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 any further conversation with my
personal demon. "Is utterly beyond me."
        "You didn't know Nicholas seven hundred years ago. Or Elliot,
before he came across." Lacroix was amused again. "They had more in common
that you're willing to admit. Just as we do, my dear granddaughter."
        "Senility is setting in, Lacroix. I've heard that it does that when
you get old. Or perhaps your usual delusions of grandeur are just expanding
to include the entire universe." I walked back to the door, paused, and
said, "You don't know anything about the murder, right?"
        He blinked at me, the picture of insulted dignity. "What do you
take me for? A fool or an amateur?"
        Which wasn't an answer. But I decided to pretend that it was, and
rejoin Briana. And scan the crowd for potential murderers. And hope that
whoever it was, he or she wasn't going to be hungry again soon.

*********
end part 13
All comments to vqrw76a@prodigy.com (please! please! PLEASE!)



_____________________
Protect and Serve (14/?)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        "Nice move, Trace. Tell off the Terminator. Why don't you just open
an artery in the middle of the Raven and yell out 'free food' while you're
at it?" Vachon was applauding mockingly, leaning against my car in the
standard grunge outfit which made him fit in with the crowd outside the
Raven a lot better than I did.
        "Stop leaning on my car. And what are you doing here?" I unlocked
the driver's side, then grudgingly flipped the lock on the passenger door
at his pointed glance. He slid in with his usual grace, which I envied even
while I wondered if I'd have to get the seat covers cleaned. Vachon
occasionally likes to hang out with his buddy Screed, who lives in the
sewers underneath the city. One visit to his humble abode was enough to
convince me that anything that came in contact with the place ought to be
fumigated upon leaving.
        "I'm trying to keep you from getting both of us killed." He put his
hands behind his head and leaned back in the seat coolly, but I could feel
a definite undertone of acrid fear through the bond we shared. Morgana had
pushed us into this weird position of sharing feelings; right then I wished
I'd been a lot more personally insulting to her when I'd told her about the
murder.
        "I thought you said we were safe now." I started the car and pulled
away from the curb into traffic with a jerk, and had the satisfaction of
seeing Vachon grab at the dash for balance. "That we were 'covered'.
Besides, I had something important to tell her. And how do you know I told
her off?"
        "The words weren't real clear but the general content came through
in stereo SurroundSound." Vachon made a production of buckling his
seatbelt. "Do you always drive like this?"
        "Like what?"
        He rolled his eyes. "Forget I asked. Makes me glad I can fly," I
heard him mumble under his breath. "What could have been so important that
you had to walk into the spider's lair?"
        I stopped at the red light, saw that my fingers were clenching and
unclenching on the steering wheel, and forced them to relax. "There's a
body in the morgue with bite marks on the neck. Fatal ones."
        "Happens all the time." I glanced at him, appalled by his
matter-of-fact acceptance of murder. He stared back calmly at me and said,
"Green light, Trace." After a few more blocks, he said, "Look. It's not
pretty, and it isn't fair, but it happens. Some of us are stupid. And
vicious," he added at my squawk of outrage. "If you're going to be a cop in
Toronto, or if you're going to be a cop in any big city, you better get
used to it. I'm just surprised that it rates a homicide investigation.
Homeless people getting killed isn't usually high priority."
        "It wasn't a homeless person," I said through gritted teeth. "It
was a socialite. The wife of a big mucky-muck lawyer. The press are in a
feeding frenzy about it, and _they_ just think she got her throat slit
after slipping out for a quickie at a party."
        "Wow," Vachon breathed out, widening his eyes in a parody of
awe-struck fascination. "Something for the society pages."
        If I hadn't felt the sharp tang of fear again, I would have slugged
him, even if it would've meant crashing the car into a telephone pole.  But
the sense that I'd been trying to repress wouldn't be ignored.  Javier had
been concerned before. Now he was actually frightened. Not panicking, not
yet, but the flight-or-fight urge was kicking in, with the emphasis on
flight. "This is worse than a homeless person getting drained, for some
reason?" I asked.
        "More publicity, more people nosing around, more contact between
your guys and our guys, more chance for bloodshed and chaos... yeah, I'd
say it's worse."
        "Oh." I absorbed this as I turned the car towards the precinct. "I
knew that." I just hadn't let myself consider the details.
        "Sure you did." The vampire smirked in a way that made my fingers
itch to smack him. The amused condescension in his mind at my lie didn't
help.
        "Shut up, Vachon." I was thinking fast, ticking over the
possibilities in my mind. "More Enforcers?"
        "Possibly. Possibly not. Since Little Miss Personality is already
on the spot, and you've already told her, we might catch a break there."
Vachon whistled tunelessly. "The big problem is your partner."
        "Tell me about it. How am I supposed to arrest a vampire without
explaining to Nick why we're using titanium cuffs?"
        "You don't have to." Vachon was confused, I could feel it, even
though he didn't sound it. I realized his voice sounds relaxed even when he
doesn't know what's going on. "Morgana the Merciless will take care of it.
Your main problem is in keeping your partner from getting too close to the
killer." That familiar feeling of falseness crept in; something connected
with Nick. What did Vachon know about Nick that he wasn't telling me?
        I hadn't commented on Vachon's take on the situation with regard to
Nick, but all of a sudden he was sitting straight up, body tense, voice
deep and forbidding. "*Absolutely not.* Put it right out of your head.*"
        "What? What are you talking about?" I blinked, startled by the
simultaneous sound of his voice in my head and the command issuing out of
his mouth.
        "You are _not_ going after the murderer."
        "I'm not? Gee. I guess I'm not."
        "Trace..."
        "Forget it, Vachon. I'm an officer of the law." I set my jaw,
feeling my fingers clench on the wheel again. "That... Enforcer... isn't
going to do anything about this except make the murderer leave town, maybe
scare them a little. I'm not wishing this problem on another jurisdiction.
It ends here."
        "Bravo, Dirty Harry Vetter. Now that you're over the stroke, can we
talk sense?" Vachon was gettin more agitated, to the point where it
actually showed on his face. Amazing. "You're going to get killed if you
push this, either by the murderer or Morgana.  Let her do her job. You
can't handle it."
        I lost my temper. "How the hell would you know?! You guys are
pretty vulnerable during the daytime, aren't you? Do you really think I
can't kill a sleeping vampire? How hard can it be? A zippo and some lighter
fluid," I gestured dramatically, then put both hands back on the steering
wheel, "and poof! no more killer."
        "Tracy," by now Vachon was holding his head as if it hurt, "think
it through. The odds of you getting that kind of chance are infinetesimal.
This guy is going to see you coming. He's going to _kill_ you."
        "Not if you help."
        "Why would I do something that stupid?"
        "Because it might be the leverage we need to get out of this mental
mind-trap thing," I snapped. "And don't even think of trying to *command*
me not to do this. You can't do it and *you know it*!" I saw him wince at
the mental shout I'd added to the comment. "If we can prove that this...
bond isn't needed for me to act in the best interests of both our
communities, maybe we can appeal to a higher court. Or whatever. Morgana
can't be the only Enforcer out there with a say in how we live our lives."
        Silence. Vachon let go of his head and carefully sat up, a mildly
quizzical look on his face. He blinked verrry slowly. "It might work."
        "Thought you'd see it my way."
        "We might have to do some fast talking," his eyes narrowed as he
ran down the eventualities in his mind, "to explain the murderer's death.
But it's probably our best chance of convincing the others you're no
threat."
        "She said I was supposed to give you copies of the evidence reports
and she'd track the murderer," I chewed on my lower lip in concentration,
"and that we weren't supposed to tell anyone else that she was an Enforcer,
or we'd regret it. She didn't want to warn our killer." Remembering the icy
predatory gaze that she'd fixed on me when she said that, I resisted the
temptation to tell the next vampire I saw. I might be furious at how she'd
screwed with my life, but I'm not suicidal. If she caught up with the
murderer first, he'd probably survive the encounter. But he might need
extensive medical attention (vampire doctors? The mental image made me
smile) after she was through with him.
        I wasn't interested in revenge for the victim, but justice. I
wanted to insure that there wouldn't be any more drained corpses on Dr.
Lambert's slab. Vachon's easy, callous acceptance of the vampires' little
'accidents' made me shiver, and wonder when the last time he killed for
blood was. Resolutely, I focused on the case. Don't make yourself crazy
with questions you don't want the answers to, Trace.
        It took me a moment to be sure that the last thought wasn't coming
from him.
        "Okay. Get me the reports tomorrow, and I'll take them to her."
Vachon snorted softly and shook his head. "I can't believe I let you talk
me into this."
        "You don't have a choice. Besides, you know I'm right."
        "And don't think that doesn't scare me, Detective." He got out of
the car at the next green light, then leaned back in before he closed the
door. "And Trace?"
        I glanced over at him impatiently.
        "I *could* make you give up on this. I just don't want to." He
slammed the door and strolled casually toward the sidewalk.
        *Yeah, right*
        *Better believe it, Vetter. Or you'll never be able handle the kind
of stuff that might happen when we try to track this killer*
        A harsh BEeeeeeppp!!! brought me out of my mental interlude, and I
slammed on the gas and lurched across the intersection, unsettled by how
easy it was to communicate with Vachon without words, and hoping that this
latest idea wouldn't prove to be another classic Vetter it-seemed-like
-a-good-idea-at-the-time,-Captain! episode.

*********

End part 14
Write if you need missing installments



________________
Protect and Serve (15/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        Vachon had barely stayed on my rooftop long enough to touch down.
As soon as I had the police file from Detective Vetter in my hand he was
gone; the seething anger and dislike he must feel toward me almost
concealed behind the expressionless, cool mask that he showed the world. I
wondered how he and Tracy were dealing with each other's fears, as well as
their own. Maybe what I'd asked of them hadn't been as merciful as I'd
believed.

        I sat down cross-legged on the roof, paging slowly through the
investigation report. Mrs. Nora Quentin, age 36, found with her throat slit
in the Toronto Regency fairly late on Sunday morning.  Signs of alcohol...
recent sexual activity?... post-mortem moving of the body; blood missing
from scene; slit to the jugular; bruises and contusions... I flipped to the
Scene-of-the-Crime photos, and checked the picture of the body. Tracy had
been right---definitely a vampire. Frowning, I went back to the coroner's
report, and the autopsy photos. The second set of photos had been taken so
that the fang marks appeared almost extraneous."Bruises and contusions."
Tapping the picture, I muttered to myself, "Willful blindness? No medical
explanation, so you didn't want to mention it? What's the story, Dr. N.
Lambert?"

        Most of the time when our victims end up in the morgue, coroners
note every. Single. Thing.  They don't offer theories, they don't
speculate, but they never leave out odd details. The Toronto Metro Coroner,
on the other hand, had gone so far as to discount the evidence, and almost
conceal it; the question was, why?

        I closed the folder, looped the rubberband around it, and took off
into the sky. Time to visit the morgue.

*     *      *       *         *       *

        Sneaking into official buildings is easy if you can hypnotize the
janitorial staff into letting you into restricted areas, and then make them
forget you were ever there. Besides, no one would look twice at me in my
current get-up; dark clothes, white lab jacket, glasses---your typical
technician. The longer before anyone questioned me, the easier finding out
certain details would be.

        I waited until I was sure all of the staff were out of the office,
then forced the door and made my way to the morgue. Checking against the
log sheets, I found the locker where Nora Quentin was stored and opened the
drawer, taking care to pull on a pair of surgical gloves first. No sense in
confusing the investigation any more than necessary with extraneous
evidence.

        It's difficult to explain how Enforcers track their prey. It isn't
exactly scent, or sight, or a telepathic sense; more a combination. I could
detect the traces of many mortals on the body, two in particular: one
female, with a definite scent of formaldehyde (probably the coroner), the
other male, the last person the deceased had sex with. Strange; I'd have
thought the last person Nora Quentin was intimate with would have been the
vampire who killed her, but it wasn't.

        I leaned closer, examining the fatal wound.  The sense of the
killer's identity was fading beneath the impersonal, official mortal
authorities' handling, but I was certain I'd recognize the vampire who
committed this crime if I came across them. Good. Now it was just a matter
of luck and timing, and finding the rogue before they got hungry again.
This wasn't some out-of-control child; the knife marks were too deliberate,
the abandonment of the body too calculated for a bloodthirst killing.
Someone was deliberately flaunting the rules, killing a victim who would be
noticed and leaving evidence that could be recognized.

         I closed the drawer and carefully replaced the log sheet just as
the staff was returning from break. Hiding behind the door, I listened to
the two women joking about some police detective who'd filled out the wrong
forms... and then realized, with a sinking, sickening sensation, _why_ the
medical examiner had concealed the cause of death on the autopsy report.

        The coroner was Nick's friend, Natalie.

        Shaking, I leaned my head against the wall, adding it all up.
Lacroix had to know; this had to be the whole reason he'd sucked me into
the Vachon/Tracy problem in the first place.  He knew that the doctor
helping Nick with his "skin condition" had full knowledge of what he was.
That slimy snake had hoped I'd find out about this, pushed me into a corner
where I'd eventually learn about Natalie Lambert _after_ I'd alienated Nick
by my actions with the younger vampire and Nick's partner.  With that kind
of precedent, I'd have to do something drastic to Natalie Lambert. Damn
Lacroix anyway.

        I didn't have time for this. Toronto didn't have time for this, I
had to catch a renegade, I couldn't be working out how much Dr. Lambert did
or didn't know! Calm down. Breathe. Deal with this LATER. For now, just get
past the coroner and get out into the city and find the vampire who was
slurping on society tidbits. Right. Too bad the only exit was past the good
doctor; but given the magnitude of the other problems I was having, this
appeared relatively minor.

        Pushing open the door, I met Natalie Lambert's gaze with my own.
"Dr. Lambert." I smiled into the woman's shocked face, as she glanced from
me to the morgue behind me. I was about to launch into my prepared story
when she spoke.

        "Who.. Wait a minute, what are you doing---" She'd recognized me.
Damnit! Well, she wasn't going to be allowed to remember that I was here at
all, now.

        "I wasn't here." I said slowly, holding her gaze. She blinked, then
her eyes glazed over.
        "You weren't here," she repeated after me.
        "Tell me why you doctored the autopsy report," I demanded.
        "Which one?" she asked calmly, still entranced. I gawked in
complete surprise; what had this woman been up to? How many times had she
covered for the Community before?
        "The last one, the Quentin one," I spluttered.
        "I had to." The serene Madonna face didn't even show a trace of
anxiety as she admitted her actions.
        I waited, then impatiently said, "Why?"
        She frowned, an expression of awareness trying to break through her
calm. "What---?"

        Terrific. Dr. Lambert was a resistor, like Tracy Vetter; only she
had a stronger mind, a more focused awareness of what was happening to her.
I could _not_ deal with this now. Oh, but after I talked to Nick, I'd... I
shied away from that thought. It couldn't end well. Whatever course I chose
now, whatever I did, someone was going to get hurt. Maybe I could just
leave Toronto after I caught the killer? Pretend this never happened?

        No chance of that. The next time I talked to the rest of the
Enforcers, they'd know.  Nick, why do you keep doing this to me? I thought
wildly.

        Meanwhile, Dr. Lambert had managed to break free of my slipping
mental hold; she was backing away from me, an expression of fear on her
face, her hand reaching for the phone. I knocked the instrument off the
desk faster than she could possibly see, then grabbed her chin and gave her
the simplest, strongest command possible: "Sleep." She collapsed onto the
floor as if sand-bagged. All mortals want to sleep, it's the easiest
command to reinforce, the first one you learn. I stared at the woman at my
feet, furious with her, Nick, Lacroix and myself; how could they break the
Code like this? Didn't they understand what kind of danger they'd put
themselves in?

        Later. I'd do something about this _later_. Now, I had to visit
every vampire haunt in Toronto before the killer struck again.



  Comments, critiques, virtual champange----> go to vqrw76a@prodigy.com
__________________________
Protect and Serve (16/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        The voice on the radio was smooth, clear, and resonant.  But
something about the Lewis Carroll poem the Nightcrawler was reciting made
my skin creep.

        "Fury said to a mouse,
         that he met in the house
        Let us both go to law; I will prosecute _you_.
        Come, I'll take no denial,
         we must have a trial:
        For really this morning I've nothing to do.

        "Said the mouse to the cur
        Such a trial, dear sir
        With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath.
        I'll be judge, I'll be jury,
        Said cunning old Fury
        I'll try the whole cause, and
                                      condemn
                                             you
                                                 to
                                                   death."

        "A succint commentary on having policeman as executioners, don't
you think?" The chuckle that followed this was oily, and made the hairs on
the back of my neck rise.
        "Can we listen to something else?"
        Nick didn't look at me or reply, but he punched in one of the other
pre-programmed stations as we drove to the house of our chief suspect,
Marcus Grimaldi. I don't know why he likes that program, except maybe it's
weird enough to make him feel normal by comparison. Sometimes my partner
can be a little eccentric.
         By one of those weird strokes of luck that happen when you least
expect them, one of the parking attendants at the hotel where Mrs.
Quentin's body had been found was able to ID the suspect from the sketch
the party guests had put together, and had actually gotten a partial
license number.  When we ran it through the DMV, only one car fit the
description of the suspect's; now we were on our way over to interrogate
Grimaldi, and possibly arrest him.
        Which was why I was talking to Vachon in my head.
        *Get OVER there. If this is our killer, I'm not risking Nick's
life! Or mine!*
        *I'm going, I'm going, but remind me---how are we going to explain
this to your partner?* Vachon was amused again, with that edge of
recklessness added that made me so nervous.  *The murderer will probably
come quietly if I'm there, but---*
        *I'll think of something, allright? Maybe I got a tip from you?*
        *Was that a question or a suggestion, Trace?*
        "Tracy?"
        "What?" I blinked stupidly at Nick, trying to mentally shut up
Vachon and listen to my partner.  The look Nick gave me suggested he'd said
my name more than once. "Sorry, I was just drifting."
        "I said, I'll take the lead on this one. You should probably stay
back---"
        "Why?" I was jumpy enough to snap at the tiniest excuse. Nick
trying to protect me wasn't really that surprising, but when he was the one
in need of protection it was annoying as well as inconvenient.
        "Because I might need you to call for back-up and head him off if
he runs. Are you allright?" Knight eyed me with concern; it struck me that
I must be obviously out of it for Nick to be getting this worried. Usually
he just teases me until I either tell him what's bothering me, or he
bluntly tells me what my problem is.
        "I'm fine. Just... the flu. Okay, you go in the front---" *Vachon,
are you paying attention?* "---and I'll go round the back. Okay?"
        "Yes."
        *Yes*
        "Perfect." I let out a breath, and shook my head, trying to focus
on one reality at a time. Nick's cellular rang, allowing me to ignore where
I was in favor of what was going on inside my head.
        Vachon was thinking of Morgana.
        Actually, he was remembering her. I don't think he meant to let me
in on it, but the images were coming through with terrifying, unblockable
clarity...

*** ***** ******

        It was a bar; a rowdy, dirty, cheap honky-tonk, with a jukebox in
the corner, a pool-table in the middle of the room, and neon lights over
the bar counter.  Cigar smoke filled the air, cheap alcohol was spilled on
the floor, and a fight was going on. Bodies were flying around the room:
_literally_ flying. Half the people in the fight were vampires, and they
seemed to be in as much trouble as the human beings, partly because of a
fire that had started near the exit. One cowboy was impaled with a pool cue
through his stomach; another was lying across the bar, his head at a
strange angle; and as I watched the unfolding scene, a vampire in black
leather was trying to put out the fire that was eating away at his
motorcyle leggings, screaming in pain.
        In one corner of the bar stood Morgana.
        She looked twice as insane as the creature I'd met in the church.
She had a broken pool cue in one hand, her mouth was dribbling blood, and
her eyes were completely gold, with the pupils contracted into
non-existence. As I watched, she slammed the pool cue through the back of a
vampire she was restraining. Blood was already streaming down his neck from
two puncture wounds beneath his jaw. As the pool cue came through his
chest, his eyes bugged out for a second, his mouth opening in a silent
scream as he vanished.
        "Nooo!"
        Morgana looked toward us/me.  She snarled and launched herself in
our/my direction...

