his head resting 
  on his paws. He did not like this at all. His hackles tingled. Someone was 
  going to get hurt and it was probably going to be Nick. 
  Sweepers from the Center joined them in the limo. Nick felt the subtle lurch 
  as the large vehicle smoothly accelerated. He felt a little hungry. Vachon's 
  scent assailed him from both sides. Nick didn't think that he knew Vachon's 
  twin. He wasn't sure that he had ever tasted him, but Vachon's blood flowed in 
  Amaru's veins. The sensation was nearly overpowering. His fangs hurt, his 
  stomach hurt. 
  "How long?" he asked quietly. 
  "Did I say you could talk?" Amaru snapped. 
  Nick flinched. He knew it was just a game. He could vaguely sense the 
  vampire's concern for him, which made it harder to react as he should. Nick 
  concentrated, trying to recall when he had ever been in a similar situation, 
  but his past was still foggy at best. He remembered clearly, though, the 
  feelings he'd experienced in Jarod's blood. He became Jarod... the most 
  intelligent man alive, and emotionally, a wounded little boy still searching 
  for love. For the first time he was grateful for his stomach affliction, as it 
  fit in well with his character. He rubbed at his stomach again. 
  "Oh shit, no, you aren't going to do that in here, are you?" Vachon said, 
  mimicking his twin's tone. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the small 
  flask, offering it to Nick. It was LaCroix's own blood. Nick gratefully took 
  it, chugging several deep swallows before Vachon snapped it away. "Okay, 
  that's enough." 
  "Why don't you keep him on a leash?" one of the Center sweepers asked 
  derisively. 
  Amaru shrugged. He was the more dominant of the two and naturally took charge 
  now. "He's blind. He can't run very fast. Where's he gonna go?" 
  "A blind pretender," he grunted. "Worthless. Never heard of that before." 
  "I read you just fine," Nick said. "You're a short book." 
  Amaru elbowed him. "I thought I told you to shut up." 
  "No, let him speak," the sweeper said. "Let's see what he's worth." 
  Amaru folded his arms across his chest exuding irritation, but he shrugged. 
  Nick took that as permission. He reached out with the strange abilities he did 
  not understand. 
  "You're single," Nick began. 
  "No duh. All sweepers are," he snapped. "It's a dangerous job, they wouldn't 
  hire a family man." 
  "But you would not marry if you were free," Nick said. "You have no interest 
  in women." 
  The sweeper's heart rate increased. Nick heard him shift uncomfortably in the 
  seat. He tried to focus on him. Then images pelted him, fast, clear, strong 
  scenes of the stranger whom he had never seen before. 
  "You're in love with him," Nick said. 
  "Shut up," the sweeper blurted. "You know nothing!" 
  "The bald man... he toys with you. He's told you it means nothing, but you 
  wish-" 
  The sweeper lunged for him, striking him across the face. Amaru and Vachon 
  grabbed his arms firmly and shoved him back into his seat. 
  "No one touches Venduros' favorite," they said in tandem. 
  The sweeper rubbed his wrists where bruises were already forming. The younger, 
  slender sweepers protecting the pretender were stronger than they looked. 
  "He's wrong," the sweeper said defensively. He glared at his partner. "He's 
  wrong!" 
  The other simply shrugged. "Hey, whatever gets you off. But anyone involved 
  with Mr. Rains has a way of just disappearing one day. Watch yourself." 
  Nick licked at the small trickle of blood that dripped from the corner of his 
  mouth. He felt something from the other Center employees then... admiration 
  or, was it belief? He had convinced them just that simply that he was what he 
  claimed to be? He rode the rest of the way in silence while he worked to 
  remember as much as he could about them. He tried to categorize them by their 
  scent and whatever emotions he could glean from them. Whenever a name was 
  mentioned, he added that to his memory as well. Although he still lacked most 
  of his past, he found that his current memory worked perfectly. 
  The limo stopped and Amaru opened the door. He grabbed Nick by the shoulder, 
  helping him to the curb. Nick inhaled, trying to remember this as well. He 
  smelled the ocean faintly. And dead grass and pine trees and leaf mold and 
  cement. He smelled car exhaust and human sweat. He felt the press of vampires 
  and humans surround him as he was escorted inside the massive stone structure 
  called The Center. 
  "Where's Lucas?" he asked again. "Take me to him, please?" 
  "Later," Vachon said. 
  "We're supposed to take him to his cell," one sweeper volunteered. "A suite 
  actually, on sublevel 25. Nice place, except there's no windows." 
  Nick lost track of the hallways they passed through. He felt slightly 
  panicked, fearing that he would never find his way back to the surface. 
  Although the Center was huge, and sturdy cement and steel construction, Nick 
  still felt an irrational fear of being buried alive. Finally a door was 
  unlocked and he was pushed inside. 
  "You'll stay here until you're needed," the sweeper told him. 
  Nick turned around swiftly, a look of panic on his face that wasn't quite all 
  pretend. "Don't go! Please, Vachon... you must show me around." 
  Vachon turned to the mortals. "The drawbacks of the job. Go on with out me... 
  this could take a while." 
  The sweepers shrugged. "We'll have to lock you in. Standard procedure. When 
  you want out, just speak into the camera." He indicated the video cameras 
  mounted around the suite. 
  "Sure," Vachon said. 
  The door closed, but they were still not alone. Any conversation would be 
  recorded, their actions plainly visible from nearly every inch of the 
  apartment. Vachon noted the only two blind spots. He would take Nick into one 
  of them soon and ensure that he was well fed, but to rush there now would look 
  suspicious. He let Nick rest a hand on his shoulder and he grudgingly walked 
  him around the perimeter, giving a verbal tour as well. 
  "This is the living room," he said. "Unfortunately for you, it is a dangerous 
  layout. It's a sunken living room, down three steps. Couch here, two chairs. 
  Odd, I'm sure you don't get many visitors." Vachon chuckled at the poor joke. 
  The apartment was not spacious, but it was adequate and comfortable. One 
  bedroom, with video cameras, the living room, an expensive computer system, 
  television, entertainment center, games, cards, paper... but nowhere was there 
  a kitchen. A mortal captive would be completely dependent on the Center for 
  his needs. 
  Throughout the tour, Vachon kept the tone of his voice as "bored", yet Nick 
  sensed Vachon's true feelings of concern clearly. When Vachon pulled him 
  suddenly against the wall, Nick kept quiet. 
  "Sh," Vachon whispered. "Quickly, we're out of range of the cameras. Are you 
  okay?" 
  Nick nodded. "Fine. Don't worry about me." 
  Vachon bared his neck. "Drink fast, and don't take time to argue. I don't know 
  when I can get back here." 
  Nick struck swiftly. Vachon's blood did not sooth like LaCroix's did, but it 
  was one of his favorites. Vachon, being Urs's master, tasted familiar. His 
  blood was different from most other vampires, except for his creations and his 
  vampire twin, Amaru. Vachon was a New World vampire, completely unrelated to 
  the majority of vampires on the planet. He tasted of the jungle, created by a 
  powerful vampire native who worshipped the sun. Nick gulped his essence 
  quickly. 
  Vachon pressed against him for a moment and embraced him. Then he pulled away. 
  "So, see you 'round, pretty boy," he said snidely. 
  Nick nodded, stepping out from the secluded spot. He rubbed at his jaw as 
  though Vachon had roughed him up instead of nourished him. He ducked his head. 
  "If you see Lucas, will you tell him I need to see him?" 
  Vachon ignored him. He waved at the camera. "Okay here. Spring me." 
  Nick felt a moment of real panic as Vachon left him. He slumped onto the couch 
  and coaxed the carouche to join him. "What have we got ourselves into," he 
  murmured sadly. 
  * My sentiments exactly, * the carouche agreed. 
  * * * * * 
  The Center was massive. It sprawled across acres of lawn like a monstrous 
  cancer of cement and sedition. It was heavily guarded and protected with 
  security systems, video cameras, and mortals cloaked in black. The complexity 
  did not disturb LaCroix at all. It only made the game more interesting. 
  He walked briskly through the halls, forcing Urs to skip to keep up. She 
  hovered near his elbow, pen and notepad ready to capture any of his utterances 
  for she would treat them like rare gems of wisdom. 
  Janette didn't bother. She followed at a feminine pace, falling further behind 
  as they went. She flirted outrageously with the sweepers who accompanied her, 
  one moment being seductive and cruel the next, yet the idiots seemed to desire 
  her all the more for it. 
  Aristotle observed everything. He peered over the rim of his wire frame 
  glasses, sneezing occasionally as he carried off the image of a harmless 
  computer geek. 
  They were brought into a conference room. LaCroix boldly went to the head of 
  the table and sat down. The sweepers hovered nervously around the door. 
  Several aging mortals entered then, accompanied by a few others who were 
  younger. 
  The bald man, dragging a tank of oxygen with him where ever he went, glared at 
  LaCroix. "Who are you and what do you want," he demanded, his raspy voice 
  managing to sound menacing in spite of his near-death appearance. 
  LaCroix eyed him coolly. He paused, building on the tension already in the 
  room. "I am Lucas Venduros, the firstborn and sole surviving heir to Dimitri 
  Venduros, from the triumvirate." 
  He let that knowledge settle for a moment, sensing their fear and disbelief. 
  At first he had doubted the wisdom of impersonating someone so well placed in 
  Center politics, but Aristotle had assured him it was their best option. The 
  higher up the totem pole, the more obscure they became. Anything related to 
  the triumvirate was so steeply cloaked in security and passwords that they 
  would be virtually unable to prove LaCroix wrong for some time. 
  Mr. Rains spoke softly to his aid, words LaCroix was not meant to overhear, 
  but even as a mortal he would have been able to guess at their content. The 
  aid was sent to check with central intelligence to have LaCroix's claim 
  verified. He smiled casually. 
  "What I want is irrelevant. What I require is all information on the Pretender 
  program turned over to me at once, specifically, control of the subject Jarod. 
  The triumvirate is unhappy with your lack of progress with him." 
  "We could not use him for these past four years, because he was missing," Mr. 
  Rains quickly defended himself. "That is no longer the problem. He is back in 
  custody." 
  "And has been for a week. What have you managed to get from him in all that 
  time?" 
  "Jarod has been uncooperative," another older man said, before introducing 
  himself as Mr. Parker. 
  "Exactly," LaCroix said. "I am to make sure that he becomes 'cooperative'." 
  No one spoke for long moments. LaCroix could read them easily. They felt 
  threatened. Fear could make them foolish. He would have to watch them 
  carefully. 
  The door opened and three more mortals joined them. The young woman nodded to 
  Mr. Parker, identifying herself as his daughter, and yet, there was little 
  love between them. The scrawny man handed a piece of paper to Mr. Rains. 
  LaCroix was impressed. It was undoubtedly the information Aristotle had 
  planted, backing up their claim. The third man smiled at LaCroix. He was 
  older, his graying hair thin in places. His eyes were sad and gentle, and his 
  polite manner marked him as European. 
  "Mr. Venduros? I worked with Jarod more than anyone here. I would like to 
  offer my service to you, to make this transition run more smoothly." 
  LaCroix gulped, momentarily losing character. He knew that voice! He had met 
  this man before! Would their entire charade fall apart now? But this man had 
  been just a boy, of ten or twelve, and he and LaCroix had helped each other. 
  "Jacob?" he asked, rising to his feet. 
  "You knew my brother?" the man asked curiously. "I'm Sydney. Jacob was my 
  twin." 
  LaCroix noted the use of the past tense and the sad quality to Sydney's voice. 
  "Please accept my condolences," he replied formally in mortal custom, as he 
  shook Sydney's hand. 
  "About Jarod," Sydney continued. "He is very fragile right now. May I ask what 
  your plans are?" 
  "You have bungled the pretender program," LaCroix stated. 
  Sydney's eyes widened. "Me? I have done as I thought best. Why do you say 
  that?" 
  LaCroix stepped away from the table. The meeting had lasted long enough for 
  him... in fact, it could have ended before it began and still be too long. 
  "Why don't I show you? Come. It is time you all met Nicholas." 
  LaCroix had them bring him to their central security office first, where they 
  could view Nicholas on the monitors. LaCroix folded his arms across his chest 
  as he gave them the background Aristotle had created. "Nicholas was discovered 
  a year younger than Jarod. He had not had time to imprint on his birth 
  parents, but it was long enough for him to develop emotionally the need for 
  the love and acceptance of a father figure. We have helped to develop his 
  intelligence, while keeping him emotionally immature." 
  "So have we," Sydney inserted. 
  "But you, Sydney. You missed the opportunity to let him bond with you. Did you 
  ever tell him that you loved him? That you thought of him as your son?" 
  Sydney shook his head. "I was instructed not to. Although I have always felt 
  that way, I have struggled to keep that from him. I was afraid that it would 
  cloud my objectivity and make it impossible to maintain a working 
  relationship." 
  "Ah yes, that is the psychiatrist's training, is it not?" LaCroix said 
  derisively. "If Jarod were merely your patient, you would be right. But 
  patients leave their doctor's office and go home... they have parents or 
  spouses or children or friends... they have someone they can turn to. Someone 
  who loves them. Jarod has no one. By denying him your affection, you have 
  nearly paralyzed him." 
  Sydney blinked rapidly. He had no answer. 
  Mr. Parker tapped on the video monitor. "And so you have spoiled your 
  pretender? Is that what you are telling me?" 
