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Harvest of the Damned, or
An Eggplant is Just a Zucchini in Drag
By Nancy Kaminski
(c) September 2001
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"Where is he?" the voice on the phone demanded.

"Huh?" Natalie Lambert, MD, her mind still on the blood screen report
she was reading, hastily focused her thoughts. "Schanke? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, and I'm pissed. Where is he?"

"Let me guess -- Nick left you without a word again, right?"

"He sure as hell did! I've called his cell phone, tried to get him on
the radio, called the loft...no dice! Then I figured he might be
hiding out down there with you and the stiffs." The voice turned
plaintive. "C'mon, is he there? We've got an important meeting with
the captain in a half hour. He's gotta be there."

Natalie was amused. Nick, for all his virtues, tended to wander off
from time to time, much to the annoyance of his coworkers. It was only
the fact that he usually returned with the solution to the current
case that kept them from handcuffing him to his partner. "Nope, sorry.
How'd you lose him?"

"I didn't lose him, he lost himself! We came back to the office after
talking to witnesses to that knifing over on Church Street. He walked
in the door, stopped, turned around, and practically ran me over on
the way out. Didn't say a word!" He paused. "Of course, he was having
a sneezing fit at the time, so he couldn't. But still..."

"Huh. Well, sorry, can't help you. He isn't here, and I haven't seen
him all night." Then it hit her. "He was *sneezing*? Nick never
sneezes!"

"Well, he was tonight." Schanke didn't sound too interested in the
state of his partner's upper respiratory tract. "If you
see him, tell him to get his butt down here, okay?"

"Okay, will do." Natalie hung up the phone thoughtfully.
Sneezing...could it be? Could the first indication of mortality
manifest itself as a simple, human sneeze? A thrill of excitement ran
through her. Maybe that last concoction she put together was doing the
trick.

She looked at the clock. Two in the morning. She had come on duty at
six that evening, so it was almost the end of her shift -- she could
leave a little early to try to find Nick. But, she thought, he could
be anywhere, and Toronto was a big city. She pictured him cruising the
streets with his police radio off, maybe confused, maybe elated,
Maybe...

Oh, geeze. Would he run to Janette like he did before to show her how
he had changed? It was almost the first thing he had done when he had
thought he was cured by the Lidovuterine. It would be just like him.
And if Lacroix was there...she shuddered to think what the master
vampire would do.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that she'd
find Nick at the Raven. He headed there like a homing pigeon heads to
its roost.

That settled it. She would go to the Raven, and if Nick wasn't there,
she would go to his loft and wait for him. She wasn't going to let him
do something stupid, if indeed this was the miracle they had both been
waiting for.

Standing, she stuffed the blood screen report into its file folder and
thrust it into her in basket. Hastily she packed her hold-all
satchel, adding her research notebook and stethoscope, just in case.
She put on her coat, shouldered her satchel, and left.

When, twenty minutes later, she pulled up near the Raven, she had a
few second thoughts. The place simply intimidated her. The vampires
were bad enough, but the mortal Goths were almost more scary. At least
most of the vampires tried to blend in. She glanced down at her
business suit and trench coat and sighed. Yup, she'd be sticking out
like a sore thumb, as usual.

Resolutely she marched into the dimly-lit night club. As she waited by
the entrance for her eyes to adjust to the low light, she had the
uncomfortable feeling that everyone -- mortal and vampire -- was
staring at her. She squared her shoulders and headed towards the bar.

Suddenly there was a chorus of sneezes.

She peered around -- could that be Nick? Surely not, those were
sneezes from more than one person. She went further back into the
club's recesses, leaving a trail of sneezing club-goers in her wake.
Puzzled, she slowed and looked around. Everywhere she saw pale men and
women, hands to noses, shoulders shaking convulsively. It looked like
a convention of hay fever sufferers. Some were getting up and leaving
after shooting her a dirty look.

She finally spotted Nick in a booth at the back of the club sitting
with Lacroix, a chessboard between them. What the hell? She wondered
in annoyance. Did he leave work just to have a friendly chess game
with his master?

Maybe, instead of becoming mortal, he was simply going insane.

Whatever the case, right now, like everyone else, they were both
staring at her. Nick had a very peculiar look on his face, like he
couldn't decide if he was horrified, amused, or repulsed, and had
decided to mix the expressions together. When she arrived at the
booth, he sneezed.

"Nick!" she exclaimed. He waved a hand weakly as he made a snuffling
sound. "What's going on? Why'd you leave work? Schanke is really
upset, you know," she added.

"I, uh, ah-CHOO!" He grabbed a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew
his nose resoundingly.

Nat became aware that Lacroix's face was going through a remarkable
series of contortions. Fascinated, she watched as his austere visage
stiffened, then twisted as if in pain. His eyes squinched half-shut,
his lips thinned; his jaw seemed clenched. It was like watching a
slow-motion explosion. The ancient vampire glared at her through his
slitted eyes, then lost the battle. He let loose with a resounding
sneeze.

Nat couldn't help it. She laughed.

Lacroix straightened up and fixed her with a glare that should have
stricken her dead on the spot. The effect was spoiled, however, by the
arrival of yet another nasal explosion.

Entertaining as it was to watch the ancient Roman general reduced to
the very image of a Contac commercial, Nat dragged her eyes back to
her immediate concern. "Nick, will you *please* tell me what's going
on here?"