***     ***       ****

        *Trace? Damn, didn't know you were paying attention*
        *What happened  after that?* I was shaking, trying to breathe,
feeling like I'd been through the wringer. The vividness of the scene and
the fear he'd felt were still with me.
        *The fire spread to the rest of the bar; most of us got out in
time... She got distracted by the flames before she got a chance to try to
kill me again*
        *I meant, why is that maniac still alive?*
        *I don't know. She disappeared for a while... the next time I saw
her was years later; she was as sane as---well, as sane as she is now*
        "Tracy?"
        "Yeah!" I jumped, a little shocked to realize we were at the
suspect's house already. "Yeah. Sorry."
        "Look, if you aren't up to this, I could call for more back-up---"
        "No! I mean, no, I can handle this, Nick. I just... need to get
more sleep. I'm ready, though." I made a big show of checking my gun, and
tried to smile perkily at Nick. He didn't look convinced.
        "If you're sure." We approached the house cautiously; I ducked
around the back, scanning the area for Vachon. He was close, I could feel
it, but I couldn't tell where he was. I heard Nick knock on the front door
of the small dwelling, saying, "Mr. Grimaldi? Metro Homicide---" Silence.
"Mr. Grimaldi?" I tried the back door, ready to find Vachon restraining our
suspect...
        A window at the side blew outward, the sound of glass splintering
in every direction as I ran to see what had happened. The window was gone,
and whoever had broken it was long gone too. I peered carefully into the
building, saying, "Nick?" in a shaky voice as I pointed my gun.
        Nick was bending over a body on the floor, looking grim. I could
still feel Vachon somewhere off to the side, hiding from me and Nick, as I
glanced down at the corpse.
        It was our suspect, Marcus Grimaldi. His throat was cut. But behind
and beneath the cut, I thought I could see the characteristic puncture
marks.
        *And the body isn't disappearing, Trace* Vachon's presence
        "Damnit! Our killer just got away," my partner growled. He wasn't
looking at me, just staring down at the corpse in disgust. "Did you see
anything---"
        "No. Whoever it was disappeared..." My voice trailed off. The guy
on the floor, the last person to see Nora Quentin alive, was human. And
very dead. So our killer was still out there and we had---
        "A dead end." Nick shook his head in frustration.

*******   **********

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_________________________
Protect and Serve (17/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1995

        The last thing I remembered was terror and eyes of gold.
        I was lying on the cold tile floor of the morgue. Trembling, I
pushed myself into a sitting position and leaned back against my desk.
What... oh, God, of course. Morgana. Nick's friend. Ex-friend.  Nick's
friend the Enforcer had whammied me, hitting me with the mental equivalent
of a sandbag. How long had I been out?
        About an hour, according to my watch. Why Morgana hadn't killed me
when she realized what I knew about her, about vampires in general, was
more than I could guess at; what I really wanted to know was why she'd been
in my morgue. Evidence tampering, maybe? Just doing her duty as an
Enforcer?
        Still too weak and dizzy to stand, I pulled the phone down from the
desk into my lap and dialled Nick's cellular.  Closing my eyes so the room
wouldn't spin, I let out a sigh of relief when the words "Knight here" came
through the receiver.
        "Nick? It's Natalie. We have a big problem."
        "Can it wait? We're on our way to question a suspect." Nick's voice
sounded irritated, and I could almost hear the "what NOW?" behind the
annoyance.
        "Morgana was here. At the morgue."
        "What!?! When?"
        "An hour ago. And Nick, she knows about me. She..." I stopped, took
a breath, let the fear wash over me, tried to let it go. "She knows
everything. She didn't say anything about it, she just put me to sleep and
left. I haven't checked the body yet, so I don't even know why she was
here."
        A brief curse in French was Nick's only response.
        "Yeah, same here."
        "Stay there. DON'T LEAVE." Nick lowered his voice, almost
whispering. "You'll be safe if you're in a public place. I'll be there as
soon as I can."
        "Tracy's listening, isn't she?"
        "Kind of, yes."
        "Do you ever think that our lives would be a lot simpler if we just
gave up on the secrecy and published the truth in the ENQUIRER, Nick?"
        "I don't need my life simplified that much. Stay there, I mean it,
Nat. I can't protect you if I can't find you." A click and then the buzz as
he hung up. Grace entered the examination room just then, shooting me a
puzzled glance as she dropped off some samples.
        "The chair wasn't comfortable enough?" she commented.
        I considered telling her the truth, or a version of the truth,
saying we'd had an intruder or a break-in; then decided not to. "No, just a
little tired. We've had a lot to do."
        "You should go home. There's a bad flu going around, you know."
        Shaking my head, I carefully stood up. "Too much work to do. I want
to double-check some results."
        "Well, here's the last of the data on the Quentin corpse. Are you
sure you're feeling allright?" Grace is a wonderful person. Which is why I
hate lying to her. Which is why I _had_ to lie to her.
        "Yup. Maybe I'll cut out early after Nick gets back." Grace smiled
knowingly, and I was too tired to correct her obvious misunderstanding of
my remark. Oh, if only I were going back to Nick's place...
        I went into the storage locker and opened the drawer where Nora
Quentin's body was kept. No obvious damage; I minutely examined everything
that could possibly be tampered with. Nothing. Why had Morgana wanted to
see the corpse?
        And why was I still alive?
        My beeper went off. Checking the number, I groaned aloud. Nick had
said to stay here, and I was getting a call for a crime scene. Perfect
timing. I shut the drawer and went back out to my phone and checked my
messages. A murder. And Nick was on it. Please, let it not be what I think
it is, I implored God. But She either wasn't listening, or had more
important things to worry about. Wars in Bosnia. Starving orphans in
Africa.
        Stuff that almost made sense, in comparison.

*     *      *      *

        I managed to get a good look at our new customer, and make a fair
determination as to the cause of death before Nick realized I was on the
scene. "Nat! What are you doing..."
        "Nick!" I responded brightly, flicking my eyes to the
Scene-of-Crime techs and his partner as my smile widened. Nick's eyes
narrowed; he hates having his commands ignored. Sir Nicholas de Brabant
occasionally can be extremely medieval in his chivalrous attitudes and his
expectations of getting his own way. Fortunately, Nick Knight has had 800
years to learn acceptance of what he can't change. "Looks like your killer
struck again. Was this the suspect you mentioned?" I fingered the gash
below the young man's neck. Open, bloody, more than wide enough to cause
death, but still not quite able to conceal the fang-marks under the jaw.
        "Yes, he was. We think the killer left just as we got here." He
gestured to a broken window that looked out on the side of the house. "I
was trying the front door when someone made an extremely quick exit in that
direction. We couldn't follow them." The grimness of his tone said what he
couldn't mention in front of the others: to make that quick an exit,
someone would have to be a vampire.
        Bending down to examine the corpse again, I shook my head. "No,
Detective, I don't think so."
        "What?" Nick bent down beside me, face a study of hope and
confusion. "Why didn't it happen that way, Nat?"
        "Because our friend here has been dead for more than two hours. You
got here---what? Twenty minutes ago?"
        "About that," Nick responded slowly. He blinked, then smiled. "She
didn't do it," he whispered.
        "She who?" I asked, then I opened my mouth, realization dawning.
"Morgana? She was the one who took a dive through the window?"
        "I couldn't mention it before," he said in low tones, "and I was
hoping... when did she pay you a visit?"
        "An hour and a half ago."
        "You're probably her alibi, Nat." Nick was shaking his head in
disbelief and  renewed puzzlement. "But how did she get _here_? And why?"
        "Why don't we go ask her?" I stood up, motioning for the body to be
taken away as I started for the door.
        "I'll ask her. You should..." Nick walked me to my car, his brow
furrowed as he tried to think of what I _should_ do, with the threat of
death by vampire hanging over my head. It's not a situation where a wide
range of options come to mind. Not that it mattered; I already knew what
course of action I was following.
        "Forget it. I'm not safe anywhere else, so I might as well be with
you when we try to get answers from Morgana."
        Nick started to argue with me, but I cut him off by getting into my
car and slamming the door. I rolled down the window. "You can either meet
me over there, or ride with me."
        He eyed the car, then the crime scene. "I have one or two things to
wrap up. I'll meet you at her place in thirty minutes." Nick turned back to
me, blue eyes worried and almost scared. "Nat, please be careful. DON'T
just knock on her door and demand an explanation, okay?"
        "If you don't meet me in thirty minutes, I'll assume you're trying
to ditch me and I'll do whatever comes to mind." Nick grimaced, and I tried
to smile back confidently. "Hey, I'm an expert on you guys, remember? I
won't do anything stupid.  Stop worrying and give me the directions."
        "Fine," Nick sighed and gave me Morgana's address and a quick
summation of how to get there, then bent down to the window, catching a
tendril of my hair and pushing it out of my face. "I swear, Nat, I won't
let her hurt you. I promise."
        I nodded. No sense in pointing out that he might not have any say
about it. He smiled, stroked my cheek, then quickly turned away. I let out
a breath, biting my lip, running over the choices I'd been obsessing about
since I first found out about Morgana Harte's profession.
        None of them were great; my best chance, Nick's best chance, of a
life with some hope for either of us, would rest in Morgana's hands if we
let it. Unless... unless the bluff I'd been considering worked. If my
backup files were as well-hidden as I hoped. If I could do a better job
than Tracy or Vachon evidently had, in convincing the Enforcer to leave
Nick and me alone.
        Time to see how well I could play poker

Comments? Questions? Mints? -----> VQRW76A@prodigy.com



Comments? Critiques? Virtual chocolate????---> send to VQRW76A@prodigy.com.
______________________
Protect and Serve (18/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

              The crime scene guys and the ME were on their way out; the
only person left to deal with was my partner, who had to be fighting the
same frustration I was experiencing. Our best lead was a literal dead
end---Marcus Grimaldi had been killed in the same way Nora Quentin had
been, and so had switched roles from prime suspect to latest victim before
we even got a chance to interview him.  Nick didn't know the truth, though:
that our killer was a vampire. The case had gotten to the point where I
almost _had_ to tell him. I couldn't keep deceiving my partner, it wasn't
fair to him, it was impossible for me, it was---
        *Absolutely necessary* Vachon cut into my thoughts.
        *I thought you split---why didn't you follow the killer?*
        *Two reasons* I felt his grim amusement, none of it at my expense,
for once. *One, that wasn't the killer*
        *What?!?*
        "Tracy?" I turned and smiled wearily at my partner. Nick pushed a
hand through his hair and closed his eyes in exhaustion. "I just talked to
Natalie. Grimaldi's been dead for over two hours---and somehow I doubt our
killer hung around hoping to get caught, then dove out the window when we
got here."
        *See?*
        *Will you be quiet?*
        "Well, at least we didn't let the killer get away," I said aloud.
        "Somehow I don't think Reese will be consoled by that thought."
Nick grimaced and I felt myself squirm uncomfortably at the icipient
dressing-down.  Two murders in forty-eight hours with the same M.O., and
absolutely no clues to the killer.  The Captain was not going to be
pleased. Too bad I couldn't tell _him_ the truth, either; at least he'd be
easier to placate if we never found the murderer---after all, how were you
supposed to track a vampire? Homing bat?
        "It's getting late in the shift---I'm going back to the morgue, and
check over the evidence to see if we missed anything. Why don't you go home
and take care of that flu?"
        "Flu?" I blinked, then remembered the lie I'd told Nick in the car.
"Oh. Thanks. Are you sure?" I yawned, faking more weariness than I felt.
Nick's eyes narrowed as he studied me; I let my eyelids droop and tried to
look dopy and out of it. "I could really use the rest..."
        "Yeah, sure. Get out of here." Knight let me get all the way to the
door before he said, "And Trace?"
        "Hmmm?"
        "Go. _Home_. Don't do any research, don't follow up any hunches,
just go home, okay?" My partner knows me better than I usually give him
credit for. Or maybe he's just learned that I don't give up easily.
        "Sure. It's sunrise in an hour anyway---" I bit my lip. That
wouldn't reassure Nick, he didn't know the significance of the sunlight.
"Time to take a nap." I hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to my
apartment, (planning on getting my car and doing some more legwork before
sunrise) before I picked up the conversation with Vachon again. *What was
the second reason?*
        *Oww*
        *Vachon?*
        *Ummm, kinda busy now, Trace* a feeling of pain, constriction,
violence, anger
        *Vachon?!!!? Where are you, what's happening what's going on*
        No words, just an image, hastily stifled---fangs and and gold eyes,
dark hair and pale skin, Morgana snarling---and familiar surroundings. Then
nothing. A blank. An absence unlike any I'd felt in the last three days,
since Vachon and I first started sharing each other's minds.
        I rapped on the glass between me and the cabbie. "Uh, I just
remembered. I need to go somewhere else. Now! And there's fifty bucks in it
for you if you get me there in less than ten minutes!"

*     *       *       *

        It was still about forty-five minutes until dawn when the taxi
dropped me off in front of Vachon's church. *What do you think you're
doing?* I mentally screamed at myself as I walked into the church. *Now is
the time to call for backup! Now is the time to go home and pull the sheets
over your head! That is a vampire in here, an extremely angry, strong,
scary vampire, who's already done God-knows-what to Javier...* But who
could I call for backup? Nick? Captain Reese? I felt a terrible sense of
aloneness, as if I had to be responsible for everything that could or might
happen in Toronto that was even slightly connected to vampires. Someday I
won't be able to take that feeling anymore, and I'll have to tell
someone---no. Never. I won't put anyone else in this position. Ever.
        I checked my gun, my lighter, and the small crucifix around my
neck. There had to be something smarter I could do here. Set fire to the
church. *With Vachon in it? Unconscious, maybe?* Wait until dawn. *How's
that going to help?* The church would still be completely dark; and Vachon
might die if I didn't try to help him, do _something_. I grabbed one of the
old arm-length beams lying around the floor of the church, wrapped some
newspaper around it, and lit it. At least I wasn't going in completely
unarmed.
        "Come up, Detective Vetter." The voice was cold, quiet, female;
Morgana.
        Slowly, I climbed the stairs, aware that if she wanted to, I could
die as I climbed toward the loft. I held the makeshift torch in front of
me, clenching my jaw against the urge to scream. *Vachon? Vachon!!*
Nothing. A grey numbness, at most.  I swallowed, swinging the torch in a
circle as I scanned the attic.
        Vachon lay on the floor on his back, unmoving. Morgana stood over
him with her foot on his throat, studying him with an expression of
distaste and anger.
        "The tiniest bit of pressure," she said without glancing in my
direction, "and his neck snaps. More, and his head will separate from his
body."
        "Why are you doing this?" I was shaking, and the torch threw crazy
shadows as I fought to still my hand.
        The Enforcer raised her head, turning her green-eyed gaze upon me.
No hint of the vampire in evidence. Just a woman who seemed a little
younger than me, dressed in ordinary clothes. But the force of personality
behind that look was like a gust of cold wind, tangible and chilling. There
were traces of blood on her face, and I took a few steps forward in alarm
to get a better view of Vachon, afraid she'd bitten him like she'd done to
the vampire he'd remembered in that honky-tonk thirty years ago.
        Nothing. Aside from fading bruises around his neck, there were no
signs of broken skin, blood, or injury. Confused, I looked back at Morgana.
The criss-crossing wounds were healed, but the blood had already dried on
her face and hands. Like cuts from glass... "You were the one at
Grimaldi's," I blurted out.
        "You aren't stupid," Morgana said, watching me closely, "so I don't
understand why you are pursuing this. You were more than happy to leave the
killer's fate in my hands twenty-four hours ago."
        "And six minutes later I realized I'd made a mistake," I retorted,
tightening my grip on the torch. The flames danced strangely in her eyes,
distorted by something behind the surface that wasn't human. "You aren't
going to do anything permanent about the murderer---"
        "I might. Depends on when I catch up with him." She removed her
foot from Vachon's neck, and I bent down to check on him. How can you tell
if a vampire is okay? They don't breathe, they have no pulse... I examined
his neck, which seemed to be okay, and placed my hand against his forehead.
Cold, and dry, but that was normal for him. Pale, but again, normal for
him. Dark lashes rimmed his closed eyes, his face relaxed into almost
angelic repose. He looked all of fifteen, and fear and anger rose up in me
again. Why wasn't he opening his eyes?
        "He'll be allright." The Enforcer took a few steps away and perched
on the arm of one of the dark chairs that Vachon kept near the candles. "I
came back to find out why he was hanging around Grimaldi's. You know all
about that. He was being stubborn. I just put him to sleep. He was making
me mad." Something in her voice made me shift my body so I was between her
and Vachon. Carefully, I placed the torch in one of the waist-high metal
holders nearby, keeping an eye on her the whole time. "Detective, this is
going to be nearly impossible if the two of you keep interfering.
Eventually Javier here is going to make me lose my temper and I'll beat on
his skull, which he won't enjoy. So why don't you just call in sick for the
next few days, and let me handle this? Nick won't get anywhere near the
murderer if his partner is out of commission with the flu."
        "What did he say that had you so worked up? Something about Texas?"
        She glanced away from me, and licked her lips. It was the first
time I'd seen anything like a human expression cross her face since the
first night we met at the precinct. Uncertainty. "What do you know about
that?"
        "You killed some people there," I whispered, never taking my eyes
off her. One hand slowly stole into my pocket, and the lighter I kept in my
jacket.
        "I wasn't in control..." Morgana shook her head slowly, then
glanced back at me. "That's why there _are_ Enforcers. To make sure the
kinda thing that happened in Texas doesn't happen again."
        "So you're making up for your mistakes?" I asked shakily, clenching
my fingers around the smooth plastic of the zippo.
        "No." Sharp, harsh denial. "I wasn't responsible for that. It
wasn't _my_ mistake. It---you wouldn't understand." She stood up, took a
few steps closer to me. "Look, you want to make sure the killer doesn't get
away with these murders. You think they let me off the hook, and it'll
happen this time too. It won't. This is different, these murders were
deliberate, planned, and no one's going to defend the murderer. I promise,
this killer won't get away with it. Just let me do my job."
        Just a step closer, I thought. But I hesitated, my finger on the
button of the lighter. Somehow, she wasn't as arrogant as she'd been
before. I was still furious with her on some level, for forcing Vachon and
I into a mental box together and closing the lid on it. But I wanted to
hear what else she had to say. "You're asking me to trust you."
        "Yes."
        "I thought you guys weren't real big on trust."
        Morgana's eyes widened, and her mouth involuntarily twitched.
"We're not."
        "If I trust you..." I glanced back down at Vachon. A sense of him
was starting to return. Pain, memory of what happened---I actually welcomed
it. He was going to be okay. "Will you trust me?"  She didn't reply, her
eyes sliding away from mine. Just then, Vachon opened his eyes and tried to
move. "Hey, take it easy," I said, reaching out to him with both hands,
leaving the lighter in my pocket.
        "Trace?" he muttered groggily. He glimpsed Morgana and groaned.
"Are you _still_ here? Haven't you had enough fun?"
        "You're just endlessly entertaining, Vachon," she replied dryly.
"Detective Vetter and I were discussing how you two were going to leave
this alone."
        "No, we weren't," I interjected, helping Vachon sit up. He was
blinking even more than usual, his eyes refusing to focus clearly. "We were
discussing trust." I stood up and faced the Enforcer, my insides trembling,
but not just with fear. With hope. "Don't you have enough proof that I
won't do something stupid and betray your people? Vachon is my friend. I
wouldn't expose him to the press, or the police---"
        "And the rest of us?" Morgana crossed her arms over her chest, one
eyebrow raised skeptically.
        "Oh, yeah, I want to be responsible for a world-wide panic. I
_want_ to start witch hunts and stakings from coast to coast! Will you get
real?" I asked in exasperation. I turned back to Javier, still relieved
that he was okay, still unable to believe that she hadn't killed both of us
yet. But that was what had given me the courage to talk to her like I was.
Maybe I hated her methods, but I really couldn't argue with her motives.
She just had to understand that I wasn't a danger. I brushed Vachon's hair
out of his face, something I'd wanted to do since I came in. He still
wasn't really focusing on his surroundings very well, and the abrupt feelng
of tenderness that welled up in me probably didn't register with him. I
hope not, anyway.
        "Besides," Vachon muttered huskily, "She doesn't want to end up in
a padded cell. Give her credit for brains, if nothing else." He was holding
my hand by this point, his eyes closed again.
        "If nothing else," Morgana echoed, mouth still quirking. "Certainly
not good sense. She should have stayed out of this; she shouldn't have come
here when I knocked you out." She flicked her eyes back to mine, staring
into me with the green cat's-eye gaze for what felt like several minutes.
The gaze flickered back to Vachon. "You realize, it's already too late. I
told the others what happened on Saturday. I can't go back on that."
        "Why not?" I demanded. "What would be enough for you people?"
        Morgana shrugged, still watching Vachon's exhausted face and closed
eyes. "Nothing, really." She sighed deliberately, then looked back at me,
just as slowly as the sigh. "No promises." She walked toward the stairs,
stopping at the exit. "You won't stay out of it, will you?"
        "No."
        "Didn't think so." The vampire bit her lip thoughtfully. "Killing
you would raise other problems; bringin' you over, too." She looked at
Vachon, who was watching her through slitted lids. "You two are more
trouble than you're worth, you know that?"
        "We aim to please, ma'am," Vachon drawled, startling laughter out
of Morgana, which she cut off abruptly. I had the feeling it was a reminder
of something, something from thirty years ago.
        "Yeah." She glanced at me, then at the window. "It's almost light.
I'll let you know if I need help." A small salute with two fingers, and
then she was gone.
        "I guess that's all we'll get from her." Disappointed, I turned
back to Vachon, to find dark eyes watching me with something like wonder.
"What?"
        "Nothing," Javier squeezed my hand, then stood up in one fluid
motion, moving away from me again. Just like always. "Except... maybe we
will get out of this alive. So to speak."

