From: "Terry Tuminello" <terry02@mail.iamerica.net>
Subject: Forever Knight Fan Fiction Story:  "Endless Forever Knight"
Date: Mon, 23 Feb 1998 10:06:16 -0600

The concept and characters for the television series "Forever Knight" do
not belong to me.  I have made liberal use of many of the episodes (and
their dialog) in this exercise which attempts to explain what the
characters might have been thinking up to and during the final episode of
the series.  I then took the further liberty of slipping through what I
considered the convenient loopholes to suggest a premise for a fourth
season.  For any other fans whose ideas I may have inadvertently
appropriated or whose conceptions I may have dashed, my sincere apologies.

Since I don't dare use my address at work, my friend has kindly agreed to
post this story and to let me receive personal mail at his address.  Please
send any comments to terry02@iamerica.net.  Warning: fragile ego. 


Endless Forever Knight - Part 1 of 7
	By Vanessa St.Denis

 
 Natalie

	It was dark, so very dark and the darkness was soothing, safe.  It was a
sanctuary free of painful memories, free of guilt, free of the awful
hunger.  The darkness was a blessed void and her battered psyche sought the
sweet promise of oblivion.

	Down, down deeper into the darkness she sank.  One by one she let go of
the unbearable horrors that were not hers.  She bequeathed the terrible
memories, the agonizing guilt, and the awful hunger, especially the awful
hunger, back to their rightful owner.  But the pain remained even as the
darkness grew more profound because it had, in part, been her own special
pain.  The pain of past losses and the promise of greater losses to come. 
No, there would be no escape from the pain even in the darkness.  The
promise of ultimate darkness was proving to be the lie she had always known
it to be.

	On the very edge of her consciousness she sensed a pin prick of light; an
infinitesimal jewel almost lost in an endless universe of black velvet.  A
mere mote of white, it was  almost blinding in it's purity.   There it was
flickering like a vigil candle beckoning, inviting.  Here was the anodyne
to the pain.  She had to go into the light, embrace it. The light was
faith, hope, and life and the light had a name - Natalie.

	"But I'm Natalie!"

	Going into the light.  Most people believed that going into the light was
the breaking of mortal bonds; the crossing over to whatever it was that lay
beyond the boundaries between life and death.  Natalie had always preferred
the more scientific explanation.  It was simply the last frantic burst of 
activity in a dying brain.  It now appeared that both theories were, at
least in this case, quite wrong. 

	Physical sensation was slowly dawning now that sense of self  had
returned.  If this were indeed the "other side" then the floors there were
covered by silky, very old, very valuable oriental carpets.  And unless she
were lying prostrate in some bizarre limbo between heaven and hell, there
had to be a more prosaic explanation as to why her face and left side were
feverishly hot and her right side icy cold.  No she knew very well where
she was and how she had come to be there.

	She was lying on the floor in Nick's loft in front of the fire she herself
had kindled in the ornate fireplace with it's guardian dragon.  Was it
still evening, the same evening?  Grief and desperation had driven her to
do the unthinkable.  She had seduced an 800-year-old vampire.  An undead
paradox capable of infinite cruelty and boundless good.  The embodiment of
ancient evil with the face of a choir boy.  Her fallen angel.  Nick.

	She had loved him for so long; ached with the wanting of him.  She
remembered another fateful night in what seemed now to have been several
lifetimes ago.  A black vinyl body bag ominously oozing blood had been
unceremoniously dumped on the metal autopsy table by nervous morgue
attendants eager to make their escape away from the shattered corpse of a
would be hero.  Once alone with the gory remains she had swallowed
nervously, as she almost always did, and then said a silent prayer for the
repose of the victim's soul before taking refuge behind her clinical
persona and dedicating herself to bringing yet another predator to justice.
 She thought she had prepared herself for anything as she slowly pulled the
zipper down.  Nothing had prepared her for the unexpected sight of a
slightly battered but handsome man with a mane of golden hair and a rather
nasty gash on one cheek.  Nothing could have prepared her for  the thrill
of shock she experienced when the recently deceased sat up and launched
himself off of her examination table.  Nor was she prepared for the fateful
fascination she felt when icy, inhumanly strong fingers captured her wrist
and placed the back of her hand against a cheek that was now as smooth and
perfect as a marble statue.

	"You're so cold," she had stammered.

	"I'm dead," he had replied with hollow resignation.

	And then tonight.

	"You don't want my love," he had accused her, with that same haunted
expression she would never forget.

	Oh, Nick, you're so wrong.

   	The prison of blackness in which she still seemed to be trapped was
being gradually replaced by a gently pulsating rosy glow:  the flickering
flames on the hearth perceived through her still closed eyelids.  She
wanted to open her eyes, needed desperately to open her eyes.  Why couldn't
she move?  She was afraid for herself and afraid for him.  That nightmare
descent into hell had been Nick's journey.  The utter lack of hope and
longing for death had been his feelings.  Somehow she had experienced it
all through him, but how?

	She remembered arguing with Nick.  It was the continuation of the eternal
conflict between them.   She had already decided that afternoon that there
could be only one conclusion to that argument.  Somehow, tonight, she had
made him see that she could love him, did love him.  He had held her hands
against his still heart, glanced down, and when he looked up at her again
his eyes had changed taking on the uncanny feral green-gold glow of the
unearthly predator that he was.  She should have been afraid then but there
was so much of what made Nick "Nick" in those eyes.  He was still in
control, promising he'd never leave her no matter what happened. Then he
kissed her ever so softly on the lips.  His kiss had been tender, chaste.  
He had bowed over her wrist brushing his lips across the fragile
translucent skin feeling the pulse of her life so enticingly close to the
surface, breathing her scent, her unique perfume.  He meant to take "just a
little" from her wrist but then he had paused and looked into her eyes. 
She knew from his expression that he wanted to hold her, he needed to show
her that this was an act of love and no mere feeding.

    	  She had started involuntarily when his cool fingers gently caressed
her hair back, away from her throat.  He had hesitated then, glowing
raptor's eyes reflecting his fear of her rejection, acknowledging her fear
of what they were about to do.  Then his expression changed to one of
infinite love and gratitude when she did not turn from him as she always
had in the past.

	There had been a moment of acute, piercing pain - a second loss of
virginity she reflected.  But like the first loss, the triumph of pleasure
and power quickly blotted out all but a vague memory of discomfort.  He had
tried once, not long ago, to describe the rapture, the overwhelming ecstasy
of drinking the blood of one's beloved, to experience and taste all that
they were.  She had never dreamt what the experience might be like for the
object of that passion.  It was impossible to tell where her sensations and
feelings left off and his began.  He was inundating her mind with flashes
of images, sights, sounds, even smells, that exploded and then disappeared
too quickly to be assimilated.   But the reigning emotion and overriding
sensation were of love given and returned.

	"All you have to do is to love me as much as I do you," she had challenged
him.

	She reveled now in the certain knowledge that she had the power to possess
him.

	"You'll never know just how much I care," he had once told her

	She knew now.  It was intoxicating.   

	Her traitorous body was beginning to falter.  Her heart fluttered and her
vision was narrowing into a dim tunnel, all black around the edges.  Too
much stress, no nourishment, other than stimulants for 24 hours, and the
sudden loss of blood were too much.  She felt the sickening lurch of
equilibrium lost.  Worse, Nick had felt her physical distress and was
trying to break the bond between them.   She would not, could not let go of
him now.  She tried to reassure him along the strange new bond forged
between them, to make him understand that she was all right, that the
weakness that was washing over her, robbing her limbs of strength, was only
temporary and of no importance.

	His arms were still around her, supporting her.  The sickening dizziness
was passing and being replaced by a delicious lassitude.  She was floating
in a warm sea of luxurious languor, impossibly sated.  Unbidden she
envisioned the chilling image of Laura slipping down into warm bath water,
tendrils of hair floating about her white face while blood billowed
gracefully from the slits, cut with such surgical precision, in both her
wrists; her life gently, steadily, peacefully draining away.  Too late,
Natalie realized, too late.  Like Laura, she was being drained of her life.
 They had taken totally different routes but driven by loneliness and
desperation she and Laura were to share the same sad end.  

	As she felt Nick slowly lower her gently to the floor, another more
dreadful memory returned, one that should have remained buried forever. 
The memory of another passionate embrace but one totally devoid of love.  A
voice cold and lifeless stating with disinterested precision, "I do not
love this woman."

	There was more, she knew, but she didn't want to see.  This was the end. 
She would die because she knew, had always known, that in the end Nick
would never bring her across.  Like Laura she was not coming she was
going...  Then suddenly it was as if the gates of Hell had been violently
flung open and the legion of damned given one voice with which to cry out
in the extremity of their endless torment: "Noooo!!"  The reverberations of
that terrible sound had followed her down into the darkness.  	


Endless Forever Knight - Part 2 of 7

Nicholas

	
	He had left the silent shell of what had once been the Raven resolved. 
Strange how the former bastion of decadence and perversion could actually
seem forlorn in it's emptiness.  Just another vacant building destined to
fall into disuse and eventual decay.  The horrific events of the last 24
hours kept rising and popping like bubbles of remembrance on the surface of
his consciousness.  LaCroix was right, damn him, it was time to move on. 
The excuses he had tried to give LaCroix for staying in Toronto, in this
life,  were specious at best, self-indulgent at worst.

	He stopped at the curb and opened the door of the Caddy, it's top up  in
deference to the trappings of mourning, and slid in behind the wheel.  The
leather upholstery molded itself to the well-known contours of his body as
he slipped the key into the ignition. He stared out into the night but saw
only  the recent, all too brief, last few years of his life. How many times
had he tried to leave her, meant to leave her, failed to leave her.   This
time would be different though.  In the past he'd been thinking first of
himself, the unbearable pain he would suffer.  LaCroix had been the
unlikely agent who forced him to face the truth that he had stayed so long
in this life that he was bringing death and destruction to all those close
to him.  This time he would find the strength to move on because of her. 
He could bear anything but her destruction.  A quick glance back at the
Raven, an incongruous "For Lease" sign already nailed to it's facade, and 
he put the Caddy in gear  driving off  into the night.

	He knew she was there waiting for him.  He sensed her presence even on the
other side of the heavy, industrial door and heard the steady beating of
her heart it's familiar rhythm causing his own, usually still, heart to
constrict in a rare and painful spasm in his breast.  He paused for a
moment, his hand on the elevator door, before sliding it open as quietly as
he could.  She was sitting there by the fireplace, the only oasis of warmth
in the cavernous gloom of his loft, the flames bathing her in a flickering
golden light.  He wondered bleakly how he would possibly go on through
endless centuries knowing he would never see her like this again; never see
her in any way ever again.   He wondered if she was still angry with him
for what she perceived to be his betrayal; his willingness to save Tracy
from a mortal death but his refusal to bring her across.           

	She rose and turned slowly before coming to him.  He realized that she had
hesitated for that one heart beat on purpose, just long enough to gain her
composure and control the sorrow that shined through over bright eyes.  Her
lips twitched involuntarily in a tiny grimace of grief, a sad parody of her
usual sweet smile, as she told him of the passing of Tracy Vetter. 
Beautiful, brave, brash Tracy was no more and it had been his fault.  He
marveled at Nat's inner strength at the same time he cursed it.  How he
longed to comfort her, be the one she would reach out to.  But there was no
way she could totally forget what he was and what he was capable of.  She
hid her heart behind a well practiced, carefully cultivated professional
demeanor, a fortress of cool detachment and logic.  He had helped to build
the wall around that fortress, stone by stone, with his careless cruelty
and thoughtlessness over the years.  He had shown her too much of himself
and the vampire within.  That she could love even any part of him was the
miracle that had illuminated the endless darkness his existence had become.

	How could he ever forget that first caress, the feel of the back of her
hand against his cheek?  It had been a very unprofessional gesture, but
then since she thought that the recipient of that touch had been dead it
hadn't seemed to matter.  Her clinical demeanor had almost been shattered
when the previously lifeless corpse sprang from the examination table and
began rifling the auxiliary blood supply.  She had been startled, yes, but
not afraid.  Fascination and disbelief had warred across her incredibly
lovely face until both had been conquered by the most improbable of
emotions: she was incensed.  How dare this cadaver flaunt the laws of
nature, and more importantly, science.  He was captivated and all he could
think about when she reached out to examine the battered, bloodied
impossibility that stood before her was that he wanted to feel the touch of
her hand against his cheek again. 

	Resister or not, he should have tried harder to make her forget and he
should never, never have succumbed to the temptation of seeing her again,
confronting her again.  He had purposely put himself in her path and she
had looked back into his eyes with a challenge of her own.  True her pulse
quickened invitingly but not with fear, no, it was voracious curiosity and
the excitement of discovery.  She glowed with an inner light, a quixotic
angel who had already decided she would invoke her god of medicine and
solve the puzzle of his nightmare existence.  

	There was something about her tonight that reminded him of how she looked
that night, an aura of determination and confidence.    She had also
discarded the bulky, almost mannish, clothing she had been affecting as of
late and was instead in a soft, delicate dress liberally trimmed with lace.
 Her hair was down around her shoulders and to him she looked like the
embodiment of spring, the promise of new life.  This had to stop.   He
turned away and walked to the window and stared out unseeingly into the
dark, trying to find the words he needed to say good-by. 

	 He thought briefly of a time  when it would have been so easy to have
walked away.  She had accused him of using her and had sent him away not
once but several times.  Each time he had become more determined, more
persistent that she take him back.  They had been involved with that
dreadful Jerry Tate case: the narcissistic television personality and his
adoring producer, Charly; poor Maggie Dwyer and her manufactured affair
with the pseudo vampire.  The extremes those unhappy lovers had gone to
were nothing compared to the extremes he would have gone to  keep Nat.  If
she had not surrendered to the love offering of flowers and the card
written in his own hand he wasn't sure to what lengths he would have gone. 

	And now he stood with his back to her  and purposely used LaCroix's own
words to tell her he was leaving.  To state once and for all that the pain
he was causing his mortal friends was no longer acceptable and that it was
time to move on.  He expected her to argue or to deride him for his
cowardice but instead she had cried, "Not without me, you're not." 

	"It's because of you that I'm leaving.  You don't want my love.  It would
only destroy you," he had retorted turning away from her.  If he looked
into her eyes he would be lost.  She was again offering the one thing he
wanted more than anything else in heaven or on earth: herself.  She had
never understood his reluctance to bring her across and it had poisoned
their relationship.  How could he explain to her that the desire to bring
her across was almost as strong as his love for her and it terrified him? 
He could not accept that the vampire within him desired her with a passion
as great as the one Nick Knight felt.  

	"I'm not willing to live a life of eternal pain," he told her.

	"Is it any worse than a life of eternal regret?" she challenged in return.

	In the beginning it had been so easy to love her.  He had been able to
have her close yet kept her safely out of reach.  Nat was his lady in every
sense of the old chivalric code.  A knight chose a special lady to inspire
him to noble purposes.  Deeds great and good were done in her name and in
return she would grant tokens of favor to inspire her knight to even
greater deeds.  The lady was untouchable; she could not be sought like an
ordinary woman.  For love of a more carnal nature there had been the
incomparable Janette.  Janette who shared his darkness, Janette who
welcomed his caresses, Janette so eager, so sympathetic.  Their shared past
as siblings, lovers, comrades made it so natural and provided a safe outlet
for the blood lust.

	When was it that he began to realize that he loved Nat with every fiber of
his being, that in fact one lust seemed to feed the other.  Was it when
she'd had that near fatal affair with the homicidal Roger Jameson?  Nick
had actually stooped to breaking into her apartment and acting like a
possessive adolescent staking his territory.  Maybe it was the time he'd
forgotten everything except that she was the most special being in his
existence.  They'd almost made love that night and when he finally slept he
dreamt of her begging to be brought across and of taking her blood as a
spectral LaCroix looked on blessing the unholy union.  No,  it was that
time on Valentine's Day when LaCroix had planned to avenge the loss of
Fleur by killing Nat.  Nick had been forced to convince LaCroix that Nat
meant nothing to him and the only way to do that was to act as if he would
bring her across.  He'd been able to maintain control but just barely.  The
vampire had been aroused and he wanted Natalie, wanted her in the worst
possible way.

	She had turned away then and walked over to the window where he had stood
and began talking to him about faith, faith and love.  He was drawn to her.
 He was a moth and she was the flame on which he knew he was fated to
immolate himself.  She turned and he was mesmerized by the light shining in
her eyes.  When she reached up and touched his cheek, he was lost.  Almost
800 years ago, another woman had used seduction to bring him into the
darkness now Nat was seducing him into the light, her light.  Janette had
held out the promise of passion, power, and life everlasting.   Nat was
offering him faith and love.  Such a sweet seduction, so wonderfully
different than the first.  He captured her small, warm hands with his own
cool ones, gently kissing her fingers and then, holding her hands over his
heart,  he had willed the transformation that would allow him to be one
with her in the only way he could.

	He had to be careful.  He needed to show her just how much he loved her,
how what he felt for her was profound, unique.  He had to make her see how
he had never loved like this before and never would again.  Control was
paramount.  He had allowed himself just one kiss;  gentle,  reverent.  At
first he meant to take the blood from her wrist, it would be easier to stop
before he could harm her.  But she deserved to be held and he needed to
hold her, to make her understand.  The fact that she was afraid, just a
little, only caused him to love her more.  More because she was willing to
trust him to be the man she believed him to be, that she was finally
letting him be strong for her.  No other woman had willingly come to him in
full knowledge of what he was and with full understanding of the dire
consequences.  That she would be the one was almost too much to bear.  

	He had been as gentle as he could.  It took every ounce of strength he had
to maintain control as his fangs broke the tender, soft barrier of her
flesh.  The sensation of drinking her blood overwhelmed him: hot and so
incredibly sweet.  For him her blood was the ultimate aphrodisiac because
it was her.  He immediately began flooding her mind with his feelings and
concentrated on infusing her entire being with intense pleasure.  He tried
to tell her through his memories why he loved her so, how she was so
different than any other he had ever loved.  So many memories.   She would
not comprehend them now but he hoped that when she recalled them later and
she would be able to assimilate them.

	He felt her weaken, he was in danger of  taking  too much, a sin he was
always committing when it came to Nat.  When he attempted to draw away,
however, she'd reached out with her very being and begged him not to stop. 
 It was impossible to resist the temptation.  Her heart was racing and her
dear blood flowed into him.  He was losing control: the vampire was
dangerously close.   They could have forever, together.  No pleasure would
be beyond their reach, no delight untasted.  She would be his consort and
lover.  Not even eternity would be long enough to love a woman like
Natalie.

	Nick felt Nat's sudden fear that she was being drained, that the vampire
would take and take and take.  He felt her sad acceptance that Nick, in
conquering the vampire, would leave her to die instead of bringing her
across.  Then the untimely remembrance of his cruel taunt of not loving her
surfaced.  This had to stop.  Nick gathered every fiber of his being and
with a force that shattered Nat's fragile consciousness, cast the vampire
back into the pit of his tormented soul.

	He knelt over her where she lay on the carpet in front of the flickering
flames.  She looked like a beautiful porcelain doll discarded by a careless
child.  From deep within  the vampire continued to torment him.  Nick had
visions of Nat in a white lace, Victorian gown.  Her hair would be caught
up on top of her head with jeweled combs, tendrils and curls cascading
down.  Her fangs would be delicate and pearly against her soft, ripe mouth.
 Her thick, long lashes would flutter and her eyes, her incredible eyes,
would glow with a passion beyond mortal comprehension.

	It would be so easy to bring her across now, she'd already agreed that as
long as they would be together it didn't matter how it happened.  He never
realized that there could be such pain this side of hell.   His friend, the
Earl of Rochester, had though. 

	"Without thy light what light remains in me?
	 Thou art my life; my way, my light's in thee;
	 I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.

	"Thou art my life - if thou but turn away 
	 My life's a thousand deaths, Thou art my way -"
	
	He never sensed the other presence in the room.

Endless Forever Knight - Part 3 of 7

LaCroix

	Having existed for 2,000 years, Lucien LaCroix had turned the act of
survival into an art form.  He knew which memories to keep and which to
banish.  He knew how to seek pleasure where it was to be had and to eschew
all that meant pain or even unpleasantness.  He knew that only the strong
and the ruthless would triumph and conquer.  Why was it tonight he was
failing so miserably?  He took another fastidious sip of the exquisite
vintage contained in the fine crystal goblet.  It had been a very special
bottling.  Complex, fragrant with a strong finish and elegant bouquet, he
had been saving it especially for some auspicious occasion.  Tonight should
be accounted as that special occasion for he was leaving Toronto at last
with Nicholas. 

	 He looked across the bar and studied his own arrogant visage staring
impassively back at him.  The white marble of the bust was only a degree
whiter than his own pale complexion.  A remarkable likeness in all aspects.
 The sculpture was only one of two possessions he had of the time before he
became a vampire.  Ah, don't tread that path, Lucien, he admonished
himself.  He instead turned his attentions back to the contents of the wine
glass twirling it between his fingers admiring the way the fluid coated the
sides and slowly flowed back in sheets of garnet and crimson.  Yes, a very
fine vintage albeit rather young and brash.

	He glanced around the eerie emptiness of the Raven.  His lip curled in
unconscious disgust at the extreme vulgarity of  the decor.  It really had
been too much.   It verged on being a sadomasochistic cliche'.  No, not his
style at all but he had been trying to expose Nicholas to the extremes of
depravity in hopes that it would awaken the vampire within him.  To free
Nicolas to be the creature LaCroix had meant for him to be.  What parent
wasn't driven to extremes for love of a wayward child?  He had been harsh,
cruel but always fair, in his fashion, and in his own way.  

	Strange what a profound experience fatherhood was, how it had shaped his
entire being as man and vampire.  He reached into the breast pocket of his
jacket and withdrew the stunning cameo of Divia.  Beautiful, ethereal, evil
Divia.  He remembered how as a mortal he had adored her above the gods he
worshiped and, at that time, even believed in.  She had brought him across
amidst the fiery demise of Pompeii.  Ashes to ashes.  He had slowly come to
see how the cruel ruthlessness that had made him a Roman general had been
passed on through him to his only child and how that cruelty had been
refined and distilled into pure evil when she was brought across.  

	She had, in fact, been far too young to be brought across, the one who
made her should have known that. But Divia had been ill,  indeed she was
dying and no adult was immune to her girlish charms. And so when the
mysterious healer from Egypt discovered that he could not preserve her
mortal existence he gave her his dark gift instead.
  
	All children are willful creatures in need of discipline and guidance. 
But in Divia's case that spoiled, uncontrollable child was a vampire.  Her
indulgent master had taught her much but not well.  By the time he tried to
take control it was too late.  What would have been a temper tantrum in a
mortal child became assassination in Divia's case.  No matter, she knew she
would not be alone for long because she knew The General would be returning
soon from his most recent campaign.  That she adored her sire was natural,
but the appetites that premature immortality had awakened in her were not. 
Even now LaCroix could shudder in memory of the incestuous union she had
offered him.   She tempted him with the promise of love and blood.  As a
Roman general LaCroix was no stranger to the decadent and depraved, but to
see it in his own child was too much.  She might have been conceived in
lust with another man's wife, but somehow he had thought to save her from
being defiled by it.  Divia had been enraged by his refusal and her anger
was his own infamous temper magnified a thousandfold and he had been
afraid.  He had done the unthinkable then: infanticide.  

	He thought he would go mad with guilt and grief.  He went on a
bloodletting orgy that knew no bounds.  He committed the very acts of
murder and mayhem that he had been so repulsed by.  He killed without
remorse and very little pleasure.  Still he could not keep the pain away. 
Eventually, after several hundred years had passed, he was again in control
and he would not loose control again.  If he wanted to enjoy this gift of
immortality, he would need to practice discretion.   He had learned that he
was not the only one of his kind about and that there were rules and laws
within this secretive community.  Discipline was one thing the General knew
and liked.  He would find refuge in that discipline and he would become a
leader again.

	Still, he reflected, he had been lonely no matter how hard he had tried to
deny it.  There was such an emptiness still.  After the passing of many
more lifetimes he had found himself in France where he'd seen a young
woman, very little more than a girl really, who showed such promise.  The
patrician in him admired her refined beauty, the regal air about her even
in such squalid surroundings.  Could there be anything more appalling than
a medieval brothel overflowing with vermin and unwashed bodies?   And she
had courage.  LaCroix liked that, he liked that very much.  She also had
something else, there was a caring side of her.  Even in the extremity of
her  situation, this young woman was doing everything she could for her
sisters in misfortune.  Small acts of kindness such as stealing extra food
for one, tending another  who was near death from childbirth.   Divia, he
readily admitted,  had been devoid of any feelings for others even when she
had been mortal.  So at last it came to pass that on a dark twisted street,
overflowing with refuse,  LaCroix found the opportunity to come to the
young woman's aid when a disappointed "suitor" tried to take for free that
which could only be bought.  Her name was Janette, Janette Ducharme,  and
she was very willing to take LaCroix's offer of assistance and a chance for
revenge.

	From the first she had never disappointed him.  She was indeed a worthy
daughter and so when she asked him in her most beguiling manner to give her
a companion, he had readily consented.  He had noticed the young man early
one evening and had been observing him while Janette had sampled and
discarded most of the other lusty young lords and knights in the hall that
night.  She had been slow to notice him because he was different.  He was
certainly as handsome, if not more so, than any of the others  with his
mane of golden hair falling to his shoulders and deep blue eyes that could
put a winter sky to shame, but he was so very still.  When he did finally
look up from his wine cup there was a haunting pain that struck LaCroix as
being extraordinary in one so young.  The other returning crusaders were
vying with each other to recount the glories of battle in the Holy Land. 
When LaCroix looked at this one he could taste the dust of the Middle East,
hear the eerie call of the muezzin to the faithful amidst the clash of
scimitar on sword, and smell the exotic blend of sweat, spice and spilled
blood.  This one had a depth and a wisdom born of pain.  

	Yes, Janette was an exemplary daughter in every way save one: her taste in
men was appalling.  This young knight, however, intrigued LaCroix.  He
showed promise of being a worthy companion for himself even after Janette
tired of him.  LaCroix took great pains to make sure that Janette finally
took note of the knight.  By this time the young man was well into his cups
and would probably be most susceptible.  She of course was pleased with his
abundant good looks and lost no time in working her own special magic.  

	It was better than LaCroix first thought, the young knight was an
embittered, disillusioned man.  He was returning home to recover from
wounds both physical and spiritual.  He was still reeling from the horrors
that this most unholy crusade had shown him.  He believed in nothing any
more; not the Church, not his King, not his knightly vows and least of all
himself.  Janette had plied him with wine and kisses.  She had promised him
pleasures and release from pain; life everlasting and power.  Nicolas
deBrabant was a drowning man and he reached out to the dark Belle Dame Sans
Merci in his desolation.   He came into her arms alive, died for love and
then awakened to never ending night when LaCroix brought him across. 

