Date: Mon, 4 Dec 1995 18:31:19 -0800 (PST) Benighted Walks (0/11) by Dianne T. DeSha [opening comments: separated out, so I can ramble and you can snip... :-] This is the long-rumored (as in "yeah, yeah... I'm writing it... no, _really_, I am... I _swear_..." ) sequel to _My Soul to Take_... which came out in March (so, yeah... I'm really slow... ;-) I recommend reading at least the first two sections or so of that (it's on the web site, or I can email you) first so as to have a better chance of figuring out what the heck is going on with Maeve and Sara and all. But if not... well, then you're on your own! Acknowledgments: I'd like to thank Deborah Menikoff, Diane Echelbarger, Jill Kirby, Chris Hunt, and Michelle D. Noel for beta-reading this monster for me. Grateful thanks for obscure research assistance goes to Deborah for digging up bizarre saints ("Beekeepers? What is it with beekeepers and hookers already?"), constellations ("Hey I found some _extinct_ ones!"), and many other assorted odds-and-ends (few of which actually were used... but all of which were *fun* :-). Special thanks to Diane, who unflinchingly picked apart the story in general (it's at least a page longer just due to the extra commas! :-) and Gideon's theology in particular, for me. (Any remaining problems are mine _in spite of_ her best efforts.) And a final nod to both the listmember whose husband called LaCroix "that 'Salamander' guy" and to the several people who looked up old bible verses for me (and I mean *old*-- someone was quoting from a _1690_ copy... where do you people get these things??? ;-))) Disclaimer #1 (Yes, this is the same one from the front of _My Soul to Take_, but sheesh, it's not like it's gonna kill you to read it again! :-) On the subject of "witches": Witches, as the term was used during the Inquisition (i.e. women who sold their souls to the devil in order to be able to lay plagues on their neighbor's sheep- - a real bargain, huh?) never existed. The green-faced, warty- nosed witches of fairy tales were a way to demonize (and thus disempower) mature, wise women in a patriarchal world. The term is often used today to refer to practitioners of Wicca, a nature-oriented religion that doesn't believe in "the Devil," let alone claim to have any dealings with same. (Trust me, I am one :-) The "witches" referred to here-- those with a hereditary, genetically-based claim to being not-completely-just-human-- do not, to my knowledge, exist. Then again, neither do vampires. But wouldn't it be fun if they did? :-) Disclaimer #2 This is not, nor should it be taken as a Christian-bash. (Some of my best friends are Christians! No, *really*! :-) Yes, a highly religious character does some pretty extreme things, spouting Christian scripture right and left. I hope, however, that it is clear that his basic problem is psychological, and not religious. Disclaimer #3 No, Maeve is not me. Just because she borrows my kittens, wears my clothes and jewelry on occasion, and some say there's a passing physical resemblance, it's simply a case of great minds thinking alike. We're just good friends-- really! :-)... for one thing, she's a heck of a lot more gutsy (or dumb, depending on your POV) when it comes to dealing with LaCroix than _I'd_ ever be....) Disclaimer #4 My beta readers wouldn't let me post this until part _three_, "A Little Knowledge," was finished, because they assured me that I would be lynched for the cliffhanger I'd left. (You guys wouldn't _really_, now would you? ;-) Because of this-- and a number of annoying interferences by Real Life-- I didn't get this all done before the start of the third season as I had hoped. It is (as should be obvious) very much a second season, pre-plane-go-boom :( story, because I was not even going to try to switch casts three- quarters of the way through (especially considering the focus of "ALK"!). This is a regular story break: *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. This is a flashback break: >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> I use both _x_ and *x*, largely depending upon how excited I am at the time. (Any questions?) And yes, it ends on a major cliffhanger. But no, part three will not be long in coming (I *swear* it's nearly done! Being beta- read as we speak :-) ... nor is it as long. (Hi, Maureen... guess what? You're a hooker again! ;-) ... ah well, some things never change... ) *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (1/11) by Dianne T. DeSha He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day; But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday sun. -- Milton Gideon sat alone on the pier, staring out over the Pacific but seeing only his memories-- dimly backlit by the gold and scarlet and purple of the Southern California sunset. He thought of Rachel. Funny, his memory of her, of what she had suffered, gave purpose to his life, yet he had not thought of her in days: how her long black hair, tied back so demurely in public, would cascade over her shoulders when they were alone. The sparkle of humor in those dark eyes when she teased him and the rush that came over his soul when they looked at him in love. And the radiance of her face when it filled with faith and hope and prayer. From the first moment he saw her, standing in the choir, the praises she sang to God bringing a look of rapture to her face, Gideon had known that the Lord had chosen them to be together. He had never known such joy as the day they were wed, joined for all eternity in the sight of God.... And then she had been taken from him. Not drawn from his side by the loving hand of her Creator, but ripped away by a monster who walked the earth in human flesh. Destroyed by a servant of Satan who dragged her pure soul into the depths of sin and then bled away both her life and that of their unborn child.... When Gideon came to himself, the blood was running down his palms where his nails had dug into the flesh. He wiped his hands absently on dark trousers as he slowly got to his feet and pulled his jacket close against the cool June night. But the strength of the Lord was still with him. He had found this monster, tracked it to its new lair. And now it was for him, like Abraham himself, to leave the land of his fathers to do the will of God. As he walked back to the parked minivan he whispered his favorite psalm over and over under his breath: "Behold, God is mine helper; the Lord is the upholder of my soul, He shall requite my enemies with evil; in thy faithfulness put an end to them...." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. "Oh come on! It's just a picnic!" Schanke waved the flyer in front of his reluctant partner's face. "The last big event of the summer-- sun, softball, *bar-be- que*..." Nick grimaced. "Schanke, you know I can't...." "So come late, wear sunscreen-- I'll get you more of that Skin Pretty Ultra-Block. Come on, Myra's still out of town, but Jenny and I'll be there. _Everyone's_ going to be there." He grinned pointedly. "I already asked and I _know_ Nat's coming...." The smile slipped slightly. "She's even bringing that friend of hers...." "Maeve?" "Yeah, Maeve." "What _is_ your problem with Maeve anyway?" Nick stopped pretending to do paperwork to look at Schanke. "She's always hanging around, poking her nose into things that are none of her business!" "She works at the women's clinic, Schanke, you know that. Rape victims, domestic violence, she's down here a lot, and it's important work...." "I *know* that, but the people she's helping are still alive, so what's she always doing hanging around Homicide?" he frowned. "You're paranoid, Schanke!" Nick laughed. "So she stops in now and then to say 'hi'. It's on her way...." "But she's...," Schanke paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "She's what?" Nick prompted. Schanke looked around as if afraid of being overheard, then lowered his voice, "Doesn't she strike you as... well.. kind of _creepy_?" "*Me?*" Schanke nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Maeve's voice behind him. "You think _I'm_ 'creepy'?" She shook her head in disbelief as Nick grinned. "Oh, now _that's_ rich!" "What are you doing here?" Schanke demanded. A second later he had the grace to turn slightly red at the rudeness of his own reaction. Maeve tactfully ignored the tone and answered the question. "Shakespeare." As Nick put his untouched paperwork away she elaborated. "A friend of a friend is doing Henry VIII," she grimaced slightly, then smiled, "And this noble Knight has agreed to escort me and keep me from falling asleep." "Not to mention amusing me with all the things they've got _wrong_," she added in a half-whisper, earning a frown from Nick and a confused look from Schanke. "We've got to go, or we'll be late," Nick said, starting to reach for Maeve's arm, then catching himself at the last second. A raised eyebrow was her only response. Schanke frowned and cleared his throat, "Well, have fun and _don't_ tell me all about it." Nick started for the door, then paused. "You go ahead and I'll meet you at the Caddy." Maeve nodded and left the partners alone. "Well aren't _we_ Ms. Snooty now!" Schanke grumbled. Nick sighed. There wasn't any way to explain the situation to him: someone who'd saved his life, a dear friend of Natalie's, a friend of his too by now, he supposed... but someone it would cost him his very soul to even touch. "Schanke, it's not like that...." "Well, I should hope not, not with her. And what about Nat?" Oh, no. Schanke _didn't_ think.... "Look, Schanke, Nat's the one who suggested this...." She'd wanted to see him get out more with people, and not just with her. "I'm just doing a friend a favor, that's all." Schanke looked unconvinced. "And try to lighten up on her, O.K.? Make an effort? Try to be civil?" Schanke rolled his eyes, "Better go, she'll think you stood her up." Nick gave his partner a nasty look and headed for the door. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Maeve woke sprawled on the couch with the kittens draped about her. The light making its way around the blinds indicated that it was still well before noon. Another knock on the door-- determined, controlled, but *loud*. She groaned and climbed out from beneath the tightly-curled, purring balls of fur. 9:45... she really had to find people to hang out with who kept some sort of normal schedule. Nick had salvaged a really bad evening at the theater with light, entertaining stories from his past. Afterwards they'd wandered down to the morgue and hung out with Nat until well past midnight. *Well* past. She'd counted on a Saturday morning sound asleep to make up the difference, but it seemed that was not going to be. Seeing Sara through the peephole both heartened and annoyed her, in that way that much-loved but very badly-timed relatives and old friends will. She opened the door a crack and adopted a tone of mock annoyance, "Sorry, I don't want any...." But the smile faded from her face when she saw the deadly serious look on Sara's. Maeve let her in and closed the door, prepared for what could only be bad news. "Gideon's in town." Maeve's eyes opened wide. "Here?" she asked incredulously, leaning back against the closed door for support. So much for being prepared for bad news; she felt a wave of coldness run through her as her stomach twisted. As Sara nodded, Maeve closed her eyes and slid slowly down until she was seated on the floor. "Why?" she began to ask, then shook her head. That she already knew. "_How_?" No one but Sara knew where she'd gone when she left L.A. Then came the anger, the frustration. How dare he keep doing this to her! "I've got a new life here, dammit!" she muttered, half to herself. "And he has made it his life to hunt you. It was only a matter of time." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (2/11) by Dianne T. DeSha >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Maeve had found her one day in the back of the lounge that served the hospice wing. Slight and dark-haired, the woman was curled in upon herself in a chair almost hidden behind the soda machine, shaking with silent tears. Maeve offered her a shoulder and, as the sobs lessened, listened quietly to the source of her grief. "Jamie was just a little boy...," she finally whispered, her eyes staring vacantly across the room. Maeve winced at the thought and asked gently, "Your son?' The woman swallowed hard and tried to take a deep breath. When she'd regained some composure, she sat up and shook her head sadly, "No, a child I'd been visiting." "You're a social worker then?" "No, no...," she shook her head quickly as though afraid she'd misrepresented herself. "I'm just a volunteer. I come to visit the children...," her voice trailed off as the tears threatened to return. "Well I'm even more impressed. I wish _I_ was committed enough and strong enough to volunteer to do something like that." "So you don't work here?" "No. I can't even say I volunteer. I'm just here visiting a friend... actually, more of a friend of a friend." She smiled at the other woman and held out her hand, "I'm Maeve." The other woman returned the smile as she took the proffered hand, "Rachel." "So, Rachel," Maeve continued, following the etiquette of a formal introduction, "What do you do when you're not volunteering?" "Oh, I don't _do_ anything," Rachel answered, slightly flustered once again. "I help out at church and assist my husband with his work. He's very active in the church, you know," Rachel said with obvious pride. "He studies and teaches the word of the Lord at Crown of Fire Seminary and he's called to preach quite often; the spirit of the Lord is strong in him." 