* ***     *****     *****       **********

End of part 18



Comments? ---> go to  VQRW76a@prodigy.com
________________________
Protect and Serve (19/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        Sometimes I almost catch the sunrise. The night starts turning from
purple-black to violet, and the stars begin to fade... and then lemon
streaks appear in the east, and I have to look for shelter. You can watch a
sunrise on TV, through a window, but it isn't the same as feeling the
warmth on your skin. Until it starts to burn, and you have to flee.

        The sky was glowing near the horizon, so I needed to get home.
Soon, but there was a stop I had to make first. The confrontation with
Detective Vetter and Vachon had almost driven earlier events out of my
head, but there was too much I had to do before I let myself rest. The lead
Brianna had given me when I visited the Raven after I left the M.E.'s
office had panned out, but not in the way I expected.

        The trapdoor on the roof of the Raven wasn't bolted shut---they
were probably expecting one or two more fledglings to make their way back,
pushing their luck further than I had.  I slipped in noiselessly, carefully
letting it fall shut without slamming, not wanting to alarm the
inhabitants.

        THUMP...... thump.           THUMP.......  thump.

        I almost gasped, then had to put a hand over my mouth to stop the
chuckles that wanted to escape.  A dozen young ones hung from the rafters,
sleeping sweetly, their heartbeats audible and slow.  I hadn't expected
them, but I should have. Most fledglings prefer sleeping while hanging to
being in a bed or a casket. That way, they wake up where they expect to, on
the ceiling. Some don't get the hang of not drifting upward while asleep
for several decades, and it's more reassuring not to wonder where you're
going to wake up.

        Careful not to disturb them, I slipped through the attic, between
the unconscious bodies, and made my way downstairs. Tired. So tired. I
blinked, then bit down hard on the heel of my hand. I hadn't fed recently,
and it was late in the day, which was part of my reason for the detour---I
needed to restock my cupboard.  The other inducement was waiting at the
bar, sampling what looked like the Raven's special blend.  Much as I hated
to admit it, I needed Lacroix's help.

        I took a twenty out of my jacket pocket and put it on the bar in
front of Nick's creator.  "The one-gallon size."

        "Cow or human?" I tilted my head and glared at him. He raised his
eyebrows in a parody of innocence. "Forgive me, I thought perhaps you might
be adopting Nicholas' practices, since you have always adopted his
attitudes."

        "I didn't come here to spar with you. The blood, please. And a
glass of that," I added, flicking my fingers at his glass. The bar was
eerie without the music and dancers; like a stage set without actors or
audience. The feeling that the Raven only existed as a stock piece to set
off the appearance of the vampires asleep upstairs and in the cellar was
unnerving.  Can a dance club be brought across, become part of our
Community?

        Lacroix spoke, cutting my fanciful speculations short.  "Have you
made any progress in uncovering the rogue? I assume you wouldn't need
this," he gestured with the glass he had poured for me, then set it down,
"if you had already found our murderer."

        "Yes." I'd had more than enough time to go through Marcus
Grimaldi's house and personal belongings before Nick and Tracy had arrived.
Enough time to find photos, and notes in his calendar, and smell the scent
of Norah Quentin's murderer in the bedroom as well as on Grimaldi's neck.
Lacroix seemed surprised at my answer. "It _is_ what I do, you know."

        "Is it?" he murmurred quietly, sipping from his glass, watching me
with that intense, cynical gaze.  "Well, then. If you know who it is---"

        "I know her face. Her scent. I know she was Marcus Grimaldi's
lover, and she's been using him to lure other mortals to feed from, and
then turn loose with their memories wiped... he was her thrall," I said,
draining my glass, feeling the buzz of alcohol and human blood make me a
little reckless.  "I don't know her last name, or where she is. I lost the
trail after I... left his house." I studied my glass, not wanting to look
at Lacroix. I hated admitting failure. "He's dead. She killed him an hour
before I got there."

        "Was it another obvious kill?"
        "Yes." I raised my eyes, studying him. He wasn't surprised. It
struck me that he'd never really answered my question from the night
before; that he _did_ know something specific about the murderer. "But you
knew that, didn't you?" I whispered, taking a shot in the dark.

        Amusement flickered and died on his face, leaving only the embers
of an almost-smile. "I suspect a great deal, Morgana le Fay. I don't
mistake that for _knowing_."
        "Why didn't you tell me what you knew?!" Always, always he was like
this; superior, detached, cold, uncaring, unfeeling...
        "I delivered a... warning, when you informed me of the first kill.
I can only assume that she chose to disregard it." At my look of disbelief,
he sighed, true weariness creeping through the theatrical facade. "You are
not the only one who flouts me, grandchild. And she _is_ mad." He took
another sip of the drink. "Of course, killing Grimaldi may be her way of
covering her trail---"
        "Not the way she did it," I contradicted him, anger at his
reticence overcoming my annoyance at his condescending attitude. "The
police think Toronto has a serial killer now. Where is she, Lacroix?"
        "I don't know."
        "Don't. Lie," I snarled, feeling my eyes turn gold, and my nails
dig into the bartop, forming deep grooves in the wood.  That tiny,
satisfying bit of fear was detectable on him, but he didn't look away.

        "Believe me or don't. It's the truth," he repeated evenly. I
unclenched my hands, shaking with frustration and adrenaline rush.
Watching me carefully, he continued to speak in that same calm voice.  "Her
name is Ava Malenkov. She comes here some nights---which you know already,
I assume---and she's old. Older than Nicholas. Younger than I. And she
truly doesn't care about the Rules anymore. I think," he swirled the
concoction in his glass, then met my eyes, "that she is bored. Bored to the
point of insanity. This is her way of amusing herself."

        "She'll kill again," I whispered, feeling sick.
        "Of course."
        I clenched my jaw, not letting myself look away from his
speculative gaze. "Then I'll stop her."
        Lacroix's laughter was soft, with a genuine note of wonder in it.
"Have you heard nothing I said, little girl?" I felt my eyes narrow in
dislike and anger. "She's gone completely rogue."
        "Who better to catch her, then?" I smiled, and I could feel the
happy madness of rage starting to bubble up again in my veins. "It takes
one to know one."

* *   * *** 1968... Venice, Italy

        "You're insane, Nicholas."
        "I'm eminently sane. In fact, I'm successful, that's what galls
you. Isn't it?"
        I hovered above the patio where the two older vampires were
talking. Nick knew I was there, but didn't mind. Lacroix... I shielded
myself from him, concentrating only on my friend, Nick. My love. My savior.
        "She might have learned better table manners, I'll grant you that.
And there's no sign of the foaming-at-the-mouth, either. But she's still
mad, underneath it all. Eventually, the memories and the hunger will master
her, you must know that."
        "No, I don't know that." Nick was annoyed, I could feel it, but he
was concealing it well. I could almost remember this other vampire---the
voice was one from the nightmares, the bad dreams of blood and fire.  But
Nick was standing up to him, defending me.
        "Lucien, you are not giving the girl enough credit." Janette lit a
cigarette, a tiny glow of light in the darkness below me. "If she had the
strength to kill Elliot after her crossing, she has the strength to control
herself. And she is motivated. Morgana _wants_ to fit in. And to please
Nicholas."
        "You're being far too optimistic, my dear. This new-found control
will break at the first challenge to her safety.  For instance," and then
he whirled, flying at Nick's throat.
        I screamed, shocked and enraged. Nick was saying something, but I
ignored it; Lacroix was going to kill him, I knew it, he had my friend by
the throat, his teeth extended to plunge into his neck. I was on the patio
in an instant, leaping on Lacroix's back, pulling his head back away from
Nick. Releasing the younger vampire, Lacroix turned to me, smiling, saying
something I didn't catch, my fist slamming forward to connect with his jaw.
Janette was yelling something... she was holding onto my arms, and I was
twisting and spitting, trying to reach the monster that attacked Nick---
        Nick brought me back to my senses, standing in my way, protecting
Lacroix. "Enough, Morgan!"
        "He," I panted, still struggling with Janette, "he was going to---"
        "I trust I've made my point," Lacroix said fastidiously, wiping
away the blood on his lips, watching me with barely concealed contempt.
"Her control is illusory. She can't be let out in polite society. Killing
her would be so much simpler, Nicholas---"
        "And that is ENOUGH from you too, Lacroix!" Nick snarled. I stopped
trying to twist away from Janette, who didn't release me, but loosened her
grip a bit, whispering to me, trying to calm me---Nick is allright, there
is no threat, you are safe, no one is hurt---I was too shocked to hear Nick
actually _yell_ to consciously pay attention, but I slowly relaxed as I
watched the other two vampires with wide eyes.
        "She didn't hear a word I said or Janette said. She was _berserk_,
are you incapable of understanding that?" Lacroix shook his head in pity.
"Or has your need to help her and redeem your non-existent soul utterly
blinded you to reality?"
        Nick's eyes were tinged with gold, and he was breathing heavily,
but his voice was cold and calm.  "On the contrary. She was attempting to
defend _me_, Lacroix. Not herself. Morgana was trying to help someone else,
to _prevent_ violence." He took a few steps over to me, and put his arm
around my shaking shoulders. "She is no threat to me or Janette. And your
concerns are noted," the younger vampire said in a biting tone, "and
irrelevant. I'm not going to abandon her at this late date."
        "Fool," Lacroix said softly. "Don't blame me when this experiment
ends in bloodshed." He shot into the sky faster than my eye could follow.
        "Ignore him," Nick whispered into my hair, kissing me on the
forehead as I stared into the sky. "He's wrong."

****** the present

        "I invented blood-insanity, Lacroix. I can certainly deal with one
bored, semi-suicidal vampire."
        "Mmmm." Lacroix twirled the glass stem between his fingers.
        "Besides, it's not as if you care what happens to me," I added
acerbically.
        "That's almost true." He smiled coldly in my direction. "Though
Nicholas will be so difficult to live with if you're killed. Even an
Enforcer might have trouble in dealing with Ava as she is now."
        "But that's not your problem."
        "No. What happens to the Community is. I assume that you'll be
discreet, of course. No need for the police to have any idea of what
happened after you've dealt with her."
        Which made me remember the other shock I'd gotten tonight, before
Tracy and Vachon and Nick surprised me at Grimaldi's. Natalie Lambert.

        Lacroix had to know that she knew all about us. About Nick, and the
Raven, and the murders, and who-knew-what-else. I think he'd set up the
whole Vetter-and-Vachon situation so I'd be forced to set a precedent, and
then have to stick by it when it came to Nick's doctor friend.  But if I
didn't tell him I knew about her---I might be able to buy myself some time.
I might not be forced to inform the Others, or to act on that knowledge
until I knew what I was going to do.
        She'd protected us, covered for us. She was Nick's friend.
        She was a risk. A risk we couldn't afford.
        The Others would tell me to kill her. Or bring her over. Thralldom
might not satisfy them as a method of damage control.
        Nick would try to kill me if I did anything like that.
        I might have to kill Nick if I followed the Code.
        The Others might kill me if I didn't.
        Put like that, I didn't have any choice.

        I pushed those thoughts aside. First, the rogue. Then Natalie
Lambert.
        "Any _suspicions_ where I'll find Ava Malenkov?" I picked up the
gallon jug and started walking toward the cellar stairs.
        "Not really. You might ask Urs---she's one of Vachon's fledglings.
She used to speak with Marcus Grimaldi when he came in here."
        "Perfect. As if I hadn't already had too much of him," I muttered
as I opened the door leading down into the darkness. "Don't tell Nick what
you told me," I threw over my shoulder as I made my way downstairs.
        The way my luck was going, the only thing missing from the case
would be finding out Ava Malenkov was on the Police Commission. Or the
Mayor's Council.

*        *       *      *
Comments? Questions? --- > VQRW76a@prodigy.com



______________________________
Protect and Serve (Part 20/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        Caffeine was invented by someone with a merciful and compassionate
nature. Especially toward mortals unable to quit obsessing about their
problems long enough to get any real sleep.

        I hadn't rested well after I went offshift. Nick and I had waited
until sunrise for Morgana to return to her apartment with no luck; she
never came home. I knew that Nick was worried about her (and maybe,
possibly, for her), but I finally managed to convince him to let me drive
him back to the loft in the Caddy's trunk. "She might not return here for
the day at all, Nick. Besides, I'm too exhausted to think straight if she
_does_ come back now, and you're too wired to have a rational conversation
with her."

        "Somehow I don't think that rational converation was ever a real
possibility, Nat." Nick leaned his forehead against the front door of her
apartment, looking like he wanted to pound his head on the doorframe. Or
kick the door in, anything to be able to *do* something. If it hadn't been
daylight, I think he would have flown off to search for Morgana through
every block of Toronto.

        "How can you know? Maybe she'll back off the murder investigation
if you ask her to. Maybe she won't do anything to me." I stood up from the
spot where I'd been sitting by her apartment door. We'd debated breaking
into Morgana's apartment, but finally agreed that trespassing wasn't the
way we wanted to start off the discussion with her. "You helped her once. I
know she didn't accept your advice on how to handle Tracy, but she was
angry then - and you haven't spoken to her since." I didn't feel as
optimistic as I sounded, but there was no reason to give up hope yet. Nick
was already stressed, he didn't need my worry on top of his.

        "She's an Enforcer." Nick turned to me, his expression closed-off.
His tone was hard, distant - his 'vampire' voice, with the dismissive,
hopeless note that says 'you can't understand, so don't even try'. "She has
no loyalties to anyone except the Community and the other Enforcers now."
        "Why are you so sure of that?" We walked down the stairs to the
parking garage, our footsteps echoing on the concrete. When we reached his
Caddy I stopped, fumbling with the keys.  "She's still a person underneath
the vampire. Like you are. Becoming an Enforcer couldn't have changed her
that much---"

        "She's not like I am anymore. I would never have coerced Tracy and
Vachon as she did." Nick angrily flipped up the trunk lid and climbed in.

        "No, but you've done worse." He turned over to look at me, surprise
and some measure of hurt in his eyes. "Haven't you? Aren't you trying to
make up for it? She might think she has reasons to do what she has, Nick.
You said the Enforcers want to protect the Community---"

        "By killing anyone and anything that threatens it!"

        "She didn't kill Tracy. She might not kill me." I shut the lid down
on him, unwilling to let him see how scared I still was of Morgana.  The
ease with which she'd gotten into my morgue, forced me to talk to her, and
then knocked me out had pretty much convinced me that Nick had been right
about what he'd guessed earlier: he couldn't take her in a fight. He
couldn't protect me from her.

        So, I'd have to protect myself. And him.  If Morgana killed me or
brought me over, it would be one more thing for Nick to feel guilty about,
responsible for. He might quit trying to become human again, or worse. And
there was no _way_ I was going to let that happen if I could prevent it.
Nick already has enough to carry on his conscience. I'll admit, I decided
to help him before I knew all the risks. But I never thought it would be
simple.   And I have too much invested in Nick's friendship, in finding a
cure, to let Morgana ruin all that work and time by killing me.

        Nick had earlier insisted I crash on his sofa; when I tried to
protest that I was safe in the daylight, that I had to go home and feed
Sydney, he got real quiet, then said, "Please, Natalie. I won't worry about
you if you're here," with that pleading gaze that's almost always torpedoed
my best intentions. Most of the time it's a put-on, and I can laugh then,
but sometimes--- I gave in, swinging by my apartment to say hi to Syd and
get a change of clothes, before I drove us back to Nick's. Neither of us
felt like talking; we'd rehashed all angles of the murder and Morgana's
presence while on our abortive stakeout. Nick trudged up the stairs to the
loft after he settled me on the couch with an afghan and pillow, worry and
concern still engraved on his face. I doubted that he was going to be able
to get much rest.

        I slept badly. I kept waking up, sure I could hear someone in the
room with me; someone with glowing eyes, and sharp teeth, and a dreadful,
thirsty gaze. I dreamed Lacroix mockingly offered me a champagne flute
filled with blood, and I accepted, gulping it down while Morgana smiled and
Nick watched me with haunted eyes. When I finally woke up completely, I
just lay on the couch, shivering, gathering the afghan closer to me and
watching the shadows slant across the room.

        Physical strength and speed aren't everything. Ever since Saturday
night, when Nick had told me about Morgana, I'd been working on an idea to
guarantee my safety. I'd come up with what was at best a stop-gap measure,
a way to play for more time. The classic one, from every good and bad
mystery thriller - the "if I am found dead in bed" letter. A copy of all my
files, all my research, notes, proof, everything to do with Nick and his
condition was carefully stored in a safety deposit box in downtown Toronto;
in a computer file at the morgue; with a lawyer friend of Richard's, who'd
thought I'd seen too many movies when I explained what I wanted done. If I
disappeared or died, it would all be sent to the Toronto press, as well as
every wire service in Canada.

        Insurance. But it would only be insurance for as long as the
Enforcers let it exist. Given enough time, persistence, and pressure,
they'd be able to find out where I'd hidden the files, destroy them, then
come after me. But maybe it would give me enough time to disappear, if I
threatened the Enforcers with disclosure if I anything "happened" to me.

        Except I didn't want to disappear. I sat up, pulling my knees up to
my chest, and resting my chin on my top of them as I mulled over my
options.

        I'd known this was one of the main risks of being involved with
Nick for two years now. My survival - Nick's return to humanity - all
depended on not being seen as a threat. Technically, I was no threat at
all, since any normal vampire can kill any normal human being without even
making an effort. Lacroix had mad that very clear, especially on
Valentine's Day.

        But Nick's people are vulnerable in so many ways; they can't go out
in the sunlight, crosses burn most of them, they won't drink anything but
blood. It's only the fact that no one believes in their existence that
keeps them safe. Liam, the Irish cop who'd hunted Jack the Ripper through
Toronto, had been a believer. He'd helped kill a vampire that other
vampires were frightened of - and he was a mere mortal.  This was their
greatest collective nightmare, and why I understood what Morgana had done
in her dealings with Tracy.

        Nick still believes that most vampires are inherently evil.
Somewhere deep in his mind is the conviction that he's damned, they're all
going to hell, and there's nothing short of regaining his humanity that
will redeem him. I'm not so certain.  I know the process by which vampires
are made, I know how they live, I know Nick very well, and I used to know
Janette fairly well --- and while Lucien Lacroix is one of my least
favorite people on this planet, I don't think his vampirism has anything to
do with his capacity for evil. Somehow, I think he was already pretty far
down that road when he died the first time.

        Morgana might still have some bit of humanity left. She might
relent. She might be merciful, for Nick's sake. But how to reach her? How
do I convince her that I would never, ever do anything that would hurt
Nick, and by extension, the other vampires in the world?

        I realized that I'd heard sounds above me for some time when they
suddenly stopped. The click of a telephone being shut off brought me out of
my brooding. "Nick?"

        He came downstairs, heading straight for the fridge and removing a
bottle of cow's blood without glancing in my direction. "Yes?" he
responded, pulling the cork out with his teeth and spitting it into the
trash, then taking a careful sip before turning around.

        "Who was that on the phone?" No answer; Nick wouldn't meet my eyes.
"It was her, wasn't it?"

        "Yes." His troubled blue gaze ranged around the loft; he wasn't
angry or furious anymore. He just seemed sad, and a little lost. Nick
slowly walked over to me, still holding the bottle. "Natalie... I am so
sorry for getting you into this. Do you believe that?"

