This is a short piece that started to bug me while I was struggling with finishing a much longer story. If you like it, there may be more. Being various degrees of "cousinly", there may be more even if you *don't* like it :) Permission for Mel to archive at fkfic-l. Anyone else, please ask permission. Disclaimer: LaCroix, Miklos, Et. Al. are not mine. They belong to Sony/TriStar and I thank them for letting me use them briefly. There is no intent to profit from the use of the Forever Knight characters. Charlotte Jeffreys is mine, please ask permission if you want to use her. ****************************** Charlotte's Ruse By Barbara Vainio Stillness marked her progress as she walked across the floor of the club. Dancers and lovers alike suspended their activities, following her with their eyes, self-consciously resuming their activities only after she passed by. She lengthened her stride as she left the crowded dance floor until she appeared to be merely skimming the ground. Deep brown eyes highlighted by impossibly long lashes scanned the room as she reached the bar, although she knew he wasn't there. The dim lights played across her cap of short toffee-colored hair, leading more than one female patron to jealously hope the paler accents had been artificially added. "Where is he?" Miklos had no doubt who she was referring to - and had no thought of refusing to answer, regardless of the consequences, which he knew could be very severe indeed. "He's working." A beautifully shaped eyebrow arched above her right eye and the right side of her mouth tilted up. "Working? How...uncharacteristic." Miklos almost sighed out loud at the sound of her voice. Deep and slightly husky, it carried a hint of music and a touch of humor that softened words that would otherwise have sounded quite arrogant. He tilted his head toward a small sound system above the bar obviously not connected to the larger speakers that continued to pump aggressive rhythms toward the crowd. He moved toward the smaller system but a hand on his arm stopped him before he could turn up the volume. "I can hear it quite well just as it is. But thank you for your concern." Miklos accepted that the gentle humor in her voice was at his expense this time (although for some reason he wasn't bothered by the fact) as he registered what he should have known from the start. She smiled in confirmation and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "Let me have a glass of his best vintage while I learn what possessed him to become the undead Dr. Laura." She sipped the deep red liquid from an exquisitely cut crystal goblet that must have also been from her unknowing host's private collection, winked her thanks to the captivated bartender and focused on the voice coming softly from the speakers overhead. It had been so long since she'd heard it that she allowed herself to get lost in its tone and rhythm for a few minutes, not really listening to what was being said. The sound of her glass being refilled broke the spell and she began to pay attention to the topic being discussed. "...deceit, gentle listeners. How have you been deceived by those you trusted? How did they rationalize their deceptions? What action did you take when you discovered their trickery? Tell me your stories. Let the Nightcrawler share your pain." Miklos gently pounded his customer's back as she choked on the sip of bloodline she'd just taken. His troubled expression cleared somewhat as he realized she was sputtering with laughter. "My god, he's absolutely amazing. He's found a way to enthrall an entire city without even touching them." She dropped her head quickly to the arm she'd rested on the bar to hide the moisture that rolled down her cheeks as her laughter grew louder. Miklos gently pushed a bar towel into her blindly groping hand so she could wipe her face. She carefully folded the soft cloth to hide the red streaks before handing it back and grinned wickedly at the suddenly very nervous bartender. It was one thing to provide special treatment for an obviously *old* friend of LaCroix', but he wasn't at all sure he wanted to be a part of whatever she was planning now. Her next words, coupled with the still mischievous smile, confirmed his fears. "How do I call in to the show?" "I - I - d-don't know." Her hand snaked across the bar and gripped his wrist painfully. The smile was gone as suddenly as it had arrived, her brown eyes lightened very slightly with gold. "Of course you do. If for no other reason, you have to know how to reach him in case there's an emergency here." "I have the studio's private number, but not the call-in one." She stared at her former conspirator for a moment, nodded once & released his hand. Her irises once again the color of not-quite cafi au lait, she turned toward the dance floor to ask a question. "Does anyone know how to call into the...Nightcrawler Program? I'd like to join the discussion of the current topic." Although she hadn't raised her voice, the question projected all the way across the dance floor, once again stilling the rhythmic movements of the dancers. Two men were so drunk they could barely stand up used the question as an excuse to weave toward the bar, one of them dragging an obviously embarrassed woman with him. One of them actually had to put his hand on her arm to steady himself. Miklos began to intervene but a brief shake of the close-cropped hair kept him where he was. He knew she certainly didn't *need* his help and she'd already shown that she knew how to keep her "differences" hidden. He was disappointed when all she did was remove the hand from her arm and drape it around the shoulder of the drunk's female companion. "I'm sure he'll be much more comfortable leaning on you." The woman grimaced, but accepted the action with better grace than she expected to. The other drunk laughed at the outcome and swayed gently as he waved a finger in front of the newcomer's face. "Tol' him he wazhn't your type. B'long with me." He sketched a bow, almost falling over. "Dan'l Ca-Cashidy." He raised an inquiring eyebrow at the woman, who seemed to be rocking from side to side. Why wouldn't she stand still? Enough to make a person sick to his stomach, all that moving around. The object of his bleary-eyed affection, who hadn't moved, held out her hand and said, "Charlotte Jeffreys," just as he translated thought to action and sprayed her dress and shoes with a full evening's intake of chicken wings and beer. Charlotte jumped back, careful not to do it too fast. If she'd wanted to proclaim her true nature to the crowd she'd definitely have done it before everything she wore got soaked in vomit. One benefit of spending most of her time within the community - they didn't barf. She looked around to see Miklos putting a pile of towels on the bar, outrage and merriment fighting each other to a standstill on his face. As she tried to brush some of