  LaCroix laughed humorlessly. "No. Our methods are very similar. Nicholas is 
  treated no different from your pretenders by everyone on my staff. I alone 
  show him any affection, and then only when it suits me. But he sees me as his 
  protector and he will do anything to gain my approval." 
  "Why did you take on a blind child?" Miss Parker asked. She had not spoken 
  before. LaCroix was startled, for although she looked hard as nails, he heard 
  a wistfulness behind her words. A sense that she was not who she pretended to 
  be, either. 
  "He wasn't blind as a child," LaCroix said coldly. 
  "How did it happen?" 
  "A few years ago," LaCroix said. "As punishment. He has been quite cooperative 
  since." 
  Miss Parker shuddered. "Cold bastard," she muttered too softly for a mortal to 
  have heard. 
  LaCroix smiled. Miss Parker was certainly more interesting than the 
  self-absorbed little tyrants that ran this Center. 
  "Have Nicholas brought to your lab. Let him show you what he can do," LaCroix 
  said confidently. 
  Mr. Rains sent two of his sweepers to fetch the new Pretender. LaCroix nodded 
  at Amaru and Vachon to go with them. Mr. Parker led them to the lab. Aristotle 
  latched on to Bruts, talking excitedly with him about computers. Bruts seemed 
  to enjoy it and invited Aristotle to view the computer lab with him. Aristotle 
  glanced at LaCroix for permission, although beneath the veneer of a dutiful 
  servant he was bristling. 
  "You may go," LaCroix said magnanimously, milking the moment for all it was 
  worth. 
  Sydney waited for LaCroix, indicating with his body language that he would 
  like a moment of his time. LaCroix held back to grant it. He needed to know 
  what, if anything, Jacob had told him. If Sydney were going to pose a threat, 
  he would have to meet with an unfortunate accident immediately. 
  "How did you know Jacob?" Sydney asked. 
  "It was a long time ago," he answered vaguely. "He didn't mention me then?" 
  "No. We shared only our genes. He was the older twin and seldom told me 
  anything." There was a profound sadness that accompanied Sydney like a shroud. 

  "Jacob loved you," LaCroix surprised himself by volunteering. "During the war, 
  he would have died to save you." 
  Sydney took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes. "It is kind 
  of you to say so, Mr. Venduros." 
  "Kindness has nothing to do with it," he snapped. "It is simply the truth." 
  Sydney was not a problem. LaCroix quickened his pace to rejoin the others. 
  The lab was a large, dark, sterile room. There were lights everywhere, and 
  they could be turned on to control the setting, but for now, most of the room 
  was in shadows. It was sparsely furnished. A large glass bubble suspended from 
  the ceiling in the very center. It's exact purpose eluded LaCroix. A sweeper 
  pulled a chair out for him. LaCroix sat, as did Mr. Rains and Mr. Parker. The 
  rest remained standing. 
  Vachon held the door open as Nicholas joined them. Amaru guided him, for Perry 
  had been left behind. Nick turned in LaCroix's direction and smiled 
  hesitantly. "Lucas?" 
  LaCroix went to him, reaching out through their link. Nicholas was okay, 
  although his lip was slightly swollen and bruised. When LaCroix touched it 
  gently, Nick winced. "Who did this?" he demanded. 
  "It is nothing, sir," Nick insisted. 
  "Who!" 
  Nick flinched at the outburst. "That one," he whispered, indicating the 
  sweeper infatuated with Mr. Rains. 
  LaCroix stormed over to the foolish sweeper in three quick paces. He drew back 
  a fist and knocked him out with one solid punch. Nick shuddered. He knew his 
  master had pulled the punch, for the mortal's heart was still beating. 
  LaCroix put an arm around Nick's shoulders paternally and continued as though 
  nothing out of the ordinary just happened. "These people would like to meet 
  you, Nicholas." 
  Nick rested a hand on LaCroix's sleeve and followed him to the first person on 
  the list. LaCroix made no formal introduction. He simply stopped in front of 
  Mr. Rains. Nick reached out with his senses, identifying the man by the sounds 
  and smell, and by the impressions of everyone in the room that suddenly filled 
  his mind. He extended his hand. "Good evening, Mr. Rains," Nick said. 
  Rains stood up slowly, waving a gnarled hand before Nick's eyes to assure him 
  that he was sightless. He drew in a deep breath, which made him cough. "How?" 
  he gasped. 
  "You were in charge of the Pretender program. The others in this room fear 
  you, except of course, the one who also loves you. And... I'm so sorry," Nick 
  whispered. "For Amy." 
  Mr. Rains gasped. He sank into his chair. "Amy," he murmured. 
  "Who is Amy," a few whispered, but Mr. Parker glared them into silence. 
  LaCroix brought Nick to Mr. Parker next. Nick identified him as well. "You," 
  he spat. "You are despicable!" 
  Mr. Parker stiffened indignantly. LaCroix clucked at him. "Ah, Nicholas. Keep 
  your personal feelings to yourself." He tugged his child on to the next. 
  Nick told everyone present some fact from their past, or some private thought, 
  some bit of information that no one could have known. He did it, not by 
  becoming a pretender, but by using the skills he had developed since losing 
  his eyesight, the mild extra-sensory perception. When he reached Miss Parker, 
  he nearly collapsed. She overpowered his senses. "I know who you are," he 
  whispered. 
  "Of course, I'm the boss's daughter. Everyone knows me," she said coldly. 
  "How could you do that to your own brother?" he said. 
  She stepped back from him. He was crazy. Her twin brother was Lyle, and she 
  had done nothing to him. Well, not lately. She had shot him once, before she 
  knew he was her brother. But, it was self-defense, sort of. Lyle was vermin. 
  "Jarod will never forgive you," Nick said softly. 
  Miss Parker paled. "You know nothing," she hissed. 
  "Come, Nicholas. You have had a long night. Perhaps it is time to rest?" 
  LaCroix tugged on his sleeve. 
  Nick turned to him, clutching his arm, becoming suddenly fearful and 
  submissive. If he was going to act a part, he might as well enjoy it. "Please 
  sir. I'd like to meet Jarod before I do. I've been looking forward to seeing 
  him for so long!" 
  LaCroix was going to grant permission, when Mr. Parker spoke up. "Now is not a 
  good time, Mr. Venduros. Jarod is in the infirmary. I'll ask the doctor when 
  he is up to visitors." 
  Nick became alarmed. Jarod had been in perfect health. What had they done to 
  him? Or what were they doing now? Would they melt his brains, as they had done 
  to Angelo? 
  "You must rest," LaCroix said. "I will look in on Jarod for you. I would not 
  want to risk you catching anything from him, now would I?" 
  Nick nodded, meekly accepting the compromise. 
  Vachon and Amaru took him back to his room then, and they stood guard outside 
  his door. The Center sweepers still kept an eye on them, for no one ever fully 
  trusted anyone at the Center. Vachon bristled. He hated being watched. Amaru 
  took it in stride. "Grow up, little brother," he admonished. "Just because you 
  do not age, is no reason to remain forever irresponsible." 
  "Who are you calling little," Vachon challenged. "I was brought across first." 

  "Was not. She may have bit you first, but she completed my conversion before 
  yours. Besides, in maturity, I have always been older than you. I was born 
  older." 
  Vachon drew back a fist, ready to wrestle the Inca, but Amaru stopped him. "A 
  time for all things, Piejo.* (*bug) Now it is time to protect Nicholas." 
  Vachon dropped his fist, instantly contrite. "Of course," he agreed. 
  * * * * * 
  LaCroix was unprepared to see Jarod looking so ill. Anger boiled, the desire 
  to kill Jarod's attackers flashed to life. He ignored the monitors connected 
  to the limp, nearly comatose body, and clasped Jarod's hand. 
  The pulse was rapid and shallow. His flesh felt too warm. Jarod was fighting 
  an infection. LaCroix leaned over him, brushing at his forehead. "Jarod," he 
  called gently. "Jarod, I am here with Nicholas. We're going to help you." 
  There was no sign that the sick man had heard him. LaCroix grew more anxious. 
  Jarod must live! He stared at the soft, pale flesh on Jarod's forearm, and 
  felt his fangs tingle as he considered bringing him across. 
  "Don't you dare," Janette hissed, blowing her cover as her native French 
  accent spilled out. "Don't do this thing without Nicholas's permission!" 
  LaCroix dropped the arm and straightened. He hugged Janette to him in what may 
  have appeared to be a fatherly gesture. Only she would know the bruises his 
  firm grasp left beneath the suede suit. "My daughter. Those Parisian schools 
  have spoiled you." 
  "No, my father," she said demurely, correcting her accent to the precise 
  speech of a cultured European. "Compared to you, they are but pale 
  imitations." 
  LaCroix glared at Sydney. This man was Jarod's only champion; how dare he 
  remain silent against this barbaric treatment! "Why hasn't he been given 
  antibiotics?" 
  Sydney started to speak, but Mr. Parker cut him off. "He will receive the 
  drugs as soon as he agrees to cooperate. He has been rather - difficult - 
  since his return." 
  LaCroix stalked towards Mr. Parker, looming over the rotund, aging warlord and 
  exuding wrath like some avenging demon. Mr. Parker winced, backing up a step. 
  "Jarod is no good to us dead," LaCroix said. "Out of here now! All of you get 
  out!" 
  "Jarod is allergic to penicillin," Mr. Rains wheezed. He motioned to a doctor 
  in the next cubicle. "Give Jarod the sulfa now. We must keep Mr. Venduros 
  happy." 
  LaCroix watched as a myopic young doctor added the antibiotic to Jarod's IV 
  line. When they were alone, the doctor glanced at him nervously. "Are you 
  really here to help him?" he whispered. 
  LaCroix eyed him indifferently, betraying nothing. The doctor glanced at the 
  video camera trained on Jarod, then pulled a curtain around the sickbed, 
  giving them a moment of privacy. "The infection isn't his only problem. He was 
  in shock and had really low blood pressure when they brought him in. Like he'd 
  suffered major blood loss, only, there isn't any wound." 
  'Cody,' LaCroix thought. Then he captured the doctor and took away that 
  memory. He had enough to handle right now, without the complication of a 
  vampire "witch hunt". While the doctor was still unaware, LaCroix tapped 
  Jarod's cheek and tried to wake him. 
  Jarod moaned, withdrawing from the contact. "Leave me alone," he whispered. 
  "Jarod, I am here with Nicholas," LaCroix repeated. "You must get well again. 
  We're going to get you out." 
  Jarod blinked. He tried to focus. "Is it really you?" He reached out to touch 
  LaCroix's face, tracing the firm jaw with a hand that was hot with fever. 
  Tears spilled down his face. "You came for me... just like you came for Nick. 
  No one's ever... no one's ever come for me before." 
  "Sh," LaCroix soothed. "You just get well. Do you know where they are keeping 
  Cody?" 
  Jarod shook his head, his eyes already closing. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I 
  tried to help..." 
  LaCroix watched him sleep a while longer. It was too soon for the drugs to 
  have helped, yet Jarod seemed to rest better. "You will get well," LaCroix 
  stated firmly. "You must." Then he turned and left. 
  * * * * * 
  Nick couldn't sleep. His apartment felt empty. He didn't think he normally 
  lived alone, although he couldn't be sure. Sleeping with Urs or LaCroix or 
  Vachon had a familiar feel. He missed them now. Nick tossed on the bed 
  fruitlessly. He could hear the almost inaudible hum as the video camera 
  recorded his restlessness. It made his skin crawl. How had Jarod survived like 
  this for nearly thirty years? Nick vaulted from the bed and found his way into 
  the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet. 
  Perry joined him, rubbing against his leg affectionately. 
  "I'm fine, boy," Nick said, patting his fur. "At least, as well as can be 
  expected. It feels strange down here. I know what time of day it is from my 
  watch, but I can't sense the sun. It's very disorienting." 
  Perry guided him down the few carpeted stairs to the sunken living room. He 
  laid his head on Nick's lap companionably. Nick's Braillexel adaptive keyboard 
  was at home, rendering the fancy computer here useless. Nick's deck of Braille 
  cards was packed somewhere, his piano was at the loft and there was absolutely 
  nothing to do. He couldn't even go for a walk. Could he? Perry ran to the door 
  and jumped on it, barking sharply. 
  Vachon opened the door, snapping at the dog to be quiet. "What is it!" 
  "I have to get out of here," Nick said. 
  Vachon said snidely, "Yeah, right." He started to close the door again. 
  "No, wait!" Nick rushed towards the door, tripping on the stairs. Vachon ran 
  to help him to his feet, momentarily forgetting himself. "I'm okay," Nick said 
  quietly. Then for the camera's benefit, he spoke louder. "There is nothing to 
  do here. I can't sleep and I'm restless. Take me for a walk? It would really 
  help." 
  Vachon glanced at Amaru. The mortal sweeper had fallen asleep; it would be a 
  good time to explore the halls to search for Cody. They had a reasonable 
  excuse for going, and as it was nearly sunup, most of the mortals had finally 
  gone to bed. Amaru agreed. 
  Nick took Perry's harness and stepped out. Closing his eyes, he tried to sense 
  Cody. There was nothing, yet. He was angry with himself. If he were as good a 
  master as LaCroix, he would know where his own son was! 