        "You don't have to apologize." I stared at him steadily, arms still
around my knees. "You haven't done anything wrong. All you wanted was your
mortality back. That's no sin, Nick."

        "I had no right to bring you into my world when I knew what might
happen--- what the others might do to you---" It would get tiresome,
listening to Nick feel guilty, if he weren't so sincere; and if every time
it happened, I didn't have visions of him stepping into the sunlight.

        "You didn't bring me into your world. I walked into it under my own
power with both eyes open. And I'd do it again." He took another draught
from the bottle, fingers tightening around the neck, then stopped,
thin-lipped, his eyes clenched shut. "What did she say?"

        "She's got a lead on the killer - she wouldn't tell me what exactly
- she's concentrating on the rogue for now, and after Nora Quentin's and
Marc Grimaldi's murderer is no longer a problem, she'll come for us."
Nick's eyes opened, and there was a trace of puzzlement as he looked at me.
"But I don't think she knows what she's going to do yet. I don't know what
is going on with her..." He paused, tilting the bottle back and forth in
his hands, studying it, "I don't think she wants to hurt you. She hasn't
changed _that_ much. But Morgana is positive you're a threat, like Tracy
was." He turned and walked back to the kitchen, placing the bottle back in
the fridge, then turning around and leaning back against the door. "I think
you'd be safer out of Toronto, Nat."

        "We already had this conversation. No dice." I got off the couch
and walked toward the fridge, opened the freezer door and grimaced at the
barren icebox. "No frozen Pop-tarts? No waffles? Not even orange juice?"

        "You can have some of the protein drink," Nick suggested.

        "I wouldn't dream of depriving you." At the tiny hint of a smile, I
grinned widely. "Well, you're buying me breakfast. And after that, you and
Tracy have to find our killer... after which, we'll invite Morgana out for
coffee and bagels, and discuss this problem like reasonable people."

        "Mmmmm. I suppose you'll be finding a cure for cancer after that?"

        "You never know. My schedule isn't full yet." I shut the freezer
door, and leaned toward him. "And I'm not giving up. Not on you. And not on
me. If we can't find a loophole in the rules, we'll just have to rewrite
them." I turned away from him bemused expression and headed toward the
stairs. "But first, a shower. I'm not going in to work with yesterday's
crime scene under my fingernails."

*



________________________
Protect and Serve (21/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        There are some conversations that can only happen in the dark,
where you can't see the other person's face.  Often they take place in bed,
after passion, before sleep, in that twilight between dreams and love that
lets words be spoken that would otherwise never be allowed.  Trust and the
other's equal vulnerability can forge a connection aided by the mercy of
shadows.

        Denied the sanctuary of shared passion, a telephone can almost make
an adequate substitute - maybe because there is enough distance to create
an illusion of safety not found in someone's bed. But it falls short,
allows for interpretations of pauses, breath, sighs that presence doesn't.

        I'd gotten home after the sun rose, stumbled up the stairs from my
basement in an exhaustion-fogged stupor, and collapsed into bed after only
removing my jacket and shoes.  The phone woke me with its persistent
ringing, and I wasn't awake enough to turn on any lights, so I stumbled
around my new furniture by night-sight to where I'd put the phone near the
window by my dresser. It was dark already---I should have set the alarm
when I came in. There was so much I had to do tonight---

        "Morgan?" Nick's voice, hesitantly asking without words whether I
was going to hang up.

        I was shocked, unprepared for any kind of conversation with him.
The man who saved my life. "Yeah. Hi," I mumbled, trying to get my
bearings, remembering the unforgiveable things we'd said to each other when
I stormed out of Nick's apartment... was it only four days ago?

        "Are you alright?"
        "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
        "The last time I saw you, you were diving through a plate-glass
window and fleeing a crime scene," Nick replied with some asperity. "And...
I thought you might have caught up with our killer by now." There was a
question in that last statement, as well as --- worry? For me? Or about
what I might do?

        "No. I didn't. I take it you haven't found the culprit yet either,"
I said, leaning back against the wall, plucking at the blinds nervously,
unsure of where this was going.

        "No. Grimaldi was our best lead, and now that he's out of the
picture..." I could hear a weary sigh through the receiver. "I assume he
was dead when you got there."
        "Yes." I frowned, wondering if he was guessing, or... "Natalie told
you I visited her." Somehow the words came out as an accusation, despite my
best efforts.

        "She did mention something about it." Nick was silent a second,
then he quietly added, "You scared her badly."
        "She should be scared. I can't believe you were so..."
        "So what? Why don't you just spit it out, Morgana?" Defensive,
that.
        "Stupid. I can't believe you were so stupid as to tell her what you
were. Are."
        "It wasn't that simple." It was a plea for understanding, but I
didn't feel like hearing it. "It was an accident..."
        "What? You didn't decide to confide in her? Reveal all? Bare your
soul?" I laughed breathlessly, anger overpowering my common sense. "Why,
Nick? Can you tell me that? Why? Why didn't you hypnotize it out of her?
Oh, I forgot, she's a resistor." My anger was gathering speed. "Okay, it's
not _your_ fault, Nick. You _couldn't_ make her forget. But why, why did
you stick around? Why didn't you disappear, bury the evidence---"

        "Bury her body, you mean." The steel in Nick's voice brought me up
short. "That is what you're asking, isn't it? Why didn't I kill her?"
        "No. I---"
        "I couldn't do that." He wasn't listening to me. I'm not even sure
he was talking to me, Morgana, and not Morgana the Enforcer, to every
Enforcer he'd ever met, to Lacroix, Janette, and all of the others. "It was
my mistake that put Natalie in danger. My carelessness. And then, when she
wasn't afraid of me..." a breath, not quite a sigh, too fragile for
weariness, "She said she could help. That she wanted to help me become
human. That science had the answers, and she just wanted the chance to find
out more about us. I needed to believe it was possible."
        "And now?" I whispered, my eyes closed, just listening to his
voice, the voice that called me back from flames and nightmares. This had
always been his dream. I knew that. I knew it when we first met, and I knew
it when he'd told me he was still looking for a cure. Why didn't I make the
connection between his search, and his friend the coroner? Probably because
I didn't want to.
        "She's my friend." A pause. "More than a friend. I owe her my life.
But even if I didn't... I wouldn't kill her, Morgan. Or bring her over. I
_won't_ do it. Not for the Code. Not for anything. She doesn't deserve
that."
        "Who does?"

        Silence again, then, tentatively Nick asked me the question I'd
been dreading. "Morgan... if you feel that way, then why---?"
        "God, Nick, do we have to do this? Can't we just leave it---"
        "No. Morgan," and at the way he said my name, I had to bite down
hard on my tongue to keep from crying, and clench my fingers around the
receiver until the knuckles whitened. "I _know_ you. This, this... job.
Being an Enforcer. It's everything you fought against. Everything _we_
fought against, for almost two years.  You had the madness under control,
you'd won, damnit! You were free---"
        "Ahh, no," I swallowed, let out a breath, then went on in a voice I
couldn't keep from shaking, "I wasn't. It... it didn't last. Okay? We were
wrong. Lacroix was right---"
        "NO---"
        "Yes, listen to me. Listen to me!" I shouted above his protests.
"He said the blood, Elliot's blood, would be too strong. He was right. I
could keep it in check when you helped, and for a long time after, I was
okay."  I leaned my head against my knees, eyes squeezed tight, straining
to hear his reaction. "But that's because I never really lost my temper,
for almost twenty years. Nothing got to me for the longest time. I just
went along, happy... well, as happy as I could get.. and nothing hurt me.
Until about ten years ago." My throat closed up.
        Nick waited, and after a few long seconds softly demanded, "What
happened?" His voice was the same as it was in Venice, when I'd run to him
for reassurance, the voice that soothed my terrors. But he couldn't help me
now; all of that was in the past.

        "Doesn't matter." There were tears running into my mouth. I wiped
them away and sat up again. "I lost it, Nick. Everything you taught me. I
couldn't get it back. The Enforcers were going to kill me---I was so out of
control I _asked_ them to kill me---but then they offered me a place with
them. They... keep me safe. From doing stuff like in Houston."

        A long silence this time, weighing heavily on me. Why had I
answered the phone? Why? This was pointless..."Why didn't you come to me?"
His voice was so full of pain; for me, I realized, and had to clench my jaw
against another sob, try to shield myself against his concern. "I would
have helped you, you know that." Same old Nick. Kind, sympathetic,
devastating.
        "There was no time. And you couldn't have fixed it." I shifted the
receiver, staring at the ceiling as I lay down on the floor. "It's not so
bad."
        "How can you say that? You kill people---"
        "Oh, right, and your average vampire doesn't?" I snorted. "I kill
those who _need_ killing. People who are so crazy there's no second chance.
Like Marcus Grimaldi's killer."
        "You're playing judge, jury, and executioner," Nick accused,
bitterness back in his voice. "How can you know who deserves it, and who
doesn't? I seem to remember the Enforcers wanted to kill _you_ once. They
make mistakes, Morgana. _You_ can make mistakes. Like you did with Tracy
and Vachon."
        "Maybe that was a mistake... and maybe it wasn't. But I'm not wrong
about our killer. She's planning these kills, Nick. She _wants_ to get
caught by the police. And she's endangering hundreds of lives in the
process."
        "Who died and made you God?" A serious question, asked softly---
Nick trying to make me think, to reconsider what I was, what I was doing.
Much too late for that, though.
        "Several people in Texas, the last I heard."
        "That isn't funny!"

        "I know. It's kind of sad." I could feel the polyester weave
against my cheek and the cool air creeping through the open window behind
the heavy blinds. If I didn't strain for night vision, the room was
completely dark, night. "I don't know why, Nick, but I want you to forgive
me for all of this. Pathetic, isn't it?"
        "No. It isn't." Another pause, then his voice again, measured and
calm. Not cold; he couldn't quite manage that now that he'd gotten the
answers he wanted. But relentless. "I can forgive you for becoming an
Enforcer---I can't stand in judgement on that. I know too much about you,
and maybe, if I'd been there..." he let it trail off, and I shook my head,
knowing that he's never believe there was nothing he could have done. "I
can't forgive what you did to Tracy and Vachon. That was cruel and
unnecessary."
        "So you say."
        "There are thousands of mortals that know about us. You probably
know this even better than I do.  Don Constantine, here in Toronto; mortal
helpers in Los Angeles, Hong Kong, all over the world... I'm sure we could
both write out a long list."
        "But there's a difference between them and Tracy Vetter, Nick.
She's a cop. And those others---they have as much to lose if we're exposed
as the Community does. They make their living off us, they have their own
secrets! Your partner isn't like that. No one decided she was an acceptable
risk. You and Vachon just didn't want to deal with the consequences of his
carelessness."
        "Tracy is trustworthy. So is Natalie."
        "That's not your decision to make."
        "Why is it yours, can you tell me that?"
        I curled into a tighter ball, hurting with him, hearing the
desperation and fear inside Nick.  "Because I'm here. And I am what I am.
For the same reason I have to deal with our killer.... If I don't do it,
someone even harsher will." I opened my eyes, stood slowly, and opened the
blinds. Nightfall. "If it were just me, Nick, I could almost let it slide.
I could almost believe that your friend wouldn't betray you. What is going
on with her and the coroner's office, anyway?" I shook my head, trying to
focus on the problem at hand. "But it isn't just me."
        "What's the worst they can do to you for not following orders?"
        "Kill me. Or order me to kill you."
        "Would you?" Soft, quiet. It hurt that he would ask; hurt that he'd
even think that I'd...
        "Nick, don't do this to me. Please." I knew where he stood: on the
opposite side from me. And the hell of it was, I understood his feelings.
"Why are you making me choose?" I pressed my forehead against the glass,
studying the lights below, feeling the thin, almost nonexistent connection
between us reverberate with pain. "Why? You know what they'll do to me. You
know they'll only send others... I can't be the first to suspect. This is
hopeless, you have to know that!"
        "You sound like Lacroix."
        I straightened. "Low blow, Nick."
        "Well, you do." He was angry again. "In the first place, nothing is
hopeless. I have never heard you say that you've been ordered to kill Nat
_or_ bring her over, or do anything else! Or that you'd already told them
about her. Have you?"
        "No," I whispered. "But Nick, it doesn't matter..."
        "It does matter. You can convince them---"
        "They'll kill me for a traitor for even thinking it."
        Stark silence.
        "Nick?"
        "I'm sorry. You're right, this isn't fair to you." The weariness in
his voice echoed my own.  "All I'm asking... is for time. And I don't want
to have to hate you, Morgan."

        I hugged myself, shoulders hunched and arms crossed.  It wasn't
fair. But my life stopped being fair about thirty years ago. "It's only a
matter of time. After I deal with our murderer, I'll _have_ to contact
them. I've been putting it off... but there'll be no way to avoid it then."
        "Promise me you won't decide anything until after one of us catches
the murderer." How do you refuse a request like that? Please don't kill my
best friend for a couple days, I need to get her ready to die?
        "Okay."
        "And you won't do anything without me there."
        "Nick..."
        "Please, Morgan. I'm begging you."
        I never had a chance, not really. Once I was in love with him, once
I thought he was the best man in the world, once I thought it was only a
matter of time until we'd be together. I outgrew those illusions somewhere,
sometime (when I saw him kiss Janette? yearn for sunlight? say good-bye to
me without regret?) but some residue remained of those fairy-tales. Even
knowing I might have to kill him if I promised, I couldn't refuse.
        "Yes. I promise."
        "Thank you."
        "Don't thank me. I'll come looking for the two of you after I've
dealt with the killer. I mean it, Nick."
        "I know." Why didn't he sound worried? Didn't he believe me? "Until
then... be careful, will you?"
        Utterly confused, I nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "You
too.... Good night, Nick."
        "Good-bye." Click.
        I put down the phone, feeling empty, numb. I speculated on where
Urs might be, and where the killer might be. I got dressed, drank my
dinner, locked up my apartment, went on the roof. Stared up at the stars.
        I couldn't kill Nick. I knew that.
        I didn't want to die.
        When did my choices narrow down to this? How did I get here?

******* End part 21

All comments to ---> vqrw76a@prodigy.com



        If you have comments/critiques.. e-mail me at vqrw76a@prodigy.com.
________________________
Protect and Serve (22/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        I was looking into a pair of dark eyes. Lover's eyes. I have no
idea where we were---the lighting was diffuse, and the sound of distant,
rhythmic music were audible---because it didn't really matter where. All
that mattered was standing in front of me, unsmiling, intently studying my
face. I knew it was a dream. And in dreams, you can do anything you want
and it doesn't matter. Not really.

        I lifted a finger to trace his mouth, the mouth I usually make an
effort _not_ to look at, much less touch, because I have a tendency to
blush when I'm caught staring at it. Soft, full lips, which parted just a
little when I pressed on them. Vachon's eyes slowly closed as my finger
slipped into his mouth, and the sensation of his sucking at the length of
my finger sent shivers of heat through me. I felt a tiny pin-prick of pain,
but it was unimportant; the pleasure intensified, and I could feel myself
smiling languourously. He lifted his hand and removed my finger from his
mouth, and I was distantly aware that there were beads of bright red blood
coming from the wound on its tip. He licked them off, watching me all the
while, then kissed the center of my palm, his tongue licking at the lines
on my hand...*Que quieres tu?*

        I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. "Oh my God." I
clenched my fists into the bedsheets, not sure whether to die of
embarassment, frustration, or anger. How could Vachon do that to me? He
knew I didn't want to get any deeper into his mind than I had to. That rat!
He---

        Blinking, I realized that I couldn't feel any protests or
defensiveness coming from him. I gingerly reached out with tentative mental
fingers toward Vachon. Then I almost got pulled in again by an undertow of
images and pure sensation which enveloped me in a seductive warmth. Pulling
back, I tried to make sense of what was happening - and then I understood.
He was still asleep.

        We'd both been asleep. Dreaming about each other. It had happened
without either of us consciously reaching for the other, without even
trying.

        Shaken, I checked the clock. It was only twenty minutes until I had
to get up anyway, and there was no way I was going to be able to go to
sleep after _that_.  Trying to suppress the uneasiness the dream had left
me with, I started to get ready for work.

        After Morgana had left the church the night before, Vachon and I
had tried to make sense of the few clues we had to the killer's identity,
but the bruises and weariness that he was fighting kept distracting both of
us, so I finally left him about half an hour later. "Are you sure you're
going to be okay?"

        "I'm fine. Just sore. She wasn't really trying to hurt me, not
after she knocked me out." Vachon quirked a grin in my direction as he
collapsed into one of the chairs.  "What amazes me is that she didn't break
a couple of _your_ bones for mouthing off to her like that."

        "I wasn't mouthing off. I was just... clearing the air."

        Javier snorted. "Expressing an opposing opinion, or trying to tell
an Enforcer that there might be any point of view that isn't theirs IS
mouthing off in their books. She must really like Knight, otherwise..." his
voice trailed off, and his eyes closed in sleepiness.

        "Do you think she'll let us out of this... thralldom?" I asked,
picking up my purse and heading for the stairs.  "We've only been trying to
help. She knows that now."

        "Don't bet on it. Your first instinct was right. We'll have to
catch the killer to convince her." Vachon yawned, his eyes unfocusing as
his head leaned back. "You were pretty brave tonight. Not bright, but
brave... I didn't know you had it in you." I was almost insulted, until I
saw the smile he didn't try to hide, and felt the wash of affection that
warmed me like the sun.

        I wonder who dreamed of who first. He was asleep first, but I've
heard a person dreams about five different dreams a night, and... never
mind. Quit thinking about it, Vetter. File it under "you don't want to
know." I'm not sure which alternative is scarier.

        Remembering what Vachon said about Morgana's view of our efforts as
I got ready for work made me all the more determined to catch our killer as
soon as possible. That, and the thought of what Captain Reese would say
when he heard about the abrupt departure someone made from the crime-scene
just as Nick and I got there.

        Because it's not like I could exactly tell him it wasn't the
murderer, because then he'd want to know how I knew, and he'd want another
suspect, and then... somehow I didn't think the Captain was going to be too
happy with either Nick or myself when we got in and made our reports.
Especially since we now had no leads at all, no motive, no weapon, no
witnesses... nothing. And my best chance of stopping the killer was going
to require having Vachon on the spot when the arrest went down, which was
also going to take a lot of explaining, assuming we ever got to that point.

        I'd been right about how the Captain took the news.
        "You have _got_ to be kidding me."
        "I'm sorry Cap, we tried to pursue the suspect but whoever it was
was just too fast," Nick was telling our superior officer when I came in.
He sounded frustrated, defensive, and ready to take it out on his partner.
Great. Sometimes Nick is good to work with (okay, most of the time he's a
decent partner) but there are times his moodiness makes him the absolute
end word in depression. I keep thinking I ought to carry a stun gun or a
bottle of Prozac to jolt him out of the black doldrums he gets into when a
case is going bad. "If it's any consolation, Nat says the victim died about
an hour and a half before we got there. It's fairly unlikely that the
person who left the scene was our killer---"

        "But not impossible Knight, you know that." Reese shook his head,
looking from one of us to the other. "Get me something by the end of the
day, or you two can be the ones to tell the press we have no leads -
personally. They're jamming our phone lines as it is! I know you're doing
your best, but there has to be something you missed. And get those files
from the Jordan case on my desk by 2PM, they're estimating that the grand
jury verdict will be in by the end of the day."

        Nick's lips thinned into a line, and he gave our boss a curt nod
before dragging me back to our casefiles. The next two hours were spent
trying to find anything to connect Marcus Grimaldi and Nora Quentin
together. Paperwork, computer work, endless statemnets... whoever said
policework was glamourous was working from a different reality.

        "Random chance," I muttered out loud. "That's got to be what it is.
Our killer is picking them out just because they're there." I raised my
eyes from the folder to see Nick brooding over his computer. "Anything?
Anything at all?"

        "No." Knight banged his coffee cup down in frustration, sending
Natalie's special herbal tea sloshing over the papers on his desk. Cursing
under his breath, he started to wipe up the mess while talking to me. "They
have nothing in common, they never met before Saturday night, no mutual
acquaintances, no contact. _Nothing_."

