Okay, gang, this is another serious one. Fits in with what I'm calling the Dark Side series. For anyone who cares, the current timeline is New Moon, Bank Shot Beginning, Mimicking Pelicans, and Y-Incisions. More to follow. As always, feedback is a wonderful thing! Bank Shot Beginning a Forever Knight story by Sue O'Reilly (soreilly@hotmail.com) "One by one the loneliness birds flew away with the stone eggs they had laid in my heart." -Peekay, "The Power of One" Most of us don't bring children across, you know. And take it from old Javier: whatever the high-minded types like to say, it has a lot more to do with practicality than with morality. Even the most sentimental of our kind develop a big practical streak in a hurry. Something about the daily business of burning up without a safe place from the sun--it gives you a healthy dose of self-interest. See, you don't have a kid and shove it out the door eighteen years later. You have a kid and take care of it maybe forever. Even if you don't mind that sort of responsibility--which frankly makes me shake in my boots--there's still the chance of ending up with a 100- or 200-year-old vampire who is pretty damn pissed off about being stuck in a child's body. This doesn't make for amicable master/fledge relations. The world gets smaller every day, especially in the last couple centuries since the mortals discovered penicillin and electricity and started making the rabbits look like slackers in the reproduction department. It's tricky for adult vampires to keep a low profile. Can you imagine trying to survive a society full of drivers licenses and social workers if you looked like a grammar-school kid? So I was a little startled when Urs told me the latest. "Shocked" is more accurate, actually, considering who was involved in her little newsflash. Whatever way you hold it up, my time in Toronto shows no signs of turning dull. *************** I spotted the girl at the end of the bar. She was hard to miss, really. She was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, Converse sneakers, and a baseball cap turned around backwards, and you can't get much farther from the normal attire of the Raven's female clientele. She stood out like a whole handful of sore thumbs. Nobody was staring, though. They knew better than that. The fourteen-year-old with the baseball cap was Lucien LaCroix's newest child. She could have been wearing a pink raincoat and twelve-inch clogs, and still nobody would have looked cross-eyed at her. I knew her name of course, courtesy of Urs, but that night was the first time I actually laid eyes on her. None of the others know where she came from. Only that she belongs to LaCroix. Daniella Tarkoff. A name that doesn't seem to fit her, it sounds like royalty or Hollywood rather than your average-looking kid. Well, your average kid who also happens to be a vampire, but you know what I mean. Cute enough, with straight dark hair that stopped just past at her shoulders. She was small, maybe five feet. Perched on a barstool, her feet swung way above the floor. There was a drink--our usual, the dark-red kind--in front of her, but it didn't look like it had seen much action. She was staring absently down at the bar and looking like her mind was about three provinces away. Looking like a kid with problems. I guess that's why I decided to talk to her. I've been a vampire for more than four centuries, but there are some of the human inclinations still left in me. One of them is the desire to help someone who looks unhappy. Yeah, some of it was curiosity, I'm not making myself out to be the perfect Samaritan. Curiosity about this youngster who had interested the oldest and scariest vampire I've ever met-interested him enough to bring her across. Curiosity about the gossip I'd heard, too; gossip that seemed to be borne out by the three-quarters-full glass that sat in front of her. Urs said she doesn't feed enough to keep a bird alive. And being Urs, she sounded envious when she said it. If she were older, I might have played catch-her-eye-and-smile before approaching, but she was too young for that kind of game. I knew better than to appear as if I was trying to pick her up. So just I walked up to her, friendly and non-threatening. "Hey." It was almost funny. The kid turned to look behind her, to see if I was talking to someone else. When she didn't find anyone and looked back at me, I could see that she was taken aback. "Hi," she said. It sounded like a question. I pointed at the barstool next to her. "Is this seat taken?" A corner of her mouth twitched. "I don't think you'll have to fight anybody for it." That made me grin, the words and the dryness behind them. There wasn't anyone within twenty feet of her and she knew it. "I'm Vachon," I told her as I swung a leg over the seat. "Javier Vachon." I didn't realize how it sounded until she put her hand out, very seriously, and said, "Bond. James Bond." She surprised me right into a laugh. I shook her hand, copied her serious tone. "Nice to meet you, James." A tentative smile. "I'm Danny." "Danny, then." That wasn't strange; I hadn't expected someone who wore a Green Day T-shirt to use an old-fashioned label like Daniella. Her eyes--dark blue, almost black, like ocean water--still looked surprised, but she wasn't going to ask her questions right away. Cautious one. "Buy you a drink?" she said instead. I raised a good-natured eyebrow. "You're stealing my line." "Yeah." She leaned forward to get Miklos' attention and inclined her head toward me. He must been keeping an eye in her direction; there was a bottle and another glass in front of us almost immediately. He didn't linger after delivering them. I poured myself a glass and took a long sip. I could feel my eyes trying to go yellow at the taste. Hardly any wine in the cut, and the blood could almost have been alive. It had to be the Raven's best stock; I'd never tasted anything bottled that was this good. I'd finished the whole glass before I knew what I was doing. The girl was watching with amusement. "Want some more?" "Jesus," I said, wiping my mouth. "You'd have more people drinking with you, kid, if they knew what the private stock tastes like." For some reason, that was the wrong thing to say. Danny's eyes skated away from mine, and she took a half-hearted sip of her own drink. "Yeah." I filled my glass again, glancing at her sideways. I'd said something sensitive there. "So...I haven't seen you in here before." She looked at me, the hint of laughter back in those blue eyes. We were trading the oldest bar cliches in the book and she obviously found it funny. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the soundproof door in the back. "LaCroix's doing his show." "Ah. Didn't want to listen?" Not that I blamed her. LaCroix's CERK show could be weird enough to give the creeps to almost anyone. "No, I like it. He let me run most of the broadcast last night." Her grin suddenly expanded; it made her look even younger, a mischievous twelve or thirteen. I had to grin again myself. Hers was contagious. "What happened?" "I guess his audience didn't appreciate three hours of Goldfinger and the Mighty Mighty Bosstones." I gaped at her, knowing I must look like an idiot, but I *really* hadn't expected to hear that. LaCroix's listeners suddenly subjected to punk and ska music--that was certainly something to imagine. "He let you play that stuff? They must be in shock." Danny giggled, a clear little-girl sound. "His engineer didn't like it very much. The phones started ringing off the hook." "What did your master think?" Try as I might, I couldn't picture the formidable Lucien LaCroix putting his feet up while his new daughter inflicted the airwaves with modern music. But, hell, parents do strange things. "He thought it was funny." She frowned slightly, her eyebrows drawing together, then shrugged. "I think he did, it's kinda hard to tell what he thinks." I thought wryly, fishing a cigarette out of my jacket. As I lit it, I asked around the filter, "So, are you used to the nightlife yet?" The kid gave another shrug. "I got a lot to learn." There was that look again: withdrawn, a little worried, uncomfortable. I studied her carefully, wondering. She was so damned *young*. I couldn't imagine how everything must seem to her. "What do you think of...all this?" I gestured with my chin, indicating the dark and noisy whirl of the Raven. Mostly mortal, but I could see more than a dozen other vampires scattered around the room. Danny glanced around. "It's okay." A hesitation. "It's not...it's not much fun. Nobody's talked to me except you." I had to fight to keep my jaw from falling open in shock, and then battle back the irrational laughter that surged into my throat. I didn't want her to think I was laughing at her. Because I wasn't; I was laughing at myself. I'd thought she had a problem, but it was so much simpler than I expected. Nothing as profound or soul-wrenching as the nature of vampirism, or the taking of blood, or the sudden control of her master over her life. The ancients could expound on the dark secrets and power of our kind, the conscience-stricken ones like Nick Knight could rage against our evil, but Danny Tarkoff had the most human problem that any vampire could have. She was bored. I knew the others were avoiding her. They did it for the same reason I hadn't wanted to look like I was flirting with her. Her master. They didn't know how protective of his fledgling LaCroix might be and nobody wanted to give offense. He could reduce most of us to dust with his bare hands. So she was being carefully ignored by every vampire in the Raven, and the poor kid was bored right out of her mind. I made my decision on the spot. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but loneliness is something I'm pretty familiar with. "You play pool, Danny?" "Huh?" She looked startled, then nodded. "Yeah, I do." "There's a table out back. Want to play?" I couldn't have asked for a better reward; her face lit up like a whole wreath of candles. "Yeah, sure!" Some of the enthusiasm drained away as she gave me a cautious look. "You sure?" I clapped her on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll even give you the break." Her eyes twinkled as she climbed off the barstool. "You'll regret it." "That a threat or a promise?" I teased. It turned out to be a promise. She sent half of her balls flying into the pockets before I got my first turn. I beat her in the end, but it was damn close. She laughed at my expression and told me that she used to go to boarding school. The students shot pool because they weren't allowed televisions. We kept playing. She wasn't a big talker so I didn't learn much about her previous life, but she asked me plenty of questions about mine. I usually don't talk about myself a whole lot, much less to a near-stranger, but she was interested enough that I forgot myself. There's something different about talking to a kid, too. More relaxed. We talked about music, movies, hockey (with a pretty lively debate about the Maple Leafs' questionable worth), and soon I was amazed to see that we'd been hanging out for almost two hours. I leaned against a support post, watching Danny as she lined up a shot. I liked her already, and I don't warm up to people very well. Most brand-new vamps are an absolute mess, too. She seemed almost...almost human. "Daniella." You never know LaCroix is coming unless he wants you to know. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he spoke a few inches from my ear; I hadn't heard a thing, of course. I turned to find him standing directly behind me, looking his normal parts composed and terrifying. The kid looked up from the pool table. "Hi. Are we leaving?" And she actually *smiled* at her master. Boy, that's something you don't see much in his vicinity. "Yes." His gaze slid over to me, and I resisted the urge to step back. Maybe into the next city. "Making new friends, I see." "Uh-huh. You know Javier, right?" I broke from LaCroix's unnerving appraisal and glanced at Danny with affection. There was another reason for me to like her. She pronounced my name the right way. LaCroix didn't bother to respond to her question, merely held out an imperious hand. "Come, Daniella. Enough billiards for tonight." "Okay," she said agreeably, leaning her cue against the wall. She crossed to his side and he rested a hand on her shoulder. Looking tiny beside him, Danny gave me a goodbye smile. "Thanks for the pool games, Javier. See you later?" "Not if I see you first," I answered. She laughed. "'Kay. Bye." And LaCroix was looking at me again, that cool and completely unreadable stare. "Good night, young Vachon. My thanks for entertaining Daniella." His tone was bland and inflectionless, but it made me nervous anyway. Now I had to resist the urge to babble an explanation, some inane assurance that I was playing nice with his daughter. The feeling reminded me that befriending her probably wasn't the smartest thing I'd ever done. I settled for nodding at him, hoping like hell that I hadn't already bought myself trouble. I watched as they walked away, frowning. Lucien LaCroix doesn't have a reputation for treating his fledges very well, if his relationship with Nick Knight is anything to go by. He also doesn't have a trace of feeling about killing mortals. Seems to revel in it. How was he reacting to a child who didn't kill? And Knight was another factor in this weird equation. Hating his nature like he does, I imagined he was less than pleased about the newest addition to their family. Man...I wondered if Danny had figured out just how complicated her situation could be. Forget about me. I really hoped that little girl was going to be okay. END ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com