Episode 108: Eidolon--a Forever Knight story
By April French

Author's Note

This is the eighth episode in my 'Sons of Lilith'
series, and it's one of, I think, the more farfetched
of all the plots I've come up with so far. Definitely
rivals some 'Star Treks' I've seen for blarney and
balderdash, but I've wanted to do this for some time
and this was the only way I could see to do it without
going completely out the window.

Étienne, Shosha, Clay and the theatre all belong to
me; no one else does, dammit. Thanks to Nire the Evil
and KC Smith for their hard work in beta-ing and for
willingly wrapping their brains around this funkied-up
concept. Well, it's a word now. Praise, comments,
criticisms and kudos will be rewarded with lamb
souvlaki, except Nire, who gets all the Cadbury Cream
Eggs she can eat. Nasty flames will be thrown into the
trash compactor. Once complete, this story will be
archived at my site,
http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html.
Permission to archive is given to FKFIC, FKFIC2, and
the FTP site. All others must first bribe me with
first editions of Finnegan's Wake.

Special Note: I've got a bottle of Tahitian Treat
Blood for the lucky person who can unearth the
significance behind this episode's title. And no, it's
not 'the name of the theatre.'

~~~

Eidolon (1/?)

Toronto: October, 1997

The play was utterly lovely and the music was divine,
but Natalie couldn't help noticing that one of her
companions seemed a little too involved. "Étienne
knows this play pretty well," she whispered to her
husband.

Nick glanced at his brother and smiled. Étienne Le
Mort's lips were moving silently with the music, and
his hands were actually 'conducting' in time to the
music. "He's seen it a few times," Nick explained
dryly. "Just ignore him."

Since their return from Belgium, Étienne had tried
endlessly to get Nick and Natalie to accompany him to
a showing of his favorite musical. Finally, they
agreed, mainly thanks to Natalie, who was horrified
when Nick confessed that he'd never seen it before.
Étienne had been even more appalled. "You've lived in
Toronto how long and you've <never> seen it?" The tone
of his beautiful voice made it clear that Nick had
committed high heresy.

This was Shosha's last night in Toronto; Étienne's
wife, now that she was satisfied as to her brother
LaCroix's state of mind, was more than willing to
return to Paris, leaving her husband to finish
restoring his new theatre.

After the last standing ovation, the two couples went
back to Étienne's theatre for drinks. Nick got out of
his car and craned his neck up, up, to get a better
look at the new sign hanging over the main entrance.
"'The Eidolon.'" He bit his tongue, grinning. "Well,
it's certainly appropriate."

The huge manager's office, where they gathered, was
one of the cleanest parts of the theatre that Natalie
had yet seen. "Patience, Natalie," Étienne insisted,
his hands shaking with his intensity. "Give me a
little more time," he promised, "and this place will
rival La Scala and Le Palais Garnier."

Shosha handed Natalie a goblet of champagne, and
rolled her dark eyes. Natalie smothered a grin;
apparently, the ancient woman had heard this all
before.

"Ah, no smirking, mon couer," Étienne cautioned.

"Will your children stay here with you?" Nick was
asking as he perched on the edge of Étienne's massive
wooden desk. That surprised Natalie; usually, Nick was
more careful of other people's possessions. But when
Étienne leapt lightly onto the same desk and began
pacing about on the highly polished surface, she
decided to drink her champagne and not worry so much.

"Tal and Lori are staying. I can't spare Taliesin;
that boy's invaluable. And Lorelei is my little girl.
Aiden will go with Shosha. For all intents and
purposes, this is an active construction site; he's
too young to have underfoot. And yes, Nicolas, before
you can ask..." Étienne smiled and sipped at his wine.
"Both Lori and Aiden are mortal. But if Kai can adopt,
why not Shosha and I?"

Nick and Natalie were quiet on the drive home. The
topic on both of their minds, as usual, was children.

"It's an option," Nick began. Natalie didn't say
anything. "I know you... I know that you want... Oh,
for God's sake," he muttered. For some reason, he
could not put into words what he was trying to say. <I
know you want to have my child,> he sent. <But the
chances of it actually happening-->

<I know, Nick. But we just got married! I'm not ready
to give up just yet.>

In spite of himself, Nick chuckled. "Neither am I," he
soothed. "But I'll say this much: if Étienne can be a
father, there's no reason on God's green earth why I
can't."

"Why's that?" Natalie asked curiously. "Étienne
doesn't really strike me as all that dangerous."

Nick smiled. "Oh?"

"I mean, I know appearances are deceptive, especially
in your Family, but he seems like the kind of person
who wouldn't hurt a fly."

"A fly? No. A man? Without a moment's hesitation."
Nick pulled into the garage. "He stopped considering
himself part of the human race when he was about ten.
When LaCroix brought him across... It's a terrible
thing to say, but I think it was the best thing that
ever happened to him, up to that point." He went
around and opened Natalie's door. "The night has
always been his home.

"The night, and the theatre, of course."

***

That was Saturday night. Sunday was uneventful for
both of them, and Monday was routine, until the end of
Nick's shift. He was just getting read to book off for
the night, when he got a call. "Knight, homicide."

"Nicolas, I need your help."

"Where are you?"

"The Eidolon."

"The theatre? What's the problem?"

There was a short pause. "I'm not sure yet."





Eidolon (2/?)

Nick got to the Eidolon without problems, but once
inside, he was a bit stuck. The only times he had
actually been inside were when he had Étienne to guide
him through the maze of corridors. And he had no idea
where his brother might be. Nick growled, and started
walking.

He finally found Étienne on one of the upper floors,
among rooms that looked like dressing rooms, intent
upon something in a neglected corner. "This place
defies physics," said Nick, leaning in the doorway.
Étienne jumped and whirled around, badly startled.
Nick was mildly concerned; that wasn't like Étienne,
to let someone walk up on him. "I didn't think to look
for you up here."

Étienne managed a brief grin. "No, I suppose you
wouldn't."

"What's the problem?"

Étienne gestured to the corner he'd been crouching in
front of. "That, mon frére. That."

'That' was a dirty, scruffy, and extremely angry
vampire, snarling at the thick chains wrapped around
his legs and arms.

"Who is he?"

"I've no idea; I can't get a coherent word out of him.
He attacked and drained one of my few mortal
employees."

"Not in the ball room, I hope."

"Oh, no, backstage. Once the man was dead, he ran up
here. He was actually making for the room next door,
but I caught and tackled him and dragged him in here.
I held him down while Tal got the chains. Whoever he
is, he's obviously starving."

Nick sat on his heels and examined the man from a safe
distance. "I think I know him," he said finally. "He
looks like a soldier I knew during the American Civil
War. A Confederate prisoner. Clay, I think his name
is."

They fed the man with the bloodwine Étienne had on
hand--which wasn't much; Étienne often got so busy on
a project he would forget to eat, let alone go
shopping--and gradually, he calmed down. His fangs
receded and his eyes dimmed to their normal blue, and
he began to speak.

His name was indeed Clay. "Raiford Clay, originally of
Georgia, C.S.A."

"U.S.A, man," murmured Étienne. "I haven't been to the
States since the 1840s, and even I know that."

"You say what you like, sir, an' I'll say what I
like."

Nick shook his head. "All right, Clay. What are you
doing here?"

Clay cocked his head and look up at Nick. "Major
Knight, as I live and breathe."

"You do neither."

"I've been here since--since--er, what year is it,
exactly?" They told him. "Damn. That's a... That's a
long time. I didn't realize I'd been here that long."
He blinked a few times. "I've been here since the
1940s."

Étienne's yellow-brown eyes widened. "Pardon?"

"You've been living here?" Nick asked.

"Did I say that? Not living, exactly. Just here.
Staying..." Clay drifted off. "Coming and going..."

"You were trying to get into one of the dressing
rooms," Étienne tried again. "Why?" Clay's face took
on a dreamy expression.

"It's not a dressing room. It's a... I don't even know
what to call it. It's like something out of a Buck
Rogers serial. It's... a kind of... a kind of gateway.
The first time you step into it, it sends you wherever
it wants. The past. The future. A fantasy world... My
pal got sent to Oz his first time around. After the
first time, you just think about a place and you're
there.

"Believe me, I never intended to spend sixty years in
there! You lose track of time... in there..."

"Why did you go back in?"

"It's a powerful place. Addictive. And the first
time... The first time I got sent back to Gettysburg.
And I tried to change history. Well, it didn't work,
and I got spit out--it does that, when it decides
you've taken enough punishment. So I went back in, and
had it send me back. And I kept going back until we
won the war of Northern Aggression." Clay snorted.
"It's all in my head, of course."

Étienne and Nick exchanged a glance. Then Étienne
knelt down and began to unlock the chains that bound
his apparent tenant. "Come on, then, my gallant lad in
grey. We'll get you a bath and a shave and some decent
clothes, and then you can tell us a bit more,
d'accord?"

Clay tried to struggle. "No, you don't understand.
I've got to go back in--"

"Mmm, addictive indeed. I think you've had enough for
a while, old fellow."

***

Étienne gave Clay over to the care of his fledgling
Tal, while he and Nick withdrew to his office. Étienne
closed the door and crossed his arms over his chest,
pursing his lips in thought.

Finally, Nick had to ask. "Well? What do you think?"

"Well, for one thing: I believe him." Étienne shook
his head. "I've seen a lot of strange things in my
time, Nicolas. Whether it be as a mortal or as a
vampire. They seem to find me," he snorted. "I don't
question them anymore. But I wouldn't go in there for
all the wine in Tuscany."

"Étienne, I'd've thought you'd be jumping to try this.
The chance to enter a fantasy world? To see what your
past might have been like if you'd changed one little
thing?"

"Didn't you hear him? This... portal, or whatever it
is, sends you where it chooses--"

"Only the first time!"

"--and I don't want to take the chance that I might
end up back in the sideshow! The past is dead. The
future is unknown, and a fantasy is only worth
something if it can never come true. I don't tempt
fate anymore, Nicolas. And neither should you. Who
knows where that thing will send you?"

Nick ignored him and bolted to the room where the
American vampire was bathing. "How do I get out?" he
asked Clay.

"The first time?" Clay blinked. "You don't. It decides
when you've had enough."

"Nicolas, it's not a time machine! It's a toy!" Nick
continued to ignore Étienne, who had followed him. The
younger vampire scowled and plopped down on a box with
the pouting expression of a thwarted little boy. "I
thought I was the one with the dangerous curiosity."

But for Nick, the chance to relive some of his mortal
days was worth enduring the portal's 'trial run.' So
against Étienne's better judgment, he escorted Nick
back up to the dressing room Clay had claimed was the
next best thing to actually being there. "I'll wait
for you," Étienne said blandly.

Nick nodded, and opened the door.

***

He found himself standing in front of a mirror in the
precinct locker room. He looked into the mirror and
was astonished. His face was smooth; the two circles
and straggling scars he had earned in his fight with
the lilim, Sperling, were completely gone. His eyebrow
was once more intact. He looked at his hands. Both his
wedding ring and the sapphire ring Natalie had given
him last Christmas were gone. So were his two crosses.
He felt decidedly naked without them. He slapped the
inner pockets of his jacket, and found that his
pillbox and flask were still in place. So the changes
were only outward, purely cosmetic so that he would
mesh without suspicion back into the society of...
when? Recently, that much was apparent. But when?
"Nick?" asked a voice behind him. "Nick! Hey, you
okay?" Nick stiffened, as the distinctive odors of
garlic and bad cologne washed over him.

<Oh my God...>

"Schanke." He turned swiftly. "Schanke..."




Eidolon (3/?)

"What's the matter, Nick?" asked Don Schanke through a
mouthful of lamb souvlaki. "Got an eyelash out of
place or something?"

Bewildered, all Nick could manage was, "Uh, no. No."
Catching sight of the newspaper under Schanke's arm,
Nick grabbed it, searching for the date. Tuesday, May
4th, 19...

1994.

"I don't know what's up with you tonight, but put your
eyes back in your head. We've got a date at the ME's
office."

"Natalie..."

Schanke chuckled. "Yes, Nick. <Natalie.>" Nick had it
bad for Natalie, she had it bad for him... Granted,
Schanke didn't think Nick was the type of guy to get
hitched, but a little down time couldn't hurt him.

Nick rubbed at his forehead with nervous fingers.
"What case are we working on?"

"Excuse me?"

"I had a bad day. I've... forgotten."

"Hey, did you take a dive off the CN Tower or
something?" Schanke gaped. "How could you possibly
forget this case?"

"Humor me, Schanke. What case?"

"Cecilia Roubideaux? The little SIDS girl?"

"Right? So, what's the problem?"

Schanke eyed him dubiously. "You wanted to ask Natalie
to redo the autopsy, Poindexter. Said this case
'didn't feel right.'"

Nick jumped. Back in '94, no, it hadn't 'felt right'
to him. Not right at all. But that was one of the few
times he had refrained on acting on his gut instinct.
A beautiful little six-month-old girl had been found
dead in her crib by her father, and there just hadn't
been enough evidence to pursue a homicide
investigation. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome had been
ruled as the cause of death, and the case had been
closed. But he had never confided his suspicions in
Schanke, or in Natalie, for that matter.

So was this the past? Or a fantasy, as Clay had
described? <I never asked Natalie to redo the
autopsy...> Nick thought about that briefly, then
shrugged it off as unimportant. Either way, it was not
real, and yet, perhaps it was just real enough to give
Nick the information he needed to put this case to
rest.

"Right, now I remember." Nick clapped his old partner
on the shoulder, fighting the delayed double reaction
of stinging tears and a goofy, elated grin that seeing
Schanke had produced. "Come on, I'll drive."

***

"At least the Caddy's the same," Nick muttered very
quietly. He felt... very odd, apprehensive, like
waiting for something to attack. He got into the car,
beating gently on the steering wheel. A toy, Étienne
had called the Eidolon's portal.

<<It's the game. It's a virtual reality game. About
vampires.>>

<<How quaint.>>

Nick licked his lips. Schanke plopped into the car,
and the Cadillac lurched. "I swear, Nick, this is the
only car I have <ever> seen, with a slight cough."

His partner looked at him and grinned slightly. "It's
got a low tolerance for the scent of souvlaki."

As they drove, Schanke found himself becoming
increasingly agitated. Finally, he groused, "Look, do
I have something stuck between my teeth? Keep your
eyes on the road, Nick!"

"Sorry, Schank."

"What is with you tonight?"

<I'm sitting next to a dead man.> "Just the case."

Schanke pushed a little more. "You sure?"

<<Must be quite an impressive game.>>

"Yeah, Don, I'm sure."

Schanke blinked, sitting back in his seat. Since when
did Nick call him 'Don?'

***

"Man," Schanke yawned as he and Nick walked into the
morgue, "I've gotta take more naps if I'm gonna keep
being nocturnal."

Natalie grinned, but her eyes locked on Nick and she
was immediately concerned. There was something odd
about her friend, she was certain. Nick seemed
almost... She couldn't even define it.

The baby's body was lying under a sheet on the table.
"I hate cases like this," Natalie muttered.

"You said it," Schanke agreed lowly. Nick could barely
look at the tiny corpse. He saw the outline under the
white sheet and all he could think of was Jesse.

He realized with a sharp shock that his connection to
his Family outside of the... portal, had been shut
down. He could still feel them and knew everyone was
all right, but the strength and power, the comfort was
not there. Nick shook his head and tried to pay
attention to what Natalie was saying.

"Another autopsy? I'm not sure if that will come up
with anymore information." She cocked her head. "Why
do you ask?"

Schanke shrugged; Nick had gone spacey. "Knight of the
Living Hunches strikes again," he quipped wryly.

"Ah. Well, say no more." Natalie tapped her chin with
the end of her pen. "If I do perform another autopsy,"
she said slowly, "it certainly can't hurt matters.
I'll admit, SIDS is a kind of blanket term for a lot
of unexplained infant deaths. There could well be
something sinister here."

"Good. Hey, Nick, come on, let's..." Schanke trailed
off. "Oh, no, I almost forgot. Cohen wants us to
finish the paperwork on the MacAvoy case. We'd better
get back to the precinct."

"You go on to the car, Schank," said Nick quietly.
"I'll be out in a minute."

Natalie waited until the door closed. "Are you okay?"

"No," said Nick bluntly. His head was starting to
throb, but not from lack of medication. He knew this
pain well, from many centuries of experience.

"Why is this bothering you so much?" Natalie fully
expected to get the usual runaround about Nick having
had a similar experience in his past.

"Even we have laws against this kind of crime, Nat."
Next his chest would begin to clench up. Then streams
of red tears would cascade down his face and his
throat would rip in ugly, tearing sobs. Yes, he knew
this pain well. It was heartache. It was grief. Two
very old friends.

"'We?'"

"Vampires." Nick reached out and lightly touched the
girl's head.

Natalie shook her head. "Nick," she said reprovingly,
"you know you're not supposed to be thinking like
that."

But he continued as though he hadn't heard her. "We
don't condone the killing of infants for food, except
under the most desperate circumstances. And killing
them for pleasure is punishable by death."

"That's--that's very humanitarian," said Natalie,
surprised.

"It's good common sense," laughed Nick bitterly. "For
any species. There's no reason to kill a baby. None."

"What makes you so sure this wasn't an accident?"

Nick caressed the tiny head gently. "I wish I knew."





Eidolon (4/?)

He had to be careful about maintaining an unobtrusive
presence in this 'time period,' because if he raised
suspicions he would not be able to get any
information, and he would have to start over again...
but he knew damn well all he had in his fridge was cow
blood and he couldn't stomach the stuff anymore.

Natalie had been very understanding about that. His
drinking human instead of cow had allowed them to have
a relationship, and brought him to his performance
peak. Both of which he was extremely grateful for. She
did insist on him brushing his teeth a lot, though...

He walked into the Raven, and almost immediately,
Janette attached herself to his arm. Nick stiffened,
but Janette did not seem to notice. She was too
relieved. "Nicolas. We were getting worried." She
steered him to the bar. A customer in a dark coat
turned.

"Nicholas," LaCroix murmured in a neutral greeting.
Nick inclined his head slightly, respectfully, a
gesture that he had taken to using after Divia's
death. Too late, he realized it was an anachronism,
but LaCroix was already lifting an eyebrow. To cover
his blunder, Nick fastened his gaze on LaCroix's
throat. But that was a mistake as well, since without
the gold chain and wedding ring that LaCroix normally
wore, it was curiously bare to Nick's eyes.
Unconsciously, Nick reached up to tug at his
crosses--which, of course, were not there. His hands
fumbled with each other, looking for his sapphire
ring, his own wedding band, he even lifted his hand to
his face to worry at his scars, but all of his pet
idiosyncrasies were missing. He finally settled on
rubbing his chin.

Frowning, LaCroix satisfied himself that his son was
well and unharmed, if a trifle fidgety. "Earlier
tonight, very suddenly, your connection to us went
dead. We were... concerned for you." The rising
intonation in his voice turned the comment into a
question.

Nick ducked his head. "Difficult case," he said,
staring at his hands, clasped together on the bar.
They looked so strange without their adornments.
Absently, Nick reached out and ran the tip of his
finger in little circles on the surface of LaCroix's
ring. The General watched him, his expression was
unreadable.

The night calls my name...

"Suspicious death of an infant girl. I was... pretty
affected. I didn't want to bother you."

"Very considerate." LaCroix leaned in closer to Nick
and put his arm around his son's shoulder. "You look
like you could use a drink." Nick nodded. "Miklos. A
glass of the house special for my Nicholas." Both he
and Janette were surprised when Nick didn't object,
and even more so when he tossed the blood back and
asked for another.

But he refused a third. "I have to drive home."

"You're more than welcome to spend the day here,"
Janette offered, rubbing her hand up and down his arm,
her generosity accompanied by a very clear suggestion.

That brought Nick up short. He and Janette still
flirted on occasion, but it was out of sheer habit, a
sort of odd sibling bonding. Until recently, when Nick
went into the Raven it was more common to see Janette
and Alain trading barbs--the Gypsy had a talent for
provoking Janette's sharp tongue. And even if neither
of them were willing to admit it, Nick knew how fond
they were of each other. Having Janette offer to share
her bed with him... it made Nick feel as though he was
betraying Alain's confidence or something equally
absurd. Worse still, was the mere thought of betraying
Natalie, who was his wife and his life no matter what
time he was in. His chest began to clench up again.

Nick shook his head. "I can't afford the distraction
right now," he smiled, and removing her hand from his
arm, he politely kissed it. Then he turned to the
bartender. "Miklos, I need two fresh bottles to take
out. Straight. From the Winterborn stock." He lifted
an eyebrow at Janette, who nodded her consent to this
invasion of her private stock. Miklos left to get the
blood.

"You're in a rare mood tonight, Nicholas," LaCroix
commented. "You're sitting right next to me, yet I can
barely sense you. But I am pleased by this change of
heart regarding your disgusting diet." An unnatural
light entered LaCroix's eyes. "Perhaps once you've
finished this... case... you would be free to take a
trip with me? A... hunting trip?"

Miklos returned with the blood and Nick paid him with
the money he found in his wallet. "You'll be waiting a
while," he told LaCroix seriously. "I've got the
feeling that this case is going to take me at least
four years."

***

He could fit eight pills in his silver pillbox, so he
had four days' worth of pain killers. He didn't know
what he would do if this venture lasted longer than
that.

The holy water was a bit trickier. He had his pint
flask in his jacket, and that would do for the day.
But tonight?

Normally, Nick obtained his holy water one of two
ways: he would literally buy it from the Church of St.
John, or he would make it himself, but dipping his
crosses into a glass of ordinary tap water. Too easy
to be true, one would think, but he had once burned
Alain very badly when he had knocked over a fresh
glass, and the water had spilled onto Alain's hand.
But he didn't have his crosses with him.

Then he smacked his forehead. "Magda!" he muttered.
The woman he had saved from a righteous homicidal
maniac had given him a crucifix. He had given it to
Natalie but she had insisted on giving it back. It was
in the box with Joan's cross, Nick remembered. He
could have used that, in theory, but he didn't want to
take the chance of the ancient wood turning rotten.

So he took his medication and his dram of poison, and
wondered again what strange quirk of the universe
allowed holy water to keep him alive, and then he went
to bed. But he couldn't fall asleep.

Nick tossed and turned for a few hours, and finally
gave up. The bed was just too empty, and without a
warm body next to him, he was more aware of his own
personal chill. So he got up, and he went downstairs,
and he began to paint. Nothing too elaborate, but when
it came time for him to start getting ready for work,
he had done so many quick portraits of his Family, he
had used up all of his spare canvases.

<God,> Nick realized, as he worked on a drawing of
Natalie, <I'm disgustingly needy.>

The overreaction was astounding. <Even for me.> The
death of one child had made Nick ten times more lonely
than he had truly been in 1994. He missed Natalie so
much it hurt, he missed Kai and Tracy, he was both
worried about abusing Alain's trust and mad at him for
leaving Janette and Jesse, he was mad as all hell at
LaCroix for just being LaCroix--all because an old
case was not sitting right on his shoulder.

He'd only been away from his own time for twelve
hours.

"Yes," he sighed, plying his brush, "that is
definitely overreacting."

He felt a light breeze over the nape of his neck and
he looked up, startled. A rainbow colored burst
flashed in front of his face, and abruptly, Nick was
looking down at a doorknob. He reached out with a
slightly numbed hand, opened the door, and collapsed
into Étienne's arms.




Eidolon (5/?)

When he came to, Nick was lying on a moldy couch,
having his face lightly slapped. "Welcome back to the
land of the undead," said Étienne dryly, holding a cup
to Nick's lips. Nick drank the blood thirstily.

"How long was I in there?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes. Just like Clay said."

"To me it was like twelve hours."

"Funny thing, time. Go home, Nicolas," Étienne
ordered. "Go home and get some rest. We'll decide
tomorrow what to do with our scruffy friend."

"No!" Nick all but shouted, pushing Étienne's hand
away. "I have to go back!"

Étienne cursed vigorously in Persian, Arabic, Romany
and French. "Nicolas, take so much as one step towards
that dressing room and I will truss you like a
Christmas goose." Étienne scrubbed a hand through his
curly black hair. "Mon frére, I don't know what you
went through in there and I honestly don't want to
know. But you must not go back in, not yet."

"Why not?" asked Nick defensively.

"Look at yourself, Nicolas," his brother said quietly.
"Your eyes are bloodshot and your ears are bleeding."
Nick put a hand to his ear and was horrified when it
came away red. "You only remember your illness when it
is convenient for you to remember it. Go home to your
wife. I'm going to close this room up."

"No! No, Étienne, you can't." Hurriedly, Nick
explained about the death of the little baby, the lack
of concrete evidence. He knew this was the swiftest
way to Étienne's compassion, and felt quite guilty
about it, but he continued.

"Why do you need to go back in? What could it
accomplish? You can't bring anything out."

"Because..." Nick trailed off. Why, indeed? That trip
had been physically painful. Why go through it again?
He took Étienne's handkerchief and absently dabbed at
his ears.

"It is a figment of your imagination. A dream."
Étienne laid a long hand on Nick's shoulder and looked
deep into his eyes. "It can't help you solve this
tragedy now."

***

Nick drove home, heavy-hearted. Natalie was already in
their bed, asleep, and peaceful. Nick cleaned his face
and head, bathed his aching eyes, and then sat and
watched her for some hours. He wanted to wake her, to
tell her what he'd found and seen. He wanted to tell
her how much he loved her, and how sorry he was. For
everything. But he did not. Finally he climbed into
bed beside her, holding her tightly and feeling old.

***

At the precinct, Nick putzed around with his paperwork
and didn't pay much attention to the rest of the
activity going on around him. He was strangely
thankful that tonight was Tracy's night off. Then he
chuckled. It was Julian's night off as well, and for
all the boy's oddities--there were times when Nick was
certain he had multiple personalities--he was a good
person.

But no matter how much he tried to concentrate on his
present business, in his mind, Nick kept going back to
the Roubideaux case. He still felt as he had three
years ago, that there was something <wrong> with that
case. Finally he gave up on his paperwork, and went
and pulled the file.

Reese watched his star detective. "Nick."

Nick didn't look up. "Hmm?"

"You finish the report on Alvaroni yet?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Nick pawed through his paper-covered
desk for the correct folder. "Here." He smiled briefly
and went back to his reading.

The police captain flipped through the report. "Damn.
Even when he's up on Mars, he's thorough. What's that
you're reading?"

"Old case. Closed. I think it could go further."

That made Reese's ears prick up with interest. "What
case?"

"Cecilia Roubideaux. Little baby died in its crib. It
always struck me as suspicious." Reese motioned Nick
into his office and shut the door.

"You think you have grounds to reopen this case?" he
asked.

Nick froze, then began quivering with anticipation. "I
may," he began, formulating a quick but plausible lie.
"I spoke with the lawyer of the baby's mother. She
thinks her ex-husband may have had something to do
with it. Insurance money."

"Insurance money," Reese repeated in disgust. Nick saw
the father in his captain recoil from the very idea
and pounced on the opening ruthlessly.

"He was the one taking care of the child when she
died."

Reese rumbled something unintelligible. "But no
forensic evidence?"

"No," Nick admitted. "We'd've followed it up three
years ago if there had been."

"Hmm." Captain Reese sighed. "That's pretty slim to
officially reopen a case, Nick." Nick didn't say
anything. He waited. "But unofficially..."

"Unofficially." Nick smiled, but the expression had no
humor in it. "Thanks, Cap'n." Then he groaned softly,
rubbing his head. Just like too much TV, the Eidolon's
portal had given Nick a headache that refused to go
away. He was going to need to break down and take his
emergency pill.

"You okay?" asked Reese, concerned.

"Yeah," Nick grunted. "Just a headache. I've been
having a lot of headaches lately," he added before he
could stop himself.

Reese didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, tell me about it.
I've got'em all the time; here, at home... and you
don't even have kids. What's your excuse."

"Trying to make kids."

His captain's eyes bugged out of his head. "You
just--you just made a mildly dirty joke! Man, I've
gotta mark this on my calendar."

Nick rolled his eyes, but grinned.





Eidolon (6/?)

Natalie looked up from her autopsy. "Nick!" she said,
pleased. "This is a surprise." Then her face changed.
"Hold on a sec." She dove into the refrigerator and
came up with a vial, which she handed to Nick. "Taste
it."

"Huh?"

"Taste it and humor me."

Nick shrugged and upended the contents into his mouth.
"Ugh," he grimaced, shuddering. "Here, take it back!"

Natalie grinned. "Your sense of smell may be terrible,
but it's good to know there's nothing wrong with your
sense of taste." She scribbled that into a notebook.
"This woman died of carbon monoxide poisoning. The gas
invades the blood and knocks out the oxygen in the
hemoglobin."

