THE CHANGELING
(Forever Knight)
by Nancy W.
e-mail: tannervin@aol.com
Rating: PG-13 (mature themes, language)
Characters: Vachon, Tracy, Natalie, The Inka, Nick, LaCroix, OMC
File Size: 543K

This story follows "The Phoenix" http://blackraptor.hispeed.com/foreverknight/phoenix.txt

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---ONE---

Prologue...

41 deg. 43 min. N

49 deg. 56 min. W

April 15, 1912

---1:15 AM

The water had reached the ship's name on her bow. LaCroix, leaning
over the rail to inspect this most unexpected sight, was virtually
alone. Mortals were scurrying about in confusion now that they could
perceive a definite list to port, and most had headed for the higher
stern of the ship. Some lifeboats had already been launched, and the
unsinkable ship was slowly being claimed by the sea she had so boldly
defied.

LaCroix sighed. The damp night air was frigid, and the water had to
be even colder. He had donned a lifebelt as a precaution. He had
heard that some vampire bloodlines could drown in salt water, and he
had no intention of finding out if his was one of them. Freezing was
going to be bad enough.

There was no choice, really. Only women and children were being
allowed in the lifeboats, and the nearest dry land was over 400 miles
away -further than he could fly while darkness still sheltered him.
The sun would be up in three hours and the ship would be gone in one.
He was going to end up in that icy water, like it or not, but he was
going nowhere without Nicholas.

He hadn't seen his offspring since they'd come on board two days
before in Cherbourg, where they had left Janette, who had opted to
remain in France through the spring. It was what they all should have
done, but Nicholas -Nicholas just had to sail on *this* ship, on her
maiden voyage. Why he had indulged the wretched creature, LaCroix
would never know.

Nicholas had met that woman - that Claire Gibson... Maybe he was
with her. He'd have to find him, and they would have to feed and feed
well so that they would have the strength to see them through
whatever ordeal was to come. He would accept no argument.

On the chance that Nicholas had returned to his stateroom, LaCroix
decided that would be the next stop on his search. It was on the
Upper Deck, which despite its name was actually the 7th deck down
from the topmost deck of the ship. Amidship where they were quartered
was also well-protected from any penetrating rays of daylight.

He cut through the third class open space where earlier in the
voyage steerage passengers had entertained themselves with singing,
dancing and other plebeian pursuits. A few passengers were still
milling around helplessly, although most had by then gone up to the
Bridge Deck or higher to contemplate their fate from a better vantage
point. There was a wrought iron gate that had originally blocked
passage into the First Class area, but it had been torn away by the
panicked throng when the stewards had refused to open it.

The passageway was empty now except for one mortal heartbeat. A
calm, strong heartbeat, not the frantic pounding that had assailed
his ears from all directions above. A looter most likely, casually
going about his dirty work in the hastily deserted cabins, blinded by
greed to his impending doom.

LaCroix slipped into a recess and waited. The heartbeat came nearer,
and finally the owner of that steady beat came into view. LaCroix
sensed mild apprehension, but no real fear. Could it be that this
mortal was completely oblivious to the disaster unfolding around him,
completely unaware that, one way or another, he was about to die?

In a lightning move, LaCroix's fangs were in his neck. There was no
time for a struggle, not that the victim would have been capable of
matching LaCroix's strength, anyway.

The blood was laced with bourbon of finest quality - far more than
was necessary to have brought about the mortal's present state of
serenity - and was not at all unsavory.

Sweeten them first with honey and wine...

With some amusement, LaCroix noted that this one, though quite
young, had calmly accepted his fate, and resigning himself to it, had
opted to get pleasantly drunk rather than endure the confusion and
anxiety of impending doom cold sober.

LaCroix listened as the strong young heart began to speed up in an
attempt to compensate for the waning blood supply, and then began to
falter and slow as death began. This was an uncomplicated life - a
soul who worked with his hands and had never been dissatisfied with
that, had never entertained life's other possibilities. LaCroix saw
bricks, mortar, tools of the builder's trade. The blood was sweet
with youth, and he tasted an innocence, not unlike Nicholas that
first time. In fact, very much like Nicholas... Strong, courageous,
yet at the same time uncertain and fragile... and a bit foolhardy.

So enthralled with that fond memory was the ancient vampire that he
did not sense the presence behind him until it was close enough to
touch him.

Annoyed by this encroachment, he withdrew his fangs and turned on
the intruder, expecting at the least to frighten him off, and at most
to turn him into vital sustenance.

Instead, he caught the glint of a fire axe an instant before it
delivered a blinding impact that shattered his skull. He felt his
scalp stretch and then split as pieces of his cranium went their
separate ways. He staggered backwards into his victim's body as blood
cascaded down his face.

No matter. He would heal, and then he would find this attacker and
rip his head from his shoulders. But right then, he felt himself
sliding to the floor, cushioned by the body he had just drained.

Through a haze, he was aware that his lifebelt was being stripped
from him. Words were being spoken that would have made him laugh had
he been able to; "God has cursed you this night for your buggery."

Oh, yes, God had cursed him, but long before this night, and as for
buggery... well, he couldn't expect his attacker to know what had
really been going on, could he?

He'd heal in minutes...

But right then his eyelids drooped.

His head fell to rest against his victim's upper chest, where he
could feel the dying heart, weak but still struggling as the young
fool lay beneath him like a satiated lover.

He tried to open his eyes, but all he saw was blood, still spilling
forth like a red fountain...

From somewhere near the edge where Life meets Death, the prey drank
from the fountain of the predator, a liquid sweeter and more vital
than the purest water to a man dying of thirst. The way it trickled
down his throat was sublime agony, for after his first taste, he
wanted to fill himself with it, to drink until the fire it ignited in
his being was extinguished, until the unnamed longing that permeated
him with the first drops was satisfied.

As if his very soul were putty that wanted to stick fast to this
world but could be stretched and pulled and forced into another, he
felt himself being drawn away from the line that separated Life from
Death, into an entirely new realm of existence.

Even in the depths of unconsciousness, he gradually became aware
that this was neither Life nor Death, but Forever... and that he had
become Something Else, something that wasn't human anymore.

---2:16 AM

LaCroix had been dreaming that the ship was sinking...

His eyes flew open, and he realized with horror that he was
underwater. He was unbelievably cold, but that had fortunately helped
bring him to his senses before he exhausted the air trapped in his
lungs.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, to remember where he was
and reorient himself. The fact that he had recently consumed blood
still rich with oxygen when he had been rendered senseless was no
doubt what had enabled him to regain consciousness underwater. He
could remain submerged far longer than any mortal, but without access
to air, he could easily find himself unconscious again.

He turned his attention to feeling his way along the submerged
passageway towards the Grand Staircase, and when he found it, he
followed it upwards to the higher decks. As he began his assent, his
vampire hearing gradually detected the muffled sound of the ship's
band, so he knew the vessel was still afloat. However, the musicians
had switched from the lighter ragtime tunes intended, he supposed, to
keep up the passengers' spirits, to something far more somber, and
that was an ominous sign. By the time he surfaced, they had stopped
playing altogether.

No one noticed as he emerged onto the deck dripping wet, invoking
his ability to defy gravity in order to remain upright on the now
perilously tilting surface. Most of the passengers were now huddled
at the stern, wailing, screaming, sobbing. Many of them were flinging
themselves into the water and swimming towards the lifeboats that had
drifted to an impossible distance. Most would never make it, but
LaCroix had a certain admiration for those who chose not to sit
around and wait for death. Maybe he'd fish one or two of them out of
the water, once he found Nicholas...

No sooner had he thought the name than he heard the voice, sensed
the familiar presence.

Nicholas was with *her*, begging her to let him save her while she
insisted she needed to die.

Really, this was ridiculous and there was no time for such nonsense.

"Nicholas! We must leave the ship. NOW!" he called to him.

"Please!" Nicholas was begging, "Let me save you! Let me..."

His words were cut off by an enormous thundering roar, the likes of
which LaCroix had not experienced since that cursed Mt. Vesuvius had
buried his native Pompeii. His vampire hearing separated the sounds
of cold water meeting the red-hot boilers with explosive results, the
sound of every loose object on the ship being suddenly overcome by
the forces pulling them downward and crashing forward as a single
mass of flying glass and metal, the sound of the ship herself being
rent in two as her overstressed hull twisted and stretched and
finally ripped apart.

The woman with Nick was flung into the darkness as the ship
convulsed in a mighty spasm, the last of her death throes. The lights
flickered and then died.

LaCroix flew at Nicholas and grabbed him as the younger vampire
shrieked in protest. A few passengers not yet completely numbed by
their destiny might have noticed as the pair took to the air had it
not been for the total blackness that now prevailed.

The prey slept and dreamed, a strange disturbing dream of being
swallowed by a beast made of ice. The memory of the wondrous fountain
was still with him, as was the new knowledge that he would not, could
not, die in this freezing darkness, even though there was no way out.
He was trapped there, not dead, not alive, not asleep, not awake. The
cold pulled him deeper into it, until he felt it crushing his body
into itself. Pressure became pain, and pain agony as his organs were
compressed, his muscles squeezed and tortured. Still deeper he was
pulled, until he felt his eardrums burst, his eyes being forced
backward into his skull, his ribcage collapsing until his heart and
lungs were wedged between two flattened slabs of muscle and bone. He
couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. And still, he couldn't die...

Finally, mercifully, the unspeakable pain and his unrelenting terror
shut down his conscious brain completely. He drifted into a dreamlike
state, not knowing where or who or what he was, only that he was
trapped. Forever.

---2:22 AM

Nicholas had struggled against LaCroix only briefly, realizing that
to continue was useless. LaCroix had thwarted any attempts at
altruism by keeping a firm hold on him as they'd hovered in the air,
watching the awesome spectacle of the ship's severed stern rising
vertically into the air, spilling those who had clung to her until
the last desperate moment into the icy death that had so patiently
awaited them.

In less than two minutes, nothing but black water and swirling
debris had remained to mark the grave of the Titanic.


---TWO---

Natalie's patient arrived at the stroke of midnight just as she'd
asked him to, despite the fact that it had now become routine for him
to swear he would never be back after almost every visit.

Her patient. She wondered what people would think if she hung out a
shingle: Natalie Lambert, Doctor to the Undead.

She had regular patients now, thanks to a demonic child named Divia
who had been left entombed for nineteen centuries by her own father,
who was also her vampire child. A being who as a mortal had been a
monster, and consequently as a monster had been almost invincible.
Almost.

Divia had killed at least one vampire Natalie knew of, a delicate
little thing named Urs, killed right under Nick's nose. Natalie was
sure there had to have been others. Maybe even others who, like
Javier Vachon, had managed to cling to existence and perhaps now were
huddled in some dark corner, sick, weak, in pain. She tried not to
think about them. She had enough to do with the two vampires she had
nursed back from the agony Divia had visited upon them.

There was probably nothing she could do for those others, anyway.
Although her research had made it possible, in the end it had been
Janette who had saved her brother/master Nick, and the Inka Amaru who
had saved Vachon, his vampire twin. It was their unique bloodlinks
that had made that possible, links much closer than those that
vampires ordinarily shared.

In the weeks following their recovery from the most severe symptoms,
Natalie had discovered that both Nick and Vachon still suffered after
effects from the brutal assault on their bodies. Nick would, on
occasion, lapse into the withdrawn, autistic-like behavior that had
typified his condition in the weeks after the attack. Natalie
suspected that a residual chemical imbalance of some kind was to
blame for that. Most of the time, the transition was brief and hardly
noticeable, but he often overreacted - with anger or confusion - to
situations that reminded him of Divia, and though no one had said so
specifically, Natalie suspected it was one of the reasons he had been
transferred from homicide to vice. Her fear was that eventually
something would trigger a major psychotic episode in an inappropriate
setting. Nick worried about it less than she did, but that was
because - even though he claimed to have known Sigmund Freud
personally - he knew less about the etiology and physiological
mechanisms of mental illness than she did. Somebody had to worry
about it.

Vachon had not suffered the psychic trauma Nick had, but when he had
returned to Toronto, Natalie had discovered that his immune system,
destroyed by Divia's poison, still afforded him no primary resistance
to mortal diseases. Even though his body had regained the ability to
completely destroy invading organisms - and his blood test revealed
he'd already been exposed to several -it didn't happen now until he
was actually sick.

He'd been bombarded with one low-grade infection after another, and
she had decided the best thing to do was vaccinate him against
everything she could think of, from chicken pox to rabies, in an
attempt to get his natural defenses to kick in before he encountered
something truly catastrophic. The irony was, he probably had the
stamina to stay on his feet even in the most active stages of a truly
virulent infection - but in the meantime, he'd be spreading it to
mortals who didn't have his capacity to overcome it. He understood
the reasons for the precautions, but nevertheless, he hated the
shots. It wasn't that the needles actually hurt him - a vampire's
pain threshold was much higher than that - but his body did react to
the foreign substance being injected into it by setting off alarm
bells in his nervous system, and that *did* hurt.

He took off his coat and gloves - worn not for appearance sake but
because now, for some reason she hadn't determined, he and Nick
really were intolerant to cold. He then pulled off a sweater and
thermal undershirt and sat on her dissection table. He knew the drill.

She tried not to notice how grubby he was. A vampire's body odor was
unique - a sort of damp, metallic smell that was not strong enough
for the average uninitiated mortal to detect - and it wasn't
offensive. Their skin did not team with bacteria like a human's did,
and even their blood-sweat was reabsorbed after a short time, so
regular bathing was not really a social necessity for them.
Nevertheless, dirt collected on their clothing and in their hair as
easily as it did on anyone. Vachon had always been a bit on the
scruffy side, but now, he seemed to have completely lost interest in
his appearance altogether. He didn't smell - They never did - but a
shampoo and some clean clothes definitely warranted a higher priority
than he was apparently giving them.

She examined him as she always did - chest, ears, throat - checking
for any detectable early signs that he was coming down with
something. He'd been a healthy mortal - no broken bones, no
complications from any childhood illnesses, and apparently no serious
afflictions as an adult. But of course, that made sense. Up until the
twentieth century, only strong children lived to grow up, and only
healthy adults lived to grow old.

She was flying blind, however, when it came to keeping Vachon a
healthy vampire. There was even a nagging possibility that immunizing
him with man-made serums would harm him more than it would help him.

She also saw the irony in the fact that she was still trying to find
a cure for Nick, yet she was now investing equal time and effort in
seeing that Vachon - who did not *want* to be cured - returned to
what he had been.

"Have you been feeling okay?" she asked. She always asked, even
though she knew he'd say "yes." He seemed reluctant to admit anything
had ever happened to him. Maybe it was the vampire equivalent of post-
traumatic stress disorder, because sometimes, she knew he was lying.
He'd come to see her a couple of times when she knew he wanted to
talk, but she had never been able to get anything out of him - or, he
had not been able to tell her what was on his mind.

"No more seizures?"

"No."

"Anything else you want to talk about?"

A moment passed before he said, "no," just long enough to let her
know he was lying to her again.

She took off her stethoscope and put it down with her other
instruments. She had the injection already prepared.

"You're going to have to drop your pants for this one," she warned
him.

"I don't think so."

"This one really smarts. Vachon. If I give it to you in your arm,
you won't be able to move it an hour from now."

He stared at her stubbornly.

"Okay..." she shrugged, and then tried to find some reasonably well-
padded location to inject. It wasn't easy, because like most
vampires, he had almost no body fat and he wasn't exactly Arnold
Schwarzeneggar in the muscle department, either.

He yelped when she stuck him.

"I told you."

He rubbed his arm, "What was that?"

"Typhoid."

"Natalie, nobody gets typhoid anymore."

"Well, not in this country, but you could whammy your way into one
where they do, be there before sunrise, and be back here the next
day... I need to draw some blood, too."

"Why?"

This was going to be delicate subject, so she thought it best to be
blunt with him. "I'm going to give you an HIV test. You should have
them regularly until your system returns to normal." She did not know
the source of his blood supply, nor did she want to, but the
possibility he could come in contact with infected blood worried her,
especially since she now knew that he was capable of passing the
virus on to a mortal partner - or a victim who somehow managed to
survive. She had had sex with him, and she had survived a vampire
attack. She might not be the only one in either situation.

Vachon, however, didn't make the connection.

"What difference would it make? It wouldn't kill me."

Natalie cleared her throat. "But you could infect someone else."

"How?"

Was he teasing her, or did he really not know how the virus was
transmitted? Blunt was best either way. "Unprotected sex."

"But that's not... Oh... you mean with a mortal."

"Yes."

She didn't want the details of Vachon's sex life, and fortunately,
he didn't share them. He acquiesced and offered his arm for the test.

"If you ever come up positive..." What to say next? Surely he knew
what a condom was, but she doubted he'd ever used one. What would
have been the point? He'd been immune to sexually transmitted
diseases before, and he was sterile - and in all likelihood, all of
his surviving partners had probably been other vampires.

She was blushing.

He grinned at her. "You're about 480 years too late for the birds
and bees lecture, Natalie."

She smiled. "Just be careful, okay?

He grabbed his undershirt and winced as he was putting it on. The
typhoid shot was already making his arm sore. By morning, he'd want
to sleep in his clothes instead of enduring the discomfort of trying
to get them off. Well, she'd warned him.

She helped him slip the grimy sweater over his head. "Vachon, how
are you, really?" she said seriously. "No one can go through what you
did and not have some kind of after-effects, physical or emotional."

His expression changed almost imperceptibly, but it was enough.

He shrugged, and then reached up to rub his sore shoulder. "I guess
sometimes it comes back. Nightmares, mostly. I dream about when I was
in the ground, that I'm there again... I get headaches sometimes."

A physical symptom. Was that something to worry about? "How bad?"

He eased his coat on carefully. "Survivable."

"Maybe I should run some tests..."

"No." He silenced her with a quick peck on the lips. "I'm fine. Stop
worrying about me."

"If only I could," she snorted. "If I didn't worry about you guys,
who would?"

"Who, indeed?" A familiar blond head poked its way through the
doorway.

"Hi, Nick," Vachon said, grabbing his gloves. "I was just leaving."

Nick looked momentarily affronted. "You don't have to, you know."

"Yes, I do. I thought maybe I'd go *visit Tracy's grave*. Remember
her?" The remark was so pointed, Natalie winced. She never, ever
would have suspected that the gentle, good-natured Vachon had a
deliberate mean streak in him, but she'd already seen it surface a
couple of times in Nick's presence.

Nick was stung by the remark, and didn't say anything until Vachon
was out the door.

"I guess I asked for that," he said.

Natalie put her arm behind his neck and pulled his head towards hers
so their foreheads touched. "No, you didn't Nick. If anyone is
responsible for Tracy's death, it's me."

"Vachon doesn't blame you, though."

That much was true. Natalie hated to see the tension between the two
vampires, because both probably had much to gain from talking to each
other about the unique experience they had shared. Vachon, however,
seemed almost unable to tolerate Nick's presence.

"Too much changed in his life too quickly. He needs time," she said.

Nick nodded. He really did understand, and Natalie loved him for that.

He kissed her. Not an enduring, passionate kiss, but lately, he was
willing to go further than what she'd gotten from him in the past. He
was drinking human blood again, and oddly, that seemed to make him
better able to control himself, not less. Divia's poison had also
somehow muted his lust for any kind of blood. He had to be reminded
to eat at times. Divia had, in fact, almost succeeded in destroying
the vampire in both Nick and Vachon, and as a result, Nick had, quite
inexplicably, simply lost his appetite for blood. That would have
been ideal, except that he still could not tolerate enough mortal
food to keep him alive.

Tests Natalie had run indicated that the scent or even the ingestion
of blood no longer triggered the massive flood of endorphins into his
system that it once had. He still *liked* it, but, he no longer
experienced the intense "rush" normal vampires got from feeding. She
suspected it was a manifestation of the chemical imbalance in his
brain, because Vachon, who'd experienced a reaction to Divia's toxin
that was different from Nick's in that respect, still consumed blood
with the same enthusiasm of any other vampire.

Natalie didn't know if the effect was permanent, but for now, the
craving was gone, and she planned to take every advantage of that
that Nick would allow.

It felt good to be able to hold him close, to feel the cool softness
of his lips on hers. Sometimes, if they went too far, the fangs came
out, but she no longer reacted to that in horror or revulsion, or
even fear. She had come to accept that it was just something that
happened when she kissed him, as natural as the physiological
responses of a mortal man would be. And, because she accepted it, she
found that he was no longer embarrassed and humiliated by it. <How
could she have ever let him feel that way about himself?>

There were no fangs tonight, though. She and Nick still had work to
do, and he had only stopped in to say 'hi.' His new partner, Tamara
Milford, was waiting right outside the door for him. Unlike Tracy and
Schanke before her, Tamara refused to be given the slip. She had been
on the force for 23 years, and it was Nick who was the junior
partner. She had a keen eye for details and she kept it on Nick every
minute.

Unfortunately, since being transferred to Vice, Nick rarely had
occasion to discuss her truly dead patients with her anymore, so she
hardly ever saw him for more than a few minutes at a time during
working hours.

"I thought we could go get something to eat later," he said.

Of course, he wouldn't actually eat. He still could not tolerate 99
percent of mortal food, but, he no longer shied away from restaurants
as if the mere presence of it nauseated him.

She agreed to meet him when her shift ended at 3 am.

It all seemed so wonderfully normal. She was actually beginning to
foresee the possibility of some kind of future with Nick. Maybe not
the one they both wanted, the one shared by them as mortals, but the
vampire was no longer making the rules. Natalie accepted the Vampire
as part of Nick, and it, in turn, had been humbled by an evil little
girl. It was a compromise at best, but one she could live with.


---THREE---

Why did he come here, to this dark, cold place where he was reminded
only of how alone he was now?

Maybe he was just stupid. Who knew?

After Nick Knight had recovered sufficiently from what Divia had
done to both of them, the detective had thought to let him know where
he could find Urs. Knight had been the mysterious benefactor who had
footed the bill for her funeral, no expense being spared, so that she
did not end up in some potter's field, or whatever the late-20th-
century equivalent was.

She was in the ground now. Cold. Probably dead, but again, who knew?
He'd been put in the ground himself, buried alive. The cruel irony
was that the mortal who had so lovingly placed him there was now
herself in the ground, so near, in fact, to his beloved Urs that he
could almost touch both headstones at the same time.

One could almost think Knight had planned it this way for his
benefit, except that when it had been done, Knight had had no reason
to think Javier Vachon would ever visit any grave other than the one
that imprisoned him. It was just plain dumb luck that they lay almost
side by side, his golden-haired treasures. Tracy Vetter had died just
hours after Urs' body had been released for burial. They had been
buried a day apart.

The entire department had probably shown up to pay their final
respects to their fallen comrade, but no one had been there for Urs.
Not for her funeral, not since.

No one had ever looked at Urs' headstone to see that the unclaimed
Jane Doe now had a name. Ursula Vachon. He smiled at that. Knight
hadn't known Urs' surname, so he'd given her Vachon's. Vachon didn't
mind, but Urs, wherever she was, was probably tossing her curls in
indignation. He'd get the headstone re-carved as soon as he could
think of a way to do it without a lot of explanation. Maybe he'd have
something like "Killed in the Line of Duty" put on it, like Tracy's.
Killed in the line of duty to her master...

Master. Urs would rise up from the grave and choke him if he put
that on it.

What kind of epitaph did you write for a vampire, anyway?

She had lived almost 150 years, but no one would miss her except for
him. Her passing would go unnoticed. The results of the autopsy that
was never performed officially listed her cause of death as "auto
accident" because Natalie Lambert had not dared to cite the real
cause; "Ripped apart by a demon."

God, he wanted her back.

He wanted them *both* back.

He lay face down in the stretch of earth between the two graves. It
was raining and the ground was damp. Later the temperature would drop
enough to freeze it.

It was so cold. He was so cold...

He buried his face in the dormant grass, thinking of the sweet
sunshine that was Urs' hair. She had smelled like she tasted...
sweet, ripe melons, with a hint of roses in her scent. She told him
once his blood tasted like chocolate. The candy kind, not the bitter
drink he'd sampled in Mexico so long ago, before he'd even laid eyes
on the land where he would draw his final mortal breath. He'd never
tasted chocolate in that form, but Urs had, so she must have known.

Tracy... Apricots and callalilies...

Now, they both smelled of the death that surrounded them. The scent
rose up out of the ground and mocked him.

Why did he come here?

His head hurt and his stomach churned with nausea. His arm was
killing him where Natalie had given him that damn shot, but he knew
that had nothing to do with the real problem, whatever that was. It
was just something to add to his misery.

This place gave him real, physical pain, as well as pain in his mind
and soul. He didn't understand that. He certainly didn't like it.
But, it didn't stop him from coming here.

He would stay here all night, like he did every night, and like he
would continue to do until... When? What?

If only he knew.

There was a sound of the leaves nearby being disturbed, so soft that
no mortal would have heard it. Footsteps approaching just as silently.

He knew who it was. Felt who it was.

Amaru. The Inka. His twin. The Eternal Pain in the Ass.

"What the hell do *you* want?" Vachon mumbled into the grass.

"You need to come away from this place," the familiar accented voice
spoke.

"Who says so?"

"I have watched you. Night after night you lie here. What good does
it do? They are dead."

"Thanks for the information... Now go away." Yeah, as if the Inka
*ever* did that just because he told him to.

"Get up," the other vampire commanded him.

A strong hand encircled his arm - luckily, the one that wasn't sore -
lifting him off the ground.

This place drained his strength, too. Putting up a fight would be
futile.

The sudden movement made the dull throb in his head escalate to the
level of pounding sledgehammers. He gasped from the pain.

Amaru tightened his hold on him. "What's the matter?"

Vachon's vision was rapidly fading to black and he thought he was
going to pass out. "I have... no idea..."

The Inka grabbed the lapels of his coat to keep him on his feet.

"It's this place, Vachon..." the Inka began, once Vachon had
steadied himself. "It is..." He closed his eyes and shook his head to
clear it.

<He feels it, too. Whatever it is, he feels it...>

"Come. We are leaving."

Vachon didn't like the way the arrogant bastard took it for granted
that he'd follow, but the pain in his head was becoming unbearable,
and he knew it would help to be somewhere else.

Still, when the Inka took to the sky and grabbed him by the collar
on the way up, he would have kicked the shit out of him had he been
able to.

He went with the Inka only because it was better than being alone.
He had discovered during his past few weeks of complete solitude that
he was not the loner he'd thought he was.

He hadn't realized until that moment, however, that he had reached
the pitiful stage of thinking that Amaru's company was better than no
company at all.

The Inka had an apartment there in Toronto, but Vachon hadn't given
that possibility a thought until Amaru took him there. It was a
converted basement, with only three tiny windows that were easily
covered. Nice upscale neighborhood, too. They entered it from an
alley. Maybe the Inka didn't want to be seen with him, in his dirty
coat and muddy jeans.

As far as decor went, the other vampire didn't have too much more in
the way of belongings than he himself did, but there was an L-shaped
leather couch in the living room that by itself was probably worth
more than everything he owned.

He followed his host into the kitchen, where a familiar green bottle
was produced from the refrigerator. Two large mugs were filled and
placed in the microwave.

He preferred his blood warm. Amaru knew that. He didn't even have to
ask. They both liked it better that way.

While they waited on it, Vachon took the opportunity to examine the
cupboards. All of them were empty except for two. One contained mugs
like the one the blood had been poured into, the other contained
coffee, tea, a bag of cookies and several cans of cat food. Vachon
assumed the Inka kept the former for the same reason he'd kept a few
cans of beer and soda at his place -mortal visitors. Those who knew,
and those who didn't.

"You have a cat?"

Amaru nodded towards a broom closet with the door ajar. "There. Be
careful of it."

Did he mean don't hurt the cat? Or that the cat might hurt him?

Vachon opened the door and peeked in. A sleek, black feline face
with crystal blue eyes peered back uncertainly. It was a common
domestic short hair, but a remarkably beautiful cat nonetheless.

He squatted down and scratched its chin. "What's his name?"

"Pharaoh."

The cat purred loudly, the noise almost masking a sound Vachon
didn't immediately recognize. Heartbeats? Very faint, very fast, but
steady and strong. Four of them... No five... Five impossibly tiny
hearts...

He took a closer look inside the box. Pharaoh was apparently a she.
Five tiny kittens snuggled peacefully beside her.

Vachon had to pick one of them up for a closer look. It squealed
with alarm, but Pharaoh seemed to know he meant it no harm.

It was so small it fit easily into his hand, its eyes still closed,
its ears pinned close to its head, tiny unretracted claws scratching
him as it tried to scoot its fat little body across his palm. It was
a grey tabby, as was one of its littermates. A third was yellow and
the two that remained were all black.

They were so incredibly tiny and helpless...

"We can't hold them too long," Amaru cautioned. "We are too cold."

Vachon could feel his hand absorbing the kitten's body heat, and
knowing his cold skin gave none up to replace it, he returned the
kitten to its mother's warmth. Pharaoh licked it vigorously, but
continued to purr. No hard feelings.

Amaru handed him the mug. He had already fed earlier that evening,
but this was good stuff. Fresh, not many preservatives, but also with
an interesting flavor he couldn't quite define.

If he had been any place else, Vachon would have exercised the good
manners many people assumed he didn't have, but it wouldn't ruin his
day if the Inka wanted to kick him out, so he continued to explore
the apartment.

Amaru followed him like a nervous guard dog.

There wasn't much to inspect, but the Inka did have a state of the
art sound system that Vachon found enviable. He thought about trying
it out until he saw the CD collection. Somehow, Johnny Mathis and
Andrew Lloyd Webber just weren't likely to have the effect he was
looking for.

The bedroom closet was not exactly crammed, but the guy had a lot
more clothes than he did, and they ranged from his traditional Andean
peasant garb to stuff that might as well have had "phenomenally
expensive" woven into the label.

Vachon pulled out a purple satin shirt. "You actually *wear* this?"

Amaru snatched the shirt away from him. "It's for Raptors games."

"Why don't you just buy a sweatshirt like everyone else?"

"Why don't you keep your fashion comments to yourself?"

Amaru hung the shirt back up, carefully brushing imagined dust off
of it.

There was a basketball on the floor of the closet. From where he
stood, Vachon could see a hoop attached to a wall in what would have
been the dining room. Like the rest of the apartment, it had a nice
hardwood floor and it also had a high ceiling, which made it a
perfect, if tiny, basketball court.

He took the ball out and bounced it a few times with his free hand.
His hypersensitive skin was aware of every irregularity on its pebbly
surface, a pleasant sensation. "You play?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Who would I play with?"

"Why can't you play with mortals?" Vachon enjoyed the company of
mortals, usually, but some vampires didn't.

Amaru took the ball from him and casually tossed it over his
shoulder without glancing behind him. It sailed through the narrow
doorway, toward the basket two rooms away and fell cleanly through
the hoop. "That's why."

Vachon didn't know any vampires who played team sports. Even the
smallest vampire was stronger and faster than any professional mortal
athlete, and easily as well-coordinated. Most sports simply weren't
that much of a challenge for them. Amaru apparently liked basketball,
anyway.

He gulped down the blood that remained in his mug and looked at his
watch. A mere habit. He would know when the sun was coming up. "It's
getting late."

Amaru touched the sleeve of Vachon's coat and used his thumb to wipe
away a patch of dried mud.

"When was the last time you had a bath?"

Vachon declined to answer. Before, he had gone to Urs's apartment,
and sometimes had imposed on Tracy... but now... "There's no water at
my place."

"Use my shower," Amaru said. "You can sleep here."

He pulled a pair of black jeans and a grey sweatshirt out of the
closet and shoved them at him, then opened a drawer and tossed him a
pair of socks.

Vachon decided he might as well avail himself of the opportunity. It
wasn't like he had any place else to go, or anything else to do.

There was a pillow and a blanket on the couch when he came out of
the bathroom. Even when he hadn't needed a blanket, he had liked the
way it felt to sleep covered by one. Any other vampire wouldn't have
thought to provide one for him, or even had one, for that matter.

He stretched out on the couch, which was more than long enough to
accommodate him, and pulled the blanket over himself. The blood and
the hot shower had eased the stiffness in his arm and had relaxed
him. The sun was already up so he was tired. Amaru was already asleep.

In another time, he would have been thinking that he could stake his
vampire sibling and get away with it...

But, of course, he wouldn't have done it. He'd thought about it for
almost 500 years and hadn't done it, not since trying that first
night. He wondered if he had meant to kill the Inka even then.

He fell asleep under his enemy's roof.

At least he wasn't alone.

 
---FOUR---

When he woke up, Vachon meant to be quickly on his way, but Amaru
obviously expected him to feed there. He was warming two mugs of
blood in the microwave, while setting out food for his cat.

Vachon had gathered his dirty clothes into a bundle. He fingered the
sweatshirt he was wearing. "I'll bring these back as soon as I get my
other stuff washed."

"Keep them. I have others."

"I don't need a hand-out from you."

Amaru opened the microwave and took the warm blood out and gave a
mug to him. Its scent was especially appetizing, and when he tasted
it, it more than lived up to expectations, but exactly what was
unique about it, Vachon wasn't certain. He wondered who the supplier
was.

"What is it you do need?" the Inka asked without looking at him.

"What?"

"Why do you go to the cemetery night after night? What is it you
hope to find there?"

Vachon's answer was an honest one. "I don't know."

"Something at that place is not right."

"Yeah, Tracy shouldn't be there, for one thing." He had a really
hard time not getting angry at Nick Knight every time he thought of
Tracy Vetter, so he had quit trying. If only he had brought her
across, things - *everything* - would be so different now.

"It is doing something to you."

Vachon couldn't argue that point. He felt sick every time he went
near the place, and yet something there drew him to it.

But he said, "That doesn't concern you."

Amaru gulped down what was in his mug. "You and I both know that is
not true... You also know that I cannot let you keep doing this to
yourself."

"Yes, you can. It's called minding your own damn business."

Vachon finished off his mug and grabbed the bottle from the counter.
"Thanks... Don't call me, I'll call you."

+ + + + + + +

Vachon hated it when the Inka was right.

He had to stop going to the cemetery, and he knew that. But he was
like a junkie needing a fix, and telling himself just one last time
and that would be the end of it. Just one last time to see him
through, to give him the strength to kick the habit.

He stashed his filthy clothes and took to the air.

+ + + + + + +

He'd never lost consciousness before.

The mysterious force that compelled him to sit hour after hour at
the graves of Tracy, his cherished mortal, and Urs, his vampire
child, had never been strong enough to do that to him.

He tried to tell himself he'd just fallen asleep, but he knew
different. He also now knew that there was *something* here,
something real, and it was far stronger than he was.

His head hurt so bad he could have screamed, except that would have
made it worse. Every movement amplified the agony.

Before, he had known that leaving the cemetery would end the pain,
but this time, it was incapacitating. He discovered he literally
couldn't move without becoming completely disoriented by it. It was
as if a he was being nailed to the ground by a stake through his
skull and forced to stay there.

He almost wept with relief when he heard Amaru's voice.

"Have you had enough?" the Inka asked casually

This was not the time for sarcasm. "Get me out of here."

Amaru pulled him to his feet and for several seconds, his brain shut
down completely. He couldn't see or hear a thing. It was the way he
had been when he'd crawled up out of the ground, and he tried not to
panic as he waited for it to end. He was being lifted off the ground
again, and when his senses returned, he was airborne, flying under
his own power but with Amaru guiding him.

He didn't want to go home with the Inka again, so once his head was
clear enough, Vachon headed on his own for the church, instead. He
wanted to be in familiar surroundings until this unnerving feeling
left him.

Amaru didn't let him go alone.

Vachon collapsed on his bed, causing dust to fly up from it.

The Inka swiped a finger across a candelabra. "Do you ever clean
this place?"

Vachon pulled his blanket over himself. "The servants have the day
off."

Amaru studied him carefully. He was freezing, shaking all over.

"What is wrong with you?" the Inka asked him.

"My head hurts, I don't feel good, and I want you to go away."

"All right. I will. But I am coming back... Do not go to the
cemetery again."

That sounded too much like a command, but Vachon wasn't up to a
rebuke. His reply was the truth. "I won't."

Amaru's voice was less stern when he spoke again. "Are you warm
enough?"

He wasn't. He didn't think he'd ever feel warm again. But he said,
"I'll be okay."

After the other vampire was gone, he wished he hadn't told him to
leave. Alone, he was forced to think about what was happening to him.
He wouldn't go to the cemetery again, but only because now that was
physically impossible. His visits there had literally drained the
life out of him.

He didn't understand how that was possible, but he knew it was true.
Something wanted him there - it wanted *him*, and he knew if he went
back, it would take possession of him, if not physically, then in
other ways.

+ + + + + + +

Natalie rarely got visitors on the job. The hours were bad, for one
thing, and for another, not many people wanted to be around dead
bodies.  When she heard the gentle tap on the door, she thought it
might be Nick, although he rarely knocked.

Before she could invite whoever it was in, the door opened and Amaru
poked his head inside. He smiled briefly and walked the rest of the
way in when he saw she was alone.

She hadn't seen him since she had left him and Vachon behind in New
Mexico, months before. In contrast to the first time she'd met him,
he had modified his wardrobe to an inconspicuous pair of slacks and a
long-sleeved knit shirt under an expensive suede jacket.  He was
clean-shaven and his long, straight hair had been styled in a fashion
more appropriate to the metropolitan environment. He looked much
younger than she remembered, which was, of course, misleading. He had
lived through most of the sixteenth century.

He and Vachon weren't fighting anymore, at least, not the bloody
confrontations they'd had in the past. Amaru had literally given his
lifeblood to Vachon, and had thereby spared him incalculable
suffering from the effects of Divia's poison. While Vachon was
reluctant to openly acknowledge that fact, at least the two of them
had apparently agreed on a cease-fire.

Amaru greeted her with a reticent handshake - friendly, but he
wasn't prone to being openly affectionate like Vachon was. It was one
of the ways the twin vampires were different.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked.

He seemed reluctant to answer her, as if he were searching for
words. Maybe he was. He spoke perfect English, yet didn't seem
comfortable with it. He preferred to communicate with Vachon in an
obscure derivation of Spanish and Quechua that only the two of them
understood. She'd heard them use it, but not even the ancient LaCroix
had been able to translate.

"Is something wrong, Amaru?"

"I do not know."

"But you suspect, right? What is it? Tell me."

"Vachon. Have you talked to him? Does he seem... strange to you?"

"Amaru, you *all* seem a little strange to me," she joked.

He smiled, but persisted. "Did you know he spends every night at the
cemetery where his friend Tracy is buried?"

Natalie hadn't known that, and wondered why Vachon would do such a
thing.

"Urs is there, too," he continued. "Her name is not the one on the
grave, but they are almost side-by-side."

"I didn't know that."

"I do not think anyone does, except maybe Nick. I doubt it was
intentional."

"Maybe Vachon is just not ready to let them go. Tracy was special to
him. I don't know in what way, but I know that she was... And Urs,
she was his... creation."

"Screed was his best friend for four centuries, but he didn't sit at
his grave night after night," Amaru observed. He was fidgeting with
paperclips on her desk, linking them into a chain that she would have
to disassemble later.

There was more he wanted to say.

"What are you not telling me, Amaru?"

There was a pause before he answered.

"There is something there at those graves. A presence. I can feel
it, too. I do not know what it is, but it is doing something to
Vachon."

Natalie tried to think back to the first time she'd seen Vachon
since they'd gone to New Mexico searching for Nick. Her trek through
the desert there had taken a physical toll on her, and she had
finally had to submit to surgery on her knee. Vachon had come to see
her a couple of days afterwards, to see how she was, and to let her
know he was back in Toronto. He'd brought her a book, and he'd seemed
okay, although she'd never really known him that well as a healthy
vampire. Her relationship with him had developed as she had nursed
him through what Divia had done to him, so she really didn't know the
"normal" Vachon.

Once, before she had started seeing him there on a regular basis, he
had visited her at the lab for no special reason. While he hadn't
seemed in especially low spirits, she'd had the feeling that she'd
had again several times since then, that he wanted to tell her
something. But instead, he'd diverted his attention to the brace she
still wore on her knee from the surgery. He had an extremely
inquisitive nature, and this was something new to him, so she hadn't
found his curiosity unusual. But, she had thought it strange that he
had even shown up at all. They got along well, but they were not
buddies.

Later, when she began to see him on a regular basis for the
immunizations, she had gotten the distinct feeling he was keeping
something from her.

Nevertheless, she wondered what Amaru expected her to do about that,
and told him as much.

"He trusts you," the vampire explained. "Maybe you can get him to
tell you what is happening, if he even knows."

"What do you think is happening, Amaru? It would help if I had some
idea."

He avoided her glance, as if what he wanted to say was so
preposterous he didn't dare look at her.

"Amaru?"

When he raised his head to look at her, his expression was more that
of a confused adolescent than a being five centuries old.

"Natalie, I do not think Tracy Vetter is dead."


---FIVE---

Natalie was dumbfounded, but she knew better than to refute Amaru's
statement outright. If there was one thing she had learned through
her association with the vampires, it was that anything was possible.
Even so, this was pretty hard to swallow, and it was an effort to
keep her voice calm and non-judgmental.

"What makes you say that, Amaru?"

His dark eyes met hers for an instant, as if he were trying to read
her true reaction, trying to determine if she was humoring him. She
wasn't, and he saw that.

"When I have been at the cemetery with him... *Something* is there.
It is what draws him to the place.  I cannot tell you what it is. Not
a vampire... it feels..."

He sighed deeply. "It feels human... yet not. Vachon is confused by
it. He is looking for this... thing... that reaches out to him." He
made a grasping movement with his fist for emphasis. "He wants to
reach back, but he does not know where to find it. I think he does
not *want* to know."

He was staring at her again, gauging her reaction.

"And you do know," she stated.

He nodded. "The grave. It is there, in Tracy Vetter's grave."

Natalie had limits to what she was willing to believe. "Amaru, it
has to be something else. Tracy was mortal. There's no way..."

Amaru raked his fingers through his hair and then put his hands on
his hips, the way she had often seen Vachon do.

"I do not know, Natalie. Maybe I am as crazy as he is. But I thought
since you know about us, and you knew Tracy, maybe there is something
you remember that would make sense of this. There must have been a
link between her and Vachon."

"As far as I knew, they were just friends."

"Vachon never... exchanged blood with her?"

His look left no question as to what he was really asking.

"Amaru, if you want to know if they attempted sex, you're asking the
wrong person. Only Vachon would know that."

Amaru smiled briefly, as if musing over the reaction such a question
would get from Vachon. But his expression became serious again when
he asked, "Who was with her when she died?"

Natalie's heart sank. Tracy had been many things to many people, but
the young woman had died completely alone.

"No one. Her parents couldn't be located."

"There was no one?... No one there who could have maybe
attempted..." His voice trailed off. What he was saying sounded crazy
and he knew it, and it was making him reluctant to say any more, but
finally he finished the sentence, "... to bring her across?  ...Like
maybe... a friend?"

Amaru already knew that Vachon was buried in the earth at the time
of Tracy Vetter's death, so that left only one possibility.

"Do you mean Nick?"

He leveled his gaze at her. "Yes, I do."

Natalie looked away, embarrassed by this painful memory. "He wanted
to... he was going to, in fact.  I stopped him."

Although he tried to keep his tone neutral, there was a hint of
disapproval in Amaru's simple question, "Why?"

There was a long pause before Natalie could answer.

"I've asked myself that many times, and I can't come up with an
answer. Maybe it was that I didn't want her to have a part of Nick
when I couldn't. Maybe that's all there was to it.  It's a choice I
wouldn't make if I could do it over again, and so help me, it's one
I'd give anything not to have to live with now."

Thankfully, Amaru didn't belabor the point. "So, there was no way
she could have received a vampire's blood before she died?"

"No, unless it was LaCroix, but..."

Natalie didn't know how much the Inka knew about Nick's unlucky past
when it came to creating new vampires, but apparently, he knew
something, because he said, "LaCroix would have succeeded."

Natalie nodded, embarrassed for Nick, wondering if Amaru knew what
had happened between the two of them.

Amaru sensed that he'd treaded onto thin ice. They usually did sense
such things, except that some were less willing to ameliorate the
situation than others. Amaru took one of her hands in his, and said
gently, "Making a new vampire is like giving birth. Not everyone who
wants to do it can."

Natalie was so grateful for his solace the she almost failed to
recognize an opportunity. Luckily, the scientist in her caught the
implications of his remark.

"Why is that Amaru? What makes the difference?"

He shook his head.  "I do not think anyone really knows. The mortal
must be strong to survive it, but even then, it fails more often than
it works." He sounded like he spoke from personal experience.

"You've tried it?"

He nodded. "An unflawed fledgling is a precious gift. It's no
accident that we refer to them as our 'children.'"  There was sadness
in his voice, and Natalie didn't know if it was because he, too, had
failed, or because Amaru's master had not cherished him and Vachon as
she should have. She'd incinerated herself right before the twin
vampires' eyes, mere hours after creating them. Although they now
seemed perfectly happy having no one to answer to, at the time, they
must have experienced at least some fear and sense of rejection.

He sighed and went back to the original subject. "So you are certain
Tracy was not with a vampire before she died?"

"No, not certain. I just don't know who it would have been, and I
know it wasn't Vachon or Nick."

He nodded. "I'm probably wrong, anyway. Vachon has finally infected
me with his madness." His smile let her know that he was joking.

He was about to leave when a sudden thought occurred to Natalie.
"Amaru... How much blood are we talking about, and when would she
have had to have received it?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea. Not enough to have brought her
across, but enough to have done... something.  Why?"

She started to blurt out an answer to that, but then thought better
of it. "I'm not sure. Let me think about it awhile."

He didn't press for more information. He seemed to take it for
granted that she wouldn't withhold anything from him.

"I should get back to Vachon," he said. "I know he is going to do
something stupid."

And without giving her a chance to ask him what he thought Vachon
might do, he was gone.

Natalie had studied Divia's biological make up to the extent that
was humanly and scientifically possible without actually having her
there in the flesh.  She'd discovered some disturbing facts not only
about the nature of her ability to poison other vampires, but also
incredible evidence that pointed to how she had managed to survive in
her tomb for almost two millennia and regenerate a body for herself.
It was that knowledge that now prevented her from dismissing Amaru
entirely.

Tracy had been hit by bullets that had ricocheted after being fired
at Nick. Nick - whose body had been infected with Divia's cells just
days before, even though he had not yet manifested any signs of the
illness that would result from that foreign tissue. The shooter had
been at close range. Close enough that he probably hadn't missed
Nick.  The bullets that had hit Tracy had almost certainly passed
through the vampire first.

She went to the files and retrieved Tracy's autopsy folder. She had
opened it once before, but had been distracted by the photographs of
the pretty young detective she had found there, and hadn't actually
had the heart to read it.

Reading it then, she was troubled to discover that the findings
regarding the cause of death had been based solely on the notes of
the surgeon who had treated her.

The shooting had been witnessed by a police officer, the cause of
death was known, the perpetrator was dead, so there would be no
trial...

There had been no autopsy.

Tracy's body, aside from her wounds, had been buried intact. She had
been embalmed, but that would not have completely destroyed every
cell in her body. Billions would have been left to decompose in the
natural fashion.

Unless, as was the case with Divia, some ungodly thing had occurred
to interfere with the process...

Oh, no.  What she was thinking was so impossible to contemplate that
Natalie refused to do so. She hastily returned the autopsy folder to
its proper place.

She was not even going to *think* about it.


---SIX---

Vachon filled his glass from the two bottles he held, one in each
hand. He had passed the point of drinking blood cut with alcohol, and
was now drinking alcohol with a few drops of blood added to it.

Vodka mixed nicely. You could still taste the blood.

He was probably pretty drunk by this time, but his thoughts had been
so disjointed of late that it was hard to tell. Anyway, a hangover
would be an improvement over the excruciating pain in his skull. He
was attempting to drink himself into oblivion and be rid of it for
awhile. He'd admit that.

There was a whooshing sound, a blur of movement, and Amaru was next
to his bed. He'd gone to a drugstore to find something - anything -
that would stop the pain, just enough so he could rest. It had been
almost 4 days since he'd been able to sleep.

Vachon looked in the package. Two bottles of Tylenol Elixir.

"I told them no pills, so they gave me this," the Inka explained.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of morphine."

"You need a prescription for that."

"Why couldn't you whammy a damn prescription?!"

"I tried. I am not good at doing that to people."

Vachon upended the bag so the bottles fell onto the mattress.
"You're useless. You always were."

He picked up both bottles, ripped off the child-proof caps, and
downed them both in succession.

Amaru raised an eyebrow. "I do not think you are supposed to take
that much," he observed.

"Yeah? Watch this..." Vachon half-filled one of the empty bottles
with vodka, and then poured it back and forth between the two until
he'd diluted all of the residue. Then, he drank that, too.

He crawled back under his blanket, knowing he would not get warm,
would not stop shivering.

"My apartment has heat. You would not be so cold there."

Vachon shook his head. He didn't want to move.

"Perhaps I should bring Dr. Lambert."

Vachon seriously considered that. Natalie had access to some potent
painkillers. But, he'd have to tell her what was wrong, and what
would he say? That he was obsessed with Tracy Vetter's grave, to the
point it was making him sick? She'd think that what he needed was
psychiatric help. Maybe she'd be right. Besides, she'd probably want
to inoculate him against dandruff. He said, "Don't bother her."

"Do you want me to leave?" the Inka asked him.

Vachon surprised himself with his own answer. "No."

The other vampire dragged Vachon's worn-out couch closer to the bed
and stretched out on it. Neither of them said anything. In almost 500
years, they had never actually shared a calm, quiet conversation.
They'd usually been too busy inflicting varying degrees of damage on
each other. Neither of them quite knew what to do with the moment.

But instead of the silence being awkward, it was somehow reassuring.
Vachon still didn't *like* the Inka - he was pompous, unbending, and
he took himself way too seriously - but he had come to accept,
finally, that the link between them was a gift from their master to
both of them. The Angel's abandoned fledglings had never been truly
alone, and never would be. So long as one of them didn't kill the
other, anyway.

Still, he hated it when the Inka was right. He shouldn't have gulped
down the Tylenol. It was like acid in his gut, and now he didn't know
what hurt worse, his head or his stomach.

He curled himself into a ball and moaned in pain.

"If you are going to be sick, I don't want to see it," the Inka told
him.

"I'm not," Vachon assured him, even though he couldn't be certain of
the fact.

Another silence, and then the Inka spoke. "Do you want to talk about
them, Vachon?"

"Who?"

"Screed. Urs... The mortal girl."

"You'd think I was crazy."

"Because you can still feel the mortal when you are at her grave?"

Vachon forgot how sick he felt. He sat up and stared at the Inka.
"Why did you say that?"

The Inka avoided eye contact with him. "Because... at the
cemetery... I can feel her, too."

Vachon had to resist a totally irrational impulse to throw his arms
around the other vampire, and luckily, he succeeded, because Amaru
probably would have flung him three blocks if he had.

But there was excitement in his voice when he spoke, even though he
said, "It's not possible. Is it?"

The Inka shrugged. "There are hundreds of legends of the dead
rising. More of them are true than modern mortals like to think, and
even our kind cannot account for them all."

"But if she is alive, she can't be human..."

"She's not a vampire. We would know if she was."

Vachon reached under the bed for his boots and pulled them on.

"Where are you going?" the Inka asked him.

"To the cemetery. I have to find out for sure."

"That place is only going to make you worse."

"I don't care. If you really give a damn, come with me."

The Inka locked eyes with him. Vachon knew his twin wanted to tell
him he was insane, but also that he would not. Amaru had felt it,
too, and if there was one thing they had in common, it was an
insatiable curiosity. Amaru had to know what was in Tracy Vetter's
grave as badly as he did.

"I do not think we should fly," Amaru said.

"Why not?"

"Because you are - loaded... is that the term?"

Vachon stood up on unsteady feet. The Inka was right, again, damn him.

"I have a car," Amaru said. "I'll go get it."

By the time the Inka returned, the Tylenol had kicked in and
Vachon's head was no longer throbbing with pain, but he could barely
stand and he was feeling a serious need to throw up. The smell of the
car's interior - the suffocating odor of new vinyl and the near-
lethal scent of a potent air freshener - were pure torture.

"Do *not* get sick in my car," the Inka warned him.

Vachon rolled down the window, just in case, and wondered if he'd
have the strength -and the nerve - to do what he had planned.

+ + + + + + +

Nick had thought he'd prefer working alone, but now when Tamara was
not working with him, he found it gave him too much time to think.
Time to think about Don Schanke and Tracy Vetter, and other personal
demons that tormented him - what he had done to Natalie, how he had
failed Tracy Vetter, what Divia had done to him, and what he and
Divia had both done to Vachon.

Divia was LaCroix's doing; he could blame the older vampire for
that. Natalie, well, she had entered into their relationship with her
eyes wide open, so the blame for what had happened between them was
not entirely his.

But Tracy... She had known the truth about vampires. He could have
told her the truth about himself. He *should* have told her. If he
had, everything would have been so different...

He'd played the could-have-been scenario out in his mind dozens of
times: He'd gone into the locker room after Delbert Dawkins, had
taken him down with no one getting hurt, and afterwards, when
everyone wondered how he'd done it, he and Tracy had concocted some
wildly dramatic story to cover up his secret...

She would have been there for Vachon when he was fighting for his
life, the victim of Divia's savagery. Instead, Vachon had been alone
with no one to turn to except Natalie, who, because of him, had been
alone, too. Nick wondered if he would have had the desire to go on if
he'd been in Vachon's place, if everyone he was close to were
suddenly gone. Natalie still did not know if either of them would
ever have the strength and powers they had once possessed, although
for Vachon, it seemed to be enough that they were vampires again...

That thought always brought him up short, like a slap in the face. 
Was *he* glad he had recovered? He knew he was happy for Vachon.
Vachon, who lived in the here and now, not agonizing over his past,
or worrying about his future, or for that matter, not much concerned
with anything in the present that he couldn't do anything about. Or
at least, that was how he had been, before he had lost Screed, and
then everyone else who was dear to him. Nothing Natalie or anyone
else could do would ever heal that pain for him, pain he had helped
to cause by not saving Tracy Vetter.

He had tried to convince himself that it was because he believed
Vachon to be dead that he hadn't brought Tracy across, but in
reality, he hadn't even been thinking of Vachon at the time. No
matter what her epitaph was, Tracy Vetter hadn't been killed in the
line of duty. She was dead only because Natalie Lambert had convinced
him it was best that way. Maybe it was. He'd never know.

It had to have been blind instinct, because he didn't remember
actually planning to drive to the cemetery, yet he suddenly found
himself there.

He had visited Tracy's grave before, on the one night a week he and
Tamara did not work together, but he never quite knew why. He didn't
dare commit the sacrilege of saying a prayer for her, but he'd
apologized more than once. It hardly seemed enough, and the last time
he'd been there, he had an odd feeling that she had heard him. It had
almost scared him away from the place for good.

He got out of the Caddy and quietly closed the door. As he did, he
heard the voices. Hushed whispers, but his vampire hearing heard them
quite clearly. He was trying to make out what was being said when a
dispatcher's voice blared over the car radio assigning a patrol unit
to check out a cab driver's report of possible vandalism at the
cemetery.

He reached for his radio.

"81 Kilo. I'm at that 10-20. I'll take the call."

He'd recognized their voices before he saw them. Vachon and the
Inka, Amaru. There was no love lost between those two, so he was
surprised that they were together, and not fighting.

His surprise turned to shock when he got close enough to see what
they were doing.

The two younger vampires sensed his presence at about that time, and
turned to face him from the waist-deep hole they'd made.

They were digging up Tracy's grave.


---SEVEN---

Before he did anything else, Nick reached for his phone to call the
station and report that he had found nothing amiss at the cemetery.
The last thing he needed was for back-up to arrive.

As soon as the phone was off, he marched angrily towards the other
two vampires. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Although the answer to that was patently obvious, the two of them
stared at him in silence with identical dark, defiant eyes. Vachon
was sick - he could feel that - but apparently that hadn't stopped
him from digging. Like his twin, his hands and clothing were caked
with mud.

"Get out of there, NOW! This is a desecration!"

The Inka just stood there, but Vachon jumped out of the hole and
staggered towards him.

Not only was he sick, he was drunk.

"The desecration, Knight, is that she's here at all. She has *you*
to thank for that... *I* have you to thank for that!"

"What are you talking about?"

"C'mon, Knight. You aren't *that* stupid. You *know* what I'm
talking about. You were *there* when she was dying. You could have
saved her and you *didn't*!"

He gave Nick a challenging shove to the chest that caused him to
stumble backwards a couple of steps.

"Vachon, calm down... Something's wrong with you..."

