Date:         Sun, 6 Dec 1998 18:10:09 -0000 
From: Barbara Vainio <bevainio@worldnet.att.net> 
Subject:      Southern Knight (01/01) 
To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU 


This is the sequel to "Oh, No, Janette".  Hope you enjoy it.

Permission for Mel to archive at fkfic-l.  Anyone else, please ask
permission.

Disclaimer:  LaCroix, Miklos, Janette & Nick. are not mine.  They belong to
Sony/TriStar and I thank them for letting me use them briefly.  There is no
intent to profit from the use of the Forever Knight characters.  Charlotte
Jeffreys is mine, please ask permission if you want to use her.

Special thanks to Lori for being both beta reader and editor
*****************************************

Southern Knight  01/01
By:  Barbara Vainio


Nick could feel the difference as soon as he entered the club.  The usually
self-absorbed dancers made room for him to pass.  The solitary drinkers
exchanged smiles.  The predators, both human and immortal, interrupted
their hunts to acknowledge his presence with furtive glances.

He ran tense fingers through blond hair, further tangling the loose waves.
The Raven wasn't supposed to change.  It was one of the few constants in
his current life.  As...idiosyncratic as it was, he always knew what to
expect.  If Janette was in residence they would flirt carefully, never
openly acknowledging the lifetimes they'd shared, but never able to ignore
them either.  She would encourage him to give up his quest for mortality
and he would, reluctantly at times, refuse to consider it.  Sometimes he
would ask her about a case he was working: her network of contacts was
remarkable.  She always lectured him about wasting his time on mortal
issues, but she rarely refused to help him - even now, with LaCroix back on
the scene.

The homicide detective smiled ruefully.  Now *there* was a change that he
could have done without.  Having his master return from the dead, so to
speak, had been a very unpleasant surprise.  And for Janette to help him
take up permanent residence again was a betrayal that almost equaled her
abandonment of him 6 centuries ago.  Although even LaCroix' presence at the
Raven was beginning to follow a pattern: a few cutting words, followed by a
snide comment or two, ending with a chilly truce or a heated departure.  No
real difference from the last hundred years or so, now that he thought
about it.

He looked around the club, but could see nothing specific to account for
the change in atmosphere.  There was definitely something...something...no,
he couldn't quite place it.  He extended his other senses, and was
immediately assaulted with an overwhelming mix of sound and smell.  He
leaned against the nearest pillar, hands pressed to his temples, shaking
his head rapidly to try to control the sensory overload.  Slowly he managed
to isolate the impressions: the vocalist on the DJ's current selection; the
whisper of cloth against cloth as the dancers moved in rhythm; fragments of
a hundred conversations; the smell of wine, sweat...blood.  Nick flung his
head to one side, fighting to control his reaction.  He could just imagine
the comment from LaCroix if he found out that his "son" had lost control in
the middle of the Raven's dance floor.  Something about "that ineffective
swill you drink not providing you with even the barest essentials of your
existence" no doubt.  Nick wouldn't give him the satisfaction.  He forced
himself to concentrate on something else, anything that would reduce the
unexpected craving produced by the scent of human blood.  He quickly found
an alternative as the bitter reek of human vomit overpowered the seductive
scent of the blood.  He shrugged fatalistically as he pushed himself away
from the pillar and walked toward the bar.

"Miklos, what in the world happened in here?"  He let a boyish grin turn up
one side of his mouth as he quiped,  "Janette will be furious when she gets
a whiff of this."

The bartender continued mopping the floor without looking up, hoping the
offensive odor would dissipate - or at least mingle with the other smells
and become less noticeable.  "She already has and she certainly wasn't
pleased - especially when she found out that the majority of the stuff
wound up on an old friend of...hers."   Miklos wasn't about to mention
Lacroix to this particular patron.  Better to change the subject.  "You
want a drink of your usual?"

Nick looked briefly at the uncorked bottle of house special behind the bar
and abruptly turned to face the dance floor.  "Yeah. Sure. Fine."

The bartender put a full glass of cow blood on the bar, surprised by the
vampire's obvious hesitation.  Whatever demons Knight fought, the battle
was usually private.

Nick reached for his drink without turning around, pausing briefly when he
heard The Nightcrawler coming from the speakers behind the bar.  What was
he blathering on about tonight?

"... disobedience.  Have you ever deliberately disobeyed a request made by
a mentor?... a teacher?...lover?... ...parent?  What were the consequences?
 Were they worth a few fleeting, illusory moments of independence?"