the mess off her clothes without getting any on her hands, she looked at her now supine suitor and asked no one in particular, " Will someone please see that he gets home without further problems?" Miklos looked at her in amazement and said, "I'll call a taxi." He went to the phone shaking his head: if that had happened to Janette, he'd still have been trying to keep her from making a meal of the poor guy. He finished his phone call and returned to where Charlotte was unsuccessfully still trying to clean up and offered her the use of Janette's apartment. After all, she often sheltered members of the community who needed help. And...Charlotte definitely couldn't go out like this without calling unwanted attention to herself. On top of that, she was an old friend of LaCroix'. Janette would understand...wouldn't she? The now-filthy vampire thanked him for the offer & gathered up the remaining clean towels before following him out of the bar. He led her into the beautifully appointed rooms, which weren't quite modern enough for her taste, and pointed out the bathroom. Charlotte smiled as he turned toward the door and let a wisp of laughter curl around her words as she reminded him, "I still need the phone number for LaCroix' program." Miklos rolled his eyes at the thought of the mischief she was surely contemplating, but brought back the information before leaving her to finish cleaning up. When he returned to the bar, Janette was waiting, obviously having heard some of what had happened in her absence. She stopped him with a look before he could move back around the bar. "Miklos, why can I not trust you to keep order for just a few short hours while I run some errands?" "It wasn't my fault. Actually, if Charlotte hadn't -" His employer's voice cut through the rest of his explanation, her accent very much in evidence as she interrupted. "Charlotte? You have known this woman how long and you already call her by her first name? I must meet this amazing person. Especially since you have taken it on yourself to offer her *my* hospitality." Janette moved to the side, and Miklos returned behind the bar, keeping any further thoughts about the Raven's most recent customer to himself. However, he couldn't stop a soft curse when he absently tuned back in to LaCroix' program. Janette stopped in mid stride as her acute hearing picked up the whispered Hungarian word. "Miklos, what is it now?!!" Disbelief evident in his voice, Miklos shifted his eyes toward the speakers and breathed, "She really called the show." Janette joined her bartender and listened to the broadcast exchange, LaCroix' voice starting the conversation. "My friends, let us hear what this listener's story of deception is. Perhaps it will provide new insight. May I have your name, or do you prefer to keep your anonymity?" "My identity is integral to my story. My name is Charlotte and I was born in Virginia a...number of years ago." Janette gasped out loud at the caller's first words, not caring that it was totally contrary to the persona she so carefully cultivated. There could be no mistaking either that distinct accent or the unselfish pleasure that colored the voice. The Raven's owner whirled to face her bewildered employee. "Your 'Charlotte' is Charlotte Jeffreys? She's *here*?" Without waiting for confirmation she didn't need, she hurried (one would never use the word ran) out of the bar, twitching the heavy folds of her red velvet gown to keep from tripping on them. Miklos turned back to the radio, unable to sort out all the undertones in Janette's voice, and was surprised to hear...nothing. He rotated the volume knob as though he thought some invisible hand had lowered the sound. But there was still nothing. He smiled in enjoyment - he never thought he'd witness LaCroix being left speechless - especially not by a caller to his program. The silence went on for a few seconds longer and then there was a brief gulp, too soft for mortal hearing to detect, and the Nighcrawler's voice returned to the airwaves. Was it Miklos' imagination or did it sound a little strained? "Yes...Charlotte?" LaCroix' voice held a definite challenge as he continued, "And how were *you* deceived?" The caller's voice warmed as much as her questioner's had cooled. The other listeners could hear what sounded like genuine affection in her reply - not something most of them felt for their late-night radio companion. "I wasn't the one who was deceived. An...old friend believed I deceived *him*. He broke off all contact as a result and never heard the entire explanation for my actions. I'd like to find a way to -." The caller's voice was silenced so abruptly the rest of the audience assumed that their host had cut off the call and they waited for one of his usual biting ripostes. But none was forthcoming. LaCroix was just a confused as his listeners. Although he hadn't intended to allow the call to go on much longer without some intervention (he certainly wasn't going to listen to some meaningless explanation for her inexcusable betrayal), he hadn't ended the call. He looked at the board for verification. He glanced at the computer screen that listed caller information and his eyes widened in surprise. Although he generally chose to ignore modern inventions like the telephone when he wasn't...working, he did keep track of specific phone numbers: Nicholas' rather dreary loft and his current work location (why couldn't his son do his job in the same place year over year?), and Janette's little hobby. He reread the characters on the screen to be sure he hadn't been mistaken, although he knew he wasn't - the call had been placed from the Raven. What was Charlotte doing *there*? . The red "on the air" light caught his attention before he could complete the thought and he quickly regained his composure and returned to his audience. "It seems our caller isn't interested in sharing her thoughts after all." LaCroix' voice began to drip with sarcasm. "How unfortunate, I'm sure we could all have learned quite a lot from her experience. Perhaps we should discuss another subject - one that will be of more interest to all of us." "No - wait, please." The laughter-filled voice halted his finger millimeters from the disconnect key. "I'm sorry. I got distracted momentarily." LaCroix could hear Janette's laughter joining Charlotte's as he completed the motion of his hand and ended the call. "Gentle listeners, let us speak of disobedience. Have you ever deliberately disobeyed a request made by a mentor?... a teacher?...lover?.....parent? What were the consequences? Were they worth a few fleeting, illusory moments of independence?" He smiled in anticipation, looking again at the phone number still glowing on the screen, as he answered the next caller. The End Please send all comments to bevainio@att.net. This is my first completed piece of FK fiction so I'd really appreciate any comments you might have.