Vachon laughed in his face. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He
turned and looked back at the graves, the open one and the one a few
feet from it where Urs - or whatever remained of her - lay buried. He
staggered, and then pressed his fists to the side of his head,
gasping in pain.

"Vachon, what's the matter..." Nick took a step towards him, but
Vachon backed away and almost fell.

"LEAVE US ALONE! YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH!" he screamed at him. A tell-
tale trace of blood welled up in each of his eyes and he wiped at
them angrily. "Damn you, you've done enough," he hissed through
clenched teeth.

"I can't let you defile her grave, Vachon. I won't." He grabbed the
younger vampire by the shoulders, which was a mistake.

Vachon brought a solid fist up into his chin and sent him sprawling
in the mud. "WHY?" he shrieked in rage. "Why did you let her die?!"

The Inka stepped forward at that point and got between them.
"Vachon, don't..."

Nick sat up in the mud. "I couldn't bring her across, Vachon. You
have to understand that. To have condemned her to what we are..."

"Condemned?" Vachon spat. "CONDEMNED?  You're the only one who feels
'condemned' Knight. You had no right to take this away from her!"

"I had no right to decide for her, either."

"That's bullshit, Knight. You didn't decide anything. I *know* what
happened. Natalie stopped you, and you let her. I ought to kill you
*both*!"

Nick felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. "You don't *touch*
Natalie!" He warned. "If you do, I'll destroy you!"

He heard the words echo as if he hadn't spoken them, and recognized
the symptom immediately. He was slipping out of reality back into
that dark place he'd been after Divia had hurt him. He didn't want to
be there, and he tried to fight it, but Vachon was making that
difficult.

"Don't *touch* her?" Vachon laughed. "That's a joke! I've already
*touched* her."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you want me to tell you?" His laughter mocked Nick. "I know what
happened between you and Tracy, and I know what happened between you
and Natalie... You lost control and you *drained* her, like she was
no more than some common whore in an alley. If LaCroix hadn't been
there, she'd be in the dirt now just like Tracy. She *trusted* you
Nick. She trusted you not to kill her." He laughed again. "Stupid
mortal woman."

Nick could almost feel his mind shutting down, going to that place
where insanity beckoned him. He had to stop this before he lost
control. "That's enough Vachon. I'm not going to discuss this with
you here."

But Vachon just wouldn't stop...

"What better place to discuss it, Knight? Tracy is dead because you
couldn't tell her your nasty little secret."

The words were out of Nick's mouth before he could stop them. "And
Urs was trying to help *you* when she was killed. She died because of
*you*!" He shoved Vachon to the ground.

That shut Vachon up. In fact, he looked like he was going to cry.
"I'm sorry Vachon. I shouldn't have said that."

"Why not?" the other vampire said softly. "It's the truth."

"Vachon, Natalie doesn't understand. She's mortal, she can't. She
couldn't allow me to bring Tracy across knowing what she knew then..."

Vachon's grin was almost maniacal. "You know that wasn't her reason,
Nick. She didn't want you to bring Tracy across because she couldn't
have you, and if she couldn't, no one else was going to. I know
everything she knows... I know it *from her blood*."

Nick felt the darkness returning. "What are you saying?"

"Vachon, I really think you should shut up now..." Amaru
interjected. Vachon shoved him aside and continued his taunting.

"Natalie thought it wasn't possible for a vampire to screw a mortal
without killing her. Then she found out it wasn't possible with
*you*..." He laughed softly. "But it was with me."

Nick searched Vachon's expression for some sign that he did not mean
what Nick knew he meant... Vachon and Natalie... he was saying they'd
been together... Vachon was boasting, but he wasn't lying.

"Natalie?" he choked out the name.

"Yeah, Knight. I did your girlfriend, and she not only survived,
she liked it."

Vachon sounded too much like a rapist bragging that his victim had
wanted it. What made it worse was that Nick knew Vachon was telling
the truth, and, he knew it hadn't been rape. Vachon was many things
Nick did not admire, but a rapist wasn't one of them.

If he'd been with Natalie, it had been with her consent.

Nick suddenly didn't care if he slipped away to that dark place.
What little ability he had to control his descent into oblivion
suddenly collapsed under the weight of his guilt over Tracy, the
shame and pain he felt over what he had done to Natalie, and his
pure, blind rage at Vachon.

He grabbed Vachon by the throat, lifted him into the air, and then
flung him into the ground as hard as he could.

Vachon scrambled to his feet and came for him, his black eyes full
of hate. Well, if it was a fight he wanted, that would be what he'd
get. Nick wasn't afraid of him. Vachon was younger, and he was
smaller. It was no contest. If he wanted the shit knocked out of him,
Nick would be happy to oblige.

He caught Vachon's first punch easily and twisted his arm a full 360
degrees. Vampire bones didn't break that easily, but their muscles
and tendons tore and snapped almost as readily as a mortal's.  Vachon
screamed in agony.

Amaru stepped between them and yanked Nick's hand away.

So, it would be two against one...

In one deft movement, he grabbed the two vampires by their long hair
and slammed their heads together with skull-shattering force.

Amaru went down immediately. Vachon twitched on the ground, trying
to get up despite the scrambled signals coming from his injured brain.

Blood gushed from his nose and ears, but he was still laughing when
he looked up at Nick, and said "You couldn't do it, Nick, but I did..."

Numbed by his fury, Nick kicked him in the side of the head. And
then he kicked him again and kept on kicking him until Vachon lay
face-down against the earth, unable to ward off the blows. Nick knew
he'd already really hurt him, and as he listened to bones snapping
with each inhumanly powerful impact, something inside was screaming
at him to stop, but instead, he landed one especially satisfying blow
on the back of Vachon's neck and felt the vertebrae and soft tissues
turn to mush under his foot. After that, Vachon stopped moving.

But Nick kept kicking him, anyway.

He'd kick him until there was nothing left...

All that stopped him from turning Vachon into a lump of bloody meat
was a mighty blow from behind that sent him sprawling on top of the
other vampire. He quickly managed to turn and face his attacker. He
thought it was the Inka, but it wasn't. It was LaCroix.

"What is the meaning of this, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked him.

"Get out of here, LaCroix. This doesn't concern you."

"Everything you do concerns me, Nicholas, and this is quite an...
untidy... situation." He indicated the two injured vampires.

Nick ignored him. He'd kill Vachon and let LaCroix watch.

He got to his feet and ripped a branch from a nearby tree. It broke
with a nice, sharp point at one end.

He raised the improvised stake over the unconscious vampire, but
hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't want to kill Vachon, but it was
crossing his mind that Natalie wouldn't approve of that. What would
he tell her?...

Why tell her anything? It wasn't as if she had shared with him
certain important little facts, like what she had let Vachon do to
her...

The momentary lapse cost him. Something big and heavy crashed into
his side and propelled him into the same tree he'd taken the branch
from.

He lay gasping for air, and slowly realized that his chest was
filling with blood. He saw that what had hit him was a headstone,
flung at him by LaCroix.

He tried to call to him, but couldn't get any air into his lungs.
Without air, he'd eventually lose consciousness, but trying to
breathe was futile, as well as agonizingly painful. For the moment,
he was quite incapacitated.

He watched as LaCroix lifted Vachon's lifeless form from the ground.
The battered vampire hung in LaCroix's arms like a half-filled bag
of sand. The Inka lay still on the ground not far from him. Alive...
breathing... but there was no thought, no emotion emanating from him.
His mangled brain had almost completely ceased to function.

What had he done? 


---EIGHT---

Natalie was returning from a midnight meal with Grace when she saw
Nick's Caddy parked outside the building. That in itself wasn't odd,
but it wasn't where Nick usually parked it. In fact, it was off in
the shadows, in a tow-away zone. Grace hadn't even noticed it.

Natalie expected Nick to be waiting for her in the lab, but he
wasn't, and that, too, was curious.

Natalie hung up her coat, but Grace kept hers on and began gathering
paperwork that she would run over to the 27th. As soon as she was out
the door, Natalie sensed the presence behind her.

They were damned good at sneaking up on people, but she found that
she had developed a sense for Them. At times, it was quite acute. She
knew there was a vampire behind her, and she knew it wasn't Nick,
even without turning to look.

She slowly rotated her chair, expecting Vachon, or maybe Amaru, but
it was LaCroix's eyes that met hers.

He looked troubled. Indeed, he had to be - LaCroix would never just
drop by to say hello.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"I am afraid Nicholas has been involved in a rather childish altercation."

"Is he hurt? Where is he?" She got up to go to Nick and then
realized she didn't know where he was. "Is he still out in the car?"

LaCroix nodded. "I don't think I should bring them in here. I wanted
to know if you would accompany me someplace where you might see to
their injuries in private."

"They?" Natalie's heart skipped - for LaCroix to even be asking for
her help meant it had to be something serious. "LaCroix, what
happened?"

"Perhaps you should see for yourself?"

"Yes... yes..." She grabbed her coat and a paramedic kit she had
stashed there just for occasions such as this, and followed him out
to the Caddy.

Nick was slumped over in the front seat, but there were two other
people in the back seat, practically laying on top of each other.
Vachon and Amaru. Nick was conscious, struggling to breathe, but the
other two vampires were ominously still. Natalie was confused.

"I don't understand... what happened."

LaCroix told her. "I'm afraid they have inflicted some rather severe
damage upon one another."

"But why? What started it?"

Instead of answering that, LaCroix said softly, "Do you think
perhaps a hospital will be necessary?"

Damn, the old demon really *was* worried.

Natalie looked the two younger vampires over as best she could in
the dim light. Both were clearly in even worse shape that Nick, but
she said, "We can't just wheel them all into an ER, LaCroix. There
would be too many questions. What about the Raven? Is it still closed?"

He nodded.

"Let's take them there and see what we're dealing with."

Natalie was appalled by her examination of the three vampires. Nick
had a massive bruise that covered an entire side of his back. The
blow that caused it had forced most of his ribcage on that side into
his lungs. He was coughing up what seemed like quarts of blood,
although it did appear to be slowing down as the rapid vampire
healing processes took over.

Amaru was unconscious, but trying to wake up. He moved occasionally
and tried to open his eyes. His scalp had already fused back together
where it had been torn away by the blow that had caved in his skull,
but Natalie could still feel a soft indentation on the side of his
head. The skull there yielded easily to her touch when she pressed on
it. With such a severe trauma, there was likely to be at least some
swelling, even of a vampire's brain. It would be counterproductive
for the skull to begin healing until the swelling had dissipated. It
would likely be several hours before the Inka was fully awake again,
but, like Nick, all he really needed was a safe, quiet place to rest.

Vachon's injuries, however, were either not repairing themselves or
were doing it extremely slowly. If he had been brought into the
morgue looking like he did, Natalie wouldn't have wasted a moment
starting an autopsy. He wasn't even breathing.

She had LaCroix remove his clothes, which revealed more of a horror
than she had imagined. He had so many fractures - several of them
compound - that she didn't waste her time counting them. There was
indication of massive internal trauma as well. She was stunned by the
sheer brutality of what had been done to him. If anyone but an eye-
witness had told her Nick Knight was capable of such a thing, she
would have insisted it was not possible. But Lacroix had seen him do
it, and the evidence was right there in front of her.

She took a moment to calm herself. Getting upset was not going to do
Vachon any good.

She suspected the reason he wasn't healing was because he wasn't
getting any air. LaCroix confirmed this.

"He will still heal, but without oxygen, it will take much longer,"
he told her.

So the first order of business would be to establish an airway,
something that would be much easier to do in a fully equipped
emergency room

Mentally, she weighed the pros and cons of taking him to a hospital.
LaCroix could probably whammy their way into one, but what if
something went wrong and this vampire ended up at the mercy of modern
medical technology? They'd listen for a heartbeat, and want to draw
blood and take x-rays. They'd start IVs, forcing into him fluids that
his body didn't need, and potent drugs that would over-stimulate his
heart. They'd want to measure his brain activity, blood gas levels,
urine output...

And what if they decided he was clinically dead? That would then
raise the question of harvesting his organs, if he still had any
intact.

No. She'd have to take care of him right here. There was no other
choice.

She opened Vachon's mouth and discovered that his fangs were fully
descended - she wondered what an ER team would make of that.

An examination revealed that his trachea had collapsed, completely
preventing the passage of air. She suspected that the blow that had
done that was the same one that had crushed the vertebrae in his
cervical spine, at the base of the skull. He had no deep pain
response, no reflexes, no movement of any kind. If he was lucky, he
might be able to move his eyes in that condition, but that would be it.

She held her stethoscope to his chest. After several minutes, there
was one faint, weak little vampire heartbeat, so at least part of his
autonomic nervous system was still functional. His chest was full of
blood. She knew that his tissues would quickly reabsorb it once the
healing process was set in motion, but the pressure from it had
probably collapsed his lungs, so getting any air into him was going
to be a challenge.

Using the paramedic supplies she had brought with her, she inserted
a chest tube and performed a tracheotomy. Or at least she hoped she
had. Vachon's chest and neck were so battered that she couldn't be
sure she was cutting in the right spot. There was no need for any
kind of anesthetic. Even if Vachon was conscious and aware of what
was going on - and he probably wasn't, not with those injuries - he
wouldn't feel a thing with his spinal cord damaged like it was.

Apparently, his vampire physiology had a pre-established healing
priority. There was no medical reason why he should have immediately
started breathing on his own, but once she had created an airway for
him, he tried, even though there was still too much pressure on his
lungs for it to be effective.

Nick had recovered enough that he was able to walk over to where she
was. "Nat?"

"Don't get in my way, here, Nick. Go clean yourself up or something."

"Nat, I..."

She slammed down the scalpel she'd used to cut into Vachon's throat.
"I don't want to hear it right now, Nick, okay?"

He was on the verge of tears. As she had expected, he was sorry for
what he had done, but she found she just didn't have any patience for
him at that moment.

He looked at Vachon. "Is he okay?"

Natalie laughed sarcastically. "No, Nick, he is *not* okay! You've
broken almost every bone in his body and practically obliterated his
spinal cord. If he can keep breathing, he might recover in two or
three days. Otherwise, he's going to lie there just like he is, for
God knows how long. Now get out of my way." She shoved him aside.

She pushed the chest tube deeper into Vachon's side. There was no
where for the blood that drained out of him to go except for the
floor, so she had to be careful not to slip on it.

A human with a high-level spinal cord injury like Vachon's would
certainly have required mechanical assistance to breathe, but after a
few minutes, he took a deep breath and then another. His respiration
was sporadic, but it was enough to provide him with the precious
oxygen he needed to heal.

She immobilized his neck with a cervical collar before LaCroix moved
him to what had been Janette's bedroom. Once there, she realigned his
broken body to the extent she was able, using rolled up towels and
pillows to position him so he'd be as comfortable as possible when
sensation returned. He was completely paralyzed at that point, and
she hoped the fractures would heal before he regained the ability to
move, making splints unnecessary. Carefully, she cleaned as much
debris as possible from the open wounds, which had already begun to
seal themselves.

There was a sofa in the bedroom, and LaCroix put Amaru there.

Natalie pulled up a chair beside him and lifted the bottle of blood
LaCroix handed her to his mouth. He was able to drink it, even semi-
conscious like he was. She'd give Vachon blood intravenously as soon
as she was certain that he'd absorb it and not just hemorrhage it
back into his chest and abdominal cavity.

Neither she nor LaCroix had much to say to Nick, who judiciously
stayed in the background, sipping at the blood LaCroix had given him.

LaCroix had to get back to the cemetery. There was the matter of
Tracy Vetter's half-excavated grave to be dealt with. But as he was
leaving, he stopped and scowled at Nick, pointing a finger at Vachon
and the Inka.

"This was going too far, Nicholas. I won't have it. Is that
understood?"

Nick nodded meekly.

When LaCroix was gone, Nick dared to approach Natalie again.

"Nat... please believe me. I didn't want to hurt them. I just lost
control..."

"Oh puh-lease Nick! Spare me *that* excuse, okay?  How could you do
this? What could Vachon possibly have done to have made you this
angry?"

Her tone of voice told him that no answer would be acceptable, so he
didn't offer one. Natalie continued to stare at him, expecting him to
say something. What could he tell her? Should he confront her with
the fact that he knew she'd been intimate with the other vampire?

Amaru moaned in pain and Natalie pushed Nick aside again. The Inka's
dark eyes opened and fixed on Nick, a mixture of fear and anger.

Natalie turned back and looked at him. "I think you had better
leave, Nick."

+ + + + + + +

LaCroix found manual labor of any kind distasteful, more so when it
involved dirt. One distinct advantage to being a vampire was that
when it was necessary to engage in it, it was over quickly. He'd
appropriated a shovel from the caretaker's tool repository, and it
would take him mere seconds to fill in the hole left behind by those
two misguided youngsters.

However, even his two thousand years of existence left him
unprepared for the unexpected circumstance that confronted him at the
gravesite...

He hadn't noticed it before, but that was understandable. After his
police scanner had alerted him to possible trouble involving
Nicholas, he had hurried to this spot and then had been too
preoccupied dealing with the unsavory little squabble he'd discovered
in progress to notice then that which revealed itself to him now.

He felt it plainly.

How very, very curious....

Tracy Vetter was definitely in her grave, with neither breath nor
heartbeat, and quite clearly in some sort of non-sentient state.

But dead, she most certainly was not.


---NINE---

Instead of covering the grave, LaCroix began to dig. It took but an
instant to reach the casket.  Oddly enough, it was lying on its side,
the lid splintered, the pieces already corrupted with rot by some
accelerated process of decay.

Tracy's body wasn't in it.

He pushed aside a bit more dirt and uncovered a white glove, then a
shoe, then a non-descript piece of black cloth...

He had just become aware that he was digging a path away from the
grave when the tip of the shovel unearthed a human hand. Ordinarily,
it should have been a grisly sight, putrefying along with the corpse
it belonged to, but it appeared intact.

He dug some more, his labors eventually revealing a very strange
sight, indeed.

The path cut by his shovel had lead him in the direction of Urs's
grave, and it was there that he actually found Tracy's body, pushed
up against Urs' coffin, the side of which was splintered in the same
manner in which the lid of her own coffin was. It almost looked as if
she had tried to crawl into the box with the dead vampire...

He felt nothing coming from the second grave, although he sensed the
body there. Vampire flesh did not decompose quickly. Shielded from
sunlight, Urs' corpse would remain as it was for decades, perhaps
centuries, to come, if indeed, it was a corpse. Nicholas had wrongly
assumed Vachon to be dead, so it was not impossible that Urs was in a
condition similar to that suffered by her master.

Once he had awakened, Vachon's pain and fear as he had lain buried
alive had been so profound that the Inka had felt it half a world
away. LaCroix had no doubt that had another vampire happened upon him
in that state, his distress would have been easily detected, even by
one who did not share a bloodlink with him.

He sensed no such anguish coming from Urs. If she was not dead, she
was nonetheless at peace. He'd known her feelings about being brought
across, and concluded that if she were not truly lifeless, it would
be for Vachon, as her master, to decide if she would continue this
slumber undisturbed or not.

He left her untouched.

Tracy Vetter's was quite a different predicament, however.

He marveled at how perfect and beautiful she was, despite the fact
that she was covered with mud.

As he gently lifted her from her resting place, she was supple in
his arms, as if she was only sleeping.

He set her gently on the grass and then quickly shoveled the dirt
back into the graves.

Next came the question of where he was going to take her. Clearly,
she was in need of medical attention of some sort...

He opened her mouth to ascertain whether or not his presupposition
that she was not a vampire was correct.  He found no fangs, not even
the tiny fledgling buds that could be felt on the roof of the mouth
within minutes after a mortal was brought across.

He lifted a frail, muddy wrist to his mouth and allowed his own
fangs to penetrate the skin... just tasting, not drinking.

The fluid that dripped onto his tongue assaulted his senses in a
most sudden and disagreeable way...

She had no blood, only a plasma-like substance laced with foul-
tasting chemicals, and one distinct essence that he recognized
instantly, for it was so like his own.

Divia.

Horrified, he rose to his feet and grabbed the shovel, ready once
again to separate the head of a fair and delicate beauty from its body.

"I will *not* let you live again!" he hissed.

But even as he raised his makeshift guillotine into the air, he
tasted other subtleties in the non-blood.

Flashes of a mortal lifetime, the most clear of them that moment of
horror that comes with the realization that a fatal folly has been
committed. The images were those of a recent life, not one that ended
two thousand years past... a gun, a badge, a buried memory of
cradling a dying vampire in her arms. Yes, Tracy Vetter was still
very much in this body...

He tasted Urs, too, and another... Nicholas!?  How was *this*
possible?

He tossed the shovel aside.

In his two millennia, he thought he'd seen all the surprises there
were, but he did not know what this creature before him was. It had
been so long since he'd been completely dumbfounded that he didn't
immediately recognize the sensation.

Disposing of it would be the best thing. That was what his logical
mind told him he should do. Still, he could not remember when
anything had so piqued his curiosity, and he rather savored the
experience.

Taking it to the Raven was an option he quickly disregarded.
Whatever it was, it *looked* like Tracy Vetter.  His poor damaged
Nicholas, with his occasional lapses in contact with reality, would,
in the common vernacular, freak. Vachon was in all likelihood not
prepared to deal with such a shock, either. And who knew what Natalie
Lambert's reaction would be?

Besides, Dr. Lambert's medical expertise was with corpses and
vampires, and it appeared that the newly-disentombed Detective Vetter
was neither.

Yes, disposing of it was definitely the best option. Burning it and
scattering the ashes as he had done with his profane and beautiful
Divia would be best...

But, even as he considered alternatives, he knew he'd let it live.
For Nicholas. For Vachon. For himself...

He landed outside the hospital emergency room unseen and
surreptitiously located a gurney on which to wheel his discovery into
an examination room.

She had been buried in uniform, so with as little ado as possible,
he removed her clothing and disposed of it in the biohazard
container. It was not really necessary that she be identified
immediately. Who would believe it, anyway?

He found surgical scrubs and changed into them, happy to be out of
his own muddied clothing. He removed the remaining reminders of his
blue-collar adventure at the exam room's sink.

His change in attire enabled him to move about unnoticed until he
located the blood supply and with vampiric speed absconded with a
unit of O negative. It was fortuitous that vampires had very little
difficulty locating veins, and thus he had little difficulty in
starting the flow of the precious fluid into her. He had no idea what
the blood would do for her, but it would not be to anyone's advantage
for the staff to find her alive despite being completely exsanguinated.

He intended to keep at the task only until he was certain that at
least the veins in her arms would produce the blood sample of which
mortal doctors were so fond, but after a short time, her body began
to take the blood into itself. He returned for 2 more units. Whatever
this was, it had an admirable determination to survive.

When the creature had consumed all three units, he activated the
Code alarm and stepped out of the way as soon as the crash cart
arrived, hoping that this Thing would not prove an inconvenient
danger to the mortals there.

He watched in bemused fascination as drugs and oxygen and cardiac
stimulation were administered.

Finally, a feminine voice triumphantly intoned, "She has a pulse."

LaCroix raised an eyebrow, conscious for the first time that he had
not really expected this, and had made no contingency plan for such
an eventuality.

What was he going to do now?

He reasoned that since she was not a vampire, the Community was
secure, and the matter need not concern him further at that time.
Whatever Tracy Vetter had actually become was the mortals' problem
for now.

He would leave her in their care, and would allow whatever
subsequent events transpired there to decide his future course of
action.


---TEN---

Natalie had calmed down to the point where she was once again
capable of clinical detachment. It was something she hadn't needed to
practice since her internship, when her patients had still been alive
and human.  She was, for the moment, able to see only her patients'
injuries, and not react to how they had been incurred.

Nick had refused to leave the two vampires he had hurt so badly.
Nick always seemed to be guilty about something - it was ingrained in
his personality -but once she could be objective again, Natalie
realized that what he had done was tearing him apart. Nick had a
violent side to him, even without the vampire, but she had never
known him to turn it on anyone so viciously. He was truly sorry this
time.  Not the "Poor me, I blew it again without meaning to" kind of
sorry, but the "I'd do anything if I could take this back" kind. The
kind he must have felt when he'd thought he'd killed her, when he'd
begged LaCroix to destroy him. She could understand that kind of
sorry. She felt it every time she thought about Tracy Vetter, who had
somehow been the cause of this. LaCroix had found the three vampires
at her grave.

Nick had finally fallen asleep on the floor.  She knelt beside him
and listened to his chest with her stethoscope.  His lungs sounded
clear and normal. He had already healed, but the ordeal had drained
his strength. He'd probably sleep the remainder of the night and
through the day as well. She wished she had a blanket to cover him,
but she'd put the only one she could find over Vachon.

Asleep, Nick looked so innocent, so totally incapable of the
sadistic beating he'd given Vachon and the Inka.  She had asked
herself how *her* Nick could do such a thing, and finally had come up
with the answer. *Her* Nick could not.  Something had provoked him,
something she should have let him explain.

She raked her fingers through his soft, pale hair.  "Why'd you do
it, Nick?" she said softly, more to herself than to him.

She wondered what was taking LaCroix so long. She was probably going
to have to stay awake through the day and could use some coffee.  It
wouldn't hurt to turn up the heat, either.

She wondered if it would be okay to leave for awhile. If Nick awoke
and for whatever reason decided to finish the job on Vachon and
Amaru, he'd probably succeed, but she didn't think he would wake up
for several more hours, nor did she believe he still wanted to hurt
them.

Amaru had drifted from comatose to a state where she could rouse him
for a few minutes at a time, but he was still pretty much out of it,
too. Vachon for certain wasn't going to go anywhere.

She made her way out into the darkened night club, found the
thermostat and raised the temperature, probably for the entire
building, but she didn't care. The electric bill was LaCroix's problem.

She found coffee in the kitchen, old, but not beyond hope. The urn
she found was small -coffee was not exactly what anyone, vampire or
otherwise, came to the Raven to drink - but made more than enough for
just her.  She couldn't find anything even resembling a blanket, so
on her way back, she kicked the heat up another 10 degrees.  Nick and
Vachon needed to be kept warm, and Amaru probably wouldn't mind it,
either. Cold didn't bother normal vampires, but she suspected that
warmth was something they enjoyed - it was one of the things they
appreciated about live blood.

When she got back, the Inka was on his feet, and attempting to stay
there.

She hurried to him. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked him.

"Home," he said, and she was certain he added something about a cat,
but his speech was still badly slurred because of the brain injury.
Then, he started muttering in Spanish.

"Amaru, I'm sorry, I can't understand you."

He repeated himself in English, still relatively unintelligible, but
Natalie picked up enough to realize that he intended to take Vachon
with him.

"No," she said emphatically. "He shouldn't be moved. Neither should
you, for that matter."

He waved her off irritably and took a couple of faltering steps
before he had to sit down again. He dropped onto the couch and let
his head fall against the back rest, closing his eyes.

"My head hurts," he mumbled.

Natalie laughed softly at the understatement. "Yes, I imagine it
does.  Do you want me to give you something for it?"

He shook his head. She handed him a bottle from the case of blood
LaCroix had left with her. He took it gratefully and gulped it down.

"Better?" she asked him when he was done.

He nodded.

"Amaru, what the hell happened? How did you get hurt?"

He rubbed the side of his head. "Nick hit me."

"But why? Can you tell me?"

She didn't know if his mental circuits were still addled or if he
was trying to decide whether or not to tell her the truth, but
finally he said, "I don't remember."

If he was lying, it would be because he was covering for Vachon,
which again raised the question of what Vachon could have possibly
done to have made Nick brutalize him the way he had.

He got up again, and moved close to the bed. Natalie relaxed a bit
when she noticed his left arm and leg were still extremely weak and
immobile. There was no way he'd be able to lift Vachon and carry him,
at least not carefully. She supposed he could just toss him over his
shoulder and fly out the window with him, and she hoped he wouldn't.

He stared at Vachon for a moment and then closed his eyes.

"He is in a lot of pain, Natalie."

"He's conscious?" She knelt beside the bed. "Vachon, open your eyes
if you can."

He did. They were red, a color which she knew signaled intense
negative emotion.  It was no wonder. He couldn't move, and was
probably in agony.

"Okay, okay," she muttered as she rummaged through the paramedic kit
and prepared a shot of demerol. She'd start with a dosage appropriate
to his estimated weight, but the one reward to having a vampire
patient was that she could give him as much pain medication as he
needed.

"I'm sorry, Vachon. I didn't know you were awake... The pain will be
gone in a few minutes..."

He tried to speak when she gave him the injection.

"You can't talk, Vachon."  She lifted one of his hands carefully -
the bones didn't slip out of place, so he *was* healing. Not knowing
if he actually had any sensation or not, she let him feel the trach
tube and told him why she had put it there.

"You're going to be okay soon," she reassured him. "Do you remember
what happened to you?"

He mouthed the word "no."

Natalie was dismayed by that. He was probably confused beyond
reason, too. She was about to offer a kinder, gentler explanation
than the one the Inka blurted out.

"Nick Knight beat the crap out of you, because you have not learned
when to keep your big mouth shut, Vachon."

"Amaru!" Natalie scolded. Didn't they ever stop picking at each other?

They had locked eyes and were staring one another down.

"He will need another shot," Amaru said finally, and then added, "I
am going home."

This time, he left no doubt that he meant it. He grabbed another
bottle and limped towards the door.

He paused beside Nick on the way out and kicked him.

His left leg was too weak for him to stand on, so he had to use it
to deliver the blow, which was so feeble that it barely disrupted
Nick's breathing pattern. But the act was so utterly childish that
Natalie was dumbfounded nonetheless.

Before she could think of anything to say to him, however, he was
gone.

She gave Vachon another hit of demerol, and his eyes shifted to gold
and then, finally, to their normal deep brown color. She stroked his
hair and spoke to him softly. "I don't know why Nick did this to you,
but you're healing. You'll be fine in a day or two."

He looked at her for a long moment and then mouthed the name "Tracy."

She took his unresponsive hand in her own and kissed his forehead.
"I know, Vachon. You miss her. So does Nick. So do I. But she's gone.
We mortals just aren't as tough as you guys." She smiled at him sadly.

He looked away and then closed his eyes. He was wondering if what
she had just said was always the truth.


---ELEVEN---

LaCroix used his private entrance to the Raven, so it startled him
to unlock the door and find someone waiting on the other side.

"Playing Doctor again, Lucius?"

He recognized the voice and immediately froze. An Enforcer.

He'd encountered this one before. Her name was Lyllia Hanover. She
had been sent to destroy Nicholas after Divia had disabled him.
Convincing her not to do so had required a significant exercise in
persuasion, and he had gained a newfound respect for Natalie Lambert
upon learning that she had somehow dissuaded this same Enforcer from
killing Vachon, who had been next on her list.

He found himself at a loss for words. He couldn't begin to
understand how they had found out about Tracy Vetter so quickly.

"She wasn't a vampire," he offered casually in the way of
explanation. "I made sure of that. When her identity is revealed, the
Community will in no way be suspect. I left Urs where she was, and I
recovered the grave so that she will not be disturbed and no one will
be the wiser.  I allowed no one to see me at the hospital. I believe
it will take them some time to identify their... patient... in any
case. And, I can assure you that I fully intend to see to the matter
of Nicholas and his petty grievance with those two misbegotten
orphans. I do not foresee that there will be a problem..."

The look that crossed the Enforcer's face was stern, but when she
spoke, she said, "*What* the hell are you babbling about?"

LaCroix raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he had said a bit more than was
warranted, and a change in approach was in order.

"Why are you here?"

"Apparently not for all the reasons I should be. What's going on?"
She indicated the hospital scrubs he still wore. "Why are you dressed
like that?"

Not even LaCroix dared to presume an ability to lie to an Enforcer,
but perhaps something less than the entire truth would suffice.

"There was a... disagreement of sorts. A mortal was involved, and I
had to see to it that she received the proper care. I assure you, she
will not remember any of it."

"I expect that you are in control of the situation?"

"Certainly."

She stared at him in a way that made him decidedly uncomfortable,
her humorless eyes tinged with gold.

"I suspect you are not telling me everything you should be, Lucius,
but there are matters at hand more pressing than your coven's
proclivity for domestic violence."

LaCroix raised another eyebrow. "Indeed?"  Apparently, Lyllia's
visit had nothing to do with Tracy Vetter or the fact that Nicholas
had attempted to dispose of Vachon. Interesting.

"I won't waste time on pleasantries. You know the rules about
abandoned fledglings. If the transformation is not successful, you
eliminate the evidence, and should you choose not to, the result is
your responsibility."

Her condescending attitude was most irritating. "Of course I know
that. What exactly is the intent of this little lecture?"

Lyllia moved so fast that LaCroix wasn't sure at what point she
grabbed him by the throat, but in the next instant, he found himself
pinned securely to the wall.

"I talk. You listen," Lyllia said before she unceremoniously dropped
him. "The point, Lucius, is that you left your garbage for someone
else to clean up, and the situation requires immediate remediation."

"My dear, I assure you, I haven't the vaguest..."

"I am *not* your *dear*. Now sit down and shut up!"

LaCroix's eyes flashed red. He remained silent, but he didn't sit.

"In the summer of 1995, a fishing trawler picked up a body in the
North Atlantic. They put it in a freezer compartment and brought it
to shore at a village in Newfoundland. We have been attempting to
identify it since then."

"We?" LaCroix interrupted.

"Luckily, one of us happened upon it and notifed the Enforcers
before an autopsy could be performed, otherwise, this situation would
be far more serious."

She glared at him as if expecting him to understand what she meant
by that, which he did not.

LaCroix absolutely hated not being fully informed regarding any
situation which involved him, and as yet he had not the slightest
idea what the Enforcer was talking about. However, as little as he
cared for the idea, he thought it best to let her continue.

"We were contacted and arranged for the body to be claimed. Surely
you are aware that the Enforcers are capable of identifying a
bloodline? That we have our own equivalent of forensics experts,
trained to look for certain characteristics?"

"Yes, certainly," LaCroix said, even though he in fact had not been
aware of that. He'd never had reason to be.

"It was subsequently determined that this body had indeed been
brought across, but apparently, its resultant needs were never seen
to.  How it found its way into the water is perhaps something you
would like to explain, since you must know that is not a recommended
means of disposal."

"Explain? How would I know how it came to be there?"

"Because, Lucius, it has been ascertained beyond any doubt that the
forsaken vampire child in question was *your* doing."

LaCroix raised both eyebrows at that. "What?!"

Lyllia studied him carefully, and with a hint of confusion said,
"Really, Lucius, you couldn't possibly be so dense as to not have any
idea what I'm talking about."

"I do, indeed, know what you are talking about, but I do not fail to
account for my progeny. A mistake has obviously been made."

The Enforcer clearly did not appreciate that observation, but it had
to be voiced. LaCroix expected to be manhandled further, but instead
the Enforcer looked him in the eye, searching for some sign of
deception, and finding none said, "You really didn't know... How
could you not?"

"Perhaps, my d... Madam Enforcer, whatever methods your 'experts'
employ is not fool-proof. Constantine and Alyce were my youngest...
creations... Unfortunately both perished in the plague that afflicted
this community not long ago, but I brought them both across some
months before the time frame of which you speak."

He was telling the truth and Lyllia knew it. He resented the very
implication of what she was saying. In two thousand years, he had
done many despicable things, but never had he abandoned one of his
children. He'd killed several, it was true, but he had never left one
to fend for itself until he knew it was capable.

Lyllia was apparently - finally - at a loss for words.

"Wait here," she told him.

She returned a short time later with an appreciable bundle in her
arms which she dumped on the floor at his feet.

He stooped down and pulled away the blanket it was wrapped in.

There was a body inside.

The appearance of the limbs and torso was skeletal, the flesh
wasted. The face, however, was perfection itself. Ivory skin, brows
and long lashes the color of dark cedar. The hair on its head
cascaded over the body like a thick cloak - there had to be at least
four feet of it.

He opened its mouth and discovered the fangs sandwiched between the
front teeth and normal-looking canines. He reported the observation
with a disgruntled sneer.

"It has incisor fangs," he said with distaste. "This cannot be mine."

"Don't be ridiculous. That's nothing but a developmental aberration.
It just happens more often in some bloodlines than others."

Actually, LaCroix hadn't known that, either. This situation was
becoming more distressing by the moment, especially considering that
even though he could scarcely feel the vampire in this creature, the
sense of bloodlink was undeniable... How could he have done this? He
did not recall ever even seeing the face before him.

Lyllia produced a cigarette from somewhere and struck a match to it.

"Congratulations. It's a boy."

LaCroix failed to see any humor in that whatsoever, especially when
he lifted the fledgling and found it to be feather-light in his arms.
It had not been properly nourished.

"He is so weak," he observed.

"He has not fed since being found. He has not been allowed to regain
consciousness."

The young vampire was extremely cold, far colder than he should have
been. Had the Enforcers continued to keep him frozen?

"We thought it best," Lyllia said when he asked her.

"He's barely alive."

"That, Lucius, is entirely your fault. It's also your problem.
Either kill it or care for it as you should."

LaCroix felt completely out of control of the situation, and the
sensation was most disagreeable.  In the course of mere hours, he had
discovered a creature the nature of which was completely unknown to
him, and now he had learned that he'd sired a son he could not recall
ever having laid eyes upon.

It was just entirely too much peculiarity for one evening.

Luckily, the sun was almost up. He hoped Lyllia would give him the
day to consider his options, but apparently, that was not to be.

"Make your decision, so I can be on my way."

LaCroix looked again at the fledgling. Fed and tended to, it would
be as beautiful a vampire as Nicholas or Janette. If it proved
difficult, he could always stake it or push it out the door at dawn.

For the second time that night, his curiosity was eating away at any
thoughts he might have had of destroying something he knew was better
off done away with.

Where had this fledgling come from? How had it been made?  He had to
know these things, and only it could tell him.

"I want it known that I deny any involvement in this creature's
creation," he admonished Lyllia boldly, "but I will accept it as one
of my own."

Lyllia took a leisurely drag on her cigarette.

"I'm sure, Lucius, that the little bastard will make the perfect
addition to your dysfunctional family."

 
---TWELVE---

LaCroix had hoped that Lyllia would leave the fledgling with him and
go, but the Inka unfortunately timed his departure from the Raven so
that she spotted him on his way out. The scent of dried blood on him,
as well as his slow, shuffling gait and the fact that he was leaning
on the wall for support immediately attracted the Enforcer's attention.

She wasted no time confronting him.

He looked up, startled, when she seemingly appeared out of nowhere
and blocked his path.

The young vampire looked uncertainly from Lyllia to LaCroix. He
obviously knew that he'd suddenly found himself in the presence of an
Enforcer, but his brain was still not functioning well enough for him
to even begin to understand why.

He put his hands up in the surrender position and backed up against
the wall. Lyllia matched his moves step by step, finally grabbing his
face when he came to a stop.

"What happened to you?"

All Amaru could do was shake his head imperceptibly, his eyes
averted like a cub confronted by the alpha wolf.

She forced him to look at her. "You're one of the twins, aren't
you?" It was plain she already knew the answer to that, but Amaru
nodded meekly. "Where's the other one? Where is Javier?"

Amaru did his best to shrug, given the grip Lyllia had on him. "I
don't know," he whispered.

If there was one thing that truly annoyed an Enforcer - and indeed,
there seemed to be several that annoyed this one - it was pups who
thought they could get away with lying to them. LaCroix fully
expected Lyllia to spread the Inka across the floor, and was even a
bit disappointed when she didn't.

She reached up and put her fingers in his matted hair, where she
could feel the injury to his skull. She examined his left hand, which
was still limp and nearly useless.

"Lucius!" she barked sternly.

LaCroix jumped, and he didn't do that often, but he managed a calm,
"Yes?"

"What happened to this one?"

"I assure you, it was a minor incident.  Nothing requiring the
services of an Enforcer."

She glared at him. "*You* do not decide what requires my services."

She turned back to the Inka, and pinned him a bit more firmly to the
wall, cutting off his airway. She held him that way until she knew he
wanted desperately to breathe. "I know you're lying. Did Javier do
this to you?"

Amaru was just barely able to move his head from side to side.

"Take me to him, now."

She released him and waited for him to do as she had ordered, but
much to LaCroix's increasing irritation, the younger vampire,
overwhelmed by physical trauma, lack of air, and no small measure of
common fear, took the easy way out and simply fainted.

Lyllia caught him before he hit the floor. "Oh for Pete's sake," she
muttered, and tossed him over her shoulder. "Lucius, what the hell is
going on here?  You had better tell me now, while I'm still in a good
mood."

LaCroix saw no alternative. He indicated the direction of the room
where she'd find Vachon. No doubt Nicholas would be there, too, as he
could sense that his hoodlum son was still on the premises.

"Come with me," Lyllia ordered, then indicated the bundle in his
arms. "Bring that thing with you."

Natalie had just settled herself comfortably on the couch Amaru had
vacated, hoping to catch a short nap while her patients slept. She
sat up again when she heard approaching footsteps.

She expected LaCroix, not a woman carrying the Inka.

She recognized the big female vampire immediately. Not many women
stood over 6 feet tall, and Lyllia had to be at least 30 pounds
heavier than what she had claimed on the driver's license Natalie had
once discovered while investigating the Enforcer's purse.

Despite her size - or perhaps because of it - she looked stunning in
a midnight blue suit with grey pinstripes, accessorized in cobalt and
accented with tasteful silver jewelry.

"Hello, Lyllia," she said calmly. "Nice outfit."

The Enforcer snorted in reply, and Natalie got up to make room for
her to put Amaru on the couch, but instead, she set him down on his
feet and shook him to wake him up.

He opened his eyes, looked at her, and blinked. "Don't move," Lyllia
warned him, "And don't faint again."

It was then that Natalie noticed LaCroix was carrying something, too.

It was his burden that was set down on the couch, instead.

Lyllia moved to Vachon, inspecting Natalie's handiwork.  She slapped
him gently on the cheek. "Javier? Wake up!"

"He's sedated," Natalie informed her.

The Enforcer pried open one of Vachon's eyes. "Drugs delay the
healing process," she said.

Natalie wasn't going to make excuses. "He was in pain. I did what I
could for him."

"What happened?"

Natalie returned the Enforcer's cold stare. She wasn't going to
answer that unless she had to. She had no idea what Their rules were
concerning vampires who attempted to murder other vampires, and she
honestly didn't know why Nick had tried to hurt Vachon. The less she
said, the better.

LaCroix, she noted, was not forthcoming with an explanation, either.

Lyllia turned her attention back to Amaru, who looked like he was
trying to fade into the wallpaper.

"You didn't do this to each other, did you?" It was a statement of
fact, not a question.

"No," Amaru said softly. "Nick did it."

Natalie and LaCroix both shot him an accusing look.

He returned their stares with defiance. "I am not taking any of the
blame for this."

Natalie's first reaction was anger at what she perceived as
disloyalty, but then she realized the Inka was right. Nick was
responsible for Vachon's injuries, so why should anyone but Nick be
held accountable?  She didn't have to like the idea.

Lyllia opened Vachon's mouth. His fangs were still extended. She
deliberately dragged her thumb across one, slitting it open. Her
blood dropped slowly into the unconscious vampire's mouth.

"I don't think he can swallow," Natalie observed.

"He won't need to."

After a few minutes, however, he did swallow, and then, to Natalie's
alarm, the Enforcer reached down and yanked the tube from his neck.
Instead of gasping for air, Vachon continued to breathe easily on his
own.

Lyllia tucked the blanket around him and carefully picked him up.
She nodded at the Inka. "You... come with me."

"Where are you taking them?" Natalie wanted to know.

"None of your business."

Natalie bristled. "I think it is! Vachon is hurt... Both of them
are..."

"They are my concern now."

Natalie didn't know what she could do to stop her. She looked to
LaCroix for help, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere, and he
was not concerned about Vachon or the Inka.

She blocked Lyllia's path and looked her in the eye. "Please don't
harm them."

"Dr. Lambert, I suggest that you stop thinking of these creatures as
your children or your pets or however it is you think they are.  They
are dangerous, as if I needed to remind you, of all people, of that
fact."

She was, of course, referring to what had happened between her and
Nick, and if she hadn't been holding Vachon, Natalie might have
smacked her one, but almost immediately, the Enforcer's look softened
somewhat and with a sigh, she added. "The foolish things men do are
usually not a reason to kill them."

She nudged her way past Natalie, Amaru following her obediently.

That left her alone with LaCroix, a situation she always found
uncomfortable. Without acknowledging her, the old vampire picked Nick
up from the floor and put him on the now-empty bed.

Natalie took that as her cue to leave, and was about to when she
caught a glimpse of the object on the couch.

She realized with horror that it was a body.  LaCroix had just been
to Tracy Vetter's grave... Certainly not even he would do anything so
ghoulish...

She could see hair - lots of it - and it gave her some relief to see
that it was brown, not platinum blond.

She supposed LaCroix would stop her if he really didn't want her to
look, so she pulled the blanket away.

"Oh my God..."

She felt LaCroix walk up behind her.

"God has very little to do with that, I'm afraid."

"Where did you get this?" Her voice was stern. She really didn't
envision LaCroix as a grave robber, but what else was she supposed to
think?

"Lyllia brought him."

"Who... is it?"

"A better question would be 'What is it?'"

She looked up at him. "And what would the answer be?"

"It is a vampire, although I fear its somewhat sorry state would
belie that."

Overcome by curiosity, Natalie removed the blanket completely. She
was surprised to see it was male. Its hair was so long, she had
assumed it was a woman.

Its facial features looked like those of any other vampire in repose
- sallow, yet inhumanly perfect. The body, however, looked like
pictures she had seen of starvation victims. She'd be very surprised
if he weighed anywhere near a hundred pounds.

"What happened to it?"

LaCroix sighed. "I wish I knew." He proceeded to tell her the
incredible story that Lyllia had related to him.

"And you don't remember bringing him across?"

LaCroix shook his head. "I don't remember ever seeing him before. He
took a handful of the long, thick, red-brown hair. Someone - Lyllia,
no doubt - had recently washed it and meticulously combed out the
tangles. "You would think that I would..."

"What are you going to do with him?"

LaCroix steadied his gaze. "I do not intend to kill him."

To her own surprise, Natalie had not even considered that as an
option.

She reached for her medical kit. LaCroix didn't stop her.

The emaciated creature had no heartbeat, and was not breathing She
didn't know how LaCroix knew it was even alive, but she trusted that
he did.  There were no external injuries, but his chest had been
crushed, and his eyes and ears subjected to some kind of bizarre
trauma.  The tympanic membranes were shredded, as if they had been
blown inward. The eyes had been somehow compressed until they had
ruptured, allowing the intraocular fluids to drain out, and the
eyeballs themselves had been forced through the orbits into the
skull. If he were human, he'd be blind, and his hearing would be
severely impaired.

She examined his misshapen eyes more closely. The irises were a pale
grey, and the tapetum and extensive network of capillaries that would
enable them to glow and change colors had barely begun to develop.
The fangs were there, although in an odd location, and they were
sharp, but they were also not much bigger than normal teeth.

She was no expert <who was?>, but she suspected that this was an
extremely young vampire, a mere newborn.

How could LaCroix not remember creating it?

She checked his hands out of habit. They often told things about a
dead person's final moments, but this time she found nothing. They
were soft, and white as a fish's belly, yet at the same time she
found the remnants of callouses on his thumbs and the sides of some
of his fingers. The nails had been clipped so recently that the edges
hadn't smoothed out yet. Lyllia had probably done that, too, and in
the process perhaps removed valuable evidence.

She palpated the abdomen and found nothing. The stomach and
intestines appeared completely empty. Even as thin as he was,
individual organs were not discernible. It was as if everything
inside of him had been pressed flat into one solidified mass of
tissue. His protruding ribs curved at an unnaturally acute angle,
forcing his sternum so close to his spinal column that there was no
possible room for a normal-sized heart or lungs.

She reported her findings to LaCroix. "He appears to have been
crushed, yet there's no external trauma whatever..."

LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"I suspected his heart and lungs have stopped functioning because
there simply isn't room for them to do so..."

The injuries in themselves were not too disconcerting, at least, not
in a vampire. She'd seen Them recover from as bad or worse - just in
the past few hours, in fact.

She had only a basic knowledge, however, of how 'vital' their vital
organs were to them. Their hearts circulated blood and their lungs
oxygenated it, and both were much more efficient than their human
counterparts. Air exhaled by a human still contained roughly 84
percent of the oxygen that had been inhaled. With a vampire, that
dropped to one or two percent. One heartbeat flooded their entire
system with freshly oxygenated blood. Their tissues efficiently
stored oxygen for later use, and their metabolism could compensate
for a lack of it. They could go for long periods without breathing
and they could not die from suffocation. At the other extreme, their
lower digestive tracts and kidneys appeared not to function at all,
yet they were maintained in their normal size and position as living
tissue. She had surmised they did not function because it wasn't
necessary that they do so, and not because they could not. Other
organs seemed to fall somewhere in between. Their livers did not
secrete digestive bile, but did remove toxins. They secreted
testosterone and estrogen in levels appropriate to their sex, even
though they were sterile. They produced many of the same hormones and
enzymes that humans did, as well as some unique to their species.

But the vampires she had studied had all been fully developed. What
if this creature before her was different because he was so young
that he obviously had not even finished the process of coming across?
How was the condition he was in going to affect the chance that he'd
even regain consciousness?

"What are you going to do with him?" she repeated her question.

"Do not concern yourself with that, Dr. Lambert. I strongly suggest
instead that you investigate any police reports on a Jane Doe
admitted to a local hospital within the past few hours."

"Why?"

"Because the situation at the cemetery remains unresolved."

Natalie was aghast. "LaCroix, you didn't leave Tracy's grave open..."

She waited for a reply, but it became clear he wasn't going to
answer her.

"LaCroix?"

"Leave!" He commanded her. His stare was so cold it literally caused
a chill up her spine, but she refused to be intimidated.

"What the hell am I looking for? What have you done, LaCroix?"

His ice blue eyes frosted over, all semblance of congeniality gone.
"Concern yourself for now with the affairs of mortals, Dr. Lambert."
He gently touched the cheek of the nameless vampire. "Leave me with
my... children."


---THIRTEEN---

The realization that he was awake came to Vachon slowly.

There was no hurry. He was warm. He was comfortable. He was safe. He
had blood to drink.

Cool, rich, incredible blood. Blood that overloaded his senses until
everything was pleasure and joy. If a vampire's blood was milk, this
was cream, and mortal blood was water by comparison. He'd had this
blood before. He'd been sick then, and it had made him feel so much
better. It was making him feel good now, enveloping his entire body
in warm rush that was sensual, erotic, yet somehow calming.

He was in someone's arms.

He liked being held, but it rarely happened. Urs had done it on rare
occasions. And Tracy, when he was dying... Natalie had held him,
once, too. She had been warm, soft. The arms that held him now were
strong, cold, vampire arms, but still, the security of the embrace
was soothing.

Where was he, anyway?

His eyes didn't want to stay open long enough for him to find out.
He had to stop drinking soon. The blood was exquisite, but there was
just too much in it for him. Too much power, too much sensation.

"Are you awake, Javier?" a female voice asked him.

He recognized it, but didn't place it.

His head was pulled back until he was no longer in contact with the
source of the blood. The tug on his fangs as they were withdrawn
brought new excitement and arousal, and he wanted to put them back,
but he could not, and he knew he should not. That blood would blow
out half his brain cells if he kept drinking it.

He opened his eyes to see who had spoken to him, and he froze.

He was in the arms of an Enforcer, the one who had come to kill him
once before.

He struggled to free himself, but she laughed and held him tighter.

"I could keep you here all day if I wanted, little one."

"Lyllia?"

"You remember."

"How could I forget?" Lyllia had come to him when he had been
helpless from Divia's poison. She'd given him her blood then as she
had just done now, and had gently explained that if he didn't get
well, she would destroy him. No hard feelings.  He had no idea how
she felt about that, even from drinking her blood. There was no
actual information in the blood of an Enforcer -it was a trick of
theirs, he supposed - only power, and something that seared every
nerve with pleasure-pain so intense he doubted any vampire could
drink enough for one of them to even miss it.

"Where am I?"

Every nerve in his body was still being stimulated by her blood. He
wondered if she'd indulge the resultant physical urges the way she
had the last time, but he didn't dare ask for it.

He tried to look around. He didn't really mind that Lyllia was still
holding him, but with the essence of her blood dissipating, he was
beginning to feel a bit silly in that position.

She let him go.

He recognized the room. They were in Amaru's apartment, in his bed.
Or rather, on his bed.  Lyllia was fully dressed except for a few
buttons on her blouse that she had undone to give him access to her
neck. His fangs hadn't left so much as a dent in her flesh.

He was quick to notice that he wasn't wearing anything but a
blanket, and was self-conscious of the fact that Lyllia's blood had
left certain parts of him ready for an occasion that apparently was
not going to happen.

He was careful to keep himself covered as he lowered his feet to the
floor and tried to stand up.

A bolt of pain shot up the entire length of his legs and back. He
was so sore he could hardly move.

The last events he could remember began to come back to him, and the
images were anything but pretty.

He'd gotten drunk and told Nick Knight a number of things he
probably shouldn't have said to *anyone*, especially not someone with
Nick's notoriously volatile temper.

And after all Natalie Lambert had done for him, he had betrayed her
in the worst way. He remembered doing that. He'd been so intent on
hurting Nick, he hadn't given her feelings a single thought.

Even he couldn't believe he'd been such a total shithead.

Nick had beaten him up, and had done a pretty good job of it. But,
maybe he had deserved that, all things considered...

He tried taking a couple of steps. It hurt like hell, but he got no
sympathy from Lyllia.

"What were you doing at the grave of that mortal?"

The question took him by surprise. Was that why she was here?

"Huh?" Maybe he could play dumb and get out of this.

She stood up and grabbed his chin, so hard that his still-extended
fangs cut into his lower lip. She lifted him until his toes just
barely dragged the floor. "Javier, don't make me angry. You were
caught digging a mortal out of her grave. I want to know why."

She released him, but continued to stare at him, so that he knew it
would do no good to lie to her.

"Because she's not dead. I can feel her."

She pushed his hair away from his face and with an unexpected
tenderness said, "Your blood and Amaru's told me that you both
believe this to be true."

The Inka. "Where is he?"

Lyllia laughed. "You're not worried about him, are you?"

"No. But he was there when Nick went crazy."

"You mean when you pissed him off, don't you?"

Vachon absently scratched at his chin. "Yeah."

She clamped her hand on his shoulder, hard enough that it hurt.

"Rule Number One: Gentlemen don't tell. Rule Number Two: Gentlemen
*especially* don't tell the other guy, *especially* when he has three
centuries on you."

"I know. It was stupid."

She released her grip on him. "Now, tell me more about this mortal
girl."

Vachon sighed and sat down on the bed again - very carefully. If he
concentrated, he'd find maybe three spots on his body that weren't
sore, but they'd be small ones.

"I don't know why I can't accept that she's gone. Mortals have died
on me before... even Screed and Urs are gone. But this is different."
He twirled the blanket around his fingers a few times, watching the
way the folds collapse on each other as he twisted it. "I can still
feel her life force. I don't understand what's happening to me." He
looked at the Enforcer. "Is this from Divia? Am I losing my mind?"

"I don't think so. Amaru told me the same things I am hearing from
you. Apparently, he doesn't think this human is dead, either, nor
does LaCroix."

A feeling of utter panic washed over him. "LaCroix?  He knows?
Lyllia, he'll kill her..."

"This mortal knows about us, doesn't she?" That was an accusation,
not a question.

He looked away from her. "Yes."

"She knows from you?"

He nodded, still not looking at her.

"You had certain responsibilities, you know that."

Vachon felt like a rabbit in a trap. What was he going to say to
that? All he could do was hold perfectly still, trying not to give
this Enforcer any hint that her words were invoking memories that
stung like a slap.

"This girl... she's the one who stayed with you after Divia attacked
you?"

"Yes. She wouldn't leave me."

The tone of her voice softened every so slightly.

"You know, Javier, it would be too late to stop LaCroix if he ever
intended to kill her." When she lifted his face and made him look at
her, he closed his eyes so he didn't have to. "Last night he was
ranting about taking a mortal woman to a hospital. I paid it no
particular attention until Amaru told me what had happened, but I
believe he was referring to this girl."

Vachon was suddenly animated. "Hospital? Then she *is* alive?" His
heart rate would have tripled if that had been possible.

"Apparently so."

He tried to stand again. "I have to go to her."

"No, you will not."  The words were emphatic and without
explanation. Lyllia's countenance changed abruptly, and she was the
Enforcer again. "You will not go near her, or I assure you, what
Nicholas did to you will be a mere moment of inconvenience compared
to what *I* will do to you. Is that understood?"

His response was as subdued as he could make it. "Why?"

"Because no matter what else happens, people are going to wonder why
she was dead, and now she isn't. We cannot afford to be in the
shadows of any attention that brings. You will stay away from her. If
she thinks you are dead, leave it at that."

