Return-Path: X-Sender: susang@admin.vitinc.com Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 23:04:16 To: fkarchiver@fkfanfic.com From: "Susan M. Garrett" Subject: A Choice Opportunity 1/3 A Choice Opportunity (1/3) by Susan M. Garrett (susang@vitinc.com) "There's gotta be a canole in here, somewhere," said Schanke, his head and a good portion of his right arm stuck inside the pillow case as he knelt on the sidewalk. Jenny just shook her head, her hair swinging from side to side underneath the batgirl mask, and gave Nick a look of shared commiseration. "They don't give stuff like that anymore, Dad. We're only supposed to take--" "Wrapped stuff. Yeah, yeah, I know. Crazies putting apples in razor blades." Head and hand emerging from the bag, Schanke held up a candy bar in triumph. "Good old Baby Ruth." With a grunt, he pushed up from the ground and handed the bag back to his daughter. "I guess I kinda miss the popcorn balls and homemade cookies. Mrs. Kerswetzer made these really great pumpkin cookies . . . ." Jenny clutched the bag to her chest proprietarily, then glanced up at Nick through the slits in her batmask. "Did you want a Baby Ruth, too, Uncle Nick?" "Naw. I think I'll pass." He grinned at her obvious look of relief--Schanke had downed a candy bar each block for the past four blocks--then gestured at a house with a well-lit front entrance decorated for the season. "Why don't you try there?" For a moment, Jenny paused, considering. "They don't have chocolate. Just Smarties." "Smarties?" "Yeah, Smarties. You know, like Sweet Tarts only they're small and they come in a roll." She shook her head in amazement. "You don't know anything about candy, do you?" "And that's why he doesn't have to go to the dentist every six months," commented Schanke, as the last of the Baby Ruth disappeared into his mouth. "You go over there and you get your Smarties and you say 'Thank you.' Not every house can have chocolate, Jenny." "I guess." Shrugging, Jenny hoisted up her bat-tights, adjusted her batcape and cowl, and headed up the walk to the next house. "God, I love this season," said Schanke, turning around as he walked and gesturing toward the moon and the leaves rustling on the trees in the well-trimmed suburban neighborhood. "Not to mention having the night off. Myra laid down the law this year--either I take Jenny trick or treating or I get to pry the dried egg off the house 'cause we had no one there to give out treats." Nick nodded, having seen a few toilet paper and egged houses on their trip so far. "It's nice to miss out on the action for a change." "If you call that 'action.' Give me a bar-room brawl or a knifing any day. The people who come out on a night like this . . . they give me the willies." He gave a mock shiver, then relaxed as they strolled down the sidewalk. "Thanks for coming with me. This has gotta be one of the boring jobs a Dad's gotta do. I like to spend time with Jenny, but--" "She seems a little preoccupied. Yeah, I noticed." They stopped at the foot of the walk as Jenny reached the stoop of the house. She rang the bell and went through the requisite ritual of calling 'Trick or treat," then holding out her pillowcase. "Now . . . she's Batgirl, right?" asked Nick, pointing toward the costume. Jenny had given him a lecture on it earlier, but he still wasn't entirely certain what she'd been talking about. "And that one over there is a Power Rower?" "Power ," corrected Schanke. Then he chuckled. "I can't keep 'em straight myself any more. What ever happened to Superman and the Lone Ranger? Or the Cisco Kid? Man, I had the best costume for the Cisco Kid." He made a motion as if tipping a Stetson down over his forehead, the leaned his weight on one leg and pivoted, his thumb up and fingers extended as if he were holding a gun. "Reach for the sky, partner!" Jenny came running down the path toward them, her bag flying from side to side. "Dad! Dad! Guess what? They had Hershey!" She skidded to a stop and opened her bag so that they could see the contents. "And they gave me three because nobody was coming to their house because everybody thought they had Smarties again!" "You see," said Schanke, giving off a very parental glow. "You never know, do you?" "I wanna go try that house," said Jenny, pointing toward another lit house a few doors down. "They have gum." "Okay. But you take sugarless if they have it." Jenny made a face, her shoulders sagging. "All right." Then she perked up again and headed down the sidewalk at a run. "No running!" called Schanke. He glanced over at Nick. "You can't blow good bubbles with sugarless