A delicate gloved hand gripped her arm, causing Nat to jump, startled.
She turned to see the hand's owner also glaring at her and sneezing.
Janette hissed, "Partez immédiatement! Go! Leave my club and take that
aubergine with you! Out!" She dragged Natalie towards the door with an
iron grip.

"Niiiiick!" Natalie called helplessly as she was unceremoniously towed
away. Nick caught up to her just as Janette shoved her out the front
door. Nat stumbled onto the sidewalk and jumped again as the heavy
door shut behind her with a decisive thud. Nick sneezed explosively in
the sudden silence.

"What's going on, Nick?" she asked for about the fifth time. "Why is
everyone sneezing? What's an aubergine? Why does Janette think I have
one?"

Nick sniffed, then sneezed again. "Nat, do you happen to have an
eggplant on you?" he finally asked, rubbing his nose with his now-
sodden handkerchief.

Natalie stared at him. "An eggplant? What would I be doing with..."
Her voice trailed off. She looked down at her capacious satchel, still
slung over her shoulder. "...an eggplant." She opened the canvas bag,
rummaged a bit, and came up with a glossy, purple vegetable.

Nick grimaced and sneezed. "Why," he asked patiently, "do you have an
eggplant, also known as an aubergine, in your bag?"

"Um, it's because Kenny -- you remember Kenny, the guy in Receiving who
has a big garden? -- he was giving them away. Last year it was
zucchini, but this year he grew eggplants instead. I took one, and
stuck it in my bag so I wouldn't forget it. So what?"

"Wonderful. Will you please get rid of the damned thing?"

She hugged the ovoid vegetable to her chest protectively. "Why? I want
to make eggplant Parmesan. Why should I get rid of it?" she asked,
annoyed.

Another sneeze. "Um, eggplants are sort of like garlic. Only
different."

Nat stared at Nick, then down at her eggplant. It seemed so innocent,
just another almost-tasteless vegetable destined to be fried, baked,
chopped, diced, fricasseed, grated, or otherwise transformed into
something edible. "You mean...?"

"Yeah." Nick admitted. "Vampires are...affected...by eggplants. They
make us sneeze." To prove his point he sneezed and made a face. It
was obviously an embarrassing moment.

"You're kidding!" Natalie exclaimed. "I never heard of that!"

"It's not very glamorous, is it?" he said bitterly. "It's not like the
garlic, crosses, or holy water. It's just embarrassing. No one's going
to string eggplants across their windows or wear an eggplant around
their neck to ward off a vampire." He sneezed again and gave Nat a
miserable look. "Will you *please* get rid of that thing? My nose
hurts."

Nat was interested now. "So what's the effective range? Hey -- is that
why you ditched out of work? Did someone bring in free eggplants?"

Nick edged away a bit. "Let's just say that three feet is way too
close, and yes, the squad room was full of the evil things. I had to
leave. It was that or launch each and every eggplant out the window.
It wouldn't have been a pretty sight. I went to the one place I
thought would be guaranteed eggplant-free to recover."

"Wait a minute!" she protested. "You didn't so much as blink when you
were over the last time I made eggplant Parmesan! Why weren't you
sneezing then?"

Through gritted teeth, Nick said, "If I tell you, will you just *do
something* with that cursed vegetable?" He sneezed again.

Nat patted her eggplant. "Okay. Deal."

"It only works with uncooked eggplants. Once you cook them, they're
harmless. Stinky, but harmless." He looked pointedly at the purple
vegetable. "Well?"

"Oh! Sorry." Nat tucked the eggplant back into her satchel and smiled
brightly at him.

"Aughgh! Nat! That's not going to do it!" Nick made an abortive lunge
towards the satchel, but sneezed at the last minute and missed his
target.

From behind Nat an oil-smooth voice, only a little marred by the
raspiness brought on by convulsive sneezing, said, "I'll take care of
this, Nicholas." The satchel was plucked from her hands.

Nat turned to see Lacroix open her satchel and fish out the offending
vegetable. He fixed her with a cold, slightly bloodshot eye. Then,
with a form that would do justice to a World Series-class pitcher, he
wound up and hurled the eggplant into the night. After about five
seconds they heard the faint tinkling of broken glass. Lacroix nodded
sharply once and handed her back her satchel. "No more produce in the
club, Doctor. I will not warn you again." He turned on his heel and
stalked back into the Raven. There was a muffled sneeze just before
the heavy door closed behind him.

"There goes tomorrow's dinner," Nat said sadly. She wondered what some
innocent office worker would think, finding an eggplant splattered all
over his or her office in the morning.

Wordlessly, Nick handed her a couple of toonies. "Buy a zucchini or
something on me."

"Thanks." She put the coins in her pocket, then headed towards her
car, Nick walking beside her. "You know, I really thought we were on
to something. I mean, with you sneezing and all. It's such a mortal
thing to do."

"Well, it usually is," Nick said. "Just not this time."

"Eggplants, huh?" Nat mused. "Hey, wait a minute. Lacroix said 'no
more produce in the club'. Does that mean there's something else
besides eggplants and garlic?"

Nick opened her car door and handed her in. "Natalie, you don't need
to go there." He closed the door, then leaned in the window. "Do me a
favor?"

She nodded.

"Um, don't bring kumquats for lunch, okay?"

FINIS

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Plaudits, brickbats, and oddly-colored
vegetables may be sent to
Nancy Kaminski
nancykam@mediaone.net

"Old situations, new complications.
Nothing portentous or polite --
Tragedy tomorrow, comedy tonight!"
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