  Nick's level was a maze of doors and hallways. Each door was labeled with 
  nothing more than a number. There were 26 sublevels according to the elevator, 
  but Nick knew from Jarod that there was at least one more level below that. 
  Added to the three stories above ground and the five acres that the Center 
  occupied, that totaled too many rooms and corridors that they would have to 
  search within the two days LaCroix had given them. 
  Nick felt a strange vibration, though. He identified it as the presence of 
  another vampire, although it was not someone to whom he was related. "This 
  way," he said, leading his bodyguards. 
  The tingle grew stronger as long as Nick was on the right track, and it faded 
  when he took a wrong turn. He led them up six levels until he found the 
  central computer lab where Bruts and Aristotle were still talking excitedly in 
  the language of the technologically gifted. 
  "Good morning, Nicholas," Aristotle said formally. He stood, glaring at the 
  bodyguards with disapproval, but Nick sensed his relief clearly. "What brings 
  you here?" 
  Nick wasn't sure. "I thought you wanted me," he answered simply. When in 
  doubt, the truth was the best lie to tell. 
  Aristotle cocked his head curiously. 
  Nick sensed his surprise. "Have I done something wrong?" 
  "No," his friend said quickly. "Bruts, you met Venduros' pet project, haven't 
  you?" 
  Bruts stammered awkwardly, as he was far more comfortable with machines than 
  people. "Yes, uh, hello, uh - Nick, isn't it?" He extended his hand. 
  Nick found his hand and shook it. It was a warm hand, and it was the first 
  honest handshake he'd found since coming to the Center. Bruts was exactly what 
  he claimed to be and without any hidden agenda. He was kind and honest, a 
  loving father and a grieving divorcee. He still loved his wife and seldom 
  dated. He loved his job but he was uncomfortable with the Center. It paid 
  well, allowing him to provide for his daughter, but he was afraid for her 
  safety as well. He knew the Center was not above using her to coerce him into 
  doing anything at all. 
  "So, Bruts," Nick said. "What is it that you do around here?" 
  Bruts chuckled, blurting out a true confession before his naturally timid 
  nature kicked in. "Everything! Anything no one else wants to do, they send 
  good-ol' Bruts. Everybody's grunt man. Oh, not that I mind," he apologized, 
  looking around furtively as though even this room were bugged and monitored. 
  Nick laughed. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. What do you think of 
  the DSL highspeed internet service? Have you tried it?" 
  Bruts warmed to his subject instantly. Nick kept his attention diverted while 
  Aristotle quickly plunged into Center security records. Nick felt time passing 
  and his fangs tingled with his growing exhaustion, but he sensed urgency from 
  Aristotle. He would continue to distract Bruts until the elder vampire gave 
  him some sign that he had found what he was looking for. 
  Finally Aristotle stood up, stretching as he forced a mortal sounding yawn. 
  "Geesh. When did it get so late? I'd better go get 20 winks while I still 
  can." 
  He had accentuated the word "twenty" slightly. Nick thought about it. It must 
  mean something, but what? Had he found Cody on level 20? Or would it take him 
  20 minutes to deactivate the security system when it was time to leave? 
  Aristotle clapped Bruts on the shoulder. "It was nice talking with you," he 
  said. "It's so seldom I get to meet anyone who is as computer-literate as 
  you." 
  "Oh, that's nothing," Bruts said, blushing. "You should talk to Jarod when he 
  gets better. I mean, I know I'm the smartest geek on staff, but Jarod is 
  smarter. He knows everything." 
  "Really," Aristotle said flatly. He was a bit tired of hearing about the 
  incredible Jarod. He was only here because LaCroix had asked him and Nick 
  needed him. He really didn't give a fig what happened to Jarod. 
  "Miss Parker is coming," Nick said. 
  The conversation stopped abruptly and moments later the door flung open. "What 
  the hell is going on in here!" shouted Miss Parker. 
  Nearly everyone jumped in spite of the warning Nick had given them. Bruts 
  stared at the new pretender. "How did you know?" he whispered. 
  Nick shrugged. He turned in the direction of Miss Parker. "Nothing," he 
  replied. "We were just leaving." 
  "Bruts, if anyone found this - this "pretender" - out of his cage, they'd skin 
  you alive. I'm not sure I won't just save them the trouble." 
  Bruts was appropriately apologetic, but Nick did not sense any true fear from 
  him. Instead, he felt Bruts' pulse increase and his interest blossom. Bruts 
  had a crush on her? It was too weird. She had no desirable qualities, she was 
  as different from Bruts as two people on the planet possibly could be! Why, 
  she'd sold out her own brother! 
  Miss Parker grabbed the sleeve of Nick's shirt and yanked. "You're coming with 
  me," she demanded through clenched teeth. 
  Vachon and Amaru objected. "We can't let you do that," they said together. 
  She sneered at them. "Do you two share a brain? That must make you both 
  half-wits. Out of my way." 
  Vachon bristled indignantly, but Nick intercepted. "It will be okay. She has 
  nothing dangerous in mind." 
  "How the hell do you know what is on my mind, are you clairvoyant as well?" 
  Nick shrugged. "You are looking for answers. Isn't everyone, here in this 
  place of secrets and intrigue and not one honest emotion among them?" 
  Nick allowed her to lead him away, but Vachon and Amaru followed protectively. 
  She took him up to her private office, up above the ground. Nick stepped back 
  suddenly when she opened her door. The curtain was open and morning sun 
  streamed in across the floor. 
  "What, afraid of something in here?" she snapped. "I assure you, there are no 
  mice in my closets." 
  Amaru blocked Nick with his body. "Shut your curtain," he demanded. "The light 
  is painful for his eyes." 
  Miss Parker glanced at Nick quickly, with a rare trace of compassion. She 
  crossed the large, carpeted office and pulled first the shades, then the heavy 
  drapes, completely eliminating any trace of sunlight. Two lamps with solar 
  sensors flicked on automatically. 
  Nick stepped in cautiously. Miss Parker glared at the two security guards. 
  "We'll wait just outside, Nick," Vachon said. Then he closed the door behind 
  them. 
  "Explain that crap you were spouting earlier," she said, coming straight to 
  the point. She lit a cigarette nervously. Nick felt her anguish. Her stomach 
  was in knots. She had a chronic stomach ailment, too. 
  "Have you tried surgery for your ulcer?" he asked gently. 
  "What?" She whirled around and glared at him. "Have you been into my file?" 
  Nick shook his head. "I can't access any of your computers here, not even the 
  one in my room. None of them are adapted for the visually impaired." 
  "Then how do you know?" 
  "Please, may I sit down." 
  She didn't understand at first. She stared at him, as he stood just inside her 
  door. Then she stammered awkwardly. "Yes, of course. How stupid of me." She 
  took his arm more gently this time and guided him to the couch. Then she sat 
  on the chair opposite and crossed her legs, trying to assume a casual air that 
  fooled neither of them. "Who are you?" she asked again. 
  Nick hesitated. He understood nearly everyone he had met here. They were 
  mostly despicable people. It would do the world a favor if he could have a 
  large bomb dropped over Blue Cove, but there were innocents involved. Nick had 
  sensed children, hundreds of them, and adults - men and women - who were part 
  of some experiment or project or twisted game, who had absolutely no idea what 
  was really going on. So where did this Miss Parker fit in? 
  "I am Nicholas," he said simply. 
  "No last name?" 
  "What is Jarod's last name?" he countered. 
  "Touché. I'll give you that round," she said, with a humorless chuckle. "Okay, 
  let's start over. You accused me of treating my brother unfairly. Lyle is 
  scum. Crushing him under the heel of my shoe like the roach that he is would 
  be to good for him." 
  "I don't know any Lyle," Nick said. "I was referring to Jarod." 
  "Jarod is NOT my brother!" Parker got to her feet and paced restlessly. Nick 
  heard her puff on the cigarette several times, then crush it in the ashtray. 
  "We went through this two years ago. I think part of me wanted to believe it. 
  I was devastated when the lab results came back negative. I would have rather 
  had Angelo for a sibling, than... than... Lyle!" 
  "And I am telling you that Jarod is your brother. I am certain about this! 
  Whatever lab you took your samples to, you cannot trust. Somehow the Center 
  contaminated the report, or switched the sample, or bought off the doctor." 
  Miss Parker sat down again. "Why should I trust you," she whispered. "How can 
  I know that you are telling me the truth?" 
  Nick reached out with his senses. The cold, heartless businesswoman was gone, 
  and before him sat a frightened child every bit as needy as Jarod, for she too 
  was searching for love. "I know that you go by Andrea Parker, although Mr. 
  Parker is no blood relative of yours." 
  Miss Parker gasped. Names were private things at the Center. No one called her 
  by her first name, not even Mr. Parker. The man she believed to be her father 
  always called her "angel". 
  "I know that your ulcer is getting worse, in spite of the medication you take. 
  That you hate your job, and that the Center has killed anything you ever 
  loved. Your mother, your fiancé, and now, perhaps, your brother." 
  "They told me her death was a suicide," she whispered. 
  "And you never believed it. She had just bought you a gift, a book... 'Little 
  Woman'. You were going to go to Europe, and she planned to read the book aloud 
  to you on the plane." 
  Nick caught the scent of her tears. He knelt before her and took her hands in 
  his. "Search your heart, Andrea. You know, deep inside, that you and Jarod 
  have a connection. You have always felt it, ever since you were a little 
  girl." 
  She nodded briefly. "I was a kid. I thought it was just a crush. I wanted to 
  be with him, to spend time with him. Daddy wouldn't allow it. He said I was 
  distracting Jarod, and could destroy the pretender program. 
  "When he ran away, I hated him. I was jealous, I think. I wished he had taken 
  me with him. So when Daddy sent me to bring Jarod back, I swore I would do it. 
  I'd kill him before I let him go." 
  "Would you still?" Nick asked quietly. 
  Miss Parker slowly shook her head. "It is too late. Jarod seems to have given 
  up. I've never seen him so despondent." 
  "Andrea... can I trust you? Do you believe me?" 
  She looked at the boyish face before her through tear-filled eyes. She touched 
  his cheek in a rare gesture of tenderness. "When Thomas died, I thought that 
  the love in me had died too. Now, I feel human again. Thank you, Nicholas 
  Whoever-you-are." 
  "We are here to rescue Jarod and a small child named Cody. Come with us!" 
  Miss Parker laughed. "So, you are not who you claim to be either... it 
  figures." 
  "I have not lied to you, Andrea. If I tell you everything about me, then will 
  you trust me?" 
  "Honesty? What a novel idea," she snorted. 
  Nick glanced down first. He was getting very tired. His fangs sprang forth 
  with only the slightest effort. Then he turned his face to hers. 
  Miss Parker gasped. She tried to pull her hands free from his. "What? What are 
  you?" 
  "Do not be afraid," Nick said soothingly. "I am a vampire. I was kidnapped by 
  the center over sixty years ago and held in their Berlin branch for genetic 
  experiments. I know the power this place wields, and that they have not the 
  integrity to deserve such power." 
  "You escaped? Did they know about you? Are you dangerous?" 
  Nick sensed she was already overcoming her initial fear. She was simply 
  curious, just as Jarod had been. He smiled. They were a lot alike, despite the 
  differences in their childhood. "I do not believe in killing. But if the 
  Center discovers I am vampire, you cannot imagine the torture I will suffer. 
  Hitler's scientists once cut off my hand just to watch it grow back." He 
  shuddered, stirred by the pain that sudden memory evoked. 
  "The curtain!" Miss Parker exclaimed. "It isn't that the light hurts your 
  eyes... you can't go out in the light, can you? So you aren't really a 
  pretender at all! How do you know these things about people?" 
  Nick smiled wistfully. "I'm not sure. It seems to be an ability only I 
  developed, since I lost my eyesight." 
  "How come you're blind? The myth says that vampires are immortal, they always 
  heal?" 
  "Andrea, I wish I could answer all your questions. But the daylight makes me 
  tired. I must sleep. I only need to know if it will be safe to do so." 
  Miss Parker took his hands and held them. "I don't know if my word means 
  anything," she said solemnly. "But I will keep your secret. And I will do what 
  I can to help you rescue Jarod. Cody was being kept in SL-23, room 187, but he 
  was moved last night. I'll find him for you. I promise." 
  "Thank you," Nick said. "Thank you!" 
  * * * * * 
  LaCroix paced restlessly in his room. Yesterday had not been as fruitful as he 
  had hoped. They had managed to infiltrate the Center, but he doubted that they 
  could continue the charade much longer. He was certain that Rains would have 
  sent for some sort of verification as soon as they had arrived. Aristotle was 
  confident that he had intercepted that message, but LaCroix knew Rains better. 
  Or rather, he knew his type. On something as important as this possible threat 
  to his power and autonomy, he would have had backup plans of his backup plans. 
  No... they had to finish up tonight and leave before dawn. 
  Jarod's illness was an unexpected twist. Mortals were such fragile things. If 
  anything happened to Jarod, the rescue mission would have been for naught. 
  Then there was the matter of the child. Whether Cody would be permitted to 
  exist was not the issue. He could not be left in the Center's custody. The 
  risks to the Community were too great. 
  If Janette were doing her part, then Mr. Parker would be out of the way. 
  LaCroix decided to stop by and check on Nicholas first. 
  Only Amaru stood outside Nick's room. LaCroix glanced at the empty space 
  Vachon had occupied earlier. Amaru answered his unspoken question. "One of us 
  had to sleep. I won the choice." 
  LaCroix saw the smug smile in Amaru's eyes, although his posture and bearing 
  were tightly controlled as always. The vampire twins were an enigma to him. 
  One Inca, the other Spanish... both with dark hair and eyes, about the same 
  height and evenly matched, yet they had fought for centuries. They were at 
  once each other's Moriarity and best friend. 
  Amaru unlocked Nick's door to let LaCroix enter. The ancient surveyed the 
  rooms with a critical eye. It was sufficient, but sterile, and not the best 
  layout for a blind person. Through the living room was the door to the 
  bedroom. Nicholas was still sound asleep. His face looked thin and drawn, 
  blood sweat dotted his brow from whatever dreams troubled him. 
  LaCroix glared at the video camera. With a swift motion he yanked the lens 
  from it. No doubt an alarm was already sounding somewhere and technicians 
  would soon appear to repair the thing, so he must not waste time. 
  "Nicholas, awake, my son," he called. 
  The younger vampire made no sign that he had heard. LaCroix took his wrist and 
  slashed it, opting to nourish him in a less intimate manner. Then Nicholas 
  could rest a while longer. "We will leave tonight, Nicholas," he whispered 
  into his ear. 
  Nick smiled in his sleep. 
  Next LaCroix checked in on Jarod. He also was still asleep, but he looked 
  somewhat improved from the day before. His temperature had dropped almost to 
  human normal. At least, LaCroix thought, he looked like he might survive his 
  rescue. 
  Aristotle should have figured out their escape plan by now. That was his task. 
  LaCroix would not insult him by checking up on him, but if he failed him, he 
  would pay the ultimate price. LaCroix clenched his teeth and willed his anger 
  to withdraw. Tonight was too important. They would succeed, for failure was 
  never an option. 
  The only puzzle piece left to find was the child. LaCroix wished now that he 
  had fed from Nicholas's progeny at least once. It would make his task easier. 
  Instead, he would have to rely on the direct route. He went to Mr. Rains. 
  "I have learned that you recently brought in a small boy, perhaps less than 
  three years old. I will see him now," he stated. 
  Mr. Rains brushed off his demands with an indifferent wave of his limp, 
  dishrag hand. "He is not part of the pretender program." 
  "I was told otherwise," LaCroix insisted. "He too carries the genetic anomaly 
  that precludes superior intellect. Take me to him now." He leaned over the 
  mortal and ensured cooperation with a hypnotic push. 
  Mr. Rains tapped the intercom on his desk. "Wenzel, take Mr. Venduros to the 
  lab. Have Cody brought to him." 
  LaCroix turned and left without a backward glance. Mr. Rains rubbed at his 
  forehead, unclear of what had just occurred. 
  Wenzel took a sudden step back from LaCroix, and his pulse jumped. LaCroix 
  took a moment to place him. He was the foolish man who had dared to punch 
  Nicholas in the limo. LaCroix knew he had only bruised his jaw, but the man 
  walked very stiffly. Perhaps Mr. Rains had taken him in hand? LaCroix smiled 
  sardonically. He missed such opportunities himself. 
  Wenzel brought him back to the lab with the glass bubble. The sparse room was 
  a cold, hard, controlled environment. He could not imagine a sensitive child 
  like Nicholas or Jarod spending any time here at all. 
  LaCroix heard a commotion in the hallway, muffled footsteps and a child's 
  screams. Wenzel opened the door and a lab tech in a white coat entered, 
  carrying the struggling, screaming child. 
  "I wan' my daddy! Wanna go home!" 
  The tech nearly dropped him. "He's all yours," he blurted, releasing Cody. 
  The child ran to put distance between him and the tech. He was quieter now, 
  still sniffling around his thumb. LaCroix saw that his face seemed flushed 
  from crying but that not one blood tear had been shed. Perhaps the child's 
  conversion was not yet complete, or perhaps he had been more angry than hurt. 
  Either way, it was good thing. 
  "Good evening, Cody," LaCroix said. 
  The child stopped in his tracks and looked up at him. Recognition spread 
  across his face. Then he ran towards LaCroix and latched onto his pants' leg. 
  "Wanna go home!" he repeated. 
  "Leave us," LaCroix commanded the tech and security persons. When they were 
  alone, he spoke to the child. 
  "Cody, stop that noise at once." 
  Cody sniffed some more, his grasp tightening until LaCroix winced. The ancient 
  gave a long-suffering sigh. He pulled out a sterile chair and sat on it, 
  prying the child's fingers loose. 
  "Tell me, child. What have you been doing?" 
  Cody continued to make crying sounds. LaCroix grew impatient. He cuffed the 
  child's bottom to get his attention. Cody cried out loudly, this time shedding 
  blood tears. LaCroix knew he hadn't hit the child that hard. This mortal was 
  manipulative and deceitful. Such behaviors in one so small were best dealt 
  with instantly. He yanked Cody's overalls down, intending to deal a firm 
  spanking to bare skin. 
  He stopped short. Someone had already done so. The tender, pale flesh was 
  bruised and scarlet. No mortal hand had done this. The baby had been paddled 
  with a board. 
  He carefully pulled the corduroy overalls back up, adjusting the child's 
  clothing. "Who did this?" he asked the child. 
  Cody glanced up at him through frightened eyes. "I sorry," he lisped. 
  "Don't be sorry, Cody. I am not angry with you." 
  Cody reached out towards him then with trusting arms. LaCroix lifted him 
  awkwardly. He was not fond of children. He had held Divia only a few times 
  when she was a baby and Nicholas had been five years old when they first met. 
  He wasn't quite sure what to expect from this one. 
  The child's arms snaked around his neck and held him. Small, chubby fingers 
  curled into his short-cropped hair. A soft, sweet baby cheek pressed against 
  his firm jaw. "I wuv you, Nick-Daddy," he lisped. 
  LaCroix patted his small back gently. "Hush," he said. "It will be all right." 

  Something tickled his neck. Before he could respond, the child bit him. 
  LaCroix yelped in surprise. No vampire dared to bite him without his express 
  permission! Not even Nicholas! Yet this baby simply didn't know better. 
  LaCroix felt the child's trembling still. No doubt he had had nothing to eat 
  in days. That was too long a time for any infant vampire, regardless of their 
  mortal age. LaCroix tilted his head to grant the child easier access. 
  Cody sucked like one starving. His sharp, infant teeth plunged deeper. LaCroix 
  comforted him a few moments longer, then he returned the bite. It was time to 
  taste the child, whether he chose to bond with him or not. 
  Blood honey-sweet and familiar filled him. LaCroix was stunned. It was 
  Nicholas, but without the wine! Cody, too, tasted of light, of innocence and 
  passion, the contradiction that made Nicholas so desirable and irresistible. 
  LaCroix was mindful of Cody's small size, and closed the wound without 
  draining him. Cody then withdrew from his neck. The infant licked his throat 
  like an ice cream cone, lacking grace or refinement, but dutifully trying to 
  obey the first command LaCroix had ever given him. The ancient vampire 
  chuckled. 
  "Do you feel better now?" LaCroix asked. 
  The blonde curls bobbed as the child's head nodded vigorously. He grinned 
  around his thumb, his sharp fangs still extended. LaCroix laughed again. Leave 
  it to Nicholas to do such an outrageous thing and bring across a baby, but 
  LaCroix acknowledged that already he found the child appealing. 
  It was nearly time to find Aristotle and leave this cursed place, but LaCroix 
  had something to do first. In Cody's blood he had discovered the identity of 
  the child-beater. LaCroix firmly believed in disciplining children, but there 
  was a world of difference between a well-deserved spanking and child-abuse. He 
  would demonstrate that to the lab tech personally, after he asked Urs to 
  baby-sit. It was not something he felt the child should witness. 
  * * * * * 
  The door burst wide, slamming into the wall. Urs jumped, startled by the 
  noise. Cody clung to her, whimpering fearfully. She glared at the team of 
  sweepers and their outstretched handguns. 
  "How dare you come in here like that," she scolded. "He is only a little boy!" 

  The sweepers parted for Mr. Rains. "Perhaps," the old man wheezed. "But then 
  again, perhaps he is something more. Something that would make you and your 
  friends stupid enough to try to infiltrate Center security." 
  Her eyes widened. Had they discovered what they were? What was keeping 
  LaCroix? 
  "Mr. Venduros-" 
  Rains interrupted, "is in the Philippines. I spoke with him this morning. 
  Strange, but he looks nothing like the man I met yesterday." 
  Urs struggled not to smile. Rains still thought LaCroix was a man. They were 
  not in trouble yet. 
  "Bring them," he commanded to the sweepers. 
  Cody clung to Urs's neck. It was quite a change from how he'd been last week 
  when he was constantly hiding from her, and yet, she sort of missed that. 
  "It's okay, Cody," she whispered, comforting him. "Just stay with me." 
  * * * * * 
  Nick awoke with a start. He sat up, instantly alert. Something was wrong. 
  He lunged from the bed, surprised to discover that he had slept in his clothes 
  - even his shoes were still on. And he wasn't hungry. His arm hurt a little. 
  He touched his forearm, feeling the partially healed wound. LaCroix must have 
  been by earlier. Nick licked it to speed the healing. 
  He tipped his head up towards the video camera. It was strangely silent. It 
  was recording nothing... that could only mean that Aristotle had shut them off 
  - it was time to go! 
  Nick rushed towards the exit, remembering the steps at the last moment. Vachon 
  thrust the door open and called to him urgently. "Nick, we have to go!" 
  "Where is everyone?" Nick asked. "What's the plan?" 
  "I don't know," Vachon replied. "All I know is that suddenly the lights and 
  all the cameras went off. Aristotle wouldn't have done that unless he knew we 
  had been discovered. I don't even know how long we have to get the hell out of 
  here." 
  "Twenty minutes," Nick said, guessing that was what Aristotle had meant 
  yesterday. 
  Vachon started to pull him along, but Nick stood firm. "All right. We'll 
  divide up to make sure no one is left behind." 
  "That's not a good idea." 
  "Look!" Nick hissed, letting his eyes change as he assumed control. "I don't 
  have time to argue with you! Now you've seen the outside. Pick a location and 
  we'll meet there." 
  "The roof," the vampire twins replied. 
  Nick nodded. "The roof then. North side, if it makes a difference. Amaru, you 
  are responsible for Janette. Vachon, find Urs. I'll go for Cody. We'll assume 
  that LaCroix will bring Jarod. See you in fifteen minutes, or leave with out 
  me!" 
  The younger vampires left without a word, although they both knew that would 
  never happen. LaCroix would never leave Nick behind. They'd all die first. 
  Nick closed himself to his surroundings. He ignored the cement Center, the 
  sounds of people searching the empty halls with flashlights and handguns 
  drawn. He tuned out the sound of their blood pounding. Reaching out from 
  inside himself, he searched for his child. *Cody? * he called silently through 
  their link. 
  * Daddy! * The response was immediate and filled with fear. Nick knew the 
  direction he had to go. Cody was far below. "Come, Perry," he called. 
  The carouche hesitated. The elevators were all inoperative and the stairs 
  would be heavily guarded. Nick went straight to the nearest elevator and 
  forced the doors open, plunging head-first down the shaft. 
  Perry leaped from the precipice as well. * Just because we are immortal, is no 
  excuse to be reckless * he grumbled silently. 
  Nick slowed, turning to land on his feet just moments before reaching the 
  bottom. "Cody is still below us," he said urgently. 
  Perry sniffed around. Nick might be right. There was something lower. The 
  elevator didn't go any further, though. Where was the scent coming from? He 
  lifted his nose to the air and inhaled deeply. 
  That was it! The ventilation shaft! 
  "Good boy!" Nick cheered. "Take me there!" 
  Perry stopped beneath a shaft and barked. Nick levitated until he felt the 
  metal grate, then tore it from the wall. The shaft smelled odd, as he quickly 
  discovered stale pieces of Cracker Jacks littering the metal tube like 
  Hansel's bread crumbs. 
  The shaft led them to an underground parking area and a manhole cover, beneath 
  which they discovered the elusive SL-27. It was damp and musty, covered with 
  cob webs and rat droppings. Nick shuddered involuntarily. Rats and sewers had 
  always bothered him. 
  Then he heard Cody crying and Miss Parker's voice was low and chilling. 
  "You're not doing it again, Rains! Not with this little one!" 
  Nick cautiously followed the sounds, unsure of what he was getting himself 
  into. He motioned to Perry to hang back for now. Then he stepped into the 
  room. 
  "Nick!" Miss Parker exclaimed. "Rains has Cody strapped onto the gurney. He's 
  preparing to test his drug therapy on him, the same drugs that destroyed 
  Angelo. We have to stop him!" 
  "But I hold the syringe," Rains threatened. "One move from either of you, and 
  the child gets it." 
  "I'm not moving," Nick said calmly, as he slowly raised his hands in 
  surrender. "How are you doing, Cody?" 
  "Wanna go home," the child sobbed. 
  "Hang in there, buddy." Nick took a slow step sideways, putting distance 
  between him and Perry, drawing Rains' attention with him. 
  "Stop! Don't move!" Rains hissed. 
  Perry vaulted with super-canine speed, driving Rains to the ground. The oxygen 
  tank clattered noisily, pinching Rains' hand. He yelped in pain, gasping for 
  breath. Nick lunged for Cody, yanking the straps from the child as he clutched 
  him to his breast. 