        I frowned, staring at Marcus Grimaldi's legal papers. "That's
weird."
        "What?" Nick asked, looking up from his desk eagerly.
        "Grimaldi was renting the house he was living in, right?"
        "Right. It was in his file."
        "Well, he wasn't paying the rent." I waved a cancelled check at
him. "This is made out to the landlord from one Ava Malenkov. There's
similar checks every month... and a couple covering expenses a few times. A
new suit, a couple car payments--- I'd say someone had found themselves a
sugarmama."
        Grinning, Nick stood up and grabbed his coat. "A lead. Finally.
I'll check it out."
        "Hey, I'm the one who found it---"
        "Someone has to tell the Captain, and we're way behind in the
casework, and the Jordan file needs to be finished, and," Nick grabbed the
check out of my hand, wrinkling his nose as he smiled at me, and nearly ran
for the exit, "you can catch up to me later!"
        "I'll get you for this, Knight!" I yelled after his retreating
back. In response to the stares I got from my co-workers, I grimaced,
blushing, then glared at them. "What? What are you looking at?"
         I started to put the Grimaldi file away, then changed my mind and
opened it again. Ava Malenkov had been paying for a lot of Victim #2's
expenses. It also looked like she banked at one of the more high-end
financial institutions in town; and the address on the check was for one of
the exclusive condominium complexes by the lake. So maybe she'd been the
link between Grimaldi and Nora Quentin. Mrs. Quentin had been rich in her
own right, aside from her husband's legal practice... maybe they met at the
country club. Maybe Marcus had crashed a party that Ava Malenkov was
attending, and met Nora Quentin, slightly drunk and on the prowl. I checked
the Quentin file; there it was. Paydirt. Ms. Malenkov had left the party
early, but she'd definitely been on the guest list. Which meant she was the
link. It served Nick right for running out of here so fast without grabbing
the files; we'd just have to go back and interview her again if he didn't
ask the right questions.
         Suddenly, I thought of something that made the hairs on the back
of my neck stand up.  What if... what if she were our murderer? What if she
killed Nora Quentin, and Marcus Grimaldi, out of some jealous grudge?
        What if my partner had just gone to interview someone who could
wipe his memory, drain his blood, and break his neck?
        I stood up, then caught Captain Reese's eye through his open office
door, and slowly sat back down. I had to stop Nick from getting killed. And
I might be wrong (well, it was a slim chance, but I preferred it to no
chance at all) about our murderer. Which left me with one alternative.
        Gritting my teeth, I bent over the file and closed my eyes.
*Vachon*. Silence, a sense of irritation. *Vachon!* A definite feeling
of... being ignored. I squinched my eyes shut, and put all my concentration
into it. *VACHON*
        *What?! I'm busy*
        *It's important*
        *You _think_ it's important* How could someone I'd been having
sensual dreams about four hours ago be so annoying?
        *Nick just went to interview someone, and I think it might be our
murderer*
        *Why aren't you with him?*
        *Bureaucracy. Please, please, could you go check on him?*
        *He's a big boy, he can take care of himself*
        *Not from one of YOU, he can't*  More silence from Vachon.
Frustration, anger... lust. What on earth...? Oh, _that_ kind of busy. I
hoped no one in the station noticed my blush, because this time I couldn't
explain it. *Will you quit thinking with your hormones for two seconds!
This is an emergency*
        After a long, uncomfortable pause, he finally responded with
*Someone, somewhere, is going to pay for this. I'll go babysit your partner
until he leaves the suspect's place, and then I don't want you to call me
unless you're about to get killed*
        Stung, I shot back *No problem. I _have_ a life*
        *Where is he?*
        *Black Opal Condominiums, the penthouse suite in the Onyx Building.
Tell me what's happening when you get there. Please*
        *You're a royal pain, Trace. And you owe me* Our connection was
abruptly terminated. Owe you what? I wanted to shout back at him, but it
was probably a good thing he'd already mentally left.

        Fifteen minutes later, I got a jolt while trying to sip my coffee.
*Okay, I'm here. I'm outside the penthouse, can you see him?*
        And suddenly I could, like before when Morgana beat up on Vachon,
the weird vision overlaying the rest of my world. Nick was in the penthouse
suite of a luxury condo complex, and fortunately the shades weren't drawn
on the wall-length windows. I blinked. *Where are you?*
        *The building next door. They must be on vacation* I got a sudden
glimspe of a big-screen TV, fireplace, and wet bar. *Nice digs. No taste,
but comfortable* The view slewed back to Nick in the other condo, talking
to a petite redhead in a very sexy nightgown and robe. *I think she likes
your partner*
        *Just so she doesn't like him _too_ much. Is she one .. a vampire?*
I forced myself to think the word, not wanting to give Vachon any more
cause for amusement.
        *Can't tell at this distance. Hang on* He opened a window and I got
this sudden *rush* of falling, freedom... I gasped aloud, then glanced
around the squadroom to make sure no one noticed. The feeling continued,
the visceral tingling of air on my arms, of swooping upward higher and
higher... Then of drifting slowly down to a stop. Vachon was on the
balcony, outside the condo. *Yup. She's one of us. I think we've found our
killer*
        Triumph and concern warred for supremacy. Triumph won. *Yes! Now if
I can just get out of here, and then after Nick leaves we can take care of
her*
        *Kill her. Learn how to say the words, or you'll never do the deed*
        *Vachon!* I bit my lip, typing in the last of the Jordan case as I
spoke iwth him. *Okay. Kill her. It's necessary. It's got to be done...
right?*
        *I don't know about that. But it might be the one thing that'll get
us free of ... think of the devil* I watched in shock as Morgana drifted
down to perch on the balcony railing across from Vachon. *She works fast*
he commented grimly. *I wonder if we'll still get credit for this*
        *That's it. I'm on my way over there NOW. Don't let Nick get hurt
before I get there*
        *You want me to let him get hurt _after_ you get here?*
        *Smartass---* But Morgana was speaking to Vachon, who abruptly cut
the connetion. *Vachon!* Nothing. *VACHON!* Nada, niento, zip. *Javier,
please...* I had to know what was going on. I had to be there. I hit PRINT
and then hurried over to the laserprinter, grabbed the sheets, stuck them
in a folder, leaned into Captain Reese's office and frisbeed it onto his
desk then ran back to grab my coat.
        "Vetter! Where are you going?"
        "Gotta catch up with Nick, he's interviewing a suspect, only he
doesn't know it, anything else Cap?"
        "Uh..." He scratched his head. "I guess not. Can't you two ever
coordinate these things?" he called after me as I ran out the door.
        I already had my ready-made Stake-a-Vampire kit in the trunk, and I
grabbed the cross I'd stashed in my glove compartment and slung it around
my neck as I put my car in gear. "Nick, don't you dare get yourself killed.
Don't you dare."

*       *       *       *
End part 22



If you have comments contact me at VQRW76A@prodigy.com.
_________________________
Protect and Serve (23/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

         The Raven opens for business at seven every night except Sunday,
when it opens a few hours later - there's less business on Sundays, and
while economics may not be the deciding factor in most of the decisions
Lacroix makes, I think he likes to have the extra time to fix whatever may
have gone wrong on Saturday nights. Fledglings can be destructive when
they've been feeding and drinking and dancing with mortals, and the back
rooms can take a beating on those evenings. The meticulousness that has
been part of Lacroix's character for as long as I've known him extends to
having the club in perfect shape whenever possible. It's pity that he also
brings that obsessiveness into his relationships with his family, instead
of using it for something relatively constructive - say, taking over the
world economy.

        But this was Wednesday night, so at seven on the dot I was there,
looking through the already crowded room for Urs. Love and Rockets' "So
Alive" was thumping through the loudspeakers, and Brianne was behind the
bar instead of working the tables. I'd gone Goth to fit in, which is not my
usual look, but I thought it might reassure Vachon's fledgling that I was
'ordinary' and that the questions I was going to ask about Ava Malenkov
were completely harmless. No sense in making her suspicious of me.

        Brianne had pointed out Urs to me on Monday night, while she was
dancing for the spectators. She'd struck me as a classic youngster at the
time, although from what Brianne said Urs was at least fifty years older
than I am. But then, age isn't everything. From one point of view I'm older
than she is; I have all of Elliot's strength and memories running through
my veins, and he was well into his second century when he died. And I'm now
an Enforcer, which gives me access to even more power and the skills to
control it. As well as darker gifts.

        "Nice outfit," Brianne commented when I approached the bar.
"Janette would be proud. You on the prowl tonight?" She slid a glass of the
Raven's best over to me and took the bill I held out to her.

        "Maybe. We'll see how the evening pans out, what's available for...
exploration." Idly, I leaned back against the bar, crossing my black
leather-clad legs as I adjusted the zipper on my jacket so it opened just
below the zebra-pattern bodice I wore underneath. "Is Urs around? I wanted
to ask her about a friend of mine. Feliks said she hangs out with Ava
Malenkov sometimes?" I studied my boots, wondering if they were too much,
or if the lacing up to my knees added just the right touch to the ensemble.

        Brianne sounded unhappy. "Yeah. She used to, I think. You're
friends with her?" she asked with evident distaste.
        I kept my expression neutral and sipped my drink, careful not to
leave lipstick on the glass. "More like acquaintances. I met her in Vienna
once. Why? What's wrong with her?" I turned around to see her expression.
Brianne seemed uneasy, and glanced at me indecisively.
        "She's trouble," she responded finally. "I know she's older than
us... maybe even older than Janette. She acts like that makes her special,
like she doesn't have to worry about the rules. Treats her mortals like
they're on choke-chains. I wouldn't hang out with her, if I were you. Urs
doesn't see much of her anymore."
        "Hmmm. Strange, that doesn't sound like the woman I knew," I lied,
shaking my head. "When does Urs get in?"
        "Later." Brianne seemed to have recovered her equilibrium, pushing
disturbing thoughts of aged vampires out of her mind. She grinned, quirking
an eyebrow. "Blondie's a heavy sleeper."

        Lacroix started his radio show at nine, flipping on the ON THE AIR
sign and smiling benevolently out at the growing crowd. "Good evening, my
children. Welcome to the hunting grounds." Music with a heavy backbeat and
bass line started throbbing beneath his words. "We're all hunting for
something. Answers. Distraction. The fulfillment of a midnight prayer." The
music picked up, and in the eerie glow of the booth's lights I could see
him gesture out at the crowd. "Or perhaps just a moment in the elemental
fire. Whatever you are looking for, whatever your prey, you know you have a
friend in the Nightcrawler..."

        I shivered, then noticed Urs stalk up to the stage in a gold sheath
that looked like it had been poured on her. I watched her dance as I waited
out the set, and I had to revise my first impression of her. She might have
been young, and she was definitely hunting mortal prey, but there was an
air of desperation to her dancing that didn't accord with what I'd assumed
Vachon's fledgling would be like - relaxed, assured - like her master. This
girl wasn't assured; and I got the sense of someone dancing on the edge of
a precipice, hoping to fall. Or maybe I was reading too much into what I
saw - dancers are like actors, sometimes taking on the tone of the music
and the crowd and reflecting them back.

        "Urs?" I asked, approaching her after she left the platform.
        "Yes?" She studied me warily, and took the drink I offered but
didn't drink. "Have we met?"
        "No, but we have friends in common. My name is Morgana. Brianne
mentioned that you know Ava?"
        "She's not a friend." Urs put down the drink, and leaned away from
me. "Just someone I used to know. She liked the way I dance."
        "Well, do you know where she is?" I could hear my voice begin to
take on an edge, and tried to modify it. I smiled, attempting to force an
air of nonchalance, but Urs's wide, dark eyes held a certain amount of
fear, and I wondered how much Vachon had told her about me.
        "She has a place by the lake... those condos on the south side.
Ritzy. The Black Opal complex." She swirled her drink in the glass, taking
a slow sip, not looking at me. "You don't want to find her."
        "Why not?" My voice dropped as I caught her caution. She hadn't
been afraid of me; it was the mention of Ava Malenkov that had frightened
her.
        "Ava's not a safe person. She's careless." Raising her eyes from
the glass, she gazed at me intently. "She likes to take mortals back to her
place - a few at a time - and have fun with them. She made pets out of one
or two. But she started getting extreme a couple months ago. Humans are
fragile..." She fell silent, and I had to prompt her to go on, which she
reluctantly did. "Mind games, mostly. Leaving funny suggestions for later.
She killed one that way. Told him to drive his car into a median during
rush hour." Urs shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I avoided her after that.
I'm not squeamish, but..." she fell silent again, her gaze wandering around
the room, unable to meet my eyes.
        "Would she be home right now, you think?" I asked, paying off the
rest of my bar tab.
        "Yeah. She picked up someone here last night.  A girl... she
probably isn't finished with her yet." Urs grabbed my wrist as I put down
my glass. "Listen - be careful. Ava has an odd sense of humor. If she
doesn't want to be interruptted, she'll do something you won't like."
        "Thanks for the warning." I gave what I hoped was a reassuring
smile and left the dancer to her drink, walking out towards the back alley
so I could take off without being seen. Lacroix was talking again as I went
by the booth, and I paused at the door, unable to resist the coaxing voice.

        "Do you set traps for your prey? Stalk your dreams carefully, and
put out bait for them to follow? Attempt to lure answers out of the world
with cunning lines, then draw them towards yourself to capture?" He leaned
back, eyes narrowed, caught sight of me and smiled thinly. "Or do you
attack them directly, so caught up in the hunt that you forget the purpose,
lost in the need to attack?" I felt my jaw clench, unable to look away from
him. "And so your prey slips through your fingers, and you are left to plot
another advance..."

        I wanted to ask him about Natalie Lambert. I'd meant to ask Brianne
about her, to find out if her relationship with Nick were generally known;
but there hadn't been time, or enough of an excuse to bring up the subject.
 If she were unknown to most of the Community, that would be good; or if
they had a good opinion of her, I might be able to make a case for bringing
her over, instead of killing her, to the Others. But catching the killer
was more urgent than dealing with Natalie Lambert, and once that was done,
there'd be very little time to find out more about her before I'd have to
speak with the other Enforcers.

        From the moment I'd gotten to Toronto events had been out of my
hands, and they had been out of my hands because of Lacroix. He'd pushed me
toward Vachon and Tracy Vetter, so that I'd be forced to follow my own
precedent when dealing with Dr. Lambert. Why ask him what I already knew?
Did I hope that he'd tell me that her death was unnecessary? Or that he'd
say he had no idea how far Nick had compromised the security of our world?

        And yet... I wanted to know _why_. Nick had made other attempts at
mortality, but Lacroix often let them run their course, laughing in the
background as his child tried to escape his nature. Janette had explained a
good deal of their relationship to me at one point when I'd asked why they
were at odds. So why had he set me up, directed me indirectly toward Nick's
friend and doctor? Was she that much of a threat to him - were they so
close to finding a cure for Nick? Did he simply dislike her? Or was it
something more complex... a desire to harm Nick, and me, and Natalie
Lambert-- and prove his mastery over us all?

        I might be able to take him in a fight, but physical violence was
never the greatest danger with Lacroix. He was much too subtle. While I
would take the direct approach, and find myself holding nothing in my
hands, he would smile, say a few words and wreak havoc. Twist the truth,
manipulate my loyalties.. any answers I got from him would only do more
damage. To Nick, to Natalie, and to myself.  I shut the door, and left the
Raven hurriedly, trying to concentrate on the immediate problem of Ava
Malenkov, instead of the more painful questions posed by Nick's friend.

        Maybe I'd get lucky. Maybe she'd kill me and I wouldn't have to
deal with the whole mess.

        *       *       *

End part 23

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_________________________
Protect and Serve (24/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        To say that I was unhappy to see Javier Vachon outside my suspect's
penthouse would be an exaggeration. By now I almost expected him and
Detective Vetter to show up at the most inconvenient times, and having
spotted him waiting _outside_ the condo I knew better than to burst in on
Ava Malenkov. Something had to be going on inside, and I needed more
information before I made my entrance. But I wasn't exactly pleased to see
him, either.

        "What the hell are you doing here?" I whispered after I settled
down next to him on the balustrade of the balcony. Leaning forward, I could
see Nick and a petite redhead through the sliding glass doors. The entire
decor was white: white furniture, white walls, white carpeting, white
paneling, white curtains, white candles in white holders. Very boring, but
designed to set off the owner's looks - long trailing red hair, black eyes,
pale skin under a sheer black negligee and robe. Anyone that concerned with
appearances didn't have enough in their life to keep themselves amused.
        "Tracy sent me along as Nick's backup." Vachon rolled his eyes,
then glared at me. "How did you find Ms. Malenkov?" he asked quietly,
ducking backward as Nick came closer to the doors.
        "You really ought to spend more time with your fledglings---Urs was
very informative." I scooted over on the balustrade. Nick and Ava might
have been able to detect us if they weren't so wrapped up in their own
conversation. The woman was watching Nick in a very familiar way - in every
sense of the word. "How long has Nick been here?"
        "About twenty minutes, I think..." Vachon paused at a gesture from
me, as I picked up on the discussion inside the living room.

        "You killed Grimaldi, didn't you?" Subtle as a brick, that's my
Nick. His brows were drawn down in an expression of grim concern as
Malenkov traced a finger down the edge of his jacket.  Wide-set eyes framed
with dark lashes blinked at him innocently, but the look she gave him was
anything but. He didn't seem to notice the signals she was giving him; or
maybe he just didn't care. Nothing like suspecting a woman of murder to
cool a man's ardor - at least if that man has any sense at all.
        "No, of course I didn't! I loved Marcus..." Her lower lip trembled,
and I exchanged a glance of pure disgust with Vachon. Nick didn't seem to
believe her either, although his expression was becoming slightly more
sympathetic.
        "Don't tell me he's buying this," grumbled Vachon.
        "He isn't. But he's starting to feel sorry for her," I whispered
back. "As soon as he's gone, she's mine. Got it?"
        "You can have her." The face Vachon made reminded me of Janette's,
when she would accidentally drink Nick's cow blood. "Just remember, I was
ready to stand by and help---"
        "Stay out here when I go in -- I don't have any assistance, and she
_is_ older than either of us." The vibes I'd been getting from her were
disquieting, similar to those from Lacroix, although not so intimidating. I
had enough skill to shield myself and Vachon from her notice while
something else (Nick) had her occupied, but as soon as he left, I'd have to
deal with her as quickly as possible. Malenkov was still trying to ensnare
Nick in her lies and her fingers.
        Nick was speaking again. "Was it an impulse? Did you catch him with
Nora Quentin, and kill her on the spur of the moment? Or did you plan it,
the way you planned his murder?" He backed away from her a step, studying
her face, then quietly added. "Either way, you're going to have to leave
town. You've drawn too much attention to us."
        I couldn't see her face, but Ava Malenkov paused, then bowed her
head, saying softly, "I loved him so much... I know you're right. I don't
want to hurt anyone else, and I'm not sure I want to stay in Toronto any
longer. But you have to believe me - I did love him." The pleading tones
seemed to be working on Nick, who merely nodded and then turned to go. I
let out a breath of relief. One less thing to argue with Nick about if Ava
Malenkov merely disappeared. He'd never have to know that I'd killed her.

        If only it could have been that simple.

        It would have been, except that as Nick turned to leave, a young
woman walked into the room from the hallway, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
A mortal - I could hear the thump of her heart from where I hid. Nick heard
it too, and stopped, his eyes accusing Ava Malenkov as he faced her.
"Kendra," Ava's voice was sharp, and the girl looked up in surprise. Dark
tumbled hair, dark eyes like Ava's, wide cheekbones, pointed chin, an
emerald shift barely covering her - they could have been sisters except for
the hair, and the quick heartbeat. I remembered what Urs has said about the
mortal Ava had picked up the night before, and damned the child's sense of
timing. "I told you to wait for me," Ava was saying, her voice tight and
angry as she glanced from Nick to the girl, then walked over to smooth the
mortal's hair, her arm around her possessively. Kendra looked uncertain,
then smiled at Nick.
        "He's cute... is he a surprise? For me?"
        "No. Go back to bed, I'll be there in a second."
        "You'll have to leave her here." Nick looked angry, and I wasn't
sure, but I could guess why. Ava had probably already replaced Marcus
Grimaldi with Kendra as her latest thrall, which made most of her previous
words to Nick specious at best. From where Nick stood it would be possible
to see if they were connected, although not from where Vachon and I watched
the scene.
        "No." Ava's voice was quiet but definite, and she placed a kiss on
Kendra's temple. "She's mine. If I go, she goes."
        "I won't allow that," Nick's voice was hardening, and his stance
became defensive.
        "YOU have no say in it." Ava's voice cracked out like a shot. "I
will have something to take with me when I leave. Compensation, for giving
up this life. Don't try to stop me---you won't like the results,
_Detective_ Knight." Her smile was poisonous, her eyes glittering. "There
are so many things I could do on my way out of town that you'd regret."

