Date: Wed, 23 Nov 1994 12:05:37 +0000 From: Teleri Crossroads Copyright 1994 T.Beaty Comments to: vxurnm01@reading.ac.uk Rating: PG. Mild profanity. 'Damn!' Nick watched the bright blot of the perp's grimy t-shirt fade into the dark alleyway. His keen ears and eyes could still detect the man, though, and he took off after him, running. He hadn't expected the other man to flee, especially not into that dark alley! So what did the perp know that Nick didn't? A gate. Nick heard it swing open, heard the scuffle as the man squeezed through, slammed it shut after him-- A lock clinked distinctly. Nick barely paused to rip the gate from its hinges. It just had time to squeak in protest before it slammed to the ground behind him, flung like a soda can. Only after it bounced and clanged on the ground did Nick realize what he had done, and breathed a quick apology to the owner. He hadn't meant to do that, dammit. He should have been more careful-- The running figure ahead didn't pause to look back. Nick glanced around. More street. They were moving south into the North York section, the streets slightly better lit with the promise of more light, and people, ahead. Right now, no one was moving, but Nick could hear heartbeats around him, strong and rapid heartbeats. People were awake, a few still watching late-night cop shows or those fantasy series things. He could take to the air, he thought, and overtake the perp in no time at all. Just a large leap, really--but no. Some people might be awake, might see him. Might see a vampire. And--Nick ran silently through the cool night air, feeling the hint of winter in the wind--why should he take to the sky? Isn't that what vampires did? Wasn't he trying so hard to become mortal? Mortal is as mortal does, as Natalie had once said. You want to be a mortal, better get used to acting like one. Mortals couldn't fly. Schanke certainly couldn't; at this minute he was back in the car, calling in the attempted rape. He shook his head violently. No, he couldn't! Flying meant being a vampire, and vampire meant the hunger. . . . Nick pumped his legs faster, gaining on the running figure ahead. He was close. He was going to get this guy *on his own*, and he was going to teach him a thing or two about trying to prey on those weaker than him-- But he'd just promised himself that he wouldn't-- 'No!' Nick screamed in horror. His sharp hearing had picked up the roaring of a car--someone coming too fast, someone couldn't stop, or wouldn't--the perp had just run off the curb and into the intersection, veering off, trying to break into another direction-- The vampire watched helplessly as the man, running into the middle of the street, suddenly checked, confused, his head turning to the side. And then the car seemingly sprang out of nowhere, sliding silently through the intersection, the roaring coming from all around, echoed by the buildings into mocking laughter in Nick's ears. It caught the man square between the headlights, the bright beams seeming to trap him like the tines of a forklift, and then the smooth narrowed bumper--it was a sportscar, Nick noted, a Toyota MR2--caught the man slightly between the knees and hips, making bones that were never meant to bend suddenly snap in two. As the man crumpled, the nose of the car slid up--no, it was the man sliding down--to lodge in his stomach, dig in, probe through his body and drop him when it found him wanting, the man's head smacking backward against the tarmac with a sickening wet thud. The car trampled him, roaring, and then was gone. A small part of Nick's mind realized it had been speeding. He stared at the crumpled form in the crossroads disbelievingly. The four streetlights at each corner rained light down in four yellow circles, each scrupulously avoiding the spreading pool of blood seeping from the remains of the man's head. He stared at the body broodingly, hands under his chin. He was sitting on one of the many countertops that lined Natalie's workplace. He hated the particular shade of green that the walls were painted. They looked too much like the edges of the discoloured patches covering the man on the autopsy table. 'He shouldn't be here, Nat.' She raised her eyebrows and stared at him over the rims of her glasses. 'Oh?' 'If only I'd flown--if only I'd caught him before he'd run out into the street--' 'If only I'd bought those sweaters at the Atrium while the department store was having that sale. . . .' Natalie smiled grimly. 'What's done is done, Nick. Don't agonize over what could have been.' 'I could have saved him! If only I'd--' He snapped his mouth shut abruptly. 'If only you'd what?' 'If only I'd used my powers.' She put down the file she'd been staring at and leaned against the counter, tilting her head back slightly. 'You mean your vampire powers.' 'Yes.' 'Why didn't you?' He slid off the countertop and wandered somewhat aimlessly around the room, stopping only on the far side of the body. He turned and faced Nat across the autopsy table. 'Because . . . I wanted to see if I could manage as a mortal.' 'Manage what? Catching a criminal?' 'Yeah.' He stared down at the body, forcing himself to look at the face, memorizing the face. He'd see it in his dreams. 'I failed, Nat.' 'Depends on how you look at it,' she shrugged, putting down the file. 'You suceeded wonderfully as a mortal-- policemen don't have a hundred percent capture rate, you know.' She glanced at the body, only tired weariness in her face. 'At least we can say this one's been taken off the streets.' 'Nat!' He stared at her in shock. 'How can you say that? This man has just been hounded to his death--I could have saved him--' 'Maybe it was fate.' Her voice didn't leak sympathy. 'You weren't going to catch him, so someone Upstairs decided to.' She turned and picked up the file she'd been perusing, shoving it at him with uncharecteristic force. 'You think I ought to be sympathetic? You read that. Schanke let me have it. It says that this man fits the description for a unapprehended serial rapist in Toronto. Six women--*six*, Nick--have been abused and degraded by a man fitting this description. And you caught him trying to do that again to a seventh--and a minor at that. You want me to be sorry, Nick? Well, I am. I'm sorry for the six that he did get before you guys found him. I'm sorry for the seventh, who'll still go home with the fear, the memory of terror.' She slapped the file down, the folder snapping onto the dead man's chest. 'You're being selfish, Nick; you're only thinking about yourself, your feelings. *Your* guilt over his death. What about the women's feelings?' She crossed her arms. 