  "I sorry, Daddy," Cody whispered. 
  "I'm sorry, Cody! I wasn't there to protect you! I'm so sorry!" 
  "Daddy?" Miss Parker commented. "You're just full of surprises." 
  "Do you know a quick way out of here?" Nick asked. 
  "I'll get you for this," Rains warned, as Miss Parker hauled him to his feet. 
  Nick captured him in a hypnotic suggestion. "You will remember nothing that 
  has happened in the last 48 hours. You suspect you are losing your mind and 
  will take a long vacation. Good night, Mr. Rains." 
  The old man collapsed in Miss Parker's arms. With Nick's help, she lowered him 
  onto the gurney. "What a useful trick. I'll send someone to pick him up 
  later," she said, as she led Nick away. 
  "I figured you were leaving when the lights went out," she continued. "But the 
  elevators aren't working yet. They should be back on in about six minutes, 
  along with the lights." 
  "Who needs elevators," Nick said lightly. He slung Cody onto one hip, and 
  pulled Miss Parker in to an embrace. Before she could resist, he flew up the 
  shaft, around the elevator box, and to the top level. Then she led him to the 
  exit to the roof. 
  Nick followed the tingle of vampire vibrations to join the others. "Jarod?" he 
  called. 
  "I'm... here," the mortal said quietly. He sounded weary. Nick reached out a 
  hand, tentatively touching his friend. Jarod's skin was hot and dry. 
  Miss Parker seemed uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Jarod," she stammered. "For 
  everything." 
  Jarod stood straighter, although Nick sensed that he managed to stand at all 
  only with LaCroix's help. "What is this? A change of heart?" he asked 
  sarcastically. 
  She gave no answer. 
  "Will you come with us?" Nick asked. 
  Miss Parker shook her head. "Impossible. I can help best by staying here, 
  making sure that all their leads end up down rabbit holes." 
  "Nicholas," LaCroix said. "It is time to go!" 
  Miss Parker stepped closer. "Good-bye, Jarod," she said. When he did not 
  shrink from her, she slowly closed the distance. Jarod stared, wondering at 
  this strange woman, and the emotions that were overwhelming him. She was going 
  to kiss him! He wanted her to, and yet, he knew that he was not in love with 
  her. He did not understand. 
  She kissed him on the cheek. A simple, affectionate peck. "Good-bye, brother." 

  Then she turned and fled back into the Center. 
  "What?" Jarod whispered. 
  "We must go." 
  The vampires lifted into the night sky, flying close together as they 
  continued the conversation. 
  "We should split up," Amaru said. 
  "And each of us should leave several trails," Vachon added, not to be outdone. 

  "I agree. Amaru, you and Janette circle around this area, Vachon, you and Urs 
  head south. LaCroix, you and Nick can go west, while Jarod and I will go 
  north." 
  "Jarod is not leaving my sight," LaCroix stated firmly. 
  Aristotle bristled, but he remained silent. Then he gave a shrug. "Fine. But 
  you'd better avoid public transportation. Take a car." 
  "LaCroix? I- I have to slow down," Nick called. 
  Instantly Vachon and Amaru flanked him, supporting him. LaCroix glared at 
  Aristotle. They would not be able to fly much further. "Go, make arrangements. 
  Purchase a suitable vehicle." 
  LaCroix scanned the area below, selecting a secluded place to wait. By now the 
  Center should have their power and lights restored, but he estimated that he 
  had come about twenty miles. They could take a few minutes to rest. 
  Nick sank to his knees, then stretched out on the grass. The vampire 
  equivalent of an "adrenaline rush" had passed. He felt exhausted, like he'd 
  been flying for hours instead of just minutes. Cody snuggled into his arms and 
  sucked his thumb. 
  "Good-bye for now, little man," Urs said, tousling Cody's hair affectionately. 
  "I'll see you back home." 
  Vachon took her hand and together they rose into the sky, Amaru and Janette 
  quickly followed. LaCroix waited impatiently, until he saw headlights 
  approach. The vehicle was too loud and it seemed to ride like a tank, as the 
  lights bounced along the pavement. Why couldn't Aristotle have purchased a 
  more appropriate vehicle, he thought angrily. He was even more appalled when 
  the contraption pulled to a stop. It was the size of house. In fact, it was a 
  house on wheels. A white metal recreational vehicle, commonly called a "motor 
  home". LaCroix rolled his eyes. 
  "It is the last thing the Center would expect find you in," Aristotle 
  explained practically, but the evil amusement in his eyes betrayed him. "Plus 
  it will give Nick and Jarod a more comfortable ride." 
  LaCroix struggled to suppress a shudder as he stepped inside. He lay Jarod on 
  the lower bunk, adjusting the blankets over him. 
  Jarod grasped his hand weakly. "Why..." he whispered. His eyes were unfocused, 
  although he struggled to remain awake. "Why did you help me?" 
  LaCroix considered his words carefully. After seeing the security of the 
  Center personally and knowing that Jarod had twice escaped from there, he was 
  even more impressed with the young man's presumed intelligence. He couldn't 
  risk frightening him off. Zuhayr had said that if Jarod chose to disappear, 
  they would not likely ever find him again. "For Nicholas," he said simply. 
  "Rest now." 
  "They... they'll look for me. You have to leave me somewhere. You aren't 
  safe," Jarod said. His fingers clutched at LaCroix's sleeve urgently. "Go! 
  Save Cody." 
  LaCroix took Jarod's hands firmly. "No one will harm us," he promised. 
  "Sleep." He enforced the command with a hypnotic compulsion. 
  The mortal relaxed at once. The lines in his face faded. Although he was in 
  his mid-thirties, at the moment he looked incredibly young and vulnerable, 
  reminding LaCroix again of his son. Jarod was dark, where Nicholas was fair, 
  Jarod was lanky and muscular, where Nicholas was more graceful, yet there was 
  something about them, their honesty perhaps, or their morality. LaCroix 
  couldn't quite define it, but if this one ever decided to join them in 
  eternity, he would not hesitate for a single moment to bring him across. 
  Nicholas stood leaning against the door with the vampire child clutched in his 
  arms, their fangs buried in each other's throats, as he comforted the child in 
  the only way he knew how. LaCroix smiled, sensing the strong emotions through 
  the mental bond. 
  "Nicholas, you and Cody shall rest here," LaCroix said then, directing 
  Nicholas to the sleeping berth above the drivers' seat. It was a full-sized 
  mattress in a high windowless alcove. 
  Nick turned his face in LaCroix's direction, his fangs still long and 
  glistening with the last traces of the child's blood. His face was glowing. 
  LaCroix saw the look of utter contentment and felt a twinge of jealousy. 
  "Thank you, master," Nick said sincerely. "Thank you!" 
  "Get some rest now," LaCroix snapped, more harshly than he'd intended. "It's 
  time to be off." 
  Nick set Cody on the berth, then jumped up beside him. Moments later there 
  were two soft thuds, followed by two more, as Nick removed their shoes and 
  tossed them down. 
  Aristotle handed the keys over to the ancient vampire. "See you in Toronto." 
  LaCroix nodded. He said nothing to show his gratitude. Now he owed Aristotle 
  and he always paid his debts. The other did not expect such platitudes either. 
  Words were for mortals. 
  LaCroix detested driving. It was so inelegant. He knew the mechanics, but 
  rarely chose to exercise this skill. Still, as he shifted the cumbersome motor 
  home into gear, LaCroix sensed that at last he was doing something that would 
  ultimately cure his child. Zuhayr trusted the mortal Jarod. LaCroix would risk 
  placing his trust in him as well. 
  Hours later the sky behind him began to lighten. LaCroix donned a pair of 
  sunglasses and forced himself to press on, fighting off fatigue and discomfort 
  as blood tears streamed down his face. He had hoped to put more distance 
  between them and the Center before he went to sleep. Now they would never 
  reach Chicago the following night. 
  Leaving the main road, he continued generally westward until he found a 
  suitable location to park for the day, high in the mountains of West Virginia. 
  He closed all the curtains and locked the doors, then checked on his young 
  passengers. 
  Cody and Nicholas were sound asleep, dead to the world as it were. Jarod was 
  just sitting up, rubbing at his eyes with both hands. He squinted as he looked 
  at his unlikely rescuer. "LaCroix?" 
  The ancient pulled out a chair and sat. Now was as good a time as any. He had 
  to convince Jarod of the urgency of the matter, before the mortal had a chance 
  to slip away. "You owe me," he said. 
  Jarod winced. "I am grateful," he replied. "But it would be best if I left 
  now. Staying will only put you all in grave danger." 
  "No," LaCroix said. "You will stay with us. And you will travel with us to 
  Romania." 
  Jarod lowered his eyes, rubbing his hands together restlessly. "I'll take you 
  to Chicago," he said softly. "But I can't leave the country with you. The 
  Center tracks all international flights. They would be waiting when the plane 
  lands." 
  This mortal Center was becoming tedious, LaCroix thought angrily. "Nicholas is 
  dying," he said. 
  Jarod gasped, gazing at him with a guileless expression. "No!" he breathed. 
  "He suffers from an unknown ailment. No vampire has ever been sick like this 
  before. Our best doctors have gathered to try to find a cure before it is too 
  late. Your presence is requested." 
  Jarod's expression softened, at once sympathetic and understanding. "I'm so 
  sorry, LaCroix," he whispered. "I had no idea. But I'm not really a doctor." 
  LaCroix's eyes narrowed. His fangs itched. He was too tired to argue, and yet, 
  he knew it was important that Jarod agree to help, and not just go along 
  because he was coerced. His wrists were still bruised and chafed from the 
  Center's handcuffs, his ribs were bruised from a recent beating. His pain and 
  loneliness preceded him, surrounding him, yet without suffocating his natural 
  curiosity. LaCroix sensed that if he convinced Jarod to offer his help, the 
  mortal would dedicate the rest of his life to finding the cure if necessary. 
  "Jarod, Zuhayr - a wise and ancient member of my race - claims that you are 
  Nicholas's last hope. If you cannot save him, my son will die." 
  Jarod took LaCroix's hands in his own to console him. "I will go with you. I 
  don't know what I can do, but I will try." 
  LaCroix blinked, deeply touched. Again his fangs throbbed. He had not had time 
  to provide for this journey. It would be a long day for the vampires and the 
  mortal as well. "It would be easier," he said, quickly formulating a partial 
  truth. "For me to protect you, if you allow me to taste your blood." 
  Jarod nodded, his expression more curious than frightened. LaCroix helped him 
  to his feet, turning him so his back was to him. He wrapped his arms around 
  him, steadying the mortal. Jarod relaxed, trusting LaCroix far more than he 
  should. 
  LaCroix inhaled as he tried to identify Jarod's peculiar scent. It was neither 
  sweet nor fragrant nor musky; it was not Tracy's field of lilies or Nicholas's 
  wild clover honey or even Janette's cloying flavor of exotic Orient Spice. It 
  was as indefinable as faery dust. LaCroix felt his own pulse quicken as he 
  realized that Jarod would taste of something new and unequaled. He leaned over 
  the younger man, then gently eased his fangs into his throat. 
  Jarod's life filled him instantly: thirty years of loneliness, an eye blink to 
  an immortal, but an eternity to the young man he now held. There was darkness, 
  too. Jarod's indomitable sense of justice had an ironic twist. Countless times 
  in the past four years he had exacted vengeance on the guilty, ignoring 
  whatever boundaries -legal or ethical- as he made them suffer and pay for 
  their nefarious crimes. LaCroix was amused by the knowledge. Nicholas could 
  learn much from this Jarod. They were remarkably alike, but Jarod felt no 
  guilt. 
  Reluctantly, LaCroix withdrew from the rare mortal. The blood of the genius 
  flowed through him, tantalizing him with unbounded potential. With great 
  effort he restrained from draining him. 
  Jarod did not immediately pull away. He stayed cocooned in LaCroix's embrace. 
  The ancient wondered for a moment if he had perhaps taken too much. Jarod had 
  been weakened by abuse and drugs. The closeness induced by blood allowed him 
  to sense Jarod though. The mortal was awed by the experience, at once both 
  humbled and exhilarated. His natural curiosity finally won over. 
  "That was incredible," he murmured. "Do you do that often? Is it fun for you, 
  too? What happens to my blood when you swallow? Does blood type affect the 
  flavor?" 
  LaCroix felt a rare chuckle form deep in his chest. If he weren't so 
  overwhelmed right now with his ever-expanding family, he would bring Jarod 
  across in an instant. But the mortal had his own demons to fight. The eternal 
  gift would not free him from the Center's tenacious grasp, and if they ever 
  discovered his new nature, it would only make him more valuable to them. 
  "Enough questions for now, Jarod. I must rest while the sun is high." 
  "Oh yes, I'm sorry. Thank you." 
  LaCroix inclined his chin as he gazed at Nicholas's newest friend. "I will 
  satisfy your curiosity at a later time. I regret that there is no food on 
  board." 
  Jarod smiled. "I'll be fine. Sleep well." 
  "Daddy! Daddy, up!" Cody pleaded, slapping Nick's cheeks playfully. 
  Nick had sensed the child stirring and tried to feign sleep a moment longer, 
  but now he realized the futility. "Good evening, Cody," he grumbled, rolling 
  over and tucking the tiny vampire under his arm. 
  "Daddy! Up!" he squealed, struggling. His fangs scraped at Nick's flesh. 
  Nick heard movement nearby and caught the scent of mortal blood. For one 
  predatory moment he froze, until he remembered Jarod. "Is that you," he asked. 

  "Good evening, Nick," Jarod said, sounding cheerful. 
  Nick jumped down from the sleeping berth, then lifted Cody into his arms. His 
  nose crinkled at the strange odors emanating from the motor home's 
  kitchenette. "What are you doing?" 
  "Just fixing something to eat," he replied. "Then I'll drive some more. The 
  sun hasn't set yet, but I simply couldn't go another mile until I'd put 
  something in my stomach." 
  LaCroix flew from his bunk instantly. "You didn't venture into town alone, did 
  you!" 
  Jarod was not put off by the ancient's overbearing manner. "No," he said 
  calmly. "I don't think it is safe, yet." 
  "Then where, do tell, did you get all this, this, what is it that you are 
  cooking?" 
  Jarod lifted the lids on several pots, unaware of the vampires' aversion to 
  human food. "I just gathered a few edibles from the roadside," he replied. 
  "Boiled Burdock roots. They would be better with a dash of salt and butter, 
  but they aren't bad plain. Lambs Quarters and wild onions, and then some Marsh 
  Mallow for dessert!" 
  "You found all this just growing wild?" Nick asked. 
  "Of course," Jarod said simply. "There is much more, but I didn't figure that 
  any of you would care to eat it." 
  "No," LaCroix said firmly. "We do not. And in the future, if you would not 
  mind, onion is best cooked outside, far, far away from us. Garlic, too." 
  Jarod nodded. "Okay." 
  "Where are we?" LaCroix demanded, looking out the front window. The landscape 
  had changed drastically. Gone were the blue hills of the Appalachians. Instead 
  the highway stretched straight ahead to the horizon. 
  "We're in western Indiana," Jarod said. "Not more than two hours from 
  Chicago." 
  LaCroix nodded appreciatively. "I'm impressed," he replied. "I did not think 
  we could get this far today." 
  Jarod grinned his sardonic little grin. "Did I ever tell you I was a race car 
  driver once?" 
  Cody grew restless. Nick told him stories. He helped him build a tent with 
  sheets and blankets. He taught him a nursery rhyme with hand motions, and then 
  folded a toy boat out of a sheet of paper and let him float it in the kitchen 
  sink. Still, after just a little over an hour, Cody was hungry, bored, and 
  irritable. He started to cry plaintively, without tears. 
  LaCroix cringed. "Silence him. Or I will!" 
  Jarod flipped the turn signal and pulled off the highway. "It is time for a 
  break, anyway," he said. "Would you like to drive now?" 
  The motor home slowed as he drove up the ramp to a rest area. LaCroix did not 
  want to stop. He felt time slipping through his fingers, valuable moments that 
  brought his son ever closer to ultimate danger, so when Jarod jumped out, he 
  snapped at him. 
  "Where do you think you are going!" 
  Jarod shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "There will be vending 
  machines inside. I don't have any money at the moment, sir, but I could sure 
  use something more "to eat." 
  LaCroix pulled several bills from his wallet and offered them to the mortal. 
  "Thanks," Jarod said, smiling broadly. 
  Nick laughed as he swung Cody on one hip and exited the motor home as well. 
  "Relax, Old Man," he taunted. "Anyway, Cody could run around outside for a 
  bit. Surely there must be swings or something here." 
  LaCroix shut his eyes. When had his life become so provincial? He slumped into 
  the driver's seat and drummed his fingers impatiently against the dash. 
  Across a grassy expanse Nicholas helped the vampire child onto a swing, 
  showing him how to hold on tightly. He stepped back to give the swing a gentle 
  push. Cody kicked his feet and squealed happily while Perry pranced nervously 
  about. 
  LaCroix watched the trio, wondering what had the carouche unsettled. He felt a 
  certain disquiet as well. At once LaCroix sat up straighter and peered around 
  the rest stop intently. Still unnerved, he bolted from the motor home. 
  A dozen cars and trucks were scattered along the parking lot. A steady stream 
  of mortals trekked to and from the restrooms. Some were walking their dogs on 
  leashes, some were munching on chips or sodas purchased from the vending 
  machines. It all appeared harmless enough, yet LaCroix could not shake the 
  premonition of danger. 
  Jarod exited from the building with several candy bars in his pocket and 
  jogged towards Nicholas. He motioned towards a piece of playground equipment, 
  asking what it was. For a moment LaCroix wondered how such an intelligent 
  person could be so ignorant, until he recalled that Jarod had been raised in a 
  laboratory. When most mortal children were playing baseball or hockey or 
  soccer or some other trivial game, Jarod had been taught to assume the 
  identities of others, learning how to hick-jack airplanes, assassinate 
  presidents, or overthrow entire governments. No wonder the young man had such 
  a playful bent. To some extent, he was still a child learning the lessons he 
  had been denied. 
  Nicholas sat on one end of a see-saw, placing Cody in front of him. Jarod sat 
  on the other end, moving further back to counter-balance their weight. LaCroix 
  shook his head at the sight of the two grown men on the rickety wooden 
  play-thing. 
  "Some kids never grow up," a mortal man commented. 
  LaCroix narrowed his eyes at the white-haired man. He was short and walked 
  slightly bent over, his bandy legs didn't quite seem strong enough to support 
  him. 
  "That's a fine looking family, mister," the man added. 
  LaCroix inclined his head, turning again to watch them. Nicholas was laughing, 
  his face happy and relaxed in a way LaCroix had not seen for some time. Jarod 
  was laughing, too. 
  Still, the unease picked at him. "It is time to go," he called. 
  The mortal clapped his shoulder and moved away, ignorant of the disapproving 
  glare of the vampire. 
  Nicholas stood, swinging Cody off the seesaw and onto his shoulders. Perry 
  barked at him, insistent that he be more careful, while Jarod jogged easily 
  towards the motor home. Cody cried. Nick comforted him, telling him that they 
  would find another park again soon. LaCroix rolled his eyes. He was never 
  going to survive sixty-five years in the presence of such a child! 
  Just as Jarod neared the motor home, a car pulled out and started towards the 
  exit ramp, backfiring noisily as it went. LaCroix flew to Jarod, shielding him 
  from the harmless threat. 
  Jarod struggled in his arms, panicked by the sudden contact. His fear flooded 
  over LaCroix. "It was just a poorly tuned engine after all," the ancient said. 
  Only, LaCroix realized then that it was not the noises from the car that had 
  Jarod unnerved, but the arms around him. 
  Slowly, LaCroix loosened his hold. "Jarod, it's me," he said, keeping his 
  voice calm. 
  Jarod turned his head away. He shrugged his shoulders carelessly as he 
  struggled to make light of the whole situation, but LaCroix could hear his 
  pulsing heart. He knew that Jarod craved affection and desired to be touched, 
  so why had he reacted badly? What had the Center done to him! 
  "Jarod," Nicholas called from inside the motor home. "I think Cody needs your 
  help." 
  "I'll be right there," Jarod said. His back was still turned to LaCroix. 
  "It is my turn to drive," LaCroix said simply. He took a step back, granting 
  Jarod space. The young pretender squared his shoulders then and went inside 
  without a backward glance. 
  LaCroix sighed. He closed the door behind Jarod, making sure it was secure, 
  then he returned to the driver's seat and started the engine. 
  Cody was sobbing, his plaintive wails hurtful to vampire ears. "Stop that 
  infernal noise at once!" LaCroix hissed. 
  "You aren't helping," Nicholas retorted. He took Cody's face in his hands, and 
  pressing a kiss to his forehead, captured the child's will. "Trust me, Cody," 
  he said, concentrating on the bond between them. He had learned to hypnotize 
  easily, even without his sight, but if asked how he accomplished it, Nick 
  would be hard put to explain. "It doesn't hurt any more. You feel no pain." 
  Cody sniffled once more, but he was silent. 
  "That's really amazing," Jarod said, fascinated. 
  Nick shrugged. "I think he has a splinter in his hand from the seesaw. Can you 
  take it out?" 
  "Sure." He turned on a light and examined the small hand closely. "That looks 
  really awful," Jarod said. "It must be from the seesaw, but why is it so 
  inflamed already?" 
  "Wood is a poison to us," Nick answered. 
  "Just let me get some antiseptic and a sterile needle-" 
  "That isn't necessary," Nick interrupted. "We are not affected by bacteria. 
  The quicker you can remove it, the better." 
  Jarod stared at him. "You are such an interesting puzzle. I would love to know 
  all about you." Then he leaned over the small hand and gently pulled out the 
  offending splinter. 
  Nick brought Cody's hand to his lips and licked at the tiny wound. "Feel 
  better now?" 
  "Uh-huh," Cody replied. "But I hungry!" 
  Nick smiled. "You must really be feeling better then." He settled comfortably 
  at the table and offered his wrist to the vampire child. Cody bit firmly and 
  sucked, settling into Nick's arms sleepily. 
  Jarod was entranced. "How long have you been vampire? Were you born that way?" 

  Nick shook his head. "I was born mortal like you, a very long time ago. 
  LaCroix says I was born in 1196 A.D., but he brought me across in 1228." 
  Jarod nodded, realizing then that Nick's memories still had not quite 
  returned. He had been in an accident and had amnesia when Jarod first met him 
  some weeks before while he was pretending to be a Franciscan monk in Toronto. 
  "That's incredible! Are there many like you?" 
  Through their bond, Nick reached out to his master seeking guidance. The 
  ancient smiled as he felt his child's presence. Nicholas was so trusting right 
  now. It was something he would miss terribly when his child recovered his 
  memories and his health, and yet, he knew that it had to be. *You may tell 
  Jarod anything, my son,* he sent back through their bond. * But you are right 
  to be hesitant. This knowledge is generally forbidden to mortals. * 
  Nick smiled and relaxed. For the next few hours he patiently answered all of 
  Jarod's questions that his faulty memory allowed. LaCroix noticed that one in 
  seven questions was very personal, relating to his son's peculiar illness, but 
  Nicholas seemed oblivious. Answering six simple, useless questions in between 
  kept him at ease and he talked quite freely, disclosing information even 
  LaCroix was unaware of. 
  LaCroix learned that Nicholas had suffered stomach pains as much as a year 
  ago, dating back to just weeks after Tracy had been brought across. He learned 
  that the vomiting had not started until several weeks after the pain, and that 
  the pains were much less severe recently, usually after sharing blood with 
  Cody. LaCroix could almost sense Jarod's excitement as he wondered what it was 
  in Cody's blood that seemed to offer Nicholas at least temporary relief. 
  LaCroix listened in as Nicholas described the taste of each family member, and 
  his perceptions of them now that he was blind. Nicholas sounded at peace with 
  the world. LaCroix sighed, vowing to cherish the memory of this day forever. 
  The Chicago traffic was lighter at this hour of night, and the motor home 
  slipped through the outlying suburbs easily. LaCroix intended to stay at the 
  Cloak and Dagger, the local hangout for the nightshift and home of an 
  acquaintance of his. It was near the lake, and not far from the Sun Times, 
  which was how Nicholas had met Lucius Snow so many years ago. 
  Strange lights flickered in the street just ahead. Again the premonition of 
  danger struck him. LaCroix had not felt it this strong since he'd been a 
  mortal soldier. That sense of the hairs prickling on his neck had kept him 
  alert even when he was exhausted, and had saved his life on more than one 
  occasion. He could not simply brush it aside, although he felt like a fool to 
  pay it heed. His hands clenched on the steering wheel leaving dents in the 
  plastic. 
  "What is it?" Nick asked, alerted at once to his master's discomfort. 
  LaCroix tapped the brakes. "There appear to be some flares in the road, 
  although I see no sign of an accident ahead." 
  Then a mortal jumped out from the shadows, waving his arms and shouting at 
  them to stop. LaCroix would run him down if he didn't get out of the way. 
  Nick jumped to his feet, grabbing the back of LaCroix's chair. "Stop!" he 
  cried. "I know that man!" 
  LaCroix hit the brakes and stretched out his arm to block his son's forward 
  momentum as the motor home screeched to a halt. "Sit down!" he roared. 
  Nick ignored his master's command, reaching to unlock the door as the frantic 
  mortal outside banged on it repeatedly. "Gary? What are you doing here at this 
  time of night?" Nick asked. 
  Gary Hobsen stammered incoherently as he gasped for breath. Nick smiled. 
  Nothing unusual about that. He had met Gary just over two months ago when he 
  and Vachon had sailed to Chicago for a vacation. Gary was different. Nick 
  hadn't liked him at first, but now he knew the young man was harmless. 
  "Nick, you shouldn't have come back," Gary finally managed to spit out. 
  "Are you threatening us," LaCroix demanded, glaring at the mortal. 
  "Sire, please," Nick snapped. 
  Jarod stood, lifting Cody in his arms to keep the child out of the way. 
  Gary glanced at him and nodded. "You. You're in danger here," he said. 
  "Someone attacks the Cloak and Dagger tomorrow morning. The area surrounding 
  the place is doused with holy water, then kerosene bombs are thrown inside. 
  All are destroyed, except you," he said, pointed a finger at Jarod. "You and 
  the child are listed as missing." 
  "Holy water and fire," Nick murmured. "They must have figured out that we are 
  vampires." 