        Enough was enough. I walked over to one of the glass doors, broke
the catch, and slid it back with a bang. All three heads whipped in my
direction. I could feel the change come over me, as fast as thought: the
fangs dropping, the sight changing, the bloodlust running through my body.
"Ava Malenkov," I hissed, and felt my mouth draw back in the parody of a
smile. "You are charged with violations of the Code---"
        "No!" Nick stood between her and me, his face full of anger and
sadness as he tried to shield my prey. "Morgan, don't do this, please, this
isn't necessary! Think about what you are---"
        "This is precisely what I am." I shook my head slowly, not even
able to regret that he was seeing the truth. "This is what I always was,
even before I was brought across. Don't stand in my way, Nick." With that,
I rushed Ava Malenkov, pushing her away from the mortal, sending both of us
flying across the room to slam into the back wall. I was vaguely aware of
Vachon entering the room, but all my attention was centered on the woman
imprisoned by my hands. "For exposing the Community to danger in murdering
Nora Quentin and Marcus Grimaldi you must die. Give yourself up, and you
will die easily. Resist, and it will be as painful as you can imagine."

        She stared at me for an entire second, then smiled, her eyes
shifting from black to yellow to red within instants as she hissed a
response, going for my neck. I threw her away from me, sending her crashing
into the glass coffee table, then flew to pin her down. Lacroix had been
right: she was mad. Mad with arrogance, mad with recklessness, and strong
because of both---as I tried to enter her mind I was repulsed by a wave of
pride and rage too strong to cut through. Ava Malenkov rose to meet me,
grappling with me as we each tried to gain the ascendancy. We slammed back
and forth across the room, sending mirrors and pictures flying in our
fight, scratching, biting, kicking, and punching as we tried to kill each
other. Both of us were moving too fast to get a grip and gain an advantage.
It's not for nothing that Enforcers usually work in pairs; I almost
regretted leaving Patrick behind in Denver, despite our differences.
Lacroix might have been right about Malenkov being too dif
ficult for me to handle alone...

        At some point I saw Nick and Kendra crouched down near the wall,
Nick trying to protect the mortal from the flying debris. If I moved the
fight outside, there might be a chance he'd be able to get her out of
there--- My train of thought was derailed as Vachon leaped on Malenkov's
back, pulling her back to sink his teeth into her throat. Ava kicked me in
the stomach, twisting around to grab Vachon by the throat and flip him over
her shoulder and into the bar. I snarled and body-slammed her into the
ceiling as glasses and bottled shattered around the younger vampire.  The
carpet was smoking where we'd knocked over the candles, and a fine spray of
dark blood stained most of the furniture and walls.

        Nick was trying to drag Kendra out of the condo, but the mortal
seemed to be frozen in place. As I rose to butt my head into Ava's stomach,
I thought the squeal of pain she gave was because of actual damage. I
should have paid more attention.
        I fought to keep her fingers from closing around my throat,
whirling around the room in a spiral that slammed us into first the floor,
and then the fireplace. I saw Nick pulling Kendra towards the door.
Concentrating with all my strength, I pulled Ava's fingers back one by one,
then bent back her wrists with satisfaction as I heard the bones snap. She
screamed, then bashed her head into mine. Enraged, I bit into her neck,
trying to suck enough blood out of her to weaken her ---

        Another scream, but it wasn't Ava's. Nick. I lifted my head to see
him collapse to his knees, a broken part of a picture frame impaling him
below his heart. "No," I whispered, horror snapping me out of my blood-rage
for a second.  "Nick---" Vachon was kneeling next to him, his face full of
concern; Kendra was frozen in place... Kendra. Ava had made Kendra stake
Nick, controlling her so that she moved too fast for Nick to see when he
tried to remove the mortal from the room---  Another snap as something
broke. My arm. I hadn't even noticed that Ava had broken my hold, one of
her wrists healing already as she kicked me under the chin, sending me
sprawling back into the couch.

        I snarled. Blood-lust surged through me again, and I screamed out
my fury as I flew toward Ava, both of us somersaulting through the
partially open balcony doors and out over the city with the momentum. "Damn
you!" I screamed out. "Damn you damn you---" She was laughing, blood
running down her neck, unintimidated by my rage as we flew upward into the
starry night.
        "I will not be the only one to lose something precious tonight,"
she taunted as we grappled. "I won't be the only one to die."
        "Yes. You. Will." I reversed our trajectory suddenly, taking us
down towards the ground from over fifty stories up. Faster and faster we
plunged toward the ground, spinning around each other as we fought. She was
trying to pull me close, to bite me, but I kept my arms rigid, held her
away as we sped down towards the street. Too late, she realized what I was
trying to do.
        You can not kill a vampire by breaking their neck. But you can
immobilize them. As we hit the pavement, I heard the beautiful sound of her
neck cracking as she slammed into the concrete of the parking lot. We
rolled for a moment, our speed carrying us over the ground like stones
skipping across a lake.
        Ava Malenkov looked up into my eyes, all hilarity gone. Terrified,
her eyes wide and human again, her mouth moving soundlessly. I rejoiced in
it, thought of Nick in her condo, dying maybe, and smiled. "Sentence is
carried out," I whispered, then brought my hand down on her neck, severing
her head from her body. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering me for a few
short seconds; then her corpse dissolved to soft ash in my hands, sticking
to the blood on my clothes. I panted harshly, shuddering in the aftermath.
The scent of blood was everywhere, but it was vampire blood, not human. I
returned to my normal self, no longer enraged, no longer simply an
Enforcer.

        Nick. Oh, God...

        Soaring upward, I prayed that he was still alive, that nothing
vital had been damaged when Kendra staked him, that Vachon was helping
him--- I don't know who I pray to anymore, or if they listen since I
changed. I just send a thought out to the stars and hope that someone
listens.

        The scene that greeted my eyes in the condo was pure chaos. Tracy
had arrived while I fought Ava, and she was bending over Nick, crying and
cursing, as Vachon held an unconscious Kendra. At my entrance Tracy whipped
a crucifix in my direction, stopping me from getting any closer.

        "It's me," I snapped, flinching away from the cross. I don't
believe in the fairy tales about vampires being pure evil; but there's
something about a human with a cross, and the faith to use it, that repells
us. It's uncomfortable but manageable for me---impossible for some of the
older Enforcers.  "Put that thing down." She didn't drop it, her blue eyes
accusing as she placed herself between me and Nick. "Damn you, let me help
him!"

        "This is your fault," she said, tears welling up, but her mouth set
in a thin line. "You should have protected him---"
        "He shouldn't have been here!" Guilt washed over her face as I came
closer. "I tried... please, Tracy. Let me help. I can---"
        "NO!" She stood up, the cross held out like a gun. Vachon watched
us from behind her, his face a mask of indifference, but his eyes burning
with something I didn't understand. "I won't let you make him one of you! I
won't let you make that choice for him!"
        I gasped, surprised, almost laughing. "I won't. I promise."
        Tracy snorted, and Vachon suddenly spoke up. "Trace. Let her help."
        Uncertainty, stubborness, anger---a million emotions moved across
her face---then her arms dropped. Furious, she turned around to confront
Vachon. "Why did you _do_ that? She'll kill him!!"
        "She won't." Vachon met my eyes, his arms shifting to accomodate
the weight of Ava's former thrall.  "Enforcers aren't allowed to. She can
get him to a doctor fast enough to save him. Let her help him." He knew I
could remove the broken frame at that moment, but Tracy would realize Nick
was a vampire if I did. I realized something as I stared at Knight lying at
her feet, blood pooling beneath him. The frame could be removed, but he was
already in danger of the True Death---and taking the stake out would only
lead to Nick losing more blood than he could afford. I didn't have the time
to argue with this child---
        Tracy Vetter's hands tightened around the cross. She stared at me,
resolve hardening her face into something older than herself, a stone mask
of determination. "Do it. Take him. But I swear, if you hurt him--- If
he--- If he suffers for one minute more than necessary--- I will *find*
you. I promise."

        I bent to pick up Nick, and saw that his face was already
whitening, lines appearing around his eyes. He was so still. Shaking, I
idly noticed that I was hurt too, but it wasn't important. I had to get
Nick help. I had to save him. I had to. Somewhere inside me was a crying
little girl.

       Standing a moment on the balcony, I tried to think clearly. Where
would be safe? Where would I be able to get blood quickly? The Raven,
---but that would mean Lacroix. No. No way was I going to put myself, or
more importantly, Nick, in Lacroix's debt. Which left only one place to go.

        I stepped into the darkness toward the Toronto County Morgue,
clutching Nick to me as if my life depended on it.


        Comments, curses, complaints, critiques, continuity glitch notices
-----> go to VQRW76A@prodigy.com.
_________________________
Protect and Serve (25/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        I'm no EMT. But I am an expert in Vampire First Aid. A good thing,
too, because Nick has all the survival instincts of a lemming on some
nights. He regularly gets shot, stabbed, bludgeoned and singed by sunlight.
Most of the time my efforts center around explaining why there isn't _more_
damage to his concerned superiors, with the occasional bullet excavation
thrown in for flavor. Tonight was not one of those nights, though.

        Midnight in the morgue -- not exactly a busy time, but it's no tomb
either. Which was only one reason why I was so panicky when Morgana came
through the outer doors with Nick cradled in her arms, looking like a cross
between the Pieta by Michelangelo and the end of one of those "Nightmare on
Elm Street" movies.  "You've got to help," Morgana was saying as she put
Nick on one of the tables, but I didn't even look at her, or hear her,
because Nick, my Nick, damnit, had a piece of wood through his chest, and
his skin was going papery-thin and transparent white as I watched, his lips
blackening and his arms stiffening and his eyes were closed and for one
second I wanted to screech, but then my emotions were cut off when I saw he
was breathing. Breathing. Still alive. Not ashes like Richard, so there was
a chance. Hope.

       I rolled him onto his side as gently as I could, and ordered Morgana
to rip the jacket off him so I could get a better look at the damage.
Expensive leather shredded away - Nick will make me pay for _that_, I
thought in passing - to reveal a scene from one of my more memorable
nightmares. The jagged stick of wood had pushed through his torso from the
back, beneath his heart, between the ribs. His shirt was drenched with
blood, and as he breathed I could hear a faint bubbling sound. A little
froth of blood was on Nick's mouth, and he coughed softly as he inhaled.
The stake was through his lung; he'd keep losing blood, and in a human it
would be bad enough, but wood does weird things to vampire immune systems,
so there was no way Nick would recover unless we got that hunk of wood out
of him.

        I ran back to the cooler - I could hear Morgana cursing in the next
room, in English and in Spanish - and came back with a handful of the
bloodbags we keep for emergencies, and some tubing and needles.  I set up
three bags to empty into Nick when I hit the shunts, then turned to the
other vampire.

        She was a mess, about as non-sterile as anyone could be. Thank God
vampires don't get infections, or she'd have given Nick tetanus and who
knows what else. "You have to get that thing out of his chest. Snap off the
part sticking through his abdomen as cleanly as you can, then pull it out
from the back." I was strapping Nick down to the table as I talked; it
wouldn't have stopped him in his normal state, but in the shape he was in
at that moment, I needed to keep him immobile and he couldn't fight hard
enough to break the restraints.

        Morgana stared at me, and there was horror on her face as she
looked at back at Nick. "Are you paying attention?" A quick jerk of her
head confirmed that she was still with me, and I grabbed some padding,
bandages and alcohol from the medicine cabinet, and handed her a handful of
padding after I soaked it with alcohol.   "I don't want that thing to
splinter, the last thing he needs is wood in the wound. As soon as you have
it out, stuff this in the hole. Hard. Pack it as tight as possible, we
don't want him to lose any more blood."

        Morgana nodded again, seeming calmer, but still looking strung out.
"Hold him steady," she whispered, placing her hands around the front of the
stake. A quick snap, close to his chest, and part of the pressure on his
chest eased, sending a small spray of blood in the air. I packed the cotton
tight, taped it down, and then smoothed back the hair from Nick's face. So
pale, so old --- I held him steady as Morgana removed the stake from his
back in one smooth movement. More blood, blood he couldn't afford to
lose... Both Morgana and I packed the wound, and I hit the shunts on the
I.V.'s and blood began to pour back into his body. I heard a sound outside
the door, and gestured to the locker. "Get him in there, someone's coming."
We pushed the table into the locker, and I just had enough time to dispose
of the bloody rags, stake, and my jacket before one of my assistants, Allen
Lee, came in.

        "Hey Dr. Lambert, how's it going?"
        Would that I could've answered this honestly. Just once. Just to
see the look on someone's face. 'Oh, I've been doing impromptu surgery on
Nick Knight, removing a stake through his chest, and the woman who brought
him in wants to kill me. How's it with you?'

        I spent the next fifteen minutes talking shop, discussing the
results on some of the analyses he'd been doing, and laughing at his new
joke ("... and then the bartender says, 'You're a mean drunk, Superman.'")
all the while wondering if Nick were okay. Grace would've known something
was wrong, and would've tried to worm it out of me, but Allen is still too
new to know when I'm upset, or to presume to ask me personal questions.
Finally, after a completely surreal quarter hour, Allen waved cheerily and
left my office. I took a second to compose myself, then grabbed two more
blood bags from the fridge. Hiding in the locker among the corpses were two
vampires, one critically injured, one contemplating killing me the last I'd
heard.

        And there's some who think I don't meet interesting people in my
job.

        Nick looked significantly better, even if he was still unconscious.
The last time he'd looked even close to that bad, he'd been starving
himself for three days and then got beat up by Lacroix and inhaled smoke
from the fire in his loft.  Schanke gave his blood that time... he teased
Nick about it for weeks afterward. A wave of sadness hit me. We used to
have so much fun teasing Schanke about his diets, and smoking, and how
weird he thought Nick was, and he'd give us grief right back. It's only
been a month. I'm not used to not seeing him in the halls, or hearing his
terrible jokes anymore.

        I'm definitely not used to Tracy yet, and how much she knows about
the vampires. I keep having to stop myself from making jokes she might
understand. Schanke never got them, but she might. It's strange... I'd like
to talk to her about them, but Nick would go ballistic, so it's not an
option. I stood next to the gurney and trailed my fingers along his jaw,
feeling for a non-existent pulse, and noticed that his skin tone was
better, and he seemed to be breathing easier. Morgana had placed her jacket
around his shoulders; when I lifted it, I couldn't see any fresh blood
staining the bandages. He was going to be okay. Some part of me had never
doubted it, but I was incredibly relieved to have been right.

        "He's a lot better," Morgana whispered. She was leaning back
against the lockers, and I got a good look at her outfit for the first
time. Leather and lace, and a leopard print bra, with her hair spiked and
moussed. Covered in blood; the smell was very strong. There seemed to be a
layer of dust or dirt sticking to the blood in odd patterns around her
hands and arms. Her mascara was smeared, and she had fading cuts and
bruises around her neck. I handed her one of the blood bags, then changed
the other with one of the empties hooked up to Nick.

        "What happened? And where's Tracy?" It was the first time I'd even
thought to ask.

        "I took out our murderer, and Nick got hurt while trying to protect
a bystander. Tracy's probably still back there, cleaning up the mess." She
made a little rip in the blood bag and greedily sucked out half the
contents, stopping to wipe her mouth after a minute.  "The killer had a
mortal she picked up at the Raven in a thrall bond, and the girl staked
Nick when he tried to get her out of the condo. Just like always... he
tries to keep the innocent from getting hurt, and gets burned himself." She
rubbed wearily at her eyes, then let her arm drop to her side. "By the way.
My name is Morgana."

        "Natalie Lambert." I felt a smile tug at the edges of my mouth.
"Although I think you already know that." She shrugged, glancing down at
Nick as I unhooked some of the tubing. I should have been scared of her.
Nick had said she was planning on killing me after the murderer was found,
but I couldn't manage it. I was too glad that he was alive to worry about
myself yet. A thought struck me. "Why didn't you go to Lacroix for help
with Nick?" An undefinable series of emotions flowed across her face as she
studied our friend instead of looking at me, but I thought that the
clearest feeling I detected was distrust. "You don't like him either?"

        "You've met him?" She seemed shocked, her gaze suddenly back on my
face. "I thought..." her voice trailed off and she shook her head, looking
confused.

        "Once. Once was enough."

        Morgana smiled, then laughed softly, almost unwillingly. She leaned
back, and winced as something twinged and took another sip from the bag. "I
don't know what I expected from you, but it wasn't this. You're so... calm.
Unshockable. Like it's all normal to you."

        "I'm used to surprises by now. And while Nick has tried to
soft-pedal some things about you guys, Janette never pulled any punches."
        "You know about Janette too." She was staring at Nick again, her
eyes wide in the dim light provided by the 60-watt bulb. "Did Nick just
introduce you to her, saying he wanted you to meet his friends, or what?"

        "Close enough." I pulled the jacket closer around Nick, wishing I
had blankets or something to keep him warm. No such luck. I took a step
backward, studying Morgana. Nick had said she didn't know what she wanted
to do about me yet. Time to give her some suggestions. "Nick said you were
thinking about killing me. Or bringing me across." Her head snapped up to
look at me; her eyes weren't glowing gold, but there was that hint of
danger that Nick gets before he does something violent. "Don't. I won't
give away your secrets. I care about Nick too much to put him in danger.
And," I took a deep breath, and smiled ironically, "I have an insurance
policy. Information on Nick and your community is hidden in several
different places, and will be made public if I go 'missing' or die under
strange circumstances."

         Morgana was still, silent, just watching me like a bug on slide. I
sighed in frustration, certain that she wasn't listening to me, not really.
"I'm no threat to you. But I don't want to become one of you."

        "You aren't a threat?" The vampire standing across the gurney from
me laughed without humor. "You've got four years of medical information on
Nick stashed somewhere, you want to blackmail me into leaving you alone,
and you don't even realize what kind of danger you are.  That information
is a timebomb. Killing you might be out of the question, but I should
probably bring you over, or have Nick do it. Then the problem would be
completely solved."
        "Why aren't I afraid you will?"  I still wasn't. Maybe it was
shock. Maybe the whole ordeal of the evening would hit me when I got in my
own bed in the morning. But I couldn't work up the energy to be frightened
of someone who'd looked at Nick with so much pain and concern.

        "I have no idea why you're not absolutely terrified. I thought
Tracy Vetter was a piece of work, but you... Maybe you're just crazy,"
Morgana muttered under her breath.
        "You'd really kill someone who just helped you save Nick's life?
The friend who you owe your life to?"
        "He told you about that." A slight touch of resentment entered her
voice at that, but the look she gave Nick was untainted gratitude, and a
tenderness I wouldn't have thought one of Nick's Enforcers would be capable
of. She closed her eyes, then turned her back on both me and Nick.
"Bringing you over isn't the same as killing you."
        "It would be for me." If I ever have to make that choice, I know
what it's going to be. I won't end up like Richard. I had my opportunity to
be truly stupid last year, during the meteor scare, and I got a second
chance when Nick stopped me. And I don't make the same mistakes twice.

        Morgana turned back around, leaning on the gurney. Her dark green
eyes were wide, blood-red lips thinned into a line. "Maybe it would be, at
that." Morgana's face was expressionless, but her hand shook, as she raised
the blood bag to her mouth and took another sip."You've been covering for
him, haven't you? And the rest of the Community---Janette, Lacroix, the
others? Any murders that come up just get classified weird, and then you
tell Nick."

        I was a little taken aback at how much she'd figured out. How much
_did_ I tell her exactly, when she hypnotized me?  And was it only last
night? "Yes."
        "Why?"
        I don't know, I wanted to say. Maybe it's the Oath again. Maybe
it's wanting to prevent the kind of hysteria that happened when the meteor
was supposed to hit. It's partly because of Nick, yes, but... it's more
complex.

        They're my mystery; no one else knows about them, except Tracy, and
compared to what I know about vampires, she's just a novice. Sometimes the
secrets get to be too much to bear, and it's hard to manage my life and the
overlapping world that Nick lives in. But other times---I know something
else no one else does. My worst nightmare is not Nick dead, but Nick gone,
disappeared as if he never was, and taking all the rest of his kind with
him in the middle of the night, along with four years of my life. As hard
as I look for his cure, and even though I want him to become human with a
desperation that scares me when I'm alone, I don't want them to have never
existed. And that's what it feels like would happen if I didn't do what I
do. Cover up. Lie. Pretend. So they can still exist.

        "Because someone has to, I guess." I shrugged, looking down at
Nick. He almost looked okay, like he does when he's just sleeping.
"Otherwise it'd all be chaos. You Enforcers don't always get here in time,
do you?"

        Morgana raised one eyebrow in speculation, then looked back at Nick
as he made some small sound, struggling to move against the restraints. "I
have some things to take care of... Tracy and Vachon, for one." She pushed
a hand through her hair, and grimaced in tiredness. "Don't tell Nick, but I
think... maybe... I can get you a dispensation, an exclusion from the Code.
If I'm wrong---if you don't hear from me within a day or two---run. Run
away as far as you can, Natalie Lambert. If you get far enough fast enough,
they won't bother to keep looking for you after a while." I stood, rooted
in shock, as she opened the door to the main examining room. She turned
back, bent down and gave Nick a fast kiss on the lips. "Take care of him."

        "I always do." She smiled in response, then was gone.

        Nick was blinking awake now, eyelashes too long for any guy
fluttering on his cheeks. I think I was grinning like an idiot, because he
gave me a confused look as he came to full consciousness. "Nat?"

        I leaned over and kissed him gently on the mouth. Maybe it was too
soon to be hoping. But you can't be frightened all the time. "Welcome back.
How do you feel?"
        "Terrible. Tired." His eyelids drifted down to half-mast, and then
he mumbled, "I thought I heard Morgana. I thought she was here... have to
tell her not to hurt you."
        "It can wait."
        "No, it's too important---"
        "She isn't here." I bit my lips, then said softly, "Go back to
sleep, Nick. Nothing's going to happen for a while. I won't leave. I
promise."
        "Can't promise," he whispered, clasping my hand, holding on tight.
"No promises."
        "Then just believe me, okay?"
        "Okay." He smiled sweetly at me, the choirboy smile that stops my
breath. "Lovely Nat..." he drifted off again before he could finish what he
was going to say.

        I held his hand for a long time before I went back to my desk to
call in sick. I wondered what story Tracy and Vachon had come up with to
cover the events at the murderer's condo. I wondered why Morgana had
changed her mind; if helping her with Nick had made the difference, or my
confession about the cover-ups had done it. I wondered where Lacroix was,
and why he hadn't known Nick was hurt.

        Then I got up from my desk, and got the keys to my car. Later. All
of that could wait. Time to get Nick home. To watch over him, make sure he
didn't have a relapse, and be prepared for the worst in case Morgana's plan
failed. And to just have the time alone without a crisis hanging over our
heads. There was nothing else I could do to protect him or myself.

        Make the most of what you've got, Natalie, I thought.. Who knows
how much longer you'll have it.



________________________
Protect and Serve (26/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        I was still shaking when Morgana stepped off the balcony with Nick
in her arms. If I had told Nick what we were dealing with from the
beginning, would he have been more careful? Would he be dying if I'd told
him the truth? God---
        *It isn't your fault*
        *Yes it is* I turned to Vachon, who was still cradling Ava
Malenkov's latest pick-up in his arms. *He's my partner. My responsibility*
        "If anyone is at fault, it's Malenkov," the vampire said aloud. "Or
Morgana Harte. You did your job, you kept all the secrets, and you even
told her what was going on---and another mortal got hurt anyway." He
glanced down at the brunette, still asleep or unconscious. "We've got to
get her out of here... *and cover up what happened*
      His speech trailed into thoughts he didn't bother to hide from me,
and I clung to his confidence, his unstated certainty that Nick would be
allright. And... I reached for him with my mind, seeking comfort, trying to
make sense of what had just occurred. He reached back; warmth, solidity,
like the touch of a hand on my cheek, or an arm around my shoulder. Vachon
didn't run away; part of him was still separate, but what was there, was
there because of me, to comfort and help me. I was the one who broke the
contact this time, seguing from thoughts to words. *How do we cover this
up... there's no way to do it unless* "We set fire to the place."
        Vachon nodded judiciously. "Those candles... shouldn't be too hard
to relight them. And the alcohol that got knocked over should help spread
it..." He frowned, shifted the girl and muttered "Deja vu all over again."
        Part of me couldn't believe I was contemplating ruining a crime
scene. But the larger part of me knew that any analysis of the condo
wouldn't make sense to the forensics guys anyway; and since Ava Malenkov
had to be dead (didn't she?) there was no sense in pursuing the trail. Nick
and I (*if* he recovers, I thought) would be able to attribute the murders
to the mysterious woman who disappeared the night we came to question her.
Another question struck me. *How much did Nick see? Or hear?*
        *Who knows? When we got here, he was on his way out... and then
Sleeping Beauty came out of the bedroom, and all hell broke loose* Vachon
was hiding something from me again. I vowed to call him on it---later.
*Here* He handed the girl to me, sending me staggering as I tried to hold
her.
        *Why are you giving her to me?*
        *So you can get her out of here. We don't have time for this,
Trace... I'll set the fire and leave by the balcony. Tell the cops that she
came out and reported the fire to you, and told you her friend was still up
here. That should cover most of the bases. Now will you GO? We don't have
much time if we're going to get away with this---*
        *Fine, but you owe me some answers later*  I slung the girl over my
shoulder in a fireman's carry and turned toward the exit.
        *Give it four minutes before you pull the fire alarm. Most of this
place should be ashes and smoke by then*
        Deliberately, I forced myself to talk out loud. "Okay, okay...
Just make it good, Vachon. We don't want any evidence that we were here. I
can't believe I just said that..." His soft laughter followed me out into
the carpeted hallway. The door swung shut behind me, and I walked toward
the elevator, still feeling like I was in a dream. Unreal, doing things
that had no relation to common sense. I pushed the DOWN elevator button and
checked my watch. Four minutes. One gone already.
        By the time I got to the first floor, the next-floor alarms were
going off and the girl was awake, shaking, scared... and she didn't
remember a thing after falling asleep in Ava Malenkov's bed. Vachon must
have wiped the last few minutes out of her mind while I tried to help Nick;
zapped into oblivion the memory of her trying to kill my partner. I flashed
on how Nick had looked when I'd entered the living room, barely breathing,
his face twisted in pain---
        *Concentrate, Trace. Concentrate on what you're going to tell the
fire captain, and your superiors, and Nick. Don't think about what happened
in the penthouse* Vachon's voice again, quiet, close; he could have been in
the elevator with me. The doors opened. *I'm done, the place is a mess. You
can call the authorities now*
        "Oh God, Ava---" The girl stabbed at the buttons on the elevator,
trying to make it go up. I caught her hands, and put my arm around her,
telling myself it wasn't her fault she'd hurt Nick, that she didn't know
what happened to the murderer. It didn't help. I still wanted to shake some
sense into her. Didn't she know what kind of danger she'd been in? Or
didn't she care? What kind of person flirts with that kind of death?
        "Listen to me. Listen to me!" I raised my voice. She was still
shivering, as much from cold as from shock, I think. That shift didn't
cover much. "We can't go back up there. The place is on fire. I'm sure she
got out... what's your name?"
        "Kendra," she mumbled. "Who are you?"
        "Don't you remember?" Twinges of conscience almost completely
suppressed now, I told her the story. She seemed to believe it, to think
that there was fire in the penthouse, that her friend was still trapped up
there; and her shell-shocked behavior went far to convincing the building
super.
        The next three hours were chaos. They managed to contain the fire
to the penthouse - one small mercy in the middle of that night - and I
answered the fire captain's questions easily, saying "I don't know" where I
would have had to lie. (Where's the owner? How did it start? Why was this
girl there?) I managed to keep it together until I talked to Captain Reese
on the cell phone.
        "Where's Knight?"
        "I don't... know." What am I doing? I thought. I can't do this. I
can't keep this up. I have to tell someone what's going on.
        "You don't know? Wasn't he there when you arrived?"
        "Sorry, Captain. I haven't seen him." Which was shaving the truth
so close as to cut it. Cuts. Blood. Nick. I can't handle this. I can't do
this by myself. I can't...
        *You have to*
        *Vachon!* I was crying, barely keeping the tears out of my voice as
I talked to my boss. "I'm sure he's fine. He must have left before I got
here." *I have to tell him, I can't do this alone anymore*
        *You're not alone. You're never alone* Calm flooded me. That
steady, purposeful voice bolstered something inside, gave me enough
strength to finish the conversation with Reese. "I'll check at the Raven
after I'm through here... I think he might be checking up on a lead there."
        "Pagers. I'm going to give you two pagers if you can't keep track
of each other," Reese grumbled as he said good-bye.
        I automatically checked out with the Fire Marshal as I left, and
sleep-walked to my car. *Go home and get some rest*
        *No* I started the car, and pointed it in the other direction from
home. *Where did she take Nick?*
        A pause. *I don't know. I thought they'd be at the Raven, but I'm
there now, and...* A mental sigh. *Look, let me deal with her. You're
completely exhausted*
        *NO. She'll find us eventually. And now that the killer is dead...
she is dead, right?*
        *Oh, yeah. I'd say that's a given. I heard something die out
there... and Morgana Harte is still walking around*
        *Well, now I want to ask Miss Morgana Harte to let us go. It's the
best time. The only time. Besides...* I said the next out loud, "She owes
me. For Nick."

        She was waiting for us at the top of the church steps.
        The Enforcer had changed out of her punk/Gothic wear, which had
been covered with blood and gore the last time I saw her. No makeup;
sweater, jeans, leather jacket, her hair loose... she looked like a grad
student. I wondered what she'd been when she became a vampire, and how long
ago. She certainly mimicked humanity better than Vachon did. Except when
there was no sign of it at all.
        "Nick's fine," she said quietly as Vachon and I approached. "And
Ava Malenkov is very dead." I gulped in a huge breath of air, then started
crying. I didn't want to, but it was such a huge relief, so unexpected,
that I couldn't stop myself. I sat down on the steps and let it all out.
Javier held my hand as I cried against his shoulder. When I finally had a
grip on myself, I smiled at him and thought *thanks*
        *Don't mention it. Really*
        I grinned, then turned to look at Morgana. "Are you sure?"
        "Yes." She slipped down a few steps, until she was sitting across
from me and Vachon.  "I know some people... who are into some experiments."
She avoided my eyes, watching the street and the almost non-existent
traffic. "They owed me a favor. He won't even have a scar. Or any
after-effects. Just accept it, and don't remind him of it. Or he'll be in
as much trouble as you were." Morgana shifted her weight, her chin going up
defensively. "How did it go after I left?"
        "Flames. General destruction. The kid's with the paramedics; Tracy
made it seem like Kendra woke up out in the living room, panicked, and ran
into her in the hall." Vachon dropped my hand. "I wiped her memory. She
doesn't remember a thing after waking up in Malenkov's bed."
        "Convenient," Morgana whispered, nodding. She looked me full in the
face. "Nick doesn't remember anything after his interview with Ms.
Malenkov. And he won't remember, either. I told him he's coming down with
the flu, that he got dizzy and collapsed at my place."
        "He'll probably think I gave it to him," I commented. "The fire
marshal pretty much decided it was an accident from what I told him.
Alcohol and cigarettes... If anyone ever finds out..." My career is dead,
my father will kill me, and I might go to jail, I thought but didn't say.
        "Is there anything left?" Morgana questioned.
        Vachon mouthed a "no" at her, his eyes mocking.
        "Except for us," I said, taking Vachon's hand in mine again. He
tensed, and I could feel that thread of fear; but behind it was
resignation, and respect. *I'll back you, Trace. But don't be too
disappointed if it doesn't work*
        "We found the killer. We helped cover her trail. If you hadn't been
there, we would have taken her out," I said, pausing for breath, then
rushed on. "We want to be free of this... thrall thing. Haven't we proven
we can be trusted?"
        She just stared at me.
        "What is it going to take? You nearly got my partner *killed*! You
owe me!"
        "I _owe_ you?" Morgana started laughing, then couldn't seem to
stop, holding her stomach like it hurt. I seethed quietly while Vachon
thought *Don't. Let her laugh. Don't push her* at me. When the Enforcer had
quieted down, she muttered, "I OWE you. I don't owe you a thing." She bit
her lip, then added, "Nick is my friend too, you know. Seeing him get hurt
like that... scared me." Quietly, she added, "If Malenkov hadn't enthralled
Kendra, he wouldn't have gotten hurt."
        "What are you saying?" I pounced on the opening, hoping it meant
what I thought it did.
        "You trust me, don't you?" I blinked at the non-sequitor. Morgana
was staring off into the distance again. "You believed me when I said Nick
was fine. And you did come to me when the murders started... even though
you didn't stay out of the investigation like I told you to."
        "I guess. I hadn't really thought about it."
        "Why do you trust me?"
        I glanced at Vachon, but he was no help; he just smiled and shook
his head. *You're on your own, Trace*
        "Because..." I stumbled, then went on. "I think you're doing what
you have to. And you care about Nick. I don't _like_ you," I clarified.
"You beat up Vachon when you lost your temper. You're really rude.
Condescending." I thought about it, then slowly continued. "But you seem to
care about what happens to your people, and maybe about justice too. You
could have let Ava Malenkov go. But you didn't. That's why. You did the
right thing."
        Morgana and I looked at each other a moment, then she said,
quietly, "Yes. You can be free. If you still want to."
        If...*Vachon?*
        *Let's see if there's strings attached*
        "Are there any conditions to this?" I asked carefully, ignoring the
turmoil her words had set off inside my head. DID I want to be free now? I
was starting to get used to having him there all the time. But.. there'd
been that moment in the condo, when he'd forced my arms down, turned the
crucifix away from Morgana. Not that he'd do that often. Or ever again,
maybe. But still... I've worked too hard to be my own person. Far too hard.
And it would be so easy to just be with Vachon, say that we had no control
over what happened to us---No. Never. I can trust him. But I don't want to
be trapping him; I don't want to be tied to him. If he wants to leave
someday, I don't want to have to follow him, like some puppy. Maybe I know
more about him, and the risks now, maybe I understand too much of what I've
seen over the last week... or not enough.
        And what did Vachon feel? Impossible to tell. There was a stone
wall in front of his emotions. But his hand felt very cold in mine.
        "No conditions." She stood up, brushing off the seat of her jeans,
a casual gesture that disoriented me with its normality. Morgana met my
eyes. "Let's just say that we have enough in common that I think I _can_
trust you. Which doesn't mean the Others won't disagree with me." I could
hear the capital letter she put on 'others', and started getting worried
again.

        But she was still talking. "Nick will be able to go back to work on
Monday. If you haven't heard from me by then, you won't hear from me at
all. You'll be in the clear." She walked down the last few steps, glancing
back at us when she reached the bottom. "It's your choice." Then she
smiled, and I could almost see why Nick was friends with her; remembered
her books, and how I'd liked her the first time we met. "Whichever way it
turns out, I don't think we'll meet again, Detective Vetter. But I'll see
you around." A gust of air, and she was gone; up into the fading night sky.

        "But you won't see her, of course," Vachon said dryly.
        I shook my head. "It can't be that easy."
        "Tracy." I looked at him, fell into his eyes---
        ---tearing, pulling me apart
        ---dimming my vision
        ---loss of something familiar, an ache that wasn't there before
        ---pain

        Finished. Separate. Gone.
        "Why did you do that?" I asked. He'd stood up, moved away from me,
up the stairs toward his home.
        "Sometimes you make things too complicated, Tracy," he said
lightly. "I don't like being forced to do anything. Morgana just gave us an
out, and I took it. End of story."
        I trembled, fighting the ache where he'd been, the loss of the
closeness and trust. "Just like that."
        "Yeah." He was watching me, trying to guess how I was feeling. I
couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking... no, wait. I could. That
expression, the blank stare; he was confused. He'd acted on impulse. I knew
him well enough now to be sure of that much, at least. Maybe I wasn't the
only one that was scared by too many choices.
        "It has to be like this," I whispered. "But I wish..." He leaned
forward, and I couldn't hold his gaze; I looked away, not wanting to know
if he missed me. Would miss the sense of connection. If he did, I might
have asked or said something stupid. I stood up, straightened my jacket and
checked my watch. "The sun rises in half an hour. You'd better get inside."
        "Tracy." Old, old eyes; and an emotion in the depths that wasn't
friendship, or amusement, or tolerance. "Someday we're going to talk about
this again." I nodded, didn't let myself look away. "When we do, it'll be
when we want to. Not because we have to. And when that day comes, you'll
already know what you want." He laughed suddenly, that soft chuckle and
amused expression making him twenty-five again. "With luck, maybe I'll know
too."
        The hurt inside me didn't ache now. Timing is everything... when I
know him better, maybe I'll be able to make a choice. Not now. It's too
soon. Smiling, I started to turn away, but he caught my hand. A shard of my
dream came to me: Javier kissing my palm, asking me what I wanted. Now he
lifted my hand to his lips, and gave me a soft kiss on the knuckles. "You
done good, Tracy."
        I was blushing, I could tell. "I had good back-up. Makes all the
difference in the world." I reluctantly pulled my fingers away, then softly
said, "Thanks for being there. For not bailing on me."
        "The thought never entered my head."
        Laughing, I bounced down the last few steps to the street. "Say
good morning, Vachon."
        "Good morning, Vachon. Sleep tight, Tracy." A soft chuckle came
from the doorway of the church.
        "Soon. Not yet." When I turned around, he was already gone inside.
Birds were starting up, streetlights flickering out and dying. I wished
Nick were with me, to tell... what? That I'd handled something big,
something awful, and it had almost turned out okay? I still don't know what
I could have done differently.
        But I almost feel like I can tread water now, in this dark world
I've found. If I do what I have to without looking back - if I'm right, and
Vachon will help when I need it - maybe I'll learn to swim someday.

*       *       *       *
Comments? Criticism? Complete confusion? --> vqrw76a@prodigy.com



        If you wish to send comments send them to VQRW76a@prodigy.com.
_________________________
Protect and Serve (27/28)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        Happy endings all around. Except for those of us who haven't
learned our lessons yet.

        Back on my roof again, watching the horizon. Maybe half an hour.
Maybe twenty minutes or so. It doesn't matter. It would just make it
easier, if They decided to give me an order I couldn't obey. All I'd have
to do would be to wait.

        I thought back, past the encounter with Detective Vetter and Javier
Vachon, past my leave-taking from Nick and Natalie Lambert at the morgue,
to the moment when Lacroix showed up in the storage room while I watched
Nick slowly regain color and life. I'd already given him some of my blood
when the coroner left the room; I hadn't wanted Dr. Lambert to know about
that aspect of our biology, that a blood transfer between vampires
sometimes helps speed healing. She knew too much already. I looked up from
Nick to find his master standing next to the gurney, Lacroix's furious gaze
moving from his unconscious son to me and back again. "How?" he whispered.
I flinched. Oh, I was in trouble now...
        "Ava's thrall got in a lucky shot."
        His mouth drew back in a soundless snarl. "I assume she's dead."
        "Malenkov? Yes."
        "And the thrall."
        "No." Lacroix glared at me, incomprehension plain on his face. "It
wasn't her fault. And it would be an added complication to kill her. She
won't remember anything after I'm done with her anyway."
        "Soft," he hissed at me. "Stupid. Spineless. And how you could
allow this to happen---"
        "Practical," I snapped back. "And he wouldn't have been hurt if
he'd stayed out of it." I took off my jacket and placed it around Nick's
shoulders. "You're not angry about Nick's injuries. You're mad I brought
him here, instead of to you."
        Lacroix's expression was completely blank, only his eyes watching
me, and then he smiled, slowly, beatifically. "And what do you think of our
good Doctor?" I shrugged, glancing down at Nick. "Or perhaps I should ask,
what are you going to do about her?" His voice was hungry, coaxing me for
the answer he wanted.
        "Nothing," I whispered, lifting my gaze to his.
        "Nothing at all? Are you sure that's... wise?"
        "I don't care if it isn't!" Nick moved restlessly, and I lowered my
voice again. "You sound like you know a lot about her, Lacroix. Why didn't
you mention Dr. Lambert before? Or better yet, why haven't you killed her
yourself? After all, she does know too much... no one would question you."
        Lacroix feigned boredom, but the glitter of anger in his eyes
betrayed his true feelings. "We met once, although she doesn't remember it.
I didn't think she was worth killing. Nicholas's pets never last long...
he's careless that way. And I am not an Enforcer, after all. It's not my
responsibility."
        "Damn right it's not," I whispered. "I haven't made up my mind yet.
Not completely."
        "What's to decide? She's a threat. You're an Enforcer. It's
simple." That hypnotic, musical voice again, and the amused smile. Like the
snake in Eden, but so much easier for me to resist. Hate can sometimes
armor you from making quick choices. If I hadn't distrusted him so deeply,
I might have done what he'd hoped for as soon as I'd known about Natalie.
        "No, it isn't." I muttered in a low voice. "But that's what you
wanted, wasn't it? That's the whole reason you landed on my rooftop a week
ago. You were hoping I'd just react, that I'd kill her or bring her
across... especially after I'd realized how much Tracy Vetter knew. You
thought you had a no-lose situation. That I'd either have to deal with Dr.
Lambert as you wanted, or face the Others."
        My voice trailed off at the end of this speech, as the consequences
of the choice I was making hit me. I stared down at Nick. I couldn't do it.
I couldn't kill her, because that would mean fighting Nick, killing him...
and I really would rather die. I stared at Lacroix, fighting chills and
trying to ignore the various scrapes and twinges that were finally making
themselves known.
        "Perhaps." He laid his hand next to Nick's face, seeing what I saw:
pain, but no sign of imminent death. "I suppose I must settle for your
demise instead of hers. Nicholas will mourn, of course... but not too long,
I think." Lacroix met my eyes, still smiling, but their was a now a slight
edge of satisfaction to his expression.  "I'll just have to deal with Dr.
Lambert in some other fashion."
        I was about to reply when the sound of approaching footsteps
alerted us to Natalie's return. He moved to the exit, smiled coolly and
said, "Give my regards to the Others. I used to be quite chummy with some
of them."

        I'll bet he was, too. I'll bet half of Them owe him favors, or have
other ties to him. He is one of the oldest of us; everyone must have run
into him at one time or another... This won't get any easier if you wait, I
told myself. Now or never.

        I opened the door in the back of my mind, and they greeted me,
wondering what I had to report. I gave it to them whole; everything that
had happened since Saturday night. The murders, Tracy's involvement,
Natalie Lambert's knowledge, the fight with Ava Malenkov, my encounters
with Lacroix, all of it. Then I waited.
        A half-instant of utter silence. Then total chaos, pounding at me,
too disorganized to understand. Eventually, I could discern voices through
the storm.
        *Fool!*
        *I told you she was too young to become one of Us---*
        *Why*
        *You must*
        *Natalie Lambert is a threat*
        *What*
        ****SILENCE***  A sound like a cello string snapping, then pain,
and then quiet. *Morgana. Why have you reversed you decision with regard to
Tracy Vetter? And why have you refused to take action against Dr. Lambert?*
A male voice, like a slow cello dirge. I couldn't breathe; the force of
that mind was too powerful to deny. He wasn't coercing me, but this was the
opportunity I'd hoped for, my one shot at telling my reasons for what I
did.

        *Tracy Vetter is like me. I trust her. I believe that she will NOT
endanger us, even if she breaks with Vachon* I closed my eyes, seeing
Kendra staking Nick again, and Tracy threatening me with the cross. *She is
actually more trustworthy that the Spaniard; it is because of her that he
tried to track the killer. Maybe some day she'll come across of her own
free will. Until then, the thrall bond is unnecessary. Vachon will never
control her any more than he is forced to; and her judgement is better than
his, and more reliable as a means of restraint*

        *And Natalie Lambert?*

        Thin ice. Thin enough to see water moving beneath the surface,
waiting to seize me and stop my heart with its cold embrace. *I... I think
that she has done our Community too many services to be forced into a
decision. And she is already thoroughly compromised; her career will be
forfeit if her 'modifications' of various autopsies is ever made public.
Given her ties to Nick, I think it's likely she'll become one of us at some
point in the future. But I won't make that choice for her*

        *Won't?*

        Chaos again. Fury, and anger, and disappointment, which was almost
the worst. I tried to send more, but there was too much noise, and no one
wanted to hear it. Finally, a lull, and in it I could hear the flute again,
with a sense of mourning beneath her words.

        *Your decisions are not, in themselves, incorrect. I believe that
if my associates examine the facts, you will realize that Morgana has not
compromised the Community, or betrayed the Code* A rumble of discontent
from one corner, yet an overall sense of acquiesence. *What I find
disturbing, Morgana, is your lack of consideration for your peers. Your
blatant disregard for what our wishes might have been. Your failure to
consult us, when it was obvious that we SHOULD have been consulted*

        *Definitely*
        *Absolutely*
        *Damn headstrong brat*
        *What were you thinking of?*
        *NICHOLAS* A chorus of voices, tinged with disgust, exasperation,
frustration, anger... the wealth of emotion in that one name said it all.
        *Always a problem*
        *Never should have been allowed*
        *What about her? Too young---*
        *No control*
        *Impossible*

        *PLEASE* They were quiet again, and I opened my eyes. Sunrise was
only minutes away. *You can order me to kill all three of them. I won't do
it. You can order my death, but I won't hurt them. Some ties go too deep. I
owe Nick too much. If that's treason, make the most of it!* More
discontent, more anger. *Unless you just like to dance to Lacroix's tune*
Rage, insult! Furious mutterings, epithets thrown in my direction. Then the
cello spoke again.

        *We have never bowed to the wishes of one individual. And it is
obvious that Lacroix was hoping for an immediate judgement. That is not the
question under discussion. Natalie Lambert and Tracy Vetter have been
judged trustworthy from their actions over the past week, and the
information you have gathered. For now* A pause, then he went on, the sound
strengthening as he gained support from the others. *However. Your actions
may be (just barely) acceptable. Your attitude is not. I am afraid you can
no longer be trusted. Action must be taken*
        *Yes*
        *Punishment*
        *Pain*
        *Death*
        *Clemency?*
        *Youth, immaturity---*

        There was some debate. And then the flute spoke again.

        *If I may make a suggestion* Assent. *Morgana Harte. Your recent
actions, and your reluctance to report to the Order on recent events, make
it impossible for us to trust you alone. You will not be allowed to work
without a partner for the next five years, at least. You will not be
allowed to use your abilities as an Enforcer, or sit in judgement, without
the concurrence of this partner. You will not be allowed contact with
Nicholas Knight, or Lucien Lacroix, for the rest of their lifetimes in
Toronto. Since your divided loyalties and conflicts are connected to these
two, you will _never_ be allowed to mediate questions regarding their
actions. And you will leave Toronto as soon as possible*

        Stoically, I accepted their judgement. It was the least they could
have done. Although the thought of leaving Nick so soon after he'd been
hurt tore at me. This wasn't what I'd had in mind last week, when I was
unpacking. This wasn't what I'd hoped for. A home, near someone I cared
about, near my old friends... but they were right. My loyalties _were_ in
question. (No, they aren't, said some small part of me. They're wrong. They
don't care about justice, or mercy. Just expediency)

        *Should you violate any of these conditions, you will be
immediately stripped of your place in our Order, and declared rogue,
subject to the judgement of whatever Enforcer next encounters you. How do
you respond?*

        *You're kidding me* THAT was uncalled for. Unbelievable. What had I
done to deserve this? Nothing! To put me on probation... to put those kind
of conditions on me---they knew what the loss of my place would mean. I'd
become what I'd been. The monster. The murderer. They couldn't---

        *NO* Again, a majority answered. *We are in accord. Our judgement
is final. How say you?*

        *I accept your judgement* What else could I do? Scream about the
unfairness of it? Tell them to stuff it?

        *Then our hearing is concluded. Be out of Toronto within one week,
or face the consequences* And they were gone. I was alone again on the
rooftop. Like always.

        The light was starting to creep across the sky. It's like racing a
train sometimes, to try and see if you can move faster than the sun can
find you. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of just remaining on the
rooftop. It would solve everything. I'd be keeping the promise I made
myself thirty years ago. I wouldn't have to deal with these questions any
longer... and then I thought of how Lacroix would laugh, and I opened the
skylight and ducked inside, closing the windowguard as I came in.

        I stared around my apartment. Damnit. Well, at least I wouldn't
have to repack most of it. I'd hardly had time to get settled. Gloomily, I
wondered what my publisher would say when I told her that I was moving
again, for the second time in two weeks. I'd have to call Aristotle...

       Why didn't it feel like I'd won? I was still alive. Natalie Lambert
was still alive. Tracy Vetter was free. Nick didn't have any more reasons
to be angry with me. Lacroix didn't get his own way. So why didn't it feel
like a victory?

        Aristotle... I punched in his number, said hello, and explained
what I needed. Then, tentatively, I asked him a question. Pleaded a little.
Flattered him a lot, and got the answer I wanted. Then I hung up and called
Tracy Vetter's apartment, getting her answering machine. "You're in the
clear. And like I said, you won't see me again." Who else did I have
to---Oh, right, Natalie. I called Nick's place, and got the machine. Maybe
they were there, but I doubted they would pick up the phone. "Nick? Tell
Natalie I talked to the Others...  You're both safe for now. But tell her
to destroy the evidence she hid. It won't help, and it'll only annoy them
if she keeps it around." I swallowed, then went on, "I'm leaving
Toronto..."
        He picked up the phone. "Why are you leaving?"
        "I have to. They weren't real thrilled with me. They don't want me
to see you for as long as you're still here in Toronto."
        "Why?" Nick sounded mad. I smiled, glad that he didn't seem angry
with me.
        "They think you're a bad influence. And that the whole situation
with Natalie and Tracy is too messy as it is. They're probably right." I
looked around the room again, feeling too wound up and wired to sleep.
Maybe if I started packing now, I'd be ready to leave in the next day or
two. "I'm sorry, Nick. For everything---"
        "You don't have anything to apologize for," Nick said fervently.
"Tracy called. She seemed... different."
        "Oh, yeah?"
        "Yeah." The warmth from his voice seemed to seep into all the cold
places left by the Others. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would
you? Or why Vachon left a message, saying you were 'pretty cool'?"
        "Nope. I refuse to answer on the grounds I might incriminate
myself." I actually giggled, then softly said, "Hey. Maybe we'll run into
each other next lifetime."
        "I... hope not. But you know what I'm hoping for," Nick's voice was
quiet, and I could hear Natalie asking him a question in the background.
"Give me a call when you get where you're going?"
        "Sure. Just like always.... G'bye, Nick. Love you," I whispered.
        "Good-bye, Morgana. And you know... you know that if you need me,
I'll be there. Enforcers or no Enforcers. Take care of yourself." Then,
very low, so low I almost wasn't sure I heard it, "I love you too, Morgan."
Then he hung up.
        Two more phone calls. Then I'd start packing.

        Four friends went to a Halloween party.
        Joanna met a vampire, had glorious sex with him, and died of it. I
walked into the bedroom two minutes later, in time to see Elliot slitting
her throat, started screaming, and then tried to kill him with a lamp. I
pounded on him with my fists, kicked, bit, punched... and then he sank his
fangs into my neck, and you know the rest.
        Anna got scared by something - I still don't know what - tried to
leave the party, and ran right into the arms of another vampire, who
brought her across about three hours before I died. The Enforcers killed
her two days later, when she was trying to attack a cop in the bar where
I met Vachon.  I'm not real clear on the details; I barely made it out of
there with my skin intact. Somehow, I stumbled away and came across Nick,
who spoke softly, and gave me his blood, took me home and put me to bed.
Just like picking up a stray kitten. One with rabies.
        And Stephanie?
        Steph left the party early, sicker than a dog from the drugs she'd
taken, and got lucky enough to run into a cop who busted her and took her
to the hospital. She got her stomach pumped, her temperature taken, and
then her parents were called. She probably found out about the rest of us
around three days later, when they found what was left of Jo. Anna and I
were assumed to have died in the bar fire where her body was found. The
police chalked it up to the Texas Ripper copycat, and decided we were his
last victims. Stephanie dropped out of school. Got married. Got divorced.
Went back to school. Got married again.
        Sometimes, when I'm very, very stressed, I call her. Just to hear
her voice. To remind myself of what almost was. She has three children (her
oldest son is a little younger than Tracy) and lives in Dallas.
        "Hello?" I don't say anything, just listen to her voice. She's
fine, I can tell. I can always tell.
        "Is anyone there?" It's awfully early to be getting prank calls in
Dallas. Especially when you have to get up and teach third grade.
        "C'mon, I can hear you breathing. What do you want?" I could have
been her. She could have been me. But I'm not really sorry it worked out
like this. Right, Morgan?
        "I'm sorry," I say in a fake British accent. "Is this the Ruskin
residence?"
        "Nope. It's the Erlings'. Look, I know what Information keeps
telling you people, but Diana Ruskin doesn't live here anymore." Steph is
annoyed. I always ask for the same person, so she'll never guess. My
parents are dead, and I can't call my brother... he's got his own problems.
And I wouldn't be able to stop myself from telling him who it was. So I
call Steph. Just to know that something worked out for someone.
        "My apologies. I'm so sorry."
        "Yeah, well, no problem. G'bye," Steph mutters as she hangs up.
        "Bye, Steph." Only the dial tone hears me. I stare at the phone for
a very long time.
        Then I call the number Aristotle gave me.
*       *       *       *       *       *
Comments? please send to: vqrw76a@prodigy.com



        Five months, 27 installments, 10 new CD's, and several new friends
later... :) Thanks to everyone who's been reading as I've been writing, and
who have done me the favor of sending me comments (especially the ones that
helped me think more clearly). It's been an invaluable help, and the
biggest motivation to finish this in a semi-timely fashion. I'm afraid of
forgetting someone if I start naming names, so just assume I'm grateful to
all of you -
         The characters depicted in this story are the property of FOREVER
KNIGHT (created by James Parriott and Bedard & Lalonde)... which is fast
becoming its own alternate reality, with no owners or rulers. Dare to dream
the impossible dream...
        (Excepting Morgana Harte, who visits the dreams and nightmares of
the author on a semi-recurring basis)
        Comments?       send to         VQRW76A@prodigy.com
____________________________________
Protect and Serve (28/28) - Epilogue
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1996

        "...and that's when I called you," Morgana finished, taking a sip
of her drink. I withheld comment, uncertain of what to say. Perhaps because
there was nothing to be said. There were times in the past, at the Raven,
when it was clear who wished for advice, and who merely needed a receptive
ear. And there was no counsel I could give her, in any event. From my
windowseat, we watched the snow fall outside, icy thick and soft,
blanketing Montreal in stillness. The blood in our glasses was sweet and
warm, well-laced with brandy, and it seemed to have calmed Morgana to the
extent she was capable of being so. It had not been easy for her to tell me
what had happened in Toronto; sometimes she slipped out of English into
Spanish or Italian, and the telephone conversation between herself and
Nicolas was entirely in French - which she does not speak well, a subtle
sign of how little she wished to remember their discussion. It had not been
any easier for me to hear the tale.

        She put down her snifter carefully, still watching the snow fall.
"Do you hate me?"
        I frowned, and took another sip of my drink. "Why should I hate
you?"
        "That's not an answer, Janette." Her voice was flat and dull, her
fingers absently toying with the stem of her glass. "I know how you feel
about Enforcers---" I could not stifle the twitch that passed through me,
but I do not think she noticed it. "---and you can't exactly be _thrilled_
that I've become one." She rolled her eyes. "God knows Nick wasn't."
        "Mmmm. But Nicolas has much more to fear from them than I do." No
reason to mention my own doubts, or growing suspicions. I am ... fond, of
Morgana. But she is very young, and has been through much. And she will be
leaving at the end of this week. "It is not something I would have chosen
for you." She bent her head to study her drink, her fingers tracing the
edges of the bowl. I grasped the snifter, taking it away from her and
forcing her to face me. "But I believe you when you say you had little
choice." Her face was tense with fear, holding herself ready for hurt. I
marvelled again that They asked her to become one of Them; she is unsuited
to that life, except for her madness and power. "No, Morgana, I do not hate
you," I said impatiently, quirking my eyebrows, forcing a smile to her
face. "Either for what you have become or what you have done. But I think
you know," I studied her carefully, "that it was a mistake."

        She closed her eyes, swallowing convulsively, and held out her hand
for the glass. I gave it back and she gulped half the contents, gasping a
little at the fire of the brandy. Opening her eyes, I saw the pain and
loneliness that has always been there, ever since I met her in Venice. She
lost too much in the Crossing, I think. I had nothing to lose, and much to
gain; and even I... have my regrets. Morgana's life was sweet, easy, and
soft before Elliot made his last miscalculation. It is a wonder that she is
still alive now, instead of a pile of ashes in some Texas desert.

        "Mistake," Morgana echoed me. "All of this has been a mistake. My
survival. Being an Enforcer. But... I don't want to die. I think that would
be another mistake." She looked out the window again, and I could see no
trace of Nicolas's despair, or her own madness; she was only Morgan, who
delighted in finding new cafes and shops in Italy, and who still sends me
Halloween presents when she knows my address.  "I've never had to act
against my friends before," she whispered.
        "It will be the last time you will have to," I pointed out. "The
last time you will be _allowed_ to, ma petite. Remind yourself of that.
Things will become simple again soon enough."
        She snorted. "Only if they don't saddle me with some retro-fascist
of a partner. Five years, Janette. They're busting me back down to buck
private, when I used to be a first lieutenant, and they're not letting me
off the leading reins until they're satisfied I won't 'screw up' again."
She leaned her forehead against the glass, staring down onto the park
below. "I got used to having my own way. I'm not sure how well this is
gonna work out..."
        "It will be fine," I said bracingly, pouring more brandy-and-blood
into her glass. "There is no other alternative."
        "True."
        We sat and drank in silence a while, then she spoke again. "Lacroix
hasn't changed a bit."
        "He never does."
        "No," she laughed softly. Then, abruptly, "Why do you think he
hates me so much?"
         I shrugged, returning my gaze to the scene outside the window.
"Who can say, for certain?" Morgana shifted restlessly beside me, and I
glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "You could ask him."
        "I did." Her lower lip was stuck out in a pout, dark lashes framing
dissatisfied eyes.  "He said I was a threat to Nick. That I'll get him
killed someday. He hasn't budged on that since Texas."
        "That is probably enough." She still didn't look happy. Sighing, I
put down my drink and swung my legs down from the cushions. "Cherie, you
are much like Nicholas, and all the things that Lacroix most dislikes about
him. Idealistic. Impractical." I stood, holding out my hand to her, and she
let me pull her to her feet. "And you do not trust Lacroix, or respect him.
Or fear him. He does not forgive that easily." I shook my head, putting my
palm against her cheek. "Finally. Nicolas cares about you. Lacroix will
brook no rivals; and he is... insulted, I think, that someone whom Nicolas
has known for such a short time should be closer to his son than he, who
has known him 800 years, and brought him across."
        Her eyes widened suddenly, and a thoughtful look flashed across her
face. "That explains... a lot," she said, raising her hand to rest against
mine, and tilting her head into the caress. She gave my hand a quick
squeeze, then moved away. Morgana probably understood what I did not say;
that Natalie Lambert will always be in danger for that very reason. She may
even come across some day; or find that cure for Nicholas. But she will
never be safe from Lacroix.

        Any more than Morgana will ever be safe at all. I watched her, and
listened to her talk about her incipient move to Prague, and thought again
what I thought when Nick had first arrived with her in tow at my palazzio
in Venice: this one will not last the century.

        Too much power; too little balance. She will not die from
carelessness, or stupidity, I think. It is much more likely that her
passions will be her death, that she will die for love, or in killing some
unstable rogue, or murdered by someone who hates or loves her. I should not
let it hurt me. If I am right, I will have no claim on her soon; she will
no longer be my little sister, my foster-daughter. I should not care about
her at all. One should not let the young ones _matter_ so much, Janette, I
scolded myself. They should simply be amusing, or infuriating.

        But despite my best intentions, my heart continues to thaw, and the
thought of her gone from the world does not make me happy. The thought of
never seeing her again, if I am right about what I am becoming... hurts.
Not as much as the thought of Nicola, but then, there is no other pain next
to that one.  I shall miss her. I shall mourn him.

        Morgana turned, and caught some glimpse of my thoughts in my
expression. "Janette? What's wrong?"

        "Nothing." I crossed to her side, and took the CD she held out of
her hand. "Not that one, it is too sad... Something sweet, I think. Yes.."

        We listened to Edith Piaf until the sun began to rise, then closed
the shutters and went to our beds.

Coda                                         >  *  <

Comments?               send 'em to    VQRW76A@prodigy.com

"The world breaks all of us... but if we are lucky, some of us become
stronger at the broken places." - Madeline L'Engle