'Someone's passed judgement on him, Nick, and I'm not about to say it wasn't past time.' 'They say bartenders know every man's secret,' Janette whispered to Nick as she slid behind the bar. 'Tell me yours, Nicola,' she purred in his ear. He stared at the black laquered bartop. 'I'm a failure.' Janette changed in a second, going from sex kitten to enraged woman. 'Everyone knows that, Nicola,' she snapped. 'You insist on screaming it to the world. Both mortal and immortal.' She turned to go. 'Do you think so?' he said quietly. Something in his voice made her pause. A catch, a sudden note that caught her attention, made her suddenly realize that he needed her. Oh, she did love this man, but he could be so infurating! And yet . . . she would do so much for him. So she turned around, dragging a sympathetic smile across her face and over the rage in her heart. He came to be petted, to be consoled, like some *puppy!* And she, of course, would do it once again. As always. 'I do not think you are, . But I have known you for a long time now. I have seen you . . . change.' Her heart quieted, twisted with some emotion that she would rather ignore. 'We have all changed, Nicola.' '' he sighed, lasping into their companiable, intimate French. 'It's true. We have all changed. But for better or for worse?' 'Nicola, what has put you in this state? What happened to you?' She stared at him openly. When he'd first come in, she'd assumed it was just one of his usual spells--everyone knew how *dreadfully* predictable Nicolas could be in that way--but now she felt the first faint stirrings of worry. How easy would it be to shake him out of this one? 'I killed a man tonight.' His beloved face turned upward, searched her eyes for . . . something. She nearly choked. Was that *all?* But this was Nicolas, on the other hand-- 'So you gave into your true self?' She needed to go slowly on this one, threading through the dangerous spots. He shook his head. 'No. Just the opposite. We got a call, Schanke and I. Attempted rape; a concerned citizen heard screams and *actually* called in. We got down there just in time--the poor girl was half-beaten already. I chased him--he wasn't looking where he was going, probably didn't hear it, too. A car.' He glanced back down at the immaculate bartop. 'He was a victim of a hit-and-run.' Janette bit back her first thought, which would be to say what a waste of blood it was. . . . But she couldn't contain the anger at the arrogance of a man who merely took women, abused them. She tasted the memory of acid in her mouth, of impotent hate. 'You should be proud of yourself, then. The man obviously deserved to die.' 'Obviously?' Nick glanced at her. 'No one deserves to die, Janette.' 'And yet they all do, in the end, Nicola. And some should die sooner than others.' 'That's pretty much what Natalie said.' Janette raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, reminding Nick even more of Nat. 'Your little coroner said that? Perhaps she has some redeeming qualities, then.' Privately, she liked the other woman, occasionally wondering if Natalie didn't think a lot like a vampire herself. After all, the woman was certainly used to dead bodies. Not that she'd ever tell Nicolas that, though. Janette didn't care to share. Nicolas sighed, bringing her mind back. 'I failed as a mortal, Janette. I tried to use only mortal abilities, but I could have saved him to stand trial, at least--' 'Bah!' Janette flung out a hand in an angry gesture. 'And what good would that have done, eh? Those women have already been raped. He could never be made to feel as they did, not with this so-called *justice* system of mortals nowadays.' , she warned herself. But she didn't want to . . . betray him like that. She leaned forward, clasping hands around his, stroking his cool skin. She touched her mouth to his fingers briefly and looked up at his face. 'Nicola,' she said softly, 'you are not yet mortal. So you cannot fail at *being* mortal. Not yet, .' She straightened, letting his fingers slide through hers as she disengaged her hand. She could not be around him any more--she felt as if she would break down any minute now, cry over the twisted longings of her soul. 'You have not failed, Nicola,' she said softly. 'Believe me. You are much too good for that.' Schanke glanced at him as he opened the driver's door, crouching to sit inside. The roof of the Caddy was up, filling the air with the green pungency of garlic. Nick would have preferred the cold. 'Everything okay in there with your friend? You didn't need any . . . uh, backup, did you?' 'No, Schanke, everything's fine,' Nick muttered. 'I didn't need to be saved from myself.' He nearly bit his tongue off when he realized what he'd said. 'Aww, shucks.' Schanke leaned back into the upholstery. 'Not even any indecent exposure?' 'I wouldn't know. It's dark in there.' 'That's true,' Schanke consoled himself. 'And you probably weren't looking.' 'No, I wasn't.' 'You're too good, Nick. You're too innocent for your own good.' Nick shot his partner a shocked glance. 'You wouldn't say that if you knew me.' How had Schanke managed to say the same thing as Janette? 'I think we know you better than you do yourself, Knight. Still bugging yourself about that perp tonight?' Nick shrugged. 'Hey, listen, man, I understand what you're going through. Honestly. But you need to give it a break, pard, because it's over. Finished. Finis. Case closed, you know? Maybe it all turned out for the best, anyway. No one has to book him, no one has to get a lawyer for him. No one has to sit there and watch some poor girl being told it's all her fault, that she asked for it. There's no chance he'll walk away from this one scot-free.' 'Whatever happened to fair chance at trial?' 'What happened to those women he raped? What about their fair chances?' Schanke snapped back. Nick shook his head stubbornly. 'I know what you mean, Schanke. I'm not any happier about those women.' A muscle jumped in his cheek. 'But if I start condemming this one now, what happens later? I can't keep thinking that maybe all the evil ones deserve death. I might just begin to believe it.' 'Look, Nick,' Schanke sighed, 'you win some, you lose some. You know that. We're not always going to have things turn out like we want them to. Sometimes they get away, sometimes they walk, sometimes they go to jail and we celebrate, and sometimes . . . things just go a little weird. That's *normal,* Nick. We can't control every little aspect of life, you know. Sometimes things just happen. This way might have been better. You said yourself it didn't look like you were going to catch him. You run out of breath, you can't run as fast, so all you can do is watch some younger kid get away. In this case, something else caught him. Nothing we can do.' The vampire didn't take his eyes off the road. 