Date: Tue, 17 Oct 1995 23:41:24 -0400 From: "Susan M. Garrett" No REAL Spoilers. Some odd things. Assorted mayhem. You know the drill. Happy birthday to Lisa, who said she'd be happy with a Nick and Nat story. ***************** A Vampire's Best Friend by Susan M. Garrett "Nick?" Natalie opened the elevator door and peered cautiously into the loft. It was noon and she fully expected to see the shutters partially raised, light streaming across the room, and Nick huddled in a corner, as if serving some form of self-imposed penance. It never ceased to amaze her how many ways he'd devised over the century to torture himself, as if he'd find salvation in his pain, absolution for wrongs both real and imagined. But the shutters were closed--a good sign. A great sign, in fact, considering what had happened. Natalie took one step into the loft and then another. It was deathly still. "Nick?" she asked again, sudden fear assailing her. What if he'd been playing with the sun and misjudged it, let himself burn for just a little too long and--? "Nat?" Nick appeared at the top of the steps, buttoning the cuffs on his shirt sleeves. He stared down at her in surprise, then took the steps two at a time. "I didn't expect you. Was there an emergency call-in?" "Well, you wouldn't know, would you, especially when you turn off your cell phone and--" She stalked over to his phone and placed it back on the hook, "Forget to hang up? No, there wasn't any emergency. But there a number of people concerned about your health and well-being who've been trying to phone you for the past eight hours." He winced, muttered a brief, "Sorry," and gave her a quick peck on the cheek as he passed. Nick walked directly to the remote, which was lying on the coffee table, and pointed it at the windows, but Natalie followed him and took it out of his hands. "Don't." He froze in place, not turning to look at her, still staring at the shuttered windows. "You heard?" "I heard." Placing the remote carefully on the back of the couch, she glanced around the room again. No sign of bottles, either. He usually went on a binge after something like this. But then, they could be upstairs . . . . . "How bad was it?" "Bad enough." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned toward her, forcing a smile. "It had to happen some day. I just thought it wouldn't happen so soon." "It's something you don't expect to happen. But it happens and then you wonder how you've managed to avoid it for so long." He glanced away, unable to meet her eyes and Natalie took a step toward him. "I dropped by the scene." "Did you?" He walked away from her, heading toward the fridge, his tone casual, almost disinterested. Natalie kept her back toward him. He probably needed a good stiff drink right about now and she wasn't going to make it harder on him by giving him a guilt trip about the blood on top of his trauma. "I think you were lucky." "You call lucky?" The pain was still there, in his voice. She turned and saw him cradling the bottle against his chest, the refrigerator door open behind him. "Yes. Yes, I do. Because you walked away." "I away," corrected Nick. He took another slug from the bottle as she approached and then, to her surprise, recorked it and returned it to a shelf in the refrigerator. "The only reason I managed that was because of what I am." "So, think of it this way--someone else would have been killed. You saved someone's life." When he leaned his forehead against the fridge, she cleared her throat, desperately searching for the words that might make a difference. "It happened and it's over. You'll go on." "Yeah. I guess I will." One of those bitter smiles again, as he stared at his reflection in the glossy sheen of the refrigerator door. "I'll go on. And on. And on." "Not if I can help it." The smile he turned to her finally contained some genuine warmth. "Thanks." "Don't mention it." She matched him, grin for grin, then headed for the door that led down to the garage. "In fact, I thought I'd drop by for a quick look--" "Nat!" She stopped at his sudden exclamation and spun around, hearing a warning that meant that the ceiling was about to fall down on her or she was in the path of a herd of stampeding cattle. "It's . . . it's not pretty," he managed, after a long pause. "That's okay. I've seen this sort of thing before." "No. It's not like--" Ignoring him, she headed for the door again. He be in denial. She didn't dare let him continue to keep this bottled up inside. God knew how it would end. Better that he face the truth in one quick jolt, like pulling off a Band-Aid. She was here, she could help him through it. Nick was behind her as she hurried down the steps and into the garage. She blinked and he was standing at the bottom of the staircase, ahead of her. But she bit back the frown--she hated when he moved like that--and continued past him, even as he put out a hand to stop her. His fingers barely bushed her elbow, as if he knew she couldn't be stopped and was having second thoughts about even trying. The only light came from the open door at the top of the stairwell. It was enough to see the white silk covering--trust Nick to have a silk car cover!