  "I agree," LaCroix replied. "This could be a problem." LaCroix eyed Gary 
  coolly. Nicholas had told him about Gary's knowledge of the immediate future, 
  but he hadn't quite believed it. Reaching out with his unhuman nature, he 
  tried to sense the young mortal. Gary was panting hard from his long run and 
  he was nervous. He had an unfortunate stutter at times, but he did seem 
  sincere. 
  Nick gestured to the table. "Sit down, Gary. You sound exhausted. How long 
  have you been looking for us?" 
  "Not long," he panted. "But I had to be at Hyde Park half an hour ago, which 
  didn't leave me much time to get here. My cab didn't wait for me, so after 
  helping that couple, I had to run all the way." 
  "From Hyde Park?" LaCroix inquired. He stared at the mortal with new 
  admiration. Anyone who tried to stop a motor home with only a flare was either 
  very brave or very foolish. He wasn't sure yet which applied to the mortal. 
  "Gary runs a lot," Nick explained. "So do you have a suggestion where we 
  should go? We haven't fed since yesterday." 
  "Give me a lift back to McGinteys?" Gary asked. "I have a package for you from 
  someone named Janette. Sorry I couldn't bring them with me, but I didn't want 
  the bottles to break. Then we'll ditch the motor home and take my car to the 
  airport." 
  Nick gave LaCroix the address for the sports bar in Chicago's downtown 
  district. "This is my father, Lucien LaCroix," he told Gary, as he gave 
  introductions all around. 
  "Nice to meet you," Gary said. He sank down into the soft padded chair at the 
  dinette and accepted the glass of water Jarod poured for him. 
  "So why is someone after you?" Gary asked Jarod. "The paper said the police 
  didn't have any leads. They must be professionals." 
  Apprehensively, Jarod folded his hands on the table. "They are pros," he said 
  softly. "The police will never find a clue." 
  "Jarod has done nothing wrong," Nick put in. "These people are evil." 
  Gary nodded. He smiled at the small boy. "So I didn't know you had a son. You 
  are sure one for secrets." 
  Cody snuggled on Nick's lap, his eyelids drooping. 
  LaCroix parked two blocks away from McGinteys and suggested that they walk the 
  remaining distance. Gary led them through the back way, down an alley and cut 
  through a boarded up building, in case anyone should be watching. Then he 
  smuggled them up to his apartment above the bar. 
  "Make yourselves at home," he offered. "Your package is in the refrigerator." 
  LaCroix opened the door and smiled. He would have to commend his daughter. 
  Twelve bottles, seven uncut for Nicholas and the child, and five of a high 
  quality blend for him. 
  Gary phoned downstairs, asking the cook to fix burgers for him and Jarod. "It 
  shouldn't take too long," he apologized. "I can cook, but no more than I have 
  to." 
  Jarod smiled. "That's fine. Tell me, how did you know we were going to be in 
  danger? Are you clairvoyant?" 
  Gary glanced at Nick nervously. "Something like," he stammered. 
  "That is interesting. Do you know then if we will be safe on the plane 
  tomorrow? Or if Nick will be healed? Or where I can find my mother?" Jarod's 
  voice grew soft, as though he were afraid to voice his deepest desire. 
  "No," Nick answered for Gary. "His talent is limited to Chicago only, and only 
  twenty-four hours ahead. He doesn't know what is going to happen elsewhere in 
  the world." 
  "Really! Fascinating! Better stay clear of the Center, though. They'll pick 
  you apart to find out how it works." 
  Gary shivered. He stood then when his new waitress knocked, delivering a tray 
  piled with burgers, fries, sodas, and a slice of pie apiece. "Marisa said you 
  never ate lunch or breakfast today," she said, explaining the extra food. "I 
  told her it isn't healthy to eat all this at bedtime, so you can blame it on 
  her." 
  "Thanks. That's fine," Gary stammered, trying to get the pretty girl out of 
  his apartment quickly. He practically slammed the door on her face. Nick 
  caught the faint scent of her desire, and knew at once she had a crush on 
  Gary. The young man must be fairly good looking, as he seemed to have that 
  affect on a lot of women. 
  Gary set the food on the table, inviting Jarod to join him. "Hope you're 
  hungry." 
  Jarod took the pie and held it at eye level. He sniffed it, poked it, and 
  tasted the meringue topping. "What do you call this?" 
  Gary glanced at Nick. Where did this guy come from? "Its, uh... Lemon Meringue 
  Pie, he answered skeptically. 
  Jarod took his fork and tasted a mouthful. His eyes widened, then he smiled, 
  speaking with his mouth still full of the sweet dessert. "This is great! I 
  like this!" 
  Gary shrugged. "I do to, but you shouldn't eat dessert before supper. Didn't 
  your mother ever tell you that?" 
  "No." 
  Gary shrugged again. He pushed his own burger aside and grabbed his pie too. 
  LaCroix eyed the small apartment. It revealed everything about the young man 
  who dwelled there. Gary was single, conscientious, tidy but not fastidious, 
  and independent. And all of his shoes looked well-worn. "I surmise that I must 
  thank you again for saving Nicholas," he said coolly. 
  Gary pulled out his newspaper from his hip pocket. The headline was still 
  there in two-inch bold type. "Local Bar burns to the ground". "I don't get 
  it," he said, his forehead puckering in confusion. 
  "What, Gary? What does it say?" Nick asked. 
  Gary read it to him again, but Nick still did not understand the problem. 
  "Well," Gary explained. "They burned the bar to force Jarod and Cody to 
  escape. But if Jarod was never there, why burn it?" 
  "But at least no one is hurt," Jarod insisted. 
  "Not necessarily," LaCroix said. "If one of us is killed, no one would know. 
  There would be no corpse left behind. I must go to them at once and warn 
  them." 
  "And tell them what?" Gary asked. "I tried to warn them earlier. Later I woke 
  up in a dumpster, and I still don't know how I got there." 
  LaCroix resisted the urge to smile. "They will listen to me." 
  Gary stuffed the remainder of his pie in his mouth and grabbed a swallow of 
  the thick shake. "I'd better scoot, too," he said. "Some drunk fell asleep on 
  the tracks, and three teens are about to get hurt in a street fight. I'll see 
  you later?" 
  Nick waved him off. He felt rested but strangely unambitious. The past few 
  days had been rather hectic. For a few peaceful moments he heard only the 
  sounds of Jarod enjoying his meal. Then he heard a crash immediately followed 
  by "Uh-oh, Daddy." 
  Jarod laughed when Nick groaned. "There is a lot more in here for him to get 
  in to than there was at the Mission, and watching him there was challenging." 
  Nick went to the child. He discovered an overturned plant, dirt, and broken 
  pottery. Cody was covered with mud. "Bath time, I think," Nick said. "At least 
  if you play in there, you can't get dirty." 
  Jarod volunteered to clean up the mess while Nick took care of the child. 
  Later, he joined them in the bathroom. "Nick? I saw how quickly you and Cody 
  both healed from very serious injuries. Bullet wounds, injuries from the car 
  crash- why hasn't that simple splinter healed yet?" 
  "What?" Nick grabbed Cody's hand and brought it to his nose. It stank of 
  decay. "Why didn't you say something, Cody?" he demanded. 
  "Okay, Daddy," he stammered, trying to pull his hand away. 
  "It doesn't seem to hurt him," Jarod said. "Curious." 
  Nick hung his head. "It's my fault. I told him it wouldn't hurt. He didn't say 
  anything, because he doesn't feel anything. It's my fault." 
  "I don't understand," Jarod said. 
  "A small piece of the splinter must still be embedded in his hand, causing the 
  flesh to rot. Now you'll have to remove all the affected tissue." 
  "Nick - that's nearly half of his hand! You can't do that!" 
  "I know. But you can. It will heal swiftly, once the wood is gone. Trust me." 
  Jarod shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure about this?" 
  "Yes." 
  The surgery took longer to prepare for than to accomplish. Jarod was 
  uncomfortable performing the operation, as he had no medications, no sterile 
  bandages, nothing. Nick insisted that none of that was necessary. He kept Cody 
  under his hypnotic trance. The child whimpered a few times, but did not seem 
  in the pain that a mortal child would have felt. The open wounds bleed 
  profusely, until Jarod was done. Then, even as he watched, the blood stopped 
  flowing. Some of it backtracked, returning to the child and pulling the wound 
  closed, like a surreal zipper. In moments no sign of the injury remained. 
  "I sweepy, Daddy," Cody lisped, accentuating it with a wide yawn. 
  "I know, son. You feed first, then you may sleep." 
  Cody took Nick's hand and bit into the wrist. He snuggled back in Nick's arms 
  and suckled his blood, falling asleep before he had closed the wound. Nick 
  leaned down and kissed Cody's forehead. 
  Jarod pushed two chairs together for a makeshift crib. He laid Cody on them, 
  then went to clean up the mess from the surgery. It was all so strange. He had 
  thought he'd known a lot about the world... but now he realized how little he 
  really knew. 
  * * * * * 
  The rest of their journey to Toronto was uneventful. LaCroix felt assured that 
  they had succeeded in throwing the Center off Jarod's trail for now. Still, 
  there was no time to waste. He would take them to Romania on the next flight. 
  There were just a few loose ends to tie up first. 
  The child, for one. Father Pierre had spoken of the child's uncle. LaCroix 
  would have to meet with him. Then, he had to find a babysitter. Cody would not 
  be traveling with them. Nicholas would no doubt pitch a fit, but LaCroix knew 
  it had to be. 
  Then he had to make the reservations for Tracy and Vachon and he must impress 
  upon the young Spaniard the importance of attending. He would hire Diggon 
  again to keep an eye on his youngest in his absence. 
  Jarod continued to intrigue him. Ever since LaCroix had explained the 
  situation to him, he had begun to mimic Nicholas. He still asked his 
  questions, but mostly, he observed. He noted the way Nicholas walked and 
  talked, how he behaved, and what he seemed to think or feel. It was unsettling 
  at first, until LaCroix realized that this was the way Jarod had been taught 
  to solve problems. In essence, he would become Nicholas. Jarod would learn 
  more about being vampire than any mortal who had ever lived... it was a 
  dangerous game. Before it played out, Jarod might be forced to come across... 
  but LaCroix could not worry about that now. He set it aside for later and 
  concentrated on first things first. And that was Cody. Steeling himself 
  against the distasteful task, he contacted the young priest. 
  * * * * * 
  "Where did he go," Nick asked playfully, as he took large, exaggerated steps 
  through the living room. "Is he behind the couch? -No... Could he be hiding in 
  the piano bench?" 
  Cody giggled, giving away his position under the end table, which Nicholas 
  must have known all along. LaCroix rolled his eyes at the childish game. For a 
  moment he had thought that fatherhood would be good for Nicholas, but now the 
  ancient vampire suspected that he would be forced to add yet another dependent 
  to his family. 
  Nicholas grabbed the vampire baby and rolled on the floor, growling fiercely 
  at him with full fangs in a mock attack. Cody squealed, his own infant fangs 
  full and glinting, as he laughed with that husky little laugh of his. Then the 
  game turned. Nicholas hid, coaxing Cody to hunt for him. LaCroix realized then 
  that Nicholas was training Cody. Hide and seek was a simpler form of 
  Hunt-the-Prey. Perhaps there was hope for him yet? 
  "Come, Nicholas," LaCroix said, when the game was nearing an end. "Your friend 
  will be here soon. It is time to clean up." 
  "Place looks fine to me," Nick said impishly. 
  "The child needs a bath, clean clothing, and shoes. You don't want this 
  alleged uncle to think you are neglectful." 
  Nicholas was instantly contrite. "Of course, LaCroix. You're right. You won't 
  let them take Cody, will you?" 
  "No, Nicholas. I will not." 
  "Promise?" 
  "Nicholas!" LaCroix sighed hugely. Cody, picking up on Nick's distress, 
  started to whimper. "Nicholas," LaCroix said, more calmly than he felt. "While 
  I am unsure of Cody's future as a vampire, I promise that he will not leave 
  with this mortal uncle. You know how dangerous that could be." 
  Nick nodded. He scooped up the little boy. "Come on then, Squirt." 
  Cody's bath was hurried, not permitting him the time to splash soapy water all 
  over the floor, but Jarod helped Nicholas, ensuring that all the dirt at least 
  was cleaned away. Then the two men worked to dress Cody in the outfit Urs had 
  lain out earlier, a navy sailor top with a red bow and white shorts. 
  Jarod located the child's shoes. One was in the middle of the bedroom floor 
  where Cody had thrown it, but the other had been stuffed inside a dresser 
  drawer. Nick didn't know if Cody hated all shoes, or if this was just some 
  child's game. He loosened the laces and pulled back the tongue, then tried to 
  put the child's foot inside. 
  Cody winced. "Owie, Daddy," he said. 
  Nick tried again, without success. 
  "It must be too small," Jarod said. 
  "That can't be. It fit him before. Vampires don't grow," Nick said. Yet, 
  curiously, the shoe would not go on the foot. He tossed it back onto the 
  floor. "Oh, who needs shoes anyway, right Squirt?" 
  "Uh-huh," the child said agreeably. 
  The buzzer announced the guests' arrival. LaCroix pressed the release to let 
  them up. Father Pierre Rochefort entered, bringing a young werewolf with him. 
  LaCroix eyed him coolly. He had met the pup once before, a number of years 
  ago. Jonathan Whiltierna was the first-born and next in line to rule the pack. 
