Date: Mon, 19 Jul 1999 01:19:15 -0400 From: Steve Hood Subject: Darkness Unveiled: The Nightcrawler Interview (00/22) To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu Darkness Unveiled: The Nightcrawler Interview ) 1999 by Steven S. Hood Disclaimer: Forever Knight characters contained within are property of Sony/TriStar Entertainment and James Parriott & Barney Cohen. No infringement is intended. Dedication: This story would have never been written without the support and aid of Sara Orel, who's knowledge of Egypt and its mythology far surpasses anyone I have ever met. I am in her debt for the time she spent tracking down various sources. I would also like to thank both Molly and Laurie for their kind emails directing me to various places around the web. I could have never have done this without you guys. Permission to archive at fkfanfic.com. All others please ask for permission first. A Few Words of Thought before Reading: Originally this was intended to be a short piece on the tenacity of vampires and reporters. What I ended up with was something much longer, much darker, and much more unsettling. It is not erotic, nor explicit, so it does not fall under an Adult category. But I give you fair warning. I do not agree with some of the content in this. It disturbs me on levels that we only glance at briefly, then turn away. And while I believe that if we're old enough to ask the question, then we're old enough to hear the answer, I would strongly recommend that if you don't care to stare into the abyss at the darker qualities of vampires and humanity, then pass on this one. With that said, I welcome you to read this and give some thought to the pathos and mythos contained within the story, whether literal or symbolic. And if you come to the same conclusions I did, then you'll understand the reason why this introduction was necessary. Au binot! -Steve The Beginning: Part 1 LaCroix emerged from his quarters to the noise and bustle of the Raven, pausing to drink in the smell. He smiled and moved among the dancers, bar hoppers, the lurkers, movers and shakers of the nightlife. The smell of decadence was strong here, a relishing smell he basked in. 'Among thieves of society.' It was definitely an interesting life he lived at the moment. And as much as he hated to admit it, this present incantation was slowly becoming a permanent institution. It wouldn't last forever. Nothing ever did. Time and centuries of living had taught him that. It would be interesting, though, to see how this one ended. "Evening, LaCroix," Miklos said as LaCroix approached the bar. He set a wineglass on the counter and removed a dark, blacked-labeled bottle from the refrigerator to pour. "And what delicious morsels have descended upon us this evening?" LaCroix asked, turning to face the evening crowds. Miklos motioned to the tables. "Got a strawberry with a bunch of baggage. Been here since we opened." LaCroix paused to glance at the woman, a young, red-haired girl barely into her mid-twenties. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a cascade of curls. He could see the ridgeline where a pair of glasses should have been. She brightened when she saw him looking. "What do you think?" Miklos asked. LaCroix swallowed the blood from his glass. "I'm not sure," he replied, moving toward the woman. The girl was obviously out of place wearing a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, and a faded duster that made him think briefly of Texas. She smiled as LaCroix approached the table, revealing dimples. "A bit out of your element, wouldn't you say?" LaCroix spoke, sliding a chair over and sitting across from her. He spotted two bags and a suitcase on wheels off to the side. "Not really," the woman replied. He smelled the arrogance rolling off her. "You're not our usual clientele," LaCroix continued, ignoring the bait. He paused to take her in. "Perhaps you may be willing to indulge me as to who you're waiting for." The woman's smile deepened. "You," she said. "I beg your pardon?" LaCroix was not easily startled, but in this case, he couldn't help it. He felt his jaw drop a notch. The woman held out her hand. "Eve deLucy. New York Times." LaCroix felt his hairs bristle. 'A reporter.' He stood and threw down a twenty-dollar bill. "This conversation is over," he declared softly. "Please finish your drink and kindly leave." He turned to leave. "Wait." LaCroix half-turned back, raising an eyebrow toward Eve. Eve stood up and approached him. "Look. I can make it worth your time. Just think. The Nightcrawler Interview." "Not interested," LaCroix said coldly. "Find another story. This one, is quite dead." Eve crossed in front of LaCroix's path. "You're gold," she breathed, continuing as if she hadn't been interrupted. "The Nightcrawler is syndicated through almost every country throughout the English-speaking world. You're bigger than the Scandal. Every single reporter who's somebody is going to be here, clamoring for an interview. You could talk to me instead and send the rest pack-." "The Pulitzer Prize story?" LaCroix cut her off. "The woman who got the exclusive, the front page, the rising star who beat them all. Truly, does your blood burn in ambition?" He closed in on her. "That awful, sweetening sick feeling of wanting something you can't have? How far will you go, Miss deLucy? How far will the feeling take you?" He stopped, staring down into a pair of widening green eyes. "What lurks within that beating heart to blind that which comes near?" LaCroix smiled then, what Nicolas complained was his dark, mocking smile. Eve swallowed and took a step back, looking a bit uncertain. "A story's a story," she muttered, though whether directed to her or LaCroix was a bit vague. "Certainly somewhere, someone must be waiting for you," LaCroix pressed, listening to Eve's heart pounding against her chest. He locked his eyes with hers. "Someone who cares a great deal for you. Wouldn't your time be better spent in the arms of loved ones? That special someone only you hold dear? Perhaps a lover, a husband, or a family?" "The family," Eve said softly, lowering her eyes. "And it's been such a long time since your last visit, hasn't it?" "Yes." "Wouldn't you rather be with them now instead of chasing some silly story?" "Silly story." LaCroix reached out and gently touched Eve's pale cheek. It was tempting, very tempting. "In fact, it would be much better to go see them after such a long time. And you're already packed." "Packed." It truly was a shame. Under different circumstances, LaCroix might have enjoyed himself. The fragrance she wore was exquisite. Her vitality was equally as strong. "Go now," he urged. "See your family." Without a word, Eve went and collected her bags. She picked them up and quickly left the Raven, with only her scent lingering. LaCroix closed his eyes a moment and paused to drink in her passage. He felt the call of blood rise within his thirst, and slowly brought his glass to his lips. He wondered what Eve would taste like. "A pity," he commented to himself. Slowly, he made his way back to the bar. "So what was that all about?" Miklos asked as LaCroix approached. "A minor inconvenience," LaCroix replied, savoring Eve's presence. Part 2 "What does it say of the man who drowns in his own glory? The raw, unbridled feeling of power he holds within his hands? Not for legions or children, but only of his own self. Indeed, if such a man exists then he is a monster of his own. "Though what of softer edges, softer thoughts? The desire, the ambition of dreams? Surely these must be innocent fantasies, shared alone in the bedchambers of willing partners. Is there not a feeling of such awful goodness, a conscience thought that this is what life should be? Doesn't it reach out as the lost lover, this darkness, so much ourselves yet so different. We can't deny it's there. It is our nature to possess, to own, to control. "And when we confront these demons, do we not see ourselves in its madness? Relish the raw adrenaline surging through your veins though it is evil, immoral, and dark? We're drawn to it, like vultures along the highways, staring at accidents as we drive by. We slow down to take a peek, fascinated, drawn to the idea of death. "It would be death that we would master." LaCroix looked up at a blinking green light near the door, and smiled. "It seems we have a caller," he spoke into the microphone. He flipped the intercom. "You're on. And who do we have tonight?" "Hi," a young girl's voice replied. "This is Theresa." "And what can we do for you tonight, Theresa?" "I just wanted to say how much I love the show, and that I think you're the best." LaCroix smirked. 'How easily they are led,' he thought. "Tell me, Theresa. How old are you?" "Fifteen." "Do your parents know you're listening?" There was a definite snort over the receiver. "Like they really care," Theresa replied. "I could listen to death metal and still not get a rise from them." "Surely they must care," LaCroix purred. This really was his favorite part, listening to the conflicts and the chaos the human species extolled in. "But you will always have the Nightcrawler, listening, waiting, welcoming you home." Another call came through the board. This was turning out to be an interesting night. He switched lines. "And who do we have know?" "An admirer," an older female voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar. LaCroix smiled. "Really? And what would you admire?" "You, your show, and your success. How does it feel to know people around the world are listening to every word as you speak?" 'Damn.' It was that damnable reporter. LaCroix paused to take in his annoyance. This was becoming tiring. "Miss deLucy, if I'm not mistaken. Well, it seems we have a member of the forth establishment tonight." "They're coming. I've seen five or six so far. Are you sure that's what you want? How about a full dozen, or two?" LaCroix cut Eve off, then hesitated. He certainly didn't care for the woman, and yet something was compelling about her. But vividly imagining a wolfpack of those quacking scribes parked inside the Raven was something he did not care for. 'No. Not at all.' "I find it suddenly ironic," LaCroix continued, 'that the greed of estates should fall upon my door. What are we, but a voice of a darker darkness? Does not the wolf hound its prey, running it to the ground only then to hamstring? Savage, really. Primitive." He smiled again, brushing his fangs against his lower lip. "And to think after all this time, we are still native to nature. Goodnight." LaCroix pulled the station off and remained in his chair. Thoughtful, he turned to glance through the window past his reflection and watch his children mingle with the entropy of night. All this time, he had never considered the possibility from rapid exposure. It was fun, idle time to talk into the ears of humans, seducing them with their own inadequacies, mocking them. He had no intention of establishing a permanent position, yet he had. And Nicolas was no closer to leaving now than before. He needed more time to finish what he started here. "How utterly annoying," he commented to himself. He would have to start barring customers from the Raven less face the cameras of media paparazzi. It wasn't entirely without humor. This type of situation had occurred before with other members of the community, but not with such a rapid spark. It was, however, the first time he stood in the spotlight and he found he rather didn't like it. A knock on the door brought LaCroix from his musings. He looked up with a flash of annoyance, then saw Miklos staring back. He rose and crossed to the door. "Problems?" he asked, standing in the doorway. "We've caught five of them pestering the customers. Brucal and Dere threw them out." "I take it you heard Miss deLucy tonight?" "Yeah. What happened? I thought you hypnotized her," Miklos complained. LaCroix didn't have to look at the man's expression to know Miklos wasn't pleased. And LaCroix didn't blame Miklos. "It appears our Miss deLucy isn't given to suggestive impulses. Pity." "We can't keep throwing them out. Sooner or later one of them will start something and draw the wrong kind of attention." LaCroix spotted a man with a pocket-sized camera snap a few pictures. He found a sudden urge to drain the man dry. "A photographer," he snarled. Miklos snapped his head around to spot the man. He quickly motioned to Brucal and Dere. "This is becoming a problem," he said, staring back at LaCroix. "I suggest thinking quick, LaCroix. Otherwise the Enforcers are going to come swarming." LaCroix blinked, and had a sudden flash. He grinned. "Let them try," he replied. Miklos blinked back, surprise covering his expression. "Are you mad?" he whispered harshly. "If you start killing Enforcers, we'll have a bloody war." "Calm yourself," LaCroix replied, scanning the club. He hadn't seen her, but he smelled the perfume. Eve deLucy was in the club. "Their quarrel wouldn't be with us." He felt his gaze grow warm. "And I take care of my own." Then he spotted her, standing over at the bar with a drink. "Excuse me." Eve turned as LaCroix approached and smiled. "Having a good evening?" "Fascinating," LaCroix answered, staring down to search her eyes. Whatever had happened, the hypnotic suggestion was gone. "I seem to recall, Miss deLucy, that I asked you to leave." "And I did," Eve replied, eyeing LaCroix. "But that was last night." LaCroix hid a slight smile. "Let me clarify. Please leave and do not return." Eve snorted, sipping her drink. "You're only delaying the inevitable. I saw your bouncers. Tossing reporters is a fast way to the front page. And if we can't come in, we'll camp outside. How did you put it? 'Does not the wolf hound its prey, running it to the ground only then to hamstring?' Apt. But sooner or later you'll have to deal with us." She flashed him a smile that almost made him drain her dry right there. "Or me." LaCroix had to admire her gall and ingenuity. It was too bad they couldn't have met under different circumstances. This was a challenge he liked, the ones with the eventual fall from grace. Every single emotion the human being was capable of he had witnessed at one time or another, and had exploited. 'Why should this time be any different?' He blinked, considering the thought. He found himself staring down at Eve, considering. "So what do you say?" Eve asked. LaCroix blinked, taking in his surroundings. "I think," he began, looking around the club, "that you've overextended your welcome." Everything seemed normal. So why the sudden shift in himself? "Shall I escort you out, or have Brucal or Dere do it?" Eve slammed her drink down and shoved her way past LaCroix. LaCroix turned to watch her go, suddenly experiencing a bout of uncertainty. Not dij` vu, but rather a peculiar sense of unsettlement. Was it from Eve, or from some other agency at work? He didn't know. In the some nineteen hundred odd years he had lived, LaCroix couldn't recall a time he felt this peculiar sensation. How did the expression go? 'On my grave ' Miklos appeared next to LaCroix and nodded in Eve's direction. "She's going to be trouble." LaCroix turned on Miklos. "Did you feel that?" "Feel what?" LaCroix stared after Eve, even though she was gone. He narrowed his eyes, and for a brief moment, glimpsed a foreseeable future. He didn't know what to think, but knew somehow he had to turn this to his advantage. "Darkness," he replied softly. "Darkness unveiled." Part 3 Night fell, and Toronto exploded in waves of lights erupting across the city. Young crowds moved into coffeehouses and clubs, or cruised along with friends looking for both sport and entertainment. There was something pure about it, the way warriors once gathered around fires in the evening to relay the day's stories. And still, some traits never completely went away. The need for community was one of them. Outside the Raven, vans parked outside the waves of people lined up to get in. Cameras rolled as reporters stood with microphones and jackets, speaking to millions across the world. It was enough to shake the foundations of the Catholic Church. One could not turn elsewhere without another news team poised, waiting to snap a picture and fire a barrage of questions. LaCroix didn't even need to go outside to see it. He watched it all from the flatscreen television installed in his quarters, and laughed. It was another example of history repeating itself. There was definitely a dark, if not cruel irony to this untimely interruption. It was the Inquisition, King Henry V, and the Dark Ages all rolled into one in the burning fires of torchlight. The bloodsmell, the congestion of mobs ran under superficial order. He laughed harder, convinced that after all this time, humanity had come no farther from where it began. It was gratifying to see depravity rear its head, a totally corrupt darkness. He closed his eyes a moment, feeling the tug of pangs. It was almost like old times. Thoughtful, he reigned in his humor and took a sip from his glass. Miklos was right about one thing. Eve was the heart of this movement, and ever more the blacker heart. She was the key to it. He had seen it when he saw her again, when he saw suggestion had faded to an unconscious memory. 'Not a resistor, but something else,' LaCroix mused. A familiar presence tickled the back of his mind. He turned, taking in the undeniable face of his son standing back in the shadows. LaCroix smiled. "Nicolas," he said. "Care to join me?" Nicolas stepped into LaCroix's lair, dressed down in a black turtleneck. It played well with the blondish brown hair. "LaCroix," he replied, folding his arms across his chest. "It seems you have admirers." LaCroix nearly laughed again. Trust Nicolas to point out the obvious. "It's rather touching," he observed, taking another drink. "In an odd, almost succulent way. I trust everything is in good order?" Nicolas crossed to an armchair and sat. "To tell the truth, the Crown's concerned," he admitted. "All this media. It's proving to be somewhat embarrassing." "Yes," LaCroix replied dryly. "I'm sure it is." There was a pause of silence between them. LaCroix watched as Nicolas studied him, no doubt searching for a hint to his thoughts. They had played this game before, in different places and different times. And as always, Nicolas would eventually succumb to curiosity. It was one of his son's weaknesses, and one he had taken advantage of time and again. "What's going on, LaCroix?" LaCroix stood, relishing his victory even though it was a small one. "What's going on, he asks," LaCroix said, moving to the television. He turned and faced Nicolas, feeling the rush of blood. "Have a look, Nicolas. It's all right there. Greed, ambition, dominance, betrayal and survival right outside on my doorstep." He chuckled. "Humanity's finest hour. What fools they are. And this is what you want to become?" Nicolas shifted in his chair and briefly glanced away. "You do realize the implications of this, don't you?" "Of course I do." LaCroix moved away toward the window and stared down at the mob. He looked, wondering if Eve was down there with her two bags and suitcase. 'Poor Eve,' he thought. 'Lost in the garden again.' He smiled, remembering her scent. "But it is mine to deal with, Nicolas. Not yours." "At the risk of the Community?" Nicolas snapped back, standing to walk to LaCroix. "Are you mad?" He took LaCroix's arm. LaCroix looked down at Nicolas' hand, then stared up into the eyes of his pupil. How many centuries had they lived together? He lost count. "Presumption," he said softly, "is a worse sin. Remove your hand, Nicolas." Nicolas glared back at LaCroix, but let go. LaCroix leaned against the window and drank "You see. A little civility lends itself to polite manners." "Why are you letting this happen?" Nicolas asked. "What makes you think I have a choice, Nicolas?" LaCroix answered, staring back. Right now this was very much like the times they once had, before Nicolas went astray with his foolish concept of humanity. "Would you rather I give them what they desire? A story? A life's story? What then? Magazines, a parade, my picture on the cover of Time next to Clinton? Oh, yes. That would be such the hypocrisy. Far better and easier to deliver myself to the Enforcers. Nothing is ever black and white, Nicolas." "So you let them sit there and become targets," Nicolas replied. "They'll slaughter them. And more will come, asking questions we can't answer. Is that what you want, LaCroix?" "What I want, Nicolas," LaCroix snapped back, feeling his temper rise, "is to be left alone. They sealed their fates by their greed." He walked back into his living room, hiding a smile. It would be a feast unlike any to match history, and he would have a front row seat. "Innocent people are going to die, LaCroix!" LaCroix turned back on Nicolas, smiling. "I know. Savoring, isn't it?" Nicolas snarled, then flew out the window he came through. LaCroix burst out laughing, then raised his glass. Part 4 "Truly, we shed our veins at the first smell of blood. That wretched twist in the gut, abandoning reason and trust. We flock to them to taste that brief moment of complete and utter horror, safely behind windows and think, 'That would never be me.' Oh, but it is, my children. We all share that common darkness. We're drawn to it, bathe in it, then drown in our conscience restraints knowing we're different. But are we really? "Does it truly matter an American president will lie? Or fighters strife European countries? Does it really make a difference that our children take matters into their own hands and taste the bitter fruit of their desires? We cry for humanity, yet turn to observe the trenches of bodies, silent and cold. We desire justice, and still watch the monsters. Do you not feel it? That sickening feeling of morbid fascination to everything you're not? Then truly, we are blind. "We are no different, whether on the front page or lurking in the shadows. Violence, death, scandal. We love to peer into the void, into private lives, and face the monsters within us, even if only briefly. And the worst part is, we know it's attractive. Never mind that we would hound our celebrities into an early grave, or provoke a violent response intruding others' lives. Why should we care, when it is the very thing that attracts us? You may think you are not one, secure in a darkened room with a monitor. But you are one of us. You are involved, whether you choose to or not. Voyeurs, or participants. "And privacy is an illusion." LaCroix stopped broadcasting and smiled, leaning away from the microphone. Without a doubt, those news reporters would cling to every word. First would come the cries of denial, the spins and lies to create a dramatic media. They would milk it for every bit of exposure available. Then they would claim partial guilt, and reply with sincere apologies. But none of them would leave. They had no choice now. Every damned reporter, newspaper, and network would come, and LaCroix would laugh at them. Never before had anyone in history have such an unprecedented opportunity to bend the world, waiting on every word, movement, and thought. It was in his hand, and he would make them pay for it with their sweat, blood, lust, and if it came down to it, their lives. Thousands of people, literally lining up as lambs to the slaughter. It was enough to make the Virgin weep. The telephone shattered the silence. Annoyed, LaCroix opened the line to the callbox. "Yes?" he asked crisply. "Clever," Eve's voice came back. "But don't think you can spin it. I've seen pros burn from attempting to play the media's game." "Miss deLucy," LaCroix replied, absently humming a melody from Mozart. He vividly remembered watching the young man stake through the streets tearing at the wig, babbling about death. That was madness. He silently laughed. "Glad you could come out and play. Or are you simply attempting to pull a few strings of your own?" "Are you actually trying to create a media storm?" "No more than any of you," LaCroix said, sitting up. This was just about as much fun as tormenting Nicolas. "And as such, are you not attempting the same? Quid pro quo, Miss deLucy. I have all the time I need. You, I'm afraid, will not fare as such, drowned by voices more powerful than yours." "You make it sound like a game," Eve's voice cut back. The accusation in her voice was chords of his violin. "Isn't it such?" LaCroix continued. Then he smiled. "A word to the wise, Miss deLucy. We both have our little means of recording. I trust you won't do anything rash." Eve swore and hung up. LaCroix chuckled and switched off the phone box. He knew as well as Eve it was pointless to use any of their conversations. She was proving to be a formidable opponent. Again, he felt that subtle touch of unsettlement. He frowned, wondering why he would experience such a thing with a mortal. It was unnatural, and he didn't like things that were unexplainable. "Playing again?" LaCroix turned, staring up into Janette's angry expression. "My, my," he said. "My children have taken to visiting me more often. To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Don't flatter yourself," Janette snapped back, throwing her coat and purse onto the console. "I despise being accosted by reporters." LaCroix steepled his hands. "Having problems?" "You!" Janette flashed. "You and your little games. Have you been outside? Seen the results of your little lover's dispute?" Her pale skin glowed, hinting at the rage lurking underneath. "Merte. You're as bad as Nicola." He glanced out of the booth into the club, watching the dancers. For some reason, their movements seemed more forced, unnatural to themselves and their calling. And no doubt there were informants in the mix. They had finally managed to bar the estates by setting up an ID checkpoint with a vampire at the helm. But sources were a different matter entirely. He narrowed his gaze, still disturbed to his reaction to Eve. "It is not without its humor," he replied. "You are playing with their lives," Janette said. "And ours. How long do you think we can continue our charade if they are waiting with cameras and recorders? When they watch our every move?" She knelt down and placed her hands in his. "LaCroix. They threaten our very existence, this game of yours. Think. Think about what you are doing, before you throw our lives away." LaCroix turned on Janette. "As I might not be?" he accused, matching her glare. "I protect mine. And none of us die unless I decide. Neither the media nor the Enforcers guide my decisions. And rest assured, 'Janette'. That will not happen." "Then what's this all about?" "A lesson," LaCroix snarled. "And one they will never forget." Janette stood, staring down at him. He didn't like the way she looked at him. "It will be on their graves," she said finally. "And when," LaCroix replied, "did you decide to care? They are food. That is the reality of our existence, and one you yourself live by. What business is it of ours if they choose to die choking on their own nature?" LaCroix watched as comprehension dawned on Janette. "That's hideous," she spat. "We are vampires," LaCroix said simply. "And it is our nature. Would you rather the alternative?" Janette shivered. "What I think," she replied stiffly, "is irrelevant. You have made your choice. And those mortals out there will die. Their blood with be yours." She crossed the room to collect her purse and coat. "Do not involve me." With that, she left. LaCroix raised a questioning glance at the closing door. Since her death and rebirth, Janette had been somewhat of a mystery to him. But as their base natures had proved, eventually she would face and accept the reality of what drove them. Neither Janette nor Nicolas could grasp the concept. He accounted it as age, and knowing the price of human relationships. They still had much to learn, and this 'lesson', as he called it, would only drive them closer to him in the end. And in the end, they would see themselves for what they truly were. Both predators and prey. LaCroix lounged in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, imaging the screams. Part 5 It is often remarked that there is a calm before the storm, and LaCroix smelled it in the wind. He rose, climbing away from the Raven, from the other vampires, from the humans. He rose until he reached the clouds, then paused to float while staring at a half-blue moon. He didn't regret his decisions. They were the right ones, despite his children's objections and moral arguments. There was really only one permanent solution to his type of problem. And none of their own lives were at stake. The Community didn't know the Enforcers the way LaCroix did. He felt them already, silently slipping into the city and keeping to themselves. There wasn't enough yet, but others would arrive soon. He floated within the clouds, and once more thought of Eve deLucy. She crept into his mind more often of late, and at odd moments. During the show, while sipping on a drink, even standing among the marble pillars within his room. Every time, he pictured her differently. She had even slipped into dreams. Which he found even more disturbing. In one, Eve came to him naked, yet untroubled by modesty. She came slowly, as if somehow drawn to his presence like rats to the piper. Late in the evening, and he would stand under the torchlight of the Basilica in Pompeii. LaCroix was not one given to dreams, but he found the symbolic reference troubling. The two made no sense to him. Another one, and more disturbing, was tearing across Eve's throat and feeling her blood mix with his. It felt like circling, running in cycles. Her blood, his blood. Both drinking, and neither willing to let go. That was the most frightening one. LaCroix had always complained of dreams on the eve before battle. He remembered marching on the Gauls, with soldiers' song firmly etched into his mind. He remembered the wet, cool wind, not at all like the rising heat in the dustlands of Pompeii. They had just settled in for the night, and he had remained awake with the flicker of fires, thinking of blood. ******************** Lucien paused, watching as sentries stood with spears around the perimeter of camp. They would die first before allowing an enemy to slip in. He found a profound comfort knowing their loyalty. It was a good feeling. He stopped to stare out into the thick cluster of trees. He didn't like all this close space, but as a commander, understood its strategic value. It was his enemy's trap so must it be his as well. He also had the advantage of navigation, having spent some of his earlier years in Crete. When they came, he would make sure the Gauls had no room to maneuver, or run. Walking always helped to clear his mind, and he liked to walk among the companies to see his soldiers. He made it a practice to never say goodbye. If his soldiers died, it was their ineptitude of character. He had trained each and every one of them, and all knew the price of failure. A streak of white flashed off to his left. Lucien stopped and frowned. If there was a scout in the camp, then the element of surprise was lost. He drew his sword and followed, careful to keep his foot trod quiet. 'No sense in scaring the prey.' He smiled, and slowly began to track his quarry. The thickening trees grew closer as more foliage developed. Lucien wandered further into the forest, watching the night filtered by the overhanging canopy. He ignored it, knowing the price of unfounded fear. He welcomed the forest, its noise and trappings. One made friends with the terrain, not enemies. His teachers taught him that. Ahead, he caught a brief flicker of a small campfire and smiled. The fire alone told him how many he was facing. There was only one. And a very scared one, judging by the broken branches and scuffled dirt. He smelled it, the musk scent of fear his prey carried with every step. Advantage was on his side. He crept up to the small clearing, careful to keep himself out of the shadowed glow. He found a nice thicket of foliage to observe from, and carefully maneuvered himself in. Lucien's eyes widened in surprise. Sitting next to the fire, a woman with long reddish-blond hair sat with her eyes closed, murmuring to herself. She wore a white robe and a plain necklace made of various stones and wood. Not beautiful by his standards, there was a striking simpleness. She did not paint herself in the available oils, or touch her cheeks with the rouge of rose pedals. He found this somewhat disturbing, but couldn't reason its origins. But woman or not, she was a spy. And there was only one true way to deal with spies. Lucien crept slowly up, wary of traps, but found none. And all this time, the woman never looked up. He made it all the way up until he stood poised next to her, then raised his sword. "Blood will be the only grave thy shall know," the woman said simply. She didn't even open her eyes or look toward him. "What manner of trickery is this?" Lucien popped off, stopping in swing. The woman finally opened her eyes and stared up at Lucien. They were a deep, sky-colored blue. "Blood calls blood. It is thy past, thy present, and thy future." "If I die tomorrow," Lucien replied, "then so it must be." The woman regarded him sadly. "Take my life if thou pleases," she said, unflinching. "But know that it wilt not change thy course of fate. My blood is of the Mother. Thy wilt be betrayed by thine own. Always alone." Lucien didn't hesitate. The woman's head came cleanly off with one swing and he felt no remorse. She had betrayed herself and her nature. And he despised witches. "Fate has no quarrel with me," he said, staring down at the decapitated body. ************************ 'Oh, how ignorant is my own blindness?' LaCroix chuckled, taking in the view of the moon. There had been more credit in the woman's words than he gave her credit for. And Divia proved it. He reflected a moment briefly, allowing an empty sadness as an epitaph for both his daughter and mother. He didn't miss her. The question was did he really want Eve to suffer the hands of fate he had dealt her kind? There was a raw potential in her. Then the thought struck him. LaCroix laughed. It was better than revealing those media predators as prey. And it would give a piece of mind to his children, if nothing else as a sacrifice to a much greater lesson. It would also allow him the opportunity to test something he wanted to know. He once told Charlemange that the loss of a rook was acceptable if it netted the opponent's queen. And that's exactly what this was. A rook's gambit. Still chuckling, LaCroix descended to a sleeping city. Part 6 LaCroix descended to the rooftop of the Hyatt, pausing only long enough to sniff the air. It was unmistakable. He knew Eve's scent as he knew his own. He followed it, reminded of the witch woman in the forest. He hoped Eve would be just as true to herself. He tracked the scent to a window and hovered to look in. She wasn't home, or at least not yet. Which made it for a very hilarious, if not somewhat ironic, situation. ******************** He poured himself a drink from the room's bar, knowing that she would need it. Once fixed, he moved into the bathroom and examined his own appearance. Of all the time periods, this one proved to be the most diverse in cosmetic products. His hair was a bit ruffled from the wind, but a pocket comb solved that minor annoyance. His clothes were still unaffected and wrinkle-free. Simple and black. 'Perfect,' he thought. He heard keys in the lock. Smiling, LaCroix grabbed the drink and counted slowly to ten. Then he casually walked back into the bedroom. Eve faced away from him, throwing her purse onto the bed with a huff. Her heartbeat was slow, but the smell of sweat was evident. It was obvious she had a busy night. "A nightcap, perhaps?" LaCroix said. Eve screamed as she threw herself on the bed after the purse. Red curls went flying as she turned, pointing a 22 caliber. He was right. It was amusing. "Do you really want to shoot me?" Eve snarled at him and lowered her gun. Her green eyes scowled. "Just great," she retorted. "We stake out the club as he stakes out my room." She stood up and crossed to grab the drink from LaCroix's hand. It was absolutely remarkable. Whatever trace of fear she had was gone. "Next time don't take so long," she replied, then drained the glass. "Not bad." "Another?" LaCroix asked, hiding his amusement. Eve was taking this in stride, and no doubt plotting to use this to her advantage. 'A remarkable woman.' "In a minute." Eve went to her purse and stowed the gun, removing a tape recorder in its wake. She clicked one of the buttons. "Eve deLucy on September 4th, 1999. First interview with Mr. LaCroix, also known as the Nightcrawler." LaCroix crossed and snapped the recorder off. "Hey!" He efficiently removed it from Eve's hands and tossed it through the window. Her face was a remarkable study, from astonishment, to anger, then to cold indifference. "You're replacing that," she said simply. "Trust me," LaCroix replied dryly. "You won't need it." Eve studied him. "You want something," she said finally. LaCroix raised his brow. "It has nothing to do with a matter of needs, but rather of what I can give." "I'm listening." LaCroix smiled. This really was too easy. He went behind the bar and began mixing another drink. "Exactly what you want," he said, pouring. He held the drink out to Eve. "An exclusive with the Nightcrawler." Eve took the drink. "What's the catch?" Inside, he couldn't stop laughing. It continued to amaze him, this concept of sarcasm and mistrust. The human race had finally developed an acceptable streak of jadedness he found rather appealing. It made this far more amusing. "Only a small token on your part," he said. "And what is this 'small token'?" "All in good time, my dear," LaCroix replied. "Those are the terms. You get the exclusive, and in return you perform a small service, well within your means." Eve flushed slightly, then sized LaCroix. "You're not exactly my type," she replied archly, "but I'm sure accommodations could be made." LaCroix stared at Eve a moment, then burst out laughing. It was a resounding laugh echoing the corridors of memory. How many had he come across in his life who were so smart, and yet yielded to the greed of their passions? He could count them on one hand. It was Charlemange all over again. "Oh no, my dear," LaCroix said, still laughing. "This has absolutely nothing to do with the more physical forms of expression. You have my word on that." Eve narrowed her eyes. "Can't say I'm disappointed." LaCroix leaned over the bar and matched her stare. "You won't be." The Interview: Part 7 LaCroix lounged in his studio, contemplating the wheels set in motion. As once a student of Nero, he understood the nature of fallacy, attributing it to an impulse of over-complication. That, and an ill-fated raid into the emerging Ottoman Empire taught him the necessity of too much and not enough information. Pity Nero had died. The man would have made an excellent vampire, albeit a mad one. He pictured the board, and touched the pieces needed to be in play. Everything was set, and the clock ticking. All that remained was the arrival of his player. It was a quality about Eve that LaCroix could admire, the unpredictable streak with her impulses. Neither of his children possessed it. He could name off men in history who had, but never a woman. LaCroix understood three things when dealing with the opposite sex. Do not follow blindly. Never take anything away from one. And never turn the other way. In some respect, he associated women with vampires. A delight to enjoy their company, and every bit as dangerous. The good Dr. Natalie Lambert was a model of that observation. 'Devious woman,' he once commented. He rather hoped Nicolas would bring her across eventually. But if Nicolas failed to, then he might. 'My enemies are my friends.' LaCroix smiled. Nero said the same thing once. There was a knock on the door. He didn't need to glance up to know Eve had arrived. Her scent was one he knew well. He stood and walked to the door, smoothing his shirt. His lamb had arrived. "A good evening to you, Miss deLucy," he said, opening the door. Eve stood outside, dressed down in jeans and a black turtleneck not unlike the one Nicolas wore. It suited Eve better. "All set?" she asked, stepping in. LaCroix closed the door behind her. "I am at your immediate disposal." He winked. Eve laughed. "Great. Why don't we have a seat?" "Indeed." LaCroix had brought in another chair for her. They sat across from each other. Eve pulled out a thick notebook and a pen, leafing through the pages. "You won't need that," LaCroix said, steepling his fingers. "First you break my recorder and now you won't let me write?" Eve gave LaCroix an irritated glare. "Just how do you expect me to conduct this interview and remember it?" "By what's up there and what's in there," LaCroix pointed first to his head, then to the lifeless heart within his chest. "How do you remember anything? By the sum of its experience." Eve just looked a him a moment. He had a sudden flash of the dream, standing in Pompeii as she glided to him, naked. LaCroix blinked away the image, somewhat troubled it would come now. 'A premonition?' he wondered. But of what? He was once again reminded of the witch in the forest and the prophetic words. 'A warning?' There was no way to tell. LaCroix looked at Eve. "Ask your questions." For a moment, all Eve did was breathe. Long, deep breaths calming a fast beating heart. Whether it was anger, or apprehension could not be ascertained. But she was considering something. "Why did you decide to become a radio host?" she asked. "A good start," LaCroix commented, recalling those beginning nights in Toronto. It had been a year since Nicolas tried to kill him. "I believe the appeal was reaching out, so to speak, to listen. My children were never very good at it. But I understand the closed doors of a restless heart." "You have children?" Eve asked, startled. "I'm sorry. You don't look that old." LaCroix smiled then. "A common mishap." "Do they live nearby?" "Within a relative distance," LaCroix replied. Eve looked at him a moment, reaching some conclusion. "How did you decide on your name, the Nightcrawler?" LaCroix closed his eyes a moment to recall the first night of his broadcast. If he recalled correctly, it was during that business with the Constantine Family and Nicolas' involvement. He smiled. It was about fathers. "I was on Night Watch at CERK," he said. "It came to me one night as I crawled from my bed. The image stuck with me. The dark corners of the human psyche, crawling up unexpectedly. And since I listen " Eve barked a laugh. "A Father Confessor?" LaCroix blinked, then slowly smiled. "How, 'apt'," he replied. "I like the alliteration." He found it damn funny actually, considering the topic of that night. "What about your direction?" Eve prompted, leaning forward. This was becoming tiresome. LaCroix leaned forward in his chair and turned his stare on Eve. Not suggestion. He knew better to try given her somewhat unique ability. But intense, slanted, and mocking. "Miss deLucy, we can banter these questions all night to your heart's content. And if that's all you desire, then I will sing your lullaby. But let me ask you something, Eve. Are these really the questions you want to know? Or is there something more? A burning fire consuming your thoughts, your dreams, or your fears? "Isn't it ironic that what we write is never what we should? The questions that gnaw in your heart, the ones you hate yourself for thinking. Those are the true questions, the ones you spend the rest of your life hoping to answer, but never do. Something always stops it. A distraction, or a new story. Another thing to go learn. So how about it, Eve. What is it you truly want to know?" Eve looked back at LaCroix with wide eyes and a heart thumping loud enough to be heard by normal ears. She sat there across the way, unmoving, unable even to blink. He had reached her, and now the true education would begin. LaCroix leaned back. "Ask." "Who are you?" Eve whispered. "Now that," LaCroix smiled, "is an excellent question." He rolled his chair away from the console and opened his arms, gesturing. "Who am I?" He leaned in closer and met Eve's bright green eyes. "Are you sure you want to ask the question? Is there something more? Do you truly want the answer, knowing it might just change you?" "You can dish out whatever you want," Eve growled, leaning in. Her pretenses had vanished. "You asked me what I really wanted to know. So are you going to answer the question or sit there trying to threaten me?" LaCroix started to snarl, then reigned himself. This went beyond intoxication. This was true, raw power. Power to wield, power to forge, power to corrupt. He was right about everything. "I'll answer the question," he said. "But do you have the time?" "Whatever it takes," Eve challenged. "Then I give you your first assignment. Go to the library, in their history section. Learn everything you can about Pompeii. Do not return until you know without a doubt there is nothing more to learn. Then, and only then, we will talk of what you learned." "What does Pompeii have to do with any of this?" "This dialogue is closed. Go, now!" Eve stood, completely red. "Fuck you, LaCroix. Fuck you, your deal, and your show!" She turned and left, slamming the door behind her. LaCroix looked on with a predatory smile. He knew what she did, but most of all, they both knew she would be back. Part 8 True to his predictions, Eve reemerged in three days following her amusing outburst in the studio. LaCroix had expected a few different reactions, but a woman carrying in her notebook with thin, black-framed glasses and an expression of 'alertness?' was not one of them. He snorted back a laugh. She was turning out to be a lot more fun. Which didn't stop her from barging into the studio. "That was interesting," she chirped. "Indeed?" LaCroix looked at her. It truly amazed him how mortals adopted certain vampiric traits. He had a brief flash of himself and the way he dropped in on Nicolas. And somewhat understood his son's anger on unannounced visits. He chuckled. "I'd say you've buried yourself in the work." "It's a damn fascinating subject," Eve shot off, pulling up a chair. "Did you know Pompeii is a Middle Age America?" LaCroix dropped his jaw slightly, completely stunned. "I beg your pardon?" "I've never come across a city with such a mix of culture," Eve replied, flipping through pages. "Let's see. First it's a farming settlement for the Osci. The Cumae came in and made it a Greek city. The Greeks got ousted by the Etruscans. They got thrown out by the Samnites. And then Rome stepped in. "And get this. Pompeii revolted with the Italic revolution in the Social War. They lost, but it still continued as a providence right up to 79 AD when a volcano named Vesuvius erupted. It's absolutely incredible. Think about it. Four major cultures in one place. I would have loved to have been there." For the first time LaCroix could recall, he was struck speechless. Eve had managed to consume in three days what took him several years to comprehend. He hadn't even been in Pompeii that much. He sat there and stared back at Eve, at loss for what to say. And he didn't like it. "My turn," Eve continued, scribbling in a notebook. "Why Pompeii? What's the significance between you and the city?" "Because I was-" LaCroix stopped himself and silently cursed. He nearly jumped ahead and destroyed the whole thing. Straightening to compose himself, LaCroix settled his thoughts. He had lost control, though the how escaped him for the moment. Eve was proving to be far more dangerous than he initially realized. "It's a starting point," he finished. Eve shot him a glance. "Don't tell me I'm heading back to the library," she growled. LaCroix smiled. "In good time. What else?" "I think you're stonewalling," Eve quipped, flipping through pages. "Let's see. The Pompeii Forum was the hub of its culture. Divided into four sections. On the south side we've got the public stuff, the Basilica, municipal offices and the Comitium. Then we've got the Temple of Isis and Apollo. Trade guilds, nobles, the whole nine yards. Even had a brothel right there. What did they call it? A 'lupanar'. LaCroix almost laughed out loud. He remembered it, and the stone square rooms, stone beds, the laughable art the mistress hung on the walls. The whores were young, impoverished, and usually in the rooms since traffic was steady. He had used it a couple of times himself. But the servants at his own house were equally accessible. "Go on," he said, attempting to hide his amusement. "Different styles of architecture between the different times of governship. You've got Domus and open spaces for gardens, called atriums, I believe. Rooms were linked, private baths, servants quarters, rest areas and women's areas." She stopped to give LaCroix a brief glance. "Innovative concept." Inside, LaCroix was laughing. Selene would have said something very similar, if she had survived. "Art seems to be a major thing. I've got four different styles. Incrustation, Architectural, Ornamental or better known as Egyptianizing, and Illusionist. They painted murals and friezes everywhere. An interesting one to note, the Dionysiac Mysteries, discovered in the Villa of Mysteries. They guess it was done around 1 AD. The mistress who owned the place must have been a wild one." LaCroix hadn't known the original owner, but recognized the description. He closed his eyes and remembered it, a rather nasty piece of work revealing the initiation of a woman into the Dionysiac Cult. That had been a thorn in Rome's side since coming in. Ever since the Senate's decision back in 186 BC, the so-called 'mystery cults' still managed to flourish. He had no opinion of it, since Pompeii was too crucial to impose the penalties. The current mistress, Delliah, had been a good friend of his. "Oh, and get this. Apparently the people used walls to leave messages. I pulled a couple I found interesting. One goes, 'Profit is happiness'. I'll bet we know who might have wrote that. The other one is, 'Lucius painted this.'" LaCroix sat very still, never realizing just how much of his life in Pompeii was accessible. He had carried out everything that could have been linked to him when the city was first excavated, but he had forgotten about the grafitti on the walls. And those wretched mortals had managed to uncover them. "Are you all right?" He realized his hands had dug into the rest arms of his chair. LaCroix stilled himself to relax. "I'm fine," he replied, eyeing the notepad. Best for that thing to be destroyed afterwards. "Please, continue." He had to admit it was fascinating to listen to Eve prattle about Pompeii. From someone who had lived there, he could vividly recall the images of what she spoke of. And even spark some considerable thought on occasion. He had forgotten about the diaetae and gynaeceum. "Okay," Eve said. "I've found three major temples. The Temple of Jupiter, which looks like the city got a hold of and turned into the city treasury. An earthquake in 62 AD hit Pompeii and destroyed several of the buildings. They hadn't finished rebuilding the Temple of Jupiter when Vesuvius erupted. "We've got the Temple of Apollo. Emperor Nero got his hands on it and renovated the place." LaCroix had forgotten about that, too. "And the Temple of Isis, which is interesting since Egypt wasn't a major invader in Pompeii's history. What's even more interesting, apparently a six years old boy with the moniker of N. Popidius Celsinus financed the restoration of the temple after the earthquake. Got accepted on the Town Council without cost for it too." He remembered that, the odd thin boy with unblinking brown eyes who sought out the priestess and offered his help. At the time, LaCroix found it laughable a boy could pay for anything. He was the one who received the shock. He also recalled no one liked to stare in that boy's eyes for very long. They hid something, what later LaCroix recognized as predator's eyes. But he already formed suspicions about the Temple of Isis. That was the whole brunt for this pseudo-interview. "An excellent start," he commented. "Now we have the frame of our little expedition, we can move to fill in the pieces." "I've got to ask you," Eve interjected. "What does any of this have to do with the interview?" "Everything," LaCroix replied shortly. There were other things she needed to have first, but in time she would have all the explanation she needed. It was refreshing for a change to get back to an old problem he never quite solved. It was equally attractive that Miss deLucy here might shed some light on it. "Your next assignment." "I knew it!" Eve began to rise, but LaCroix took her hands and gently lowered her. "There are methods to this madness," LaCroix replied, staring deep into Eve's eyes. "It only seems pointless because you haven't all the elements needed. Patience, Miss deLucy, is a virtue. "Now, research the Temple of Isis. Pay particular attention to the ones in Alexandria and Philae. It's important." Eve snatched her hands back from LaCroix and glared back at him. He loved the suspicion in her gaze. "Why?" "Without it," LaCroix replied, "your interview won't make a lick of sense." Part 9 On occasion, LaCroix liked to come to the gardens at night and walk among the cultivated species. It was not out of love for flowers. He could easily do without the shrubs. No, something about gardens rested against his thoughts. He wandered down through the paths, strolling with his hands in his pockets. In the darkness, he felt like he fit in. LaCroix spotted a clump of red roses. Smiling slightly, he went over and stared down at the crop. It was the one reprieve he allowed himself. They reminded him of Fleur. Images of her floated on his conscience, her scent of blossoms, her smile. Somehow, in someway, Fleur had touched him with emotions he did not think possible of. 'Pedals and thorns,' he thought. Love was the most dangerous emotion of all. Musing to himself, LaCroix wandered on. The air around him gave all the warning he needed. LaCroix turned as the man flew to the ground. Tall, sharp with chiseled eyes and a gentleman's coat, he stared walking toward LaCroix. LaCroix flared his fangs and hissed. The man stopped and shot a hard, cold look from hazel eyes. Then he removed his gloves. "We've been meaning to have a conversation," the man spoke. "It's overdue." "You and yours have no quarrel with me," LaCroix replied flatly. "Don't we?" The man looked around the garden, snorting. "It's time to call you to accounts. Your actions over the past few days could be deemed, 'questionable'. That, and this situation are drawing unwanted attention to our existence." "Which is not at risk," LaCroix countered. "They have no knowledge of, nor will they. Besides, I did not ask them to encroach on my doorstep." "You do recognize the situation this has put us in." "Of course I do," LaCroix snapped, turning to gaze into the darkness. "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm bereft of my senses. I am not the cause." The man flashed his fangs, snarling. "Have a care with your tone, Lucius," he said. "There's still some of us who think your death more preferable." "You forget, Darius. I'm much too old." LaCroix and Darius faced off. He knew as well as Darius this was pointless and futile. The hostility between them was the real reason this confrontation happened. A hostility reaching back over the course of his life. "How many are here?" LaCroix asked. "Enough," Darius replied shortly. "You still don't trust me," LaCroix replied, smiling. "Even after all this time. Tell me, how fares Ezelle? Is she still with us?" Darius smiled back. "What do you think?" "Please do convey my greetings," LaCroix continued. "Oh, I'm sure she'd love to hear from you," Darius replied sarcastically. "Considering the last time." "I haven't forgotten, nor I have forgiven." And LaCroix hadn't. Of all their kind, Ezelle was truly the most dreaded and feared throughout the Community. "Nasty business that was with the Arabs. I heard it was a feast that rivaled the Turks." "It was interesting," Darius replied. He sighed, then straightened. "This is pointless, Lucius. We're too old to do any real damage." LaCroix relaxed his guard a bit, but only a little. He knew Darius too well to feel completely at ease. "Are you suggesting a truce?" Darius scowled and threw himself on a nearby park bench. "I don't know," he admitted. "All these centuries. The conflicts, the hatred. Animosity doesn't die out, Lucius. It just sighs a weary heart." "We can't kill each other," LaCroix reiterated. "The best we could do is hack limbs off. What's the point of continuing a hatred that cannot be fueled?" Darius glanced sharply up at LaCroix. "Some things can never be forgotten," he snapped. "Or forgiven. And I doubt you've forgiven me anymore than I've forgiven you." LaCroix gave up and sat down next to Darius. "So it continues," he observed. He felt tired, and irritated. "I didn't expect you to show up." "You should have," Darius snorted. "Something of this magnitude? We had to call just about everyone, and that still may not be enough. I'm telling you, Lucius. This is getting a little old. Either that or I am." LaCroix could feel it, but it didn't change anything. The Enforcers were committed now, whether they wanted to or not. Too much was at stake to simply pack up and leave. But it didn't mean events would proceed the way Darius thought. That was a truly remarkable difference LaCroix found fascinating. The times they had lived shaped their perspectives. Darius couldn't see it the way he did. "You have to admit," LaCroix said. "The irony is laughable. Haven't you ever wanted to take on the media?" Darius laughed. "More times than I'll admit. I'll say this. You pick your targets well. After this you may win a few more admirers." "What if I told you there might be a way to avoid this?" LaCroix asked. Darius looked over at LaCroix. The question was written over the Enforcer's face. LaCroix almost laughed. Then Darius stared out into the night, lost in whatever thoughts consumed the man. "I think I would welcome it." "You are aging." Darius gave LaCroix a dark look. "Don't," he said. "Look. It's no secret we don't get along. And truth be told, I doubt that's ever going to change. There's just too much to forgive. But just because I don't like you doesn't mean I'm closed to what you have to say. So if you have a way to stop this, tell me." LaCroix was quiet a moment, reflecting through the times he lived. It was true the Enforcers and him had never been exactly friendly, giving the other a wide berth. Over the centuries, they had given each other a grudging respect. If he had to do it over again, he might have approached it differently. Maybe. "Just give me a few more days," he said. "By then I'll know." Darius narrowed his eyes at LaCroix. "Know what?" LaCroix refused to answer him. Part 10 A considerable stillness had fallen over the media parked outside the Raven. They were still there, since LaCroix himself egged those parasites on. He wanted the media firmly entrenched. Otherwise there would be no fun to this at all. LaCroix stared down at them from the rooftop, hands in pockets. It was a warm night, judging from the lack of coats. Brucal was at the door, making sure the media remained on the side he wanted them. 'Soon,' he silently promised, smiling. 'Very soon.' Once Eve had the information on Isis, they would begin. She would get her story, and he'd get the chance to confirm something. The funny thing was in Nicolas and Janette, certain aspects to their personalities and the timeframe made them unfit candidates. With Eve, it was the right time and combination. He yearned to see her reaction. It would be one to remember. "There you are," Eve's voice said. LaCroix turned to find Eve strolling out onto the roof. The wind was making a mess with her hair. "A good evening to you, Miss deLucy," he said, turning back to stare below at the media. Again, he smiled. Eve came up and joined him. She snorted. "Look at them," she commented. "Looks like a flock of vultures." "Interesting you should say that," LaCroix replied, "considering who the vulture is associated with." Eve flashed him a dirty look. "Which reminds me." She fished out and opened a small notebook. "I ran into a bit of trouble. It's amazing what's out there when you want to find something. The problem is finding specifics." "Did you find it?" LaCroix asked. "Finally," Eve answered. "Okay. The Temple of Isis. Alexandria was easy, since the city has a history all to its own. I had a much harder time digging up Philae. This wasn't a fun assignment." LaCroix couldn't imagine it was. He had a difficult time of it, especially framing the context of meanings. There were several, always with another layer. That was the problem with Egyptian mythology. It wasn't until hundreds of years later he was able to make sense of the whole structure and that mess. "Tell me," he said. Eve sighed. "As best as I could uncover, the Temple of Isis evolved with the rise and fall of Egyptian Dynasties. One of nine gods in a complex hierographical system. Isis once described herself as nature, or 'the universal Mother', or 'the primordial child of time', depending on what you believe. She was a figurehead of Egypt, as much as Ra and Re. "The Temple of Isis breaks off into two different camps. One branch acknowledges her and only her, while the other embraces the whole cycle of the Isis/Osiris mythology including the fellowship of Osiris as well. The temples in Alexandria and Philae follow the latter. "Which brings up something interesting. The temple on Philae, which got moved to Biga Island, was something of an oddity given that it was an entire complex. Isis was only one of many. It's more of a gathering of temples and chapels, including Arenanuphis, the Chapel of Mandulis, the Temple of Imhotep and Harpocrates. There's too many different images of rulers and gods to really make sense of all of it. I'd almost swear it was a burial island." LaCroix smiled. She was both right and wrong. "I found it somewhat ironic they moved the 'complex', as you so aptly call it, to Biga Island. Do you know what the ancient Egyptians thought of it?" "No. What?" "The burial place of Osiris, and also the first ground created from Nun out of Chaos." Eve fell silent, gazing out into the night. Something was troubling her. LaCroix could sense it, a feeling of unrest and uncertainty. He knew it well. It was a feeling that stroked and touched the edges of consciousness, familiar yet alien. Now she felt what he had at the start of all this; unanswered questions. She shivered. "Can I ask you something?" "Certainly," LaCroix said, facing Eve. "What does this have to do with you?" she asked. "Why all the history, especially on this topic?" "How does it make you feel?" LaCroix asked gently. "Cold," Eve admitted. "As if I've walked on my grave." LaCroix smiled. It was time. "I'm going to tell you a story now," he said. "One I want you to pay close attention to. And one, I think, that will answer your question." Eve blinked as the night surrounded them. "Are you ready?" LaCroix asked. "I don't know," Eve replied. "Then you are. Listen. Once, long ago, there was a man from Pompeii named Lucien " Interlude: Part 11 "Three nights, three moons. Isn't that always the clichi? I've always admired man's baser nature of greed. It continues to surprise me with each passing day. I hope you don't get bored waiting. Because I promise you, gentle listeners, there is a moral snippet to this tale. I've just never known anyone who was willing to pay. "Would it surprise you if I said, I had never seen a true face of evil? It's true. All this, what happens today, are ripples. Rings of a larger force in play. Hitler, Mussolini, Napoleon. Bishops on the board. Tell me, have you ever seen true evil? I'm not talking your Dalmers, or Bundys, Sams or Unibombers. I'm not referring to the rape and starvation of children, or some AIDS plague. I want to hear about true evil. That thing we cannot bare to look at, examine, or think. I want to hear from you what the real face looks like. Because I have never seen it. "Right now you lay in your beds, snuggled and comfortable, listening to every word I say on desk tables, night stands, or on the shelves of walls. And we think to ourselves, 'I'm safe now. Nothing could ever hurt me.' Ah, but we're wrong. We can be hurt. It lurks in the shadows of light, in the darkness and creeps into our minds. It touches us, embraces. And then we think of all the things we cannot see. All the tiny little noises coming from nowhere. The shape through the closet door. Is it really a jacket? Or is something lurking inside? "Because tonight, boys and girls, I have a very special treat. Tonight, we're going to open our minds and stare into the darkness to see what's really there. Put aside all those irrational fears and greet the real ones. The ones we cannot see. This is your bedtime story, and I wouldn't want you to miss it. "So shut off your lights. Close your eyes. Wait for them to adjust, then open them. See the room. Does your furniture look the same, or the picture you hung on the wall? How about those little porcelain dolls lined in a row. Do they look at you now? Pencils, books, the shirt on the chair. Nothing is ever what it seems. "It's then you start to feel something's not quite right. A feeling racing up your spine, something in the air. It's too cold, or too hot. The silence is deafening. You begin to see those fuzzy little dots. And then you begin to image what might be there. Those monsters, in your own closets or hiding under the bed waiting to reach up and snatch dangling limbs. "But are those really the monsters? Or simply irrational fear from your fertile imaginations? The truth is, boys and girls, there are no monsters. It's all make believe, created by your own. So then what is this fear? What is it really? "Take a good long look. Because if you never ask the question, then you will never hear the answer. Or perhaps, you may not want to. "Isn't that always how it goes?" Descent: Part 12 Lucien always believed darkness had shades. There was a difference between light and gray, black being the true rarity. The man he stood by, Nero, had proved the hypothesis. As a general, he couldn't afford the luxury of philosophy. The closet he came then was to stare across the Via d'Iside at the Temple of Isis. He would first taste the shades of darkness through his own bloodline, Divia. With her, he thought he had seen the true face of what they were. Time and life proved him different. Corrupting the emerging emperors of a split Roman Empire forged his fledgling years as a student of his own incantation. And in the course of the slow madness he inflicted, he understood the facets that drove his kind toward the depravity of mortals. Then, he had been a more active participant in the games of rulers and emperors. In part, it came from Nero's madness and the rapid division of Rome slowly crumbling. Vespasien and Titus fell prey to his vengeance, as would later the western lords. Moving between the east and west completely opened his eyes. Mortals displayed a cruel, creative drive to satisfy their cravings, not unlike some of the vampires he had come across. Another layer would be revealed to him. But the Temple of Isis and the Egyptian Triad that dominated a third of Pompeii's culture still gnawed at Lucien. He suspected Divia's master, the old one, had been sent for through the Temple. Delliah had been the priestess then. Had he gone after the source when Pompeii had fallen, it might have been easier. But in his rush for vengeance, he had delayed the inevitable journey into the east and south. He wanted to know where the old one had come from. He wanted to know where his kind came from. Pompeii was only a starting point, the key to unraveling the secrets time bled. It was well after sunset as Lucien approached Alexandria. He wandered around caravans that stopped for the night, staring at the city the great general Alexander had built just a few hundred years before. It was truly a sight, and the image brought back memories of his last visit to Alexandria. The night was young, and already he was tired. Too much flying and walking. And lost to his thoughts, Lucien didn't see the rising shadowed form. A knife went to his neck as a voice hissed, "Your money. Now." Lucien silently cursed. "But of course," he replied. "It's in my front pouch." "Give it to me," the voice continued. "Slow." "Certainly," Lucien said, bringing his hands forward. Then he quickly twisted around and grabbed the thief, putting the man to ground. The dagger was snapped in two pieces. "Let me show you," Lucien hissed, drawing his fangs out. And looked into the face of a young boy, squirming in his arms. "A little young, aren't we?" he asked. The boy took one look at Lucien's face and yelped. "No!" he yelled, attempting to kick Lucien's body. Lucien held the boy up and away from him. "Your name," he demanded. "Stay away from me!" Lucien sighed. This was becoming irritating. "Listen to me," he said. "No!" "Listen to me! Just look at me!" But the boy wouldn't, driven by some inconceivable notion he could actually get away from Lucien. He smiled, admiring the boy's tenacity. Finally he had to settle for holding the boy's head. "What is your name?" he asked, staring down into wide, dark eyes. "Your name?" "Albin." A good solid Roman name. Lucien smiled. "Very good, Albin. Now, let's pretend." "Pretend." Albin smiled a little. "That's right," Lucien pressed. "Pretend. We're going to pretend none of this ever happened. That everything you've seen here is a dream. This is a dream, Albin." "A dream," Albin's monotone voice replied. "Sleep, Albin. Go back to sleep." Albin promptly fell asleep in Lucien's hands. He stared back at the boy a moment and closed his eyes. It was still painful to remember Divia, even after seventy-one years. Lucien set the boy down into the sand. Why was it hard when it came to children? He stared down at the boy with a detached fascination. Was it some kind of transference? Guilt for sealing Divia in a cold, dark grave? He didn't know. Lucien glanced back up at Alexandria. The answers had to be here. Taking one last look at the boy, he flew. The city was calling. Part 13 The streets were quiet as Lucien landed, taking in Alexandria from its quiet mood. He strolled down the main, with its empty vendor stalls and litter filled sides. The city had changed since he was last here. The refuse had grown, sweeping the sides between buildings. There were definitely more traders, judging from the amount of carts and stalls. For the moment, Lucien was alone. He flew up to the rooftops, pausing to stare out over the entire city. It was times like this that really made his condition the more worthwhile. He liked the feeling of watching, listening to the beating hearts of sleeping mortals. It made him want to drop through a window for a light snack. Instead, Lucien flew on, toward the unmistakable temple he had come for. Reaching the columns, he descended to the ground and walked up the steps. He never cared for announcements, so he proceeded into the temple and stopped, taking in the complex. Images adorned the pillars and walls, from Hathor and Isis to Horus and a Baboon. There was one particular image Lucien was drawn to of Isis being worshipped by the mother of Hathor. He wondered of the significance, but it escaped him. Silence dominated the temple, silence and darkness. He moved on slowly, unsure of what he felt. Never one for temples, he found that standing inside of one wasn't a pleasant experience. It took him away from the world he knew into something older, more primitive and ancient. Taking in a breath he didn't need, Lucien descended deeper into the temple. ******************** He emerged later shaking his head, completely disgusted. No one was here, and he didn't have a damned clue how to read hieroglyphics. Lucien snarled to himself. Worse than anything was wasting time, especially his own. He didn't bother flying. He just walked out and into the road. If some poor mortal decided he was an easy target, they would learn otherwise. Impatience burned his blood and he wished someone actually would try to stop him. Lucien was no closer to finding where Divia's master came from than when he started. He turned back and glared at the Temple of Isis. 'I was sure,' he thought, seized by an urge to lay waste the temple. It was a petty thought, but he hated being wrong. He hated being proved wrong. And right now the building was an easy target. He had never been wrong before, not even as a general in the armies. Definitely not as a vampire. 'And to have this this pagan temple tell me nothing!' It was then Lucien caught the glint in the moonlight, the quick and fast flare of what looked like a head on the roof of the temple. Reason left Lucien as he flew up and around, dropping behind the figure who looked off in the direction he shot in. "Looking for me?" he asked shortly. A startled gasp filled the silence and the figure flew off in a flash. Lucien snarled and flew after the watcher, unwilling to give up. He chased the person through the skies, around buildings, even skimming around the Great Library. Whoever they were, they were fast. He didn't know how long this chase was becoming. 'This is ridiculous,' he thought, zooming up higher to get a better picture. The person was flying off around a municipal building. They stopped once in the shadows, looking back. 'No doubt wondering where I went.' Lucien smiled. He didn't wait, and charged down at the hiding figure. Eyes turned upward toward Lucien and widened. Hazel eyes. Lucien smashed into the person and knocked him flat on the back. He grabbed the cloth of the shirt and yanked the vampire up. He spun and slammed the man into the wall. "Why were you watching me?" Lucien hissed. A man stared back at Lucien with a contemptible expression and snorted. "Why do you think? A strange vampire I've never seen shows up at the temple, a Roman at that." Lucien snarled. "Is there a problem with being a Roman?" The man stared back with a narrowing gaze. "Your kind brings trouble. Always have." Lucien threw a couple of punches that made the vampire gasp. "I do not care for your tone or opinion," he replied. "Now. I want some information." "May Isis take you," the man cursed, holding his stomach. "I will say nothing." "Have you ever seen what our kind does in the western providence?" Lucien asked. "It's enlightening. If they don't get what they want, they'll nail the person to a wheel and spin it, biting. Rather savage." The man looked at Lucien straight on. "Remember me in your final moments," he snarled. "I will be the one that destroys you. Darius, son of Bruk." "Doubtful," Lucien replied, dropping Darius, "since I have pinned you." He stared down at Darius. "But you're welcome to attempt to at any time." "And you are?" "Lucien. Lucius Divius Crusifictor." Darius nodded. "I've heard of you," he replied. "The Roman general who was killing his own emperors. I would think again about staying here. If you want to live, leave Alexandria. You are not welcomed here." "I will not leave until I have found what I am looking for," Lucien said. "And Alexandria is still a Roman city, last I checked." "Do what you want to do," Darius said, picking himself up. "But if I see you again, I will destroy you." Lucien studied the man before him, wondering if Darius was disillusioned or simply just crazy. 'Or perhaps he knows something ' He banished the thought. No one alive or dead could kill him, and many had tried. If he knew anything at all, it was a surety this world was his for the remainder of time. "I doubt it." Darius swore and flew off. Lucien stood in the street and gazed off where Darius once stood. It was an interesting puzzle. If his own kind were unwilling to disclose the information, he would have to find another way. He glanced up toward his right, seeing faint rays of light begin to surface. 'Tomorrow,' he promised himself. Lucien flew. Part 14 Emerging from the root cellar, Lucien paused to stretch and compose himself. Night was falling fast, but not the heat. Even he could feel it, and that wasn't a good sign. Hunger snarled at him with a parched thirst, enough to remind him when Divia first brought him across. He needed to feed. Lucien walked out into the streets and began to search. Several people were out and about, caravan owners and guards, nobles and whores. It was somewhat of a surprise to see so much activity. 'It does make it easier,' he admitted to himself. Food was found on a darkened path between buildings, as a spice merchant casually swaggered out with a grin. Lucien smiled. 'Some things never change.' He strolled in and heard the rapid pulse of a beating heart. The smell of grog, sweat, and sex was strong in here. Ahead, a woman with long, curly black hair was composing herself and wiping her eyes. Even with little light, Lucien could see the swelling and bruises along her shoulders and cheeks. "A bit rough, wouldn't you say?" The woman looked up and stared at Lucien. A calculating gleam narrowed her eyes slightly. "A bit," she sighed, smiling. "But not badly." She casually let the woven smock fall, revealing her chest. "Do you like?" "Very," Lucien lied. To tell the truth, once he had accepted his current state, sex and the opposite sex waned. What he once would have remarked as beautiful was no more than an illusion now. The true beauty lurked underneath the whore's skin. He took out a gold coin and passed it to the whore's hand. "For your trouble." The whore brightened. "Most generous, my lord. What would you like-" She never got a chance to finish her sentence. Lucien moved in and clamped down on the woman's neck, feeling her blood mix with his, slowly draining her. In his mind, images exploded from hot, swampy days of men coming in and out, of staring up at the buildings of the city in fascination, watching a mother beaten and broken outside the magistrate to laying dead on the road with wide, expressionless eyes. He finished and let the whore fall to the dirt, smiling at the simile. "Do you really suck all the blood?" He swore and turned, staring down at Albin's wide-eyed, entranced gaze. He froze, wondering how the boy managed to find him and remember. Floundering and unable to reason this, Lucien stood staring at Albin. "How did you-" he stopped himself. Albin emerged from his hiding spot inside a hole in the wall. He dusted himself off then went over to the woman's body and studied it. "She's dead, right?" Lucien steeled himself. This wasn't going to be pleasant. "Of course," he replied. "It's really a simple matter." He stepped toward the boy. Albin took a step back. "How do I know you're not gonna do the same to me too?" he asked suspiciously. "Uh, uh. I like you where you are." Another time, Lucien might have laughed. It was well the boy wasn't trusting, though he never thought to hear those words from one so young. 'How easily they deceive me,' he noted. First Divia, and now Albin. Truly, children were the most dangerous of all. He stepped aside and away, raising his hands. "And you're not afraid of me?" Albin shrugged. "You could have killed me last night," he said. "Now or later, I guess." Lucien flashed a wolfish assessment. "An excellent observation," he replied. "But I don't think you would." "And what draws you to that conclusion?" Albin tried to look serious, but failed. "Seeing how you didn't kill me last night and haven't killed me yet, I guess I'm safe. You being a vampire and all." Lucien wasn't sure if Albin was playing with him or trying to be cute. "How do you know I'm not waiting for an opportunity as we speak?" "I don't," Albin replied, sitting down and removing a piece of fruit. He bit into it. "Besides," he continued, "you could use someone like me. I can steal just about anything." Lucien raised his brow. "Aside from the fact your thieving abilities are somewhat 'questionable', what do you think you could offer that I wouldn't already have at my disposal?" Albin munched on the fruit. "Well," he said. "I was thinking you could use a dayrunner since I only see you at night. You know, get out into the city and go find stuff for you." Lucien snorted. The boy was obviously caught up in some sort of delusion. It was too bad suggestion failed. "And what makes you think I would believe that?" "I found you, didn't I?" He had to concede that point, which lead into a larger problem. If Albin could find him so easily, then what of Darius and the man's threat? Lucien shivered slightly, not liking the implications. "Let's just say for a moment you have my undivided attention," he said. "How would you go about hiding us?" Albin scratched his chin a moment. "That's a good one. Probably the stock pens. No one wants to go in there because it stinks." 'Interesting.' The idea had merit, though it would have next to none in accommodations. But the mixed bloodsmell and the animal hearts were a good cover. Lucien glared down at Albin sharply. "And exactly what did you have in mind for payment for such services?" Albin snorted back. "Are you blind? I'm a servant for a vampire. You can't get better protection than that." He sighed. "Besides, stealing from merchants is gonna get me dead." He looked up at Lucien. "If you were me, what would you do?" 'Probably something similar,' Lucien thought, sizing the boy. "How old are you?" "Eleven, I think." Lucien shook his head slightly and began walking away. He should just kill Albin and be on his way. The problem he had with this was an unhealthy dose of curiosity why the boy didn't respond to suggestion when it was obvious it had held briefly. That, and he was forced to admit a dayrunner would solve several problems. He turned back slightly to see Albin stand. "Well?" he said crisply. "Are you coming along?" Albin grinned and jogged up to Lucien. "Yes, master." "And don't call me master," Lucien snapped. "It's degrading." "Then what should I call you?" "Lucien." He was about to say his full name, then decided against it. Albin didn't need to know that. It minimized the risk of someone torturing the boy for his full name. "You may call me Lucien." Part 15 They entered the Great Library from a peculiar device Albin possessed. Lucien wasn't quite sure of its engineering, but popping a stone door was easier than ripping it off. He stopped to take in the size of it and hunger over thousands of documents the library contained. How he wished there was time to go through it all. Of course, he would need someone to explain how the symbols worked. That was a great source of irritation, and one Lucien promised himself to amend one day. Albin looked around, standing next to Lucien. "Why did we come here?" he asked, moving in a bit closer. "Information," Lucien replied, strolling on into the repository. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this fledgling alliance, and found the feeling unsettling. 'I could still kill him,' he mused. That question remained, but he was no closer to answer than he was before. Albin was still a mystery to him. "Do you know anything about Egyptian hieroglyphics?" "Aren't they just pictures?" Lucien snorted. "Not just pictures, Albin," he replied. "It's their language, their history, and their religion wrapped up in one. Picture tales is a better description." "We should be able to look at the pictures then," Albin replied, sounding a bit smug. "One might think that," Lucien retorted, smiling. "So tell me Albin. What are their names? What do the symbols mean? Do you think you could look at a temple wall and tell me that?" For once, Albin was silent. "What we need," Lucien continued, "is someone who can decipher those symbols." He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but he knew some of it leaked out. It was humiliating to feel this way. He was a general, and an anarchist. To be stopped by something as simple as language barriers. He grinded his teeth. 'Never again,' he silently promised. This would never happen again, even if it took a thousand years. A sudden chill swept over him. Lucien stopped and glanced around, staring into the darkness. Something wasn't right. "That is your job for tomorrow," he said softly to Albin. Albin looked up at Lucien curiously. "Go, now," Lucien urged. Albin didn't hesitate and quickly merged into the darkness. Lucien turned, attempting to pinpoint the source. Darkness greeted him among the columns and walls. Darkness and silence. He narrowed his eyes, feeling his skin tingle. He turned back around And found himself slammed against the wall, staring into Darius' glowing eyes. Lucien hissed. "I warned you," Darius said, grinning. It came without warning, a shriek reaching up into the top corners down to the stones in the foundation. Lucien couldn't stop it. Without thinking, he threw Darius across the room and flew after the vampire. Darius turned and flew back, snarling. They locked arms, circling in the air. "Your destruction will pale Alexander's fall," Lucien snarled back, attempting to find a way in. He tried to angle himself to bite Darius' neck, but the man was too far away. "You haven't the strength or the power," Darius challenged, kicking out. It was a futile move, and they both knew it. "Give yourself up." "That would be my advice to you," Lucien replied. He judged the space between them. 'Never meet the enemy on their terms,' the voice of his commanding officer leapt out at him. 'Always make them come to you.' It had been drilled into him since he was a boy. And the damnable part about it was the old goat was right. Lucien pulled instead of pushed. Darius stumbled, flying toward Lucien. Lucien flattened himself and raked Darius across the chest as the man flew over him. Howls filled his ears. It was sweet music. He turned, standing over Darius' fallen body. "And so," he declared, "he feels the first taste of blood. It is his own." Darius glared up at Lucien with a black wave of hatred in his eyes. Lucien could feel it, and smiled. "Hear me, Lucius," Darius said. "For as long as I live, I am your eternal enemy." "You wouldn't be the first," Lucien replied archly. A woman entered from off in the wings, dressed in silk robes and long, dark hair down past her waist. She was stunning, and a true appreciation of art within the woman. Oval eyes with dark, almost black pupils studied Lucien. He felt an urge to kneel, and fought it. He knelt for no one. She took in both of them, then finally shook her head. "Children," she said, a rich, almost alien accent stressing the Latin language. Lucien couldn't place it. "Darius," the woman said slowly. Darius cringed, shooting a glare at Lucien. It was somewhat of a mystery, but it was obvious the woman held some kind of power here. Lucien committed her face to memory, every ridge, line, circle and form. She was nothing like anything he had seen. Her skin was a pale reflection to his and Darius'. He cleared his throat. "And who would you be?" The woman turned her stare toward Lucien, and slowly smiled. "I am Ezelle," she replied. The words sounded a bit forced, and Lucien wondered if she was just starting to learn Latin. "Is this more preferable?" Lucien asked, switching to Greek. Ezelle crinkled her eyes. "How refreshing," she replied. "A Roman who speaks Greek. And I thought culture was a dead thing." Darius stood, throwing Lucien a glance. "He says he's after information," he said, clutching his chest. Ezelle raised her hand. "And you assumed he was a threat. Move too fast, Darius and feel the sting of sandstorms. You brought it on yourself." She moved on Lucien, walking across the floor to look up. "Would you kindly come down?" she asked. "My apologies." Lucien floated down. "I am Lucien." "I believe that is General Lucius Divius Crusifictor of the Roman Empire, and former protector of Pompeii." Lucien stared back at the woman, attempting to keep an expressionless face. Inside was a different story. This woman, whoever she was, had completely stripped and exposed his former life with a single sentence. It gave him pause to think how much dialogue should be opened here. He hated surprises. "I believe you have me at a disadvantage," he said. "I am Ezelle," she replied, coming around to his other side and touching his shoulder. "Nothing more, nothing less." She finished by standing in front of Lucien with her dark ('black?') stare. "What do you require General?" Lucien felt uncertain about this. His trained said to reveal nothing, but his nature drove him on. He wanted to know. "I am attempting to track down where my daughter's master came from," he said. Ezelle glanced at Darius briefly, then back to Lucien. "Your daughter," she replied with a sharpened edge. "Divia?" "Yes." A considerable silence fell between them. Ezelle turned and walked toward the entrance, her robes billowing behind her. "I think, General," she said without stopping, "you will be joining us this dawn." Part 16 Lucien was lead down beneath the Temple of Isis by Darius, who turned occasionally to stare silently at Lucien. There was no lost love between them, and sooner or later he knew Darius would attempt to kill him. He nodded shortly. Darius replied with nothing and continued walking. The trip was fascinating, and if happened at another time Lucien would have loved to stop and drink in the mosaics and friezes. Rich, compelling colors drew him. He could spend hundreds of years here and still not see them all. They passed the Chapel of Osiris and proceeded down the corridor to a stairwell of torches. Descending, he had the impression of pyramids and wondered if they had stolen the idea. The other thing Lucien became aware of was the presence of several vampires. They were down there, somewhere, as he and Darius approached. He came in closer to whisper in Darius' ear. "Why so many?" Darius paused to look at Lucien. "You really don't know, do you?" "Know what?" But Darius wouldn't answer, and continued on. 'One for you, Darius,' Lucien thought, keeping pace. He would find out when they got there. They continued on down the steps into another chamber. Surprising, it was empty of art. Bare stone walls surrounded them as they proceeded through. It was older, judging from the decay. A different architectural style. "Curious," Lucien said. "There are no stories here." Darius snorted. "Believe me," he said. "It has plenty." "And what, exactly, is this place?" "A greeting place." Darius left it at that, moving on toward an archway. He motioned Lucien to follow. "In here." Lucien followed, curious, and stepped into the next chamber. His senses were assaulted by a brighter flare of torchlight. Torches lined the walls. Rugs were hung against the far wall behind a tall throne. One symbol was painted between the rugs, a curious pair of fangs. One was painted white, the other black, over a circle of red. Lucien became aware of others, and glanced about the chamber. They came out from the passages, men and women in robes of various sort. Mostly Egyptian, but Lucien spotted some with characteristics of Asian and African culture. He had never seen such a gathering of his kind, not without tearing the other apart in a blood frenzy. There was at least three or four pockets cloistered in here. He would hate to lay siege to this place, even with a full legion. "General Lucius." Lucien turned his gaze back to the throne, staring into Ezelle's dead eyes. It didn't faze him. This sort of trick he saw before, and he wasn't impressed. "Ezelle," he responded. "Forgive our discretion, but here in Alexandria, we take care not to be seen." Ezelle stood and raised her hand. The rest of the group began to dissipate. She walked on toward Lucien. "Welcome to Alexandria, General." Lucien glanced around at the rapidly vacating room, then back at Ezelle. "Why do I have the feeling I've been marked?" he accused. Ezelle responded with a cruel smile. "I see not much escapes your notice. Yes. You have been sighted. We keep our own, and we protect it." "That sounds like a threat." "A warning." Ezelle stared into Lucien's eyes. He felt stripped once again, as if she just weighed him. "The preservation of our existence is first and foremost, mortal or vampire. You must admit, General. You have something of an unreputable past." Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You seem to know a great deal about me," he said, "considering the relative distance. How?" Ezelle laughed. "Simple child of nature you are. Did you not think you would be noticed? Killing emperors isn't subtle." Lucien permitted himself a small smile. "Point taken. But you really can't think I could be a threat." "In my experience, General, one is all it takes." Ezelle reached out to lightly caress Lucien's cheek. "I did not bring you here for idle amusement. You wanted information. Exactly what did you want to know?" "The vampire who made Divia," Lucien said. "Who was he, and where did he come from? Here?" Ezelle met Lucien's stare, considering. "Akkad? He should have told you." Lucien grimaced, Divia's blond hair and piercing, predatory blue gaze flashing before his eyes. "Divia destroyed him before she brought me across. I never knew him." For a moment, Ezelle's composure cracked. In the time Lucien had known her, it was the first time he saw an emotion. Rage. "Akkad is destroyed?" she whispered harshly. "And where is Divia now?" "Destroyed," Lucien snarled, feeling the loathing and hatred of what his daughter became. What she asked him "For her actions." "I hope it was painful," Ezelle replied slowly. Her expression was predatory. Then she straightened. Whatever rage had been there melted. "That explains everything." "It tells me nothing," Lucien nearly exploded. "I know nothing of our kind, of our people, or of our history. And ignorance is something I hate." "Calm yourself, General. I thought you were only after Divia's master. Are you now asking more?" Lucien wanted to snap Ezelle's neck and drain her. "I have given you everything, and you throw me scraps. I am no one's pet, Ezelle." He was suddenly propelled backwards and forced against the wall. Ezelle held him with her hand wrapped around his throat. "Still your tongue, General," she hissed. "Or have it stilled for you. I hate intolerance." Lucien chose to remain in her hands, held in the air against the wall. "And I despise secrets," he replied coldly. Ezelle's smile was black as night. "Secrets we will keep," she replied. "But you will have some of your questions answered." "You sent Akkad through the temple." "No," Ezelle said. "We only arranged it. He did come from Egypt though." "Who are you?" "That is the real question." Ezelle dropped him and calmly walked back toward the throne. She stopped and turned back to face Lucien. "We are the Enforcers." Part 17 Lucien attempted to get his barings, trying to sort out everything that had happened. He glared at Ezelle across the room and wondered what in the gods' names she was. He had expected many things, often dreaming about what he would find. An alarming large group of vampires calling themselves the Enforcers wasn't one of them. "The Enforcers?" he asked. "Those who protect the knowledge of our existence," Ezelle replied, coming back toward him. "That is the Code. No mortal shall know of our existence, less be made one of us. Destroy if necessary." "Fascinating," Lucien replied. It was. He had never heard of this Code, nor these whom called themselves the Enforcers. He walked into the chamber past Ezelle, taking it in. "How did this happen?" "Information you do not need," Ezelle said, turning around toward him. "That is all you need to know." Lucien didn't believe her, and he was sure she knew his reaction. He moved toward her and reached out to touch her shoulder. "You and I both know that will not be enough. Enlighten me. How was all of this started? Why the necessity for such a veil when we would be masters? Mortals are food. That's all they ever can be." Ezelle closed her eyes for a moment and touched Lucien's hand. She opened her mouth a little bit, then sighed. "They were right about you," she said. Her eyes opened as she smiled. "You are dangerous." She reached up and cupped Lucien's cheek. "You must be satisfied with this, General. Do not pursue your reasoning and rejoice in completing your mission. You know who Divia's master is now. You know of us and the Code that governs our kind. Your mission is done." "But its answers only lead to more questions," Lucien replied, frustration creeping into his voice. He was also becoming intoxicated with Ezelle, and couldn't fathom why. Something drew him to her, her scent, her movement, her black eyes. He closed his eyes and felt his fangs emerge. "Yes," Ezelle's voice whispered. "Let your instinct through." He moved, feeling more drunk than from fermented grapes. He smelled blood, Ezelle's blood, calling him. Without realizing it, he nuzzled her neck as he felt her fangs scrape his. "What is this thing?" he whispered. "Rapture," Ezelle whispered back. Lucien tried to shake it off and clear his head, but this rapture was a bloodlust to its own. It was intimate, personal, and absolutely horrifying. He had no control over himself, and he didn't want it to stop. For the first time in his life, he trembled. "Do not be afraid, my General. It is natural for our kind." Her fangs went into his neck as a white light exploded within his vision. Lucien bit into Ezelle's neck and lost himself in ecstasy. Part 18 Lucien woke and groaned, reaching up to hold the side of his neck where Ezelle bit him. His head swam with images and thoughts of random pattern, unwilling to focus. It was painful. He forced himself to sit up, taking in the audience chamber from the ground. "That," he commented to himself, "was unpleasant." After effects of the connection lingered, and Lucien vividly recalled images of sand and pyramids across the night horizon. Stars that touched the sky. He saw men and women, screaming under the heel of dark eyes and fangs ripping throats. He saw a man with dark hair and blazing red eyes scream the rage of ages, with madness lurking like a lost lover. It was humbling, and he wondered how long his kind had existed. How long Ezelle had existed. And how long had he been alone. Lucien felt none of them down here, and that prospect was disturbing. He hated being abandoned. Especially when it was intentional. "Ezelle," he hissed. She would learn the price of her mistake. Then he spotted the parchment on the ground next to him. He snarled and took it, unwrapping. -General No doubt by now you are aware we are no longer with you. Your anger is a small thing. It will pass. Do not try to find us. Some secrets are best left alone. Do take with you the memory of our union. I surely will. You are and always will be, dangerous. Put your curiosity aside. Go out and enjoy what the world has to offer you. It is better to enjoy the moment than graverob an empty tomb. -E Lucien almost crushed the parchment, then thought better of it and rolled it back up. He stood, brushing off loose dirt then proceeded out and into the passages of the temple. 'Move on,' he thought. How did she expect him to move on when he barely understood all of this. Ezelle needed to learn that some secrets could not be kept. Not for any cost. And he would have the reasons for this Code and how it came about. He exited the Temple of Isis into the warm night. Turning around, he stared back at the temple. Why here? Why with this temple? There were several 'mystery cults' out there that would serve them better. He chewed on his lip, raking through his memory of what he knew about this particular religion. Something didn't quite feel right about all of this, and he started to suspect he chased the wrong questions. Lucien flew, streaking through the night to his hiding place. ********************* "There you are!" Albin burst out as Lucien entered into the room. The boy looked up from the table with a huge, yellow grin. Across from the boy, an old woman sat with her hands folded. "I thought you got killed." Lucien smiled and tussled Albin's mop of hair. "Not quite," he replied, glancing at the old woman. "Who's our guest for the evening?" Albin stood. "This is Cybele," he answered. "She said she could translate." "Indeed?" Lucien stared down at the woman. She was old, with leathery skin clinging to a skeletal frame. She hid herself under layers of clothes, but he could tell. The heartbeat was erratic. "I wonder, Cybele, if you live up to your name?" Cybele cracked a smile through wrinkled lips. Bright blue eyes laughed at Lucien, somehow taking a mocking quality. "More than you will know, good sir," she rasped. "Your servant tells me you're interested in Egyptian hieroglyphics. Did you have something particular in mind?" "As a matter of fact," Lucien replied. Albin was proving his worth. "I have a very strong interest in myth." Cybele chuckled. "What would you like to know? You have no need to bother with glyphs. I know them all." Lucien shook his head slightly and hid a smile. He wasn't surprised. "I need to know about Isis," he explained. Cybele nodded. "One of nine gods, also known as Aat, Mankhet and Ament among others. A very unique goddess, one with universal acceptance. She is the creatrix of the Nile, a powerful magician, and some would say the female Ra. Shall I continue?" "By all means." Lucien sat, firmly entranced by Cybele's drawl. "She is most commonly associated as the Great Lady, or the God-mother. Supposedly she wished the mastery of magic, and was prone to uncovering secret words and phrases. It is said she went to Ra, himself, and poisoned him to reveal his secrets. She's well skilled in the use of words and power. Rumor has it she restored her husband with a word of power. Are you familiar with Osiris?" "No," Lucien replied, feeling a bit unsettled. He didn't like the associations of life and death. It was too close to paralleling his kind, and instinct twisted his gut slightly. "Go on." Cybele cleared her throat. "It's written Isis brought about the destruction of Apep and his legions. More often, though, she's associated with the land; water, harvest, food and nature. As the great Lady of the Underworld, supposedly she assisted in transforming the bodies of blessed death into those to live in the rhelm of her husband, Osiris, the god of the Underworld. In that, she was called Ament, the 'hidden goddess'. It's in this she shared the same attributes with Osiris as the 'giver of life', as well as become the mother of Ra. "Think of Isis as the cultimation of primitive goddesses, like a female counterpart to the abyss of water. I trust you understand the reference?" Lucien nodded. He sat and drank it all in, forming a loose picture of what Isis might have been. "Now," Cybele said, rubbing her hands. "I'm going to explain Osiris to you. Throughout all the periods of the Dynasties the god of the dead was Osiris. His symbol is easy to spot. Look for two hieroglyphics. The first will be a throne. The other will be an eye. The centers of his worship are at Abydos and Mendes. Supposedly there was a chapter found under the rule of Samti, which means it was changed in some aspect. You know of the Book of the Dead, yes? "In any case, the phrase goes, 'I am Yesterday, and I am Today, and I have the power to be born a second time. I, the hidden Soul create the gods, and I give sepulchral meals to the divine beings in Amanti and in heaven.'" "A delusional god," Lucien commented. Cybele smacked Lucien's hand. "Pay attention. You'll like this. Osiris and his brother Seth went to war with each other when Seth attempted to seize Upper Egypt. In the stories, Seth cut Osiris into pieces and scattered them across Egypt. Isis went and collected the pieces and through a magical word, restored her husband. Osiris went to become the lord of the Underworld and his mummified body was buried on the island of Biga." Lucien narrowed his eyes, speculating. "Isn't that near Philae?" he asked. Cybele nodded. "Very good. You know the land." "What's on Biga?" Lucien asked. The pieces were starting to fall into place. 'Secrets,' he silently snorted. "Priests and temple servants." "Temple servants?" Lucien jumped. "There's a temple on Biga?" "Cybele shook her head. "No. But there are temples on Philae." "Let me guess," Lucien finished coldly. "One of them happens to be the Temple of Isis." "How did you-" Lucien didn't let Cybele finish. He stood and removed a pouch from his clothes, tossing it on the table. "Take it," he said. "This has been an education." He turned on Albin. "Collect your things and make ready to leave." Albin blinked, coming out of some kind of trance. "We're leaving?" "On this eve," Lucien said. "Go." Albin glanced at Cybele, then back to Lucien. He quickly bowed and disappeared into the room. Lucien turned back to Cybele, who was giving him an evil eye. "You're planning something," she accused. He nodded. "I would advise you to forget this conversation took place," he said. "Your life may depend on it." Cybele stood and grabbed the pouch. She hobbled toward the doorway with a particular crouch as to not draw attention to herself. Lucien would have to remember the trick. At the doorway, she paused to turn back and stare at him. Clear, sky-blue eyes penetrated his soul. "A word of warning to you, kind sir," she spoke. "Some secrets are best left alone. Take an old woman's advise, and stay away from Philae." Lucien backed off slightly, which was unusual for him. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" he snapped. Cybele turned and walked out the door. "Blood calls blood," her voice remained. "And fate does have a quarrel with you." Then she was gone. 'It can't be.' Lucien raced through the doorway after the woman called Cybele. There was no one in the streets. Only an empty road in the dead of evening. Albin came out to stand next to Lucien. "Where are we going, Lucien?" Lucien straightened, unwilling to move. Inside, he was shaking. 'She's dead,' he told himself. Slowly, he turned his head up to the heavens, at the very stars that revolved around them. "Philae," he said softly. Part 19 It was near dawn as Lucien and Albin approached the island. The boy's reaction to the first time flying was somewhat of an embarrassment, in that Albin refused to fly. Whether it was an aversion to the idea or a simple irrational fear of heights, Lucien didn't know. Nor was he willing to spend the time to find out. A sharp rap to the back of the boy's neck solved the problem. Lucien flew through the night sky and descending toward the complex. It was more than a single temple. There were several grouped together behind a colonnade following the edge of Philae. One side of the colonnade lay incomplete, as if somehow construction was abruptly halted. It was massive, perhaps more than any other city across the Empire. He saw it for what it was - the only city in the world of vampires. Lucien came in through one of the Vestibules and landed. He gently set Albin down from his shoulder and slapped the boy's face a few times. "Albin," he whispered. "Wake up." Albin's eyes flew wide as he turned his head up. "Wha-" Lucien placed a hand over the boy's mouth. "Be quiet," he said softly. "We have arrived." Albin took a quick glance around and shuddered. "I don't want to know," he whispered. Lucien laughed inside. They stood in the complex, taking in the various chapels, temples, birthhouses and sanctuaries. On one wall, someone had painted scenes of Horus the God wearing the double crown symbolizing Upper and Lower Egypt. Other portraits included Isis, Osiris, Nephthys and Seth among other gods Lucien didn't recognize. "Gods," Albin whispered in a hushed tone. Lucien nodded his head. "Of a sort," he replied shortly. Anger replaced weariness as he looked on at the images. It was a mockery, and all of it a lie. His kind had been deceiving the human race for millennia. They had deceived him where they should not have. "Come." They walked through the silent complex as the first rays of dawn began to shine down. The Temple of Isis was easy to find. The rest centered around it. He entered with Albin and proceeded through the antechamber without pause. He no longer cared for the columns or friezes. They were offensive to his very being. Instead he went straight through until he found the stairwell leading down. He descended and crossed through the chamber into the audience hall. It was empty. Lucien stared around, extending his senses. They were here, deeper inside the complex turning to beds. After all, it was sunrise. He drew himself up, the way he presented himself when commanding the legions. This was going to end now. "Ezelle!" he screamed, hearing his voice echo. Silence. "Ezelle!" Lucien shouted again. "I know you're here! Come out and face your lies!" "You're a fool." Lucien snapped his head right as Ezelle emerged from the archway, dressed down in a black robe. He tasted the rage in the air, and the vampires descending toward the chamber. There were more, more than back in the temple at Alexandria. He suddenly realized his mistake. This wasn't a group of a select few banded together. This was an army, an army of vampires willing to kill to protect its secrets. "We have an account," he spat, shoving Albin back. "I do not care to be deceived." "And nor is it your place to expose our confidence," Ezelle replied crisply as she ascended to the throne. "You have jeopardized the Community. Darius." Lucien whirled as he became aware, seeing Darius descend to snatch Albin. "No!" The boy screamed as the vampire lifted him. With a loud snap, Darius broke Albin's neck and let the body fall. Lucien watched, enraged, as Albin fell to the floor, now only a heap of flesh. He grinded his fangs. Darius turned his glowing eyes on Lucien, grinning. "Promise made. Promise kept." Lucien nearly lost it and attacked. Instead, he snapped on his feet back around to face Ezelle. "He was a boy, Ezelle," he snarled. "My servant. Not yours." Ezelle stood with a darkened glare. "His death is on your hands, Lucien. You should have never brought him." "You and your Code," Lucien snapped. "You're a hypocrisy to your own." He never saw Ezelle coming. All he felt was the razor edges of nails across his left cheek. Lucien stumbled, but stayed on his feet. "Have a care, General," Ezelle replied, standing in front of him. "And still your tongue." Lucien didn't flinch. "You didn't have to kill him." "None can be permitted to know the existence of vampires," Ezelle growled. "Servants or otherwise. You have broken the Code, and the covenant of the Community. You will not be spared." She turned and walked back to the throne. "Any more than your so-called gods?" Lucien replied, mocking. Ezelle turned with an expression to make Lucien's blood run cold. "Do not speak, unless spoken to." "Or what?" Lucien challenged. "You'll destroy me, as you destroyed your gods?" Ezelle stared openly at Lucien. He knew he was going to die. "Leave us!" Ezelle snapped, not moving from where she stood. Lucien hadn't even realized other vampires were in the room. They slowly withdrew, casting dark stares at Lucien. And then they were gone. Ezelle walked back toward Lucien. "I told you not to come here. And yet you come. I tell you not to pursue this, and still you charge. Will you heed nothing I say, not even at the risk of your own life?" "I fear nothing," Lucien said simply. "Not even death." Ezelle stopped in front of him and stared up. "No," she finally said as comprehension filled her eyes. There was sadness in her gaze. "You fear being alone, lost to a world you cannot control. That will destroy you in the end." Lucien reached out to touch her. "Do not touch me!" Ezelle screamed. "You will not have me, not now or in a thousand years!" He ignored her and turned Ezelle's face toward him. "You will die," he said simply, "for your fears. At least I will die fighting for what's mine." "You will never rule the Community," Ezelle said, tightening her face. "For it was written, no single body will hold sway over others. That is the second rule of the Code." "I have no wish to rule," Lucien replied. "Of suffer the same fate of another man. I simply wanted what you take for granted. Knowledge. No, it is you who fears to be alone. It is you who would control. You have denied me the right to know my own." He sighed. "You're no better than Divia." Lucien turned and walked away. He would find some place on the island to hole up for the day, then leave these delusional vampires to their own darkness. "General!" He turned, and looked back at Ezelle. She glanced after him, troubled. "Remember the Code. And if you value your life, do not return here. Next time they will kill you." "They will?" Lucien sniffed. "Or you will?" Then he turned and did something he thought he would never do again. He bowed. "The Enforcers have no quarrel with me." With that he turned and left, leaving Ezelle to whatever demons that kept her frozen in time. In the Garden Part 20 Eve snorted. "I change my mind. You can spin stories better than any of us ever will." She turned and began walking away. "Thanks for wasting my time." LaCroix simply stared after Eve and shook his head. It was incredible. She didn't even care! He flew over her in a rush as Eve paused to stare back. He dropped in front of her. Eve turned back and gasped. "How did you-" she started, whispering. LaCroix didn't give her a chance to finish. He grabbed Eve's arms and shot up into the night sky and stars. Her screams filled his ears as they ascended. He traveled up until they reached the clouds, then stopped in the air, several hundreds of feet into the sky. Eve snapped her head up from looking down at LaCroix. He felt her heart thundering beneath her very much frightened expression. He savored the emotion. It was true fear. "What are you?" she whispered with wide eyes. LaCroix raised his head slightly, drinking in her emotions. "That which you fear," he replied. "I am Lucius Divius Crusifictor. The last general of Pompeii, a vampire, and the one you call the Nightcrawler." "You mean it's true? All of it's true?" "You asked me who I was," LaCroix replied, descending back to the rooftop. "Now you know." He let Eve go, smelling the lingering fragrance of her endorphins. Eve stumbled back. "Why tell me? I mean, with this Code thing and all? Aren't they going to come and destroy you?" "She stared down into the abyss," LaCroix said, closing his eyes, "and finds it stares back." He opened his eyes, smiling. "The darkness takes shape, where none has before. It is the true face of evil, and it is our reflection. We, are the monsters." Eve shook her head slowly. "I don't understand," she said. "I'm nothing like you." LaCroix chuckled. "Ah. Denial. Mankind's worst sin, and its best emotion. Does it not strike you that we wear our guilt as a golden badge for the world to see?" He stepped closer. "That we would relish and bask in the accomplishments of our greed?" "Stay away from me," Eve snapped, stepping back. "Careful now, Miss deLucy. I wouldn't want you to fall." Eve turned and looked down. LaCroix smiled and removed an object from his pocket. "It's time to settle our accounts," he said. Silently, he drew in his breath. This was the moment he waited for, been so patient with. Eve was about to get her wake-up call. She turned back on LaCroix, breathing hard and fast. "What could I possibly have that you don't?" she asked nervously. "Do you see your comrades down there?" Eve looked. "Yeah," she answered, throwing LaCroix a funny look. "The Enforcers are down there as we speak, waiting to descend and feed on the blood of your own." Eve glanced back down again, eyes widening. She quickly looked back at LaCroix and wiped her eyes. "All they wait for is my signal," LaCroix finished. "Do you want me to stop them?" "Of course!" Eve yelled, cracks in her composure becoming apparent. She was coming unglued before LaCroix. He smiled, wishing he could feel what she felt. The shatter of illusions, the knowledge that death was approaching. He would love to know what she felt right now. With a laugh, LaCroix threw the object at her. Eve caught it with both hands and looked at it. She looked back up at him. "What the hell's this?" she yelled. "Exactly what it appears to be," LaCroix replied. "An apple." "I don't get it." LaCroix shoved his hands into his pockets, relishing the moment. He wanted to remember this exact time for the rest of his time within the world. "Do you want to save them? All you have to do is bite the apple!" Eve's mouth twisted. "You sick fuck!" "No more games!" LaCroix shouted. "No more stories! No more monsters in the closet, Eve. This is the price of knowledge, knowing they will die if you don't taste the fruit of ancient ties! Your death liberates theirs. And you live in eternal night. Always with the knowledge, always with the conscience. "You, are the Mother." They locked eyes. His blue to her wild green. LaCroix smiled. "Miss deLucien." Eve's eyes widened. She felt to her knees, clasping the apple to her chest. Horror replaced everything. Horror and understanding. "Blood calls blood," Lucien said, driving it home. "It is your past, your present, and your future." He finally understood what the woman in the forest was trying to tell him, Cybele, or whatever she once called herself. This final lesson, that fate indeed had a quarrel with his kind. That history did repeat itself. That lies are believed instead of truth. It was the sum of their existence, and now it was Eve's. Eve closed her eyes and mumbled something. She brought the apple up, staring up at LaCroix, then closed her eyes once more. "Forgive me," she whispered. She bit the apple. LaCroix raised his head and laughed, listening to his voice echo. History had truly repeated itself. 'Eve has fallen.' He turned back down, fangs flashing. "Come to me," he commanded. Eve stood, crying, with tears streaming from her eyes over her cheeks. She reached out with one hand. He reached out to take it. She suddenly leaned back, and fell. "No!" LaCroix screamed, flying to the edge. He was slammed back against the gravel roof, staring up at the stars. He leapt up and sprinted toward the edge, looking down at the body embedded into the ground. 'No!' LaCroix fell on his knees, staring down at Eve. All of his work, his time and patience, lay broken and dead on the street below. "Damn you!" Part 21 "Was that to her, or me?" LaCroix didn't bother to turn around. He didn't want to leave Eve. He closed his eyes, fighting off the sharp taste of loss. Darkness floated and took her image, sitting at the table with a drink in hand and her bags next to her. He saw her in the apartment, draining the drink he offered her. He saw her in the city garden among the roses, along with the pale reflection of Fleur laughing together. Twice now, and still nothing. Eve was stolen from him. "You have no idea what you've done," he said. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Any more than what you did to me, General." LaCroix stood and faced Ezelle, who looked back at him with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. She nodded. He looked back at Eve, laying on the ground. By tomorrow she would be another statistic, another story for someone like her. "Tell Darius and the others to stand down," he said. "There is no more cause." "I already did." LaCroix faced Ezelle with a narrowing gaze. "You what?" Ezelle shook her head slightly. "The Enforcers answer to no one, General. Not even me. Darius did it as a favor for old times sake." LaCroix curled his hands into fists and snarled. "She was my blood." "Father, daughter, brother and sister," Ezelle replied, looking down briefly. "That's usually how it starts. What you did was hideous, Lucien. That poor girl." "She understood in the end," LaCroix replied. It was funny to hear his name from Ezelle's lips, and wondered if it signified anything. "She really was Isis." "Don't be a fool." Ezelle turned LaCroix's gaze on her. "She could never be Isis, any more than you Osiris. I thought I told you to leave it alone." LaCroix smiled. "About two thousand years ago. And I seem to recall you told me never to return." "And half expected you to," Ezelle smiled, cupping LaCroix's cheek. "You listen when I least expect it." "I told you," LaCroix replied. "I have no quarrel with the Enforcers." "No. Only me." LaCroix fe