'Crown of Fire... ?' Maeve paused for a moment-- her automatic, answering smile frozen on her face-- before she was able to put genuine feeling behind it. "I'm impressed," she began, berating herself for her own prejudices. "Obviously that same spirit is strong in you." Rachel's face fell, and Maeve silently cursed at herself, trying to figure out what she'd said wrong. "No," Rachel said softly, her gaze fixed somewhere amongst the pattern of specks on the linoleum. "You see, the reason I have so much time for volunteering is that I...," she paused again and her voice grew even softer, "I can't have children of my own." "I'm sorry," Maeve said, trying to think of a way to change a topic that obviously distressed Rachel a great deal. But Rachel forced a smile, "God's will be done. Gideon and I pray night and morning that the Lord will see fit to provide us with a child. I hope that the work that I do here will show the Lord Jesus that I'm ready to be a mother. That I have faith in His promise to us and will humbly love other people's children until He sends me my own." 'She spends her time helping dying children as penance? For what? Not being able to conceive?' For a moment Maeve was simply speechless. Until she realized that the words had a rehearsed air about them, that didn't quite connect with the person she'd seen. The woman crying her heart out in the corner had had more on her mind than obligatory good works. This was someone who really cared about the people she helped. Trying to maintain a respectful attitude toward Rachel's beliefs, she approached the matter carefully. "His promise?" she inquired gently. Rachel looked up with the shadow of a smile. "It was prophesied at our wedding," she explained with a dreamy look in her eyes. "Sister Ruth stood up from the crowd, filled with the Spirit, and spoke for us the words of Lord Jesus: 'The blessings of God will descend upon this couple, and from their house shall go forth many children, strong in the Love of God!' It was her last prophecy before she was gathered to the arms of Jesus." As Rachel's gaze slowly returned to the colorless little room in which they sat, Maeve sighed to herself. Prophecy was a tricky thing; it could always be interpreted _at least_ six different ways. "You are obviously very good with children," she began cautiously. Rachel smiled and Maeve continued, "Perhaps you were meant to adopt?" To her surprise Rachel's face lit up. "Yes!" she exclaimed, excited. "I think so too! There are so many children in need of good Christian homes. We could do so much good for them!" But her enthusiasm drained almost as quickly as it had arrived, "But Gideon is still convinced we will have our own. The patriarchs' wives were often barren, but they prayed and believed and they were delivered of children very late in life." They also used surrogates and adopted the kids, Maeve thought, but refrained from saying it aloud. Rachel had slipped back into that voice that sounded like a child reciting a carefully studied lesson. " 'He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children. Praise ye the Lord.' " Rachel recited. "Psalm 113, verse 9," she added at Maeve's startled look. Maeve decided she needed to change the subject, but groped around trying to find a way to do so. "So... do you only work with the children here?" she tried, lamely. "Yes," she smiled. "The innocent victims of all this. Although," she added before Maeve could react, "I hear there's a grown woman in the far ward-- hemophiliac, you know...." Maeve took a deep breath, and another. 'No flies with vinegar, dear.' She repeated Sara's words in her mind until she was calmer. Sara was right, of course; yelling wouldn't accomplish anything. "*No one* deserves this," she said in a carefully restrained voice. "No one is that 'guilty'." Rachel was taken aback by the seriousness of Maeve's tone. "No, of course I don't want anyone to suffer so, but the Lord has visited His judgment upon the sinners and it is not our place to question His wisdom." 'Don't start,' Sara's voice was echoing in Maeve's head again. 'You'll never agree, don't waste your breath or hers.' Maeve took another deep breath. 'At this rate I'll hyperventilate!' she thought, and had to fight the sudden urge to giggle. When it passed, however, she found herself in better control. 'Try to find some common ground....' "But surely, all the victims suffer the same," Maeve reasoned. "It can hardly be 'charity' to turn your back on those in need, whatever the cause?" Rachel was staring across the room at nothing again, this time lost in thought. "Have you even spoken to one of the young men here?" she asked. Rachel silently shook her head. Maeve smiled, "Come with me and meet Steve then. He's not really had anyone since Lenny died." Maeve paused for a moment herself and had to swallow hard, "So I try to come see him whenever I can." Maeve stood and picked up her coat. "He's a really good person." Rachel looked up at her, nodded, and rose to follow. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Sara watched as Maeve accepted the news that the grief had begun all over again, and desperately wished she could do something to stop it. Most of her life she'd been trying to protect Maeve from such hate, but it always returned. She'd barely known Maeve's parents, but everyone had known of their death-- beaten by a lynch mob in the middle of the night until they no longer moved. Although it was officially an unsolved case of random violence, far too many in the county had known it was nothing of the kind. Sara herself had been the one to insist that, for the child's sake, no one should tell the authorities why it had happened. She arranged for the bright-eyed three-year-old to be put in a foster home clear across the country. Calling herself "a distant relative" she visited more and more often as she saw a child withdrawing into herself in fear, confusion, and loss. In bits and pieces Sara had passed along the old traditions, and when Maeve came of age she told her everything-- and was the one to hold her as she wept for what had been lost. With a sigh, she spoke, "When's the last time you went to a Circle?" Startled out of her thoughts, Maeve looked at Sara, then away. "I've always been a solitary...." "That doesn't mean you don't go to Circles now and then," Sara countered. Maeve looked at the kittens wrestling on the floor. "I might endanger someone." "Is that it? Or are you afraid they won't have you?" Sara asked quietly. "They can't just kick me out!" Maeve insisted with half-hearted outrage. Sara sighed. "In theory, of course not. But they're human, Maeve, and they're scared." She paused until Maeve looked at her. "And, frankly, they have every right to be." Maeve sighed to herself. There was no point in rehashing the fight over her choice of acquaintances. "So I told you: I don't go. I haven't gone since I moved here. I don't even know anyone here!" "It's not good for you to be so isolated...." "I'll be fine," she insisted. "And now, with Gideon in town, I'm all the more dangerous to others." Sara shook her head. She could hardly argue that, but she worried over the child she'd adopted in her heart so long ago. Why she originally felt such a responsibility to the child, she'd never known, but the relationship had strengthened over the years until it could not have been any stronger had it been forged of blood. "Just remember," she said softly, putting her arms around her, "'Harm none' includes yourself, Maeve." "I'll be careful," she promised. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (3/11) by Dianne T. DeSha Schanke took a deep breath and tried not to regret coming to the picnic. He and Jenny had hardly spoken in the past few weeks, a fact he'd put down to her suddenly busy schedule-- practices, friends, parties even. Or he had until he'd said something about hardly ever seeing his little girl and had received an icy stare that hadn't quite thawed out yet. He suddenly felt as though he were trying to reach her from an entirely different _planet_. He'd hoped this picnic would bring back the old Jenny along with old memories. So far, it had been a complete disaster. He had fortified himself with another trip to the barbeque and was returning for another round of "Family Feud" when he saw Maeve flop down on the end of the bench where he had left Jenny sitting in sullen silence. Slowing his pace through the crowd, he was able to join the edges of a group from Vice that was close enough so he could keep an eye (and ear) on them without interrupting. "One more horsey-ride," Maeve groaned over her shoulder at Jenny as she bent to re-tie her shoe, "And someone's gonna have to shoot me and put me out of my misery!" Turning so that she could rest her elbows on the tabletop behind her, she stretched out her legs as far as she could, "Mind if I hide from the kids awhile over here?" Jenny only shook her head but stayed half-turned on the bench. Maeve glanced over at her neighbor again and finally managed to place her, "You're Jenny Schanke, right?" Jenny admitted as much and was obviously startled when the older woman reached out a hand. "I'm Maeve Katz," she offered, ignoring Jenny's momentary confusion, "I'm a friend of Natalie Lambert's-- do you know Natalie?" "Yeah. She's pretty cool," Jenny admitted suddenly. Maeve smiled, "I agree. Anyway I end up running into your dad a lot." Jenny looked away with a long suffering expression. "I've heard him talk about you," Maeve added. Jenny winced visibly, "What does he say?" Maeve dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Nothing embarrassing, I promise, just the usual dad stuff: what you're doing in school, how proud he is of you." Jenny's theatrical groan was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a brightly colored beach ball that landed nearly in Maeve's lap. Maeve leaned down to grab it and return it to the arriving group of giggling little kids. As she straightened up she turned back to Jenny in mock horror, "Help! They've found me...." Maeve went silent as she saw Jenny's startled face. Her hand dropped instinctively to the pendant that had fallen out from under her shirt. Realizing she was staring, Jenny turned bright red and looked away much too quickly. Neither spoke for a moment. Maeve took a deep breath and resisted the impulse to tuck the pentacle back down inside her collar. 'Fear comes from ignorance,' she told herself sternly for the hundredth time. 'The more you hide, the more you end up _having_ to hide.' But sometimes, she protested vainly to herself, it would just be *so* much easier! "You're very observant," she told Jenny in a carefully casual, confidential tone. "Half the detectives who've seen it at the precinct thought I was Jewish." That did the trick. The tension level dropped instantly, and Maeve had to resist the urge to grin like a fool while Jenny tried to smother her laughter at besting her elders. When Jenny had calmed a bit Maeve asked her outright, "Do you know what it means?" The girl squirmed in embarrassment for a moment. "It's some Satan thing, right?" she finally asked in a very quiet tone. "No," Maeve smiled deliberately. 'She doesn't know any better,' she reminded herself. 'Now's the time to change that.' "It's a witch thing," she said in a normal tone, gratified to see that she now had Jenny's undivided attention. "Do you want to learn something about witches," she asked conspiratorially. "_Real_ witches, not those little-kid fairy tale ones?" Schanke started to move forward to intervene when he saw Jenny nod, her eyes wide-open with a mixture of fear and excitement, but he found himself stopping. He could always interrupt if things got too _weird_, and frankly, he wanted to hear what Maeve had to say. "Well, first off, witches aren't all old and ugly, or, at least, _I'm_ not, am I?" Maeve smiled at Jenny's emphatic shake of the head, a response she suspected was directed primarily at the second adjective. "And we don't go around putting hexes on people either," she continued. "We have a very important rule: " 'Harm none and do as thou wilst'," Maeve watched as Jenny tried to decipher that one. "It means you can do anything you want, as long as it doesn't hurt anybody else. And anything you do, good or bad, comes back to you three times over." She paused for emphasis, "That's the 'Threefold Rule'. Does that make sense?" Jenny nodded, then added, "It's like in the Bible." " 'Do unto others'," Maeve quoted to Schanke's surprise. "Yeah, it's the same idea. So if I _did_ cast a hex to do something bad to someone, you know what would happen." "You'd have it happen back to you?" "Three times as bad!" Maeve rolled her eyes theatrically, "_Ouch!