  He walked erect with a proud, haughty manner that LaCroix found annoying. 
  "Lucius," the werewolf stated. "Release the child at once. Holding him is a 
  violation of the pact that has always been between us." 
  Father Pierre looked perplexed as he folded his hands nervously, cracking his 
  knuckles. He sensed the tension between the powerful vampire master and the 
  young European aristocrat, although he did not understand it at all. 
  Nicholas came down the stairs then, holding Cody protectively. "Jonathan?" he 
  asked, as he sensed the guests. "What brings you here?" 
  "You two know each other?" the priest and LaCroix said at once. 
  Cody wiggled in Nick's arms, burrowing in closer. "Daddy?" 
  "What have you done!" Jonathan exclaimed. "You brought him across? How dare 
  you!" 
  "I think it is time that we all sit down," Urs said quietly. 
  Father Pierre agreed as he collapsed into a chair. "I think we'd better start 
  at the beginning. Anyone know where that is?" 
  Nick rubbed at his forehead. He wasn't sure what hurt worse, the stabbing 
  pains behind his eyes as he sensed rage from both Jonathan and LaCroix, or the 
  burning in his gut. He moved to sit in the kitchen chair Urs had brought out. 
  "Jonathan," he said. "I remember you. You are Samantha's new husband. Forgive 
  me, but I haven't been myself lately. Please, sit down." 
  Jonathan glared at him, but sat stiffly on the chair provided. "I thought 
  vampires had perfect memories," he barked. 
  "My son has been ill," LaCroix said quietly. His voice was controlled, and yet 
  the thread of menace was carefully woven through it. "You will not upset him." 

  Jonathan never flinched, but Nick felt his discomfort. "LaCroix, please," he 
  said. "Let me handle this." 
  LaCroix snorted, but said nothing. 
  Cody stuck his thumb in his mouth. He pressed his face against Nick's shoulder 
  and wrapped his fingers securely through Nick's hair. Nick patted his back 
  comfortingly. 
  "Cody's mother was unfit to care for him," he said. "She abandoned him on 
  Father Pierre's doorstep right before she died." 
  "Tala was werewolf, Nick. You know how it is with us. When her mate died, she 
  was unable to go on alone, even to care for her child. She did what she 
  could." 
  "Not good enough," Nick replied. "There is something wrong with a society that 
  cares so little for its own young. You yourself have admitted as much." 
  Jonathan winced, glancing at the floor. "I know," he murmured. Then, drawing 
  in a deep breath, he pushed forward. "So when I heard about Tala and Berti's 
  child, I thought maybe I could take him in, give him the home I never had." 
  "A noble gesture," Nick admitted. "A commitment out of a sense of duty, but 
  not made for love. I already love this child. I will care for him like my own 
  flesh and blood." 
  Father Pierre watched the two young men, not understanding a thing. He knew 
  Nick was vampire. Apparently, so did Jonathan. But the priest was beginning to 
  realize that Jonathan and Cody were not human. He wasn't sure he wanted to 
  know more than that. He stood and went to Cody, who was becoming agitated and 
  fretful from the tension in the room. 
  "Hi, son. You remember me, don't you? Let's go upstairs and maybe we can find 
  something to play with, okay?" 
  Cody clung to Nick, his infant fangs half down in his fright. 
  "It's okay, Cody," Nick soothed. "You go with Father Pierre. Everything will 
  be okay." 
  "Okay, Daddy?" Cody kissed Nick's cheek, then reached out trustingly to the 
  priest. 
  Urs picked up a few toys from the floor and followed the priest upstairs. She 
  hated conflict and avoided it whenever possible. 
  Jonathan watched the little child leave with a touch of melancholy. Nick 
  sensed his loneliness. "Caring for a child is a big responsibility," he said 
  softly. "Cody will not make you happy. You have to find that from within." 
  The young werewolf straightened as if he'd been slapped. He emitted a warning 
  growl, his fangs sharp and glinting in the subdued lighting of the loft. "That 
  does not excuse your conduct." 
  LaCroix half rose from his chair but Nick told him to stay out of it. "I will 
  not apologize for a thing, Jonathan. If it weren't for me, Cody would be 
  dead." 
  "But no one has ever brought a werewolf across before," Jonathan breathed. "We 
  didn't even think it could be done. I can't even begin to imagine the 
  repercussions." 
  "Then think about it now, Jonathan. You will lead the pack. How you deal with 
  this now will affect everyone. Will you reject me, destroy the child, and 
  plunge us into civil war?" 
  "We would win," Jonathan said coldly. "While the ancients are too strong for 
  us, we outnumber your kind by the thousands. And we are not restrained by the 
  sun." 
  "But many would perish," Nick said. "Your sisters, brothers, cousins, perhaps 
  even your wife. Is that the legacy you would leave your unborn?" 
  Jonathan bolted from his chair to put distance between them. His hands 
  clenched and unclenched, fury pulsed through him. He thought about his 
  powerful, vindictive grandfather. The elder Wiltierna had ruled the pack for 
  two centuries with a strong, unflinching hand of responsibility. As a small 
  boy, Jonathan had admired his strength and conviction, but later Jonathan 
  resented him. He saw the young being driven away from their dens, their ranks 
  weakened by internal strife. Their entire culture, their heritage, was falling 
  apart. If things did not change, it could herald the end of his race. He could 
  not rule as his Grandfather had. His shoulders slumped. "No," he breathed. 
  "I... don't want that. I never wanted to lead. What am I to do?" 
  "Let us share the child," Nick said. 
  "No, Nicholas!" LaCroix gasped. 
  Nick ignored him. "Cody is not fully vampire. Just tonight I noticed that he 
  has outgrown a pair of shoes. In the past, werewolves were not brought across 
  because their blood tastes of carouche and their own healing ability resists 
  the conversion. Death was inevitable. For some reason, Cody survived." 
  "But, how would we share him? What are you proposing?" 
  "I will raise him as my son," Nick said. "I invite you to be his uncle. I will 
  teach him the ways of vampires, and you will teach him to be werewolf. Then, 
  which ever nature wins out, he will be prepared to live in that society." 
  Jonathan was silent for so long that Nick wondered what he was thinking. Then 
  he heard Jonathan's pulse pick up, indicating either anger or excitement. He 
  wasn't sure which. 
  "So Cody is a covenant child," Jonathan exclaimed. "He is the pact of promise 
  between us." 
  LaCroix stared. His son, the younger, weaker vampire, who had spurned his own 
  kind for over a century, had accomplished in ten minutes what vampire leaders 
  had been unable to do for millennia. Nicholas had negotiated a peace with the 
  werewolves. 
  Jonathan had been right in his brash statement that the werewolves would win 
  in an all-out war. It was a little-known fact and one the ancients kept 
  closely guarded. Vampires were Lillith's first-born, it was right that they 
  should rule the lesser beings, but werewolves were more numerous. Even an 
  infant vampire could overpower the strongest werewolf, but with wolf instincts 
  the werewolves could hunt out vampire lairs and destroy them while they slept. 
  So an uneasy truce had been formed before the time of Rome, before LaCroix's 
  conversion, for their mutual survival. It was built on distrust and fear. 
  Nicholas now would build it on the child. How ironic, he thought, that the 
  weakest among them would be their salvation? 
  "May I speak now, Nicholas," LaCroix said, his voice thick with sarcasm 
  although amusement tripped through their link. 
  Nick smiled graciously. "Of course, sire. What is it?" 
  The vampire faced Jonathon. "You must remember that for now the child is 
  vampire. He feeds on blood and will burn in sunlight. If he becomes hungry, he 
  will bite. While he is too small to kill, this can be very disturbing to the 
  mortals with whom you associate." 
  Jonathon nodded stiffly. "Have you noticed any werewolf traits?" 
  LaCroix quickly denied it, but Nick hesitated. "He did seem rather delayed for 
  a mortal child. I mean, at three, he is still very babyish." 
  "For a human," Jonathon correctly. "Among werewolf cubs this is normal. I have 
  seen nearly forty winters, and yet no human would believe it to look at me." 
  "Come," Nick invited. "It is time to meet him." 
  * * * * * 
  The parting was painful. LaCroix had arranged for Nick's "little brother", Don 
  Constantine, to take care of the child until the celebration in the spring. 
  Both Constantine and Cody would be presented before the council of elders 
  then. 
  Nick had united with Cody in the blood kiss repeatedly as he struggled to 
  comfort him, to reassure him that he would return, but Cody sensed his own 
  doubts. Nick didn't understand the nature of his illness. He still had not 
  regained his memory, but he sensed LaCroix's fear that this illness was both 
  incurable and fatal. Nick had been unable to keep that from the child. 
  Cody had been through so much in the past few months. The death of both 
  parents, his own death and conversion, the kidnapping, and now this. Finally, 
  Nick captured the child's will and gave him a mild hypnotic compulsion. "You 
  will not fear for me, my son," he whispered. "If I do not return for you, you 
  will remember me fondly, but you will be happy." 
  Cody hugged him, curling his fingers through Nick's hair. "Wuv you, Daddy." 
  "I love you, too." 
  He held the child out to Jonathan. The werewolf accepted him awkwardly, 
  holding him with a mixture of awe and disgust. He was awed by the miracle of 
  life, yet disgusted that the child was never entirely clean. 
  Constantine cackled. "Nothing like a kid to bring you to your knees," he said 
  with an old man's wisdom. 
  Jonathan wasn't sure if even he knew what he meant. "May the wind be ever at 
  your back," he said to Nick. 
  Nick grinned boyishly. "Aye, and may ye be in heaven a half hour 'afore the 
  Devil knows your dead." 
  LaCroix growled impatiently. He tugged on his child's sleeve. With a 
  patriarchal nod towards Constantine and Diggon, he guided Nicholas back to the 
  limo where Jarod rode up front with the driver, peppering him with his endless 
  questions. 
  They had a long trip ahead of them. They would fly from Toronto to Vancouver, 
  then on several small flights until they eventually made it to Romania, taking 
  an indirect route to ensure that the Center would not find them. For a part of 
  the trip, Jarod would travel inside a large suitcase in the luggage 
  compartment. LaCroix was irritated at the great lengths they were forced to 
  take to protect him, but after witnessing the Center's security personally, he 
  had to admit that it was necessary. 
  Then Romania held no promises. There Jarod would meet with the vampire 
  scientists and doctors, Natalie and Kovach, and hopefully discover something 
  they had not. The waiting was painful. Nicholas was fading away right before 
  his eyes. At times he didn't even have the strength to stand, let alone carry 
  the vampire infant he had claimed for his own. LaCroix felt a moment of fear 
  stab him. What would he do without Nicholas? Their lives had been so entwined 
  for eight hundred years! They simply could not be separated! 
  Silently, Nicholas placed his hand over LaCroix's and gave it a gentle 
  squeeze. LaCroix blinked rapidly. He had forgotten that Nicholas was so very 
  perceptive these days and would read his concerns clearly. LaCroix struggled 
  to bury his fear. "The limo feels empty," he said. 
  Nick nodded. Tracy and Vachon were staying behind for now, joining them for 
  the Feast of Lillith in three months... if there was still a "them" to join. 
  Natalie was in Romania, Urs was in Dallas and Janette had returned to New York 
  with Amaru. He knew that it was vampire nature to come and go, to leave 
  friendships for a while, only to rediscover them again decades, or even 
  centuries, later. Still, he felt the loneliness surround him like a shroud. 
  Strangely, though, he was not worried for himself. If he died tomorrow, at 
  least he knew he had lived a long life. He must have lived a good life, if so 
  many others cared for him so deeply. And all of them, except possibly LaCroix, 
  would manage without him. Oh, they would grieve, of that he was certain, but 
  eventually they would move on. He worried only for the ancient master. 
  Nick tightened his fingers around the hand. "I know my second wish, sire," he 
  whispered. 
  LaCroix gazed into the innocent blue eyes and swallowed as he tried to keep 
  the tremor from his voice. "What is it, Nicholas?" 
  "If, if I do not survive-" 
  "Silence!" LaCroix roared. "You will not speak of this again!" 
  Nick did not flinch before the ancient fury. "I will not speak of it again 
  after this. But hear me out. If I do not survive, I want you to take Jarod." 
  LaCroix tried to pull away. He did not want to discuss this! But he was 
  trapped inside the limo. "No one could ever replace you," he whispered 
  solemnly. 
  Nick shrugged. "Perhaps not. But Jarod needs a father. And I think, perhaps, 
  you need a son. Promise me." 
  "Nicholas, I don't know if I can..." 
  Nick smiled and he tried to lighten the serious moment. "Do you remember the 
  sand castle we built on the Wisconsin River?" 
  LaCroix fumbled for a moment. The emotions he often denied were still raw and 
  close to the surface... but that was one of their more erotic memories. The 
  water had been ice-cold, melted snow that joined into the Mississippi, where 
  it traveled for hundreds of miles before it warmed much at all. At one part, 
  though, the river widened, and a long sandbar split it in half. The sand was 
  soft and clean and perfect for sculpture, and early in the season, when the 
  water was too cold for mortals, it was virtually uninhabited. "Nicholas?" 
  The angelic smile deepened with an impish twist. He produced a small gray jar 
  of potter's clay from his jacket pocket. "I thought perhaps we might go there 
  again..." 
  The End. 
Stay tuned... the conclusion, "Dance of Dreams", will come this summer. 
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