Tap Dance, #7 in the Dance series of Forever Knight fan fiction





 
#7...Tap Dance
By Lorelei Sieja 
  "Forever." 
  LaCroix blinked, the stab that pierced his cold heart was immediate. He could 
  never lose this one. Their lives had been so entwined for centuries. If 
  anything ever happened to Nicholas, it would be like losing a part of himself, 
  the best part. If only they could work through whatever kept them in constant 
  conflict and return to the relationship they had once enjoyed. Didn't Nicholas 
  know by now that he only wanted what was best for him? To protect him from 
  himself? 
  Nicholas was still so weak. LaCroix would stay with him tonight, but first he 
  must speak to Natalie. She was in danger because of her ignorance. He would 
  have to enlighten her before he could finally succumb to his own weariness. 
  Slowly so as not to disturb his child, LaCroix eased himself from the guest 
  bed. A scowl crossed the younger vampire's face, even as he reached out 
  blindly in his sleep for the comforting presence already missed. LaCroix would 
  hurry back. His son needed rest. 
  The apartment was silent although day had not yet dawned. Young Vachon had 
  redeemed himself immeasurably in the ancient's estimation for the way that he 
  plunged into the icy waters last night. LaCroix had sensed his son, and knew 
  with a certainty that he lay on the lake bottom, but he searched for what felt 
  like hours as the cold sapped his strength. When he finally found Nicholas, 
  the distance to the shore seemed almost insurmountable. He snapped the ropes 
  that bound Nicholas to cement blocks and started to swim. His sodden clothing 
  dragged him back with the current. The rushing waters of the Humber River 
  where they joined Lake Ontario tried to push him further away. On he went, 
  straining himself beyond his limits, determined to save his child or they 
  would remain in the icy lake together. 
  Then Vachon dove in and grabbed a hold of Nick. Youthful, strong, not yet 
  affected by the cold, the Spaniard pulled them both to safety. LaCroix wasn't 
  certain that Vachon was even aware of how much he had needed his assistance 
  just then. Still, he owed the Spaniard, and he always paid his debts. 
  The arctic swim had exhausted Vachon, and Tracy was tired because of her 
  youthfulness and because her master and brother to whom she was closely bonded 
  were both exhausted. LaCroix smiled paternally at the young pair sleeping 
  entwined in Janette's room. Vachon, dark as night and innocent in sleep, Tracy 
  pale as the moon yet possessing a maturity even Nicholas lacked, together they 
  made a perfect pair, two complementing halves of a greater whole. 
  Natalie was not his other half. She was too much like him. She was 
  strong-willed, intelligent, skeptical of anything she did not understand. She 
  was too independent. He knew she was falling in love with him. LaCroix thought 
  for a moment, searching his heart, and he realized that if he were to be 
  truthful with himself, the feeling was mutual. But love was all that tied 
  them. 
  Nicholas was his better half. The boy was youthfulness to his antiquity, fire 
  to his ice, energy to his lassitude, passion to his indifference. He needed 
  him! Damn, but he needed him! When LaCroix had first realized just how much, 
  he had turned angry, hateful, brutally punishing Nicholas for any infraction, 
  as he strove to drive a wedge between them that would give him his freedom at 
  last. Only, it had not succeeded. Each time he had hurt the golden vampire, it 
  had been self-torture. Nicholas would stare at him with those deep, stormy 
  blue eyes, a look of longing on his face even more profound than the hate with 
  which he shielded himself, and LaCroix would want to clutch him to his breast 
  and beg his forgiveness… only he never did. 
  He felt a stirring from Nicholas. A sense of fear, and he hurried to complete 
  his task that he could return to comfort his son. Natalie lay in his bed, her 
  chestnut hair splayed across the black satin pillowcase, one stray lock 
  partially concealing her tired face. He could hear her breathing, and knew she 
  was nearly asleep. 
  "Good day, my dear," he whispered as he perched on the edge of the bed beside 
  her. 
  "Is it that late already?" she asked, covering a yawn. 
  "You must lock the door tonight, my dear," he said then. She opened her eyes 
  and looked at him without understanding. 
  "You are safe from me," he answered quickly, "but there are other vampires 
  here today. Although you would like to trust them, I am certain that Nicholas 
  must have told you on more than once occasion that he is dangerous. Vachon is 
  as well. The vampire wakes up at first, exceedingly hungry, especially after 
  such a trying night. Instinct drives them. If they catch your scent, they will 
  feed from you before they are fully awake." 
  "What about Tracy?" Nat asked, not liking what she heard at all. "Is she 
  dangerous as well?" 
  LaCroix scowled. "No. Although I am not sure why. She seems to be able to 
  control her instinct to feed far greater than Nicholas." 
  Natalie thought about it for a minute, then she laughed. LaCroix didn't see 
  the humor at the moment. "It's probably the difference between 20th century 
  women and 13th century knights," she explained. When he still didn't seem to 
  understand, she laughed again. "Tracy was young and slim as a mortal. Most 
  women try to stay that way by constant dieting. We regularly practice denying 
  our hunger. You might say she was "born" with control." 
  LaCroix gave a slight nod as he considered it. Perhaps then, Natalie would 
  also exhibit such ability? A seductive smile spread across his features as he 
  considered the day she would join him. Another tremor through the link 
  disturbed that line of thought. He must return. 
  "What if I wake up before you guys," Natalie asked, growing concerned. 
  "I will keep watch over Nicholas, and in the future I will ask Tracy to watch 
  over Vachon, although she sleeps soundly. If you must be up before us, try to 
  move as quickly as possible. Lock the bathroom door behind you. Or prepare 
  your breakfast and return in here to eat. If you need anything else, wake me." 

  Natalie nodded. He was scaring her, but then, she knew that was his intention. 
  Still, it meant that he cared about her. She got up then and followed him to 
  the door. He kissed her once, but his mind was elsewhere. Then she locked the 
  door behind him. She blinked back the urge to weep. She would not be jealous 
  of Nick! 
  LaCroix returned to Nicholas's bed and at once his son relaxed in sleep. He 
  pulled him closer in his protective embrace, hoping to drive away the monsters 
  of his dreams. With a heavy sigh, LaCroix returned to sleep. 
  Fear. The sun. Warmth. Children laughing. Remorse. The dreams overlapped, a 
  confused miasma, distorted and misshapen. LaCroix gasped to wakefulness, 
  wiping a red sheen from his forehead. The nightmare was his son's. "Nicholas, 
  wake up," he commanded, gently shaking him. 
  Nicholas had always been difficult to waken. Whenever LaCroix had tried in the 
  past, the younger vampire would react on instinct, attacking fully fanged to 
  bite him viciously before awareness came. It was one of his more sensual 
  moments. However, the ancient was to be disappointed, for this time Nicholas 
  merely yawned and smiled contentedly. "What is it, LaCroix?" 
  "Your nightmares are most distressing," he snapped. 
  "Hmm. It wasn't a nightmare," he said dreamily. "It was a memory." 
  Impossible, the ancient felt! Nicholas had no mortal memories from before that 
  night he'd come across. He could not possibly remember staring at the sun. "Do 
  you hunger?" he asked, attempting to change the subject. 
  Nicholas stretched his arms above his head and yawned again. "It was 
  beautiful, LaCroix. So beautiful." 
  "Well, it was keeping me awake," he said. 
  "I love you, you know," Nicholas said then. His hand reached out towards the 
  sound of his master's voice and touched the familiar face. He stroked the 
  eternally smooth-shaven jaw, his thumb tracing the lower lip. 
  "I believe the cold dunking has affected your mind," the ancient stated 
  coldly. 
  Nicholas laughed. "On the contrary, LaCroix. It opened my eyes... so to speak. 
  I thought I was going to die. Really die. I was trapped, and the sun was 
  shining on me. I knew you weren't going to be able to come for me. Not this 
  time. So I stared at it. For hours." 
  "But you're home now," LaCroix said, attempting to end the tension of the 
  moment. 
  "And do you know, after I grieved for all the harm I have caused, for failing 
  all those near to me, and even as I thrilled at finally seeing the sun again, 
  all I could think about then was you. How I was going to die, and I never told 
  you how much I loved you." 
  LaCroix tried to turn away as a tear slipped from his tight control, but his 
  son's hand swept it up and brought it to his lips. LaCroix stared as the boy's 
  tongue tasted and savored the minute offering, a sweet smile on his beautiful 
  face. 
  "You don't have to say it, Father. I know." 
  He tried to. LaCroix wanted to, for ages now, he wanted to tell him. It had 
  been so easy to say those three little words to Natalie, words he could not 
  remember having ever spoken before, not since he suckled at his mother's 
  breast. Then he felt his son withdraw from him and the moment had passed. 
  LaCroix berated himself for the coward that he was. 
  "I'm blind, aren't I?" Nicholas asked. 
  "It would seem," the ancient stalled. 
  "That's what I thought. For how long?" 
  LaCroix wondered. It would be a frightening experience to lose one's eyesight, 
  yet Nicholas did not seem overly distraught. He seemed more content than 
  LaCroix could ever remember. It must be some strange apathy induced from the 
  cold water. "I am uncertain, Nicholas. Sun-injuries take longer to heal than 
  most, and you still seem unable to feed properly. It may be awhile." 
  A small tremor shook him then, and LaCroix felt oddly relieved, as though his 
  son had at last returned. "Will you stay with me?" Nicholas asked in a small 
  voice. 
  A smile spread on the ancient's face. The image came to mind of Nicholas at 
  the age of five, clinging to his neck because he was afraid of the dark. Of 
  course, Nicholas no longer remembered the incident. LaCroix pulled his grown 
  son in closer and settled back down to sleep. "Forever," he promised. 
  Natalie was the first to waken, and then only because she was in pain. Her leg 
  would not allow her the freedom to roll about in her sleep freely, and the 
  position she held too long caused both arms to lose circulation. Needle sharp 
  pain shot up her arms as the blood began to stir. She clenched her hands and 
  stretched them, trying to speed the process. 
  "Damn," she muttered. Now she was awake and she really had to use the 
  bathroom. All those times Nick had pushed her away, not letting her sleep at 
  his loft - not even on the couch, not wanting to sleep at her apartment… and 
  she had thought he was just being pig-headed. Now she wondered just how 
  dangerous he could be. Only once had she ever came to his loft and woke him, 
  to see the uncontrolled beast within. He had nearly attacked her, stark naked 
  and fully fanged, and definitely not her sweet Nicholas. That he was probably 
  still weak from last night's ordeal, and probably still blind, did not comfort 
  her at all. Like injured wildlife, an injured vampire was twice as deadly. 
  She eased her heavy cast off the bed and reached for the awkward crutches. She 
  pulled on an over-sized Tee shirt and her bathrobe, but still hesitated to 
  venture forth. She was not going to wake her Roman lover just to take her to 
  the bathroom! Frantically, she looked around the room. 
  Her coat lay over a chair in the corner. She reached into a pocket and pulled 
  out the acrylic scarf, wrapping it around her neck again and again, before 
  tucking the ends inside her bathrobe. She grinned self-consciously, knowing 
  what an odd sight she must make, but one of the interesting tidbits of vampire 
  lore she had managed to glean from Nick over the years was that he hated 
  man-made fabrics. His skin was very sensitive and could only tolerate 100% 
  natural fibers - cotton, linen, and silk. Wool was acceptable, but any blend 
  in the wool fiber was painful. She didn't know if the scarf was as much 
  protection as a braided garlic necklace, but it would have to do for now. She 
  unlocked the door and ventured forth as fast as her crutches would allow. 
  Her stomach reminded her rather loudly that she had not had three meals 
  yesterday. She felt a little lightheaded as she finished her sponge bath, her 
  hunger stronger than her longing for a hot soak in the tub. Wrapping the scarf 
  securely again, she went into the kitchen to scrounge up breakfast. Before 
  long coffee was brewing in the tiny, two-cup pot and her oatmeal warmed in the 
  microwave. She drank a glass of juice while she waited. 
  Then she heard sounds in the hallway. Her heart skipped and she brought one 
  crutch up defensively. Her eyes grew wider. The sounds emerged as Tracy 
  stepped into the kitchen wearing a little teddy and a sleepy grin. 
  "Not a morning person, are you?" Tracy asked teasingly. 
  Nat lowered her crutch feeling a little foolish. "Actually, Tracy, it's almost 
  four in the afternoon. That hardly counts as morning." 
  Tracy poured herself a drink and sat at the table. Natalie felt a little cold 
  even in the long bathrobe, but of course Tracy wouldn't feel that discomfort 
  anymore. She poured herself the coffee and took the oatmeal to the table. 
  Maybe since Tracy was here, it would be okay to remain? Lap eating was so 
  awkward. 
  "So how's Nick?" Tracy asked. 
  "I haven't looked in on him yet," Natalie answered. "But I'm sure he's going 
  to need some time off. Not like Reese is going to expect him back anyway." 
  "So why the scarf? Do you have a sore throat?" Tracy was starting to look more 
  awake as she sipped her drink. 
  Natalie blushed. "Um, this must look really strange," she stammered. "But, 
  LaCroix implied that Vachon and Nick could be... rather, um, dangerous, in the 
  morning." 
  Tracy laughed. Her eyes were filled with amusement, but not really directed at 
  the mortal. Natalie tried to laugh as well. "So he warned you about them, but 
  not me. I can be like your protector then?" 
  "Something like that," Nat said, forcing the cooling oatmeal down. They sat in 
  quiet companionship then. Natalie considered the young woman before her. Tracy 
  was much deeper than she first appeared - not the ditsy blonde bimbo that some 
  disgruntled cops on the force thought she was. Although, Tracy seemed to use 
  the dumb-blonde stereotype when it suited her. Was it a role that she had 
  learned to manipulate, though, or had it been forced upon her because it was 
  what others expected? Natalie was suddenly grateful for her unruly chestnut 
  mane. 
  Tracy was the youngest vampire Natalie had ever met, although she hadn't met 
  that many, actually. Even so, she had a quiet maturity about her that even 
  LaCroix lacked. Suddenly, Natalie knew what it was. Tracy was a woman. It had 
  been ages since Natalie had had a girlfriend to confide in. Maybe Tracy was 
  someone she could really get to know, to trust, and to develop that kind of 
  relationship with. The thought made her smile. 
  Tracy bolted from the table, tipping the chair over in her haste. She grabbed 
  a bottle from the refrigerator and blocked Vachon's path as the vampire rushed 
  into the kitchen, fully fanged and hungry. "Drink up," she said, pushing the 
  bottle into his hands. 
  He ripped the cork and drained half the contents in a few swallows. Natalie 
  stared, not even breathing, until the amber light faded from his eyes and the 
  dangerous beast receded behind the childlike innocence of the eternally 
  youthful conquistador. "Good day, Vachon," she said nervously. 
  He grinned, unaware of the fright he had given her. "Morning, doctor," he 
  answered. 
  "I'm going to get dressed," Nat said, putting her dish in the sink. "I want to 
  see Nick before I go in to work. Will you be able to drive me?" she asked, 
  looking at Tracy. 
  "Yeah, sure," she agreed. She wasn't sure what was going to happen. Reese 
  didn't want her alone, period, and LaCroix didn't want her alone among 
  mortals. Those two men were making her life incredibly complicated. 
  Natalie pulled on another pair of sweatpants with one leg removed, but opted 
  this time for a more feminine sweater. She pulled a brush through her tangled 
  hair. Maybe she'd make a salon appointment to have it shampooed. In a few days 
  she could get a fiberglass walking cast and then a shower wouldn't be 
  impossible, but in the meantime she was beginning to feel sorry for herself. 
  "Enough of that, Lambert!" 
  The door to the guestroom was open. Natalie peeked around the corner. Nick sat 
  up in bed, pillows propped behind him, and held a glass of breakfast. LaCroix 
  was standing nearby, gently scolding him. Life was getting back to normal, she 
  realized. 
  "You must feed, Nicholas," LaCroix said. 
  Nick brought the glass to his lips slowly. Natalie saw the amber light of 
  hunger, and yet she could see the slight tremble of his hands. He wanted it, 
  craved it, but seemed afraid. 
  "Wait, Lucien," she said, coming inside. "Maybe it is too soon? Surely he will 
  drink when he gets hungry." 
  LaCroix squared his shoulders obstinately. "He must feed before you may 
  examine him, doctor." 
  Nick took a drink then. His fangs erupted and he downed the glass, holding the 
  now empty container out for his master. Natalie was about to sigh with 
  something like relief when she saw Nick stiffen and gag as he heaved back the 
  contents of his stomach. LaCroix must have been expecting as much, for he 
  swiftly produced a container and caught most of the mess. 
  A dark sweat broke out on Nick's brow and his coloring turned a pale gray. He 
  rolled over to his side and pulled the cover up over his face. Natalie hurt 
  for him. She wanted to go and comfort him, but wasn't sure right now if he was 
  safe to be around. 
  LaCroix patted his shoulder gently. "You may rest a few moments, Nicholas. 
  Then I will return to assist you with your bath." 
  There was no response from the mound beneath the covers. LaCroix rose, took 
  the container and left. Natalie turned and followed him. 
  Once away from the guestroom, he held the container towards her, leaning away 
  from it as much as his long arms would allow. "Perhaps, doctor, you would care 
  to examine this and tell me what is wrong with my son?" 
  It would be a good idea, she thought, although there was probably a better way 
  than to intentionally make a sick man puke. "Put a lid on it, and Tracy can 
  carry it for me," Natalie said curtly. "And don't worry, it won't bite you." 
  "It has a most foul odor," he said, sneering scornfully. 
  Natalie looked at the blood in the container. It had a faintly metallic scent 
  like blood should, but only a trace of the odor associated with the bile of 
  the human counterpart. "I hardly smell a thing," she said. 
  "You should smell nothing." 
  Natalie looked at him with surprise. She knew that vampires still had the same 
  organs as mortals, but they used them differently. She'd never really thought 
  about how a healthy vampire stomach was supposed to work. All her work had 
  been directed at changing a vampire into a mortal, not how to keep him 
  healthy. "Explain," she said, wishing there was a vampire doctor somewhere to 
  share a long discussion. 
  LaCroix fastened a lid on the container and set it down. "We have no need for 
  digestive fluids, as we don't digest our food as much as absorb it. That is 
  why there is no waste by-product," he said briefly. He turned to leave in an 
  attempt to end the private discussion of vampire biology. He was obviously 
  very uncomfortable with it. 
  "So what are you planning to do for him, then?" she asked. 
  LaCroix remained with his back to her, but his shoulders slumped slightly, and 
  she sensed his distress quite clearly. "Whatever I can," he responded. 
  "I'm working in the dark here, Lucien. I don't know what is wrong or how to 
  fix it. But I have a suggestion." 
  She waited for any sign that he was interested in her advice. He gave a slight 
  nod of his head, and then she continued. "Mortals - especially children - 
  sometimes get a flu, and they start vomiting, and then their stomachs get so 
  irritated, that they can't keep anything down. We tell parents not to let 
  their children eat anything for ten hours, not even water. Then they can try 
  sips of water, then maybe a saltine cracker… the trick is to slowly work food 
  back into their systems without upsetting their stomach again." 
  "I really am not interested, doctor," LaCroix sniffed. 
  "What I mean is, maybe Nick shouldn't eat anything all night. No blood. 
  Nothing. Just let his stomach rest." 
  "I must go to him," LaCroix said. 
  Natalie moved closer and touched his shoulder tenderly. "We will lick this, 
  Lucien. He will be well again." 
  LaCroix turned sharply and pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace. He kissed 
  the top of her head before pulling back. "I... thank you, for your concern," 
  he whispered. 
  Damn, she was a lot more than concerned! But she knew he had not meant to 
  slight her feelings. "I will call you, after I've had a chance to run some 
  tests on this," she said. 
  Tracy came bounding around the corner then. "LaCroix! Just the one I want to 
  see." 
  LaCroix permitted a slight smile for her. "What is it, Tracy?" 
  "Um, it's work, sir," she stammered. "My partner isn't going to show up, and I 
  really have to." 
  He nodded as he understood her dilemma. He should have realized it himself, 
  but he'd been so concerned for Nicholas that he almost forgot about her 
  entirely. It probably wouldn't be wise to let her know that. "Do you feel up 
  to working solo tonight, or should I send someone to keep an eye on you?" 
  Tracy's mouth dropped open. She was speechless for a few seconds. "Solo? You 
  mean, alone without a vampire bodyguard? I think I can handle it, really!" 
  "Remember the lessons I have taught you, my child," he said as he kissed her 
  farewell. Then he slipped into the guestroom and pulled the door shut behind 
  him. 
  Nicholas had fallen back to sleep. LaCroix hesitated to disturb him, but he 
  was dirty. The scent of lake water clung to his hair, sand and algae had dried 
  on his skin, and now some of his breakfast stained his front. LaCroix pulled 
  the covers back and nudged his son. "Come, Nicholas. It is time." 
  He awoke, only this time LaCroix was pleased to see fangs. Some things were 
  getting back to normal. He tugged his arm gently, prodding him to get out of 
  bed. Nicholas shrank back, fearful. 
  "No, not now," he pleaded. "Let me sleep. I don't want to go anywhere." 
  LaCroix scowled. "Come, my son. You will not be permitted to hide in here 
  until your sight returns. You might as well learn to navigate the halls right 
  now. Let us go!" 
  Nick allowed his master to pull him from the bed then, but he clutched 
  LaCroix's arm tightly. LaCroix walked a little slower than normal, but he made 
  no other concession. Nicholas walked beside him, feeling disoriented. LaCroix 
  had lived here for four years, but tonight the apartment was an alien land. He 
  found himself thinking more, concentrating more, and his stomach hurt from the 
  worry. Turn right at the door, sixteen steps to the bathroom. Then LaCroix 
  started to leave. 
  "Don't go!" Nick said. 
  "You will figure out where everything is, Nicholas." 
  "Please?" His voice had dropped to a whisper. LaCroix hesitated. There had to 
  be a fine line between helping him and doing so much that it actually hindered 
  him. Right now Nicholas was frightened, and still very weak. It would not hurt 
  to comfort him this once. LaCroix nodded, then realizing that his son would 
  not understand the gesture, he spoke. "Very well, Nicholas." 
  Nick pulled off his own soiled clothing, but his movements bore none of his 
  usual grace. LaCroix could not help but stare at the gray complexion, the 
  prominent ribs, and the old scar from his crusader days that was more livid 
  now against the pallor of his illness. LaCroix moved to fill the tub; the 
  younger vampire was too weak to stand in the shower just now. Once safety 
  situated in the hot water Nicholas seemed less distressed. LaCroix excused 
  himself. "I'll bring clean pajamas," he said. 
  Nick nodded. The hot water was very soothing. Briefly he relived the cold of 
  the lake and shivered. If there was a heaven on earth, it had to be like a hot 
  bath. 
  The phone rang again. LaCroix glared at it, but Tracy must have already left 
  and Vachon wouldn't answer it. He put down the pajamas and lifted the phone. 
  "Speak," he said. 
  "Diggon, sir," the voice said nervously. 
  One of the two vampires he'd placed at the hospital to guard over the mortal 
  boy, Jeep. LaCroix could care less if the mortal lived or died, but it would 
  matter a great deal to his son. He didn't want Nicholas any more upset at the 
  moment than necessary. 
  "We got someone, forty-year old male, Jon Blakely. He slipped past the police 
  officers and came after the boy with a knife. The police have arrested him." 
  LaCroix sighed. This could get very messy. He would probably have to let 
  Nicholas's mortal friends apprehend the criminal. But if they failed to 
  incarcerate him then LaCroix would see to a more permanent retribution. "You 
  have done well." 
  "The hospital will be releasing the boy tomorrow," Diggon continued. 
  The unspoken question was what would LaCroix like him to do next? The mortal 
  child could still be in danger. It was highly probable that the attempt on his 
  life was not made by the one in charge but merely a hired associate. So where 
  should the boy go? He indulged in a sly smile. The safest place in the city 
  was probably in the home of the biggest crook, which happened to be one of his 
  children. The young vampire owed him some favors. It was time to call one in. 
  "Remain with the boy. I will see to it that Detective Vetter takes him to a 
  safe house. You will accompany them there, and give whatever assistance to my 
  child as he shall require. Have Samson follow my daughter Tracy. He is to be 
  very discreet and not let her know he is there. Understood?" 
  "Yes, sir." 
  The line was disconnected. Tracy would try her wings tonight, but still be 
  protected. Diggon was a trustworthy lackey. LaCroix wasn't certain of his 
  lineage or even his intelligence. He was stocky and dark, a little heavy set, 
  and the dourest vampire LaCroix had ever met. LaCroix had never seen him smile 
  or heard him laugh in all the centuries that he had been using his services. 
  Diggon had only recently moved in to Toronto, and the first thing he had done 
  was look up LaCroix. He must have gambled away his money again, the ancient 
  thought distractedly. That was usually the case. After he had worked for a few 
  years and stashed more away, he would disappear. 
  While the issue was still on his mind, LaCroix dialed Don Constantine, his 
  youngest "son", whom he had brought across very late in life. In mortal years, 
  he was somewhere in his 90's. LaCroix had chosen not to train him, to 
  cultivate him into his family. He had had a few dealings with Constantine over 
  the years and making him immortal was merely a way to repay an old debt. If 
  Constantine failed to survive his infancy, it would not affect LaCroix in the 
  slightest. 
  LaCroix had access to Constantine's private line, however, so he was able to 
  bypass the ranks of secretaries and bodyguards. "My son," he said coolly. "I 
  require a favor." Then he briefly informed him the nature of the favor. Later 
  he would need to speak with Nicholas's captain, to ensure that Tracy was 
  placed in charge of the boy. Now, it was time to return to Nicholas. 
  Nicholas was nearly asleep. LaCroix smiled indulgently at him. "It is time to 
  get out. The water will soon turn cold." 
  "I don't want to get out yet," Nick said. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever 
  feel warm again." 
  It was a common belief that vampires were unaffected by the temperature. This 
  was only partly true. Vampires could not regulate their own body temperature. 
  They did not sweat when too warm, and seldom shivered. But, if they got cold 
  enough, their undead existence would slow and simulate death until they were 
  warmed again. 
  "Then perhaps you would be more comfortable in my hot tub," LaCroix suggested. 