_" and Jenny laughed again. "But it also works with good things, so being nice to people really pays off, you know." Maeve noticed Jenny's eyes had been drawn back to her neck. "Do you want me to tell you what it means?" At the girl's eager response, she held it out in front of her so they could both see it. "It's called a pentacle-- a pentagram, that's the five-pointed star part-- inside a circle. The points represent earth, air, fire, water, and spirit-- the things that make up the whole world. They're all evenly spaced because they're all equally important, and they're hooked together because everything in the world is connected to every other thing-- you've probably learned that in science class, huh?" Jenny nodded, "Ecology." Maeve smiled. At least some of the old teachings were coming back into fashion. "Yeah, like ecology. Then the circle represents life, with no beginning and no end-- day turns to night turns to day again, the years go around and around, plants and animals and people and mountains are born and die and are born again, 'round and 'round forever....." But Jenny's attention had been caught by a shape behind her. "It's my _dad_!" she said with the mixture of embarrassment and disdain twelve-year-olds seemed to master so easily. Maeve looked up to see Schanke standing behind her. She couldn't tell if he had heard what she'd been teaching Jenny, but, given the way he seemed to feel about her personally, she couldn't think he'd approve. She felt embarrassed, and then angry at feeling so- - I wasn't proselytizing, she reminded herself. Just _educating_. One more child for the future who wouldn't look at her and be afraid, or call her evil, or want to kill her.... >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Rachel and Steve had gotten along surprisingly well. She'd made a special point of visiting him, listening to him, holding his hand when he could no longer speak. She had cried as much at his death as she had at little Jamie's, but she didn't attend the funeral. And after that their paths never crossed at all. Until, one day, Maeve received a mysterious phone call at the center. "Rachel called." " 'Rachel'?" Maeve asked, a puzzled look on her face. "Rachel _who_?" "She just said 'Rachel'," Debra said, dropping the note in Maeve's general direction. "There's her number; she wouldn't leave a last name but she asked for you specifically and she was really upset." The volunteer shrugged and kept going. 'Oh _that_ narrows it down,' Maeve thought with the annoyance bred by a long and draining day. It happened often enough, women were frightened-- often more frightened of husbands, boyfriends, family or friends finding out that they'd been battered, or stalked, or raped, or harassed, or... than of the men who'd made their lives a living hell. "And they're _always_ upset!" she muttered to herself as she picked up the phone and began to dial. It was answered on the first ring with a timid "Hello?" "May I speak to Rachel, please?" she asked in her standard, neutral, could-be-anyone voice. "Maeve, is that you?" the voice asked and suddenly Maeve was able to place it. "Rachel?" "Yes, I...," she paused and there was a muffled exchange as she answered a voice from much further away, "... I need to speak to you... _alone_." The last word had been barely whispered. "Rachel, is there someone there with you?" "Yes." "So you can't really speak, right?" "Yes," this time almost a sigh of relief. "Can we meet somewhere and talk?" "Please." "Can you come to the center?" Maeve asked, wondering suddenly how Rachel had tracked her down. "No, I'm sorry," Rachel responded with the vague tones generally used with a phone solicitor. Maeve tried to think. Rachel obviously didn't have much leeway here, or she would have called from a more convenient time or place. Maeve would have to go to her. Somewhere Rachel could easily make an excuse to go. Her church? Maeve didn't even know where it was and getting directions would be difficult. Besides, Rachel might well not want to be seen with her. Maeve had long ago stopped taking such situations personally; it was the nature of the work. "The hospice?" "That would be lovely," Rachel responded, relief threatening to overcome her neutral tone. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (4/11) by Dianne T. DeSha She had found Rachel later that afternoon in the same drab little waiting room in which they'd first met. Rachel's eyes had dark circles around them and she was shaking so hard that a friendly, welcoming embrace from Maeve nearly caused her to collapse. Sitting her down on one of the couches, Maeve held Rachel as she cried and cried. Finally, when the sobbing had slowed, she pulled away far enough to look into those devastated eyes, "Rachel, what's wrong?" "I just don't know what to do," she whispered, all emotion seemingly drained away with her tears. "I didn't know where else to even go." "Rachel, what happened?" Maeve repeated the question gently, prepared for any one of the numerous terrible answers she usually heard to that question. But this time she was genuinely surprised. "I'm... I'm pregnant," Rachel whispered so quietly Maeve could hardly hear it. "But Rachel," Maeve said in surprise. "Isn't that what you've wanted all this time? Why aren't you happy?" "You don't understand," Rachel said softly. "I've always wanted children-- more than anything!-- but I _can't_...." Maeve waited silently as Rachel gathered herself and began a story that in her words sounded more like a confession. "I _was_ pregnant before, a year ago, but I lost the baby." Maeve put her arm around Rachel again but did not interrupt. "It was late and I bled so much I nearly died. The doctor who saved me said I'd never have another child. She said even if I managed to conceive I would never survive the delivery. She said it was much too dangerous to even try. I was heartbroken, but Gideon," she paused for a moment, "Gideon wouldn't believe her. He was so angry! He made a scene right there in the hospital, shouting the prophecy from our wedding at the doctor and demanding to know how she _dared_ to contradict the word of God. "After I'd recovered, the doctor took me aside and tried to get me to use..." her voice dropped even further "... birth control, but our faith doesn't allow that. She offered to have one of the male doctors talk to Gideon, to ask him not to...," Rachel paused and actually started to blush. "But it was my wifely duty," she hurried on, "I _couldn't_ neglect that. The Scriptures say 'Be fruitful and multiply'-- that's one of the commandments straight from God. Gideon insisted that if we believed and prayed, and were steadfast in our faith, God would yet bless us with children." Maeve couldn't take this much longer, "Rachel, you're one of the kindest, most decent, most _worthy_ people I know. This isn't a punishment or test of your faith. You would make a wonderful mother, but not if you're _dead_!" Rachel winced and Maeve immediately regretted her choice of words, but Rachel was nodding in agreement, "I know. Gideon's wrong; this _isn't_ what God meant. That's why I need your help." She looked around as if afraid she'd be overheard in the empty room, then continued with determination, "I can't have this baby." Maeve just listened as Rachel took a deep breath and continued, "I've talked to three doctors. They all agree, the baby has no chance, and if I try, they're afraid I'll die too. "I know it's a sin, but I just don't know what else to do. I've prayed and prayed, but no answer comes." Rachel turned pleading eyes on Maeve, begging her to understand, "If I was alive I could adopt children and give them a loving home. There are so many already who need that so! I could spend the rest of my life helping children and maybe," she closed her eyes as if in prayer, "_Maybe_ that will atone for my sin. "But Gideon can't ever know. He would _never_ allow it. And even if he would I can't drag his soul into sin as well. This will be _my_ sacrifice." Maeve started to speak, but Rachel continued unhearing, focused on her desperate plan, "He already knows I'm pregnant-- I had to tell him-- but it can be another 'miscarriage.' "And when he sees what has happened maybe he'll agree that this is God's will. He might be willing to stop trying and adopt." She focused again on Maeve's face, tears starting to fall again, "But I need your help. I don't have anywhere else to go. I don't know what to do...." Maeve said nothing, only holding her close as she cried. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "What?" Maeve asked, having realized Schanke was asking her a question, but not having heard the words. "Family," he repeated. Maeve gave him a blank look and he took a deliberately patient deep breath and started again, "Do you have family around here?" "No," Maeve answered too quickly, her thoughts still on Gideon. He'd tracked her here; Sara had said he was in the city. But what was he planning? "So what brought you to Toronto then?" Maeve tried to bring her mind back to the detective sitting in front of her. "Uh, nothing, I knew Nat, that's all...," her voice trailed off with her attention. She had to warn Nat; Gideon would almost surely include her in this-- if he hadn't already. "Excuse me," she cut off Schanke's next comment, "I've got to go." As he watched her hurry off Schanke scowled, "Well doesn't that just...." "What?" Jenny's prompting brought his attention back. Looking at his daughter, he could see the disapproval written all over her face. Oh great, he thought, now the woman was _Jenny's_ friend too. "I was just trying to be friendly, honey...," but Schanke stopped when he saw her roll her eyes and tune out his voice in pre-teen disgust. Schanke just sighed and shook his head. 'Well forget it, partner,' he thought angrily. 'I _tried_ to be friendly and see how far _that_ got me!' *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. "Nat, we need to talk." The concern in Maeve's tone caught her friend's attention immediately. She excused herself from the group she was standing with, and the two walked a ways apart, to a place where a few trees in a hollow gave them privacy to speak. Sitting down in the grass-- as they had a hundred times before to share confidences, though never such dangerous ones-- Maeve took a deep breath and began, "Nat, I never really told you why I left L.A...." As she paused, Nat filled in, "You said some guy was harassing you, and you just wanted to get away and get a new start." Maeve nodded, "Yes, but it's more than that. The guy, Gideon, is obsessed; he's tracked me here to Toronto. And he wants to see me dead. " Nat's eyes widened, but her face remained calm, "Why?" >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Maeve had arranged an appointment for Rachel in a clinic on the other side of town, where there was practically no chance of her being seen by anyone who knew her or Gideon. Gideon would be gone the entire morning and Rachel would call in sick to her volunteer position. If all went well, she would be safely back in her bed recovering from her "miscarriage" when Gideon arrived home.... But things hadn't gone as planned. When they arrived at the clinic, they found their way barricaded by protesters chanting and praying. There was no time to go to another clinic. Maeve wanted to reschedule, but Rachel had made a fragile peace with her choice, and insisted that they proceed. Maeve instinctively tried to shield her from the most direct assaults-- pictures of aborted fetuses and Bibles thrust in her face, strangers grabbing at her arms and shouting "Murderer!" in her ear-- but they were both shaking by the time they'd forced their way into the relative peace of the building. But in their haste to get away from the crowd, they'd not seen him. One man who stood back from the rest, mouth open in shocked disbelief. A man who recognized Rachel, who called Gideon to tell him what he'd seen with his own eyes. Although the protesters were doing their best to keep anyone from entering, they'd always stayed on the far side of the door. The staff inside relied upon that. Thus Gideon was able to burst in, past the front desk, and into the treatment room before anyone could react. When she saw him standing there in the doorway, the gun in his hand forgotten and a look of utter betrayal on his face, Maeve's first reaction had been sympathy for this man whose life was obviously coming apart before his very eyes. But then he had turned to see her seated by Rachel, holding her hand, and the look in his eyes had turned to a revulsion and hate she hoped never to have to see again. Brandishing the gun, ignoring both Rachel's hysterical pleading and the doctor's shocked warnings, he'd dragged her off the table and out the door mid-operation. As the nurse pushed past the tangle of leaking IV tubing and scattered equipment to call police and medical assistance, Maeve just sat there, immobile, staring in mesmerized shock at the trail of dark red blood on the floor. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Nat stared at her friend for a moment before she spoke. "But it wasn't your fault." Maeve sighed and looked at the moon, just beginning to show in the growing darkness, "I know. But he _cannot_ accept that. He needs a scapegoat. And that scapegoat is me." "You need to go to the police, talk to Nick...." "No." As Nat tried to protest, Maeve cut her off, "Not until I'm sure. Besides, he's never actually _hurt_ me...." She so desperately wanted to believe that it wouldn't happen again. Perhaps he just wanted to know where she had gone, and would now leave her be. She knew it was nonsense, but she couldn't bear to allow Gideon to invade her life again if there was any way to prevent it. "And it's hardly appropriate to take this kind of problem to _Nick_, anyway," she concluded weakly. "You know he'd do anything he could, witch or no... especially for you." When there was no response, she added, "Take it to Schanke." Maeve snorted. "Or to Cohen, or to someone, _before_ he tries anything." Maeve knew Nat was right, on all counts, but she still couldn't bear to give Gideon that much power over her life. "Don't say anything, Nat, _please_. Let me at least have that much control." But as they started to rise, Natalie heard Maeve gasp in surprise and pain... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Nick arrived at the picnic as soon as vampirically feasible. The light was fading quickly under the trees and people were staring to gather around the fire pit. Good, it looked like he wasn't entirely too late. As he glanced around, looking for Natalie, his senses were caught by the scent of blood-- fresh blood-- coming from a group of trees off to his left. The immediate clenching fear-- Natalie?-- was replaced by a more cautious concern when he realized the blood wasn't _quite_ human. The thin trail of dark red drops on the grass caught Nick's attention immediately, as mesmerizing as glowing coals in the darkness. Nick followed the scent towards the parking lot and to Nat's car, where she was poised over the open trunk, squinting to see in the darkness. Looking up, Natalie broke into a big smile. "Nick, you made it!" "Is Maeve all right?" Taken aback by the unexpected question, Nat followed his stare and saw the traces of blood still on her hands. She felt a flood of relief... after just hearing about Gideon she was getting jumpy. Recognizing the strained look on Nick's face, she tried to wipe them clean as discreetly as possible. "She's fine, just cut her hand on a piece of glass buried in the grass. She's gone to see if she can get the blood out of her blouse." "Hydrogen peroxide," Nick said as he visibly relaxed. Natalie looked at him curiously as she put her first aid kit away. "Trust me," he smiled, "It really works." As they walked back to the light and noise and people, Natalie teased, "Nice to see you're so concerned. Should I be jealous?" At Nick's confused look, she added, "You didn't ask if _I_ was o.k., how did you know it was Maeve that got hurt?" Nick shook his head, and smiled that smile that made her lose all perspective and common sense. Putting his arm around her shoulders and resuming their stroll, he answered, "It wasn't your blood; it was Maeve's." Natalie stopped and turned suddenly to look at him in surprise. "How can you tell?" Nick shrugged. "Witch's blood, it just smells different, _looks_ different..." he answered in a distracted tone as he steered her towards the campfire. "What?" she began, but was drowned out by the welcomes and general noise from the group gathered around the light. She shook her head and filed _that_ interesting bit of information away for later. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (5/11) by Dianne T. DeSha Another one! Nick thought. As he and Nat neared Maeve's apartment he had suddenly sensed a second, disturbing presence. This was not a good idea. It was bad enough to have to face dinner with Schanke-- with Schanke _and_ Maeve! But to start out the evening like this? He almost mentioned it to Natalie ("Maeve has company, maybe we'd better come back later."), but caught himself just in time. How could he have known that from so far unless the guest was another witch? Nat would realize that almost immediately. He shuddered slightly, the consequences of breaking the Pact vivid in his mind. As she opened the door, Maeve noticed Nick trying hard to look completely at ease. She smiled involuntarily. 'Now you know how I feel!' she thought. She toyed for a moment with the idea of letting him suffer for a while, but took pity at his desperate, wordless plea in her direction. "Hi!" she gestured them in, noting that Nick had clearly waited for that invitation before stepping over the threshold. She turned to the older woman, "Sara, this is my friend, Dr. Natalie Lambert. Nat, this is another old and dear friend of mine, Sara de Gaia." She paused for just another moment, watching Nick squirm as subtly as he could, then gave in. "She's a witch," she said, earning an annoyed look from Sara. Nat heard Nick let out the deep breath he must have been holding since they entered the building, and she realized the predicament he'd been in. Her stomach tightened as she realized the danger her mere presence had put him in. As she mentally rejoined the conversation, Maeve was rebuking Sara for her reaction. "Oh come on, there's no need to torture him. Besides, if I hadn't explained, I would have had to introduce him properly." Sara frowned. "I still could...," Maeve offered with a decidedly insincere smile. "_No_, thank you!" Sara said firmly. 'Never even learn it's name.' The rule echoed in Nat's mind automatically. It was harder to accidentally betray someone you couldn't even put a name to, Maeve had explained once. It also helped to keep you as distant as possible. Maeve had said that her friends thought her mad for breaking the old, protective rules. Sara obviously was of a like mind. "If you'll excuse us," Nick turned to Sara, "We really must be going." Schanke had finally managed to corral Nick into a dinner out with him and Myra. Nick may not have been able find a way to weasel out of it, but he was bringing all the reinforcements he could muster. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. The Hanger was quite popular-- which is to say loud and noisy. It made conversation nearly impossible, but would make avoiding the actual dinner less difficult. As always, Nick marveled at Myra. She had to be nearing forty, but, even after having Jenny and cooking for Schanke's appetite for the last 15 years, she still looked like she'd walked off a magazine cover. He shook his head. Amazing. How had Schanke ever.... Nat's elbow planted firmly in his ribs and a smirk on Maeve's face told him he'd not been as subtle in his appreciation as he'd thought. Schanke, oblivious to the exchange, greeted them loudly over the din. "Hey, it's about time, buddy! I thought you were gonna stand us up." His welcoming smile for Natalie faded to polite acknowledgment as he turned to Maeve. "I went ahead and ordered for us all, guys. I hope you don't mind. The shrimp fettuccini here is terrific...." Nick sighed as he sat down. Feta cheese salad. And not even any ketchup to cover it. Half an hour later Nat gave him a sympathetic look from across the table as he pushed the food around his plate one more time. He'd *tried*... really he had! He'd even gotten a few bites down-- to Nat's obvious delight-- before he felt his stomach begin to violently rebel. He knew better than to push it any further, and there were only so many creative arrangements he could make with the remainder. Schanke was certain to notice. Maeve had ended up to one side of him and he'd paid her little mind save to make sure their knees and elbows didn't collide by accident. But a subtle movement caught the corner of his eye. He looked over to see Maeve neatly spear a shrimp from his plate and drop it on hers. Another swift motion relieved him of an asparagus spear. Nick surreptitiously caught her eye and smiled. Maeve only shrugged, shook her head, and resumed her meal. Looking up a moment later, Schanke couldn't believe his eyes. Maeve was stealing food right off of Nick's plate! She was good, he had to admit-- Nick didn't seem to have noticed a thing. But there was plenty left for seconds; what on earth did she think she was doing? He almost called her on it right there, but then decided it was just too weird. He settled for giving her a dirty look the next time their eyes met. And she had the nerve to look surprised! *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. She had sensed him for several nights now. The slightest brush against the edge of her consciousness. Testing. Studying her. She refused to give any reaction, to even acknowledge the presence hovering out there-- an ancient one, surely. Definitely _not_ Maeve's humanized little friend. Sara was intrigued despite herself-- but that was hers alone to know. She simply noted the presence. The first move would have to be his. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. "How long will that take?" Nat asked. Dropping the pile of paperwork on his desk, Schanke groaned, "How about 'forever'?" "It shouldn't take _that_ long," Nick smiled at Nat, ignoring Schanke's rolled eyes. She turned to Nick, "Well, as soon as you're done, stop by the lab. I've got something I want to try." She was looking at him oddly, and for a moment he felt like a specimen under a microscope. "What are you up to?" Nick asked suspiciously. "Just come by, as soon as you can." Someone stopped by the desk to hand him yet another form and when he turned back around she was gone. Schanke, on the other hand, was still very much there, practically leering at him. "So, what was _that_ all about?" Schanke asked grinning. Nick just shook his head and turned back to the reports on the desk. Trying to convince Schanke that he really had no idea what Nat was up to would only be digging himself in deeper. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. "So what's going on?" Nick said, eyeing Nat's actions from the safety of the doorway. "Schanke thinks you've whisked me away for a romantic tryst." Nat finished drawing a third vial of blood from Maeve's inner arm, applied a square of gauze, and bent Maeve's arm up to hold it in place. "As I understand it, this all started when you announced that my blood 'stinks'," Maeve said wryly. "I just said...." "I don't know why I didn't think of this before," Nat interrupted, gathering more equipment and oblivious to the conversation around her. "It would explain a lot about the Pact." She paused, looking thoughtful. "But as cause or effect there's no way to know." Nick looked concerned as Nat started towards him with a large needle and another handful of vials. "Wait," Nick said, catching her wrists gently. "Slow down and tell us what you're talking about." Nat took a deep breath and Nick released her hands. Then she looked Nick in the eyes for the first time since he'd entered. "I don't know, Nick," she said, deliberately calming herself. She didn't want to set him up for yet another false hope. "It's just a theory...," her voice trailed off. "What theory?" Nick insisted, but Nat paused. "For a cure," Maeve broke the tension. Nick turned to stare at her. "She wants to see what happens when you mix witch and vampire blood." Wide-eyed with shock, Nick turned back to Nat, "You're not serious?" "It's never been tried, Nick. How could it have been? The two have been kept completely apart for millennia." Nick turned to stare again at Maeve, incredulous. "Don't look at me!" she said, checking her arm and tossing the gauze. "I just agreed to let her play around in my blood." "The idea hit me back at the park when you made that comment about Maeve's blood 'smelling different'. Now we know there's something strange about vampire blood-- " she hurried on as Nick frowned, "Extra chromosomes, to be exact. And we know from the last time...," her voice faltered for a moment, and Nick looked away. Nat gathered herself again and continued, "We _know_ that if those chromosomes are removed, you can become human." Nick's eyes met hers again with a cautious look of hope as she continued, "But if witch blood is 'strange' too, perhaps there is something about it we can use-- maybe even some biological base to thousands of years of taboo." "You mean if the oddities in my blood will destroy the oddities in his, we're home free? That's a pretty big 'if'!" Maeve's eyes darted toward Nick for a moment before meeting Nat's with a look of real concern. "But if it's _possible_...," Nick's voice was excited. I just want to _look_," Nat said very deliberately, in a vain attempt to hold Nick's hopes in check. "I _have_ spotted unusual characteristics in the blood I took from Maeve earlier," she admitted. 'Damn,' she thought, 'Nick was still grinning like a kid on Christmas morning! Maeve was right, the odds were just not on their side here.' "But for all we know they'll completely destroy each other." It wasn't working. "Or just run together into one really strange sample that will *still* boil in the sun! That's why I just want to do some _tests_...." In a flash of vampiric speed Nick was lying on one of the steel autopsy tables, rolling up his sleeve. "Take as much as you want," he said with a grin. Nat cursed again inwardly. This was still nothing more than a vague possibility-- a wild thought that made a certain intuitive sense-- but no more. If she hadn't needed a sample from him she wouldn't even have mentioned it. Nick was already beaming hope. She didn't want to have to be the one to bring him crashing back down again. "A few vials should do for now," Nat said as she started to work on him. "But what about the Pact? Is that going to be a problem?" "I don't see how." Maeve got up to get a drink of water, being careful to give the other two a wide berth. "I'm handing you blood voluntarily, as is Nick. What you do with it is up to you. As long as neither of us is actually _doing_ anything to the other we should be o.k." Nat finished getting Nick's samples. Before she could reach for the gauze the wound had nearly healed. "O.k. That should do it. Stop back by before you go on duty tonight and...." "I'm not going anywhere," Nick protested. "How can I go now?" "It's nearly dawn," Maeve warned, earning a nasty look from Nick. "She's right," Nat intervened. "I won't know anything for hours at least, Nick." He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, "Maybe _longer_ if I've got you breathing down my neck." Maeve gave a short laugh, "If _he_ starts breathing down your neck we'll all be in trouble." Nick, still high on hope, only laughed. "All right! I'm going." He grabbed his coat and headed out the door, "but I'll be back _first_ thing tonight." "Big surprise," Maeve said under her breath as he disappeared down the hall. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (6/11) by Dianne T. DeSha "I just don't know, Maeve," Nat said, dropping exhaustedly into a chair. "It looks good-- _perfect_ even. Maybe _too_ good. But I'm afraid what it might do to him...." "So you need more time to see that it lasts, that it doesn't damage anything vital. After almost 800 years he can wait another few days." Nat looked pointedly at the phone, its receiver sitting next to it on the desktop, then at Maeve. Ever since he had left, just before dawn that morning, Nick had called nearly every half- hour for word on their progress. At a quarter past ten, Maeve had finally refused to put Nat on again, hung up on him, and left it off the hook. "He is not going to wait," Nat sighed, brushing loose hair out of her face. "Well he's not going to have a choice!" Maeve snapped. Sometimes Nick's attitude toward Nat really ticked her off. Nat worked so hard to help him, to pull off the impossible because she cared so much about him, and half the time he seemed to just take her for granted. He almost never followed her instructions or advice. Obviously there were some things even centuries of experience just didn't improve. "Unless I agree to hand over my blood, this whole experiment's dead in the water." Nat winced at her choice of words. But Maeve was right, it had to be established up front. Still looking vaguely across the room, she steeled her nerve and asked, "Will you do it?" "Do what?" Maeve asked cautiously. Nat looked straight at Maeve, her eyes deadly serious. "If this works the way it seems to, then we're talking regular transfusions over a long period of time-- I don't even know how long. And if you change your mind half-way through, it's all for nothing. Are you willing to commit to this?" Maeve stared back for a moment, then sighed. "He really means a lot to you, doesn't he?" "Yes," Nat couldn't keep just _how_ much out of her voice. Maeve paused another moment, then rolled her eyes heavenward in exaggerated exasperation. "O.k., o.k. I'll do it." She turned serious again for a moment, meeting Nat's eyes. "I promise." Maeve's head snapped around toward the doorway just as the outer door slammed shut. Before the echo had died, Nick was in the doorway, stripping off a heavy hooded jacket, shades, and gloves.. "Well?" he demanded. "The sun _can't_ be down yet," Maeve said in surprise as she absently returned the phone's receiver to its cradle. Nick's eyes followed the movement and he gave her a dirty look. "Close enough." "Nick, you've got to be more careful-- you're _smoking_!" Nat said anxiously as she tried to examine him. Maeve's nose wrinkled and she made a face. "Ugh, barbecued vampire!" she muttered. Nick ignored her and brushed Nat away, "I'm fine. Will it work?" "The tests look good," Nat admitted, trying not to sound as excited as she felt. "I haven't been able to pin down the irregularities in Maeve's blood-- the cell structure seems slightly different-- but I don't quite understand it yet. When I combine the two, however, the extra chromosomes in your blood _are_ destroyed, almost immediately. The resulting sample _looks_ normal...." "Then it works!" Nick interrupted, breathless with excitement. "It seems to, so far," Nat hedged. "I just checked the combined sample I did first thing this morning and I don't see any change. I've taken it out into the sun several times-- no reaction." Nick started to interrupt again, but she cut him off. "I need more time, Nick. To make sure the extra chromosomes don't return, to make sure there are no further, more damaging changes." "And if not?" Nick persisted. "Then we have a cure," Nat finally admitted with a smile. "One that could really work." Nick wrapped his arms around Nat in a great bear hug, then sank down on the edge of the desk. "By the end of the week I could be human again!" he marveled, eyes dancing. "Not hardly!" Maeve interrupted his reverie. "This isn't a miracle quick-fix, Nick. If it works, we'll be in this for the long haul." Nick turned back to Nat, who nodded, "As far as I can tell, the blood must be mixed in equal quantities to work. It can't be stored; the rest of the blood I took this morning was in the refrigerator maybe six or seven hours, but already it's ineffective. We'll have to try building up the concentration in your system over time. Maeve can only spare so much; I'll have to put her on a regular donation schedule. If we start taking too much, too fast, I'm afraid her blood will get weaker, less effective." "Not to mention how _I'll_ end up feeling," Maeve broke in. Nick turned to her, his enthusiasm undimmed, "Surely you know other witches, friends that you could talk into a few donations? It wouldn't have to be all from you...," his voice trailed off as he found Maeve looking at him with a mixture of horror and shock. "You want me to start a _blood drive_?" Maeve asked incredulously. "You're mad! You don't have any idea what you're saying!" At the hurt look on his face she buried her face in her hands for a moment. Without looking up she quoted: " 'With any luck you will never meet a vampire in this life, but if you do, take care that you do not so much as learn its _name_!' " She sat up and looked straight at Nick, "I was taught that at a very young age, along with a great deal of fear and loathing and hatred. Every witch I know believes in that maxim. Knowing _anything_ is dangerous; it puts you at risk of accidentally exposing one-- of offending a vampire under the law of the Pact. _No one_ is willing to risk that!" "But you are," Nick said quietly. "And everyone I know already fears for my sanity." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Trust me, it would do no good. And I don't want word of my involvement to get around any faster than necessary." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Maeve stood in the apartment hallway, dumbstruck, until the kittens' imminent escape forced her to step back into the apartment and close the door. She took a deep breath and stared at the piece of paper in her hand. Then in a sudden fit of panic she locked the door, fumbled with the bolt and the chain, and finally pushed the bookcase half against it. Breathing hard, she sank down to the floor and read it again: "Zion shall be redeemed with judgment, and her converts with righteousness. And the destruction of the transgressors and of the sinners shall be together, and they that forsake the Lord shall be consumed." _The Fire of God_ It had been waiting in a plain white envelope in front of her door. _Inside_ a locked complex. She had ignored the hang-up calls that had become almost commonplace in the past few days, because she had not wanted to believe it. But it was true: Gideon was back, and it was all starting again. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It began with the phone calls. Once... twice a day... then more often-- simple hang-ups. It happened often enough at a clinic-- a woman's carefully mustered courage suddenly dissipating at the sound of a voice on the other end of the line. Most eventually called back, Maeve believed. She needed to believe that. But soon it started at home as well. And the pauses before the connection was broken slowly lengthened-- and in the tiny breaths of sound she did not hear fear, desperation, or pain. Only a calm, determined patience that made her skin crawl. She reported the calls, arranged for a trace... and they stopped immediately, with a chilling suddenness that unnerved her even more. Then, on her car one morning, the next morning-- a card so small she almost missed it. "Jesus Saves!" she read as she pulled it out from under the wiper blade. It was one of those pre-printed "save the sinners" cards that were passed out by the thousands at rallies and prayer meetings. Anonymous and impartially persistent. Until she turned it over. A biblical verse, inked in neat script on the back: "Your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity; your lips have spoken lies, your tongue hath muttered perverseness." The card waiting on her desk when she returned from lunch was slightly more specific: "Maleficos non patieris vivare." The verse had even been cited for her, presumably to remind her of the divine authority behind the command. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (7/11) by Dianne T. DeSha "Look what they got up at the front desk tonight." Detective Morris unrolled a piece of paper the size of a small poster with a dramatic flourish, "It arrived with the regular reports." It had been a slow night, and Nick and Schanke joined the other detectives who gathered about in an attempt to avoid old reports and seemingly endless paperwork. Someone had designed an "official alert notice" with a decidedly unofficial message handwritten neatly in red. Nick grew even paler than usual as he read it: _"For ye are like unto whitened sepulchers, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity."_ Beware, for there is wickedness amongst you and a great evil in your midst. But the Light of God will discover this uncleanness and expose it to the blinding illumination of Righteousness. But lo, if this uncleanness remain amongst you, surely the righteous shall be struck down with the wicked. _The Fire of God_ "Oh *pul-eeeeeze*," Schanke rolled his eyes and turned back to his desk as Morris repeated that no, no one was taking credit and no one knew how this had been added to the usual reports. "What is it with these people? You know, if they were so interested in warning people they could try to be a little more specif...," he broke off as he saw Nick's face. "Hey, partner, you all right?" "Yeah, Schanke, I'm fine," Nick mumbled unconvincingly. 'Who?... How?... What did they know and what would they do with that information?' "Hey, you're not taking this _seriously_ are you?" Schanke looked at Nick with incredulous concern. "These nuts just want attention, so they go around making all their little predictions and trying to get everyone all riled up. It's nothing." "I know, Schanke. I kn...." The slapping sound of the dropped folders and the papers falling every which way turned every head in the room. The expression of horror on Maeve's face as she stared at the poster in Morris' hand brought a moment of absolute silence. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> As she turned from the take out counter, lunch in hand, he was there. His voice was low and choked and his eyes burned with barely- repressed fury, "Repent your sins and accept salvation before the fires of Hell consume you and all you hold dear!" She stood for a moment, frozen in shock, staring into those eyes. Then she shifted the tray in her hands and made to walk by. He stepped in front of her again. "Woe unto the wicked! It shall be ill with him." "*Let* me pass!" she commanded, her voice matching his quiet determination. "Leave me alone!" Turning her shoulder and stepping further to the side, she strode past him. Grabbing her food, she left the tray and headed for the door. His voice rose in the ringing tones of a preacher, silencing the horseplay of the high schoolers in the corner and the clanging of the fry cooks in the back. "Oh Jerusalem, wash thine heart from wickedness, that thou mayest be saved. How long shall thy vain thoughts lodge within thee?" The words echoed after her from the unlikely pulpit. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> All the noise came rushing back into the room as those nearest helped Maeve-- still slightly dazed, but recovering-- gather her papers and Schanke led her to the chair at his desk. As everyone gathered around curiously, he started to shoo them away, but was stopped by Maeve's hand on his arm. "No, it's all right," she said, her tone still one of shock. She shook her head as if to clear it, took a deep breath, and seemed to recover her composure. "It's me. He's talking about _me_." "Are you sure?" Nick asked her. She looked directly at him and realized what he had feared. She shook her head slightly, then spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'm sure. He's done this before. It's Gideon, and he's after me _again_." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. While Maeve spoke with the captain in her office, Nick sat at his desk, caught between relief and distress by Maeve's situation. The persecutions, the hunting, the torture, the death. It had all happened so many times over the centuries.... Schanke, half-heartedly filling in reports at the next desk, spoke without looking up. "You know, Nick, I just can't _believe_ this creep harassing her like this. I mean, sure, she's a little weird, but _death threats_? No wonder she's been acting...." He looked up to see his partner's patented thousand-mile stare and groaned. "Geez, Knight, not again! Hello? Earth to Nick?...." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> *Wurzburg-- 1629* It was late evening when the carriage arrived in town and pulled up in front of the inn. From it emerged three figures, two men and a woman, dressed in dust-covered, yet elegant traveling clothes. The woman stared at a great pile of wood stacked around a tall stake, carefully arranged in the town square, and shuddered slightly. "The madness is still here. We should continue on; it is not safe." The older man laughed aloud. "These peasants hunt witches, not us. It is _we_ who hunt _them_, my dear." As LaCroix moved off to examine the executioner's handiwork more closely, Janette turned to the younger man at her side. "It will be all right," Nick said, kissing her briefly. At the same moment, the three turned towards the sound of a large and angry crowd, moving towards them from the far fields. "Nicholas...," Janette started in a worried voice. LaCroix strode back to them, a sinister grin on his face, his eyes dancing with excitement, "They've caught another one. They're bringing her in now." Moments later, the mob rounded a corner and came into view. Twenty or thirty men, lit only by the light from madly flickering torches, surrounded a tall, strong woman, maybe forty years old. She had been stripped to the waist, her hands bound behind her back. There were red burn marks visible on her face and breasts. Janette turned away from the sight. "I want to _leave_." The other vampires ignored her. Nick stopped one of the men on the fringe of the crowd as it passed. "Who is she?" he asked, fascinated. "Witch from past the river. Bein' taken to the examiner to be questioned proper," the man said. "But what did she do?" the younger vampire persisted in excited curiosity. The man looked at Nick in confusion, "She's a _witch_." As Nick tried to put the question again, LaCroix stopped him. The man took his chance to catch up with the crowd. "That's all he knows or cares, Nicholas, and all you need to." Reluctantly, Nick followed LaCroix and Janette into the inn. Late that night, Nick landed just out of sight of the guard at the front of the jail. They had split up to hunt, but tonight Nick's hunger was that of curiosity. Introducing himself as a stranger, only in town for the night, who wished to speak to the head examiner, he gained admittance to the chamber where the tired, middle-aged man was sitting up late, preparing notes and questions for the morning. Eager to boast over this latest triumph of justice, the examiner happily answered Nick!s questions. "This is as solid a case of witchcraft as I have ever seen," he shook his head. "She should have been brought in long ago. A woman living alone and apart, an easy target for the Dark One. Her husband dead of smallpox a score of years now. Her only child, a daughter, disappeared most mysteriously when we began to uncover the first evidence of witchcraft in this part of the country a few years back-- she just vanished one night without a trace. Her mother claimed to know nothing, but the circumstances are highly suspicious. "But most damning are the reports that she has met late at night with women, women who from that time forth were barren or who lost the child from their wombs. She has acted as midwife to women whose infants were stillborn or who died themselves in childbed. And by the report of many women she has worked great miracles of healing-- _without sanction of the church_." His voice had dropped low and his eyes were frightened, "Such power can only come from the Devil himself." "So she will be burned tomorrow?" "No, she must be questioned, forced to confess her misdeeds for the sake of her immortal soul, and to name those who have also joined forces with the armies of Satan." He sighed and sat back, "It will be some time before she has relieved her conscience, confessed every sin, and can be sent to her Maker with some hope of Eternal Salvation." "Then the stake in the courtyard... ?" Nick asked. "For another, brought to justice last spring. After sufficient torture, she finally identified several others guilty of her sin, including Frau Kaserin, whom you saw arrested this evening." "May I speak to Frau Kaserin-- alone?" "It is far too dangerous! We still do not know the extent of her demonic powers...," the man's voice trailed off as his eyes met those of his visitor. Nick looked the examiner directly in the eye and said in a firm tone, "I will not be harmed." The man nodded slowly. "I will speak to her alone, by your orders." "Yes, of course," the examiner said slowly, entranced by the vampire's gaze. "I will instruct the guards myself." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (8/11) by Dianne T. DeSha Maeve had talked to Captain Cohen and, with the exception of a few of the more conservative religious types, who studiously ignored her anyway, the entire department had been remarkably supportive. Her frequent-- sometimes seemingly endless-- visits to the precinct seemed to qualify her as one of the family. The dispatchers kept her address at hand. Every uniformed officer had a copy of Gideon's description. And over the next few days she saw more than her share of patrol cars cruising both her block and around the clinic. Even _Schanke_ was giving her a bit more leeway. It really touched her. 'Maybe this time it will be all right,' she finally dared to think as she grabbed her bag and closed the office door behind her. Gideon hadn't done anything in days. 'Maybe this time I won't have to run again.' She sensed him suddenly as she stepped into the stairwell. Intense, immediate, overwhelming... definitely *not* Nick. Forcing her steps to remain even, she continued down. He was on the landing-- tall, pale skin contrasting starkly against the black fabric that enveloped him-- his very age emanating from him like an icy breeze against her skin. She forced her eyes to look through him, passing on the stair as if she saw nothing and no one at all. "M'lady?" As the silky voice whispered in her ear from ten feet away, Maeve had to repress the chill that ran up her spine. How could a phrase sound so polite and yet so deadly? She turned around with a casual disinterest, "Yes?" In the space of a blink he was beside her, nearly touching. "I believe we have mutual acquaintances about whom perhaps we should speak?" Maeve steeled herself against the shudder that wanted to come over her at his nearness. As her mind screamed 'Danger!' she forced a bland smile. "I have nothing to discuss with _you_," she responded, just a touch of disdain coloring the last word. Just then, they were interrupted by the sound of the door at the top of the stairwell opening. As she looked up, she felt rather than saw him vanish like the shadow of a thought. The next night Maeve was waiting for him. She sat alone, at a small table away from the crowds of university students that frequented the cafeteria. She had worn the forest green tunic top, the one whose wide neck bared as much of her neck and shoulders as possible. As she felt his approach at the edge of her mind she smiled slightly, and gathered her long hair into a makeshift knot at the back of her head, displaying a length of throat that would have been positively indecent had mortals the same tastes as those who fed upon them. >From _this_ stalker she had nothing-- or everything?-- to fear. He took the seat across from her with such speed and effortless style that it seemed as though he'd always been there. Without looking up, Maeve deliberately lingered over another bite of the spaghetti, then pushed the plate carelessly away from her... and towards her visitor. "You wished to ask me something?" she observed indifferently. "I am given to understand that you have been spending a great deal of time with Nicholas. I would know your intentions." "Oh my," she said, with just the hint of a smile, "How delightfully _quaint_ of you. Unfortunately, I don't see how the time I spend with Nick is any of your concern." She raised the garlic bread to her lips, and blew across it as if to cool it. Her visitor ignored her. "Nicholas has not always been appropriately," he paused thoughtfully, "_discriminating_ in his choice of companions." His slight smile was as insincere as it was mesmerizing. But it was all pure charm-- this one was far too careful to attempt anything that could be construed as an invasion of her mind. "I am naturally concerned for his well- being." "You worry that he will be 'indiscreet' and that I will bewitch him, possess his soul, enslave him for the rest of time?" She appeared to consider the idea carefully before smiling sweetly back at him. "No, I'm afraid that's _your_ territory. I wouldn't presume to interfere," she added with a stunning insincerity that suggested she'd do just as she pleased given the chance. Languidly picking up the book she'd laid down at his approach, Maeve ran her finger along the edge. Starting with a transparent show of surprise, she stopped for a moment to study the blood welling up from the shallow cut. "How careless of me!" she clucked, reaching across the table until the finger was directly in front of his face. "Now see what I've done?" She was rewarded by the slightest tensing of his body, a bare sheen of amber in his eyes, and a deliberate closing of his mouth. "You'd do best to look to those you hold dear," her companion said with a deliberate insouciance. Maeve laughed in his face. "Really! How unimaginative of you. I'd expected more creativity from the mysterious... what is it? 'Salamander'?" A disdainful look showed what he thought of that remark. Maeve didn't care, she didn't think much of it herself. "There is no one you can touch. _Sara de Gaia_," she made a malicious point of emphasizing the name for him, "is a witch. My cats are my familiars... the Pact may not be clear on such things, but you're not so much the fool as to volunteer to test it. If you harm Natalie, you'll have Nick to answer to. Who else means enough to me?" "I must say," he responded as though she'd not spoken, his voice again at its silkiest, most seductive, "you put up quite the show. But can you tell me that your soul does not quail inside you at the thought of what might happen?" "There's only one way you'll ever know," she countered. "Fair enough," he said... and was gone. Maeve swallowed hard and tried to stop the sudden shaking of her hands as the thought of being controlled, _enslaved_ by that creature made her stomach twist. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. "Behold, I will send for many fishers, saith the LORD, and they shall fish them; and after will I send for many hunters, and they shall hunt them from every mountain and every hill, and out of the holes of the rocks. For mine eyes are upon all their ways: they are not hid from my face, neither is their iniquity hid from mine eyes. And first I will recompense their iniquity and their sin double...." The faltering, unsteady light of the setting sun through the high windows threw frightening shadows across Gideon's pale and haggard face. He'd been here since dawn, his mind intent upon his holy task. The only time he'd faltered was when a family had come to baptize their child. A tiny thing, dressed in purest white, welcomed into the joy of a life in the Spirit. The way his own child would never be.... Rachel had wanted to adopt, but she had only been afraid, shaken by their first ordeal. He had helped her to strengthen her faith, to trust in the promise they had been given. And when she had become pregnant again, despite all the nonsense from the unbelieving doctors, it had been _proof_ that he was right, that their house, like those of the patriarchs of old, would flourish in the Sight of God. But when he had looked again upon the happy family gathered by the fount, the mother with a glow of joy and pride in her eyes that he would never see in Rachel's, he had felt his heart twist within him. His child, who had never been touched by this base world, awaited him in Heaven. But Rachel-- his beloved Rachel- - who had died in the midst of mortal sin, her soul condemned to eternal damnation by that spawn of _Satan_...! He would hold his vigil here all night. The minister had several times tried to persuade him to rest, but Gideon refused. It all built up to this point. If he were to be a soldier for a heavenly cause, the cleansing, devouring, purifying Fire of God, he must be pure. He must be prepared.... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Nat looked up as Nick walked into the lab. He smiled at her.... "*Catch*!" With effortless speed he caught the bag of blood hurling past him, and frowned at Maeve where she sat on one of the tables. "Don't look at me like that!" she chided. "Drink it!" At his puzzled, slightly shocked look she displayed the bandage on her arm. "It's your first treatment!" He sniffed the bag and his nose involuntarily wrinkled in distaste. Maeve only grinned wickedly, "Bottoms up!" "_Transfusion_, not _lunch_," Nat insisted, taking the pint bag from Nick and reaching for a needle and IV line. "Later," he responded with a sheepish grin. "Schanke's waiting outside. We think we have a lead on the guy who's killing those prostitutes. One of the girls, Maureen, knows something. She says she knows you from the clinic and she'll only talk to you. We've set up a meeting with her, but she's scared and she won't wait long." As Maeve gathered her things, Nat caught Nick's arm, "I want to see you back here the minute you're done." She held up the bag. "This won't last long and it'll be at least another month before I can take more!" "I _promise_," Nick assured her, flashing that smile she could never resist. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. As the Caddy pulled up in front of the nightclub, Maeve's jaw dropped in shock. She stared at Nick in the rearview mirror. "I'm _not_ going in there!" "Oh come on!," Schanke insisted, turning around in the seat. "What is the matter _now_? If you're worried about Gideon...." "No," Maeve insisted, her voice dropping ominously low as her gaze hardened in growing anger. "You can't be _serious_!" she nearly hissed at Nick. He couldn't honestly have believed that she'd simply follow him into such a place just on his say-so! Well he was *wrong*! Her friends may think her insane, but she had no death wish... much less a wish for a fate far worse. "No," she repeated. If looks could burn Nick would have been smoke and ash by now. "It's too dangerous," she snapped at him. "You two go. If Maureen is there you can bring her out to me." 'Eight hundred years indeed!' she seethed. 'How could anyone have survived so long and still be such a *bri...' "Fine!" Schanke announced, startling her into remembering his presence. "Nick, _we'll_ go." Turning back he snapped at Maeve, "And if it's so 'dangerous' we end up _dead_ I hope it won't be _too_ much trouble to send flowers to the funeral!" "Schanke!" Nick protested in vain. "I'm not the one who came up with the bright idea for this little jaunt, Detective," Maeve snapped back at him. "You two will be fine, but _I'm_ waiting in the car." Maeve sat there, fighting the urge to run at the sensation of vampires-- dozens of them!-- only yards away behind the door. Nick's helpless little shrug and apologetic grin as they entered hadn't made her any less angry, either. 'He never _thinks_!' she fumed. 'If Nat does cure him she'll be lucky if he doesn't walk into a bullet the first day!' She wondered again if she was doing the right thing. Her head was throbbing and she was still a bit dizzy from giving the blood. 'He'd _better_ go back for that transfusion tonight,' she thought. 'If he starts blowing this off, I'm outta here!' And now Schanke had chalked up one more on his list of her imaginary sins. She sighed. After this she was heading *home*. A hot bath, some incense, soft music... she finally started to relax a bit just planning the evening. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (9/11) by Dianne T. DeSha He had pulled Rachel from that God-forsaken place of death, hoping he wasn't too late-- for the child she carried, or for the immortal soul she endangered. Supporting her carefully as she stumbled, he led Rachel into the church and eased to his knees beside her at the altar rail. He fixed his eyes on the Cross of the Redeemer above the altar, its pure stark lines wreathed about with holy fire, and began to pray with more emotion than he'd ever felt: "Praise the glory of His grace, wherein He hath made us accepted and beloved. In Whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace...." Rachel groaned softly and the pressure of her hand on his arm grew tighter. Gideon recoiled automatically from the thought of what she'd done, of the depths of sin into which she'd been drawn. His world was dissolving around him and he desperately searched for sense, frantically seeking answers from the Scripture that had always guided his life. Gathering her against his shoulder he continued, as though by his very fervor he could undo the harm that had been done to her. "And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him...." Divine grace. Gideon believed in it, begged God for it. Rachel had been a true and faithful believer all her life, a saint walking the face of this wretched earth. Surely God could forgive her one mistake? One horrible, tragic mistake.... As she leaned more heavily against him and the grip of her hand loosened, he prayed with all his heart and all his faith, "For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. Be not afraid, only believe...." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> But God had taken her from him. He hadn't known why at the time. He barely remembered going through the motions of the police investigation, the lawyer's plea of temporary insanity and a suspended sentence, the funeral. But afterwards, when everything else returned to normal, he was left with a gaping hole in his heart. It was then that he decided that he had to know _why_. A surprisingly small amount of searching had revealed the reason with the blinding clarity of an epiphany. The Serpent who had seduced his beloved wife away from her God, the monster who'd forced Rachel to... Gideon choked on the very thought. The one who'd been watching, *gloating*, as his beloved Rachel committed the most horrible of mortal sins-- was a _witch_, a servant of Satan himself. She had taken his Rachel, and caused that pure soul to be defiled. And it was because of her that they were dead-- both Rachel and the child she'd carried, the child that was a sign of the divine grace they'd been granted. "Their works are the works of iniquity, and the act of violence is in their hands. Their feet run to evil and make haste to shed innocent blood...." This Whore of Babylon must be stopped before she destroyed more lives, led more souls from the heavenly path. But he had come to this place to purge it of the contamination in its midst... and found the corruption and decay already spread. With nightfall St. Barbara's had closed. The minister would not listen to Gideon's explanation, nor recognize his extraordinary calling. He spoke of rest and peace and forgiveness, his eyes blinded to the very one anointed by God to save such as he from the demon who roamed the city streets unchecked. Now Gideon knelt on the front steps of this once holy place, now infected by the same evil that had tainted his poor Rachel. Old Sister Ruth, who had prophesied God's Will and healed with His Spirit for nearly three generations, had relayed God's promise to them on their wedding day. Now a witch sprung from the very depths of Hell had destroyed it all. Gideon squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again. This weakness of the body was a test of his faith, his devotion, nothing more. He shifted slightly on knees too numb to feel and fought a wave of dizziness. The evil must be destroyed and the holy places cleansed. God would give him the strength for this holy task. He prayed: "In God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me. Shall they escape by iniquity? in thine anger cast down the people, O God." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Walking home, she sensed him again. The presence just near enough to know it would be noticed. Without breaking stride Sara turned into an alley-- dark, deserted. Pausing midway, she looked up between the sheltering buildings to the glow of the waning moon and deeper to the points of fiery starlight. She felt rather than heard him alight a distance behind her. Her eyes still on the stars, she traced the constellations. The Pleiades, Cassiopeia, Andromeda. The ones she knew by even older names.... "I hear you have a foolish and careless child." The voice was low and dark and sinuous. "I hear we _both_ have foolish and careless children," she responded without taking her gaze from the heavens. And he stood before her. She casually dropped her gaze to meet the haunting eyes. The slightest smile curled his lips. "This place must be cold for one who feels the passing of every season," his own breath escaping without a trace into the chill night air. "How much more so for one who has no warmth to call his own?" "You and she are not blood kin." She smiled, "No, indeed, we are free from the compulsions of blood." "Yet the bond of blood is eternal." "And how do you react to the sting of that serpent's tooth? Do you move away... or cut off the serpent's head?" It was his turn then to gaze at the strip of the heavens' expanse visible above them. "The stars are called 'constant,' yet even they change... so slowly that few will ever see it." "And some are not so bored with their existence that they spend their evenings calculating a slip in the dance of the stars," she observed with equal indifference. "Lives so ephemeral...." "Yes, as ephemeral as the play of sunlight on the water or the smile on the face of a child, yet just as beautiful." He turned again to look at her. "They will destroy each other." She met his gaze evenly. "Or establish a peace the like of which this world has never seen." He laughed outright at that. "You would style them ambassadors of a new world order, then? But the world _has_ seen such peaces made. Athens and Sparta, Rome and the Tribes, all the petty kingdoms of Europe over the years, the 'Holy Land' from time immemorial-- the list is endless. Historical, momentous peaces forged between ancient enemies... yet always ending in the same, eternal shedding of blood." His face took on a patronizing air, "It is senseless folly; such things will never be." Sara returned his laugh, "Perhaps, but it makes a better hobby than counting the stars, no?" *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Much as Maeve tried to relax, the strain of waiting for Gideon to resurface was beginning to show. She wanted so much to believe that chapter of her life was over and done with, but she knew in her soul it wasn't true. What was Gideon up to? What would his next move be? Would it ever really end? Giving up on the hot bath, Maeve fed the kittens and stumbled to bed. Maybe an early night would get her enough sleep to deal with the problem.... >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "Don't do this." Maeve sighed and paused to look at the pleading woman in the doorway. It was no use; she _had_ to get out of L.A. She just couldn't take it anymore. She resumed piling her belongings into the cardboard box. "I have to, Debra." "You can't just let him win like this!" She slammed her 'St. Dogbert' mug on the top of the pile harder than she'd intended and winced at the sound. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she turned to the woman beside her. "He follows me night and day. He sits in front of the clinic with a sign announcing that you harbor 'a witch and an unholy murderer' in here. He is *still* trying to get the police to arrest me for Rachel's 'murder.' And in the last few days he's segued from 'God will repay you in hell' to 'I will wreak vengeance upon the earth'." She flopped down into the chair she'd sat at for years now while trying to _help_ desperate people. '*Dammit*! Just trying to _help_ a little! How _dare_ he... !' She sighed & looked up. "He's getting worse, Debra." *Much* worse. "And I'm scared. For me, for you, for the clinic and the women here-- for everyone I know. And it has to stop. I've got to get out." "Do you have somewhere to go?" Debra asked, her worry evident in the creases of her face. Maeve managed a smile. "I've got a friend who lives miles and miles from here." In another _country_, just for good measure. "She'll put me up for a while, help me get settled. No one will know where I am, so he'll just have to get on with his life. Once he's done that, once I have my _life_ back, maybe I can come back." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Maeve woke to the choking feeling of cloth crushed over her mouth and the weight of a strange body upon hers. Instinctively clawing and fighting against the shapeless dark, she nonetheless succumbed to the penetrating, nauseatingly sweet smell... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (10/11) by Dianne T. DeSha In the shuttered darkness of the loft, Nick thrashed restlessly about between satin sheets. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Half-conscious in the filthy cell, she felt his presence immediately. Watching in silence as he mesmerized the two guards stationed in her cell into deep sleep and forgetfulness, she waited for him to speak. "Frau Kaserin?" The woman was suspended by a manacle on one wrist, hung just high enough to prevent her from sitting in any comfort. Blisters had risen and broken on her burns, dried blood stained the corner of her mouth, and bruises were darkening on every inch of exposed skin. She gave a dry, choked laugh. "Do you see anyone else in this hellhole?" He stepped forward until he was facing her across only a few feet of dust-filled, foul-smelling air. "I am...." "I don't want to know," she cut him off. "Pardon?" Nick responded in surprise. "I know what you are and that's enough. I have no wish to be burdened with your name." Nick fell silent for a moment, then dropped any attempt at courtesy. "Is it true?" "What, that I am a witch born? Surely you know that already. That I follow the old ways? Of that I am not ashamed." She paused for a moment. "But that's not what they've accused me of, I'm sure. So what are their claims?" She closed her eyes as Nick recounted the charges against her, but otherwise her face remained impassive. When he finished she was silent a moment. Then she whispered under her breath, "Always the same, turning knowledge into evil, skill into sorcery." "Did you do it?" her visitor asked again. She opened her eyes and stared at him until he looked away in embarrassment. "I am a midwife and a healer, and very good at what I do. My healing skills were taught to me by my mother, who received them from her mother, not some Christian 'Devil'. The women who were dismissed by the church's doctors knew where to come for help, and I have delivered hundreds of healthy babies of grateful mothers in my life. But newborns and women in childbed die, and not even the most skillful hands can always save them." She paused, her eyes lost in memories. She returned to the present with a shake of the head that made her wince in pain. She looked up at her questioner and continued, "And if a woman was attacked and raped by a nobleman or forced to become a priest's mistress, and if she got a child of that, a child which could have no life were it born, I could relieve her of that burden. If a family was starving already and could not afford another hungry mouth, or a woman was weak or ill and not likely to survive childbed, I could give her herbs to keep from conceiving-- regardless of her husband!s demands of her. "But I have harmed _none_!" "Then you will be freed," Nick countered. "Nicholas, you are so naive!" Janette spoke from the doorway, making Nick start. "She is already condemned. Even had she not been spoken against by another...." "Anna is no witch. She is a loving, _Christian_, woman... a friend," the woman!s voice choked off. "She has condemned you to death!" Nick stared at her in amazement. "What kind of friend can she be?" "She has been tortured for months on end-- burned, stretched, raped, mutilated," her voice broke again. "She no longer knows who or what she is, let alone who I am. Her accusation will buy her a quick death by strangling before the fire is lit. I don!t blame her for what she has done," she swallowed hard. "I only pray I can resist doing the same myself when the time comes." "But if she has done nothing wrong, the execution must be stopped!" Nick was growing increasingly more agitated as Janette and the accused woman looked on in silence. "You must be freed; the authorities must be notified! If you have done no harm, by what right can they condemn you to death?" >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Nick sat up suddenly, startled to find himself in the present. Wiping his face with his hand, desperately trying to remove the smell of rotting straw and blood and fear, he looked at the clock beside him. It told him the same thing his body did-- the sun had set; time to get up for work. He flopped back onto the pillows, unable to shake the foreboding he felt. Maeve was in danger. Gideon's sudden silence would not be the end. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Nick pulled up in front of Maeve's apartment, trying to sense her presence. He'd be late, and Cohen would give him grief, but he had to be sure. Gideon's sudden silence had made him jumpy. As he reached her floor, he was certain she was gone. 'So she's out for the evening, she hardly has to check in with you every time,' he thought. 'She's probably down at the lab with Natalie.' Rounding the corner, he came face to face with Natalie. Catching her by the shoulders to steady her as they almost collided, he could see the worry in her eyes. "Nat, what's wrong?" Looking past her, he saw Maeve's apartment door standing open and the kittens sitting in the open doorway staring at him, their eyes glowing amber in the darkness of the apartment. "She's not here, Nick," Natalie said with a steadiness belied by her racing heartbeat. "The door was open, there are signs of struggle by the bed...." Her clinical voice wavered slightly, "Somebody took her, Nick." She held up a card. "_Gideon_ took her." Nick looked at the card and turned it over to read the flowing script on the back: "The House of God must be cleansed by sacrifice. The Fire of Heaven shall descend upon the wicked and burn the evil from their souls, and once again righteous men shall walk the earth in the light of God." And added in shaky block capitals across the bottom: "_Thou shall not suffer a witch to live._" >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "_Maleficos non patieris vivare_," the cold voice came from the doorway of the cell. "Exodus, chapter 22, verse 18. That's always been a favorite of mine actually." Janette gave LaCroix a disgusted look as he entered the cell. "Nicholas, really! A witch is just another mortal, doomed to die as they all do. This isn!t worth your time." The witch followed him with eyes narrowed in anger and disgust. "Hundreds of years of this and the task is almost complete," LaCroix gloated with a smile. "Soon the last witch will die and their kind will come to an end. And all because of righteous crusaders for God!s Holy Justice-- as you once were, my dear Nicholas." "And tens of thousands of innocent women die," the shackled woman raged. "Woman _devoted_ to that same God, with no suspect blood in their veins." LaCroix shrugged, "And what does that mean to us, so long as they also catch such as you?" "We will _not_ die out," the witch insisted as LaCroix laughed aloud. Her eyes slipped out of focus for a moment, then she turned to her original visitor with a look of surprise on her face. "And for that, one day, you will be grateful." LaCroix snorted, "_Grateful_? For what?" She turned a look of pure contempt on him, "I did not speak to _you_." LaCroix growled at Nick, "Leave this nonsense and return to the hunt!" "It is too dangerous," Janette insisted. "In such a place we risk exposing a real witch with nothing more than a careless glance." "Very well," LaCroix agreed, exasperated. "Then we leave now, while there's still some part of the night left. Nicholas, come!" LaCroix strode out of the room without a backward glance. Janette met the witch's eyes for a moment. A certain understanding passed between them-- a knowledge of how the world worked and of a woman's place in it. Then Janette turned away. "Nicholas, we must leave." And she too was gone. Nick stood for a moment, unable to meet the witch's eyes. "What can be done?" he finally asked. "Nothing, now." She sighed. "I am lucky at least that I have no family to be hurt by this. My husband is dead, my daughter safely away. She begged me to come with her, but I couldn't leave. I was still too sorely needed here," she swallowed hard at the memory. "When we said good-bye, we knew we would not meet again in this life." "If I free you, you can still join her," Nick said hopefully. "You could travel far before they began to follow." "No," she said firmly, restraining his growing excitement. "They've broken one leg and wrenched the other until I can neither feel it nor move it." Nick started to protest, but again she cut him off. "No. I am a healer and I am far _too_ certain of what they have done to me. I cannot travel at all unless I am carried, and even then it would be torture. Besides, I was very careful not to learn where my daughter has gone so that I could not betray her when it came to this. I have nowhere to go. Here I was born and here I will die." When he just stood there unmoving, she continued. "Nicholas," he started to hear her speak his name. "Go now. Your friend is right, it is too dangerous here now for anyone. Besides, what I most desire now you cannot give me." "And what is that?" "A swift death." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- Benighted Walks (11/11) by Dianne T. DeSha Maeve woke again to a crushing pressure at her waist. Opening her eyes slowly against the lingering dizziness she found herself staring at her own feet, dangling inches above rain-slicked shingles. With a great effort she raised her head, only to have it collide against something hard behind her. 'I'm actually seeing _stars_,' she thought wildly as she rested there for a dazed moment. Once her eyes refocused she realized that it was true-- nothing impeded her view of the night sky arching above her. 'Nothing above, nothing below...,' the vertigo finally shocked her brain into orienting itself. She was on a roof. (A steep, peaked rain-slicked roofhighabovetheground... *don't* look down....) The hard surface behind her was a large cross at the center of a large, four-sided roof. (A church roof, then?) She was tied to it by ropes tight around her waist, caught somehow on the wood behind her. Her wrists were bound to the cross-piece on either side above her head. (What the hell... ?) Then she heard a noise behind her. Within moments he was standing before her, a blazing torch in his hand that made Maeve flinch backwards. 'This is _insane_,' her mind screamed. 'No one _burns_ witches anymore!' But looking into Gideon's eyes, reflecting red in the firelight, she realized that insanity was just what she was facing. "What are you doing?" she insisted in as level a voice as she could manage. "What do you _want_ from me?" Gideon turned away, staying back on the gently sloping section of roof that served as access for the few who ever had business up so high. "You must pay for the murders you have committed, the innocent lives you have taken. Repent now, or I will be sending you into the fiery depths of Hell." "I did not kill Rachel!" Maeve nearly screamed in frustration. "*You* let her bleed to dea...." He spun around with an almost inhuman snarl on his face. "*First* you stole away her soul into the depths of damnation, then you killed her and the child. How can you not be made to pay for such crimes?" With a clear effort of will Gideon regained a show of self-control. " 'But judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off,' " he quoted almost calmly, " 'and the LORD saw it and it _displeased_ him that there was no judgment.' " "Then let your God judge me," Maeve countered. Gideon wedged the torch between two shingles at the far end of the roof. "*I* have been chosen as the instrument of God's vengeance," he said, lifting an ominously shaped can in each hand and turning back towards her. " 'For he put on righteousness as a breastplate, and an helmet of salvation upon his head; and he put on the garments of vengeance for clothing, and was clad in zeal as a cloak.' " Maeve's attempts at releasing herself had only made the situation worse. With every movement she was sliding further down-- her feet nearly touching now-- and the ropes slid upward crushing her chest until she could barely breathe. Her wrists were burning as she was forced to pull against them simply to relieve the pressure on her chest. "But what about the Prince of _Peace_? ... the _love_ of God?" she managed to gasp out, desperate for some way to get through to him. "Does God not command you to love your enemies? To turn the other cheek?" She slid another inch lower and her fear and frustration turned to fury. "What happened to 'Vengeance is *mine*, sayeth the Lord'?" But Gideon was shaking his head determinedly as he opened the cans. "No. Lies! All lies! The words of Satan!" He punctuated each phrase with liberal amounts of gasoline splashed at Maeve's feet. " 'Go not aside after wizards, neither ask any thing of soothsayers, to be defiled by them'!" As Gideon returned with the torch, his voice rose again to the clear ringing tones of the revival tent preacher. " 'According to their deeds, accordingly he will repay, fury to his adversaries, recompense to his enemies!' " "*No*!" Gideon spun around in surprise *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. St. Barbara's was the nearest church she could think of and Nat headed for it, hoping Gideon would not have wanted to go far with his captive. Nick's call, relayed through dispatch, confirmed it. A moment later, she heard Schanke acknowledge from less than a mile away. As she pulled to the curb and got out of the car, she heard Schanke pull in behind her. "Back-up's on the way," he reassured her, drawing his weapon and surveying the area, "But nobody's over in this part of town right now. It'll take a few minutes." Nat caught Schanke's shoulder as he started toward the building. "There!" she pointed to the roof. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. The ropes at her wrists had loosened with her weight against them, but she was still not able to work her hands free. And the ropes now digging under her breasts cut off all but the barest whisper of air. And the ground was so far below.... "Let her go, Gideon," Nick's voice was authoritative, steady as he kept one eye on the torch Gideon held before him and the other warily on the cross to which Maeve was still bound. "Who are you?" Gideon demanded, the torch in his hand shaking with his fury. The smell of gasoline stung Nick's senses. "I'm a police officer. Let her go," he repeated, trying to catch Gideon's eyes in the flickering light. "No!" Gideon shouted with a religious fervor that Nick knew would be absolute hell to try to hypnotize him out of. "She is a murderess twice over! A witch! A servant of the demons of Hell. But she will steal away no more souls for Satan! 'For thou hast trodden down all them that err from thy statutes... !' " Behind him, gritting her teeth, Maeve finally managed to pull her wrists free, trying to ignore the blood seeping from the torn skin. Still grasping the rope with one hand, she pulled with all her remaining strength as she worked the loops of rope up her chest and finally over her head. For a moment, Maeve just stood there gasping desperately for breath, one arm looped through the coils to maintain her balance on the slippery shingles. Recognizing that Gideon was well past the point of rational discussion, Nick decided to fight this on his ground. "The judgment of souls belongs to God, not to man. 'He who is without sin amongst you, let _him_ first cast a stone at her'!" But Gideon was shaking his head, moving almost absently towards Nick, who winced at the heat of the flames as they edged closer. "No, you don't understand!" To Nick's surprise, Gideon was almost crying. "My mission comes direct from God- - a Holy Crusade against the powers of darkness that walk the earth in human form... !" Nick choked back his disgust at the rush of memories-- he had once believed so... he had once *done* so.... But there was no time for that now. Ignoring the flames almost in his face, Nick looked deep into Gideon's crazed, haunted eyes. Picking out the sound of his heartbeat, focusing on it until it filled both their ears, he said softly, "It's is over. God will judge her. Let her go." For a moment, he thought it had worked. But as Nick pushed by him to free Maeve, a trick of the wind blew a flame into his face. Reflexively, his eyes glowed amber and his fangs bared in a snarl as he moved much too swiftly past. Gideon shook as though coming out of a trance, the horror on his face reflecting his recognition of Satan in the very flesh. "O Lord, be merciful unto me, and raise me up that I may requite them!" he whispered as he brought the flaming torch down in a sweeping arc, like the avenging wrath of heaven itself. Nick had only enough time to lunge toward Maeve before a deafening burst of fire blew the world apart. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. >>>The End<<< *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Praise, flames, bloopers &/or chocolate to -- Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*-