He wanted to shout, scream, cry - anything to let her know he had no
intention of staying away from Tracy, if she was alive, but openly
defying an Enforcer could be terminally foolish. Instead, he kept his
voice calm and said, "I can't agree to that."

Lyllia grabbed his face again, this time placing her thumb and
forefinger on the base of his fangs. That in itself gave him a jolt,
but when she pressed her fingernails against a certain spot there,
the pain was so excruciating, it stunned him. In a very short time,
he was ready to agree to anything she wanted, and he heard himself
begging her to stop. She let him go, but the pain didn't immediately
subside, and he dropped in a simpering heap onto the bed.

"I don't enjoy hurting you Javier, but if you don't listen to me, I
will."

This time, he submitted without argument.

She pulled him back into her arms. He was weak and faint from
whatever she had just done to him, and could do nothing to resist.

She held him close to her and stroked his hair. "Feed again," she
said softly. "Then rest."

His fangs hurt so much he didn't even want to think of biting
anything, but she gently urged him towards the big vessel on her neck
where that magical blood awaited him, and, finally, instinct - and
greed - took possession of him. Through a haze of pain and emotion,
he could hear her talking to him. She was trying to hypnotize him,
and she didn't even need to be looking at him to do it. He felt his
will buckling under hers, and he couldn't fight her. He didn't even
want to.

When she told him "Sleep," he did.


---FOURTEEN---

When Vachon awoke again, Lyllia was gone. The room was pitch black,
and the only sound was a rhythmic thumping, the source of which he
almost - but not quite - recognized.

He dragged himself into a sitting position and let his feet drop
over the edge of the bed. All things considered, he didn't feel too
bad. When he stood up and tried to walk, the pain was enough that it
caused him to limp, but it was nothing like it had been.

He still had blood in his hair and dirt in various spots from the
night before, and he had no idea where his clothes were.

He stumbled into the bathroom and searched the place until he found
a disposable razor, then he turned on the shower and eased himself
into the stream of hot water.  It relieved some of the achiness, and
he stayed there until the hot water ran out. As he dried off, he
could still hear the steady thump-thump, and he wondered what it was,
but his first priority would have to be finding something to wear. A
search of the bedroom closet revealed a faded pair of jeans that
actually had a small hole in one knee, and a navy blue sweater with a
ninety-dollar logo on it. He decided the incongruity appealed to him
and he put them both on.

After trying on 3 pairs of shoes and sneakers, none of which suited
his tastes, anyway, he concluded he'd have to stay in his borrowed
socks until he could figure out where his boots had gone. Amaru's
feet were two sizes smaller than his.

The thumping sound suddenly grew louder and he turned to see Amaru
in the doorway, bouncing his basketball off the hardwood floor - the
ball was the source of the incessant noise. How could the guy stand
to do that over and over again for as long as he'd been at it? It
would have driven him nuts.

As if reading his thoughts, Amaru snatched the ball up under his arm.

"I thought I'd thrown those away," he indicated the jeans.

"Then you won't mind if I borrow them?"

"That sweater is dry clean only."

"I'll have it cleaned before I return it. You worry too much, Amaru,
you know that?"

"And you don't worry enough. You almost got us both killed last
night."

"NO!" Vachon said, angrily pointing a finger. "You came with me
because you *wanted* to. I didn't force you. And nobody told you to
get between me and Nick! If you got hurt, it's because *you* were
stupid."

Each one's dark eyes fixed on the other's.

Suddenly, Amaru shot the basketball at him with a blinding forward
pass that he wasn't prepared to catch, and the ball smacked him in
the chest hard enough to knock him backwards. "You're welcome," the
Inka said, and turned to leave.

"Hey..." Vachon called him back.

"What?!"

Vachon had had no particular reason for talking to him like he just
had, and he thought he should say something to the other vampire to
fix it, but all he could think of was, "Do you know where my boots
are?"

"They are probably at the Raven. Someone took us there and called
Natalie."

Natalie again.  "Did I... say anything to her?"

"About what you did? No. You only woke up once, and you could not
talk."

"What about Nick? Did he..."

"Natalie would not talk to him. You will be happy to know she was
angry about what he did to you."

Well, that was just great.

"What about Tracy? Do you know where LaCroix took her?"

"That Enforcer told me to stay away from her, and I know she told
you the same thing."

"We can't let them destroy her."

"What do you mean by 'we'? I have nothing to do with that."

"You don't?" Vachon moved just close enough to him for it to be
considered getting in his face. "Let me jog your memory... *I* told
her about vampires, but only because I had no choice after *you*
showed her. Or have you conveniently forgotten that?! If she's in
danger because she knows about us, it's as much *your* fault as mine."

For the briefest instant, Amaru looked like a cat in a cage, but to
his credit, he recovered almost immediately.

"This argument is pointless, Vachon. I don't know where she is and I
don't care to find out, and if you aren't afraid of the Enforcers, I
am."

Vachon brushed that off. "If they were going to kill us, they would
have done it by now."

Amaru gave him a hard look. "They don't *kill* you for disobeying
them, Vachon. They torture you until you beg to die."

Vachon had known for a long time that Amaru had a flair for the
melodramatic and tended to exaggerate, but something told him the
Inka knew what he was talking about. He remembered how Lyllia - whom
he suspected was a lot more tolerant than the average Enforcer - had
managed to break his will in a matter of seconds with almost no
effort. He knew he should take the Inka's warning seriously.

But, good judgement was never one of his faults.

"I have to see her."

He expected an argument, or at the very least a grunt of disgust,
but the Inka simply said, "I know you do."

The basketball had rolled its way back into the room. Amaru picked
it up and tossed it onto the couch. "Are you hungry?"

Vachon shook his head. "Lyllia... she...uh..." He never quite knew
the right words for that particular act of vampire generosity.

Amaru almost smiled. "Me too. Interesting experience, was it not?"

Vachon nodded, almost smiling himself. "Yeah."

He stopped on his way out to look at Pharaoh's kittens again. Why he
found them so fascinating, he didn't know. In almost 500 years, he
had never owned a pet. Screed, for reasons known and understood only
by Screed, had occasionally bonded with a rat and spared it the usual
fate. And Urs had owned a half-dozen small, obnoxious, poodle-y type
dogs at various times, all of whom had bitten him at least once. He'd
owned a couple of horses, but had never kept an animal just for the
sake of its company.

He noticed that now there were only four kittens. One of the grey
tabbies wasn't there any more.  "What happened to the other one?" He
wondered if it was the one he had picked up.

"She let it die."

Vachon looked at the pretty little cat and saw her in an entirely
different light in view of this information. "Why?"

Amaru shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose something was wrong with it."

Well, *that* statement had so many profound implications that Vachon
decided it was definitely time to leave before he had to think about
any of them.

He needed to see Natalie, anyway.

+ + + + + + +

Natalie had not had any sleep at all for almost 32 hours, but she
was running just fine on caffeine and adrenalin.

She'd taken LaCroix's advice and checked the police reports for Jane
Doe cases. One had turned up, and much to her dismay, the physician
filing the report was none other than Dr. Beverly Turner. The same
Dr. Turner who had declared Nick dead from a gunshot wound only to
see her diagnosis prove mistaken. The same Dr. Turner who had
admitted her the night Nick had hurt her so badly, and who could not
explain how she had survived losing most of her blood. The Dr. Turner
who had been on call the night Vachon, still covered with the dirt
from his own grave, had been brought into her ER just barely coherent
enough to ask for Dr. Lambert. The very same Dr. Turner who had
treated her when Vachon, in the final throes of the madness Divia had
inflicted on him, had beaten her unconscious.

How much coincidence was possible with that woman, anyhow?

Natalie had gone to the hospital under the bogus pretense of having
to check on the Jane Doe as part of an unresolved missing persons
case for which she had gathered the forensic evidence.

To her relief, Dr. Turner had bought that line, but she'd also
questioned her at length about her health, Vachon's, and Nick's.
Maybe it was just professional concern, but Natalie suspected that
Dr. Turner had surmised that her relationship with the two men was
not what she claimed it was. She was, of course, completely right
about that, but not for any reason she would ever guess.

While at the hospital, Natalie had learned that the Jane Doe was
unconscious but stable. Her blood tests had yielded some initially
bizarre results, but those had normalized over the course of a few
hours. Some type of exotic new street drug was suspected as the
culprit, but with the effects dissipating, they'd probably never
identify it.  They expected her to regain consciousness soon.

Despite the fact that she was there on LaCroix's cryptic advice,
Natalie was not prepared for the shock of seeing the Jane Doe face-to-
face.

It was Tracy Vetter.

Not someone who looked a lot like her, but her.

Looking back, she realized she should have taken blood and tissue
samples, and fingerprints, as she would have if her cover story were
the truth, but it was too late for that now.

Natalie could only recall, with some embarrassment at her lack of
professional detachment, how a wave of cold fear had overwhelmed her,
and she had bolted from Tracy's room and then from the hospital.

She had no idea what thoughts Dr. Turner had about the incident, but
obviously she had to be questioning Natalie's reaction.

Natalie herself questioned it.

She *knew* Tracy was dead.  She did *not* know what kind of thing
now occupied her body.

Natalie Lambert had all the supernatural phenomena she could ever
want to deal with, and nothing new should have surprised her, but
seeing Tracy warm and breathing had been terror in its purist form.

She hadn't been able to concentrate on her work all night. She'd
called the hospital repeatedly to inquire about Tracy's condition.
She was slowly regaining consciousness, but still hadn't spoken.

How long would that last?

And what would she say when she did speak?

What *was* she??!

Natalie felt trapped in a dream she couldn't awaken from, merely
going through the motions to make it look like she was working when
in fact, she was so shaken, she probably would have spelled her own
name wrong.

As disturbing as her thoughts were, however, she found she wanted to
be alone with them, and she did not want, nor was she expecting,
company when Vachon surprised her just past midnight.

Considering the condition he'd been in the last time she'd

seen him, she was amazed he was able to stand, let alone that he
looked reasonably well.

He did walk with a noticeable limp, which caused her to look at his
stocking feet.

She'd taken his bloody clothes home with her, and had washed them
with the scrubs she had been wearing when LaCroix had dragged her off
to the Raven to tend to the injured vampires. She'd needed the
distraction after her visit with Tracy.

She had them, as well as his boots, in a shopping bag under her desk.

He was shivering from the cold, and she realized she hadn't
remembered to get his coat.

She looked up at him. "You look surprisingly healthy," she told him.

He smiled that wistful smile of his. "I'm okay, just a little sore.
Do you know about Lyllia?"

"Yes. She took you and Amaru from the Raven..."

"Her blood made me heal faster."

Vachon sensed something was wrong. Natalie was friendly enough, but
somehow distant and distracted.

She pulled a shopping bag out from under he desk and handed it to
him. "I took your clothes home with me and washed them. I'm afraid
the blood stains didn't all come out."

Vachon pulled out the grey sweatshirt - which belonged to Amaru -and
inspected the very obvious rust-colored stain.  "I guess that's one
of the reasons to wear black," he smiled.

He found his boots at the bottom of the bag and sat in a chair to
pull them on. He remembered how different that simple act had been
when he'd bought them. He'd been so impaired by what Divia had done
to him that he'd needed Natalie's help to perform that simple task.
She'd pull the laces tight so that they'd brace his weakened ankles,
making it easier for him to walk, and she'd double knot them so they
wouldn't come untied, because he couldn't easily tie them himself.
She'd done it without question or comment, without ever once making
him feel foolish or embarrassed by his disability. She'd never made
him feel that way, even when he was so helpless he couldn't even feed
himself...

And he'd paid her back by telling Nick what should have stayed
between the two of them.

"Natalie?" He couldn't look at her when he spoke her name.

"What Vachon?" she said absently.

He looked up to see she wasn't looking at him but instead had her
eyes focused on something on her desk, even though she didn't seem to
be really looking at that, either.

"Is something wrong?" He asked her, and then realized what a dumb
question that was.

But she said, "No. Of course not. I'm just still a bit shaken by
what happened last night."

"Did Nick tell you everything?" he asked hesitantly.

Her reply was terse. "Nick didn't tell me anything, except that he's
sorry, as usual."

"It wasn't his fault, Natalie. I started it."

That did get her attention. "You?"

He decided to skip the part about what he and Amaru were doing at
the grave. "We fought about Tracy. I blamed him for what happened to
her. I still do. I can't forgive him for it..."

"Vachon..."

"Please, let me finish. We fought about Tracy. I was mad. I said
things I shouldn't have..." He lowered his voice to just above a
whisper and turned his gaze downward again. "I told him that you and
I had made love."

Natalie slammed something down on her desk and the sudden noise made
him flinch.  She was mad. He could tell. Her voice was *too*
controlled when she said sarcastically, "I suppose those were your
exact words, too."

He still couldn't look at her. It had been a long time since he'd
screwed up like this. "No. I was a little more graphic about it."

"Damn it, Vachon..." she sighed.

"I know, I know. I shouldn't have pushed him." He finally looked at
her. She was rubbing her forehead as if she had a sudden headache.
"Sometimes the poison -what it did to us - it comes back. You know
that. I get sick, and Nick gets crazy. I know that, too, and I still
pushed him. I guess I had what he did coming to me."

He expected her to say something, but she continued to stare at her
desk. She clearly had other things on her mind.

"Are you mad at me?" <Oh, good one Jav! Any more stupid questions?>

She glared at him. "You bet your ass I am! Do you have *any* idea at
all what hearing you say that meant to Nick!?"

"I guess I do now."

He braced himself for some serious verbal abuse. He deserved as
much. But Natalie's mind clearly was not on this discussion.

He frowned. "Natalie, what's wrong?"

She hesitated several seconds before answering him.

"Vachon, why were you at the cemetery?"

It was his turn to be surprised. He had no answer for that, at
least, not one he wanted to give her.

As it turned out, he didn't need one. She said, "You knew Tracy
wasn't dead, didn't you? Somehow, you knew."

His voice caught in his throat. He charged at Natalie faster than he
meant to and startled her. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Tracy? Do
you know where she is?" His voice sounded more demanding than he
wanted it to, but Natalie didn't seem to notice.

"Yes. I've seen her." She reached for his hand and removed it from
her shoulder, as if she suddenly wanted no physical contact with the
creature he was. She whispered under her breath, "She's alive,
Vachon... So help me God, I don't know how, but she's alive."

 
---FIFTEEN---

As Natalie had fully expected, Vachon's next move was to beg her to
take him to Tracy. She did not agree for a number of reasons, the
foremost of them being that she didn't know if that would be in
Tracy's best interest. What would she remember when she woke up? What
if she didn't even know Vachon, or worse, if her last memories of him
resurfaced and she thought she was seeing a ghost? Natalie knew all
too well what an incredible shock that would be.

Another of her reasons was that she herself was not ready to face
Tracy. What on earth did you say to someone who had just comeback
from being not only dead, but buried - for months?!

And then there was the fact that at that moment, she didn't feel
like she owed Vachon any favors. How dare he tell Nick about their
intimate encounter? It was bad enough that he'd done it, but using it
for ammunition to wound Nick in the worst way he possibly could,
well, that made her feel cheap and used, and she resented the hell
out of that.  As if she didn't have enough on her mind, she was now
going to have to discuss the incident with Nick.

Vachon's attempts to persuade her to reveal Tracy's whereabouts were
not working, and they were beginning to get on her nerves. She glared
at him and said, "What is it about the word 'no' that you can't
comprehend, Vachon?"

He wilted under her stare, realizing, finally, that she wasn't going
to tell him what he wanted to know.

"I think you'd better leave."

"Natalie, I..."

"I'm just not in the mood for company, Vachon. <For *your* company.>
This has been a bitch of a day, and you haven't helped it a bit by
coming in here and telling me what you just did. What am I supposed
to say to Nick?  Have you got any ideas, because I'm open to
suggestions!"

He cringed under the verbal assault, not physically, but she could
see it in his body language.

"I'll leave," he said softly. "And Natalie, I really am sorry. I owe
you. I know that. I didn't..." His voice trailed off. "I'm just sorry."

When he looked at her the way he was then, all she saw was his eyes,
black and fathomless.

It amazed her how they could look so old and yet so young at the
same time. Vachon had lived 15 of her lifetimes, yet she often felt
as though she was speaking to someone just barely out of adolescence
when she talked to him...

That was it, wasn't it?  They didn't grow. They could learn, they
could adapt, but their emotional development was frozen along with
their bodies. Vachon was never going to attain those few years of
maturity between his apparent age and her actual one, even if he had
all eternity in which to do so. He was never going to be a thirty-
something adult like Nick, just as Nick would never behave like the
middle-aged man LaCroix appeared to be, even if they lived a thousand
lifetimes. Vachon was always going to make youthful errors in
judgement because he would never grow beyond the young adult he
appeared to be...

She was still considering this as Vachon limped towards the door.
The irregularity in his stride was very pronounced, and when she
realized she had just kicked him out into a cold, windy night with no
coat or gloves, the side of her that didn't want to smack him one
took over.

"What's the matter with your leg?" she called to him.

He turned around. He knew he'd been given a reprieve - They always
knew these things -and she felt a twinge of guilt at the look of
relief on his face. Where had she thought he'd go? Somewhere where he
would be alone, like he always was now that everyone he loved was gone?

If he started harping about Tracy again, though, she *would* kick
his butt out.

She had him hop up on one of the autopsy tables. Like Nick, he never
seemed to have any reservations about this. She gave him a sheet to
cover himself and had him slip off his jeans so she could take some x-
rays. The lab techs needn't know he wasn't a corpse. She could tell
the hard metal table was uncomfortably cold for him, so she didn't
keep him lying there any longer than necessary. Even without x-rays,
she suspected a gross misalignment in his left tibia, based solely on
the limited mobility of the limb. Now, why the hell would everything
else have healed except that?

No matter what the answer to that was, she knew They were far more
tolerant of pain than humans, so for him to be limping like he was,
it *had* to hurt. She had never returned the crutches she'd used
after her knee surgery, and they were tucked away there in the lab
somewhere.  She diverted her attention to finding them while he put
his pants back on, and removed the sweater he'd arrived in so that he
could don the blood-stained sweatshirt underneath it. He was cold.
She wished she hadn't forgotten his coat.

She found the crutches in a storage closet. They were actually
armcanes, with a cuff that wrapped around the forearm so that the
weight was on the wrist. He'd probably only need one. She lengthened
one of them a couple of inches and handed it to him.

He looked at her like she'd grown horns.

"Just try it out. It will take some of the weight and you'll be more
comfortable."

He tried it, and she could see that she was right, but he handed it
back to her. "I don't think so." He grinned at her. "I *can* fly, you
know."

"You can't fly all the time," she observed.

"I'll think about it," he said, but left the crutch where it was.

"How's Amaru?"

He shrugged. "I guess he's fine. I didn't really ask him."

"Not your brother's keeper, huh?"

"He's not..."

"My brother," Natalie finished. "Yeah, I know. Sorry."

It was when the door opened that Natalie realized she should have
locked it. Anyone could have come in and caught her examining Vachon,
although he could probably be quite convincing at playing "dead."

It was Grace, carrying a plastic evidence bag, and she stopped in
her tracks when she saw Vachon there.

True to her more gentle nature, the big woman's face broadened into
a grin and she embraced him.  Vachon returned the hug, both of them
apparently willing to disregard the fact that the first time they had
met, Grace had given Vachon a good pummeling and then sat on him.

She held him at arm's length.  "It looks like Natalie has performed
a miracle!" She told him.

Natalie had to consider that the last time Grace had seen him,
Vachon didn't have the strength to stand.

"I owe part of that to you. Natalie told me how you helped her with
the blood samples."

"I just ran the tests," Grace said humbly. "It was Natalie who put
two and two together."

Actually, it had been Grace who had first noticed that Vachon and
Amaru were genetically almost identical, giving her the idea to use
Amaru's blood to help Vachon's body heal the damage caused by Divia's
poison.

The brief reunion was interrupted by the telephone.

A frown crept across Natalie's face as she listened to whoever was
on the other end.

"Yes... I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She handed Grace Vachon's x-ray films. "Grace, will you see these
get developed?  I don't know when I'll be back. I might just clock
off for the rest of the night. A personal matter has come up."

It was Grace's turn to frown. The woman was not one to spread
gossip, but that didn't stop her from listening to everything that
was said around her. No doubt she already knew that Nick had not
reported for work that evening, nor had he called in. When asked,
Natalie had lied and said she'd spoken to him just before leaving her
apartment, and he'd told her he might be late. She was almost certain
he was at the Raven with LaCroix, tending to that... <what should she
call it? Fledgling? Baby? Thing?> so it hadn't been a complete lie.

Grace took the x-rays from her, and Natalie saw that Vachon was
looking at her expectantly. She knew he'd heard ever word of the
telephone conversation.

"Can I give you a ride home on the way, Xavier?" she said casually,
using the name by which Grace knew Vachon. She handed the crutch back
to him. Grace was going to wonder what it was doing there otherwise.

"Yeah, thanks," Vachon played along with the ruse, and slipped his
arm into the crutch. "Nice to see you again, Grace."

"You, too Xavier. I'm glad you're feeling better... Oh, I almost
forgot about this." She handed Natalie the evidence bag. Whatever was
inside was soft, but distinctly inorganic, so it wasn't body parts.

"A hospital maintenance worker found those in a biohazard bin in the
ER. It looks like a Metro Police uniform. It's just dirty - there's
nothing to indicate foul play - but it was strange enough that they
thought we should have a look, just in case. There's no priority on
it, so I guess whenever we get to it."

Natalie's mind had locked up on the word "uniform," but she tried to
appear nonchalant as she peeked in the bag. "Interesting," she said
calmly. "I'll get on it as soon as I get back. First thing tomorrow
for sure."

Luckily, Grace said her good-byes and left to take care of the x-rays.

Natalie was already hard at work on a Lie to explain away the
uniform as she went to the closet to don her coat, scarf and gloves.

When she turned around, Vachon had taken the clothes out of the bag.
He'd buried his face in the crumpled fabric as if he were inhaling
the scent of a bouquet of flowers. His eyes were closed and whatever
thoughts he was having, he was lost in them.

She went to him and touched his shoulder gently. "Vachon?"

His voice cracked the slightest bit when he spoke. "It's her," he
said softly. He raised his head, eyes still closed, as if he were
offering a silent prayer. Maybe he was.

She knew she'd have to take him along with her, even if it meant
trouble. If she didn't, he'd follow her.

"Come with me. Just be careful, okay?"

The phone call, as Vachon well knew, had been about the Jane Doe.
Tracy was conscious.


---SIXTEEN---

Tracy had been moved out of intensive care, a piece of information
that caused Natalie's stomach to lurch. She still could not accept
the young detective was alive, let alone apparently out of danger so
soon. It sent a cold chill straight through her.

Vachon had decided to leave the crutch in the car, and that had
turned out not to be a bad thing. He slowed them down and thereby
gave Natalie additional time to steel herself for the encounter she
was so dreading.

Finally they were outside the door of Tracy's room.  Natalie grabbed
her chart from the rack and her heart rate quickened. The name on the
chart was "Vetter, Tracy."

So, they knew.

Dr. Turner came up behind her unexpectedly and casually took the
chart back, the gesture meant to convey that Natalie had no business
looking at it.

Natalie ignored the rebuke. "You've identified her?" she asked.

Dr. Turner gave the chart a cursory glance. "She told us her name."

When Tracy had been killed, it had made headlines, but it was
obvious that Dr. Turner had not made the connection. Apparently,
neither had anyone else. How soon people tended to forget, Natalie
thought...

"Has her family been contacted?" Natalie asked nervously.

"We haven't been able to reach them at the number she gave us, but
it *is* the middle of the night."

"No need to concern your staff with it," Natalie said as casually as
she could. "I'll get the information from her, and the officer
assigned to the case will take care of it."

"I'm afraid I have an obligation to..."

Vachon positioned himself directly in front of the doctor, doing
whatever it was They did to draw her eyes to his.  "We will take care
of it, doctor." He spoke with a chant-like cadence. "You have done
all you can to locate them."

"I have done all I can to locate them..." Turner repeated.

"You'd like to stay and discuss the case, but you are very busy at
the moment..." Vachon continued.

"I'm very busy at the moment," Turner droned, and then abruptly
turned and left, her eyes glazed.

"Wow, she's easy," Vachon observed.

Natalie had to agree that of the few times she'd seen The Whammy, it
had never been quite as effective as it was on the good doctor.

She nodded toward the closed door of Tracy's room. "Vachon, I think
I should approach her first. We don't know what she remembers about
you."

Vachon's face fell, but he nodded. "She thinks I'm dead..."

"We don't know that Vachon. LaCroix made her forget after it
happened."

His dark eyes clouded with anger. "What? Why? Are you saying she
won't even know me?"

"No, no! He made her forget how you had died, even that you had
died. He let her keep the memory of you... and what you are."

"He did?" That seemed to honestly surprise him.

"Yes. But when a person suffers a trauma like Tracy has, the most
recent memories are the first to go... maybe the most recent post-
hypnotic suggestions, too. Besides, she doesn't know we know each
other. It might confuse her. Just give me a few minutes."

He nodded.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

What she saw made her want to bolt for the nearest exit.

Ironically, if Tracy had looked like someone just hours out of
intensive care - wan, wasted, with tubes and wires running every
where - Natalie might have taken it better.

Instead, she was sitting propped up by pillows, no paler than was
customary for her fair complexion, a simple IV running into her left
arm. Despite the late hour, she was awake. She turned towards her and
smiled.

"Natalie! Boy, am I glad to see someone I actually know!"

Natalie's heart was in her throat. She literally could not speak.
The scientist in her was insisting this was *not* Tracy Vetter. There
was no way. People did not come back to life in the Real World.
Never. It just didn't happen.

What was this thing with Tracy's face? Tracy's voice? Tracy's smile?
Was it an angel? A demon?

She tried to calm herself with the thought that once upon a time,
vampires had not existed in her world, either.

It didn't work.

Tracy frowned. "Natalie?"

Natalie felt as though her mind and body were out of sync. She
sensed herself moving towards Tracy's bed while her mind hung back at
a safe distance. It was going to take all of her concentration just
to keep up anything close to a casual appearance.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, quite unable to think of any other
question she would dare to ask.

"Fine, other than my hair is totally disgusting." She ran long, thin
fingers through her fair hair, which had grown several inches and was
darkened by residual dirt and natural oils.

Natural. Now there was a word to contemplate.

Natalie could think of absolutely *nothing* to say, and Tracy began
to sense her unease.

"Natalie, are you okay? Is something wrong? Nick?"

"You remember Nick?" Natalie said, for no apparent reason.

"Of course I do. He was shot... I was shot." She frowned. "How long
have I been here?" Suddenly the look on her face was one of such
utter distress that Natalie was able to put aside her trepidations.

She pulled up a chair and sat down.

Carefully, she put her hand over Tracy's. Carefully, because she
didn't want to touch her. She knew she'd feel like snake - alive, yet
without warmth.

But she was warm. She was very definitely alive - and human.

Natalie pulled her hand back, trying not to do it too quickly.

"Tracy, did they tell you what happened to you?"

"That I've been in a coma? Yes. No one can tell me how long it's
been..."

"Since you were shot, Tracy, almost a year ago."

"A year?! I don't believe that."

"See for yourself..." Natalie indicated the area on Tracy's abdomen
where surgeons had cut a foot-long incision. She knew from the Jane
Doe police report that it had completely healed.

Tracy pulled her gown up and saw the scar. Natalie tried not to
gasp, not because it was so hideous, but because it wasn't. It looked
like someone had taken a finepoint marker and drawn a faint pink line
on her belly. You could hardly even call it a scar. The actual entry
wound made by the bullet was just a pea-sized dimple.

She saw just a hint panic in the young detective's blue eyes, and
some confusion. Tracy also knew it should look worse than it did.

"Tracy, there are other things they probably haven't told you..."

She turned her gaze upward. "Did Nick die?" she asked softly.

"No, no... Nick is fine."

She closed her eyes. "Thank God. It's so weird... I remember it like
I'm seeing it in slow motion... Dawkins' gun went off and then there
was this flash... It was so bright, I was still seeing it when...
Nick's back... It just... exploded." She raised her hands in a self-
protective gesture, as if she were trying to shield herself from the
image. "It hit me... Nick's blood... pieces..." She shuddered at the
memory. "I remember thinking I should get help for him, but I
couldn't move. He was the one who was moving. He turned and..." She
stopped herself before she described seeing the vampire.

Natalie let her believe she thought it was emotion that had overcome
her, while the scientist in her made a mental note to remember
Tracy's account of the incident.  Nick had been hit. Tracy had seen
the exit wound. That confirmed her suspicion that Nick had been in
the direct line of fire between her and Dawkins - and the possibility
that at least one of the bullets that hit Tracy had passed through
Nick, first, taking who knew what from Nick's body along with it?

She patted Tracy's hand. "I know it's hard to deal with... I'm
amazed you remember any of it." That much was true. Most trauma
victims did not immediately recall what had happened to them - some
of them never did - and certainly almost never with such remarkable
detail.

"They told me it's unusual for someone to just wake up from a coma,"
Tracy said.

"That's true. It usually only happens that way on TV," she smiled.

"I'd like to see my dad. He must have been a wreck this whole time."

Natalie saw she was stuck. She had already mislead Tracy into
thinking she'd been safely watched over for the past several months,
and now she had to lie to her again. There was no other way. She
could *not* tell her she had risen from the grave.

"Tracy, that's the problem I told you about..."

"Did something happen to my dad?" She looked horrified at the
thought. Funny, Natalie had not thought Tracy particularly close to
her father.

Natalie knew her next words would have to be chosen carefully,
despite the fact that they would involve some serious fabrication.
"No, not physically. But Tracy, there was some kind of terrible,
horrible mistake made..." A lie bloomed in her head like a flower.
"Somehow, you were mixed up with another patient. She was
misidentified as you, and she died."

Tracy cocked her head to one side. She looked like she didn't know
whether to laugh or be angry. "What?!"

What Natalie said next was true, so it came out more easily. "Your
parents... everyone... was told you were dead."

Tracy snickered like it was a joke. "That's ridiculous."

Lies were blossoming in every corner of Natalie's brain. "There was
no autopsy, Tracy, so no one who actually *knew* you came into
contact with the body that was supposed to have *been* you. Even if
there had been one, I wouldn't have been there to perform it. I
was... with Nick... so this still might have happened." The latter
explanation would work so long as Tracy thought Nick had been
seriously wounded, too.  "Your casket was closed at the funeral home
and during the service..."

"I had always said I didn't want anyone looking at my corpse..."
Tracy muttered.

"I didn't even know about the error until they brought you in last
night and I realized it was *you*..." Natalie realized too late that
she'd slipped.

Tracy's brow furrowed. "Brought me in? From where?"

"Uh... from intensive care," Natalie said, too quickly. <Shit! Nick
or LaCroix is going to have to *fix* this!>

This time, Tracy knew she was lying.

When Vachon - who no doubt had been eavesdropping on every word -
judiciously chose that moment to walk in, Natalie was so grateful for
the distraction she wanted to hug the scruffy little vampire, but
instead, she pretended not to know him.

Tracy's face brightened. "Vachon?!"

He stood just inside the door and lifted his hand to wave briefly.
"Hi."

"I thought you'd left Toronto for good?" She said that as if the
memory was not a particularly happy one for her.

Vachon shrugged. "You know me. I got into trouble. I had to come
back."

"Trouble?" Tracy said.

Vachon looked directly at Natalie. "I needed Natalie's help again."

Natalie thought Vachon had slipped up, too, especially when she saw
the look on Tracy's face. "You know each other?" she frowned.

Apparently, Vachon had decided on his own that certain facades had
simply gone far enough.

He walked to the bed, took her hand and kissed it. It was an
ordinary gesture, but not a casual one. The look on his face when he
touched her, the way he closed his eyes and savored that simple
contact, made a lump rise in Natalie's throat.

"Natalie knows," Vachon said softly. "She knows about Nick, too." He
looked at Tracy, whose eyes had gone wide with uncertainty. "No more
games." He enfolded her small, warm hand in both of his cold ones.

She let her head fall back on the pillow.

"Nick... I saw him... like you.  I wasn't just imagining..."

Vachon tenderly pressed her hand to his cheek. "No. He's a vampire,
like me."

Later, Natalie thought, Tracy would probably be angry about the many
things that had been kept from her, but right then, she looked as
though she was still trying to assimilate what she'd just been told.

The door opened a second time. At first, Natalie caught only a
glimpse of white nurse's uniform, but the sudden change in the look
on Vachon's face caused her to look closer.

Lyllia.


---SEVENTEEN---

The Enforcer's tone of voice did not betray the masquerade she had
no doubt assumed because of Tracy. "Have you any idea what time it
is?  We can't allow patients to have visitors at all hours of the
night!"

Natalie looked at her watch. It *was* 2:00 AM. "We're here on police
business," she said nervously.

Lyllia leveled her eyes at Vachon. "And when did you join the police
force?"

Vachon was trying to look anywhere but at the Enforcer. "Uh... I
just came to see Tracy," he admitted finally.

Lyllia put an arm around Vachon's shoulders. "Let's you and I go
have a little talk about that. Outside. Now!"

Tracy gave Natalie a bewildered look as the "nurse" hauled Vachon
out of the room, her expression gradually changing from one of
confusion to one of puzzled recognition. "She's one, too!"

Natalie could think of no way to respond to that other than to
simply nod her head.

Tracy's tone of voice was not quite as accusing as Natalie would
have expected. "You knew about them?  The whole time?"

Natalie made no apologies. "I had promised to keep a secret, the
same as you."

She nodded. "Vachon... he came back..."

Natalie looked towards the door Lyllia had closed behind her. She
didn't want to think Lyllia would hurt Vachon, but she honestly
didn't know.

Natalie turned her attention back to Tracy. "He was... injured. They
aren't as indestructible as they think they are."

Tracy nodded. She had noticed the way Vachon walked and asked her
about it. Realizing the whole story would be too much for her,
Natalie again summarized with just a small portion of the truth.

"He doesn't heal properly anymore. I'm trying to find out why."

There was an odd, distant expression in the younger woman's eyes.

"Tracy, I know this is a lot for you to take in at once... and so
soon..."

"Someone has to tell my father," she interrupted. "My mom, too."

"Yes, I know.  I'll take care of it. I promise."

Tracy accepted Natalie's assurance without question and closed her
eyes, finally overcome by fatigue, but there would be no rest for her
yet.

Lyllia returned, without Vachon.

Natalie had no hint at all what her intentions were, and she stifled
a completely irrational urge to scream when the Enforcer approached
Tracy's bed.

Tracy gave her a wary look, but didn't seem afraid of her. Did she
know about Enforcers? Did she know that she was looking at one?

"You're a vampire," Tracy said calmly.

Lyllia sat on the edge of the bed. "Yes, I am. How do you know this?"

Tracy shook her head slightly. "I'm not sure... When you came in...
There was just something different. I felt it." She sounded as if she
herself didn't believe that.

Lyllia slipped a small leather case from the pocket of her uniform.
When she opened it, Natalie saw syringes and some small surgical
instruments inside.

"I need some samples," Lyllia told Tracy. "You have no choice but to
cooperate. Do you understand?" The Enforcers voice was cold, but not
cruel. She was merely stating a fact.

Lyllia drew two vials of blood, and Tracy didn't even blink, but
when she retrieved a surgical scalpel from her kit, Tracy drew her
arm away like a child afraid of the doctor.

"Don't make this difficult," Lyllia said, and before Tracy had a
chance to reply or even consider the statement, the Enforcer had
grabbed her right wrist, pulled her forearm towards her, and sliced a
dime-sized chunk out of it.

"HEY!" Natalie said angrily, rushing forward.

Tracy gasped in surprise, but didn't cry out.

Natalie grabbed a fistful of tissues from a box beside the bed and
put pressure on the copiously bleeding wound while Lyllia calmly
secured her sample.

The Enforcer casually produced a gauze pad and an extra-wide band-
aid which she handed to Natalie.

What Lyllia said to Tracy next was odd and unexpected, but there was
no doubt that she meant it. "We will talk again. Until that time, do
not let Vachon bring you across. If he does, I'll destroy you and
make him regret that he ever drew his first breath."

"What?" Obviously, Tracy had not even been considering being brought
across.

Lyllia didn't respond to her. Instead, she turned to Natalie. "I
suggest that you do whatever is in your power to see that he does not
go near her."

Natalie wasn't sure what she could do to stop Vachon if he was
really determined and she told Lyllia as much.

"I've seen to it that for the time being it's not one of his
priorities."

"What did you do to him?"

"He hasn't been permanently damaged, if that's what you're worried
about," Lyllia assured her, "but for the moment, his infatuation
with... whatever this child is," she indicated Tracy, "is the last
thing on his mind."

"That's unfair," Natalie observed. "He cares about her."

Lyllia was unmoved. "That, Dr. Lambert, is the least of my concerns."

"What are you going to do with those samples?"

"If it's necessary for you to know that, I will get back to you."

With a curt nod, she was gone.

Tracy seemed unusually accepting of all of this, even as Natalie
released the pressure on her arm and bandaged the painful injury
Lyllia had inflicted.

"What did she mean by 'whatever I am'?"

"I dunno," Natalie shrugged, even though she knew quite well. "I
guess she means whatever you are to Vachon.  Friend or whatever."

"Oh. I guess he won't be back?"

Natalie looked towards the door the Enforcer had closed on the way
out. "Something tells me that probably wouldn't be a good idea." She
applied the band-aid over the gauze, then clasped Tracy's hand. It
was a bit easier to touch her this time. "Get some rest now, okay?"

Tracy nodded. She did look exhausted, so maybe she'd sleep instead
of thinking too much about everything that had just transpired.

Natalie said good-night and quietly left the room.

She didn't expect to find Vachon sitting on the floor right outside
the door, slumped against the wall, but she almost tripped over him.

"Vachon?"

He didn't appear to be injured, but when he looked up at her, it was
immediately evident that Lyllia had done *something* to him. He
clearly seemed to have no idea what to do next.

She knelt beside him. "Vachon? Are you okay?"

He nodded and blinked. "Yes. I think so."

But he was shaking, and when she brushed her hand across his cheek,
he was icy cold and clammy to the touch.

Even though the physiological process was different in a vampire,
Natalie recognized the symptoms of shock. The only color in Vachon's
face was a fine sheen of blood-sweat on his pale skin.

"What happened, Vachon? What did she do to you."

He shook his head. "I don't know. I can't remember."

She took a tissue from her purse and wiped his face off with it.
"Can you stand up?"

He nodded.

She held out her hand. "Let's get you home."

His hand felt sweaty and cold in hers, and he was unsteady on his
feet, but he seemed to have recovered by the time they reached her car.

They didn't have much of a conversation on the drive to the
abandoned church where he lived. He sat with his head resting on the
window, withdrawn and silent.

When she pulled up in front of the church, he didn't show any sign
that he intended to get out.

"Vachon? You're home."

"I know," he shrugged, and looked at the dark, foreboding structure.
Natalie had the impression that he didn't want to stay there by
himself, but he sighed and opened the door. "Thanks for the ride."

"Are you going to be okay?" At that moment, he didn't look
completely aware of where he was, let alone seem capable of ensuring
his own safety.  "Maybe you should come and sleep at my place."

He shook his head. "No. I'm fine, really." But he squeezed his eyes
shut and rubbed the right side of his head. "Lyllia did something to
me, Natalie. I can't think..."

"Come with me then..." she started to reach across him to close the
car door, but he stopped her.

"No," he said softly. "I need to hunt... to feed. You can't help me."

When he looked at her she saw flecks of gold in his eyes, and the
tips of fangs between his slightly-parted lips. He was struggling to
control the vampire, she could see that. Perhaps he wasn't in
physical pain, but he was somehow suffering. In some ways, they were
far more delicate than humans were, and she knew that the craving for
blood could become unbearable if They were traumatized. It was plain
that whatever had been done to Vachon was obviously causing him
considerable distress.

For better or worse, she had gotten past the need to try and talk
him out of finding fresh blood.

She touched his cheek lightly. "Just promise me you'll be careful,
okay?"

He retrieved the crutch she had loaned him from the back seat, but
whether it was because his leg hurt enough for him to want to use it,
or simply because he wanted to please her, she didn't know.

He touched her hand lightly and gave her a sad smile before he
slipped from the car and stood like a statue on the sidewalk as she
drove away.


---EIGHTEEN---

Leaving Vachon alone in the state he was in was hard, but she was
almost relieved that she had done exactly that when she drove up to
her apartment building and saw Nick's Caddy outside. The last thing
she would have wanted was to have to explain to him why she had
Vachon with her.

She wanted to see Nick, but was not ready to welcome him with open
arms. He tried to be casual as he followed her inside, but there was
a tension between them they could both feel. They didn't touch, or
even make eye contact.

"Natalie, I wanted to tell you I was sorry about what I did."

"I'm not the one you owe an apology, Nick."

He nodded. "I know you don't want to hear this, but something inside
me just got out of control. I didn't want to hurt Vachon, but part of
me was so angry with him..."

It was Natalie's turn to be contrite. "Nick, he told me what
happened. He told me why."

"It's true, then?" he asked, as if hoping it wasn't. "You and him?"

She looked directly at him, so he would know she was being
completely honest. "Yes. But it probably didn't happen the way you're
imagining it did."

He stood there as if he was made of stone. Only his lips moved when
he said, "You made love to him?"

"It wasn't love, Nick. It was sex. And at the time I had no reason
to think I'd ever see you again."

"He's... a vampire." There were so many emotions behind that simple
statement that Natalie wasn't certain which one to address first.

She studied his face carefully. "Is that what's bothering you?"

He stiffened, and his tone was pure sarcasm. "That he could make
love to you when I can't? Why would you think that wouldn't bother
me, Nat?"

He didn't understand. He wasn't even going to try. Men never
understood these things, unless, of course, they were the guilty
party. How many times had he been with Janette during the course of
their relationship? Would it have made a difference if Vachon had
been mortal? She doubted it. If that were the case, he'd be tormented
by the fact that she had found love with someone he could not be.

She sat down on the couch and motioned for him to join her. At
first, he didn't look like he would, but finally, he took a seat at
the opposite end.

"It wasn't that simple, Nick. He was sick."

"And that was your idea of bedside manner?" he snorted.

She wanted to slap him, but instead she continued, calmly. "No. My
point, if you will let me make it, is that he was so weak that I
could have overpowered him if I'd had to, and we both knew that."

"But you didn't have to..."

"No, I didn't, but he did bite me." She unbuttoned the top two
buttons on her blouse and pulled it away from her shoulder so he
could see the scar - the wreath of faint teethmarks punctuated by two
deep scars where his fangs had gone in.

Nick looked at the scars with a combination of interest, outrage,
and finally disgust. "How could you let him do that to you?"

Before she could answer, he posed another question, this time honestly curious. "He didn't go for your neck?"

She pulled her blouse back up. "He tried. He just wasn't strong
enough. I was able to keep him away from it."

"So he lost control then?"

"Nick, there was no need for him to even try to control himself. He
didn't have the strength to hurt me. We didn't have to worry that..."
She stopped short, suddenly realizing the direction in which she was
headed.

"That he'd almost kill you, like I did?" he said softly.

There was no point in dancing around it. "Yes."  She took his cold
hands in hers. "Nick, I've already told you that I don't believe that
will happen again. Divia's poison weakened the vampire in you in some
ways. You know that. I think that next time, you will be able to
control it. You control it now better than you ever have."

"There's going to be a next time?" He said uncertainly.

She moved her hand to the side of his face. "Of course there is,
Nick. There has to be... I love you - and if that means accepting the
vampire, I can do that now."

She pulled him to her until their faces met. She would have kissed
him, but Nick wasn't quite over the hurdle of her having been with
Vachon, so he only cooperated as far as a gentle brushing of his lips
against hers. He then straightened and said in a business-like voice,
"Natalie, do you know about Tracy?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. I've seen her. I've talked
to her."

"Do you have any idea how such a thing could have happened?"

She shook her head. "I'm still having trouble believing that it
*did* happen. I've seen her with my own eyes and I can't accept it."

"Something's going to have to be done before the news media gets
wind of it."

"I know. I told her I'd make sure her parents were told... Nick, I
have no idea how or even what I'm going to say to them!" She
recounted the story she had told Tracy about the patient mix-up.  "I
know I shouldn't have lied to her, but I just couldn't tell her the
truth Nick.  Hell, I'm not even sure what the truth is at this point."

Nick pondered that a moment. "No, Nat, you did the right thing...  I
think we can call upon the resources in the Community to 'develop'
some evidence to support your story - hospital records on the Jane
Doe, what have you."

"But how can we not tell Tracy? She has a right to know."

She could see that Nick was about to disagree with her. "Some things
are better left untold, Natalie. And like you said, we don't *know*
what happened to her..."

"There is one thing, Nick... She remembers the shooting. She says
you were shot, that she saw the bullet come out of your back. Is that
true? Were you hit?"

He shrugged as if he didn't understand what she was getting at.
"Well, yes. But I told everyone the blood was Tracy's and no one
questioned that."

"Did the wound heal right away?"

Nick frowned. "With all that happened afterwards, I'd forgotten all
about it, but no, it didn't. It had stopped bleeding when I got back
to the loft, but it was still there when LaCroix... when he found us.
He told me it took days to heal... I really don't remember."

"It was Divia's poison, Nick. That is what prevented you from
healing. Her cells that were in your body... Nick, what if the
bullets that hit you were the same ones that hit Tracy?  What if her
mortal blood was contaminated with Divia's cells?"

Nick's frown deepened. "What are you getting at?"

"Nick, I have notebooks and disks full of evidence pointing to the
fact that Divia used the fungi in her tomb to reconstruct her
body.... I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But you know yourself
that Divia was no ordinary vampire. The simple fact that she was
brought across by one of the first of your kind would support that. 
What if not just her corporal body, but her actual *being* - her
spirit, if you want to call it that - were different? What if she was
empowered with some sort of consciousness even on a cellular level?"

"You mean that her cells could think?" Nick scoffed at the idea.

Natalie made it clear she wasn't joking. "That's exactly what I
mean, Nick. You weren't conscious. You didn't see what happened to
the blood we took from you when we replaced your blood with
Janette's. It was *alive* Nick. Not in the sense that you and I are
alive and standing here talking, but somehow, Divia's cells knew they
had been deprived of their host. They tried to *fight back*!"

"What has this got to do with Tracy?" he said uncertainly.

"Everything, Nick. If Divia could reconstruct a form for herself
from a damned *fungus*, think what she could do with a human body
that was almost *completely intact*."

He didn't want to accept the possibility, not that she blamed him.
"But Tracy was dead..."

"Only in the human, mortal sense of the word, Nick. And we both know
that is not the *only* form of death there is, don't we?"

"Are you saying that what Vachon dug up isn't Tracy, but Divia?"

Natalie's shoulders sagged. "No. I'm sure it's Tracy. Tracy's head
injury was serious, but it wasn't devastating. If that had been her
only injury, she probably would have made a complete recovery, with
her mind and memories unaffected. And if she had only *appeared* dead
by our standards..."

"But then what became of Divia?"

"That's the question, isn't it Nick? I do know that Tracy has
attracted the attention of the Enforcers." She told him about
Lyllia's visit. "She knew the Enforcer was a vampire without being
told Nick. I thought they might be interested in her because of
Vachon, but after tonight, I don't think he has anything to do with
it, although they do seem determined to keep him away from her."

"Where is he?"

She told him, and described as best she could the condition Lyllia
had left him in.

Nick nodded his head. "It sounds like an Enforcer trick I've heard
of. They generate some sort of psychic shock wave that disrupts the
electrical activity in the brain. It can kill a mortal, and render a
vampire not much younger than Vachon comatose. Almost any vampire
will do what they're told under its influence. If that's what they
did to him, they definitely want him to stay away from her."

"But why? She already knows everything."

Nick shook his head. "I don't know."  He looked at his watch. The
sun would be up in less than two hours, but he assured her that would
be enough time to at least get started on creating a story that would
cover Tracy Vetter's astonishing reappearance in the world of the
living. "Don't speak to Tracy's parents until I have everything set
up. I'll see to it that she won't be able to get through to them,
either."

Plotting to keep the young detective away from her family seemed so
cold and calculating, but then Natalie had to stop and ask herself
exactly *who* Tracy's "family" now included.  She wasn't a vampire,
but she was now somehow inextricably linked to the Community, which
meant certain details - and relationships - had to be dealt with.

"Get some rest," Nick told her. It sounded more like a warning than
friendly advice. He continued, "LaCroix would like you to be at the
Raven tonight.  He's going to awaken that... creature... of his."

Nick said it as if the words left a foul taste in his mouth, but
oddly, Natalie was touched and somehow honored by the request. It was
like being asked to attend a birth.

The birth of a vampire.

No matter what she thought of LaCroix's possible motivations, there
was no way her clinical curiosity was going to allow her to miss that.

"Tell him I'll be there," she said.

He got up to leave, but made no move to indicate he wanted a hug or
kiss good-bye. He gave her an ironic smile. "Nat, he *knows* you'll
be there. He's LaCroix, remember?"

 
---NINETEEN---

Nick had set enough of the wheels of deception into motion to cover
Tracy's resurrection that by 9 AM, Natalie was able to pay
Commissioner Vetter a visit at his office.

He looked at her in stunned disbelief as she explained to him the
horrible error that had occurred. His demeanor remained outwardly
calm, but she could only guess what had to be going on inside his
head. Certainly, a parent never ceased to mourn a dead child, but
Tracy had been gone long enough that Vetter had been able to put her
death behind him and go on with his life. How did it feel to be told
that the impossible had happened? That somehow, that cherished life
that had been so cruelly taken from him had been returned?

He leaned back in his desk chair and stared at the ceiling. Natalie
suspected it was so that the angle of his head would prevent tears
from escaping his eyes. He blinked several times before he looked at
her again.

"You're sure it's her?"

"Yes, Commissioner. I've run a check on her fingerprints."

She was *not* going to tell him she had actually spoken to her. He'd
question why more effort hadn't been made to reach him.

He sighed audibly, and pressed his fingertips together.  "I've
dreamed of her often, and the funny thing is, it was never of her
death or her funeral. She was always alive... then I would wake up
and know she was dead, but somehow, that never made me feel like I
thought it should have. Something would tell me that the dream was
the reality... I thought I believed that because I wanted it to be
true..." His voice broke slightly.  "My God..." He leaned forward and
buried his face in his hands, rubbing them down his cheeks as if the
scrape off a mask he had been wearing. He leveled his blue eyes at
her. <Tracy has his eyes...> "Do you know I can't even remember what
she looks like anymore? Not without a picture?"

"That isn't uncommon, Commissioner. Our minds do their best to
protect us from grief. The important thing is, you have her back. The
best thing to do is accept that for the gift that it is."

He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, now rubbing his
temple.  "I don't even know where her mother is... After Tracy
died... after we *thought* she'd died... she just lost all control. 
She had problems before, but after... Tracy was our only child and
Barbara never wanted her to be a cop... It was just too much for her.
I don't know how I will tell her even if I can find her."

"There's time to worry about that later," Natalie said. "Right now,
I think Tracy would very much like to see her dad."

"Yes... Yes of course," Vetter said absently, rising from his desk.

He was reaching for his coat when he turned to her, his expression
suddenly completely changed from that of the loving father he had
been a moment before. "When I find out who is responsible for this,
so help me God, there is going to be hell to pay!"

Natalie had heard enough about Vetter that she had been expecting
that. She bid him a hasty farewell before he could launch into a
tirade that would inevitably target her department and, quite
possibly, her.

Leaving the headquarters building, her mind turned back to Vachon.
She'd thought about him off and on ever since she'd left him, and she
finally decided to stop by the church.

She expected the place to be lit only by what sunlight came in
through the cracks in the boards that covered the windows. In
Vachon's actual living quarters, she expected no light at all, but
the flashlight she had brought along with her proved unnecessary.
Vachon had lit no less than 5 dozen candles and most of them were
still burning. The smell of wax was positively cloying.

His bed was unmade - and indeed looked like it had never been made
in the first place -but he wasn't sleeping in it.

She found him curled up in a corner, boxed in by two wooden crates
and a chair. It was almost as if he were hiding there.

She crawled into the space with him. He was asleep, and seemed to be
fine, although he'd wrapped his arms around himself as if he'd been
trying to stay warm. She pulled the blanket off the bed and covered
him with it, wondering why he hadn't thought to do that himself.

She wondered if that many candles would burn up the oxygen supply in
the room and thought about extinguishing some of them. but instead
she left them burning, and left her flashlight with him just in case
they should all go out on their own before he woke up. She had no
idea what reason he had for lighting the place up like that in the
first place, but he must have had one. <A vampire afraid of the dark?>

By the time she got home, the exhaustion had completely caught up
with her. She fed Sidney, then kicked off her shoes and dropped onto
the couch.

She would have slept through her command appearance at the Raven had
Nick not stopped by to escort her.  Luckily, he was early, which gave
her time for a quick shower and a change into some clean clothes.

Nick made no mention of the fledgling vampire until she brought it up.

"LaCroix has been giving him human blood, but in small amounts. He
didn't want him to awaken until his body was stronger," he explained
in a tone that was almost derisive.

"I can understand that. His injuries would be quite painful, even
for one of you."

"That's not the reason," Nick continued. "First Hunger is a very
stressful ordeal. He has to be strong enough to feed, and it's
important he be able to do it on his own."

"Why?"

"Survival of the fittest... A vampire who cannot take nourishment on
his own is a liability to the entire Community."

Was that a veiled reference to Vachon? When he had come to her after
Divia's attack, she'd had to feed him. In the beginning, he'd been so
sick he didn't even know what to do with the blood she gave him.

Natalie decided to take the comment at face value. After all,
LaCroix had kept Nick alive while she had been struggling to save
Vachon. Surely he hadn't forgotten that.

"How... uh... Nobody is going to get killed tonight, are they?" she
asked cautiously.

"No. As much as LaCroix would like that, I think he realizes that
newborns nowadays are better off if they don't get the live stuff
first.  What they don't know, they don't miss, so to speak. That kid
will get the freshest blood possible, but not from the source."

Something about the way Nick referred to LaCroix's fledgling as
"that kid" almost made Natalie laugh. Was Nick *jealous* of this new
sibling?

At the Raven, Natalie discovered she was not the only one who had
been invited to the festivities.

The Inka was there, and when she looked, she spotted Vachon sitting
off in a corner by himself. He made no attempt to greet her, which
was odd, so she went to him, instead. He looked up from the bottle he
was nursing as she approached.

"Natalie... you left the flashlight," he said softly. "Thank you."

"I didn't want to wake you up, but I saw all the candles... What was
that all about, Vachon?"

"Nothing. It was just something dumb."

"What?"

"I got back to the church last night after... after I fed, and
suddenly I didn't know where I was or what I was doing there... I
couldn't think... And then I felt *her*."

"Who?"

His voice was barely a whisper. "Divia... I felt her *inside* me...
and..." He shrugged. "I got scared. That's when I lit the candles."

Natalie frowned. "Are you okay now?"

"Sure. But I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I'm walking
around with a bag over my head... and I just can't get rid of this
feeling that she's coming for me again..." He looked back down at his
bottle for an instant and then took a long swallow.

"Don't you remember what happened to you at the hospital?"

"Hospital?"

"When we went to see Tracy?"

Suddenly, there was a panicked look on his face. "I'm not supposed
to see Tracy. They'll hurt her... Me, too."

She put her hand on his shoulder to calm this sudden, obvious
distress. "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. Tracy's okay."

The Inka had joined them by then, and asked Natalie, "Did that
Enforcer do this to him?"

"She did something... I'm not sure what. I don't think she injured
him."

"Not physically," Amaru noted. "But his mind..." he pointed to his
own head. "He is confused. That is all I feel from him."

"She said it wasn't permanent."

The Inka seemed relieved to hear that.

Natalie looked around and changed the subject. "Is this usually done
with an audience?"

"No. It is usually done in complete secrecy. LaCroix seems to feel a
different affection for this one."

Natalie didn't understand..

Amaru smiled. "Vampires are not under the same obligation as humans
to be politically correct about their family relationships. Some
fledglings are cherished..." He sighed heavily and took Vachon by the
arm. "Others are cast aside like garbage..."

Natalie wanted to say something to him, but she had not yet
perfected the role of Vampire Psychologist, so she did not know what
would be appropriate.

LaCroix saved her from having to think of something by summoning
those present. The festivities, apparently, were about to begin.


---TWENTY---

Nick motioned to her, and Natalie followed him back to Janette's old
room, where she saw for herself that LaCroix was anything but a
neglectful parent.