  "You have it set up already?" Nicholas had known he was planning to have one 
  installed. 
  "Yes," he said. "It is in the back den. Shall I take you there?" 
  Nicholas nodded. He stood and accepted the towel LaCroix placed in his hands. 
  He put a hand on LaCroix's arm and walked beside him silently. Again, Nicholas 
  memorized the steps and directions, strengthening his other senses until sight 
  was restored. LaCroix hoped he would make this adjustment quickly, although he 
  didn't mind at all the opportunity to take care of his favorite son. 
  "Will you join me?" Nick asked as his stepped into the hot tub. 
  LaCroix smiled. "If you wish." 
  For long moments they sat in companionable silence. LaCroix would spend most 
  of the night with him, he decided. 
  "Have you spoken with Captain Reese yet?" Nicholas asked. 
  "Not yet." "Maybe I should give him a call. I really am not up to going in 
  tonight," Nicholas said. 
  LaCroix almost laughed at the absurdity. Nicholas would not be going in for a 
  long time! But he wisely kept quiet. That they would argue about it 
  eventually, he was certain, but he would not waste this peaceful evening. 
  "Your captain will not expect to see you, Nicholas. He was there when I pulled 
  you from the lake. According to their perception, you were dead. You spent a 
  number of hours "clinically dead", but had a miraculous recovery when Tracy 
  started CPR. Unless you feel like hypnotizing your captain, the paramedics, 
  and Natalie, you will not be returning to work for a while. 
  Nicholas looked solemn. His head cocked wistfully to the side. "I cannot 
  hypnotize now, can I," he stated. Without sight, that was another skill he 
  lacked. 
  "You should not hypnotize your captain again, anyway, my son," LaCroix said 
  gently. "He is a persistor." 
  "A what?" 
  "One who persists. It is rare and more common among children than adults. 
  Persistors are easily hypnotized, but they seem to sense that something has 
  been taken from them. They worry at it, subconsciously perhaps, trying to 
  reclaim their memories.... This causes severe headaches, and if it continues, 
  can even cause minimal brain damage. One can give a persistor a suggestion to 
  act, but cannot safely alter memories of past actions." 
  "So that explains why he's been so crabby," Nicholas said, smiling sheepishly. 

  "I expect him to come by much later," LaCroix said. "You may speak with him 
  then, if you wish." He told him then of his intention to place Jeep MacPete 
  with Don Constantine for safekeeping, until the murderer was captured. He 
  enjoyed the sly smile that spread on Nicholas's face. 
  "So now you're going to say "I told you so" for bringing him across," Nicholas 
  said with a laugh. 
  "I would never stoop to such childish nonsense," LaCroix sniffed. 
  "Sure you would," Nicholas taunted, splashing water in the direction of his 
  master's voice. LaCroix blinked the hot chlorinated water from his eyes and 
  dunked his mischievous son. They splashed quite an amount of water from the 
  tub before the game ended. Suddenly Nicholas was too tired to play. LaCroix 
  helped him from the tub and into his pajamas, half carrying him back to bed. 
  LaCroix sliced his wrist then to nourish his son's weakened body before 
  letting him drift back to sleep. 
  Natalie looked at the slides she'd made again and again. It would be easier if 
  she knew more about vampire biology, but if LaCroix's description was 
  accurate, then Nick was one sick vampire. The slides showed an equal mix of 
  hydrochloric acid, mortal blood, and vampire blood, and the only part that was 
  normal was the mortal blood. Nick's stomach was bleeding. 
  She called Tracy then and coaxed her to pay a visit to the morgue. Tracy 
  wasn't too interested in the experiment Nat suggested, but she was easily 
  coerced. Nat gave her a pint of mortal blood, then told her to make herself 
  vomit, so Nat could study what normal would be. Tracy's contained no vampire 
  blood at all and only minute quantities of hydrochloric acid and pepsin. There 
  was none of the other digestive enzymes found in mortals. It explained why 
  they could digest small amounts of wine, but why Nick said her milk-based 
  shakes tasted like poison. Without the chemical rennin, milk would be 
  indigestible. 
  So why did Nick have so much hydrochloric acid? Had forcing him to consume 
  protein shakes for years somehow stimulated it, causing it to multiply? Was it 
  then a positive step? But why wasn't he able to digest the shakes then? Why 
  were they coming back? 
  "Maybe it is like an ulcer," Tracy suggested. 
  Nat glanced at her skeptically. 
  "I mean, I've only seen him lose it a few times. The first time was at your 
  car accident. I'd say he was pretty distraught then. The next was the night he 
  brought you some cat food. He was really intense about seeing you again. Then 
  last night, he heaved up the lake water. Nick's been morose and bitchy ever 
  since Christmas, and I'd bet that is at least part of it." 
  "You may be on to something, Tracy," Nat admitted. It was a comforting thought 
  as well. Otherwise, she'd have to accept full responsibility, that her tests 
  and experiments were to blame. 
  Tracy smiled. "So, what's the cure?" 
  Nat shrugged. "We're still in the dark there. All we can do is try one thing, 
  and if it doesn't work, then try another. Either way, he's not going in to 
  work for a while." 
  The young detective shrugged. Reese hadn't paired her up with anyone else yet. 
  He already mentioned that he wanted to go talk with Nick later and ask him 
  what he remembered from his assault. Tracy hadn't seen Nick since last night. 
  She didn't know how much he had improved, if at all. 
  "I'll see you later then," Tracy said. "Call me when you're ready to go home?" 

  Captain Reese shook his head. Jon Blakely's lawyer had come through, bail had 
  been set and if he couldn't bring more serious charges against the crook, he 
  would walk. That Blakely was probably linked to the murders of Jason Wilton 
  Jr. and Janice Whitcomb didn't matter. Without more evidence, like an 
  eyewitness, all they had on him was attempted assault on the MacPete boy. 
  He still wasn't sure who the concerned citizens were that had come to 
  MacPete's aid. It seems that Blakely had made it past the officers disguised 
  in nurse's garb - one of the oldest tricks in the book - so old that it should 
  not have been successful, and yet it was. Before Blakely could harm the boy, 
  two unidentified men disarmed and immobilized him, handing him over to the 
  much-chagrined police. 
  Well, the MacPete-Whitcomb case was one of Nick's. Maybe it was time to pay 
  him a visit. Reese had already tried calling Nick three times, but the phone 
  number he'd been given was for the nightclub and the lackey who answered the 
  phone refused to forward his call. Grabbing his coat and keys he left his 
  office. 
  The bullpen seemed quiet tonight without Nick there. The officers were all a 
  little subdued. One of their own had nearly died. No matter what they felt 
  about Knight personally, he was one of them and they protected their own. 
  Schultz smiled at him as he went past her desk. 
  "Here, Captain. Take these to him, will you?" She indicated a bouquet of 
  daisies with a helium "Get Well Soon" balloon attached with a few ribbon 
  streamers. "It's from all of us." 
  Reese gave her a smile. "Thanks, Schultz. All of you. I'll tell him." 
  The roads were mostly clear tonight; the traffic, road salt, and plows had 
  managed to clear all but a few scattered patches of ice. It was still damn 
  cold out. His breath made cloud puffs inside the car although the heater 
  buzzed on high. Winter wasn't so bad, really. 
  He didn't mind the snow, the storms, the short days... but did it have to be 
  so blasted cold! 
  He couldn't park within easy distance of the Raven. Since it reopened on New 
  Years Eve, it had been doing a booming business. He grumbled as he pulled the 
  scarf tighter around his mouth and nose and hunched over to walk the rest of 
  the way. Why couldn't Toronto be further south- like near Cancun? He pushed 
  past the bouncer at the door and made his way to the bar. 
  The young bartender smiled at the bouquet in his arms. "Gee, are those for me? 
  To what do I owe the pleasure?" 
  Reese grunted. "I came to see Detective Nicholas Knight. Where is he?" 
  "In bed, I hear. Someone tried to do in the miserable bastard again." The 
  bartender grinned as he wiped a damp spot on the immaculate, newly refinished 
  dark cherry wood bar. "Would you care for a drink?" 
  "Take me to him," Reese said, pulling out his badge. It didn't hurt to try 
  intimidation once in a while. 
  The bartender shrugged, unimpressed. "He's upstairs, if you're a brave sort. 
  I'll wait for you here, in case you change your mind about that drink." 
  He did point Reese in the direction of the stairs. The captain turned down a 
  hall, past the pool table, to find the stairs. Grabbing onto the railing, he 
  pulled himself up, huffing uncomfortably long before he neared the top. He 
  shifted the flowers and knocked. 
  Moments later, he knocked again. Then the door opened and Nick's father, Mr. 
  LaCroix, loomed at the entrance. He didn't speak, but merely narrowed his eyes 
  at Reese, the way one might inspect a particularly annoying insect. 
  Reese pushed the flowers forward. "The officers sent these for Nick," he said, 
  as though that gave him the right to be there. Then the captain forced himself 
  inside before LaCroix could shut the door on him. "I'd like to speak to him." 
  "Nicholas is resting," LaCroix stated. 
  "Yes, I can believe that. He had a rather traumatic night last night. How is 
  he doing?" 
  "As he is asleep, I do not wish to ask him how he is doing right now," LaCroix 
  said. He looked irritated. 
  "Look, you don't like me, LaCroix, and believe me, the feeling is mutual. But 
  Nick is still my officer. He owes me an explanation for last night. He also 
  needs to give a statement concerning his assault, and he may be able to keep a 
  criminal behind bars tonight. I really need to speak with him. If you could 
  tell him I am here, I will be brief, and he can go back to sleep." Reese felt 
  his voice rising, and he struggled to keep it controlled. 
  "On the contrary," LaCroix said. 
  Reese waited. He glared at Nick's father, because being angry was better than 
  being scared. 
  "I don't dislike you at all," LaCroix explained. He smiled at Reese's look of 
  surprise. "You have a lovely wife who works as a secretary at the elementary 
  school, where your younger daughter attends the third grade. Both girls are 
  bright, well-adjusted students. The oldest plays the violin- or attempts to 
  play it, but the second daughter is more interested in soccer. You were 
  promoted to captain after Cohen's demise, and you bowl on weekends..." 
  "What the hell," Reese shouted, taking a step closer him. 
  LaCroix leaned against the wall with a look of indifference. "I figured that 
  since you were investigating me, perhaps I should learn a bit more about you 
  myself." 
  Reese clamped his mouth shut. That stupid, incompetent private investigator 
  had blown his cover. This intimidating man had known he was tailing him- had 
  probably been feeding him false clues intentionally. Denise had been right 
  when she told him to fire the investigator. 
  "That was an error in judgement, on my part," Reese said. That was as much of 
  an apology as he would give. "The investigator was fired last week." 
  "Ah. But, I still see him in my club, snooping into my affairs. Perhaps, he 
  doesn't understand simple English?" 
  "He is still tailing you?" Why wasn't Reese surprised? The jerk couldn't take 
  no for an answer. "I will speak to him again." 
  "Why? Have you been satisfied? Am I no longer under suspicion?" LaCroix was 
  enjoying this far too well. 
  Reese gritted his teeth. He was tired of feeling like a cheap amusement. "Oh, 
  I still suspect you, Mr. LaCroix. You are guilty of something, I am sure of 
  it. But I have decided not to go behind Nick's back to prove it. I'm gonna 
  keep my eyes on you, mister." 
  LaCroix laughed then, but there was no joy in the sound. "And that is why I 
  like you. Nicholas is still so gullible. If Voodoo were to apologize for all 
  the pain he had caused, my son would believe him. However, you at least seem 
  worthy of the regard he has for you." 
  Reese didn't know how to answer that. He shifted the flowers again; the vase 
  seemed a few pounds heavier suddenly. "So, I still need to see Nick," he said. 