"Which ends up leaving a very foul taste for any
vampire unlucky enough to stumble into the City
Morgue."

"Bingo." Natalie snapped off her gloves. "So what
brings you here?"

Nick put on his best innocent face. "Do I need an
excuse?"

"When you're wearing that face, you do." She walked
around the table and laid her hand on Nick's cool
cheek. "You don't feel right, Nick," she told him. "I
felt you watching me last night, when you thought I
was asleep, and you felt like you were in pain." Her
clear blue eyes were slightly accusing, and very
disappointed. "What happened to no more secrets?"

Nick took her hand from his cheek and encased in
between his own gloved hands. "I know," he murmured.
"I know. We'll talk tonight." He leaned forward and
kissed her, first gently, then with increasing fervor.
Nick hugged her hard. "I love you," he whispered
urgently. "Never forget that."

"Nick?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. Guess I'm just in a morbid
mood."

Natalie eyed her husband. "We'll definitely talk
tonight."

***

The silken-steel tones of The Nightcrawler caressed
the airwaves. "A little elitism tonight, my... dear
friends, that you may learn to appreciate <all>...
that life throws at you."

The sound of pages ruffling.

"'Time present and time past are both perhaps present
in time future, and time future contained in time
past. If all time is eternally present all time is
redeemable. What might have been is an abstraction
remaining in a perpetual possibility only in a world
of speculation. What might have been and what has been
point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls
echo in the memory down the passage which we did not
take towards the door we never opened...

"'Yet the enchainment of past and future woven in the
weakness of the changing body, protects mankind from
heaven and damnation which flesh cannot endure....
Quick, now, here, now always--Ridiculous the waste sad
time stretching before and after.'"

A book thumped shut.

"Call in. We'll... talk. I have all the <time> in the
world."

***

"That's an amazing story," Natalie murmured. "If I
didn't know you weren't lying..."

"I know. Sometimes, even the bond that blood creates
isn't enough to convince." Nick leaned on the ornate
mantel, giving Natalie some space from the
fantastically oppressive tale. "I'm afraid to go back
in," he admitted. "The euphoria wears off quickly, and
now I'm afraid. But there's just... something. It's
almost as though the portal is the only way I'm going
to finish this case... put Cecilia to rest." He
paused. "You're thinking of Cynthia, aren't you?" Nick
asked quietly.

Natalie jumped. "I guess I'm a little off. I thought I
was getting better at blocking my thoughts."

"You are. It was an educated guess." Nick paused.
"What do you think I should do, Nat?"

"What do you think you can do?" Natalie returned, more
sharply than she had intended. Nick's resulting
expression was that of a whipped dog. "You can't take
anything out of a dream, Nick, or out of virtual
reality. Granted, the last time you used a VR game, it
turned out all right, but remember the setbacks?" Nick
nodded his blond head forlornly.

"But if I can find some information--the <location> of
some evidence--! Maybe I can find them here as well!"
Natalie shook her head. "Natalie, please! Let me do
this. For Cecilia's sake, for Cynthia's--" He stopped
short. Natalie was staring up at him in accusation and
horror.

"Damn you, Nicholas DeBrabant, don't you dare..."

"Oh, Nat, I'm sorry." He pulled her into his arms. "I
am so sorry..." She shuddered against his chest.

"You son of a bitch," she whispered.

"I know." His thin cruel streak didn't surface often,
but by God, when it did, it did so with a vengeance,
and Nick couldn't stop it.

"My parents, Richard, Cynthia... Schanke... I don't
need you to keep <trying> to get yourself killed."

"I'm not trying. The ways just keep finding me. I
think the universe wants me dead."

"Screw the universe."

Nick breathed deeply of her scent. Her curly chestnut
hair tickled his nose. "I've been reckless, I know.
But only let me finish this <one case>, and I promise,
Natalie, I will behave myself. I'll subject myself to
whatever you and Julian and Kai can come up with--and
I swear, sometimes I think Julian's trying to poison
me. Only please. Let me finish this." He felt Natalie
reach up and begin to stroke his head. His hair was
getting long, he thought absently. He should get it
trimmed... "The idea of someone doing that to a
child--to his own child--for a person who may never
have one of their own, that is the worst crime
imaginable."

It was a long time before Natalie spoke. "Go back in,
then," she said softly, "if Étienne will let you. And
I won't tell anyone--meaning LaCroix--about the
portal. But I promise you, Nick, that if you die on
me, you won't rest in any kind of peace."

Her quiet fury made Nick smile in spite of himself.
"I'll hold you to that," he vowed, kissing her.

***

The next night, she went with him to the Eidolon. They
wended their way through the maze of corridors and
passages until they found Étienne and Raiford Clay.
Clay was properly clothed and shaved and looking
somewhat leonine, while Étienne, normally as
fastidious as a cat, looked rather haggard, and both
were hovering over a thin, sleeping mouse-haired man.
Étienne looked up when Nick and Natalie entered the
room, bowed politely to Natalie, and then growled
something very lyrical in Nick's direction before
going back to his new guest.

Nick's 'I'm really confused' look was plastered on his
face, but Natalie only chuckled. "Did he just swear at
you in Elvish?" she asked, amused.

"I think so... I honestly didn't know that was
possible!"

"Obviously, the High King you are not," said Étienne
hotly. "No matter how good you are with a horse and a
sword."

"Who's your new squatter?" Nick asked, turning the
insults away from subjects that Clay was too out of
the loop to understand.

"He flew out of the dressing room yesterday. His
name's Gulliver; very interesting chap. I had quite a
long talk with him about the mechanics of your new toy
before he passed out. Learned some fascinating
things." Étienne looked sideways at his brother.
"Which I gather I shall be passing on to you, hmm?"





Eidolon (7/?)

"Number one," said Étienne brusquely, "try to stay as
calm as possible. If I understood this chap
correctly"--He touched the sleeping Gulliver on the
shoulder--"a high amount of stress will chip away at
the... mask... that the portal places on you." He
seemed to have a bit of trouble with the word 'mask.'

"Here." Clay showed Nick a small scar at the base of
his left thumb. "Not nearly as dramatic as your beauty
marks, but the effect's the same; when you enter, you
look as you did in that past. If it's a future or a
fantasy, that doesn't matter much. But your past--when
you first enter, they're hidden. But when you become
excited or agitated, they begin to show, along with
any trinkets or jewelry you might be wearing." Nick's
hand went automatically to his rings, and then to the
crosses at his throat. Étienne and Clay averted their
eyes quickly, the Southern vampire emitting a slight
hiss of surprise. "Sir, I do believe you're mad."

"I second that whole-heartedly," Étienne said dryly.
"Although, coming from me, such an insult is a bit of
a moot point."

"I'll third it, then," Natalie mumbled. Nick rubbed
her shoulder reassuringly.

"How do I get back to where I was yesterday?" he asked
Clay.

"The exact moment?"

"I'd settle for ten minutes after."

"Well... Hmm." Clay ran a hand through his short hair;
his blond good looks reminded Natalie of her husband.
But she was sure Clay looked more the part of a rake
than Nick ever had. "I've gotten so used to just
walking in and out," he was saying in his accented
drawl, "I'll just think of a place or time and I am
there. But when I first started, I would speak aloud
the exact place and time I desired. In your case..."
Clay shrugged. "It's an intelligent room. If you say
something like, '10 minutes after last departure,' I
suspect that will work."

"How does he get out?" Natalie asked quietly. Clay
seemed to take notice of her for the first time. He
grinned, and Natalie's appraisal of him was confirmed,
but when she discreetly flashed her wedding ring at
him, the Southern gentleman in Clay won out.

"Ah, getting out. That's the easy part, I suppose. You
just sort of... leave. When you're ready, Knight,
you'll know what to do. Oh. And one other thing.
Knight, I don't know you that well. The last time I
saw you, I was still mortal. But you were decent for a
damn Yankee, digging that ball out of my shoulder the
way you did. So let me repay the favor. Take my advice
on this subject: while you're inside, you should...
let your hair down, so to speak."

Unconsciously, Nick and Natalie both raised an eyebrow
at the same time. "How do you mean?" Nick asked
warily.

"Do something in there that you would never dream of
doing here. As long as it's not lethal," Clay added as
a quick afterthought. "Something... strange. Bizarre.
Utterly out of character. It'll reduce the chances of
the, er..." He motioned to his ears and eyes. "That
eventually goes away, anyhow. But believe me, the
resulting giddiness will keep away any strain or
anxiety you may feel. Because everything is
magnified." His blue eyes met Nick's knowingly. "You
know what I mean."

"I felt so alone..." Nick admitted. "And since I came
out, I've been... on the manipulative side."

Clay shrugged. "There's give and take to everything.
You just have to get used to it."

***

Once more, Nick found himself standing in his loft,
his paintbrush in hand. He shook his head violently to
clear the ringing. Then he blinked. The painting of
Natalie that he had been working on was finished. Now
how in the world...? Well, he had told the portal to
put him back ten minutes after it had spit him out. "I
guess I finished it," he muttered, although he was not
quite sure how to work that one out.

A quick look at the clock told him that it was almost
time to go to work. Nick headed for the shower.

***

Schanke sat down at his desk and was thumbing through
his mail, when he groaned. 'ROUBIDEAUX, CECELIA', Nick
typed for the thousandth time, and waited for the
search engine to turn up something useful. He'd been
trying various combinations of the same four or five
words for an hour, and was beginning to remember why
he disliked computers. His partner opened the letter,
read it, and groaned again, this time louder. "What's
the matter, Schank?" Nick asked, not looking up from
his research.

"High-school reunion invitation. St. Casmir's Catholic
High School. Damn!"

"You went to Catholic school?" Nothing under that
heading. The father had been responsible for Cecilia
when she had died, so he tried the father's name,
'ROUBIDEAUX, JAMES', and waited.

"For all nineteen years of my grade school career. I'm
Polish-Italian, Nick. You can't--"

"--can't get much more Catholic than that. I know;
you've mentioned." Nothing. 'ROUBIDEAUX, JAMES +
SIDS'.

Schanke tossed the letter onto his desk and huffed,
apparently forgetting how Nick had come by that
knowledge. "And you know what the worst part of
Catholic school was? Nuns. I'll never forget my
third-grade teacher. Sister Mary Trigger-Happy. Beat
me til I (bled) and then beat me for bleeding, all in
the name of Christ." Schanke crossed himself and
scowled.

Nick barely batted an eyelid. "Come on, Schanke."
<Nothing again. I wish I knew what I was looking
for...> He cleared the search engine and tried again.
"If I had to take a vow of eternal celibacy, I, too,
would wish to hit people with sticks."

Schanke laughed, but it seemed a bit forced.

"Schanke, if you don't want to go, then don't go."

"I have to, Nick. Myra'll insist." He leaned forward.
"See, that('s) the thing about marriage, Nick. You've
got to lay yourself out flat on the ground and let 'em
walk all over you before they're happy."

"Happy wife, happy life," Nick said philosophically.
"Careful, Schanke. You never know where Myra might be
hiding." Schanke's eyes began to dart around the
precinct with quick, nervous jerks. Nick grinned
slightly and went back to his computer screen.

An hour later, he was still working. He cleared the
search engine once more and, for no reason other than
sheer frustration and a growing homicidal rage at all
things digital, he typed in 'ROUBIDEAUX, JAMES + SIDS
+ SUSPICIOUS'.

Bull's-eye.

<Wow, I really hit it on the head,> he marveled,
reading through the various documents his search had
finally pulled up. <How many? *How many?*> Nick
grimaced. <That's disgusting.>

James Roubideaux had had, over a period of fifteen
years, three other children besides Cecelia, all of
whom had died before their first birthday. All three
deaths had been labeled SIDS.

When talking to Reese, Nick had thought he'd made up
the excuse of insurance money as a motive. But four
infants dead through no discernable reason, all with a
father who had been the last person to see them
alive--money now seemed far more plausible.

It was disgusting, but it was a start.

Nick saved the files to a disk and shut down his
computer and, leaning back in his desk chair, he
thought aimlessly of things, trivial things. People
had practiced infanticide throughout history; though
mortal memories were hard to hold on to, he distinctly
remembered one terrible winter when he had been
perhaps twelve, when at least three peasant families
in the estate's village had each killed their new
babies by exposure to the bitter cold. There simply
had not been enough food to go around.

<My father was a Christian man, but he was also a
soldier and a hard pragmatist. He could have taken any
course of action against those families, yet he did
nothing.

<But that was eight hundred years ago. Have humans
really improved so little over so much time...>

His face was pulsing. Nick put a hand to his cheek and
almost felt his scars breaking through the thin
membrane that shielded them from view. He was becoming
too morbid, too tense. He needed to do something to
relieve the pressure. Something... unexpected.

He considered his partner thoughtfully. Finally, Nick
said, "Hey, Schanke, it's been a tough week. How about
we go out and get a bite to eat? My treat." He leaned
back and enjoyed the look of shock and disbelief on
Schanke's face.

<I guess that counts as unexpected.>



Eidolon (8/?)


Schanke was so flabbergasted, he could barely get to
the car. He would have settled for coffee and a few
donuts, but Nick wouldn't allow it. "Schank," he said,
"if you go into the donut shop, you'll just be
advancing the stereotype." He drove to a local deli he
knew his partner liked.

Schanke ordered his customary souvlaki, and Nick had a
steak sandwich. They took a table in the deli, and
Schanke looked on in disbelief as Nick tore into his
sandwich. "I thought you were on a diet," he said
accusingly, eyeing the onions dripping into Nick's
styrofoam plate.

"I keep telling you that, don't I?" Nick grinned. <I
wonder... how much can I get away with?> "It's not a
diet, Schanke. It's a food allergy. It's related to my
skin condition."

"Oh." Schanke suddenly felt like a damn fool. "Erm...
sorry."

"Eh," Nick shrugged. "But while I'm on the subject..."
He trailed off, pretending reluctance. He knew he
couldn't tell Schanke the truth. He had to maintain
his cover, even in 'virtual reality'--to do otherwise
could jeopardize his investigation--but at least now
he could offer some explanation. <A sop for my
conscience,> he realized. "Schanke, you're my partner
and you deserve to know. But I swear, if you tell
anyone about this--Myra included--they'll find Jimmy
Hoffa before they find you."

Schanke's eyes went wide. "Cross my heart and hope to
die," he promised. And he did.

"Okay, Schank. This skin condition of mine affects
every part of my body. It makes me hypersensitive to
light; I can't digest solid food without huge amounts
of medication..." Nick lowered his voice. "I'm very
prone to developing cancer, and I can't... I can't
have kids."
"Aw, Nick. Man, I--I had no idea."

"I know. But you're my friend, Don. I trust you."

"Thanks. That, um, that means a lot. Does Natalie
know?"

Nick nodded. "She actually knows more than you do, but
that's because she's medical."

"Does she know that you're, um..."

"Sterile?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Any reason you think she'd care?" Nick was having
fun. Schanke turned beet red, and he tugged at his
collar. Nick grinned and spared him the trouble.
"Yeah, Schanke, she knows. But it's not something we
discuss."

"Yeah, well, I understand that. Is that why this case
is bothering you so much?"

"That's part of it." Nick reached for his wallet, and
fiddled with it. "And, a couple old friends of mine
had a son recently, and they named me his godfather."
He showed Schanke his picture of Jesse. "I can't prove
it. All I have are suspicions. Hunches. I just don't
think Cecelia Robideaux's death was an accident. And
the idea that somebody is out there and free after
committing this crime... that makes me mad, Schanke."
His cobalt eyes darkened, and without knowing why,
Schanke shivered. "Very mad."

***

They didn't say much on the way back to the precinct.
Nick hadn't been sitting at his desk for two seconds
when--

"Knight! In my office!"

<And on Judgment Day, the dead will riseth and be made
whole,> Nick thought wryly, shutting the door and
standing before Captain Amanda Cohen. <Although aren't
I the one being judged here?> He hadn't gotten to know
her as well as Joe Reese and he had never had a chance
to trust her as much as Joe Stonetree, but he had had
immense respect for her. He smiled at her politely.
"Something, Captain?"

"Why are you pushing the Roubideaux case?" she asked
without preamble.
That was something else Nick had missed. His--dare he
say it?--cavalier style had provoked different
reactions in all his superiors, but while Reese became
irritated and Stonetree had put on his thoughtful
face, Cohen shot straight from the hip. She was
no-nonsense and to the point, and she deserved nothing
less from him.

"I don't think it was an accidental death," said Nick
simply.

Cohen considered this. "One of your hunches?"

"Yes."

"Knight--"

"One that I'm working to prove. I just need a few
days."

She tilted her head slightly, intelligent dark eyes
carefully veiled. Hunches were not unusual for Knight.
Nor was his request. But there was something... off.
"Are you feeling all right?" she finally decided to
ask.

First rule of lying: Be consistent. He showed her his
picture of Jesse. "That's my godson," he said quietly.
"The only child I will ever have. Don't misunderstand,
Captain, I am not making this personal. But I have
good reason to believe that Cecelia Roubideaux was
killed by her father."

Captain Cohen's façade cracked briefly; her eyes
flickered to the framed picture on her desk, a picture
Nick knew to be of her daughter. "He had three other
infants die while in his care. A child-care provider
would've lost their license by now. And he collected
insurance on those three babies."

"That's not unusual--"

"The first death brought him fifty thousand dollars
from insurance money." Nick raised an eyebrow at his
captain. "I'm a childless bachelor, but isn't that a
little excessive? And for his first child, before he
had any reason to worry about SIDS?"

Cohen was silent, thinking. "Do we have any forensic
evidence? Any witnesses?"

"Natalie is redoing the autopsy--" It was Cohen's turn
to raise an eyebrow. "--but no, no witnesses."

"That's a very big pile of circumstantial evidence."
She drummed her fingers on her desk and, at last,
nodded. "Okay. You've got two days. Unless you can
find something concrete..."

Nick nodded. He understood.

***

Natalie was waiting next to his desk with a file in
her hands. "Pretty much the same as the first," she
said of the autopsy, which she handed to Nick. "But--"
Then she sniffed. "Why do I smell onions?"

Nick's face took on his 'I would blush if I could'
look. Schanke snickered. "But what, Nat?"

"But there were a few small things that I didn't pick
up the first time. That's a very bad thing; I assumed
she died of natural causes. Sloppy of me."

"What did you find?"

"Diffuse edema of the cerebral hemisphere."

Schanke blinked. "I don't speak medical," he reminded
them.

"Swelling," Nick translated. "That's significant."

"Very. Cecelia Roubideaux died of asphyxia due to
airway obstruction." Natalie lifted her eyebrows and
shook her head. "She was smothered."

***

At the end of his shift, Nick found Natalie waiting
for him by the Caddy. <The old ritual,> he thought.
Pointless when they shared the same living space, this
had been her simple yet effective way of letting him
know that she was worried about something. Usually
him. Nick would have preferred not to be confronted
with this dream-representation of his wife--both were
still Natalie and both were desirable, and his
emotions were in a questionable state. But he did not
argue with her. His stomach was bothering him.
Wordlessly, he unlocked the car, and waited for her to
get in before opening his own door.

Nick was very quiet on the drive to his loft. Natalie
saw his hands gripping the steering wheel for dear
life. He was constantly swallowing, and he was
starting to sweat.

As soon as the elevator door opened, Nick bolted into
his bathroom and began vomiting. Natalie gasped and
moved to help him, but he waved her away. When he
could breathe again, he lifted his head.

"Oh, my God, Nick--your face!"

Quickly, he raised a hand to his face, and felt the
familiar ruts of his scars. He met Natalie's eyes--and
then the room spun round and he passed out.

(Note: I'm not maligning Natalie's skills as a
coroner. The autopsy report was taken directly from
the real-life case which inspired this story, in which
two years elapsed between the time of the baby's death
and the correction of the autopsy report to read
'Homicide' instead of 'SIDS' as the cause of death.
~AF)




Eidolon (9/?)

Slowly, Nick worked his way back up towards the light.
After a bit of struggle, he woke up on his couch with
a damp washcloth on his forehead. <I seem to spend as
much time conscious as unconscious these days...>

A gentle hand removed the washcloth. Natalie was about
to replace it with a fresh one, when Nick sat up.
"Easy," she ordered. Meekly, he lay back down.

Natalie studied her friend's face closely. <He looks
the same,> she decided. <It must have been a trick of
the light.> It was a poor excuse, but the best she
could come up with at the moment. Nick stared back at
her solemnly. "Do I pass muster, Captain?" he asked.
Then he grinned.

"All right, Nick," Natalie said, squelching a return
grin, "that's it. No more pampering from me until you
tell me why you had your head in the toilet."

"Nat, Natalie." Nick sat up again--slowly. <Idiot,> he
berated himself. He had forgotten to empty his stomach
after that massive sandwich. Nick put a hand to his
face, ostensibly to rub his temple. The scars had
melted back into his skin. But she had seen them, if
only for a split second. That had been too close.

Second rule of lying: Whenever possible, tell the
truth. "I bought Schanke dinner, and I decided to eat
with him."

"'Ate'?" Natalie repeated in disbelief. "You <ate>?
Ate what? French fries?"

"A steak and onion sandwich."

"Nick!" Overjoyed, Natalie caught him up in a bear
hug. Nick stiffened... in more ways than one. <Please
don't notice. Please don't notice--> But it wasn't
morally wrong to have sex with someone in a dream,
especially when that someone was your
future--present?--wife. <If it was, I'd be guilty of
multiple offenses,> Nick thought wryly.

"Easy, Nat. I do need to breathe now and then."

"Nick, this is fantastic. You ate, I mean--You ate! I
can't even form a coherent sentence." Natalie's face
was alight with excitement. "Let me get my bag. I've
got to take samples; I've got to run tests."

Tests? "Natalie, really, you don't need to run tests
right now. It's not like the food stayed in my
stomach."

"No, Nick, this is progress." Natalie took a fresh
syringe from her bag. "I need to find out what caused
it," and she advanced on him.

With all the holy water and pain killers in his
system, that probably wasn't a good idea. Nick plucked
the needle from Natalie's hand and tossed it onto the
coffee table. "I don't feel like giving blood right
now." Nick brushed the backs of his fingers across
Natalie's cheek, and felt her shiver.

"Nick..."

"I can think of more... pleasant... things to do...
than running tests..." He moved his hand up the line
of her face, and threaded his fingers through her
chestnut curls. She felt the same... Was this virtual
reality? Was this really a dream? Nick lightly rubbed
the pad of his thumb across her lower lip.

Natalie grasped his wrist. "Nick, don't."

"You can't tell me you don't want this, Nat," Nick
said huskily. His head dipped lower and lower until he
was hovering just over her lips. "That you haven't
felt this way... for as long as I have..." He kissed
her, and she did not resist.

"Let me do this to make up for waiting so long," he
chanted softly, over and over, trailing kisses along
her carotid artery. The scent of spiced wine and
chocolates was as intoxicating as ever, and the purely
masculine ego in Nick was thrilled with the idea of
making love to Natalie for the first time... again.
"Let me atone for being such a fool..."

"What--?" Natalie tried to ask breathlessly. Somehow,
her suit jacket had ended up on the floor. <What does
he mean?> "A fool for what?"

"It doesn't matter." <LaCroix and Janette can't hear
me. L'Azure hasn't happened yet. If I had had in this
time the control I have in my own...> It was only a
dream, but it felt right. <It should have happened
this way.> "Let me love you, Natalie."

Her lovely blue eyes darkened--with desire, Nick was
pleased to see. But she said, "Tell me what happened
first. Why now?"

For one of the few times in his life, Nick soundly
damned his love's scientific bent. But then he smiled,
brushing her cheekbones with his thumbs. "Why later?"

He wrapped her in his arms, resolving not to let go
for a long, long time.

***

Natalie woke to the unfamiliar but not unpleasant
feeling of someone nuzzling the hollow in her throat.
The room was not her own and the sheets were
<definitely> not her sheets--and the someone, whose
fingers were softly stroking the skin of her neck, was
Nick.

"Did I hurt you?" he murmured, his fingertips probing
the healing set of puncture marks.

"Not in the least," Natalie returned, snaking a hand
around the back of Nick's neck and pulling him up for
a long kiss.

<God,> he thought reverently, <I love this woman so
much, no matter the time, the day, or the century.>

And then, of course, a phone rang.

Nick groaned. "That's my cell phone." When Natalie
moved to get up, he pushed her back. "Stay," he
ordered, mock-sternly. Pulling on his robe and a pair
of pajama bottoms, Nick flew downstairs and grabbed
his phone. "Yeah, Knight."

"Nicolas?"

Nick blinked. "E--Étienne?"

"Merde, I hate these things. Nicolas, can you hear
me?"

"Perfectly, but how--?"

He almost heard Étienne shrug. "I don't know. Because
you're talking on the same phone you brought in with
you? Just be glad I can."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Oh, six, seven minutes."

"Is something wrong?"

"Well," said Étienne with a verbal smirk, "your lovely
wife just had to, shall we say, 'step out' of the
room? I do hope you're enjoying yourself in there.

"But," he continued, his lovely voice slipping back
into seriousness, "that's not why I'm calling. Tracy
called Natalie with some information that could help
your search, and I'm passing it on to you."

A zip of electricity ran up Nick's spine. "What is
it?"

"Your captain has officially reopened your case.
That's the good news."

"And the bad?"

"The mother remembers you, specifically, from when her
daughter died, and she wants to deal with you,
specifically. Not Tracy, not anyone else from
Homicide. You."

"Which means I've got to leave. Shit!"

"If I were you, I'd stay in for as long as possible."

"Pardon?"

"Because once you step out, I'm not letting you back
in until Gulliver has had a crack at this thing. The
whole situation is making me uneasy, Nicolas, and as
much as I sympathize with you, I am <not> referring to
the case!"

"All right, all right," Nick said, trying to soothe
his younger brother's rising panic. "Calm down."

"I am calm!"

"Étienne!" Nick growled. There were several minutes of
silence, while Étienne collected himself. "I
appreciate your concern, but <I> <am> <fine>. What
time is it?"

"Ten minutes to two. If the pattern holds, you should
be out at about two-oh-three."

"All right. Call Tracy. Tell her to tell the mother
I'll meet her at three o'clock. And call LaCroix; have
him track down Larry Merlin.

"That will take at least a day."

"I'm counting on that. See you in fifteen minutes."

Nick flipped the phone closed and stood for a minute,
thinking. Then he went upstairs.

Natalie was waiting for him. She watched as he
gathered some clean clothes. "Who was it?"

"The station," Nick said, lying with practiced ease,
even to Natalie. "It's only an hour earlier than
usual; I don't mind going in. You go back to sleep."
He left his keys on the nightstand. "I'll take a cab,"
he promised, noting her disapproving look.

Then he kissed her, a long, lingering touch. "I'll see
you later," he promised.

But he was not going to the station.

He was going to see LaCroix.





Eidolon (10/?)

It was too early to find his master at the radio
station CERK, so Nick went to a place he had visited
only rarely: LaCroix's high-rise penthouse.

A true benefit of being inside the portal was the fact
that none of his Family could sense him, let along
track his movements. Nick slipped in through the
skylight and found LaCroix in his study. He was at his
desk, his back to Nicholas, and he was writing. His
lips were moving slightly in time with the pen, and as
Nick listened to the inflections in the expressive,
insidiously caressing soft voice, husky, low, and
rough or smooth by turns, he realized that he was
witnessing a monologue in the making..

"'A likely impossibility is always preferable to an
unconvincing possibility.' Our dreams are only
precious to us as long as we know they can never come
true. A tiny, shining ember that you nurture and
protect, and breathe on long and patiently, waiting
for the day when it finally bursts into flame, and
lights your way to glory." LaCroix's pen paused
momentarily.

"And when you finally get what you want, mes amis,
what then? Are you satisfied? No. You're disappointed,
you--want <more>. And so you add more fuel to the
fire: more money, more people, more personal
sacrifices--until, inevitably, it burns itself out.
You are left in the dark, holding the embers in your
hands long after they've cooled and turned to dust."

Satisfied, LaCroix capped his pen and laid it aside.
Nick chose this moment to make his presence known.
"Dreams die hard," he said quietly. Seeing LaCroix
jump to the other side of the room gave Nick a
decidedly wicked feeling of pleasure.

"Nicholas!" LaCroix snarled, then stopped short to
compose himself. The old Roman straightened up and
smoothed out his jacket with a sharp tug. "You should
know better than to sneak up on someone like that," he
continued, his tone studiously bland. "What did you
say?"

"That dreams die hard. Not that I meant anything by
it," he added, almost merrily. "I was just agreeing
with you."

"The sky has fallen."

"It's a dangerous thing, dreaming. Almost as dangerous
as stepping out your front door. But it has to be
done, or there's no point to life."

LaCroix frowned. "This buoyant optimism really is most
unlike you. Has your cow blood curdled?"