The furniture was no longer draped in dust covers and the more
feminine touches had been removed. The bed was made up with black
satin sheets that had probably cost the equivalent of one of her
paychecks <not that she had to worry about money any more, thanks to
LaCroix's guilt-driven generosity>. A thick, expensive comforter
covered the bed's inhabitant, not so much for warmth, she presumed,
as for the sake of familiarity and modesty.

Natalie was amazed at the change in the fledgling. With LaCroix's
permission, she pulled the comforter back to examine him.

The wasted muscles on his arms and legs had filled out, as had the
emaciated torso. He was still thin, but his appearance was acceptably
normal.

She was alarmed at first that he appeared to be writhing in agony,
random movements which to her very much resembled the seizures Vachon
had suffered during his illness. However, after observing them for
few moments, she realized that this vampire body was somehow
instinctively strengthening muscles that had not been used in a very,
very long time by flexing and contracting them involuntarily.

She had expected that LaCroix, who was always meticulously groomed,
and who apparently appreciated that same quality in his offspring,
would have cut the fledgling's long hair, but he hadn't. It had
simply been tied back with an elastic band that had to have been
purchased just for that purpose. She pushed her fingers through some
of it, and discovered that her arm wasn't long enough to get her all
the way to the end of its length. The color was incredible - a deep,
warm brown with sienna highlights - too brown to be called red, but
with enough red that it seemed to have a fiery glow to it. It was
silky soft and untangled easily, as did Nick's and Vachon's. She
absently wondered if being brought across could be the ultimate cure
for Bad Hair.

"It's so *long*," she muttered to herself.

"Not surprising, doctor. He's had 85 years to grow it."

"What?"

"When I was able to ... taste... his blood, there was, beyond a
doubt, a familiarity about it. I searched my memory until I recalled
when and where I had encountered him before. It was under rather
extreme emotional duress, so I dare say it's no wonder the
circumstances of our meeting had slipped my mind entirely."

He relayed to her the events which had transpired during his last
moments on board a doomed ocean liner called the Titanic.

"He wasn't quite dead when I was attacked. In the chaos that
followed, I confess I never once entertained the possibility that he
might have ingested blood from my head wound, but that has to have
been what happened. There is no other explanation."

"So you created him without even knowing it?!"

"Created him..." LaCroix said softly, as he pushed his fingers
through the long hair, "and then left him, to whatever horrible fate
I can only imagine."

Natalie sensed honest regret in the old vampire's words.  He really
hadn't done this on purpose. At the same time, the full extent of
what LaCroix was saying hit her.

This young vampire had spent most of his immortal existence in the
coldest depths of the Atlantic Ocean. She did not know how deep the
wreckage of the Titanic was, but she knew human divers had not been
to it. The pressure of the water at that depth had to be unimaginable
-it should have pulverized his bones and turned his flesh into jelly,
and compressed his body so tightly that it would have fit into a
shoebox.

She was not surprised, however, to see that he bore very little sign
of his previous injuries. She checked his ears and found they now
appeared normal. His eyes were healing, and thankfully were now on
the outside of his skull, but the eyeballs themselves were still
somewhat misshapen. She wondered if his vampire physiology would
compensate for that, or if he'd be the first of the Undead to need
glasses.

Other than that, he looked as healthy as any other live vampire she
had ever examined.

"It is time, then," LaCroix said.

Was that excitement she heard in his voice? He had certainly
expressed no concern for the fact that the being before him was not
only about to awaken as an entirely different life form, but also
minus almost a century of mortal history.

"LaCroix, what if he doesn't want to be a vampire?" she asked him
point blank.

She knew LaCroix well enough to know that he could not understand
why anyone would *not* want to be what he was - and she also knew it
was an unfair question to put to him in front of Nick, but she just
had to know the answer.

"Given the circumstances..." He looked pointedly at Nick as if
conveying some unspoken thought about why this fledgling was
different, "I will not force an unwelcome fate upon him."

That was the right answer, of course, but once it was voiced,
Natalie felt a sharp pang of regret. She tried to be objective about
it - had this young man not encountered LaCroix, he'd be an
incredibly old man by this time, and even more likely would have been
dead for 30 or 40 years, and that was assuming he'd survived the
Titanic which, literally speaking, he hadn't. Nevertheless, she had
come to acknowledge that these creatures had a right to exist, and
now placed the same value on Them as she did on human beings. She
realized that she *wanted* this beautiful creature to survive, and
not be miserable while he was doing it.

No one, it turned out, would be allowed to watch the actual
transformation, when LaCroix would awaken the fledgling with a
feeding of his own blood. The senior vampire ushered everyone from
the room for that part of the process.

Several minutes passed before he opened the door again and announced
"It is done."

The newborn vampire still looked very much as he had when they'd
left him, only now the complete stillness of vampire sleep was upon
him.

He seemed to sense their presence in the room, though, and after a
few moments, his eyes fluttered open. The were gold, but that didn't
mask the utter disorientation Natalie saw in them.

He looked around the room and blinked several times, as if trying to
decide if what he saw was real, or if he was dreaming.

Natalie knew they could see in the infra-red and ultra-violet
spectrums, so the young man's frame of visual reference had been
totally altered. It was likely that he now could literally see so
well that he couldn't recognize anything.

He focused in turn on each person in the room, except for Vachon who
had managed to conceal himself in a darkened recess. Normally,
Natalie's thoughts would have been directed at why Vachon was
behaving so strangely, but at that moment, she was too fascinated by
what she was watching.

What was this young man before her thinking? What did he see through
those vampire eyes?

The lighting in the room was very dim, but when the new vampire sat
up, his pale skin seemed almost iridescent. Natalie felt a small gasp
escape her, and immediately thereafter, the fledgling looked directly
at her. Did he know she was the only mortal in the room? Did it
matter to him at this point?

Fleetingly, the thought occurred to her that maybe she had been
purposely lured here to be the newborn's first meal, and she felt
irrational relief when LaCroix distracted his new son. He sat down on
the bed and said simply, "Hello."

The young face turned to him. His voice was hoarse from disuse, but
Natalie thought she heard a hint of Irish brogue to it when he asked,
"What happened?"

"What do you remember?" LaCroix said gently.

"The ship... We were going down.  Were we... rescued?"

Natalie could tell that on some gut level, this young man knew that
wasn't what had happened.

But LaCroix replied, "Yes. You could put it that way."

"I feel very odd..."

"I know you do. What is your name?"

"Kelly... Zaanan."

"Well, Mr. Zaanan..."

"No, Zaanan is my given name."

"Biblical," LaCroix's eyes twinkled. "How charmingly ironic."

The young man looked at him with a confused frown. "My friends call
me Shane."

"Then that is what we shall call you," LaCroix put a hand on the
fledgling's shoulder, "for we are all your friends... I am Lucien,
and we are going to be friends for a very long time..."

Like the other vampires in the room, Nick had been sipping at a
glass filled with what Natalie had heard them refer to as the "house
special." He'd long since drained the contents, but when LaCroix
spoke those words, his grip on the glass intensified to the point
that the glass shattered in his hand, driving shards of crystal into
his flesh.

Everyone turned at the sound, including the newborn vampire, who
watched in fascination as rivulets of blood seeped from between
Nick's clenched fingers.

Suddenly, in a blur of movement, he hurled himself at Nick, who
caught him by the hair an instant before the fledgling's little fangs
could sink into his hand.

Even Natalie, a mortal, understood that the powerful desire for
Nick's blood had been triggered by the sight and smell of it, but
nevertheless, Nick mercilessly flung the much weaker vampire hard
into the opposite wall, the expression on his face one of total
disgust.

That got Vachon's attention. He looked up, his eyes flashing red,
and was instantly on his feet. Amaru turned around and saw him in
time to physically restrain him, but it wasn't easy, especially since
he wasn't any happier about what Nick had done than Vachon was. He
glared in Nick's direction and said something no one in the room but
Vachon understood, but which was clearly not complimentary.

LaCroix shot Nick a look that went way beyond scornful, but he said
nothing. He gently retrieved his new offspring, who was still lying
on his side on the floor where he had landed, and calmly shoved a
finger in his face. "No," he said, in that commanding tone of voice
only LaCroix had. "Not like that."

He led him back to the bed and covered him, which apparently caused
the youngster to be aware for the first time that he was completely
naked, a revelation that seemed to compound his distress.

Natalie thought it was painful to watch. He wanted the blood so
badly, and yet, he didn't seem to even know what it was that he
craved. He looked at LaCroix, the signs of full vampire arousal
clearly evident.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked.

"Nothing." LaCroix smoothed his hair. "Nothing at all." He uncorked
one of the bottles he had readied for this event. He handed it to
him. "Drink."

LaCroix looked on with paternal pride as Shane took a tentative
taste and then greedily consumed his first bottle of the thick, warm
liquid.

It was at that point that Nick stormed out of the room, but LaCroix
paid him no attention whatsoever.

Finally, the young vampire had consumed all that he could hold. His
hunger should have been sated, but the desire to feed was still
there, so intense that even Natalie had a sense of it.

Shane's eyes had reverted to their natural moon-grey color, but he
reached up and gingerly touched his extended fangs.

"I know," LaCroix said patiently. "They hurt. I'm afraid nothing in
these bottles will help that. It will pass."

The fledgling looked miserable. He needed to *bite* something, even
Natalie knew that.

LaCroix singled Natalie out for his explanation. "He does not need
to feed, but the instinct to bite is quite powerful, I am afraid...
Ordinarily, I would be showing him how to make his first kill."

His tone of voice was entirely without apology of any kind, and his
words did not escape poor Shane, who now looked even more confused
and wretched.

With the exception of Nick, the other vampires in the room had
remained completely still and silent up until that point. Whether it
was out of respect for some vampire code of etiquette or because they
were as enthralled by the proceedings as she was, Natalie was not
certain. But as soon as LaCroix had spoken, the Inka nodded in his
direction and then ushered Vachon from the room.

Natalie alone remained to watch as LaCroix approached his new child.

He offered his wrist to the fledgling, who clearly knew what he
*wanted* to do, but didn't dare.

"Go ahead," LaCroix told him. "It is what you want."

Natalie could tell that on some plane of awareness, Shane didn't
want to bite LaCroix. He didn't need any more blood. But the instinct
quickly overpowered him and he sank his teeth into LaCroix's arm just
for the pure bliss of doing it.

She had learned that the actual act of biting was something vampires
preferred not to do in front of a mortal, so she graciously retreated
from the room.

Vachon and the Inka were already at the bar calming themselves with
more of the house special. Vachon picked up his glass with shaking
hands.

Whatever was going on, it seemed to have made Vachon more alert than
he had been, but she asked him, "Are you okay?"

He muttered "Yeah," into his drink, but she noticed that the very
center of his irises were still red. He was angry, and possibly
dangerous. She backed off.

"What Nick did was uncalled for," the Inka said. He was not in a
good mood either. "The fledgling could not help himself. He should
have known this."

He glared at Vachon, and for some reason, his own eyes started to
turn red, too. She didn't think it was shared camaraderie, either,
and apparently, Vachon knew it wasn't. He literally withered under
his twin's stare, like a person who had resigned himself to a beating.

Even so, neither of them said a thing. Natalie knew this was one of
those mental conversations she could not hope to be privy to, and she
also knew that they were not sharing a Kodak moment.

The tension quickly escalated to an intolerable level, and the Inka
suddenly drained his glass and flung it at the wall so hard that some
of the pieces imbedded themselves in the paneling.

He gave Vachon a final, angry shove - which Vachon absorbed without
any hint at retaliation - and abruptly left.

Vachon continued to do nothing. He stood there staring at the broken
glass until the silence became unbearable and Natalie finally said,
"Vachon? What was that all about?"

Vachon looked downward to stare into his glass as he made circles
around the rim with his finger. It was real crystal, and eventually
began to vibrate, emitting a musical sound, which further seemed to
fascinate him. Natalie was certain she'd lost him, that he was not
going to answer, when he finally spoke.

"The night we were made, just before the sun came up, we buried
ourselves in the ground, like our master had taught us. The next
night, I woke up before he did. I crawled out of the earth and looked
around and knew he was still buried." He touched a finger to the
corner of one eye. "I could see it. I could see him under the earth -
the heat from his body."

He lifted the glass, drained it, and then refilled it. "I still
thought of him as The Enemy, never mind that my own people would have
staked me and burned me alive if they'd known what I had become," he
snorted at the irony. "I grabbed a branch from a tree and drove it
into the earth -right through him. I wanted to kill him, but I missed
his heart." He sighed and then turned around so that his elbows were
on the bar, supporting him. He still didn't look at her. "I didn't
know then how much pain just a sliver of wood can cause us, and to
have it forced into you..." He winced and made a motion as if he were
guarding his own chest from a blow. "I understood mortal pain, but
for a vampire who can't die from a wound like that..." He shrugged
apologetically.

"I left, thinking he was dead, but it was only minutes before I knew
he wasn't. His people had come looking for him, and I found one of
them and made my first kill. As soon as I had, I *felt* Amaru's pain
in *me*, even though I didn't know that's what it was at the time..."

The tone of Vachon's voice changed, to one in which Natalie sensed
honest regret. "A serious injury virtually demands that we feed. You
know that. And Amaru was only a few hours old. There was the First
Hunger, *and* he was badly hurt." He rubbed his temple absently. "I
can't imagine what that was like for him."

He reached back for his glass. He could not, Natalie had long since
noticed, keep his hands still for very long. He again began to circle
the rim of the glass, waiting for it to hum before he continued.
"Like I said, his people were looking for him. His brother - his
*real* brother - was the one who found him."

He threw his head back and drained the glass completely again. "That
was his first kill."

"Oh my God," Natalie muttered.

Vachon set his glass on the bar and smiled sadly. "Or whatever deity
is involved."

"He has never forgiven you."

Vachon cocked his head to the side. "No, actually he has. For one
thing, it really did hurt me almost as much as it did him. We hadn't
learned to construct the mental barriers in the link between us, so
his pain was very real to me. And, through that link, I think he
understood that I was only trying to kill him, not intentionally make
him suffer." He laughed softly. "Somehow that made a difference. He
has forgiven, he just hasn't forgotten. I don't suppose he ever will."

LaCroix strolled up to the bar, buttoning the cuff on his shirt.
Vachon gave him a curt nod and told Natalie he'd see her later.

"So what happens now?" she asked LaCroix when they were alone.

"He'll sleep. His body is still adapting. Later, there will be
things he must be taught. How to use his powers... " He looked at her
and lifted an eyebrow. "how to cope with the 21st century..."

Natalie sighed. "You'll be lucky if he doesn't go mad."

"That usually doesn't happen with my children, although I grant he
is an exception. It will be quite a challenge." He refilled his glass
and took a sip.  "Which reminds me, how is our young Detective Vetter?"

"As far as anyone can tell, she's fine."

"Does she seem... herself?"

"Surprisingly, yes, she does. LaCroix have you ever heard of such a
thing as what happened to her?"

Another lifted eyebrow.

"No. But then, I never expected Divia would return, either."

"Why are the Enforcers interested in her? Can you tell me that?"

LaCroix told her about tasting the strange fluid he'd discovered in
Tracy's veins. "I tasted Divia. I know that somehow, she has
something to do with this.  I presume that the Enforcers know that by
now, also."

Natalie felt suddenly uneasy as she recalled what Vachon had just
told her about sensing Divia. Had he picked that up from his brief
visit with Tracy?

"Are you talking about demonic possession?" Natalie didn't believe
in that, even though Nick claimed to have experienced it. She didn't
think LaCroix did, either.

"No, more of a symbiosis, I would think, although I doubt that that
is what Divia would have intended. My thoughts are that there simply
was not enough of her to take over Miss Vetter completely. She
reconstructed the body, just as she did her own in the tomb, but the
rest..."

"You're saying that little, mortal Tracy was strong enough to
overcome a being that could maim and kill vampires hundreds of years
old?" Natalie was incredulous.

"My dear Doctor Lambert, one thing I have discovered in my 2,000
years is that sometimes the most unlikely creatures possess the most
formidable abilities. Consider the jellyfish. It is nothing more than
a gelatinous blob - no skin, not even bones -but some species will
sicken even my kind with their venom. And in turn, certain species of
small fish swim between their deadly tentacles unscathed." He stared
directly at her with his ice blue eyes. "Many mortals go through life
without ever knowing what powers they possess, Doctor Lambert, only
because they are never called upon to use them."


---TWENTY-ONE---

The main event concluded, Natalie had to go straight to work from
the Raven, but it wasn't until she was actually out the door that she
realized that when Nick had left so suddenly, he had abandoned her
without a ride. Cursing softly, she looked at her watch and hoped she
could get a cab that would get her to work on time.

There was a car parked at the curb not far from her, and as she was
digging around in her purse for her phone, the tinted driver's side
window rolled down. It was Amaru, and he offered her a ride.

His car was a Plymouth Voyager, maroon inside and out. Once she was
inside, she saw that it was fairly new, and immaculately clean, but
somehow, she found it to be less than what she would have expected.
One just didn't envision vampires driving minivans.

"I liked the color," he shrugged, apparently sensing her
disappointment.  "It looks like blood."

She turned her head quickly towards him, and then realized he was
making a joke. Obviously, he had cooled off a bit since his abrupt
departure from the Raven.

As he turned the key in the ignition, there was a whoosh of cold air
and a clicking sound -both so fast that Natalie wasn't sure which
came first.

She felt a little shriek of surprise escape her when she realized
someone was in the seat behind her.

Vachon had entered the car so fast that he seemed to have suddenly
just appeared there.

"Don't do that to me!" Natalie scolded him, and not anywhere near as
severely as she wanted. Her heart was still racing.

Vachon looked honestly bewildered. He said nothing, but blinked
those big eyes of his at her and made her feel sorry she had yelled
at him. She sighed. When would she learn that getting angry with him
was pretty much pointless?

Amaru said nothing to Vachon one way or another. She sensed no
animosity from the Inka, but neither did he seem happy to see the
other vampire.

Natalie had dozens of questions she would have liked to have asked
Amaru and Vachon about what she just had seen LaCroix do, but she
didn't know the Inka that well, and after the confrontation she had
just witnessed between him and Vachon, she had no idea how receptive
either vampire would be.

She did plan to ask Nick later why he'd walked out the way he had. 
What, really, had he expected LaCroix to do with Shane?  The
fledgling had clung to existence under the most impossible of
circumstances for over eight decades. Had he been aware all that
time? Had he suffered the physical pain of his crushed body, as well
as the mental torture of unrelenting solitude? Or had he merely slept
a long and dreamless sleep from which he could not escape? Whatever
his experience had been, he deserved to have it end in some way other
than to die without ever waking up, even if that meant he would be
the one thing Nick so hated.

She did have one question to which she suspected that Amaru, out of
all of Them, would give her the most direct answer.

She asked him, "What does it feel like to see that happen to someone
else?"

He thought about it a long time before he answered. "None of us can
know that until we see how he accepts what he has become. If he wants
to be one of us, then it will be a welcome event. If he does not..."
He shrugged. "It is never easy to destroy one of our own kind, even
when it is what must be done." He turned and glanced at the back
seat. "Not for most of us, anyway."

Vachon picked up on the remark immediately. "What is that supposed
to mean?"

Amaru only grunted.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Vachon asked again.

"What do you *think* it means, Vachon?"

Considering what Vachon had just told her, she had little doubt that
they were about to go for each other's throats again - she hoped
figuratively rather than literally. Amaru's sarcasm was an engraved
invitation to an argument if ever she heard one.

Luckily, they were in the parking lot of the Coroner's building by
this time, so she saw the opportunity to distract at least Vachon.
His x-rays would probably be ready, so she suggested he come inside
with her. The thought was to separate the pair, but Amaru decided to
follow them in.

Vachon knew where she kept the blood supply, and made himself at
home. So did Amaru, once he saw Vachon was getting away with it. Both
of them were the touchy-feely type who had to pick up and/or examine
everything in the place, and ultimately, this came to include the
clientele.

With a plastic bag of blood in one hand, Amaru poked a finger at the
intestines of a partially decomposed customer with the other. The
rotting flesh gave way at his touch, and when he pulled his hand
back, it was smeared with who knew what. Apparently, not much ruined
Their appetite, but Natalie dragged him to the sink to wash the goo
off anyway, and told them both, "If you hear anyone coming, hide. And
please be quick about it. I'm too damned tired to explain the two of
you."

"Do you want me to leave?" Amaru asked.

She couldn't believe it, but she didn't. "No. Just stay out of
trouble... and out of the bodies."

She found Vachon's x-rays and put them up to read them. Amaru seemed
fascinated by them. "You've never seen x-rays before?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "Only on TV... These are Vachon's?"

"Yes." She pointed out the healing fractures, some of which were
obvious even to an untrained eye. Ironically, it was Amaru who
spotted what she might otherwise have missed.

Vachon's left tibia was a nightmare of poorly-formed calculi and
bone splinters.  His other fractures had aligned themselves properly
and then had quickly knit together, but this bone was healing much
more slowly, and in such a haphazard fashion that its basic structure
was barely recognizable. Natalie was wondering exactly what to look
for when Amaru pointed to an area that was just a shade lighter than
the surrounding bone.

"What is that?" he asked her.

"What?"

When he realized that she couldn't see what he was pointing at, he
patiently traced the object with his index finger. It was about six
inches long, but probably no more than a fifth of an inch wide. It
had roughly the same density as the surrounding bone, so it wasn't
metal. It had to be organic material, probably a piece of wood. No
wonder the healing process had gone awry.

She'd have to take a lateral view to determine if it was on the
outside of the tangled mass of bone fibers, or was actually encased
by them. In either case, the best thing would probably be to get it
out, but if doing so would require a deep anesthetic, she had no clue
what kind and how much would work, to say nothing of how she'd get
her hands on some.

She explained the problem. "What would happen if it was just left
there?" she asked. Certainly, Vachon was not the first vampire to
have this kind of accident, even though, of course, it hadn't *been*
an accident. The sliver had obviously somehow been forced into his
leg during the altercation with Nick.

"Normally, it would work its way out in a few days," Amaru said.

"Only I'm not normal anymore," Vachon said casually.

"No, no you aren't," Natalie had to agree. She looked at the x-rays
again. The misshapen bone had to be putting pressure on the
surrounding tissues and nerve endings, never mind that wood all by
itself was extremely irritating to Them.  "Vachon, that has to be
causing you a lot of pain..."

"Yeah," he admitted.  "It hurts like hell.  I can hardly walk on it."

There was something else he didn't say.  "And?" Natalie prodded.

His voice was more subdued when he answered. "It feels like the bite
from Divia did.  I can feel the poison."

Natalie considered this.  Somehow, the embalming fluids had been
forced from Tracy's body, probably through the pores of her skin.
That had to have happened as Divia's cells attempted to reconstruct a
viable host for themselves, so it was possible that some of her toxin
was secreted with it, contaminating the soil at the gravesite. Soil
that was teeming with fungi and other microorganisms, just as Divia's
tomb had been.

Along with an irritating splinter of wood, Vachon probably had the
supernatural equivalent of a bacterial infection, only the "bacteria"
were themselves contaminated by a demon and had a collective mind of
their own.

Even though he didn't seem overly concerned by this, Vachon had to
realize the implications. If Divia's cells were able to multiply in
his body, what would stop them from doing so?

She took another set of x-rays so she could pinpoint the object with
greater accuracy, and then she examined the leg itself. There was
some swelling and discoloration just below his knee, although
probably nowhere near what there would have been in a mortal, and he
moved the limb only with considerable pain and effort. She sent the x-
rays off with instructions that she needed them back as soon as
possible, but on the night shift, that could mean anywhere from 20
minutes to the end of the shift.

She really did have work she was being paid to do, so as they
waited, she finished an autopsy and wrote up two reports. Amaru
watched her every move, standing perfectly still in that unnerving
way he and Vachon both had. Vachon continued to drink the blood she
had on hand. Whole and reasonably fresh, it seemed to remedy entirely
whatever Lyllia had done to him at the hospital.

By the time she was able to take a break, Vachon's mind was back on
Tracy Vetter. He wanted to know where she was, and Natalie had to
advise him against making random calls to find out.

"Not a good idea, Vachon.  Lyllia meant what she said about you
staying away from her." Natalie suspected that if the Enforcer had
wanted to kill Vachon or Tracy, she would have already done so, but
there was no point in pushing her buttons.

"You cannot learn anything, can you?" Amaru felt the need to comment.

"Shut up!" Vachon shot back.

The Inka maintained a calm air of superiority. "It is the truth."

Vachon put the phone down, reluctantly. "If you don't like it, feel
free to get out of my life at any time," he told the other vampire.

Natalie sighed audibly. "Why does everything you two say to each
other have to be hostile?"

They both looked at her and blinked their large, dark eyes at
exactly the same time.

They had no idea what she was talking about.

"You're still angry with each other about something that happened
five hundred years ago. It's stupid."

"They destroyed my people," the Inka said softly. "I do not consider
that trivial."

"Who is this 'they'?" Natalie asked him.

Amaru looked at her askance, and then cast a disdainful glance at
Vachon. "Spaniards."

"But wasn't Vachon already a vampire by the time that happened?"

Natalie was trying to get Amaru to see the situation logically, and
it didn't help when Vachon offered his own observations.

"Your empire was falling apart when we got there," he scoffed. "You
destroyed yourselves."

Amaru's dark eyes shot a warning glance at Vachon, who, naturally,
had to point out, "And we were only outnumbered by about five million
of you."

Amaru's eyes flashed yellow, and he grabbed Vachon by the throat.

"Stop it!" Natalie shouted. "Let him go and sit down! Both of you!"

Neither of them, apparently, was accustomed to being told what to
do, but her tone of voiced surprised them enough that mayhem didn't
ensue. Amaru let Vachon go.

"I'm going to go get a cup of coffee." She pointed a finger at them.
"Don't you dare tear this place apart while I'm gone."

When she returned with her coffee and a candy bar <nothing like
caffeine and chocolate to soothe the nerves>, the two vampires were
sitting in stony silence, Vachon slumped in his chair with his head
tilted back and his eyes closed, Amaru with his arms folded across
his chest.

They were both sulking, but at least making an effort to refrain
from physical violence.

She leaned back in her chair and assumed her most pontifical tone of
voice, assuming the role of Vampire Family Counselor.

"Don't either of you understand how special the bond between you is?"

"There is no bond between us," Amaru stated.

"Of course there is, and you know it," Natalie retorted.  "You have
the same master, the same *blood* for heaven's sake. Surely you have
to feel something..."

"It was dumb luck, Natalie," Vachon said. "We just happened to both
be there. End of story."

"I don't believe that." She took a sip of her coffee, and then tried
to get the conversation on a calmer track. "Do you mind if I ask what
you remember about it?"

"About what?" Amaru asked.

"What I saw LaCroix do tonight with that fledgling made me
understand why I have always believed that you guys aren't 'dead,'
not in any sense of the word. It made me wonder how it happened with
Nick. He's never told me, and it isn't something I can ask him
about... I just wondered if it was something that was remembered
afterward."

"We remember," Vachon muttered crossly.

Amaru nodded sullenly.

Natalie was wondering if their evasiveness was deliberate when Amaru
asked,  "So you want to know how we were brought across?"

"Yes, I do," Natalie confessed her curiosity. "Vachon has told me a
little about how it was done, but where did it happen? When? Even if
I asked, I don't think Nick would tell me those things."

"Why?" Vachon asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. It just isn't something he talks about.
Oh, he's told me the mechanics of it, but not what the circumstances
were. I'd really like to know..." She hesitated. What did she want to
know?

"How anyone could let that happen to them?" Amaru finished for her.

She felt her face redden, but she admitted the truth. "Yes."

Amaru and Vachon looked at each other as if trying to decide if they
should share their story with this mortal. They seemed to reach a
silent, mutual agreement, because Vachon began the account.

"I was a soldier in Pizarro's army. Our expedition had landed on the
northern coast of Peru several months before and we had made our way
inland, exploring uncharted territory..."

Amaru made a grunting sound.

Vachon narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You were looking for gold."

This fact didn't seem to bother Vachon. "So?"

"So do not make it sound like you were noble adventurers when you
were driven by greed."

Vachon sat up straight and turned in his chair. "Let me tell you
something. It was the most miserable place I'd ever been in my life.
The food made us all sick, the bugs ate us alive and there wasn't
even enough damn oxygen in the air to *breathe*. If there was some
way for me to get rich out of the deal, why shouldn't I?"

Amaru refused to look at him and continued to stare straight ahead.
"Because the gold did not belong to you. The land did not belong to
you. Or did that even matter to you?"

Vachon's answer was simple, direct, and politically incorrect to an
alarming degree. "No."

"Vachon, please..." Natalie sighed. "Continue with the story."

Vachon composed himself by taking the paper clip chain Amaru had
made a few days before and disassembling it as he went on, "We were
camped at Lake Titicaca..."

Amaru rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "You were nowhere
*near* Lake Titicaca."

"Yes we were."

"Perhaps in astronomical terms," the Inka snorted.

"What does that mean?"

"Lake Titicaca is almost in Bolivia.  You were hundreds of miles
from there." He turned and finally made eye-contact with his twin,
but only to say, "Where did you learn geography, Vachon, from a comic
book?"

Vachon glared at him. "Lake Titicaca," he insisted.

"It was *my* country." Amaru thumbed his own chest. "I think I
should *know* where we were."

"Okay, you were near Lake *something*!" Natalie interrupted. "Go on."

Vachon sat in obstinate silence, so Amaru picked up the story.

"The year was 1531..."

"Three," Vachon muttered.

"What?"

"It was 1533."

"No it wasn't."

"April 1533."

"I say it was 1531."

Vachon slouched back in his chair, and folded his arms across his
chest so that he unwittingly was sitting exactly like Amaru. "Say
whatever you want. It was your country, but it was *my* calendar. It
was 1533."

Amaru briefly considered an argument for this, and came up with,
"Who cares!?"

"Okay, okay," Natalie silenced them. "It was fifteen thirty-
something. Keep going..."

It was Vachon who spoke. "I was running a message to an artillery
placement in the hills..."

Amaru interrupted him, again. "Two guys with muskets is *not*
artillery."

"They weren't muskets, they were arquebuses."

"That is not artillery, either."

Vachon stared at him stubbornly, so Amaru just had to add, "You
never made it, anyway, because I killed you."

Vachon straightened himself up again. "Now *that* is a lie," he
objected. "I ran a pike through your guts. You were bleeding like a
fountain."

"And how much longer do you think you would have lived with your
skull crushed like a boiled egg?"

Vachon clearly knew it wouldn't have been long, but he said, "Longer
than you."

"Okay, okay, you're both dying. Then what happened?" Natalie was
beginning to regret having started this conversation.

Amaru continued. "In the darkness, she came to us."

Vachon's voice became subdued. "She said she could still feel
courage in our dying hearts." He looked sideways at the Inka, and
Natalie got the idea that maybe that was not exactly what their
master had said to them, but Amaru liked the sound of it, so he
wasn't going to dispute it.

"She took my blood, then his..." Amaru interjected.

"It was the other way around. I was first."

"How can you say that? You were not even conscious."

"Yes, I was."

"No, you were not."

"Okay!" Natalie sighed heavily. "She took the blood from both of
you..."

Amaru nodded, and Vachon softly said, "Yes."

Natalie didn't have to ask how that felt. She'd been drained by a
vampire herself. But even if she hadn't known, the look on Vachon's
face would have told her. Amaru looked a bit embarrassed by the
knowledge that she shared that particular memory with the two of them.

"Then she gave you her blood?"

Amaru nodded. "Her blood, our own, and each others'" He looked at
Vachon. "I knew he was afraid to die so far from his home... I could
feel how much he hated me."

Vachon squirmed uncomfortably, and added, "You knew that the end had
come for your people. You wanted to kill me for that."

Their eyes locked the way Natalie had seen them do many times
before, but this time the tension between them was of an entirely
different nature. Neither of them was comfortable sharing the
information they had just revealed in front of her, probably because
it had been much easier for each of them to think of the other as a
mindless adversary.

Natalie had no idea what they might have said to each other next,
and she never got to find out.

The door opened without any warning whatever, and Tracy was there. 


---TWENTY-TWO---

Vachon stared at her as if he were looking at a heavenly vision.
<Not far from the truth...>

It would be much later before it would occur to Natalie to wonder
how Tracy had approached without revealing her presence to the
vampires, so at the time, she was only wondering how to handle this
sudden visit.  Lyllia had told Vachon to stay away from Tracy, but
all she had told Tracy was not to let Vachon bring her across.

"You're out of the hospital..." Natalie said, even though that was
obvious.

"They couldn't find a reason to keep me there. They let me go this
afternoon. I've been with my dad since then, but he's kind of upset
about all this. The atmosphere was pretty intense.  I just needed to
get away for awhile, and I couldn't think of a better place to find
someone I knew than here or the precinct." Her smile faded a bit.  "I
kind of thought it might be better not to go there yet."

"Sit down," Natalie told her, for lack of anything better to say.
"We were just talking."

Tracy began to slip off her coat, and Amaru jumped to his feet to
assist her, which was when she got a good look at him.  Her blue eyes
narrowed then widened.

"I know you..." she said nervously.  "I thought you had died."

Amaru looked unsure of himself. He averted his eyes self-consciously
for a moment and finally said, "Why would you think that?"

"Vudu... the bomb. You flew into the sky with it."

"He was going to Mother Moon," Vachon grunted.

The Inka gave Vachon a threatening look, but Tracy saved the
situation by adding, "You saved my life."

Amaru nodded, ready to accept her gratitude, but Tracy added, "Of
course, the first time we met, I thought you'd come straight from
hell. What was that vampire crap all about, anyway?"

Amaru shifted his feet uneasily and avoided her gaze again.  "I was
trying to scare you."

"Duh! Believe me, it worked."

"I'm sorry."

"You were going to *bite* me!"

Amaru looked only slightly remorseful about that. "You shot me,
remember? That hurt."

Vachon, Natalie noticed, was enjoying this exchange. He sat with his
arms crossed, biting his lower lip as if he was trying not to smile.

"Well, it's over and done," Tracy said brightly, and extended her
hand. "I'm Tracy Vetter."

"Yes, I know. I am Amaru."

"Is that your first or last name?"

"In this life, it is neither."  He pulled out his driver's license
and showed it to her.

"It is a kind of joke," he explained. "Do you know Spanish?"

Tracy frowned as she studied the name for a moment and then her
smile widened to a grin as she apparently deciphered it. "That's
pretty cool." She laughed, and handed the license back to him.

The Inka nodded. "But call me Amaru."

Natalie looked at Vachon for an explanation, but he only shrugged.
Whatever name Amaru was using in this lifetime, he apparently was not
about to be forthcoming with it.

As Tracy set her coat aside, Natalie happened to glance at her arm.
The bandage she had placed there after the Enforcer had excised the
tissue sample was gone, and in place of the deep injury there
appeared to be nothing more than a brownish-red discoloration of the
skin.

Natalie took Tracy by the arm - gently, she thought, but Tracy
jumped and pulled away violently.

"I'm sorry," Natalie said.  "I was just trying to look at that wound
on your arm."

Tracy covered the spot with her hand. "It's nothing. It's no big
deal."

"But it was a subcutaneous..."

The look in Tracy's eyes when their gaze met cut Natalie short.
Tracy had also noticed that a wound that should have taken days to
mend had healed overnight, and that fact plainly terrified her.

But, as Natalie was bracing for some sort of emotional outburst,
Tracy spotted the half-eaten candy bar on her desk. Her demeanor
changed instantly.

"Oh my God! Chocolate!  I knew there was something to live for... 
I'll just be a minute." She dashed out the door so fast Natalie had
to turn around to be certain she wasn't still in the room.

"I'm sorry, I just can't get used to this," she said to no one in
particular.

"That she's alive?" Vachon asked.

"That she's alive and so *normal*. Even if she really had been in a
coma all this time, there should be some confusion, some
disorientation or loss of memory. It's not natural." As soon as the
words were out of her mouth, Natalie realized how dumb they were. Of
course it wasn't natural. Tracy had come back from the dead. The
Truly Dead.  You couldn't get more unnatural than that.

Tracy returned shortly with not one candy bar, but an entire armful.
She had to have had at least two dozen of them.

"Have a lot of spare change?" Natalie joked.

Tracy cocked her head.  "Change?"

Natalie nodded at the candy.

"These? Oh... no... I just helped myself."

Natalie wondered exactly what she meant by that, because there was
something unnerving about the way Tracy set the candy down and then
briefly eyed the three of them as if daring them to challenge her for
it.  There was something in her eyes - a sort of avaricious defiance
that at the very least seemed childish and at the worst was downright
creepy.

But, just when Natalie was all but convinced this was *not* Tracy
Vetter, the young detective's buoyant smile returned. "Anybody want
some?"

She sat and began to peel the wrapper from a Hershey bar.

She took a bite and closed her eyes.  "Ummmm.  So good!"

Vachon watched her carefully for a moment, and then did something
that almost made Natalie shriek in horror.

He broke off a piece of Tracy's candy bar and put it in his mouth.

Amaru looked at him as if he'd gone mad, and Natalie waited for him
to gag on it, but he didn't. He did however, sit there with the piece
of candy in his mouth looking almost as surprised by what he had done
as everyone else was.

"Well?" Tracy asked him after a few moments.

He smiled at her.  "It's good." He reached for another piece.

Natalie was bewildered. Nick had never voluntarily eaten mortal
food, and when he had, he had certainly never wanted a second helping.

Not to be outdone, Amaru reached for the last remaining section of
Hershey bar.  He stuck it in his mouth and almost immediately had the
reaction Natalie would have expected. He did gag on it, and Natalie
quickly handed him a tissue from the box on her desk so he could spit
it out.

"Vachon, why did you do that?" Natalie stammered. "How..."

He shrugged, as perplexed as she was.  "I dunno. I just suddenly
thought I could."

"Are you feeling okay?"

He thought about it a moment.  "Yeah... I guess so."

"You guess?"

"I've choked down mortal food a few times. I never kept it down
long, but it started making me sick even before I swallowed it. I
don't feel sick. It didn't even taste bad... Actually, it was pretty
good..."

He reached for another candy bar and was struggling with the
unfamiliar perplexities of the wrapper when Natalie took it from him.
"Don't overdo it... At least not until I get a blood sample."

"Again?"

"Push your sleeve up."

He was about to comply when both he and the Inka, suddenly alert,
made a dive for the nearest hiding place.

Tracy scooped up her candy and covered it with her coat, like she
wanted to hide it.

Natalie was wondering what the hell was going on when the door swung
open. It was Grace, who was in the process of chattering a greeting
when she stopped short and stared at Tracy. Her mouth went slack and
she staggered backward a couple of steps.

Natalie thought the big woman was going to faint, and rushed to her
side.

"Grace?"

"My God in Heaven," Grace spoke to Tracy.  "I had heard what
happened, but I don't think I really believed it until now."

"Well, here I am," Tracy said. "Tracy Vetter, back from the grave."

The words made Natalie cringe, but she laughed politely anyway.

Grace seemed too awestruck for any kind of reaction, but after a few
moments she said nervously, "It's just that I saw the girl who was
misidentified as you... *I* know you and I thought she was you."

"Oh well," Tracy shrugged, "death can do funny things to people I
suppose." Natalie and Grace both stared at her. "I mean, she probably
didn't look like she did when she was alive."  She giggled. "Hell of
a thing to have someone look like you only after they have begun to
decompose."  She laughed at her own joke, almost too hard.

"Uh... yes..." Grace got a grip on herself and remembered why she
had come. She handed Natalie an envelope. "They said you wanted these
ASAP."

She seemed in a hurry to leave.  As soon as Natalie took the
envelope from her, Grace started making her way to the door.  "It's
good to see you looking well, Detective Vetter... Uh... I'll talk to
you later, Natalie," she said, and made a hasty exit.

"I guess I better get used to giving people the creeps," Tracy said.
But, there was an interesting tone to her voice. She sounded as if
that would be something she'd enjoy rather than find distressing.

"She has a lot of work to do," Natalie explained Grace's behavior
away.  She peeked in the envelope and pulled out Vachon's x-rays as
the two vampires emerged from their hiding places.

The piece of wood was firmly imbedded in the misshapen bone. She
could get it out, but it would be a messy procedure, and Vachon would
have to be anesthetized. It was going to take her awhile to set
everything up.

In the meantime, she made sure to explain the condition to Vachon.

She pointed to an area just below his left knee. "The bone here is
very thin and brittle. If you overuse it, it's either going to snap
or collapse in a compression fracture. Either way, it won't be fun. 
You need to be using the crutch I gave you."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know where I left it."

She fished its partner out of the closet and adjusted the length
like she had with the other one. As she handed it over, she said, "I
really should send you to the hospital and have them put a cast on
your leg..."

"No," Vachon shook his head. "No hospitals. I'll be careful, I
promise." He held the crutch up to show her.

"I still need that blood sample."

Vachon groaned and pushed his sleeve up.

After Natalie had taken the sample, he looked at Tracy expectantly.

Natalie didn't know what he was waiting for, but Tracy did. She
produced a Milky Way from the pile under her coat, removed the
wrapper and handed it to him.

He took a bite, and moved it around in his mouth a bit before
announcing, "This one tastes different."

"They all taste different," Tracy explained. "Chocolate, caramel,
nougat, peanuts, almonds, marshmallow. All in different combinations."

Vachon stuffed the remainder of the candy bar into his mouth. It
wasn't a small candy bar, so it made his cheeks bulge. Natalie hoped
he'd remember to chew it before trying to swallow it. "You know
Vachon, too much of that will make even a mortal sick," she cautioned
him.

"It's really very good," he mumbled.

"That doesn't means it's good *for* you."  She had long ago
established that vampires produced a hormone similar to insulin, but
it was *vampire* insulin, and whether or not it could handle a
sudden, massive dose of refined sugar was anyone's guess.

Despite her warning, Tracy handed him a Snickers bar. She seemed
completely unsurprised by the fact that he was eating, and did not
seem to be concerned in the least that she was stuffing him with food
that had very limited nutritional value.

Apparently, Vachon sensed that Natalie was about to nag him again,
because he looked at Tracy and said, "Give me a ride home?"

"I can't. I walked."

Natalie was astounded. "You walked from your father's house? That
has to be six or seven miles!"

"Well, my driver's license isn't exactly valid anymore. Besides, Dad
didn't want me to leave, so he wouldn't give me the car keys."

Natalie was amazed at the young woman's stamina. "But you shouldn't
be strong enough for a hike like that. Not after..."  <spending
almost a year buried in the ground>

"Well," Tracy shrugged nonchalantly, "I was."

"I'll walk you home then," Vachon said. He wasn't even swallowing
what he had in his mouth before taking his next bite, so he was
difficult to understand, but even so, he was already unwrapping a
Kitkat.

"Vachon," Natalie frowned, "didn't you hear anything I told you?"
She took the candy away from him and at the same time indicated the
crutch. A six-mile hike would surely cripple him.  		

Amaru sighed and dug into his pockets for his car keys. He tossed them to Vachon. "If
you puke in my car, you're buying me a new one."


---TWENTY-THREE---

When the two of them were gone, Natalie told Amaru, "I should get a
blood sample from you, too."

"Why?"

"For comparison. I know you're normal, but something's not right
with Vachon."

"I have known that for five hundred years."

Natalie smiled at the joke. "Have you ever known a vampire who could
eat? I have suspected that it's a mind over matter thing, am I right?"

He shook his head. "No. Our bodies usually reject food. It happens
even if we aren't told we can't eat it."

"But I've seen Nick eat."

Amaru frowned. "And there was nothing wrong with him?"

She had to concede that three incidents she knew of had occurred
under extenuating circumstances. "Well, no, I guess I can't say that.
Which makes me even more certain that the fact he can eat probably
means something unusual has taken place in Vachon's body. I have to
find out what it is."

He offered his arm for the sample. "Because it might help you find a
cure for Nick?" he asked as she drew the blood.

"Yes. He still wants that."

"What about you?"

That was an intensely personal question, but when she looked at the
vampire, she saw that he was merely curious, not attempting to pry
into her private life.

"I want him to be happy with himself, whether I find a cure or not,
but yes, I want that, too... Although I don't think what he is
matters to me as much as it does to him." She withdrew the syringe
and placed a completely unnecessary cotton swab over the puncture
site.  "I've grown rather fond of you guys, to the point where I can
no longer think of you as... well, I understand that you are still
human in a lot more ways than you think."

Almost as if he were deliberately mocking her words, Nick appeared
in the room, his face a dour mask of disgust and anger.

Amaru, no doubt recalling his previous encounter with the older
vampire, quickly found a reason to be elsewhere. As he grabbed his
jacket and headed out the door, Natalie braced herself for what she
knew would not be a pleasant conversation.

Nick was obviously still in whatever mood it was that had prompted
him to flee the Raven after Shane had awakened.

"Hi Nick," Natalie tried to sound cheerful. "I was hoping you'd come
by before my shift was over."

"I'm sorry I cut out on you at the Raven," he apologized. "I just
couldn't stand there and watch *that* any longer."

Natalie saw he was deeply troubled, but she was honestly confused.
"What are you talking about Nick?  I thought it was kind of...
well..." She found she couldn't think of a word to describe the birth
of a vampire.

"It was an abomination."

"No, it wasn't Nick. How can you say that?  That young man is
*alive* again, after 85 years.  It's more like a miracle."

"He's not a man anymore Natalie. Why can't you see that? He's a
*thing*. He doesn't even belong in this time. It would have been
kinder if we had left him in the sun."

"Well, you didn't, so you're going to have to make the best of it."

"If I had left that damned ship when I should have, LaCroix wouldn't
have come looking for me.  He never would have..."

Natalie cut him short. "Nick, you're doing it again. Stop it."

Nick looked at her with such anger in his eyes that it frightened
her, but quite unexpectedly, his gaze softened and he smiled. "Guilty
as charged."

"Remember Nick..."

"Not everything is my fault. Yeah, I know."

She gave him a peck on the cheek. "Besides, he's kind of cute, and
you might like having a baby brother."

"I've had lots of those, thanks to LaCroix."

"Yes, but this one is different. Think how interesting it will be
teaching him the things he needs to know, and I don't mean the
vampire things. He's never seen a TV set, or a jet plane or a
computer..."

"Or a girl in a leather mini-dress." Nick grinned. "I hope the
stress doesn't kill him."

He looked at the x-rays still up on the viewer.  "Who is that?"

"Vachon. He's got something stuck in his leg."

"At the Raven tonight... He was limping..."

"Yes. The bone isn't healing properly, and the sliver itself is
causing him pain." She was careful not to speak in accusing tones. 
There was no need to remind Nick how Vachon had gotten hurt. But,
even though she hated to do it, she decided to take advantage of his
guilt for a change. "Nick, I need soil samples from in and around
Tracy's grave."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because I think Vachon has been re-infected by Divia.  Not as
extreme as the first time, but he was behaving strangely tonight."

"Strangely?"

"Divia's poison weakened the two of you by suppressing certain
traits that you needed to survive as vampires.  In effect, it made
the vampire in you more human. You could get sick, your senses were
not as acute, etcetera... Nick, Vachon was *eating* tonight."

"Eating?"

"Well, pigging out is more like it.  I'm sure he's going to pay for
it later, but for now, it didn't seem to be bothering him. He was
enjoying it, in fact.  The vampire in you guys needs blood to
survive. What better way to incapacitate it than by substituting the
craving for blood with real, human hunger and denying it what it
needs?"

"Natalie, I think you're giving Divia a lot more credit than she
deserves."

"Am I Nick?  That little fiend survived for twenty centuries,
without food, without air. She rebuilt her body *after her head was
severed*... that's a far more impressive feat than building the Taj
Mahal using nothing but toothpicks, even for a vampire.  I think
she's far more powerful than any of us even dared suspect."

"Do you think she's responsible for Tracy being alive?"

"I *know* she is Nick. There is no other explanation.  The question
is, how much of that walking corpse is Tracy and how much is Divia?"

"Walking corpse?" he tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.

"Okay, okay, so I'm being overly melodramatic. But Tracy did not
recover by herself Nick. Even if there had been a mistake made and
she had been buried alive, she would not have survived past the point
where the air in her coffin ran out."

Nick had to agree with her.  "I'll get the soil samples."

She produced a pair of latex gloves and several sealable specimen
bags. "Handle them as if they were a biohazard, Nick.  I'm serious."

He nodded that he understood. "Can you meet me at the Raven after
your shift is over? I really should get back to LaCroix and...
that... that..." he stammered for words.

"He has a *name* Nick. Use it."

Instead, he kissed her forehead and was gone.

There were just too many puzzle pieces that she had yet to fit
together, so she needed to fortify herself for the task.  She needed
more chocolate.

Grace was staring forlornly at the candy machine when Natalie
approached. As she got closer, she could see why.

The front of it had been ripped off the hinges, twisting the lock
badly out of shape.  The window piece itself had been set neatly aside.

Grace's apparent dilemma was that there was now no place to insert
money into the thing. Despite the fact that she could just reach out
and grab whatever she wanted, she was far too honest to do such a
thing.

Natalie knew Tracy Vetter had to have seen that the machine was
vandalized, but instead of reporting it, she had apparently helped
herself to free candy.

Warning signals were going up all over Natalie's brain, including
one that tried to tell her Tracy was the one who had destroyed the
machine.

Natalie set her coins on top of the wreckage and took the candy she
wanted.  "I guess we'd better call and report it."

"Who the hell would have the nerve to do this in a police
building!?" Grace shook her head, and then followed Natalie's example
and left her money on the machine. "It looks like the door was just
pulled off."

"They probably used a pry bar," Natalie said, even though there were
no signs anywhere that the front had been pried.

Grace shook her head sadly. "I don't know what things are coming to
Natalie.  People rising from the dead... poltergeists in the candy
machine... Next thing you know, a werewolf is going to walk through
the front door."

"Or maybe a vampire," Natalie grumbled.

Speaking of the devil, Lyllia was waiting in her lab when she got
back. She wore a whiskey brown linen suit with a tan blouse and tan
suede accessories, set off by a necklace and earrings made of tiny,
intricately carved wooden beads. She'd really have to ask her where
she shopped sometime.

"Hello, Lyllia," she said graciously, because she had no idea why
the big vampire was there.

Without answering her, the Enforcer picked up the vials containing
the blood Natalie had taken from Vachon and Amaru.

"These came from vampires," she stated.

"Yes."

"The twins."

"Yes... but it's just for some research.  I don't..."

"You have them because you believe Vachon is re-infected."

Natalie saw no reason to openly dispute what she suspected herself.
"Yes," she admitted,"but how did you know?"

"One thing you are not, Dr. Lambert, is stupid. I knew the moment I
tasted his blood the other night, after I took him from the Raven. I
also knew it was only a matter of time before you figured it out."

As long as the cards were being laid on the table, Natalie asked,
"What about Tracy Vetter? Is she Divia?"

Lyllia smiled calmly.  "No, she's Tracy Vetter, just not the Tracy
Vetter she used to be."

"She's not a vampire..."

"No, and she probably never will be."

The first thought that statement elicited was that Lyllia had seen
Vachon and Tracy leaving together and had permanently solved the
problem of their relationship. "Oh my God..." she gasped. "Vachon...
did you..."

"I know he is with her.  That doesn't matter now, other than to
suggest that someone really should teach the brat to be a bit less
willful... No, I mean that Tracy will never be a vampire because the
virus that causes the condition in most of us will not affect her."

Natalie immediately surmised what this implied, but asked, "What are
you saying?"

"How much do you know about what Divia was?" Lyllia asked.

"What LaCroix told me. That she was slowly being poisoned as a child
so that her body fluids would be toxic, and she could one day be used
as an assassin. A *venefica* is what LaCroix called her."  She shook
her head. "Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'child abuse.'"

"And did he tell you that Divia's master was Qa'Ra, an Ancient?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure what that means, clinically."

"Not even LaCroix himself would know that. The term 'Ancient' is one
we have taken from mortals. It's misleading. It doesn't refer to age,
but to a vampire's generation."

"I gathered that the Ancients are the first of your kind."

"Not exactly.  An Ancient is the first vampire in a blood-line."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is that our kind have been around for thousands of
years, but an Ancient can be born - and start a bloodline - at any
time."

Natalie frowned. "Born?"

"Yes, although to my knowledge, that has not happened for several
centuries."

"But how... where do they come from?"

"That is the chicken-and-the-egg question, Doctor.  Ancients are
conceived and born in the same manner as humans, except that one
parent must be a vampire... So, did an Ancient arise from the human
gene pool first, and start making vampires, or did a vampire
spontaneously come into being and subsequently sire an Ancient?  No
one knows."

Natalie wasn't sure she'd heard right. "But vampires are sterile."

"Under ordinary circumstances. And usually, when a mortal is able to
mate with the minuscule fraction who are not, the result is not an
Ancient, but rather a mortal who may have some unusual powers, and
who, like most hybrids, is also sterile. The vampire gene, as you
have discovered, is the result of a mutation caused by a uniquely
transmitted viral infection. The gene itself is recessive, and
therefore, it is necessary that the mortal somehow carry that gene
without being a vampire, or, obviously, without being the sterile
offspring of one."

"But what does that have to do with Tracy?"

"I know you suspect, correctly, I might add, that Divia used the
regenerative powers of her own cells to reconstruct Tracy's body. If
you run a DNA analysis on her, Dr. Lambert, you are going to find
that she now carries the gene. It was introduced into her body when
Divia revitalized her cell structure."

As incredible as it sounded, Natalie wasn't going to argue that it
wasn't possible. Human scientists were very close to being able to
infuse people who suffered from genetic diseases with healthy genes
that would cure them. What Lyllia was saying was far from
inconceivable.

A cold chill went down Natalie's spine. "She has the gene, but not
the virus."

"Yes, a completely unique situation."

"And she can pass the gene on because she isn't a hybrid..."

"Exactly."

"But what about the danger involved?"

"I cannot say for certain, but I would surmise it has been virtually
eliminated. The Divia element that is now in her body *will* protect
its host at all cost. The invading cells may serve as a vaccine
against the vampire virus, making her highly resistant if not
invulnerable to it. Or, they will alter her body in such a way that a
common vampire will not be a threat. If either is the case, it will
take a far older vampire than Vachon to bring her across, and I doubt
that any vampire, save for an ancient, could actually kill her by
merely drinking her blood."

"But how is that possible?"

"Natalie, you have seen what this thing is capable of. It *lives* no
matter what. It can be dissipated, but not destroyed."

"So you're saying..."

"I'm saying a lot of things, and one of them is that Vachon can do
anything he wants with her, which I imagine he'll probably figure out
on his own....  He'll know her blood is tainted the moment he tastes
it, and even if he is foolish enough to continue drinking it, the
poison in it will render him unable to drink enough of it to kill her."

Natalie had no response to that. If Vachon was going to have sex
with Tracy, she probably wouldn't even know about it until after the
fact, let alone be able to stop them. "Why are you giving me this
information?" she asked.

"Because Divia is not using Tracy for any reason other than to
further her own purpose. It wasn't Tracy who drew Vachon to Tracy's
grave, it was Divia. She was waiting for the chance to do exactly
what she did - reinfect his body so she could weaken it until he is
mortal enough to do what she needs done."

Natalie at first had no idea what the Enforcer was talking about,
but Lyllia allowed her to think it over until it hit her like a rock.
"Vachon and Tracy? She wants them to... to..."

"Mate." Lyllia finished for her.  "Vachon is a vampire, and Tracy is
a mortal who carries the gene. Not only do we believe their child
would be an Ancient, some of us are certain it will be the
incarnation of Divia, a being of unimaginable power."

"No." Natalie shook her head.  "This is too out there, even for me. 
Divia is dead."

"The scientist in you wants that to be true, Natalie. The mortal in
you knows it is not."

Natalie took a very deep breath.

Lyllia continued. "You know that some of Divia's cells are still
alive, in both Vachon and Tracy - probably in Urs, too.  Her essence
is tied to each and every one of them like so many hands holding
strings tied to one big balloon.  If you can get enough of those
hands pulling together, they can - they will - bring that balloon
back from where ever it is."

"But a baby? Tracy's baby? What would happen to it?"

Lyllia's voice did not betray any personal opinions she might have. 
"I can't answer that. What it will be will depend on whether or not
Tracy passes along the mutated gene, and, of course, whether or not
Vachon even becomes capable of siring a child by her. And of course,
just because they *can* produce a child does not necessarily mean
that they will."

"But what would it be like? Would it be obvious that it wasn't...
normal?"

"A vampire would probably sense the nature of the child immediately
after it is born, but whether or not it is Divia might not be
apparent to anyone, until, perhaps, it's too late."

Natalie couldn't suppress her next thought. "Would you destroy it,
just to make sure Divia would not live again?"

Lyllia shook her head. "That would not be for me to decide."

Natalie had to sit down. This was too much for even chocolate to
handle.  Not only was the revelation that Divia could return
ultimately disturbing, but she was also suddenly gripped by the irony
of situation.

Vachon could make love to Tracy without fear of killing her. Tracy
could possibly bear his child.  The feelings of bitterness towards
Tracy which she had endured when Nick had wanted to bring the young
detective across as she lay dying suddenly returned to her, like bile
rising in her throat.

Why them, and not her and Nick?


---TWENTY-FOUR---

Tracy hadn't wanted to go home, but thought she should, anyway, so
that was where they headed. However, when they arrived, there was a
car with the call letters of a local TV station parked in the driveway.

"Reporters," Vachon said simply.

"I don't want to talk to them. Let's go somewhere else."

"What about your father?"

"He spent most of the afternoon dealing with the hospital's spin
control people and loving every minute of it. He can handle them
without me."

"Where do you want to go?"

She shrugged. The church, Vachon knew, was out of the question. It
would be the first place Lyllia would go if she decided to check up
on him and see if he'd obeyed her order to stay away from Tracy,
which he had not.

The moment was awkward. Vachon had so many things he wanted to say
to her. He wanted to let her know how happy he was that she was
alive, no matter what circumstances had brought that about. But even
for a 500-year-old vampire, words failed in the face of the
realization that Tracy Vetter had risen from the Dead. Tracy surely
must have been having her own thoughts about the situation, but maybe
had not yet had time to organize them well enough to express them.
Once inside Amaru's car, the two of them had been at a complete loss
for something to say to the other.

Instead, they'd eaten the stash of candy bars Tracy had gotten at
the Coroner's building -or rather, he'd eaten them. Tracy had only
had 3, but twenty-odd assorted wrappers littered the floor of the
minivan, which was otherwise spotless except for the half-eaten
Butterfinger on the dashboard. Vachon hadn't liked that one. Too
salty, and he didn't like the way the stuff in the middle stuck to
his teeth.

Tracy began to pick up the mess.

"Leave them," Vachon said.  "I'll get them later."

"I need to be doing something, Vachon." But even as she said it, she
leaned back in the passenger seat and sighed.  "This is all just too
weird."

"I know," Vachon agreed, taking the candy wrappers she had retrieved
out of her hand. He looked at them thoughtfully. What on earth had
made him think he could eat candy? An even bigger question: why on
earth had he been able to?  He looked around for some place to put
the trash, and not finding a suitable receptacle, he ended up setting
it in a pile on the floor between the seats. He wondered why he
didn't feel the least bit sick, and although at that point he'd had
enough chocolate to last him awhile, the taste of twentieth century
mortal food was an adventure he was not yet ready to abandon.

Tracy seemed to read his mind. "There's an all-night restaurant a
half mile or so from here. Let's go there."

Luckily, they realized that neither of them had any money with them
before they got into the restaurant.

On a hunch, Vachon began rummaging through the glove compartment. 
Nothing.

Realizing what he was doing, Tracy showed him a small compartment
under the dashboard that he would not have guessed was there, but
that, too, was empty.

He knew that Amaru didn't smoke, and Vachon knew from the smell of
the upholstery that he didn't allow his friends - if he had any
friends - to smoke in his car, so he didn't anticipate finding ashes
and butts when he looked in the ash tray.

He didn't. Inside were two neatly folded twenty dollar bills.

He expected Tracy to show some reluctance about borrowing Amaru's
cash without telling him, but instead, she snatched the bills from
his hand.

"Bingo!" she grinned. "Let's go have some real food!"

"Uh... yeah.  I'll pay him back later..." he said, in an attempt to
demonstrate his honesty, but she was already out of the car.

A stabbing pain shot up his leg the minute he put weight on it and
he thought about the crutch Natalie had given him. He'd feel awkward
with it, but what the hell, without it he could end up on his ass in
the parking lot in considerably more pain.

He grabbed it and limped along after Tracy, who, he noted, hadn't
even bothered to wait for him.

The place was a cafeteria, buffet style. There were literally dozens
of offerings, and Vachon looked overwhelmed by the selection.

A large portion of Tracy's brain was still attempting to sort out
the events of the past 48 hours, but the part of her that took an
affectionate delight in watching Vachon decipher the complexities of
mortal existence came forward when she saw his dilemma.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" she laughed softly.

"I don't know what to get," he confessed. "I don't even recognize
most of this stuff."

She had quick advice for that. "If it grows on a plant, it's
probably good for you, and it also probably tastes like shit."

<Oh!> Tracy heard herself say it, and even so it surprised her. 
Where had that come from? It wasn't like her to swear in public, nor
was it like her to disregard the fundamentals of good nutrition.

Vachon apparently took her at her word. As they moved down the
serving line, he managed to load his tray, but selected everything
*but* vegetables and fruit.

"Are you sure you aren't going to get sick?" she asked him.

He considered the question briefly, but said, "Yeah. I don't know
why, but I'm sure. At least not now, anyway. Maybe later.  It's just
that..." He looked down at his tray.  "I've always wondered what all
this stuff tastes like, you know?" He poked at a square of red Jello
and she knew he liked the way it moved when he touched it, because he
had already poked it a half dozen times.

He already had two slices of pie and a piece of cake on his tray,
but she grabbed a cup of vanilla pudding and added it on. "You've got
to try this!"

He shook his head. "I don't want to."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"It looks like pus."

She eyed the desert carefully. He was right, it did.

She poked her finger in it and held it to his lips. He pulled back
with his mouth shut tight, so she smeared the pudding on his lips,
giving him no choice but to lick it off or wear it.

She giggled while he closed his eyes and squeamishly cleaned the
pudding off with his tongue. A few seconds later, he opened them
again and grinned at her.

"It doesn't taste like pus," he said.

"Having never eaten pus, I wouldn't know," she laughed. An elderly
woman in line behind her gave her a dirty look, so she plunged her
finger into the pudding again and stuck it in her own mouth, making
sure the woman saw her do it. <Must have left the table manners
behind in the coma...>

She decided Vachon had to have macaroni and cheese, french fries and
mashed potatoes, too, even though somewhere in a tiny recess of her
mind, her mental calculator had already come to the conclusion that
Vachon had far more food than his compact body could possibly hope to
contain, not to mention that he had probably already consumed about
six thousand calories in candy bars alone.

Oh well, he was skinny. It wouldn't show.

In his mortal life, Vachon had probably eaten meat from animals
Tracy had never even hear of, but when it came time to choose from
the roast beef, ham, pork chops and other selections, he was stymied
again. She finally dumped a couple of pieces of fried chicken on his
plate. Almost anything tasted good if it was fried, and who didn't
like chicken?

After they had paid for the food, she could see that he was going to
have a problem using the crutch and carrying the tray. He assured her
he didn't actually need the crutch, and was perfectly capable of
carrying his own food, but she snatched up her tray and his both
before he could protest.

Both trays were weighted down with food and dishes, but she didn't
notice she was easily balancing them both, one in each hand, until
Vachon pointed it out to her.

"Didn't know you could juggle..." he grinned.

She looked down at the trays. They weren't even heavy. They should
have been. She should have been maneuvering like mad to keep from
dropping them, but she wasn't. Somehow, the palms of her hands had
detected the exact center of gravity in each one and their balance
was not even in question let alone precarious.

She looked at Vachon and saw that he was truly amazed at this skill
she hadn't known she possessed. What could she say? She shrugged.
Only her shoulders. The trays didn't so much as wiggle.

They found a table and spread their feast out before them. It would
take them the rest of the night to eat it all, but what else did they
have to do?

Tracy laughed at Vachon's awkwardness handling silverware. Feeding
himself that way was something he hadn't done in 500 years.

"Just use your spoon," she told him finally, handing him the
utensil. "And you can eat the chicken with your hands. It's allowed."

He tried everything, and the only thing he didn't like were the
mashed potatoes, which he pushed away in disgust after one bite.

Tracy sampled the discarded serving and made a face. "Instant... the
real thing is much better.  These taste like wallpaper paste."

"You've eaten wallpaper paste?"

"Well, no... but I imagine this is what it would taste like," she
jabbed the mashed potatoes with her fork a few times for emphasis.

Vachon reached across the table and grabbed her hand while she was
doing it.

Their eyes met and both of them knew that eventually, they would
have to stop talking about mashed potatoes. They had been avoiding
any semblance of serious conversation up until that point, and
neither was sure why.

Even as they faced up to that fact, the words just wouldn't come.

"I missed you," Vachon said finally. "When Natalie told me you were
dead..."

She squeezed his hand to silence him. He expected tender words in
return, but instead, she squeezed his hand so hard it hurt, and said
accusingly, "You left."

He didn't know how to reply to that. Clearly, it was something that
angered her.

"You were a vampire who was my friend and you moved on," she said,
almost as if she were reciting the words.

He cocked his head to one side.  "Do you remember me telling you
that I was leaving, Trace?"

"Of course I... well, no, actually, but I know you did it. I..." Her
face contorted into a frown as the realization hit her. "You never
told me that. I'd remember it." She looked at him, a hint of panic
briefly in her eyes. "Why am I so sure you did?"

He told her the truth. Natalie and Nick and the others could tell
her what they wanted, but there could be no lies between them, not
after Nick Knight's lie had almost cost her her life. No lies, of
course, except for the Big One about how she was sitting there before
him instead of rotting in the ground like she should have been. He
wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to tell her that particular truth.
But, he did tell her about Divia, and about their last time alone
together.

"I put a *stake* in you?" She sounded horrified.

"Well, actually, I kind of put it in myself, but you were holding it."

"Oh my God!"

"That is why LaCroix made you forget. He felt like it was his fault
I'd been attacked and he didn't want you to have that memory of me.
Besides, you probably saved my life."

"Huh?"

He touched his chest.

"Lesson numero uno, Trace. Leave the stake in the vampire if you
want it to stay dead."

Suddenly, her face blanched. "Oh God..."

"Trace? You okay?"

"I remember doing that... taking it out..."

The memory came back to her in horrifying detail.  The stake had
been firmly wedged in his sternum, but there was just no way she
could leave him like that. It didn't matter that he was dead. She
could not bury him staked, could not let that be her final memory of
him. Pulling on it hadn't been enough. She had tried with all of her
strength but had only succeeded in turning him over onto his side.
She'd had to resort to forcefully kicking his torso several times
before the piece of wood had come loose with a sickening, wet,
sucking sound.  She'd cried, telling him how sorry she was, as if it
had actually hurt him...

"Did you feel it? When I took it out?" she asked, horrified.

"No," he said softly. "I was unconscious."

She was relieved to hear that.

"What about the vampire who attacked you? What happened to her?"

"That's a long story, Tracy."

"We have all night."

He didn't feel ready to tell her everything, not yet. "You need to
get some rest."

"I've been resting for months."

"Well, I need to get some rest, then."

She looked concerned. "How's your leg?"

"It hurts. Natalie found a piece of wood in it. It has to come out."

"How did you get hurt, anyway? I thought that didn't happen to you
guys?"

He shrugged. "Wood is an irritant. As long as it's there I won't
heal."

Her detective instincts would not allow him to be evasive. "You
didn't answer my question. How did it happen?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair.  "Nick and I had a fight. It
happened then."

"Nick? Fighting?!"  She laughed. She tried to remember if she had
ever even known Nick to raise his voice.

"He's been a little crazy since... what happened to you. He blamed
himself. If he'd told you what he was, you would have realized he
wasn't in danger."

"Yeah, what an idiot."

Vachon raised his eyebrows. That wasn't the response he'd been
expecting.

She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands.
"So, why did you fight?"

She wasn't going to let up, he could tell, so he opted for a more or
less honest answer. "I slept with Natalie Lambert. He found out."

He didn't know what kind of response he expected that time -shock,
perhaps, or maybe he even subconsciously hoped she'd be jealous. He'd
completely forgotten the obvious until she asked, "How? I thought
you... couldn't. I mean with a mortal."

"I never said that. I just said it's dangerous. We can lose control
too easily."

"But you didn't with her?"

"No, I did, but I was sick. She was able to stop me."

Then she asked the question he was dreading. "Why Natalie?"

He sighed. "After we thought you had died, Nick left. Natalie
thought she'd never see him again. I was alone, she was alone, and...
well, it just happened, Trace. I won't say it didn't mean anything.
It did, but only at the time."

He had no idea why he felt guilty. He had never, ever even hinted to
Tracy that he was anything more than her supernatural chum. Maybe it
was because he had wanted to...

Lucky for him, Tracy seemed totally accepting of the idea, other
than to comment, "She's a little old for you."

He smiled slightly. "Not really, Trace."

She made the connection and giggled. "No, I guess not."

She glanced towards the door and a worried frown crossed her face.

Without turning around, Vachon asked, "What is it?"

"A couple of uniforms."

"Looking for you?"

"Probably not. They're probably just here to eat, but just in case,
I think we ought to go."

Vachon looked regretfully at the table, but as much as he hated to
leave behind his first experience with mortal food in centuries, he
really was too full to eat any more.

On the way out, they passed a display case full of to-go pastries,
and Tracy had to stop and buy 4 chocolate eclairs and a half-dozen
glazed donuts. The clerk put them in a white box, which Tracy held up
triumphantly.

"In case you're hungry when you wake up."

She handed him the box, but he took her free hand in his, instead.

They looked into each other's eyes for just a moment, just long
enough for her to know that the simple gesture was his way of telling
her how much it meant to him to have her back.

 
---TWENTY-FIVE---

They walked out of the restaurant hand-in-hand, as if they were any
other *normal* couple. They'd never done that, before. It felt right,
yet it somehow caused Vachon to have nagging doubts about Tracy's
motivations. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the way she took his
hand a bit too easily and held it a bit too tightly, as if she would
restrain him or pull him to her if he gave any hint of attempting to
leave her side.

But, he chalked the feeling up to too many years with Urs, who had
wanted his affection -needed it, even - and yet was so conflicted by
her resentment of him that she was never willing to fully accept it
from him.

Besides, his leg hurt and he knew that even with the crutch to
support him, the limp was pronounced. Maybe what he was interpreting
as possessiveness was merely Tracy's attempt to compensate for his
uneven gait.

As they approached the car, they strolled past a pair of lowlifes
sharing a joint in an ancient Camaro. They didn't look like
gangbangers, or at least they were not wearing recognizable colors of
any kind. Nonetheless, there was a sinister aura about them. It
wasn't the pot - hell, Vachon had done that himself enough times.
Probably Tracy had, too

It was the way they stared too long as he and Tracy walked past.

Vachon knew Tracy saw what they were doing, but apparently she had
left the cop completely at home. He didn't expect her to whip out a
badge and arrest them for smoking a joint, but in another time, she
might have at least commented on their flagrant disregard for the
laws against public drug use. As it was, she didn't give the two
anything more than a cursory glance, even when it was obvious they
were leering at her lean, supple body.

Vachon didn't like it that they looked at her that way. He didn't
like them, never mind that they hadn't given him any real reason not
to beyond a gut instinct. But, there was no point in starting trouble
over what was probably just his imagination, so he let it slide
without comment.

As they approached the car, Tracy gave his hand an affectionate
squeeze before releasing it.

"I really should get home," she sighed.

"Your father?"

"Yes. He can't tolerate people who screw up, and this... well, it's
been really hard on him, first thinking I was dead and now having to
deal with the fact I wasn't."

"I should think he'd be happy."

"He is. I know he is. But it's hard for him to accept.  I think it's
going to be hard for everyone to accept..." She added softly, and
then gently ran her thumb down the side of his face. "It's hard even
for you, isn't it?"

He took her into his arms, drawing her close so that he could look
directly into her eyes. "It's a lot easier than putting flowers on
your grave, Trace."

He leaned over and kissed her - just so their lips touched. He'd
never really, deeply kissed her, and had no reason to believe she
wanted him to do so then, but he stayed close enough to her that she
could initiate it if that was what she wanted.

"Vachon..." she sighed, pulling him close to her.

Her warm mouth touched his, and he closed his eyes to savor the
combined sensations of her body heat, her softness, the gentle
perfume of her bloodscent... In moments, he'd be fighting to control
the powerful impulse to be what he was, but there was still time.
Time for it to be just the two of them, not a vampire and a risen
ghost...

Even with his every sense preoccupied, however, that peripheral
faculty which alerted a vampire to danger continued to function. He
took no conscious note of it, but he was nonetheless aware that the
two punks they had passed earlier were getting out of their car.

He didn't have turn around or open his eyes to know when they had
walked up behind him.

One of them tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, man, you got any spare
change?"

Vachon turned on him, locking in on his heartbeat, his eyes staring
directly into the man's dilated pupils. "Go... away..."

The guy looked only momentarily befuddled, however. Drugs often made
people easier to whammy, but sometimes they made it more difficult,
too. Vachon was not sure if he was succeeding with this guy or not,
and before he could turn his attention away from him, the other one
spun him around and slammed him into the car.

He had pulled a knife and was holding it at Vachon's gut. He kicked
the crutch, hard. "Let's see you make us."

So that was it, Vachon thought. They thought he was an easy target.
Vachon locked eyes with him. He wasn't going to whammy him, not this
time. He accepted the challenge. "I said, go away, while you still
can."

The guy laughed. So did his friend, although he seemed a bit
confused about exactly what he was laughing at.

The one with the knife grabbed Tracy by the arm, simultaneously
brandishing the knife in the direction of Vachon's throat. "Maybe
we'll just have a little piece of your girlfriend..."

Vachon took a split second to decide exactly what he wanted to do to
this guy, but it turned out that even that fraction of time was wasted.

Tracy grabbed the hand with the knife in a wristlock and had her
would-be assailant on the ground so fast that even Vachon almost
didn't seen it.

She brought her knee up into his chin and sent him reeling
backwards. He fell in an unconscious heap with his heels under his
butt.

The man's partner, once it sank in that there was a fight in
progress, had moved forward, but what his intentions were, Vachon
never found out. Tracy spun around as soon as she caught the blur of
his movement out of the corner of her eye. She delivered a roundhouse
kick to the side of his jaw that propelled him into the side of
Amaru's car with such force it left a large dent under the rear
passenger window. As their attacker slid unconscious towards the
ground, a metal buckle on his jacket made a wicked scraping sound
like nails on a blackboard as it left a deep gouge in the paint.

Vachon looked at Tracy in rapt admiration. He had assumed that as a
police officer, Tracy had had some training in self-defense, but he
had never suspected that she could move like Jackie Chan.

He looked at the pair sprawled on the asphalt, raised his eyebrows
and said, "That was really good, Trace."

Instead of being pleased with herself, or upset by the altercation,
she stared numbly at the two men she had rendered senseless.

"Tracy?  You okay?"

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, but she said nothing.

"Tracy?"

Finally, just as he was beginning to think he should shake her or
something to get her to talk, she blinked and let herself fall into
his arms.

"Vachon, let's get out of here," she mumbled into his sweater.

He wondered if they should summon medical attention for the two
mugger wannabes, but he could hear their heartbeats and the steady
rhythm of their breathing, and it told him that neither of them was
in any immediate danger from their injuries. The two police officers
inside the restaurant would probably find them on the way back to
their patrol unit.

Once they were inside the car, he understood without her telling him
that she had changed her mind about going home for the time being.
She asked him instead to take her to the cemetery, to the place where
she had supposedly been laid to rest.

It was such an eerie request that he considered refusing it on that
basis alone, but he didn't. He doubted LaCroix had been careless
enough to leave the opened grave behind, so she was not going to see
anything beyond what she expected to see.

They left the car a few feet from the gravesite. Again, Tracy walked
ahead of him. He left the crutch in the car, and the twinges of pain
that shot up his injured leg slowed him down as he limped across the
soft, damp earth.

He wondered at how she seemed to know exactly where to go. Had she
had some kind of awareness of her time in the grave? He had known he
was buried alive. It had almost driven him mad. But Tracy seemed more
curious than anything else as she scanned the headstones in the
moonlight. Vachon was amazed she could read them. He would not have
been able to do so as a mortal, he was sure.

She found the grave, and stood there staring at it until the silence
became awkward. He moved alongside her and put his arms around her.
He'd give her whatever time she needed, but he was starting to feel
strange. Nothing intense and identifiable as when she had still been
in the ground, but rather an uncomfortable tugging sensation. He
didn't like this place.

She placed her hand in his again. "I wonder who she is?" she asked,
nodding at the grave.

"I guess maybe we won't ever know that, Trace." He kissed her cheek
lightly. It was intended to comfort her, nothing more, but she
whirled around and grabbed him in an embrace so tight that the entire
lengths of their bodies were pressed against one another.

She covered her mouth with his and left him no doubt about her
intentions. He smelled the sudden rush of desire in her blood, heard
the quickening of her heartbeat.

He would have been surprised by this sudden display of passion under
any circumstance, but beyond that, he knew he should pull away from
her, that she could not possibly realize what a dangerous thing she
was doing as she thrust her tongue into his mouth and began to
explore the sensitive area at the base of his fangs.

He knew that the responsibility for controlling this situation
rested entirely with him.

They *had* to stop, or he would take her blood and she would know
the True Death, at his hands.

<NO!>

"Tracy, stop," he begged.

"I want you," she whispered. "I've always wanted you..."

He was confused. He didn't understand why she was doing this. She
knew the danger. She didn't want to die. Maybe she thought he could
stop at the last crucial moment, but surely she was not *that*
stupid. And why couldn't he stop himself? He didn't want to hurt her.
But the bloodlust and the sexual urge were overtaking his willpower
like they hadn't done since he was a fledgling.

"Tracy, please..." he was almost sobbing now, but still, he didn't
want to stop. He knew he couldn't...

There was a sudden rush of air behind them.

"Am I interrupting something, I hope?"

Vachon had been taken completely by surprise. His every nerve was on
fire and his nervous system interpreted the added stimulation of this unwelcome shock as pain. He almost cried out, but managed to stifle it.

"Knight..."

"Your dad has been calling around looking for you," Nick told Tracy
softly, helping her up from the ground.

She stared at Nick with such innocence that Vachon almost laughed.

"Nick!" she said, as if she was happy to see him. She didn't seem
the least bit embarrassed. In fact, it seemed to Vachon that she had
forgotten completely what they had been doing just mere seconds before.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Nick asked, shooting an accusing
glance at Vachon.

"No, of course not. I'm fine. Vachon and I were just..."

Her expression was at first completely blank, but then her mouth
flew up to her hand in embarrassment. "Oh..." She began to giggle
like a 12-year-old with a copy of Playgirl.

Nick continued to look accusingly at Vachon, who quite honestly
didn't understand what had just happened. He gave Nick a look that he
hoped told the older vampire as much.

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride," Nick said to Tracy, then turned back
to Vachon and hissed, "Go home."

Vachon bristled, but Tracy averted a confrontation by changing the
subject - or rather, by seeming completely oblivious to the situation
in which Nick had discovered them.

"I just wanted to see it, Nick. The grave I mean... It's good to see
you again."

Nick smiled. "I guess there are a lot of things you and I need to
talk about."

She nodded. "You know, you really could have trusted me."

The words made Nick wince. Those had very nearly been her last
words. "I know that now," he said.

She turned back to Vachon and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll see you
later."

And with that, she pranced away so nonchalantly that Vachon wondered
if she was the same woman who had been groping him in a frenzy of
lust just a minute earlier.

He was confused by her behavior, to say the least. He was also angry
at Nick, for any number of reasons, none of them he realized, very
substantial. If Knight had not shown up, he very likely could have
been drinking the last of Tracy Vetter's blood by then.

The Caddy was parked close enough that Vachon had to stand there and
watch them drive off.

Still irritably in the throes of sexual frustration, he climbed into
Amaru's car and sat there, shaking.

What had just happened? He had almost killed Tracy. How could he
have done that?

He needed something to satisfy the lingering bloodlust. Something good. Something fresh...

He started the ignition and threw the car into reverse so hard he
snapped the handle off the gearshift lever, and was left with the
knob and a stub of torque-separated metal in his hands.

He sat staring at it in disbelief for several minutes before it
caused him to remember the dent and the scratched paint on the
outside of the car.

If there was one thing he had discovered in 500 years, it was that
the Inka was positively anal about his possessions. He concluded that
maybe it would be better to get the car fixed before he returned it.
If anyone knew someone who could do the job quickly -perhaps even at
vampire speed - it would be LaCroix. Hell, LaCroix would have
something reasonably close to the Real Thing for him to drink, too.

He headed for the Raven.


---TWENTY-SIX---

The Raven was surprisingly quiet considering what had taken place
earlier that evening. Vachon knew immediately that LaCroix wasn't
there, although he sensed the presence of another vampire. It was the
young fledgling, Shane, and he thought it odd that LaCroix had left
him alone so soon. The old vampire must have had something truly
important to do elsewhere. Either that, or he was careless, which
Vachon sincerely doubted.

But, first things first. It didn't take him long to find the stock
LaCroix had obtained for the new vampire. It was lying in plain view
in the club's storage area. With just LaCroix and his progeny
occupying the place for now, there was no reason to hide it.

He uncorked a bottle and sniffed it. It was the absolute best -
clean, pure, and so fresh that preservatives had not been added to
it, only an anti-clotting agent. He took a series of generous gulps
until he had drained the entire bottle.

He helped himself to another and then decided that the fact LaCroix
was not there merited a look around the place.

He found the basement bedroom where the young vampire was and wasn't
surprised that its only exit was chained shut. It had been done to
keep the fledgling inside, not to keep anyone out - the key was still
in the lock. Vachon turned it and removed the chain.

"Are you awake?" he asked, peering into the room.

There was a soft laugh in the darkness. "I can't say for certain."

Vachon lit a candle. He could see fine in the dark, but the
fledgling, still adapting to his new eyes, would not be able to sort
out Vachon's face from the infra-red image of him without
conventional light.

He pulled up a chair next to the bed.

"I'm Javier Vachon."

Shane looked at him questioningly. "A Spaniard?"

"I was, way back." Vachon made eye contact with him. "Now, I'm what
you are."

"A vampire." Shane stated that as a simple fact with no particular
emotion behind it.

"Yes... Do you know what that means?"

Shane looked exasperated. "Of course I do. I read *Dracula*."

Vachon laughed. "Good book, but I'm afraid it isn't exactly one
hundred percent fact."

The fledgling reached up and touched his new fangs.  "Some of it is
true, though, isn't it?"

"Yes. But at least you don't have to sleep in a coffin full of dirt."

Shane sat up. "And I will live forever?"

"Maybe. If you don't do anything stupid... You've already lived a
very long time, do you know that?"

"Lucien told me the ship I was on sank 85 years ago. I've been in
the water all that time."

"It's true. They didn't even find the Titanic until ten or eleven
years ago. She's still down there."

"But how did I..." his voice trailed off. He didn't even know how to
ask the question.

Vachon shrugged. "They moved part of the wreckage a couple of years
ago, trying to raise it. Maybe you were freed somehow. Don't you
remember anything?"

"I remember being on the ship as though it happened last night, but
being in the water... no. I think there was some pain at first, but
it didn't last long. I knew I wasn't going to die, so I wasn't
afraid, even when I couldn't breathe..." His brow wrinkled into a
frown. "How very odd that was."

His face was a mixture of confusion and wonder when he looked at
Vachon.

"We don't need to breathe to stay alive," Vachon told him, "only to
stay conscious... So what do you think about it?"

Shane shook his head.  "I don't know what to think. It's so
incredible. I have read books about the future... Jules Verne, H.G.
Wells... and now, I'm here."

Vachon was touched by his readiness to accept everything he had been
told. If he had been in that predicament, he would have at the very
least doubted the credibility of anyone who told him he'd been asleep
for 85 years and was now a vampire. Clearly, Shane was not a rocket
scientist. He seemed nice enough, though.

"It's not too much like the books thought it would be," Vachon told
him.

"I don't care, don't you see? It's enough that I will see it." He
looked at Vachon hesitantly. "I will, won't I?  I'm not to be kept
prisoner here, am I?"

Vachon shook his head. "No, LaC... Lucien wouldn't do that to you,
unless it becomes necessary."

Shane looked embarrassed. "You're referring to the way I bit that
man earlier."

"Luckily, that was another vampire. You couldn't have hurt him. But,
yes, I am referring to that. You have to control that sort of thing."

"I was so hungry... and I could *smell* his blood..."

"You won't experience hunger like that again, but you're always
going to want the blood. That never goes away."

Shane nodded. He seemed astonishingly at ease with the whole thing.
Vachon thought back to how the world was in 1912 - right on the brink
of an age where technology would advance at an almost exponential
rate. Electricity and the telephone were already an accepted fact,
and mortal man had already taken to the air.  The potential which the
future held had seemed endless, and people were ironically far more
open to new possibilities then than they were in this time. It was a
world where undiscovered wonders revealed themselves daily, and so
Shane accepted the fact he was a vampire as easily as he would have
accepted talking movies a few more years into his mortal destiny. It
was a big deal, yes, but more of an adventure than a moral cataclysm.

Vachon liked that way of thinking.

"You need some clothes," he pointed out.

"Yes," Shane nodded solemnly. "I fear there is no hope of recovering
my luggage." He was joking - trying not to crack a smile - which
Vachon found altogether amazing. He had never been especially
troubled by the fact he had been brought across, but it had been 50
or 60 years after the fact before he'd found his sense of humor again.

Shane pulled a fistful of his hair around to the front. "Although I
suppose I could do as Lady Godiva and just wear all this hair."

Vachon laughed. "We can find someone to cut it."

"Perhaps I won't. It would seem rather a shame." He worked his
fingers down to the end of the strand. "I suppose the ends of it have
been with me the whole time."

That was one way of looking at it, Vachon thought. "You don't have
to cut it. People will notice it, but in this time, it's not a big
deal."

Shane gestured towards Vachon's long hair. "So I would presume."

He got up from the bed and walked towards the draperies that hung
ceiling-to-floor on the opposite wall. He pulled them aside and was
disappointed to discover that the window they concealed was merely a
slit of glass near the ceiling. He was only about five and a half
feet tall, maybe less, so he couldn't see out of it.

Amazingly, his hair hung almost to his knees and actually did cover
him like a cloak.

Vachon joined him at the window. He could just barely see out
himself even stretching to his full height. "Let me show you
something," he told Shane. "Watch me..."

Slowly, he lifted himself into the air until he was high enough that
he could rest his elbows on the windowsill.

Shane gasped. "How can you do that?!" He ran a hand under Vachon's
feet to make sure he wasn't standing on anything.

Vachon laughed. "We can all do it. Try it."

Shane frowned. "How?"

Vachon had to think about that for awhile. He and the Inka had
literally had a crash course in aerial acrobatics during the one
night they had spent with their master, and it had been more than a
hundred years since he'd taught a fledgling the skill.

He put his fingers on Shane's chest.  "Think of a string that comes
from inside you, pulling you up from here, like a kite."

Shane closed his eyes and tried it, and actually managed to levitate
a few inches before he panicked and dropped back to the floor with a
soft thud.  "Oh..." was all he could manage for a moment.

"Fun, huh?" Vachon smiled at him.

The younger vampire stared at his feet in disbelief. "That was...
wonderful!"

"And you'll get better at it."

Vachon looked absently at his watch. There was still plenty of time
until sunrise, but just the same, he didn't want to end up spending
the day there. Shane noticed when he did it.

"Don't go!" he blurted out, and then seemed a bit embarrassed that
it sounded like plea. He looked away. "This is just all so strange,
and..."

"Scary?" Vachon provided the word.

Shane nodded.

It did seem unkind just to leave the new vampire there all alone,
locked in a dark room, especially when he seemed so eager to learn
what his new situation had to offer him.

"Would you like to go for a ride?" Vachon asked.

Shane gave him a questioning look. "A ride?"

"In a car... an automobile."

Shane's face brightened. "I never have ridden in one, you know."

"They aren't much like you remember them, but I think for now it
would be safer than flying."

Shane's eyes widened appreciably. They were an interesting color -
or lack thereof, such a light shade of grey that they looked more
like smoke-tinted crystals. "Flying?"

"You can fly, too, Shane, once you get the hang of levitating."

"Show me!  Now!" he said enthusiastically.

Instead, Vachon grabbed the comforter off the bed and handed it to
him.  "I'm not sure, but I think there are laws against flying naked.
We'll get you some clothes first... C'mon."

They were almost to the door when Vachon thought it might be a good
idea to leave LaCroix a note.  He looked around for something to
write on and found a roll of cash register tape, but there wasn't a
pen or pencil in sight.  He was rummaging beneath the bar looking for
one when he realized Shane wasn't there anymore.

In a panic, he ran into the street, ready to take to the sky and
conduct an aerial search of the area, but instead, he almost ran into
the younger vampire. Holding his blanket around himself, he was
carefully examining the clunky lines of the Voyager as if the minivan
were the most elegant coach he had ever seen.

"This is your automobile?" he asked, and then, already knowing the
answer said. "It's magnificent." He ran his fingers across the maroon
finish, to which, Vachon noted, the Inka had probably applied
eighteen or twenty layers of protective wax. "It's like a jewel,"
Shane added, and Vachon remembered when everything had looked that
way to him, too, when his vampire vision was new.

He opened the door on the passenger side. Vachon had put the box
with the pastries on the passenger seat, so he set it on the
dashboard out of the way. "Get in."

Shane happily obliged. Vachon shut the door and climbed into the
driver's seat. He cursed the car for not having an automatic
transmission. His leg was throbbing, and working the clutch was
torture. Damn the Inka anyway - he had probably had to go out of his
way to get the damn standard transmission in the first place.

He remembered the seatbelts and showed Shane how to fasten his. The
last thing he wanted was to be pulled over by some over- astute
patrolman with a naked guy in his car.

Shane literally gasped with delight when he put the car in gear and
it started moving, but each time he stepped on the clutch, a fiery
pain shot through his shin and up his thigh, and when he down-shifted
on a turn, a particularly painful and sudden spasm caused him to
instinctively release the clutch. The car lurched forward. As he was
wishing he hadn't broken the knob off the gearshift lever as he
groped for it blindly, the pastries sailed off the dashboard and
landed somewhere on the floor in front of him.

The car stalled and Shane eyed him suspiciously. "I say, you do know
how to operate this contraption, don't you?"

Vachon responded by glaring at him. The pastry box had opened, and
there were donuts and eclairs all over the floor. He had to kick them
aside to get to the pedals. Once he got the car moving again, he left
it in second gear as a compromise.

Shane didn't seem to notice. He was too busy looking out the window.
How much of what he saw was familiar to him was anyone's guess. He
didn't make any comments other than to appear completely mesmerized
by the passing array of traffic lights and store window displays.

The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful. Shane studied the
way Vachon opened the car door and did the same, except that he
underestimated his newly-acquired vampire strength and flung the door
open with enough force that it sprang the hinges. He was not even
aware he had done it, and when he attempted to close it and it didn't
want to budge, he stood there with a puzzled look on his face for a
moment, then decided that maybe equal force was necessary to close it
again.  He slammed the damaged door so hard, the glass cracked.

He cringed. "Oh. Dreadfully sorry."

Vachon decided not to tell him that the Inka was not only likely to
stake them both, he'd probably barbecue them after basting them with
garlic juice and holy water. Instead, he sighed and motioned for
Shane to follow him into the church.

The fledgling vampire looked up at the building's facade and balked.
"Is this a Catholic church?"

Shane's accent was more English than anything else, but there was a
strong hint of Irish in it, so apparently, there was that Catholic-
Protestant thing to consider. Vachon had no idea if it would be a
good or bad thing for this to be a Catholic church, and frankly, he
was not prepared to deal with that mortal dilemma, so he told the
younger vampire the truth as he saw it. "Shane, you're a vampire now.
That kind of thing doesn't have to matter to you anymore."

If he was expecting Shane to experience a sudden surge of personal
conflict, he was disappointed. The fledgling shrugged, grinned, and
said, "Fine with me."

Once inside, the first thing Vachon did after lighting some candles
was to feed his guest. He'd never forgotten how those first few days
were - you never got enough.

Shane happily drank the bottled blood, blissfully unaware that the
fresh, living thing was a hundred times better. Vachon wondered if
the general rules of First Hunger would apply here. Would this one
always prefer bottled blood because it had been his first meal? It
would make his life a whole lot less complicated if that were the case.

He opened a bottle for himself and drank from it as he looked around
for anything clean. He managed to come up with a pair of Levi's and a
long-sleeved tee-shirt he'd only worn once since the last time he'd
washed it. He had plenty of socks, but he had to do some digging to
come up with another pair of shoes, a well-worn pair of Converse high-
tops.

He handed the clothing over to the other vampire. He was several
inches shorter than Vachon, so the jeans bunched up around his
ankles, but otherwise, everything fit well enough except for the
shoes. Like Amaru, Shane had smaller feet.

The new vampire had finished the first bottle Vachon had given him,
so Vachon gave him another.

He took a swallow and then looked at it thoughtfully.  "It tastes so
wonderfully *good*" he sighed. "Who would have thought?"

He began to nose around the place, checking out what few belongings
Vachon had. He found Vachon's guitar, resting against its amplifier,
and fingered one of the strings.

"Is this a guitar?" he asked.

It sounded like a dumb question until Vachon remembered what guitars
had looked like in 1912, when they had born almost no resemblance to
the sleek, black, fiberglass instrument he now owned beyond the fact
that both had six strings.

"Yes, it is."

Shane plucked one of the strings, and seemed confused when almost no
sound came from it. The amp was turned off. "You're a musician?" he
asked.

"When I can work at it, yeah," Vachon said.

"I always fancied that," Shane said, by now having moved on to the
amplifier itself. He twisted knobs haphazardly and then somehow
managed to turn it on.

A loud, resonant hum filled the room and quickly became the high-
pitched squeal of feedback.

Shane covered his ears. Vachon hated that sound himself - hell, most
everyone did - but to Shane's newly sensitive hearing, it had to have
been torture.

Vachon quickly turned the amp off and laughed softly. "A lot of
things in this world are going to do things you don't expect," he said.

Shane swallowed from his bottle. "I won't mind that. It's not like
my life was that exciting... before."

Vachon spent the next hour talking to the new vampire. He found out
he'd been a brick mason by trade, a regular blue collar kind of guy.
He'd had four brothers, two of whom had preceded him to the States.
Maybe the other two had also followed, after he had been lost at sea.
Vachon suggested that he might be able to find out what had become of
them, but became bogged down trying to define what computers were,
and how they might be useful in such a search. Machines that talked
to each other over the phone were a concept the young man could not
easily grasp.

It was very close to sunrise by then, and Vachon knew that as young
as he was, Shane would fall into a veritable coma as soon as the
first hints of dawn were visible. He was already very sleepy, Vachon
could tell.

"You can have the bed if you want," Vachon told him.

Shane patted the couch. "No need. I'll just sleep here, if that is
satisfactory..." He finished the bottle and stretched out, pulling
his comforter over himself.

He was the picture of contentment. Vachon could learn to like this
vampire. Too bad he was LaCroix's...

LaCroix. He'd forgotten to leave him a note. He'd have no idea where
his fledgling was, and that would *not* make him happy.

Vachon briefly considered a mad dash back to the Raven, but
concluded that would be far too dangerous. He was old enough to
tolerate a few seconds of daylight, but it would only take an instant
for a newborn like Shane to be severely burned.

Besides, he was tired, too. His leg hurt, and his stomach was just
beginning to make him think maybe he shouldn't have eaten all that
food.

He'd deal with that old Roman later.


---TWENTY-SEVEN---

Nick headed back to the cemetery after leaving Tracy with her
father. He'd gotten rid of the reporters by convincing them that the
Pulitzer Prize for journalism was to be sought after elsewhere, and
luckily, neither of them had been much of a resister.

His reunion with Tracy had been awkward, but not as uncomfortable as
he'd expected. She'd stared at him awhile until he'd finally asked
her what was on her mind.

"It's just that you and Vachon... You're so different."

"Vampires were all once human, Tracy. Like humans, we all have our
own personalities."

"I understand that, but it's just that Vachon seems so mysterious...
kind of... I dunno, 'dangerous' I guess is the word. You... Well,
you're just Nick."

He grinned at her. "Am I to take that as a compliment?"

"I guess it is a compliment. I honestly never would have suspected.
You never gave me any reason to."

"I've had 800 years to learn to fake it."

Her eyes widened. "Eight hundred years?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "I was a knight, for real."

"You mean armor and all that?"

He smiled at her. "And all that."

She took a moment to assimilate that. "And no one knows?"

"No one except Natalie... and now you." His voice became serious for
a moment. "Tracy, you said I could trust you, and I believe that, but
I hope you understand that your life depends on you keeping this to
yourself. It was more than enough that you knew about Vachon and his
friends. I managed to run interference for you when you found out
about them, but if anyone finds out about me, there won't be anyone
who can help you."

She looked almost indignant. "Help me do what?"

"Stay alive, Tracy. Our existence has to be kept secret."

Her next remark surprised him. "Why?"

He found he didn't have an immediate answer for that, and she
continued, "It's not like anyone would even believe me. They'd have
me committed. *Nobody* really believes in vampires, anymore, Nick.
You could go on the Jerry Show and confess it to the world, and
they'd only think you were a nut."

Something about her casual attitude was rubbing him the wrong way,
but he tried to keep his patience. "It's just that we have rules,
Tracy."

She snorted. "Screw rules."

He looked at her hoping his expression didn't reveal his surprise at
her candor.

She stared back at him, and for a fleeting moment, he knew he was
not looking at Tracy Vetter. But then she shrugged and giggled.
"Don't worry Nick, I won't tell anyone. I wouldn't endanger *you*."

That had been meant as a low blow, but he had ignored it.

Now, as he approached the cemetery, he could not help but think how
different things were from the last time he'd been out there, when
he'd thought Tracy was gone forever.

Any thoughts that he would be able to quietly gather the soil
samples Natalie wanted and be on his way were quickly dispelled long
before he approached the actual grave. The area was ablaze with the
flashing lights of numerous emergency vehicles.

As he stepped out of the Caddy, he was immediately assaulted by a
strong odor he didn't recognize and one that he did - smoke.

The area was cordoned off, and he flashed his badge and asked for
the person in charge. A man in firefighter's gear with a Lieutenant's
insignia on his helmet approached him.

"What's going on?" he asked.

The firefighter wiped sweat from his eyes.  "Damnedest thing I ever
saw.  The dirt is *fused*. It takes thousands of degrees to do that.
Luckily, there wasn't much around it to spread the flames, and it
burned itself out before it could become a true delta class fire... A
fire that hot..." He shook his head. "We wouldn't have been able to
do anything... It would have burned the soil itself as fuel. Right
now, we just have the pumpers cooling the ground off so our
investigators can take a look."

"Any idea what caused it?"

The Lieutenant shrugged. "I've seen lightning melt dirt like that,
but never over such an extensive area. I'd say it has to be arson,
but I've never seen anything like it. And why here? What was there to
burn?"

Nick shook his head, even though he knew. "How far down would that
much heat radiate?"

"I'm no expert, but my guess is any remains buried here are pretty
much cooked, maybe even completely cremated. Are you thinking this
was done to destroy forensic evidence?"

That actually had not occurred to Nick, but it suddenly gave him a
possible reason for the mysterious blaze. He tried to keep his voice
unrevealing. "Well, there are two Jane Doe graves in this vicinity."

The firefighter surveyed the area. Most of the headstones were now
unreadable, many inconceivably reduced to piles of ash. "Is this
where they thought they'd buried that cop? The one who turned out to
be alive?"

"Detective Vetter, yes."

The firefighter scratched his head. "Seems like a lot of trouble to
cover a mistake."

"Well, it was a pretty big mistake... Mind if have a look?"

"Not yet. The ground is still about 300 degrees. And the Ritual
Crimes people still need to go over it."

"Ritual Crimes?" Nick hadn't even been aware that the Toronto PD had
such a unit.

"Yeah, you know, devil worship, animal sacrifice..."

A sudden horrifying thought hit Nick. "Vampires..." he whispered.

"What did you say?" the Lieutenant asked him.

Nick clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing... Thanks..."

He sped to the Raven, fearing the worst. As much as he despised what
LaCroix had done to the young man from the Titanic, he hated even
more the thought that newborn vampire might have already been
destroyed.

He threw open the doors of the club and immediately caught a whiff
of the same substance he'd smelled at the scene of the fire. He raced
down the stairs to Janette's old room and his stomach sank. The
fledgling was gone.

He didn't have time to even think of looking for LaCroix, however.
His master was on him in an instant, eyes blazing red.

He grabbed the lapels of Nick's jacket, reeking of the same chemical
which Nick now suspected was used to fuel the fire at the cemetery.

Enraged, Nick pushed the older vampire away and then grabbed him by
the neck. His fury gave him strength, but so did the element of
surprise. LaCroix was certainly not accustomed to such disrespect.

"WHY!" Nick spat, slamming LaCroix into the wall. "Why did you kill
him?"

LaCroix's expression quickly shifted from crazed wrath, to
confusion, to indulgent humor.

He grabbed both of Nick's wrists and easily removed them, keeping a
firm - and painful -grip on his impertinent offspring.

"Nicholas, do compose yourself."

"Why did you kill him?!" Nick demanded.

LaCroix looked amused. "My dear Nicholas, what *are* you talking
about?"

"Your damned fledgling, LaCroix, what do you think?"

"What I think, Nicholas, is that you had better calm down. Quite
frankly, I thought it was *you* who had absconded with the charming
creature."

Understanding slowly dawned on Nick. "Where is he?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea. No doubt engaging in some misadventure
that will cause me the first of endless headaches. My progeny seem
predisposed to that." He released Nick's wrists and shoved him
backwards.

"He's gone?!" Nick gasped.

"Quite obviously."

"But... the fire..." He indicated LaCroix's clothing, which not only
stank of accelerant but was smudged with ash as well.

LaCroix brushed the front of his soiled shirt. "Lyllia has found
Divia's cells alive in Tracy Vetter, and Vachon is re- infected. I
know they were both at the cemetery tonight, and I know what they
attempted to do there. You don't for a moment believe their sudden
and unrestrained passion was a coincidence, do you?"

Nick didn't know what he was getting at.

LaCroix continued. "It was Divia, Nicholas. I don't know how, or
why, but of that I am certain."

Nick wanted to say this was madness, but he knew better.

"Nothing need be done about the young detective until she meets her
natural demise," LaCroix went on, "and we must hope that Vachon can
once again be successfully treated by the good Dr. Lambert so that he
need not be disposed of. In the meantime, however, anything left of
my daughter had to be destroyed, consumed by fire. I saw to that,
personally."

Nick sniffed at the air. "What did you use, anyway?"

LaCroix smiled smugly. "I believe it was rocket fuel of some sort.
One never questions friends in the industry about such things..."

Nick was about to question it, anyway, when an unpleasant thought
occurred to him. "What about Urs?  You didn't..."

"No.  She is in a safe place, and so long as she appears to be dead,
her remains will be untouched. What is to be done in the event she
returns to us will be determined by Vachon should the need arise."

Nick was comforted by that thought, but that still left the
unanswered question as to where LaCroix's fledgling had gone. He
couldn't imagine him trying to survive on his own at such a young
age. Vachon and the Inka had done it, but that had been under much
less conspicuous circumstances, in a simpler time and a place that
was familiar to them.

LaCroix made a motion to the east. "The sun will be up in minutes.
For now, the matter is entirely out of our hands."

"Your concern touches me," Nick said sarcastically.

"Oh come now, Nicholas. Let's not be a hypocrite. You were the one
who wanted me to stake him before he drew his first supernatural
breath."

That was basically the truth, but Nick hated LaCroix for being so
smug about it. "Well, I've changed my mind."

"Indeed? How politically correct... If you will excuse me, I simply
must get out of these clothes. The stench is quite unbearable."

LaCroix brushed him aside and disappeared in the direction of his
own quarters.

In 800 years, Nick had never completely understood his master. He
had no idea if LaCroix simply didn't care what had happened to his
newest creation, or if he was amused by the thought that the
youngster had manage to escape on his own, or, if his calm reflected
his relief at learning that his fledgling might still be alive, that
Nick hadn't killed him.

Nick shook his head and glanced at his watch. He had time to get to
Natalie's before the sun came up, but if he went there, he'd have to
spend the day with her.

He wasn't comfortable with that. She had, in the past few months
since he'd recovered from Divia's attack, become convinced that it
was possible for them to have a physical relationship. Up until a few
days ago, he'd had no idea that part of the basis for that theory was
the fact that she had actually been intimate with Vachon. Now that he
knew that, her assertions were even more disquieting, because,
despite his anger, he now dared to hope she could be right. However,
as badly as he wanted her speculations to be true, he simply was not
ready to take a chance on hurting her again, and didn't feel
comfortable putting himself in the path of temptation.

He decided to call her, instead.

 
---TWENTY-EIGHT---

Natalie wondered how much time she had. How much time before Divia's
poison had done its work and made Vachon mortal enough to father a
child? How much time before he and Tracy entered into the necessary
union that would allow Divia her ultimate freedom - a new, healthy
body of her very own?

She didn't know how close the relationship Vachon and Tracy shared
was. She'd seen how much he cared for her when she'd had to break the
news to him that she was dead, but were they just close friends? Or
had they contemplated being lovers as she and Nick had?  Up until
that point, she had considered it none of her business, but now, she
was going to have to take Tracy aside and seriously discuss with her
the facts about birds, bees and vampires. At the same time, she'd
have to deal with her personal feelings about what was happening to
the two of them. What if Tracy *wanted* Vachon's child? How would she
ever cope with that?

For her own sake, the scientist in her was already contemplating the
potential implications of this development from the standpoint of how
it could affect her and Nick. If whatever it was in Divia's cells
that made Tracy immune to death by vampire could be isolated, maybe
the whole question of Nick's mortality could be set aside with regard
to their relationship.  Even better, if she could find a way to
enhance the vampire-suppressing characteristics of the toxin without
adversely affecting Nick's general well-being, she might have the
answer she had spent years searching for.

But, the soil samples that she hoped would contain living cells of
some form - fungi, mold, or even human tissue - that had been
commandeered by Divia were crucial to her research.  Her heart sank
when Nick phoned and told her about the hellish fire at the cemetery,
so hot it had consumed dirt and concrete.

"There's nothing left?" she said softly.

"No. Not even Divia could have survived that."

She desperately wanted to argue that point, but dismemberment was
one thing - it left cellular matter intact, if not alive. However,
Divia's cells, as unique as they were, were still organic material,
and Nick was right - it was chemically impossible that they had
survived a fire hot enough to melt the earth surrounding them.

Despite the bad news, she was not ready to abandon all hope. So long
as Vachon and Tracy were alive, and she could get them to cooperate...

Well, Vachon had no choice. He still had that sliver of wood in his
leg that was probably teeming with bacteria that was itself infected
by Divia. A smile spread across her face despite the fact that Nick
sounded upset on the other end of the line.

"Natalie?" he said, probably aware that she hadn't really been
listening to him.

"I'm sorry Nick... I'm a bit tired... I guess my mind drifted. What
did you say?"

"I said LaCroix's fledgling has disappeared."

She was suddenly alert. "Oh my God... You mean he's wandering around
the city, alone?"

"I don't know," Nick said tensely. "But if he is, he's dangerous. I
thought you should know... in case anything shows up at your end."

She knew what he meant. Another body to cover up - maybe more if the
young vampire decided he preferred the taste of mortal blood enough
to disregard the risks. "I can look for him, if you have any idea
where he might be."

"No, that's too dangerous," Nick said.  "Besides, if he's safe, he's
asleep right now, and if he has done something, it's too late to do
anything about it. I'll get on it as soon as the sun goes down. I
just wanted you to know."

Natalie remembered how vulnerable and innocent the little fledgling
had looked. "You don't think anything's happened to him, do you Nick?"

Nick sighed. "No. He's my brother, after all. I probably would have
sensed it through our bloodlink."

Natalie was relieved to hear that. When had her attitude changed? 
When had it happened that a vampire was as important to her as a
human being? She laughed softly to herself when she considered some
of her experiences with humans - Roger the Homicidal Maniac, her
abusive grandmother, the human germ who had killed her Goddaughter.
Maybe she had simply come to realize that some humans were a far
lower life form than the so-called monsters who had become so dear to
her.

She yawned and stretched out on the couch with Sidney curled
comfortably beside her and then remembered she had one more phone
call to make. She needed arrange a place to perform surgery on
Vachon. She had considered the morgue, but their privacy could not be
guaranteed there, nor could the sterile environment that Vachon's
compromised immune system demanded.

She decided to call Dr. Turner and ask her to arrange for a
treatment room. The ER would have most of the supplies she needed,
and what they didn't have, she could bring with her. Also, there
would be phenobarbital on hand. Normally, it was used to stop
seizures that did not respond to anticonvulsant therapy, but in
adequate doses, it had properties similar to a general anesthetic.
True, that was usually considered an undesirable side effect, but it
this case she hoped it would serve her purposes without harming Vachon.

As for Dr. Turner, the woman was a magnet for the Supernatural
Injured, and Natalie couldn't help but think that eventually she
would learn the truth about some of her patients. Maybe they could
set up a practice together, vampires, werewolves and assorted ghouls
a specialty.

Not only was Turner eager to cooperate, she claimed she had already
been approached about the matter, by an associate of Natalie's - one
Dr. Lyllia Hanover. Natalie's first thought was that this was going
to be easier than she'd thought, until she realized that maybe Lyllia
wanted the same thing she did - the errant remnants of Divia that
were infecting the piece of wood in Vachon's leg. Could she make the
Enforcer understand how important her work was, not only to finding a
treatment or cure for Nick, but to determining the actual nature of
what Divia was and what they were dealing with?

Unfortunately, she had no idea how to contact Lyllia. She scooped up
Sidney and went into her bedroom where she set her alarm clock for 4
PM. She'd have to take that thing out of Vachon's leg as soon as
possible, preferably before Lyllia got to him. She also hoped to get
to the church in time to keep him from feeding, just in case the
fasting-before-surgery rule applied to vampires.  Also, the early
hour would allow her to look for him elsewhere, in the event she
didn't find him at the church, and she fully expected that it was
possible he could be elsewhere.

Like with Tracy Vetter.

She slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by past conversations with
Nick about how they had no future so long as he remained a vampire,
and by the incident at the loft that had left her almost dead.

She dreamed she was delivering Tracy's baby... a lovely little girl
with Vachon's dark curls and Tracy's clear blue eyes. In the dream,
the child turned from a baby into a monstrous demon *thing* as soon
as she had cut the cord...

She awoke with a start, and tried to sort out what in her dreams had
been purely the work of her overactive imagination and what had had
its basis in fact.

The child. That part was possible, wasn't it? She had never seen
Divia, but was certain she hadn't looked like a demon. How would they
tell if Tracy's child were normal?

She sighed. She'd deal with that when, and if, it ever became reality.

She arrived at the church a few minutes past 4 pm. Unlike the time
before, it was pitch black inside and she'd left her flashlight with
Vachon the last time she'd been there.

There were plenty of candles everywhere, though, and she had matches
in her purse. She used one to light her way up the stairs into
Vachon's living quarters. Once there, she used the flame to light
more candles.

She almost sat on LaCroix's fledgling, not expecting him to be on
the battered couch.  She wondered how he had come to be there and
reached into her purse for her cell phone to call Nick and let him
know, only to realize she had probably left it wedged somewhere
between the cushions on the sofa in her apartment. She didn't know if
Vachon had a phone or not, but she did know she'd never find it in
the dark, so she abandoned the idea. The fledgling was sound asleep.
He wasn't going anywhere.

She looked around for somewhere else to sit and found an armchair
that was as battered as the couch. She pulled it to a spot where
Vachon would be sure to see her when he woke up.

There was still a couple of hours to go before sunset, so when she
felt herself nodding off, she allowed sleep to overtake her.

She was awakened by a cool breath on her shoulder, but she didn't
dare open her eyes. She had felt that before. She knew what it was.
She had told Vachon that she would not make love to him again, ever,
and he had seemed to understand that, but vampires only breathed down
your neck for one of two reasons.

"Vachon..." she said softly.

"Hmmmm?" came the muffled reply - from several feet away.

Natalie opened her eyes to find the fledgling eyeing her hungrily.

Instead of a threat, however, she saw confusion in his pale grey eyes.

"Back off, Shane," she said in her most authoritative voice.

Vachon was instantly alert. He flew at the fledgling and knocked him
to the floor, pinning him there.

Shane looked at him uncertainly. He wasn't afraid of Vachon, perhaps
because he was not yet aware of what vampires were capable of doing
to each other.

"I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I don't know what I'm supposed to
do..."

Vachon eased his hold on him. "Just like a mortal, Shane, you don't
take anything from a friend without asking. This is Natalie, and
she's a friend.  Assume that any mortal who doesn't come at you with
a stake is a friend until they prove otherwise. It's a good way to
stay out of trouble."

Vachon released him completely and indicated a crate near the foot
of his bed.  "There," he motioned with his hand.  "Help yourself."

He put his hand protectively over his injured leg and threw his head
back, gasping with pain.

Natalie went to him. "What is it?" she asked him.

His look was a mixture of annoyance and distress. "I think I broke
it."

Natalie carefully examined the limb as best she could through his
jeans. The bone shifted and he yelped as the two broken ends rubbed
against each other.

"This is just fucking great," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Shane, a bottle in each hand - both apparently for himself -looked
concerned. "What's the matter?"

Natalie explained the situation. "I have to get him down to my car.
We need to get him to a hospital so I can..."

"No hospital!" Vachon said adamantly.

Shane lowered the bottle he was gulping from. "What are you afraid
of?"

Vachon really looked annoyed then. "You know, for someone whose
fangs aren't even grown out all the way, you talk too much."

Shane shrugged, nonplussed. "Sorry."

"You have no choice Vachon," Natalie said. "Besides, Lyllia will be
probably be there. She won't let anything happen to you."

Reluctantly, Vachon agreed she was right.

Natalie knew he'd have to be carried down the stairs, and that would
leave his injured limb dangling painfully. She looked around for
something to make a splint to support it. It was an easy search - the
place was littered with junk. A couple of tightly rolled newspapers
and the shreds of an old tee-shirt did the trick.

"Help me get him down to my car," Natalie told Shane.

The young vampire looked at her uncertainly. There were several
flights of stairs, and even though Vachon was not that big, he
clearly outweighed him. "You can do it," Natalie told him. "Trust me."

Shane finished off the bottle in his hand and then lifted Vachon off
the floor. An astonished look crossed his face once he had
accomplished the feat.

"You don't weigh hardly anything!" he told Vachon.

"No, you're just a lot stronger than you used to be..." Vachon
winced as Shane readjusted his grip. "Now if you don't mind...?"

"Oh... certainly..." Shane nodded at Natalie who lead the way to her
car.

Natalie noticed that someone had provided the young vampire with
rudimentary clothing, and judging from the looks of it, it hadn't
been LaCroix. As he carried Vachon out onto the sidewalk, he was
walking on the cuffs of the jeans he wore, which were several inches
too long. The sidewalk was wet and it was cold, but he didn't seem
bothered by the fact he had no shoes, and had only a thin shirt
between him and an icy wind. They developed that vampire resiliency
early, she noted.

It was quickly apparent that Vachon was not going to be at all
comfortable in Natalie's small car. He produced the keys to Amaru's
minivan, only to then discover it was no longer in the "No Parking"
zone where he and Shane had left it.

Natalie pointed at the sign. "That generally means you get towed if
you park there," she informed Vachon.

Vachon, choosing not to think about that at that moment, found a way
to settle himself in the front seat of Natalie's small compact while
Shane admired it as openly as he had Amaru's newer, better kept
vehicle.

"May I come along?" he said excitedly.

"No!" Vachon and Natalie said in unison.

Shane's face fell. His feelings were hurt.

"It's not safe, Shane," Vachon explained gently. You need a lot more
experience before you can wander out among mortals."

"Stay here for now," Natalie said. "Someone will come for you." She
was sure LaCroix would be looking for him, and she'd call Nick as
soon as possible and let him know where the fledgling was.

Vachon's voice got as stern as it was possible for Vachon's voice to
get. "Don't go *anywhere*. I mean that, Shane. There are people who
would kill you as soon as they see you. Vampire hunters."

Shane's eyebrows rose. He didn't actually believe Vachon, Natalie
could tell, but at the same time, he was intimidated by the ominous
tone of his voice. "I'll stay here," he held up his hand as if
swearing an oath. "I promise."

Once they were on their way, Natalie turned to Vachon. "He's...
unusual."

"Well... most of us do take the whole thing a bit less casually."

"I wonder how he'll get along with LaCroix?"

Vachon thought about that, and then laughed softly to himself.

"What?" Natalie asked.

"Nothing... I just can't help but wonder what it would be like if
Knight were like that. You know, a bit less... tense... about being
what he is..." He turned to look at her. "And about the two of you."

Natalie knew exactly what he meant, and it took her by surprise, but
she saw her opening and didn't waste time trying to find words.
"Vachon, have you and Tracy Vetter been lovers? Ever?"

It was his turn to be surprised. "What?"

She didn't hesitate. She had to know. "I mean as a vampire. A
healthy vampire. Have you done it? Is it possible?"

Vachon took a deep breath. "No, not with Tracy. <Thanks to Nick
Knight>. But it's possible."

"Have you ever? With anybody?" Natalie wasn't used to getting so
personal with anyone, but Vachon was not the type who was easily
embarrassed, and she might not get a chance to ask him again.

He shook his head. "No."

"Have you thought about trying it with Tracy?"

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Yes. But
I've thought about it a lot of other times, too. Why all the
questions, Natalie?"

She told him everything Lyllia had told her.

He listened intently, interested yet giving no indication how he
felt about the prospect of making love to Tracy without fear of
hurting her. It wasn't until she mentioned the possibility that he
might no longer be sterile that he showed any reaction at all.

"A baby?" he whispered.

"Yes. It can be verified for sure, if you want that."

He looked at her suspiciously, obviously knowing what that would
entail, and then turned away. Clearly, the idea of providing a semen
sample *did* embarrass him, but he said, "I'll think about it."

She pulled the car into the hospital parking lot. "One more thing...

"Anyth... what?"

"I know I have no right to ask you this, Vachon, but I have to. If
you and Tracy do enter into a physical relationship, I'd like to
know. It's important to my work that I study how and why it's
possible." <It's important to me and Nick.>

He understood. He understood perfectly.


---TWENTY-NINE---

Tracy Vetter needed answers. She knew that she hadn't been told the
entire truth about her months in the hospital. She knew that
instinctively and she also knew it because something just didn't feel
right.

Dr. Turner had told her to expect some disorientation, that it was
to be expected by someone who had just awakened from a coma. And
there was that, to be sure, but it wasn't what she would have thought
it to be. Her surroundings were completely familiar to her, and yet,
at times, they weren't.

She remembered how, at the hospital, she had located the remote for
the TV in her room, and had known what it was for, but there had
still been a moment of shocked disbelief when the "ON" button had
caused an image to appear on the TV screen. The instant of utter awe
and terror she had experienced was brief, but unforgettable. The same
thing had happened when her father had started the car when he took
her home.

She was seeing familiar places and things for the first time. That
was the best she could describe it. It was too weird.

And then there were the mood swings. Not the happy-to-depressed-to-
happy ones that were normal, but sudden impulsive urges to do things
she could not even explain to herself, like ripping apart the candy
machine at the coroner's building.

She'd done that with her bare hands. Just grabbed the door and
pulled it right off. How could that be? She wasn't that strong.
Nobody was. How did she *do* that?

And all that food she had talked Vachon into eating.... Had she
*wanted* him to get sick? She liked Vachon. Maybe she even loved him.
So why did something about hurting him appeal to her?

Then, there was Nick. She knew he was a vampire now, because she had
seen it, but even if she hadn't, she would have known. Now, something
inside her told her these things. How was that possible?

She didn't know how much Vachon knew. The last time she'd seen him
before her own injury, she'd thought he was dead. Hell, *he* had
thought he was dead. "Wish me luck," he'd told her. He'd thought he
was on his way to wherever it was vampires went when they died.

He did know something she didn't, though, she was certain of that.
Natalie and Nick did, too, but she'd be able to get it out of Vachon
easier than she would either of them.

The church looked deserted, but it always did. She wasn't inside it
for long when she felt that same feeling she'd had around Lyllia and
every other vampire she had encountered since regaining
consciousness. It was a funny buzzing sensation inside her head, near
the base of her skull. She could *feel* vampires now...

Vachon could sense her, too, she knew, but maybe he was still
asleep. She didn't hear him making any move to greet her.

She was halfway up the staircase leading to the choir loft when she
realized that she could see quite well, even though there was almost
no light in the place. She'd always had excellent eyesight, but it
was not *that* good. This was too bizarre...

She pushed open the door to Vachon's living space and softly said
his name.

She stepped inside for a better look and was instantly thrown off
her feet by a blur of hair and denim.

It raced through her mind that Vachon was playing some kind of
vampire game with her, and she wasn't the least bit amused. She felt
the anger rising in her even as she attempted to free herself from
his grasp. She felt as though she could just wiggle her way out of
his arms, but that was being too easy on him. Who the hell did he
think he was, anyway??

She was able to determine his location from the position of his
hands on her body, and without a second thought or a moment's
hesitation, she kneed him in the groin as hard as she could.

There was a gasping shriek of pain as she felt the grip on her
slacken.

She felt herself laughing. It made her feel good to have hurt him
like that.

Her eyes focused on the figure doubled up on the floor in front of
her. All she could see was hair, but that was enough to tell her it
wasn't Vachon. It was the wrong color, the wrong texture and it was
way too long.

"Who are you?" she demanded, showing - and feeling - no fear or
sympathy.

A face turned upwards to look at her. A vampire's face, glistening
fangs reflecting what little light there was in the room.

The fangs didn't scare her. The vampire didn't scare her. She
reached down and grabbed a fistful of hair. For an instant, a part of
her enjoyed the softness and the feel of it, but then her grip
tightened and she used it as a handle to pull the vampire to his feet.

"Who... are... you?" she hissed.

He was confused - and, she surmised, afraid of her. Why the hell was
that?

Suddenly, an odd sensation of warmth flowed through the hand that
held him, up her arm, and then enveloping her entire body. And with
it came the unexpected realization that for some totally illogical
reason, she *knew* this vampire.

She drew his face close to hers. He was a short little shit, so she
had to pull him up onto his toes to get his eyes level with hers. He
squirmed uncomfortably as she twisted his hair around her hand.

"You are Lucien's child aren't you?" she said. <LaCroix? How the
hell could she have known this? She'd only met LaCroix once - and
that lying bastard Vachon had told her he wasn't a vampire!!> "One
always recognizes family..." <What? Where had *that* come from?>

With a final yank on his hair, she let him go.

"What is your name? What are you doing here?"

He looked completely lost. He knew she was mortal and therefore
prey, and he wanted to take her, she could tell. But, something was
stopping him. He was obviously intimidated by her.

How very, very amusing.

She looked into his eyes, as pale as Vachon's were dark, but just as
beautiful, just as expressive.

She saw his fear, and then something in her saw beyond that and she
began to laugh. It was a cruel and mocking laugh, even though that
was not, Tracy was sure, the emotion she was feeling.

"You never have taken a mortal, have you?" she scoffed.  "You don't
even know how it's done!"

He didn't like being laughed at, but only his eyes revealed that
fact. The rest of his face was a mask of confusion and shame.

Tracy felt sorry for him for a moment, but his discomfort was just
too much fun.

She drew him to her in an embrace, stroking his neck. "Let this mere mortal show you."

He pulled away, now more afraid than hungry. "No!"

She held him fast. How could she do that? They were so strong...

She tossed her hair behind her back and forced his head closer to
her bared neck. "Feel it?" she asked provocatively. "Feel the
heat?... Can you smell it?"

His voice was a throaty, excited whisper. "Yes."

"It's what you want, you know that..."

What the *hell* was she doing? This was a vampire!  She was
practically begging him to *feed* from her!!

Her self-preservation instinct took over and she tried to pull away,
but it was too late. The young vampire - whoever he was - was fully
aroused, and, she suspected, he had figured out exactly what he was
supposed to do, thanks to her.

He jerked her back towards him, this time using the full measure of
his vampire strength, which she was powerless to resist. He was too
short to reach her neck while they were both standing, but that
didn't stop him. He tossed her onto Vachon's bed and pinned her there
while he pulled her head to one side.

She tried to scream, but it caught in her throat when his tiny,
sharp fangs pierced the skin of her neck.

There was sudden, tremendous rush of pure pleasure and her survival instincts raged at her to fight, but she didn't want him to stop. Not ever.

She wouldn't die. She suddenly knew that. It was this silly virgin
vampire who would be destroyed.

Let the little fool drink. Let him drink until his heart and veins
burst with her blood, until the fire inside her flowed into him and
sent his every cell into spasms of agony.

How would LaCroix like it when she dumped his dying little fledgling
on his doorstep?

+ + + + + + +

Where was she?

Tracy scanned the darkness surrounding her for anything that would
give her some clue.

The soft, yielding surface beneath her told her she was lying on a
bed.

It came back to her then. She was at the church. She'd been attacked
by a vampire who wasn't Vachon.

No, wait. That wasn't possible. She was still alive...

She reached up and felt her neck. The holes were closed, but there
was blood on her neck, fresh enough that it was still sticky.

She sat up, expecting to feel dizzy like she had the times she'd
donated blood, but she wasn't. She didn't feel any different than she
had before he'd attacked her...

Where had he gone?

She groped the area around the bed for matches. Vachon must have
some around for all the candles... She could see fairly well in the
darkened space, but if the other vampire was hiding, she'd need more
light to find him.

Of course he was hiding. She could still feel him.  His presence and
something else... Fear? A vampire, afraid of *her*?

She shoved her hand under the pillow and made contact with a
cylindrical object that turned out to be exactly what she thought it
was. She turned the flashlight on and played the beam around the room.

There was no response from the vampire. No sound came from him as
the flashlight caught the cascades of sienna hair that concealed the
huddling form in a darkened recess.

She went to him, the flashlight exposing more detail the closer she
got. His hair was exquisite - what a waste that a guy should have
hair like that.

She knelt and pushed it away from his face. She supposed he could
just spring to life and grab her again, but something told her he
wouldn't do that, that he wouldn't dare. He wasn't unconscious, but
something was definitely wrong with him. If she'd had to take a
guess, she would have said shock. He was barely breathing and not
moving at all.

"You little fool," she said caustically. "You have no idea what you
are dealing with."

Tracy felt and heard the words coming out of her mouth, but it
wasn't her saying them...

She had lost her mind. That was it. That was what Nick and Natalie
and the others hadn't wanted to tell her.

"NO!" she screamed, and clenched her eyes shut. "SHUT UP!"

<Great, Vetter, you think you've lost your mind, so you're yelling
at yourself just to prove it...>

She took a deep breath to regain control. Was what she was seeing
before her even real? Or was it some delirious hallucination?

All things considered, the entire scenario was pretty psychotic.
Really... vampires?  Was Vachon a vampire, or was that all just part
of some schizophrenic episode she was having?

She touched the vampire on the floor.

He felt real.  Damn it, he *was* real. She wasn't crazy, she knew
that.

That same little pulse of energy she had felt the last time she
touched him shot up her arm again.  What was that?  And why did it
send a signal to her brain that told her what - and who -this
creature was?

Unnerved, she pulled her hand away.

Just as suddenly as it had come upon her, the feeling that she was
not herself abruptly left.

She looked down at the vampire on the floor and her earlier feeling
of triumph was replaced by panic.

He was dying. Somehow, she had done this to him.

Her deepest emotion was one of utter horror - she didn't even like
stepping on bugs and she had already taken two lives. Even though
those acts had been committed in self-defense, they would haunt her
forever. Now this...

At the same time, that other, newer, different part of her was
concerned only with the fact that Lucien LaCroix was a very old and
powerful vampire, and the vampire before her was his child. <How the
*hell* did she know that??>

He was going to be entirely *pissed*.

She didn't know what to do....  Think...

Natalie.

Natalie Lambert would know what to do, and she wasn't one of Them.
At least, she hoped Natalie wasn't.

She ransacked the place looking for Vachon's phone and punched up
the number for the morgue when she found it, only to be told that
Natalie wasn't there and wouldn't be in that night.

She had them transfer the call to Nick's office, but he wasn't
there, either, and when she dialed it, she discovered his home phone
number had been changed.

She threw the phone down in frustration.

She'd have to call LaCroix. Just call him and tell him where to find
his vampire, that was all. She didn't even need to say who she was.

But, directory assistance had no number listed for either The Raven
or for anyone named LaCroix at that address.

She examined the young vampire again. His eyes had closed. He was no
longer struggling against whatever it was that had happened to him,
but at least he was still alive. If she'd had her car, she could have
taken him to the Raven and hoped LaCroix would show up, but she had
walked to the church. 5 miles, with no effort at all...

The vampire was a little guy, for a man, but he still looked like he
outweighed her by ten or fifteen pounds. Nevertheless, she attempted
to pick him up off the floor, remembering what an epic struggle it
had been to move Vachon's body when she had buried him.  To her
bafflement, however, she discovered that she could easily lift more
than her own weight now.

How could she be this strong? People were supposed to waste away in
a coma, not emerge as Wonder Woman...

She put him on Vachon's bed. She could sense that he was in pain,
and he was incredibly cold, even for one of Them, but there wasn't a
mark on him anywhere that she could see. She had to do *something*.
She had to find someone who could help him.

She threw the blankets over him and took the stairs two at a time.

As she raced out the side door of the church, she ran headlong into
the Inka, Amaru.

He laughed softly and then held her at arms' length. He looked like
he was going to voice a greeting, but then the look on her face must
have told him instantly that something was wrong.

She saw his eyes shift almost imperceptibly in the direction of the
loft. That part of his brain that humans didn't have was searching
for whatever signal it was that would tell him the condition of his
vampire sibling.

She didn't understand how she knew that this was what he was doing,
but she did, and she decided to save him the effort.

"It's not Vachon," she said, not even winded from her dash down the
stairs. "I don't know who he is, but he needs help. I think he's
dying."

 
---THIRTY---

"A vampire..." Dr. Turner looked at Natalie as if this was
conclusive proof that the other doctor had lost her mind.

Natalie couldn't blame her for thinking that, of course. After all
these years, it still sounded insane to her, too, sometimes.

Turner looked at Vachon. "Do you believe you're a vampire, too?"

Vachon was sitting on the exam table with his injured leg stretched
out in front of him, propped on a small pillow, the other dangling
over the edge. He nodded amicably. "Uh-huh."  He was enjoying this a
lot more than Natalie was, but even Natalie thought flashing his
fangs, which he did, was a bit more theatrical than was necessary.

Turner tried not to pull back, but it was an instinctive response.
She quickly got a grip on herself, though, and moved in for a closer
look.

"Open your mouth," she told Vachon, who obliged. She wasn't
convinced that the fangs weren't a dental prosthesis until Vachon
pulled them back to their normal position.

Turner backed away from him for real that time. "How can you do that?"

But she already knew the answer. Natalie could see that. Dr. Turner,
who had seen just about everything there was to see in her ER, was
one of those rare, highly-educated people who was still willing to
accept that practically anything was possible, including vampires.

She stepped closer to Vachon again, feeling his face as if to make
certain he was real.

"So cold..." she muttered to herself.  That elicited a pang of
nostalgia for Natalie - she remembered saying the same thing to Nick
the first time she'd touched him.

"Take his temperature," Natalie said. "You'll find it's about ten
degrees below human normal."

"No..." Turner whispered. "No... I believe you."

"Good," Natalie said, "because we're going to need your help with
this."

She explained Vachon's injury to her.

"I need to repair it. I need someone who knows what they are doing
to assist me, and to make sure he stays under."

Turner held up her hands. "No, wait. I'm not an anesthetist..."

"We don't need one. I'm just going to o.d. him on phenobarbital."

Turner gasped. "What?"

Natalie patted Vachon's uninjured leg. "That's the beauty of these
guys. Practically nothing kills them. All you have to worry about is
that he doesn't feel anything. They tend to get nasty when they're in
pain."

"Nasty?..." Turner reached unconsciously for her neck. Then she
looked at Natalie as a revelation dawned on her. "When they brought
you in here the first time..."

"That was an accident," Natalie said defensively.

She could almost see gears spinning in Turner's head.

"And the second time,... when I thought you'd been battered...."

Vachon cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that was me."

Turner gave him a disapproving look.

"I told you the truth then," Natalie added. "He didn't mean to do it."

Turner looked at Vachon, who shrugged apologetically.

"You must understand, though, that this is no myth we are dealing
with, doctor. His fangs are real and he'll use them to defend himself
if we hurt him."

Turner nodded. "Why choose me?"

Natalie considered her answer carefully. "Because you've cared for
him before and you've cared for another. You didn't know it at the
time, but you did..."

Turner's expression changed as once again, reality dawned on her.
"Detective Knight!... I knew it! I knew he was hurt worse when he was
brought in here than those x-rays..." Her voice trailed off as
another piece of that puzzle fell into place.  "Those weren't his x-
rays."

"No. They were switched."

"But how? By whom..." Her brow wrinkled as if she were thinking of
something she should remember, but couldn't.

Natalie changed the subject in an attempt to spare her the
discomfort that she knew from experience came from trying to overcome
LaCroix's whammy. "An E/R is not a safe place to keep a vampire. We
need to scrub so we can get this done and get him out of here..."

"And make you forget this ever happened," Lyllia said, as a way of
announcing her sudden presence. She was wearing hospital scrubs this
time, and had slipped into the room so quickly that Natalie and
Turner hadn't seen it.

"Who the hell are you?" Turner demanded, startled by the apparently
magical appearance of the enforcer.

"That doesn't matter. It's my job to make sure you forget this once
it's over and done with."

"Forget?" Turner huffed. "You actually think I'm going to *tell*
anyone about this? They'd put me in a rubber room, *after* they fired
me."

She pushed past Lyllia and picked up the chart she had brought for
Vachon. She stuck a thermometer in his mouth, and then picked up a
stylet and began to swab the ring finger of Vachon's left hand with
alcohol.

"There's no need for that..." Natalie said.

"Of course there is. How will we know something has gone wrong if we
don't know what "normal" is?" She stabbed Vachon with the stylet and
he jumped.

She squeezed his finger and slowly a drop of dark blood, thicker
than paint, appeared.

"There's no need to cross-match it," Natalie explained. "He can take
any type."

"Oh, I just wanted to see what it looked like," Turner explained.
She poked the drop with a cotton swap. "It appears to have a greater
density. More viscous..."

"He hasn't fed in awhile," Natalie explained. "The consistency would
be different if he had."

Turner looked at her uncertainly. "Fed?"

Somehow, Natalie found that the way she said it embarrassed her on
behalf of the vampire. "Yeah, you know. They drink blood."

Turner stared at Vachon continuously out of the corner of her eye as
she tested the sugar level of the droplet she'd drawn from his
finger.  "Any idea what a normal count is on these guys?" she asked
Natalie, showing her the reading.

The level was well within a normal human range, but for a vampire,
it was sky-high. Natalie remembered the candy bars. "How much actual
food have you had to eat, Vachon?"

Vachon's reply was less than exact. "A lot."

Natalie had forgotten all about that. She didn't know if the food
he'd ingested was going through the normal digestive process or
whether it was just sitting there, and this wasn't the time to
investigate. As soon as he was under, they'd have to pump his stomach
so he wouldn't vomit and choke on it.

Luckily, Turner had plenty of experience with that procedure. Vachon
protested, but nobody paid attention to him, other than Lyllia, who
told him to shut up and remove his shirt, that she'd take the rest
off and prep him once he was under.

Vachon, as usual, didn't argue. As a patient, he was almost as
compliant as Natalie's other clients, and she wondered if she would
have had better success trying to cure him than she'd had with Nick.

Vachon winced when Lyllia expertly started his IV, but just barely.

"You've had training," Natalie commented on the Enforcer's expertise.

Lyllia shrugged. "We've all had real lives at one time or another."

"I don't feel anything," Vachon said.

"You have to wait for your heart to contract," Lyllia said casually.

Turner looked up from the tray of instruments she was checking. Her
curiosity piqued by Lyllia's remark, she grabbed Vachon's wrist and
felt for a pulsepoint.

Here eyes widened. "He's got no heartbeat!..."

"Of course he doesn't. He's dead," Lyllia snipped.

"Differently alive," Natalie corrected.

"It'll beat. Give it time," Vachon offered.

Turner intended to wait. She was timing as she held his wrist. At
four minutes, she remarked, "This is *not* possible... No one can go
this long without blood circulating to the brain..."

"His blood holds 6 times more oxygen than yours does, and his brain
needs about a tenth as much," Lyllia said casually. "He could survive
years without breathing."

Turner was shaking her head to disagree when one of Vachon"s
powerful vampire heartbeats took her by surprise.

"There, I felt it!" she announced.

Lyllia took Vachon's other hand in a way that told Natalie she had
definitely cultivated bedside manner at some point in her past.

"It will just be a moment, Javier," she said gently.

A substantial amount of phenobarbital had already drained into him,
and Natalie knew that that one strong heartbeat had instantly pumped
it through most of his system. She was not surprised that he wasn't
even able to answer Lyllia. He blinked his dark eyes a couple of
times and then lost consciousness.

Lyllia opened the IV to full drip and Turner gasped again.

"Anesthetizing one of us is different from what you are used to,"
Lyllia explained to her. "His system will fight it, and since his
heart beats only 6 or 7 times an hour, there has to be enough in him
to keep him from waking up between beats."

Turner nodded somewhat incredulously, and Natalie filed that little
piece of information away. She'd never done surgery on one of Them,
and admittedly, their slow pulse rate was something she might have
failed to take into account.

Lyllia and Turner worked quickly - Turner suctioning out the
contents of Vachon's stomach while Lyllia draped and prepped his leg.
They were done by the time Natalie had finished scrubbing up as best
she could without a proper scrub room.  Lyllia assured her that an
infection would not kill Vachon after everything else that had
happened to him, but Natalie saw no reason to put him through that if
she could avoid it. She donned a surgical mask and prepared to go to
work.

Vachon's leg looked deceptively normal. There was only a slight
swelling and some redness despite the fracture and infection, and the
entry wound made by the wood sliver had healed completely. She
rechecked the x-rays so she'd know where to make the incision.

Like Nick on those occasions where she'd dug bullets out of him,
Vachon hardly bled. Natalie still took care to avoid the anterior
tibial artery, but Turner watched in awe as smaller blood vessels
sealed themselves almost immediately as Natalie's scalpel parted the
layers of skin, and then retracted the tibialis anterior muscle to
reveal the bone underneath.

When she had it in view, Natalie realized it was not going to be as
simple as removing a very large splinter. Vachon's immune system,
compromised though it was, had still managed to turn the wood and the
bone around it into a gelatinous mush that would have to be scooped
out. Natalie would have liked to have been meticulous about it, but
there wasn't time. Someone would eventually get suspicious of their
long stay in the treatment room.

"What will happen if I simply excise the distal and proximal bone
and intervening tissue?" she asked Lyllia.

"Nothing. It will heal perfectly eventually, although in his case
that might take a few days."

"Days?" Turner looked up.

"Yep," Natalie answered, and then went to work with a bone saw. She
hoped Lyllia would not notice when she sliced a small section from
the larger segment of infected bone.  When she had lifted the
diseased mass free, she dropped it into a basin which she carefully
set aside, and then begin to excise the surrounding tissue. There was
no time for finesse, but she tried to at least look like she wasn't
carving a roast.

Eventually, the site was thoroughly debrided and looked clean, but
she asked Lyllia to examine it and verify that fact. With her vampire
vision, she'd be able to see areas of inflammation that were not
visible to Natalie without sophisticated equipment.

Luckily, the infection had spared the second lower leg bone, the
smaller fibula, so there would be something to support the limb.
However, the calf muscles were already attempting to pull the distant
ends of the larger bone together. Even with everything immobilized in
its proper place, it was going to hurt like hell, but they healed so
quickly that it would probably only be a matter of minutes before a
calculus would begin to form, filling in the gap. With a cast to
support it, he'd probably be able to walk on it in a few hours.

Besides, Natalie needed to distract Lyllia for a few moment. She
knew that even normal human muscles attempted to contract when the
bone to which they were attached was separated, and Vachon's vampire
muscle structure was so powerful, it was going to take another
vampire to hold his leg in place while the cast was applied. That
would be more than a sufficient diversion for the purpose Natalie had
in mind.

Significantly, Natalie hadn't put a cast on anyone, ever, and Turner
probably hadn't done it in ages. However, Natalie argued that Turner
had at least had ample opportunity to watch how it was done. As
Natalie had hoped, it was easy to convince her to do the job, despite
the fact that Turner was aghast at Natalie's decision to put a cast
on him without replacing the missing bone segment with anything at
all. She suggested that they at least apply external fixators, but
Natalie pointed out that those would require additional surgery to
remove.

"Besides, they aren't necessary. Two weeks from now, you won't even
know this happened to him," she assured Dr. Turner.

Turner was dubious. "No one heals that fast."

"No *human* heals that fast. You're forgetting your own experience
with Detective Knight."

"That's because someone *made* me forget it," Turner said, with an
accusing glance at Lyllia.  "How do you do that?"

Lyllia leveled her gaze at the inquisitive doctor. "Basically the
same way a microwave oven works. We generate an electric impulse that
reorganizes your brain chemistry."

Natalie wondered if that was true. It failed to explain why some
mortals weren't as susceptible as others, and she said so.

"Any mortal is susceptible," Lyllia insisted. "It's just a question
of intensity."

Just in case the big vampire was thinking of demonstrating her
point, Natalie thought it best to change the subject once again. She
had thoroughly irrigated Vachon's wound with saline solution by this
time, and voiced her intention to close it with a row of staples.

"I guess you've had plenty of practice at closing things up," Turner
observed.

Natalie laughed softly. "Yeah, and I don't have to worry about any
of my patients complaining about a scar."

"But, don't you think sutures are more appropriate?"

"Dr. Turner, he'd heal even if I didn't close it at all." Natalie
pointed at the gaping 25-centimeter incision on Vachon's leg and
showed Turner where the ends were already beginning to draw
themselves together, like a double-ended zipper. "But I want to hurry
up and get that cast on him so we can bring him out of the anesthetic."

She quickly applied eighteen staples in a somewhat haphazard row.

Turner frowned her disapproval, but set about preparing materials
for the cast while Lyllia cleaned the area around the wound.

While that kept them busy, Natalie casually retrieved the basin with
the discarded tissue in it. She used a pair of tweezers to lift out
the small segment she had cut and placed it in a specimen bottle. 
If, as she hoped, it was teaming with Divia- defiled microorganisms,
she might be able to isolate the component of Divia's toxin that
debilitated vampires to the point where they showed human
characteristics. She hated to be sneaky about it, but she couldn't
take the chance that Lyllia would want to take everything that was
left of Divia's cells for whatever purpose the Enforcers might have
in mind for them.

Natalie was further encouraged when she examined the container from
the stomach pump. She'd seen enough stomach contents to recognized
digested food when she saw it.  Given then time that had to have
elapsed since Vachon had eaten the stuff, the digestive process
should have been much further along than it was, but even so, the
food he had eaten was partially digested. It was possible that, as
was the case with some of their other organs, their digestive systems
could function if they had to, and even though their normal
physiological response seemed to be to reject food entirely,
something had happened to Vachon that had changed that.

Maybe it could happen to Nick, too...

Natalie wasn't aware there was a phone right behind her until it
rang and startled her.

She looked at Turner, who nodded, indicating she should answer it. 
She stripped off her surgical gloves and lifted the receiver.

"This is Dr. Lambert."

"Natalie? It's Nick... Something weird is going on..."

"Nick, something weird has been going on in my life since the day I
met you."

"I'm serious, Natalie," and she could tell from his tone of voice
that he was. "LaCroix's fledgling fed from Tracy Vetter..."

"Oh NO!  Is she okay?  Where is she? Did he kill her?"

Natalie cursed herself - she should have considered that Tracy might
show up at the church before she had left Shane there unattended.

"No, Nat. That's what's strange. I think *she* killed *him*."

"He's dead?"

"Not yet, but he will be soon."

"But why? How?"

She heard Nick take a deep breath on the other end of the line.

"As far as we can tell, Tracy's blood poisoned him."


---THIRTY-ONE---

Natalie left Lyllia to see to Vachon and tie up loose ends with Dr.
Turner as she hurried to the church.

When she reached Vachon's living quarters and saw the looks on the
faces of everyone there, she knew it was as bad as Nick had said.

Nick stood at the foot of Vachon's bed, where the new vampire lay.
LaCroix sat beside his fledgling looking like the worried parent he
was.

Tracy was in an opposite corner of the room, as if she dared not
approach too closely. The young woman looked stricken. Natalie was
sure she had been crying, or was on the verge of it, and she didn't
think her emotions had anything to do with being attacked. She didn't
see fear in her face, only profound distress. Amaru sat beside her,
her knight, her champion, even though he made no apparent moves to
comfort her.

Natalie went to her first. Tracy was the human here, the one most
vulnerable.

"Tracy? Are you okay?"

Tracy nodded, but Natalie took her pulse as she examined the bite
marks on her neck. She'd seen enough vampire bites to know that Shane
had to have pierced her jugular vein, or worse, her carotid artery,
but there was very little blood on her. She should have been lying on
the floor in a pool of it, even if the vampire hadn't drained her. 
But, the wounds had sealed. They had not healed, but had closed as if
the edges had been glued together. Her pulse was strong and steady,
if a bit rapid.

Despite the fact she didn't appear injured, Tracy looked miserable.

"I don't know why I let him do it." She looked down at her hands
self-consciously, and Natalie was reminded of a rape victim who
somehow thought she had invited the assault.  The difference was, she
got the idea that Tracy had indeed done exactly that.

The young woman covered her eyes with one hand.  "I don't know
what's wrong with me, Natalie." She sobbed a couple of times, but
then took a deep breath and got control of herself. "Please don't let
him die."

Natalie patted her hand to reassure her, and then went to see what
she faced with the injured vampire.

The church loft did have lights that worked, although they were dim,
and someone had turned them on so that she could more easily examine
her patient.

Natalie found that curious changes had indeed taken place. Shane"s
eyes had a opaque cast to them, and his pulse, when she found one,
was nowhere as strong as she would have expected it to be. His
temperature was well below even that which was normal for Them.  She
could find no external injuries of any kind, however.

"Have you tried feeding him?" she asked no one in particular. Often,
another vampire's blood was the only remedy necessary for sickness or
injury.

"He was not able to drink it," LaCroix explained.

She looked at the old vampire, and knew that while calling her had
been a last resort, he still maintained the hope she would be able to
help his newest child.

"How about intravenously?" Nick had told her that it was possible
for the blood of one vampire to flow into another through the
slightest opening in a wrist vein.

"I tried," Nick admitted self-consciously, as if this were something
of which Natalie would certainly disapprove, "but it... only made him
worse."

He indicated which arm he had attempted to use for the transfusion.
Natalie picked it up off the mattress and saw the wound. It wasn't
just a simple cut. It was a ghastly, suppurating *thing* with
tendrils of inflammation spreading out from it up and down the length
of his arm.

"Damn!" she whispered. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

Nick shook his head, but LaCroix offered the observation that garlic
introduced into a wound would produce that sort of reaction. However,
he conceded that this information was of no help whatsoever, since no
one had subjected Shane to such torture.

Natalie sighed. "Well, I'm afraid there isn't much I can do for him
here, not without running some tests. I'll need to go back to the lab
to do that."

Nick drew close to her, as if he wanted to spare LaCroix and the
others what he had to say, even though he had to have known that
LaCroix and Amaru could still hear him.

"Natalie, he's dying. I can feel it. He's only got a few minutes,
maybe an hour at the most. Isn't there anything you can do?"

Natalie wondered if Lyllia was still at the hospital. Even on
Vachon, a cast would need time to dry and set.

She borrowed Nick's phone and had them transfer the call to Dr.
Turner, who assured her that Lyllia was still there. It didn't appear
that she had been whammied yet, but it was hard to tell. Natalie took
a chance.

"Dr. Turner, I need for you to see another one...of... uh... Them..."

There was enough hesitation that Natalie began to think maybe Lyllia
*had* already gotten to Turner, leaving her with no idea what she was
talking about, but then Turner replied warily, "Exactly how many of
these guys are there in Toronto?"

Natalie wasn't expecting that question, but managed an evasive
answer. "Only one who needs your help at the moment."

"Well, might as well bring him in," Turner sighed. "I was getting
tired of this job, anyway."

Natalie's mind raced to orchestrate what would happen next. She knew
it would be best to have Lyllia "assist" Dr. Turner, and LaCroix
seemed to have no qualms about donning stolen hospital scrubs. That
would be enough people to staff a treatment room without anyone
getting suspicious. Nick could use his badge and make up some story
to keep the curious away from his vampire brother while she and
Turner worked on him.

Amaru would have to take over for Lyllia and get Vachon someplace
safe. When she explained that to the Inka, he took Tracy's hand,
silently indicating that he meant for her to stay with him. Natalie
was glad for that, but she wished she had more time for tact when she
said to them both, "Don't let any of Them bite you, Tracy. Not until
I find out what happened."

Tracy flushed with embarrassment, but nodded that she understood
that Natalie meant for her not to be intimate with Vachon.

+ + + + + + +

When they hurried Shane into the same treatment room they had used
for Vachon, the young detective was disturbed to see the dark- haired
vampire lying on a gurney, just barely conscious. Someone - probably
Lyllia - had gotten his clothes back on him, but she'd had to slit
the leg of his jeans to get it over the cast on his lower leg, which
now stood out plainly.

"What's that for?" Tracy asked, and turned to Amaru. "I thought you
guys didn't stay hurt?"

Unfortunately, that question required a long and lengthy explanation
that there was no time for, so her question went ignored as Dr.
Turner gave post-op instructions to Amaru and Tracy both.

Vachon was still drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to
focus his eyes and occasionally mumbling incoherently. He either
didn't remember, or had enough presence of mind not to answer, when
Amaru asked where his car was.

Knowing that the Inka and Vachon were not the best of friends under
ordinary circumstances, Natalie thought it best to keep her mouth
shut, too. She was about to offer the use of her car when Nick tossed
Amaru the keys to the Caddy.

Even before Tracy, Vachon and the Inka were gone, Natalie set to
work obtaining the necessary blood and tissue samples from LaCroix"s
fledgling.

When she was done, Dr. Turner arranged to have him admitted. She was
able to arrange a private room under the pretense that he was
possibly infected with rabies, which Natalie had to concede was
pretty creative.

Turner's orders that he would be attended to by a private health
care team and was not to be bothered by the staff met with some
disapproving looks, but no one questioned them, especially when she
noted on his chart in large letters that it was imperative that
anyone who came into contact with the patient avoid being bitten by
him.

The woman had a bizarre sense of humor, too.

Not that poor Shane was in any condition to bite anyone. Nick and
LaCroix both assured her he was conscious, even though he seemed
unable to respond to them in any way. His heart and lungs were
laboring because of fluid that had filled his chest, and he was
certainly in pain. The slightest pressure on his skin caused deep
bruising and the areas where Natalie had taken samples - which should
have healed immediately - were splotched a dark and ugly purple. The
simple act of transferring him from the gurney to a bed caused bones
to fracture, and Lyllia's attempts to start an IV proved disastrous
when his fragile veins tore and hemorrhaged uncontrollably. It was as
if he were suddenly made of brittle glass and tissue paper.

Supportive therapy was all that could be done for him at that point,
but administering oxygen and cardiac stimulants, draining the fluid
from his chest and keeping him warm would buy him a few more hours,
and relieving his pain would ensure they were reasonably comfortable
ones.

Natalie trusted Turner, and knew the doctor would keep a watchful
eye on him while she went back to her lab to perform the necessary
tests on his samples. She remembered when she had had no choice but
to leave Vachon sick and alone in her apartment for hours on end, and
regretted she had not been able to ask Dr. Turner for help then. All
she had been able to offer Vachon was the most rudimentary care, and
she had no doubt his recovery would have been easier and faster had
she had the hospital's facilities at her disposal.

When it came time to leave, Nick escorted her as far as the
elevator, but made no move to follow her any further. She had
expected he would go back to the lab with her, since he'd loaned
Amaru the Caddy to get Vachon home.

"Staying?" she asked him, as she let one set of elevator doors open
and close without getting in.

She knew how he disapproved of what LaCroix had done to Shane, of
what the fledgling had become, but he said, "Yes. I want to be here
if... he doesn't make it."

"For LaCroix?" she asked.

"Yes. And for myself..." He drew her close and rested his chin in
her hair. "Nat... I don't feel the same way about what I am as I did.
I don't hate LaCroix anymore... and I can't hate his child... he"s...
my brother."

Natalie realized that he was revealing something very important to
her and she winced at the possibilities.

She pulled back, hoping she did not look as stricken as she suddenly
felt. "Nick, does this mean you're giving up on us?"

He looked at her with a puzzled expression and then to her relief
said, "No. Of course not. I just wanted you to know that what I am is
not as big a problem for me as it used to be. I don't want you to
waste your life finding a cure."

"What about us, though, Nick?" Her eyes darted back and forth trying
to read the emotion in his.

There was no sadness there, but rather a hopeful expression.

"Nat, I suspect you're going to find the answer to that in Tracy
Vetter."

That took her by surprise, because she had not shared that opinion
with him. "Why do you think that, Nick?"

"Did you see her? At the church? She was upset, she had been bitten,
but she was *unharmed*. Shane is a mere infant, but even so, he
should have killed her. I am sure he didn't will himself to stop -
that would have been contrary to every instinct he has now, and he"s
much too young to have that kind of control, anyway. I don't think he
was able to drink enough of her blood to hurt her."

She told him what Lyllia had said to her, about how Divia's cells
might actually afford Tracy protection against vampires. She also
told him how it might be possible for Tracy to have a vampire's child.

"Nick, all I need to do is find out what it is in Tracy's blood that
makes that possible. She's *human* Nick, I know that much. If I could
isolate whatever it is that has done this to her..." she looked down,
embarrassed by what she was thinking and wondering what Nick would
think of it, "maybe it will work for me... for us, too."

There, she had said it. Somehow, it didn't really sound like such an
insane idea after all, and to her surprise, Nick didn't launch into
one of his self-effacing tirades.

Instead, he took her in his arms and kissed her forehead. "You'd do
that Nat? You'd do that for me?"

"For *us* Nick. I'd do it... I *will* do it..."


---THIRTY-TWO---

Vachon had been more than happy to crawl into the roomy back seat of
Nick's Caddy and curl up with his head on Tracy's lap during the ride
from the hospital, but he was almost completely out of the anesthetic
by the time they got to Amaru's apartment, and alert enough to
protest when he realized where he had been taken.

It did no good. Amaru reached in and grabbed him under his arms and
hauled him out of the car, then held him until it looked reasonably
certain that he wasn't going to fall. Between the cast and the after-
effects of the anesthetic, however, Vachon had the coordination of
the average wino. Amaru pulled one of Vachon's arms around his
shoulders so that he was supporting most of the other vampire"s
weight as they shuffled towards the door.

"I said, I want to go home," Vachon insisted, although, Tracy noted
with amusement, he surely knew he wouldn't have a choice.

Amaru scoffed. "Do not be an idiot. You cannot walk up the stairs."

Vachon, for the first time, noticed the cast on his leg. He stuck it
out in front of him and thumped it lightly against the ground. "What
is this shit?"

Amaru was trying not to let go of him - a fact to which Vachon
seemed totally oblivious -as he tried to open the door to his
apartment at the same time. Vachon wriggled out from under his grasp
and thereby set all of his weight on his injured leg. That did get
his attention.

He gasped with pain and then uttered a string of what was undeniably
profanity, even though Tracy didn't know what language he was using.

"Vachon, shut up," Amaru sighed, perhaps the only one to realize it
was past midnight, and most of the people in the surrounding
apartments had gone to bed.

He grabbed Vachon around the waist and dragged him through the door
and into the bedroom, where he eased him gently onto the bed.

"Lie down," he ordered him. "Lyllia said to keep your leg elevated."

Tracy, feeling the need to be helpful, lifted Vachon's leg off the
floor only to have him howl in pain and swear at her.

Part of her panicked and hesitated, but that new, ugly side of
herself just went right on lifting until she was holding his leg
about six inches from the mattress. A horrifying urge to just drop
and *really* give him something to scream about temporarily seized
her, but she fought it away. <How could she even *think* of doing
that??>

Vachon continued to behave as though he were being tortured as Amaru
gently tucked a pillow under the limb and Tracy lowered his leg onto
it. He hadn't been wearing any shoes, so the sock on his other foot
was damp and grimy from walking from the car, so she took it of and
tossed it on the floor.

Amaru picked it up like it was contaminated.

Vachon let out a final gasp and then, realizing the worst was over,
looked down the cast.

"Take this thing *off*!" he demanded.

"I have absolutely no idea how to do that," Amaru dismissed him
casually, tossing the sock into a laundry basket in the closet.

Vachon looked crossly at Tracy, so she sat down on the bed beside
him and touched his hand. "You have to leave it on for awhile, okay
Vachon?"

His eyes drifted to hers and his entire countenance changed. He
looked at her and tried to focus his eyes. "Tracy?"

"I'm here," she smiled at the fact he was still partly under the
influence and seemed to be noticing her for the first time. <He"s
kind of cute this way...>

His features relaxed and he let his head drop onto the pillow. "I'm
sorry I yelled at you, Trace. It just *really* hurts."

"I know," she sympathized. "We'll give you something to make it
stop..."

Lyllia had given Amaru two syringes filled with demerol that Tracy
had tucked into her coat pocket. She showed them to Vachon, but then
discovered that neither she nor Amaru had ever given an injection to
anyone, ever.

They were debating which of them was going to do it when Vachon sat
up and plucked one of the syringes from Tracy's hand. He pulled the
protective cover off the business end of it with his teeth and then
jabbed it into his own thigh through the fabric of his jeans.

He emptied the syringe into his leg and tossed it aside. "I *hate*
pain."

Tracy picked up the empty syringe and replaced the cover. She kissed
Vachon softly on the forehead, "I know. I'm sorry I hurt you."

He took her hand before she could break contact. His dark eyes
studied hers for a moment.

"Tracy, what's wrong?" he asked.

She tried to smile. "Nothing's wrong."

"You've been crying, I can tell." He pushed her hair back just as a
gesture of affection, but in so doing he saw the bite marks that
Shane had left on her neck.

He sat up instantly, and his face contorted as his leg throbbed in
agony from the sudden movement. "Who did that?" he demanded, and
looked accusingly at Amaru.

"It wasn't *me*, Vachon," the Inka said defensively. "I'm not behind
every little thing that annoys you."

"Ninety-nine per cent of it, you are.  What the hell happened?!" He
looked into Tracy's eyes. "It wasn't.... I mean you aren't..."

Tracy thought she almost heard a hint of hope in his question. "No,
I'm not a vampire." Did he *want* her to be one?!

She tried to explain what had happened, but got only as far as being
attacked in the church.

"I'll *kill* that little prick!" Vachon vowed, but the threat was
promptly followed by a yawn. The demerol was making him sleepy.

"You don't have to do that," she said softly, and then explained the
rest to him.

"You're alive and he's dying?" He frowned. "How is that possible?"

All Tracy could do was shrug.  "I don't know. I didn't want to hurt
him... I don't even know who he is. Or, I didn't until I touched him.
Then, somehow I did. I could feel it... Vachon, something has
happened to me.  If you know what it is, you have to tell me..."

She gave him her best pleading look, but for her trouble all he did
was nod drowsily and mumble, "Sure, Trace..."

She pushed aside a sudden, irrational impulse to slap him awake
again when his eyes closed completely.

With his long, dark lashes resting against his pale cheeks, he
looked so incredibly sweet. How could she want to hurt him?

Amaru took her arm gently.  "Let him rest... Would you like some
coffee?"

"You have some?" Vachon never had anything to offer her but the
occasional can of warm soda.

He smiled warmly. "Tea, too."

Tracy observed that now that he'd shaved and his hair was styled -
and he wasn't trying to scare the shit out of her like the first time
they'd met - the Inka wasn't a bad-looking guy.

She followed him through the living room and into the kitchen,
unable to help but notice that he kept his living quarters a lot
neater than Vachon did. Of course, that wasn't saying much. It didn't
take a whole lot to be tidier than Vachon. She also didn't fail to
notice that his furniture was clearly expensive and all of it
matched, as opposed to Vachon's Contemporary Thriftstore decor.

The kitchen was immaculate, but then, why wouldn't it be?

She noticed an empty china bowl on the floor beside an identical one
filled with water. While the coffee was brewing, Amaru set both in
the sink and replaced the water bowl with another. He then retrieved
a can of what Tracy recognized as very expensive cat food from the
cupboard. When he popped the lid on it, a black blur darted into the
room and wrapped itself around his legs.

"Oh!" Tracy said with delight. "What a beautiful cat!"

But when she reached down to stroke its fur, its demeanor abruptly
changed. It arched its back, hissed and took a swipe at her.

Amaru said, "I'm afraid she's not very friendly," but evidently, the
cat's behavior had taken him by surprise, too.

He set the food on the floor, which only partially distracted the
animal. It continued to stare sideways at Tracy and emit an
occasional threatening growl.

Tracy noticed the cats distended underbelly. "She's a mama cat?"

Amaru nodded towards the broom closet. "The kittens are in there, if
you would like to see them."

Tracy was a sucker for baby animals. It was an invitation she
couldn't resist.

The kittens were still very small, not yet walking, their eyes just
beginning to open.

Tracy picked a black one up and it began to squeal loudly.  She
stroked its fur with her finger to comfort it, but instead was
astonished when it opened its toothless little mouth and an almost
inaudible, but unmistakable, hiss came out of it.

Mama came running. She literally snatched the kitten from Tracy"s
hand and batted at her a couple of times with her paw for emphasis.

Tracy felt a dark cloud form in her mind and at its center was an
image of her crushing those kittens beneath her feet and showing this
feline she-bitch who was really in charge.

The image was so shocking and disturbing that Tracy didn't move as
fast as the mother cat wanted her to, and as she attempted to bury
that awful impulse, she felt a sudden sting on her forearm.

Amaru had come to her rescue by that time. He picked up the cat,
which, Tracy noticed, didn't scratch him.

"She is a bit overprotective," Amaru said softly, although it was
clear to Tracy that he was as mystified by what the cat had done as
she was. She usually got along well with animals.

Tracy stood and backed away from the kittens as Amaru returned their
mother to them.

He took her arm gently. "Let me see that," he said softly. <God, his
voice was almost as sexy as Vachon"s, wasn't it?>

He watched for several seconds longer than was necessary as tiny
rivulets of blood flowed down her skin, leaving an occasional droplet
clinging to one of the few soft, transparent hairs on her arm.

There was a strange, longing look in his eyes for a moment that made
her uneasy, but then it faded and he said, "Come. We should clean
this."

All he had to offer in the way of first aid was antibacterial soap.
Bubblegum scent. Tracy thought the odor was obnoxiously sweet, but
she didn't say so after he explained he only had it because he liked
the way it smelled, not because he actually needed antibacterial-
anything.

The scratches were deep, but they quit bleeding as she rinsed them
under cold water.

By that time, the coffee was ready.

Amaru offered her non-dairy creamer and sugar, and to her surprise,
poured a cup for himself. She had never seen Vachon drink anything
but blood, or whatever the Raven served, which she was sure was
mostly blood.

He guessed the reason for her stare. "Coffee isn't actually food,"
he explained.

"I've never seen Vachon drink coffee."

"Perhaps because he never had a chance to cultivate a taste for
it... before... what happened to us."

He invited her into his living room and turned on the stereo. Tracy
didn't recognize what came out of the speakers, but it was music her
grandparents would have liked.

She sat on his exquisite leather couch while he sat across from her
in a matching armchair, and both quickly realized they didn't have a
thing to say to each other.

Amaru broke the awkward silence. "I am afraid I do not have Vachon"s
gift for random conversation," he said with an easy smile, perfect
white teeth against his dusky skin. There was a pale cast to his
complexion, but it was a different kind of pale than Vachon"s. How
did they get that way, anyway?  Did they just loose melanin over the
years, and those who had the least to start with got palest first?
She was certain he must have been very dark- skinned as a mortal, and
still, he was darker than Vachon, but even so, in a brightly lit
room, he would not have appeared human because no human's skin was
the color his was.

Tracy supposed that to inquire on the subject would be rude, so she
didn't. Instead, she hefted the basketball resting on the couch
beside her. "Do you play?"

He shook his head. "No."

But she noticed the hoop set up on the wall, in the space that would
have been the dining room. That area had a hardwood floor and an
almost cathedral-type ceiling, although Tracy guessed that that was
probably due more to the exterior configuration of the building than
any elegance of design.  There was no furniture to get in the way.

"Aw, c"mon, you do play," she said.

He shrugged. "Only to pass the time, and never with anyone."

She had played varsity basketball in high school and intramurals in
college, and had participated in an occasional inter-department game.

She tossed the ball to him. "Let's see what you can do."

He set his coffee down and smiled slyly at her as he gave the ball a
slight upwards toss and then spun it on his index finger. Tracy had
to admit she found that a bit intimidating, but maybe it was the only
trick he knew.

She had seen how quick their reflexes were, and she knew they were
fast, but she hoped eye-hand-ball coordination was an acquired skill.
She and Amaru were about the same height, so he didn't have that
advantage. She didn't think he would use the one edge he had over
her, but just in case she told him, "You have to keep one foot on the
floor at all times."

"Whose rule is that?"

"Mine. I can't fly, remember? 21?"

He nodded and let her go on offense first. For the first couple of
minutes, she suspected he wasn't really trying to get the ball away
from her, until she happened to glance up at him and see the puzzled
look on his face. He really couldn't get to her. He was faster than
she was, but he could not anticipate her moves. She was willing to
chalk that up in part to Amaru's admission that he had never actually
done this with an opponent, but still, it was strange that playing
him was so *easy*.

She got several openings and sank a basket nearly every time. By the
time he got the ball from her, she was ahead 5-0.

He was a dead shot. He never missed. But, he was predictable -after
his 6th basket, Tracy noticed he always positioned his feet a certain
way just before he tossed the ball.  The next time she saw him make
that move, she was in front of him in an instant, and intercepted the
ball as soon as it left his hands.

Tracy was having fun. She really was. But a tiny wedge of doubt was
working its way into her mind as they played. She had always been a decent player, but she hadn't practiced regularly in years,
and it had been months since she had so much as held a basketball. 
Even so, Amaru was not cutting her any slack - except for staying
anchored to the floor - and still, she was able to keep up with him.
In minutes, the score was tied 20-20.

How could she be that quick? That agile? That *good*?

While her conscious mind was momentarily distracted by that thought,
Amaru snatched the ball away from her.

Her reaction was immediate and intense. If he sank this one, he was
going to win...

She charged at him, and without giving it a moment's thought, body-
slammed him into the cinder-block wall so hard she heard the air
escape from his lungs.

He let go of the ball and she grabbed it and launched it
victoriously at the basket.

"HA! MY GAME!" she shouted jubilantly.

Amaru was still stunned from his encounter with the wall. When she
took the time to actually look at him, she saw he was bleeding from
his nose, his mouth and a small cut on his head.  She vaguely
remembered wanting to deliberately slam his face into the bricks. 
Had she actually done that??

"Oh... I'm sorry..." she said, relieved that she actually *was*
sorry. Empathy, it seemed, was no longer automatic.

"It is already healing. Do not worry about it," he waved her off.
"Good game."

She followed him into the kitchen where he washed the blood off his
face in the sink.

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. It wasn't the blood... it was
something else, but she didn't know what.

Amaru dried off with a dishtowel and then turned to look at her. He
must have seen the worry on her face.

"What is wrong? You won."

She looked at him and said miserably, "I know.  You're a vampire,
and I beat you."

"You are a good player."

"That's the problem. I'm not *that* good... or at least, I didn't
used to be."

She looked down at her hands as if they were foreign objects.
"Something is *wrong* with me," she said, her voice more unsteady
than she wanted it to be. "I'm different now, and nobody can tell me
why." When she noticed that the deep cat scratches on her arm had
already scabbed over, and were not even really sore any longer, she
felt an irrational surge of panic. She stifled a sob and felt totally
foolish. What the hell did she have to *cry* about?  And in front of
a virtual stranger? What did the Inka care?

But, he did care. He walked up to her and put his arms around her.
"I wish I could explain it to you, but I do not understand myself."

Tracy believed him, so she didn't reply, or make any effort to pull
away from him. Despite the exertion of the game, he still felt cool
against her. A human male would have been drenched in sweat and
expecting her to think better of him for it. Well, that was one
advantage to vampires.

She knew he'd hold her as long as she wanted him to, but she was
diverted from her misery when the CD player changed tracks and she
recognized the new piece as soon as the music began. She didn't know
the name of it, but she'd heard it dozens of times.

"Oh, I know this!" she said. "My grandfather used to dance with me
to it when I was a kid."

He leaned back a bit.  "Would you like to dance?"

She giggled like the little girl she had once been. Why not?

They moved back into the empty dining room. The music was slow and
romantic <not that she had any romantic feelings at that point> and
Amaru was a far more graceful dancer than he was a basketball player.
She felt like she was floating across the floor in his arms.

His shoulder was just the perfect height to rest her head on, so she
did. "It's so beautiful... the music."

He nodded. "It is called Moonlight Serenade."

She laughed softly. "Kind of appropriate for a dance with a vampire."

"It's Glenn Miller," he said. "The digital recordings are almost
like hearing him live again."

Tracy tried to imagine it was the 40s when her grandparents had been
her age - how they would both have been dressed and what the mood was
like then. She wondered how Vachon had looked all those years ago?
Had he had short, slicked back hair like the actors in those old
movies? Did he wear a hat and wide lapels? She was sure he must have.
He would have attracted too much attention otherwise...

The music was just about over when Tracy glanced towards the living
room and saw the brooding figure leaning against the doorway watching
them...

When he wasn't looking directly at Tracy in the arms of the Inka,
Vachon was looking around the room for something to use as a stake. 
He was dimly aware that a narcotic-induced haze was not the best
position from which to make a judgment call, but he didn't care. He
didn't like what he was seeing.

He didn't care that he had no reason to be jealous of the Inka. He
didn't have Tracy's name tattooed on his butt or anything, yet.

But, he was jealous. He was mad, too, and getting madder by the
minute.

It was bad enough he had to share The Inka's blood. He was *not*
going to share Tracy with him, too. 


---THIRTY-THREE---

Tracy disengaged herself from Amaru's embrace and went to Vachon.

She wondered how he could even be standing. His eyelids drooped,
making his eyes look uncharacteristically small and squinty, and his
entire body sagged as if the energy it took to stand was draining out
of him and into the floor. He looked like he was stoned.

"You shouldn't be up," she said.

"Obviously."  He glared at her, then at the Inka, then back at her.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen that look on a guy's face, that
me-Tarzan, you Jane, him-enemy-can't-have-Jane look. He was jealous!

She laughed. She couldn't help it. "Vachon, you weren't thinking..."
She looked at Amaru, then back at Vachon who was still staring
daggers in their direction. "Well, it's not like *you* ever asked me
to dance..." she looked down at the cast on his leg, "...even when
you could... How's your leg?"

Vachon and Amaru exchanged furtive glances, which Tracy did not fail
to notice, but Vachon looked at her in full Martyr Mode and said
"Like anyone cares."

Most of his weight was on his good leg, but he was still standing on
two feet. "Doesn't it hurt to put weight on it?" she asked.

"Considerably," he grunted.

"Then do not *stand* on it," Amaru suggested, perhaps more curtly
than was called for, and added something in Spanish that Tracy didn't
understand, but which sounded a lot like "bobo." Maybe it was a
nickname.

Vachon was in a dark mood and then some, Tracy observed. She thought
he would have pushed Amaru through the wall had he not been
incapacitated.

She thought then would be a good time to intervene. "Okay, guys,
enough male bonding. C"mon Vachon. You need to lie down."

Vachon didn't resist that suggestion. He turned around as best he
could and let Tracy pull his arm around her shoulder to hold him up.
He was so wobbly he leaned into her more than he meant to, but she
stood strong and steady under his weight.

"You're stronger than you look," he muttered.

"By the way, Vachon, where is my car?" Amaru said from behind them.

Vachon stumbled and almost pulled Tracy down with him, making her
wonder how he had gotten in there in the first place. She pulled him
upright again, and wondered if he wasn't exaggerating things a bit
when he groaned in pain, thereby momentarily avoiding the Inka"s
question.

Amaru showed him no mercy. "Vachon?  My car?"

Vachon's voice was barely audible. "It was towed."

It took Amaru several seconds to assimilate this information before
he hissed, "What?!"

"I kind of left it in a no-parking zone... I'm sure Nick can get it
back." He looked at Tracy, as if expecting her to approve his
suggestion.

"Don't look at me," she said.  "I work homicide."

With effort, he lifted his eyelids so he could look at her with his
big eyes and try to make her feel bad. "Thanks for the support,
Trace," he sighed.

Amaru grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, despite the fact
it was almost dawn.

"Where are you going?" Tracy asked him.

"To get my car back," he glared at Vachon, "and there had better not
be one thing wrong with it."

"There isn't," Vachon assured him, which was perfectly true. There
were, actually, *several* things wrong with it.

"Kind of materialistic, isn't he?" Tracy said when the Inka was gone.

"Wait until he sees that the car is totally trashed, Trace."

She shrugged. "Say it wasn't like that the last time saw you saw it.
Blame it on the guys who towed it. Or, tell him that other vampire
did it."

He looked a her with a raised eyebrow. Deceit was a side of Tracy
Vetter he had never seen before, and he was not sure how he felt
about it. On the one hand, it was not the Tracy he knew. On the other,
it was kind of nice to know she wasn't perfect.

"Shane doesn't even know how to drive," he said.

She had him in the bedroom by then, and she grabbed him around the
waist as she removed his arm from her shoulder.

"Who is he, anyway?" she asked.

He eased himself down onto the bed and lifted his injured leg up on
his own. He seemed to be in a lot less pain than he had been. Tracy
wondered if it was the demerol or if he had already almost healed.

Vachon leaned back carefully so he was lying with his weight on his
elbows.

"He's LaCroix"s... young one."  He wasn't sure what term Tracy would
understand to explain the relationship. That one seemed to work, for
a moment anyway.

Tracy's face became stern.

"You lied to me. You told me LaCroix wasn't one of you," she
reminded him.

"Uh... yeah..." He let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed
his eyes. "Sorry about that."

"What other secrets are you keeping from me, Vachon?"

He lifted his eyelids slightly. He saw she was serious, so he opened
them up and tried to look as innocent as possible. But Tracy saw
right through it and didn't let him off the hook.

"Something has happened to me," she said. "I want to know what it is."

He shrugged. "You were shot."

"Bullshit, Vachon!  Don't lie to me!" she said angrily. "I'm
different... and it has something to do with you guys."

He frowned. "Why do you say that?"

She sat down on the bed beside him and raked her hand through her
hair, searching for words. "Vachon, the first time I met you, I had
no idea what you were. Even when I saw what you did with your hand...
how you healed... I still had no clue. When I met Amaru the first
time and saw his eyes, his *teeth* - and he *lifted me into the air* -
I *still* didn't know what I was looking at. Now... when I meet one
of you, something in here," she lightly touched the back of her head,
"just screams the word "vampire" - so loud I don't know why it's not
obvious to *everyone* what you are."

He continued to stare at her. "Go on," he said.

"I'm strong... I'm fast... Have you ever known anyone who has just
come out of a coma? They're lucky if they can sit up! I played
*basketball* with Amaru tonight and I *won*."

He smiled that halfway-to-a-laugh smile of his. "There goes his NBA
contract."

"Stop joking around. I want you to tell me what you know."

"Tracy, I don't know anything..."

Tracy felt something happen in her head that was similar to shifting
a car from neutral into gear. Anger surged forward until her mind was
black with it.

She pinned Vachon to the bed by his throat. "Tell me, or I'll throw
you outside as soon as the sun rises. I can do it!"

Later, she would realize how utterly absurd that threat was and
wonder why she had made it. Vachon could have easily snapped her arm
and thrown her off of him. But, her rage took him by surprise, and
instead, he lay perfectly still except for gasping the words, "Tracy,
I can't breathe."

Gradually, the blackness receded. She looked down at him and
realized she was choking him.

Horrified, she released her grip. He coughed and sat up, rubbing his
neck. "You *are* strong," he said.

There was a rapidly fading bruise where her fingers had been, and
she stifled a gasp when she realized that she had actually inflicted
damage - albeit minor - on him. <What is the matter with me??>

"Oh Vachon, I'm so sorry!" She threw her arms around him and hugged
him close. She began to sob. "I don't know why I want to hurt you."

He returned the embrace and whispered, "You can't hurt me, Tracy.
You won't."

"What's wrong with me? If you know, please tell me..."

She was crying now. She hated doing that in front of anyone. Still,
it didn't escape her that Vachon was holding her. *Really* holding
her. They had never shared a tender moment where she had been that
physically close to him. She'd held him after he'd staked himself,
but he had been so cold and unresponsive. Dead, she had thought...

Now... he smelled so good... Underneath the antiseptic hospital
smell, and the lingering scents of whatever he washed his clothes and
his hair with, and the soap he used to bathe, she could smell *him*.
A kind of chocolate-y smell. Not the sugary milk chocolate... the
dark, rich, semi-sweet kind. And a hint of something else...
coconut?... yes that was it.

On the other hand, maybe it was just all those candy bars he'd
eaten...

In spite of herself, she started to laugh through her tears.

He released his embrace and looked at her. "Trace?"

"I was just thinking you smell like a Mounds bar."

He frowned, but said, "This is a good thing, I hope."

"Yes." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love them."

She ran her fingers through his hair. She had never dared to be the
least bit intimate with him before they had gone to the cemetery the
night before. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to, just that there
had always been something, well, scary about him.

Maybe now that there was something scary about *her*, things had
evened out.

But it was more than that. She had found him physically attractive
the first time she'd laid eyes on him... Well, the first time that
he'd been conscious and not waving his severed hand in her face,
anyway. She couldn't lie to herself and say she had never thought
about making love to him, because she had. But he'd explained the
facts to her, and she had known that any such liaison with him
would likely take place only in her mind.

Now, though, something had changed. Her desire for him had gone
beyond fantasy to become a need so demanding that she was literally
willing to risk her life to satisfy it. How totally crazy was that??

Even crazier was this voice - for lack of a better word - that kept
telling her Vachon couldn't hurt her. Not "wouldn't" but "couldn't."

Their eyes locked, and all the things they had never said to each
other but had wanted to seemed to pass between them.

Did she love him? She wasn't sure. How can you love a man who isn't
a man?

Looking into his dark eyes, his gentle face with that impish,
dimpled smirk of his, she did know that love him or not, she would
have him. Right then, right there...

She leaned forward and kissed him again, this time allowing her
tongue to slide across his cold, soft lips. Mindful of the cast on
his leg, she was more gentle than she had been at the cemetery, but
she was still determined to locate his fangs and tease them until she
had awakened his desire -for her blood, her body, or both - it didn't
matter.

He hesitated only a moment before returning her kiss.

His mouth was cold, like kissing someone who had been eating ice
cream. She ran her tongue across his teeth, and found his fangs
easily, because they were already beginning to descend.

He pulled away.

"Trace, we can't..." But he was breathing heavily, and she knew that
despite what he was saying, he wanted to.

"Why not? Because Natalie Lambert said so? She's not my mother."

"Natalie? What has she got to do with it?"

"She told me not to let you bite me, after what happened to that
other vampire."

He frowned and gently touched the bite marks on her neck. "What did
happen, Trace?"

She told him.  "He must have just collapsed. I'm sure I didn't do
anything to him." She looked away, embarrassed. "I'm not sure I
really even wanted him to stop."

He gently fingered a strand of her pale hair. "That might be how it
is with me, too, Trace. You won't want me to stop, and I probably
won't be able to even if you do. We can't take a chance like that."

She kissed him again, more intensely this time, letting him know
that no matter what he said, she was determined that they would
consummate their relationship.

The tips of his fangs were now clearly visible beneath the outline
of his upper lip. She should have been afraid, but she found them
incredibly sexy, and it aroused her even more to know that she was
doing that to him.

"Lyllia told me not to..." he said half-heartedly, willing, but
still unconvinced their union would not end in disaster.

"No one will *know*," she said.

"Lyllia is an Enforcer, Tracy. Believe me, she'll know."

"So what? By the time she does, it will be too late for her to do
anything about it."

"That's not true. Lyllia could have me killed... or tortured."

Tracy laughed. "For having sex?!  Think about it Vachon. If I make
love to you and I die - which I won't - what would be the point in
her killing you? I don't believe she would discard the life of a
perfectly good vampire just because he killed a mortal. I mean, hell-
O!  That's what you guys *do*."

Vachon was trying to come up with an argument for that when she
added, "And if I don't die, what reason would she have to destroy
you? She already knows I know your little secret.  As for Natalie,
she can kiss my butt. She probably just told me to stay away from you
because she can't get anything out of Nick Knight. She's jealous."

Vachon's eyes widened. He was seeing so many sides of Tracy he had
not known were there, and he wasn't sure he liked all of them.
"Tracy, that's harsh."

She reflected for a moment on what she had said. He was right, it
was. "Yeah, I know... but I do believe it's the truth. They've been a
thing for years - everyone knows it - but somehow I don't think
they've ever... you know."

Vachon shook his head. "No, they haven't...

She looked him straight in the eye. "Do you want that to be us,
Vachon? Because if you do, say so now and I'll never bring the
subject up again."

"No. I don't want that. But Tracy... we... I... can't just do that
with a mortal I care about. It's too risky..."

She took his hand from her hair and held it in both of hers. "I know
you can't hurt me, Vachon. Don't ask me how, but I do. Something in
me is different now. There's a part of me that I think could kill you
to survive if I had to..."

He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he pulled hers down so that
they rested against his chest and then he covered them with his own.

"I kill you or you kill me... not exactly a good foundation for a
relationship, Tracy." He smiled gently.

"I said "could," not "would"... I want to try, Vachon."

He shook his head regretfully. "It's too dangerous."

Despite his protests, she heard that little voice in her head again,
laughing, telling her that now was the time... the drugs in his
system would have likely impaired his judgment to begin with, and if
he put up too much resistance, she could give him the other shot of
demerol and maybe even convince him that he was only dreaming...

Of course, if she drugged him, he might not be in any condition to
give what she wanted from him...

She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. His eyes fixed
on hers as her voice thrummed an eerie cadence in her own ears. "You
cannot hurt me. You will not... Do you understand?"

His eyes darted back and forth like they were seeking an avenue of
escape from her gaze, which remained steady. "Tracy... I..." He
frowned, like he wasn't able think of anything to say to her, like
his mind had gone blank...

<Good...>

"You want this, Vachon," she said in an even monotone, keeping
rhythm with her own heartbeat. "You want this and you want *me*."

His stare was fixed on her eyes for a long moment before he nodded
dreamily. His mouth moved but no sound came out.

She put her free hand on his lips. "No. No more talking..."

She ran her finger across his lower lip, just letting the tip of it
touch his fangs, and made eye contact with him again... And again her
seemingly disembodied voice echoed in her own head. "There is no
danger," she intoned with no inflection whatever. <When did I start
talking like a robot?>

"No danger..." he echoed, and then stared at her for several
seconds, as if her words had momentarily paralyzed him.

He blinked twice, as if he was just waking up, then he closed his
eyes and inhaled deeply. "Tracy, you don't know how much I want to
believe that."

The fact that he was still even discussing it irritated her. She
didn't know why, but it did. She wanted to slug him in the jaw, but
she restrained herself and again caught his gaze, staring deeply into
his eyes, into his very soul it seemed. She would *make* him listen
if she had to, but her voice was still gentle when she spoke. "You
will stop," she said.

Before he could protest further, she covered his mouth with hers and
pressed his back into the mattress. She knew she was essentially
begging him to drink from her. He'd never told her that was a part of
how he had sex, but it was one of those things she now knew
instinctively about his kind, the same way she knew there was now
this unnamed thing inside her that would make him stop before it was
too late.

She had no fear, and because she didn't, his wariness quickly
dissipated. She straddled his hips and slipped her hand under the two
layers of clothing he was wearing, feeling the soft hair on his chest
against his cold skin. She pushed the waistband of the sweatshirt and
sweater up far enough that he knew she wanted him to take them off,
so together they pulled both garments over his head at the same time.

She sat there for a moment staring at him - the wiry, sharply
defined muscles of his chest and abdomen beneath dark silken hair. He
was so beautiful, so perfect... 

His hands moved in lingering strokes over her shoulders, her arms,
her sides, and then he lay one palm flat against her abdomen, massaging the area just under her navel with his thumb.

He went no further than that. He was waiting for her to make the
next move, to make sure she wanted this to go that far.

She slid her hand down the hair on his chest. It was so incredibly
soft, and lay straight and flat against his skin, not the coarse,
curly chest hair that was more common.

But as they kissed, once again, he pulled back from the contact.
"Tracy, are you sure? You have to be sure you want this. Tell me now
while I can still stop."

"I want *you*, Vachon. I think I have from the first time I saw you..."

There were flecks of gold in his eyes, but that didn't frighten her,
either. It only made her want him more. When she kissed him that
time, she felt his fangs extend to their full length.

"You're sure?" he asked one more time.

She wondered if he'd really stop now if she said "no" but she had no
intention of doing that. "Yes..."

His breathing became deeper, heavier. He folded his arms around her
and drew her tightly against him. His mouth closed over the large
blood vessel in her neck, his fangs pinpricks against her skin.

She felt his fangs penetrate her throat. There was no fear, only pure, pulsating pleasure that lapped at her every nerve in waves of rapture.

She felt her blood jetting from the puncture holes in her neck, and
imagined the sensation of it splashing against the back of his throat
so vividly, it almost seemed like she herself was feeding.

But suddenly, he made an odd grunting noise, as if in his ecstasy he had unexpectedly encountered something so vile that it was almost painful in its bitterness.

He withdrew his fangs from her so quickly she didn't know he'd done
it until he was looking down at her, a puzzled expression on his
face. Whatever pleasure he had experienced had been instantaneously
doused.

Knowing that failed to ruin the moment for her, however. It was
several seconds more before she came to her senses enough to ask him
what was wrong.

His hand was pressed hard against her neck, trying to stop the
bleeding, but she knew that wasn't necessary. She could feel that the
wounds were no longer open.

She took his hand away, and he saw that, too. He looked at the smear
of blood on his palm, and then wiped at it with the bedspread as if
it were something he desperately wanted off of his skin.

"Vachon, what's the matter?"

He looked at her, bewildered, embarrassed, frustrated. "I don't
know... Your blood..."

"What?"

He was trying to spare her feelings, as if anything he could say
about her blood would actually insult her. "What?" she repeated.

He rolled over onto his back, his eyes closed.

"Vachon?"

He didn't answer her, just lay there taking slow, deep breaths.

"Vachon?  Talk to me. Are you sick?"

He winced. "Yeah, a little. No offense."

"What is it?"

"Nothing... I just feel sort of queasy."

"Is it the medication? It does that to some people..."

He didn't open his eyes. "No."

For a long time, he continued to lie completely still, as if any
sudden movement would intensify his misery. She stroked his hair back
before it could get matted to his forehead with sweat. Sweat, she
noticed, that was tinged with blood...

<They sweat *blood*!> <Eww!> She wondered if she would have been so
quick to make love to him had she known that.

Touching him, she was aware he was experiencing waves of intense
nausea. Somehow, she could sense what he was feeling, and she knew it
was not her imagination.

Finally, he dozed off, but he only slept for a few minutes. When he
woke up, he looked at her with a sleepy, confused look in his eyes
and said, "Tracy, did we?..."

She smiled at him. "Yes."

His level of alertness quickly escalated and he tried to sit up. "Oh
God, are you okay?"

She pushed him back down. "Yes. I'm fine."

His brows knitted together. Apparently, the experience contradicted
all of his previous expectations "It wasn't a dream?"

She smiled at him. "No. You stopped. I knew you would."

He frowned, remembering.

"What?"

"I had to stop Trace... Your blood... it tastes... different."

Was he trying to tell her he hadn't enjoyed drinking from her? "How?"

He was casual, but blunt. "It tasted terrible. I started to feel
sick.  If I'd had any more, I would have puked it all back up."

He scratched at his hand, the one that had been smeared with her
blood. There was a rash there now. Nothing major, but they both knew
it was her blood that had put it there.

Tracy didn't know what one was supposed to say to a vampire who had
just told you he didn't like the taste of you.


---THIRTY-FOUR---

Natalie was in a race against time, but was hardly heartened by the
fact that her examination of Shane's tissue samples were far more
revealing than she had anticipated. Right before her eyes under the
microscope, she could see his cells whither and rupture, releasing
the lysosomes that began the process of decay. Human cells, not
vampire.

He was mortal again, and he was rapidly dying of old age.

Mortal. The Divia element in Tracy's blood still had the ability to
inhibit the traits of the vampire -in Nick, in Vachon, and in poor
Shane, who was so young he was completely defenseless against the
onslaught. But even though she regretted the young man's suffering,
she now knew for certain that Divia's cells were the key that would
unlock whatever doors she and Nick chose to open, whether it be a
cure for him, or simply a way for them to be together as what they
were.

She couldn't think of that, though. She would have to go back to the
hospital and deliver the grim news that barring a miracle, there was
no way to save LaCroix's fledgling. The only possible option would be
for her to attempt to derive a serum against Divia's poison from Nick
and Vachon's blood, but that would undoubtedly take far more time
than the little vampire had left, if he wasn't already dead.

It was still daylight when she got back to the hospital, but Nick
and LaCroix were there, slumped in chairs on either side of Shane"s
bed. They had been there all day. Dr. Turner was there, too, and she
looked up at Natalie with a hopeful expression that faded when
Natalie shook her head.

Turner fingered a strand of Shane's hair, which was matted with
sweat near his head, but was still shiny and soft everywhere else.
"He's just hanging on," she told Natalie.

Natalie nodded. "I know... I don't think it will be long now."

LaCroix stood up when she said that. His face at first looked angry,
but then softened, perhaps when he recognized that she did not feel
any better about what was happening to Shane than he did.

He regained his composure and said in his usually dignified tone, "I
trust that you have concluded nothing can be done, Doctor?"

She shook her head. "It's Divia's poison. It's in Tracy's blood. The
vampire in him was just too fragile."

LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Was?"

"The vampire is gone, LaCroix. Divia destroyed it. There was nothing
to stop his body from deteriorating as it would have without it. He's
resustained the damage of 85 years underwater in the last few hours."

It sounded funny to be saying that with Shane lying there still
looking exactly as he had before, his face without blemish or
wrinkles, his long, red-brown hair still thick and flawless. His body
was shutting down from the inside. He would be dead long before the
outer shell was affected. He would look as vampire-perfect as he did
right then when it was over.

Nick stood up and joined them. "But I can still feel him. How is
that possible if he is no longer one of us?"

Natalie tried to explained, "That which makes you what you are Nick,
came from LaCroix." She put a hand on his chest. "And what made him
comes from Divia. There is nothing magical or metaphysical about the
physiological process that altered your genetic make-up so that yours
became like his and his like hers. Perhaps the death of the vampire
doesn't completely change that. You still sense Shane because he is
still, in essence, your flesh and blood... your brother. And, because
like it or not, Divia is in all three of you."

LaCroix looked sadly at the dying vampire. He now had even more
tubes and wires attached to him than he had before. Turner was doing
all she knew how to do to save him, but now that they all knew that
was futile, the old vampire fingered the leads to the cardiac
monitor, and said, "May I take him from here? It's such... an austere
place to die."

"He's hemorrhaging internally," Turner told him. "You wouldn't be
able to manage his pain."

LaCroix nodded that he understood and as he did so, Shane's eyes
fluttered open for a moment. He seemed to look directly at them,
although the lenses were so opaque Natalie was sure he was virtually
blind. Even so, there was emotion there. He wasn't ready to give up.
It had been more than a century since his birth, but his mind had
only experienced those 20-something years of actual life. He had to
be suffering terribly, but even so, he didn't want to die.

LaCroix abruptly left the room.

"What's his problem?" Natalie asked Nick.

Nick looked puzzled. "I don't know. Fledglings die. It happens. He
knows that."

She looked at Shane. "But not like this."

Nick agreed. "No, not like this."

Natalie knew she could not sit there maintaining a bedside vigil and
do nothing. She took Shane's hand, carefully, for she could feel how
frail he was now. "I'm going to do everything I can Shane. Just hang
on, okay?"

He was too weak to respond, but she knew he had at least sensed her
touch. His hand closed ever so slightly against hers.

Natalie told Nick about the possibility of a serum, and he agreed to
permit Dr. Turner to siphon a pint of blood out of him.

Natalie would have to find Vachon and do the same to him, and Turner
agreed to send Nick's donation to the morgue by messenger, so she
wouldn't have to wait on it.

The first place Natalie thought to look for Vachon was the church,
but only the Inka was there, asleep in Vachon's bed.

She woke him carefully. She knew they woke up hungry.

While Amaru took a few seconds to get his bearings, she got him
something to drink from Vachon's supply.

"Where is Vachon?" she asked as she handed it to him.

He took a swallow.  "At my place. With Tracy Vetter."

Natalie panicked.  "And you left her with him?!"

Amaru appeared unsure of what he had done wrong. He simply answered,
"Yes."

Natalie rubbed her temples in exasperation, so Amaru added, "I was
going to go back, but it got too late." He explained his attempt to
retrieve his car, which had been woefully unsuccessful because the
name he had used to register it wasn't the same as the one on his
driver's license. As an afterthought, he added, "Vachon would not
hurt her."

"You can't know that!" Natalie snapped.

"Yes I can," he said softly.

Natalie fixed her eyes on his. "I thought sex with mortals was
impossible for you guys."

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at her candor. "It can be done."

"Have you..." Natalie knew what a personal question that was, but
she had to ask it.

"Yes."

She wondered why Nick had lied to her, and Amaru seemed to sense
this. "None of us are always successful," he offered. "and some of us
never are."

As much as she would have liked to have pried for more details,
there simply wasn't time.

"Well, to be honest, it's not her I'm worried about."  She picked up
the pile of what she recognized as his clothes and tossed them to
him. "Shane is dying. If Vachon feeds from Tracy, I don't know what
will happen to him."


---THIRTY-FIVE---

Tracy woke up with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
During the day, as she had slept, she had had one horrific dream
after another, dreams of murder, torture, mutilation.

But it wasn't the content of the dreams that had disturbed her. What
bothered her was that she had enjoyed them. None of those things were
being done to her - she was the one doing them, and it had been fun...

She knew now that she had never been in a coma. Nobody would talk to
her about that, and why wouldn't they if it was the truth? Anytime
she brought it up, the other party - her father, Natalie, even
Vachon, had changed the subject.

Had she really lost her mind? Had she spent all of those months
suffering some sort of Post Traumatic Stress-induced psychosis? That
was all she could think that it could be, but her instincts told her
she was completely in touch with reality, however unlikely that
reality might be. She remembered the details of the shooting with an
accuracy that even she thought was uncanny, but her thoughts, most of
the time, were completely lucid. She was sure of that.

Most of the time.

There were still those times when she wanted to do these horrible
things, like kill those baby kittens. Maybe she was psychotic. <If
you're crazy, do you know it?>

Vachon was still asleep, and she sighed with relief that at that
moment she didn't have that nagging desire to inflict some sort of
damage on him.

She could hear him breathing, which was odd. It didn't sound normal,
but it didn't seem to be disturbing his rest in any way.

He looked so peaceful, the way his long lashes fanned out across his
cheeks, the way that funny little overbite he had made his lips part
when he was completely relaxed. She very gently pulled the stray
stands of hair away from his face. It was so soft, like black
cornsilk. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. That was
what she had thought the first time she'd gotten a good look at him.
She still thought that. Her heart ached with a deep sense of loss
when she thought about how she had believed he had left forever, and
later, when the memory of holding his lifeless body in her arms had
returned to her. Even though she now knew he had never been dead, or
gone, the idea of never seeing him again still hurt.

She wondered if he knew she had used him. He might not have minded
even if he did, but she had wanted his body and had seduced him and
taken it. Simple as that. Like some shameless strumpet from a grade C
porno flick. It didn't matter that she thought she loved him, and,
she supposed, had thought that for a long time. She would have done
it to him had he just been a casual acquaintance. Something in her
drew her to him, and it was not the normal way in which she was
attracted to him. She knew that something inside of her would use and
abuse him to get whatever she wanted out of him -the problem was, she
didn't know what it was that she wanted.

She sighed heavily and crawled out from under the blankets they had
pulled around themselves at some point as they'd slept the day away.
Funny, she had never really found it easy to sleep during the day,
but the for the last few days, it had seemed perfectly natural to her
to awaken at sunset.

She gathered up her clothes and looked again at Vachon, snuggled
under rumpled bedcovers and wrinkled sheets The covers had slipped away from Vachon's injured leg and a silly idea struck her as she looked at the too clean, too white cast... A silly idea... what a pleasant surprise. She was relieved she was still capable of those.

She wondered why Amaru had never come back. Or, maybe he had and had
realized he wasn't welcome in his own apartment.

She went into the bathroom to use the toilet and was impressed that Amaru had toilet paper. It wasn't like he needed it or anything. She looked around the bathroom briefly. All of the mortal trappings were there. He had his masquerade down to a science, whereas Vachon had been content to leave the evidence of his vampirehood in plain view, within his own little space. How different they were.

She washed up and then went to the kitchen with the idea of making herself another pot of coffee.

While she was looking for the necessary items, the cat appeared and
began to meow piteously for its food, until it realized she wasn't
Amaru. When she did, the cat arched her back and fluffed out her
tail, then spit at her before darting out of the kitchen in the
direction of a room Tracy hadn't seen yet.

She had always been more of a dog person, but never had she had a
cat - or any pet - react to her with the hostility this animal
displayed.

Wanting to take another peek at the kittens, she opened the closet
to find out they were gone. The cozy box contained nothing but some
matted cat hair.

Panic surged in her. Had she done something she didn't remember?

She went in the direction the mother cat had gone and found herself
in another bedroom that contained four file cabinets and a desk. She
peeked inside the drawer of one cabinet and saw it contained sheet
music. It turned out they all did. Reams of it, some of it written in
pen and ink on paper that was so old it felt as if it would crumble
if she held it too hard. Did Amaru just collect the stuff, or was he
a musician like Vachon?

She looked in the closet, and found that it contained a variety of
musical instruments. All of them were apparently woodwinds, although
she didn't recognize several of them. <Well, no heavy metal for this
guy...>

She found the kittens in there, too, hidden way back in a deep
recess. The mother cat growled threateningly when she saw her. She
had moved her babies out of fear of her, Tracy knew that. The cat, it
seemed, knew something about her that she herself did not.

She tried to speak soothingly to the animal, but it got up and
planted itself between her and the kittens, with such evident
hostility that Tracy knew that if she so much as moved too fast, she
would be ripped into as many shreds as such a small animal was
capable of.

"Oh to hell, with you!" she snarled at the cat. Her patience with it
worn suddenly thin. Her head was buzzing again. It felt like a
migraine without the pain.

She was rubbing her eyes to make the sensation go away when she
noticed a stack of leather-bound books on the closet shelf. They were
big, and odd, so she had to have a look.

They were photo albums, some with photos that had faded to little
more than soft blurs, with dates that went back as far as the art of
photography itself. All neatly labeled, meticulously kept, and
arranged by year, by lifetimes. It was all written in Spanish, so she
couldn't make heads or tails out of who most of the people were, but
still, it was fascinating to look at them, like a trip through a time
machine...

She sat down on the floor cross-legged and began to go through what
looked like the oldest one. Three-fourths of the way through it, a
familiar face caught her eye. It startled her at first that she
recognize it, because the date on the photo was 1873. The image was
faded and cracked and had a corner missing, but the face that stared
back at her was unmistakably Vachon. It was an odd size, long and
narrow, as if it had been cut from a larger group photo. The clothing
Vachon wore in it was unrevealingly simple - a grey shirt and
nondescript trousers held up with suspenders instead of a belt. The
trouser legs were tucked into heavy socks worn with battered leather
shoes that laced to just above the ankles. His hair was tied back in
a pony tail, and he wore a narrow-brimmed hat with the brim turned up
in front. There was a lantern behind him and he was leaning on a pick
axe. A miner? Had Vachon been a miner once? It made sense.
Underground, there was no sun to worry about, and it was not as if
physical exhaustion or things like black lung disease were going to
affect him.

As she thumbed through the albums, she found two other pictures of
Vachon. One looked like it might have been from the twenties. There
was a blond woman in the photo with him, sitting on his lap as he sat
on the running board of a vintage convertible. She had a heart-shaped
face with full lips, and her hair was a tumble of curls adorned with
a headband. She wore a sleeveless dress with fringe at the bottom.
What did they call that look? Flippers or something. Vachon looked
ridiculous in a double breasted coat and short, pomaded hair, wearing
patent leather shoes with white spats. She wondered if it had been
his idea to dress that way. He didn't look especially enthusiastic in
the photo.

The third picture was from the sixties, taken on a stage, Vachon
with a guitar in his hand. Not a small, sleek one like he had now,
but a big, clunky early electric guitar, the ones that were almost as
big as their acoustic counterparts and were attached to the amp by a
cord instead of working off an FM transmitter. He had on bell bottom
jeans. He had actually worn those things! They did hang nice and low
on his hips, though, held in place by a wide leather belt. A dark
paisley shirt with white collar and cuffs completed that outfit. At
least his hair was long again...

The last album contained no photos of Vachon, but all of the
pictures in there were fairly recent, from the mid-80s on. Family
portraits, weddings, babies, children in parochial school uniforms.

Why would a vampire have pictures like this? Who were these people?

Maybe she'd ask him about it sometime. Maybe he'd let her get copies
made of the photos of Vachon. Of course, first she'd have to admit
she had been snooping through his stuff.

Carefully, she put the albums back the way she had found them, and
looked around for something else of interest.

The desk was really a small oak writing table, and she opened it and
looked around inside where she found a box of marking pens.
Remembering Vachon's cast, she grinned to herself.

Giggling softly, she returned to the bedroom, where she placed her
autograph on the cast in multiple colors, under the most abysmally
cute smiley face she could draw. She was glad they'd put a plain
white one on him. Any other color would have ruined the effect.

Vachon, safe, warm, sensing no danger - and still sleeping off
whatever her blood had done to him - didn't so much as twitch.

As she admired her handiwork, she felt the buzzing again, stronger
this time.

She meant to return the pens, but she never got that far.

She stepped out of the bedroom and ran right into Lucien LaCroix.

The buzzing. That was what it was. She had sensed him.

"Good evening, Detective Vetter," he said, those cold, blue eyes
staring directly into hers. "I trust you slept... well."

He glanced towards the bedroom when he said it, in a way that left
it clear he knew what she had been doing when she wasn't sleeping.

She didn't know what he wanted, or what to say to him, but he spoke
again. "I think you should come with me."

There was something creepy about him. She'd felt it the first time
she'd met him, even before she had known what he was. At the same
time, she sensed an ironic gentleness in him, something deep down
that she suspected most others - even other vampires - did not know
existed. It hadn't always been there - it was a new sensation to him,
she knew, but it made her unafraid of him.

"Okay," she agreed. "but Vachon..."

"He's fine, I assure you."

She believed he knew that. Hell, she knew it herself. She had sensed
it in the calm, unhurried rhythm of his heart, the coolness of his
skin... things, she realized, she probably would not have noticed
before... before what? <Before this *thing* happened to me!> His
breathing was still erratic, but it wasn't making him uncomfortable
enough to awaken him.

She expected LaCroix to have a car, she supposed because she
couldn't imagine the dignified old coot winging his way through the
air with the wind in what little hair he had. But, he didn't. Once
they were outside, he scooped her into his arms and they were airborne.

She was dazzled by the sensation, yet at the same time, it was
somehow familiar. It felt so *right* to be flying through the night
air that she didn't even cling to LaCroix.

He took her to the Raven, through the kitchen where they had found
that ghastly decapitated corpse in the beer fridge, and into a side
office.

At his invitation, she sat on the leather couch and he offered her a
glass of wine. <She hoped it was wine.>

LaCroix was looking at her. Not in a way that made her especially
uncomfortable, but it was strange, nonetheless.

"Is something wrong?" she said finally.

That seemed to shake him out of his reverie. "No. Of course not, my
dear."

He approached her, fingered her hair. If anyone else had done that,
she would have pulled away, but there was something in the gesture
she couldn't identify that made her think his motives had nothing
really to do with her.

"You are indeed lovely," he said, and she detected a note of sadness
in his voice.

She felt a strange and inexplicable attachment to this vampire. How
could that be? She hardly knew him... <One always recognizes
family...> <?!>

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just that you remind me of someone
I knew a long time ago... What she might have been..."

"Your daughter." <Where did she get that from?>

"Yes. Her name was... Divia."

He seemed to be expecting her to react to that name. She wasn't sure
why. It didn't even sound vaguely familiar.

"Detective Vetter, do you remember the last time we met?"

"Yes... at the precinct, after the murder... no, wait..." She
frowned. "There was another time..."

"Yes. At your apartment. After Vachon left."

Her voice took on a mechanical quality that puzzled her even as she
heard herself speak. "He was a vampire, a friend who decided it was
time to move on..." <NO! That was a lie!>

LaCroix took a sip of the drink in his hand. "Not exactly."

She felt suddenly confused. "What?"

He placed his hand gently on her chin and turned her face upward so
that she was looking into those blue eyes.

She felt the blood coursing through the vessels in her brain, and a
sensation of tiny sparks inside her skull. LaCroix was speaking to
her, but his voice was distant, as if she had fainted, but she knew
she hadn't.

All of a sudden, everything cleared. She was still looking at
LaCroix, but now in place of that murky memory of Vachon saying good-
bye - a memory in which Vachon didn't seem like Vachon, but rather
like some dream-image Vachon - were other recollections. She
remembered clearly everything that Vachon had told her had happened,
and the details he'd left out she remembered him screaming with pain,
and the pleading look in his dark eyes as he had begged her to end
his suffering.

Then, another realization made her shudder. It made no sense, but
she voiced it anyway. "It was me. I hurt him..."

"No," LaCroix said gently. "It wasn't you. It wasn't Tracy Vetter.
It was Divia."

That name again.

"But I remember..."

And she did. She remembered grabbing his arm, crushing it and
delighting in the sound of snapping bones and tearing tendons as he'd
writhed in agony. She laughed then... laughed when she tore open his
neck and spat her poison into him, then cast him aside like garbage.

"No!" she gasped. It was *not* a memory. She could never have done
that to *anyone*. It was a vision of some kind. Yet, she knew it had
happened.

She took a very large gulp of the wine. It didn't help.

LaCroix sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

"It's time someone told you everything," he said softly.


---THIRTY-SIX---

Vachon only woke up because Natalie was shaking him. His mouth felt
like someone had stuffed it with cotton. So did his head, for that
matter. His entire body ached, with a dull, unpleasant throbbing in
his left leg rising above it all. His head hurt, his stomach hurt and
he felt like he had a hangover, except his chest hurt, too. All he
wanted to do was stay unconscious, but apparently that was too much
to ask.

He opened his eyes and squinted at his tormenter. "I wanna sleep,"
he mumbled. "Go away."

Instead, Natalie attempted to pull him to a sitting position. It was
then he realized Amaru was there because that traitorous, wretched
Inka helped her.

One of them shoved a bottle into his hand. He wasn't at all hungry,
but he drank, anyway. He had to stop after four swallows, though,
because he could feel it threatening to come back up.

He tried to lie down again, but Natalie kept her hold on him and
shook him harder than she had before, magnifying the pounding pain in
his head. If she did that again, he was going to rip her throat out...

"Vachon, did you drink from her? From Tracy?" Natalie asked
frantically.

Had he? He remembered doing *something* with her, but he thought it
best to be on the safe side, especially since Natalie appeared to be
angry about something. He tried to open his eyes all the way, but for
some reason, he couldn't. He blinked at her, anyway, and said "No."

"He is lying," Amaru said casually.

Natalie shook him, again. "Where is she!?"

Vachon instinctively tried to hiss at her, but it didn't come out
that way. His chest felt like there was a tight band around it,
making it difficult to make any sound at all. He thought maybe he'd
be okay if he could just lie still and go back to sleep, but there
was Natalie, sloshing his brain around in his head, instead. "I don't
feel good," he muttered.

"Vachon!" Natalie shook him again.

"Natalie, stop it," he moaned. "Leave me alone. I didn't hurt her."

"Then where is she?!"

He really tried to wake up all the way, but it didn't help that his
eyes didn't want to open. He didn't know the answer to Natalie's
question, but as his thoughts attempted to organize themselves, he
became certain of what he and Tracy had done. How had he done that without hurting her? Why had he even dared to try it?

His memory of the whole thing was frustratingly hazy. It might have
been the drugs in his system, but he seemed to remember something
else had happened. Tracy had somehow convinced him quite thoroughly
that she would survive, and that was why he had done it. Somehow, she
had made him believe it was safe...

He remembered her looking into his eyes and how he had tried to look
away and had not being able to...

That couldn't be... it wasn't possible...

But he knew the truth.

Tracy had whammied him!

As incredible as that sounded, he was sure of it!

No, it was too ridiculous. Tracy was a mortal. Mortals could not
control vampires, ever.

Could they?

It didn't really matter at that moment how they had accomplished it.
Amaru certainly knew what had happened even if Natalie couldn't tell.
Luckily, the Inka was keeping his mouth shut about it, but that still
left Natalie's question as to Tracy's whereabouts unanswered.

The last thing he could remember was falling asleep with Tracy in
his arms, and he knew he hadn't hurt her, but what happened after
that was a mystery to him.

Natalie was still staring at him, expecting him to say something.

"I don't know where she went, but she's okay," he managed to choke
out the words. He really couldn't breathe very well at all.

Natalie looked to Amaru for confirmation of this.

Amaru was tactfully blunt. "There has been no killing here. I would
know."

Natalie didn't want to let the subject drop until she saw Tracy
unharmed, but she had no choice.

"I need you to come down to the lab with me," she told Vachon.

"Now?" He was going to protest further, but he started coughing, so
hard that he was forcing more air out of his lungs than he could
inhale.

Natalie saw what was happening and switched to her doctor mode. "Vachon, what's the matter?"

Eventually, the coughing fit abated, and even though his breathing
had become short, wheezy gasps, he waved Natalie off.

"I'm okay," he said, not very convincingly.

He knew he was going to throw up, and he hoped maybe they'd leave
him alone to do it without an audience. He glared at them both. "Can
I get dressed?"

He dropped his injured leg over the side of the bed and winced as it
hit the floor with a thud. He looked down at the cast he'd forgotten
about. It was bad enough the way it had been, but now it said "Tracy"
on it in rainbow letters, and there was this stupid face grinning at
him from just below his knee. "What the..." He looked irritably at
Natalie. "Can you take this off?"

Natalie examined Tracy's artwork with a feeling of immense relief.
Obviously, the young detective had not suffered any dire consequences
as a result of her liaison with Vachon, although her art technique
could use some work.

Vachon, on the other hand, didn't look well at all. He was
struggling for each breath, and she noticed he was scratching at the
palms of his left hand, which was red and swollen.

She took it in her own hands and examined it. The closest human
comparison to what she found there would have been hives. "What did
you get on your hand?"

He looked at her, then at Amaru, then back at her before he admitted
the truth. "Blood. From Tracy."

Natalie grabbed his shoulders roughly. "I thought you said you
didn't hurt her!"

He began to cough again as he struggled to get his words out. "I
didn't. I know I didn't."

Natalie released him, because he couldn't get any air.

She dug her stethoscope out of her bag and listened to his chest.
She could hear asthma-like rales in both sides, and he was working
much harder than should have been to force air in and out of his lungs.

She had him open his mouth, and she discovered his throat was red
and swollen. Luckily, it had not progressed to the point that he was
in real trouble, but that didn't mean it wouldn't. She also saw that
his eyes had swollen almost shut, and there were traces of the hive-
like rash beneath the stubble around his mouth. She wondered if he
was experiencing any irritation on other parts of his body that had
come into contact with Tracy's body fluids, but she didn't ask. It
wasn't necessary. She knew an aggressive allergic reaction when she
saw one.

She didn't think his condition was serious enough to warrant a hit
of epinephrine, but she thought maybe a slug or two of Benadryl
wouldn't hurt. She sent Amaru to get some while she waited for Vachon
to get dressed.

Wrapped in the bedspread, he hobbled into the bathroom, cursing the
cast on his leg. She knew he had the strength to simply break it
apart, and she was hoping he wouldn't do that. The last thing they
needed now was for her to have to waste time setting his leg again.

Her mind was spinning... Vachon hadn't admitted it, but she was
certain he'd been intimate with Tracy Vetter. Both of them had
survived, Tracy apparently none the worse for wear. She would have to
run tests to determine what had triggered Vachon's symptoms, but even
though the drugs he'd been given could have been responsible, gut
instinct - and what she knew about Divia -told her that Tracy's blood
was the most likely source.

She needed to know for certain - not only be cause it was important
to her work, but because even though Vachon had survived this
encounter, the reaction he was experiencing pointed neon arrows to
the possibility of acute anaphylaxis - or whatever the vampire
equivalent was - with repeat exposure to the responsible allergen.

She doubted anything like that would kill him. They were all
seriously allergic to garlic, too, but they didn't die from it. That
wasn't the real reason she had to find out what had made him sick.

She was curious to know what would happen if he were to discover
that he'd pay an unpleasant price for taking Tracy's blood. Would he
learn to resist drinking from her? Their biological need for blood
was a powerful drive, but with a strong enough negative feedback, a
simple Pavlovian response might hold even that in check. Would Vachon
want Tracy's blood, drink it, become ill, and, eventually associate
the act with the consequences? Could it be that easy?

She heard him getting sick in the bathroom and tapped on the door.
"Are you okay?"

He didn't answer, but a few seconds later, he let her in. He'd
gotten his jeans on, but he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub
with his shirt in his hands, trying to muster the motivation to
finish getting dressed. "Why is this happening to me?"

She felt his forehead. He didn't seem feverish, which further
confirmed her suspicions. "Is it Tracy's blood Vachon? Is that why
you're sick?"

He nodded. He was still wheezing, but he tried to talk, anyway. "I
knew as soon as I started drinking it. I could taste... I don't know.
It just wasn't like blood is supposed to be..." He figured it out
without her telling him. "Is it Divia, Natalie? Is she in Tracy?"

Natalie nodded. "Yes, I believe so."

He closed his eyes as if that thought caused him great pain. "She
seems so much like Tracy."

Natalie wanted to hug him, he looked so miserable. Instead, she
touched him lightly on the shoulder and sat down beside him.

"She *is* Tracy, Vachon. I'm sure of that."

"But she's not the same."

Natalie took one of his hands. He wasn't inviting any kind of body
contact, but he seemed to need some sort of comfort.

"None of us is the same, Vachon. Everything that happened... it
changed us all... At least she is alive."

Vachon glanced down at the exposed cast, with the hideous grinning
face on it and laughed softly. "Yeah."

He looked at his rash-covered palm and was serious again. "Shane...
he drank from her."

"I know," Natalie said softly. "Tracy's blood poisoned him."

"He's so young..."

"Yes... He's dying."

Vachon looked truly upset by that, and she didn't know why that
surprised her. The vampire community had been decimated by disease
and then by Divia, but it hadn't really occurred to her - a mortal -
that Shane's creation had perhaps symbolized a rebirth for Them all.
In any case, the youngster meant something even to Vachon, who hardly
knew him.

She took Vachon's shirt from him and shook the wrinkles out before
putting it over his head for him.

She then explained her plans to derive a serum for the poisoned
vampire. "It's probably already too late, but it's his only chance.
You've been infected once and recovered, and so far, you've fought
off the re-infection. Maybe it will help."

She saw a glimmer of hope in Vachon's swollen eyes. "Why don't I
just let him drink from me?"

She shook her head. "He's too weak. He wouldn't be able to
swallow...." she began to explain, but then an idea hit her. Of
course! How much more simple could it be?? "Vachon, you're a genius!"

"Huh?"

"I'll explain as we go along..." She hurried into the kitchen and
filled a mug with blood and placed it in the microwave. Amaru, who
seemed to Natalie to be a tad obsessed with organization, had
remembered to bring Vachon's coat and the one boot he needed from the
church. She took them to him and helped him get them on so they'd be
ready to leave when Amaru returned.

When he arrived with the Benadryl, she quickly mixed a healthy shot
of the stuff with the warmed blood and gave it to Vachon to drink.
She had found that was the best way to get any kind of medication
into them, since their bodies didn't really seem able to sort it out
from the blood once they had ingested it. She grabbed two more
bottles from the fridge for him to drink on the way to the hospital.

Amaru looked suspicious when she explained what she intended to do.
He cleared his throat and looked embarrassed when he asked her, "This
will not harm him?"

She thought he meant Shane, and then realized he meant Vachon.
Natalie smiled at him. "No. We won't let it."

Amaru decided to go to the hospital with them, anyway.

Vachon looked much better by the time they arrived. The Benadryl was
working, which told her she had correctly diagnosed the allergic
reaction. Unfortunately, the opportunity to find out exactly what had
caused it had passed now that he was back to normal, but there were
greater concerns to be dealt with.

She also noted that Vachon was walking quite well, except for being
encumbered by the cast. That, too, was a good sign. It meant that the
reconstructive element of his immune system was strong enough not to
have been compromised by whatever was in Tracy's blood.

The three of them arrived at Shane's room to find Dr. Turner holding
a clipboard out to Nick.

"All I'm asking is that you consider how long you want this to
continue," she said gently.

Nick looked at Natalie and smiled sadly. "They want me to say it's
okay to pull the plug."

Natalie pulled off her coat. "Absolutely not!"

"Dr. Lambert?" Turner looked at her questioningly. "There's no hope.
His internal organs are literally dissolving... He's going to die
anyway, and this," she indicated the medical paraphernalia that had
accumulated around the dying vampire, "will only prolong the agony."

"Ahhh..." Natalie said cheerfully, "but you forget what we are
dealing with here."

It was Nick's turn to look puzzled. "Nat?"

Natalie turned to him. "Nick, how bad off can a person be and still
be brought across?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Just tell me."

"They can be an instant away from death..." His eyes widened.
"Natalie, no. I won't do it."

Natalie vaguely knew that Nick's track record with creating new
vampires was less than sterling, but it didn't matter that he was
refusing to participate. "You couldn't," she told him. "He's dying
from Divia's infection. He needs antibodies *and* blood from a
healthy vampire."

"What are you talking about?"

"He needs to be brought back across. That's the only way to save
him. The problem is, his tissues are permeated with Divia's toxin,
and that would destroy any new vampire cells that might develop. What
we need is enough blood that has already been infected to neutralize
the poison, first. You aren't a good candidate because for now, the
Divia organism is dormant in you. Your blood has white cells against
it, but not in the quantity that would be effective. It has to be a
vampire who is successfully fighting an active infection."

Nick's eyes shifted back and forth, trying to read her thoughts, and
then he looked at Vachon and frowned. "Him?"

"Yes. We'll give him some of Vachon's blood, first. It will
neutralize the toxin enough that LaCroix's blood might be able to
bring him back across."

"It won't work." Everyone turned to see who had spoken, even though
all of them recognized Lyllia's voice. Once again, she had just
appeared.

Natalie was crestfallen. "Why not?"

"If you mix the blood of two vampires in a mortal, each will fight
for control. It's much like a human body rejects transplanted tissue,
only on an even more rapid and catastrophic scale. A vampire cannot
have two masters."

Natalie looked at Shane, who was now most certainly doomed. She had
no reason to doubt Lyllia. Even though Janette had had two masters,
she had not had them at the same time. She had become mortal again at
the time Nick brought her across.

She tried to hide her disappointment. She looked absently at Vachon,
only to discover he was staring at Amaru. Amaru was staring back, and
even though this was another one of those little unspoken
conversations they shared, Natalie suddenly knew what was passing
between them.

They didn't look alike - how could they when their mortal selves had
been products of diverse cultures half a world apart? But she knew
how they had been brought across. Their master had drained them both,
first, and then given to each of them her blood mixed with their own
and that of the other. A DNA analysis had proven what Vachon and
Amaru had probably always instinctively known. Whether they liked the
idea or not was irrelevant: They were two parts of the *same* vampire.

She fixed her gaze on them both, even though her question was
directed at Lyllia.

"What if the vampires are identical?

Lyllia stony stare didn't reveal her emotions, but after
contemplating it for a moment, she nodded and said, "Twins. Of
course. They're perfect... their vampires are genetic duplicates,
except that Vachon's has the immune factors Shane needs and Amaru's
is untouched by Divia's poison."

Nick played Devil's advocate by pointing out, "But he's LaCroix"s
child..."

"Not anymore. He's human. That's why he's dying," Natalie reminded
him.

Lyllia spoke with uncharacteristic patience. "Even though what he is
now is human, part of it is still LaCroix. The original
transformation is so profound that alterations to his basic cellular
composition will never be erased. He will still be linked to LaCroix,
in much the same way your Janette is still linked to him. You will
still feel your bloodlink to him as you can feel it now." Her
familiar smirk returned and she added, "You'll all be one big blood-
sucking Brady Bunch."

Natalie dared not waste anymore time. Shane was too weak to drink
from Vachon, and his veins would not tolerate a cannula big enough to
get the blood into him via transfusion.

She decided to insert a naso-gastric tube and drain the blood out of
Vachon and directly into what was left of his stomach. Dr. Turner
offered to do the actual placement of the tube, so Natalie let her.
The ER physician was far more experienced than she was, but even so
Shane's tissues were so fragile that the soft plastic tubing severely
lacerated his throat and esophagus. If this didn't work, it was going
to be what killed him.

By the time the tube was in place, Lyllia had a line running out of
the brachial artery in Vachon's upper arm. The two lines were
connected and Lyllia released the clamp holding Vachon's blood back.
As the blood flowed into Shane's body, she prepared the Inka for a
similar transfusion.

There was no way to tell the rate at which Vachon was losing blood,
and even though they could seem perfectly normal with no blood in
their bodies at all, rapidly draining it out affected them the same
way it did a human. After a few moments, Vachon staggered briefly and
almost lost his balance. He grabbed the guard rail on the bed for
support. "I feel dizzy," he muttered.

Lyllia caught him and turned his face to hers and examined him
briefly. "Enough," she declared.

She removed the tube from his arm and placed a cotton swab over the
puncture, even though it stopped bleeding instantly. She handed him
to Nick, who was ready with one of the bottles Natalie had thought to
bring. She then switched the lines so that Shane was getting blood
from Amaru.

The cardiac monitor had been disconnected - there was no need for it
since it was not likely they'd be able to revive him if he arrested.
His ribs were so fragile and his internal organs so delicate that his
chest would literally explode if they attempted CPR. Natalie used her
stethoscope to listen to his heart as the transfusion progressed.

The weakened organ had begun to fibrillate wildly as Vachon's blood
flowed into him. Natalie had to resist the urge to bring it under
control. Either this was going to work, or it wasn't, and for all she
knew, drugs would interfere with the process.

As he began to receive Amaru's blood, his heart rate evened out,
first becoming steadier and stronger and then slowing. Again, Natalie
couldn't help but feel some alarm, even when she remembered that a
vampire's heart contracted only once every 10 or 12 minutes. When it
stopped altogether, she could almost hear her own heart pounding in
her chest.

Shane had either come across, or he was dead.

There was no sound in the room while they waited for what seemed
like an hour, but according to Natalie's watch was really only 9
minutes and 27 seconds. By this time, Dr. Turner had placed her
stethoscope against Shane's chest as well, and when that one powerful
heartbeat finally happened, everyone in the room heard it.

Natalie let out the breath she had been holding.

Only then did it really hit her what she had done.

She had helped to create a vampire.

Why was she so happy about it that she wanted to cry?


---THIRTY-SEVEN---

Tracy was proud of how calm she sounded. She didn't feel calm.

"So she's in me? That... monster?" she asked LaCroix.

LaCroix seemed to wince mentally at the word, but softly said, "Yes,
that monster. Divia. My little girl."

Tracy realized how her words must have sounded to the old vampire.
"I'm sorry. I forgot she was your daughter."

"No need for apologies, Detective. She *was* a monster, and you must
never forget that. She will try to control you, although I suspect
she cannot..." He touched her face and smiled faintly. "You have her
strength. You had that before she invaded your body with that bullet.
The difference is, your strength comes from the Light. Hers came from
a demon named Qa"Ra..."

Tracy literally jumped as another vision flashed through her mind.
It was so vivid, she could easily have classified it as a
hallucination, and it frightened her, but still she remained calm.
"The Ancient Qa"Ra... her master. She killed him, too."

"Yes," LaCroix nodded. "Her evil knows no loyalty. I am surprised
you aren't fighting the urge to stake me as I stand her."

Tracy quickly understood he was joking. Still, it was odd that the
first time she'd met LaCroix, he'd given her the heebie-jeebies big
time -to a far greater extreme than Vachon or even the Inka had.
Maybe Vachon had a touch of the devil in him, but if you peeled away
the layers, she knew that underneath you would find a basically
decent guy, one whom, she hoped, truly liked her. In her first
encounter with Amaru, he'd scared her silly, but it had been a cold,
impersonal fear. He had wanted information... he wasn't interested in
visiting torment upon her for its own sake. LaCroix on the other
hand, had been just plain creepy.

Now, not only was she not afraid of him, she found herself feeling a
certain affection for him. Had Divia once really cared about him? Not
in that perverted way he had described to her, but in the way she
cared for her own father? She must have felt something - she had,
after all, chosen to save him, of all people, from the ravages of
Vesuvius.

*If* what he was telling her was even true. Was she now this hybrid
thing, basically human, but not quite? This being whom vampires now
could not hide from, who shared some of the very powers that made
them what they were, and yet was not one of them? Had she really come
back from the dead, the same way she had seen them do?

It all just seemed so incredibly ridiculous that she wanted to
laugh. Except it wasn't funny. It all had to be true. She had no
history with LaCroix, and he had no reason to lie to her.

Also, it explained why no one would talk to her about her so-called
coma.

And, why she took a perverse delight in hurting Vachon, who, she now
realized, had royally pissed Divia off by surviving...

Vachon. LaCroix had told her some pretty incredible things about
him. Divia was using him, too, but in a different way. She had a
sense of Divia mocking the irony of it. No doubt the source of her
amusement was the fact that the one body she had chosen to
reconstruct should somehow have this convenient link to a vampire
whose body she had been able to infect not once, but twice.

Was she Divia now? Tracy knew the answer to that was "no." But how
would she know when her actions were being dictated by this crazed
little girl who now wanted to be - and in fact was - a part of her?

<I'll know> she told herself. <She will *not* use me, and she will
*not* use Vachon through me!> But at the same time, when she should
have been horrified, she found herself actually happy this demon had
chosen her. She was alive. She had a second chance. She could have
Vachon now, if she wanted him, which she did more than ever. She
could have whatever she wanted, because now, she could simply take
it. What, really, was so bad about that? <Whose thought was that?
Hers or Divia"s?>

As if her sudden confidence were an overinflated balloon, LaCroix
supplied the pin to pop it.

"There is something else you need to be told," he said ominously.

"What?"

"Divia wants her own body. She has found a way to get that through
you and Vachon."

"What do you mean?" She honestly didn't know.

"Should you and Vachon conceive a child, it will at the very least
inherit the vampire from him."

"A child?? What are you talking about?"

LaCroix gave her a pained look, not unlike the one her father had
given her the time a condom had fallen out of her purse. She spared
them both the embarrassment of going into detail.

"What do you mean "at the very least"?" she asked nervously.

"It may inherit the gene from both of you. You carry it now."

"A baby... vampire?" She still had trouble saying the word.

"Possibly, but not likely. More probably, it will be something
entirely different, and far more powerful than either you or Vachon."

He was scaring her. "In what way?"

"Your child could become the vessel Divia must have if she is to
become a corporal entity once again. And you and I both know that is
what she wants."

Tracy thought about this, and it reminded her of a old movie she'd
seen once called Rosemary's Baby. Mia Farrow's character had given
birth to Satan's child in it. The thing she remembered most about the
film, however, was the ending, when Rosemary had overcome her horror,
and had taken her monstrous child into her arms and begun to sing to
it, as if it wasn't this horrible thing with red eyes and a tail, but
just her baby.

Was that going to be her? *Could* that be her? Could she face that?

Then again, suddenly, it all seemed so silly. And, she thought of a
question. "Do a lot of vampires have children?" She had seen no
evidence to indicate any offspring among the vampires she knew.

LaCroix shook his head. "It's virtually unheard of. You and Vachon
are a situation that might occur only once or twice in a millennium."

"What if we... took precautions? To see that it doesn't happen?"

LaCroix smiled patiently. "My dear, vampire physiology is resilient
and adaptable well beyond any mortal expectations. I sincerely doubt
that conventional preventative measures would prove useful should
Vachon become capable of siring a child. If circumstances dictate
that it can happen, it *will* happen."

She managed to suppress a giggle at the picture that entered her
mind, of vampire sperm chewing their way through a condom with tiny
little fangs. It wasn't really that funny, considering.

And, as much as she hated the thought, she knew there was one way to
ensure with certainty that Divia never got what she wanted: Never,
ever let Vachon touch her again.

Unfortunately, that was a completely unrealistic expectation. She
loved him. She knew he cared for her, and if he didn't love her,
maybe he could. What then?

LaCroix interrupted her thoughts. "I know this is a great deal for
you to contemplate at once. I wish I could make it easier, but I must
get back to the hospital."

Tracy's face fell. She had forgotten all about that strange little
vampire she had poisoned. How could she be so self-centered?

"May I come with you?" She didn't really want to go, but she had to
face up to what she had become some time, and what better way to deal
with it than to stare the consequences in the face?

LaCroix looked surprised, but said "Of course."

They made the trip to the hospital the same way they had gotten to
the Raven. Tracy thought it was really too bad that of all the things
she could now do, flying wasn't one of them.

She expected a cloud of doom to be hanging over those gathered
around the unfortunate vampire, but instead, they walked in on Dr.
Turner chatting cheerfully with Natalie as Vachon, Amaru and Lyllia
looked on. Nick was the only one who looked like he was sitting at a
death bed, but her former partner often did that even when nothing at
all was wrong.

LaCroix seemed to know immediately that something had changed. He
used long strides to reach his fledgling's side.

Had he not been so pale, anyway, Tracy suspected his knuckles might
have turned white, as hard as he was gripping the guard rails at the
side of the bed.

"What have you done?"

He asked that of no one in particular, but Tracy noticed that
Vachon, Amaru and Natalie all looked suddenly guilty.

Nevertheless, Natalie's reply was calm and assertive. "We saved his
life, LaCroix, the only way we could."

"Have no fear, LaCroix. He is all you wanted him to be and then
some," Nick said morosely.

Something about this displeased LaCroix, Tracy could tell. It wasn't
that Shane was alive, though. It was something else.

She approached the bed cautiously. Shane was not conscious, and he
was as pale as a corpse, but as she neared him, she felt that funny
buzz in her skull. His vampire life force was fragile, but
unmistakably there, and not fading.

There *was* something different from the last time she had
encountered him, though.

"What happened?" she asked.

LaCroix stared at Natalie. "Indeed, do tell."

"We brought him back across," Amaru answered.

"'We'?" LaCroix glared at Vachon and the Inka. "This was *my* child!
You had no right..."

"The only alternative was to let him die," Natalie interrupted. "If
that's what you want, go ahead and stake him. None of us can stop you."

Lyllia grunted. "Touch him and get my shoe up your ass."

Natalie had forgotten about the Enforcer.

LaCroix seemed to reconsider. Even though he obviously did not
approve of such a drastic action taking place without his consent,
Tracy sensed that he was not at all unhappy that the fledgling wasn't
dead. Still, he had to know.

"Who did it?" he asked.

He stared directly at Nick, but once again, Amaru answered for
himself and Vachon. "He is ours now."

LaCroix frowned and re-directed his stare at the two of them. "Both
of you?"

The two dark-haired vampires stared back with their deep, black eyes
and nodded.

LaCroix lifted one of Shane's pale hands to his mouth and made a
tiny incision with his thumbnail. He licked the droplets of blood
that appeared before the wound healed itself. The blood, apparently,
verified what he'd been told. "Well, this should no doubt prove an
interesting experiment," he said, and then cautioned Vachon and the
Inka: "Do not forget that I still have a link to him, also. I expect
you to see to it that he is taught well."

"As do I," Nick finally spoke, and to LaCroix added, "If I could
have stopped this, I would have."

LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Why Nicholas?"

"Because Divia's blight is upon him, as it is upon you, and me, and
Vachon and Tracy. Where does it stop? When she has corrupted us all?
When she has everything? When everyone who has ever known you carries
her evil?"

"Nicholas, no one knows the answer to that." LaCroix put a hand on
Nick's shoulder and then moved his face closer. "But do you not see?
We are all alive *in spite of her*. She has won *nothing* yet.
Perhaps she never will."

He turned to Vachon and the Inka, and then nodded towards Shane. "I
would say it is time to get this one away from this place. I trust
you will care for him well, for if you do not, I will deal with the
matter personally."

"No problem," Vachon said casually. "I've done this before."

"I will take him with me," Amaru said.

Vachon glared at him. "Why?"

"Because you are incompetent and irresponsible."

Vachon, understandably, bristled at that comment. "I am not."

Lyllia stepped between them. "We'll have the custody hearing later.
LaCroix's right, it's time to get him out of here."

Which, Natalie knew, also meant it was time for everyone to go and
leave Vachon and Amaru with their offspring.

On the way out, Natalie watched Lyllia stop Dr. Turner in her
tracks. The Enforcer looked as imposing as ever, even in a casual
hunter green pantsuit worn over an avocado knit top, accented by rope
of gold chains. Did this woman ever wear anything twice?

"Thank you for all you have done," the Enforcer said, and then her
voice took on a different tone. "No one in this room is of any
concern to you. You have never seen any of them before. You do not
even know them."

Turner's eyes went glassy. "No concern..." she muttered. "I don't
even know them."

"Forget all that you have seen and learned here," Lyllia droned on.

"Forget all..." Turner echoed.

Finally, the Enforcer released the doctor, who walked briskly out of
the room without looking back.

Natalie thought that seemed like such a shame. Turner was such a
potentially useful resource, especially if there was a demonic birth
somewhere in the future.

Then, she was left wondering if there was a limit to the number of
times a person could be whammied before it didn't work any more,
because Turner glanced over her shoulder at her, and Natalie could
have sworn she saw a smile on the woman's face.


---THIRTY-EIGHT---

Vachon had reluctantly agreed to leave the cast on until Natalie
told him it was okay to take it off, but even though it had taken him
mere days to heal, he waited impatiently for the x-rays she'd ordered
to be returned from the lab.

Natalie used the time to examine him and take notes for a course of
research she was only contemplating at that point.

Tracy had driven him to the lab, but had stepped out to get candy.
Natalie decided then might be the time to ask Vachon about the barely
visible rash on his hands and face. Probably no one else would have
noticed it, but even though it was less severe, to her it looked
exactly like the one she'd found on him in Amaru's apartment, the
morning after he'd made love to Tracy the first time. His eyes and
throat also showed signs of irritation similar to what she had seen
that day.

"Does your throat itch?" she asked him.

His eyes darted away from her glance. "A little."

"Your eyes?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

She didn't have to ask the reason. She knew that he was having
another reaction to Tracy's blood. She didn't need or want to hear him give her the details. Her tone remained perfectly clinical. "Have you tried taking the Benadryl for it?"

He looked as close to embarrassed as Vachon ever looked - which
merely meant he wouldn't look directly at her. He nodded, "Yes. It
helps."

"Is there a problem with any other... uh... body fluids?" She was
trying to be tactful. Divia's secretions had all been lethal, and she
wondered if he was allergic to more of Tracy than just her blood.

Vachon looked down at the floor. He *really* didn't want her to ask
him about this, she could tell.

She dropped her line of questioning. There was no point in
embarrassing him when she could have a woman-to-woman talk with Tracy
and get the same information from her.

Tracy would be back any second, but she would save her questions for
later. She was not at all comfortable questioning the two of them
together about their newly-established relationship.

For now, treating the symptoms resulting from contact with Tracy"s
blood was all they could expect to do, anyway. Eventually, perhaps,
Vachon would drink too much and she'd get a phone call in the middle
of the night because he had gone into convulsions or respiratory
failure or cardiac arrest, but that didn't worry her either. Not a
lot killed Them. Vachon might get sick enough to take a vow of
celibacy, but if Divia hadn't killed him by direct contact, it was
doubtful she could do it through Tracy.

Tracy would not be starting back to work for several days, not until
she had been declared medically fit for duty, and, not until her
identity as a living person had been re-established. While she had
been busy trying to get her death rescinded, Richard Vetter had
occupied himself trying to locate his ex-wife, who still did not know
their daughter was alive, and filing various lawsuits on behalf of
the entire family.

Tracy probably would not actually need to ever work again if all of
the legal proceedings were settled in her favor, but she wasn't happy
about them. She knew what had actually happened to her and it seemed
wrong to make innocent people pay for mistakes they had never made.
But, even she could see that it would be best for all concerned for
her to pretend that the story told to her father, and everyone else
outside the vampire community who knew her, had been the truth. As
incredible as being "lost" and then misidentified as a dead woman by
a metropolitan hospital sounded, the real story was far more
preposterous, and would have to be kept a secret unless she wanted to
end up in psychiatric care. The community certainly would not tell.
Tracy was one of them now, linked in one way or another to Nick,
LaCroix, Vachon, the Inka and the fledgling Shane.

Natalie had taken blood and tissue scrapings from all of them, and
was running blind DNA analyses on the samples, but she suspected they
would reveal exactly what the Enforcer Lyllia had assured her they
would - that Tracy Vetter, the mortal, now actually shared genetic
traits with the three vampires originally descended from Divia - a
close connection to Nick and LaCroix, and a more distant one to
Shane, who was now also the child of Vachon and the Inka.

It was more complicated than a damned soap opera, but Tracy shared
Natalie's determination to discover exactly what had been the source
of her incredible, unlikely recovery.

She was not a vampire, and it appeared unlikely she ever would be,
unless by some bizarre circumstance <and there certainly was no
shortage of those, was there?> the event occurred spontaneously, a
possibility Natalie could not dismiss.

Natalie did not know where the first vampires had come from - no one
did. She was convinced they were the result of a genetic mutation,
but the question of when, and more importantly, how, it had occurred
had many possible answers.

What Natalie did know was that Tracy Vetter was now something more
than human. She had performed a complete physical and neurological
examination on her the day before. Without even trying, Tracy had
displayed speed, agility and strength that rivaled that of a superbly
trained athlete. Her stamina and endurance were at the far end of the
scale, and totally beyond belief for someone of her size and apparent
frailty. Her psychic abilities were apparently altered as well, even
though Natalie had no way of assessing them. She had whammied Vachon. She had admitted that to Natalie, if not to Vachon. She had not been completely successful, but she should not have been able to do it at all.

What did all this mean? Tracy wanted to know. Natalie wanted to know
perhaps even more, because if what had happened to Tracy could be
repeated in a selective, clinical setting, she would have found a way
to have with Nick what Tracy and Vachon had with each other.
Scientific curiosity aside, Natalie had to admit to herself that that
was the bottom line to her research.

Tracy returned with a fistful of Hershey bars just as the phone
rang. It was Nick.

Like a couple of 10-year-olds (or maybe very ancient little demons -
who knew?), Tracy and Vachon seemed more interested in the chocolate
than in her private conversation, but Natalie found it awkward
talking to Nick with the two of them right there in the room, anyway,
even if it was on the phone. She knew Vachon could hear every word,
and maybe Tracy could, too -her visual acuity and auditory range,
while not on the level of a vampire"s, were now well beyond what
tests intended for lesser mortals could accurately measure.

She supposed that what really made her self-conscious was knowing
that Tracy and Vachon already had the relationship that had eluded
her and Nick for years. By some cosmic combination of metaphysical
forces, circumstance and plain dumb luck, they had attained that goal
with no real effort on their part while she and Nick had not, despite
all of their work. It was so unfair, and it would be a lie to say she
wasn't envious. And, she would be fooling herself if she thought for
a moment that she was not going to do everything in her power to find
out exactly what had made their union possible. She wondered if
either of them could pick up any of these thoughts up in her voice
when she spoke to Nick.

Luckily, Nick's call was not of a personal nature. He only wanted to
let her know he'd managed to get Amaru's Voyager out of impound, and
added that the Inka was not going to be too impressed with the mold
garden that had established itself in the eclairs smashed into the
carpet and the half-eaten candy bar that had glued itself to the
dashboard. The dented side panel, scratched paint, sprung door hinge,
broken window and snapped gear lever wouldn't help matters, either.
He wanted her to be the one to tell him where to pick it up. Her - a
defenseless mortal!

She hung up the phone and looked at Vachon, who smiled as if he
hadn't heard a word about the damage to the car. She had long since
discovered that it was almost impossible to get angry with him, so
she didn't even try.

"How could you have possibly done that much damage in so short a
time?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "I'll pay for it when I have the money... I'll be
working again soon. LaCroix has decided to re-open the Raven." He
looked at his fingers as if contemplating playing his guitar again,
but really it was because they were covered with chocolate. He hadn't
learned yet that if you held the stuff too long, it began to melt
even in a vampire's relatively cool hands.

She handed him a wipe from a container on her desk.

She hadn't given a thought to how much LaCroix might have wanted to
return to his status as patriarch of the city's vampire community, or
what was left of it. It shouldn't have surprised her. LaCroix had a
need to be in control, and now, he had something to control again.

Natalie figured the less she voiced her opinion in this case, the
better, but then Vachon had to add, "He's asked Janette to come back
and run the place."

Natalie felt like she'd been punched in the stomach and she didn't
know why. She was sure there was no longer anything between Nick and
Janette, as far as a romantic entanglement went. But he was her
master now, and she had saved his sanity if not his life. She would
be kidding herself to think she didn't feel threatened by the
beautiful vampire to some degree.

Vachon sensed her unease and attempted to relieve her mind by
joking, "He thought the community could use a woman's touch again."

Tracy glared at him and then gave Natalie a "men-can-be-such-
insensitive-pigs" look that promptly shut Vachon up.

Natalie changed the subject as she prepared syringes to draw blood
samples from both of them.

"How is your..." She didn't know the word to describe Shane in
reference to Vachon. Son? Creation? Nothing seemed to work, so she
simply said, "Shane?"

"He's adjusting," Vachon said. "Better than most, in fact." He
sounded like a proud parent.

Natalie swabbed the pale skin over a blue vein on Vachon's hand. "No
physical problems?"

Vachon shook his head. "No. He seems fine... Other than he's
completely tone deaf."

Natalie stuck the needle in and Vachon winced. "Well, judging from
some of the music I hear nowadays, that may not be that much of a
handicap..." She let one vial fill and then replaced it with another.
"You can always get him drums."

Vachon's lower lip jutted out thoughtfully. "Yeah... he could do
that, couldn't he?... He's a hell of a basketball player, too. We
might have to start a league..."

He watched intently as his own blood filled the second vial. Even
their own blood fascinated them, and Natalie was comforted to observe
that Tracy seemed to take no particular interest in it.

When it was Tracy's turn, Natalie noticed faint lines on her arm
that looked like bite marks. Her first suspect was Vachon, but when
she looked closely, she realized the arch was wrong for a humanoid
mouth.

"It was the neighbor's dog," the young detective confirmed her
suspicion. "It just lunged at me... I always got along with him
before, but animals seem to hate me now."

She smiled, but the fact seemed to bother her. And why shouldn't it?
Animals often sensed things people could not, and what they sensed in
Tracy that they didn't like was something only they knew.

Natalie tried to turn it into a joke. "Well, just don't apply for
the mounted patrol."

She had just finished drawing the samples when a technician returned
with Vachon's x-rays.

They showed an odd shadowing on the bone, similar to scar tissue,
but other than that, it appeared that his leg had healed. His blood
tests would determine if he was still actively fighting Divia's
latest assault on his body, but Natalie was certain that he was
recovering from that, too. His white cell count had dropped steadily
since the foreign material had been removed, although as had happened
before, in both Nick and Vachon, vestiges of the infection lingered.

For one thing, Vachon was still eating solid food - although he
seemed to have lost an interest in everything except candy. If he
kept it up, she might end up extending her practice to dentistry, but
the truth was, the steady influx of sugar didn't seem to be affecting
him adversely in any way. Natalie had not as yet had time to
determine exactly what his system did with the stuff, but the most
likely scenario was that it was being used to fuel a metabolic
process which did not ordinarily occur in vampires.

Certain sugars, she knew, were necessary components to successful
male reproduction, but that was something Natalie didn't want to
think about right then.

She turned off the screen and took the x-ray down. "Okay, the cast
can come off..." She looked around for her bone saw. It was not the
proper instrument for the job, but she was used to improvising.

However, by the time she located it and turned around, Vachon had
pulverized the cast and was plucking off the remains. The surgical
staples had been forced out of his skin and dropped off along with
the pieces.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Natalie sighed. She helped him get
the thing all the way off. Except for the skin being wrinkled and
clammy from being covered, and the shorter hair where the surgical
site had been shaved, the limb looked perfectly normal. No deformity,
no scar, not even mild discoloration. He inspected it, anyway, and
seemed pleased with the result, or at least happy to be rid of the
cast.

He had not thought to bring his other boot along, so he ended up
slipping off the one he was wearing.

"You don't think people are going to notice that you're barefoot?"
she teased him.

"Maybe," he winked. "But I've run out of people willing to loan me
their car." He jumped down from the table and took her in his arms.

The last thing Natalie was expecting was for him to kiss her, but he
did. Then he pulled her close and hugged her. He was between her and
Tracy, so Natalie had no way of knowing what Tracy thought about this
sudden display of affection.

"Thanks again," Vachon told her. "If you ever want to join the club,
let me know."

Natalie pushed him away. "Get out of here, fiend!" she laughed.

Tracy stepped from behind Vachon. Really Tracy, not that other
entity Natalie had seen in her eyes more than once. Tracy, too, gave
her a quick hug, but said nothing. She didn't have to. She was
mortal. She had Vachon. She could thank Natalie for at least one of
those things.


---Epilogue I---

As a resting place it was straight out of Edgar Alan Poe, but, then,
his whole life was a macabre tale now, wasn't it?

The vampire Shane laughed softly to himself as he inspected the work
before him.

He wondered if LaCroix had laid the bricks himself. Having been
apprenticed as a mason for 7 years by the time he found himself on
the Titanic on his way to help build the new world - literally -
bricks had been his life, and he knew an amateur job when he saw one.
The joints were unevenly spaced, the mortar not properly troweled. If
nothing else, the work had been done in haste.

LaCroix owned the property - which was occupied. Hide in plain sight
- that's what he was being taught. It seemed to work. No one had as
yet thrown holy water on him or shoved garlic or a cross in his face.

Then again, who would think he was a vampire? He had trouble
believing it himself sometimes. Besides, nobody really believed in
vampires in this time. They hadn't really believed in them in *his*
time, for that matter. 1912 had not been *that* backward.

He smiled, even though no one was around to share his amusement.
What struck him as funny was the idea that here he was, priding
himself on the fact that he had not believed in vampires, when in
fact, they'd been right under his nose. At his very throat, as it had
turned out...

He studied the structures above his head. The building was about 75
years old. It hadn't even been built the last time he'd seen the
light of day -the last time he would ever see it, as it turned out -
but now the worn, cast-iron pipes that disappeared into the fresh
masonry told him that the bricked-off space held what had once been a
modern oil or coal furnace that had since become an ancient relic,
replaced by something more efficient.

Almost everything had been replaced by something more efficient,
hadn't it? Including him. He liked this new world. Television.
Computers. X-rated movies. He was learning about them all as he
learned how to be this remarkable creature he had become. Never had
he dreamed that setting foot on the doomed Titanic would take him to
a time and place his wildest imaginings could not have conceived. It
was, as Tracy Vetter would say, "pretty cool."

He didn't mind drinking the blood. He could see why some people
might, and he certainly would have never consumed human blood as a
mortal. But then, there were a lot of things he would not and could
not have done as a mortal that he did now. Things that would have
been physically impossible before - like flying, which was the best
of all - and others, like sneaking into locked buildings like he just
had - which he did now because... well, because he could.

Naturally, his new horizons were bound to occasionally expand to
include things he had been told *not* to do - like come to this
place. But what was the point of living forever if there was no
adventure in it? Besides, he had already known 85 years of boredom
that defied description. He had a right to do whatever he wanted, so
long as it didn't get him killed. So long as Vachon and Amaru didn't
find out. They were his "masters" but he was not their slave. To be
truthful, neither of them treated him that way. But he didn't like it
that they kept little secrets from him, and told him to stay away
from people, things, and places without explaining why, as if he were
too stupid to understand. He agreed with their rules, and then did
what he wanted to, anyway.

He knew the furnace was still there, on the other side of the wall.
He could tell by the difference in the temperature of the air behind
the bricks, which he was now actually able to *see* as a glowing
shadow, colored in hues that had no human name. The ability to
actually see hot and cold had taken some getting used to, but it
definitely came in handy. For one thing, he could see in the dark
now. Not images defined by mortal eyes, but variations in texture and
temperature and air currents.

Sometimes, he had to filter the flood of information he was capable
of taking in at once because it became so distracting he was
literally unable to think. Amaru had taught him to do that, because
Vachon had never learned to block the tidal wave of sensory input. It
didn't bother Vachon, and never had. In fact, he had a feeling Vachon
had actually enjoyed being bombarded by sounds and images he didn't
understand as a young vampire. Either that, or he had suffered
temporary lunacy because of it, and had enjoyed that, too. Amaru, on
the other hand, had been terrified by the chaos and disorder to the
point of insanity, so he'd learned to control it.

The differences in his twin masters often amazed him, because the
sense he had of them through their bloodlink, when he was not
actually looking at them, was identical. He could not tell one from
the other that way. Even so both had much to teach him, and though
they did it in different ways, he liked them both well enough. Having
two masters wasn't a bad situation, although he had surmised it was a
highly unusual one.

The furnace would have been too large and heavy to have been brought
in after the building was constructed, so it had likely been put in
place as soon as the foundation had been poured. Once it had outlived
its usefulness, it would have been impossible to move by any method
other than laboriously breaking it apart with a sledge hammer and
taking it out a piece at a time. Apparently, it had been more
convenient to just leave it where it was. It did, indeed, make an
excellent crypt, and the bricks that would keep out the curious could
easily be explained away as some previous building renovation.

He gathered up his hair, which he would be the first to confess was
ridiculously long, hanging down to his knees like it did. But that
was why he liked it, so it didn't matter what anyone else thought.
With a flicking movement that he was getting better at, he tossed it
all behind his back to get it out of the way. Then he took a deep
breath and rammed his fist through the wall, which, as he suspected
from its unpolished appearance, was only the thickness of one brick,
rather than two as a professional mason would have constructed it.

Thin though the wall was, the impact stung as the skin was torn from
his knuckles. He shook his hand to dull the pain and then licked the
blood off. Sucked at it, actually. His own blood tasted just as good
as any other. Then, he watched as the loose flaps of skin folded back
onto the raw, exposed flesh, like tiny blankets moving under their
own power to cover an unmade bed. He laughed again. He loved the way
that happened.

He plucked the bricks apart easily, quickly creating an opening
large enough for him to slip into the interior of the space beyond.

As he suspected, a large cast-iron furnace lay cold and dormant, a
discarded dinosaur of a time since passed.

The furnace gate was massive, but even though the hinges had long
since been immobilized by rust, he opened it with little effort. He
knew he that had he wanted to, he could have just ripped it right
off. He loved that, too.

He loved just about everything about what he was now, in fact,
except for the times when he stopped to think that everyone he had
ever known was probably dead. His brothers. His mother. The other
1,500-plus passengers who had gone down with the Titanic.

There were other things that troubled him, sometimes. One was
learning that he was going to have to find a female vampire if he
expected to have relations with a woman more than once. Nasty
business that, making love and killing someone. He hadn't met any
female vampires. He had no idea as yet where to even find one.
Unfortunately, his interest in sex was as active as ever, maybe even
more so. The only woman in his life at the moment was Tracy Vetter.
He thought she was beautiful, a statuesque goddess with golden hair.
But improprietous thoughts were as far as that went. He would not
dare drink her blood again. And if he touched her, Vachon would kill
him, if Tracy didn't do it herself.

He also didn't like it that he spent ten to twelve hours a day
asleep, and that would be even longer in the summer months, he was
told. He'd been assured he'd "outgrow" that with time, but it left
him with precious few hours to make discoveries, to learn new things,
and just have fun... Drat it anyway, it took him a full hour just to
wash and comb out his hair.

But he disliked none of these things as much as he disliked the
voice that spoke to him inside his head sometimes. He hadn't told
anyone about it. He had hoped that Vachon or Amaru would bring it up
as something that could be explained away as normal, but that hadn't
happened. He had begun to suspect that this was not something all
vampires experienced, and he didn't want to be thought mad, so he had
said nothing.

It wasn't really a voice, not in the sense that it made sounds and
used actual speech to "talk" to him. He only called it that because
he really couldn't define what it was. It was as if some undefined
part of him kept pushing at him to do things he did not understand.

Coming to this place was one of those things. He had not known this
building even existed - how could he have? - and yet he was drawn to
it with such a compulsion that it became an obsession. He knew he
would find something that he was looking for here, and that he would
know what it was when he found it.

But, what it was that told him these things, he didn't know. It
scared him, but he could not ignore it. He resented it, though. He
didn't mind being told what to do, but he hated being *made* to do
it, especially by something he didn't understand, and sometimes the
urge to do what The Voice told him was so strong that it amounted to
force.

Like it or not, he really had no choice but to be here, even though
the last time he'd come to this place, Amaru had snatched him away
before he'd found the sealed up space in the basement. His master had
then immobilized him with one arm, gripping him tightly about the
chest so that his arms were pinned to his side and the senior
vampire's teeth were at his throat. It was meant to show him that no
matter how strong he was now, almost any other vampire he was likely
to meet was sure to be stronger. He was not at all sure what that had
to do with whatever there was to be found here, but Amaru had
demanded his obedience on the matter of never coming here again.

Vachon had laughed the incident off when he'd told him about it, but
then had also insisted that he stay away from this place.

He couldn't do that. His need to come here was like an itch he
couldn't reach to scratch, and it was driving him to distraction.
Besides, he hated being treated like a simple child. Nobody would
tell him what was here that he should not find. Why not? What were
they hiding from him? He had to know. It was that simple.

He didn't have to look inside the furnace to know that what he had
come for was there...

<One always recognizes family...>

He held his breath and opened the furnace all the way.

Inside was a small body, a young woman, with a face like a doll and
golden, perfect hair. Her beauty would have been breathtaking had it
not been for the massive scarring on her arms and neck and everywhere
but her lovely face. What had done that to her?

She was still supple to the touch, the skin perfect where it was not
ravaged by healed and healing wounds.

He crawled into the cramped chamber with her, and cradled her in his
arms, gently stroking pale strands of hair away from her forehead.
He'd never seen her, yet he knew her.

<One always recognizes family...>

There was a dignity and a purity about this one that made him wonder
which of his two masters she belonged to, for he knew she had been
made by one of them. He had already learned what the bloodlink felt
like, and he felt his bond to her that strongly. <Mother...
Daughter... Sister...>

Why was she here? What could she have possibly done that she
deserved to have been abused so savagely and then imprisoned like this?

He looked down at the lovely, heart-shaped face. He knew about
prisons. He knew what it was to believe you would face eternity in
some dark, cold, silent void where you did not know if you actually
*existed* and to wonder, if you did, why?

That, he would tell anyone, was a hell he would not wish on his most
vile and hated enemy.

Had she been the one who had called to him from some unfathomably
remote place, bidding him to come here and do...

What?

Free her from her prison?

Whatever it was, he was sure Vachon wouldn't like it, and that Amaru
would probably throttle him again. LaCroix wouldn't be pleased
either. He owned the building. He had to know she was here...

Nick Knight... He was afraid of Nick. He'd admit that. That was one
confused vampire, even he could see that. One minute Knight would
lavish brotherly affection on him, and the next act like he was the
biggest mistake that had ever happened. Yes, he decided, Nick would
be mad he was even here, because Nick liked to find reasons to be
angry. Vachon had tried to explain to him that Nick had a problem
with being a vampire. He was nonjudgmental about it, but Vachon was
afraid of him, too.

Shane knew what he wanted to do, what instinct - and that annoying
little voice - were telling him to do, but it was like making love
for the first time. He knew the basics, but wasn't sure he'd do it
right.

Cradling the unresponsive vampire in his arms like a baby, he bit
into his wrist so the blood would flow. He then held it over her
mouth, letting his life force drain into her past her full, perfect
lips.

Then he waited.

He waited two hours. Then four. Then six.

Maybe he hadn't done it right.

It was less than an hour until sunrise. Vachon thought he was with
Amaru, and Amaru thought he was with Vachon. By now, they probably
both knew he'd lied and were looking for him. Tracy Vetter would help
them. She had an uncanny knack for always knowing where he was.

Tracy scared him more than Nick. Even though she was not a vampire,
he didn't know *what* she was. She was nice enough to him, usually,
but sometimes for no reason at all just her mere presence would send
a chill down his spine. The fact that she had hurt him was only part
of it.

He felt as though he was linked to her, too, in some way, but he
hadn't told anyone about it. Whatever they shared was even more
bizarre than that unnameable thing that linked vampires to one
another. He didn't understand it. His gut told him he didn't *want*
to understand it, so instead, he did his best to ignore it, even
though that usually didn't work.

He was getting sleepy. That happened now, invariably, about 45
minutes before the sun came up, like he had a clock inside him that
told him it was time to take refuge in the darkness. He supposed it
was one of the ways the young and stupid ones like himself survived.

He didn't want to fall asleep and have to spend the day there, away
from the safety of the others. He had to leave.

He gently placed the still-inert from back into its resting place
and then carefully replaced the bricks from memory. He never would
have been able to do that as a mortal, but now his eyes saw the
minutest striations in the separated mortar, and matching the pieces
up was as easy as putting together a child's puzzle. Unless one
looked closely, it was impossible to tell after he was done that the
bricks had been disturbed and were no longer joined to one another.

He placed his hand gently against the makeshift crypt before he left.

"I will be back for you."


---Epilogue II---

Natalie had found what she was looking for. After months of research
she was certain she had finally isolated the exact element in Divia"s
blood which neutralized the vampire. Ironically, its chemical
breakdown revealed that it shared many properties in common with
litovuterine-b, the drug which had enabled Nick to live as a mortal
for a short time, until it had proven addictive.

She had also discovered a substance in Tracy's blood that appeared
to be completely inert within the human system, but which Nick had
assured her was the source of the foul taste to her blood, the reason
why any vampire who attempted to feed from her would not succeed in
imbibing more than a few swallows. It was also responsible for the
allergic reaction which would be experienced by those - i.e. Vachon -
who tried, anyway.

The substance had the characteristics of a hormone, or perhaps more
accurately, and anti-pheromone. To Natalie, and even to Tracy, it was
odorless, and Tracy had been curious enough to discover, by tasting
her own blood, that it was tasteless as well.

Vachon's senses were far keener, however, and he had compared the
taste of it to the scent left by a tiger moth caterpillar. When
Natalie indicated she was not familiar with what he was talking
about, he had hunted down one of the poor little creatures and then
had annoyed it until it had excreted a droplet of orange liquid with
a cloying sour-sweet smell that managed to rise well above the odor
of formaldehyde in Natalie's lab and didn't dissipate for hours. If
Tracy's blood tasted the way that smelled... well, it was plain why
it made Vachon sick.

Normally, the substance was present in Tracy's blood only in minute
amounts that even Vachon had difficulty detecting. However, after a
bit of concentrated questioning, Natalie had formed the hypothesis
that by some glandular mechanism she had yet to identify, Tracy was
able to flood her circulatory system with the stuff when faced with
the loss of her blood.

Natalie didn't know how the couple was coping with the problem. She
wondered, but she hadn't asked. Had Vachon learned when enough was
enough, at what point to stop before her blood became dangerous? Or
had he simply accepted the fact that he was going to become ill every
time he made love to Tracy?

Tracy was very forthcoming with her personal observations, and these
included confirmation that her relationship with Vachon was now an
intimate one.

In addition to her research on Tracy, it had given Natalie new
insights into vampire psychology to discover that Shane had no
interest in mortal victims. He remembered every detail of how sick he
had been after he'd taken Tracy's blood, and seemed to make an
association similar to one that would be made by a human who had
endured a violent case of food poisoning: "Never eat that again." She
supposed that eventually circumstances would occur that would change
that perception for him, but for the present, he was perfectly happy
drinking the bottled supply that other vampires only tolerated out of
necessity. Nevertheless, he was proof that their perceptions could
change, that given the appropriate stimulus, even their instinctive
behaviors could be altered.

So where did this leave her with Nick? As she saw it, she now she
had three choices: Give Nick the derivative that she hoped would
suppresses the vampire (and take a chance that it wouldn't), inject
herself with the substance that would make her blood undrinkable (she
hoped), or do both.

She hesitated with the first and last options both because of the
disaster with the litovuterine, and because she had no idea what the
long-term effects of the toxin-derivative would be on Nick. What if
it had long-term side effects, and he became the first vampire to
develop liver disease or neurological impairment or cancer? What if
it caused the reproductive changes Lyllia had said were possible, and
Nick became capable of fathering a child? Would she want to face
giving birth to an infant who was perhaps viable and healthy, but
maybe not quite human?

Her only recourse, as she saw it, was to render her own blood
inconsumable, but that, too, was not without risks. What if the
substance only appeared to be inert in the human blood stream, but
actually was not? Tracy secreted it as part of her natural
metabolism, but what if it did something completely unexpected in
Natalie's body?

How far was she willing to go for Nick? For their relationship? For
herself?

She'd run the tests on paper a dozen times. It would work. She knew
it would. The only problem left was convincing Nick to try it. Maybe
she needed a little convincing, too, and more time to ask herself
what consequences she would be willing to face.

For Tracy, those questions had come already answered, and the young
detective was already dealing with many of the same possibilities
Natalie feared.

Against Natalie's advice, both Tracy and Vachon had opted not to
find out whether Vachon was still sterile. Clearly, some kind of
change had taken place. Traces of blood should have been left in the aftermath of their love-making, but Tracy said Vachon appeared to be normal in that respect. Natalie couldn't be certain without a sample, though, and both of them had declined to submit one. They simply did not want to know.

She didn't understand their decision, but it was really none of her
business. She had to assume that Tracy, at least, wanted a child -
Vachon's child - and didn't want to know for sure that it would never
happen. Tracy also understood that if Vachon could father a child,
they wouldn't know it until she was pregnant. It was a game of
roulette unlike that played by any other couple: They both knew the
risk was conceiving a being capable of destroying them both. If and
when it did happen, it was going to be the best damned test of the
nature/nurture argument ever imagined.

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of father Vachon would make.
The fledgling Shane appeared to be thriving despite his twin masters
attempts to pull him in different directions. He had an ingratiating
personality that had endeared him even to LaCroix, and he had no
problem slipping back and forth between mortal and immortal
communities, despite having lost a century of time. Just the same,
Vachon set no limits for him, allowing him to roam at will without
any supervision despite his tender age. Luckily, Amaru was there to
insist on some appreciation for authority, but if Vachon had a real
child of his own, Parental Guidance would take on a whole new
meaning, especially if it was born with everything but "666" tattooed
on its forehead. He'd have to alter his laid back attitude
considerably.

She looked at the vials in her hand, one containing the toxin
derivative, the other a synthesized version of Tracy's anti-vampire
hormone. So many changes, so many possibilities, and along with them
the nagging knowledge that Divia, demon child of the forever night,
was behind all of it.

What if Divia was using her? How much more did that evil little girl
want? How much more could she simply *take*?

Suppose it didn't even work? Could her relationship with Nick endure
another near-disaster like the one that had almost left her dead?

And if it did work? What then? What would happen when the danger
element was no longer there? Would they take each other for granted
until they became bored and drifted apart like she had seen happen
with so many human couples?

She sighed. Why did life have to be so complicated?

Remembering that she had other obligations in life, she set her
thoughts about Nick and herself aside and slipped on her mask and
latex gloves, grabbed her tape recorder, and turned her attention to
the autopsy table.

The victim was another Jane Doe. How many did that make this year?
Soon, they were going to have to start issuing middle initials to
tell them all apart.

The preliminary report was gruesome. Her body was covered with
recently healed scars, and the indications were that she had been
brutally tortured and mutilated over a period of weeks or months
before she had finally either been killed, or had died from the
mistreatment.

Knowing that someone's life had been sacrificed to provide some
pervert with a sick, sadistic thrill was always difficult for her...
even more than the burn victims that so disturbed her. She never got
used to the cruelty some monsters were capable of.

She didn't throw the entire sheet back at once. She always took such
cases slowly, looking at the body a little at a time and saving the
head for the last if she could. It minimized the time she had to
spend looking at their faces and wondering what hell they had endured
before they had died.

She started with the hands. If this young woman had put up a fight,
there might be hair or skin samples to find.

At first she thought the corpse was wearing gloves, but then
realized that a coating of black grime covered the hands. She
couldn't tell what it was... perhaps tar or coal dust. She scraped a
sample of it into a vial for further analysis.

As she was doing so, someone tapped on the door.

Nick had the night off, so she had no idea who to expect when she
called to whoever it was to enter.

Speaking of her devils, it was Shane.

Despite the dual traumas of being brought across by three different
vampires and deposited more than eight decades into what should have
been his future, the little vampire appeared quite comfortable in his
new surroundings, and with his new nature. He didn't seem especially
concerned about the new dietary restrictions placed on him, and while
he delighted in his newly-acquired abilities, he didn't seem to feel
a need to prove himself by abusing them. He was contagiously easy-
going, so much so that LaCroix had described him as "abysmally
cheerful."

He greeted her with a smile and a slight wave of his left hand. He
held a florist box in his right hand, but seemed to have forgotten
about it as he looked at her expectantly.

She knew what he wanted. He reminded her of a child who knew she had
candy hidden away.

She opened the refrigerator where she kept blood for Them and gave
him a bottle. His grin revealed the points of his funny, misplaced
fangs. Because they were in the front of his mouth, they still looked
like fangs even when they were retracted, and gave his smile an elfin
appearance which never failed to charm her.

He uncorked the bottle and drank. He probably wasn't hungry - Amaru
and Vachon would have seen to it that he was kept safely fed. He just
liked the way it tasted. Funny thing was, that didn't bother her in
the least. Once, it would have.

Natalie had realized weeks before that she was observing the
fledgling, and even now made a mental note of how much his mannerisms
resembled those of Vachon and Amaru. Was it possible that even simple
traits like the way he stood with his hands on his hips, or shrugged
his shoulders, were the manifestations of some undefinable entity
that had passed to him with the blood of his twin sires? After what
she had seen of Divia's power, she suspected that might be the case.
The hypothesis opened the way to an whole new dimension in her study
of vampires, if she ever found time to pursue it.

Shane still maintained a sentimental attachment to his hair.
Occasionally, Tracy would make a long, rope-like braid out of it and
get it out of his face, but most of the time, it hung around him like
a cape. This night, it cascaded down the full length of the black
leather coat he was wearing. Not a jacket, a coat. Someone had spent
a fortune on it. She had learned that Shane's mortal forte was laying
bricks, a skill not too much in demand in a community that lived by
night. That, and the fact that he seemed to share Vachon's views on
actually working, meant he had no real source of income, so she had
to ask him where he'd gotten it.

"Nick gave it to me," he answered casually. Nick was several sizes
larger than Shane, so it wasn't a hand-me-down.

His pale eyes squinted against the bright lighting in the morgue,
and he set his bottle down and fished a pair of hundred-dollar
sunglasses out of his pocket. Natalie didn't even ask about those.
She stopped him from putting them on and dimmed the lights, instead.

"Better?" she asked him.

He nodded.

She pointed at the sunglasses. "You have to be careful where you
wear those. Most humans don't use them at night."

He looked at them. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. The light makes my
eyes hurt."

She gave his hand an affectionate pat. "Yes, I know."

"Small price to pay, really." He took another swallow from the
bottle and gave his vision a moment to adjust.

He then remembered he was holding the florist box and awkwardly
handed it to her. "I was sent to give these to you."

He gave no indication he planned to leave any time soon. The morgue
fascinated him. Or maybe it was death that intrigued him, now that he
was immune to it. It would have hurt his feelings to kick him out, so
she didn't, even when he began to handle her instruments and look
under sheets at the corpses, making faces at the first two he
uncovered.

"It bothers you?" she said curiously. "That they're dead?"

He looked bewildered by her question. "No, it bothers me that they
stink." He immediately realized how callous he sounded and added,
"Well, I suppose it does bother me, just a bit... this could have
been me, were it not for Lucien."

Natalie laughed. "You actually like him, don't you?"

He looked at her and blinked, and damned if he didn't do it exactly
the way Vachon and Amaru did. "Yes. Why would I not?"

Natalie was certain she shouldn't answer that, and at that point in
time, she wasn't sure what she would have said, anyway. Her feelings
for LaCroix had changed substantially over the past few months. Hell,
she herself had begun to feel a certain affection for the old demon...

Shane turned his attention back to the bodies and made a move to
peek under the sheet covering the Jane Doe. Natalie was about to
restrain him with the advice that it was not something he'd want to
see when he seemed to freeze in place.

Only his eyes moved, blinking as he stared down at the concealed body.

He stood there for several seconds, and finally Natalie said,
"Shane, are you okay?"

He put his hands on his head as if he had been seized by a sudden
migraine. He swayed on his feet and muttered a word that sounded like
"family..."

Natalie thought he was going to faint. She dragged her chair over
and sat him in it. She knelt beside him and saw the thin layer of
blood-sweat forming on his alabaster skin. "Are you okay?" she
repeated. "Shane? Are you sick?"

He turned his attention to her, his expression returning to normal.
"No, of course not..."

"I don't think you want to look at that one, anyway..."

He shook his head slowly. "No..."

Shane was still recovering from whatever had happened to him when
another visitor popped through the door. When had the morgue become
such a popular gathering spot?

It was Tracy Vetter. She leveled her eyes at Shane and said, "Leave."

Shane started to mutter a protest, but Tracy cut him off.

"Whatever business you have here is done. Go."

Shane meekly complied without further question or hesitation, and
once he was gone, Tracy plopped down in the chair he had vacated and
laughed.

Natalie had to ask, "Why did you do that?"

She made no apology. "Because I love it that he's afraid of me."

The idea of a former fledgling of LaCroix's being afraid of Tracy
Vetter was ludicrous, but just as children often had intuitions
adults disregarded, perhaps the same was true for very young
vampires. Who knew? Maybe Shane was the only one who really
understood, in his own way, exactly what Tracy was.

Still, from what Natalie had observed, Tracy and Shane were not on
unfriendly terms. They had a lot in common, after all. Like it or
not, they were linked through Divia, but aside from that, as far as
years of actual, conscious existence, they were roughly the same age,
and both of them were alive only as a result of a bizarre string of
circumstances unlikely ever to occur again.

Tracy seemed to be thinking the same thing. The young detective"s
expression sobered slightly as she looked at the door Shane had just
closed behind him. "I suppose I shouldn't treat him that way...
that's not me."

She said it simply enough, but those last three words carried
profound meaning. She sighed. "I guess I'm still not used to being
two people."

"You *aren't* two people," Natalie assured her. "Divia might be part
of you, but *not* the part that counts."

Tracy snickered. "What part is that?"

Natalie surprised herself with her own answer, but she honestly
believed it to be true. Once upon a time, maybe she would not have,
but now, she did. "Your *spirit*, Tracy. As much as she might have
wanted to, she wasn't strong enough to take that... LaCroix was
right, she has won nothing."

"Not yet," Tracy sighed.

Natalie just blurted it out, perhaps because it had been on her
mind. "Tracy, are you pregnant?"

Tracy looked at her, surprised, and then laughed. "No."

Prying was not in Natalie's nature, but the subject refused to let
itself drop. "Are you trying to be?"

She expected Tracy to say it was none of her business, but instead
the young detective said, "I'm not trying *not* to be."

Natalie smiled, even though something about that unnerved her. "Does
Vachon want this?"

Tracy nodded. "Yes. We talked about it. Really talked." She laughed.
"You should have seen him in the 'I'll take full responsibility' mode."

"Tracy, what if he doesn't? What if he just leaves?"

"If I thought he would, I wouldn't take the chance, but even if he
does, Amaru will be there for me."

"Amaru?!" Natalie was sure she looked shocked.

Tracy only looked confused at her surprise and then realized what
Natalie must be thinking. "No... I don't mean he and I..." She sighed
and then regrouped before she continued. "You know, Amaru had
children... mortal children... two girls... before he was brought
across."

Natalie hadn't known that.

"He couldn't raise them, obviously, not that soon, but he saw to it
they were provided for. His brother's children, too, after he was
killed."

Apparently, Tracy didn't know how Amaru's brother had met his demise.

"He still keeps track of his family, of his God-knows-how-many-
great grandchildren and nieces and nephews. There are dozens of them,
all descended from him. He knows all of their names, and he knew
their parents and their parents' parents and all the way back to when
he was mortal. He's got sketches and paintings and photo albums full
of pictures. It's amazing."

"Do they know? His family I mean?"

"Oh yes. They have always known. He went *home* after it happened,
can you believe that!? They provided him with blood. They still do,
in fact..." She wrinkled her nose, "Kind of gross drinking from your
own family, if you ask me, but Vachon said that it makes a difference
in the blood."

Natalie raised her eyebrows at that comment.

"He's tasted it," Tracy shrugged. "He couldn't explain it other than
to say that there's a definite difference between blood freely given
and that taken by force... that the fact that there is love there
instead of fear or hate gives it a different quality."

She shrugged again and then added, "Anyway, Amaru knows what that
responsibility means."

"That doesn't mean that Vachon does," Natalie said.

"I know. But he wants to know, especially now that Urs and Screed
are gone."

"You aren't afraid?"

"Of course we're afraid. But it's all we've got, Natalie." Tracy
looked at her with sad eyes. "I love him, but I can't fantasize that
one day we will stroll in the sunshine with our 2.5 children. He's a
vampire. I don't know what his child will be, but if it's my child,
too... *our* child..."

Natalie clapped a hand on Tracy's shoulder. "I understand... it
might not be exactly what we'd want, but it's more that we could have
ever hoped to expect."

Tracy nodded.

Natalie thought a change of subject was in order before they got any
deeper into what would be a painful discussion for her, or maybe even
for both of them. "So, what brings you here tonight?"

Tracy placed the manilla envelop in her hand on Natalie's desk. "Got
a bit more information on the Jane Doe. Forensics went over the scene
thoroughly. She died where she was found, but they found some
handprints and drag marks that indicated she probably crawled there
on her own. They weren't able to determine from where, and I guess
it's up to you to decide what actually killed her."

"Still no idea who she is?"

"None." Tracy's nose wrinkled in a devious grin. "I guess they
figured being an ex-Jane Doe myself, I was the best one to assign the
case... Anyway, the details are all there. She was fully clothed when
they found her, expensive stuff, but it showed signs of wear and
tear. Forensics wants one of their experts here when the autopsy is
performed, in case that provides any clues to where she's been."

Natalie looked at her watch with no small amount of relief. "I guess
that means leaving it for the day guy."

As Natalie watched, the detective's face transformed into a mask of
anxiety that she did a good job of hiding before she went on to say
what Natalie already knew. "She showed signs of mutilation, scars
that had almost healed. The officers on the scene said it looked like
she might have been tortured over a long period of time before she
finally died."

Natalie closed her eyes. "I know. I saw the report."

"How do you deal with this, Natalie? I mean, day after day?"

Natalie shook her head. "Some things about this job never get
easier. I can almost understand hating someone enough to put a bullet
through their chest or brain, but torture is beyond my comprehension."

Natalie could not help but be comforted by the fact that Tracy also
found it disturbing. Occasionally, her new second nature seemed to
take a perverse delight in things which the old Tracy would have
considered an atrocity. It would pass quickly, but it happened.

Natalie took the folder and said gently, "We'll do everything we can
to help you catch whoever did it."

Tracy sighed. "Make a note to have someone let me know as soon as
the autopsy is completed."

Natalie walked her to the door. At one time, she would have been
mildly impatient with Tracy's squeamishness. Now, she was grateful
for it. It proved Tracy was still Tracy.

As they reached the door, however, Tracy became suddenly alert, and
gave a quick look around the room.

"What is it?" Natalie asked.

Tracy shook her head. "I felt something..." she rubbed the back of
her head. "I guess I still haven't gotten used to my vampire radar
system... It's probably Shane. He listens about as well as Vachon
does. He's probably still outside." She winked at Natalie. "I think
I'll sneak up on him and scare him again."

Natalie looked at the sheet-covered body, gruesome evidence that a
human being had died a hideous, excruciating death. While not exactly
disappointed that she would not be doing the autopsy, she made a
silent vow to the unfortunate victim that she would do what she could
to help find her killer.

Then she remembered the box Shane had delivered. She peeled off the
lavender ribbon and found two dozen roses in assorted colors inside.
They were gorgeous, but she hoped they weren't from LaCroix, like
they had been the last time she'd been sent flowers at work.

She opened the card. They were from Nick, and he had included a note
inviting her to his loft for breakfast. Nick still didn't eat real
food on a regular basis, but he had overcome his revulsion for it to
the point where he could actually prepare a decent meal, if you
didn't mind eating stuff like chicken or pot roast at 4 AM.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost the end of her shift.

Smiling, she set the card down and once again picked up the vials,
one that would, temporarily, make Nick less than a vampire, the other
that would, for a few critical moments, make her more than a mere
mortal. Or so she hoped.

The choice between the two was simple, really. She only hoped Nick
would appreciate her making the decision for the two of them.

She set the toxin derivative aside and filled a syringe with the
hormone from Tracy's blood for herself, and then carefully placed it
her purse.


---Epilogue III---

Natalie turned out the lights, so lost in her thoughts about herself
and Nick and their future together that she scarcely took conscious
notice of the quick, soft brush of air against her face, and in the
dim light, did not see the blur of black leather and auburn hair that
slipped into the morgue an instant before she locked the door.

When she had disappeared from sight, the door was unlocked again
from the inside and Tracy Vetter slipped into the air-conditioned
darkness. Shane's cold hand slipped into hers and guided her to the
Jane Doe while her vision quickly adapted to the near-total lack of
light.

Of course, even if the odds had not been astronomically against Jane
Doe's name really being Jane, they would have known instinctively
that it was not.

She saw Shane's pale eyes looking at her expectantly.

"I know, I felt it, too," she said, knowing his thoughts. He didn't
look a bit troubled by the fact that both of them somehow knew what
was under the sheet. Instead, she sensed something else from him.
Excitement. Anticipation. Pride? She frowned. "Are *you* responsible
for this?"

He cringed at her tone of voice, but nodded. "I think so."

She grabbed him and shook him hard. "Why? What made you think...
Damn it, Shane. Do you have the slightest idea what you've done?"

"No," he admitted.

She slapped him. She didn't mean to, it was just a reflex action.
She was strong enough now that she knew it had hurt, but she didn't
apologize. "Little fool. Just tell me *why*!"

"I had to," he whispered. He looked downward as if his next words
embarrassed him. "Something made me do it. It wouldn't leave me alone."

She let out a long sigh and pushed his hair back out of his face.
"What Shane? What made you do it?"

He looked at her miserably. "It was like a voice in my head. It lead
me to where she was, and I knew she needed my blood. I gave it to her."

Tracy realized she had been wrong. Her first thought had been that
Shane had made another vampire, long before he was ready to care for
it properly, which meant that Vachon and Amaru would be held
accountable.

Obviously, he hadn't done that, but knowing that hardly eased her
mind, because she understood what he was saying all to well when he
spoke of The Voice.

"I thought I was mad," Shane continued, "but then I found her..."

Tracy put a hand on his shoulder. He winced like he'd been expecting
another blow. "I know..." she said gently. "I'm sorry I hit you..."

She turned back towards the autopsy table, and with a deep breath,
she tossed back the sheet to stare at the mutilated corpse, which
was, as Tracy expected, no longer as mutilated as it had been, and
not actually a corpse.

"Who is she?" Shane whispered. "Is she... part of us?"

Tracy laughed, in a humorless way that was cold and ironic and not
really her. She hated when that happened. "Of course she is. Can't
you feel it?" Tracy gave him a withering look, the one that he had
come to know wasn't really hers, and he took a cautious step away
from her. She touched the cold, yet pliable cheek on the face before
her. "One always recognizes family..."

The look in her eyes changed in an instant and she became Nice Tracy
again. She immediately pulled her hand back as if she had touched
something hot, and looked at Shane with a horrified expression.

The "dead" woman's eyes fluttered open and focused on her. The
distant glimmer of recognition gradually segued into a look of
frantic despair.

"No..." the Jane Doe rasped, touching her face and then turning to
stare at them.

Slowly, she pushed herself to a sitting position and looked around
the room, her face a portrait of confusion, disappointment, and above
all, bitter resignation.

The blond woman looked first at Tracy, then at Shane, with piercing
anguish in her eyes. Eyes that were flecked with vampire gold.

Her hand moved to her mouth, which opened in a scream that never
happened. Instead, it transformed into an ironic, chilling smile.

"Hello, Tracy..." The hand reached out and touched Tracy's face. She
turned her eyes on Shane, and he took another prudent step backwards,
but his presence was noted only with passing interest. The gold-
flecked eyes, now completely devoid of any warmth whatever, turned
back to Tracy. "My my... it is so nice to see you," she said with
fake sincerity. "You and I have so much to do..."

The woman rose up off the table entirely, but suddenly her face once
again took on that look of betrayal, right before her legs buckled
and she fell.

Shane caught her and eased her to the floor, looking first at her,
then at Tracy with a worried expression.

Tracy knelt beside the woman, who now looked at her with sad, almost-
human eyes.

Tracy knew exactly what this new Jane Doe was feeling. She'd
literally been there and done that.

Still, she could think of nothing to say to her. She took one of the
Woman's cold hands into her warm ones and softly whispered, "Hello,
Urs."


THE END