  "Absolutely not. You are welcome to sit and wait, but I will not wake him," 
  LaCroix said firmly. 
  "You don't seem to understand," Reese shouted, losing his control. 
  "I understand perfectly," LaCroix shouted back. 
  A weak voice called out in the silence that loomed between the two men. 
  "LaCroix?" 
  The angry father glared at Reese, then turned away, dismissing him. Reese 
  followed him as he walked down the hallway. LaCroix opened a door and stepped 
  inside. 
  "Yes, Nicholas?" 
  "Is something wrong? Are you angry?" 
  Reese looked around LaCroix at the young man in the bed. Nick's always-pale 
  color looked ashen. He struggled just to sit up. He looked a little lost and 
  confused, more like a small boy than the formidable police detective of the 
  96th precinct. Reese knew he'd come close to dying- hell, he'd been dead until 
  the CPR revived him- but still the captain had not been prepared for just how 
  awful he looked tonight. 
  "It doesn't concern you, my son," LaCroix answered gently, none of his former 
  anger evident now. "Your captain is here to see you. Are you up to visitors?" 
  Nick hesitated before he nodded. "I guess. Will you show him in?" 
  Reese looked at him. Was this some sort of archaic etiquette? Show him in? He 
  was right here. He grunted. "Ah, hello, Nick," he stammered. "These are from 
  all the folks at work. They're concerned for you, and wish you a speedy 
  recovery." 
  Nick sniffed, closing his eyes as he did so. "Flowers," he said. "Thanks. Just 
  set them down anywhere." 
  Reese put them on the dresser at the foot of Nick's bed. "Mind telling me what 
  the hell you were doing last night? You went out without clearing it with me, 
  and no back-up. You're partner didn't even know where you were. What were you 
  thinking?" 
  LaCroix watched the interplay between Reese and his son. The captain had not 
  said anything to Nicholas that LaCroix hadn't tried to tell him, and yet 
  Nicholas seemed to listen better to his captain. When LaCroix had forbidden 
  him to go undercover, his obstinate child had merely gone ahead and done so 
  anyway. 
  "I'm sorry," Nick whispered. There it was again. The now familiar ache in his 
  gut, the foul taste in his throat and the metallic tingling in his mouth. He 
  swallowed hard, breathing slowly, struggling to keep it down. 
  "I found Jacob Schloss," Nick said, when he felt he had quieted his stomach. 
  Reese hesitated. In what shape had he found him? "Where?" 
  "At the bottom of the lake. He'd been tied and thrown over, just like me." 
  Reese shivered. There could only be one thing worse than being hog-tied to 
  cement and dumped in a frigid lake in winter, and that would be to share a 
  watery grave with a corpse. It must have been awful. If Nick hadn't needed 
  counseling before, surely he would now. 
  "I'm so sorry, Nick," he said softly. "This is from another case of yours, but 
  we have a Jon Blakely in lock-up," Reese said. "We have him for the attempted 
  assault of Jeep MacPete. Tracy's been running a background on him, but his rap 
  sheet's been petty stuff before now. We have to let him out on bail tonight, 
  unless you have anything else on him. I brought some mug shots. Wondered if 
  you could pick him out." 
  "Could be he's the one who attacked me, and killed Schloss, too," Nick said. 
  He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He was so tired. He 
  could feel his father's presence in the room. If he sent him any message of 
  his exhaustion, he was certain that LaCroix would drive Reese away. The 
  thought of his father's protectiveness made him smile. 
  "Are you saying that the MacPete/Whitcomb killer is also Schloss's killer? Are 
  you sure?" Reese wondered if Nick was quite awake. 
  "Hmm. Could be. MacPete said his boss wanted him to alter the description on a 
  piece of land he was selling, saying it was in the middle of Amish country. 
  MacPete grew suspicious, and that's when the bodies started to pile up." 
  "Nick, take a look at these mug shots. Tell me if any of them look like the 
  man who attacked you. I'd love to keep him locked up, if I could." 
  Nick hesitated. "I don't know, captain. He hit me from behind." 
  "Just look at the photos," Reese said again, waving the file. 
  "I think it is time for you to leave," LaCroix said firmly. 
  Suddenly Nick clamped a hand over his mouth. LaCroix flew to him, holding a 
  basin to his chest with the air of much practice. Nick threw up then, the vile 
  liquid slipping past his hand and into the basin. Nick trembled, looking far 
  weaker than he had only moments ago. LaCroix set the basin aside, then taking 
  a damp washrag he cleaned Nick's hand. He refolded the rag and placed it in 
  Nick's still outstretched hand for Nick to wipe his face. LaCroix touched his 
  cheek affectionately. 
  "Is there anything I can bring you," he asked solicitously. 
  Nick shook his head. "Maybe in a little while," he whispered. 
  "Would you like me to stay?" 
  "No, Father. I'll be all right for now," he said. 
  LaCroix rose and carried the basin and rag. He gave Reese a chilling glare. 
  "Do not upset him again, or I will have to ask you to leave," he warned, and 
  then he was gone. 
  "Jees, Nick. You look like hell," Reese said awkwardly. He'd known Nick had 
  been thoroughly chilled last night, but he really looked ill. Maybe he had 
  been wrong not to insist that LaCroix take him in to the hospital? 
  "I'll live," Nick said. 
  "If you would just look at these mug shots, Nick, then I'll go and you can get 
  some sleep." 
  Nick sighed. "Fine. I'll look," he said. He held out his hand. Reese picked up 
  the file from where he'd dropped it on the foot of the bed and placed it in 
  Nick's hand. Nick grabbed it awkwardly. Then he felt it with both hands, 
  laying it in his lap and opening it. He touched the pictures without really 
  looking at them. He picked up one, moving his fingers across the backside, 
  then flipping it over to feel the glossy side. "What's this one look like?" he 
  asked. 
  Reese swallowed, just beginning to understand what Nick was telling him. "Oh 
  dear God, Nick! Are you blind?" 
  Nick looked at him, perhaps just responding to the sound of his voice, for 
  Reese saw now that there was no recognition in the deep, blue eyes. "I got 
  whacked pretty hard on the back of the head," Nick explained. "It's temporary, 
  but Natalie doesn't know for how long." 
  Reese sank onto the side of the bed. Nick shifted his legs over to make more 
  room for him. With a heavy sigh, Reese gathered up the photos and closed the 
  file. Blakely had won. City of Toronto had lost again. 
  "Nick, I don't know what to say," he stumbled. "I'm sorry to bother you. You 
  get well, you hear?" 
  "Captain," Nick asked, picking up the sound of defeat in the man's voice. 
  "Wait. Maybe I can still help?" 
  "I don't see how," Reese said awkwardly, immediately sorry for his choice of 
  words. But Nick didn't seem to notice or take offense. 
  "Well, the man who hit me doesn't know I'm temporarily blinded. And I'll bet 
  he never expects to see me again- not up and alive, at least. Maybe, if he 
  does, it will shock him into saying something he shouldn't." 
  Reese nodded. It was a long shot, expecting a clever crook to hang himself, 
  but seeing a corpse could give one a shock. "I hate to ask you to come in 
  tonight, Nick, when you're so sick, but we could really use you." 
  Nick leaned back against his pillow. He felt so weary. Did he have the 
  strength to do as he had suggested? Probably not. Maybe LaCroix would help 
  him? Yeah, when pigs fly. But he would ask. 
  "Do you want to come back with me, Nick?" Reese asked. 
  "No." He closed his sightless eyes. "Let me speak to my father. I'll try to 
  come in before midnight. Okay?" 
  Reese didn't like it, but he wasn't going to argue with a sick man. "Fine. 
  I'll try to hold him until you get there, then." 
  Nick didn't say anything. Reese noticed that he didn't even seem to be 
  breathing anymore. He must have fallen asleep. Well, maybe Blakely had still 
  won... Slowly, Reese left the room. 
  LaCroix was sitting in the living room. He didn't say a word as Reese left, 
  closing the door behind him. Reese shrugged. He'd felt sorry for Nick before, 
  tied to such a man, but now, being sightless for however long, Nick's life 
  must be pure hell. 
  LaCroix rose and went to sit beside his son. He sensed he was not really 
  sleeping, but merely pretending. If he wanted to send his captain away, 
  LaCroix wasn't going to criticize him. Nicholas still seemed to require much 
  sleep. 
  "Father, may I go in to work tonight, for just little while?" 
  LaCroix laughed. "That is absurd, Nicholas. You cannot possibly expect me to 
  say "yes"." 
  Nick tried to explain their plan to him. LaCroix listened, but he also 
  observed. Nick was exhausted. Gray shadows shaded his face. His hands 
  trembled. And Nick was afraid to face his co-workers without his sight. 
  Although Nick asked to go, his entire body language was begging LaCroix not to 
  let him. LaCroix hesitated. Which should he listen to? 
  "I don't think you should go," LaCroix said firmly. 
  Nick sighed. He squirmed down in his bed and pulled the covers up. He rolled 
  onto his side, preparing to go back to sleep. And that was it? No argument? No 
  pouting? 
  "However," LaCroix continued. "If you rest first, and allow me to nourish you 
  again, then I will take you in, briefly." 
  Nick leaned up on his elbow, looking towards LaCroix's direction. "Do you mean 
  that?" 
  "Yes, Nicholas," he said. "I do not think it is wise, but then, with you, 
  nothing ever is." 
  Nick ignored the jibe. "Thank you, Father," he said, yawning a wide, toothy 
  yawn. He was asleep before LaCroix left the room. 
  An hour later LaCroix sat beside his son, holding their wrists together yet 
  again. This was not as pleasant as the blood kiss, but it was necessary. He 
  still felt the gentle tug, as Nicholas's blood sucked his ancient, potent 
  elixir, drawing it inside him to heal and nourish. LaCroix experienced faint, 
  chaotic sensations from his son through the blood exchange. 
  Nicholas was terrified. Although he tried to appear in control of his 
  emotions, his son was once again afraid of the dark, only this time it wasn't 
  a child's fear. He was afraid of eternal dark, of being permanently disabled, 
  a burden and perhaps even a target for the enforcers. Well, that was one fear 
  LaCroix could lay to rest. He had a call to place later to Aristotle. There 
  was a certain carouche he felt could make a real difference, if she could be 
  located. 
  Nick stirred to wakefulness in the middle of the blood exchange. For a short 
  time, he would feel more energetic, almost invincible again, but the sensation 
  would fade. He needed his master now. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He 
  was grateful for the nourishment, grateful that LaCroix was being so 
  solicitous at the moment, but if this were to be a permanent situation, would 
  he survive? Would he even want to? 
  LaCroix stared at his son's sleepy expression. Nicholas was so much more open 
  now. His sightless eyes were ultimately readable, conveying his fears and 
  feelings more eloquently than speech. "Do you think you are up to this now, my 
  son?" he asked. 
  Nick nodded weakly. "Yes, thank you. Can you find some clothes for me?" 
  LaCroix pulled items from the drawers and laid them on the bed. He waited, 
  willing to offer assistance when it was needed, but hesitating to do too much. 
  It was hard to watch him struggle. His motions lacked his usual grace and he 
  tired quickly. Finally, however, he managed to dress himself, even to tying 
  his shoes. LaCroix took his hand then and placed it on his own arm. Nick 
  walked a half step behind him, following him with only the arm for guidance. 
  At the stairs Nick transferred his hand to LaCroix's shoulder, allowing the 
  ancient to descend first. 
  The limo waited at the back entrance. LaCroix opened the door and waited for 
  his son to get in, then he walked around to the other side. He observed his 
  son openly. He'd selected dark pants again, white shirt, and a simple, older 
  jacket, so that Nicholas would more closely resemble the "Amish" undercover 
  agent the murder-suspect would have met. He saw his son shiver once, and he 
  instructed the driver to turn up the heat. A vampire shouldn't be bothered by 
  the cold. It was yet one more sign of his son's illness. 
  At the precinct Nicholas again held on to his arm. He suspected that none of 
  his co-workers had been told yet of his blindness. If the news reached their 
  murder suspect, it would ruin their plans. No one seemed to think it odd that 
  LaCroix assisted him, though, as Nick moved slowly past them. The short trip 
  in the limo had exhausted him. This meeting had better be brief, LaCroix fumed 
  silently. 
  Captain Reese nodded at them and opened a door, gesturing for LaCroix to 
  precede him. Inside were the suspect, Tracy, another detective, and a police 
  officer standing guard. LaCroix stopped, letting Nick come to his side. He 
  glared at the suspect, wishing to get him alone. He would first interrogate 
  him and then he would drain him... but that would make Nicholas angry. LaCroix 
  would have to let the mortals play around with their idea of justice first, 
  then he could always kill him later. 
  The suspect's mouth dropped open. He jumped to his feet, toppling his chair 
  over in his haste. "You! You're dead!" he exclaimed. 
  Nick nodded in his direction. "If you say so." 
  The man stammered awkwardly, not yet realizing his own mistake. 
  "You hit me, tied me, and threw me in the lake," Nick stated firmly. 
  "I- I- it was, a mistake. It wasn't you." 
  Tracy righted his chair and slammed him down into it. "You, Mr. Blakely, can 
  add assaulting of a police officer to your charges. I guess you'll want to 
  mention that to your lawyer. To bad you've already made your one phone call." 
  "But, but," the man was stammering. 
  "Thanks for coming in, partner," Tracy said to Nick. 
  He nodded in her direction. 
  "Let's go," Nick whispered to LaCroix. Reese went out as well. He gently 
  touched Nick's shoulder. 
  "That went well," he said. "Thanks for coming down here." 
  "He didn't do it," Nick said heavily. 
  "But, he confessed!" 
  "He may have been the one to hit me," Nick clarified. "But I never saw him 
  before. I met an older, heavyset man with thinning hair. I think the man I met 
  is the leader. This man may be an employee, but he is not the master behind 
  it." 
  "Good Lord," Reese muttered under his breath. That meant there was still 
  another crazy out there, and Jeep MacPete was still in danger. Hell, now even 
  Nick was as well. "Jeep's going to be discharged in the morning, too," he said 
  aloud. 
  LaCroix sent him a quick suggestion, catching the police captain with just a 
  glance. "You will put Detective Vetter in charge of him. She will bring him to 
  a safe house." 
  "Guess I'll let Vetter handle that," he continued, unaware that his mind had 
  just been altered. 
  Detective Sherman came up and clapped Nick roughly on the shoulder, speaking 
  with a loud, boorish voice. "Good to see ya, Nick. Heard you joined the polar 
  bear club last night. Too damned cold for me to take a swim, I can assure you. 
  But, since you're here, why don't I take your statement now, and we can get 
  that out of the way." 
  Nick's hand tightened on LaCroix's arm. He was so tired he almost felt like 
  weeping. Sherman wasn't really a bad cop, just an insensitive one. He wasn't 
  incredibly bright, either, but he was as loyal as a hound and just as doggedly 
  determined. "Later Sherman," he said. 
  "Now come on, detective. You know the wheels of justice don't slow down for 
  anybody. This won't be too bad." 
  The sounds of the bullpen were terrible. The thunder of mortal heartbeats 
  stirred his cold heart, even as his own hunger threatened to escape his tight 
  control. Nick felt his fangs throb and wondered what shade his eyes were now. 
  "Help me, Father," he whispered, turning to bury his face against his master's 
  breast. 
  LaCroix saw the faint red hue around Nick's closed eyelashes, saw the tips of 
  fangs. He wrapped his arms around his son securely. What may have looked like 
  a loving, supportive gesture to the mortals was really all that stood between 
  them and death at this moment. 
  Nick trembled against him, the beast demanding food. LaCroix whispered softly 
  into his ear, opening the link between them to comfort and subdue his child. 
  It was very difficult to hypnotize a blind person, as they used the eyes as 
  the link to the brain. LaCroix was only able to influence Nicholas because of 
  the close bond he maintained. He quieted the beast and commanded him to sleep. 

  The strength went out of Nick's legs. Then LaCroix lifted him into his arms. 
  He dismissed Sherman with a gesture and faced the police captain. "I will take 
  him home now," he said firmly. 
  "Yes, of course," Reese replied. He preceded LaCroix and opened the door for 
  him. "I appreciate you bringing him down here. Tell him we all hope he gets 
  better soon." 
  "Jees," Sherman was saying as the door closed. "Didn't realize he was feeling 
  so poorly." 
  Reese glanced at him. "Sorry, Sherman. You're off this one. LaCroix can be 
  most difficult to work with. I'm going to send Vetter to take his statement 
  tomorrow." 
  At the Raven, LaCroix felt Natalie's presence as he carried his son up the 
  stairs. He felt a smile pull at his lips. It had been a long, stressful few 
  days, beginning with Natalie's car accident, and LaCroix felt the need for a 
  little relaxation. Shifting his precious load somewhat to reach the door 
  handle, LaCroix stepped inside, the smile still on his face. 
  "Lucian, I can't believe you took him anywhere! He is too sick to go out. Now 
  what's wrong? What did you do to him?" Natalie's tone was biting. The ancient 
  was tempted to respond in kind, but he heard the concern behind her angry 
  words. 
  "Shush, my dear, or you might disturb him," LaCroix said softly. "I will 
  explain it all in a moment." 
  She followed him as he laid his son on the bed. Removing only his shoes, 
  LaCroix drew the covers over him. Quietly, he turned to leave, pulling Natalie 
  out with him. 
  "Captain Reese needed him to identify the man they have arrested," LaCroix 
  explained briefly. "It was against my better judgement, but Nicholas seemed to 
  feel it was important. He nearly lost control in a room full of beating hearts 
  and I put him to sleep. End of story." 
  Nat pushed a hand through her thick hair, tugging at it in frustration. "What 
  do you mean, "identify"? Has his sight returned then?" 
  "No." LaCroix went into the kitchen. "May I fix you some tea?" 
  Natalie considered it. "Sounds great. Thanks. I'm sorry, I've just been so 
  worried, and I didn't mean to sound like such a shrew." 
  "I know, my dear. Why don't you sit down? This will only take a minute." 
  Natalie opted for the couch, pulling her heavy cast up on the seat beside her, 
  and laying the crutches on the floor within easy reach. She should be getting 
  back to the morgue, but she just couldn't concentrate when she worried about 
  Nick like this. Then coming here to see him, and he wasn't anywhere to be 
  seen, she had feared the worst. 
  The microwave beeped, and shortly LaCroix joined her, placing a steaming cup 
  of green tea in her hands. He took his favorite chair and sipped from his own 
  beverage. Then, he explained in more detail, until Natalie had no more 
  questions. "So, my dear. What is it that brought you here tonight?" 
  "Has he vomited again?" she asked. 
  LaCroix nodded sadly. "Repeatedly." 
  She shook her head. "Then that is what is keeping him from recovering. He's 
  losing more than what he drinks. His own blood is coming up as well. If we 
  can't find what is causing this and stop it, he will not recover." 
  LaCroix closed his eyes. Nicholas must recover. Anything else was simply not 
  an option. "Have you any idea what this is?" 
  She shrugged. "It seems similar to a peptic ulcer, although without x-rays it 
  would be hard to diagnose for certain." 
  "This is a mortal illness?" he sneered. 
  Natalie nodded. "As far as I know, the only vampire illness was the Fever." 
  "And tell me, how would you treat a peptic ulcer in a mortal?" 
  "When the ulcer perforates - bleeds - then the patient may be hospitalized for 
  a month, to receive proper nutrition and remove him from stress of job or 
  family that may be at least partially causing the over-production of 
  hydrochloric acids in the stomach. Severe bleeding would require surgery, or 
  it can be fatal." 
  "You cannot operate on a vampire," LaCroix commented. The incisions would heal 
  before the surgery was completed if the vampire's system was functioning 
  normally, and if not, then the incision might not heal at all and the vampire 
  could bleed out, since their blood did not clot. 
  "I know. But maybe the x-ray isn't a bad idea. It's a start, anyway." 
  "Where would this be done?" 
  "I have x-ray equipment at the morgue. But tomorrow night should be soon 
  enough. I think maybe he's had enough tonight." 
  "I agree," LaCroix said. "If it is similar to an ulcer, as you suggest, then 
  how will that help? What will you recommend?" 
  "I honestly don't know, Lucien. Ulcer patients are put on a restrictive diet - 
  soft foods only, and antacids to counter the destructive hydrochloric acid. If 
  I were to try and relate that to a vampire, I guess I could say only the best 
  quality of his natural food, and only in small amounts, offered frequently 
  throughout the day and night - a glass every hour. Never let the stomach 
  become empty. And maybe he should get some counseling, to help him deal with 
  stress in a more constructive manner." 
  LaCroix was silent and contemplative. Getting Nicholas to agree to the dietary 
  restrictions might be half the battle. Still, his son was so weak right now 
  that he seemed more malleable than normal. "And how are you doing, my dear?" 
  he asked suddenly. "This has all been a bit much for you I suspect." 
  Natalie smiled. "It has been a hell of a week, hasn't it?" She finished her 
  tea. It had warmed her a little. She was tempted to lean back and take a nap 
  herself, but knew she would be missed if she didn't get back to the morgue 
  shortly. 
  "I'd like to examine him later then, this morning maybe? I want to see if 
  there's been any change to the retina." 
  LaCroix nodded his assent. "Just promise me, dear, that you will not enter his 
  room, ever, without me, until he has recovered." 
  Months ago she would have balked at what she felt was a possessive nature, but 
  now she realized that LaCroix was right, at least, in this instance. Nicholas 
  was not safe to be around. "I'd better be going then." She reached for her 
  crutches and struggled to her feet. 
  LaCroix put his arms around her, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair and the 
  warm, intoxicating aroma of her human blood. "I have missed you," he 
  whispered, holding her close. 
  "I have missed you, as well," she said. "I get a new cast tomorrow. I'm hoping 
  that it will make... things... easier for us." 
  LaCroix chuckled. "Here's to new casts then, my love." 
  Tracy climbed into her car and shut the door for privacy before pulling out 
  her cellphone. This was just too weird. LaCroix had to be behind it. When he 
  finally answered, on the fifth ring, she asked him. 
  "Um, dad? Captain Reese put me in charge of Jeep MacPete, and then he had this 
  fuzzy-disoriented look. Did you have anything to do with this?" 
  "When you pick up the boy at the hospital, you will meet Diggon. He has my 
  instructions to see you both to the safe house of my choosing. We will not 
  discuss this over an open line. I will explain it in detail when you return 
  home, my daughter." 
  "LaCroix, I'm a big girl now," she said, sighing into the mouthpiece. "I don't 
  need a body guard." 
  "Yes. And the murderer is an even bigger boy. This is for Jeep's safety as 
  much as your own." 
  "See you later, then," she said. She was itching to go home. The precinct had 
  been talking nonstop about Nick's visit, and how he'd collapsed into LaCroix's 
  arms. They were worried for him, as it was such a surprise to see the 
  "Knightmare" in this weakened state. Tracy had to see him for herself. 
  Vampires weren't supposed to be affected like this. Her world was shaking, and 
  she felt scared. 
  Taking Gypsy up to Father's House tonight hadn't helped. Since she drove 
  alone, she was more aware of the lighted cross and other religious symbols, 
  unable to turn away from them and still keep her eyes on her driving. Mr. 
  Whitcomb had wept as he clutched Gypsy in his trembling hands. The dog licked 
  at his tears, whining mournfully. They both missed Janice. Tracy suspected 
  that his recovery might be helped along, now that the canine was there with 
  him. 
  "We found her a few days ago, actually," Tracy had told him. "Nick, my 
  partner, wanted to keep her for a while, because he had a hunch that the dog 
  would help with this case. But he was only partially correct. Nick found some 
  important information, and someone tried to kill him, throwing him in the 
  lake. Gypsy found him in time. He's still under the weather, but she saved his 
  life." 
  "You're a hero," he told his new pet. "I'm very glad for you, Detective. I 
  hope your partner gets better soon." 
  "Me too," she whispered as she stepped into the silence of the night. 
  Tracy parked in the nearest visitor space and went into the hospital. Somehow, 
  LaCroix had arranged for all the paperwork regarding Jeep's release to have 
  been handled, and the boy was dressed and waiting for her. 
  It was unusual, as most discharges occurred in the morning hours, after the 
  doctors had made their rounds, but perhaps releasing him early was for the 
  safety of the other patients. Someone could still be gunning for this disabled 
  boy. 
  A uniformed officer followed them to the car and waited until another man 
  approached. Tracy sensed he was a vampire before he arrived. This must be her 
  bodyguard she thought, eyeing him critically. At his nod, the mortal officer 
  left them. "And you are?" she asked, just as a precaution. 
  "Diggon," he answered briefly, giving the appropriate response. "Do you want 
  to drive or ride in back with the boy," the vampire asked. 
  Tracy almost laughed. If it were Nick, she wouldn't have a choice. "I drive," 
  she said firmly. "It's my car." 
  The vampire shrugged and climbed in the back without another word. She drove 
  through Toronto traffic following his cryptic directions. She wasn't sure if 
  he didn't know his way around the city, or if he was trying to throw potential 
  threats off their trail, but his route was circuitous at best. Finally, she 
  pulled up at a wrought-iron gate that stood impressively twelve feet high, 
  surrounding the monumental home of the biggest crime lord in Ontario. She felt 
  her pulse quicken as the uniformed guard asked to see her ID. 
  She flashed her badge, wondering if that was wise, under the circumstances. 
  The guard merely nodded and pressed the buttons to open the gate and give her 
  admittance. She drove slowly towards the main door. 
  "Are you sure this is right?" she asked Diggon. 
  "Yes," he answered. Well, it was a good thing he didn't try a career in 
  communications, she thought snidely. 
  A valet waited by the front door to park her car. Another valet held the door 
  open for her, Diggon and Jeep. The front hall was magnificent. Polished wood 
  walls, glass chandeliers, imported carpets - all spoke of wealth and power in 
  a manner she had not ever seen before. Yet another member of the household 
  staff greeted them now. This one was a woman of about forty. She wore a black 
  dress with a white apron, but her smile was friendly. 
  "Hello there, young man! You must be Jimmy MacPete!" 
  "Yes, ma'am," Jeep answered. "But my family calls me "Jeep" because I have 
  another brother named Jimmy." 
  "Jeep. That's unique. If that is what you like to be called, then Jeep it is. 
  Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you around." 
  Tracy coughed nervously into her hand. "Excuse me, miss -" 
  "Mrs. White," the woman answered promptly. "I'm his housekeeper and all-around 
  right-hand woman, I guess. I'm supposed to show you some of the security he's 
  added, so Jeep will feel safer, and then take him to his wing." The rest of 
  her comments were directed to Jeep. "You're being given Master David's old 
  wing. He doesn't live here any more. So you can have access to his toys, 
  computers, books, whatever, for as long as you need to stay here." 
  She pointed out the guards that stood around the house, both inside and out, 
  the high gate, the security cameras, and the burglar system. Jeep visibly 
  relaxed. The attempt on his life had thoroughly frightened him, more so than 
  even seeing his sister and best friend dead. Then Mrs. White took them to an 
  elevator that brought them up to the third floor. 
  "Mr. Constantine used to be in a wheelchair," she explained, when Jeep seemed 
  impressed by the elevator. "But he's had a miraculous recovery. I swear that 
  man will outlive all of us!" 
  Tracy glanced at Diggon, trying to hide her smile. She knew she and the 
  vampire would outlive all of the mortals. Diggon didn't seem to find it funny. 
  Maybe he had no sense of humor. 
  Jeep exclaimed at the posh rooms that were to be his, even if only 
  temporarily. "Is this real? Can I really stay here? Does he like, even know, 
  that I'm... you know, black and crippled? Am I going to get in trouble?" 
  "Oh you poor boy," Mrs. White exclaimed. She gave him a quick hug. "Mr. 
  Constantine looks like an ornery, ugly old man, but he's not really awful on 
  the inside. You'll be just fine here, Jeep. And you're to tell me if there is 
  anything, anything at all, that you want." 
  Jeep nodded, blinking back tears before they could fall and embarrass him. "I 
  would like to call my brother Jimmy, if I could. Let him know I'm safe. Is 
  that okay?" 
  Mrs. White nodded. "Certainly. You have to dial "8" first to get an outside 
  line. Don Constantine has a very high-tech system, I don't know enough about 
  it to explain it, but your calls cannot be traced. There's a phone right 
  beside the bed, and another at the computer desk. If you would like to nap 
  then, or what ever, breakfast can be served whenever you're hungry. You won't 
  meet Don Constantine until tomorrow night. He sleeps most of the day." 
  A knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. White opened it. Yet another man stood 
  there, looking like he'd swallowed too large a pill and had to give up 
  breathing permanently. "Miss Vetter," he said, a nasal quality to his squeaky 
  voice, "if you'll follow me, Don Constantine will see you now." 
  Tracy swallowed. She should not fear this crime lord. He was just a mortal 
  after all! But why was she being singled out? She glanced at Diggon nervously. 
  He seemed unconcerned. Well, he was either a lousy bodyguard, or she truly had 
  nothing to worry about. She gave Jeep a parting smile and followed the 
  pinch-faced secretary through the massive house to a small but cozy library on 
  the ground floor at the opposite end. 
  "You couldn't have found a room farther away for the boy, could you," she 
  said, foolishly opening her mouth with sarcasm to the most powerful mortal in 
  all of Toronto. Then, she felt an icy dread creep up her spine as the old man 
  approached her. He felt familiar. 
  The hairs on her neck tingled with the sense of a vampire! 
  "Ohmygosh," she blurted, feeling faintly nauseated. 
  Don Constantine laughed. "Forgive me, child, if I have frightened you. I 
  merely wanted the opportunity to meet you. I met your brother several times in 
  the past, and indirectly, I can thank him for my eternity." He poured two 
  drinks and passed one to her. The scent of blood stirred her and her fangs 
  erupted. 
  The old man smiled broadly, showing her his own needle-sharp fangs. He looked 
  to be at least ninety years old if he was a day, with a well -wrinkled face 
  and sagging skin. His hands had enlarged knuckles, although he didn't seem to 
  suffer the pain of arthritis any longer. In fact, he stood erect and seemed to 
  exude perfect health, despite his ancient appearance. 
  Tracy sipped her beverage to still her nervousness. Still, there was something 
  about this vampire. He seemed more than familiar although she was certain she 
  had never laid eyes on him before. He felt, almost like Nick... Her eyes 
  widened at the possibility. "Are you... um, are you by chance related?" 
  Don Constantine laughed heartily. "You're bright as well as beautiful! I 
  couldn't ask for a nicer little sister, although I'm sure you didn't fare as 
  well in the bargain. I am also a child of LaCroix... until you, I was his 
  youngest, although to look at me I think others might feel I was instead his 
  parent! Amusing, no?" 
  Tracy searched for a chair and sank into it. "You are Nick's little brother?" 
  she whispered incredulously. 
  Constantine continued to laugh. "Vampire families are such complicated things, 
  aren't they?" 
  "But you live alone. LaCroix doesn't boss you around?" 
  Constantine settled onto another chair and surveyed his library with an odd 
  sense of both pride and humility. "It is a long story, my dear. I'd be glad to 
  tell you sometime. But LaCroix brought me across as payment of an old debt. It 
  had nothing to do with wanting me to join his family. I don't think he 
  particularly cared whether I survived my conversion or not. I managed. If I 
  needed his assistance, I think he would come to my aid, but it is a delicate 
  situation. Much of my wealth was not gained through legal means, and his 
  favorite son is a police officer. So, we keep my connection to the family 
  mostly secret. I, in exchange, have been slowly ending my illicit connections 
  as I prepare to move on. 
  "I can't stay here much longer. Eventually the mortals would notice that I am 
  in better health than most of them. And I feel damn good for a man who just 
  celebrated his hundredth birthday!" 
  Tracy laughed. The old crook was charming, and she felt very comfortable 
  around him as she sensed now that he was also a very young vampire. His 
  abilities would not be much better than hers, and as a brother he would not 
  dare to harm her. Still, it was weird to have such a crooked brother, when all 
  of her mortal relatives and even her vampire brother were cops. Constantine 
  then told her a few stories, how he'd helped Nick to hide from LaCroix, then 
  helped LaCroix to find him again... and briefly told how Nick had helped his 
  great-grandson two years ago. 
  "Do you ever see him any more?" she asked, referring to David Constantine. 
  "Yes, but not as often as I would like. I go every Father's Day, and I go 
  alone - flying, so that I do not lead any of my mortal enemies to him and his 
  family. When David passes on, I will break those ties as well. I cannot keep 
  in touch with his son, my great-great grandson, forever." 
  Tracy felt a sense of urgency then, and a yawn shook her. It was time to go. 
  Dawn must be approaching. 
  Constantine seemed to feel it as well. "Now, don't you worry about a thing, 
  Tracy. LaCroix thought that this was the safest house in Toronto for Jeep, and 
  I happen to agree. As for his rooms being so far from mine, that is because I 
  do not want to accidentally drain him if I wake up hungry." 
  Tracy blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I do tend to run on at the mouth." 
  "Don't ever change. I like it. It's fresh and honest. And, welcome to the 
  family. Although I'm sure it would not look good to associate with a criminal, 
  perhaps when you move on, we could become more acquainted." 
  "I think I'd like that," she said, surprising even herself. He seemed more 
  like a kindly, somewhat doddering old uncle than a powerful crime lord. She 
  gave him an impulsive hug before she turned to leave. 
  "One more thing, Tracy. You'd better call me "cousin" instead of "brother". It 
  tends to raise a lot of eyebrows. I like "cousin". It implies the family 
  relationship, without getting down to specifics." 
  "Cousin Constantine?" she asked, trying the name out. 
  He laughed, wiping moisture from his eyes. "You may use my given name, 
  Thomas." 
  "Cousin Tommy," she said, grinning broadly. 
  "Cousin Tracy. Have a safe journey, my dear." 
  Diggon was waiting for her by the front door. The valet returned her car keys 
  to her. It had been a long, strange night. She still had to pick Natalie up at 
  the morgue, but then she could look forward to a soft bed and a sound sleep. 
  "So how's Nick really doing," Tracy asked Nat later as they were driving home. 

  "I'm not sure," she answered. "I had suggested one treatment, and now I think 
  it was the worst possible one to suggest, and we're going to try the opposite. 
  I feel like I'm doing more harm than good." 
  Tracy gave her a reassuring smile. "Nat, Nick's alive, right?" 
  "He would debate that." 
  "Hey, it's Nick we're talking about though. He would argue the spots off a 
  Dalmatian. But he is more alive now than when LaCroix pulled him up from the 
  bottom of the lake?" 
  Nat smiled. "I guess you're right." 
  "I heard he fainted at the precinct tonight." 
  That made the coroner laugh. "That's not even close. Don't you just love how 
  gossip works? Actually, Nick got a little too hungry, and LaCroix restrained 
  him and put him to sleep." 
  Tracy had a good laugh at that too. They were still chuckling as they ascended 
  the stairs into the apartment. Sydney wrapped himself around Nat's cast, 
  rubbing against the plaster and purring loudly. 
  "Hi boy," Nat called to him. "Did you miss me?" 
  "Hello, we're home," Tracy called to the empty apartment. No one sat in the 
  living room, and a quick peek in Nick's room revealed an empty bed. 
  LaCroix's door was closed, and Nat was reluctant to open it. She heard muffled 
  sounds within. She didn't have to work hard to imagine what they were doing. 
  Tracy's sudden fangs and golden eyes were further proof. Tracy blinked, 
  regaining her control instantly. "Um, sorry, Nat," she said awkwardly. 
  Nat shrugged, trying to conceal her embarrassment. "I think I'll go find 
  something to eat." 
  The kitchen table was set with a place setting for one, and a hand-written 
  card in LaCroix's bold script stated that dinner would arrive shortly. Tracy 
  whistled as she caught sight of the note. 
  "Looks like he's buttering you up for something," she teased. 
  "Yeah, right. With this ton of bricks leg of mine." 
  The doorbell rang then. Tracy volunteered to answer it. A delivery boy handed 
  her the Chinese takeout: LaCroix's idea of "fixing dinner". She handed him a 
  tip, but he said the meal had already been paid for. 
  Natalie sat at the table, suddenly ravenous, as she examined the assorted 
  items. Tracy sat with her, enjoying her own meal. "I met another big brother 
  today," she said, and went on to tell Nat about Constantine. Nat didn't seem 
  too surprised. She hadn't ever met him, but she remembered when Nick went up 
  against the old crime lord to try to help his great-grandson escape. 
  "Strange how that all worked out," Nat said. "At the time, I thought that 
  turning a criminal into an immortal was about the stupidest, dumbest thing 
  LaCroix had ever done, but he actually helped to put Constantine out of 
  business. The old man is slowly closing his operation down. Guess he's got 
  other interests than money and power now." 
  Nat finished most of her food, closing the containers and storing the 
  leftovers in the refrigerator. She could take it in to work tomorrow for 
  "lunch" at around midnight. Then she heard LaCroix and Nick approach. She 
  glanced up and smiled at them. 
  LaCroix looked much the same as always, completely dressed in immaculate 
  black, only his eyes held a hint of amusement. Nicholas was the most changed. 
  His eyes, too, looked amused. His hair was tousled and hung boyishly over his 
  forehead, and he wore only a pair of black jersey lounge pants, his feet and 
  chest were bare. Telltale red bite marks were still visible on his pale 
  throat. He held LaCroix's arm tightly, the only outward sign that his vision 
  had not improved. LaCroix directed him to sit at the kitchen chair. 
  "I believe you wanted to examine this irascible child," LaCroix commented. He 
  placed a friendly kiss on her cheek. 
  "Yes, I do," she said. Knowing that Nick had just been fed on what LaCroix 
  considered the best possible food, now was probably a good time to examine 
  him. "How are you feeling?" she asked. 
  Nick grinned. "Pretty good." 
  She took her stethoscope to listen to the sounds of his stomach. "How often 
  are you vomiting, Nick?" 
  His smile faded. Guys always hated to talk about their health, she realized, 
  and that apparently didn't fade with time. 
  "Almost every hour," LaCroix answered for him. 
  She took the otoscope then and shined it in his eyes. Nick never flinched, nor 
  did he show any sign that the small bright light was painful. What the light 
  revealed was not encouraging either. There had been no visible change. 
  "So what's the verdict, doc?" Nick asked. Although he tried for casual 
  nonchalance, Nat heard the silent plea. She really didn't know what to tell 
  him. Vampires always healed, didn't they? But the sun always killed… what if 
  this was permanent? 
  "It's too soon to tell, Nick. But, you get to come in to the morgue tomorrow. 
  I'm going to take some x-rays to see what's going on inside." 
  "I have given my consent," LaCroix added. 
  Nick shrugged. The morgue wasn't top on his list of places he wanted to be. He 
  wasn't sure what was. He was missing Urs, but he didn't want her to see him 
  like this. He felt strangely restless. Sleeping most of the day and night, he 
  was no longer really tired. He accepted LaCroix's assistance to the couch in 
  the living room. 
  "Is there anything else you require," LaCroix asked. 
  Nick shook his head. "No, thanks." 
  "Then, I think that I shall retire. Call me if you need anything." 
  "Good day, LaCroix. Good day, Natalie." 
  Natalie kissed the top of his head. "Don't stay up too late," she said. 
  Tracy watched the couple leave, just beginning to wonder where Vachon was. She 
  plopped on the other end of the couch. Nick turned, putting his feet on the 
  center cushion and smiled at her. Tracy pulled her feet up as well, feeling 
  very much at home now with her older brother. Six months ago she hadn't really 
  known anything about him. She'd thought he was some straight-laced, 
  old-fashioned, teetotaling geek. The only part that had been true was the 
  old-fashioned part, although she'd been off by more than a few centuries on 
  that one as well. Now she knew him to be passionate, sensitive, moody, and 
  even full of fun at times. 
  "So what was that with the light, Nick? You didn't even flinch." 
  Nick shrugged. "I damaged my eyes staring at the sun." "Smart. Real smart, 
  bro." 
  He laughed. Tracy was the only person treating him just like always. She 
  wasn't tiptoeing around, acting like he was made of eggshells and might break. 
  For some reason, that pleased him. He relaxed in her company. "I guess," he 
  said. "But for centuries I have missed the sun. Then suddenly, I thought I was 
  dying. The sun was shining on me and I was powerless to seek shelter. So I 
  just stared at it. It is beautiful." 
  "Well, I hope you're eyes heal quickly. I am not looking forward to breaking 
  in a new partner," Tracy said, teasing him. "I got to meet another brother 
  tonight." Then she told Nick about Don Constantine, "Cousin Tommy", in as 
  amusing a tale as she could make it. Nick laughed and laughed, but she noticed 
  as she continued that he looked tired and his complexion turned gray. "Maybe 
  it's time to go to bed," Tracy suggested. 
  Nick shrugged. "You go ahead. I've been there all night." 
  Tracy pecked him on the cheek, just as a knock sounded at the door. She pulled 
  it open, knowing it was Vachon. 
  "Hi, love," she said, "Hello, Urs. I was beginning to think you weren't 
  coming." 
  Vachon gave a toothy yawn. "The Raven was really hopping tonight. The band 
  just didn't want to quit. But I'm beat. I feel like I could sleep until 
  Tuesday." 
  "Good night, then, Nick," Tracy said again, as she pulled her Spanish lover 
  into her room. 
  Urs came in hesitantly, closing the door behind her. She hadn't seen Nick 
  since a few days before he drowned, and then they had quarreled. She wasn't 
  sure if he even wanted to see her. But LaCroix had called earlier, and 
  specifically asked her to come. "Hello, Nick," she whispered. 
  "Hello, Urs." His face looked neutral. At first she thought she had seen a 
  smile, but now he seemed indifferent. He didn't get up and hug her, or kiss 
  her, or even look at her. She fidgeted nervously. Maybe this hadn't been a 
  good idea after all. 
  "I'm glad to see you up." 
  An awkward silence fell between them. Urs came further into the room. She 
  leaned against LaCroix's favorite chair for support. Nick looked tired. She 
  yearned to comfort him, but there was a stubborn look that would deny any 
  attempt. He could be so obstinate! 
  "I've been worried about you," she said. 
  "Well, don't be. LaCroix's always there, making sure to pick up the pieces, to 
  keep me out of trouble. No one else needs to ever worry about Nicky, LaCroix's 
  favorite pet." 
  "Why are you doing this?" she asked, blinking back tears. He was intentionally 
  pushing her away. She knew that, and yet, it was working. As much as she 
  wanted to be with him, to help and to comfort him, she wouldn't stay if he 
  truly didn't want her. 
  "I'm just not very good company right now, Urs. Maybe you'd rather sleep 
  somewhere else today." 
  Urs sniffed. She wiped away a tear and backed up towards the door. "Good day, 
  Nick. Call me sometime." She wouldn't come back otherwise. She looked at him 
  longingly one last time, wondering if it really was going to be the last time. 

  LaCroix stormed into the living room. "Urs, stay," he commanded. "Nicholas, 
  don't be such an ass." 
  "Sir, please," Urs whispered. "Don't. Maybe it's better if I just go." 
  "Better? Nonsense. Nicholas, Urs is here because I asked her to come. As much 
  as I enjoy your company, I'm sure that you tire of mine. And I don't want you 
  to be alone. Now apologize to her this minute." 
  Nick got to his feet, his face contorted in anger, his jaw set firmly. "You 
  bastard! Stop running my life!" 
  "Or what, Nicholas?" 
  Nick flew at him, but LaCroix took one step to the side. Nick missed him, 
  crashing in to the wall. Urs gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth. Nick slid 
  to the floor and stayed there. How had he not seen his master move? How had he 
  missed? Her gallant knight looked small and lost as he drew his knees up to 
  his chin. 
  LaCroix folded his arms across his chest. "I'm waiting, Nicholas," he said. 
  Nick blinked back tears of frustration and embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Urs," he 
  said softly. 
  LaCroix heaved a sigh. "I am going back to bed. Good day, children." 
  "LaCroix!" Nick cried. "Don't go yet?" He stretched out his hand. 
  LaCroix looked at his son. Part of him wanted to bring this child to his 
  breast and hold him there forever, but part of him was furious with him. No 
  matter how much he proved his love for this son, Nicholas still rebelled 
  against him. "Help yourself," he said. "Since you object to my "interfering" 
  in your life." 
  "LaCroix!" Nick sounded scared. "I'm sorry. Please don't leave me here." 
  Urs stared. She didn't understand any of this. What help did Nick need? Why 
  was he so frightened? What new torture had LaCroix discovered to visit upon 
  him? The ancient turned to her. "You will stay the day with him. I will see 
  you when I wake." Then he left. 
  Nick hid his face in his arms. Urs saw him shake and knew he wept, but she 
  still felt clueless. She sat down beside him, putting an arm around his 
  shoulders and just stayed with him. Shortly, her own tears mixed with his. She 
  felt lethargic, drained and weary. Day had arrived. The apartment was filled 
  with the sleeping, but this troubled, sensitive man she loved needed 
  something. If only she knew what. 
  Nick was quiet now. His shoulders no longer shook, but still his face was 
  concealed. Urs wiped her eyes, then tentatively touched his tousled hair. When 
  he did not resist, she grew a little bolder. She put an arm around his 
  shoulder and hugged him. "Nick? Come to bed?" 
  He looked up then, but not quite at her. His eyes seemed strange and 
  unfocused. If he was really ill, maybe she should wake LaCroix? Nick pressed a 
  hand against the wall and struggled to his feet. When she would have moved 
  away, he reached out awkwardly and grabbed her, pulling her close. 
  "Urs. Don't leave me here. I… I can't see. I don't know where I am, exactly." 
  Urs looked at him in shock. Now it made sense. He had tried to push her away, 
  being stupidly male, rather than let her see him this way. "LaCroix was 
  right," she said. "You were being an ass." 
  Nick shrugged. "I'm sorry, Urs." He put his hand on her arm. "Just lead. I 
  will follow." 
  Urs walked slowly, suddenly grateful that LaCroix's apartment was always so 
  tidy. She wanted to know how long this would last, but if Nick had known, he 
  most likely would have said something. Instead she would take him to bed and 
  make love to him. In the blood kiss, she would discover what he seemed unable 
  to share through any other means. And once they were in bed, their naked 
  bodies pressed together, Nick was no longer disabled. It was as if everything 
  that had happened since the last time he had held her was all just a nightmare 
  and this was the only reality that mattered. 
  Nearly an hour later, Urs cuddled up against him, stroking his bare chest 
  although he was sound asleep. For a short time she felt linked to him, sensing 
  his dreams and thoughts more closely than she would have ever believed 
  possible. On the plane of the imagined, he danced beneath a golden sun, felt 
  its warmth on his flesh, and yet he was neither frightened nor hurt. Later the 
  sun faded, replaced with darkness. Her stomach hurt then. She rubbed at it, 
  wondering at the sensation of pain. The door opened and LaCroix came inside. 
  She gazed at him curiously, pulling the blanket around her. He gestured to her 
  to stay. Lifting a bucket she just noticed sitting on the end table, he sat 
  down on the edge of the bed near Nick and waited. Nick groaned in his sleep, 
  moving about restlessly. Then suddenly his hands flailed out and he sat bolt 
  upright, vomiting into the waiting bucket. 
  LaCroix rubbed his back between the shoulders until the spasms ceased. Then he 
  helped Nick to lie down again. Within moments Nick was sound asleep, oblivious 
  to his master's presence. 
  "I am sorry, Urs, for bringing you here. You do not need to stay with him if 
  you find this too distasteful," LaCroix said. 
  She placed her hands over his and took the bucket from him. "It is not so 
  bad," she said softly. "Just strange. I hadn't known what was wrong. I will be 
  able to help him next time. Does this happen much?" 
  "Unfortunately," he sighed. He brushed at Nick's hair. 
  Urs emptied the bucket in the bathroom and returned. She curled up in Nick's 
  arm, offering LaCroix a shy smile. He returned her smile before leaving. Odd, 
  he thought. Vampires usually slept rather soundly. How could he and Urs keep 
  waking when Nick needed them? He was too tired to think about it now. He 
  returned to his bed, to Natalie's warm embrace and to his own pleasant dreams. 