	It had been a mistake from the first, LaCroix admitted.  But it was done. 
LaCroix had miscalculated the measure of the man.  He had not understood
that the depth of Nicholas' despair was so profound because he still did
believe that there had to be some greater good, some God of Light.  A soft,
brittle snap and the sound of crystal shattering recalled LaCroix back to
the present.  The fragile goblet he had been holding was no more.  He
carefully removed a small shard that had become embedded in his finger,
quickly placing the bleeding member in his mouth to savor the mingling of
the bloods before the cut could close and heal.

	He stood slowly and surveyed the club as he walked it's perimeter turning
out the lights one by one.  He had chided Nicholas about overstaying all
the while he had been guilty of the same sin.  Still how could he have left
without Nicholas?  The apparent loss of Janette had been more painful than
he cared to admit.  Nicholas would neither discuss her whereabouts nor how
it was that she was again one of them.  Of course there was only one way.  
And then the nightmare of Divia's resurrection and her destruction by
Nicholas' own hand.  Was fratricide any less of an abomination than
infanticide?  To see her die again, to hear her cry out to him as her
father.  He would have been powerless not to save her if Nicholas had not
stayed his hand.  And if Divia had lived, would any of their kind have been
left?

	After all that had happened, Nicholas was closer now to being the son he
had envisioned and the companion he had hoped for.  The quest for regaining
his humanity was becoming more dim with each devastating set back.  LaCroix
paused with his hand poised over the last remaining switch,  just one more
light to be extinguished.  The light he was thinking of now was one that
was more lethal to Nicholas than the noonday sun: Dr. Natalie Lambert.  How
much easier this would all be if he could simply hate the woman or even
better yet regard her not at all.  But LaCroix had a great deal of respect
for the good doctor and more than just a little admiration.  No other
mortal had such an in-depth knowledge of his kind and had rendered such
service to the vampire community.  And then there was the undeniable truth
that she loved Nicholas and that love was returned.

	LaCroix could not help smiling to himself when he recalled the comedy of
errors that Valentine's Day had been.  He had been enraged beyond measure
when he realized that what he had dismissed as a temporary infatuation on
Nicholas' part was indeed a grand passion.  LaCroix had always blamed
Nicholas for the loss of Fleur.  He knew it wasn't so, but he needed to
find someone to blame rather than accept the truth that giving up Fleur was
the only altruistic act of love he had committed in this or any other
existence.  His ever present sorrow had blossomed into a murderous rage
that night when he had stood beneath Natalie's window and watched Nicholas
aspire to the kind of love that he himself had lost.  LaCroix had
remembered the lethal promise he'd once made to Nicholas and had meant to
carry it out.

	At least he intended to until he'd actually met Natalie Lambert.  When she
realized the ruse he had perpetrated she had displayed the most amazing
composure.  She had sat across from him and put on the most incredible
performance he had ever witnessed.  He knew how Nicholas had felt about him
at the time and had no doubts as to how he had been demonized to her.  She
had to see him as the embodiment of pure evil: Satan himself.  That she was
afraid, he could sense and smell, but there she sat acting as though she
were faced with nothing worse than meeting  a difficult father-in-law to
be.  He had taken the added precaution of adding a little something special
to the wine.  It was a very old drug, almost impossible to trace in the
blood stream and, most importantly, would not compromise the exquisite
taste of the champagne he had so carefully selected for her pleasure.  But
of course he had planned that the pleasure would ultimately be all his,
literally.

	As the drug began to take affect, LaCroix relaxed and took a moment to
study her unconventional beauty.  By the time Nicholas had made his
dramatic entry to save his lady fair LaCroix had regrouped and reformed his
plan of attack.  It was time to test the quality of the affection Nicholas
felt for this woman.   LaCroix had pushed Nicholas to the very limits that
night and had learned what he needed to know.  He had let poor Nicholas
delude himself into thinking that he had indeed fooled his master.  LaCroix
felt no triumph in his victory.  He knew now that the love Nicholas felt
for Natalie was every bit as deep and eternal as what he had felt for
Fleur.   Unlike LaCroix, however,  Nicholas would never find the strength
to leave her but like LaCroix he would never bring his love across.  There
was only one way this could all end: badly. 

	LaCroix reached out and extinguished the last remaining light, plunging
the Raven into final darkness.  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back
to ease the tension gathering within and let out a sigh.  Then he crossed
to the bar, hung Divia's cameo around the marble bust and walked out of the
club without a backwards glance.  Arrangements had been made and the final
details would be taken care of.  He locked the door and walked out to the
sidewalk pausing in the pool of light from the lone street lamp.  

	Time for the final act to begin.
               
Endless Forever Knight - Part 4 of 7

Tout Ensemble

	The setting could have been a study by Rembrandt.  Shadow on shadow
deepened from sienna to umber to sable to pitch black.  Like the
masterpiece "The Night Watch" only the principle figures glowed with a soft
inner illumination against the gloom of the loft.  LaCroix realized with
some consternation that he had made his entrance too late and that the
final act had already begun.  Never had he felt such pain and despair
radiating from Nicholas; it permeated the very air around them.

	"The only thing left is to turn out the light and lock the door on the way
out," he announced quietly to Nicholas' unyielding back.  "Unless, of
course, you plan to add her to our entourage?"

	Natalie felt a decidedly unpleasant thrill of dismay when she heard
LaCroix's voice.  She struggled even harder to open her eyes.  Her
concentrated efforts were finally rewarded when at last she found that she
was able to peer out through a tangled veil of eyelashes and make out the
dim, indistinct forms of Nick and LaCroix towering above her.  Their
spectral faces and hands seemed to revolve, disembodied,  in dizzying,
irregular orbits.
 
	For his part Nicholas remained where he was on his knees beside Natalie
his eyes never wavering from the dreadful sight that would follow him for
all eternity.  The only sign that he acknowledged his master's presence was
the simple confession, "I couldn't stop myself. I've taken too much."

	Such total resignation and utter lack of hope in those simple words. 
LaCroix knew all too well Nicholas' proclivity for sinking into a morass of
guilt.  He would never be able to understand Nicholas' need for
self-flagellation.  Pity that hair shirts had gone out of style so long
ago.  But LaCroix had never accepted defeat before and he was not about to
start now.  His tactician's mind considered and discarded strategies with
lightening speed.  He shrewdly concentrated the considerable power of his
haunting, hypnotic voice into his first feint.  He spoke of loving and of
guilt.

	"Oh Nicholas, you have thought this out," he crooned.  "If we truly care
for a mortal, truly love one, then we must go.  Isn't that what you taught
me?"  LaCroix reminded him, conjuring up the image of Nicholas' sister,
Fleur, the one woman whose life Nicholas had revered as much as he did
Natalie Lambert's.

	"It is so foolish, it is so unnecessary, it is so mortal and it must stop.
 This and all else that has happened tonight should make that clear to you.
 Love may be tasted but never savored.  In our darkest moment we may envy
mortality but we must never aspire to it.  Guilt is a poison and staying
past our time is death," LaCroix reasoned.

	"Damn you, LaCroix," Natalie thought wearily and without venom, "damn you
to hell."  LaCroix had almost 800 years of experience in controlling and
manipulating Nick, what hope did she have?  That Nick loved her, she was
now certain.  She was also certain that, with LaCroix's guidance, the way
Nick would prove his love would be disastrous for him and fatal for her.
	
	"Nicholas be done with her.  Time heals all.  We must move on.  You can
not deny what you are," LaCroix skillfully cajoled.

	As for Nicholas, he felt as if all movement was completely beyond him. 
LaCroix's soothing, encouraging words washed over and around him but never
touched him.  His eyes never left Nat's averted face, the dancing flames of
the fire lending the illusion of animation to her still features.  The urge
to lie down beside her and hold her one last time was almost overpowering. 
Still LaCroix droned on and on.  Nicholas had already made up his mind as
to what he had to do and was very much at peace with it.  He wished LaCroix
would be silent and leave him and Nat be.    The word's of John Wilmot's
poem again surfaced in his mind.

	"Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
	  Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
	  Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st I die."

	To LaCroix he said simply, "I can't condemn her to my darkness."

	Then Nicholas leaned over Natalie and whispered into her ear so softly
that even LaCroix could barely hear him,

	
	"My eyes are dark and blind.  I cannot see:
	  to whom or whither should my darkness flee?
	  But to that light - and who's that light but thee?"

	
	He placed a lingering kiss on each eyelid  and then her cheek not daring
further intimacy for fear that the vampire's desires would override his
own.  His own eyes were beginning to fill with tears and he fought for
control.  He would not let LaCroix see him this way.

	This is utter madness, Natalie's distraught mind screamed.  Nick, I'm
alive.  How could he believe she was near death?  LaCroix at least had to
hear the frantic beating of her heart, it's rhythmic pounding deafening
even to her.  Still she was unable to open her eyes completely, or turn her
head.  A silent sob died on paralyzed vocal chords but her throat convulsed
spasmodically.  Oh, Nick were you watching?  I swallowed, I moved.  I'm
still alive.  But he hadn't seen.  She saw Nick's figure blur and move away
out of her line of vision.  Oh Nick, please don't leave me. 

	"A wise decision.  There's even time for a burial if you wish."  For the
first time since he had entered Nicholas' self-styled cave of Trophonius,
LaCroix began to believe that he had again gained the upper hand.  He would
take Nicholas away from the pitiful shambles of this mortal illusion he had
created for himself and they would start anew.  In the past, grief had
often had a most salubrious effect on Nicholas' attitude towards his true
nature, compelling to him to escape his woes by pursuing the extraordinary
pleasures to be had as a vampire, at least for a little while.  But
LaCroix's premature thoughts of triumph died aborning as Nicholas finally
looked him straight in the eye.  Impossible, he was loosing him.  It was as
if after all these years, Nicholas had found the magic elixir to withstand
his master's control.  Worse, LaCroix finally understood what it was that
Nicholas intended to do.  The words of the poem Nicholas had whispered in
Natalie's ear, they had been from "To His Mistress" by John Wilmot, Earl of
Rochester.  LaCroix had always ridiculed Nicholas' admiration for what
LaCroix had callously dismissed as a minor work by a dilettante nobleman. 
Now it took on chilling meaning. 

	"Are you so enamored that you will overlook your love of life and you do
love it. Are you willing to trade one mistress for another," he sighed in
quiet frustration.  "Life is a gift.  I will  never understood the logic of
willfully surrendering such a treasure."  

	LaCroix regrouped and retrenched for a new attack.  That Nicholas
worshiped and revered life, especially mortal life, LaCroix knew well.  He
selected his next weapon with great care and let fly.  LaCroix spoke
eloquently of the mundane, sensual pleasures of life, mortal life.  He
carefully avoided the rare delights reserved only to their kind.  He
reminded Nicholas of how much he loved the smell of the sea on a starry
night, the taste of a ripe peach, the sparkle of a gilded jewel.  LaCroix
carefully avoided any references that would remind him of Natalie.  She was
sunlight sparkling on a clear mountain stream, the sweet bite of wild
strawberries, the clean heady fragrance of lilacs after a spring rain, the
precious jewel of laughter.

	LaCroix was a consummate performer and he could tell when he was losing
his audience.   Nicholas rose and walked to the mantel.  Natalie continued
to watch him mutely from under lowered lashes.  She felt somewhat more at
ease now that she could see him again.  He was reaching for something off
in the shadows, just outside the perimeter of the fire's glow.  It was a
staff made of wood, intricately carved with a twisting ridge which spiraled
the length of the staff and seemed to writhe like a living snake in the
flickering light.  She had never noticed this curio before.  True, Nick's
place was more like the storeroom of a museum where the more unusual and
rarer pieces were stored in between exhibitions.  Artifact jumbled against
artifact in fascinating disarray uncataloged and unordered by period or
style.  It was possible, she supposed, that she had never noticed it there
but she doubted it.  The appearance of the staff was ominous somehow. 
Ominous too was the subtle undercurrent of desperation that she heard
creeping into LaCroix's voice.  This was maddening, it was like walking
into the middle of a conversation that you weren't supposed to hear.

	"How dark can your existence be when compared to an eternal void?  Unless
of course you have faith that there is something beyond," LaCroix spat in
exasperation totally ignorant that he had made the final fatal error in his
choice of words.

	The simple word faith pierced through Nicholas' fog of grief.  The
incredible pain in his cold heart continued to swell and began to throb in
mimicry of a mortal heart beat.  Nicholas crossed back to sit nearer
Natalie holding the staff in front of him.  Without its support he would
most certainly collapse and there was still one last thing he had to do. 

	"LaCroix, do you have faith?" he asked quietly.

	"That's a strange question to ask at a time like this," LaCroix responded
his voice tight.

	When Nick finally spoke, he used the most beautiful heart-wrenching words
Natalie had ever hoped to hear from him.  He spoke to LaCroix about faith
and love.  He spoke about them, about how they felt about each other and
that he believed in her and her faith in their future together.  If she
could have cried, she would have.  A silent tear finally escaped and caught
for an instant on her eyelash before glistening down her cheek.  Nick had
finally won, they had won.  No wonder LaCroix was panicking, he was losing
Nick.  LaCroix had lost Nick to her.  But something was still so very
wrong.  Why did Nick's voice sound so hollow?  There was no triumph, no
joy.  It was the voice of a condemned man, resigned to his fate.

	"What do you see from where you stand?  A bright light at the end of a
tunnel?  Is it a ray of hope, a glimmer of something better?  Or will it
burn you like the rising sun?  Is that sound you're hearing the trumpeting
of St. Peter's horns or the screams of Memnoch's tortured souls?  You can't
answer that can you because you will never know the answer until after the
deed is done.  And is your faith really that strong?" LaCroix demanded
dreading the answer.  

	Nicholas had risen and come to face LaCroix.  LaCroix had often gazed into
the eyes of the mortally wounded.  He had spent his entire mortal life and
much of his immortal life on or near battlefields partly because of the
ready availability of hot young blood but mostly because he loved war. 
Over the centuries he'd had ample opportunity to stride through the
aftermath of battle surveying and reveling in the inevitable carnage. 
Dispatching the valiant fallen was an act of mercy.  As a general of the
Roman Empire it had been his duty, as a vampire it had been his pleasure. 
There was not to be any pleasure this time but it was still a duty and his
responsibility.  LaCroix felt the weight of the staff  Nicholas placed it
in his hands so firmly and with such fatalistic resolve.   

	A mute tear fell silently down Nicholas' cheek, it was oddly crystalline
clear.  LaCroix felt his throat tighten and a curious burning behind his
own eyes.  He had to look away from the pitiful site Nicholas presented, he
had to find his anger or he would drown in Nicholas' sickening bathos. 
Nicholas  reached out and firmly placed his hand on the staff, letting it
rest there briefly between LaCroix's own hands.  

	
	LaCroix looked away summoning all the bored disdain he could muster.

	"And so," he sighed with feigned detachment, "In your eyes I am the
devil."

	"No," Nicholas said softly, gently, "You, LaCroix, are my closest friend."

	Natalie knew now that Nick had decided that he would achieve mortality
this night the only way he knew how.  It was too fantastic,  LaCroix would
never aid Nick in this madness!  But there he was standing behind Nick, the
stake in his hands and that familiar forbidding expression on his face. 
Nick dropped gracefully to one knee at her side and took her right hand in
both of his. LaCroix gracefully  raised the staff over his head in one
quick, fluid motion.  It was a cruel parody of St. George and the Dragon,
Natalie thought frantically.  The dragon would win this time and it would
be St. George who would be impaled on the lance.

	"Damn you, Nicholas," LaCroix hissed poised for the coup de grace.

	"Damn you, Nick,"  Natalie silently echoed  LaCroix's curse.

	Perhaps it was because the All Mighty was suddenly feeling favorably
disposed to star-crossed lovers or perhaps it was because of Natalie's
indomitable spirit, but at last her eyes were wide open.   Her leaden
fingers twitched imperceptibly as they lay cradled in Nick's hands. 

	Just outside of the tableau vivant in a distant corner of the loft a
shadow within a shadow trembled in fascinated horror and waited in dread
anticipation for what would come.

	LaCroix saw only the vulnerable target before him as he concentrated all
of his considerable power.  In his experienced warrior's hands the staff
became a miserichord.  With one clean, swift thrust he would undo the
mistake he had made 800 years ago.  It was time to put an end once and for
all to Nicholas' infernal guilt.  It had poisoned Janette and driven her
away.  It had robbed LaCroix of so much pleasure and it was time it
stopped.  Time to send Nicholas to perdition and to free himself to be what
he was; to recover his own lust for life.  Many lifetimes ago he had
attended Nicholas' wedding to Alyssa.  This time, however, he, Lucien
LaCroix, would act as priest and officiate at the wedding.  "Do you,
Nicholas, take this lifeless, bloodless mortal?  And do you, dear, dead
Natalie, take this vampire?  ‘Til death do you become one."  It really was
too droll.   

	The downward arc of the stake began as the sun began it's ascending arc in
the east and there was no power on earth or in hell below that could stay
LaCroix's ancient hand.   

	Natalie knew she could not stop the inevitable descent of the staff  but
she could stop it from striking true.   She drew on a greater power that
seemed to come from somewhere outside of herself.  Clutching weakly at
Nick's hands with her own she pulled with what little force she had.  It
wasn't much but it was just enough.  Nick, still poised on one knee, never
anticipated her action and was pulled just slightly off balance.   The dull
tip of the staff pierced flesh, rent muscle, shattered bone but did not
touch his heart.  Warm blood spattered her face and for one agonizing
moment Natalie felt Nick's pain as acutely as if the stake had been plunged
into her own body.   Then it was as if an infernal spell had been suddenly
lifted and strength flooded back into her limbs.  She was free.  

	Nick lay where he had fallen at her side, his right arm draped across her
body.  The end of the stake had broken off about six inches from his back
while the tip of the staff protruded obscenely just below his sternum. 
Pain radiated from the wound and yet the agony of impalement was
insignificant when compared to the anguish of knowing that Nat was dying
alone.  She was dying with the belief that he had broken his promise to
her.  LaCroix had betrayed him yet again.
  
Nick struggled to rise, supporting his weight with his left forearm.  He
let his right hand trail slowly lingering lovingly across Nat's body as he
reluctantly pulled away from her side.  Natalie reached out feebly to hold
him back but Nick had already managed to rock himself onto his knees and
had turned to face LaCroix.  So intent was he that he never noticed Nat's
frantic efforts to restrain him.

	LaCroix watched impassively, his face its usual urbane, sardonic mask.  He
cocked his head slightly to the side and slowly raised one eyebrow in bland
amusement.  He glanced down at the splintered remains of the staff in his
hands, shrugged, and let the fragments drop from limp fingers.

	"Really, Nicholas, you never did learn the importance of keeping your
armaments in good repair.  One must wonder how you ever managed to live
through the crusades," he purred.

	"Why, LaCroix, why didn't you finish it.  What did you hope to gain?  My
everlasting gratitude?  My everlasting hatred?" Nicholas growled his voice
no more than a harsh whisper.

	"Oh I did try, Nicholas.  I really, truly did try.  But it seems fate is
determined to thwart  us both.  How like a woman fate is.  She taunts us,
teases us, torments us.,"  LaCroix commented while appearing to study an
offending speck on the sleeve of his impeccable jacket.   Nick tried to
rise to his feet but his legs refused to support his weight and he fell
heavily, groaning at the impact of stopping his fall.  Clutching at the
stake in his chest he glared at LaCroix with impotent rage.

	"Cherchez la femme, Nicholas," LaCroix spat through clenched teeth, eyes
glittering dangerously, "cherchez la femme."

	Natalie reached out hesitantly to Nick from behind laying her hand on his
arm and squeezing gently.  Nick looked down at her hand and slowly turned
his head to look at her over his shoulder.  He shook his head in dazed
disbelief and struggled to pull away from her but she refused to let him
go, pleading with her eyes.  She crawled up close behind him, wrapping her
arms around his waist and gently pulled him against her careful to avoid
jarring the end of the stake still protruding from his back.  Nick let out
a shaky sigh and leaned back ever so slightly into her embrace.  Nat held
him for several heartbeats and then gently let go as she moved around to
kneel in front of him.    Nick reached out with one hand to cup her face,
brushing  her disheveled hair away.  Nat shivered involuntarily at the
familiarity of the gesture and what it had presaged earlier.  Nick withdrew
his hand and turned away appalled by the revulsion he saw in her face and
ruddy stains on her pale cheek.

	"Oh, Nick, don't.  It's okay, I'm okay," she cried softly.

	She took his face in both of her hands and then without allowing herself
to think pressed her lips to his blood stained mouth.  She tasted the salty
metallic tang of their commingled blood and so much more; she could taste
herself in him.  She deepened the kiss wondering at the forbidden
sensations she was experiencing.   

	LaCroix rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and sighed heavily.  Then he
lashed out with the speed of a striking cobra seizing Natalie by the arm
pulling her up and away from Nicholas' grasp.  He pulled her close to him
so that her back was molded against his body.  One hand gripped her throat
like an iron vice while the other stroked her hair with studied negligence.

	"Your pretty little mortal is a sly puss, isn't she?  So very clever, so
very resourceful.  They say a cat has nine lives.  How many, I wonder, has
she gone through in the few short years she has been your special pet?  How
many has she left after this night's work?"

	LaCroix released the stranglehold he had on her throat and let her go with
a gentle shove towards Nicholas.  Natalie gasped gratefully for air and
stumbled slightly as she turned and warily  backed away from her captor. 
She noticed that the first rays of the early morning sun were beginning to
seep in through the blinds making long narrow tracks across the floor. 
Soon the timer would trigger the mechanism that would seal out the light
for the day, plunging the loft into artificial night.

	"You have lost a copious amount of blood, Nicholas, have you not?" 
LaCroix observed.    "You will lose even more when we extract that
bothersome splinter , I dare say.  How soon before your body's need for
blood becomes overpowering?  I'd hardly call that little love bite earlier
a sufficient draught for a vampire, especially not one who has deprived
himself for so very long.  What will you do when the healing process begins
and your need for sustenance becomes all consuming?  Excuse yourself
politely, go to the larder and surreptitiously pour yourself a goblet of
that vile swill you ingest in the place of real blood?  Or will you be
compelled at last to give into your true nature to ensure your survival? 
To take and savor the rare succulent morsel so tantalizing near at hand. 
And you do want more of her inviting sweetness, don't you?  One sip of
ambrosia could never suffice.  It is so much more than nourishment it is
Life itself."

	Natalie had never taken her eyes off of their tormentor and as a result
she backed into the arm of the sofa.  She gripped the leather covered arm
to recover her balance and noticed that the remote that controlled every
piece of electronic paraphernalia in Nick's loft, including the mechanized
louvers over the windows, lay enticingly within reach.

	"Tell me, Nicholas, have you changed your mind in regards to Dr. Lambert's
future?  LaCroix baited.

	"LaCroix, I'm warning you," Nicholas snarled threateningly flecks of gold
dancing in the blue of his eyes.

	"What, Nicholas?" LaCroix responded with feigned innocence.  "Are you
afraid that I will harm your precious Natalie?  That I might possibly hurt
her in some way?  What could I possibly do to her that you haven't already
done?" he taunted cruelly.

	Natalie inched her fingers along the arm of the couch until their tips
touched the control all the while never taking her eyes off of Nick and
LaCroix.  With excruciating care she eased the remote into her grasp,
expertly palming the device.  She had been told many times during her
residency that she had great hands, that she was wasting her talents
choosing to pursue the specialty that she did.  Yes, they had said, with
hands like hers she could have been a brilliant surgeon or a master thief. 
She had assured them even back then that nothing is ever wasted. 
She stealthily slipped the control into the pocket of her sweater.  Neither
vampire had noticed,  so engrossed were they in their battle of wills.  It
seemed now, however, that there was a winner.  Nick dropped his eyes and
bowed his head conceding defeat.

	"He's right, Nat.  Get out of here, please.  I can't follow you into the
light but neither can he," Nick whispered his voice raw.

	Natalie nervously fingered the remote in her pocket appreciating it's
reassuring weight.  She drew courage from her pilfered talisman and hoped
that the batteries were as strong as her faith.

	"Listen to me, both of you," she declared hoping her voice wasn't quaking
as violently as her weak knees.  "First let me assure you that I've checked
the ‘menu' for the day and I am decidedly not on it.  Secondly I don't
appreciate being mauled," she pointedly told LaCroix, "and thirdly I do not
appreciate being ordered about.  I am staying right here." she said firmly
as she walked back to Nick and crouched down next to him.

	"Nat, you..." Nick tried to reason.

	" ‘Can't know what you're asking' or ‘ Nat, don't talk like that,' " she
mimicked.  "No, Nick, I told you once before, I'm a big girl.  I may have
been wrong about a lot of things but nothing that's happened tonight has
convinced me that I'm wrong about you," her voice softening slightly. 
"Right now I want to take care of removing this; what was that witty
euphemism you used earlier, LaCroix; ah, yes, splinter."  

	LaCroix's lips threatened to betray a smug smirk but he controlled the
impulse.  A soft clicking followed by the hum of a distant motor signaled
that the louvers were beginning to close.

	"Oh well, just do remember, my dear, that I did try to warn you.  I fear
that you will come to regret your decision when you have had the
opportunity to reevaluate your position.  You may find that the odds are
even less to your advantage than you initially thought," he confided
conspiratorially.

	The brave retort she planned to deliver died on her lips as she noticed
the slight change in LaCroix's stance.  He heard something.  Something
emanating apparently from the far corner of the room.  The loft was 
plunged back into darkness as the louvers closed with a sharp, definitive
click.  There was something else in the loft with them, she realized with
dawning horror.
       
	Her eyes anxiously scanned the gloom.  There it was, in the corner;  a
shadow with a heart of total darkness.  Calling it merely dark wasn't
accurate: it wasn't just dark it actually swallowed the light.  The shadow
within a shadow then seemed to come to life as it undulated and shivered. 
It  began to undergo some sort of bizarre metaphysical mitosis as a part of
its dark nucleus broke off and became a separate, independent entity.  The
now corporeal darkness shifted and glided noiselessly until it was directly
behind LaCroix.  An arm like appendage resolved itself out of the whole and
slim fingers seemed to grow from the end.  

	 "Do join us, my dear," LaCroix addressed the apparition now standing at
his side.  "She has always had the most incredible sense of timing, has she
not, Nicholas.  And such a way of making an entrance.  Come, come Nicholas
surely you were not entirely unaware that another of our kind has been
present this whole time.  Do say ‘bon soir' to your sister or should that 
now be  daughter?"

Endless Forever Knight - Part 5 of 7

Tout Ensemble - continued

A delicate hand wearing a long tight black leather glove reached up and
gracefully swept the hood back from an equally black cape exposing a
perfect oval face with a cunningly pointed chin and luminous sapphire eyes
all framed bewitchingly with a cloud of black curls the color of a raven's
wings.  Natalie gasped in amazement as she beheld the dead now made undead.
 Janette pursed her inviting ruby lips into a charming moue of annoyance.

 	"LaCroix, how could you tell it was me.  I had hoped to surprise you,"
she pouted prettily.

	"I sensed the presence of another as soon as I arrived, mon petite, and
surmised that you would be the most likely to be in attendance.  What
actually gave you away, however, was that distinctive scent that you always
wear: the Greeks called it megaleion after it's creator Megallus.  A most
intriguing blend of myrrh, cinnamon and cassis.   It was I who first had it
recreated for you at that little perfumery in Paris, just before the
Revolution.  It has been your signature scent ever since," he informed her
with no little self satisfaction.  "But what truly amazes me is that
Nicholas did not sense the presence of his protegee'.  How is it that you,
Nicholas, did not realize that our Janette was with us?  But there you
see," he gestured at Nicholas for Janette's benefit, "Our Nicholas is truly
surprised to see you here.

	"Ah, but perhaps it is the awkwardness of the occasion.  And the situation
does border on pure farce, does it not?  How maladroit you have become,
Nicholas, to allow such a rendezvous between your two mistresses.  On one
hand we have the mistress who caters to your mortal fantasies and on the
other we have the mistress who sates your darker desires.  And do tell me,
dear Nicholas, how will you explain to them your unwillingness to grant one
the very same gift that you forced on the other?"  LaCroix chuckled
silently.

	Natalie was numb.  Nick had led her to believe that Janette had died that
night in a hail of bullets.  He had told her that Janette had begged not to
be brought back across and that he had honored her request. Nick reached
out covering Nat's hand with his own and was relieved when she did not pull
away from him.  He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay conscious but
there was something he had to know, something Nat deserved to know. 
"LaCroix, what game is this?  You know very well, that it was you and not I
who brought Janette back across."

	"But this is too fantastic, do you mean to tell me that all this time you
both have been thinking that it was the other who gave me back my eternal
existence?  Listen to me both of you, I am my own mistress now, I have no
master.  I am here because I did not choose to die." Janette declared with
quiet assurance as she removed her cape with a flourish to reveal a black
satin gown made more elegant by it's simplicity.  The skirt was lightly
gathered and the tight bodice displayed her tiny waist and expanse of snowy
white shoulders to great advantage.  About her throat was a magnificent
garnet choker, matching garnet drops adorned each ear.  She began to strip
the long tight leather gloves off of her hands with sensuous grace.

	"But that isn't possible," Natalie sputtered.  "Is it?" she added with
less conviction looking from one vampire to another.
 
	"But of course it is," Janette replied as she finished removing her last
glove carelessly tossing it aside.  "How else could I possibly be here?"

	"Quos deus vult perdere prius dementat," LaCroix chuckled deep in his
throat.  "Those whom the gods would destroy, they first drive mad."  

	  "And now, Natalie, I may call you Natalie, may I not,  believe you might
be in need of some assistance?"  Janette addressed Natalie as she knelt
daintily in front of Nicholas reaching out and tenderly stroking his face.

	"You certainly have never lost your taste for tragedy, have you, mon
amour?" she crooned as she continued to caress his cheek.  "You really
should return to the theater, you have such a flair for high drama.  I must
allow, the little scene I witnessed was most affecting.  La, I have not
been so moved in a long time.  I could not help thinking that even dear
Will could not have done better.  And to think that I once berated him so
grievously over ‘Romeo and Juliet'.  I told him that no one would believe
those absurd adolescents and their frantic avowals of undying love.  And
all those dead bodies littering the stage at the end," she recalled with a
tiny shudder of distaste. " ‘It is all too absurd, mon cher,' I told him, "
‘No one ever really dies for love.'  After all what could anyone who has
not even lived one lifetime ever know of true passion?"


	"As much as I hate to interrupt this charming reunion..." Natalie stated
glancing pointedly towards Nick. 

	"But of course, I am tout a vous, wholly yours.  What do you wish me to
do?"

	" First, I need you to help me gather what blood Nick has hoarded on the
premises.  And don't say that there isn't any, Nick," she said in
anticipation of his expected denial.  "Then we get down to the hard part. 
The wood in that staff was old and brittle, I don't want to risk breaking
it off  inside of him.  I will need you to do exactly what I tell you when
I tell you.  Understood?  And you, LaCroix, just...just stay out of my
way," she ordered in tone that brooked no argument.  LaCroix threw up both
hands in a perfect imitation of one whose honor had been seriously
affronted and backed up a few symbolic steps.

	Natalie rose stiffly and carefully edged her way around LaCroix heading
for the kitchen. She glanced back giving  Nick  her best ‘I've got
everything under control' expression.  The sickly smile Nick attempted in
return was ghastly, but gave her the courage to go on.
  
	LaCroix had been right, she didn't like the new odds.  She had let herself
be trapped in a confined area with three vampires, two of whom had ample
reason to dislike, no make that hate, her and another who was critically
wounded.  She once again felt for the remote control safely secreted in her
pocket.  She knew she had the means to flood the entire first floor of the
loft with sunlight if she had to, but that was assuming she would have the
precious minutes needed before the louvers opened.  What she needed was a
little insurance, something to keep the vampires at bay.  And there it was,
the plain unadorned box holding St. Joan's cross  invitingly within reach
on the dining room table.  She would just have to find an excuse to get to
it.  One more weapon to add to her arsenal.  It was time that she took back
some control over the situation, assuming she didn't faint first.

	She did not have to pretend to feel unwell as she passed by the table in
the area that in most domiciles would have served as the dining area and
stopped abruptly tottering slightly.  Natalie grasped onto one of the
chairs and passed a shaking hand across her clammy forehead.  Janette
reached out a cool, dry, frighteningly strong, hand under Natalie's elbow
in a polite show of solicitousness.  

	"Are you going to be all right, Natalie?" she inquired gently.

	"Yeah, sure, I'll be fine.  I just got up too quickly, that's all.  It
will pass," she said holding onto the back of  the chair steadying herself
with deep cleansing breaths."

	"Yes, it will," Janette told her seriously, knowingly.

	Natalie started at Janette and it was Janette who looked away first. "I
will fetch the necessary supplies, Doctor.  I'm sure you will agree that
there has been enough blood spilled already, no?"  

	As soon as Janette had her back turned towards her, Natalie snatched the
box. 

	"You know, Janette, what I'd really like to know is where were you when
LaCroix was plunging that stake into Nick?" Natalie queried nervously in
hopes of creating a plausible diversion while her agile fingers extracted
the cross and deposited it along with the remote control almost
noiselessly.  Janette, with her back still towards Natalie, smiled secretly
to herself as she began removing the familiar green bottles from the
refrigerator.  

	"Why just over there," Janette responded casually her arms laden with
bottles.

	"I know that," Natalie replied with exaggerated patience, carefully
enunciating each word. "What I want to know is why, in God's name, didn't
you try to stop him?" 

	"Language, Doctor Lambert, language," Janette shuddered with more than
just a little conviction as she neatly closed the refrigerator door with
the tip of her shoe.  "There are those of us who can not bandy about the
name of the All Mighty so lightly.  I did not try to stop LaCroix simply
because I never believed he would do it."

	Natalie saw the plain truth in those fathomless eyes.  She nodded her head
slightly in assent.  This time it was Natalie's turn to look away first.

	By the time they returned, LaCroix had lit the candles in the candelabrum
and moved it from the piano holding in aloft over Nicholas.  Janette
carefully deposited the bottles near the couch and followed Natalie to in
front on the hearth where Nicholas had finally collapsed.  Natalie observed
with consternation that Nick's eyes were beginning to turn gold and his
canines were visibly distended; he was beginning to go into what amounted
to shock for a vampire.  She would need to work fast.

	"Nick, listen to me very carefully," she said slowly, forcing him to look
her directly in the eyes.  "I need for you to work with me.  Do you
understand?"

	"I know better than to argue with my doctor," he quipped weakly.

	Natalie wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry so instead she continued to
give orders, "Do you feel strong enough to get back up on your knees? 
We're going to take that wretched stake out, Nick, and you have to hold
perfectly still while we're doing it."  Nick nodded.  "LaCroix, I need you
to help keep Nick upright."  LaCroix pursed his lips, shrugged, placed the
candelabrum on the nearest end table, and then obeyed her instructions
without a single argument or snide comment.  "All right, Janette, I need
you to be in front of Nick.  I intend to extract the stake from the back
but  I don't want to exert too much force.  What I propose is that you,
Janette,  push on the end protruding there in his chest while I pull from
the back.  It is imperative that we do this at exactly the same time."

	"But of course.  I understand."
      	
	As a coroner, Natalie had ample experience with all that was attendant
upon murder, mayhem and mutilation.  In other words, she had always
believed she had seen it all.  But this time it was Nick's body that had
been so cruelly violated.  The removal of the occasional errant bullet
could never compare to this.  As a doctor, she was unfortunately aware of
the exact extent of the damage done.  And even though this patient wasn't
exactly alive in the strictest sense of the word, he certainly was more
alive than her usual clientele.  Don't think, just do, she warned herself. 
She could not afford to spare either Nick or herself the comfort of a last
tender embrace and hoped that Nick would understand.  If she gave into
emotion now, she'd never be able to do what needed to be done.  Glancing
nervously at both of her ‘assistants' Natalie positioned herself behind
Nick and broadened her stance wiping sweaty palms on her blood stained
skirt.  She gripped the stake with both hands bracing herself.  "Nick, can
you hear me?" she asked quietly, her concentration already focusing on the
task.  She saw his golden head nod slightly. "All right, Janette, on the
count of three ," she said grimly tightening her grasp.  "One, two, three!"

	Natalie wasn't sure which was the absolute worst moment but she was
certain that she'd relive the entire experience in her every nightmare for
the rest of her life.  The stake had shifted easily enough at first but at
the last, the twisted shaft had caught and held before at last clearing the
barrier of Nick's shattered rib cage.  Natalie stumbled back with the
momentum gripping the gory prize.  Now she could only hope there would be
enough blood to begin the healing process.  LaCroix was supporting a,
miraculously, still conscious Nick as Janette handed him the first open
bottle.  Nick grabbed at the bottle weakly and gulped hungrily as Janette
steadied his grip on the slippery glass surface.  The contents of the
bottle disappeared almost immediately and Janette obligingly had a second
bottle ready.  Natalie decided it was wisest to let Janette and LaCroix
handle what they obviously knew best and began to examine the stake to
reassure herself that no fragments had splintered off during the
extraction.

	What she saw made her stomach lurch and her head swim but at least there
was no sign of any breakage.  Blood and gore was everywhere; she was
literally covered with it.  She raised one grisly hand in front of her face
with shuddering fascination and was overcome with the most horrifying urge
to taste the blood, to lick it lingeringly off each finger.  A wave of
violent revulsion followed closely by nausea washed over her and she
hurriedly cast the remains of the staff into the dwindling flames in the
fireplace.

	"Congratulations, Doctor," LaCroix breathed into her ear causing Natalie
to start violently, "It appears the procedure was a complete success and
your patient will recover.  May I say that my admiration for your medical
skills is only exceeded by your remarkable sang-froid?"

	"Ah, well," she fumbled nervously, "thank you, I think.  Coming from you,
LaCroix, that is high praise indeed.  But I hope you won't take undue
offense if I say that I'd just as soon you admired my ‘sang-froid' just a
bit further away?"

	"But of course," LaCroix replied smoothly.  "I understand completely,"  he
inclined his head slightly while a smile played about his lips. 

	"LaCroix!" Janette summoned her voice bristling with annoyance.  "I
believe your assistance is required."

	"I told you, Janette, I won't do it.  Nat?  Where is she, Janette? 
Natalie?" Nick demanded querulously.

	The sound of her name on his lips, Natalie decided, was undoubtedly the
sweetest sound she could imagine this side of heaven or hell.  Natalie
ducked away from LaCroix and hurried to where Nick was now actively
struggling against Janette's tender ministrations.

	"Nicholas, you have been through a ‘mauvais quart d'heure', this is most
necessary for your complete recovery.  Tell, him, LaCroix.  Even you, Dr.
Lambert, must agree that a transfusion of the proper blood type is often
required after an injury," Janette appealed peevishly.

	"Yes, Nicholas, as Janette so whimsically put it, you have had a brief but
most uncomfortable experience.  You have nearly exhausted your limited
supply of bovine slop.  If you won't think of your own welfare, at least
consider Natalie's pretty neck, hmm?"  LaCroix reasoned smoothly.  "A
prescription pro re nata," he added glancing meaningfully at Nat.

	"But Nick has managed just fine before.  I mean,  that time he was shot in
the head, all he got was that transfusion that I smuggled into the
emergency room and he healed just fine," Natalie argued.

	"You are quite mistaken, Natalie.  I don't think you realize just how busy
I was that night.  Not only did I persuade the attending physician that our
Nicholas had merely suffered a relatively minor wound, but I later paid
Nicholas a visit and gave him a little something to ensure the healing
process would be completed rapidly without causing further undue
attention."

	Natalie looked frantically from LaCroix to Nick and back again trying to
decide which side to take.  It really wasn't a difficult decision to make,
not really.  All that mattered was that somehow she and Nick survive this
nightmare.

	    "So, we're still feeling just a wee bit self-destructive, are we? 
Nick, I don't like it either, but if it comes down to your survival you
will do it," Natalie stated trying to keep her voice level.

	"But it doesn't come down to my survival, Nat.   I am healing," Nick
reassured her lifting his sweater so that she could examine the wound
itself.  He was right, Natalie marveled as she wiped away the drying blood
with the tattered ends of his once beautiful cashmere turtleneck sweater. 
The exit wound in his chest had stopped bleeding and was beginning to
close.  While the entry wound in his back was a different matter there were
signs of healing there as well.  More astounding still was Nick himself. 
There were no telltale flecks of gold in his eyes and he was completely in
control of the hunger, if indeed there was any hunger to be controlled at
the moment.  Nick stilled her probing hands with one of his own lifting her
fingers to his lips before placing her hands over his heart, just above the
wound.  "I made a promise to you, Nat.  When I thought I'd lost you I was
determined to follow you into death.  I'm equally determined to follow you
now," he told her as he tipped her chin up with his other hand.  "No more
running away, Nat.  And no more quick fixes, LaCroix," he added addressing
LaCroix over her shoulder.   

	"Oh, how very touching, Nicholas," LaCroix drawled offensively as he
casually nudged one of the empty bottles with the tip of his shoe. "The
power of true love is most astounding is it not, my dear Janette," he added
as he reached out a hand to assist Janette to rise.  "Ah, I fear your
lovely gown is quiet ruined, mon cher.  You always were so very hard on
your frocks," he murmured sympathetically as Janette brushed ineffectually
at the stains and wrinkles in her dress.  She shrugged casually with an air
of unconcern.
	
	"And now, dear children, the preceding events have fatigued me most
exceedingly," he stated stifling a theatrical yawn.  "I intend to retire as
you also must consider doing as well, Nicholas.  No matter what else you
may say you will be forced to sleep rather sooner than later."

	Natalie couldn't help but notice that Nick's eyes, while still blessedly
clear blue, were beginning to roll up into his head and that he was relying
heavily on her to support his weight.  Once he succumbed he would sleep
like the dead, literally, until sunset.  "LaCroix, is right, Nat, I must
rest.  I'll stay here, with Nat," he told LaCroix. " Feel free to avail
yourself of the bed upstairs," Nick gestured weakly towards the stairs.

	"I don't know if that's such a great idea,  Nick.  Wouldn't you be more
comfortable in your own bed than here on the floor?" Natalie asked
dubiously.

	"No, I think it would be best.  I think you'd be more comfortable down
here, as well," he replied knowingly placing his hand on her hip, patting
the slight bulge of the pocket that contained her hidden arsenal.

	"Ever the obliging host," LaCroix commented over his shoulder as he paused
halfway up the stairs.  "Janette, would you care to join me?  I'm sure the
accommodations will prove commodious enough to serve us both."

	"Actually, I am not at all weary.  I fear it promises to be a nuit blanche
for me.  You go along," she waved as she watched Natalie ease Nicholas'
visibly sagging form gently to the floor.

	"Very well, my dear," he called back over his shoulder before pausing and
leaning over the banister.  "But we will talk later.  Yes, indeed, we will
talk in great length later.  I insist upon it."

	Janette shrugged her comely shoulders and began to busy herself 
collecting the empty bottles lying on the floor, depositing them somewhat
haphazardly on the dining room  table in an incongruous display of
domesticity.  Natalie rose stiffly, her knees creaking in a most humanly
unattractive way and followed her curiously.  As she reached the foot of
the stairs several bulky projectiles came sailing by her, almost clipping
her nose.

	"To make your day a bit more comfortable," LaCroix's voice floated down
from the railing on the second floor before he turned smartly, strode into
Nicholas' bedroom and shut the door with a sharp crack.

	Natalie stooped, recovering two pillows and a blanket.  She carried the
bedding back to where Nick lay in a deep sleep: the sleep of the undead. 
She carefully lifted his head and slid one of the pillows gently under him.
 She then covered his body with the blanket.  She knew it was a silly,
useless gesture.  Nick wouldn't feel the cold but it made her feel better. 
Besides the blanket would be his only means of shelter if she were forced
to defend herself by opening the blinds.  She heard the rustling of satin
as Janette came back to the living room carrying two goblets; one
containing a familiar crimson fluid and the other equally thick but milky
white.  Janette placed both glasses on the end table between the large
overstuffed armchair and the couch before settling herself comfortably into
the leather chair arranging her skirt elegantly.  She smiled at Natalie
invitingly.  

	"Come, Natalie, come and sit down here with me.  Nicolas will sleep until
the sun sets and I know there are so many questions you wish to ask me. 
Besides, you must take some nourishment after your ordeal.  Believe me when
I tell you that I do have some little experience in the matter. 
Unfortunately the only thing I was able to find that looked fit for ‘human
consumption'", she said with a noticeable twinkle in her eye, "was a
pitcher of this thick, milky substance.  I assume this is one of those
ghastly concoctions you have been brewing for poor Nicolas.  I also assume
that judging by the pitiful lack of food in the refrigerator or pantry that
you have not been spending much time here in the recent past?" she asked
ingenuously.

	Natalie gave Nick's golden head one brief caress.  No matter how much
backsliding he had been doing over the last several months he was at least
still trying she thought as she got back to her feet and crossed over to
the couch dropping gratefully into it's soft depths.  She reached over
wearily and picked up the goblet with the protein shake and gestured a
toast towards Janette.  

	"So, tell me, Janette, when did you start playing detective?  Let's just
say that our relationship has been under a lot of strain lately," Natalie
admitted as she held her nose, figuratively, and got a taste of her own
medicine.  She suppressed a shudder and reflected that Nick was absolutely
right, these protein things tasted terrible.  Still she needed nourishment
and fluids especially so she drained the glass and set it back down on the
end table with a definitive clink while Janette watched her bemusedly over
the rim of her own glass as she sipped daintily.  Natalie curled her legs
up under her and leaned her head back against the back of the sofa and
watched Janette as she obviously enjoyed her repast.  "Well, I must say,
Janette, I never thought I'd see the day when you would  condescend to
drink Nick's ‘house special' and with such relish," Natalie chuckled.

	"Ah, but no," Janette replied, her laughter like silver bells, "I know our
Nicolas far too well.  I would never visit him unprepared.  But come,
Natalie, the time has come for you to ask your questions."

	"Okay, you're right," Natalie freely admitted.  "I don't even know where
to begin.  I mean I examined you myself.  You had reverted back to being
human, I know you had.  You had a normal temperature, a normal pulse,
normal blood pressure.  How did you come back?  Why did you come back?"

	"Why did I come back from the dead or why did I come back here to
Nicolas?" Janette asked.

	"Whichever.  I feel certain that the answer will be the same in either
case," Natalie told her honestly.

	Janette studied Natalie intently then nodded her head slightly.

	"First, let me begin by saying that I probably owe you an apology but you
will not be getting one.  It simply isn't in my nature.  I do feel that I
owe you an explanation, however, and that I will give to you. Perhaps I
should start at the beginning.  When you last saw me I was still trying to
deal with Robert's death.  How, I kept asking myself, had it all happened? 
Why hadn't I been able to bring Robert across  and why was I crossing back
to mortality now that the only reason for becoming human was gone.  I
didn't understand any of it.  You say I had all the vital signs of a normal
mortal yet, during that brief interlude I had never dared the sun, and
never consumed any food?  At the time I didn't think about it.  My grief
was too recent, my fear for my son, Robert's son, all too keen," Janette
shook her head her gaze focused on the past.  "That night at Patrick's
aunt's house as I felt the bullets rip into my flesh and  the heat of the
flames so threateningly near something dark reawakened deep within me.  It
was an overwhelming hatred and need for revenge.  It was a resurrection of
the blood lust, Natalie.  I never wanted to be mortal.  All I ever wanted
was to be with Robert.  I did love him, you know."

	"So, what you're saying is that you regained your immortality again, 
became a vampire again, simply because you wanted to?" Natalie stammered
incredulously.

	Janette looked at Natalie and began to laugh but without humor.  "Dear
Natalie, you sound just like that night Nicolas brought me into the morgue
for you to tend my wounds.  I'll never forget your expression, the tone of
your voice when I told you how I had seemingly become mortal again. ‘Do you
mean to tell me that all it took was love and a little restraint?' you
sputtered.  It took you a little while, but you were able to accept that it
was so.  Why is this so much more incredible?  Besides, I know for a fact
that you have had at least one previous experience with another vampire who
was able to function as a mortal simply because her mind could not accept
the truth of what she truly was.

	"But only consider, Natalie, you are a doctor," Janette said leaning over
earnestly. " There was never time for you to examine me thoroughly. 
Perhaps the change had not truly occurred at all,  perhaps my so called
metamorphosis was incomplete,  perhaps I was simply a woman overcome with
grief for the first time in my almost 1,000 years of existence.  Perhaps
the mysterious barrier  that separates vampire from mortal isn't such a
chasm but is instead a fine line.  All I can tell you is that I am as I
once was and hope to remain.  Let me tell you it was a most unpleasant
experience waking up on a metal slab in your morgue.  How do you manage to
spend night after night there," she shuddered reminiscently as she rose,
picked up both glasses, and headed once again to the kitchen.

	"That's another thing I want to ask," Natalie said craning her head over
the back of the couch as Janette refilled both goblets and carried them
back.  "How did you manage to get out of the morgue.  I saw all the
paperwork myself.  I just always assumed that somehow  LaCroix had passed
himself off as the next of kin and managed to get your body released to
him."

	Janette again set both glasses down on the table between them, gracefully
resuming her seat.  She gestured for Natalie to drink and then waited
patiently until Natalie had choked down the contents of her glass before
taking up her own goblet and  her narrative again.

	"Actually, that was quite simple.  I was most fortunate that it was not
your night on duty or I probably would have been chopped up like pate and
under the microscope tout de suite, no?  As it was, an obliging attendant
provided me with the means to cover my unorthodox exit as well as a light
refreshment until I could truly sate my hunger and my rage on a much more
satisfying repast."

	"But how did you manage not to kill that attendant?  No one even reported
any incidents of illness or undue fatigue that night?"

	"Ah, that.  Natalie, the only vampire you have ever known, shall we say
almost intimately, is Nicolas.  There is so much you do not know about what
it is truly like to be a vampire.  For us playing with one's food is not a
lapse of etiquette but rather  a subtle skill that must be cultivated and
refined; it intensifies the pleasure of the experience exceedingly," she
confided licking her lips with a delicate pink tongue suggestively.

	"Yes, well, there is that," Natalie commented nervously.

	"And now let us address the question you have not yet asked because it is
the most painful of all to us both.  You want to know why I came back to
here to Nicolas.  Believe it or not the answer to that is even more complex
than the one of my reversion to my true nature.  You have always known that
Nicolas and I have been lovers ever since LaCroix and I chose him to join
our existence.  But you are not so naive as to believe that to be lovers
necessitates being in love.  Nicolas and I enjoyed an overwhelming passion
for many centuries.  I could not get enough of his sweetness and he,"
Janette paused, searching for the right words, "he needed me in the dark 
world he found so completely  alien.  Eventually, however, I began to feel
most stifled by his need, his ridiculous notion that what he felt for me
was love and that love could be eternal.  In short I became bored and I
left. 

	"I was always certain that Nicolas would eventually forgive me my
defection and welcome me back into his world.   When at last I was desirous
of resuming our previous relationship it was really quite simple finding
him.  I chose a North American location because Nicolas had shown a marked
preference for this part of the new world.  I had, in fact, learned that
his last several incarnations had been in large metropolitan areas just
south of the border.  Each new identity seemed to bring him further north. 
It was not a surprising choice for a vampire, really.  The cold bothers us
not at all and the nights are so delightfully long.

	"Now the Raven was actually LaCroix's suggestion but it suited my purposes
beautifully.  I'd always wanted to be the proprietress of my own
establishment.  I  envisioned creating a safe haven for the lost children
of the night.  And like all the other strays, I knew Nicolas would
eventually be drawn there as well.  No matter how badly he wanted to be
mortal, no matter how hard he tried to deny LaCroix,  he would always need
the companionship of his own kind.  I was there to provide him with
everything he needed.  And LaCroix would be able to watch over him without
having to be too close."

	"Well it seems like you and LaCroix had things pretty much under control,"
Natalie interjected.  "What happened to your perfect little plan?"

	"What happened?" Janette said casting her eyes to the sky light and
sighing.  "Why you happened, Natalie.  I was used to Nicolas' little
infatuations with mortal women and I did not think it would be any
different this time.  But," she said emphatically, "I was wrong.  It was
different because you were different.  There is an old saying, Natalie: ‘In
vino veritas'.  But that is not right.  It should be ‘In sanguis veritas'. 
And the truth was there in his blood, he could not hide it from me. 
Finally he could not hide it from himself. "

	"I can't believe it was simple jealousy that drove you away.  That made
you give up your life here.  I mean, you even walked away from the Raven,"
Natalie said shaking her head in disbelief.
. 
	"There was nothing simple about it, I assure you," Janette told Natalie. 
"I must allow, I did not understand it myself.  I did not want to
understand it and I felt a great need to put as much distance between
Nicolas and myself as possible.  I was very much afraid for the first time
since I had embraced immortality.  I was afraid because I finally
understood what Nicolas wanted and I began to wonder if I didn't want it
too."

	"And, so, the greatest irony.  In running from Nick, you ran right into
Robert.  It was love you were running away from, wasn't it, Janette?"

	"My Robert was a revelation, a great truth.  Before Robert I had never
truly loved another.  Oh I had desired, but never loved.  Since that
terrible night that I lost him I have come to realize that while Robert was
my first love, he would not be my last."

	"And now you want Nick, don't you," Natalie stated simply.

	"I can't begin to describe how I felt when I first saw Nicolas again after
Robert died.  How very painful it was to see the love that should have been
mine given to another with such intensity, such devotion.  Even my new
found humanity held no allure for Nicolas," she reminisced as she again
collected both goblets and retreated to the kitchen.  "And so, as you must
surely see, it was easy to continue finding  reasons for not returning
after my reawakening.   For one thing,  I wanted to be sure that Patrick's
needs were taken care of.  Even if I could no longer be in his life I
wanted to be sure that he would never want for anything.  Then word of
Divia's resurrection reached me and I dared not return until I was certain
that she had been destroyed," Janette continued as she once again handed a
newly refilled glass to Natalie.  "Don't worry, Natalie, that is the last
of it, I promise," Janette sympathized in response to Natalie's grimace of
distaste.

	"So why now, Janette?  Why did you finally come back?"

	"Please do not laugh, but you might say that I had a ‘crise de
conscience'.  There were so many things I'd purposely left unsaid about my
time with Robert and more importantly so many details on how he and I had
been able to consummate our love.  When I realized that Nicolas would never
be mine as long as you still lived, I did my best to ensure that you and he
would eventually try to achieve what Robert and I had and that you would
fail.  There were only two possible flaws in my scheme.  One was the fact
that Nicolas treasures your soul as much as the one he lost, perhaps more
so.   But, I reasoned, Natalie is a most persuasive woman.  I knew you
would eventually succeed.  And on that score I was right, no?"

	"And the other flaw?" Natalie asked choking slightly.

	"The other flaw was my Waterloo.  I found, that in spite of everything, I
like you,  Natalie Lambert.  I have always thought of myself as a strong
woman, a resourceful woman; a survivor.  It is only natural, therefore,
that I would admire those same traits in others.  And I can not deny the
irrefutable truth that you and I will always be bonded together by our love
of Nicolas."

	"So what you're saying is, that you won't take my life but you do plan on
taking Nick?" Natalie said dazedly wishing she could just wake up in her
own bed far away from this nightmare that had no ending.

	"Tout au contraire, Natalie," Janette said looking down at Natalie with
compassion, "in fact I wish you much joy in him.  But, you must never
forget that Nicolas was mine long before he was yours and he will be mine
again when you succumb to the inevitable fate shared by every mortal.  You
see, when one has all eternity, one can afford to be patient.  And now come
with me," Janette invited holding out her hands to Natalie helping her to
rise, "As I told you earlier, I will not be giving you the apology you most
assuredly deserve, but I do have a peace offering that I think you will
find most acceptable." Too numb to argue,  Natalie allowed herself to be
led by Janette to just behind the couch where an innocuous canvas carryall
sat.  Janette picked up the bag and handed it to Natalie with solemn
ceremony gesturing for her take it.  Natalie hugged the carryall close to
her body and went back to the other side of the couch so that she could sit
down before she fell down.  Inside the bag was a badly stained, but judging
by the designer label, very expensive denim jacket.  Natalie removed the
jacket wrinkling her nose and looked inquiringly at Janette.

	"You do not recognize it do you?" Janette stated as she remained standing
behind the couch watching over Natalie's shoulder.  "That is the jacket I
was wearing the night I was shot.  The blood on it is old but with all the
sophisticated technology available to you it may still yield information on
what indeed happened to me.  There are also several vials containing some
specimens, somewhat more recent, of my blood to compare to the stains on
the jacket.  I regret that I can not provide you with, how do you say, a
control, a sample of my blood prior to my brush with mortality, for your
experiments but this is the best I could do."

	Natalie stared incredulously at the rare unexpected treasure, her mind
already reeling with the implications, the possibilities.  "Why are you
doing this Janette?  You may have just given me the clues for finding the
cure."

	"It could also be the means of finally putting an end to Nicolas'
incessant search for what he can never have.  I choose to believe in the
latter rather than the former," Janette replied honestly.  

	Natalie continued to stare at the contents of the carryall too shocked to
speak.  She heard Janette's voice coming from the kitchen and idly wondered
what it was she was doing now.  "You may find that you will experience
intense nightmares as well as uncomfortable flashes, visions of things that
are not there.  They will be quite disturbing at first.  You must allow
Nicolas to help you deal with them for they will be his memories you will
be experiencing," Janette advised as she returned carrying a bottle and two
clean glasses.

	"And now, Natalie, I will leave you to your thoughts.  I don't think I
need to tell you that LaCroix knows nothing of my little gift and I would
like to keep it that way."

	"LaCroix seems uncharacteristically disinterested in your astounding
reversion to vampirism," Natalie remarked as she carefully repacked the
carryall.

	Janette laughed with genuine amusement.  "Ah, do not be deceived, Natalie.
 He is beside himself with frustrated curiosity.  LaCroix is ever the
general, always he must be in control. I will tell you what he is doing,
he's lying there furiously plotting his stratagem.  How very disappointing
it must be for him now that he is no longer my master.  I will take him a
little peace offering and sooth his ruffled ego," she winked
conspiratorially as she started up the steps.

	Natalie sprang to her feet and hurried to the foot of the stairs. 
"Janette, please wait," she called as she steadied herself against the
railing until the room decided to stop spinning and the floor was again
firmly under her feet where it belonged.  "You must tell me.  When you and
Robert...that is to say the first time you and Robert..."

	"What you want to know is was our first time together anything like what
happened between you and Nicolas, here, tonight?" she asked hesitantly as
she turned back to face Natalie.  She seemed to consider the question then
gave a Gallic shrug.   "I can tell you that it was not entirely dissimilar
in all particulars  save one.  Never, ever did I allow Robert to taste of
my blood.  You are either a very brave woman, Natalie Lambert, or a very
foolish one.  Be very careful.  Be very, very careful.  Never doubt that it
is a dangerous choice you have made in loving a creature like Nicolas. 
Taking his blood..." Janette shook her head.  "You dance on the point of
the sword.  If you falter it is more than just your own life that is
forfeit.  It is your soul and whatever is left of Nicolas' as well."

	Natalie lowered herself shakily to the lower step leaning her head against
the railing. She heard a rustle of satin as Janette turned and resumed her
ascent.  "Beware, Natalie, beware that you do not damn yourself to an
existence that is neither truly mortal nor wholly vampire," Janette's voice
called down softly in a final warning.  There was a soft rap at the bedroom
door and a muffled ‘entree' followed by the sound of the door opening amid
clinking glassware and then a soft click of the door reclosing.  Suddenly
it was so very quiet and Natalie had never felt so alone.  She sighed,
blinking back stinging tears and willed herself to remain strong.  This
wasn't over yet.  It was very far from being over yet.  

	She needed sleep desperately but she was afraid of closing her eyes,
afraid of the nightmares that were surely lying in wait for her.  She rose
stiffly and glanced over to where Nick still laid on the floor to assure
herself that he was still there, still asleep before shambling off to avail
herself of the small guest bath Nick had installed next to the kitchen
several years ago.  She reached in and flicked on the light switch
assiduously avoiding the mirrors.  At least Nick did a better job of
keeping up appearances here.  There were plenty of fresh linens and other
grooming necessities.  She carefully removed the remote and the cross from
her pocket and placed them on the sink before turning the shower on full
blast.  By an unexpected stroke of luck, good for a change, she noticed
that Nick had left a black silk robe hanging carelessly from a hook on the
back of the door.  It would be far too large for her but it would be a
decided improvement over what she had on.  She stripped off her ruined
clothes wadding everything up in a tight bundle before depositing it in the
waste basket.

	The steam was wafting over the glass walls of the shower stall as she
opened the door and stepped in.  It wouldn't be as soothing as a bath, but
at least it was something.  Somewhere within the depths of her memory came
the fragment of a conversation she'd once had with Nick.  She remembered
him telling her about how the best place for thinking things over for him
was in his beloved Caddy.  Natalie cupped her hands and reached out to the
stream of water spraying above her head.  She watched as the rusty stains
on her pale flesh blossomed again into crimson and washed down her body in
myriad red rivulets.  She remembered telling Nick that her favorite place
for thinking was in the bath.  And then she remembered Valentine's Day. 
She shuddered violently as a too long suppressed sob broke free and she at
last gave into her tears.  She slowly sank to the floor of the shower the
hot water beating down on her as her tears mixed with the blood that eddied
in spiraling threads before disappearing down the drain.

Endless Forever Knight - Part 6 of 7

Tout Ensemble - continued

Nick was not at all surprised by the sight that awaited him when he awoke. 
Twice before he'd stood at the portal of light and encountered it's ever
changing guardian.  This time the light from the portal was softer, more of
a rosy gold then a blinding white.  The guardian was different too.  This
time the guardian was an angel with long wavy hair and glossy black wings
which seemed to swathe her body with the enticing exception of one creamy,
sweetly curving shoulder.  Nick much preferred the guise the guardian had
assumed this time because this time it was Natalie.  If given the
opportunity now, he would not hesitate to step through the portal.  On
second thought, he realized, he was not going anywhere.  Nick highly
doubted that an angelic Nat would retain the charmingly childlike and
endearingly familiar bad habit of gnawing nervously on her thumbnail.  He
tried to call out to her, but his voice would not obey him so he settled
for just watching her from afar.

	Natalie was staring out onto the icy city streets which had been turned
into rivers of silver by the late afternoon winter sun.  She was more than
just a little relieved that the soft sunlight still felt so good as it
warmed her skin gently.  Then she felt, felt not heard, Nick call her name.
 It was like a caress, as if he'd actually touched her from across the
room.  She spun around and breathed his name.

	"Stay where you are, Nick, I'll just shut the blinds," she said fumbling
with the slippery, overly long sleeves as she tried to point the control at
the window.

	"No, please, leave it alone," Nick told her, his voice hoarse and raspy. 
"I want to see you in the sun."

	Nat glanced away, blushing self-consciously.  Then she smiled back at him
shyly, nervously, unable to look him straight in the eyes.  Nick rose
slowly and got to his feet swaying slightly never taking his eyes off of
her.  The raging agony in his chest was now a wrenching ache that had as
much to do with his still healing wound as his fear of what Natalie's
feelings for him might be.

	"I can't believe that you're really here.  That maybe, just maybe,  you
can somehow  forgive me for what I did to you," he wondered out loud as he
steadied himself against the mantel.

	"Oh, Nick, you didn't do anything that I didn't ask you to do," she
answered.

	"How can you say that?" he demanded with more than just a hint of
bitterness in his voice.  "You asked me to make love to you and I almost
killed you.  I thought," the words catching in his throat, "I thought I had
killed you."

	Nick staggered away from Nat and then suddenly she was beside him, pulling
his arm around her slim shoulders.  He marveled, for not the first time,
how perfectly her body fit with his.  She steadied him as she steered him
to the couch and forced him to sit down.  She remained standing before him
her arms tightly wrapped around her body in a classic gesture of
defensiveness.

	"You know, Nick," she informed him trying to sound brusque while feeling
anything but, "I think I can handle just about everything except for your
guilt, okay?"

	"Nat, you trusted me and I betrayed that trust.  I took too much and I
still couldn't bear to bring you across."

	"Yeah, right, sure.  I've heard it all before, Nick," she responded
waspishly, tapping her foot and rolling her eyes up to hide the betraying
glitter of angry tears.  "Look, Nick, if anyone owes someone an apology
then I owe you.  I was so afraid of losing you I was willing to do
anything, and I mean anything, to hold on to you.  I took a calculated risk
that I could back you between the proverbial rock and a hard place and I
did.  If Janette's cure worked, then you'd be totally dependent on me for
the mortality you've been relentlessly pursuing for so many centuries.  If
we failed, if you failed, I figured you'd never be able to live with the
guilt of letting me die.  That you'd be forced to bring me across.  And
guess what, I was partially right, you couldn't live with the guilt of
letting me die.

	"No, Nick, I knew you were hurting, hurting incredibly,  because I was
hurting too.  I hoped that you wanted me, needed me badly enough..." she
said brokenly. "I mean what kind of love demands a test like that knowing
full well that it could mean the destruction of  the one I supposedly love?
 All along I've always known the depth of your convictions.  But I was so
desperate to prove to myself that you really loved me that I challenged you
to do the one thing you never could.  I can never forgive myself for what
I've done to you," she cried covering her mouth with one hand in a futile
attempt to muffle her sobs.

	"Nat, please, don't," he whispered grabbing her arm, pulling her down next
to him.  She struggled  in his grasp which he only tightened.  "You may as
well quit fighting me, Nat.  In fact I think it's time we both stopped
fighting each other."  He tilted her chin with his fingertips, forcing her
head up and compelling her eyes to meet his.  "I once asked you what we
were going to do about how we felt about each other.  I'm not asking you
this time, I'm telling you.  It's time we stopped hurting each other.  I'm
not running away any more.  Don't you think it's time you stopped, too?

	"Look, Nat, you asked for a resolution and I'm giving you one but I want
you to be very sure that you realize what you are giving up.  After
tonight, there can never be any going back for me," he told her as he
pulled her back more firmly into his embrace.  "‘For the life of the flesh
is in the blood.  This is now bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.'  You
see, it's true, the devil can quote scripture for his own purposes," Nick
smiled slightly to himself as he heard Nat's watery chuckle. "I don't know
if we'll ever succeed in our search to restore my lost humanity, but I do
know that with you I feel mortal.  It's really more about achieving a state
of grace than a state of being.  I have that only with you.  But, can you
accept that I may always be a vampire, that we may never..."

	"Wait, Nick," she sniffed searching vainly for something to use as a
handkerchief before sheepishly resorting to her sleeve to dry her eyes,
"I'll say it for you.  When I came to you tonight, no matter what else I
may have been guilty of, I was prepared for the risks, I still am.  But
you've got to promise me that you'll let me stay down off that pedestal to
mortality you've erected.  It's lonely there and it's a long way to fall. 
You seem to think that by choosing a life with you I'd be losing something;
a chance at a normal life I guess.  Oh Nick, even if you were to become
truly human again this very minute, I can't begin to imagine you in some
ordinary existence.  After being what you've been, doing what you've done,
seeing what you've seen, your life could never be ‘normal', whatever the
hell normal is.  And you know something else, Nick, I think I'd die of
boredom if I ever found myself trapped in some sweet little suburban
bungalow with a picket fence, 30-year mortgage,  station wagon,  2.5 kids
and a dog.  I'm afraid that knowing you has pretty much ruined me for a
normal existence."

	"There's something else, Nat.  After tonight, we can never...I mean I
won't take that kind of chance with your life ever again," he stated
emphatically as she drew away from his embrace.

	"Oh no you don't, Nick Knight, you just stop right there.  If what
happened between us is all I can ever have, then so be it, but I refuse to
go back to the way we were."

	"Nat listen to me," Nick said taking her by the arms and shaking her
slightly, "I couldn't control myself, I'll never be able to control myself
when it comes to you.  It will be even worse now that I've tasted your
blood." 

	"No," she cried, "you listen to me.  You did not take too much, at least
not too much blood.  You know damn well that the reason I passed out was
because of stress,  lack of nourishment and serious sleep depravation. 
Look at me, I'm in no worse condition now than if I'd just given a blood
donation.  You may have taken a tad more than the customary pint, Nick, but
you did not drain me of blood."

	"Nat, it was as if you were dying, I couldn't feel you, your life force. 
Even LaCroix believed you were dying.  I don't know how or why I have you
back but I won't risk loosing you again."

	"Nick, do you remember that time you tried to explain what it was like to
take another's blood, about how you could take someone totally within, to
actually be one with them.  I think that a vampire doesn't just drink a
person's blood, he drinks their very life, their soul, if you will.  Think
about it Nick, it's not always the same, is it?  Why is it some people
survive?  Why is it some people not only survive but become ‘hunters'?  For
a few brief moments, I understood what it was you'd tried to explain to me.
 It wasn't just my blood inside of you it was all of me.  And when you
tried to stop, I wouldn't let you.

	"You were in control, but I wasn't.  You stopped taking the blood but it
was as if I was still one with you.  I didn't want to let you go.  It was
so strange after that.  I knew everything that was happening but I didn't
seem to have an independent existence of my own.  And then that awful
moment," she shuddered violently, " when LaCroix...Nick, I felt that stake
as if it had ripped through my own body because at that moment, it was my
body.  I don't know if it was because you thrust me away or if I finally
let you go but the bond was broken.  You know what I think?  I think there
are multiple physical and metaphysical levels involved here.  I mean up to
now no one has ever exactly bothered to observe and study what happens
during..."

	The sound of slow staccato clapping drifted down from the top of the
stairs.  Natalie and Nick pulled away from each other abruptly,  Natalie
jumping to her feet.  Nick uncoiled slowly and  rose deliberately.  LaCroix
continued his measured applause in time with his slow descent down the
stairs.  Ever dapper and coolly urbane, LaCroix was a striking contrast to
the battered and bloodied Nick, Natalie thought ruefully.  LaCroix studied
them leisurely, his lips pursed.

	"Ah, and so, the good doctor, as usual, reduces all things down to their
most rational, scientific ‘truth'.  I imagine as a child you even managed
to dissect the Easter bunny and pull the wings off of the tooth fairy," his
rich baritone rumbled ominously.  "You are still intent on finding a
medical explanation for the ‘condition' of vampirism aren't, you.  Why,
after all these years, do you persist with this futile search.  When will
you finally accept that vampirism is not a disease to be cured any more
than life is a disease."   

	"I'll give up the search, when Nick tells me he's ready to give up the
search.  You still seem to be ignoring the irrefutable proof of Janette's
success at achieving mortality," Natalie responded picking up the gauntlet
of LaCroix's challenge.

	LaCroix paused at the foot of the stairs, shaking his head and casting his
eyes towards the ceiling chuckling deep in his throat.  "What irrefutable
proof, Doctor?  Janette is, as she ever was, a vampire.  Nicholas, you and
I know our Janette, how can you honestly believe this ridiculous, albeit
amusing, tale she tells you.  The so called proof you claim to have seen,
Doctor, was probably no more than an elaborate parlor trick.  Janette is a
creature of infinite resourcefulness and she is utterly ruthless when it
comes to obtaining that which she desires.  What she desires now is to have
you, Natalie, permanently out of the way so that Nicholas will be forced to
seek solace in her eager and waiting arms.  No Natalie, it is you and
Nicholas who continue to delude yourselves with this impossible quest. 
There is no Holy Grail, Nicholas.  Give it up."

	"You know I can't do that, LaCroix.   And you know, it doesn't really
matter if Janette truly achieved mortality or not.  This is about an
ending.  I can't deny it any longer, my life, the only life I want, is with
Nat. Whether it's here or somewhere else it doesn't matter.  I think I've
know that for a long time.  LaCroix, let it go, let me go."

	"It would have been the greatest act of mercy if I had only finished what
I started last night," LaCroix said shaking his head in disgust.  Had it
not been for your paramour ruining my aim I would have.  You really are a
meddlesome creature, Natalie," he said in an exasperated aside. "Why won't
you listen to reason, Nicholas?  Were all my words wasted on you?  You will
destroy her in the end," he warned stressing each word with precision. 
"Either she will die  quickly when your attempts at love making inevitably
fail or wither slowly as you continue to drain her like some sort of
parasite over the years.  And then, Nicholas, then you will have all
eternity to not only mourn her but to deal with the guilt as well.  Believe
me Nicholas there are degrees of hell and you are damning yourself to the
ultimate in eternal agony."

	"LaCroix, you seem to keep forgetting, that it's my life too," Natalie
declared firmly.  "I've made my choice.  You know, you and Nick both robbed
Fleur of her chance to make her own choice.  I won't let you do that to me.
 I'm not a sheltered girl from the 13th century, I'm a grown woman of the
20th.  There is a big difference.  Don't look so shocked, LaCroix.  Today I
was finally able to remember what happened that Valentine's Day and how,
and probably why, you failed to carry out your plan for revenge.  You
certainly did quite a job on repressing my memories, but you couldn't take
them away from me.  Oh it's taken me a long time all right, but it seems
that it's all come back to me.  I guess a sudden shock can do that to a
person," Natalie smiled confidently.  "And I'm okay with it," she assured
Nick as she brushed a wayward lock of golden hair back from his troubled
brow. 

	"Yes, a meddlesome woman indeed...and most remarkable," LaCroix commented
to no one in particular.

	The shrill ring of the phone was overly loud and incongruously out of
place; it's persistent jangle sounding like a Klaxon.  "Well, gentlemen, it
seems as though mundane reality intrudes on our little morality play,"
Natalie remarked mildly amused.  The familiar recorded message in Nick's
bored, slightly arrogant tone switched on followed by the comforting bass
of Captain Joe Reese.  "Ah, look Nick, if you're there, pick up will ya? 
Come on, come on, I know you've got to be there, Nick, and I hope like hell
that Nat's there with you.  You know she left the office last night after
slipping a signed resignation form under my door with a note asking me if
I'd please take care of  getting it to the right people because she was
leaving town in a hurry.  I mean what's going on here..."

	Nick squeezed Nat's hand, "I think you better talk to him, he sounds
pretty upset."  Nick leaned down dropping a quick kiss on the top of her
head and was rewarded by the first real smile he'd seen in days, warm and
unguarded, before she scurried away.  He basked in the knowledge that her
smile was for him alone.

	"And so," LaCroix breathed, "it would appear that this is good-bye at
least for awhile.  I can see that you have a new master now, or should I
say mistress?  I have exhausted all my arguments and still you quest after
your lost humanity.  I gave you the greatest gift that was in my power to
bestow but you never appreciated it."

	"Where will you go, LaCroix?" Nick asked genuinely curious.

	"Ah, Nicolas, the world is wide and the pleasures to be had nearly
infinite.  I mean to go out and rediscover as many of them as I am able. 
But, I will return, Nicholas, never doubt that because you do need me
whether you wish to admit it or not." LaCroix hesitated, studying Nicholas
intently before reaching out unexpectedly and taking his shoulder in a firm
grip.  "I do have one last piece of ‘fatherly' advise for you, Nicholas,
and I hope you will take it to heart.  Natalie made a most astute
observation which you would do well to remember: she is not Fleur.  While
both ladies do share many admirable qualities they are so very, very
different.  Fleur possessed a pure, gentle soul, far too fragile even for
the careless cruelty of your precious mortal world.   She was a delicate,
carefully cultivated white rose, her perfection could not survive past the
first bud.  You were right when you warned me that I would destroy the very
thing I loved if I brought her across.  Your Natalie, however,  is made of
much sterner stuff.  Somehow she moves among the dead and undead and is not
defiled by it.  She is the wild rose defiantly growing, no, flourishing on
the crumbling tombstone in an ancient cemetery.  Death surrounds her and
yet she grows even stronger.  Her bloom and her fragrance are redolent of
life.  You would do well if you could but emulate some small measure of her
courage.  She has a true love for life in whatever form it takes."

	Nicholas looked at LaCroix in amazement and dawning comprehension, "Just
what exactly are you trying to say, LaCroix?" he demanded anger creeping
into his voice.

	"Must I explain everything in the most minute detail?" LaCroix responded
incredulously.  "Nicholas, you cannot fail to realize that in one sense it
is already too late to preserve your Natalie's mortality. When she chose to
partake of your blood, she took her first steps towards becoming one with
us.  What you would not give, she took... Ah,  there you are, Janette,"
LaCroix announced deftly deflecting any further discussion or argument. 
"Are you well rested, my dear?"

	"Tolerably, but I am ravenous," she declared petulantly as she descended
the stairs.  She had her hair pinned up on top of her head and, with the
exception of her antique jewels and stiletto high heels, she was clad only
in one of Nicholas' better silk shirts.  "I do hope you don't mind,
Nicolas, but the dress was hopelessly ruined and I had nothing else with
me," she smiled coquettishly before reaching up and capturing his mouth
with her own.  After a few moments she backed away, an annoyed frown
marring her perfect features.  "Nicolas, you never were so cold with me
before.  Come, your precious Natalie would surely never begrudge me such a
small favor."

	"Janette the term small favor takes on a whole new meaning with you,"
Natalie commented cynically her arms folded in front of her.  "Nick I told
the captain that I had given you something to make you sleep.  I also told
him that you were still pretty upset and that you pulled more than just a
few muscles during that altercation at the station.  I bought you some
time, but you're going to have to talk to him eventually...what was that?"
Natalie started nervously as a gentle click and soft whirring signaled the
timed opening of the blinds.  So much for the false sense of security the
sun had provided, she reflected ruefully. 

	"Nicholas, Janette and I will be taking our leave for it appears that the
sun is almost set," LaCroix stated as he peered out the one of the now open
windows.  "I have said all that I can and  there appears to be  nothing
more to say,"  he commented as he took Janette's cape and held it out for
her.  Janette dimpled prettily and turned to accept LaCroix's aid in
donning her wrap.  LaCroix's hands lingered possessively on her shoulders
momentarily before handing the gloves to her.   Janette smiled at Nicholas
tenderly and totally without artifice before taking his hand and pressing
her lips to his palm before carefully closing his fingers one by one over
her parting kiss.  "Do not forget me, beloved," she charged him.  "And do
not forget what I told you, Natalie," she said without taking her eyes away
from his face before she swept out of the room without even a backwards
glance.

	"In deference to your mortal sensibilities, we will depart by the door,"
LaCroix announced inclining his head towards Nicholas.  "I  bid you
farewell, Nicholas, until we meet again.  And Natalie, " LaCroix said as he
grasped Natalie's hand bowing over it like a courtier,  "what can I say?" 
he murmured as he quickly twisted her hand so that his lips brushed her
wrist, the tips of his fangs dragging ever so slightly over her veins,
"perhaps, when next we meet you will concede that ‘vincit omnia veritas'."

	"On the contrary, when next we meet  perhaps you will concede that ‘omnia
vincit amor' because I believe that love is the greatest truth of all," she
responded between clenched teeth pulling her hand back.  Nick snatched
Natalie from LaCroix' grasp gathering  her into his own arms protectively.
	
	"Farewell, LaCroix," he said threateningly.

	"But no, Nicholas, it is but ‘au revoir'," LaCroix mocked bowing low while
backing up several steps before turning smartly and marching to the door of
the lift.  "Oh, yes, Nicholas, it is only au revoir," he taunted as the
doors to the elevator snapped shut.

	Nicholas felt Natalie tremble uncontrollably in his arms before giving
vent to a heart-breaking sob.  He crushed her to him in a bruising embrace
one arm wrapped around her waist while the other grasped the back of her
head as she clung to him and cried.  He closed his eyes and buried his face
in her hair.  He held her until there were no more tears and would have
been willing to continue holding her until there were no more tomorrows. 

	On the sidewalk below, the streetlights were sullenly coming to life as
evening deepened.  Two figures stood in the garish pool of artificial light
staring up at the apartment above.

	"You certainly seem to be uncharacteristically jovial for having just lost
the battle, LaCroix.  Your plans are in utter disarray and yet you fairly
radiate the most infuriating complacency I have ever beheld," Janette
observed critically.

	"I beg your pardon, my dear," he responded smoothly as he watched the two
silhouettes in the upper story window merge into one.

	"You are not listening to me at all," she fumed, "How can you be so
pleased with what has just happened?"

	"While I readily admit to having been taken totally unaware by what has
just transpired, I must honestly admit that I am intrigued.  For the first
time in centuries I am actually entertained, sincerely fascinated by the
game.  Until a few short hours ago the whole unfortunate affair had been so
tediously predictable.  From the moment that I learn