gum. With her cavity record . . . we've gotta take a stand somewhere." "Ah," said Nick, nodding as if he understood. That was why he'd agreed to accompany Schanke on what seemed to be a traditional Halloween vigil. It was a parent thing, something to be locked away in his heart and his memory for the long-hoped for and sought after time when he might become human again, when he might have a child or children of his own. Who knows, by then they might have sugarless gum you use to blow bubbles. Come to think of it, he'd never learned to blow bubbles . . . . A series of beeps startled him and he reached for the cellphone in his coat pocket, then realized an instant later that Schanke was mirroring his action. They grinned at one another as Nick let his hand drop back to his side--it was Schanke's phone beeping. Flipping open the phone, Schanke glanced at Nick almost as if he knew there was trouble, "Yeah, I'm here." "Detective?" Nick pointedly looked away, although he could hear every word and that was definitely Captain Cohen's voice. He kept his eyes trained on Jenny, following her progress across a lawn as he pretended not to listen to the phone call. "Yeah, Captain. What's up? It's my night off." "You know that and I know that, but there's a street punk here named Alizar who seems unaware of that fact. He wants to talk to you." "Alizar?" Schanke tapped Nick's shoulder to get his attention. "That's the Rondeau case. I knew that kid saw something. I'll be right--" He half-turned, his attention moving to Jenny, who was on a porch, her bag held out for more treats. "Damn. Captain, can you get someone else to take his statement?" "I don't think so, detective. He's edgy. Looks to me like he talk to you and only you." "Yeah. Don't trust cops. Shock city, there." Nodding, Schanke said, "Just keep him there for ten minutes, Captain. Tell him I'm on my way. Give him a donut or something. Bye." He slammed the phone closed with his hand and forcefully shoved it back into his coat. "Damn, damn, damn, damn . . . what have you got there, honey?" Jenny slowed as she approached and held out her bag. "They didn't have sugarless." "That's okay. One pack of gum with sugar's not gonna make too many more cavities--I hope." Schanke looked over at Nick, as if for support. "Pumpkin, don't you think it's about time we headed home?" "Home?" Jenny's eyes got very wide. "Daaaad, it's only seven-thirty and you said we could stay out until eight-thirty. You ! You said last year that this year I could stay out till eight-thirty because I was older." "Jenny, you have more than enough candy--" "But we've got two more blocks yet. That's where all the chocolate is!" Then Jenny's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Do you have to go in to work?" Schanke cleared his throat and tried to look less guilty. "It's like this, kiddo--" "But that's not fair. You said eight-thirty." Seeing an impending breakdown in the father-daughter relationship, Nick put a hand on Jenny's shoulder. "You know," he began, with mock severity, "If you told Jenny eight-thirty, then she should be allowed out until eight-thirty." "Some partner are--" "So why don't I take the shift until eight-thirty?" Schanke stared at Nick, stunned. "You'd do that?" "If Jenny doesn't mind." He grinned down at her. "You don't mind if people think I'm your dad." She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "It's okay with me." Then she turned very large and pleading eyes on her father. "Please, Dad? I'll be good for Uncle Nick. It's only until eight-thirty." Schanke didn't appear entirely convinced. "You know how to get home from here, right?" he asked, meeting Nick's gaze. "Sure. It's . . . uh . . . way." Nick pointed one hundred and eighty degrees in the wrong direction. "No, silly," corrected Jenny. "It's way." "See, Jenny knows," said Nick, as Jenny pointed in the right direction. "We'll be fine. Go nail that snitch before he gets away." "Yeah. Yeah, guess I'd better get in there before the Captain sends out a search party." Walking over to his daughter, he touched her chin and turned her head slightly to look up at him. "Sorry, pumpkin, but the bad guys don't wait. You be good. Cause if I hear you caused any trouble--" "I know--no TV for a week." "Or Nintendo," added Schanke. He nodded at Nick as he passed, heading for the house and his car. Turning, he continued walking backwards as he spoke. "Thanks for covering for me. Eight-thirty, okay?" "Eight-thirty." "She's got school tomorrow--" "Eight-thirty," repeated Nick, waving him off. "Okay!" Then Schanke took off at a rapid walk, all but jogging around the corner to get back to his car. Jenny pointed. "Dad's running on somebody's lawn." "Yeah, well, he's a policeman. We're allowed to do that." "Really?" Nick glanced down and found her looking up at him intently; he saw the possibility of a career that permitted running across people's lawns flicker behind her eyes. "Only when there's an emergency," he added sternly. "Well . . . yeah. Right." She shook her head, as if Nick were belaboring the obvious, but she froze when something caught her eye. "I think I missed a house." "Did you?" "Yeah." Behind the batmask, he caught a glint of intensity--Jenny was back on the candy trail. "You have to stay down by the walk, okay? I don't want anybody to think I'm a baby or anything," she instructed, as she headed down the sidewalk, locked on her goal. "I think I can do that." "Good." Then she stopped and looked up at him. Her glove came up to wipe a large strand of hair away from her mask and she smiled. "I'd hate to miss all the best chocolate. Thanks for taking me trick or treating." He didn't quite know what to say. Smiling down at her for a minute, Nick put a hand on her shoulder and steered her in the direction of the 'missed' house. "Jenny, if there's chocolate out there, we're going to find it." *** Return-Path: X-Sender: susang@admin.vitinc.com Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 23:05:38 To: fkarchiver@fkfanfic.com From: "Susan M. Garrett" Subject: A Choice Opportunity 2/3 A Choice Opportunity (2/3) by Susan M. Garrett (susang@vitinc.com) The Nightcrawler had another two hours before air time and LaCroix was still somewhat at loose ends for this evening's topic. He'd left the studio and begun to wander the city streets in search of an idea suitable for the evening's festivities. It was, after all, All Hallow's Eve, when children wore masks to frighten away evil demons and the dead walked the earth. How appropriate for him to be abroad this evening! And yet, he found little inspiration in the clusters of children that ran down the sidewalks, capes and cloaks and wings wafting behind them. They were so wrapped up in their extortion scheme that they never noticed him. The adults shepherding them gave him a casual glance in passing, some looks more suspicious than others, but when he made no untoward movements and showed no undue interest in the actions of the children, they ignored him as well. Annoyance filled him each time those eyes would pass over him, cautiously assessing--as if he were a common molester of children! Really! As if he had nothing better to do with his time . . . and they could never know just how much time he had to spare. Inspiration failed to strike. He wandered street after street, bored with the colorful parade of costumes, kicking aside the discarded candy wrappers and wondering if the adults could ever be inspired enough to pursue the proper disposal of litter as diligently as they ensured the safety of their children. That might be a topic . . . but, no, it was far too mundane for his tastes. His palate ran to the exotic, but every thought that crossed his mind seem stale and trite. This night, of all nights, his listeners would expect to hear something shocking, something unexpected, some wondrously terrifying universal truth. A message about environmental responsibility hardly seemed appropriate. Although, some of his audience be shocked if he spoke of the education of his own children, how he'd taught them to clean up after their meals and not leave a trail of bodies lying helter-skelter in their path . . . . The thought of his children gave him pause. LaCroix stopped beside a tree and cast his other senses outward, listening. Janette was at the Raven--he could sense her, not too far distant. She was in her element there, playing hostess and protector of her chosen, giving the mortals far more leeway than he would have allowed, but that was her choice, of course. She must have felt his questioning touch, because the link that connected them vibrated slightly. Like the purring of a cat, he felt her offer him respite for the evening, an invitation to spend some time at the Raven, amidst the revelers. Declining politely--he have a show to do this evening--LaCroix left that area of inquiry and turned his attention to Nicholas. Certainly he would be easy to find. The season never did much to improve his mood. While those of their kind reveled in the distractions of costume, masks hiding an infinite number of real horrors this night, Nicholas usually found himself meditating yet again on his monstrous nature. To find him brooding, depressed, and disconsolate would not have surprised him in the least. Keeping his touch light so that Nicholas might not feel his presence, LaCroix felt emotions other than despair from his vampire-child. Not happiness, certainly, but contentment. Laughter, perhaps. Enjoyment, certainly. This a surprise. And, perhaps, a bit of an affront. His curiosity piqued, LaCroix stepped back into an alley and took to the sky, knowing that this night a report of a man flying would hardly be taken seriously. The holiday allowed a sense of freedom for their kind, a chance to walk among their prey and revel in their true nature without undue fear of discovery, and he was not the least among them to take advantage of the opportunity. Finding Nicholas proved to be anything but difficult; he seldom shielded his thoughts or emotions, but could not be entirely faulted for that, LaCroix knowing that he had taught his son only the rudiments of the art. Only infrequently had he regretted that decision. Upon occasion, such as now, it proved to have been a wise and prudent course. He landed not far from Nicholas, in a residential area of the city. The area between two houses was dark enough to hide his presence, but he was bold enough to stride down the walkway of the house to the sidewalk, if to do nothing else but watch. Nicholas was standing across the street, his back toward him, his concentration centered on . . . . A costumed child? LaCroix stared for a long moment, puzzled, until he saw a bit more of the face behind the mask, heard words exchanged as the child took Nicholas' hand and they walked further along the sidewalk, a bag of candy banging along the child's leg as she walked. Nicholas' partner's child--that was the only explanation. Not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused at this sign of domesticity from Nicholas, LaCroix followed at a distance. Yes, he recognized the child. When he'd considered the many and varied opportunities open to him with which he could revenge himself upon his son, he'd sought out information about the mortal family to which Nicholas had grown so close. The girl was an only child, little more than an infant in years, not even as old as his Divia when he had last . . . . No. Better to turn from that thought, to banish it from his mind. LaCroix kept his attention on the pair, shadowing them, careful not to move too close. But he erred. The child was headed up another walkway to a house when Nicholas tensed. He turned, slowly, automatically fixing his gaze on LaCroix. Nicholas must have learned a trick or two more than he'd been taught, or this sudden 'protective' garb that he'd donned had tuned his senses. LaCroix gave no sign of his surprise, merely met Nicholas' gaze evenly, measuring the cold stare, seeing the threat in the stance . . . but offering no threat in return. Casting a anxious glance over his shoulder, Nicholas checked on the child, then headed across the street, directly for LaCroix. There was no need to move. LaCroix waited. Then, as Nicholas drew to within a few feet of his position of the sidewalk, gestured toward the roadway. "A role model should take better care--you're supposed to look either way before you cross the street." Anything but amused, Nicholas simply stared. "What do you want?" "Simply to wish you a 'happy' All Hallow's Eve." LaCroix allowed himself a brief smile, then gestured down the length at the block, at the children in costume. "Customs change, but they still honor the date. The times we used to have . . . do you remember?" "I'd prefer to forget." Another anxious glance over his shoulder gave LaCroix a chance to step closer. "I see you're participating in the festivities. Are you enjoying your disguise, your assumed mantle of parental authority? It doesn't become you." Nicholas met his gaze again, eyes angry and suspicious. Then he turned and walked back to the other sidewalk. "Why won't you leave me alone?" LaCroix was annoyed for a moment, knowing that he was expected to follow--he hated being anticipated like that. But he remained on Nicholas' heels, becoming his temporary shadow. "The night can be dangerous. Every sane parent has thoughts of protecting his children on All Hallow's Eve." The child was approaching, head half stuck in his candy bag. She lifted her head as she approached, then her steps slowed when she caught sight of LaCroix. The eyes behind the mask widened just a tad and she looked to Nicholas for reassurance. LaCroix smiled at the reaction and whispered, "I never seem to make a favorable first impression on children." Ignoring him, Nicholas leaned forward and took the child's hand. "It's all right, Jenny. Come on. We've got another half a block to--" And then he froze, his head lifting as he listened. LaCroix head it too, a scream too distant for mortal ears to identify, but with their enhanced senses it was child's play--mortal fear. A woman's voice, the sound of her cry one of absolute terror. It made LaCroix's mouth water. Nicholas had an entirely different reaction. He glanced at LaCroix, eyes shell-shocked with indecision, his free hand reaching down to hold the child's shoulder. Here, then, was a problem--to find the source of the scream and save a life and leave the child to LaCroix's mercies . . . or let the woman go ignored and escort the child to safety? The irony of it was almost as delicious as the terror inherent in the scream. LaCroix allowed the smile to freeze on his lips as he watched Nicholas mentally race through his options. Calling the police would take time--there was no guarantee they could match his speed. To leave the child at a stranger's door was unthinkable, yet to leave the child along, with LaCroix there, must be equally unthinkable. He could lift the child in his arms and fly her to safety, but that would endanger his secret. Taking the child with him into a possibly dangerous situation and flying the distance would have many of the same problems. A second scream, not quite as strong as the first, the sounds of a struggle-- Barely a second had passed and yet there was no time to waste. Kneeling down, Nicholas pulled the child toward him. "Jenny, there's somebody in trouble and I have to help them." When the child turned her head to look, he grabbed a portion of her hair and mask and turned her face toward him again. "Not here, but nearby. Do you know how to get home?" The child's eyes widened even further. Nodding, she looked up at LaCroix, then back to Nicholas, and nodded hesitantly. "Good. Run home. It's an emergency--you can cut across lawns. But run home now, okay? Tell your mother to call the police. Do you understand?" His voice was calm, but firm. The child licked her lips. "But--?" "Now." Nicholas shook her shoulder lightly. "Do you understand? Run home right now!" "O--okay." The child looked up at him, her trust unwavering. After one more glance at LaCroix, she turned and ran in the direction which they'd traveled. LaCroix turned his head, staring after her as she ran across lawns and driveways, darted between houses, and disappeared into the darkness. Suddenly, he found that Nicholas had a death-grip on his arm. He looked into his son's eyes, ready to announce his disapproval-- But stopped when he saw that unwavering, red-tinted, hate-filled gaze. "If happens to her," hissed Nicholas. "I'll kill you." There was no time for a quip or a barbed comment. Nicholas headed straight up and into the air, no doubt listening intently for any further screams that might indicate he was not too late. Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 23:05:13 To: fkarchiver@fkfanfic.com From: "Susan M. Garrett" Subject: A Choice Opportunity (3/3) A Choice Opportunity (3/3) by Susan M. Garrett (susang@vitinc.com) LaCroix did not quite know which emotion outshone the others. Anger that Nicholas would have the audacity to threaten him was easily countered by pride, that his son was, at that moment, more than capable of carrying out his threat and would have the courage to do so. Nicholas could never see that the thing that he most hated--his vampire nature--was also the source of the strength and speed and power which he used to save the lives of the mortals who crossed his path. Perhaps later he might point out the problem with that particular conundrum. But now, left alone on the sidewalk, LaCroix's thoughts and gaze wandered to where he'd seen the child disappear into the darkness, running as quickly as her little legs could manage. He started in that direction, his pace slow but steady, as he considered Nicholas' words. He had no intention of harming the child. It had been a thought at one point almost a year ago, when he'd still been recovering from the injuries Nicholas' had dealt him. He'd thought of a thousand ways to destroy all the mortal trappings with which Nicholas had surrounded himself; contemplating the torture and death of Nicholas' mortal friends and acquaintances was one of the few respites during that unfortunate convalescence. He had, however, come to realize that any such movement on his part would now only drive Nicholas further away. A century or two ago . . . yes, it would have been an option. But not now. Now, Nicholas must be wooed. He must be seduced back into a sense of complacency, until he finally forgot that he was even fighting for his freedom. Only then would Nicholas come to accept his nature willingly. No, the Schanke child had nothing to fear from him. But LaCroix never changed his path, picking his way through the residential areas, skirting the property fences and easily tracking the footsteps of the child through the grass. He had no intentions of hurting the girl, but there were other predators abroad this night, mortal and immortal alike, for whom he could not answer. The memory of those adults watching their costumed broods, eyes wary, came back to him. If anything happened to this child, Nicholas would blame him, whether his hand touched her or she met her fate at the hand of another. It was annoying, of course, but it would have to be done. He'd have to see that the child arrived safely home . . . wherever that might be. Her trail swayed this way and that, keeping to lighted ways where possible, but darting now and again through darkened shortcuts. He found himself amused at that--she was a brave little thing, or Nicholas had frightened her enough to make her lose any sense of caution. His Divia had been like that, the few times he'd seen her as an infant. He remembered how she'd made a tunnel of the shields that the soldiers had left in the forecourt, or how more than once a search party had to be sent into the streets because she'd wandered past the porter's gaze after dark. How fearless she'd been! Catching himself, he frowned and shook off the useless reverie, coming to the edge of a street and scanning the grass on the other side for the sign of the child's footprints. It wasn't like him to be bothered by maudlin reminiscences when hunting. He found it unnerving. And the child was nowhere to be found. Deciding that she must have found her way to a house nearby, LaCroix shrugged his shoulders, ready to take to the air, when the sounds of a struggle reached him. Childish voices, mostly male. A muffled shout, the scent of blood in the air--? To his left, where a length of trees bordered a small park. With no more than a thought he took to the air and then came down again, seeing some of the bushes rustling in the darkness. Beyond the bushes were several boys, only one or two were past puberty and the rest quite young. The Schanke child was on the ground, her costume torn from her shoulder and her mask hanging from her hair. She was glaring up at a boy in a hooded monk's cloak. Blood seeped through his clenched fingers as he swore aloud, using very adult language. "She bit me!" he declared. The others boys were too busy investigating the girl's candy bag to pay much attention. Several laughed at the wounded boy, who responded to their jeers by kicking at the Schanke child on the ground. The blow never connected. LaCroix grabbed the youth by the collar of the monk's hood, holding him aloft for a moment before letting him fall to the ground with a thud. The others looked up at the sound and several of the younger ones grabbed handfuls of candy and fled. The few older boys stood their ground, eyeing him warily. One cursed softly. So much for respect for their elders. LaCroix straightened and stood there, arms folded. He smiled, knowing that his eyes had begun to acquire a golden glow. When he opened his mouth and hissed, they must have seen his fangs glinted in the moonlight. That seemed the only logical conclusion, because all three of the older boys took off at a run, shouting at the top of their lungs. By the time he turned, LaCroix was certain that his eyes had returned to their normal color. He offered a hand to the Schanke girl, who took it rather hesitantly, but allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Are you hurt?" She hung her head shyly for a moment, then looked up at him. "I'm okay. Oh! My candy!" Pulling her hand from his, she ran over to the bag, which had been torn down the center. Most of the candy was strewn across the dirt, much of it having been trampled underfoot by the fleeing boys. The Schanke child stared down in dismay. LaCroix heard a sniffling sound. Reaching into the pocket of his black blazer, he withdrew a perfectly-pressed black silk handkerchief and handed it to the child. It was supposed to be decorative only, but it would serve. She started when he pressed it into her hand. "I'm not crying," she protested. "Of course not. I thought you might have something in your eye." "Oh. Yeah." Lifting the handkerchief she blew her nose, then folded up the handkerchief and tried to pass it back to him. "Keep it. You may get something in your eye again." The girl nodded, then reached under her costume to tuck the handkerchief in the pocket of her shirt. "No more chocolate," she said sadly. "Dad's gonna be really sad." "I think he'll survive the loss." LaCroix cleared his throat, which got her attention. "I believe Nicholas said something about you hurrying home and telling your mother to call the police--?" "Oh, yeah! I forgot." With a sigh, the child reached up and took his hand in her own, then started to lead LaCroix through the small park and out the other side, to the street. "You won't tell mom I bit that kid, will you?" "It was perfectly understandable," said LaCroix, somewhat bemused by the fact that he was allowing this child to lead him to her home. "You were defending yourself." "But mom would still be mad. She said that only babies bite." "I see." LaCroix raised his free hand to his lips to hide his smile. "Perhaps you shouldn't mention any part of this incident to your mother." "Mom would be mad," admitted Schanke's daughter. "And Uncle Nick would get in trouble with dad for leaving me alone. I don't want to get Uncle Nick in trouble. I'll tell mom I fell down running home and my bag ripped and all the candy fell out, but Uncle Nick had told me to get home fast so I kept running." She looked up at LaCroix. "If I was your little girl, would you believe me if I said that?" The eyes were large and trusting. Oh, how many things he had heard from the lips of his 'little girl'? And how many of them he had believed, or wanted to believe, until it was almost too late for the both of them . . . . "Yes," he admitted, after a moment's consideration. "I would believe you." "Good." She nodded, as if to herself, then pointed, as they paused at the stop sign at the corner of the block. "That's my house." LaCroix recognized the place--he'd been here before, when considering what he actions he might take to repay Nicholas in kind. "Perhaps you'd better go, then." "I guess so." Releasing his hand, she looked up at him for a long moment, squinting against the streetlight nearby. "Thanks for scaring away the big boys." "You're welcome." She held out her hand solemnly. It took him a second to realize what she wanted, then he extended his hand and shook hers. After releasing his hand, she turned and ran down the block toward her house, calling, "Happy Halloween!" over her shoulder. Remaining at the corner, he watched her until she entered the house. Even from that far of a distance, he could hear them--the child's voice explaining even before the questions could be completely asked, the mother dialing the phone in a partial panic, connecting with the police station . . . . It was enough. It was more than enough. "Happy Halloween, indeed," said LaCroix. Then he took to the air, leaving the earth to the mortals and their small, fragile lives. *** Nick fell into the chair behind his desk and rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms. "So much for having the night off, huh?" said Schanke's voice. Lowering his hands from his face almost guiltily, he managed a half-smile as his partner fell wearily into the chair behind his own desk, across from him. "You get the eyewitness report?" Schanke pushed aside a folder on his desk. "Signed, sealed, and delivered. Tomas Ruiz is cooling his heels in a holding cell until the Crown Attorney sends over that murder indictment." He looked up at Nick. "How's your stabbing victim doing?" "Hospital says she's stable. The ex-boyfriend won't make bail." Nick took a long, slow breath, then met Schanke's gaze. "I'm sorry I had to send Jenny home on her own." "It wasn't like you were more than four blocks from home." If there was still the slightest bit of recrimination in his eyes, it was quickly gone. "Just got off the phone with Myra. Jenny was a mess when she showed up. Must have run like a bat out of hell--fell on the way." "She's all right, though?" asked Nick anxiously. "Aw, she's fine. Scraped her knee and lost her candy. Myra said she cried more over losing her haul." Nick swallowed and lowered his gaze guiltily. "Schanke--" "Myra was ready to wring my neck when Jenny showed up. Then she told Myra how I got an emergency call and had to take off, leaving you holding the bag." "I guess we're both in the doghouse, then." "As far as Myra's concerned, yeah." Schanke offered a wan smile and picked up his coffee. "That's an old fight in my house--the job. If I'd let Alizar walk away, there's no way I'd have gotten Ruiz off the streets. If you hadn't heard that woman scream, there'd have been another body in the morgue. But Myra doesn't want to hear that. All she knows is her little girl walked a couple of blocks home, alone, in the dark, on Halloween." With a weary groan, he pushed himself up from his chair and added, "Can't say I blame her, what with all the crazies out there. I'm calling it a night. You staying?" Nick shook his head and rose as well, grabbing his coat from over the back of his chair. "No. I'm gonna head home. Want me to stop by and apologize to Myra?" "Better wait until the sugar shock wears off. Myra on a chocolate binge is something to be avoided at all costs." Falling into step beside his partner, Nick started. "I thought you said Jenny lost her candy?" "Myra said some guy from a few streets down stopped by, dropped off a couple of bags of candy he had left over. Said he saw Jenny lose her stuff and asked one of the trick or treaters where she lived. Myra thinks he's a block parent or something. Nice to know people from the neighborhood keep an eye on the kids." They were walking down the front steps of the precinct when Schanke caught his arm. "Oh, almost forgot--Myra said she'll give you back the handkerchief you gave Jenny as soon as she gets it cleaned. She wanted me to ask you if she could just wash it or should she have it dry cleaned." Nick stared at him blankly. "Handkerchief? I don't--?" "I told her you wouldn't know." Schanke grinned. "I guessed you sent your wash out--you didn't seem like a Suds 'N Duds kinda guy. See 'ya." "Yeah. Right." Still somewhat confused, Nick wandered down the rest of the steps, to his car. Slipping into the driver's seat, he found himself turning the key in the ignition, his mind focused on other matters. Neither Schanke nor his wife were pleased that he'd left Jenny to return home on her own and he couldn't blame them. If they ever learned the full truth, he doubted they'd ever speak to him again. There a possibility Jenny had picked up the handkerchief on her way home, but if Myra was asking about dry-cleaning . . . it belonged to LaCroix. He was certain of it. Fighting the urge to drive to Schanke's house and see Jenny, to assure himself that she all right, he reached for the radio dial. *** It was like a whisper at the back of his mind, the knowledge that Nicholas was suddenly listening intently to his words. Allowing himself a smile, LaCroix leaned closer to the microphone. "Are the little ones abed, the costumes rumpled and discarded to disappear with the coming light of day? You, dear listener, relax in the belief that your duty has been done. But . . . you're mistaken." Pausing, he licked his lips. "There are barbarians at the gate and wolves at the door. Tonight is passing but there will be another night and another and another. It is said that once you bring life into the world, you must protect it and that we must protect it by changing the world--only then we will find respite. Yet what guarantee have we that the lives we cherish will then be protected? Or that they will not turn upon us and rend us with their claws for no more offense than trying to protect them from the world and from their 'better' natures? None, dear listener. No guarantee. No pledge. No security." He allowed the words to hang in the air, then chuckled. "Think on that the next time you extend your hand in protection." LaCroix reached out his hand, fingers drifting over the control board. The strains of "Someone To Watch Over Me" filtered through the control room. After the first few seconds, he pressed a switch and the sound disappeared from the room. That whisper against the back of his mind brushed against his thoughts. Good--let Nicholas consider this evening's exercise. Let him think about what have happened, but did not. Let him begin to suspect that there was something more here; let his guilt and self-doubt begin to consume him. Let his trust grow . . . . A brief memory of the trust in the Schanke child's eyes flickered through LaCroix's mind and those eyes changed color, becoming older, colder, more ancient . . . and yet still trusting. Again, he dismissed that memory. Not now. Now he must center on Nicholas. Now he could set his plan in motion, prepare the traps and snares that would draw his errant child to his true nature like a wolf following the scent of wounded prey dragged through the forest. To draw Nicholas into his influence again would not be the end of the war, but the beginning of a new battle. Nicholas would not come to see him, not tonight. But . . . soon. soon. The End susang@vitinc.com -- http://www.vitinc.com/~susang EVER Faithful Ravenette. "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies."