Date: Mon, 11 Mar 1996 22:04:17 EST
From: VQRW76A@prodigy.com (MS CHRISTINA L KAMNIKAR)
Subject: Protect and  Serve (1/28)

Flames, flowers, and useful commentary can be sent to vqrw76a@prodigy.com.

All standard fanfic disclaimers apply. I'm just borrowing these characters
from FOREVER KNIGHT... with the exception of Morgana Harte, who is a
creation of the author
________________________
Protect and Serve (1/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        All of us, at one time or another, have done something the
Enforcers could nail us for. I mean nail us to the floor in the sunlight,
with unsanded stakes, while spraying holy water in our face with
squirtguns, and shooting garlic powder up our noses with asthma inhalers.
All of us.
        Most of us manage not to get caught; or to fix whatever we screwed
up before they get there, so we can look innocent and say "Who? Me? Noooo.
I have no idea what you're talking about..." Then we learn our lesson and
abide by the Code, not pushing our luck anymore.
        Some people never learn, of course.

 *   *  *  *  *

        I was still unpacking the moving boxes when Felix showed up.  It
was only an hour after sunset, with the full moon by now far overhead, and
the October chill had just become cold enough to force me to put on a
flannel shirt over my T-shirt and jeans.  I didn't notice the buzzer until
the third buzz because I had the boombox volume up too loud, blaring out
"1999" like it was the end of the millenia already.
        "My dear Morgana, if you must live in this... quaint... section of
town, couldn't you at least have picked a building with a doorman?" Felix's
cultured tones were plainitive and pained even through the static of the
door speaker.
        "C'mon up, you old fraud," I laughed in reply. Anything hinting at
dirt outside of a flowerpot gives Felix hives.  Not literally, of course;
we don't get hives. Although, if any of us could, Felix probably _would_,
just to prove how refined he is.
        My financial advisor was bearing a house-warming gift which
startled me out of my amusement. "One of your orchids? Are you kidding?" I
asked, touched and a little stunned as he kissed me hello.
        "You're one of the few of your century that I'd trust with it.  As
long as you turn down that music," Felix winced, adjusting the volume on
the radio.  "Orchids are fragile, you know.  And this place can use all the
assistance I can render."
        "It's not that bad."
        Felix rolled his eyes and shuddered. He goes in for penthouse
suites with their own arboretums, velvet drapes and dark mahogany; I tend
to favor lofts with wood floors,throw pillows and lots of windows, which is
a major pain in the day, but worth it at night.  I'd even gotten a skylight
with this one.  As usual, the older vampire was perfectly dressed: Armani,
Hermes, and onyx rings, all perfectly coordinated to set off his dark hair
and eyes, not a hair out of place in his mustache.   All of which made me
feel even more scruffy by comparison, since I had dust and cardboard lint
all over my jeans, and new rips in the shirt. Moving is a pain even for
vampires. I'd have asked the Crew I used to hang with to help me move in,
but some of the guys tend to be light-fingered as well as a bit cavalier
about playing Catch with my lamps, and I really couldn't afford to replace
half my stereo equipment again. I lost a really nice armchair on my last
move, too, when they were playing Kee
p-Away with it...
        "I don't understand why you insist on living in this dreary, loud
section of town. It's utterly ugly---"
        "It's the only place I can afford with everything I want. Besides,
I like the noise. Lets me know I'm alive." I half-smiled. "Or whatever."
        "Not true, sweetling.  You could have taken the money Nick set up
for you---"
        "I don't need Nick's money! I'm a big girl, I can support myself."
I got myself under control, closed my eyes at Felix's knowing expression,
and forced myself to smile again. "Sorry, Felix.  Just... let it go, okay?
I'm making enough money from the last book to buy anything I need. Do you
want a drink?"
        "Please." Felix sat on one of the boxes and fastidiously wiped a
cobweb away from one of the windows. "You have always had the oddest
taste... you didn't bring the Neanderthal back with you from Omaha, I
hope?"
        Snorting with laughter, I brought him a glass of the Raven's
special stock. "Get serious, Felix.  He's still recovering from our last
fight, and might take the rest of the century to do it.  And it was Denver,
not Omaha."
        "Hmm." He took a sip. "Probably for the best. Nick might have been
tempted to pound on him a bit, if what I've heard about your ex is true."
        "Nick wouldn't have had anything to say about it," I responded
coldly.
        "Does he know you're in town?"
        "No, he doesn't." Felix raised an expressive eyebrow. "What? I
didn't feel like calling him yet," I said defensively.
        "Are you aware that Lacroix is still here?"
        "I got the sludge from the Raven, Felix, of course I know he's
here.  I managed to avoid him. What's your point?" I was snapping now,
prowling around the boxes, unpacking books and not looking at my guest.
        "My dear, all I'm saying is that no one wants a repeat of Houston.
I hope you can manage to keep your conflict with Lacroix to a minimum. Some
of your friends like you with your pretty head still connected to your
shoulders." Felix set down his wineglass and rose to his feet.  "And this
time Janette won't be here to calm down Lacroix, or watch Nicholas's back.
Or save your neck."
        "It won't need saving. I'm not here to do anything about Lacroix.
He can have his little kingdom or terrorist fief or whatever the hell else
he's got in the Raven and welcome to it, as far as I'm concerned." I walked
Felix out of my apartment, then down to the elevator without speaking.
"Thank you for the orchid, Felix. It was a very sweet gift."
        "You're welcome, pet. Just... keep in mind what I said. Things are
going well here. As well as they ever do, of course. We wouldn't like
attention from... certain people. Would we?"
        "No." I whispered, watching him get on the elevator. Slowly, I
trudged back to my apartment, my good mood ruined.  Maybe Toronto had been
a mistake. Maybe I should have gone to Key West, or tried Hong Kong or
something.  But I missed Nick. And I'd wanted to see Janette. It was just a
matter of rotten timing that she'd left barely two months before I arrived.
Maybe in my next identity we'd run into each other.
        I was almost done unpacking, and it was getting close to midnight
when I felt it. Sitting down hard, I concentrated on repelling the thought.
*Go away!* Amusement was all I felt in return. *You're not welcome here. I
don't want to talk to you. GO AWAY!*
        *I can wait forever, my dear.*
        Hell. He probably could. He was ten times my age, easily, and most
of that time had been spent pushing at people, manipulating them. Plus,
there is the very, very attenuated blood connection we share. There was
only one way to get him out of my mind if he didn't want to go, and it cost
too much.
        I walked up the stairs to the roof, opening the fire door to the
gravel-covered rooftop and catching again the wondrous glimpse of the
Toronto skyline that had sold me on the place. Lights everywhere,
reflecting in the water, with the CN tower dominating all of it.
        Unfortunately, the scene was spoiled by the figure perched on the
edged of the cement, smiling at me.  "Ill-met by moonlight, fair Titania,"
he said, cocking his head and studying me intently.
        "I didn't go looking for _you_, Lacroix. So don't blame if the
meeting isn't to your liking."
        "So defensive, Morgana le Fay," he laughed, and I cursed myself for
acting the way he wanted me to. "Come, don't you have a sweeter welcome for
your old Uncle?"
        "Not really," I replied in a calmer tone, not reacting to his
stupid nickname for me. "And you're not my uncle."
        "Close enough." He hadn't changed, of course; it'll take more than
fifteen years before he appears different. I have no idea how old Lacroix
is; Janette wouldn't let me guess, and Nick had simply asked, "Does it
matter?" Which, of course, is clue enough to how old he must be... He still
had the same laser-light eyes, the same satisfied smile; but he'd gone a
bit more upscale in his clothing since the last time I'd seen him, and the
hair appeared darker. Dyed? Maybe. I think he might have started the punk
look in the '70's, but since he's no slave to fashion, he probably dyed his
hair back just to be difficult.
        "I simply had to offer you a Canadian welcome to our fair city.
It's been so very long. A pity you missed Janette, she will be
disappointed." He grinned, the grin that always sends shivers up my spine.
Thank God he was never my master. God and Nick. Otherwise...
        "We'll catch up with each other somewhere. Paris, maybe, for the
next fashion season," I replied, slowly approaching the edge of the roof
where he sat.  The moonlight did weird things to his eyes, the way it does
to mine; although on him it's more impressive. Scarier.
        If I ever get that scary, I hope someone stakes me.
        "Have you had time to check in with Nicholas yet?"
        "I don't have to..." I got a grip on myself as his grin widened and
his eyes narrowed. He's always known how to push my buttons. But then,
sometimes I get in a lucky shot or two also, just because I try. "No, I
haven't seen Nick yet. I just got here. Why, have you lost him again?" I
smiled sweetly as the smirk on his face vanished and the eyes got flat and
nasty, like light reflecting off gunmetal.
        "Petty of you, my dear," Lacroix whispered softly, staring off into
the distance. "But then, you've never known who your real friends were,
have you? So like Nicholas..." He recollected himself deliberately, while I
quietly seethed. I always forget that playing with Lacroix means getting
burned. "At any rate, I just came by to say 'hello' and to give you a piece
of news you may be interested in."
        "Oh?"
        "Hmmmm. Yes. It seems that a certain young vampire has taken a
mortal into his confidence. Broken the Code nine ways from hell, told her
all sorts of things he shouldn't have. Terrible, isn't it?"
        All my alarm bells went off. "Why would I be interested in that?"
        He did an elaborate double-take, the reptile. Smiling in feigned
surprise, Lacroix said, "Forgive me, but you _are_ still an Enforcer,
aren't you?"
        My stomach dropped. How did he know? Did he tell Nick? Oh, no, he
couldn't have... "How do you know that?" I snarled, pure instinct rushing
forward before I could control it, and I could feel my fangs drop as my
eyes glazed in bloodlust.
        Lacroix swallowed, and I could hear his heartbeat speed up
infinetesimally. But he never lost his smile, or his cocky confidence. "One
hears things, child. I have many, many contacts. I simply assumed that a
staunch defender of the Code would _want_ this information."
        My eyes cleared, and my own heartbeat started to go back to normal.
"I suppose that would be true. If I were an Enforcer."
        "If you were," Lacroix agreed, obviously amused.
        I hate him. I really, really hate him.
        He turned toward the skyline, poised for flight. "Wait," I said,
hating that he had me, hating that Lacroix knew what I'd become, and that
he'd probably told Nick. But I had my duty. "The name of this person... you
wouldn't happen to know it. Would you?"
        "As a matter of fact," Lacroix's eyes glittered, "It's Javier
Vachon.  You met him, once, a long time ago... but I doubt you remember it.
You were rather---distressed at the time."
        "And the name of the mortal?" I asked, wanting to bite him for
mentioning that time. The time when I was crazy. Before Nick.
        "Detective Tracy Vetter." He was watching me, his eyes feral with
glee. It took me a second to get it.
        "Nick's partner?" I said, aghast. Felix had told me all about
Nick's current life as a police detective. And to think I'd been amused
that we'd had so much in common.
        "Quite. Now of course, I know I can trust you to... handle the
situation. Can't I, my dear?" Lacroix's smile was pure malice now. He isn't
fond of me either. He bowed to me, then whispered, "Good night, sweet
princess," and flew away.
        I collapsed to my knees. Don't do this to me, I thought to the
stars. Don't. Don't make me choose. I can't, it's too hard. Let Lacroix be
lying, like always. Let this be much, much less serious than he's hinting.
        I still didn't know if he'd told Nick that I'd become an Enforcer.
        Several minutes later I got up again, and dragged myself back
downstairs.
        It had definitely been a mistake to  come to Toronto.

end part 1

______________________________
Protect and Serve - Part 2/?
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        Do you ever feel like you're drowning?
        I've been fighting that feeling for over a month now, ever since I
made detective.  I did my time in blues, in a squad car, walking a beat; I
had evidence, procedures, firearms, and interviewing suspects down cold.
But I wasn't ready for this job.  Not after dealing with bad domestic calls
and serious bar fights, not even after doing a stint on the
Scene-of-the-Crime team.  I didn't have to think about _why_ this stuff was
happening then.  I just did my job. I didn't have to face the reality of
the kind of mind which thinks murder's fun and torture's hilarious. I
didn't have to think about evil, back then.
        Vachon would say I'd had it too easy, too protected.  Too nice.
        He should talk. He's half the reason I'm drowning.

* * *  *   *   *      *

        I'd gotten to work early, as usual; there's too much to do every
day for tardiness, and I'm barely keeping up as it is.  Not that anyone's
said anything; but sometimes I wonder if that's only because they're afraid
to criticize the commissioner's daughter. Captain Reese has been
encouraging, but the only person I can count on to really help me get the
hang of this job is Nick.  He's got enough commendations and tenure to get
away with criticizing the commissioner, much less his daughter, and I don't
think he's looking for a promotion.  My partner isn't what you'd call the
ambitious type.  Although some cops with Knight's experience and record
would be pushing for lieutenant by now, Nick likes street work, and his
disability limits him to night shift---which would be another plus if he
wanted a desk and a title.  Nobody else actually _likes_ the night shift.
        Nick wasn't in yet, so I started the paperwork for a warrant we'd
need to search the school where a martial arts instructor was killed the
week before.  The owner hadn't exactly been cooperative, so I was
double-checking my copy and crossing the t's and dotting the i's when the
woman walked into the station.
        She was around my age, my height, my build; and her jeans,
high-tops and grey tweed blazer weren't dissimilar from what I had on that
evening. But she was... different.
        Don't get me wrong. I'm pretty, and there are men out there who
have a fascination with blue-eyed blondes, so I get my share of attention.
But this woman belonged on a magazine cover, she looked so perfect.
Flawless skin, thick dark-brown hair, and big green eyes with foot-long
lashes; half the patrolmen were doing double-takes when she walked by.
None of which seemed to make an impact on her. She stopped, talked to one
of our clerks, glanced in my direction, and then headed across the
squadroom for my desk without giving any of them a second look. I watched
her warily as she approached, hoping she wasn't a reporter.  With that face
and attitude, she was a dead lock to replace Maria Shriver, if she ever
wanted to retire.
        "Detective Tracy Vetter?" she asked.  Something about the husky
voice tugged at me, something familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
        "Yes? Can I help you?"
        "Actually, I was looking for your partner.  Nick isn't in yet,
hunh?"  She stuck her hands in her pockets, gazing around the station with
curiousity, eyes lingering on my desk, then back up to my face.
        "No, he isn't.  Are you a friend of his, Ms... I'm sorry, I didn't
catch your name."
        "Probably because I didn't throw it." She grinned when I giggled at
the lame joke, and the sculpted cheekbones and jawline softened into
something less intimidating. I keep trying to control that giggle, it's not
exactly dignified, but sometimes I have a "blonde moment" and it comes out.
It's such an asset to my career...
        "I'm sorry. My name's Morgana Harte, I'm an old friend of Nick's, I
just got in to Toronto." We shook hands as she went on. I could detect the
faintest trace of a southern US drawl to her speech. "A mutual friend of
ours mentioned that Nick had a new partner.  How are you settling into the
job?"
        I grimaced, then shrugged. "The honeymoon is over." The woman
seemed nice enough, but I kept staring at her as we talked, trying to place
where I knew her from.  Mugshots? Television? Another precinct? Nah. She
didn't seem like another cop, and she would have identified herself by now.
        "So soon," Ms. Harte laughed. "Is Nick so hard to work with?"
        "Nick's fine, it's  the night shift that's killing me. I'm much
more of a morning person," I said hastily. Finally, I couldn't stop myself
from asking, "Do I know you from somewhere?"
        She blinked, tilted her head, and smiled, showing lots of even,
perfect, white teeth. "I don't know. Do you?"
        "I could swear..."
        Just then Nick entered the squadroom and spotted our visitor. He
stopped dead, blinked, and headed straight for her. "Morgan?" His usual
laid-back demeanor was animated by a big grin. She hadn't been kidding
about being old friends, at least not from what I could see.  He hugged her
hard, lifting her off her feet for a second and kissing her on the cheek.
"What are you _doing_ here? Why didn't you call? I could have picked you up
at the airport..."
        If Nick seemed happy to see her, it was nothing compared to Morgana
Harte's reaction. Her face lit up like a kid's on Christmas, and she was
chuckling around his questions, hugging him back just as hard, if not
harder. "I moved here, which is why I didn't call, because I drove, and I
knew you'd offer to help me move, and I wanted it to be a surprise."
       "That's terrific, I can't believe it!" Nick laughed. I was glad to
see him happy; sometimes I worry about him. He doesn't have a family, his
last partner died just last month, he doesn't have a  steady
girlfriend---although I've heard inconclusive rumors about him and one of
the nicer M.E.'s, Natalie Lambert. It was good to know he had _some_ life
outside the police station, though.
        "Tracy, this is Morgan, an old friend of mine," Nick turned to me,
still smiling.
        "We've met. Is she someone famous? She looks familiar," I said,
leaning back in my chair.
        "Depends on your definition of famous," my partner replied with a
sly grin and a sideways glance at his friend. She groaned and punched him
lightly on his arm.
        "Cut it out. I'm not famous."
        "What, the New York Times Bestseller list isn't famous?"
        "Not the way she means it---"
        "Morgan writes mystery thrillers under another name," Nick
interruptted, giving the lady a squeeze and a look full of pride. "Faye
Corde?"
        "I love those books." I stared back at his by-now embarrassed
companion.  "The ones set in Renaissance Italy? Intrigues and murder among
the aristocracy? Those books, right?"
        Morgana Harte nodded, then mock-glared at Knight. "That can't be
where she recognizes me from, Nick. I don't let them put my picture on the
flyleaf of those things. Demanding mobs of fans I do _not_ need," she said
emphatically. Then she waved the question away impatiently. "Anyway, I came
by to invite you breakfast, or midnight snack when you're off-shift."
        "I'd love to, but I don't know when I can---"
        "Please?" Morgana begged, eyes wide and hopeful. Nick shook his
head ruefully as she added, "Say yes, Nick. Say yes, you know you want to.
C'mon, I kept your favorite in my fridge---"
        "What's his favorite?" I asked idly, watching Knight try to deny
her request, obviously torn between spending time with his friend, and the
knowledge that we'd probably be busting bad guys well toward sunrise.  They
didn't seem like ex-lovers, or just friends; more like big brother and baby
sister. Like me and Bruce, before it all ended.
        The woman's eyes narrowed, stabbing at me like daggers for a
second, then she blinked, and bamph, the hostility was gone, leaving me
wondering if I'd imagined it. The sense of recognition was abruptly
stronger; I almost knew... "Protein drink," she replied, eyes full of
hilarity. My partner snickered. Obviously, it was some private joke between
the two of them.
        "Okay, okay. If you promise to stay out of trouble." Nick's voice
was stern but his expression was anything but forbidding.
        "Until breakfast?" The southern accent was exaggerated now, and
Morgana batted her lashes at him. "Oh, golly, Nicholas, how ever will I
manage that?"
        "Just do it, Morgan, for the sake of my sanity?"
        "O-kaaaay. Sheesh. I can see I'm going to have to take you out for
some fun, get you a life or something..." Morgana kissed him good-bye
before Nick could find a comeback, said, "It was real nice meeting you,
Tracy. See ya later," then strolled off toward the exit, causing one or two
minor collisions as she left.
        "Nice girl," I said absently, still trying to figure out what I'd
recognized about her.
        Knight laughed at me. "Girl? I thought you were a feminist, Tracy,
and she's older than you are."
        "Well, she doesn't seem like it," I said, brooding on what had made
me thought I knew her. Her voice, and the eyes, and... nothing. Well, I'd
remember eventually.
        For an instant the image of Vachon flashed across my mind.
Something about her had reminded me of him. I had no idea why. Or maybe I
just had vampires on the brain. It's pretty difficult to work something
that weird into your world-view, no matter how much time you give it.
        I didn't let myself consider that maybe I just had one specific
vampire on the brain.
        Determinedly, I turned back to the arrest reports and concentrated
on work. It was a long enough night without thinking about Spanish vampires
camped out in churches, British vampires in sewers, and Incan vampires
exploding into flames.

*  *   *   *    *
end part 2


_________________
Protect and Serve (3/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        I was ready to kill someone, if necessary, by the time I reached
the Raven.  Preferably Lacroix, although I knew he wouldn't give me an
excuse. He'd been at least partially correct about the "situation".  Tracy
Vetter wasn't anyone's thrall, and I was beginning to believe she might
know about vampires. Her reactions to me were just a little too suspicious.
Which put me in an ugly position, unless I could  get Javier Vachon to
straighten the mess out by himself.
        When I walked in, the music was deafening, with the sonics on the
amplifier buzzing through my chest bone. I gritted my teeth at the
vibrations and struggled through the massed bodies, bumping into a guy with
a mohawk, nosering and facepaint who snarled at me. I snarled back, and he
blinked, nonplussed, and got out of my way. Loud music I like; bright
lights and garish costumes I like. A little random chaos is a beautiful
thing, but sensory overload makes me cranky.
        The bar was being tended by a short guy with bushy hair who I
didn't recognize. I'd seen Briana doing a slow bump-and-grind with a mortal
on the dance floor, and Miklos at one of the darker booths, deeply
engrossed in a conversation with someone's fledgling, although probably not
one of his. There'd be time to catch up with them later.  "Lacroix!" I
screamed over the music when I finally got the bartender's attention. "I
need to talk to him!" The mortal pointed toward the back of the bar,
mouthed something like, "I wouldn't..." But I was already headed toward the
room he'd pointed out.
        A bright red light proclaiming ON THE AIR was shining over the
door. I stopped, remembering what Felix had said about Lacroix's show.
Easing the door open softly, I saw the 'Nightcrawler' bent over a
microphone, the console lights throwing odd shadows across his face. He was
talking in a mesmeric tone. Even I have to admit he's got charisma. You can
hate him, you can adore him, but you can't ignore him. Even if you want to.
        "Yes, my children, tonight, we are discussing... duty."
        I swallowed, and leaned against the door as he continued.
 "A much underrated word in these corrupt times.
 Promises are made to be broken, it is said.
 Loyalties shift with self-interest." He paused, letting the words sink in.
 "'Give me the man who is not passion's slave
 and I will wear him in my heart's core
 ay, in my heart of hearts
 as  I do  thee.'
 Who among us has not wished to put aside our obligations, our promises,
for emotional excuses? Can there be..."
 His voice softened, caressing, fatherly; terrifying.
 "Forgiveness, for the forsworn?" He cued up a song; Sting's "Why Should I
Cry For You?" came through the speakers as he raised his icy eyes from the
control board to meet mine.
        "How goes your 'investigation'?" Lacroix's voice rippled with
insinuatory amusement. At my expense. I wished I knew what game he was
playing. Why should he care what Javier Vachon did, when he'd been guilty
of worse in his time?
        "Fine. Where can I find Vachon?" I didn't look at him. I might have
been tempted to smash his head into the console.
        "I understand that there's a condemned church which he haunts upon
occasion." He handed me a slip of paper with the address. "Although if he's
not there, he'll eventually show up here." I stared sightlessly at the
paper. "Tell me, what do you think of the show?"
        "Interesting topic choice. Although there's some that would
consider you hypocritical for preaching about loyalty." The bitterness
seeped through despite my best efforts at dispassion.
        "When have I ever betrayed one of my own?" Lacroix asked, his face
a parody of wounded hurt.
        "When have you not? When haven't you done your best to manipulate
and control Nick, Janette, Alexandra... me..."
        "Ah, but you were never one of mine, were you?" His smile was
knife-thin, knife-sharp.
        "No. Never." I glared at him. "I still remember what you said that
night. That I'd be better off dead. That you'd all be better off with me
dead."
        "And so we would have been," Lacroix's face was placid, kind. "You
nearly exposed all of us. If Nicholas had not intervened---"
        "You'd have thrown me to the Enforcers, to save your own skin."
        "Of course." He shook his head slowly, the picture of weary
forbearance. "My loyalties have never been in question, to either the Code,
or my children, errant though some of them may be. You, on the other
hand---"
        "I'm loyal to the Code," I snapped. "I'm more loyal than you are. I
understand the reasons for it, and I abide by the spirit, not just the
letter, the way you do."
        "Then I assume that Detective Vetter is dead?"
        I looked away. "That may not be necessary."
        "No?"
        Turning away, I heard his voice behind me. "You do realize, of
course, that Nicholas must be aware of her knowledge." I closed my eyes.
The amused, aristocratic voice pounded into my brain like the amplified
music, but so much softer, and so much more difficult to shut out. "But of
course you do. You were many things, but you were never blind. Or stupid. I
know you will do the right thing." He sounded on the verge of laughter.
        I didn't give him the satisfaction of slamming the door when I
left.
(end part 3)



_________________
Protect and Serve (part 4 of 28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        The phone was ringing, and no one else was in the lab at 1 AM, but
I had to finish the dissection of the hit-and-run victim on the table
within the next hour if I wanted the evidence to be admissible and
accurate. Thank God for intercoms. I hit the button with my elbow, said
"Morgue, Lambert here" and went back to the analysis.
        "Natalie? It's Nick."
        "Hi ya. I was wondering when you'd call. We're almost finished with
the bloodwork on the Jacoby case. I'm sort of in the middle of something
right now, can I call you back?"
        "It's not about the case. Look, I know you were going to come over
tomorrow and run some tests, but I'm going to have to take a raincheck."
        "Nick!" I put down my scalpel in exasperation, feeling a frown form
even though he wasn't there to see it. "I need--YOU need---to have those
tests done soon. Don't think you're going to get out of this, I'm not going
to re-run all those measurements on your white-bloodcell count just to get
data I can't use..."
        "I'm not cancelling, Nat. Just postponing. I've got a guest for the
day, an old friend. Please? Say you understand?"
        "I understand." Too well, I thought.
        Drumming my fingers on the table, I shook my head as he went on. "I
wouldn't cancel if I didn't have to, you know that. It isn't safe for too
many of us to know about you. For either of us. And I haven't seen Morgana
in fifteen years." I mouthed the name 'Morgana' silently as he kept
talking; why haven't I met a vampire yet with an ordinary name? Like Kathy?
or Ellen?... "If you come by after dark tomorrow night she should be ready
to leave by then."
        "I'll call first. Okay?"
        "Thanks, Nat." The warmth in his voice made me wonder how close he
was to his 'guest'. Down, Natalie. "I was thinking of renting 'Love at
First Bite' before you came over. Anything you'd like to see?"
        "Well... I'll bring something. Something funny for you to watch
while I poke you full of holes." I kept the acid in my voice down to a
reasonable level.  Sometimes Nick can be so... dense. "Gotta go, Nick. I've
got to finish this. See you tomorrow night." I hung up the phone with my
scalpel before he could say anything else, and mechanically went back to my
examination.
        Ever since Janette left and Lacroix took over the Raven, Nick
hadn't been hanging out with his "old friends" as often. I wasn't sorry.
One less temptation to divert him from his goal, in my opinion.  I'd
almost...missed...Janette, but her absence did make our efforts to find
Nick a cure a little less complicated. I don't know why I'd thought there
wouldn't be other "old friends" around, either attempting to convince him
to quit trying to become human, or just putting him in situations that
would make it more difficult. It wasn't like I'd forgotten who my chief
adversary was. Had always been.
        Finishing the autopsy, I turned the radio station to CERK as I
typed in the reports.  Listening to Lacroix always motivates me. Nick says
that occasionally Lacroix can pick up on his thoughts, and will address
what's on his mind over the radio. The eerie tones of "Falling" from the
Twin Peaks soundtrack were just fading away.
        Sometimes I wonder what will happen after I do find a cure. Nick
will be fine, he'll be happy, but for how long? How long does he expect
Lacroix to accept the situation? Before he decides to get revenge---or try
to turn Nick back into a vampire?
        I make plans in my mind, for running away. Escape. And I wonder if
Nick'll still want me to go with him, by then.
        It's been eight months since Valentine's Day. Eight months of
letting both of them think that I don't remember what happened in the
restraunt; eight months of being "just friends" with Nick again. Schanke
and Cohen are dead, Janette is gone, Lacroix's still here, I'm still here.
Still friends. When I wonder why, I tune in the "Nightcrawler" on CERK and
listen to that smug, arrogant voice taunting me.  The one that says Nick
will never be anything else, anything more.
        And I get back to work, with more reason than ever to help Nick.
        The Nightcrawler was laughing softly now at a caller who was
quoting Shakespeare back to him. "To thine own self be true," said the
caller, an older man. "That's the first loyalty. You can't be true to
anyone else if you're not true to yourself first."
        "Ah. But aren't we the sum of what others have made us? Our outside
influences? If we forget those to whom we owe what we've become, we can not
be truly what we are." Another soft laugh, more condescension and
superiority than amusement. "Deny the ties all you wish.  Claim for
yourself 'free will' and 'choice'. I say that we diminish the more we
change."
        I rubbed the bridge of my nose, setting my jaw in determination.
You can say anything you want, I thought. It doesn't change the truth. Nick
owes you nothing anymore.
        "And now I must play a request. For a very young child named
Morgana." I blinked, wondering what he was up to. And why would he dedicate
a song to Nick's friend? "The certainties of youth, my listeners, are
wonderful.  To love with all one's heart. To hate with all your soul.  To
know, with absolute surety, what is right, and what is wrong.  One can only
envy that... simplicity." The music started, and I recognized it with
surprise; Lacroix isn't fond of rap. Coolio's voice rang out with authority
and menace.

        As I walk through of the Valley of the Shadow of Death
        I take a look at my life and realize 's not much left...+

          Lacroix's playing of "Gangsta's Paradise" made me wonder if I'd
been completely off in my suspicions about Nick's "friend". Not that there
was anything I could do if I was right. But still...
        ...maybe I wouldn't call before I went over to Nick's tomorrow. I
suddenly wanted to meet someone who'd inspire Lacroix to play rap.

+ "Gangsta's Paradise" from the soundtrack of DANGEROUS MINDS, copyright 1995.
(end part 4)



____________________
Protect and Serve, part 5/28
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        I'd gotten home exhausted, worn out more from the effort of
thinking about ten things at once rather than chasing criminals on foot.
The evidence from the Jacoby case suggested that more than one killer was
involved; the search of the martial arts studio had turned up nothing we
could use; and the interrogation of one of our gangland slaying suspects
had been pointless, an obvious dead-end. Not a good night.
        Slipping my shoes off as I closed the door behind me, I remembered
one other small, miniscule detail that had been bugging me through the
shift. It was silly, really.
        Morgana Harte had reminded me of Vachon.
        I flopped down into the easy chair, watching the sky lighten
through my living room windows. It'd be another forty minutes before the
sun was up.  He'd probably still be awake, if I wanted to call him. If I
waited much longer it would only be rude, since he'd probably be going to
sleep soon. But it wasn't like I was in the habit of calling him; we
weren't exactly friends. Not that we weren't friends, in fact.  It was just
difficult to explain what we were. Acquaintances? Allies?
        Aside from Screed, I didn't know of any other vampires. I didn't
know if any more lived in Toronto, or even in the world. The only other one
I'd met was dead.  I wasn't sure I'd recognize another vampire if I saw
one. Except---
        ---except that the things about Morgana Harte that had made me
think I knew her were all things I associated with Vachon. The perfect,
pale skin, the even white teeth, the air of hostility; all of them, and
maybe, possibly, something I'd seen in her eyes...
        I grabbed the cel phone and punched in Vachon's number before I
gave myself time to think. This was too stupid to worry about. I'd just
call him, and he'd say, No, Trace, I've never met a vampire named Morgana,
and then I'd describe her, and he'd say, Nope, not familiar, and Trace, we
have got to have a talk about this paranoia of yours. There wouldn't be a
problem.
        Which wouldn't necessarily mean I was wrong about her. But what
could I do about it? Aside from grill Nick about her again. And that had
gone so well during the shift, that I wasn't willing to try that again.
        "So you two met in Houston," I said, carefully not looking at my
partner as he drove his Caddy down Greenleaf Avenue. "Where in Houston?
When? Has she always been a writer?"
        Nick raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You're that big a fan?"
        "Well, yes," I admitted, since it was the truth. Faye Corde's books
had always been my favorites, ever since I was in high school. I frowned.
"How old is she? I thought Faye Corde started writing in the early 80's.
She must have started awfully young."
        My partner shrugged, seeming slightly amused by the question.
"Older than she looks---closer to my age than yours.  She looks younger
because she's never in the sun. Morgana has the same skin disease I do.
That's how we met in Houston, at a treatment clinic there."
        "Oh." I digested this while we waited at the light.  Nick's skin
allergy hasn't ever stopped him from being a good detective, or from having
a normal life. But... wouldn't it be convenient, if you were a vampire, to
claim that kind of disability? Nick, of course, is completely normal;
Vachon had to hypnotize to forget parts of our first case. Sometimes I
still felt guilty about that, and about keeping secrets from my partner.
But it wasn't my secret, and it wouldn't be fair to Vachon to tell Nick
everything I knew just to ease my conscience. "She's a terrific writer.
Sometimes I think she could have been part of Renaissance Venice, she makes
it seem so...real."
        Knight grinned in pride. "She has quite an imagination."
        "Were you and she ever involved?"
        For some reason this seemed to irritate him when my other questions
hadn't. "What is this, Twenty Questions? No, we were never involved, as you
put it."
        "Sorry," I apologized, widening my eyes in innocence. "I was just
curious."
        "Yeah, well..." Nick shrugged, lips still thin in annoyance. "She's
like a kid sister to me. And she values her privacy. So please don't ask me
anything more, allright?"
        "Allright," I assented as we reached the martial arts studio.
"Consider me completely quiet on the subject."
        Nick smiled sheepishly. He shut off the car, then turned to me and
asked, "Look, if you want, I'll get you an autographed copy of her latest
book. She just moved here, though, so---"
        "Don't bother her, I understand, Nick." I grinned, letting the
subject slide away. "So, who gets to be the good cop this time?"
        If I was right, and I hoped I wasn't, then what? There was no way I
was going to let her know that I knew. Screed had suggested breaking my
neck when he found out about my knowledge of Vachon.  But maybe I'd tell
Nick. So far all the lies I'd told had been to shield him from the
weirdness of what happened with Vudu. If it started putting his life in
danger, I wasn't going to keep lying.
        "Vachon," mumbled a sleepy voice at the other end of the
connection, "This better be good."
        "It's Tracy. I've got a question for you."
        "Make it fast, Trace. It's been a long night. Very long." Vachon
sounded grimmer than usual, maybe because the sun was almost rising.
        "Do you know a vampire named Morgana?"
        Silence, then a muffled curse in Spanish. "You did figure it out,
didn't you? I tried to tell her you had no idea--"
        I let out a breath, shaky and scared.  "She came to visit you? Why?
Who is she?"
        "Trouble. Look, we might as well get this settled as soon as
possible.  Can you come to the church? Now?"
        Mentally I wrote off my plans for sleeping in that evening. It was
Saturday morning, and I wasn't supposed to be back in the precinct until
Monday, so ... "Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."
        "Don't tell anyone about this."
        "We're going to have to talk about that, too."
        "Just don't tell anyone anything until after I've had a chance to
explain. We're both in a lot of trouble, and we're going to have to think
fast before someone gets hurt." He disconnected without saying anything
more, and I hung up the phone slowly, feeling my muscles ache with
tiredness. With a feeling like lead weights attached to my body, I slipped
my shoes on again, grabbed my keys, purse, and gun, and headed out the
door.

        I got to the church at about half-past six; the bright morning
sunshine making my night-time suspicions seem stranger than before. In the
half-light of the old church, they didn't feel as ridiculous. I kept
glancing around, certain I'd see her somewhere, green eyes glowing, fangs
extended to sink into my neck. As I climbed up into the disused belfry, the
safety I'd felt in the bright sunlight faded away completely.
        White sheets still covered everything, with candles lit to provide
the little light there was.  It looked like a scene from a music video,
with the main player center stage. Vachon had his back to me, idly playing
some discordant notes on his guitar. He stilled the strings and spoke
without turning toward me. "You shouldn't have let on that you knew."
        "I didn't think I had!" I marched over to face him, looking down
into his eternally young face. J.D. Valdez--Javier Vachon---is always
twenty-five years old, always handsome, always ironic, and usually not a
bad guy. For a blood-sucking creature of the night, I added mentally to
myself.  "Who is she, Vachon? How did she figure out that I knew? Have you
seen her? Where do you know her from?"
        He smiled without humor, gestured me to a seat which I didn't take,
and glanced back down at the quiet guitar. "Do you always interrogate
suspects like that, Detective Vetter?  Not give them a chance to take a
breath or answer a question, just intimidate them by sheer volume?" I
pressed my lips together in fury, then sat down, giving him a chance to
talk.
        When he saw that I had my attention, he started talking, his voice
flat and expressionless, dark eyes fixed on something I couldn't see. "She
came to see me earlier tonight. She'd heard from someone--she wouldn't say
who--that you'd found out about me, and that I knew about it and hadn't
done anything. I tried to tell her that you didn't know anything, that I'd
erased your memory."
        "Did she believe you?" I started worrying at my fingernail, another
bad habit that I've almost kicked. But not quite.
        "No." He focused on me now, and sat up a little straighter. "She's
an Enforcer." At my blank look, he half-laughed, shaking his head. "Think
of the mob, or the CIA. That'll give you an idea of what she is. She's
supposed to stop mortals from knowing about us."
        "Stop them from knowing about you. How?"
        "Any way she wants." Vachon looked away, stood up and put the
guitar down. "She gave me an ultimatum. Deal with you within forty-eight
hours. Or she'd do it herself." He paced a few steps, then turned back.
"That means kill you, erase your memory, bring you over, or make you a
thrall."
        "What a terrific set of choices," I said. I could scarcely breathe,
I was so scared. "What's a thrall? Do I want to know?"
        Regret flashed across the vampire's face before he managed to mask
it behind the expressionless front again.  "A slave." He grinned at the my
look of distaste. "Yeah, I know, I don't think much of the idea either. But
it's either that, or worse."
        "Wait a minute! Don't I get a say?"
         Vachon blinked, then smiled, crossing his arms across his chest
and raising his eyebrows. "Have you got a better idea?"
        "Well... yeah! Can't we talk her out of this?" He laughed outright,
hilarity rippling across his face. "Okay, if that's not an option..." I
paused, thinking hard. "How hard will it be to convince her that I've
forgotten?"
        "Nearly impossible. You can lie to Enforcers, but you have to make
it practically airtight." Vachon bit his lip, eyes closed. "I have an idea
that might work. But you won't like it. You're going to have to trust me."
        I decided I didn't want to address that new idea right now. "You
know she's a friend of my partner's. I've got to warn Nick."
        "NO." Vachon's eyes snapped open. "Definitely not. You'll only put
him in danger." As I drew breath to argue, he said, "Look, Trace, he's safe
with her. She isn't going to kill him, or turn him, he's got too many
friends and he's too obvious. Right now, Nick Knight is the safest person
in the city. _We're_ the ones with the problem. Do you want to get Nick
hurt too?"
        I shook my head, chewing on my thumbnail again.
        "Then let it go. For now. She'll be back here Monday morning if I
don't call her. But if we go with my plan, we can have this settled by
tomorrow night."
        "What plan?"
        He told me what he thought we should do, and I hated it. I raised a
couple hundred objections, all of which he countered. In the end I was
quiet. He sat down next to me and took my hand. "Do you trust me?"
        "I don't know." I turned my face to him, seeing the sad eyes and
mocking half-smile.  Trust him? He hadn't killed me when we first met, when
it would have been the easiest thing to do. But this situation was a lot
more difficult. I wanted to feel safe, to believe that the hands holding
mine weren't going to break my neck. "Why are you so sure she won't let
this go?"
        "I met her once. About thirty years ago." Vachon's smile was
rueful, almost impressed. "She was crazier than I am. Crazier than anyone.
I wouldn't take her on for love or money or season tickets to the Jays. If
I try to fight her," he paused, then let go of my hand and stood, walking
back over to the chair that held his guitar. He didn't finish the sentence,
but it was obvious what he meant. He'd lose. And Morgana Harte would kill
me.
        "Okay," I whispered. I was shaking. This wasn't supposed to happen.
My normal life and my friendship with Vachon weren't supposed to interfere.
But I couldn't forget, and I didn't want to die. And if I trusted him,
maybe it would work out.
        "This won't work unless you're sure."
        "I'm sure."
        He studied me for a minute, then nodded. "Come back at sundown.
I'll call her. And... there might be one more option. I hope."
        I nodded, then stood up and walked for the exit.
        "Trace."
        I turned, and met his eyes. Human, normal eyes; which I'd seen
flash with yellow fire and rage when provoked. But now they were just
tired, confused. He's over four hundred years old, and for a second, I
could believe it.
        "I won't let her hurt you."
        I nodded, calm. "I know." Then turned back to the stairs before I
had to explain how I knew that. It wasn't something I wanted to explain to
myself, much less Vachon. I just hoped I wasn't wrong.

(end part 5)
(comments to mcbs50d@prodigy.com; flame warnings would be appreciated!)



______________________
Protect and Serve (6/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        Once upon a Halloween in the sixties, four young women attending
Rice University in Houston went to a party given in the rich and sleazy
part of town, secure in the fact that they were together and nothing bad
could ever happen to them. At this party they met a charming and rich man,
who invited them to another party in a richer and sleazier part of town.
Confident that only the timid suffer, they got into a limousine with him
and went to a private party, where they had a lovely time.
        The first young lady took drugs from anyone who offered them, mixed
them with champagne, and woke up in the emergency room, getting her stomach
pumped.
        The second young lady went off to a private bedroom with one of the
guests, had a wonderful, passionate, physical interlude with him, shortly
followed by her death from an (apparently) slit throat.
        The third young lady got scared by one of the guests, tried to
leave, was restrained, and died two days later from a stake through the
heart. No one's quite sure where she was during those two days...
      The fourth young lady drank an awful lot of champagne, danced on the
balcony, kissed many guests, met the man whom the second young lady had
encountered, and woke up a vampire the next morning.
        There is no apparent moral to this story.
        But I'll bet Lacroix would like it anyway.

*   *    *     *       *

        Nick's place was what I expected; eclectic, open, with a ton of
strange and interesting objet d'art and (of course) sun tokens everywhere.
It was cozy and a trifle depressing. I'd brought along my own bottle from
the Raven, since my taste for things bovine died thirty years ago along
with my mortality. Sometimes I can still remember the taste of an
extra-juicy, thick hamburger with tomato and cheese and lettuce, and I can
understand why Nick wants to be human.
        Then I remember that he's giving up *flying*, and the whole concept
of mortality becomes incomprehensible again. I miss sunlight. I miss food.
I miss my family, although there's nothing I can do about that now. But the
weakness of being mortal... of being afraid, physically afraid, to walk
down a deserted street; getting sick, getting old, getting hurt... Maybe
when I've existed eight centuries, I'll want my mortality back. But not
yet.
        I was studying the sun disk on the wall as Nick poured the drinks.
"Did you have this in Venice?"
        "No. It was in storage in Paris. You're thinking of the
tapestry---"
        "You're right, the one with the unicorn." I smiled at him as he
handed me my goblet. "What happened to that?"
        Nick grimaced ruefully. "Janette won it off me in a card game about
a year later. I think she wanted it only to burn it, because she thought it
was trash."
        I giggled and took a long, slow sip of the blood, letting it pool
in my mouth before I swallowed.  The day had just dawned, and Nick had
gotten off-shift half an hour before. I'd been waiting for him on his front
steps when he came home, just like old times.  It had been a very difficult
evening; first the encounter with Nick's partner, and then the
confrontations with Lacroix and Vachon. The blood was restoring my lost
equilibrium, but not as quickly as I wished it would. Being around Nick was
always slightly upsetting; being reminded of the past by Vachon was deeply
unpleasant. Another long draught of the blood, and I was almost relaxed
enough to act normal.
        "So." I turned away, wandering aimlessly around his loft, picking
up things and putting them down as I talked. A pillow here, a statue there,
a candleholder, then a remote; "Felix said you're still trying to cross
back."
        Nick raised his eyebrows, his expression calm but just a bit
defensive. "Yes, that's right."
        "You still think it can be done."
        He shook his head as I wandered by the CD player, fiddling with the
buttons until the radio came on. His expression wasn't one of denial, but
of weariness, as if he'd had this discussion a million times before. "I
have to keep hoping it's possible, Morgan.  If I thought it wasn't..." Nick
shrugged and took a sip of the cow's blood. How he could drink it without
grimacing was beyond me.  His expression didn't reveal anything of his
feelings, either of displeasure with the drink or the topic of
conversation.
        "If you thought it wasn't?" I encouraged him, seating myself on the
leather couch, and patting the cushion next to me.
        "I don't know what I'd do," he said quietly, walking around the end
table to join me on the couch.
        A shiver went over me. "Don't talk like that," I ordered.
        He tilted his head at me, then raised a hand to stroke my hair. "I
wouldn't walk into the sun, if that's what you're thinking." The stroking
was calming, soothing me without my realizing it, bringing back more
memories. "I'd probably just bury myself for a century or so, until a cure
could be found."
        "You're talking like it's a curse, or a disease, or---"
        "It is for me, Morgan." Nick's eyes were so calm and clear. He'd
always been able to do that; discuss the most painful things with that
stoic endurance. Except for Lacroix.  "I've had enough of immortality. Of
watching people I love die.  Of making up for sins I'd rather not remember.
Of looking on human beings as a source of food." He took another sip from
his goblet while I toyed with mine, feeling half-guilty and half-resentful
that I couldn't force myself to drink cow. He got a glimpse of my face from
behind his cup, and smiled as he put the drink down on the end table and
pulled me into a hug.
        "I'm not saying you have to do this, Morgan. This is what's right
for me. I _need_ to become human." He stroked my hair again, and I thought
about how it had been when I first met him; how I would have done anything
he asked, anything he even mentioned once, just to please him. "Can't you
accept that?"
        "I guess." It came out as a whisper. I closed my eyes and hugged
him back, hard. I'm glad I don't love him anymore, not like I used to. Even
though I could almost wish that he'd felt for me, just for a little while,
what I'd felt for him. "But it doesn't mean I won't miss you. A lot. It...
doesn't seem fair. I can't imagine the rest of my life without you."
        Nick pulled away, and grinned boyishly, looking younger than me for
a couple seconds.  "It'll be a while, you know. It hasn't happened yet. And
I should still have a full mortal lifespan after I've crossed back."
        "It's still too short."
        He sobered, his face becoming serious. "You'll have Janette. And
you don't need me anymore, m'love."
        "Maybe not." I sighed and straightened, then stood to wander around
the apartment again.  "But it's not like I can forget what I owe you."
        Nick looked down at his glass, not meeting my eyes. "You don't owe
me anything."
        I snorted, then chuckled aloud in disbelief, rolling my eyes when
he finally glanced back at me, startled by my laughter. "Nick..." I
gestured futilely with my hands, trying to think of where to start. "I owe
you everything."
        "I'm not asking for---"
        "I know, I know," I interruptted, waving his objections away.
"You're not Lacroix; you're not interested in mind control or absolute
possession. You're not asking that I pay you back. But don't you see, Nick,
I want to. I wish... I wish there was something I could do, to make us
even." Maybe keeping you safe from Vachon and Tracy will be enough, I
thought to myself.
        "Is that why you wouldn't take the money in the account?" Knight's
gaze was penetrating, and I didn't have any trouble believing he was good
at his new job.
        "Part of it." I shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "Felix talks too
much. He shouldn't have told you I put it back." I stood in front of one of
Nick's paintings, all bold splashes of blue and gold, with green edges.  I
traced the curve of a green wave, into a gold swirl, into a blue whirlpool.
"You don't have to support me, I'm not your responsibility. I _can_ get by
on my own."
        "If you need the money, you should have it." Nick put up a hand to
stop my protest when I turned around. "I may not have brought you over, but
technically, you're still part of my family. Maybe I'm not going to be a
vampire for much longer---or maybe I'll be one for another century.
Whichever way it works out," he stood and took my hand, kissed my palm
softly, then curled his fingers around it, "You can always count on me."
        "I always could." I smiled, remembering...

*************** 1967, Houston, Texas

        "You should have left her to the Enforcers."
        I didn't open my eyes; I was too comfortable where I was. Soft
sheets, soft pillow, quiet, dark... why should I move? The words I was
hearing didn't make sense anyway. Not then.
        "It wasn't her fault." A different voice, quieter, but more
intense.
        "Then whose fault was it? Elliot's? He's dead. Very, very dead.
She's dangerous, Nicholas.  You'll end up exsanguinated, or ripped to
shreds, like he was. You can't control a rogue." A slight British accent,
maybe; different from the long slow Texas drawls I was used to. A voice
that cut like a sword. Not brittle, not thin like glass, but all steel and
razor-brilliance.
        "I don't have to. She's tired now, and scared. In a while, after
she's had a chance to get her bearings, she won't need me so much." A nice
voice. I liked it. I didn't know what he was talking about, or who this
'she' they kept discussing was.  But I was on this one's side.
        "You're delirious." Amusement, superiority, a certain contempt; I
burrowed deeper into the cool sheets, farther away from that voice. "Do you
think a voluntary blood bond will be enough? It won't be, I assure you.
Just wait, Nicholas. She'll get hungry again. And when you can't supply her
with victims quickly enough, she'll turn on you."
        "You're wrong." The calm voice again, the one I liked. He talked
for a while, and I drifted back to sleep, lulled by the surety and the
kindness of words I couldn't comprehend.

End part 6



______________________
Protect and Serve (7/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        I awoke disoriented, thinking I was in Houston again, staying in
Nick's townhome while the Enforcers looked for me.  It took a minute to get
my bearings; I'd fallen asleep on the couch sometime around noon, after
talking and laughing with Nick for what must have been hours. I relaxed
back onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling, wondering when it would be
dark enough to leave. There was still a ton of moving-in things to be done
at my apartment; and if Vachon had left me a message, I'd have to get it
soon. Letting him have too much time to think might be a bad idea.
        "You're wrong." Nick's voice, low and harsh, upstairs. I tensed,
not wanting to eavesdrop, but the level of anger being expressed was
impossible to ignore. "Fine. I'll take care of it." Fast footsteps above
me, and then Nick was descending the staircase, jaw set, fingers clenched
around the cel phone.
        "Who was that?" I mumbled, sitting up and straightening my clothes.
        "Javier Vachon. He claims you're an Enforcer." Nick was standing in
front of me, his gaze searching mine, pleading without words for my denial.
At the first syllable of his answer, I froze, surprised and furious at
Vachon's tactic.
        "Really." I raised my eyebrows, then shrugged.
        "Is it true?" The pain in Nick's face was everything I'd expected;
as if Vachon had accused me of every crime in the world, and Nick was
afraid it was all gospel. I suppose in his book, being an Enforcer _is_ a
crime.
        I tried to laugh, standing and looking around for my shoes, not
meeting his gaze.  I could see him out of the corner of my eye, tense and
wary. "Me? An Enforcer? Get serious, darlin'. Why would I sign up for the
Marines?"
        "You're lying." That harshness again, Nick's voice getting quiet
and chill. "Your accent always gets stronger when you lie."
        I stopped looking for my shoes, and forced myself to look at him.
The pain was still there, but worse was the distrust that I'd known he'd
feel after I told him. I swallowed, searching for words.
        "How could you?" Nick spat out the question through clenched teeth.
 I tried to answer, to tell him why I'd become one of the Code's defenders,
but that wasn't what he was asking. "How could you place Vachon in a
position like this? Tell him he had to 'take care' of Tracy, or you
would?!?"
        "I didn't put him in this position, he did that all by his
ownsome," I snapped. "You _know_ the Code. Damnit, Nick, having your
partner know about Vachon endangers you, too! She might figure it out---"
        "So it _is_ true." Arctic ice would have been warmer than the look
Nick was giving me. Somewhere in there, betrayal and hopelesness cut at me,
making my heart bleed.
        "Yes, it's true!" I was furious now, furious that Nick of all
people would ask me to justify myself, furious that he was so disappointed
in me. "And now I have to clean up the mess that Spanish slacker has
created. Don't think I enjoy this---"
        "Why not? Isn't this what Enforcers live for?" He sat down on the
couch, pushing shaky fingers through his hair. "Killing mortals unlucky
enough to find out about us?"
        "No. That isn't what we do." I slowly walked over to him, then sat
down carefully on the coffee table facing him. "Listen to me. Just listen."
He was silent, staring at the floor, face set in lines of shock and anger.
"It isn't safe for mortals to become part of our lives. For them, or for
us. That's why the first law is 'don't get caught'.  Do you think your
partner's comfortable with her knowledge? Don't you think she'd rather not
know?"
        "You don't know that. Neither do I. And Tracy can't forget, she
can't be hypnotized," challenged Nick, "so what are you going to do?" I
looked away, licking my lips as I tried to think of a way to break it to
him gently. He laughed softly, without humor. "I don't know you at all," he
whispered.
        He could have punched me in the stomach, and it would have hurt
less. "It _has_ to be done---"
        "Why? Because of some ancient Code, that says their lives are worth
less than ours? Tracy's no threat." Nick was up and pacing now, still
watching me with disbelief and anger.  "She has no proof. She isn't going
to go on Geraldo or Hard Copy---"
        "She's a cop, Nick, she knows too much---"
        "So am I!"
        "That's different!" I shouted him down, hating how difficult this
was. "You're one of us!"
        "And what happens when I'm not 'one of us' anymore?" He leaned
forward, his hands on the back of the sofa, eyes shining with an ugly
light.  "Will you kill me too?"
        "NO." I stopped, shocked at the volume of the yell that came out of
my mouth. "I have to do this."
        "Then I have to stop you."
        I couldn't help it. I laughed. It was funny, and then the look on
his face... so I ended up laughing harder, unable to stop until I collapsed
in the easy chair.  Nick regarded me with a combination of disgust and
confusion. Finally, I got my reactions under control. "You can't."
        He snarled, eyes going feral. I gasped, unable to believe he was
actually trying to challenge me.  It seemed to shock him too; after a
second, his eyes were normal again, and an expression of shame washed
across his features.  Sadness and tiredness replaced the shame as he bowed
his head, unable to look at me. "Don't make me have to hurt you, Morgan. I
won't kill you, but I can't let you harm Tracy. I'll use the old blood bond
to stay in your mind until you give up on this insanity."
        Still he didn't get it. "Nick. You _can't_ stop me." I was
whispering, trying to deal with the hurt, the anger that he'd choose the
side of someone he barely knew over me, and the Code. "I am an Enforcer.
That means," I stood, and felt my eyes change, my face change, heard my
voice drop, "that I am stronger than you. Faster than you. Smarter than
you, in some ways. The bond we once had is _gone_, Nick. You can't control
me any more. If I'm killed, the others will know it immediately. And since
that is the _only_ way you can stop me..." I didn't finish the sentence,
letting myself return to normal, the adrenalin still pumping through my
veins, breath coming faster than usual; all of this disguising the fact
that I wanted to cry, to say, okay, Nick, no problem, I'll just forget
about Tracy. The shaken look on Nick's face as he saw me change had hurt as
much as his opposition. I would have loved to let the whole mess go.
        But I couldn't. I'd made promises... Lacroix's voice came back to
me; no excuses here. It was too important.
        "Not even for you, Nick."
        "So much for owing me 'everything'." The bitterness on his face
nearly undid me.
        "That's not fair," I said on a soft breath.
        "Neither is killing Tracy for something she can't help."
        Echoes of my dream. Oh, he was pulling out all the stops. "I might
not have to kill her. Vachon doesn't have my resources. There _are_
alternatives." I was pleading, hating myself for it, hating him, a little
bit, for refusing to understand. Why did he have to be so stubborn?
        "Very reassuring." Nick turned away from me. "Get out."
        "Nick, it's either me, or the others. If I don't do this, more of
them will come---"
        "I said GET OUT!" he turned, throwing the cel phone at me, missing
by a mile, but that was enough to shut me up when nothing else could. Nick
never, ever hurt me. He'd never tried. Not even when I was at my craziest
and most dangerous; not even when I deserved it.
        Some part of me wanted to blame Lacroix for this; to make it all
his fault. But it wasn't his fault, it was Vachon's... no, it was mine. I
should have told Nick...oh, who knew whose fault it was, it didn't matter,
none of it mattered, why couldn't he understand I didn't have a choice...
        I grabbed my purse, my shoes and my jacket and headed for the door.
Someone was on their way up; the elevator opened as I reached it. A small,
slim woman with a cloud of brown hair and big surprised blue eyes
hesitantly stepped out of the converted freight car, holding a
videocassette and a doctor's bag. "Morgana?" she asked, glancing from me to
Nick and back again.
        "Yes." I walked past her, banging open the elevator door. "Sorry I
can't stay to meet you, whoever you are. I have a pressing engagement
elsewhere. Nick," he didn't look up, didn't even glance at me, and the hurt
and anger I'd been nursing increased by another order of magnitude, "when
you get over being self-righteous and pig-headed, give me a call. You know
I'm right." Silence.
        The elevator was at the ground floor before the shakes hit me,
nearly sending me to my knees outside in the fading twilight. Rage and pain
and frustration and betrayal all combined together. I took off into the
sky, letting the anger fuel me as I rose higher and higher, blood tears
streaming down my face.

(end part 7)



____________________
Protect and Serve (8/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        I'm not good at leaps of faith.
        Taking things at surface value isn't one of my strong points
either. It's one of the reasons I've survived as a police officer for as
long as I have.  It helps in the detective work, and it helps in the
politics; knowing that things aren't always as they seem, that people have
ulterior motives, that someone who's helping you isn't always your friend.
        Vachon asked me to trust him, and to believe his version of events
without hearing the other side. To just accept that everything was going to
be okay.
        Fat chance.

*   *   *   *     *    *

        Vachon was alone when I entered the belfry. The thought "bats in
the belfry" shot through my mind when I saw him hanging from one of the
cross-beams, trying to reach something he'd placed out of reach above the
door. Then I realized his feet weren't touching the beam; he was floating
without support, doing a Peter Pan impression.
        "What are you _doing_?" I asked, tilting my head back to see what
he was reaching for.
        "There's more storage space up here for the music," he replied, not
looking down. He was contorted into an upside down C, feet dangling above
his head in defiance of gravity in a way that gave me the creeps. I think
he does stuff like this on purpose just to jar me. Vachon finished what he
was doing, then slowly drifted down to stand in front of me.
        "Ready?" he asked, unnaturally serious.
        "No."
        "Tracy---"
        "No, I mean it. I'll do this if there's no other choice, but I
_have_ to talk to her first. I'm not going through with this if I don't
have to." Javier nodded, an I-don't-care-it's-your-skin expression on his
face.  "Don't give me that look---"
        "You don't understand what kind of trouble we're in," he
interruptted, turning away to light a few candles, his concentration
seeming completely on the matches and candles. I followed behind him,
trying to make him see reason.
        "Maybe it's not as bad as you think."
        A soft breath on the back of my neck was the only warning. "Maybe
it's worse."
        I whirled around, drawing my gun, and froze, too scared to shoot.
I'd seen Vachon and the Inca when they became vampires. It had scared me,
but not so much that I couldn't function. Morgana was worse.
        I don't know if it was because her teeth were longer than theirs
had been, or the eyes brighter gold; or maybe it was something *wrong*
about her face, the muscles and bone structure severely, menacingly altered
from what they'd been the evening before. I'd thought her very pretty then,
and the worst of it was, she was still beautiful---but beautiful the way
animals are beautiful. There was nothing human in her face, and no trace of
compassion.
        "You told me that the problem was solved, Vachon." The sibilant
rasp was different too, but weirdly, the southern accent remained. I took a
step backward, shaking.
        "I said I had a solution. You don't have to do anything." He was
standing next to me, his hand on my arm, and he slowly pushed my arms down,
so the gun was pointing at the floor. I'd shot the Inca point-blank in the
stomach two months ago, and at the time he didn't even blink, just became
more of a threat. The words of one of my firing range instructors came back
to me: "Never think that because you have a gun, that you have control of a
situation. Guns can be taken away, and the situation will still persist."
        I tried to think of what Nick would do, but I knew Nick would never
be in a deserted church with two vampires in the first place.  I
re-holstered the gun, glancing from Vachon to the woman he called an
Enforcer. They were both vampires, but I knew who I trusted without any
problem. But first I had to try to talk Morgana out of hurting us.
        "Listen. I know you're kind of a cop, or something---"
        "That's correct, Detective Vetter." A humorless smile from her made
me speak faster, more desperate with each word.
        "I understand that we've broken some rules, but it wasn't
intentional, and I know that it's important that I don't tell. I won't. I
promise---"
        "Don't make promises you can't keep, Detective." She stepped
forward, arrogant, her eyes half-lidded. "You'd have to keep that secret
for the rest of your life, you know. And people change. What if you got mad
at Javier here? Or he killed someone, and you thought you had to arrest
him?" She slowly moved her head back and forth in the negative. "You're
asking all of us to trust you. We're not very good at trust."
        "How do we know you actually represent who you say you do? I don't
know that you have any authority at all."
        Vachon shut his eyes, his fingers digging into my arm. "Tracy... "
        "No." She seemed amused, on the verge of chuckling, but suppressing
it. "It's a fair question." She came closer, only an arms' length away, too
close for me to feel comfortable. ">>Look at me<<."
        I couldn't disobey. I managed to blow off Vachon's commands when he
tried to make me forget, but I couldn't _not_ look at her. She was still
talking. "This is how you know what I am. I have more power. I'm younger
than Vachon---centuries younger---but if I wanted to, I could tear off his
head and throw it in Lake Ontario before either of you could do anything."
She took another step, and I could feel her breath on my cheek, count the
extra teeth in her mouth. "Not that it matters. Mortals are not to know
about us. I could be anyone, any vampire at all, and no one would question
your deaths; they'd be entirely justified. Of course, there are other
options..."
        "No." Vachon put himself between us. "This isn't necessary." He
turned around, blocking my view of Morgana, and raised his eyebrows.
"Trace?" he whispered, asking for my permission.
        The fact that he asked gave me the nerve to nod. "Do it," I said,
biting my lower lip, frightened his plan wouldn't work.
        He was talking, holding my gaze with his eyes. It was like before,
when he'd tried to compel me, but this time, I had to go with it, I
couldn't fight it, or we'd both be dead... "Tracy, give your will to me.
Let your self go, and just feel. Listen to *my voice*." His lips had quit
moving, but the voice was still in my head. *You're part of me. Your
thoughts are mine. Your feelings are mine. Your desires are mine.*
        Some tiny part of me wanted to be sick. Was screaming in outrage at
the invasion of my mind. Another part...
        ...I could feel his fear, and his desperation; his hope that this
ruse would work; the warmth for me, concern that I wouldn't suffer for his
carelessness; genuine liking and.... desire. Like flames on my skin; I
wanted to blush, but I didn't have that much will left. I could feel the
silk of his shirt, my own skin under his hands; sense him looking at
himself through my eyes, hear Morgana behind him with his enhanced hearing.
I could feel him experiencing my feelings, and the endless mirroring of our
awareness of each other. It was like being drunk, dizzy and warm, and no
control at all...
        *Trace.*
        *Vachon? This is so weird*
        *It's not permanent*
        *I know, but*
        *Do you trust me*
        *Yes* I did. They weren't his emotions, but mine; I could tell the
difference again, with that odd reflection, connection to him.
        *I don't want this any more than you do* Vachon's mind was tinged
with anger (at Morgana), apology (to me), and fear (of me).
        *You're afraid of me?*
        *I don't like being this close*
        *To me*   Talk about rejection...
        *To anyone. I like being alone, at least in my mind* I could
understand that; it was both worse and better than I'd imagined, to have
him inside my head. Scarier, more of an invasion; but interesting, and
very... intense. Slowly, the feeling of him withdrew, to the point where he
was still present, but I could move again, see again through my own eyes.
        I glanced at Morgana, still angry. "Satisfied?" I spit out, and a
sense of Vachon's fear came through to me, but didn't stop me from glaring
at her.
        She was watching him, her head tilted, hands on her hips. "I didn't
think you had the guts to go through with it."
        "I know the Code." Vachon was cold, and I could feel his dislike of
her even though his face was expressionless.
        "That doesn't stop some people." She turned to me, looking deep
into my eyes. I flinched at something, unsure of what, and sensed Vachon
recoil. Morgana grinned and turned away, heading for the exit. She paused
at the door, and her face was human, normal; it gave me the shivers, like
an episode of the Twilight Zone where the alien with the human face was
scarier than the one with the bug-eyes and antennae. "Oh, and Vachon, don't
even think about undoing this."
        I wanted to scream, felt Vachon's anger, and barely managed not to
deny it out loud. "What are you talking about?" I asked nonchalantly. Or I
tried for nonchalance. Somehow I doubt she bought it.
        Morgana laughed, sweetly, hand on the door, tapping her toe. "You
know *exactly* what I mean, Detective. I'm gonna be in Toronto for a couple
years, at least. I'll probably be seein' a lot of you, since you're Nick's
partner. If you're not still bound to Vachon at any time durin' that
period," the smile was gone now, "there'll be consequences you don't like."
She was glaring at Vachon at the end of this speech, and the fact that her
face was still human made it more frightening, the feeling of all that
power controlled, unused, the potential for destruction restrained by even
more power. "And if you call our mutual friend again---"
        "You'll what?" Vachon was smiling now, like a choirboy, and I could
feel the amused malice behind it, see it behind his innocent eyes. "Every
action has _consequences_, my lady.  If you don't like them..." he let it
trail off, and shrugged, heading over to a chair and sitting down.
Morgana's jaw worked, and I could almost see the sparks from her eyes; then
she was gone without a sound.
        "Well that was... a terrific failure." I collapsed onto the floor,
crossing my legs and supporting my head with my hands. "Now what are we
going to do?"
        "I don't know." He was withdrawing; I could feel it, as well as see
it this time. In a way it was reassuring; I'd been terrified he'd try to
control me, but I should have known better. Vachon was too laid-back to
want to control anyone. But it hurt, too; I could sense his weariness, his
wish to be anywhere else, the trapped feelings. "Hopefully, she'll leave
soon. I told you there was something else that might get us out of this---"
        "Yeah. But it didn't work."
        "It still might." Weariness. Liking. Anger. Rejection. Desire.
        I'm drowning, I thought, and it was echoed in his mind. I stood up
quickly, nearly running for the door. I can't take this.
        "Trace." I stopped.  I could still tell it was my idea, barely.
"I'm sorry."
        "I know." And I did. I couldn't help it. I didn't want to know; I
wanted to forget. He knew that. I could feel his knowledge, his knowledge
of what I knew, and on and on...
        I ran down the stairs, out to the car, trying to put some distance
between us, never wanting to see him again, wanting to stay with him
forever. For the first time, I knew what it was like to want someone dead,
either me or Vachon or Morgana Harte. Not exactly nice, Tracy. I could feel
Vachon's amusement at the thought.
        I drove to the nearest bar and proceeded to get blind drunk.

(end part 8) (comments, please please please! to vqrw76a@prodigy.com


_______________________
Protect and Serve (9/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        The elevator door slammed shut behind me before I could get more
than a glimpse of Morgana.  The young woman had shot by me without
stopping, throwing angry words over her shoulder at Nick, who was on the
couch, still in his pajamas.  I had turned back to ask him what was going
on and immediately knew that whatever it was, it was bad.  The slumped
posture and lost look worried me: the last time he had been like that was
when Schanke  died, and Nick nearly left Toronto because of it.  He didn't
acknowledge my presence, just kept staring at some dark internal nightmare.

        I plastered my best professional demeanor over my anxiety and
strolled over to the VCR, popping in the tape I'd brought before turning to
Nick.  "So, the day didn't go quite like you planned." I sat next to him
and turned on the  TV with the remote, then took out my stethoscope and
blood pressure  equipment as the title credits of "The Princess Bride"
flickered on the screen.

        Nick laughed painfully, and I flinched.  "I couldn't have planned
this in a million years. This kind of catastrophe takes a sheer act of
fate to happen," he said, mechanically sticking out his arm to let me take
his almost non-existent blood pressure.  There were two dark blue
wineglasses on the coffee table; impossible to tell how much blood he'd
had, or if it was all from cows.  "The implications of this are just so..."
his face twisted into a grimace of  bitterness.  "Ironic," he muttered.

        "You know, I'm  always torn between feeding you garlic pills or
locking you in the trunk of the Caddy when you get like this.  Make a
fist... good. What happened?"

        Nick closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with his free
hand. His blood pressure was up: way up for a vampire.  Either he'd been
exercising intensely or just been intensely upset.  Suddenly his eyes shot
open and he stood  up, taking the blood pressure cuff with him over my
yell of "Nick! What are you---" as he crossed the room to pick the cell
phone  up off the floor.

        "Tracy," he said to me, expecting me to understand, as usual; I
watched in bewilderment as he punched in a phone number with the first sign
of animation I'd seen since l got there.  The hopeful light in his eyes
died as the call went unanswered.  "Too late. Damn. Damn..." then soft
cursing in French as he listlessly dropped the receiver back into the
battery charger and sank back onto the couch. I checked his heartbeat
against my watch;  yup, heart rate up to a beat every eight minutes instead
of every ten. More importantly, he seemed even more depressed than
before,avoiding my gaze, his face brooding and his blue eyes bleak.

        "Talk to me. Now. Why do you look like someone just died?"
        "Someone just might have." Nick shook his head at that, agonized
denial written all over his face.
        "No. She wouldn't. I can't believe she'd... not that the
alternatives are much better."
        "NICK." I grabbed his chin and turned his face toward me. "Begin
at the beginning. Go on until you get to the end. Then stop. Okay?"
        He blinked, then smiled weakly. "I'm not making much sense, am
I?"
        "No." Although he'd made less sense on a couple occasions I didn't
like to remember.
        "Morgana---" he stopped talking, distracted, his gaze going to
the TV screen, watching the giant scale the cliff, then back to me. "The
beginning, right?" At my nod, he stood up, taking the glasses back into the
kitchen, then came back into the living room and sat down at the piano. He
hit a few random notes and then turned to face me.
        "Morgana is an Enforcer. Someone informed on Vachon and Tracy to
her. She just left to... 'take care' of the problem." His voice was
steady,but on his face was an expression of pure pain, the like of which I
hadn't seen in two years. Not since the time Nick thought he'd killed his
master, Lacroix.
        "Why didn't you stop her?" 1 asked, standing and looking around
wildly. "Tracy--"
        "Isn't home. And if I interfere in this ..." Nick played a few
notes, the ominous opening to Beethoven's Fifth. "I'll just make it worse,
Nat. Tracy doesn't know about me. Right now the only thing saving her is
how little she  does_ know. Morgana won't kill her," he seemed to be
talking to himself again, "I'm sure of that. Maybe I can make her see
reason in a few days, change her mind..."
        "What  will_ she do to your partner?" I asked, walking over to the
piano and joining him on the bench, picking out a few high notes of my own.
        "Probably..." My patient seemed nauseous, but not from any physical
cause.  "Force Vachon to make her a thrall. Or bring her over."
        "And we're just sitting here? I can't believe this - "
        "She said the only way to stop her would be to kill her," Nick
whispered. "] can't understand... You think you've done something good," he
stated, folding his hands on top of the piano, staring straight
ahead."Something human. Then it blows up in your face like a bottle-rocket."
        "Nick, will you stop brooding and tell me why this matters? There
has to be a way to fix it," I said, slamming my hand down on the keyboard,
a discordant chime sounding as I did so.
        "No," he replied in a distant voice. "Morgana also pointed out that
interference would bring more Enforcers. I'm fairly certain she wasn't
lying. We're just going to have to pray that she's the same woman I used to
know." A wealth of sadness lay underneath his words. I tried to make sense
of what he'd said about Morgana so far, and Lacroix's mocking
dedication came back to me. 'To love with all one's heart. To hate with all
one's soul... one can only envy such... simplicity.'  Not a description
that would fit someone who could be talked out of any course of action.
        "She wasn't an Enforcer back then, was she?"
        "No." Nick started to play Chopsticks, then stopped. "She was a
mistake. Someone else's mistake, that I thought I could fix. If I had let
the Enforcers have _her_then, we wouldn't have this mess now.
        "You said someone informed on Vachon..." Nick raised an eyebrow as
I continued.  "I hope, I really hope, you're not blaming yourself for this.
You had nothing to do with your partner finding out about Vachon. And there
was no way you could have warned them if you didn't know what she'd
become."  Nick on one of his guilt-trips can rack up more frequent flier
miles than an airline pilot.  What he was saying was terrifying me, but I
wasn't going to let either of us become paralyzed by the position we were
in.  If there was a way to get Tracy out of his ex-friend's clutches, we
were going to have to stay calm to find it. Which brought up another point.
"What's a thrall?"
        "A slave." A slow, soft jazz melody started flowing from his
fingers. "A mortal subservient to a vampire's will. Like Renfield, in
DRACULA." His smile was full of self-mockery. "You'd make a better Renfield
than---" he missed a note, then kept playing, his voice strained. "It
doesn't have to be permanent. Vachon called before you came over, to tell
me what Morgana was and what she had planned for them, and mentioned trying
to fake her out. I don't think it'll work, but..." Nick shrugged. "I'll
have to talk her out of this. Or... try to kill her."
        I swallowed, then forced myself to ask. "Do you think you can do
that?" Nick shook his head, a bittersweet smile on his face.  "I tried to
scare her, Nat. I never, ever did that to her before. I was always so proud
of myself for that, for not being like Lacroix... And she turned right
around and snarled back, and her face was a stranger's." He stopped
playing, rubbing his face in exhaustion. "No, that's not true. That was the
horrible thing. She was back to what she had been..."
        "And that was?" I asked softly~ the memory of it had brought
another shadow  of regret to his face.
       "Feral. Savage." In the background, I could hear the princess in the
movie saying 'And you can die too for all I care!' Nick's eyes were closed,
and he was talking in a slow, dreamy voice. "I thought I saved her. It must
not have been enough, for her to become an Enforcer like this.
        Opening his eyes, he went on, watching scenes I couldn't see. "She
killed her master. Drained him of his blood when he brought her over-- it
doesn't happen very often, most vampires have better control of their
creations. I think it was too much power and  too many memories for her be
able to cope. At the time, Lacroix said that most would have died when
their master died." He focused on me, and gave me the barest hint of a
smile. "But she was too strong. Too angry. She lived."
        "But she wasn't... sane?"
        Nick nodded, and stood up from the piano, wandering over to a
tapestry on the wall with a sun disk on it, fiddling with the hanging,
purposely not looking at me. He didn't think I would approve of whatever he
was about to tell me: he starts fidgeting whenever he wants to avoid a subject.
        "Morgana killed six people in Houston. Two of them were other
vampires. She drained them of blood and then broke their necks."
         "Good... God." I was staring at him, trying to imagine a vampire
that crazed, wondering how she got away with it. Then I remembered: she
wouldn't have gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for Nick. "How did you
square that with the Enforcers? And why didn't the police find out?"
        "I offered her my blood, bonded with her. If an older vampire does
that for a fledgling, they usually become their child." I was trying to
absorb the implications when he spelled them out for me.
        "I was her fosterparent. I took responsibility for her,
guaranteeing that she wouldn't be a threat to the community to the
Enforcers. I took her to Venice, got Janette to help me train her, and kept
the others from killing her since technically, she wasn't a problem
anymore. The Houston police thought it was a Texas Ripper copy-cat killer."
        Nick turned around, face full of the need to make me understand,
his words coming faster. "It wasn't her fault, Nat. Morgana didn't want to
become a vampire, she was forced into it, and when she came back she
retaliated the only way she could, by killing her killer. And then she
couldn't stop  killing..." He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
"With me in control, she managed to keep it in check. All that rage,and the
bloodlust with it. We thought she was fine, that she'd made the
transition.. "
        I was silent for a couple minutes after he finished talking, trying
to think of something to say, knowing it wouldn't be adequate. "It's not
your fault," was all I could whisper.  "All of this isn't because of you."
        "You don't think so?" Nick chuckled hollowly, his head bowed.
        "No." I said this with more force, determined to make it true, make
Nick see it. "You did Morgana a favor, a long time ago. More than anyone
could have asked of you. She may be too ungrateful to see that, but I'm
not. And I'm not cutting her any slack now  because you feel like you
faiIed her.  We have to stop her."
        Nick's head snapped up. "'We' aren't doing anything." I opened my
mouth to protest, but he overrode me. "If she's being hard on Tracy, how do
you think she'd treat you? You know  more than she does, about vampires,
our lives, our names---she wouldn't just make you a thrall, she'd bring you
over. And..." he let out a breath, the guilt plain to see, "I don't know if
I'd be able to stop her." he was quiet a second, then met my eyes. "We're
going to have to stop the treatments. You can't afford to be seen with me."
        "Is that you talking, or Morgana?" I folded my arms over my chest,
my jaw starting to clench.
        Bad enough that Morgana was hurting Tracy Vetter, who had never
hurt anyone, certainly not Vachon or Nick. I don't like being dictated to,
something Nick tends to forget.  If abandoning the research was the
Enforcer's idea, that seemed like an even better reason to continue it.

        "Me. Natalie, don't you see that if she figures out what you know
you'll be in danger----anxiety had brought Nick's voice down another
octave, and I stifled the selfish little spark that was happy he would
worry about me. NOW wasn't the time for that. But I couldn't help being
glad that he cared so much. Nick leaves a lot unsaid, preferring gestures
and actions to words.
        "I knew this job was dangerous when I took it." I was furious, but
if I let Nick see it he'd only get more stubborn. "And you're not getting
out of the bloodtests that easy.  She's already seen me: we can tell her
I'm working on your skin disorder, and she'll assume I don't know anything
more. If we have to tell her anything."
        "Maybe we won't have to. I doubt Morgana will be calling me
anytime soon." The bitterness was back, although Nick managed a
half-hearted smile of relief at his own words, his fears for my safety
temporarily eased, I thought.
        "Good. That'll give us time to come up with a plan." I couldn't
help but wonder what had happened with Tracy, but that gave rise to
thoughts of what might happen to me if the Enforcers found out what we'd
been doing for the last four years, so I cut off that train of thought as
quickly as I could. Except... maybe there was a way around that too...
"Plenty of time to deal with it tomorrow."
        "Thanks, Scarlett." Nick grinned, and I smiled back, glad he was
almost back to his normal self.
        "Anytime, Rhett."

End part 9


_______________________
Protect and Serve (10/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        Wishes come true, but not free and (I can't remember where I heard
this phrase) some gifts demand sacrifices.
        For revenge against my killer, I turned my back on Heaven.  Not
forever, I told myself; just until after the man who killed me, killed my
friends, *hurt* me... was dead. Then I'd let myself die.
        For my success, I lost my mind. Misplaced it? Yes, that's right, I
put it somewhere and then I just couldn't find it again. Elliot gave me his
blood when I came back; to control me. To get my memories, to give me his
thoughts---and I drank it all. I drank until I thought I'd melt from the
fire in it. I felt him die, and I rejoiced at his struggles, screaming out
curses at him as he dissolved back to dust at my feet. I tried to remember
at that instant why I was so happy, and so angry, at the same time. I
couldn't. I just liked the feeling.
        I was a graduate student at Rice University. I had parents who
loved me, a boyfriend who was more good than not, a younger brother I
adored, and friends who counted on me. I was supposed to go to Italy in
three months, I had four payments left on my student loan, and a fairly
bright future as a historian.
        I traded all of it in for a pair of fangs and the death of a
monster.
        Then I became one.
************
        I returned to my apartment feeling angry, satisfied, relieved,
frightened---overwhelmed.  The decision to force Tracy Vetter's
enthrallment hadn't been easy; but it had been the only one I could live
with. Nick would understand, eventually. He had to.
        Unhappily, I knew he didn't *have* to anything. Most of us would
say he had to respect and (to a certain extent) obey Lacroix. That hadn't
stopped him from hating Lucien for the last few centuries, or deter him
from looking for a cure for being a vampire. If he decided I belonged in
the same category... the thought hurt too much to contemplate. Nick saved
half my soul.
        The Enforcers saved the other half.
        I landed on the roof, thinking of my recent interview with Vachon
and Detective Vetter. It hadn't been what any of us expected; they'd hoped
to deceive me with a makeshift bond, something to be broken when I wasn't
looking, and I'd enlightened them as to how difficult that would be. I'd
thought that Tracy Vetter would be the usual glamour-struck mortal
half-enchanted with a vampire.  What little I'd barely remembered of Vachon
from Texas hadn't given me any reason to doubt it.  But they weren't the
usual pairing; more like friends, or equals. Maybe they'd thank me later.
        Remembering the open dislike in Vachon's eyes, and Tracy's hidden
fury, it seemed unlikely. Slowly, I sat down on the edge of the roof,
letting my mind relax, focusing on Lake Ontario, the moon, and the night.
The rest of the Enforcers needed to know what I'd done.
        It happened as it always does: like I'd opened a chamber in my own
mind, and they were suddenly there. In a sense they always were: that's the
price of being an Enforcer. You are never, ever, truly alone. In my case,
that's what keeps me from becoming what I was thirty years ago, and again
ten years ago.
        *Child*
        *My family* There are always at least one hundred Enforcers; never
more than a thousand. I can't differentiat very well---yet---between one
individual presence and another when I contact them. It doesn't matter. I
can recognize the flavor of who is present, and who is not, even if I can't
put names or faces to any save a dozen of them. More of us, and we'd risk
becoming rulers; fewer, and we wouldn't be able to restrain the other
vampires. *I have news.*
        Quickly, I let them see the events of the last few days. Silence,
for a moment, then cacophony, until a single voice dominated the chorus.
*You have done well. But you should have told us before you took action.*
        *Thank you. I'm sorry, it seemed too important---*
        *Nevertheless* it was almost kind, that voice; stronger now, with
others in agreement with it *We are always here. It would have been but a
moment's work to contact us*
        I was silent. They knew why, and the chorus became condemning,
scolding. *You should not be afraid of us. We are a part of you. We can not
force you to do anything you do not truly wish to do*
        *I know*
        *Then why?*
        *Nick* I opened my eyes, sadness washing through me, returned by
them, then I controlled myself. *I was afraid of what you would say, or
order me to do. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to .... be merciful, to
Vachon.*
        One part of the choir was thrumming with anger, a single, low bass
note of bloodthirst. *You should have killed them, but it's too late now*
        I knew that one. He was an Enforcer for the same reasons I was: he
couldn't be trusted alone. For him, blood is a constant need, a thirst that
never fades, an intolerable fire. He needs us to take the edge away, to
keep him in check. There's another presence---a female one---that I've felt
sometimes; cold cruel brutality, urges I don't understand. She's kept on
the same chain as the other, the same chain that holds me, the links that
bind all the Enforcers, make us more than other vampires. My rage is like
her icy malice, and the first one's thirst; I can't rein it in. Nick could,
for a while, until we all thought it was gone.
        But it's part of me, not just part of being a vampire, it's why I
killed Elliot in the first place, why I make such a good Enforcer. I'm not
like Nick. I'm not that strong.
        *Enough* The majority suppressed the hungry one, then returned its
attention to me. *Your loyalty to Nicholas is admirable, but misplaced. He
is no longer part of your family. The bonds between you are very weak,
disused. You owe him nothing now*
        *Yes*
        *Nothing. His sense of morals is extraneous*
        *You are part of us*
        *I know* I whispered, feeling the unshed tears. *But he tried. He
was kind to me. He found a way out for me*
        *It was not enough. You do not have to live by his rules*
        I was silent, not disagreeing, but not replying. It was my fault it
hadn't been enough, not Nick's. Not all Enforcers are like me, and the
hungry one, or the sadistic female. Many are so old I can't comprehend
their logic, others are naturally stronger than average, still others can
get inside your mind  and stay there without your noticing it. Some of them
volunteered, some of them were drafted. But all of us hold to the Code: to
protect the Community. To serve their best interests. To use whatever means
necessary to preserve our species.
        What Nick did was outside the boundaries of what Enforcers do to
rogues. He risked his own mind and life by taking me on as a fledgling.
Enforcers have no loyalties, save to each other. They don't have
fledglings.  If it hadn't been for him, they would have killed me after I
murdered all those people when I was first turned. It was an act of mercy.
        If it hadn't been for the Enforcers, I wouldn't have gotten a
second chance ten years later, when I barely had enough control to beg them
to kill me before I murdered again.  Nick couldn't have stopped me then, I
was too strong... I guess it balances out. But it wasn't mercy on their
part, it was pragmatism.  They need young ones every once in a while; and I
was convenient.
        *It is concluded. You have done well, and have also done so in not
attacking or further antagonizing Lacroix* Approval from a cool distant
flute. *You progress*
        *Thank you*
        *Inform us of further developments* and then they were gone.
        I gulped night air, feeling slightly sick, as I always do. Thirsty,
oh, so thirsty. I wanted to feed, to run down some mugger, or rapist, to
sink my fangs into their flesh; the rage I always feel at what was done to
me, at what I am, inflaming me to hurt someone, to kill---
        ---and the controls snapped in place, the hard-learned, drummed-in
lessons from the Others, that, and my own sense of shame. Not at being an
Enforcer; not at being a vampire. The shame that comes from having chosen
to become one, from needing others to help control my rages. If you're
going to be a vampire, you should be strong, in control, frightening,
masterful.
        I can't even master myself.

**********
end part 10



_________________
Protect and Serve (part 11/?)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        The room spun sickeningly when I opened my eyes. Groaning, I closed
them, and wished I hadn't mixed tequila and vodka. Wished I hadn't gotten
drunk at all. Too late for that... too late for a lot of things.
        No matter what, I never drink so much that I can't remember what I
was doing before I started. Every detail of Saturday night came back to me
in all its vicious clarity. Morgana's smile, Vachon's withdrawal, my flight
to the bars---I hadn't done anything this stupid since my first week in
blues. No, this had definitely been stupider.  Meeting Vachon in the first
place had been weirder, but that wasn't anything I could have stopped.  The
nightstand clock read 4:13. It was possible that he was awake by now. But
did I WANT to talk to him?
        Something else was bothering me. I tried to pin it down, but the
nausea kept interfering. I got out of bed carefully, holding my head as
steady as possible, and made my way into the kitchen.
        Several glasses of water and a handful of aspirin later, I sat at
the table, watching the waning sun, and thought over the previous evening.
Where had it all gone wrong? Before the Enforcer showed up, it seemed like
a decent plan. Unpleasant, okay, really unpleasant, but workable. Let
Vachon "enthrall" me, then end it after she left. Why hadn't he guessed it
might not work?
        A feeling of sadness suddenly hit me, and for a second I was
disoriented. Then I realized why---it wasn't me. It was Vachon. _That_ was
what had been bothering me; the awareness of him was *there* right behind
my eyes. A sense of presence, of knowing what he was thinking, of---
        I wanted to scream. I _hated_ it. I hate being out of control, I
hate feeling stupid, I--- it was gone.
        The feelings were gone. The presence was still there, I could still
reach toward him, but the emotional content was muted, hard to detect.
Gritting my teeth, I reached for the phone and punched in his number.  I
started speaking the instant he picked up. "Don't do that."
        "Get used to it, Trace. We're stuck with it for now." Vachon's
voice was as matter-of-fact as ever, but the regret and depression I'd
sensed were stronger when he spoke. Odd. Two different messages, coming in
at the same time---hard to know which was most important. I concentrated on
ignoring the telepathy/mind sharing/thralldom-whatever-it-was.
        "That doesn't mean we have to use it. Turn it off! I don't want to
know what you're thinking!"
        Amusement, both through the bond and in his voice. "Funny, I
thought you were so curious. Just think, you could get all your questions
answered and know whether or not I was lying. I'm surprised you don't want
to take advantage of this."
        "How did she figure out what we were going to do?"
        Vachon was quiet, regret bleeding through again, despite my efforts
to block it. "I underestimated her."
        "Great."
        "Well, how was I supposed to know? It's not like I've spent a lot
of time with Enforcers." The defensiveness in his voice was echoed by a
mental spark of annoyance. "When she came by Friday night she was totally
in Enforcer mode. I thought she'd be some stupid brute we could finesse. I
was wrong. Okay? I was wrong. Sue me."
        "How could you _not_ know, Vachon? What, are these... Enforcers so
mysterious that no one has a clue how they act? That's pretty
unbelievable." I could feel the mental jarring of my disbelief being thrown
back at me, with Vachon's irritation wrapped around it. I took a deep
breath, held it, and managed to regain my equilibrium. "Will you QUIT
that?"
        "You quit it! I'm not enjoying this any more than you are! I
thought..." He cut off what he was going to say, and the intensity of the
conversation dropped several notches. "Look. I've never had a thrall before
for a good reason. All of this is a little too much for me to handle.  I am
_not_ going to direct your thoughts, or control you, but you've got to do
me a favor and not THINK at me so loud. Okay?"
        "Okay." I simmered quietly, wrestling with myself, feeling him
watch me, then swallowed back several things I could have said, and settled
for, "Enforcers. What do you know about them?"
        Vachon sighed. "What everyone knows. They're bad news. They only
show up when someone's violated the Code. You can't fight them and expect
to win, but they'll go away if there's no problem."
        "So the fact that she's staying in Toronto is just our bad luck."
        "Yes." He seemed calmer, maybe because I was also cooling down.
        "I have to warn Nick about her."
        "NO." Panic flared, along with fear, and the wish to prevent...
what? The link was throttled down again, but I could feel Vachon's
agitation clearly. "Don't do that. Very bad idea, Tracy. Do you want Nick
to be in the same position we are?"
        "No." He was hiding something, but I couldn't figure out what.
"But... I know you said he was safe from her, but how can you be sure?"
        "She's an Enforcer. It's part of the Code. She won't draw attention
to herself, to the rest of the community. That's why we're in trouble;
you're a cop, and they don't trust you unless they think they can control
you.  She won't want Nick to know that she's one of us if she cares about
him at all, and she must, otherwise..." he let the thought trail off, and
the taste of a lie in his mind was very faint, but still there. Too faint
to call him on, though.
        "'They.' 'One of us.' 'Community.' You ever notice we never say the
word vampire?" I asked, getting angry again. "She's a vampire. You're a
vampire. They are VAMPIRES. I am under the mind control of a vampire."
        "I don't have any problem with the word. You're the one who never
gets past the first syllable," Vachon said, sounding like he was
suppressing a laugh. Then his voice quieted, and the intensity in his mind
came back. "But you're not under my control. I promise. You're as free as
you ever were. I wouldn't do that to you."
        This was truth again; and my mind backed up what the telepathy was
telling me. Vachon hated being controlled too much to do it to someone
else.  He might not be the most responsible, dependable person in the
universe, but manipulating people wasn't one of his problems. That was one
of the things I liked about him.
        Suddenly the intimacy of the feelings was too strong; the
liking/respect/desire to protect/straight desire washed over me and I
wasn't sure who was who for a second, until the emotions were cut off,
making me dizzy, wondering how much he saw in my mind, wondering what was
IN my mind. Fear inspired anger, which led me back to my first question.
"We have to do something about this. I can't work or just go on with my
life if this is going to keep happening."
        "Something like...?"
        "I'm asking you, Vachon."
        Silence. Except silence was never just silence now. Reluctance,
resignation---"NO. There has to be something we can do, Javier. I won't
accept this."
        "It'll be worse if you don't, Tracy. I'm not saying this is
permanent. There might still be a way around it, but this could take... a
 while."
        What was "a while" to a vampire? A few years? A few decades? There
was no framework surrounding his sense of time that I could detect; a while
might be most of my life. It hit me then, how alien he was. Up until now,
the sheer unbelievability of the situation had preoccupied me; but with the
thought of his timesense, and his age, a million other thoughts occurred.
Vachon drank blood. He'd killed people, many of them, over a long period of
time. We might be friends - I didn't care to classify what else we might be
- but he wasn't normal, he didn't...
        The distance between us increased again, and I took a deep breath.
There was so much I didn't know about him, and now I was stuck in a
position closer and more completely involved than any kind of sex act could
ever make us. If I wanted to stay friends with him-- if I wanted to get out
of this--I'd have to remember that whatever else he might be, he could feel
what I felt. And he had emotions too; I'd sensed them, and they weren't
THAT different from mine, or from what I'd guessed his would be. The
feeling of age, and the cynicism, were deeper and more ingrained than I'd
imagined, but he wasn't a monster any more than I was.
        "I apologize... I panicked for a second." I paused, then went on.
"We have to get some things clear, and make plans. But I need some distance
from this. Maybe we can meet later this week, try to brainstorm for
options. Until then, I dont' want to be in your mind, or have you in mine."
        "Fine with me." But he was annoyed. Irritated. And just a little
guilty.
        "This isn't your fault."
        After a second, he realized that I'd picked up on his emotions
again. "This is going to be a real pain in the a** is what it's going to
be.  Now I wish I'd been the one to get drunk."
        "Uh... sorry about that." I wanted to laugh; the image of Vachon
getting loaded second-hand struck me as funny, maybe because he's always
struck me as "too cool" to unbend enough to knock back a few beers.
        "Yeah, yeah. Later, Detective. And don't mention this to your
partner!" He hung up, but I could still feel him there, in the back of my
head, and it wasn't funny anymore.
        Resolutely, I went back upstairs to change, determined not to think
of vampires. Or thralls. Or my partner.
        Sort of like trying not to think of a pink elephant.

**********

end part 11



________________________
Protect and Serve (12/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        Every time this happens, I find out what a good liar I am.
        "I'll have the cause of death for you after I've done some tests,"
I glibly told Captain Reese over the phone. "Right now, I'd say it's a
straightforward stabbing, but I have to be sure. I doubt the victim was
killed at the scene, if that's any help. There's too much blood missing."
For once, this was true; but it wasn't the missing blood that had suggested
it.  Not that the Captain was going to be told that.
        "Well, get us what you can, Dr. Lambert. The DA is screaming for an
arrest, the victim's husband is some high mucky-muck on the City Council.
Right now Commissioner Vetter is ready to promise their office anything if
they'll just keep the press off our backs."
        "Okay. I'll tell Nick when I have something." I hung up the phone
and for the thousandth time counted myself lucky that Nick usually got the
weird cases. Having to work around another homicide detective's case to
give him information on a vampire victim would have added another wonderful
dimension of subterfuge to the whole exercise, and I was having a difficult
time dealing with the recurring situation as it was.  Medical ethics kept
having to take precedence over everything else. I swore that first, I would
do no harm; I swore to preserve life in all its forms; I swore to turn
aside from any action or inaction which would allow anyone's life to depart
untimely.
        If I told the whole truth about Nora Quentin's death, a lot of
people's live might depart untimely.
        Tracy Vetter walked into the morgue, her partner right behind her.
I wasn't sure what I'd expected to see in her face; from what Nick had told
me, her bond to Vachon wasn't likely to be entirely pleasant. But she
seemed fine, her face showing no signs of undue stress. I glanced at Nick,
raising my eyebrows. He shook his head, face closed and impassive. Tracy's
facade wasn't good enough to fool Nick; but the fact that she still didn't
know about him kept him from offering her any help.
        I started to talk as soon as they were both in the room. "Time of
death fixed at 3 a.m.; a lot of alcohol in her system; signs of recent
sexual activity... and a slit throat, as well as other contusions and
bruises." I rolled my eyes when Tracy wasn't looking and Nick grimaced in
apology. How many more times was I going to have to do this, I wondered? I
glanced at Nick's partner, and pulled back the sheet.
        Mrs. Quentin _did_ have a severed jugular vein; but that was done
after her death.  And it didn't completely disguise the puncture wounds
below and behind her ear. Tracy would know what had happened, just as I
had, just as Nick did. If recent events hadn't made issues of trust even
more difficult, I might have demanded that Nick tell her what he was right
then. Lying to her, and trying to disguise my own knowledge, just wasn't
worth the effort any more.
        "Mrs. Quentin was moved after her death. I just got the results
from forensics, and they confirm what I found on the body. Definite signs
of post-mortem trauma; I'd say someone took her to the hotel room where she
was found about an hour after she died."
        "Are you sure about that?" Tracy asked, not looking at me, staring
in fascination at the cadaver's neck.
        "Positive. Any leads yet?" I gave Nick the autopsy report. The
signs of strain that Tracy wasn't manifesting was blatantly obvious on him.
"Are you okay?" I asked in a low voice, hoping Tracy wouldn't overhear.
        "Fine," he said quietly, glancing at the other detective; then he
added, "Mrs. Quentin was seen leaving a very large Halloween party at
around midnight with a young man who, in retrospect, the hosts realized
they didn't know. A party-crasher. We've got a description. Hopefully we'll
be able to get a lead from someone else who may have seen him and picked up
on something."
        "Great." False congratulations for something which didn't make
either detective happy. "Maybe this'll be easy."
        Tracy abruptly spoke up. "Nick, I'm going to follow up on an idea I
have. I'll catch up to you tomorrow, when we interrogate the husband,
allright?" She was already out the door, not waiting for Nick's OK.
        I waited until I was certain she was gone.  "How are things,
really?"
        "Lousy." Nick rubbed his temples, then forced a wry smile. "I want
to help Tracy, Nat. It's so obvious what's happened to her---anyone of our
kind who runs across her will know it in a heartbeat. It's eating away at
her inside." He dropped his hands, eyes going distant and hard. "Morgana
has a lot to answer for."
        "Have you called her?" Nick shook his head impatiently. "Nick,
you've got to. I know you're angry, but if you talk to her, maybe she'll
change her mind about Tracy. You can't lose your temper with her again."
        "No. This," he gestured at the corpse on the table, "makes it even
more difficult. Morgana will think she has to do something about it; and
while I despise those of us who still kill, her involvement would make any
kind of police investigation impossible! Keeping all these secrets from
Tracy and the Captain is bad enough without adding an Enforcer to the mix."
        "While we're on the subject of your partner," I said, pulling the
sheet back across Mrs. Quentin's face, "how are you going to keep her out
of the line of fire with a vampire murderer to find?"
        "The way I always do," Nick said, walking towards the door. "Draw
the fire in my direction."
        "Nick!" Angry vampires going after Nick... I had a sudden flash of
_him_ on my autopsy table again, but this time he'd stay dead. I shuddered.
        "I can handle it, Nat..." He stopped at the door, and gave me a
weary smile. "And at least Tracy's safer than she was before.  Vachon will
know if anything happens to her. But damnit, why did this have to happen
now?"
        I stared down at Mrs. Quentin, and repeated the Hippocratic Oath to
myself again: first, I will do no harm. I will preserve life. I will do
nothing to make life depart untimely.
        There's nothing in the Oath that says you shouldn't lie through
your teeth to protect life. But it doesn't say how you're supposed to deal
with the consequences. Or how they make you feel.

************
end part 12

All comments to vqrw76a@prodigy.com



_________________
Protect and Serve (13/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        I'd needed to distract myself; I'd considered various forms of
mayhem like judicious murder, property dismemberment, and racquetball, and
finally done something really self-destructive. I went to the Raven.
        Briana grabbed me two seconds after I got on the dance floor.
"Morgana! I heard you were in town! Where the hell've you been?" she
demanded, her voice raised to compete with the music. Her close-cropped
black hair, coffee-and-cream skin and huge dark eyes hadn't changed;
neither had the insouciant, don't-give-a-damn attitude. The clothes were
different from those in New Orleans, but were still cutting edge without
being trendy, exposing more flesh than they covered. Janette's teaching;
How to Make Men Pant for More Without Being Trashy, chapter 6.
       "Denver! Can we get a table? I can barely hear myself think!" I
yelled back as we snaked our way through the crowd to the edges of the main
room. The flashing lights and booming music were just what I needed to
forget my troubles with Nick. We finally found a space after Briana glared
some neophytes out of a corner booth. I noticed a couple other familiar
faces; a few from New Orleans, a couple from Venice... no Alma, though. She
probably followed Janette wherever she had gone when she left Toronto.
"Where's Miklos?"
        "Extended party weekend with his latest dish," Briana smiled
wickedly. "You know our man. Never alone for long."
        I grinned and signalled the bartender for a drink, scanning the
room as I did so. "Lacroix's not here tonight?"
        "He's got some CERK publicity thing. Can't say I'm sorry; he's a
real bitch to work for. Doesn't believe in breaks, and he always wants to
tell me how to dress." She frowned. "You aren't looking to start something
with him, are you?"
        "Why does everyone ask me that?"
        "'Cause some of us remember New Orleans... and Venice... and---"
        "Okay, okay." Our drinks arrived, and I gratefully swallowed down a
tingling mouthful of the house special. "Forget I said that. No. I'm being
good. Really."
        "Like Ni-cho-la?" the New Yorker drawled, face full of mischief.
        "Briana..." I growled.
        "Cut it out, Morgan." Briana sipped her drink, eyes cynical and
knowing. She's one of the few people besides Nick and Janette who call me
that; one of the few real friends I have. "You and I both know he's
half-crazy with his damn Grail quest. Should've given up on that idea a
long time ago..."
        "Maybe, but that's not---" I stopped speaking, my attention drawn
to the bar by the sight of a familiar blonde head. "What's she doing here?"
I asked aloud in my surprise. As if my voice had managed to penetrate the
raucous melodies filling the bar, Tracy Vetter suddenly turned and headed
straight for me.
        "We have to talk," the detective said when she reached our table,
ignoring Briana completely.
        "Go away, Detective. We don't have anything to discuss." I glanced
at Bri, whose puzzled expression confirmed that she recognized Tracy but
had no idea why the woman would want to talk to me. "I'm having a nice
evening out---"
        "Some _friend_ of yours had a nice evening out Saturday night, and
now there's a dead body in the morgue with a matched pair of puncture
marks," Tracy said, interruptting.
         I shrugged, smiled at Briana, said, "This will only take a
minute," then dragged Tracy into the back room. Fortunately, no one was
using it at the moment, although the smell of fresh blood permeated the
air, making me sorry I hadn't remembered to grab my drink. "Are you insane?
Or just stupid? Making accusations like that _here_ of all places---"
        "Why? Aren't I safe now that I'm under Vachon's 'protection'?"
Detective Vetter snapped back at me, hands on her hips. "There's a corpse
in the morgue who was obviously killed by one of YOUR people. That makes it
your responsibility.  You wanted me to cooperate? Fine. I'm dumping this
mess back in your lap."
        "Don't take that tone with me."
        I don't know what she saw in my face, but whatever it was muted her
hostility down to a manageable level.  "You say you're an Enforcer---" I
glanced around, hoping like hell no one was eavesdropping "---and that
you're supposed to keep _them_ from breaking the rules. I can't arrest a
vampire for murder! I'm not even sure I can find whoever did this! And I'm
not putting my partner - your friend Nick, remember him? - in a situation
where I can't tell him we're pursuing a mythical monster. So you'd better
find out who did this. Or else..."
        "Or else what?"
        "I'll have to tell Nick everything."
        Narrowing my eyes, I said softly, "You'd do that to him? Put him in
that much danger from us?"
        "He's already in danger! Or do vampire murderers just wound cops
who are trying to investigate their homicides, instead of making meals out
of them?" she asked, crossing her arms.
        I clenched my jaw. This was getting too complicated. Maybe telling
her Nick was a vampire wouldn't be such a bad thing---except Nick wouldn't
forgive me soon, and it would only  increase Tracy Vetter's knowledge of
the Community. Not a good idea. While I was contemplating this, Tracy was
squinting at me suspiciously, her deceptively pretty blue eyes studying my
face. "Why are you so reluctant to catch this guy? He's putting the rest of
you in jeopardy, it's your job to stop him, right?"
        "Of course," I said acidly.
        "So? What are you going to do?"
        "I'll take care of it, Detective."
        "You'll stop him, right? Execute him, stop him from doing this
again?"
        I glanced away, then back at the other woman.  "Killing a mortal is
only punishable by death if you get caught. I'll make sure no more murders
happen in Toronto, and that the vampire... gets help."
        Tracy swallowed, a queasy expression on her face, mingled anger and
disgust. "That's all you'll do if I leave it to you. Cover it up. He'll get
away with it. You kill people and manipulate them and bully them---"
        "Your protection doesn't extend to verbal abuse of me," I hissed.
Hearing her echo my worst opinions of myself was not pleasant. "I'd be very
careful, Tracy Vetter. You're already on thin ice."
        "Is that a threat?" Brave. She was definitely brave. But not at all
wise. Not if she was thinking of going after a vampire on her own. Not that
Vachon would let her, of course. Or Nick, for that matter.
        "No." I calmed down. "It's the truth. The others won't touch you
now that you're obviously Vachon's." Tracy's face screwed up in an
expression of nausea. "But that doesn't mean they can't make your life hell
in other ways, Detective. Take my advice. Keep a low profile, don't come
back here, and leave this to me."
        "How can I trust you?" Tracy asked.
        "I'm not going to answer that." I walked toward the door. "I
suggest you use the back exit; if anyone sees you with me, it'll just make
my job harder."
        "Why?"
        I felt sorry for her, almost. She was so out of her depth; Vachon
wasn't doing a very good job of helping her adjust to her new state, or
telling her things she should know. Then again, he probably didn't know the
answer to her question either.
        "Because, Detective, none of those people out there know I'm an
Enforcer. Just you and Vachon; and if the murder occurred Saturday night,
then I suppose Vachon has an alibi in you, doesn't he?" At her stunned
stare I added, "Don't tell anyone. It wouldn't be smart, or healthy, and
I'd have to ask Javier to keep a you on a shorter leash. It's better this
way; our perpetrator won't know I'm coming for him until it's too late.
Have our mutual friend bring me the police files and any necessary
evidence, and I'll track our killer."
        "And give him a passport out of town." The detective glared at me,
anger still evident. "Pretty wimpy punishment."
        "Don't judge what you don't understand."
        "Oh, I understand. We're just cattle; and you don't want to panic
the herd. But you're not going to kill the wolf. It's his nature to attack
the cows, right? It doesn't matter to you how they feel about being eaten."
She stalked out of the room on this remark, knowing a good exit line when
she said it.
        I sat down and put my head in my hands. I could have told her the
truth; that I remembered being prey too vividly to ever side with the
predator's arguments. I could have told her that it might not be the
vampire's fault---*the same way it wasn't your fault?* my mind mocked me.
I could have told her I didn't have a choice, that policy was policy, and
that she was only angry with me because this was her homicide case and it
would go down on the books as unsolved. I could have told her that just
because the murderer would live didn't necessarily mean he would enjoy it.
        I could have said a lot. But not to her, a mortal and a cop. I
wanted... I wanted to talk to Nick so badly it was a physical hurt. Or
Janette. Or even Briana.
        But Briana didn't know I was an Enforcer, and might not have stayed
my friend if she knew; and Janette was gone; and Nick wasn't speaking to
me. Which left me alone, again. All Enforcers are alone, in the end. No
matter how many of us are in each other's minds, we're still separate,
disconnected by our natures. If we were good at sharing, we wouldn't be
Enforcers. We wouldn't be able to kill other vampires so easily.
        "Self-pity is such an ugly emotion." Lacroix stood in the doorway,
my glass in his hand. He held it out to me, and I took it from him
carefully. "It doesn't suit Nicholas. And I might add that it doesn't do
much for your looks either."
        "I didn't ask your opinion," I said, sipping slowly despite my
thirst. "Did you need something? I thought you weren't going to be here
this evening."
        "Fortunately, while I have to maintain work obligations for the
sake of my hobby as the Nightcrawler, I'm allowed a certain amount of
artistic temperament. I walked out of the party. Quite enjoyable, since
they don't dare fire me; I'm far too popular with the alien insomniac
audience." Lacroix's eyes sparkled with self-satisfied glee.
        It was just too tempting. I had to do it; I had to put a damper on
his evening. Mine was already ruined, why should he still be enjoying
himself? "Someone got sloppy and had a meal end up in the morgue with
recognizable bite marks tonight."
        "Oh dear." The glee dimmed, and Lacroix's brows came down in an
expression of distaste. "Shop talk. How boring. No wonder you're sunk in
apathy; the prospect of work, no doubt."
        "No doubt."
        "And of clashing with Nicholas about it."
        My fingers clenched around the glass. "There won't be any clash.
Nick knows better than to interfere. He certainly won't arrest one of us."
        "No. But will he let you cope with it, I wonder? Or will he play
hero again, if that's necessary, and offer to help the poor, misguided
murderer? Then again, perhaps he'll just kill one of the community for the
sake of a mortal." The derision in his voice was aimed at me, not Nick. But
oddly, I thought I heard frustration and hurt in his words too, as if
Nick's actions were a source of pain to him.
        I glared at him all the same. Nothing will ever make me feel
sympathy for Lacroix, no matter what. "Have I ever told you how much you
remind me of Elliot?"
        "On several occasions. Not especially surprising, considering he
was one of my children."
        "How _you_ could create someone like Nick, and someone like
Elliot..." I shook my head in wonder, handed the glass back to him and
stood to leave, feeling the futility of