This is (yet another) post-LK story. It's not a sequel to 
any of my others. 

Natalie and Nick and Forever Knight are the property 
of Sony, Jim Parriott et al. No copyright infringement 
is intended. I'm just borrowing them. The story is 
copyright to me.

I'm taking Natalie (at least for a while) to a place I 
don't usually take her in my fiction. I'm not 
completely convinced she really would make the 
choice she does here.

The story assumes familiarity with "Last Knight," 
"Near Death," and "Human Factor," among other 
episodes. It also refers to (IMHO essential) dialogue 
between Nick and Nat that appears in the "Canadian" 
version of "I Will Repay." 

Fortune's Wheel  (01/05)
By Mary Combs
August 1999

It was all as he remembered it: the dunes, the lake, the 
open door, the Guide with LaCroix' face.  Nick met 
the pale blue eyes with a steady gaze, saying nothing. 
The Guide bowed slightly and stepped aside to reveal 
the vampire's soul -- his own rotting corpse, 
unchanged save that it, too, was now dressed in black, 
lying on a metal table that might have come from the 
morgue.

Nick stepped up to the table, grim-faced, and rested 
his hand on that of the cadaver. The dead flesh was 
bitter cold.

His lips moved in silent prayer. "Domine, non sum 
dignus....." He paused for moment, took a deep breath 
and began again, aloud....

"Domine, non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meum, 
sed tantum dic verbo et sanibitur anima mea."

Eyes fixed on the reflection of his own corruption, he 
did not see the beatific smile that transfigured the 
Guide's face, nor did he see the image of his master 
shimmer and transform to that of a veiled woman. 

Instead...
 
A sound so faint he could not tell whether it was sung 
or spoken vibrated through his being, and the figure 
on the table before him began to change. 

At first, only the clothing and hair were altered, as if 
time were rolling back, year by year. But as the 
decades and centuries passed in reverse, a far more 
loathsome decay grew upon it... and he saw a flicker 
of movement in the eyelids.

The hand beneath his remained still and dead, but the 
face came hideously alive. It turned to glare at him, 
eyes blazing red, snarling at him with bloodstained 
fangs. He saw the beast, in all its horror, as no mirror 
had ever shown him. 

The vampire gave one last roar and closed its eyes. 
Nick blinked, and the rotten, bloody obscenity was 
gone. In its place lay the body of a fair young man 
who might have been sleeping, save for the deathly 
pallor of his serene face. 

There was a gust of wind, no more than a breath,  and 
swiftly, silently, all before him crumbled to dust, 
merging invisibly with the sand at his feet. Nick 
looked down to see himself clad in the long  white 
linen shirt he had worn that night, put up a hand to his 
head and found his hair was long again, as it had been 
the night he died.

He felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from 
his shoulders, yet at the same time, utterly exhausted 
and spent. 

"Nicholas."

He turned to see the Guide, now as she had appeared 
the first time he had come to the door. The door was 
there, behind her, as he had seen it before, framed of 
timber and iron. She gestured, and the huge panel 
began to swing open, spilling light into the brightness 
of the desert.

"Please, can you tell me...?"

"Yes?"

"Is she..... Is she safe? Is she..." he nodded toward the 
doorway. "Is she there?"

"No." The Guide shook her head. "He has given her 
your blood, called her back in your name -- and she 
has returned."

Nick bowed his head in anguish. "My fault. My 
fault."

"Her choice," the Guide said, gently.

"I promised not to leave her......."

"You are truly dead, now. You may come to us, or 
you may linger here. You may not go back."

"Nicholas." The Voice came from beyond the door, 
and as the Guide bowed and withdrew, another figure 
stepped forward  -- not a shadow against the light, but 
a greater radiance, brighter than ten thousand suns.

"Mon fils, il te faut rentrer."

Nick's heart leapt with joy at the call, but still he 
hesitated, all his feelings summed up in a single 
whispered word --  a question, a plea, a prayer --  
"Natalie."

There was a long silence, and when the Voice spoke 
again, there was no trace of reproach, only an infinite 
tenderness. 

"Will you not leave her in my hands?"

Speechless, Nick could only nod.

"Then come to me, Nicholas. Come, and be 
comforted."

Eyes blinded by tears, Nicholas de Brabant stepped 
across the threshold, and the light enfolded him.

End Part 1

***************************************
"Domine, non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meum, 
sed tantum dic verbo et sanibitur anima mea." From 
the Latin Mass: "Lord, I am not worthy that thou 
shouldst come under my roof; but only say the word 
and my soul shall be healed."

"Mon fils, il te faut rentrer." = My son, you must/need 
to  come in/come home.

Dialogue cut from "I Will Repay" for U.S. 
broadcasts, in the loft, when Nat comes to beg Nick to 
bring Richard over:
Natalie:  There's only one person who can save him.
(cut) Nick:  (quietly) Leave it in God's hands.
(cut) Natalie: (anguished)  God made a mistake this 
time!

comments to mcombs@erols.com
****************************************

Fortune's Wheel (02/05)

June 2228
New San Diego    

The shutters rolled back from the windows, revealing 
yet another glorious sunset. A palette of brilliant reds, 
purples and flecks of gold from the now-vanished sun 
splashed across the western sky, skimmed over the 
waves on the bay and tinted the white sails of the 
boats dancing across the water.

"Heading for safe harbor," Natalie mused.

"Wishing you could do the same?"

"Yes," she said simply, wrapping her blue silk 
kimono around her. She walked back to the sofa and 
sat down, tucking her feet up underneath her and 
taking the mug held out by her hostess -- a tiny, 
ancient lady dressed in elegant black and swathed in 
an embroidered shawl.

Natalie took a sip and smiled. "Felicia's been in the 
roses again." 

"Actually, she hasn't - I tried mixing some blossoms 
in with her feed to see if it might have the same effect. 
If you like, we could experiment a bit and see what 
comes through for you. A little rosemary perhaps? 
Unfortunately, I don't think there's any way to 
manage chocolate. Don't laugh at me, child, it's the 
closest I can get to cooking for you." Elena laughed 
and added a spoonful of sugar to her coffee.

Natalie chuckled, took another sip of the cow's blood, 
and smiled affectionately at her old friend. "Elena, 
sometimes I think the chief reason you're helping me 
to find a cure is so you can fix me my first supper."

"Supper? My dear, it will be a dinner, a feast, a 
magnificent celebration..." The black eyes twinkled 
merrily. "And speaking of celebrations, Happy 
Birthday!"  She held out a small box wrapped in blue 
tissue and tied up with a silver ribbon. "Just what 
birthday are we observing, by the way?"

"Officially, it's 32." Natalie carefully undid the bow.

"And how many times have we celebrated that one? 
Five? or is it six?"

"Probably more like eight or nine.... Oh, Elena, 
they're exquisite." Natalie held up a pair of beautiful 
earrings crafted of silver and handmade beads. 
"Thank you." She quickly slipped them on. 

"Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. Let me 
see.... yes, they do suit you very nicely. Happy 
Birthday my dear -- and not *too* many more." Elena 
opened her arms and Natalie, smiling at their old 
private joke, gently returned the hug, careful of the 
fragile bones in her embrace.

"Thank you. Thank you for these, and thank you for 
being my friend." She picked up her mug and 
snuggled back into the corner of the sofa. "Nick said 
it once, 'Some friendships, you give your soul to.' It's 
been like that with us." Natalie caught her breath 
slightly and looked down into the mug of cow's blood, 
blinking back a tear. 

Elena saw the pain flicker across her face and 
recognized the intrusion of the past into their 
conversation. She freshened her coffee from the carafe 
on the table and settled into a companionable silence, 
while Natalie's memory led her back. 

**************(begin flashback)

Toronto, 1996

She recognized the place from Nick's description --  
the dunes, the lake, the desert, the Guide. Standing at 
the open door, she heard a voice calling her name. 
The voice was not Nick's, but she felt herself awash in 
his love, his sorrow, his need for her, and she turned 
back.....

Waking, she expected to find herself in his arms.  
Instead, he was dead on the carpet beside her, and his 
blood was on her lips -- his and LaCroix'.

She lunged for the window, for the release promised 
by the morning light filtering in around the edges of 
shutters, but the ancient vampire stopped her easily.

"Hush, child," he whispered soothingly, as she 
struggled helplessly against him. "Sois tranquille....." 
He bit into his wrist again, and before she knew what 
she was doing she was feeding ravenously from the 
open vein. Then darkness swallowed everything -- 
darkness, and cold. 

She awoke to the Hunger -- and to the kill. And, 
within the space of a few days, she did not want to go 
back. 

The nights and years and decades flowed past, a dark 
river of power and possession. He taught her the ways 
of the night and the ways of the world and she drank 
it all in: the music, the drama, the luxury, the nuances 
of a dozen languages and cultures -- and the hot, 
intoxicating blood of men and women and children, 
the innocent and guilty, reveling in their desires and 
dreams.

There had been a brief and uncomfortable visit with 
Janette, in Paris, at the turn of the millennium. She 
had received them graciously, but the tension had 
been palpable, every word of the casual conversation 
pregnant with double meaning, her blue eyes 
appraising them. 

The refreshment she had offered them was insipid, 
discarded donations with little more flavor than 
animal blood. And, unable to read either her master's 
or Janette's thoughts, Natalie had felt suffocated by 
something unnamed. Long after, she realized that the 
memory of Nick had hung like a pall in the room, 
shadowing everything. 

At the time, however, she was oblivious. Her 
surrender to LaCroix had been complete -- the 
surrender of child to parent -- and his control of her 
was absolute. She could not imagine it otherwise.
 
As they had made their goodbyes, Janette had smiled 
faintly up at the ancient vampire.

"Vous devez vous f‚liciter, LaCroix. Elle est une fille 
parfaite."  

So they traveled through the world as the father and 
daughter they were. 

It was plausible to mortal eyes -- the vampire's 
glamour had stripped years from her apparent age. 

They rarely spoke of Nick, and when she thought of 
him, it was with a wisp of regret that he had not 
survived to share this dark world with her. No doubt 
or guilt marred her dreams or waking.

Throughout it all, her heart remained cold, untouched 
by the infection of loss, her passions only those of the 
vampire, all of them only variations on the Hunger.

And then, one night, everything changed.
 
They were in India, in New Delhi. LaCroix took a 
fancy to hunting among the hordes of tourists flocking 
to view the Taj Mahal at full moon. Finding nothing 
appealing in the mob, Natalie wandered down toward 
the river. 

He was sitting all alone, watching the moonlight on 
the water, a small boy of seven or eight -- perhaps the 
son of one of the laundresses who worked here in the 
daytime. He came to her willingly, staring up at her 
with wide dark eyes and a shy smile, touching the 
gilded edge of the blue silk sari that framed her face 
with his fingertips, murmuring something she could 
not quite understand -- his dialect was not yet part of 
her repertoire. 

She knelt in front of him, running her pale fingers 
through the shock of ebony hair, down to the pulse 
point at his neck. He would taste very sweet, this little 
one..... 

She let him go.

It seemed a small thing at the time, forgotten as soon 
as it was done. But it was the beginning of the end. 

Back in their suite, LaCroix watched as she poured a 
crystal goblet full of the bottled stock with which they 
always traveled. 

"Why?"

She turned to look at him, puzzled. 

"Why.... what?"

"The boy. You let him go. In 140 years, you have 
never done such a thing. Why tonight?" His tone was 
light, casual.

"I don't know." The answer was open and honest. She 
really didn't know. 

Somehow, he found that even more disturbing.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

He shook his head, and lied. "No, child, it does not 
matter. Good night." He kissed her lightly on the 
forehead and stepped into his own room. 

-------------------------------------

Five years later, when she asked to leave, he did not 
stop her. 

LaCroix had watched the change with an agonizing 
sense of d‚ja vue: a mortal conscience (he refused to 
use the word "soul") stirring to life in his youngest 
child, just as it had in Nicholas and later in Janette, 
only at a far more rapid pace. 

It was possible that this was his own fault. He had 
used Nicholas' blood to lure her back, confident that 
an infusion of his own would make her wholly *his* 
child. She had not escaped infection. Yet, there had 
been no other way. Natalie would not have returned 
for him alone.

At times, he felt haunted, as if some unseen power 
were forcing him to re-live the same anguished drama 
that had played out with his son. If so -- and LaCroix 
was not one to underestimate the perversity of the 
universe --  he refused to play that game. 

He would let her go, on a tether as fine as silk and as 
strong as iron. He would watch, and he would wait. 
Thinking herself free, let her do what she would to 
find a way back. Let her create her own 
disappointments. If, by some chance, she should 
stumble across a true cure, he would deal with it and 
with her -- and with anyone unfortunate enough to 
help her.

So he provided for her, generously, and put her on the 
night flight to Paris.

Unsure of her welcome, Natalie went to Janette, who 
astonished her by quite literally opening her arms to 
the younger woman, comforting her as she wept the 
first tears she had shed since the night she became a 
vampire.

Janette listened to her whispered confession, her plan 
to take up the quest for mortality, and nodded and 
smiled and shook her head sadly. "Ma petite, you 
hardly know how to live with us, much less with 
them."

So it was agreed that Natalie would stay, and in the 
months that followed, they became fast friends.

Janette taught her how to endure the separation from 
her master and how to live on her own in the 
Community. Her first serious attempts to venture 
among mortals as a mortal were miserable failures, 
shattering her dream that she might be able to return 
to medicine or research. 

Janette consoled her, pointing out that neither she nor 
Nicholas would have been capable of such a thing at 
the same age. "Be gentle with yourself, cherie. You 
have time. It is our curse, and our blessing, too." She 
smiled. "That night LaCroix brought you here, I saw 
it in you: a spark of light. I knew then that it was only 
a matter of time." 

"I didn't see it; neither did LaCroix."

"He's not God." Janette raised an eyebrow at Natalie's 
look. "He likes to say that we are gods, but we aren't, 
far from it."

"You're not afraid of him." Natalie searched her 
friend's face.

"No." Janette shook her head. "He has no power to 
harm me anymore. A vampire fears only one thing: 
death. I will not seek it out, but when it comes, I will 
welcome it." 

"You have faith." Natalie stared into the fire and 
whispered softly. "I had faith, that night. Now I'm 
afraid. Of dying. Of what lies beyond the light." She 
had chosen what Nick would never have chosen for 
her and had become what she had chosen -- darkness 
and seduction and death. How could there not be a 
price to pay for that?

"And what did you say to Nicholas when he spoke of 
such things?" Janette reached out and tapped her 
sharply on the the shoulder with her forefinger. 
"Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, Natalie." 

Natalie nodded. "And in the end, his faith was greater 
than mine."

"In the end? You haven't reached the end, mon amie. 
I'm not sure that we ever do." 

End Part 02/05
************************
"Vous devez vous f‚liciter, LaCroix. Elle est une fille 
parfaite."  = "You should congratulate yourself, 
LaCroix. She is a perfect daughter."

***********************
Disclaimers in Part 1

Fortune's Wheel (03/05)
By Mary Combs

*******************(end flashback)
"Natalie?"

She came back from her reverie with a shamefaced 
smile. 

"Sorry. I was somewhere else there, for a minute."

"I don't mind that. I just wish it had been a happier 
memory." Elena put aside her coffee mug and settled 
her shawl around her. "Perhaps I can give you 
something else to think about," she said, with a 
twinkle in her eye.

Natalie mirrored her friend's mischievous smile. "I 
know that look. You have a surprise for me..."

"And it isn't another pair of earrings. I believe that I 
have found it."

Natalie's grin faded and her eyes widened. "The 
Abarrat?" she whispered.

"Yes. And not only the manuscript itself, but also 
someone capable of translating it."

Natalie took a deep breath and put her hand over her 
heart, which was -- for her -- beating wildly. "How 
long?"

"It should be ready when you come to the ranch in 
September."

"September...." She shook her head as if trying to 
grasp it. "Less than three months. Elena, how do I 
thank you for this?"

"Seeing you free will be all the thanks I need." The 
dark eyes were very serious, now. "Many years ago, I 
posed a question to which you had no answer. I want 
to ask you again, Natalie. Do you want to be mortal 
so you can die or so you can live?"

"I asked Nick that once....." Elena waited patiently for 
the answer, which came with conviction. "So I can die 
-- eventually. So I can live, for as long as it takes....."

"To 'pay your debt'?"

"In a way. But I don't think of it as balancing the 
scales -- a life saved for each life taken. That's a debt I 
can't repay. But I can give back my *own* life. There 
are things I can do as a mortal that I can't do like 
this." She sighed and added, with a wry smile, "I 
won't deny that I'm tired, and I want to be with Nick. 
But if we succeed, I'll take every moment of my life 
as a gift, and try to be worthy of it."

Then she  reached out and lightly rested her hand on 
Elena's knee. "As I've said before, helping me could 
be dangerous."

"I'm not afraid. I'm an old, old woman, and when 
death comes, he will come as a very, very old friend." 
Elena chuckled softly. "This is a very morbid turn of 
conversation. I was trying to cheer you up."

"How about a memory we can share? The day we 
met?"

"Ah yes, when I ruined your new dress."

"George said it was fate -- he really hated that dress."

"Dear George.... "


*********************begin flashback
September 2178
Santa Fe

After more than 30 years of wandering, Natalie had 
settled in New Mexico. There were a dozen reasons 
for the choice -- and another dozen against it -- but in 
the end, it was the sunsets that made up her mind.
The sunsets were breathtaking.

Whenever it was within in her power, she had lived in 
a place where the sea or the mountains or the desert 
captured the light and held it. She loved sunsets. They 
reminded her of Nick. LaCroix had hated them -- 
quite possibly for the very same reason.

Slowly and carefully, over the space of two years, she 
had built a new identity for herself. The backstory 
included a promising career in medicine, thwarted 
after a severe viral infection produced a constellation 
of intractable allergies. She was known as a lover of 
art and music, and she had made a few friends in the 
local community. 

The community of mortals, that is -- there were no 
vampires here. 

Strolling through the streets of Santa Fe, mingling 
with the people weaving in and out of the shops and 
restaurants and galleries, Natalie paused before a 
window  simply marked "505" in flamboyant script. 
Inside the gallery, an opening-night crowd was 
sipping wine, nibbling on finger food and admiring 
the latest show.

Natalie smiled as she watched a forty-something 
blond man -- clad in spotless black denim and a rose 
silk shirt --  as he moved energetically through the 
crowd,  simultaneously refilling glasses and enthusing 
over the art, thereby presenting some danger of 
baptism-by-champagne to bystanders.

"Careful, George," she whispered with a smile.

She stepped through the open door, signed the guest 
book and slipped into the back gallery, away from the 
food and the noise. It was far less crowded here, 
which gave her a chance to really look at the art on 
view.

The work was clearly all by the same hand, in a wide 
range of media and styles, although sculptures 
definitely outnumbered sketches or paintings. There 
were elements of folklore and symbols echoing many 
different cultures. Natalie wondered if most people 
would recognize the wealth of traditions the artist was 
using. 

There was a delight in the trivial, in everyday details, 
and also a mystical feeling, even to ordinary subjects. 
In fact, one piece of sculpture made her slightly dizzy. 
She saw no cross, nor any of the other now-familiar 
symbols that threatened the vampire, but something of 
great spiritual power was present there....

She turned away to inspect a series of terra-cotta 
sculptures, pausing beside the image of a toddler 
playing with a puppy. A banal subject, but there was 
something transcendent about it. She reached out to 
touch the cheek of the laughing child...

"Hello, Natalie." It was George, the gallery's co-
owner and one of the few carefully chosen mortal 
friends she had here. He gave her an enthusiastic hug 
and a kiss on both cheeks, then looked down at her 
dress with a pained expression. "Oh my dear."

Natalie smiled. "You don't like it?"

"Well, the cut is very nice, but that color. It won't do. 
There is *grey* and there is *grey.*"

"And I'm wearing the wrong one."

"Definitely." He nodded at the piece in front of her. 
"Good isn't it? Practically forces you to touch it."

"I thought you hated to have people fondling the art?" 

"As a gallery owner, yes. As an artist -- it's one of the 
great compliments you can pay a sculptor."

"Yes, I agree.. This is all by the same artist?" 

"Uh-huh. Elena Valdez."

"I don't recognize the name."

"She's not from around here. Moved in a few months 
ago. From Southern California -- where San Diego 
used to be."

"Did she lose her home in the 'quake?"

"Not the way you mean. She has property on the 
*right* side of the fault line -- the building boom got 
to be too much. She says it's too crowded and too 
noisy... so she bought the old Sumner place and 
moved here."

"To work or ranch?"

"Both. And teach. Where she finds the energy is 
beyond me. She's quite the dynamo. You should see 
her with the kids."

Natalie laughed wryly. "Sounds about my speed."

George looked at her intently. "She's starting an 
evening course next week. You should try it."

"Me? George, when it comes to fine motor skills..." 
The lie died on her lips. "You think she'd mind a 
complete beginner?"

He shook his head. "Nope. In fact, I think the two of 
you will get on like gangbusters. I've been trying to 
think of how to introduce you."

"Think I need a friend?"

"I think you both do.....Besides, I like my friends to be 
friends." He pouted, looking rather like a middle-aged 
cherub. "One thing you definitely have in common -- 
you both resist all our efforts to find you suitable 
husbands. It's ruining our reputation."

Natalie laughed and patted him comfortingly on the 
shoulder. Like many other blissfully happy couples, 
George and his partner were inveterate matchmakers. 
All their attempts to pair her with fascinating men had 
failed, through no fault of theirs. George and Andrew 
were excellent judges of character, and all the blind 
dates had been men whom Natalie might once have 
found intriguing. Once. Before Nick.

"Sorry, George, I'm afraid my heart is taken. But 
there's certainly room in my life for a new friend... 
especially one of yours."

"Good. Tell you what. You stay here, and I'll rescue 
her from that crowd and introduce you right now." He 
disappeared around a corner and reappeared almost 
instantly with Elena in tow. 

"Elena Valdez, Natalie Knight," George said, with a 
flourish. 

Natalie reached out to take the warm, brown, paint-
stained hand and looked down into a pair of merry 
dark eyes and a beaming smile.

The weathered face gave no clue as to the other 
woman's age, but Natalie guessed -- accurately -- at 
50. She was wearing a dark green dress and a hand-
painted shawl, her long hair knotted up and held in 
place by a pair of slender silver rods. Judging by the 
slight traces of bright-colored pigment in the strands 
of black and grey, this office was usually performed 
by paintbrushes.

They made small talk while George went to get a 
refill for Elena's drink -- a large mug of coffee. 
"I'm an addict," she said cheerfully, winking at 
Natalie. 

"I know the feeling," Natalie said with a smile. "I 
used to practically live on the stuff when I was a med 
student."

They talked on about generalities, and then about 
Elena's work. Unlike many artists, she was 
comfortable putting her thoughts into words and 
discussing the process of creation. *Probably one of 
the things that makes her a good teacher,* Natalie 
thought.

Lost in the conversation, neither of them was paying 
close attention, and it wasn't until George approached, 
wielding a large towel and clucking like a mother 
hen, that they realized that a good portion of Elena's 
coffee had slopped onto Natalie's skirt.

"Never mind," Natalie said. "This dress was doomed 
anyway, wasn't it George?" 

Elena gave her a knowing look. "He didn't like it?"

"No. Does he criticize your wardrobe, too?"

Elena laughed and gave George a smile and a pat on 
the arm. "Critique might be a better word, since his 
sense of style is perfect. I don't listen to him very 
much, but then of course, I'm a certified eccentric. I 
am sorry about your dress, however. Even the object 
of George's scorn deserves a better fate than this. You 
must let me get you a new one."

So they made plans to go shopping later in the week. 
It was, as Natalie said long after in a rather lame 
Humphrey Bogart imitation, "the beginning of a 
beautiful friendship."

------------
Natalie did sign up for the sketching class, and was 
mightily disappointed in the results. "Not very good, 
is it?" she said with a sigh, waving at her first effort.

Elena chuckled and patted her on the shoulder.  "This 
is just a beginning. Tell me something. How did it 
make you feel?"

"There's really something not right in this corner...."

Elena shook her head. "I didn't mean 'How do you 
feel when you look at it.' I meant, 'How did you feel 
*while* you were doing it?'"

Natalie nodded and a smile quirked the corner of her 
mouth. "It felt.... good. It felt.... really good. It's been 
so long since I...." She fumbled for words.

"Created something?"

"Yes." Natalie nodded. "That's it. exactly...."
-------------------

George had been right, she did need a friend. And 
they did have a great deal in common. 

They were both night owls, Elena being one of those 
fortunate souls who manage beautifully on only a few 
hours of sleep. 

They both loved old --  *really* old -- movies. 

They both had a passion for chocolate: "Pretty close 
to Heaven," Elena agreed, while commiserating with 
Natalie over the Paradise lost to her because of her 
"allergies."

They laughed at the same things, were fascinated by 
the same periods in history and shared a voluminous 
knowledge of folklore and legend. 

"My ancestry is a mix of Irish, Welsh, Scots, Spanish, 
Basque and at least half-a-dozen different native 
peoples," Elena said. "An interest in myth and magic 
comes naturally to me."

They also shared a stubborn streak. 

"Pigheaded, that's what my brother called me." 
Natalie recalled one evening while they were out 
riding.

Elena nodded appreciatively.  "'Pigheaded,' 'obstinate,' 
'mulish,' 'willful,' 'headstrong,' I've heard them all." 
She laughed and shook her head. "My poor family. 
They had such aspirations for me, and I was such a 
disappointment -- and at such an early age....My 
father dreamed of making me an engineer, and I 
wouldn't draw a straight line.  My mother believed in 
choice: I could be a surgeon or a trial lawyer or an 
astronaut. I couldn't stand the sight of blood, I loathed  
confrontation and I got so airsick I had to be sedated 
to visit Lunar Disney.... It's very unnerving, dealing 
with a child who knows exactly who she is and what 
she expects to get out of life."

Elena's energy and good humor were infectious, and 
the friendship warmed Natalie's soul. As time went on 
and they became closer, she learned that they shared 
something else -- loss.

Natalie was spending the weekend at the ranch, and 
so had a chance to watch Elena work her charm on a 
group of seven-year-olds. After the last happy, paint-
stained, clay-daubed youngster was safely out the 
door, Elena collapsed into a chair with a fresh cup of 
coffee and a dramatic sigh. 

"You're wonderful with them," Natalie said. The 
unspoken question hung in the air between them for a 
long moment. 

"I would have liked to have had children of my own," 
Elena said quietly, looking down into the steaming 
mug. "I would have liked to have seen *our* children 
growing up."

"What happened?"

"Death happened." She looked off into space. "It was 
a long time ago, Natalie. Before you were born."

Natalie suppressed a bitter laugh at that idea, and 
covered her friend's hand with her own. Elena's voice 
was as distant as her thoughts.
  
"No one ever touched my heart so deeply, before or 
since. I don't think anyone could touch my heart that 
way again."

"What was he like?"

"My love? My love was strong and fair and brave and 
true." She smiled slightly. "And funny and stubborn 
and far from perfect -- and the other half of myself."
 
Natalie looked into the bright dark eyes, now clouded 
with sadness, and nodded. "Yes, I know. For some of 
us, that kind of love only comes once."

Elena looked at her closely. "You do know, don't 
you?"

"Yes...." And suddenly, Natalie found herself telling 
Elena about Nick. Not the whole truth, of course, but 
enough.... 

It felt so good to say his name aloud.

Elena listened quietly, nodding from time to time, 
until Natalie had finished her tale, and they sat in 
silence for a while.

"Elena, how did you live with it?"

"I went on. To the next thing. One day at a time. The 
world is full of wonders to see, and there are other 
places to put one's heart. And some day, we'll be 
together again."

"You believe that."

"Absolutely." Smiling now, she leaned forward and 
gave Nat a hug. "Come on. I'm starving and it must 
be time for another round of that liquid diet of yours. 
Let's set what's in the fridge, and if there's nothing 
tasty, we'll go to Don Pasquale's."

From time to time, Natalie entertained the idea of 
confiding her secret, but she always dismissed it as 
too dangerous. Not for Elena -- there was no vampire 
community here to put her at risk -- but for fear it 
might come between them. 

And then, one night, fate took the choice from her.

End Part 03/05
********************
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Disclaimers in Part 1

Fortune's Wheel (04/05)
By Mary Combs

******* flashback to 
New Mexico
September 2178 
continues

It was a freak accident, a sudden thunderstorm while 
they were out riding. Natalie's horse shied, and she 
fell, hard, landing on a boulder with a sickening 
crunch.

"Don't move," Elena shouted over the thunder as she 
dismounted and tethered her own mount. "Don't 
move."

"I'm okay," Natalie said, face turned away and eyes 
tight shut against the burning gold of the vampire. 
"Just knocked the wind out of me. Just give me a 
minute." She rolled over onto her back. 

"No you're not. You're not okay. Natalie, look at your 
leg." 

Narrowing her eyes to slits, hoping that anything 
Elena might see would be put down to the effect of 
the lightning, Natalie propped herself up on her 
elbows and looked down at an appalling sight. Her 
right leg was bent at a horrifying angle, a jagged point 
of bone protruding  through a gash in her jeans.

She caught the scent of her own blood, draining into 
the sand, and, for the first time, she caught the sweet 
scent of her friend's blood and heard the call of Elena's 
heartbeat. The vampire was wounded and would be 
healed, no matter what the cost. 

"Damn." Elena thrust her phone back in her pocket. "I 
can't get through. It must be the storm. We'll have to 
get you back to the house."

"Elena." Natalie spoke very quietly, through gritted 
teeth. "There's a flask in  my saddlebag. I need it. I 
need it *now.*" She heard the crunch of Elena's 
footsteps, her soothing words to Natalie's mount, and 
the sound of her return. 

"Stop!" Natalie said, when her friend was a few paces 
off. "Don't come any closer. Just throw it to me."

"Natalie, what are you talking about? Let me help...."

"Do as I say!" Natalie opened her eyes and glared at 
her. 

They stared at each other while another flash of 
lightning stabbed through the night --  Natalie, eyes 
blazing and fangs bared, and Elena white-faced, 
outwardly controlled, her heart beating wildly.

"A vampire. You're a vampire," Elena whispered.

She looked at the flask in her hand, and then tossed it 
carefully to Natalie, who upended it and drained the 
contents. "It's okay. You can come near me, now. We 
have to straighten out the leg, then it'll heal."

Elena quietly followed Natalie's instructions, binding 
the fracture tightly. Her eyes widened as Natalie lifted 
herself into the saddle with inhuman ease, but she said 
nothing. They rode back to the hacienda in silence. 

Natalie dismounted and limped toward the house 
while Elena saw to the horses. Once inside, she 
stopped walking and flew to her room. She had 
brought enough blood with her to get her through the 
night -- not enough to heal a serious wound. Unable 
to stop herself, she finished it all. It would have to be 
enough. "Oh God," she whispered, "please let it be 
enough." 

She went into the bathroom, washed her face and 
hands and stripped off her clothes, wrapping herself in 
a bathrobe, then sat on the bed to examine her leg. 
The bone had knit back together, but the gash in her 
thigh was a nasty sight, not quite closed.

There was a knock at the door, a pause, and then 
another.

"Natalie?"

"Please, Elena, don't come in. I don't want you to see 
me like this."

"I have something that will help."  The door opened 
slowly, revealing Elena standing on the threshold, 
holding one of her largest mugs. 

Natalie's nostrils flared as she caught the scent. She 
nodded and Elena stepped into the room and pressed 
the mug into her hand. Natalie drank deeply. It was 
cow, but it was warm and fresh and it gave her body 
what it needed to heal. 

"There's plenty more where that came from." Elena 
smiled slightly. "This is a ranch you know. Cows are 
us?" 

She saw the question in Natalie's eyes. "And no, I 
have not just killed the fatted calf for you. It's easy 
enough to take blood from cattle. The Masai have 
been doing it for centuries. Come to think of it, my 
several-times-great-grandfathers took blood from their 
ponies when the need was great."

"You don't..... hate me?"

Elena shook her head and put her arm around her 
friend's shoulders. "No. But you might hate me after I 
finish asking you all the questions I have."

"Ask away."

"Okay." Elena's smile faded, and she looked at 
Natalie intently. "You don't want to be this anymore, 
do you?"

"No." Natalie shook her head. "No, I don't."  


******************end flashback
New San Diego
June 2228

"And now your long search may be at end," Elena 
said.

Natalie laughed. "After all this time, and part of me is 
wondering how I'll be able to bear the wait until 
September."

"Well, I can't offer distractions for the next 10 weeks, 
but I can certainly help with this evening. You'd 
better get dressed, or we'll be late for the opera."

"Yes ma'am." Natalie gathered their empty mugs and 
paused to give her friend a kiss on the cheek on her 
way out of the room.

Slowly and carefully, Elena got to her feet and 
walked to the window. She stood where Natalie had 
stood not long before, watching the points of light 
moving on the bay. "Safe harbor, my dear....." she 
whispered with a tender smile.

____________________________
New Mexico
September 2228

They sat side-by-side on the sofa, staring at the 
contents of the tray before them: a china cup, a small 
teapot and a slip of paper with two dozen words 
printed on it.

"All those years of electron microscopes and DNA 
analysis, and it comes down to a cup of herbal
tea and a prayer," Natalie said quietly, a slight 
tremble in her voice. "It seems so.... simple."

"Does it?" Elena smiled. "Perhaps the prayer is the 
complicated part. It should be ready now." She 
poured the steaming, brew and handed the cup to 
Natalie.

"It smells like..... fruit trees in blossom. Well, here 
goes." Natalie carefully recited the words, then drank 
the mixture down. She put the cup on the table, closed 
her eyes, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.  

Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes and looked at Elena. "I wish it 
had told us what to expect."

"Well, if this were 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,' we'd 
have a dramatic transformation scene."

Natalie grimaced. "The lidovuterine b. hit Nick pretty 
hard. But I don't feel anything." She stifled a yawn. 
"Except tired." She yawned again. "Very tired."

"Lie down then." Elena sat back on the sofa, putting a 
cushion on her knees, and Natalie curled up with her 
head in her friend's lap.

"Just close your eyes and relax." Elena gently 
smoothed the hair from her forehead, over and over. 
"Go to sleep. Dream sweet dreams."

*My mother used to do that when I was little* was 
Natalie's last conscious thought........

_______________________

She came up out of the depths of sleep like a 
swimmer from dark waters.  The clock on the 
mantelpiece was chiming -- three, four, five. It must 
be five in the morning. She opened her eyes, sticky 
with sleep, and peered up into Elena's smiling face.

"Welcome back, Natalie."

"What?"

"Welcome back."

She sat up and knew instantly. "It's gone. Oh dear 
God, it's gone. The vampire's gone."

They laughed and hugged each other, and Natalie 
whirled around the room, pirouetting like a dancer, 
giddy with joy. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, 
thank you," she said, half to her friend and half to 
Heaven.

"Witch."

Natalie stopped her dance of joy and turned with 
horror to see him standing in the open doorway, eyes 
blazing and fangs bared, glaring at Elena.

"LaCroix," she gasped. Suddenly she realized the 
truth and her own folly.  He had been there all the 
time, waiting, just as he had been with Nick. No more 
than a few moments of hope, then he would delight in 
tearing it away. *Oh God,* she prayed silently *give 
me the strength to die.* 

"Before I am through with you, you will beg to come 
back to me, Natalie," he snarled, "but first you will 
see the consequences of your actions." He turned 
toward the frail figure standing by the fireplace. 
Natalie ran to stop him, and he tossed her aside with a 
flick of his wrist. He seized Elena and reared back his 
head to strike.

Lying on the floor, trying desperately to catch her 
breath, Natalie saw what LaCroix could not, the 
expression on Elena's face as death approached. There 
was no fear, only a tender, sorrowful smile, and as she 
lifted her fragile hand to the back of his head, Natalie 
was suddenly, vividly reminded of a mother folding a 
grown son into her embrace.

He drained her in a heartbeat, letting the tiny body 
fall at his feet like a discarded doll. Then the ancient 
vampire lifted his head, his face a mask of horror, 
and, howling in anguish, he fled.

For a long time, the room was silent, save for the 
ticking of the old clock and the sound of a woman 
weeping.
________________________

Loathing the necessity, Natalie turned to that old ally, 
fire, to conceal the true cause of Elena's death. An 
outbuilding that she sometimes used as a studio now 
served as her funeral pyre. As far as Natalie could 
tell, there was never any suspicion of foul play, 
although she was so griefstricken that she might not 
have recognized suspicion if she had seen it.

The memorial service was beautiful. The church was 
filled to overflowing with Elena's friends and family, 
and a flood of flowers and messages came from 
around the world and as far away as the Lunar 
colonies.

At the reception after the service, a very young man in 
an impeccably tailored suit, carrying an even more 
impeccable briefcase, approached Natalie somewhat 
diffidently.

"Excuse me, Ms. Knight?"

"Yes."

"I'm Joe Welsh."  He handed her a business card, and 
Natalie recognized the name of one of the most 
prominent law firms in Santa Fe.  "I'm sorry to 
intrude, but I have a delivery for you on behalf of Ms. 
Elena Valdez." 

"This is an odd time for a delivery, Mr. Welsh."

"Ms. Valdez was very specific in her instructions."

Natalie smiled sadly. "Do you want to see some 
identification?"

"No ma'am. I have your picture. But I am required to 
ask if we can conduct our business -- out of doors."

"I don't see why not." Natalie led him outside to the 
terrace, pausing on the threshold to drink in the 
beauty of the afternoon sun.

"Ma'am?"

"Sorry. Would you like to sit down?"

"No, thank you. This will only take a moment." He 
put the briefcase on the table, opened it and removed 
two identical envelopes. He read the labels carefully, 
returned one envelope to the briefcase, gave the other 
to Natalie and offered his palmcorder and a stylus. 
"Sign here, please." 

He closed the briefcase, sketched a small bow, and 
murmured something about showing himself out. 
Then he walked away, leaving Natalie staring at a 
large, thick, cream-colored envelope, with her name 
flourished across it in Elena's unmistakable 
calligraphy. 

The flap bore a cryptic symbol -- cryptic to anyone 
else, that is -- an ink sketch of a radiant sun.
Smiling, Natalie slipped her finger under the seal and 
pulled out a sheaf of papers.

The first was the deed to the ranch.

The second was a copy of Elena's will, confirming the 
gift. 

The third was a receipt from an Internet archiving 
service, listing two dozen databases on Earth and the 
colonies.

The fourth was a letter:
 
Dearest Natalie --
If my instructions have been followed -- and I have no 
doubts on that score -- you were given this "in broad 
daylight."

So, you have won. You have your  life back. And, 
since you are reading this, mine is over. 

I have a premonition that I will not long survive our 
latest adventure.  It may be the foolishness of an 
overactive imagination, or it may be a true seeing. 

Do all the things we talked about, all the things you 
dreamed. You have a heart full of love to give. Don't 
forget the past -- learn from it --  but don't let it 
shadow your future.

I want you to have the ranch. My nieces and nephews 
are all very well provided for, and none of them love 
this place as you do. 

I have made arrangements for copies of the Abarrat 
and the translation to be stored in various secure sites. 
A friend of mine has fixed things so that any attempt 
to erase them or interfere with them will result in the 
distribution of thousands of copies.

*He* will be hard pressed to keep it from you or 
anyone else who truly desires it.

Don't grieve. I've gone to meet my love.

God bless you,

Elena.

Nat dried her tears, and reached for the phone. She 
entered the number and waited. ....Three... four rings, 
and she heard the click of the receiver being picked 
up. 

"Janette...."

End Part 04 of 05
*********************************


Fortune's Wheel (05/05)
By Mary Combs

Toronto, Canada
2298

Natalie smiled as they tiptoed out of her room, the 
littlest great-grandchild blowing kisses from her 
father's arms. Her brood. The twins stayed behind to 
sit with her, holding her hands, one on each side -- 
Nicky and Richie. 

They were white-haired and wrinkled, but when she 
looked at them she still saw a pair of tow-headed 
toddlers, grinning at her over the edge of their crib in 
the orphanage. Her eldest children. The first of many. 
She smiled at them fondly. It would be nice to stay 
and talk with them a while, but she was so very 
tired....... 

It was all as she remembered it --  the dunes, the lake, 
the desert, the open door. The Guide beckoned her, 
and she stepped over the threshold into the light. 

She was dazzled for a moment, then as her sight 
adjusted she realized she was in a landscape shaped 
exactly like the one behind her -- only instead of 
dunes, there were green hills, and the lake reflected 
back trees and wildflowers.  The beauty of it took her 
breath away.... and when she did breathe, the air was 
sweet as spring itself.

A gust of wind blew her hair around her face and she 
reached to pull it back, pausing a moment to marvel 
at the sight of a young woman's hand against honey-
brown curls.

At the top of the nearest hill, a huge, ancient oak 
spread its branches against the brilliant blue sky. 
Someone was sitting in the shade beneath, and 
Natalie's breath caught as she recognized the familiar 
silhouette. She picked up her skirts (the hospital gown 
was gone, replaced by a long white linen dress) and 
she ran up the green slope, falling to her knees beside 
the diminutive figure.

"Elena!"

Black eyes sparkled at her from the wizened face. 
"Ah, there you are!"

"Were you waiting for me?"

Elena nodded and kissed her forehead. "As my mother 
used to say, a familiar face makes the best welcome." 
The dark eyes twinkled. "I am so proud of you. You 
reclaimed the life you were meant to have, Natalie."

"Thanks to you."

Elena opened her arms and then laughed softly at 
Natalie's tentative embrace. "Hug me as hard as you 
like, child. I won't break....." 

Natalie took her at her word, throwing her arms 
around the tiny body and burying her face in her 
friend's shoulder, weeping for joy while Elena held 
her, whispering soothing, meaningless words and 
smoothing her hair with a feathery touch.

And then the touch changed. The hand on her head  
and the arm across her shoulders grew heavy; the 
black silk dress beneath her fingers turned into a blue 
wool tunic, and she felt herself being pulled up onto 
her knees as the form in her arms grew larger....... 

Blinking away the tears, Natalie looked up into a pair 
of merry blue eyes and a beaming smile....

"Surprise."

"Nick! Nick?" she gasped, utterly bewildered. She 
looked around her in confusion, then back up into his 
face. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a round 
pink o as understanding dawned. 

"Nick."

"I told you, my love was strong (he kissed her on the 
right cheek) and fair (and on the left) and brave (and 
on the nose) and true." He kissed her tenderly on the 
mouth, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his 
fingertips.

"You came back for me." She shook her head at the 
wonder of it, then smiled teasingly. "So, what took 
you so long?"

The blue eyes were suddenly grave. "I had to wait 
until you were ready for me."

She nodded, understanding. "Oh Nick," she 
whispered, dropping her eyes in shame, "the things 
I've done...."

"Shhhhh." He cupped her face in his hands and tilted 
it up toward him. "It will be all right. You're here, 
Nat. You stepped into the light." 

"And that's half the battle?"

"That's all the battle." He smiled fondly at her. "'Fear 
not.' Unquote. I have that on the best possible 
authority." He gathered her into his arms, and they sat 
in blissful silence for an eternal minute.

"So," Natalie asked, raising her head from his 
shoulder, "how did you like being a woman?"

"It was a nice place to visit, but....."

She laughed and brushed the blond curls away from 
his forehead. "You were very good at it."

"I had excellent role models." He tapped the tip of her 
nose with his finger.

"Me?"

"Among others. I got a few pointers from my mother -
- and yours. I didn't have to do any of the really 
difficult things." He grinned at her. "I mean, I'd 
already had a couple of centuries practice  wearing 
high heels. I'll tell you what's hard -- being 5 feet tall. 
Now that's *really* hard."

They laughed again, and then Natalie grew sober, as 
something tugged at her memory.

"LaCroix. He knew. When he...."

Nick nodded, his face grave. "When he killed me. 
Yes, he knew. He tasted it my blood."

"Nick, I never saw or heard of him again. Neither did 
Janette. Is he...?"

"He still.... lives." Nick looked off into the distance, 
his eyes shadowed. "There's nothing more I can do to 
help him." He looked back at Natalie, and his face 
was transfigured with joy. 

He stood and held out his hand. Natalie took it and 
rose to stand beside him. 

A landscape of rolling hills and meadows stretched 
out before them. In the distance, there was a glimmer 
of light on the horizon that might be a great lake, or 
perhaps the sea. A faint path led down the hill. Hand 
in hand, they started walking.
 
"Nick, what happens now?"

"Everything darling, everything."

Finis
Fortune's Wheel  
**************************
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