  Nick was exhausting, Urs grumbled to herself. He was constantly hungry, 
  probably because he couldn't seem to keep anything down. He'd vomit and then 
  he'd need to feed. Finally when the sun hung low in the evening sky and it was 
  nearly time to get up, she gave him her blood through the wrist, bypassing his 
  sick stomach. He was much too sleepy to notice or to care. No wonder why 
  LaCroix had summoned her! After spending a night and day with his son, the 
  ancient must have been about at his wit's end. She hoped that Natalie would 
  know how to help him, and soon! Rolling away from him and pulling the pillow 
  over her head, she struggled back to sleep. An hour later when she felt the 
  others arise, Urs remained in bed. Maybe she'd go late to work tonight. Her 
  boss should understand.... When LaCroix came in to help Nick she feigned 
  sleep. 
  Nicholas seemed petulant today, LaCroix quickly realized. He had hoped that 
  reuniting him with his lover would comfort him. It had comforted LaCroix. 
  After a full day's sleep with few interruptions he felt better able to deal 
  with this most difficult child. He led him into the bathroom to assist with 
  his shower. 
  "Do we have to go in to the morgue tonight?" Nick complained. "I don't want to 
  go. Can't it wait?" 
  "We do have to go in tonight," LaCroix said firmly. He smiled at the stubble 
  of beard on his son's face. It was so charming, in a way. It made him look 
  boyish somehow, and Nick often went for days without shaving. It would never 
  grow into a beard. This was as long as it would get, for the same reason that 
  LaCroix himself never needed to shave at all. LaCroix had been immaculate when 
  Divia brought him across - his hair recently cut and his face clean-shaven. 
  That was his immortality. Nicholas, however, had been on a two-day drunk. His 
  hair had been shoulder-length and his jaw covered with several days' stubble. 
  Now his hair grew very fast, as his vampire nature strove to maintain him as 
  he was exactly at the moment of his conversion, and his beard would grow just 
  this far and stop. 
  Nicholas preferred the shorter hairstyles that were currently popular, which 
  meant that he required frequent cuts, but the dark blonde stubble on his chin 
  was there as often as not. 
  "Do you wish me to shave you?" LaCroix asked. 
  Nicholas cocked his head slightly as he considered it. "Show me how to do it 
  myself?" 
  That would be time-consuming. However, they were in no particular rush, and 
  LaCroix felt solicitous at the moment. He pulled his son in front of him as 
  they both stood at the sink. Taking Nicholas's hand, he guided it to the 
  mirrored cabinet and to the razor and shaving cream inside. Nicholas seemed 
  very absorbed in the activity as he smoothed the cream over his face, while 
  LaCroix merely enjoyed watching him. It seemed that as long as he kept him 
  busy, Nicholas's mood was much improved. It would take serious thought to come 
  up with enough activities to occupy his son, but certainly it would be worth 
  it. 
  Nicholas felt for the faucets and rinsed the razor, then continued to scrape 
  at his face. He wasn't doing too badly, considering. "Am I finished?" he asked 
  shortly. 
  "You've missed two spots," LaCroix answered. "You can find them, as the 
  shaving cream is there still." 
  He scowled with concentration as he felt his face, removing the last of the 
  shaving cream with the razor. Leaning over the sink, he washed his face and 
  accepted the towel LaCroix passed to him. Nicholas beamed proudly. 
  LaCroix told him then to find the shower and adjust the water temperature. 
  Nicholas swallowed nervously. "It's easier to do in your shower," he answered 
  as he felt his way around the small bathroom awkwardly. 
  "And why is that?" 
  "Because your faucet leaks. The faint sound of the dripping water leads me 
  there." 
  LaCroix laughed. "Shall I then remove the washers on all the faucets and cause 
  them to leak for you, my son?" 
  "Don't laugh at me," Nicholas whispered, already sinking back into the 
  petulant mood. 
  LaCroix chuckled more as he pulled his son closer. "I am not laughing at you, 
  Nicholas. At least, not at your present disability. But you make me laugh. You 
  are my sun, the light of my world. You have the power to make me happy, even 
  as you can burn and injure me with no more than a careless word or glance." 
  Nick became thoughtful; LaCroix was seldom so poetic. Then he felt his 
  master's hands begin to undress him and he pulled away. "I can do that 
  myself," he insisted. 
  LaCroix took his son's hands and placed them on his own shirt. "Then undress 
  me instead," he offered. Together they showered and shared blood. It was the 
  only way to start a new day. 
  Tracy and Nat had left for work already by the time the two vampires settled 
  in the kitchen for their breakfast. LaCroix poured Nick's mug only half full 
  and warmed it in the microwave. "Drink as much as you can, my son, and leave 
  the rest," he said. His own glass he filled, three times. Caring for Nicholas 
  required a lot of work. He checked in on Urs once, before they left. The day 
  must have worn her out. Perhaps it had been devious and underhanded to bring 
  her here… but he felt much better. 
  "Are you sorry that I invited Urs?" he asked Nicholas. 
  "No," he sighed. "I'm sorry that I've been so awful to her. I love her. But I 
  just can't seem to tell her that. I mean, I seem to always say or do the wrong 
  thing and hurt her feelings." 
  "I know exactly how you feel," LaCroix said ironically. He led his son away 
  then, fully aware of the sweet smile on Urs's face before he closed her door. 
  Natalie was waiting for them when they arrived and lead them to the lab. The 
  cold, steel shelf usually held only corpses and she felt awkward as she 
  directed Nick to lay there. She slipped on the lead protective apron, but 
  LaCroix refused to wear one. He even refused to leave Nick's side during the 
  process. Stubborn old Roman, she muttered under her breath. Secretly, she was 
  glad that Nick could depend on him during this crisis. She took several views 
  of his abdomen, then had him remain there while she developed the films. 
  The images were not encouraging. He did have a large ulcer on the stomach 
  lining. She pulled at her hair in frustration. All her work, six years of 
  trying to help him, and she had made him this way. It was really all her 
  fault. She would work forever to help him recover, even though it meant 
  joining him in immortality, but nothing would ever erase her guilt. She 
  grabbed the films and brought them out into the lab. 
  "So what's the bad news," Nick asked. 
  "What makes you think it's bad?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light. 
  "I can smell your fear, Nat," Nick answered softly. "You are nervous, 
  anxious." 
  Nat glanced at LaCroix. He merely shrugged. "Okay, Nick. I'll be straight. You 
  have a hole in your stomach. You have too much hydrochloric acid, which is 
  making you vomit. This hole is also bleeding, which is keeping you weak and 
  inhibiting your ability to heal. And there isn't anything I can do for you." 
  Nick gulped nervously. A dark sheen appeared on his brow at once as his fear 
  nearly overwhelmed him. "You mean," he whispered. "I'm going to stay like 
  this?" 
  "I didn't say that," she said, more gently now. She took a facial tissue and 
  dabbed at the blood sweat on his face tenderly. "But, you are going to have to 
  help yourself on this one, Nick." 
  "How?" 
  Nat glanced at LaCroix for encouragement. They had discussed this before and 
  it would not come as much of a surprise to him. He nodded. She drew a deep 
  breath and continued. 
  "You have to learn to deal with your life differently." 
  Nick snorted disgustedly. 
  "I mean it, Nick. You get so upset about things. You brood, and you always 
  feel that everything that goes wrong is your fault. This irritates your 
  stomach; it in turn produces more acid." 
  "So you're telling me this is all my fault?" he demanded. 
  "No, Nick," she said. "It is mine." 
  He jumped down from the steel table. Reaching out towards her, he found her 
  shoulder, then her face. He brushed at the tears he knew where there. "How 
  could it be your fault, Natalie," he asked quietly. 
  "I'm afraid that forcing you to drink mortal food caused this in the first 
  place," she confessed. 
  "You forced me to do nothing, Nat. I'm stronger than you, even as weak as I am 
  now. I did it on my own. You are only guilty of trying to help me. For that, I 
  will always love you." Nick knew his master was there, and sensed his unease. 
  But Nick drew her into his arms anyway and patted her back. This wasn't about 
  sex. This was friendship. LaCroix would have to deal with it. 
  Nat pulled away first, drying her eyes. She continued quickly, using her role 
  as physician to help deal with her feelings. "Anyway, Nick. No more guilt 
  trips. Maybe you should find a counselor or someone you trust that you can 
  talk to. You must learn new ways of handling your emotions. Other than that, I 
  recommend small, frequent feedings, only pure blood uncut with wine, hourly if 
  possible. Next week I will x-ray your stomach again, to see if there has been 
  any improvement. I expect that when your stomach has healed, then your vision 
  will return as well." 
  "But you don't know that." 
  Nat didn't answer at first. He was her best friend, though, and he deserved 
  the truth. "No, Nick. I don't. However, I have no reason to believe that it 
  won't. You have always healed before. Broken bones, stab wounds, gun shots, 
  even drowning. Don't worry about it. And that's the whole secret. You can't 
  worry about things any more. Not if you want to get well." 
  Nick nodded glumly. He buttoned back up his shirt. 
  "Nicholas," LaCroix said. "I wish to speak to Natalie about a private matter. 
  I will return shortly." 
  He shrugged, feigning indifference. As he heard the door close behind them, 
  however, his stomach lurched and twisted. The lab loomed around him, suddenly 
  a frightening and lonely place. He couldn't remember where everything was, 
  although he had been here lots of times before. The steel bed was in the 
  center, and there was a sink somewhere. Without warning, he needed to find the 
  sink. The metallic taste in his mouth intensified. He clenched his jaw and 
  breathed slowly, willing the nausea to pass even as he groped blindly. He 
  didn't know why being alone in the dark frightened him so, only that it did. 
  He hadn't been in the dark for eight hundred years! Always before, no matter 
  how late it was, or how much fog blocked out the moon, he could see something. 
  Now there was just nothingness. It was like death. Lonely. Terrifying. Blood 
  filled his mouth. 
  Then he heard it - the faint drip, drip. He reached out with his other senses. 
  The room was empty of life. There was no one to see him stumble, no one to 
  help him or to laugh at him. With his hands in front to protect him, slowly he 
  moved one foot in front of the other in the direction of the sink. He walked 
  right into the sink, then felt around its steel sides until he reached the 
  faucets. A feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed him. He heaved into it, 
  turned on the faucets to rinse it down, and straightened in time to smile at 
  LaCroix and Natalie when they returned. 
  LaCroix brought Natalie down the hall and into her room, closing the door 
  before speaking. He knew Nicholas had excellent hearing, and it seemed to have 
  magnified since his blindness. "I discovered this evening that when he is able 
  to do something for himself he seems much happier," LaCroix told her. "I let 
  him shave himself, although I was willing to do it for him, and through the 
  entire experience, he seemed more pleasant." 
  "That makes sense," Nat agreed. "A disability can make anyone feel stupid and 
  incapable, like a burden. And some of it is true. They need help doing thinks 
  they used to take for granted. Anything he can learn to still do for himself 
  should help him feel better about it." 
  "But there is still a mortal out there somewhere with murderous intent towards 
  my son," LaCroix reminded her. "Normally, I would not give that a second 
  thought. However, I fear for him now. He is not healing. Even something as 
  insignificant as a bullet wound might further injure him." 
  "You have a point. You should speak to Reese about getting police protection." 

  LaCroix sniffed indignantly, but Nat continued. "Think about it, Lucien. This 
  is a police matter. Nick will know if a vampire is tailing him. In your 
  apartment he is probably safe enough, but sooner or later - and the sooner the 
  better, actually - he is going to want to venture beyond those four walls. If 
  you have a vampire tailing him, he will resist, maybe even try to lose him. If 
  the police are discreet, Nick shouldn't be aware of them at all." 
  LaCroix kissed her. Not a chaste kiss, but a passionate one. Natalie 
  responded, although she felt a bit like he was merely staking his territory. 
  These possessive old-fashioned vampires were somewhat amusing, in a way. 
  Suddenly LaCroix ended the kiss. He looked concerned. It had to be Nick, she 
  realized. She and LaCroix returned quickly to the lab down the hall, not sure 
  what she expected to find. Instead, Nick smiled at them from the sink. She 
  rushed to him and saw the telltale red mixed with water at the bottom. She 
  looked at him curiously. 
  "Nick?" 
  He shrugged, starting to feel a little foolish. "I found it. Without any 
  help." 
  She blinked back tears again. If only she could wave a wand and make his life 
  easier. If she could believe in vampires, surely there must be fairy 
  godmothers, too? "Thanks for coming in, boys," she said lightly. "See you 
  later?" 
  LaCroix offered Nick his arm to escort him away. "Yes, Nat. And good luck with 
  your new cast. Perhaps you would like to try the hot tub after work?" 
  "Yes!" she said emphatically. 
  Nick settled into LaCroix's limo and sipped at the small flask his master 
  handed him. Going to the morgue hadn't been too bad after all, but now it was 
  over. What would he do with the rest of the night? He sighed, leaning back on 
  the comfortable leather seat. 
  The limo didn't travel far before Nick heard the engine shut off. He sat up 
  curiously. They couldn't be home already. He heard street noises, an ambulance 
  in the distance, doors swishing closed, and mortal hearts in syncopated rhythm 
  beating all around. "Where are we?" he asked. 
  "At your precinct, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "Captain Reese was quite insistent 
  about something he called "your statement"." 
  Nick wrinkled his nose. The expression was similar to a child facing a plate 
  of vegetables. LaCroix almost laughed. "I will stay with you," he said. "Now 
  try to drink a little more before we journey inside." 
  Nicholas complied, then opened his door and stood, waiting for LaCroix's arm 
  to guide him further. He was dreading this. During the last visit he had 
  managed to conceal his blindness from everyone. He had been so weak still, 
  that LaCroix's support could have been misinterpreted. Now he felt a little 
  better, although he still doubted his control. They would know. They would all 
  talk about him, unaware that he could hear every word. That was the worst 
  part. 
  "Stand tall," LaCroix admonished him. "When preparing for battle, you must act 
  as though you have already won the war." 
  Nick gripped his arm more tightly. He understood the metaphor for what it was, 
  encouragement more than criticism. He squared his shoulders, striving for the 
  pride and confidence that he usually brought to work with him. LaCroix lead 
  then, and Nick walked surely, using his vampire senses and his trust in his 
  master to keep him from harm. 
  "Hi Nick!" called a woman's voice as soon as he entered the bullpen. 
  He noted the direction, the slight sibilance in her voice, the scent of her 
  blood, and knew at once who had spoken. "Good evening, Schultz," he replied. 
  "Thanks for the photos you gave to Tracy. That was really sweet." 
  Nick guessed she would be blushing now. He heard her pulse quicken and she 
  shifted nervously at her desk. He gave her what he hoped was a pleasant smile. 

  "Where to, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked, surveying the busy, noisy room. 
  "Captain Reese's office, I guess," Nick said. 
  LaCroix steered him through the room, trying to discourage the mortals, and 
  yet they swarmed around Nick, welcoming him back and asking about him. "When 
  are you getting back to work?" they asked repeatedly. So far, not one of them 
  seemed to notice his disability. LaCroix wondered how long his son would 
  continue this charade. Then he felt Nick's presence seem to double, as his son 
  exuded the air of a prince. 
  "I won't be returning for a while," he informed them. "Maybe not until my 
  eye-sight returns." 
  Many of them gasped, stunned to speechlessness by his statement. A few 
  whispered words of sympathy, but Nicholas shrugged it off. "It is nothing. 
  Merely a temporary inconvenience. Come, Father. Let's see the captain." 
  LaCroix smiled. His son was many things - arrogant, stubborn, foolish, 
  defiant, but one of the things he loved most was that he could be so 
  unpredictable. "As you wish, Nicholas," he answered, parting the crowds. 
  Reese set them up in a small room with Detectives Vetter and Roberts to take 
  Nick's statement regarding his assault. It took over an hour, during which 
  time Reese noticed Nick's health deteriorate rapidly. He had never seen anyone 
  go downhill like that. Twice his father pulled what looked like a liquor flask 
  from his pocket and passed it to Nick. He tried to hurry them along, so that 
  LaCroix could take him back home, but he still wanted to try something. 
  "Nick, do you think I could set you up with a sketch artist, and have you 
  describe the man you spoke to? We'd have no way of knowing how close she 
  follows your description, but it might give us a start." 
  "It's worth a try," Nick agreed. 
  Reese went to the door and signaled. The young artist came in with her 
  charcoal and paper, ready to begin the sketch. Reese listened for a few 
  moments. He nodded as he heard Nick describe the man in great detail. This had 
  been Tracy's suggestion actually. He touched LaCroix's shoulder then and 
  gestured. "If I might have a word with you?" 
  LaCroix hesitated. It was not a good time to leave Nick alone with mortals. 
  Tracy smiled. "I'll stay, sir," she said. He stood and followed the captain 
  into his office. 
  "I'm worried for Nick's safety," Reese began. "I think I should assign a few 
  blues to watch your place." 
  "I agree," LaCroix said. 
  Reese stuttered his surprise. "You do? I mean, of course. Good. I'll take care 
  of it." 
  "Not quite," LaCroix said. "Nicholas will object. If he senses you have placed 
  guards around him, he will become elusive and uncooperative." 
  Reese laughed. "Yep. Sounds like him." 
  "Also, I suspect that Nicholas will want to return to work soon. Maybe I can 
  get him to agree to only part-time. I'm sure you have noticed that he simply 
  is not up to a full shift yet." 
  Reese grumbled awkwardly. "LaCroix, that man is sick. I don't know what he 
  needs, but work is the last thing you should be considering." 
  "Nicholas is a man. And he needs to be doing something, to feel important and 
  useful, as though he is contributing to your mortal society," LaCroix snapped. 
  At once he realized his slip, but the captain didn't seem to. "We don't know 
  how long his blindness will last. I know that will limit his usefulness to the 
  force, but there have been blind investigators in the past. I am certain that 
  Tracy will still want him for her partner." 
  "I just don't know," Reese continued, stalling. "HQ isn't going to like this, 
  not one bit." 
  "That is their problem. If I learn that Nicholas has been fired because of 
  this disability, I will slap a lawsuit against the city immediately. This IS 
  an equal-opportunity employer." 
  Reese clenched his teeth and glared at Nick's father. Having met LaCroix sure 
  explained a lot about Nick. The bullish arrogance and stubborn independence, 
  for sure. But Nick was often right. Going off on his own, breaking rules and 
  procedures… he'd done it before when he believed Rita Whats-her-name was 
  playing a virtual vampire game with him, and again when he went undercover to 
  find Joseph Schloss. So he had his own way of doing things… he did have good 
  instincts. 
  "All right, LaCroix. I'll speak to my superiors about it. I'll let him and 
  Tracy try it out for a few weeks, but I want to see a clean bill of health 
  from his doctor before I put him on the streets." 
  LaCroix agreed. Satisfied that he had accomplished what he intended, he 
  returned to collect his son. The sketch artist showed her picture to them. It 
  was a middle-aged man, rather overweight, with nondescript eyes. His thinning 
  hair was brushed back. The eyes were so deeply set that he had a somewhat 
  cross-eyed look. His teeth were slightly crooked. Reese whistled. "Jees, Nick. 
  You remember all this from a single, brief encounter? That's fantastic." 
  Tracy got up from the table where she'd positioned herself between Nick and 
  the artist. She smiled broadly, but her eyes betrayed her concern. "Thanks for 
  dropping by, Nick" she said. 
  LaCroix saw then how tightly his son clenched the arms of his chair. There 
  were dents in the wood. He hunched down in front of Nick, covering his 
  trembling hands with his own. Reese looked on curiously, ignoring LaCroix's 
  glare. "Please leave us alone," he stated. 
  Tracy helped to herd the mortals from the room, Detective Roberts, the artist, 
  and her captain, pulling the door shut. Nick relaxed a little when he sensed 
  they had left. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His fangs 
  descended. "Will it ever be safe for me to be around them again?" he asked 
  miserably. 
  "No more guilt, Nicholas," LaCroix chided gently. "Come, feed from me, enough 
  so that you can walk out of here." 
  Nick leaned forward hesitantly. LaCroix pulled him into an embrace, cradling 
  his head in one large hand. He craned his neck to expose the tender skin. 
  Nicholas sank his teeth and sucked hungrily for a few moments only. He 
  withdrew, turning to lay his head against his master's shoulder. LaCroix 
  reveled in the moment. If only there were more of them. "Come, Nicholas. It is 
  time to go." 
  Urs wasn't there when they arrived at the apartment. LaCroix suspected she was 
  down in the bar, but if he wanted her to spend the days with Nick, then she 
  would probably need her nights to recover. Nick, however, was exhausted, and 
  was no longer pleasant to be around. He didn't want to undress and return to 
  bed. He did not want a drink before bed. He did not want to be alone. When 
  LaCroix lost his patience and scolded him, Nick promptly vomited all over 
  himself, the bedding, and the carpet. He apologized immediately, weeping in 
  his guilt and shame, which further annoyed LaCroix. 
  "Nicholas, stop it at once," he snapped. 
  Nick fell silent, the picture of dejection. LaCroix sighed. What to do with 
  such a one! 
  "You will clean up this mess yourself," he ordered. "Then you will wash 
  yourself. After which, if you would like to join me, I will be in the hot 
  tub." 
  Nick's mouth dropped open. He hardly ever cleaned anything when he was 
  healthy, and never had he cleaned LaCroix's apartment. He wouldn't have the 
  faintest idea where to look for anything. "But, Father?" he pleaded. 
  LaCroix hesitated. Perhaps he had been a little harsh. Then again, perhaps 
  not. "The bucket is next to you on the end table. Sponges are underneath the 
  sinks in the kitchen and the bathroom. You may pile your soiled clothes on the 
  bed and I will wash them for you." 
  Nicholas was mute. LaCroix turned and left before he could change his mind. He 
  took a beverage and slipped into his hot tub, but kept his thoughts on his son 
  as he sensed his progress through their link. He would not relax until 
  Nicholas had completed the task. Sitting and waiting was much worse than doing 
  it himself. 
  Nick wasn't sure where to begin, but sitting on the bed in his own vomit and 
  feeling sorry for himself was getting him no where. He unbuttoned his shirt as 
  the wet fabric was getting uncomfortable. Wadding it up, he wiped his chest, 
  then laid the shirt on the bed. Shortly his jeans followed. He felt for the 
  bucket, knocking it to the floor. He found it, then hesitantly made his way to 
  the door, stepping wide around the wet stain on the carpet. He could smell it, 
  and therefore avoid it. 
  The sink in the bathroom was a little closer, and he had been there a few 
  times since his blindness. He touched the wall with the knuckles of one hand 
  as he walked, counting the steps. Then a left turn. He fumbled to get the 
  bucket beneath the faucet, but the bucket was too large. He had to fill it in 
  the tub. The sponge was exactly where LaCroix said it would be. There were 
  other bottles and containers there. Some of them were probably cleaners, but 
  Nick hesitated to try them. What if he tried to clean the carpet with 
  mouthwash? Of course, he might be able to discern some products by their 
  odors, but he was too nauseated to sniff them. No, plain cold water was 
  probably best. 
  He walked more slowly back towards his room, not wanting to trip and spill the 
  full bucket. He patted at the spill, rinsed the sponge, and patted at it 
  again, repeatedly. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. He'd have 
  to try harder to hit the bucket in the future, as cleaning up was nasty. 
  Stripping the sheets and blankets from the bed was easier, and nothing had 
  soaked through on to the mattress. He dumped the bucket water down the toilet, 
  returned the sponge under the sink, and the bucket to the end table by his 
  bed. He was more than worn out. But he also felt pleased. Cleaning up a mess 
  wasn't an accomplishment he would brag over, but he did feel a little less 
  like an invalid. Emboldened, he found his way to the refrigerator and drew out 
  a bottle. He sniffed the cork - yes, it was blood, not wine. Then he broke a 
  glass when he reached for one, though, and he cut his finger when he tried to 
  pick up the shards. Maybe this was a mess he couldn't handle. Taking the 
  bottle with him, he tried to retrace his steps. The hot tub was past the 
  bathroom. He listened for the quiet hum of its pumps. Shortly, he stood beside 
  it. 
  "Well done, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "I'm pleased you decided to join me." 
  Nick showed his still bleeding finger to LaCroix. The ancient took the digit 
  in his mouth and sucked away the blood until the shallow wound closed. 
  "Perhaps, you would not object to using a plastic mug for now," LaCroix 
  suggested. 
  Nick pulled the cork from the bottle and took a few small sips. Replacing the 
  cork, he floated it in the tub to warm it, and snuggled back against his 
  master. He felt oddly like a fledgling again. He had to relearn how to do so 
  much, but he also felt very safe and protected. Nick closed his eyes and 
  dozed. 
  LaCroix remained in the hot tub far longer than he had intended. With Nick 
  asleep against his chest, he hated to move. Periodically, the bottle Nick had 
  brought would float past, and LaCroix took a sip, although he generally 
  avoided drinking straight from the bottle like a boorish plebeian. All through 
  his nap, Nicholas didn't seem to dream. Neither his memories of the sun, nor 
  any of his other nightmares plagued him, but instead he remained in restful 
  slumber. The time came though, and LaCroix knew he must move. 
  Nicholas did not want to waken. LaCroix was half tempted to leave him. 
  Instead, he remembered the child Nicholas had been, feigning sleep in order to 
  be carried to bed. LaCroix pulled his bathrobe on, and carried Nicholas. He 
  would have to lay him in his bed, as the other was still unmade. He set a 
  bucket near the bed on the end table, and a bathrobe in easy reach, should he 
  awake. Then LaCroix dressed. Perhaps he would venture into the Raven for a 
  while. 
  "Nicholas," he said. "I will be downstairs. Call me if you need anything." 
  "Hmm," was the only response. 
  Nick struggled. A ton of water pressed on him, pinning him down. He gasped, 
  drawing in a breath, and sat up suddenly. It had been only a dream. He was 
  safe, in his room in LaCroix's apartment. 
  He was also naked. "LaCroix?" he called. There was no response. Nick shook his 
  head, trying to drive away the muzzy feeling. He remembered going to the 
  morgue and the precinct… then he must have fallen asleep in the hot tub. He 
  took a deep, even breath. No nausea, yet. Just in case, he felt the bucket on 
  the end table. Something soft rubbed against his ankles. Nick felt around and 
  found his robe. He pulled it on and cinched the belt. Rising, he groped around 
  for the dresser that was just like LaCroix's. He opened a drawer and felt 
  through the folded pants until he found some denims. He pulled them on, but 
  they were too big. Some how a pair of LaCroix's must have been put in his 
  drawer by mistake. Too lazy to change again, he just cuffed up the hem for 
  LaCroix was taller than he was. The waist was a little loose, too, and the 
  jeans rode low on his hips. It was a good thing he wasn't expecting any 
  company. He was ravenous. The contemptible pains and nausea were returning. He 
  grabbed the bucket, just in case, to carry it with him to the kitchen. 
  Nick counted the steps to the door, but it wasn't there. A moment of panic 
  washed over him. Disoriented, he fought against rising fear. Hesitantly, with 
  one hand outstretched, he took another step and then another. Finally, he 
  found a wall, then the doorframe. He must have miscounted, he decided, or 
  taken smaller steps. Gathering his courage, he released the doorframe. Turning 
  to the left he counted steps again, moving his feet slowly over the carpeted 
  floor. 
  He bumped into a piece of furniture that should not have been there. The panic 
  returned. Nick set the bucket down by his feet and reached for the object. He 
  touched smooth black leather and a soft furry ball. Sydney hissed, clawing at 
  Nick's groping hands. Nick pulled his hand back with a surprised cry. His 
  right hand hurt. Bringing it to his mouth, he licked at the bleeding scratch, 
  fully three inches long. "Damn cat," he cursed, baring his fangs and hissing 
  at it. Sydney hissed back before scampering away. Nick heard something tip 
  over as the cat flew past. 
  He felt the leather again. It was the couch, but it shouldn't be over here! 
  The kitchen table belonged here. Had someone redecorated while he slept? Nick 
  felt so turned around; he no longer knew where to go. He sat on the floor, 
  pulling the bucket into his lap and held on tight. Within moments he heaved 
  into it. 
  'Calm yourself,' Nick thought, remembering his master saying as much to him a 
  thousand times over. Calm down. He was in the living room. LaCroix's pants had 
  been in his dresser. The door had not been where he expected. The obvious 
  answer was that LaCroix had laid him in his room. Of course… Nick had stripped 
  his own bed. He laughed at himself, but the sound came out shallow and 
  nervous. 
  "Okay. I'm in the living room," he said aloud. "But can I find the kitchen?" 
  He wasn't really hungry any more, but it had become his objective, as though 
  achieving it would give him purpose. He set the bucket down, unwilling to 
  carry it around any more. The bedroom should be back the way he'd come. The 
  kitchen would be at 2:00, roughly. There would be a coffee table and another 
  chair in his path. Nick stood and reached out with his senses. 
  Chairs and tables did not emit vibrations like living beings, but somewhere 
  that damn cat still lurked and Nick didn't want to step on it. Moving slowly, 
  he felt the coffee table with his shin, then next he came to the chair. From 
  there on was empty floor space until the kitchen table. He was starting to 
  feel better about himself, until he stepped on something sharp. 
  "Damn," he swore again. The glass he'd broken earlier… now his foot was 
  bleeding. Nick was sorry he'd ever gotten out of bed. He tried to pull the 
  glass from his foot. The bigger pieces came, but a smaller one eluded his 
  clumsy attempts. Nick's fangs erupted with his anger. 
  He gave up. Walking wide to avoid more glass, he finally reached the 
  refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. Limping, leaving spots of blood as he 
  walked, Nick tried to retrace his steps to LaCroix's bedroom. Only, he was 
  disoriented again. He banged into a corner and didn't know where to go. 
  Frustrated, weak, bleeding and depressed, he sat down. Eventually someone 
  would come. They would find him and rescue him. Nick the gimp. Nick the 
  useless. He wiped tears of anger and chugged from the bottle. He tugged off 
  the robe and wadded it into a ball for a pillow. This was as good a place as 
  any for a nap. Nick lay on his side, pulling his knees up until the pain in 
  his stomach was less noticeable. 
  Something tickled his hand. Nick felt a warm, rough tongue lick at his scratch 
  and heard a rumbling sound that could only be Nat's cat Sydney. He was still 
  mad at it, but he didn't want it to leave him all alone. He remained 
  motionless as the cat continued to lick the blood from his hand. 
  "Did you come to apologize then?" he asked softly. 
  "Prrrup?" the cat seemed to ask. 
  "I'm sorry then too, for all those times I hissed at you." 
  Sydney moved closer, almost touching noses with this big, fanged furless cat. 
  He liked Nick better now that he seemed less like competition. Deciding to let 
  bygones be bygones, Sydney curled up under Nick's chin and settled in to share 
  a nap. Nick draped an arm around the cat, hugging him close and drifted to 
  sleep. 
  An hour later Nat and Tracy stared at the strange sight of the half-dressed 
  vampire and a cat napping in the middle of the hallway. 
  Natalie had come home a little early, having signed out before her doctor 
  visit. She felt so much more mobile with the smaller, lighter fiberglass cast 
  in fashionable black. She'd had her choice of colors and almost settled on the 
  hot pink, but a strange quirk had made her take the black. After all, it was a 
  vampire's favorite color. 
  Tracy had brought her home, and together they talked about Nick and the 
  struggle to help him rediscover some independence. As they stared at him, they 
  wondered at the circumstances that brought him there. They looked around, 
  seeing the broken glass in the kitchen, the bloody footprints, the bucket in 
  the living room, the mess in his bedroom… and signs that LaCroix's bed had 
  been slept on as well. 
  "Looks like he's had a rough night," Tracy commented. 
  "But it wasn't all bad," Nat said. "I've been hoping he and Sydney would 
  become friends. Looks like I got my wish." 
  Sydney glanced at Nat scornfully, then closed his eyes again, contented to 
  remain curled up against his new friend. She pulled out a coin and flipped it, 
  leaving Tracy to handle the laundry and Nat would sweep up the broken glass. 
  LaCroix came in shortly. His eyebrows raised at the sight of his son on the 
  floor. "Just leave him there," Nat suggested. She patted the couch. "Come join 
  me?" 
  He sat on the other end and pulled her new black cast onto his lap. He stroked 
  her cold, bare toes, warming her. "You do know, my dear, that your leg could 
  heal tonight if you chose to join me," he said lightly. 
  Natalie laughed. "Believe me, I have thought of that!" 
  "And?" 
  She smiled at the longing she heard in his simple request. "Not yet, Lucien. 
  You have enough on your hands, with Nick and Tracy. When I join you, I may be 
  very jealous, wanting you exclusively for myself. I'll wait." 
  They watched the end of a movie then in companionable quiet. Urs joined them, 
  and then Vachon. Tracy curled up in Vachon's lap, dozing off. The phone rang, 
  interrupting them. LaCroix answered it, walking into his room and closing the 
  door for privacy. 
  "Yes," he said. 
  "I found the carouche you were looking for. Jody has more than a few 
  questions. What shall I tell her?" 
  LaCroix hesitated. "Is she there?" 
  "Yes. 
  "Please put her on," LaCroix said. The voice of a young woman came over the 
  phone. LaCroix could hear her nervousness. He told her then, briefly, that he 
  had need of a favor and would she meet him at dusk. She listened without 
  comment. 
  "I will see you tomorrow," she said, before hanging up. 
  LaCroix sighed. He hoped this was not going to be a mistake. 
  He glanced again at his son. The floor could not be very comfortable. The 
  carpet was not pure wool; Nicholas's bare skin would be irritated. He knelt by 
  his son and began the process of trying to wake him. Nick didn't respond to 
  his gentle caress, or the images he sent through their bond. He nudged him a 
  little more firmly, speaking to him in his native French. 
  Suddenly, the vampire lunged at him, fanged and fearsome, striking his jugular 
  with deadly accuracy in spite of his disability. LaCroix smiled broadly, 
  pleased with his son, and patted his back affectionately. He relished the 
  sensual tug as his blood nourished his hungry child. Then Nicholas pulled 
  back. The vampire was under control, but the man was disoriented and fearful. 
  "LaCroix? What happened? Where am I?" 
  The master reached out to comfort his son, resting his hand on one bare 
  shoulder. "I'm sorry I had to wake you. We are on the floor of my apartment, 
  in the hallway. Do you remember how you got here?" 
  Nick touched a small bump on his forehead, wincing slightly. It came back to 
  him. "I woke up in your room, I guess. Only, I thought I was in mine. I got 
  turned around." 
  LaCroix closed his eyes and shuddered. "Forgive me, Nicholas. I never even 
  thought about that." 
  Nick shrugged his indifference and cocked an impish half-smile. "I figured it 
  out, eventually. What ever's knocked over in the living room, I didn't do it, 
  Sydney did. Then I cut my foot on the broken glass in the kitchen. When I ran 
  into the wall over here I just gave up." 
  "Come into the kitchen, Nicholas, and Natalie will look at your foot," LaCroix 
  said. 
  Nick let LaCroix help him up. He tested his foot. It was still sore. LaCroix 
  put an arm around him, so he hopped along without putting weight on it. 
  Natalie hopped along on her crutches. "You know, Nick, between you and me, we 
  make quite a pair," she said, lightly teasing. Nick just grinned. 
  Urs brought over her medical bag. Natalie took out the magnifying glasses and 
  a tweezers. She put his foot on her lap. There were several large cuts, and 
  they were still open wounds. 
  "I pulled out the bigger glass chunks," he said, reaching for his foot. "This 
  is the only one that still feels like something's in there." 
  "You're right," she answered, pulling a thin shard a half an inch long out of 
  his flesh. She wiped it with hydrogen peroxide then, since she no longer 
  trusted his vampire nature to heal it. As the wounds were still open even 
  after more than an hour, she wrapped it in a gauze bandage. "All done," she 
  said, as she lifted his foot from her lap. 
  "Thanks, Nat." 
  She grabbed his hand then. "And what's this?" There was a long fresh scratch 
  as well. 
  "Ask Sydney," Nick replied with a shrug. "It's okay. I guess we've called a 
  truce." 
  Nat gave him an impulsive hug. "Glad to hear it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I 
  think it's bed time." 
  Nick heard the rhythmic sounds of her crutches, the softer shuffling of 
  Vachon's easy gait, Tracy's sleepy giggle as she whispered "good night, -," to 
  LaCroix, and even the almost silent movement of air as LaCroix departed. Only 
  one remained. "Aren't you tired, Urs?" 
  She gathered up the empty bottles and glasses to put them in the sink. The 
  others didn't seem to realize yet that such insignificant clutter posed a real 
  danger to a blind person. She pushed in the kitchen chairs, and picked up the 
  bathrobe Nick himself had left on the floor. 
  "I'm a little sleepy, but I'll wait up with you for a bit. I suppose since you 
  just woke up, you're not ready for bed?" 
  "Come here?" he asked. Urs came. Nick stood, trying not to wince at putting 
  pressure on his sore foot. He reached out and placed his hands on her 
  shoulders, then pulled her in for an embrace. "Why do you put up with me?" he 
  whispered. 
  Urs held him tight, inhaling deeply. She loved the scent of him. She loved 
  everything about him! She could tell him it was because she loved him, but she 
  had said so before... how could she make him believe it? 
  Nick straightened, pulling back a little to end the intimate moment. "Take me 
  to the door of our room, please." 
  Urs let him lean on her a little as she walked to the room they shared. At the 
  door he stopped her. "Now, in the room, is everything where it belongs? 
  Nothing on the floor?" 
  "Everything looks fine, Nick," she said. 
  "Good. I remember that LaCroix put in a piano recently. Will you take me 
  there? Then you can go to sleep. I'll join you in a little while." 
  Urs looked across the living room. The coffee table would be in the way, as 
  the baby grand was tucked in the back corner near a window. She walked to the 
  table, as Nick counted the steps, then around it, and on to the piano. Nick 
  smiled wistfully as he touched the satin finish of the new instrument. He had 
  yet to play it. He hugged Urs quickly and gave her a kiss. "Thanks, love," he 
  said dutifully, but his thoughts were already someplace else. 
  "Enjoy yourself, Nicky," she said sweetly. 
  Nick pulled out the bench and sat down. He hadn't played in weeks. Lightly, he 
  trailed his fingers over the tops of the keys, locating middle C. Then he 
  began to play. Solfegetto first, by the younger Bach. It was a simple piece, 
  but sweet, and it gave him confidence. He didn't need to see to play. If his 
  eyesight never returned, he could always do his Ray Charles imitation in the 
  nightclub. Next he played Rachmaninov, then Tchaikovsky, then Chopin. On and 
  on. For a while he forgot that the apartment was filled with the sleeping. He 
  even forgot about his blindness, and the hunger and pain that was becoming his 
  constant companions. As he brought the Raindrop prelude to a close, he laid 
  his hands in his lap. That was enough. 
  Urs was like a raindrop, he mused. He'd heard a poem once that claimed joy was 
  rain. "Bit by bit the river grows, till all at once it overflows…" Later, the 
  poem said joy was tried by storm. Well, his life was a storm right now, but 
  Urs was constant. She was a jewel of morning dew, clear and sweet and fresh. 
  He didn't deserve her. 
  Now came the hard part. He closed the lid over the keys and stood up. It was 
  ten steps to the coffee table, if he started at the right angle. When he felt 
  ready, he retraced the path, feeling pleased when he bumped into the low 
  table. Around that, twelve steps to his door, then eight to the bed. His 
  reward was to nibble on Urs's ear and share with her the peace he had 
  discovered in music. 
  LaCroix sighed contentedly. He had always loved to listen to Nicholas play. 
  Today's concert was a milestone, of sorts. It seemed that his son was 
  beginning to find himself again. His choice of pieces had all been sweet, 
  perhaps bittersweet, but not tragic. Then with a sudden insight, LaCroix knew 
  what career his son should consider whenever they did move on. He had been a 
  teacher before, sharing his knowledge and love of archaeology, but perhaps he 
  could try teaching music. Nicholas Chevalier, Music Professor at Oxford 
  perhaps? Or maybe some small university in Vienna? He would speak to Aristotle 
  about setting up such an identity, for when the time came. 
  He shuddered then. On a foolish whim he had invited not one, but two carouche 
  to visit this coming evening. He had better get some rest. 
  Natalie was the first one to wake up again. She remained in bed with LaCroix 
  for as long as she possibly could, but there was just no way she could put off 
  the inevitable any longer. Still, LaCroix had convinced her that Nick was not 
  the sanest person when he first awoke. Last night when LaCroix tried to wake 
  him, he had attacked the old Roman! She took her scarf again and wrapped it 
  around her neck several times. Then donning a nightgown and bathrobe, she 
  unlocked the door left the safety of LaCroix's room. 
  It was fully dark outside, she realized with surprise. The vampires didn't 
  usually sleep that long, but then they had been up late. She had breakfast and 
  was just fixing a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Natalie opened it. 
  A pretty young woman and her golden retriever stood on the landing. The woman 
  looked as surprised to see Nat as Nat was to be facing the strange vampire. 
  "You live here?" the woman asked nervously. "I must have the wrong address, 
  please forgive me." 
  "No, wait," Nat said. "This isn't my place. Whom are you looking for?" 
  "Mr. LaCroix." 
  Natalie smiled. She motioned for the woman to come inside. "Then you found 
  him. My name is Natalie Lambert." 
  The woman stepped inside. She stared at Natalie's outstretched hand before 
  accepting it. She walked too erect, held herself too aloof, almost as if she 
  had to prove something. Natalie tried to make her feel more welcomed, but 
  really didn't have a clue what the woman's problem was. She went to the 
  refrigerator then and sorted through the bottles for the one she knew LaCroix 
  preferred. She poured a generous amount in a crystal glass and offered it to 
  the vampire. 
  "I was just having some coffee," Nat said, giving her a friendly smile. "Would 
  you care to join me? I'm afraid the others aren't up yet." 
  The woman stared at the glass, her pretty brown eyes widened in surprise. Nat 
  was shocked to see red tears before the woman blinked them away. Her hand 
  shook nervously as she accepted the glass. "My name is Jody," she said. 
  Nat smiled. Jody Something. The rest didn't matter. As she had learned, most 
  vampires changed their surnames every time they moved. Only LaCroix seemed 
  brazen enough to break with that tradition. Nat took the couch, as she still 
  found that propping her cast up as much as possible eased her discomfort. Jody 
  perched on the edge of LaCroix's black leather chair, remaining alert and 
  ready to bolt. She sipped at the bloodwine Natalie had given her and smiled 
  appreciatively. 
  "Not bad, for human," she remarked. 
  Nat gasped, inhaling a little coffee, which started a coughing jag. She 
  blushed in embarrassment. 
  Jody fidgeted. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew." 
  The coroner took another sip of coffee and set it down on the table. "Knew? I 
  haven't a clue what's going on, Jody. Other than, I am the only mortal in a 
  house full of vampires." 
  "And carouche," she whispered. 
  Carouche. Nat had only heard the term once before, during the fever. Screed 
  had been carouche. He had been a limey, an uneducated sailor from England's 
  past, and he fed on the blood of rats. Nat shuddered at the thought. She 
  recalled how Nick had reacted around him, a little superior and incredibly 
  tactless. Only Vachon had mourned Screed's passing. 
  But this pretty young woman was nothing like the dirty sailor with the 
  unintelligible accent. Her hair was cut short and stylish; her make-up was 
  subtle, almost completely concealing the pale complexion of the undead. She 
  wore snug-fitting blue jeans and a rose colored sweater- she was the most 
  "un-vampire" looking vampire Nat had ever met. 
  The dog sat beside her, gazing adoringly at the young woman. Then Natalie 
  smiled. "You mean your dog is carouche? Should I get him something to drink, 
  as well?" 
  Jody nodded hesitantly. "And he is my master." 
  Life had taken some strange twists since Natalie had first discovered Nicholas 
  Knight undead upon the slab in her morgue, but this was definitely one of the 
  strangest. She got up to fetch a bowl of something for the dog. She got a 
  cereal bowl and one of Nick's bottles without the wine. 
  "Thank you," Jody said, as she set it on the floor for Perry. He lapped at it 
  eagerly, his eyes became golden, glowing orbs and his already long canine 
  teeth seemed to grow more deadly looking, even as he wagged his tail in 
  typical doggy fashion. 
  Jody pulled her fingers through her hair as she gave a nervous little laugh. 
  "When I left Toronto, I swore I would never return." 
  "Why is that?" Nat asked. 
  "Oh, no good memories, I guess. First, my mortal friends kind of forgot I was 
  still alive, after the MS struck. They were uncomfortable around me, and 
  avoided me. Then a carouche attacked my dog, and Nick wanted to destroy him. 
  When Perry brought me across, it was the best thing that had ever happened to 
  me. Did you ever have a really great day - like, imagine winning the lottery, 
  and getting promoted, and falling in love, all at once, and you're just 
  bursting with joy, but you can't tell anyone. And what's worse, no one would 
  really care, anyway." 
  "It's too bad that Nick wouldn't let you talk to Tracy before you moved on," 
  Natalie said softly. 
  "But she's not a vampire!" 
  "Well, no, at the time she wasn't, but she did know about vampires. Only, Nick 
  knew she knew, but didn't want her to know he was, and it is really very, very 
  confusing." 
  Jody stared at her. "Do you mean Tracy is a vampire now?" 
  Natalie nodded. "Actually, she's Nick's little sister." 
  Briefly, a bright happy smile came to Jody's face, turning her pretty looks 
  into something truly eye stopping gorgeous. But then the smile faded and her 
  nervousness doubled. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," she stammered. 
  "Maybe I should just go." 
  "Would you tell me more about yourself? You said you are carouche. What does 
  that mean? Is that what makes you so nervous? Does it bother you to be around 
  vampires?" 
  Jody laughed without humor. "Oh no. It doesn't bother me a bit. But carouche 
  are second or even third class creatures. Most vampires refuse to associate 
  with us, or to come to our aid, and some would prefer that we were denied the 
  right to exist." 
  "But what makes you carouche? What makes you different from them?" 
  "We have the blood of animals in us," she whispered. "Carouche are considered 
  abominations by some because of this. Carouche can be animals, brought across 
  by vampires, or people brought across by carouche… either way, we are 
  "impure". Most carouche prefer to drink animal blood, although human is 
  acceptable." 
  Natalie nodded slowly as she listened. It reminded her a little of the racial 
  problems that had been more prevalent in the recent past. Things were starting 
  to change - there were more racially mixed marriages and multi-ethnic children 
  in the schools… but change was slow in coming. 
  "Did Nick treat you unkindly?" she asked. 
  Jody shook her head. "Never. When I was a blind dispatcher, he was very kind. 
  He made me feel like a woman again, instead of a cripple. After Perry brought 
  me across, Nick seemed only very sorry. I tried to tell him how happy I was, 
  but I don't think he really understood. He spent the rest of the night with 
  me, giving me a crash course I guess, as he tried to teach me what I would 
  need to know to survive. He begged me to stay longer, but I had to get out of 
  Toronto. I couldn't let anyone see my sudden, miraculous recovery. So Nick 
  sent Screed to look after me for a while. The only thing he hadn't taught me, 
  was how other vampires would despise me. That I learned from experience." 
  "So, why did you come? Do you know why LaCroix wants to see you?" 
  "Only that he said he needed a favor, and I owe him my life." 
  Natalie looked up as Vachon, Tracy and Urs joined them, observing their 
  reactions to Jody. Urs seemed a little formal, but that was just Urs. Jody, 
  however, might have read it as prejudice. Vachon smiled his lazy, sexy smile 
  and waved. Tracy reacted with her same childish excitement, bouncing into the 
  room with a squeal. 
  "Jody! Jody! Is that you! I just can't believe it! How are you!" She almost 
  attacked her old friend, eliciting a warning growl from Perry, which she 
  ignored. Drawing Jody in for a hug, she stammered on enthusiastically. "You 
  look great! How've you been? Where've you been? How long can you stay? It's so 
  good to see you!" 
  Jody was quite overwhelmed, unable to get a word in to answer a single 
  question. After a moment, she returned the embrace. Tracy, like her other 
  mortal friends, had abandoned her when the illness struck, but Tracy then 
  apologized. She had forgiven Tracy last year, before she'd come across. 
  LaCroix cleared his throat, tugging Tracy's attention through their link. 
  "Calm yourself, child. You'll frighten my guest away with such nonsense." He 
  hadn't realized that Tracy knew this carouche. If he had, he might have 
  reviewed his plan with her first. Now, it was too late. 
  Tracy stopped bouncing, but her smile was just as infectious. "Oooo, a guest 
  of LaCroix! I didn't know you had friends in such high places, Jody!" 
  "I didn't, either," she said, giving Tracy a meaningful look. "So how long? 
  When did you do it?" 
  "She's still a baby," Vachon answered lightly, as he passed Tracy something 
  for breakfast. 
  LaCroix listened as the younger vampires conversed. He was pleased that they 
  were making Jody feel welcomed. He would have been hard-pressed to do it 
  sincerely, and yet it was imperative if his plan was to succeed. But he wished 
  to speak to Jody alone, while his son still slept. It was time to hurry the 
  children and Natalie along. 
  Tracy was reluctant to leave. "I'd really like to talk some more, Jody. Will 
  you be in town for a while? Do you have a place to stay?" 
  Jody glanced at LaCroix hesitantly. "I don't know," she answered. 
  LaCroix put his hands firmly on Tracy's shoulders as he guided her towards the 
  door. "I will be sure to get her phone number for you, my dear. Now run along, 
  or you'll make Natalie late." 
  Tracy reached up and pecked him on the cheek. "Be good to her." 
  Finally, the door closed and a peaceful silence filled his living room. He 
  leaned against the door as he studied the young carouche before him. Jody was 
  pretty woman. Such a shame that his son had not brought her across. It would 
  have saved her much heart ache and embarrassment. As for the dog beside her, 
  it was quite unusual that he still lived. Dogs made the worst carouche. They 
  could be quite vicious. 
  "I never thanked you properly," Jody said to break the silence. 
  LaCroix waved her comment aside, but she persisted. 
  "You stood up for me, when no one else would. I will never forget it." 
  Now was the time, he realized. He had come to her aid last summer, when the 
  council raised a stink about the two new carouche, and discussed sending 
  enforcers to destroy them both. 
  He had argued that as long as they adhered to the code they be permitted to 
  exist. He had to call in a lot of favors in order to sway enough votes on the 
  council, but he had done it for Nicholas. Although the boy knew nothing of the 
  issue, LaCroix hadn't wanted him to suffer any more guilt on Jody's behalf. 
  Then the moment was shattered with Nicholas's frantic cries for help. LaCroix 
  flew to his room. Nicholas was still mostly asleep, trapped in his nightmares. 
  His arms flailed at the air, struggling with the phantoms in his mind. LaCroix 
  sat beside him. He'd learned from experience that to take the flailing arms 
  was the worst thing to do. Instead, he tried to wake him, baring his throat in 
  expectation for his son's attack. 
  He didn't have long to wait. Nicholas tore into his neck savagely, but what 
  began as self-defense quickly turned to need. Nicholas clung to him 
  desperately, as he drank his master's blood. LaCroix held him, comforting him 
  for a few moments before pulling away. 
  "Come now, my son. Enough of this," he chided softly. 
  Nicholas withdrew his teeth. His fingers stroked LaCroix's face almost 
  hungrily. "It's all true, isn't it," he whispered, still trembling. 
  "I did not share your nightmare, my son, but I have learned that they seldom 
  bare any resemblance to reality." 
  Nicholas shrugged, trying to feign indifference, although he still seemed 
  shaky. 
  "I have a visitor, Nicholas. Can you dress yourself and join us in the living 
  room?" 
  "I don't want to see anybody," he said petulantly. 
  "Au contraire. You do want to see, very much, I think. And so you will come 
  and you will mind your manners. My only question is if you require any 
  assistance." 
  Nicholas's expressive face scowled his displeasure only moments before he 
  lunged for the bucket on his nightstand. LaCroix sighed. Nicholas hadn't 
  heaved once all day long, and he had hoped that this part of his strange 
  affliction was over. Such hopes had been premature. This bout was particularly 
  violent. Nicholas's shoulders shook as he continued to cough. LaCroix didn't 
  need a doctor's skill to catch the scent of his son's blood wafting from the 
  container. Nicholas returned it to the nightstand, his strength spent. He sank 
  back onto the pillows. 
  "Please, Father. Don't make me do this," he pleaded softly. 
  LaCroix wished he could comfort him then. He wanted to do anything to make 
  life easier for his precious child. Only the belief that the best thing for 
  him now was to come out and meet the two carouche gave him the resolve. 
  "You will do this, now, Nicholas. Later, we will do whatever you wish." 
  Nicholas set his jaw stubbornly. "Promise?" 
  LaCroix nodded, forgetting for a moment that such a gesture was useless. 
  "Yes." 
  Nick tossed back the covers. "Will you lay out my clothes, then?" 
  LaCroix pulled open the dresser drawers. Until recently, nearly everything 
  Nicholas owned had been black, which simplified dressing. Perhaps Urs wouldn't 
  mind putting away the brighter colors for a while. "I will see you shortly, my 
  son," he said, pulling the door closed behind him. 
  Jody stood there, speechless. LaCroix guided her back into the living room 
  before answering her questions. 
  "He didn't know I was here," she stammered. "Why didn't he sense me?" 
  LaCroix shrugged. Of all Nicholas's problems, this was probably of the least 
  concern. "He has always been rather excitable. Strong emotions sometimes 
  weaken our senses." 
  "So what's going on? Why is he sick? I heard about the Fever that swept 
  through Toronto last year, and then something about a vampire with the power 
  to poison. Did he meet her? Is he poisoned?" 
  LaCroix refilled their glasses, bringing one out for Nicholas as well. Then he 
  briefly explained Nicholas's unique condition. "I don't think there has ever 
  been a blind vampire before. Oh, we've all suffered injuries to the eyes, 
  straying a moment too long in the sun, but once we feed, the injury heals 
  promptly. Forgive me, child, but since you were once blind, I thought perhaps 
  you might help him to face this condition. We have no idea how long it will 
  remain. So far, there has been no sign that it has begun to heal." 
  Jody gave a sigh of relief. She settled more comfortably in her chair, pulling 
  her feet up and tucking them underneath. She gave LaCroix a beautiful smile. 
  "You only want me to help your son?" 
  He nodded, scowling. She didn't seem to realize the seriousness of the 
  situation. 
  "Whew… I was thinking you were going kill me." 
  "What ever for," he snapped. 
  Jody lowered her eyes. "Because when you spoke for me at the council, I heard 
  their sentence. I was free, but if I failed to live up their code, then the 
  task of seeing me dead fell on your shoulders." 
  "You were afraid I might destroy you, and yet you came at my summons? Why?" 
  This dainty carouche puzzled him. He needed to understand her. Understanding 
  was important to manipulation. Without it, he felt powerless. 
  "Because, after I licked the disease, I decided I'd never run away again. Life 
  is too precious to hide in fear." 
  LaCroix heard his son's approach then. He changed the subject, discussing 
  nothing of importance, but allowing the sound of his voice to guide his son 
  safely to him. Nicholas came straight to the couch, trailing a hand along the 
  back of it as he moved to sit at the other end. 
  "Nicholas," LaCroix began. "Do you remember Miss Jody Fraser?" 
  Nick held out his hand. She took it, and he clasped it firmly. "Jody? Jody 
  Fraser! My favorite pilot. How have you been?" 
  LaCroix sat back and listened to them visit for a while, before he left them 
  alone. He put the empty bottles in the dishwasher and tidied the little 
  kitchen, remaining close but unobtrusive. He wasn't even sure what he wanted 
  Jody to do for him, but as their conversation continued and Nicholas seemed 
  more relaxed, LaCroix felt that the encounter had been worthwhile. 
  "I found that I had to rejoice in all the things that I could do for myself, 
  and not to grieve for the things I had to give up," Jody was saying. "I still 
  had my mind. I had a voice, and I was able to work dispatch. It wasn't 
  anywhere near as exciting as flying rescues, but it was no less important." 
  Nick shrugged. "I know I need to go back to work. I haven't even tried to 
  speak to my captain about it yet, as I really haven't been up to it. But I 
  have to do something. Merely existing isn't enough." 
  "Working homicide is pretty dangerous, Nick. Even for a sighted man. You might 
  not be able to do that now." 
  "But it's my job. It's what I do, what I'm good at. And I like to think it's 
  important," Nick said. 
  "I know. Like I once flew helicopters. Don't worry, though. You'll find your 
  dance." 
  "My what? 
  Jody laughed. "Think of it this way. You used to waltz. You probably knew a 
  lot of dances, the Fox Trot, maybe even the Charleston. But those are for 
  sighted people. If you tried to dance them now, you'd look like a blind man. 
  You'd step on a lot of toes and be a real klutz." 
  The thought of not dancing again hadn't even occurred to him. She was really 
  depressing. 
  "So," she said, trying to get his attention back. "You've got to learn how to 
  tap." 
  "Who says I don't?" he grumbled. 
  "Tap dancing is something you can do. You don't need a whole ballroom, just a 
  small stage. You don't need a fancy costume or even a partner. You just find 
  the rhythm and let go. And pretty soon, people will be paying real money to 
  come and watch you tap. And they won't say "look at that blind man", they'll 
  be watching an artist perform." 
  Nick fell silent. He knew she was the voice of experience, and she was 
  probably right about working homicide. But was there a place for him in the 
  department somewhere? 
  Jody reached down to pet her dog affectionately, as she reached a decision. 
  "Nick? Would you like to keep Perry for a while? Until your eyesight returns?" 

  Nick shook his head. "No. LaCroix hates dogs. He would never let me keep one." 

  "But LaCroix is the one who invited me here. Surely that is what he had in 
  mind." 
  "And just how could Perry help him," LaCroix asked, keeping his voice neutral. 
  Inviting the carouche to visit was quite enough for one day, allowing one to 
  dwell under his roof was probably more than he could tolerate. 
  "Perry can give him independence and freedom. Perry is still a guide dog. He 
  is trained to be the eyes for the blind. With him, Nicholas can go almost 
  anywhere. In an emergency, he can even fly with Perry, but a dog doesn't have 
  the discernment to conceal his nature from mortals. I have to be very careful 
  with I take him flying." 
  LaCroix wanted to forbid it. His lovely apartment was becoming crowded. For 
  years he had lived alone, and now he shared it with Tracy, Vachon, Urs, Nick, 
  Natalie, and the cat. Was there even room to add a carouche? As he considered 
  it, he wondered whom would he want to leave? Not any of them, really. Except 
  maybe the cat. "Show us how Perry could be of assistance." 
  Jody left briefly, to get Perry's harness. Nicholas called to him. "LaCroix? 
  You can't seriously be considering letting him stay. You hate dogs. You know 
  you do. Don't do this to me." 
  "I absolutely detest cats," LaCroix said. "I cannot stand the vile, furry, 
  bewitched little creatures. I hate how their hair clings to my clothing, or 
  the way it flies up my nose. I hate how they claw up the furniture. I hate the 
  way they smell. However, I find that I must endure a cat to please my lover, 
  and so the little beast and I will learn to get along. Because I love you, if 
  this guide dog will help you, I will tolerate it." 
  Nicholas blinked, swallowing past a thickness in his throat. He reached out 
  for LaCroix timidly, first holding him close, then nuzzling his sensitive 
  throat with his fangs. LaCroix returned the embrace. "May I, Father?" he 
  whispered hoarsely. 
  LaCroix's answer was to nip his son and crane his neck to bare the vein. 
  Nicholas sank his fangs and drank. LaCroix tried to hold back, tried not to 
  take too much, but Nicholas's sweet elixir was almost intoxicating. 
  Reluctantly, LaCroix withdrew, while still holding his child close. He felt 
  Nicholas tremble. The weakness that seemed to plague him was replaced with new 
  vigor, if only temporarily. Nicholas seemed greatly improved when Jody 
  returned. 
  LaCroix stepped back and watched. Perry knew just what to do, but Nicholas 
  needed to be trained to recognize the dog's gestures. Perry leaned against his 
  leg, pushing him away from colliding with the furniture. The dog warned him 
  about stairs, and steered him safely around potential hazards that Jody placed 
  on the floor. After they had drilled in the apartment, Jody took them out for 
  a walk around the block. LaCroix flew to the rooftop to watch, feeling 
  strangely wistful. Perry would restore a sense of independence to Nicholas, 
  and Nicholas would not need him as much. He heaved a sigh. This was a good 
  thing, wasn't it? 
  Then he saw the two men following his son. He felt a moment of concern until 
  he recognized them from the precinct. Captain Reese had placed guards around 
  Nicholas, as they had discussed. The officers kept a discreet distance and 
  Nicholas didn't seem aware of them. This was also a good thing, in that the 
  guards would be free to do their job, but it also concerned LaCroix. If he was 
  unaware of the guards, then the killer could also take him by surprise. 
  LaCroix looked all around from his position on the roof. The drive to hunt had 
  not been this strong in decades! 
  As he saw Nicholas and the carouche enter the back door to return to the 
  apartment, he entered from the skylight. He didn't have to ask them how it 
  went, as Nicholas was grinning broadly. He knelt down and patted the carouche 
  affectionately, uttering the kind of nonsense that mortals often spoke to 
  their pets. LaCroix shuddered. And so now his home would have to include the 
  carouche. Certainly, there must be something Natalie could do to speed his 
  son's recovery! 
  "When you finish with Perry, then you need to remember to take off his 
  harness," Jody said. "Have one place to hang it, so you'll know where to find 
  it. And don't forget to love him. Dogs are pack animals, and very social. They 
  crave attention and affection." 
  Nicholas fumbled with the straps on the harness, but Jody just let him figure 
  it out. Then he hung it on the doorknob of the front hall closet. "Jody, I 
  know how hard this must be for you. Are you sure you want to leave him here?" 
  He heard her sniff and knew she was very close to tears. 
  "Do you have a place to stay while you're in town?" 
  "No, I just got in last night. Aristotle let me bunk on his couch." 
  "Why don't you stay at my loft, then? I won't be using it for a while. I know 
  Tracy will want to see you," Nick said. "And that will give us all a chance to 
  see how this works out." 
  LaCroix got Nick's keys from his bedroom for him and handed them to Jody. 
  "That is an excellent idea, Nicholas. If you don't mind cow, there is even a 
  supply in his refrigerator." 
  Jody laughed nervously. "Cow is fine. Thank you. I can't tell you when I've 
  ever felt quite so… welcome. If you don't mind, it's been a long couple of 
  nights, and I'd like to get settled in." 
  LaCroix gave her directions to the loft. He volunteered to have his limo take 
  her, but Jody said she'd rather fly. At the door, Perry whined, expecting to 
  go with her, and unsure of what to do. 
  "You stay with Nick," she whispered. "You can help him now, just like you 
  always helped me. I'll see you around." 
  Perry lay down with his head on his paws. Jody turned her back sadly and left. 

  "LaCroix?" Nick asked. 
  "I'm here, my son." 
  "You promised. We could do whatever I wanted, if I came out to meet your 
  guest. Remember?" 
  Inwardly LaCroix groaned, wondering what mischief his son was cooking up now. 
  "But you look worn out, Nicholas. I think you should rest." 
  "That's not what you promised." 
  "Tell me then, what it is you wish to do," LaCroix said, hoping to steer him 
  away from what could become a tense moment. 
  "Would you take me flying," he whispered hopefully. "I haven't been in over a 
  week, and I'm afraid to go alone." 
  LaCroix smiled. This was a simple request, and one that he would enjoy as 
  well. But Nicholas did look tired. "If you will lie down for a little while, 
  then I will gladly take you." 
  Nicholas shrugged agreeably. When he started to walk, Perry jumped up and went 
  with him. The dog didn't know his destination, but kept him from walking into 
  the furniture wherever he went. At his room, Nick sprawled on the covers. He 
  patted the space beside him. Perry jumped up, turning around and around, then 
  plopped down comfortably. Nick rubbed his fingers through the sleek coat for a 
  few moments, until he fell into a sound sleep. 
  LaCroix scowled at the furred beast on the bed. There would have to be a few 
  ground rules laid out if this was going to succeed. Still, the dog didn't have 
  a bed of his own here, and Nicholas did seem to be resting soundly. LaCroix 
  decided to slip downstairs into the Raven for a while. 
  "Hello," Reese spoke into the phone. It was that damned PI again. This guy 
  really didn't seem to understand English. If he kept it up, and LaCroix 
  pressed charges against him, then it would all come out how Reese had hired 
  him in the first place. This was one mistake that just did not want to go 
  away. 
  "You are not going to believe this," the PI said excitedly. "I found the 
  connection you were looking for. He's not only crooked, he's from an entire 
  family of thieves! That man is a Constantine!" 
  "You are really nuts. I've never heard anything more ridiculous," Reese 
  snapped. "And I told you, this case is closed. You're fired. Now leave LaCroix 
  alone and don't call me again!" He hung up, but within moments it rang again. 
  "He's a Constantine, I'm telling you," the PI insisted. 
  "He is French. Constantines are Italian," Reese pointed out. 
  "Ha! "LaCroix" is a French name, but it isn't really his. He's Italian. He 
  served as a General once, stationed in Rome, I think. He is a cousin to the 
  notorious Don Constantine, right here in Toronto!" 
  Reese shuddered. Somewhere along the line the PI started making sense. LaCroix 
  did have a certain Roman look about him. Maybe it was the nose. Or the 
  aristocratic bearing. But just being related to the Constantines was not a 
  crime in itself. Actually, it made him think more highly of LaCroix. The man 
  had changed his name, his identity, even tried to change his nationality. He 
  obviously wanted nothing to do with the powerful crime lord. 
  "I'm going to say this very, very slowly," Reese growled, losing what little 
  patience he used to have. "You are fired. F-I-R-E-D- Fired! Do not call me 
  again! Do not continue to follow him. Or I will have you arrested!" 
  Strange, but as irritated as he was, the awful headaches were over. He hadn't 
  had one in over a week. He stood in his doorway and looked over the officers 
  as they worked. The place seemed empty somehow, yet only Knight's desk was 
  vacant. Tracy's desk was almost empty. She'd been mostly doing paperwork while 
  her partner was out. He'd probably have to pair her up with some one soon. It 
  just seemed kind of final. Like maybe Knight wouldn't be coming back. 
  "Tracy," he called. She looked up and smiled. Getting up from her desk, she 
  came into his office. 
  "You want to see me?" 
  "Tell me where you took Jeep MacPete," he said. 
  Tracy hedged. 
  "Look. This is just I. And it will go nowhere else. I want you to tell me 
  where you took him. Where you think is the safest place for him." 
  She swallowed. "I took him to Don Constantine," she said. 
  Reese nodded. The PI was probably right. "I guess it was LaCroix's idea, 
  wasn't it?" 
  She didn't answer. 
  Reese sighed. "Fine," he grumbled. "How's Nick doing?" 
  Tracy smiled. "Better, I think." 
  "Tell him we're thinking about him. Now get out of here." 
  Nicholas awoke on his own with a wide, sensual yawn. LaCroix smiled as he 
  watched him. At first he looked young and innocent, wiping the sleep away, 
  then he became disoriented when he remained in the dark… then finally he came 
  to a kind of quiet acceptance. LaCroix spoke to announce his presence. "Are 
  you hungry? 
  Nicholas seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. 
  "Then I believe we have a date," LaCroix reminded him. Nicholas stood, and 
  took LaCroix's arm. With Nicholas in tow, LaCroix left the room, lifted 
  through the skylight, and soared out over the city. Nicholas's hold tightened, 
  clinging to him as to a lifeline at first. Eventually, he relaxed, as he 
  rediscovered the joy of floating so effortlessly, defying the laws of physics. 
  The moon accompanied them, a thin sliver of its former glory, but even 
  Nicholas seemed to sense its mystery and power. LaCroix flew until his own 
  hunger warned him it was time to stop. 
  The others were all home, waiting for them, wondering where they had gone. 
  Natalie looked disapproving as he had tired Nicholas severely. Nicholas sat on 
  the floor in front of the couch. He called to Perry, who licked at the sweat 
  on his face affectionately. Urs brought beverages for him and LaCroix, setting 
  his on the coffee table. As the conversations drifted around him, Nicholas 
  smiled contentedly. It had been a pleasant evening. He'd made a new friend in 
  Perry, and had been in LaCroix's company all night long without a fight. He 
  leaned against Perry, and the two fell asleep. Much later LaCroix carried him 
  to bed, but Nicholas had no memory of it. 
  Keith Crowley cursed as he straightened the clerical collar. These things were 
  blasted uncomfortable, how did a man of the cloth stand it, unless it was 
  meant to be a penance? It was necessary, though. Somehow, the police had a 
  fairly accurate description of him and it was no longer safe to walk freely in 
  Toronto. He was closing down his businesses, preparing to leave town, and the 
  disguise as a minister permitted him some measure of freedom. He would visit 
  the jail tonight, to see what that nephew of his was up to. He used a 
  shampoo-in hair color, and hoped that with the costume, he would not draw too 
  much attention. 
  "I didn't ask to see no priest," the younger Crowley complained. 
  Keith shook his head with a sad patient look until the police officer left. 
  "Shut up, you incompetent fool!" 
  His nephew gasped. "Uncle?" 
  "Tell me about this!" Keith demanded, as he pulled a sketch of himself from a 
  vest pocket. 
  "It's not me, I didn't say nothing! It's that dang Amish guy. The second one. 
  He didn't drown, and he's an undercover cop!" 
  Keith grabbed a part of his anatomy and glared at him threateningly. "You're 
  lying. I saw him puke blood. We watched for half an hour, and he never came up 
  for air. He was dead!" 
  "Well, he had a miraculous recovery. Go see him for yourself. They called him 
  Detective Knight. Now what are you going to do to get me out of here?" 
  "I'm working on it," Keith lied. "But it's harder to work now that my face is 
  plastered all over town. I may have to move out, and help you from somewhere 
  else." 
  His brother's son wiped his nose on a sleeve. "Whatever you say, boss." 
  He called for the officer to let him out, without a single backward glance. He 
  wouldn't miss that incompetent fool. He believed him though, as his nephew 
  lacked the intelligence to tell a convincing lie. He would have to find out 
  where this Detective Knight lived. This time, he would make sure the cop died, 
  if for no other reason than because he was annoying. 
  The apartment had an empty feel. Nick stirred, stretching as he awoke. Perry 
  sniffed him hesitantly, then licked his face. Nick patted him affectionately. 
  "It's just you and me, boy. I guess we're alone here." 
  He sensed that it was night. The instinct to avoid the sun remained strong 
  even without his eyesight. Reaching out through his mind, he sensed LaCroix 
  was nearby, perhaps in his soundbooth downstairs. Nick knew if he called him, 
  LaCroix would come. Tonight was different. For the first time since he'd lost 
  his sight, he didn't mind being alone, not with Perry there. 
  An hour later, he had showered and dressed and slowly sipped at pure human, 
  while Perry lapped up cow blood. Nick was feeling emancipated, and he wanted 
  to go out to celebrate. He considered several destinations. It didn't really 
  matter where he went; only that he needed to go somewhere, as though to prove 
  to himself that he could do it. He wasn't quite ready to go to the precinct. 
  He wanted to feel more confident before facing his coworkers. He didn't really 
  want to go to the Mall, and listening to some videos seemed about as 
  interesting as watching paint dry. Then he knew where he wanted to go. He 
  needed to go visit Jimmy MacPete, Jeep's older brother. 
  It didn't really have anything to do with the case. He didn't know what, if 
  anything, had been happening since his swim in the lake. He'd given them a 
  description of the man he'd met on the bridge, but as far as he knew, no one 
  had been apprehended. But Jimmy had severe disabilities. He discovered his own 
  "tap dance", as Jody had called it, his skill with computers, and turned it 
  into a thriving business. Nick needed some reassurance. He knew Captain Reese 
  was not going to want him back on the force until his eyesight returned. Nick 
  didn't want to wait. He would have to be confident in his own ability, before 
  he tried to convince the captain. 
  Nick called the bus depot first for information on which busses to take, and 
  how close they would bring him to his destination. He memorized the times, as 
  he would need to take the bus back, as well. The blood wasn't sitting well 
  tonight. He forced himself to drink more, knowing he would need the strength 
  before he went out among mortals. When all was ready, he called to Perry and 
  put his harness on. 
  Perry seemed eager to go outside as well. Although being carouche, he would 
  not need the frequent walks to visit fire hydrants like mortal dogs, Perry 
  still required exercise. Nick felt his father's presence stronger as he went 
  down the stairs, and he felt the old knot of dread. 
  "Nicholas," the ancient said with deceptive calm. "What a surprise to see 
  you." 
  "Good evening, LaCroix," Nick answered, trying to sound more self-assured than 
  he felt. 
  "Where do you think you are going, my son?" 
  Nick turned his head, listening. The Raven was busy. He felt vampires and 
  mortal heartbeats all around. This was not a private place. LaCroix noticed 
  his hesitancy. "Would you care to step into my office?" 
  Nick allowed LaCroix to lead him and Perry inside. "I am going for a walk," he 
  stated then. When LaCroix didn't launch immediately into a list of a thousand 
  reasons why he could not go, Nick continued. "Please. I must do this. I've 
  called the busses, and I know where I'm going. If I get lost, I will call a 
  cab. I even brought my phone." 
  LaCroix eyed his son critically. Nicholas had managed quite well this evening. 
  He was dressed, black shirt, black jeans, and black coat. Urs must have taken 
  his suggestion to heart. He did seem to have his heart set on going out. 
  LaCroix was not inclined to disappoint him again. 
  Still, there was a killer out there. By now he should have figured that the 
  Amish man he'd tried to drown and Detective Knight were one and the same. 
  LaCroix was tired of waiting for the police to find this tiresome mortal. He 
  wanted him found and punished severely for the pain he caused his son. But 
  would he allow Nicholas to be the unwitting bait, luring the killer to act? 
  Nicholas's skills of sense and perception still seemed weakened. Perhaps 
  LaCroix would accompany him on this journey, and if the killer appeared, he 
  could deal with him. 
  "Please, Father? I need to do to this, alone," Nicholas whispered, a quiet 
  desperation in his voice. 
  "Very well," LaCroix heard himself answer. "Tell me exactly the route you plan 
  to take, the address of this MacPete, and when you expect to return." 
  Nicholas gave him the information. LaCroix clapped his shoulder 
  affectionately. "Go then. But do me a favor, and be careful?" 
  Nicholas cocked a boyish grin. "Always," he answered. As soon as he had left, 
  LaCroix dialed the police to give them Nick's agenda. Then he discreetly 
  lifted into the night sky to follow him at an unobtrusive distance. 
  Nick inhaled deeply as he and Perry stepped outside the Raven. The night air 
  was cold and crisp. He felt a tingle of excitement and a trace of fear, but he 
  had prepared well for this outing, and it was certainly harmless enough. He 
  turned and Perry walked beside him, guiding him to step down at the curbs, to 
  wait for the red traffic lights, to avoid a patch of ice. Four blocks away, he 
  waited ten minutes for the bus. He had counted out the fare at home, over and 
  over, to make sure that he had the right coins and wouldn't keep the other 
  passengers waiting while he fumbled clumsily. Nick told the driver what exit 
  he wanted, before taking a seat near the front. 
  He detested busses. They smelled and they were dirty and they had an almost 
  tomb-like feel about them, but tonight as he rode alone but for Perry, he felt 
  like a king. He made the transfer to another bus without incident, and soon 
  was knocking on MacPete's door. 
  There was no response at first. Nick felt a moment of panic. What if Jimmy 
  wasn't home? But when he knocked again, he heard Jimmy call. He announced 
  himself and the door opened. 
  "Detective! I didn't expect to see you," Jimmy said. "Sorry I didn't hear you 
  at first. I had the music turned up kind of loud." 
  "That's fine," Nick answered, feeling a little foolish now for coming. "I 
  should have called. This isn't work related. I've been unofficially laid off 
  for a while." 
  "Hmm," he answered. "Well come in. Can I get you something to drink?" 
  Nick shook his head. He heard the soft metallic sounds as Jimmy steered his 
  wheelchair through the living room. 
  "Well, come in then, and sit down for a bit. If you remember, the couch is at 
  11 o'clock, and I have no low furniture blocking the way. I keep the aisles 
  wide enough for the chair to get through." 
  Nick found the couch and relaxed a bit when he was safely seated. He had only 
  been here twice before. Now, he struggled against the frightening feeling of 
  becoming disoriented. He had to remain alert, to keep everything clear in his 
  mind. 
  "So you got a dog already? That's pretty amazing. I've heard how there's never 
  enough guide dogs for all the people that want them, and some folks are on a 
  waiting list for years." 
  Nick nodded. "Well, Perry belonged to a friend of mine. He's on loan until I 
  get my sight back." 
  Jimmy conversed easily. They talked first about Jeep, and the case, but moved 
  on to discussing computers and Jimmy's business and then disabilities in 
  general. Nick found himself relaxing even more, like he didn't have to pretend 
  to be brave in front of him. 
  "So have you talked about going back to work?" Jimmy asked later. 
  Nick tried an indifferent shrug, but Jimmy wasn't blind. "That's what you're 
  really here about, isn't it?" he asked. 
  Nick felt embarrassed. "I guess. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you," he 
  mumbled. 
  Jimmy laughed. "It's no bother. I'm glad that you felt you could talk to me. 
  People always like to seek out others who share a common bond. That's why we 
  have horse and pony clubs, dog clubs, homemakers clubs and fan clubs. You are 
  suddenly in a different world, and none of your friends can share this 
  experience with you. Maybe they are very nice and solicitous, but they really 
  do not know what it is like." 
  "So what do I do?" Nick asked. 
  "You'll have to figure that out on your own. It should be something you enjoy. 
  Maybe you'll do something very similar to what you used to do, maybe you'll 
  switch careers entirely." 
  Nick quickly thought about some of the other departments. He'd worked two 
  shifts in juvenile division with Roberts, when he had met Pony and her 
  friends. He had helped those kids, but he had felt grossly out of his element 
  the entire time. If only his vision would just return. Suddenly his stomach 
  started to twist and the foul taste tingled in his mouth. "May I use your 
  restroom," he said. 
  Jimmy gave him specific directions. He reached for Perry's harness and left, 
  praying he'd get there in time. 
  LaCroix had followed his son the entire time, but he was not entirely pleased 
  that Nicholas had not suspected he was being followed. He seemed oblivious to 
  LaCroix, the police, and the three mortal hoodlums that appeared to be 
  following him as well. When the thugs overpowered the two police officers, 
  knocking them unconscious, LaCroix seethed with indignation. How dare these 
  mere mortals threaten his son's safety! 
  LaCroix flew down immediately, showing great restraint when he stopped himself 
  from killing them. He knocked them out, possibly using what might be called 
  "excessive force", but tossing them around helped to relieve some of his 
  anger. Partly, he was angry because this trip had seemed so important to 
  Nicholas. Having his father come to rescue him was not going to sit well. 
  But perhaps Nicholas didn't need to know? Quickly, he roused the two police 
  officers and adjusted their memories, until they took out their handcuffs and 
  tossed the thugs in the back of their car. When he heard them call in for 
  back-up, he went to the MacPete house to check on his son. 
  An older man stood inside, holding a gun to the throat of a disabled young man 
  that fit Nick's description of Jimmy MacPete. His son was coming down the 
  hall, his hands raised. No where could he see the dog. Nick was walking alone, 
  speaking. LaCroix opened his senses, trying to discern what was happening, 
  without yet giving away his presence. 
  "Ah, it's you, again," Nick was saying. "The man from the bridge. You were 
  going to tell me where Jacob Schloss was, but I didn't quite catch what you 
  said." 
  "You'll have to tell me how you survived the lake, Detective Knight," the man 
  sneered. 
  Nick had cleared the hallway and stood now in the center of the room, both 
  hands up. His voice was calm. "How are you doing, Jimmy?" 
  Jimmy swallowed. "I've been better," he answered. 
  The man laughed. "Well, Detective Knight. You've put a real kink in my 
  business since you've seen me, and posted that stupid picture of me. You can't 
  believe how difficult business had become. I'm going to have to pull up stakes 
  now and move. But first, you and I and your buddy here, we're all going to 
  take a little trip. You're going to drive, and if you do anything to call 
  attention to us, you're buddy's going bite it." 
  Nick moved closer, turned a little. LaCroix watched, wondering what game his 
  son was playing. The man didn't seem to realize that Nick was blind, and Nick 
  didn't seem to be fearful. LaCroix hesitated. Bullets were not harmful to 
  healthy vampires, but he was not going to let this man target practice on his 
  son! Still, he watched and waited. The man lifted his gun from MacPete's 
  throat and aimed it at Nick, turning with Nick to keep him in view. When his 
  back was to the hallway, Perry made his appearance. He leaped from the 
  bathroom and knocked the man to the ground. His jaws wrapped around the man's 
  throat. He did not bite, but his angry snarls were threatening. 
  "The gun, Nick! He's still got the gun!" Jimmy shouted. 
  Nick flipped over Jimmy's wheelchair, tossing him to the floor just as a 
  bullet fired. There was a pinging sound as it struck the wheelchair, but he 
  didn't smell blood. It had missed Jimmy. The sound the bullet made told him 
  exactly where the gun was. Nick lunged for it, flinging it from the man's 
  hand. Perry growled, tightening his grip. The skin broke and a spot of blood 
  oozed. The man started to scream. 
  Then the front door was kicked in and the officers shouted, "Freeze!" 
  Nick smiled at them. "Glad you could make it. Arrest this man for the murders 
  of Jason Wilton, Janice Whitcomb, and Jacob Schloss." Then, he commanded Perry 
  to let the man up. 
  "Damn dog!" he cursed. "I should have shot him back when I shot Janice." 
  Nick chuckled. "Oh, it's a different dog. This is my guide dog." It didn't 
  hurt to let the man know that he'd been brought down by a blind man. Nick felt 
  rather proud of himself. He had managed alone. Wait until he told LaCroix! 
  LaCroix was tempted to run inside and congratulate his son along with the 
  officers, but he remained outside, enjoying the look of confidence on that 
  dear face. Then, he lifted into the air and slowly flew home. It would be 
  interesting to hear Nicholas's version of the story. 
  Jimmy righted his chair and pulled himself back into it. "Thanks, Knight. You 
  saved my life," he said. "Me and Jeep, we owe you." 
  "Just doing my job," Nick answered, still basking in his own success. He rode 
  to the precinct in a squad car and walked proudly inside. Schultz greeted him 
  cheerfully, admiring Perry. "It's so good to have you back," she exclaimed. 
  "The place just hasn't been the same without you." 
  "You did it, Nick," Tracy cheered. "You solved the case. But you know, you 
  should keep your partner more informed." 
  He listened to more good-natured teasing, and he sat in on the questioning of 
  the man they had arrested. It was all getting to be a bit much, though. 
  Suddenly he was very, very tired. Tracy whispered to him, as she passed him a 
  pair of sunglasses. 
  "Your eyes, Nick. You're losing it." 
  He slipped the glasses on. Before he'd always known when his eyes were golden 
  because of the way things looked. With vampire vision, warm-blooded things 
  pulsed in tasty crimson hues… but apparently, when he was both blind and 
  tired, he lacked control. He needed to go home very soon, but there was 
  something else he had to do first. 
  He remembered where Reese's office was. He'd been called in there hundreds of 
  times. Concentrating, he approached the door and knocked. When Reese answered, 
  he and Perry went inside. 
  "Good to see you, Nick. Alive and well. Glad we finally got that bastard. But 
  you were damn lucky tonight, do you know that?" 
  Nick nodded. "Yes, I do. But I still want to come back to work. I'm ready for 
  this. Maybe I can't see, but I still can think. There is a lot I can do. I 
  want you to give me a chance." 
  Reese cleared his throat. He'd already spoken to the higher ups, and they were 
  not happy. Still, legally, they did not have a right to fire him. "Nick, 
  homicide is just too dangerous. Think about it. This year you've been shot at, 
  how many times? You were hit once. You almost died. This is not the place for 
  you." 
  "So transfer me. But just don't fire me. There's got to be something I can do. 
  What about working in juvenile again? Obviously traffic cop is out." Nick 
  grinned. There were almost as many jokes about blind traffic cops as blind 
  umpires. 
  "Fine, Nick. Your father already had this conversation with me a week ago. And 
  I've already cleared it with the commissioner." 
  Nick was shocked. "LaCroix? He came to see you?" 
  "Yes, he did," Reese answered. "He threatened me with a law suit if we didn't 
  give you a chance." 
  Nick grinned and shook his head. The more he thought he knew his master, the 
  more the ancient could still surprise him. 
  "As soon as you get the okay from your doctor, you can come back to work." 
  Nick held out his hand. When Reese took it, he shook warmly. "Thank you, 
  Captain. You can expect to see me next Monday, I think." 
  "You take care then, Nick. And have a good week end." 
  "Do you want me to take you home," Tracy asked, when he left the captain's 
  office. 
  "No, thanks," he answered. "Perry and I are going to drop in on Nat, for old 
  times sake, and then I'll call a cab. But thanks for the offer." 
  She gave his hand a squeeze, not wanting to start the rumor mills again if she 
  kissed him. Nick endured a dozen farewells as he left. He used to think that 
  he had no friends there. They were just annoying, with their constant gossip, 
  their betting pools, their smelly food and boiled coffee, and the way they 
  were always trying to get him matched up with one girl or another. But now he 
  realized that he missed their teasing. It was a different sort of friendship. 
  They weren't the kind of friends for whom he would grieve when he moved on, 
  but they were friends just the same. Folks who treated him like any other 
  mortal. 
  It was only a few blocks to the morgue, but by the time he got there he was 
  ravenous and the flask he carried was empty. When he pushed open Nat's door, 
  she smiled with surprise and started towards him. 
  "Stay away, Nat," he warned, leaning against the door. He cocked his head and 
  listened. Only one heart, beating a little too fast. They were alone. "I am 
  hungry." 
  She opened her cooler. Nick felt his fangs erupt. She placed the bag in his 
  hand. Then he pierced the plastic and tried to drink. Small sips. As the 
  packet emptied, he felt calmer. Then he gave her an embarrassed grin. "Hi, 
  Nat. It's been a long night. I caught a killer and I got my job back." 
  Nat came closer then. She lifted his sunglasses, relieved to see the clear 
  blue eyes. Reaching up, she kissed his cheek. "I'm proud of you, Detective 
  Knight." 
  "I'm kind of proud myself," he answered. 
  "Since you're here, do you mind if I take another x-ray of your stomach before 
  you go? I'll have them developed, and tell you what I see when I get home." 
  Nick shrugged. It wasn't really why he'd stopped in, but he would need her 
  signature before Reese let him back to work. It didn't take long, and then he 
  kissed her good-bye. By the time the cab dropped him off at the Raven, Nick 
  was thoroughly exhausted. 
  LaCroix greeted him at the door, and drew him into his bedroom, where the 
  ancient began to undress him. 
  "I can do that myself," Nick insisted. 
  "Hmm, I'm sure you can," LaCroix answered gently, without stopping. 
  "I caught a killer tonight," Nick said, unable to conceal a yawn. 
  "Good for you," LaCroix said. He helped Nick into a silk pajama top and began 
  to do up the buttons. Nicholas stood patiently, half asleep on his feet. 
  "And Reese says I can go back to work on Monday." 
  LaCroix thought Monday was a little premature, but he would speak with Natalie 
  before starting this argument. Nick sat on the bed as LaCroix helped him with 
  the pajama bottoms. 
  "Thanks for speaking to Reese about my job," Nick said. 
  "You're welcome." He pulled back the covers, guiding his son to lie down, 
  before he pulled them back up. 
  Nick yawned again, his fangs full and beautiful in the dim light. "Master?" he 
  whispered. LaCroix loved this moment best, when Nicholas was guileless, for he 
  was so like the child he had once been. 
  "Will you stay with me for a little while?" 
  LaCroix smiled. He stretched out on the bed, pulling his son in to his 
  embrace. Not much had changed in over 800 years. He felt his son's hair, still 
  as soft as silk. He felt the quiet peace steal over Nicholas, as he relaxed 
  for the day. The boy was nearly asleep, and yet the ancient remained, 
  reluctant to leave. 
  "LaCroix," Nicholas whispered. 
  "Sh-sh. Time to rest," he said. 
  "I love you." 
  LaCroix blinked. He felt his own fangs descend then as his emotions threatened 
  to spill over. He remembered all the moments like this that he had allowed to 
  pass, too cowardly to speak what had always been in his heart. He recalled the 
  carouche's words that she was not going to live in fear any more. It was time 
  that he stopped permitting his fear of rejection and abandonment keep him from 
  speaking. He hugged Nicholas closer. "I love you, too, my son." 
  The end. 
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