'Running out of breath?' 'Hey,' Schanke shrugged, somewhat embarressed, 'all those diet foods don't have lots of energy, you know? I figure you probably just weren't ready for a quick jog. Maybe he took you off guard or something.' He glanced over at Nick somberly. 'And . . . we're getting old, Nick. Even you, the golden boy of the department. We've got to take all the breaks we can get.' The vampire rubbed his eyes. 'I don't know, Schanke. I just don't know. Sometimes I think I made the wrong choice.' His partner shook his head. 'Uh-uh, Nickie, don't start talking like that. You don't know what you're saying.' He looked at Nick intently. 'You hear me? You're just tired. It's normal. You've probably just hit your mid-life crisis, you're feeling down. You know, the horror of the middle ages.' 'I lived through them the first time around,' Nick muttered under his breath. As they pulled into the parking lot, Schanke turned to Nick. 'Look, buddy. Don't be so hard on yourself.' He got out of the car, slammed the door shut, ignoring Nick's instinctive wince, and leaned through the window. 'You'll get over it. I have faith in you.' He waved goodbye as Nick pulled out of the parking lot. 'I have faith in you, Nicola,' Janette whispered, laying one gloved hand carefully on his arm. She leaned closer to him, ignoring Lacroix's snarl behind her. 'I believe in you. I know you'll find the way.' 'How sweet,' Lacroix rasped. His shock of pale hair stood wildly on end, silvered blue by the pale waterfall of moonlight that washed the crossroads in temporary day. The stormclouds creeping closer to the full silver circle rumbled. Behind them, the trees creaked, the chill wind driving them together in miserable company. Their horses, tied to some overhanging branches, whickered in fear, sweaty coats trembling, eyes widening and nostrils flaring as their reins were tugged by the swaying limbs. The vampires' cloaks fluttered despite the heavy weight of mud caking the hems. Lacroix grabbed Nicholas' other arm tightly. 'Which way, Nicholas?' His eyes blazed. The young vampire looked down at his arms, both clutched desperately by vampires older and more powerful than he .. . . and him caught in the middle. Would they pull him about, mindless of him in their anger and fear? Would they do it anyway? He dismissed that instantly from his mind. Unloyal thought! He was merely tired and confused, he decided. If only Lacroix had bothered to look at the map himself, while they had time on the ship, they would have had two people who knew the way, not just one. Nicholas had merely memorized their journey road, not the surrounding countryside. Lacroix might have known better. Nicholas shook his head. He was tired, that was all! Everything would look much better after a good day's sleep. Lacroix would not seem so . . . cruel. 'The storm is nearly upon us,' he said carefully, trying to bring his mind back on the rightful path. He didn't mention the hunters. The other two vampires didn't have to be told. Lacroix bared fangs, voice stretching to an almost- scream that matched the cry of the wind. 'How good of you to notice! Perhaps you'd care to notice the signpost, as well, and remove us from this forsaken place?' Nicholas shook his head violently. No longer. A tiny voice whispered in his head. Anywhere they went was Godforsaken. He swallowed, stamping it out. He was better now. He was beyond the reach of God. He and his two friends, his family now, would never be touched by His cruel hand of death. They were forever. 'It's no use, Lacroix,' he said quietly, his gaze steady on his master. 'You can see the signpost has been struck down by the wind. There is no way to tell which way 'twas pointing. No way to tell where this Canterbury is.' He repeated himself calmly, slowly, for the second or third time. Perhaps he could counteract his master's anger by remaining serene. Janette glanced at the tall blond vampire. 'He is correct, Lacroix,' she said, her voice carrying slightly over the growing wind. 'We cannot tell which way is which. It is useless to become angry.' 'We should never have left the road!' Lacroix's fingers bit further into Nicholas' arm. The younger vampire tried to meet his master's gaze serenely. It was hard under normal circumstances, but now, with Lacroix raging, it was terrifying. A sudden bolt of lightning smashed through the cloud-darkened sky overhead. He tried not to flinch. Even the storm echoed his master's fury! He shook off the thought. He didn't care, either. 'We must decide what to do soon,' he said, proud that his voice didn't come out as a squeak. He didn't say anything about the road; they all knew that Lacroix himself had led them off it, hoping to shake off their pursuers--how *had* the mortals been able to cross the English Channel before them? Lacroix snarled and thrust Nicholas toward the signpost. 'Choose, young fool, and choose well. I wish to sit at an inn before dawn and feast upon a beggar or two. Perhaps a barmaid. We've rooms waiting for us at Canterbury. Choose our path.' Lightning flashed overhead again, this time echoed in the tall vampire's reddened eyes. 'And choose quickly, youngster,' he breathed, 'for the hunters grow hungry for our blood.' 'Just as you thirst for theirs.' Nicholas turned back and stared at the fallen signpost. Three hundred years with Lacroix, but it hadn't taken him more than one year to learn that part of his master. He himself had once thought his thirst would never be slaked, his need never be filled. Now he found himself wondering if there might not be more-- 'I shall drink them dry,' his master smiled into the storm. 'I shall lay a trap for those puny mortals, and watch them walk into it like the cattle they are.' The young vampire squashed the betraying thoughts under his desire to seek shelter from the coming storm. 'Yo, Nick! Souvlaki delivery!' Nick stared up at his partner in shock. 'You're joking.' 'Nope!' Schanke cackled gleefully. 'Ain't it great?' Nick hoped he wasn't shaking noticeably. 'I can't believe it,' he said. 'Neither can I! But one of Myra's cousins went by there, and gave me their card. Told me they deliver, plus they're open late, so I thought I'd give them a call! Smells great, huh, pard?' Schanke's expression was one of sublime delight. 'I even ordered some for you, hint, hint.' Nick glanced around. 'Where's your gun? You can go ahead and shoot me now.' 'Nick, man, you're missing out on the best thing in life!' 'The last time someone said that to me,' Nick said dryly, 'I ended up regretting it for quite a long time.' 'I think I'll just pass. You can have my share.' 'Nick, you're a great guy. You have dead tastebuds, but you're still a great guy.' 'Thanks, Schanke. I'm glad you don't hold dead body parts against me.' Nick turned back to his inspection of the file on his desk. 'Watcha looking at, Knight?' Schanke hoisted himself onto one corner of the desk. Though Nick listened carefully, it didn't creak. 'Perkins case? No leads yet on the robber, I checked. Nada. We still need to run through a couple of eyewitnesses, but I don't think--' The vampire shook his head. 'No, not any of our cases.' 'So what are you wasting time for?' Schanke leaned over to look at the file, and Nick tried not to wince too obviously. He did lean back, though. Schanke yelped. 'Cars, Nick? Cars? Whatcha looking at cars for?' Nick let the file drop to his desk. 'I'm trying to run down that sportscar I saw--' 'That ran down that perp. Yeah, yeah.' Schanke sighed, and Nick closed his eyes, trying to time his next breath to come when the room had cleared. 'Why you wasting time on that, Nick?' 'You think we should let a murderer go free? Even though he did us the favour of catching our rapist?' 'That's not what I'm saying, Nick, and you know it. But the perp is dead, and we've got lots of people who are alive right now and need our help. The Stether woman, for one. You wanna concentrate on finding that stalker that keeps on sending her those threatening notes? Now, there's a psycho. Those 'gifts' of bits of people he's killed. That doesn't match up to a hit-and-run, buddy. The psycho has been out there for three months. Your perp's only been dead for two nights.' 'We're not getting anywhere on the Stether case,' Nick groaned wearily. 'No breaks, no leads, no clues. Her ex- husband has solid alibis, and they had a good marriage. Friendly breakup. No one else in the picture. The two policemen guarding her are doing better than we are at protecting her.' 'So we keep plugging away, then. Something'll break.' 'My mind.' 'You never had one to begin with, Knight. You're just a lot of flashy clothing and that brooding James Dean look.' Nick quieted. 'Do you think so?' Schanke glared at him. 'Uh-uh, Knight, don't do this to me. Don't start taking me serious *now,* after all these months.' He shook his head. 'You've got the blues bad, my friend. Don't pay any attention to what I say.' 'I never did anyway,' Nick mumbled under his breath. He needed to ease up. He was making Schanke worried. He could feel his partner's heart skipping a beat, then beating faster. He didn't want to hurt Schanke. Not really. Wring his neck once in a while, yes, but not really *hurt* him. 'That's the spirit, Nick! You just keep on insulting me and everything will be fine.' Schanke levered himself off the desk and patted the file. 'Listen, you go ahead and look through this list. Find your hit-and-run. Clear your mind, get onto other cases. I'll work on the Stether thing. You just relax, get your man. Okay?' 'If I can.' 'You will. Eventually. Can't be too hard; he ran down a man with a plastic car and there's no mess on the hood? Nah. The car's the thing. You're headed in the right direction.' 'We're going the wrong way,' Lacroix hissed. 'We're lost.' Nick whirled, anger sparking red in his eyes. 'Of course we're lost!' He felt his fangs start to slip down, but he desperately tried to calm himself, to bring them back up. Lacroix would *not* be happy at this show of rebellion. He had not been . . . happy . . . before. Showing fangs to Lacroix would not be healthy at this particular time. They had left the horses at the crossroads, hoping to throw off those mortal pursuers--how *had* they managed to track them from Dover through this storm?--and force their way through the woods in the direction Nicholas had chosen. Any other time, it would have been easier to fly, but now, with the storm raging at full strength overhead . . . no, it was better not to chance it. Janette's face appeared out of the darkness, white and drawn. 'We mustn't fight!' Her voice, though shaking, was still backed by steel. 'We must not fall on each other.' Lacroix turned to her like a hound catching the scent of blood. 'You dare tell me what to do, woman?' Janette's eyes flicked quickly, warningly, at Nicholas. 'You must remain calm, Lacroix,' she said, her voice soft. 'We need your cunning if we are ever going to revenge ourselves on those humans.' Her voice shook slightly on the last word. 'We need no fights between ourselves; better to stay our strength for them.' 'True.' Lacroix glared at Nicholas. 'I should never have trusted someone so young.' Nicholas nearly hissed. 'He still has much to learn, Lacroix.' Again she sent a warning glance at Nicholas. He bowed his head slightly, keeping his eyes on both of them. Anger rose up in him, only to be quelched down by his self-control. No. He must not let Lacroix do this to him. 'I am still new to this life,' he admitted through clenched jaws. More than any mortal man has right, something inside him whispered. Go away! he told that part. Yet you were once one of them. See Lacroix feed. Watch him take the lives of those around him. Even yours, Nicholas. He even took yours. You call this better? No, you will live as Lacroix does, as your master does. This master who bathes in blood, revels in pain. You were once a knight, Nicholas. What are you now? Monster. 'No!' Nicholas shook his head, falling to his knees. 'No!' Janette and Lacroix jumped, whirled. 'What is it?' Janette fell beside him, touching him carefully. 'Nichola, what is it? What is wrong?' 'He's breaking under the strain,' Lacroix growled. 'Get up, you whelp!' He angrily booted Nicholas in the ribs. The young vampire heard the crack and winced. 'Damn you,' he whispered raggedly. Lacroix laughed. 'Your God already tried.' He kicked viciously at the young vampire's face, the side of his boot opening Nicholas' cheek. The blow sent him reeling. He choked, openmouthed, into the wet soil. Janette shrieked as she was splashed with mud. 'Fool!' she roared at Lacroix. 'You've ruined my velvet dress! My best one!' 'I'll buy you more,' he smiled tightly, glancing around. Kicking *something* had obviously been what he needed. He was calmer now, less volatile. 'This way,' he called. 'Let us retrace our steps to the crossroads. From there I shall decide where to go.' 'Nichola,' Janette whispered, getting to her feet, her eyes on the disappearing figure ahead, 'are you all right?' 'Yes,' he growled through a mouthful of mud, trying not to grimace as he felt the bones of his ribcage knitting back together, his face itching and hot as it healed, 'despite your tender care.' 'I was trying to *help* you, you ungrateful fool!' He got to his feet slowly, watching her. he thought slowly, As the words came to his mind, he suddenly realized that it was true. 'How many Toyota MR2s can there be in this city?!' Schanke looked up from his desk. 'I dunno. I prefer Lamborghinis myself.' Nick flung the file onto his desk with a certain vehemence. 'This is useless,' he said angrily. 'I can't even get this right.' Schanke looked at his partner's desk. 'That's the-- what?--third time you've thrown that file in an hour? Dare I ask if this is getting to be a habit?' 'You're not funny, Schanke.' 'You're not flipping out over this, are you, partner? Mind telling me now, so I know to ignore your mad ravings?' 'Would you be serious for once?' 'No.' Schanke looked at him calmly. 'I start being serious, and I might let this job get to me.' He returned to his case files. 'Just like it got to you.' 'You did what?' 'I walked out.' Nat's eyebrows rose. 'Of the precint? While on duty?' He didn't meet her gaze. 'Yeah.' 'Well,' she shrugged, 'if anyone makes a fuss, I guess I can say that I called you, wanted you to look at something over here. I've got things currently marked for your cases. Schanke'll cover, and no one will really pry deeply.' She frowned. 'But Cohen won't like it.' Nick fiddled with one of the drawer handles. 'Maybe it won't matter anyway.' 'Hah,' she snorted, 'this one just might ride you hard on this, Nick. You can't keep on doing this.' 'Maybe you're right.' He ran a hand through his hair. 'Maybe I shouldn't.' He couldn't hypnotize her, and he couldn't slide things by her that easily. She watched him warily. 'Shouldn't what, Nick?' Her voice was casual, yet there was a sharper edge than before. 'What are you thinking of now?' He looked up at her. 'I'm thinking,' he said slowly, 'of how tired I am. Really tired.' 'Just tired, or tired tired?' He almost smiled at her phrasing. 'Is there a difference?' 'In the way you're using it? You bet your Caddy.' She frowned and looked closely at him. He looked away. 'Nick, what's wrong?' 'What isn't?' he laughed harshly. 'I can't seem to do anything *right* nowadays.' 'Like what?' She settled more comfortably against the counter. 'The perp. I tried to be a mortal, and look what happened. The *one* night I try to take things as just a man, a mortal man, someone else gets killed. And I don't know if I should be upset or not, because he's caused a lot of people pain, but does that give someone else the right to just wipe him out? To kill him without a second thought?' 'It wasn't intentional,' she pointed out. 'Hit-and-run. You've got no reason to think otherwise.' 'He's still dead.' 'Yes.' 'So,' Nick resumed, 'I try to find the driver of that car. I was able to make the car; late-model Toyota MR2. I get the printout from Vehicle Registration, start cross- checking with insurance reports within the last two days. Should be easy, right?' 'Only if the owner has taken the car in yet. Or decided to claim the insurance. They might not want to, knowing they'll be convicted.' 'But that much damage to a car? You should have seen it, Nat, the car mowed him down!' 'I can guess the damage, Nick,' she said dryly, 'I saw the damage it did to the man.' 'I've asked the other guys to keep on eye out for a damaged car out on the street fitting the description. If someone drove it again, it would be blindingly conspicous.' Nat scowled at his phrasing. 'So, you wait. What's the problem, then?' 'I . . . don't know, Nat.' He sat down at her desk and laid his head in his hands. 'I just feel so useless. As if it doesn't matter that I'm here. That I'm trying. Someone else could do all this. Go through the motions. Find the driver.' 'What are you saying, Nick?' 'I'm saying . . . that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.' 'What? Becoming a cop? Or do you want to go back a couple of hundred years, back to becoming a vampire?' His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. 'All of the above.' She stared at him, realization slowly seeping in. 'You want to leave, don't you.' His mouth dropped open. 'What are you talking about?' 'You know exactly what I'm talking about.' Her voice became cold, cutting. 'You're just looking for an excuse to leave here, aren't you!' Her hands were bunched by her sides. 'You just want to be driven away from here, have an excuse to go! Is that it, Nick? You want me to tell you that you're a poor excuse for a cop so that you can slink away from all of us? Is that it?' Her eyes were angry, and her voice dropped. 'Deny it, Nick. Let me hear you deny it.' He opened his mouth, but no words came out. She stepped close to him, body trembling, voice so filled with loathing that he nearly stepped back. 'Well, I'm real sorry, Nick, but I can't. You see, you're a damn good cop. One of the best. Everyone knows it, too. Everyone-- except you. You're too busy trying to be *mortal* to realize that you're one of the best people in this precint.' 'Others are just as good, Nat. They can--' 'No, Nick, they *can't.* You know why? Because not only are you my friend, you're Schanke's friend. And when you leave here, yeah, someone else is going to come along, take up your caseload--but they're not going to take my cat when I'm on vacation. They won't be tortured by Schanke's souvlaki.' She shook her head. 'Hell, they'd probably love souvlaki.' She looked up at him. 'You see? You can't just walk out on us, Nick. We need *you* here--not just a cop, but a friend. *You* can't be replaced.' He reached out to touch her. 'Nat, I'm sorry,' he said. 'Damnit, Nick,' she whispered, turning away, 'sometimes you make me so angry.' 'You see what I mean?' he said miserably. 'Don't you dare!' she yelled. 'You listen to me, buddy, and you listen good!' She leaned over her desk. 'You want logic? Okay, I'll give you logic. You said that you screwed up that night because you decided not to use your powers. Well, mister, that's right, you *decided* not to use your powers. A conscious decision; yes, even in that thick-headed skull of yours. News flash, Nick: you've been doing things the mortal way for quite a bit now--just plain running, thinking, tracing, just like all the other guys out there, you just haven't been *deciding* to do it. 'And,' she continued relentlessy, 'you're right; you have to find the driver. What he did was wrong. We all know that. We're just not about to tell you that because *we're* tired, Nick. Tired of seeing all these people walk off without punishment. Tired of constantly having to fight. When something like this happens, we're just so relieved that another one didn't get away that we just . . . push it to the back of our minds. That's why we need you around, Nick. Yes, we know that what happened was *wrong.* But there are also other wrong things happening out there, people *doing* them on purpose. One driver, who was just too tired or going too fast, we don't rate as evil as someone who decides that maybe his wife shouldn't talk back to him, so he's going to beat her tonight, or somebody who thinks that just because the class cheerleader didn't date him in high school, he's going to have to prove himself stronger than any woman out there, or the kids who kill each other over a pair of sneakers. . . . Someone who was just at the wrong place at the wrong time just doesn't rate as high, Nick, and even though we know that what they've done isn't right, it doesn't mean we're willing to stop chasing those who *plan* their evil.' 'I'm sorry, Nick.' She straightened up, breathing heavily. 'I'm off the soapbox now. I don't even know if I made any sense. You just . . . do whatever you want to do. Maybe it doesn't really matter, in the end.' 'It does,' Nick said softly. 'Did you listen?' She looked up at him, pain marking her face. 'Did you hear what I was saying?' 'Yeah,' he said gruffly, 'I heard.' 'Good.' She laughed shakily. 'I hate it when I make a speech and no one's listening.' She shook her head again. 'I obviously need some caffeine in my system.' She reached for her coffee mug, wincing at the taste. Nick looked up at her. A change of subject was needed, and he fastened on to something she'd said earlier. 'You're willing to chase after those who you think evil than to punish those who did evil?' She sighed and put down the mug gratefully. 'I didn't say that, Nick. But when you have to choose something, you choose the way you think is right. Schanke is looking for those he thinks are most dangerous. So are most of the others. The cases that aren't that serious--well, they get pushed back a bit, I'll admit. They have time to wait.' She shrugged. 'You're immortal, Nick; maybe you don't have that feeling about you. Maybe it's better that way. You're following your idea of what is right and what is wrong; you're not basing it on your idea of how much you can do before you run out of time.' She smiled. 'We can only do what we think is right, Nick. That's human. And you do it too. You choose the way you think is right.' 'I don't think that's the right way,' Nicholas said, frowning in the direction Lacroix was pointing. 'Isn't that the way we came from Dover?' 'Yes.' Lacroix didn't look back. 'That's the way the hunters will be coming, then.' 'We can always hope.' Nicholas stared down at the crossroads sign, ignoring the rain lashing at his face. At least it had washed most of the mud off. The wet wood gleamed in the faint moonlight that managed to seep intermittently through the clouds above. He could read the words lettered out, even though they were English. He'd had plenty of time to learn the language. Canterbury. London. Dover. When the lightning sheeted down, everything went bright-light and he couldn't see for several seconds. The signpost mocked him. He glanced around. The parish church was within a stone's throw, of course, offering shelter to all those who passed this way. Except for them, of course. He looked up. Lacroix and Janette were nowhere to be seen. Remembering his master's last words, he shuddered. He didn't want to do this. Whatever they were going to do. He was sure he knew, too. Once he would have looked forward to it. They'd done it before. Sick of running, they were going to turn on their pursuers, lay a trap. Feast. He remembered when feasting meant simply waiting for the servants to bring him meat. Of course, the cow had been stupid, too. He shook his head. That was Lacroix speaking. That was his master's influence. Which he, Nicholas, had been happily sucking in for the past three hundred years. He closed his eyes, images coming unbidden to his mind. All those people! He groaned aloud and stumbled forward. What had he done? Lightning flashed through his eyelids, and he looked up. The church spire mocked him, hung over him, arching into the night sky. I go where you dare not, it said. I could have taken you there, but you chose not. Nicholas shook his head angrily. No, no, no. He was merely . . . hungry. Tired. And what happened when a vampire was hungry? he screamed to that insistent voice. It chuckled in his head. Never. Not in this life. Nicholas screamed, his cry drowned out by the crashing of thunder. He sank to his knees in the mud, hands shaking. Something hard dug into his thigh. He opened his eyes. The signpost. The *wooden* signpost. Wooden stakes could kill. He reached out to touch it. Coward. He picked up the wooden pole, snapping it in two, leaving the daggers of directions resting in the mud. Coward. Just like Lacroix. A monster. You've enjoyed it. Faces flashed through his mind, faces of those he'd fed from. Those he'd killed. They smiled at him in the throes of death. And you still do. God won't help you now. The faces were running through his mind now, an endless loop, hundreds, no, thousands of people; the three vampires had often hunted together. All the faces crowded past him, whispering. The ones behind crowded closer. As they moved, their skin rotted, fell of in pieces, then larger chunks. They smiled now as they whispered past, laughing at him through the darkness of time, death twisting their faces into macabre clown masks. Face up to what you've done, Nicholas. Remember. And do something to make it right. *It was night. He was being led into the room by a beautiful woman. . . . What was her name? Ah, Janette. He tasted her name on his lips. It tasted like blood. Sweet, sweet blood. She smiled at him, leading him on. Candles flickered all around. A rustle, and someone turned to him, someone whose eyes gleamed even in the half light. Nicholas knew his name too. Lacroix. They both smiled, eyes glinting, and Janette took his hand, led him to the altar. A woman, dark hair spilling over the edge, body laid out like one of the wild boars he'd once hunted in the forests and eaten at feasts. Her throat was pale, so pale, and underneath thrummed the blood that whispered the names of Janette and Lacroix, Janette and Lacroix. . . . Nicholas was drawn to that throat, that white, tender skin, the heat from under it. . . . He bent down over the woman, nostrils picking up the salty scent of blood. His fangs slipped down-- The woman opened her eyes at him and smiled, fangs piercing her lips, the lush red skin oozing blood.* Nicholas screamed. '*NO!*' He held up the stake. Lightning flashed again, bathing the entire church in a lambent glow that lived on, burning itself into his eyelids, long after the thunder faded. Choose, Nicholas. Drops of rain dripped off the fresh end of the wood onto his cloak. Sobbing, he loosened his grip on it and let it drop. Is fear your master, Nicholas? Once you followed something more. Who do you follow now? Nicholas got painfully to his feet, blinking through the water that filled his eyes. The church wavered in his vision. He stumbled towards it, hands out, reaching for . . . something. The door was under his hand. Wood, strong wood. It smelled faintly of grease and people and the warmth of the autumn sun. He pushed the door open and walked into the silence of the church. It pressed down on him, all around him, driving the life from his body, from his soul. He felt something large and strong and *other* surround him, pushing him down. He crumpled to his knees, dragging himself forward, towards the altar. Dark pools of liquid spread on the stone floor behind him. He staggered, fell, raised himself up again. Once he had walked as a man, walked easily in and out of churches. Now he crawled. He needed . . . he didn't know what he needed. He'd turned his back on all that he'd known. The creature with no fear of death crawled like the darkness he was. Shame filled him, and his vision clouded red. Now the altar was before him. His cheeks were stung with his tears. Tears of blood. They fell to the floor, hissing as they touched the smooth stones and evaporated. Nicholas raised one shaking hand, covered with his blood. His tears. 'Look at this,' he screamed, shaking his fist at the altar, and the cross atop, 'look at me! Look at what I've become!' His voice, harsh and discordant, rang through the small church. 'Look at me,' he whispered, voice breaking. Blood was dripping off his hand. There is nothing there to see. 'No!' Lacroix chose well. 'NO!' He lowered his head, feeling his heart pound, beat wildly, as it once had when he was human. Not so long ago, in the space of all time. But so long ago for him. Perhaps it would be better if he died. He clutched his head, feeling something beating within, struggling to loose itself from the cloying darkness. What had he done? He had followed Lacroix's lead blindly, done all that his master demanded like a foolish dog. He turned his back on all that he was. Nicholas swallowed heavily. He should have taken the stake. Perhaps that's what God wanted him to do. He looked up, tears still running down his face. 'Is that what You want me to do?' The voice laughed, not unkindly, in his head. No, Nicholas. You've run too hard to escape death. You won't get it so easily this time. His thin control broke. 'So what do you want from me?!' A choice. You must choose. He stumbled out of the church. As he closed the door, he left a bloody handprint on the wood. It smoked slightly, then disappeared. 'Besides, Schanke would never forgive you if you left.' 'Eternal damnation.' Nat laughed. 'Exactly.' They could joke about it now. He shook himself upright. He'd been sitting at her desk quite a while. 'I was actually thinking of leaving, Nat.' 'I know,' she said softly. He looked away. 'I almost ran away.' 'But you didn't.' 'No.' 'If you were mortal, we'd call this a mid-life crisis,' she laughed. He knew she was trying to keep it light, cheerful. She knew he'd been serious. Dead serious. He grinned back. 'That's what Schanke said, too.' He felt curiously light, almost as if he were floating. She wrinkled her nose at him. 'Maybe this is just jitters for you, then. Another century going past. Year 2000 coming up. You're growing old, Nick.' But he forced the sadness from his smile. 'I pull it off well.' 'That you do,' she smiled, 'that you do.' She turned back to her cluttered desk. 'Now, shoo. Get out of that warren. I've got to get in there and battle the overflowing paper piles.' She made a show of rolling up her sleeves, and he laughed on cue. Her lips curved gently in response. He walked around her desk and, quickly, hugged her. 'Thank you, Nat.' 'No problem, Nick. Anytime.' She touched his arm and searched his face. 'Are you sure you'll be okay?' 'Yeah.' He was. He could feel it inside. He might not trace the car, he might not catch up on his caseload . . . but he was trying. He was doing what he thought was right. Nat patted his sleeve. 'Amazing how just making a decision makes you feel better, isn't it?' 'Miraculous.' He could feel the heaviness begin loosening around his soul. Hope was once again sliding into his thoughts. 'It's given me . . . a place to go again.' 'Where were you?' Janette hissed at him from the darkness. He shook his head at her. The rain had washed the blood from his face, and perhaps taken something else, as well. Now he looked at Janette and saw her not as his friend, not as his family, but as someone--something--else. He wished he knew what. He could only feel uneasiness inside his soul, a need to be somewhere else. Perhaps someday he would be able to look at Janette again, love her as before. . . . Now, he just wanted to weep, to run away. If he didn't do what Lacroix said, the older vampire would kill him. If he did do what Lacroix said . . . he would wish he were dead anyway. 'They're coming.' Lacroix materialized out of the darkness. 'I could hear them, even over the storm. They argue about us.' His lip twisted. 'Apparently, two of them followed us from Amiens. Brothers of some whore we killed there, I think.' He shrugged. 'The others are churchmen, come to kill the demons.' His eyes glinted in the faint lightning flashes that filtered through the trees. He sniggered. 'The blood of Christ, indeed. 'Tis as tasty as other.' Nicholas felt sick. 'Shall we feed on the horses, then?' Janette seemed to be breathing faster, her eyes beginning to redden as well. Lacroix laughed. 'Excellent, my dear Janette! We shan't need them; after the storm blows over we shall merely fly to Canterbury.' 'And if dawn has come before?' Nicholas almost didn't recognize his own voice. So calm! 'We'll take shelter in that little town we've left behind.' Lacroix shrugged nonchalontly. 'It won't be too hard. Merely kill someone who lives on the outskirts of town.' 'That would be noticable, wouldn't it? It's quite a small town.' 'Who cares?' the blond vampire snapped. 'They're mere mortals!' Nicholas turned away. 'Come!' Janette's voice was high and excited, like a child's. 'The horses!' She led the way, smiling as she walked up to her horse, petted it. It shied slightly, eyes nervous. She smiled wider. Nicholas watched as she ran a hand down its neck. Its skin quivered under her touch. He turned away. Its scream suddenly crashed through the night air, loud and high, forcing its way through the curtain of the storm to rend the skies above. Nicholas thought he would go deaf. Then another scream joined it, both fading away in mere seconds. He didn't turn to look at the two vampires, mouths dripping with blood, lapping at the throats of the slain creatures like two monstrous bats. He shuddered. He still remembered the expression that had twisted Janette's face into a mask of something else. An animal, ravenous, warped inside. No doubt the blood was overflowing her mouth, spilling down those lips, staining them red, red. He'd kissed those lips many a time. 'Nicholas, your horse still stands,' Lacroix whispered from behind him. The young vampire could feel the forbidding weight of his master's prescence shadowing him, pressing down on him. But he'd been humbled already, and this was nothing compared to that earlier sensation. 'I stood watch while you fed,' he said shortly, not turning around. Who would be looking out at him from the other's face? 'And now I've no time. Look.' He pointed. 'They come.' And indeed they did, speaking to each other, calling in French, barking orders to the dogs, no doubt. How many were there? Nicholas counted at least five, he thought. Perhaps six. Against three vampires, two of which had fed. He felt naseau rising in his throat. Lacroix's whisper ripped through the other vampires. 'Hide! And when they come, wait for me! Then attack!' They scattered to the trees. Nicholas heard the men come. He could hear their conversation, mutterings about the screams that had filled the night air. So it was purposeful, he thought to himself. Fill them with fear. Janette wields fear well. She'd been taught by the best. He closed his eyes. And that one was his master. What had he done? A shouted curse made him open his eyes. The hunters had entered the area, seen the corpses of the horses. The third one, still alive, was trembling, nostrils filled with the iron scent of blood, of hunters. It crashed from side to side, whinnying in fear as it heard the others' horses, calling to them. Six of them. He'd been right. Some wore crosses about the neck. Some wore swords. None of them looked into the trees; all the eyes were centred on the bloody scene. '' Lacroix's laughter rang out. 'Oh, he won't help you now,' he said, and sprang out of a tree, fangs fastening on the foremost of the group and pulling him down. The man went down with a choked gurgle. Another scream as a man was pulled suddenly off his horse from behind, and as he went over, Nicholas saw the flash of white throat and the accompanying flash of fangs as Janette struck. The hunger rumbled inside him. Lacroix was already on his second victim, reddened mouth on throat, shaking his head as a dog shakes a rat. Blood streamed down the other man's clothes. The hunger grew louder, hotter. Choose, Nicholas. He closed his eyes and sprang from the tree. He landed on one of the remaining riders, fangs already down and hands curved, aching to pull the man's head back, to reveal that soft white throat-- Choose, Nicholas! Instead he pulled viciously to one side, feeling a crack reverberate through the man's body. He dropped it and turned to the last rider. Janette had already taken care of the other. The rider, a plumpish, short man, pulled his cross from his neck and held it out to Nicholas with a shaking hand. 'Monster! Beast! I command thee to hell!' Nicholas nodded grimly. 'I have already found it, good man.' And then he leaped at the man, ignoring the cross pushed into his chest, burning at the place over his heart. He dug strong fingers around the man's throat and watched his eyes bulge, the veins spring prominently around the man's neck-- And then there was a loosening, a slight exhalation of breath, and the man sagged in his grasp, almost as if relaxing, falling asleep. Nicholas let go, watching the man slump to the ground before him. The corpse fell across his feet, hands loosening their grip on the cross. The vampire followed, sinking down onto his knees. Nicholas rubbed the burned place on his chest. he whispered, 'Yo, pard!' Schanke waved at him from across the room. Nick glanced up, and his intent frown turned to a look of horror. 'No!' He scrambled backwards, nearly falling out of his chair. 'Not another souvlaki delivery!' 'Yup!' Schanke chuckled. 'That's the second time tonight!' His voice cracked with fear. His partner sat on the edge of his desk, digging into the cardboard take-away box with glee. 'Thinking makes me hungry.' Nick crept carefully back to his desk. 'Everything makes you hungry, Schank.' 'True.' Schanke munched with pure enjoyment, and sighed happily. Nick held his breath and buried his nose in the file. 'Watcha looking at, pard? Still trying to crack that hit-and-run?' 'Actually, no,' Nick said. 'I've already done pretty much all I can.' He shrugged. 'I don't think the driver's going to get the car fixed on insurance--no one is that stupid--so I went down and talked to a couple of guys who do the car theft bit. Told them to be on the lookout for any places that happen to be get a Toyota sportscar in for the parts.' 'Hey, that's a great idea! You going to follow up on it?' Schanke waved a laden fork in the air, and Nick tracked it with his eyes, hoping it wouldn't fall onto his desk. 'No, not really. I'll let them come to me if they've found anything.' He gestured to the pile of cases stacked neatly in the exact centre of his desk. 'We've got a couple of other things to do. They can't wait.' 'Whoa, is this Nick Knight?' Schanke looked around. 'Will the real Knight please stand up?' 'I've told you before, Schanke, you're not funny.' 'You don't have a sense of humour, Nick.' 'I've lived this long without one.' 'Amazing. I'll pray for your soul next time I'm at church.' 'You do that for me, Schanke,' Nick said quietly. Schanke leaned over. 'Nice to see you back, Nick.' He patted the vampire gently on the shoulder. 'You over it all?' He stared at Nick, all humour wiped from his face. 'I think so.' 'You'll tell me if you're not up to it next time, right? I mean, we're partners, right?' Nick smiled at him. 'Yeah, Schanke. Partners.' 'Good.' Schanke slid off the desk. 'Decision made. Crisis over. On to the next thing, then. New avenues to explore, and all that.' 'Yeah,' Nick said softly. 'New crossroads to reach.' He shook his head wonderingly. It was good to be back.