--the gleam of metal shining through the translucent material where the light struck it. Oddly enough, it was still car shaped. From the accident report and the scene, she'd expected to find bits of broken and twisted metal. Maybe they'd hauled the chassis here . . . . There were tires visible just at the edge of the silk covering. There shouldn't have been tires. In fact, there shouldn't be this much of the car left. Nick was behind her, standing close, the slightest bit of guilt tinting his voice. "Nat . . . there's something I should . . . ." His voice trailed off. Natalie glanced over her shoulder at him, almost daring him to continue. When he didn't, she took a step forward, grabbed a fistful of silk, and whisked it to one side. The Caddie positively gleamed in automotive perfection. There wasn't a scratch or dent to be seen. She walked the length of it, moving from the rear to the front. Not so much as a pock mark on that pristine paint job. It looked new, better than new, as if it had just rolled out of the factory seconds before. Even the headlights glowed faintly golden in the dim light of the garage. Gold? Natalie ran her hand along the hood of the car, then jumped back. It had at her. Nick was beside her, his hand carefully moving hers from the car. "It's all right," he said softly. "It's fine. Really." It took her a second to realize that he was talking to the car and not her. Natalie stared up at him, her feelings ranging from horror, to disgust, to complete amazement. "You didn't," she said in a whisper, not daring to believe the unbelievable. "Nick, it's impossible!" "Not really." He moved closer to the car and ran his hand along the cloth top. "You should have seen it, Nat. No mechanic could have saved her. She was scattered all over the street and sidewalk. Do you know what happens when you're broadsided by a eighteen-wheeler? It cut her in ." Nick looked back at Natalie. "It was--it was like watching a living thing that had to be put down. She was in pain. What else could I do?" Natalie just stared at him, at the raw emotion in his eyes. She knew he loved the car, but this . . . ? "Nat?" "Just . . . just give me a minute to get used to this." She took a step forward and the car growled again. When she glared at Nick, he ran his hand down the hood and patted the car like a skittish colt. "You've got to give her time to get used to this. And she hasn't been fed yet." "Fed?" Natalie latched onto the word for dear life, eyes wide. "?" she echoed. "At least I won't have to worry about the cost of gasoline any more." Reality split in half. Natalie swallowed, hoping against hope that this was some sick and twisted joke. "You don't mean you pour it--?" "Right into the gas tank." Nick patted the hood of the car again. "You should have seen her--took to it like a duck to water. She finished three bottles in no time flat. I'm going have to work out the mileage; I don't want to underfeed her. In fact, she probably shouldn't leave the garage for a couple of nights, just to be on the safe side. I was hoping you could give me a lift in tonight, then maybe I'd catch Trace for a ride home." Natalie wasn't really listening. She concentrated on inching closer to the car, one step at a time, until she stood next to it. Her hand trembled as she reached for it, but she hesitated. "Go ahead," urged Nick. "She won't bite." almost made her turn tail and run. Instead, she forced her hand back to the cold metal. It cold, colder than she ever remembered having felt before. And smoother than silk. "You see, she remembers you." Natalie's eyes widened--Nick sounded like a proud father. "But where did you bi--? No! Don't tell me!" she said quickly, as he opened his mouth to answer. Backing away, she held her hands up in surrender. "Okay. So, explain this to me. And start at the beginning. Vampires, I can handle. Vampire dogs . . . that was iffy. But . . . a vampire ?" "Actually," corrected Nick, "a CARouche." The Caddie growled at her again. And she began to wonder just where one stuck a stake to end the immortal existence of a classic 1962 Cadillac. ************************** Welcome to my nightmare. I hate that damned car. susang@vitinc.com -- Home of Edgar, the lawn Raven. Forever Faithful Ravenette, because somebody STILL has to. "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies."