From: "Nancy Kaminski" <nancykam@pioneerplanet.infi.net>
Subject: Memory Challenge: Deja Vu (part 1)
Date: Sun, 31 Aug 1997 00:20:18 -0500

Deja Vu

by Nancy Kaminski

"Are you sure?"

Nick looked at Natalie a long moment, then nodded and
smiled. "Yes, I'm sure. I really think it's going to work
this time." He took her hand and squeezed gently. "I don't
know why, but I have a good feeling about this."

She squeezed back and returned the smile. "I do too. At
least all the lab tests were a success--that is, as far as
I could tell, without trying it on an actual 'undead'
subject."

Natalie had been teetering on the verge of success for
months, the test results becoming more and more positive.
And when success finally came after repeating the final
test over and over to make sure, and she gave Nick the good
news, neither of them could bear to postpone actually
trying the new serum, risky or not. 

So, after the end of their Thursday night shifts, Nick had
picked her up at the morgue and they had gone directly to
the loft, the precious vial of serum tucked safely into the
battered black leather medical bag Natalie clutched tightly
on her lap.

Nick wanted to try the serum as soon as possible for
another reason. "Janette," he explained, "is in Paris. She
has been for a month." He groped for words, unsure if
Natalie understood the nature of the relationship between
the vampire siblings/lovers. "If this truly works,
our--connection--will break. If she is far away, it will
not be as painful as it would be were she here."

"And Lacroix?" Natalie asked apprehensively. "What about
your connection to him?" She barely understood this tie
between the vampire father and son, but from the little
Nick had told her, it was deep and constant.

"He will know, no matter where he is," Nick said flatly,
his face bleak. "We'll just have to deal with that when the
time comes." With that, he refused to discuss it any more.

Once in the loft, Nick had drained two glasses of cow to
ease his inhuman hunger "for the last time," he had
declared, his expression a cross between revulsion and joy.

Natalie nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, orange juice."

He vaguely remembered eating an orange, a wondrous
explosion of sweetness, when he had been a mortal Crusader
in the Holy Land. The thought of untasted foods ignited his
imagination. "And eggs, and bacon, and oatmeal, and
coffee..." He began to twirl her giddily around the kitchen
as he grinned and recited a list of breakfast delicacies.
"And Wheaties, and muffins, and, uhhh, Captain Crunch,
and..."

"Whoa, buster, don't get carried away!" Natalie gasped as
she was whirled to sit in a kitchen chair, grinning at his
uncharacteristic exuberance. "We're going to go easy on the
food at first. I don't want to give you your first case of
indigestion in eight hundred years."

He mimed offense. "Me? I always had a cast-iron stomach--I
could eat anything and never get sick." He thought a
moment, holding up a hand. "Wait. I'm wrong. There was that
one time when it was a hard winter and we had to eat that
rotten salted beef..." He shook his head. "I don't think
that counts, do you?"

She grabbed his hand. "Now is not the time to reminisce
about botulism. Are we going to do this or not?" They
looked at each other, suddenly serious. Nat stood up and
started leading him towards the stairs and his bedroom,
taking her medical bag from the table as they passed.

Now, at the moment of truth, she felt as if she had to
reassure herself that the cure would work; that it wasn't a
dead end like the Lidovuterine-B had been; that the serum
she had stumbled on after years of experimentation and
failure really would destroy the vampire that was slowly
destroying Nick. 

Mentally she reviewed her lab tests. She had watched the
effects of the serum under the electron microscope in her
friend Doug's research lab at the University of Toronto
Medical School; watched as the abnormal vampire gene
structures were overwhelmed and replaced with normal human
ones with amazing speed--it had to work on Nick! She said a
silent prayer and pushed Nick gently back on the bed. "Lie
down, now. I don't know what side effects the serum will
have on you. We don't want a repeat of the last time," she
added, referring to Nick's collapse on her dissecting room
floor.

Nick lay back on the bed. His face was calm, but Natalie
could tell he was nervous--his muscles were tense, and his
hands were clenching and unclenching. She rubbed his arm
gently. "Try to relax--it'll make it easier to insert the
IV." The serum had to be infused slowly in a saline drip.

Nick nodded and visibly made an effort to relax himself.
"Sorry," he murmured, and took a deep breath. 

She patted his hand. "Not to worry. You're entitled to a
case of nerves. It's not every day you decide to change the
nature of your existence."

"Yeah--only once every eight hundred years or so. You'd
think I would've learned my lesson the first time..."

Natalie swatted his arm and said fondly, "Idiot!" Her face
grew serious as she donned a pair of surgical gloves,
swabbed the back of his left hand and found a vein, then
inserted the needle. She taped it down and connected the
saline drip. When it was flowing to her satisfaction, she
readied the hypodermic with the serum. "Ready?"

Nick nodded, his face grim. "Do it."

She injected the serum into the bag of saline. The amber
fluid diffused slowly into the clear salt solution,
gradually tinting it a faint gold. The gold started slowly
drifting its way down the tubing towards Nick's hand,
bringing with it its promise of renewed mortality.

Nat sat down in the armchair she had drawn close to the bed
and stripped off the gloves. "Now all we can do is wait."
She put a blood pressure cuff on Nick's right arm, and
unbuttoned his shirt so she could listen to his heart with
her stethoscope. "I'll be taking your vitals every fifteen
minutes." She rested her hand on his and said, "If things
go according to plan, they'll start to pick up in about an
hour."

Nick lay there, his eyes on the IV. "I can't believe this
is finally it. I've been searching for so long," he said
wonderingly. Glancing over at Natalie, he smiled. "Thanks
to you." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then
pressed it to his cheek. "You know how I feel about you,
don't you? Whatever the outcome,  that will never change."

Natalie's heart constricted at the trust and unspoken love
in his eyes. Her own eyes pricked with tears as she
smoothed his unruly hair. "I know." She smiled tremulously
and turned the moment into a joke. "Now just lie still and
concentrate on becoming mortal, will you?"

His reply devastated her. "That's what I do every minute
I'm with you."

Silence fell over the dimly-lit room. The level in the
saline drip lowered slowly. There was nothing to say; all
their hopes for a future together were condensed suddenly
into an amber fluid, working its chemical magic on a
dormant body.

After half an hour, Nick murmured, "I feel weird...so
tired..." His voice trailed off and his grip on Natalie's
hand slackened; his eyes drooped shut.

She quickly checked his vital signs. There was no change as
yet--they were virtually nonexistent--and he appeared to be
deeply asleep, almost comatose. _So far, so good,_ she
thought. _God, please make this work,_ she prayed silently,
and settled back to wait.

Downstairs, the loft's open shutters let seldom-seen
stripes of sunlight move slowly across the floor, bathing
the austere room with light and heat. Dust motes, glinting
gold, danced in the faint air movements. And as the day
wore on, upstairs in the darkened bedroom, the hoped- and
prayed-for changes began to manifest themselves. 

A dormant, cold heart began twitching, its fibers
remembering the long-ago rhythms of youth and vitality.
Lungs began to insist on drawing in air, not to speak, not
for appearance, but to sustain life itself. The rush of
hot, oxygenated blood began its purposeful, circular route
through arteries, veins, and capillaries, flushing the pale
white skin with the normal hues of life. Natalie's hopes
soared with the upward-climbing points she charted on her
graphs. 

The soft blue numbers on the alarm clock silently noted the
passage of the day; after four hours, Natalie removed the
now-empty IV drip from Nick's warm hand. He remained
motionless save for the quiet movements of his chest as he
breathed, although she knew drastic things were happening
internally. All his systems were awakening after almost
eight hundred years of unlife.

His vital signs reached human normal--and then, to her
alarm, continued climbing. Nervously she began taking his
temperature every five minutes--98, 99, 101...in a half
hour it soared to 106 degrees. His heartrate increased
until it was racing at 150 beats per minute. 

Finally, Nick seemed to swim upwards to a delirious
semi-consciousness, muttering and moving restlessly, clear
saline sweat pouring down his face as his temperature
soared. This was something all Natalie's tests couldn't
have predicted. 'Side effects.' The term sounded so
innocuous. _The cure worked; unfortunately, the patient
died..._

She fought down her panic and tried to think clinically.
She had to get his temperature down, that was clear, and
fast--his newly-awakened physiology was racing like an out
of control engine, burning itself up.

Cold water--get him into the bath and immerse him in cold
water! Now if she could just get him there...She shook him,
hard. "Nick! Can you hear me? Nick!" 

He turned his head towards her voice, and muttered
something she couldn't understand. His eyes were open and
fever-bright, but unfocused. She pulled on his arm. "C'mon,
Nick, stand up."

Somehow she managed to get him off the bed and standing on
unsteady legs, his arm draped heavily over her shoulders.
He suddenly seemed to weigh a ton. Putting her arm around
his waist, she pulled him towards the door. "Walk, dammit.
C'mon, Nick, help me!" 

They weaved unsteadily down the hall to the bathroom, Nick
almost collapsing several times. Natalie ended up
supporting almost all his weight most of the way. She could
feel his heart pounding in his chest, as though it were
trying to break free.

When they got into the bathroom, she half lowered, half
dropped him into the tub, wincing at the solid *thunk* when
he hit. He lolled limply against the cool porcelain.
Frantically she tore his shoes and socks off. She fairly
ripped his shirt off, then managed to maneuver his jeans
and underpants over his hips, tossing the discarded clothes
in the corner. _Get the water started, idiot!_ She turned
the cold water faucet on full force and closed the drain. 

She turned back to Nick, pulled two towels from the towel
rack and padded the slanted end of the tub under his head
so he wouldn't concuss himself on the porcelain. Thank God
the tub was just short enough for his six-foot frame that
he wouldn't easily slide under the water. Damn! She needed
her medical gear! She hated leaving him for even a second,
but she had to get it from his room.

Natalie ran down the hall and gathered her equipment into
her arms. Racing back, she was relieved to find him in the
same position. He was muttering in his feverish delirium,
his head rolling from side to side, his fingers plucking
feebly at nothing, splashing in the icy water.

The water was almost halfway up his chest--any deeper, and
he really could go under and drown. She turned off the
faucet and took his temperature again. If it didn't start
going down soon, she would have to call the paramedics and
get him into the hospital fast, and worry about
explanations later.

His temperature was 105--the cold water had already started
lowering it, thank God. She put her fingers over his
carotid artery and counted his pulse. She felt a rush of
relief--it was down to 100 beats per minute.

Ice. Ice would help lower his temperature even faster. She
remembered the big bag of ice he kept for her soft drinks
in the freezer compartment of his refrigerator. She checked
his position again--the wet towels behind his head and back
were keeping him more or less in one place. "Don't move,"
she ordered her semi-conscious patient, and ran downstairs
for the ice.

After she dumped the ice into the water, she sat back on
her heels and looked at him. He was panting, his eyes half
open and vacant, but he seemed calmer. 

Natalie suddenly realized this was the first time she had
seen him naked--even when she had had to dig bullets out of
him, he managed to stay covered everywhere except the site
of the wound. She wondered if his modesty was the result of
his upbringing, or just a reluctance to expose his
abnormally pale skin to public scrutiny. She knew there
were jokes among the women at the precinct, about how Nick
was 'the most clothed man on the force,' and that he was
never seen with even his top shirt button undone, or his
sleeves pushed up. And here she had him, au naturel, as it
were. If only the situation weren't so serious...She shook
her head. How could she be thinking like this during this
crisis?

She took his temperature again. The little electronic
thermometer beeped and registered 102.4 on its blue LED
readout. She relaxed a fraction more, and went back to
studying him until her next temperature check.

His skin was remarkably smooth, his chest lightly dusted
with golden hair. There were no scars to mark the places
where she knew he had been shot--it really was true,
vampires healed as if they had never been hurt. But there
were still scars here and there; she supposed they were
relics of his mortal life. There was a dimpled scar on his
thigh, obviously a puncture wound--an arrow?--and a long
weal just above his left hip. It looked like it had been
deep and ugly--the scar was puckered and uneven. She
speculated on how he had been wounded, and what kind of
treatment he would have received for such an
injury--probably just bandaging and perhaps poultices. It
looked like it had been infected and very painful. She
shuddered at the thought.

Her eyes strayed a little lower, feeling guilty for looking
at him this way when he was unconscious, but still, she
couldn't resist. He was well-proportioned, and, she noted,
uncircumcised. 

Overall, he was nicely muscled, especially his upper body,
something not really noticeable under his well-tailored
clothes. She noted with interest his right arm and shoulder
were more developed than the left--from wielding a sword?
It seemed likely. Once, Nick, in a more than usually
outgoing mood, had delved into his storeroom and shown her
his battered sword. She had marveled at the weight and
length of it. She remembered wondering how he had managed
to keep it all those hundreds of years.

She dragged her mind back to the matter at hand and looked
at her watch. It had been forty-five minutes since she had
gotten him into the bath. She checked again--his
temperature was 100, and his heartrate had slowed to a much
more normal 80 beats per minute. Considering what his body
was going through, that was well within the normal range.
His respirations had slowed, too, and he was no longer
breathing through his mouth. It looked like this crisis had
passed, and she fervently hoped for no more medical
surprises. 

She gave him another twenty minutes in the cold water, then
started draining the tub. Nick was resting quietly, though
he looked drawn and tired.

Natalie opened the cupboard to look for more towels. Now
she had to worry about getting him dried off and warm. She
paused and stretched her back out, fervently hoping he
would be able to get back to his room under his own
power--her back ached from supporting most of his weight
earlier, and she didn't relish the thought of doing it
again.

She turned around, towels in her arms, to find he was
looking at her, awareness growing in his eyes. She smiled,
suddenly overcome by the knowledge her cure had worked--he
was mortal! She knelt down next to the tub, dropped the
towels, and touched his cheek. "Welcome back to mortality,
Nick." Her smile wavered, threatened to become tears. "It
worked, Nick. There were a few bumps, but it worked. You're
mortal again. Can you feel your heart beating?" _Why
doesn't he say something?_

Nick remained silent. He looked around him with a strange
expression on his face, becoming aware of his nudity with a
start. A flush of red started on his chest and spread over
his face as he attempted to cover himself in embarrassment.
Spying one of the fresh towels, he grabbed it and draped it
over his waist, then stared at Natalie and said something
in a language she had never heard before. 

She laughed nervously. "Nick, cut it out! This isn't the
time to show off your language skills. Tell me how you
feel." As he looked at her blankly, her welcoming smile
faded.

He asked the question again, and at her incomprehension,
changed to a strangely accented French. "What am I doing
here? What is this place?"

Natalie stared at him slackjawed; she felt as if she had
been hit by a sack of cement. She took a moment to gather
her whirling thoughts and dredged up the remnants of her
high school and college French classes. Haltingly, she
said, "You are at home. In your bathroom. The medicine I
gave you made you hot, and I had to get your temperature
down." She gestured. "So I put you in cold water." 

He pulled himself to a sitting position and groaned
involuntarily, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache.
He looked around again, examining the gleaming porcelain
and chrome fixtures, the lights...and her. His gaze
lingered on her legs rather longer than necessary. Finally
he dragged his eyes up to meet hers.

"I don't recognize this place. You say this is my home?
Surely not--it is very strange, and very rich. I have yet
to make my place in the world, and own no such estate." He
eyed her speculatively. "And you have the advantage of me,
Mademoiselle--you address me so familiarly, but I regret I
do not know your name." He arranged the towel more
securely, and shifted uncomfortably. "This is most
unseemly, and to be seen thus by a lady..." 

His eye roved over her again, taking in her short skirt and
sleeveless blouse. "Your dress is most unusual." Despite
his embarrassment, his eyebrow quirked and he smiled
appreciatively.

Natalie's thoughts flew. He didn't remember
her--apparently, he didn't remember anything. _That first
language he spoke must have been Brabantish--it sounded
Germanic or Dutch,_ The analytical part of her mind
continued to hum along while the rest of it edged closer to
panic mode. _--and that barely-understandable French must
be the dialect he learned in his youth._ She realized she
had used the familiar 'tu' rather than the formal 'vous,'
and if he had reverted to his medieval self, she must look
next to naked to him. And being unclothed and in the
company of a woman...no wonder he was blushing. Of course,
he could have made other assumptions about her...

Self-consciously she tugged at the hem of her skirt and
said, "My name is Natalie Lambert. We are good friends. You
have been, uh...ill...and I have been helping you get
well." She was careful to speak formally this time.

"I have been ill?" He grimaced. "Truly, I don't feel well.
My head is aching and I feel very weak." He glanced down at
himself. "Where are my clothes?"

Natalie looked at the clothes thrown haphazardly in the
corner. That wouldn't do--he probably would have difficulty
dressing himself in twentieth century garb, and she didn't
want to embarrass him any more than he was already by
helping him. There was a terrycloth bathrobe hanging on the
back of the door. She held it out to him and said, "You can
wear this for now." The whole situation was beginning to
feel surreal.

He stood up carefully, clutching the towel with one hand
and pressing the other to the tiled wall for balance.
Safely on his feet, he held out his hand for the
robe--wordlessly, Natalie handed it over. He turned to the
wall and slipped it on, tying the belt securely before
turning around again and cautiously stepping out of the
tub. 

"Tell, me, do you know what year it is?" Natalie asked
carefully.

He glanced sharply at her. "Of course--the second year in
the reign of his majesty, Louis the Ninth. 1228. Why do you
ask me this?"

Natalie said faintly, "It's nothing. Never mind." _Oh, God,
it's really true. He doesn't remember anything. I've got
Neecolah Mark One on my hands..._

Nick's gaze wandered over the bathroom again, ending up
staring at his image in the large mirror over the sink. "My
hair has been shorn," he murmured, fingering the length of
hair at the back of his neck. "And I am so pale--truly I
must have been ill a long while." He stared at the mirror
itself and touched it tentatively. "What an amazing looking
glass..."

Suddenly he clutched at his stomach. "Oh, God, I am going
to be sick..." he groaned as he doubled over and began
retching.

Natalie pushed him over to the toilet, hurriedly flipping
up the lid. He collapsed to his knees and vomited his final
meal of blood into the toilet, spasming over and over, then
sat limply on the floor. He wiped the cold sweat from his
forehead with a trembling hand, and gasped, "I'm dying,
aren't I? I have seen men who brought up blood...oh God."
He leaned his head back against the cool tiles and looked
up at Natalie with frightened eyes. "What has happened? Was
I poisoned?"

Natalie handed him a glass of water. "No, you've just been
sick--a long time," she said gently. She was almost elated
at the sight of his body rejecting the blood it had
demanded for so long. "You were just getting rid of the
illness. You'll be all right now." I hope, she added to
herself. 

Nick shakily drained the glass of water and handed it back
to her with a sigh. He seemed willing to accept her
reassurances--for now. "More, please."

Natalie took the glass. "In a moment. Let's get you back to
your bedroom so you can rest." She held out her hand to
help him to his feet. 

He smiled briefly, then grimaced. "If only my head were not
aching so," he apologized, accepting her hand and standing
awkwardly. 

"The rest should help," she said reassuringly, and led him
down the hallway towards the bedroom. Fortunately, he was
too caught up in how ill he felt to pay attention to his
surroundings--he didn't even look as they walked slowly
past the balcony overlooking the loft's main floor. 

Natalie suddenly foresaw problems--lots of problems. If he
truly was amnesiac, how was she going to explain this world
to him? Everything, from clothing to indoor plumbing, was
going to be strange and new. She fervently hoped this
condition was temporary.

Natalie ushered Nick into the bedroom and pointed him at
the bed while she swiftly looked around the room. No
glaringly obvious examples of modern technology were there,
except for the lamps and the digital alarm clock/radio. She
casually toed the clock's plug out of the wall socket--the
last thing she needed was an alarm clock going off and
scaring her newly-mortal patient to death. There was
nothing she could do about the lamps; Nick's bedroom had no
windows and they needed the light they provided. She hoped
he was too distracted to look at them carefully. "Lie down
and try to rest. I'll get you some more water."

She went downstairs to the kitchen, found another glass,
and filled a pitcher with cold water. She stopped briefly
in the bathroom to collect Nick's discarded clothes, then
returned to the bedroom, balancing the pitcher on top of
the untidy pile. Back in the bedroom, she found Nick in bed
as ordered, looking wan and tired but gazing around the
room apprehensively. 

Pouring a glass of water, she offered it to him and said,
"Here, drink this. You must still be thirsty."

He accepted the glass and drained it dry. "My thanks,
Mademoiselle--Natalie? Where are we? Is this Paris?" He
handed the glass back and she refilled it. 

Giving him the glass again, she said, "Uh, no. We're in
Toronto." She thought she'd leave out the more messy
details, such as being on the other side of the ocean. She
busied herself shaking out his clothes and folding them
neatly on the dresser. Casually, she said, "Tell me,
Nicolas." Natalie felt odd, pronouncing his name that way,
like she was doing a bad Janette imitation. "What is the
last thing you remember before waking up here?" 

He ran a finger around the rim of the glass thoughtfully,
watching her. "I was at an inn, on the Ile de la Cite,
supping with my companions. We were newly arrived in Paris
from the Holy Land, returning from the wars." He grimaced
at the memory. "It had been a hard journey, and many of us
had been injured." His hand strayed to his left hip where
Natalie had seen the fearsome scar. "We were resting for a
time before continuing on the final leg of our journey to
Brabant. I remember a beautiful young woman calling to me
from across the room..." His voice trailed off, and he
blushed again. He cleared his throat. "Beyond that,
everything is in a mist. I woke up here."

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Natalie could
barely suppress a grin. He remembered more, all right--the
night of revelry with Janette, no doubt, but he obviously
wasn't going to discuss it with her. _Chivalry isn't dead,_
she thought.

Nick's gaze wandered around the strange room, taking in the
fixtures. A thought occurred to him. "Where are my
possessions?"

"Your possessions?" Natalie echoed. She gestured. "All this
is yours."

"No, not this," he replied impatiently. "My cloak, my
hauberk, my weapons, my horse...all I own in the world." He
looked at his right hand. "My ring, given me by my mother
when I left for the Holy Land." 

"I'm sorry, Nicolas, they are all gone." She wasn't about
to mention the sword in the storage room. A thought
occurred to her. "No, wait, I think..." She went to the
dresser and opened a carved wooden box sitting on the
polished wood. Nick had shown her the box and its cherished
contents several months ago. Fishing out a small chamois
pouch, she took it to him and asked, "Is this the ring?"

He opened the pouch and shook it out. A heavy gold ring,
worn smooth with age, fell into his palm. Tracing the
outline of the inlaid heraldic crest with the tip of a
finger, he said, "Yes, this is my ring. See, it bears the
arms of my family." He held it up for her inspection. "But
it is so worn...it was not thus when I wore it last." He
stared at it uneasily, fingering the time-smoothed
surfaces, and then slipped it on his finger. "I don't
understand what has happened." His eyes turned to her
again. "Truly, all my possessions are gone? Were they sold
to pay for my keep here?" He looked troubled and upset at
his loss.

Natalie sighed. "No, they weren't sold. It's...it's a long
story." She changed the subject. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded. "Yes. I think I could keep some bread and meat
down. My stomach feels more settled now." He rubbed his
temple again and added, "Perhaps some food will ease this
aching head."

Natalie stood up and said briskly, "Well, I can fix that. I
am a physician, after all." Rummaging in her medical bag,
she pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen and shook two tablets
out. "Here, swallow these. They will ease your headache."
She handed him the tablets with another glass of water.

Nick was staring at her. "You are a physician? I have heard
of ladies well-versed in midwifery, but--a physician? Your
husband allows this? Amazing." He looked at the pills
dubiously. "And what are these?"

"It's all right--it's just a special medicine for
headaches. And there is no husband, and women can be
physicians here, if they wish. So swallow them, please."
She crossed her arms and stared at him, waiting.

He meekly swallowed the pills and drank another glass of
water. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he said, "This is
indeed a strange land." He snorted softly. "Women as
physicians, indeed--although I must admit, these tiny
things are easier to swallow than Brother Antoine's
potions. He can brew up the nastiest remedies of any
herbalist I've ever known." He put the glass on the bedside
table and started to stand.

Natalie pushed him back down on the bed. "No, I told you to
rest. You're too weak to walk around. I'll bring some food
for you. Just stay here." She wasn't prepared for him to go
downstairs yet, not until she had a chance to
'technology-proof' it, at least to some extent.

"Have your servant bring the food--stay here, Mademoiselle
Natalie, and tell me about the kingdom of Toronto. Who is
your liege lord? How far are we from Paris? I confess, I
have never heard of this place, but the world is a big
place, as I have learned from my travels." He settled
comfortably back down and crossed his arms. "And please,
who is master of this house? I must thank him for his
hospitality."

"I told you, you own this place...no, never mind," she said
in exasperation at his puzzled expression. She headed for
the door. "There aren't any servants, so I'll just go down
to the kitchen and get you something. Just stay here," she
repeated, and closed the bedroom door behind her. 

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the door and sighed.
*Her* head was hurting, too, and she was desperately tired.
She wished she had taken some ibuprofen for herself. She
briefly considered going back in the bedroom and getting
the bottle, but couldn't bring herself to face Nick again
so soon. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts.

The sun was almost down--the last vestiges of a red sunset
suffused the loft as she slowly descended the stairs. What
would she do if he didn't regain his memory in the next few
days? He obviously couldn't go to work in this
condition--hell, he couldn't even leave the loft in this
condition. 

Not that he needed the job, but she couldn't resign for
him--Captain Cohen would be demanding to talk to him, or at
least see a signed letter of resignation. And he couldn't
just not show up, either--they would search for him, and
the first place they'd look would be here. Her headache
intensified.

Thank God they both had the entire weekend off for a
change. They weren't expected at work until Monday night._
Maybe he'll remember in a few hours--a few days--maybe some
solid food will kick in the ol' neurons and this will all
go away..._ And if not? She didn't want to think about it.
Not right now.

At least she had brought a grocery bag full of food. Canned
chicken noodle soup, some apples, a loaf of bread, butter,
a carton of milk--she could throw together something that
wouldn't be too jarring to him, physically or mentally. 

As the soup heated, she found the remote and closed the
window shutters. At least he wouldn't be able to see out if
he came downstairs. _Nothing I can do about the TV, or any
of the other electronics,_ she thought as she surveyed the
large room. _Maybe he'll think they're just boxes, or
decorations, or something._ She decided to turn on one lamp
with a three-way bulb to its lowest setting, and light
candles and turn on the fireplace for additional
illumination.

She was lighting the last candle when she heard a noise.
She looked up, and there he was, tentatively walking along
the balcony. He had gotten dressed in the clothes she had
left folded on the dresser, she saw, right down to the
sneakers, although his shirt wasn't tucked in, and she
couldn't resist wondering if he had on the underwear. In
the back of her mind she was thankful the jeans Nick had
worn that day were button fly 501s--she didn't really want
to explain zipper flies to him at that particular moment. 

"Mademoiselle Natalie? Are you near?" Nick's face
brightened when he saw her looking up at him. "Please
pardon me, I know you said I should stay in the bedchamber,
but where is the garderobe?"

Natalie's French failed her completely. "The what?" she
asked.

"The garderobe." He looked at her expectantly.

"The garderobe." Maybe Nick had a French/English dictionary
somewhere. She looked around as if one would appear
magically. It didn't. "I'm sorry, I don't know what that
is. Could you describe it?"

He seemed nonplused. "The garderobe...where one may..."
Natalie could have sworn he said "Oh, shit!" under his
breath, but he continued gamely on. "Uh, I have recently
drunk three glasses of water, and have been asleep for a
long time, and I need to..." He waved his hand helplessly.

The light dawned. "Oh. It's where you were before, where
the bath is--let me show you." She quickly turned down the
heat under the soup and hurried up the stairs. 

She made sure she got to the bathroom before he could see
her turn on the light switch. Oh, great, she thought,
looking at Nick's oversized, luxurious bath with fresh
eyes. _Plumbing 101. Oh, well, gotta learn sometime._ She
became aware of him at her back. 

"Here's the...thing. Where you were sick before." She
flipped up the lid and gestured. "When you're done, press
this lever and water washes everything away." She touched
the toilet paper. "Use this to, um, clean yourself, and put
it in the bowl. All right?"

Nick looked around with wide eyes, apparently more able to
appreciate the gleaming fixtures than he had been before.
"Amazing." It seemed to be his stock phrase, not that she
blamed him. "I thought this was the bathing room."

"Well, it's both. I'll leave you now," she said briskly.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me. Your food is almost
ready." She turned and without a backward glance marched
out and shut the door behind her, leaving him staring
bemusedly at the toilet.

When she returned to the kitchen, someone was waiting for
her. 

Lacroix.


From: "Nancy Kaminski" <nancykam@pioneerplanet.infi.net>
Subject: Memory Challenge: Deja Vu (part 2)
Date: Sun, 31 Aug 1997 00:22:00 -0500


Natalie stared at the ancient vampire, a wave of terror
washing over her. _You knew he would show up sooner or
later. Well, it happened sooner._ "What do you want?" she
asked curtly, as if mere rudeness could drive him away.

"I will not permit this." His voice was low and dangerous;
the barely-contained anger emanating from him filled the
loft with a tangible presence. "I allowed Nicholas to
playact at mortality, I tolerated his foolish delusions.
But now my tolerance is at an end. *You* are at an end."

Natalie found herself backing away from him, until she was
pressed up against the kitchen counter. Her chin lifted
defiantly. "You don't dare hurt me. Nick would never
forgive you. You'll drive him even further away." Her voice
trembled but she forced herself to stare directly at him. 

"Mortals do *not* tell me what I may or may not dare!" he
hissed. "Your meddling with what is mine is over!" He moved
with vampiric speed and seized her by the neck, his eyes
glowing incandescent red and his fangs bared.

"Mademoiselle Natalie?" Nick's voice called from the
balcony. "Whatever is cooking smells delicious." He started
down the stairs and froze when he saw the tableau below,
his hand reaching to his waist as if for a dagger no longer
there. Then he saw Lacroix's face.

"Demon!" he gasped, then crossed himself. "In nomine
Patris, et Filie, et Spiritu Sanctii..." He rushed down the
stairs. "Release her, demon!" He grabbed a knife from the
counter and leaped at Lacroix.

Lacroix brushed him off easily with a sweep of his free
arm, then dropped Natalie. She crumpled to the floor in a
heap, her hands clutching at her bruised throat. In a daze,
she saw Nick stagger for a second, then rush at Lacroix
again. 

Lacroix caught him in a parody of an embrace, gripping the
wrist of Nick's knife hand and squeezing until the fingers
opened and the knife clattered to the floor. He smiled
coldly down at him as Nick struggled futilely against the
iron embrace. "Well, Nicholas, what have we here? This is
no way to greet your oldest friend."

Nick panted, "Demon! I remember you, you were at the
inn..." He started swearing, in French and Brabantish, as
he continued struggling. 

Lacroix swung around to face Natalie, dragging Nick with
him. "Well, well, this is a curious turn of events, Doctor.
Lost his English, has he? What else has he lost--besides
immortality, that is? His memory, perhaps?" He addressed
Nick in Brabantish, speaking sharply. Nick answered, his
voice contemptuous. 

Lacroix just smiled, then centered his gaze on Nick. He
stared at him, speaking softly as if to a child. Nick's
eyes became vacant and his struggles gradually ceased under
the force of the hypnotic stare.

Natalie's heart sank. _Oh, God, he's whammied him!_
Obviously, the mortal Nick was no resister. "Lacroix, what
are you doing?!" 

Lacroix stared at Natalie with golden eyes, his lips
twisted in a cruel smile. "Why, my dear Doctor Lambert, I
am going to restore Nicholas' memory--and everything else
he has lost. Then I will take care of you. Or perhaps I
will allow Nicholas to do so. He will be hungry. That would
be poetic justice, wouldn't you say?" He ran his hand
caressingly through Nick's hair, then down his cheek. He
gently tilted Nick's head to the side, baring his neck.
Looking triumphantly at Natalie, he drew back his head and
struck.

"No!" Natalie levered herself to her feet and began
pounding her fists on Lacroix's broad back. Sobbing, she
screamed, "Stop! No! You can't do this! No!" She heard the
awful animal snarlings rumbling from his chest as he bit
into Nick's neck. She flailed at him, hitting blindly with
no effect. "Noooooo!"

Suddenly Lacroix roared, an inhuman animal scream of pain.
He jerked away from Nick and violently threw him across the
room, where he landed in a boneless heap, his head hitting
a table leg with an audible crack. "What have you done to
his blood?!?" he screamed, coughing and spitting, the blood
spraying in arcs across the kitchen floor. He staggered
across the floor, his face contorted with pain.

Natalie cringed away from the enraged vampire as blood
droplets spattered her face. She closed her eyes, waiting
for a renewed attack, but it never came. Instead, she heard
the whoosh of displaced air as Lacroix leaped up and then
crashed through the skylight into the night.

Silence fell over the loft. Natalie slowly straightened up
from her crouch, numb with shock. In the sudden silence she
could hear the soup simmering quietly on the range. The
image of Lacroix's basilisk face, his fangs bared in rage,
hovered in front of her face. She half expected him to
return, but the seconds dragged on and the silence
remained. 

Reality hit her with a hammer blow. "Ohmigod, Nick!" She
raced over to the recumbent form sprawled gracelessly on
the floor near the couch. She knelt next to him fearfully,
half-expecting him to be dead. 

He was unconscious, and he felt feverish again. There was
an ugly oozing gash on his throat and a lump on the back of
the head where he had hit the table. Relieved he was alive,
she ran up the stairs to the bedroom to get her medical bag
and ran down again, taking the stairs two at a time.

She wrenched open the bag and laid out her instruments with
trembling hands. She checked his vital signs--all normal.
She ran her hands over his limbs, checking for broken
bones. Nothing. A wave of relief washed over her. She sat
back on her heels, buried her face in her hands and stifled
the sobs that threatened to burst out. _Not now! I have to
think!_

She gathered herself and forced herself to be calm. She
straightened Nick's arms and legs so he was lying more
comfortably, and propped a pillow under his head. As far as
she could tell, he might have a mild concussion, but that
was all. Lacroix hadn't taken much blood, thank God. 

She neatly bandaged the throat wound and considered trying
to move him off the floor, but discarded the idea--there
was no way she would be able to lift him without help. _At
least he's lying on carpeting and not the hardwood floor._
She retrieved an afghan from the couch and tucked it around
him, then took his temperature. It was slightly higher than
normal, but nothing to worry about--the stress had probably
sent it up again. 

Natalie became aware of a burning smell. _The soup!_ she
thought, and wearily rose to her feet. Taking the pot off
the burner, she thought ruefully, _Well, so much for your
first meal,_ as she examined the burned noodles stuck to
the bottom of the pot. _I think it's a trifle overdone._
She shrugged and left it in the sink.

She dragged an armchair over to where she could watch Nick
and dropped heavily into it. Waves of exhaustion flowed
over her as she took up her vigil again. 

She forced herself to think about what had happened.
Something in Nick's blood made him poisonous to vampires,
or at least to Lacroix. 

_It must be another side effect of the serum,_ she mused as
she watched over Nick for the second time in twenty-four
hours, _although a more fortuitous one than the memory
loss. Maybe it means he won't be able to be brought across
again._ She smiled tiredly to herself. _Sort of like
mosquito repellent, only for vampires._ 

But did that mean the only reaction to Nick's regained
mortality Lacroix and his blasted Community would consider
was killing him? And her? _Why can't they just face reality
and leave us the hell alone? It's not like we're going to
tell the world vampires exist. Who would believe us,
anyway?_ 

Natalie's head drooped. Her tired mind refused to think any
more. It felt like she was struggling up an insurmountable
mountain; her ears buzzed and the room swam before her
eyes, and finally she slept.



Nicolas gradually became aware he was lying on a hard
surface. _No more cheap wine for me,_ he thought groggily
as he forced his eyes open a crack. His head was pounding,
he ached all over, and he felt uncomfortably warm. He
gingerly felt the lump on his head. _I don't remember
falling, or getting into a fight..._ 

The memories of the last day came crashing into his
consciousness and he bolted upright, only to clutch his
head and groan. The pounding intensified and his neck hurt.
He looked around, forcing his eyes to focus. 

He was lying on the floor of a large, dimly-lit room with a
colorful knitted blanket draped over him. A few feet away,
the beautiful woman, Natalie, sat sleeping in a large
cushioned chair, her face drawn in exhaustion, her head
propped on one hand.

Carefully, he felt his neck. There was a bandage of some
sort stuck over his throat; he could feel it was sticky
with congealed blood. He shuddered, remembering the face of
the demon, the sensual lips speaking softly as the world
slowed and contracted to nothingness. Everything had
disappeared except that voice, boring into his brain and
leaching away his will. There had been a bright, searing
flash of pain and then nothing as he plunged into blessed
oblivion.

Nicolas stood up and leaned heavily on the back of the
couch until the dizziness subsided. He had to get away from
this strange place--but how? He had no weapons with which
to protect himself, no coins to buy food or another horse,
no clothing save what he wore on his back. 

He looked at Natalie again. She seemed kind, and she
certainly was beautiful, but the things she had told him
didn't make sense. How did he get here? For that matter,
*where* was 'here?' And why was he here? She said he owned
this house, that everything in it was his, but clearly,
that was impossible. 

He walked quietly around the room, wondering at the objects
on the shelves, the incredible number of books--he had
never seen so much wealth displayed so openly or
carelessly!--and the eerie glowing lights on the metal
boxes that decorated one whole section of shelves. 

And why were there no servants? A house this large must
have servants, but the only people he had seen were Natalie
and the demon. For all he knew, he was far from any other
habitation, a prisoner of these two strangers. Was he
somehow caught in a fight between two demons? He found it
hard to believe Natalie was a demon, but they were reputed
to take human shape, so who could tell?

He felt a slight breeze and looked up. There was an opening
in the ceiling, a sort of horizontal window, the frame
broken and hanging down. An early morning sky cast its
light through the aperture. _The demon must have gone
through there, he thought, if he just didn't disappear in a
cloud of smoke, like the tales my old nurse used to tell._ 

He glanced again at the peacefully sleeping Natalie. He
felt a twinge of guilt about leaving her, but if the demon
was after him, perhaps it wouldn't come after her when he
was gone. It was better for all if he left--if she were
human, as she appeared, she would be safe, and he would
have a better chance of eluding the demon.

A memory came to him unbidden. The beautiful courtesan,
Janette, whispering, 'His name is Lacroix,' as Nicolas lay
in the afterglow of their passionate embraces. _The demon's
name is Lacroix..._ He shuddered. _He knows me and I know
him, but why? I am a godly man._ But, the memories of his
bitterness towards the Church in the wake of the things he
had seen and done in its name on Crusade made a mockery of
his piety. Perhaps he had invited Lacroix's unholy
attention with his bitterness? He pushed the unwelcome
thoughts away.

He quickly searched for some kind of weapon to take with
him. _If this place truly is mine, I can take whatever I
please,_ he told himself, although he felt like a thief. He
found the knife he had snatched from the counter in a
corner. The blade was as long as his hand; testing the edge
with his thumb, he found it was wickedly sharp, and the
wooden haft had a comfortable grip. He stuck it through his
belt and felt better about facing--whatever. It was a poor
substitute for his dagger and sword, but it would have to
do.

There were apples and what looked like a loaf of soft bread
enclosed in a thin skin, as transparent as water, and he
folded them into a square of cloth he found draped over a
chair. 

He considered his clothes. It had been the depths of winter
in Paris, but the breezes wafting through the opening in
the ceiling were gentle and warm. _It must be spring, or
even summer, now,_ he thought. _How could so much time have
passed?_ Still, the garments he wore didn't seem enough if
he had to spend nights in the open. There should be more
clothes in the bedchamber. As quietly as he could he
mounted the stairs and went down the hall. 

A light burned softly on a small table. His mind shied away
from wondering how a lamp could burn without oil. 

Looking around, he saw there was a door slightly ajar in
the corner of the room. He opened it and found garments
hanging neatly in a row on odd wire triangles, not pegs as
he expected. Pushing through them, he found what looked
like a heavy black leather tunic. He disentangled it from
the wire frame it was hanging on and put it on, finding it
settled comfortably on his shoulders as if it were made for
him. Another uneasy thought--perhaps it had been made for
him. The leather was remarkably soft and supple, and there
was some kind of a sliding metal tab up the front. He felt
a little more prepared to venture out.

As an afterthought, he went over to the large chest and
opened the carved box that had contained his ring. There
were several more chamois pouches inside.

Opening the first, he found a round, gold locket on a short
chain. There was a glass-covered dial with numbers
inscribed around it under the protecting lid. He puzzled
over it for a moment--what was it?-- then set it aside. He
opened the other pouches, discovering another gold ring,
elaborately carved, and a delicate silver chain with a
jeweled pendant. 

Hastily stuffing the jewels in one of the pouches, he tied
it to his belt. _Better leave before Natalie awakens,_ he
thought. Picking up the cloth holding his food, he checked
the knife at his side and quietly went downstairs. 

Natalie hadn't moved. He could hear her quiet exhalations
in the stillness of the room. He went and stood over her
thoughtfully. He picked the blanket that had covered him
from the floor and carefully draped it over her. She
shifted slightly, sighed, and snuggled down further into
the chair.

"I am sorry to leave this way, Mademoiselle," he whispered.
"You have my thanks for your help. Perhaps I will see you
again." He brushed a lock of hair where it had fallen
across her face, then turned to find a way out.

There was a large metal door at the far side of the room.
Pushing experimentally, he slid it sideways slowly to avoid
making noise and looked behind it. 

There was no hallway or stairs, just a small metal-lined
room with more of those mysterious knobs on the wall.
_Perhaps this is a storage room,_ he thought, and let the
door slide gently back into place. 

He spotted a smaller door on the other side of the kitchen
area. Keeping his eye on Natalie, he pulled on the handle.
Nothing. Impatiently, he tugged again, and had to take a
quick step backwards to keep his balance when the handle
turned and the door swung smoothly open. 

He peered around the edge of the door. Behind it was a
flight of stairs. He stepped through and gently shut the
door behind him. With it closed there was little light--he
felt his way down, across a landing and down another flight
to another door, this one metal and much more substantial
than the one at the top.

He remembered to turn as well as pull this time, and the
door opened with a loud squeak. He froze and shot a glance
up the stairs--no reaction from above, no sound of
discovery and pursuit.

He stepped through and found himself in another large,
dimly-lit room smelling of damp and strange acrid, metallic
odors. At the far end of the room was a door with a dusty
glass window that supplied the only illumination. 

He paused to check if there was anything of use to him, but
the room only contained more mysterious objects. There were
four large metal--carts? They had wheels, but nowhere to
hitch an animal--things, at any rate, painted bright
colors. The nearest one was a particularly odd color, the
sickly blue-green of the sea just before a storm. Each cart
had wondrously clear and large glass windows.

He moved around the room examining the shelves, but could
find nothing that looked remotely useful. _Time to find out
where I am,_ he thought, and went over to the door.

This door was more difficult to open, but after some
experimentation he managed. Cautiously, he went through it
and into the deserted, sunlit lane. The door swung closed
behind him and shut with a solid thunk. He turned and tried
to open it again, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked;
there was no going back now.

He looked at his surroundings, and the headache that had
receded with the urgency of escape returned threefold.
Although above was the blessedly familiar sky, everything
else was more alien than even the exotic cities of the
Saracens.

There was stone everywhere, not a scrap of green. No grass,
no trees, no Welds...nothing. And the buildings--they
loomed over him like huge blocks, all angular shapes and
graceless walls. Nicolas suddenly felt small and very
alone.

The air was filled with the sounds of distant
battle--clashing metal, a sort of roaring neither human nor
animal, and a regular dull thudding, as if a giant heart
were beating. 

Steeling his nerves, he took a deep breath of the strange
smelling air and followed the wall of the building from
which he had emerged, down the lane towards what looked
like a larger street. His eyes darted everywhere but he saw
no evidence there were any other people in this city of
stone and noise.

As he neared the corner the roaring became louder. In fact,
it sounded as though it was approaching him. The noise
increased, and he put his hand on the hilt of his stolen
knife.

Suddenly, a large metal cart, like the ones in the room he
had just left, screamed past him at an impossible speed. As
he flattened himself to the side of the building in terror,
he had an impression of a man sitting inside the cart. _How
can it move by itself,_ his mind screamed. _Magic! I have
fallen into a city of sorcerers and demons!_ 

More of the magic carts streamed past him, each occupied by
a blank-faced person. One that passed was blaring with a
cacophony of demonic music so loud the noise of its drums
pummeled his chest like a physical force. 

The high forbidding buildings seemed to lean over and
surround him. In the distance, he could see even taller
buildings, gleaming like jewels, their roofs reaching to
the wispy clouds. And towering over even the tallest of
them was a needle-slender spire, looking like one of
Constantinople's pagan minarets, grown monstrously huge,
until it scraped the dome of the heavens. 

He was trapped. There was nowhere to go but back, and he
could not go back--the door was locked. His heart pounded
and he trembled with an unreasoning fear even greater than
the fear he had felt the first time he had gone into
battle. 

A high whining scream penetrated his numbed brain.
Automatically, he looked up. A huge gleaming bird-shaped
thing was flying through the sky. It screamed like all the
souls in Hell, its red tail flashing in the sun. 

Paralyzed with fear, he backed into a recess in the wall
and sank to the stone pavement. The familiar feel of
ordinary sun-warmed bricks against his back mocked him with
their normalcy in the insane, hellish city.



Natalie stretched, yawned hugely, and cast a sleepy eye
downwards to where Nick was...

_He's gone._ She struggled to her feet, trying to
disentangle the afghan from around her legs. _Wait a
minute. How did this get here? I covered him with this last
night._ She plucked nervously at the fringe as she looked
around for him, oddly touched that he cared enough to tuck
her in. She dropped it on the end of the couch, and called,
"Nicolas? Nick? Are you here?" 

Her voice rang through the loft. No answer. She ran
upstairs and looked in the bedroom, then the bathroom, then
started methodically looking everywhere, including the
closets. Nothing, although one closet's contents were
disarranged, the shirts jammed together, something the
previous Nick would never have tolerated. He was fanatical
about his clothes. _He must have been looking for something
else to wear._ There was no way he could get into the rest
of the warehouse--the two doors leading to Nick's storage
areas were solidly locked. 

 The now-familiar panic started to set in again. Could he
 have gone outside? He probably didn't use the
 elevator--she didn't think he could figure it out, and
 anyway, it made so much noise she would have been woken up
 by the din. But if he found the stairs to the garage...

She ran downstairs. The garage stairs door was slightly
ajar, the lock's tongue caught on the jamb. 

She practically flew down the stairs and wrenched open the
metal door at the bottom. "Nicolas!!" she called again. She
paused, her hand resting on the Caddy's fender, straining
her ears for some reply, some sound. Her voice echoed
through the cavernous garage. "Where's your daddy, huh? See
him go by?" she murmured as she patted the fender. There
was no answer, either from Nick or his beloved car. She
hurried to the alley door.

She glanced up and down the alley and headed for the
street. A semi lumbered past and sounded its airhorn at an
unsuspecting driver at the corner intersection. Natalie
flinched at the noise, imagining how it would seem to Nick.
In his world, the loudest sounds would have been those of
nature, the crack of thunder and the din of a rainstorm.
There was nothing that compared to what she considered the
normal background noises of city life.

She reached the corner and stopped. Left or right? She
looked left--there was no one on the street, nothing
unusual in this warehouse district. Pedestrians were few in
the busiest of times. She looked right, and her breath
caught in her throat. 

Nick was huddled in a recessed doorway, the entrance to the
offices of a long-closed hardware distributor. For a moment
all she could think about was how he looked in sunlight. A
shaft of the morning sun slanted down and illuminated his
face, throwing the angles and planes into sharp relief.
There were golden glints in his dark blond hair and his
eyes were bluer than they had ever looked under artificial
light. _He's so beautiful,_ she thought. 

She hurried to him and crouched down beside him. His dark
blue eyes were haunted as they fixed themselves on her
face. Another horn blared, and he flinched, shrinking back
further into the doorway.

She touched him gently on the arm. "It's not what you are
used to, is it?" she asked softly. He shook his head but
said nothing. "Come back to your home," she urged, taking
his hand and standing up. 

He looked up at her and finally spoke. "What is this
Toronto?" he asked, his voice strained. "Is everything here
magic? Is everyone a demon, or a sorcerer? Why am I here?
Can I not go back to my home?" 

Natalie ached for him. He looked so lost, like a little boy
who had run away from home and discovered how frightening
the world could be. "Come with me, Nicolas. I promise, I
will explain what has happened."

Slowly, he stood up. She saw that he had wrapped food in a
dish towel, and had the big kitchen knife stuck in his
belt. _Just like a child running away from home,_ she
thought and immediately felt ashamed at the comparison.
_No, he is a grown man, a brave man, thrown into a
situation he couldn't hope to understand._

Together they went back down the alley. "This door,
Nicolas," she called when he veered towards the garage door
further down the side of the building. "That door needs a
key to open, and I don't have one."

He watched warily as she punched the code into the security
panel, and jumped slightly when the door unlocked with a
metallic clunk. Once inside, though, he relaxed a little.

Natalie watched him as she punched the button for the
elevator. "Don't worry. It's just a machine," she explained
soothingly as the elevator mechanism ground its way down
the shaft. When the door opened, she practically had to
pull him into the elevator car. He went reluctantly. 

"What is this? I saw this room, only it was upstairs
before." 

"All this is, is a box that is pulled up and down with
ropes. It will take us to the next floor." He said nothing,
just braced himself for another unpleasant experience,
staring fixedly at the elevator wall.

She pushed the button for the loft and the elevator creaked
upward. When the door opened to reveal the loft, Nick
practically jumped through it to stand once more on
familiar ground.

He went over to the kitchen table and sat down, tension
visible in every line of his body. "You said you would
explain everything. Please do so." His voice was edgy, with
a hint of authority behind the curt politeness. Natalie was
reminded that in his world, he was used to being respected
and obeyed by almost everyone he met. He couldn't
pigeon-hole her into any of the social hierarchy he knew,
but he had obviously decided they were at least equals and
spoke accordingly.

"First, some food." She went back to the grocery bags,
pulled out a package of sweet rolls and then put some water
on for tea. 

She arranged the sweet rolls on a plate and put it on the
table in front of him. Sitting down, she started, "It's a
long story..."

Nick picked up a sweet roll, examined it, and then took a
tentative bite. A look of appreciation swept across his
face and he made quick work of the pastry and then took
another. 

Natalie watched with some amusement as he tore through that
one, too. She had dreamed of a time when she could watch
him eat without him making horrid faces, but faced with the
prospect of explaining how he had spent the last eight
centuries dampened her pleasure considerably. 

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. He had relaxed a
bit with the food. "Well?" He took yet another sweet roll,
but didn't attack it right away. "A long story is best
started at the beginning."

The kettle whistled and she jumped up to take it off the
heat, glad for the momentary reprieve. She made two mugs of
tea and brought them to the table. "It's tea," she
explained. "Let it cool off a bit before you try it."

Cradling her mug in her hands, she started again. "You
asked if the city is magic. Well, it isn't--it's just
different from what you are used to." 

She paused, rotating the mug between her hands nervously.
Now came the hard part. "Nicolas, many years ago you
were...enchanted...by Lacroix. The one you called a demon.
I--we--you and I, that is--have been trying to remove the
enchantment, and we finally did yesterday." _Oh God, was it
only yesterday?_ "There is just one problem. You have lost
your memory of all the years you spent under his spell."

Nick sat motionless, his meal forgotten. "How long was I
under this spell?" he finally asked.

Natalie swallowed. "Eight hundred years." The bald
statement hung in the air. 

"No," he whispered. He pushed the mug of tea away from him
and stood up. He walked to the windows and looked blindly
out on the alley below. "No. Tell me this isn't true." His
voice cracked with emotion.

Natalie got up and went to stand beside him. She put a
comforting hand on his shoulder and said sadly, "It's true.
Look around you. Things have changed. The world is
different. Your eyes tell you this is the truth." A host of
emotions slid across his face--despair, fear, sorrow,
confusion..."I'm sorry," she added helplessly.

He continued staring out the window, his breathing ragged.
"If this is true, it means my family is dead. I will never
see my sister or brother, or my mother, ever again," he
whispered. Tears ran unnoticed down his face. He turned to
her. "Do you know their fate?"

She shook her head. "I only know your sister married, and
had a son named André. You never mentioned your brother or

your mother. I'm sorry I can't tell you more." 

"Mother, Michel, Fleur...oh, God, may your souls rest in
peace." He turned away from her, his face buried in his
hands, his shoulders shaking with grief. 

Natalie drew him to her and embraced him. She rubbed his
back and murmured with tears in her eyes, "I'm so sorry,
Nick, I'm so sorry." 

They stood embraced in sorrow, Nick's tears hot on
Natalie's neck. She pressed her cheek to his chest, hearing
the all-too-human sounds of grief pouring from him, but
rejoicing at the same time to hear the reassuring, regular
beat of his human heart. 

His sobs gradually faded away and finally he sighed and
disengaged himself from her arms. "I'm sorry," he said,
embarrassed at his display of emotion.

"It's all right. If you want to rest for a while..."

"No, there must be more to...my story." He took a deep
breath to compose himself and rubbed his reddened eyes. "I
need to know all of it."

Natalie sat back down at the kitchen table and sipped at
her now-cool tea. Nick sat down and leaned on his hand,
staring fixedly at the table. He poked at the half-eaten
sweet roll and said, "Please. Tell me." He looked up at
her, his eyes pleading yet fearful at what she would say.

Natalie spoke quietly, telling him of his life with Lacroix
and Janette. She told him of the terror, the killing, his
regrets and his search for humanity and forgiveness. She
spoke haltingly, pushing her French vocabulary to its
limits. Nick never interrupted her. His face remained set
and expressionless.

Finally Natalie stopped, exhausted, and sat back in her
chair. Nick was staring fixedly at the wall, his eyes
focused on nothing. The tea had long since cooled. stiffly,
Natalie rose and started heating water again, thirsty after
having talked for almost an hour.

After two steaming mugs were before them, Nick pulled
himself together and finally spoke. "And now what?" he
asked. "How do I learn to live in this new world? How do I
go back to being a 'cop'" --the English word sounded
strange in his mouth-- "and pretending everything is just
as it was?" He sounded depressed and discouraged.

"I don't know. All I know is that I'll do whatever I can to
help." She took his hand. "I know that I love you, Nicolas
de Brabant, as much as I love Nick Knight. I will always be
here to help you." She smiled crookedly at him.

"Does Nick Knight love you?" he asked seriously, his eyes
searching hers.

"I think he does," she said softly. "Although he never used
that word, he did say things that told me so, before I
'cured' him. He said he always would, no matter what
happened." 

Nick clasped her hand between his. "I think I shall have to
remember everything very soon, so he will be able to keep
his promise to you." He raised her hand to his lips and
kissed it. "The sooner, the better."

"Yes," Natalie replied. "The sooner, the better."



Natalie looked at her watch, and was surprised to find it
was only ten thirty. She felt as if she had been up
forever, not three hours.

Nick was wandering restlessly around the main floor of the
loft, examining the forgotten memorabilia of his many
lives. He Xipped slowly through the paintings stacked
against the wall without comment, although he looked
puzzled by the wildly-colored abstracts, then moved over to
the piano and pressed a key, sending a single note chiming
through the silent loft. 

Natalie watched him from the kitchen table. She had
switched to downing cup after cup of instant coffee in the
hope the caffeine would inspire some kind of a bright idea.
So far all it had done was put her nerves on edge, send her
to the bathroom twice, and give her precisely one idea. She
didn't consider the idea particularly bright--in fact, it
scared the daylights out of her.

Nick finally ended up sitting on the sofa, absently
fiddling with his fingers and staring into the distance.
Natalie wondered what he was thinking about. His family?
His future? 

She admitted to herself she couldn't even begin to imagine
what his thought processes were like. The enormous gap
between them, both in terms of time and culture, seemed too
wide to bridge. But at the same time, there were haunting
familiarities in the way he tilted his head, the way he
gestured when he talked, that reminded her of her Nick. The
only thing missing was the underlying sadness that was
always present in her Nick, the weight of eight hundred
years of hating his existence. Even Nicolas' grief at
losing his family was somehow a lighter burden. 

She went to sit next to him and said, "You know, you still
do that."

"What?"

"This. With your fingers. When you're thinking hard,
you..." Natalie ran out of words and pointed.

He smiled briefly. "Bad habit. My father always told me to
learn to sit still and be dignified as befitting my rank,
but I keep forgetting. And I suppose my rank doesn't matter
any longer." He stilled his fingers and turned to face her.
"What are we going to do now?"

"Well," she said reluctantly, "I've got an idea. But it's
dangerous, and I don't know if you'll agree to go along
with it."

"I have faced many dangers in my life. What is your idea?"

She took a deep breath. "Ask Lacroix to hypnotize you--put
you under a small spell--to see if he can unlock your
memory." It sounded crazy, even to her. She watched his
face as she spoke.

He was horrified. "Invite the wolf into the fold? Surely
you are not serious! He tried to kill both of us! Why would
he even think of helping?"

"He wasn't trying to kill you, he was trying to reclaim you
as his son. Strange as it seems, I believe he loves you. I
might be able to persuade him that giving back your memory
is the best way to keep you part of his family." _Assuming
he hasn't decided to abandon his rebellious child
completely and find a new object of obsession,_ she added
to herself.

"His family." He made a distasteful face at the thought.

"Yes, his vampire family, you and Janette. He loves you
both, in his own way." She smiled. "You are his favorite,
you know."

"An honor I do not believe I desire. Hmmm." Nick looked
thoughtful. "And he can do this without, uh, biting me?" He
reflexively touched the bandage on his throat. "This is
what he did to me last night, isn't it? He bit me, then."

"All he does is look at you--he doesn't have to touch you.
He is very old and powerful. I've seen him do it." She
smiled. "Actually, I've seen you do it. He's better at it
than you are, though."

"Well, if he's older, he's had more practice." Nick smiled
back at her. "How old did you say he is?"

"Ohh, very old. He was a Roman general, or so you told me.
That makes him about two thousand years old."

"Amazing." Nick became serious. "Can you trust him?"

"I think, if he gives his word, he will keep it. He is
honorable in his own way. You have to be careful, though.
He can be very literal when it suits him."

Nick pursed his lips and sat back, considering the plan.
"If you can persuade him to agree to this, I will also," he
said slowly. "Though the thought makes my bones turn to
water." He looked at his hands; he was twiddling his
fingers again. He stilled them. "I don't like being
afraid--but I am."

"You should be. But I can't see any other way out of this."
She rose and said briskly, "But before I talk to Lacroix, I
want to do some tests. Will you let me take a little bit of
blood? I promise, it won't hurt." She headed for her
medical bag.

He sighed. "It seems everyone wants my blood, even more
than the Saracens did." He watched with interest as she
readied her hypodermic and found a vein in his arm, then
grimaced as he watched the red liquid fill the hypodermic.
"You can just look at it and tell why I lost my memory?"

"Well, no, I have to use a microscope--a thing that makes
tiny things look big--and I mix chemicals with it and see
what happens." At his uncomprehending look, she continued,
"It's a doctor thing, don't worry about it."

"I won't, but..." He sighed again and shook his head.
"There is too much to learn, in too little time. I don't
like not understanding what I see."

"I know. Nicolas, will you be all right here if I leave for
a few hours?"

"Where will you go?" He looked apprehensive.

She shook the vial of blood. "I want to take this to my
laboratory. And then I have to buy some food, and feed my
cat." 

"What about Lacroix? Will you be safe?" 

"Yes, of course. It's day, and he can only go out at night.
You'll be fine, too, just don't answer the door."

"No problem there. I don't know how," he said bitterly.

She let that pass. "Oh, and there is a chance that your
partner, Don Schanke, might stop by. He does now and then.
So if you hear the elevator," she gestured at the elevator
door, unsure if she had told him what it was called, "go
upstairs. Don't let him know you're here." She tried to
think of the other things that might happen to alarm him
while she was gone. She pointed at the telephone, which up
to this point had remained miraculously silent. "This might
make a ringing noise. The box next to it is a, uh,
mechanical secretary, and will take a message. You'll hear
voices."

He looked suddenly weary. Rising to his feet, he made a
small bow and excused himself. "I'm going upstairs now. I
need to think. I will see you in a few hours?"

She nodded. He went upstairs and disappeared into the
bedroom, her gaze following him.

Natalie gathered her things together and checked around the
loft to make sure everything was safe to leave in Nick's
uncertain custody. satisfied, she went upstairs to tell him
she was leaving. 

The door to his room was partially closed. She peeked
around the edge, unwilling to disturb him if he was trying
to sleep.

Nick was on his knees next to the bed, his hands clasped in
prayer. There was a look of unbearable sadness on his face
as his lips moved silently, reciting words not spoken to
God in eight centuries. 

She withdrew and silently left the loft.

From: "Nancy Kaminski" <nancykam@pioneerplanet.infi.net>
Subject: Memory Challenge: Deja Vu (part 3)
Date: Sun, 31 Aug 1997 00:22:22 -0500

Natalie decided not to deposit her new blood sample at the
morgue--she didn't want to have to explain why she was
drawing blood on her day off--and so went directly home. It
would be fine in the back of her fridge for the meantime.

She was greeted by a hurtling ball of gray fur. Sydney
launched himself off the back of the sofa into her arms,
mewing loudly. "So much for standoffish cats, huh?" she
said affectionately as she scratched the sweet spot under
his chin. 

He stayed in her arms just long enough to make his point,
then squirmed to get down. He marched directly to his bowl,
looking at her expectantly.

Shaking her head at the constancies of cat ownership--feed,
clean, feed, clean--she gave him a can of his favorite,
way-too-expensive cat food and plopped down on the sofa. 

She stared at the scrap of paper on which she had written
Lacroix's phone number. Or at least she assumed it was
his--it had been in Nick's personal phone directory, under
an entry that read only "L." Picking up the phone and
dialing was one of the hardest things she had ever had to
do.

As she listened to the phone ring on the other end,
half-hoping it wasn't answered, she wiped her sweaty palms
on her skirt and tried to calm her racing heart. She felt
as if he would be able to hear it, right through the phone.
_Hell, he probably can,_ she thought. _Just like he could
torment Nick with those creepy radio monologues. He always
seems to know everything._

After seven rings, the phone was picked up. There was
silence for a moment, then she heard that voice. "Yes?" 

"Lacroix? This is..."

"Doctor Lambert." His voice was icy. He didn't say anything
else, just waited for her to continue.

She steeled herself and went on. "It's about Nick..."

"Of course. It's *always* about Nicholas."

"We need your help."

He laughed humorlessly and hung up.

"Damn it!" she exploded, and hit the memory redial button.
He picked up on the first ring.

Natalie spoke quickly before he could say a word. "Don't
you dare hang up on me again! Nick needs you to help him
regain his memory. If you love him as much as you
constantly say you do on that damned radio show of yours,
act like a father and give him your help! Now, when he
really needs it, and actually wants it!

"This isn't a contest, Lacroix, with Nick as the
prize--what happened, happened because he wanted it, not
because I made him." She took a deep breath. "Do you want
him to remember you as something other than a Wend? I know
that you must have been close, once, in spite of everything
Nick has told me. Don't you want him to remember that?" She
ran out of argument and fell silent, her heart in her
mouth. She prayed, if one could pray for an ancient Wend,
that Lacroix would listen to her.

He waited so long to speak Natalie feared he had simply
walked away from the phone while she spoke. Finally, he
said, "Be at the loft tonight at nine," and hung up again
with a decisive click.

Natalie sat staring at the receiver, then hung it up. Her
hands were shaking. She had no idea if Lacroix had agreed
to meet them that night to order to help Nick, or to kill
them both. _Nick, I hope you say a prayer for us both,_ she
thought. _We're gonna need it._



After changing into more comfortable clothes and taking a
shower, Natalie made a quick trip to the grocery store and
stocked up on food, nothing that couldn't be fixed in a few
minutes. _Damned if I'm going to be cooking every free
minute. He'd better get used to frozen dinners._ 

When she got back to the loft, it was three o'clock. _It's
so strange to see the blinds up in the daytime,_ she
thought, looking upward at the large second-story windows.
_I have to remember to move that poor cactus into the
window. It'll appreciate real light instead of a grow
lamp._ She had asked Nick whatever possessed him to buy a
plant, especially one that required sun, but he had just
laughed and said it was a gift from a friend--Felix or
something?--as a reminder of something or other. Somehow he
had kept it alive, although it certainly hadn't grown an
inch in the three years he had had it. 

She shrugged off the horticultural thoughts and lugged two
of the three grocery bags into the elevator, punching the
'up' button with her elbow. "Nick!" she called when the
door slid open. No answer. She spied him stretched out on
the couch, just like he had often slept in his previous
life. This time, however, he was snoring softly--something
he never did as a vampire.

She dumped the bundles on the kitchen table, went over to
him and shook him. "Wake, up, Nicolas, I have some news."

Nick started awake and leaped to his feet, his hand going
again to his belt as if preparing to be attacked. Natalie
jumped as well, startled at his reaction. 

When he saw it was Natalie, he colored slightly and said,
"I beg your pardon, Natalie. I fear I've been a soldier too
long." He regained his composure and straightened his
clothes. At least he looked more rested than he had
earlier. "How fares everything?"

"Fine. I bought some more food, and the cat is set for
another day." She led him over to the kitchen table, where
she instructed him to unpack the bags. As he lifted things
out, examining each package curiously, she continued, "I
also called Lacroix. He's coming over here this evening, at
nine. I think he's agreed to help."

"You *think* he's agreed?" He paused, a pouch of
salad-in-a-bag in his hand, and looked inquiringly at her.
"What did he say?"

"Well, nothing, really. He just said to be here at nine. We
have to hope he's going to help." She picked up a small
glass jar and showed it to him. "Just in case, I bought a
weapon. Garlic juice. Vampires hate garlic, and this is
very strong. It might not stop him, but it'll slow him down
a bit."

"Hmmmm. Is there any other weapon we can use? If the garlic
isn't enough?"

"I thought of that." She went to the table at the far end
of the room, opened the plain box sitting there, and lifted
out a crude wooden cross, just two thick sticks lashed
together with leather strips. Holding it carefully, she
showed it to Nick. "This cross belonged to a saint, Jeanne
d'Arc. She gave it to you, many years ago. You've kept it
all this time, even though a holy thing such as this could
hurt you. Vampires can't tolerate holy symbols. Between
this and the garlic juice, we might have a small chance if
things go badly."

Nicholas said wonderingly, "I knew a saint?" 

"Yes, you did. I'll tell you about it when we have more
time." She carefully laid the cross on the counter, next to
the garlic juice, and said, "There's one more bundle of
groceries downstairs in the car. I'll get it and be right
back."

"May I go with you? I promise not to faint with fear. I am
becoming accustomed to the sight of this new world of
mine." He smiled his little boy smile at her. "I had better
learn to go outside. It's either that or join a monastery,
hidden away from the world forever. And I don't think I
want that."

She laughed. "All right, you can come and carry the bag."

"And then, would you take me out in your
cart-without-a-horse? What do you call it?"

"A car."

"Your car, then. So I may see more of this magical city,
this Toronto? Do we have time before we must prepare for
Lacroix?"

Natalie looked at him consideringly, then threw her caution
to the winds. She shrugged. "Why not? You should see your
new world. After all, we both might die tonight. Let's live
a little!" 

They went down in the elevator together in companionable
silence. Once outside, she gave Nick the grocery bag and
sent him back upstairs by himself after instructing him on
elevator operation. She laughed as he determinedly punched
the buttons, a look of intense concentration on his face,
and waved goodbye as the door rattled shut.

Three minutes later, he arrived back downstairs, a pleased
look on his face. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"Yes, please." He looked upward at the skyline again, a
look of interest instead of fear on his face. 

Natalie had an idea. "Let's take your car--the green one in
there. The roof comes off so you'll be able to see better."
She pointed to the garage. "I stole your keys when I left
earlier." She jingled the keyring. "Now I can open that
door."

She did just that. Once in the garage, she settled Nick in
the passenger seat of the Caddy, adjusted the seat so she
could reach the pedals, and showed him how to buckle the
seat belt. Inserting the key in the ignition, she warned,
"Here comes some noise," and started the engine. 

Nick looked like a kid on his first amusement ride--fear
mixed with anticipation. "Now the roof comes off." She
hunted around the dashboard and found the switch
controlling the convertible top. With a jerk it rose up,
then folded itself neatly into place. Nick watched in
fascination. "And now," she said with a flourish, "the
garage door." She pressed the remote on the visor and the
door slid up smoothly. 

Putting the car in gear, she said gaily, "Here we go!" and
drove out into the alley. Nick gripped the door handle as
they started moving. She closed the garage door with the
remote, and headed into the street. 

As they merged into the afternoon traffic, Nick's face
broke into a grin. "Amazing!" he said to her, as they
motored sedately towards the center of the city at exactly
the speed limit. "I have never traveled so fast!" He
laughed and dared to put his hand over the doorsill,
feeling the force of the slipstream. 

"Wait until we get on the highway." Natalie smiled at him
briefly, and then put her eyes back on the road. _Better
not rubberneck, or I might pull a Nick and forget which
lane I'm supposed to be in,_ she thought, grinning to
herself.

She drove down Yonge Street towards the lake and the CN
Tower. Nick practically gave himself whiplash by trying to
see everything at once on the busy, colorful street, asking
questions nonstop. She zigzagged back and forth between
Yonge and Spadina on the crowded downtown streets, pointing
out the major city sights as if she were entertaining an
out-of-town relative.

They made a brief foray onto the Gardiner Expressway, but
after three minutes at highway speed and several lane
changes, Natalie noticed Nick was looking decidedly green
around the edges and was clutching the door handle so hard
his knuckles were white. She took the next exit ramp and
ended up on Lake Shore Boulevard. 

Nick sighed with relief and relaxed when they slowed down.
"I don't think I will ever get used to going that fast. It
isn't natural!" He looked at her admiringly. "You are very
good at this driving. Do all women drive?"

"Look around." She gestured to the other cars on the road.
"Practically everyone drives. And soon you will, too."

"Of course. You say this is my car, correct?"

"Yes, and those others in the garage. This one's your
favorite, though--you treat it as though it were your
child. It's old for a car, and most people consider it, uh,
unique."

Nick ran his hand along the top of the door. "I like it.
But this color..." He made a face. "I think I like the
black ones or red ones better."

Natalie giggled. "I hope you remember this conversation
when you get your memory back. You always get insulted when
people say something about the color."

She glanced at her watch. "Ohmigosh, it's six o'clock. Time
to head for home and get ready." 

"So soon?" Nick looked disappointed. 

"We have to eat something, and you should get cleaned
up--you've had the same clothes on for, what, almost two
days now."

"Is that a problem?" He looked down at himself. "They're
not dirty."

"Yes, well, it's customary to change clothes every day
here. And bathe."

He shook his head. "Amazing." He slanted a glance at her
and added, "You'll have to tell me what clothes to wear. I
don't know what is correct for the occasion."

"Hmmm." Natalie pretended to think. "Entertaining a
potentially deadly immortal demon. Sounds like a
semi-casual affair to me. I'll see what's in your closet." 

The rest of the ride passed in silence, except for the
occasional question from Nick. He was much more at ease,
slouching back in the seat and occasionally gazing straight
upwards into the sky.

When at last the Caddy was safely back in the garage and
the engine shut off, Nick turned to her and said seriously,
"Thank you, Natalie, for everything. For telling me the
truth, and explaining about where I am. I think what is to
come will be difficult, but we will get through it. I
prayed this afternoon for us, Natalie. We must have faith
that all will be well."

Natalie took his hand. "I hope so, Nicolas." She squeezed
his hand lightly. "But God helps those who help themselves,
so let's go get ready."

He fought briefly with his seat belt, managed to unbuckle
it, and climbed out of the car. "By all means, let us get
ready." He smiled. "And let us eat, too. I'm hungry."



Once back in the loft, Natalie hunted through Nick's closet
and drawers for some fresh clothes. Handing Nick a neat
stack of underwear, socks, shirt and jeans, she looked at
him critically and told him, "Time for some more lessons in
plumbing. I'll show you how the shower works."

In the bathroom she pointed out the faucets and told him
how to control the temperature. "Here's the soap...this is
soap for your hair--just use a little!--here's a
washcloth..." She turned to the door, checking to make sure
there were towels on the rack. "I'll get dinner started.
We'll eat in a little while."

Walking down the stairs, she could hear water gushing. _At
least he'll meet Lacroix and whatever grief he brings
tonight clean and fed,_ she thought fatalistically. 

In the end, she was too apprehensive to try to cook any of
the food she had bought that afternoon--after staring in
the open refrigerator for five minutes without inspiration,
she finally ordered Chinese takeout from the Golden Lotus.
She was a long-standing customer--or rather Nick was, since
he usually paid for her dinner when she ate at his place.

Mr. Wu seemed surprised she ordered dinner for two instead
of one. "Mr. Knight has finally decided to join you?
Excellent. I will include a special treat for you both. No
charge. Once he has tasted Mrs. Wu's shrimp eggroll, he
will never let you eat alone again." 

Nick came downstairs tousled and pink from his shower just
as Natalie was paying Mr. Wu's teenage son, Henry, for the
large white bag of takeout. "Dinner's here!" she announced,
"I ordered food from a restaurant near here instead of
cooking."

"You can order a meal from an inn and they will bring it to
you?" he asked, opening the bag and removing the fragrant
white containers. "Very convenient. What is this?" He
started opening boxes.

Natalie handed him a fork and a plate. "This is Chinese
food--uhh, from Cathay?" she looked inquiringly to see if
he had heard of that name for China. He shook his head.
"From far to the East, then. Farther than Jerusalem." 

Nick scooped a portion from each box onto his plate with
the fork. "And what do you call this?" he asked, indicating
the fork. 

Natalie looked up from her own plate, her eyebrow raised.
"A fork, of course." 

"A fork." He weighed it in his hand consideringly. "It's a
good idea--like a knife and spoon put together." He
tentatively took a bite of moo shu pork. "Ummmm. I think I
like Chinese food." He smiled. "And forks, and showers.
Life is very easy in these times."

She shook her head. "Not all the time. Tonight will be
difficult. So eat your dinner--but not too much, please.
Remember, you haven't eaten this kind of food before. And
you're not used to eating solid food. I don't want you to
get sick again."

"Very well, Mademoiselle Doctor."

They finished their meal in silence, the conversation
suddenly run dry. Natalie was becoming more nervous by the
minute as nine o'clock approached. She threw the now-empty
take-out cartons in the garbage and put their plates in the
sink. "Let's think about what we will do." She didn't have
to explain what she meant.

"You said the garlic and the holy relic will protect us."

"No, I said they would *help*. But Lacroix is strong--I
don't know how much effect they will have." She fished a
couple of specimen containers out of her medical bag. The
small glass vials with plastic caps were perfect for
keeping a small amount of garlic juice handily concealed in
a pocket. She divided the garlic juice between the two
vials and handed Nick one. "Keep this in your pocket. If
things get dangerous, take the top off and throw it in his
face."

Nick accepted the vial and said, "In my what?" 

"Your pocket--oh, good grief, didn't you have pockets?" She
reached forward and tugged at the edge of the front pocket
of his jeans. "This is a pocket. You put stuff in it."

"Oh." He stowed the vial in the pocket and patted it to
make sure it was safe. "And the cross?"

Natalie looked around. Where could she put it? Somewhere
central, where either of them could reach it. "How about in
this drawer?" She indicated the top drawer of the small
table next to the couch.

Nick nodded his assent. "Very well. And I will keep the
knife at hand. You say it cannot kill him, but it may
distract him enough to give you a chance to escape."

Natalie blew out a breath. "I guess there's nothing else we
can do, except wait." She knew these few preparations were
probably useless, but going through the motions made her
feel better, somehow. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes
to nine. It was almost full dark. "He'll be here soon, and
I bet he'll come through the skylight." She pointed to the
shattered skylight, still swinging loose on its hinges. 

Nick seated himself in one of the armchairs, facing the
skylight. He shoved the knife down between the cushion and
the arm. "So let us wait, and pray God will protect us."

Natalie turned on some lamps, then sat in the other chair
to wait. The tension was almost unbearable. She felt like
she was awaiting the onslaught of a thunderstorm, watching
the black storm clouds approaching. All you could do was
watch and wait for the unavoidable with all its potential
destruction. Unbidden her hand reached out across the small
table between them and took Nick's hand. He squeezed hers
lightly and smiled briefly at her, then resumed watching
the skylight. 

And they waited.



Lacroix arrived with a barely-perceived blur of motion and
a whoosh of displaced air--and he wasn't alone. Standing
next to Lacroix's imposing form was a small, slender man,
who appraised Nick and Natalie with a cool, disinterested
stare.

Lacroix's companion was not much over five foot four, and
couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds. He appeared to
be in his middle twenties, with medium length, straight
dark brown hair, brown, almost black eyes and a long,
straight nose. He looked vaguely Middle Eastern--his darker
complexion was evident even with his vampire pallor. He
wore a conservative, expensive suit and shirt, without a
tie. On the surface he appeared to be a young businessman,
but he carried with him the aura of unspeakable age and
tightly-leashed power only a truly ancient vampire could
possess. Instinctively Natalie knew this was a being even
older than Lacroix.

They had both jumped when the two vampires seemed to appear
out of nowhere. Natalie felt Nick's hand close convulsively
on hers, then fall away in readiness for whatever was to
come. 

"Bon soir, Nicolas." Lacroix's voice sounded amused and
superior. He rattled off something in Brabantish.

Natalie breathed a mental sigh of relief, glad that Lacroix
wasn't enraged as he had been on his last visit--although
Lacroix in a coldly sadistic mood wasn't much better in
terms of their survival. She shot a glance at the stranger.
He merely stared back with eyes as old and cold as a grave.
She looked away.

Nick answered curtly. "Speak French. I wish Natalie to
understand what you say."

"Oh, you've made a friend, have you? Very well." He
sketched a bow in Natalie's direction. "Charmed as always,
Doctor Lambert."

She nodded. "Lacroix."

"Will you do us the courtesy of introducing your
companion?" Nick asked, looking at the silent man.

The stranger spoke, his voice a light tenor. "There is no
need for names. I am here to repay this one," he nodded at
Lacroix, "for a favor long past due. Get on with it,
Lucius. Your endless games are annoying." 

Lacroix nodded, accepting the reprimand--but not meekly,
Natalie noted, seeing his lips compress in displeasure. Not
many beings could tell Lacroix what to do and be obeyed,
but this nameless ancient one was obviously one of them.

"One thing first." He turned to Nick, his usual sardonic
demeanor dropping away. Natalie saw a facet of Lacroix he
kept hidden carefully away from everyone, perhaps even
himself--she saw the face of a man coming to terms with the
inevitability of loss. "Nicolas, you desire a favor from
me. Even though you have rejected everything I have given
you, everything I have done for you--rejected me--you now
come asking yet again." Lacroix's face contorted, a pale
blur in the dim light. He drew breath and continued. 

"Tell me why I should grant this favor. Tell me why I
should release you from the prison of forgetfulness and
mortality you have made for yourself, knowing that if I do,
you will only remember your resentments and hatreds. Tell
me why I should not just kill you and Doctor Lambert, since
your poisonous blood makes it impossible for me to bring
you back to immortality. Tell me why."

The question hung quivering in the air. No one moved for a
moment. The defiance had drained from Nick's face as he
listened to Lacroix's litany of grief. Natalie wondered if
Lacroix had struck some small chord of memory, an echo of
familiarity, in Nick's consciousness. 

Nick looked down for a moment, turning the gold ring on his
finger as he thought. He seemed to come to a decision and,
to Natalie's surprise, gracefully dropped to one knee,
grasped Lacroix's hand and pressed it to his bowed head. He
drew a deep breath. "I beg this boon, Lord. I can only say
that without my memory, I can give you no reasons to ease
your hurt, save that I am incomplete, and it is within your
power to make me whole. 

"Mademoiselle Natalie tells me you consider me your son.
Now that the enchantment has been removed from me I can no
longer be a son to you, if ever I were. And if I regain my
memory of eight hundred years, I cannot know what kind of a
man I will be. I know I am not the same man I was ten years
ago--ten of my years--before I went to war and learned the
cruel lessons of the world. The lessons of eight hundred
years can only change me more.

"But I swear, Lord, that if you grant this favor, and do
not require ungodly acts of me, I will not reject you."
Nick fell silent, his head still bowed in supplication. The
lamplight gleamed on the heavy gold signet ring on his
finger, the sigil of his long-dead house.

Lacroix whispered, "How can I believe this?"

Nick raised his eyes and looked steadily into the severe
face. "Faith. Although my memory is but a shabby cloak, I
must believe my honor is still intact--it is dearer to me
than life itself. Have faith in my honor that I will keep
my promise."

Natalie stood wondering at the tableau before her, a scene
from a forgotten age. It was hard for her to reconcile the
often tongue-tied Nick of her time to the moving eloquence
she had just heard. She held her breath, waiting for
Lacroix's reply. 

"Yes. Yes, damn you, the favor is yours." His voice was
shot through with pain. "Let us complete this charade." The
outstretched hand ran through Nick's hair, almost a caress,
then was withdrawn. He turned towards the stranger and
said, "Now. The debt is due."

The slight man stepped forward as Nick stood up. "Look at
me," he commanded.

Nick straightened, making the sign of the cross as he
braced himself. He looked at Natalie, his gaze seeking her
support, then turned to the stranger. He looked into the
cold dark eyes. 

The air charged with energy, so thick Natalie thought she
could touch it. Nick seemed frozen in place, immovable, his
eyes locked on the stranger's, his hands trembling at his
sides. The stranger reached out and touched Nick's cheek.
"Remember," he said softly. Then he turned away and said to
Lacroix, "It is done. The debt is paid. I will hear no more
from you." Then with a small clap of displaced air, he was
gone.

Nick was trembling, the shaking getting more and more
violent, his eyes staring wildly. Suddenly he clutched his
head and screamed, a high thin wail of terror and despair.
He dropped to the floor and curled into a ball, the scream
turning to sobs. Blood spurted from his nose.

Natalie sprang forward and knelt beside him, vainly trying
to calm him, to stanch the blood and get through to him
somehow. "Lacroix!" she screamed, "What's wrong?" She
cradled Nick's head in her lap.

"He has remembered eight hundred years in the span of ten
seconds," he replied quietly. "A heavy burden to take up at
once, indeed."

Nick fell silent, his tremors stilled. He had passed out.

Lacroix stooped and picked up the limp form. "I will take
him upstairs," he informed Natalie, and moved towards the
stairs, cradling his son in his arms.

Natalie sat back on her heels, her head swimming. Remotely,
she saw Nick's blood had stained her pants leg. Levering
herself to her feet, she followed in Lacroix's wake. 

She trudged heavily up the stairs and went to Nick's
bedroom. Lacroix had laid him on the bed and covered him
with the same blanket she had used, a scant forty-eight
hours earlier, to keep him warm as he became mortal. Had it
only been that long? It felt like a lifetime.

Lacroix was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at
Nick. The expression on his face was unreadable.

Natalie sank into the chair, still at the side of the bed.
"Why didn't you do it?" she asked. "Why did that, that
*person* have to crawl into his mind?"

Lacroix didn't answer. He put his hand over Nick's and ran
his finger lightly over the gold ring. Finally, he said, "I
knew from his blood I would be unable to reach the place
where his mind had retreated. As old as I am, I am not
strong enough to combat both the effect of the drugs you
gave him and his desire to put the past behind. But I knew
the--ancient one--could." The admission of powerlessness
was obviously hard to make.

"He spoke of a debt..."

"Ancient history." He smiled thinly. "It doesn't
matter--the debt is repaid, the scales once again
balanced."

She looked at Nick, twitching in his uneasy oblivion. "Will
he be all right?"

"He will die. Not now, but eventually. But that is what you
both want, so I suppose you will be satisfied." His tone
was bitter.

"I'm not going to apologize to you," she said. "But I
wish..." her voice trailed off.

"What? That my feelings weren't hurt? That you didn't take
my son from me? Don't be coy, Doctor, it ill becomes you.
Atropos has cut this thread. It is done." He stood and was
gone.

Natalie was left looking at the spot where he had been
sitting. Had Lacroix truly given up trying to possess Nick,
body and soul, after so many hundreds of years? She could
scarcely believe he had become reconciled to his loss, but
it seemed so. Perhaps Nick's promise not to reject him made
it possible. In the end, she supposed, he couldn't bring
himself to destroy his beloved son. If he couldn't have him
in immortality, he would have a small piece of him for the
rest of his days.

Nick moaned in his sleep. The blood from his nosebleed had
dried on his face and stained the bedspread. Natalie got
up, retrieved a dampened washcloth from the bathroom, and
gently cleaned his face, then rearranged the blanket more
securely around his restless limbs. What would his state of
mind be when he awoke? Would he again take up the heavy
burden of guilt he had carried for hundreds of years? Or
would his renewed mortality help him find forgiveness and
reconciliation?

God, she was tired.

Throwing away any thoughts of propriety, Natalie crawled
onto the bed next to him, pulling the blanket up over
herself. She snuggled into his turned back and draped an
arm over his shoulders. Perhaps the feeling of closeness
would ease his restlessness and ease his dreams.

Her eyes drooped and she fell asleep.



Natalie awoke as her shoulder was gently shaken. She heard
a voice calling her name. She cracked a bleary eye and
squinted.

Nick smiled down at her. "Nat, wake up."

Then, "I remember."

Finis