"Ugh." Nick shuddered. "No, thank you. Stuff gives me
nightmares. One time--I always check the labels now."

"How intelligent." LaCroix looked his fledgling up and
down. "But a good nightmare comes so rarely." He
leaned languidly up against a tall bookcase.
"Something..." he mused, tenting his fingers before
his lips, "is different about you, Nicholas. Something
has been different about you for the past few days. I
would be most interested to know what has happened to
you."

Nick lifted his shoulders in an elegant, nonchalant
shrug. "Maybe I'm just enjoying life," he suggested.
He noted off-handedly that his own voice was half an
octave lower than normal, a common occurrence whenever
he was in LaCroix's presence. "It's about time, don't
you think?"

His master crossed the room to stand beside Nick, his
nostrils flaring, testing the air as he got closer.
"<That> is a unique scent on you." In vivid detail,
Nick recalled his day with Natalie, and smiled to
remember that in this time, his master and his love
had not yet encountered each other. LaCroix licked his
lips appreciatively. "No wonder you're so relaxed. I
trust you enjoyed yourself?"

Nick answered with a brief flash of his fangs. "The
aftertaste was exquisite."

LaCroix smiled, an action that only honed the already
sharp expression in his ice-blue eyes. "Ah, so you've
reconsidered that hunting trip?" Nick did not smile,
but his eyes did.

"Not in this lifetime."

"Ah."

Nick realized, with a bit of blunt shock, that he had
<hurt> his master with his denial. But he didn't have
time to reflect on that, as LaCroix had gathered his
papers from his desk and was preparing to leave. "In
that case, Nicholas, since we both have to get on with
the night... I think you can show yourself out."

"LaCroix, wait. I need to speak with you."

"You have done so."

"I need your help."

LaCroix folded the papers neatly and tucked them
inside his jacket, chuckling.

Irritated, Nick wrote a single word in his pocket
notebook, tore out the sheet, and solemnly handed it
to the Nightcrawler. And he watched as his master's
ice-white alabaster features turned clay-grey.

"Well," LaCroix said finally. "It would seem that you
have my undivided attention." He crushed the paper in
his hand. "What do you want from me?"

"I need information, and for that, I to find Larry
Merlin. His ability to hack is mythic; if anyone can
find this information, he can. And if anyone can find
him, it's you."

"Or Janette. You have used her to find him before."

Nick tried not to squirm. "She would have had me
resort to other means, and that's not something I can
do anymore."

"Or at least, not as long as your current vintage
holds out."

"She's got stamina."

"I will investigate his whereabouts. After the show."
Nick nodded. Then, to LaCroix's astonishment, his
fledgling seated himself in one of the study's deep
leather chairs. The ancient Roman lifted a dark
eyebrow. "You're welcome to stay, of course."

"I appreciate the favor."

"Only the best for you, Nicholas," returned LaCroix
dryly. "I'll see you at dawn, then."

Nick waited until his master was gone, and then took
off for the station.




Eidolon (11/?)

Schanke and Natalie were waiting for him when Nick
finally got to the precinct. "Hey, Nick, come 'ere!
Show Natalie that picture you showed me yesterday!"

Natalie would not meet Nick's eyes. Her cheeks were a
bit flushed and her heart rate was elevated slightly,
but Nick was uncertain whether she was embarrassed or
angry with him. <I'm sorry,> he sent, then blinked
when the message bounced back at him. "Picture?"

"Yeah, Nick. Y'know, the one of the little baby with
the brown fuzz on his head?"

Shrugging, Nick pulled out his wallet, and took the
photo from its protective sleeve.

"Cute kid," Natalie admitted. Actually, the baby boy
was border-line adorable, with his delicate features,
but she was annoyed with Nick for lying to her--where
had he really gone? The little insecure voice in her
head was telling her one thing, but Natalie refused to
listen. Nick would never have gone from her side to
Janette, would he? In the same night? "What's his
name?"

"Jesse. Jesse Robert." Nick's expression softened as
he looked at the picture. Don Schanke felt a swell of
pity for his partner. <And I bet he'd make one hell of
a father, too.> "Schanke, I'm going to see Annie
Roubideaux again. I've got some other questions to ask
her."

"You want me along?"

"I'd appreciate it."

Nick took his picture back from Natalie. She grabbed
his arm. "You didn't need to lie to me, you know," she
said lowly. "I thought we trusted each other."

Trust.

<<What happened to no more secrets?>>

Would he never be free of that reproach?

"Pull something like that again, and I'll handcuff you
to the precinct water cooler and read you the Riot
Act."

Nick freed his arm and stared at her, surprised. Then
he grinned, placed both hands on the desk, and leaned
toward her. "You haven't got the nerve," he goaded.
Natalie glared back at him.

"Try me."

A slow smirk crawled over Nick's face. "As an entrée
or a side dish?" he asked innocently, then watched as
Natalie blushed a wonderful shade of red. And then,
before anyone could react, Nick had leaned in even
further and kissed Natalie full on the lips.

"I think I'll take you as a seven-course meal," he
chuckled huskily, too low for anyone else to hear.
Then both Nick and Natalie ran off in opposite
directions, away from the raucous whistles and
catcalls of their coworkers.

***

Annie Roubideaux was a large woman, big but not fat;
she had a comfortable air that reminded Nick of his
barely-remembered childhood nurse. She was
grandmotherly, he decided, though barely past thirty
years old. She sat Schanke and Nick down in the living
room. "Would you like some coffee?" There was a
flutter in her voice, a tremor.

"No, thank you," said Nick gently. Mrs. Roubideaux sat
down in a chair opposite them. She did not seem to
know quite what to do with her hands, and they moved
aimlessly on the arms of the wingback. "Is your
husband at home?"

"No, no. Jamie's at work. He sells pianos."

"I would've thought," said Schanke, with the
characteristic tact that always took Nick by surprise,
"that at a time like this, he would be staying home."

Mrs. Roubideaux smiled weakly. "He has to work; we're
saving up to try and buy a house."

"So this isn't your house?"

"No. We live with my sister and her family. But
they're on vacation right now. If you don't mind my
asking, Detectives, what is this about?"

Nick glanced at his partner. "We have reason to
believe that your daughter's death... may not have
been natural."

Mrs. Roubideaux gasped sharply. "You think she was
murdered?" Nick nodded. "By whom?"

"Your husband."

Nick and Schanke had expected a variety of reactions
from the mother. But when her spine suddenly
straightened, Nick felt the vampire within him
abruptly slam against the bars of its cage in
reaction. "I thought so," said Annie Roubideaux
quietly, her voice taut. "I didn't want to mention it,
in case I was wrong--I wanted to be wrong--but I
thought Jamie might have--" Her hands clenched and
unclenched spastically while she brought her emotions
under control. Nick and Schanke waited. Then she
looked up. "Are you bringing charges against him?"

"We're trying. But for the moment all we have is
circumstantial evidence. If we had something a little
more concrete--like a witness--then maybe we could..."
Nick trailed off. Mrs. Roubideaux was staring blankly
at the Van Gogh print above Nick's head.

"Millie," she said flatly. Nick raised an eyebrow. "My
niece, my sister's daughter. Camilla. She was so
shaken up that night... My sister found her shivering
in her bed. Her parents decided to take her away for a
few weeks."

"You think she may have seen something?" Schanke
asked. Annie Roubideaux nodded. "When will they be
back from their vacation?"

"Another two weeks."

Inwardly, Nick swore. Aloud, all he said was, "We'll
be back to speak to her." He stood up, and held his
hand out to the anguished mother. "We won't give up."

***

When LaCroix got home, he found Nick sprawled out on a
bed in one of the spare bedrooms, though whether he
was asleep or dreaming or dead, LaCroix couldn't tell.
He stood in the doorway, his connection to his son
completely gone, and stared at Nick. LaCroix had seen
many, many strange things in his life. But there was a
reek hanging about Nicholas, along with the fading
scent of wine and chocolate; he fairly stank of the
old ways. <Why didn't I notice that when he was at the
club?> he wondered. <Or earlier tonight?>

Once again, Nicholas had frustrated LaCroix's best
efforts to take care of his son. And 'frustrating' was
the very word for the sensation that pulsed through
the General's veins whenever Nicholas acted--well,
like Nicholas.

But how--? How in the names of every deity LaCroix had
ever heard of and scoffed at had Nicholas known <her>
name? He had been scrupulously determined never to
mention <her> name ever again, let alone to his
fledglings, and certainly not to his Nicholas, his
golden child.

So how had he known? LaCroix could not say. And to
save himself much anguish, LaCroix would not ask. He
closed the door softly and left Nicholas to his rest.

Before he went to bed, he called around--calling in a
few favors--and found Larry Merlin. He told the
'accountant' to expect Nicholas in the next few days,
although he did a bit of a double-take when Merlin
said where he could be found.





Eidolon (12/?)

Sometime during the middle of the day, Nick woke with
a jerk from a horrible dream. Breathing heavily, he
scrubbed a hand over his forehead and through his
blond curls, smearing the blood-sweat over his hair.
Whatever the dream had been--he could not remember--it
was bad enough that his body would not relax, and his
mind refused to go back to sleep. He counted dust
motes for a while ("One... two..."), but it was no
good; he just couldn't sleep. <That lack of a warm
body again,> Nick decided, but this time his previous
evening with Natalie just made his situation worse.
"This is just lovely." Nick sighed and cast aside his
blankets. "I wonder if LaCroix has a hot water
bottle."

Halfway to the bathroom, though, he stopped short. He
was not in possession of a warm body; that was a fact.
But would a cold body do?

<If this doesn't qualify as 'out of character,'> Nick
thought, <I'll paint the Caddy pink.> With a little
trepidation, he approached his master's bedroom.

***

As a matter of course, LaCroix always slept on his
back, with his left leg drawn up slightly and his left
arm thrown over his head, and his right hand resting
limply on his stomach. But 'sleep' was too generous a
term for the kind of rest that LaCroix allowed himself
to indulge in. Sleep for him was more like a day-long
catnap, a very deep semi-consciousness that he could
shake off at a moment's notice and be awake and alert.
So he did wake up when he felt an unknown person
crawling into his bed. But then he saw, not so unknown
after all.

"Nicholas," LaCroix murmured. "Is there a reason you
feel the need to share my bed?

Nick shrugged. He lifted LaCroix's right arm and
draped it around his shoulders, pillowing his head on
his master's chest. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted.

Unseen, LaCroix allowed himself a tiny smile. "So you
came to me?" he marveled, running his fingers through
Nick's blond curls. It had been years since he had
been permitted to do that. "How childlike."

"I am a child," replied Nick softly. "Yours."

LaCroix froze.

"I'm sorry," Nick continued, "for what I did before.
My thoughtless use... of her name--"

"Enough."

Obediently, Nick shut his mouth.

"You have changed dramatically in only a few days.
You've become sly and manipulative, and I can't say I
don't approve, but now: What is it that you want from
me?"

"Do I have to want something?"

"I can count on one hand the number of times you have
slept in my embrace."

"I..." Nick hesitated, then shrugged and continued,
snuggling closer. "I didn't want to be alone."

LaCroix fell silent. He held his son tightly, kissed
the crown of his head, and though Nick finally fell
back to sleep, LaCroix did not.

***

That night, Nick walked into the kitchen, buttoning
his shirt, and joined his master for 'breakfast.' He
took the glass of human blood from LaCroix's hand,
and, when LaCroix's back was turned, quickly poured
the last of his holy water into the goblet. Nick
shoved the flask into his back pocket. Then he took a
gulp to wash down the painkiller that had been hidden
in his mouth. "You know, I think that's the first time
I've ever had a vintage that tasted like... what is
this flavor, anyway?"

"I think Winter described it as 'hot dog,'" LaCroix
replied, amused.

Nick took another sip, testing. "Beef," he decided.
"Not pork." And he made a mental note to try a hot dog
as soon as he got back home. "Have you tried to find
Larry Merlin yet?"

"Actually, yes. I located him last night." LaCroix sat
down at his kitchen table--one of the pieces of
furniture that vampires fondly called 'token tables,'
or something that a vampire would almost never use but
was procured to maintain the image of normalcy. "You
can find him at Stephan's."

Nick's glass halted halfway to his lips. "Stephan's?"
he repeated. "Are you sure of that?"

"Quite sure," said LaCroix, greatly entertained. "Are
you still going to seek him out?"

"Of course," Nick retorted indignantly. "I'm not going
to let a little thing like that stand in my way. Why
should I avoid that club? It's not like I'm going to
run into Alain--" Nick clapped his mouth shut,
swearing internally. But it was too late; LaCroix's
eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

"Now that's a name I haven't heard from your mouth in
over a century. Is there any... particular reason...
why you are thinking of your Romany brother?"

<Because he has as good as abandoned Janette and her
son, even though he loves them both, even though they
would be more than willing to return his affections.
By God, he's attained a higher level of idiocy than I
have.> "No, no particular reason." Nick spun the stem
of his glass between in his fingers. Then he put it
down. "I have to get going. LaCroix--thank you."

"Of course." He lifted his shoulders in a graceful
shrug. "Any time," he added. And Nick was strangely
unnerved to know that he meant it.

***

Schanke was driving aimlessly around the city, alone
and bored, when he abruptly spotted his wayward
partner standing outside a club, a gaudy establishment
with the name 'Stephan's' written in loopy bright
green neon. He stuck his head out the car window.

"Nick!"

Nick turned at the sound of his name, and his eyes
bugged out of his head. "Schanke?!" he exclaimed as
his partner got out of the car. "What the hell are you
doing here?"

"That's my question. Where have you been? Cohen's
having tiger cubs, and she's siccing them on me!"

"I'm here to see an informant."

Schanke eyed the establishment dubiously, and lowered
his voice. "In a gay bar?"

"Yeah," admitted Nick ruefully, "it caught me by
surprise, too." <Alain, if you could see me now...> He
got a terribly wicked gleam in his eye. "C'mon,
Schank," he said, hooking his arm through his
partner's. "You can be my date."

"Your <what>?!"

He dragged the protesting Schanke inside and sat him
down at the bar. "Don't move," he cautioned. He moved
away, not seeing Schanke gulp and hunker down over the
surface of the bar, trying desperately not to make eye
contact with <anyone>. The music was already driving
him nuts.

Nick approached the table of his old friend and
'accountant.' The short, youngish-looking man with his
curly brown hair had a few 'friends' hovering over
him. Merlin looked up languidly, saw Nick, and waved
his attendants away, whispering something into the
ears of one. Nick grinned. "This is a strange haunt
for you, Merlin," he said lightly, pulling out a chair
and sitting down.

Larry Merlin grinned. "I like to spread my wings, you
know. Keep an open mind." Nick wondered if Merlin was
familiar with Alain--and if he was, just <how>
familiar. "What can I do for you, Nick?"

"I have to find some insurance records," Nick
explained. If he could have this Merlin find the
information he needed, it would speed things up
considerably. Nick guessed that he probably could not
take the information with him when he returned to his
own reality, but he could memorize the sources, and
have his own Merlin print them up for use in legal
proceedings. "There's a man I suspect of having
murdered his infants for money, and I have to find out
how much the policies were."

"What's the name?"

Nick handed him a slip of paper. "James Roubideaux.
The others are the names of his four kids."

Merlin looked up. "Four? He murdered four of his own
children?" He whistled in disgust. "If he was one of
us, he would have been stir-fried by the Enforcers by
now. I'll see what I can find." He looked over Nick's
shoulder. "Aw, ain't that cute."

"What?"

"Your partner seems to have found a friend." Nick
turned around--and had to do a double-take. "You know,
I think Cooper likes him."

"Uh oh. I think I'd better go give him a hand."

Poor Schanke was being 'attended on' by a persistent
bearded gentleman, and neither Schanke's disinterest
nor Nick's powers of persuasion could dislodge him.
Nick muttered something under his breath and then did
what he considered to be the ultimate last resort--he
planted a big wet kiss on Schanke's lips. Cooper,
disappointed, moved on to other prey.

Schanke shoved Nick away, wiping his mouth in disgust.
"You kiss like my Aunt Rita!" he spluttered.

"Sorry, Schanke. Desperate times call for desperate
measures. Don't worry," he winked. "I won't tell Myra.
Come on, let's get out of here."
Schanke persisted in wiping his mouth as they made
their way to their cars. "Oh, for God's sake!" said
Nick good-naturedly. "It couldn't've been <that> bad!"

"Yeah, well, I'll compare notes with Natalie and get
back to you," Schanke shot back, and then watched
Nick's face take on that 'I would blush if I could'
look. "Just good friends... B.S."

"Oh, stick it," Nick grumbled. Then he grinned. "I'll
see you back at the precinct." He watched Schanke
drive off, then rubbed his temples. "Sometimes I
wonder why I miss him," he mused, smiling sadly. "And
then I remember... I think this might be a good time
to leave." A shiver passed over his body, and then he
was staring at the doorknob.




Eidolon (13/?)

The first thing out of Nick's mouth when he stumbled
out of 'The Room' was "Where's Natalie?"

"I sent her home to get some rest. Whatever you went
through in there got thrust onto her in the space of
about thirty seconds. Nicolas, please tell me you're
done now," Étienne begged.

But Nick shook his head. "I'll be back tomorrow
night." He turned his back on Étienne, who was once
again cursing, this time in what sounded like...
Sanskrit? Nick walked carefully and slowly down the
stairs and hallways, and out of the building to his
car.

"Poor Étienne," Nick laughed weakly, leaning his head
on the Caddy's steering wheel. "I'm really pushing his
limits. He's not normally this foul-mouthed, I swear
he isn't!" Nick blinked. "Oh, God, I'm talking to
myself." He turned the key in the ignition just as his
vision wavered. "Ugh." Nick reached under the seat and
grabbed a thermos bottle. He twisted off the top and
swallowed some of the congealing contents. Thankfully,
it was human, and so would not give him nightmares or
hallucinations. It just tasted foul.

Before he went home, he went to see Janette and Jesse
at their apartment. He made no mention of the case, or
'The Room,' or any of the other strange happenings. "I
just figured I'd stop by and check up on you two," he
explained, giving Janette a friendly kiss on her
cheek. Jesse gurgled and held out his arms. Nick
picked him up, touching his nose to the little boy's
and enjoying the zip of electricity that passed
through him at the contact. Now that Janette had been
brought back into the Family, Nick could feel the bond
he had with the boy-Hunter, not as strong as a
master-fledgling bond but there nonetheless. He
started to say something to Janette, then saw the
expression on her face and hesitated. Then Nick said,
simply, "You miss him, don't you?"

Janette started. Then, "It is strange, not having him
underfoot," she admitted. "Alain was annoying, but his
presence was... comforting to me. We are alike, he and
I. We have both suffered in such similar ways." Nick
nodded, remembering how they had found the Gypsy, and
he wondered if Alain had ever discovered who had truly
been responsible for the decision to bring him across.
"No," said Janette, hearing his thoughts. "I never
told him."

Jesse wrapped his hands around Nick's index finger and
gnawed on it fretfully. "No, no," Nick murmured,
extricating his hand. "That's my job." Then to
Janette, "Why didn't you tell him? He always liked
you; I'm sure he would have been grateful."

"I think Jesse misses him, too," said Janette,
sidestepping the question.

Noting the catch in her voice, Nick moved on to other
subjects.

***

The sun was just rising when Nick stepped off the
elevator into his loft. His link with Natalie was
thrumming with energy, causing his eyes to turn
golden. He draped his coat over one of the kitchen
chairs, put his watch and his keys in the metal box
next to the phone, and climbed the stairs to his
bedroom.

She was waiting for him in the dark, but Nick could
see her. Perfectly. He discarded his clothes and went
to her.

Afterward, he told her what had happened inside 'The
Room,' and though he shied away from the encounter
with the younger composite of his wife, Natalie was
understanding.

"You were right," she whispered, curling more tightly
into his embrace. "It should have happened that way."

***

Once again, Nick sat down across a coffee table from
Annie Roubideaux. The scene was a little different;
she had moved into her own apartment, and had lost
some weight. But the cold anger Nick had felt from her
before was still there, made deeper and more icy by
time. "I know you think we haven't been working on
your case," he said to her, "but we have."

Annie didn't speak; she was trembling with repressed
emotion. Nick held up his hands. "We don't have him
yet," he said hastily. "But we are getting close. I
think I may have found an important witness."

"A witness?" she repeated, speaking at last. "A
witness to what? Who?"

"Your niece, Camilla Barstow."

Annie Roubideaux was speechless, this time from
surprise.

"The death of your daughter unnerved her," Nick said
quietly. "So much so that her parents took her on a
vacation, and were gone for two or three weeks."

"And that strikes you as odd, Detective?"

"No."

"But you still think she saw something."

"Yes, I do." Nick leaned forward, his voice low. "And
so do you." It was not a hypnotic suggestion, but it
did not need to be. Annie Roubideaux was nodding.

"Millie won't talk about that night," she said, "but I
remember... she was white as a sheet and silent..."

Nick felt a quick hum of electricity zip through him.
He was getting close, he knew it. "Can you tell me
where to find her?" he asked.

***

Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, Nick
carefully applied the flesh-colored makeup to his
scars. If he was going to get any information out of
Camilla Barstow--who had been only nine when her
cousin had died and was still only twelve years
old--he would have to look as normal as possible.

The makeup box had been a wedding present from
Étienne, who most likely knew more about masks and
making up than anyone in history. Nick was not unused
to stage makeup--he had been an actor before at
various times during his life--but unlike Étienne, he
had never had to hide any deformity of his own.

It made his skin crawl under the grease paint.

***

"Do you prefer 'Millie' or 'Camilla'?" Nick asked the
girl. She toyed nervously with one of her brown
braids.

"Camilla," she said decisively. "'Millie's' a kid's
name."

Nick hid a smile. "All right, Camilla." He didn't want
to resort to hypnosis, but he was determined to end
this case, one way or the other, and he wanted to know
what she knew. "Your mother told you why I'm here to
talk to you?"

"Um..." Camilla looked over her shoulder to where her
mother was standing. Mrs. Barstow nodded. "She said
you wanted to see me about Cece?"

"That's right."

"I didn't do it!" she said quickly.

"I know, I know," said Nick appeasingly. "I don't
think you did anything wrong. But I think you know who
did."

Camilla blinked, and it was though a shutter went down
over her face. "I don't wanna talk about it," she said
slowly.

"I know. You don't like to think about it. I don't
blame you." Nick's deep voice was low, soft,
infinitely soothing and trustworthy. "But if you saw
who hurt Cecelia, you need to tell me."

The little girl said nothing. Her mother took a step
forward. "Detective Knight, I think--"

"It was Jamie," said Camilla softly. Nick looked at
Mrs. Barstow, who stayed where she was. "I got up to
get a drink of water, and I had to go past Cece's
bedroom to get to the bathroom. Her door was open, and
I heard her crying. I looked in. I saw Jamie shaking
her. Then he put her in the crib, and I saw him put a
pillow over her. I got... I got scared."

"I'll bet you did," said Nick gently. "Camilla? Why
didn't you tell anyone about this before?"

Camilla tugged on her braid some more, and chewed it.
"Jamie used to hit Aunt Annie," she said softly. "I
thought if I told, he would hit me, too."

Before he left, Nick gave Mrs. Barstow his card. "If
she remembers anything else," he told her, "call me.
My home number is on the back. Day or night. If I'm
not home, leave a message." He lowered his voice even
further. "You might also think of taking her to a
counselor. She's had this bottled up for three years.
Now that it's come out, she'll need time and he to
overcome it."




Eidolon (14/?)

Nick made a token appearance at the precinct,
informing Reese of his discussion with Camilla
Barstow, and then went home for a day's sleep. His
head was throbbing incessantly. So before he went to
bed, Nick took a double dose of pain killers.

***

"Nicolas," said Étienne brusquely. "I--Oh, bon soir,
Natalie." The six-foot-plus vampire bowed politely.
"Nicolas, I've been speaking with Gulliver." He
gestured to the mouse-haired vampire running his hands
over 'The Door.' "He's concerned that the portal may
be malfunctioning from too much continuous use. It's
becoming unstable, even dangerous."

"I have to go back in. One more time. Just a quick
trip, I promise."

"What do you mean, a quick trip? Whether you're in
there a minute or a month, out here it's twenty
minutes, no more, no less. And I don't think it can
<handle> another twenty minutes. Can't you wait a
week? Let the thing cool its engine, so to speak?"

"I've set too much in motion to stop now." Nick rubbed
his temple. "And I don't think I can handle waiting a
week."

Étienne growled. "I swear, I'm going to build a
labyrinth in front of that room, complete with a
minotaur and a goblin king!"

***

The phone was ringing in Nick's loft when he reentered
the portal. It was Merlin. "The policies on those
babies were massive," he said without preamble.
"Juicy, even."

"I thought they might be. Wonderful job. And where did
you find them?" Nick made the 'accountant' repeat the
sources four times before he was certain he had them
memorized. "Thanks, Merlin."

Nick hung up the phone, and turned around--

Only to find that he couldn't get out.

<Oh, shit.>

***

Simultaneously, Étienne and Natalie both put a hand to
their temples, grimacing. "Gulliver," Natalie said.
"Something's wrong with Nick. Something's wrong."

Gulliver touched 'The Door.' "Oh, no."

"What?"

"It's stuck."



Eidolon (15/?)

Nick couldn't figure out what was going on. Every
other time he had needed to exit the portal, he had
simply decided to leave and he was gone. He scrubbed
his fingers through his hair roughly. Not good, this
was not good... <What did I do wrong?>

<<The portal may be malfunctioning from too much
continuous use. It's becoming unstable, even
dangerous...>>

"I can't get out," Nick realized, pressing his fingers
to his temples. "I can't--I'm trapped. All right, this
is no time to panic--"

***

"This is the perfect time to panic!" Natalie almost
snarled, making Gulliver jump.

Étienne smothered an involuntary grin. <I smile at the
most inopportune moments...> "What do you mean, it's
stuck? Be more specific, man!"

"I can't." Gulliver leaned his forehead against the
door, concentrating, his eyes moved rapidly back and
forth underneath his eyelids. "As near as I can tell,
the internal mechanisms have malfunctioned."

"The internal--? It <has> internal mechanisms?"
Natalie was incredulous. "It's a dressing room!"

"It is a highly delicate instrument," Gulliver
corrected, somewhat testily. "One that I don't pretend
to understand. But I have spent sixty years studying
it." He ruffled his thin hair. "It is an intelligent
room," he continued, calming slightly. "It knows when
it has reached its limits. I believe that it is trying
to 'shut down,' that is, become inoperative for a time
so that it may regenerate."

"It repairs itself?" Étienne asked, intrigued.

Gulliver nodded. "At least," he amended, "I think it
can. But since Knight is still inside, it can't shut
completely off."

"So it's going haywire," Natalie summed up.
"Wonderful."

Gulliver laid his hand flat against the door. "I'm not
sure, but I think the timer is off-line as well."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning that time inside The Room is operating as
real time instead of accelerated time."

Natalie and Étienne again touched their temples.
"Well," Étienne said, holding out his hand for
Natalie's cellular phone, "at least now we're all
operating on the same clock."

***

Intent on not panicking, Nick clicked his cell phone
shut and proceeded to check his supplies. He had his
painkillers, but his flask held only blood, not holy
water. "That's the first thing to do, then," he
murmured to himself, grabbing his car keys. "Get holy
water." If he was going to be in there for an
indefinite time, he would need to keep his tumors
under control. The pain, though... Once the
quadrocaine pills gave out, what was Nick going to do
to smother the pain?

When he heard the lift hum to life, his body froze. He
felt like a deer in a car's headlights. Nowhere to
run, nowhere to hide...

"Nick?" Natalie stepped off the lift and walked
straight towards him. "Nick, what the hell is wrong
with you lately?" Then she saw the expression on his
face, a mixture of panic and pain. "Are--are you
okay?"

"No, I'm not." Nick pocketed his keys and grabbed
Natalie's wrist. "Come on."

"What the--? Where are we going?" Natalie managed to
ask as Nick dragged her back to the elevator.

"Oh, just for a ride."

"Absolutely not," replied Natalie succinctly, freeing
her wrist. She crossed her arms over her chest as the
lift began its decent. Nick made his expression as
pleading and--God help him--puppy dog-like as he
could.

"Nat. Don't you trust me?"

"I don't know," she returned quietly. "Should I?"
Sensing there was more, Nick held his tongue. "I don't
think I know you anymore, Nick. You've been acting
so-- You just haven't been yourself. You haven't been
acting like yourself. And then the other night..." Her
lovely blue eyes pierced through him like a pair of
diamonds. "What are you after, Nick?"

Nick met her stare with a steadiness that would not
have been possible had he truly been faced with his
wife. "All I want," he said, his deep voice quiet, "is
to end it." The door of the lift opened. "But for
right now, I'd settle for you coming for a ride with
me." Nick walked towards his Cadillac.

And then with a sharp gasp he fell forward, bruising
the palms of his hands against the turquoise hood.

~~~{@}~~~

Nick crept slowly around the interior of Kessel House.
"Alyssa, can you hear me?" He waited, but there was no
response. Determined, Nick continued to speak to the
empty room. "I want you to understand... I
did love you very much. I wanted us to be together
forever. I'm so sorry."

A fire suddenly kindled in the cold hearth, and when
Nick turned
around, Alyssa was standing there.

"Nicholas, I know that what you say is true. I love
you still. But I must tell you, because I love you,
that you should not have come here. You are in danger
here."

~~~{@}~~~

Natalie could only watch in horror as Nick flopped
bonelessly on the garage floor, like a puppet with
half its strings cut.

~~~{@}~~~

This was a good feeling, Nick decided as he surveyed
the murky fantasy that was the Raven. Control.
Authority. <Power.> Unadulterated by law,
uncomplicated by rules and regulations. He could
<feel> the fear oozing from the nightclub's patrons as
they skirted by him as quickly as their legs would
carry him.

This was what LaCroix had been.

The embodiment of the ultimate right.

The last word.

Nick smiled into his expensive and rare vintage.

The alpha and the omega.

A good feeling, indeed.

~~~{@}~~~

With a lurch, Nick found himself on the cold concrete
of his garage, shivering. <What in God's name was
that?> It certainly was not a flashback, at least, not
all of it. Kessel House and Alyssa, that he
remembered. But when had he <ever> compared himself to
LaCroix... and liked it?!

His vision cleared, and he saw that Natalie was
hovering over him. "You really need to stop making a
habit of this," she scolded him, trying to laugh, to
make a joke of it all.

Wordlessly, Nick picked himself up and got into the
car. "Coming?" he asked roughly. Natalie hesitated for
a bare two seconds before climbing into the
passenger's side.

"Where are we going?" she asked, not really expecting
an answer. He told her. "Excuse me?" certain she must
have misheard him. But no. Nick obligingly repeated
their destination. "The Church of St. John." Natalie's
demand for an explanation was cut short by the ringing
of a cell phone. Nick fumbled in his pocket. "Knight,
go. What the <hell> is going on here?!"

***

Étienne growled into Natalie's cell phone. "The bloody
thing is breaking apart! I told you this would
happen!"

***

"All right, all right. You know everything. You're
God, happy now? What's happening to me? Do you have
any idea of the kind of hallucinations I'm having?
It's like I fed off a flower person!"

***

"Gulliver's doing everything he can, Nicolas." Étienne
sighed. "I'll call you back." He pressed the OFF
button and refrained from crushing the machine in his
long-fingered hand. Instead, he handed it back to its
owner. "Any progress?"

"None. I think he's going to give himself an
aneurysm." Natalie had purple circles under her eyes
that looked like deep bruises, and, Étienne admitted
to himself, he didn't feel too chipper either.

But Gulliver definitely looked the worst of the three.
He leaned tired hands against The Door, taking in deep
breaths through his nose. Finally, he said, "It's not
responding to me as much as I think it could. But I
never focused much on my extra-sensory abilities."

"Gulliver," Natalie began, "would someone with ESP
abilities have more luck in... 'communing' with The
Room?"

Gulliver raised a tired eyebrow. "Well, such a person
would certainly have more chance than I."

"Someone like a <psychic> vampire?"

"Yes, most likely. Do you know any?"

Natalie and Étienne shot each other a look. Then
Étienne nodded.





Eidolon (16/?)

Natalie held tightly to the dashboard as Nick made a
quick, tight turn. "Nick, watch the road!"

"I am watching it," he growled. "It's just not staying
in one place--" Nick stopped abruptly in mid-sentence.
He gritted his teeth, trying to lock in his moan of
pain. He was beginning to be frightened now. His skull
was beginning to feel like an overstretched drum skin.

"You need to pull over."

"I <need> to get to the church."

Natalie sighed heavily, then gulped as Nick narrowly
avoided a collision with a delivery van. "Because...?"
There was no response. "Nick, why is St. John's
suddenly so important?" Still no response. "Nick?
Nick?!"

~~~{@}~~~

"They say there's nothing worse than for a parent to
outlive his child." LaCroix paused. "Fortunately,
there are exceptions.

"I never thought I'd say this, Nicholas, but for once,
I'm glad of your insistent search for humanity.
Perhaps your resurgent goodness was all that was
needed to defeat Divia's evil."

"Urs and Vachon were young. They did not know how to
deal with it. I'm sorry for your loss, LaCroix."

"Urs' body?"

"I've had Natalie take care of that."

"And Vachon?"

"Tracy buried him next to Screed. She knows what they
were."

"Indeed. Is this going to be a problem?"

"Vachon once told me she's a resistor. But... I've
seen you work around that."

"What exactly would you like her to remember?"

"That Vachon was a good friend. A vampire, who decided
it was time to move on."

"A vampire?"

"The knowledge of our existence was Vachon's gift to
her. We have no right to take that away."

LaCroix nodded, not entirely convinced. "If that is
what you wish." He turned back to his daughter's
corpse. "I will stay with Divia until her body is
turned to ashes and then commit them to the wind." He
licked his lips. "I may even say a prayer."

Again, Nick touched his master's shoulder. "Good
night, LaCroix."

The ancient vampire returned the caress, for caress it
was. "Nicholas."

~~~{@}~~~

<Okay,> Nick thought frantically as he ran a red
light, <I remember that...> And he braced himself for
the next flash.

~~~{@}~~~

"Get up, Nicholas." A pair of thin, strong hands
grabbed Nick and lifted him up from the rain drenched
pavement as though he weighed no more than a newborn
baby. "That's a good fellow. Easy, now."

<I know that voice,> Nick managed to think. <I know
that voice... but that's not possible...>

"You're... you're <dead...>"

The voice laughed, low and kind. "Now really,
Nicholas..."

~~~{@}~~~

<I don't remember that happening... and why couldn't I
see his face?> The memory of the voice was fading
fast, and soon Nick had no idea whom he had been
speaking with.

~~~{@}~~~

Nick stared down at the open casket. Donald Schanke's
thinning hair was neatly brushed, he was well-dressed,
and his hands were crossed over his chest. The last
mourners had left, and the church was quiet.
Respectfully, Nick lowered his head, saying a silent
prayer for his late partner.

~~~{@}~~~

He snapped out of that flash with a frightened jerk.
<Now I *know* that never happened!> The manner of
Schanke and Captain Cohen's deaths had prevented any
open-casket funerals. There had been no bodies left to
bury. He pulled into the deserted parking lot of the
Church of St. John and began violently dry-coughing.

***

Kai Thorn didn't have time to marvel at the
implications of The Room or to allow himself to
rejoice at his old friend Gulliver being alive. He
listened carefully to a quick explanation of The
Room's properties and then stood before The Door with
the palms of his hands pressed flat against the old
wood. His fingers splayed wide, covering as much
surface as he could. Kai closed his eyes, and reached
out into the swirling nothing beyond The Door.

Gulliver sat in a chair and eased his sore hands.
Natalie and Étienne waited tensely, their fingertips
pressed to their temples.

"He's shifting," Kai proclaimed at last. "Forwards and
backwards... reality and fantasy... The true past and
the past of what-ifs, and the fluidity of the
future... And trying to separate them is causing
Nicholas great pain." The muscles in Kai's forehead
were clenched tightly in concentration. "He's trying
to get to St. John's, for holy water to lessen his
pain. Natalie is with him. And LaCroix is following
him... And..." The wrinkles in his forehead smoothly
briefly, then returned. "Ah," he said as understanding
dawned. "So <that's> that problem."

And then he fell silent.

Natalie, Étienne and Gulliver continued to wait.

***

LaCroix had no idea what had compelled him to take to
the air that night and fly in the directions of the
Church of St. John. But the impulse was purely
instinctual, and LaCroix was far too old and powerful
to ever ignore his instincts. So he went to the
church.

And who should he see in the church parking lot,
doubled over next to his prized automobile, but
Nicholas? And with a woman, no less. From his rooftop
perch, LaCroix's ice-blue eyes raked over the female.
So this was the doctor Janette had told him about.
Natalie Lambert. Janette had described her as pretty,
but that did not do her justice. She was, in a word,
exquisite. However, this was not the time to eyeball
Nicholas's colleague. His son was not well.

With his usual lack of grand ceremony, LaCroix dropped
to the ground, and was beside Nick's bent form in an
instant. The woman flinched but, to her credit, she
neither screamed nor jumped back. "What have you
gotten yourself into now, mon fils, hmm?"

Blood-sweat was pouring from Nick's forehead. "I need
to get into the church," he managed to whisper.
"Now..." He could feel them pulsing beneath his
deceptively smooth skin.

"Nonsense," replied his master brusquely, hauling Nick
to his feet. "I am taking you home."

<Home... home...>

"The church first," Nick insisted, and with a rush of
strength, threw off LaCroix's hands and bolted for the
heavy front doors. Natalie and LaCroix had no choice
but to follow.

To the ancient Roman, trying to enter the place of
worship and light was like trying to walk headlong
into a strong wind, but to his amazement, Nicholas had
no difficulty in stumbling up the aisle towards the
altar.

>>Nicholas, can you hear me?<<

<Kai?>

>>Hold on, *tadog.* Be strong. Just hold on a little
longer. We'll bring you home--<<

But Kai's soothing words were cut short by a flood of
images. Overwhelmed, Nick collapsed at the base of the
baptismal font.
~~~{@}~~~

"I should have made sure you were dead!" Nick snarled.

"And did you ever stop to consider what would happen
to the rest of the Family if you had succeeded?"
LaCroix hissed back. "To your brothers and sisters?
What of them, mon Nicolas penible?"

~~~{@}~~~

"You can't have your ideals and eat them, too,
Nicholas."

~~~{@}~~~

"He doesn't give a <tinker's damn> about any of us!"
Alain exclaimed. "Only you and Janette. Me, Alyce,
Alexei, Daniel--and the ones who are still here are
the ones who have learned to live with it."

~~~{@}~~~

"I have never felt such closeness. This bond I seem to
have with you..."

"It's as if we've been together forever."

"Yes." And Fleur kissed him. LaCroix jerked back,
astonished. Then, his resolve flooding back, he bent
down and returned the kiss. It quickly deepened, and
LaCroix's arms wrapped around Fleur, nearly lifting
her off her feet.

>From the darkened archway, Nicholas watched, eagerly
waiting for his moment. His cue, as it were.





Eidolon (17/?)

"Lucien. Please. Take me. Take me with you. I cannot
live without you." She laid her head on his chest, and
LaCroix stroked her hair. "I thought I was used to the
pain of separation. There have been so many from my
family. My father... Nicolas to the Crusades once and
now again. But have never felt such... <overwhelming>
sorrow."

"My only comfort is a vision I have that you and I
will never die. We will be together through all
eternity."

"To live forever... What an impossible dream."

LaCroix closed his eyes briefly. When they opened,
they glowed a dull gold in the torch-lit garden.
"There is... a way," he rumbled in a harsh, soft
growl. "My precious flower." Easily turning Fleur's
head to one side, he bared the slender column of her
neck to the light of the stars and reverently slipped
his fangs into her throat.

Silently, Nicholas fell back a few paces, leaning
against the stone wall. He had made up his mind to
allow this, but he had never expected the sight of
LaCroix drinking from his sister to move him so
greatly. Nicholas tasted his own blood, as tears
dripped down his cheeks and lips. It was one of the
most beautiful things he had ever laid eyes upon.

Fleur was lying limp in LaCroix's arms when Nicholas
looked up. Her blood was still dripping from the old
Roman's mouth. He looked stunned, and was standing
there dumbly, making no move to revive the life that
was fast slipping away.

Nicholas acted swiftly. In an instant, he was by their
side, digging his fingernails into LaCroix's shoulder.
"Snap out of it, man!" he growled, giving his master a
sharp shake. "You haven't much time!" He supported
Fleur's head as LaCroix held his own bleeding wrist to
the woman's lips. "You could have picked a more
secluded spot for your tryst," he commented.

Before LaCroix could formulate a response, a pair of
teeth tore ravenously into his wrist, drinking.
Gently, Nicholas released his grip on his sister.
"Treat her well, LaCroix," he whispered. He reached
into his belt pouch and pulled out his flask.

"What is that?" LaCroix asked, cradling Fleur's head
against his chest. She was loosening her hold on his
wrist; she would need mortal blood very soon.

"Something to tide her over until you can find live
prey." LaCroix pried his arm from Fleur's mouth, and
Nicholas gave her the flask, which she drained
quickly. The red in her eyes faded, but only to gold.

"More," she whimpered. "The hunger, Nicolas..."

"I know, ma petite soeur." Nicholas hugged her hard.
"God go with you," he whispered softly into her ear,
"and may He stand between you and harm, in all the
empty places where you must walk."

~~~{@}~~~

"Evil is an immutable, indestructible part of human
existence. It will always exist. It... can never die.
It can only be... waylaid."

~~~{@}~~~

There was a fierce, pulling rush of air, and Nick
suddenly found himself standing in a darkened room.
Not the threadbare inside of the old dressing room,
however, but an expensively decorated drawing room. He
was reminded of Kai's office, with its dark, muted
colors and heavy wood accents. There was a fireplace,
but only a few coals were shimmering sleepily there.

A sensation of movement behind his back made Nick
whirl around. Wisps of white-blond hair fell across
the strongly boned face of a young man, perhaps
seventeen or eighteen, as the gaze of his large, deep,
nearly violet eyes rested disapprovingly on Nick, the
intruder. Though he could not imagine why, Nick had
the unshakable feeling that he knew this boy...
Finally he pointed gracefully at Nick, and spoke in a
youthful yet curiously masterful voice. "You are not
supposed to be here."

The dying coals in the fireplace flared to life with a
roar. Nick turned instinctively at the sound, and when
he did, the young man swiftly laid a pair of strong
iron hands on Nick's shoulders and shoved him into the
fire.

~~~{@}~~~

Nick's eyes snapped open, and alighted instantly on
the base of the marble font. Ignoring Natalie--who was
beside him--and LaCroix--who was just working his way
up the last few feet of the aisle--Nick pulled himself
upright and plunged his head into the basin full of
holy water and chrism, drinking like a greedy horse.

***

The muscles in Kai's arms were spasming furiously, and
he swallowed the urge to give in to a coughing spell.
<Come on, Quartermayne!> he urged himself.

***

Incensed at his fledgling but fighting panic at what
he was seeing, LaCroix completed the remaining steps
to the baptismal font. Thirst sated and pain quelled,
Nick raised his dripped face. LaCroix stopped,
stone-cold in his tracks, and Nick realized his master
was staring at his throat. The ancient vampire
approached Nick cautiously, put out his hand--careful
to avoid the still-dripping holy water--and with his
fingertip, lifted a gold chain. He hissed in shock
when he saw the gold and garnet cross, and dropped it
back against Nick's skin. LaCroix backed away in
haste, his jaw tight, and when he spoke, his rough
voice would have scoured brick. "What have you done
with Nicholas?"

Behind him, Nick heard Natalie's gasp. "Don't be an
ass, LaCroix," he scoffed. "I am Nicholas." And to
prove it, he called on the vampire to make itself
known.

The General was unconvinced. "My Nicholas cannot wear
such icons. And he has no such adornments," he added,
looking pointedly down at Nick's hands. Then he
frowned. "Nor does he have such blemishes."

<So the whole mask is gone,> Nick thought. "I <am>
Nicholas," he insisted. "But... not the Nicholas you
know."

"That's for damn sure," muttered Natalie. Now Nick
glanced over his shoulder, and found her eyeing him
with an _expression so distrustful, it was physically
painful. "Your eyebrow is in three pieces, Nick. Care
to explain that?"

"Who are you?" LaCroix hissed. His eyes followed a
drop of water as it trickled down the line of Nick's
scars and rolled off his chin to make the long drop to
the floor. "<What> are you?"

<Any time, Kai...>

***

"Got it!" With a shout of triumph, Kai flung The Door
open. A hurricane of white light inundated the
hallway, momentarily engulfing everyone in it.

Then just as quickly as it had come, the thick
tendrils of light pulled back into the confines of The
Room.

***

LaCroix looked past Nick and Natalie and froze. With a
deep sense of foreboding, Nick turned.

There was a <ball of pulsing white light> hovering
just above the very center of the altar.

***

And suddenly, looking into The Room, Natalie could see
the inside of the Church of St. John. It was like
looking through the one-way mirror in the precinct
interrogation room; she could see the images of Nick
and LaCroix and even herself, but they could not see
her.

Kai read her thoughts. "They can hear you," he assured
her. "Call to him."

Tentatively, Natalie approached The Doorway and called
out, "Nick?"

***

Nick let out an explosive sigh of relief. "Nat? Nat, I
can hear you!"
Natalie and LaCroix--each knew precisely who the other
was, and both were too confused to feel any fear or
animosity just now--looked at each other in
bewilderment at the voices coming from this light.

"Nicholas... What is this?" But even as he said it,
LaCroix knew. <This> was the source of the strange
scent he had smelled on his son, the reek of the old
ways.

***

"Nicholas!" Kai shouted. "Walk towards the light! Come
back to us!"

***

Trustingly, Nick did as he was bid, mounting the
shallow steps up the altar.

Then he panicked.

<Is this the way home? Or is this death?>

***

Kai blinked. "Huh?" He shook his head vigorously. Then
he realized, "It's the plain. The choice."

"The choice between life and death," Natalie
continued, as her confusion cleared as well. "He's
afraid. Whatever he's seeing reminds him of when he
was brought across."

"Oh, for the love of Allah. This is <not> the time for
Nicolas to be weighing his heart against a feather!"
The tall French vampire strode up to The Door.

"Nicolas!" Étienne bellowed. "Jump!"

***

Nick jumped.





Eidolon (18/19)

Nick's feet and hands hit the hard, dusty ground with
a meaty slap, and he crouched there for a few moments,
rocking on the balls of his feet, calming his racing
heart. From the corners of his eyes, he surveyed his
surroundings.

It was bright, daytime, and the sky was blue. Nick
lifted his head, looking to the distance. There were
hills there, grey-green against the living blue of the
sky. With a single, slow, fluid motion, Nick
straightened to his full height, taking it all in.

"It is beautiful, is it not?"

Nick stiffened. His head snapped around. "Divia."

***

Within the church, on either side of the baptismal
font, Natalie Lambert and Lucien LaCroix stood rooted
to the floor, staring in mute shock and disbelief at
the glowing ball on the altar, waiting for Nick to
reappear. Wondering if he ever would...

***

Inside the theater hallway, the four waited,
breathless. They looked through The Door into the
church and wondered what had gone wrong. And then, in
his succinct way, Étienne voiced their collective
concerns.

"What the hell just happened?"

***

The lovely blond figure smiled. "Not quite," she
contradicted in gentle Latin, but even before she was
finished, Nick saw his mistake. Though she was short,
this was no little girl, but a young woman, perhaps
seventeen or eighteen years old. There were definitely
resemblances... but her eyes were calm and almost
friendly. "My name is Julia."

"Julia," Nick repeated. He looked down at himself,
somehow not surprised to find that he was clad in his
black pants and plum tunic. His fingers wandered to
his throat, wrapping around the two crosses that were
reassuringly there. "What is this place?"

"You have been here before."

"Yes, but... But never like this. I'm not dying."

Julia tilted her head to one side. "Are you sure?"

"...Am I?"

"What do you think?" She walked towards him slowly.
"What do you think this place is?" Julia stepped
behind Nick and emerged as the young man with the
violet-blue eyes. "What do you think is happening to
you?"

"Who are you?" Nick wondered aloud, too curious to be
angry or frightened. "Why do I know you?"

The ethereal boy with the eyes like aged Roman wine
shook his head. "You don't," he replied. "And I am no
one." He raised an eyebrow in a disturbingly familiar
manner. "What do you think is happening to you?"

Nick hesitated. He really had no idea what was going
on, or where he was, or which way was up or down. His
hesitation apparently amused the boy, who sighed and
threw up his hands. "You never do change, do you,
Nicolas? Still thick as a brick, no matter the
century." Handsome face twisting into a grin, the boy
swept back the white cloak Nick hadn't noticed until
that moment. "Ah, well, then I shall take pity on
you."

***

Natalie watched in trepidation as Gulliver, and then
Étienne, rolled up their sleeves and plunged their
bare arms into the smoky white ether within The Room.
Kai was draped over a chair, gasping for air, but he
waved away her attempts to help him. "It'll pass," he
choked out. "Always does."

"Let me do something," she insisted. "I need to do
something!"

Kai looked at her pale, drawn features, and nodded,
tiredly.

***

"You have been here before," the boy hinted.

"I know. When I was brought across."

"Yes, then."

"And--and when I used the machine--"

"Yes, then. And once more."

Nick thought. "I can't... I don't remember..." He
trailed off.

<<You are in danger here...>>

"Kessel House."

The boy smiled. "Well done, Nicolas. You're not such a
lost cause after all." He took a step closer to Nick.
"This is a place where the dead walk freely. There are
many such places; the Eidolon is only one such
doorway. This is... the edge of death."

"Why am I here?"

"You dwell in dreams, Nicolas, at the expense of your
true life." The mysterious boy's eyes were lightening,
becoming more blue, enhancing Nick's conviction that
he knew this person. "You are <always> here."

Nick mulled this over. He was running out of...

"Time? Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"How do I get out?" Nick asked.

"Only be certain that that is what you truly want,"
the boy cautioned. He pointed, and Nick saw figures he
had thought never to see again. "You are always here,"
he repeated, "but you can only see it now because the
portal you entered through has malfunctioned."

"I know that," Nick said absently. He was gazing on
the long-dead faces of old friends, and family, and
all his resolve to get out of this place was draining
slowly away. His parents, his half-brother Henri and
his half-sisters Matilda and Marie--dear God, how long
had it been since he had thought of them?--Joan, and
Nicholas of Bari, the second St. Nicholas, whom he had
also known; Gordon Barrington, and even his old dog
Raleigh. The excited shade bounded up and licked
Nick's hand, whining in greeting.

"Yes, drastically malfunctioned," continued the boy in
his calm, masterful voice. "So much so that it may
self-destruct, and you will be trapped forever on this
edge."

And why, Nick wondered, kneeling to pet his dog, would
that be such a bad thing?

"Dreams die hard, Nicolas," the boy said quietly. "And
die they must, eventually. When all this is gone, what
will be left for you?"

Raleigh licked at Nick's ear.

"Dreams alone cannot sustain the human spirit. There
must be life as well as dreams."

"I'm not human."

"You are human <above all else>," the strange boy
retorted. "And never let anyone tell you differently."

***

"I really... wish... I knew... what I was doing,"
Étienne grunted, his long thin fingers and hands and
arms stiff and contorted inside the ether.

"You're doing better... than I am," Gulliver returned.
"I've only got the know-how. You've got the power."

"And a bloody lot of good it's ever done me."

"Doesn't seem to be bothering you right now."

Étienne's lips curled in a minute snarl. "Are we
examining me or The Room?"

Gulliver fell silent.





Eidolon (19/19)

Nick stood up and faced his mysterious companion. "Who
are you?" he asked. "I know you--I know I do--"

"You do not know me," the boy retorted.

"You do not," added a voice behind Nick. He turned,
and there was the young woman, Julia. "But he is not
the issue here." She walked over to the boy--who was
literally twice her height--and put her tiny hand on
his arm. "You tried," she said softly. Dejectedly, the
boy nodded. "You did your best." Julia looked back up
at Nick. "You should go now, Nicholas. You are not
supposed to be here."

***

Gulliver began to grin. "All right, all right, I think
we're getting closer--"

Abruptly, the two vampires working on The Room were
thrown back by a burst of energy.

"Ouch," Gulliver groaned. Étienne rubbed the back of
his head and glared at the younger vampire.

"Very eloquent."

***

Nick followed the line of her gaze to a door that had
appeared on the landscape. It was The Door. The images
of his friends and family faded as he walked towards
it. His fingers touched the knob.

***

He was unconscious again. <This really is becoming a
terrible habit. I wonder if they make a patch for this
kind of thing...> As he worked his way back to
wakefulness, he slowly took stock of his situation.
Someone was hugging him, someone was kissing him and
someone was punching him in the shoulder. Nick groaned
and tried to curl into a fetal position.

"Étienne, stop belting me."

"It's not me that's hitting you, Nicolas," Étienne
chuckled. "And I'm certainly not the one kissing you.
That would be your lovely wife. And I'd say you're
getting what you deserve."

"If you're quite finished beating your husband <back>
into unconsciousness, Natalie..." Kai slipped his
hands under Nick's armpits and--with a little
effort--lifted him to his feet. "Should I bring him to
the clinic?"

"No, I'll bring him home. I can treat him there."

"You're the doc, Doc," Kai grunted.

"Kai, I can walk."

"Yes, well, and I can sing. Doesn't mean I make a
routine practice of it."

***

Laying the filled syringe aside, Natalie placed a
bandage on the tiny wound the needle had created in
Nick's arm. "You're not coagulating," she scolded.
Nick squirmed on the examining table and said nothing.
Kai just stood in the corner, watching, his expression
closed and bland.

Finally, Nick said, "That's it? Just 'you're not
coagulating?'"

"What else do you want me to say, Nick?"

"You were warned, Nicholas," said Kai quietly. "What
else can we say?"

Chastened, Nick slid off the table. He took the mug
Natalie handed him and went into the bedroom.

Natalie was grateful when Kai hugged her--although it
was a little awkward, he being a good eight inches
shorter than she was. "He doesn't feel right," she
whispered.

"I know. It's getting worse."

***

Nick cuddled close to Natalie when she finally came to
bed, but they did not speak of what he had
experienced. He had to clear it through his own mind
first, so he kept his barriers up and tight.

Who were the two figures he had seen, Julia and the
boy? Why had she looked like an older version of
Divia? And <where> had he seen that boy before?

<<You tried. You did your best.>>

What exactly had the white-blond boy tried to do?

***

It took a few days, but with the help of Tracy and
Larry Merlin, Nick finally cobbled together a coherent
case against James Roubideaux. Armed with warrants and
a current address, he and Tracy went out and arrested
the man.

"What am I being arrested for?" Roubideaux asked as
Nick shoved him roughly against the car.

"For the homicide of your child." Hearing the click of
the handcuffs was immensely satisfying to Nick's ears.
 He straightened up and turned his suspect around.
"Mr. Roubideaux, do you know who I am?"

Nick had no idea whether or not James Roubideaux had
ever set eyes on him before, but he must have, for he
paled in fright.

"You do look familiar... How did you find me?"

The detective gave Roubideaux a tight, wolfish smile.
"I'm very good at my job."

Later that night, after Roubideaux was safely
ensconced in a cell, Nick went to tell Annie the good
news, but she was not at home. Nick stood before her
apartment door, bouncing on the balls of his feet,
thinking.

His hunch proved correct. He found her at her
daughter's grave.

"I don't know how to thank you," Annie told Nick,
grasping his hand.

"I don't know that you should," said Nick mournfully.
"This should have been taken care of three years ago."
And in his mind's eye, he could see the past that he
had maneuvered through. He could see his doppelganger,
joking with Schanke as they went about their work. He
could see himself in deep conversation with LaCroix
and Janette and Natalie. He could see the life that he
might have lived, if only...

Nick shook his head, and sighed. He covered her hand.
"But at least you can rest now."

Annie nodded. "And so can she." She squeezed his hand
once more, and left him at Cecelia's graveside. Nick
knelt down beside the plaque, brushing some stray dirt
from the letters.

"And so can I."

~Finis--June 3rd, 2003~

April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com

=====
~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~
http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html
~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html
"And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and
fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the
world..."
                            --"The Flash of Lightning" by Arthur Rimbaud