When Nick caught himself evaluating his recent actions to decide if the
question was addressed at him, he quickly pulled his attention back to
solving his puzzle.  Although he did breathe a small sigh of relief when
his inventory turned up nothing that would have annoyed his elder.  He
already had enough hassles.

He was so busy searching for something out of the ordinary, he almost
missed the very normal sounds coming from Janette's apartment.  Two voices
raised to the level where mortal hearing would pick them up.  He couldn't
distinguish the words, but he heard enough to recognize his sister...and
there was something about the other voice.  What was it?  The accent?  It
was certainly unusual, one he hadn't - exactly - heard before.  A sudden
rise in the volume level of the discussion carried the voice clearly into
the bar and Nick staggered under the certainty it brought.  The contralto
voice, the inflections of 18th century London coated now with the honey of
the American South, could only belong to one person.  He threw open the
link he'd shut so tightly 50 years ago, and had barely acknowledged for a
hundred years before that, and was overwhelmed with the essence that was
"Charlotte".  He'd forgotten - by choice - how strong their bond had been,
how deeply she affected him, how much she savored her immortality.  He
slammed the link closed before he could transmit anything to her and turned
to leave the bar.  He was stopped by a loud hiss answered by the sound of
that unique voice snarling "You were too intimidated.  Too afraid.  Too
jealous of how he treated me -."

Nick grabbed the bartender's arm as he moved toward the back room.

"I think it'll be better if I handle this."  The sick expression on the
vampire's face made Miklos wonder if that was true, but he didn't think
this was a good time to argue the point - especially since he would have
been arguing with empty air.

Once Nick was out of sight of the bar's patrons he picked up speed, knowing
he needed to get to Janette's apartment quickly.  The words had been
replaced by growls and snarls which would almost immediately be translated
into actions.  When he flung open the door to the living room, Charlotte
was already off the ground, speeding toward her adversary.  Knowing he
couldn't stop her quickly enough, and relieved that he had an excuse to
postpone any contact with her, he grabbed Janette's arms instead and held
her motionless.  He tried to keep the anger out of his voice as he said, "I
could hear your *discussion* out in the bar and thought I ought to come in
and see what was happening.  It appears it was a good thing I did."  He
supposed he shouldn't have been quite so disappointed when Charlotte
aborted her attack in mid flight and was still able to land gracefully on
her feet.

Looking from one woman to the other he asked, "If I let you both go, will
you promise to behave?"

Janette glared at both him and Charlotte and tried to get free of his grip.
 But when she realized that the fight was over for the moment, she relaxed
and said "Oui, Nicolas".

Charlotte merely transferred her anger from Janette to Nick - a much more
appropriate target for it anyway - and mumbled, "Of course...Father."

She was pleased to see her sarcastic barb strike home before her sire could
school his expression into a very credible imitation of his father's.  She
reached behind her for her glass & took a long swallow.  This was
*definitely* not going the way she planned, but there was no need for
either of her companions to see how that affected her.  She strolled back
to the love seat, picking up the half-empty bottle of bloodwine.  "Would
you like a drink, Nicholas?  I'm sure I can find another glass."

Nick exchanged an amused glance with Janette.  His daughter still had no
trouble making herself at home.  He stared intently at the bottle for a
moment, the scent from the two full glasses heavy in the air, before
brusquely refusing.

Charlotte studied him carefully.  Why would he turn down such an excellent
vintage?  She handed the bottle to Janette, saying calmly,  "If you'd
rather I not pour it, I understand."

Nick once again found himself fighting for control as he watched the dark
liquid swirl behind the green glass.  What was *wrong* with him?  There was
no reason -.  And then he felt it - the muted vibration through his link
with his daughter.  He tried to shut it out, but still that tiny intrusion
remained.  Being this close to her, he couldn't eliminate it all, and it
pulled at him insistently to... what?  In an instant he was across the
room, leaning against the mantel, oblivious to the flames that jumped and
crackled so near him.  He remained there, totally still, the silence behind
him alive with tension, until Janette stood next to him and gently caressed
his shoulder.

"Let me get you a glass of something you'd prefer, mon frere."

The blond vampire whipped out of her grasp.  "NO!"

"But, Nicolas, whyever not?  You know I always keep it in stock.  It is no
problem."

He looked at his sister in amazement.  How could she not understand?  He
could already hear Charlotte's response...

His speculation ended as Janette pulled the cork from an unlabeled bottle
and his daughter's reaction tickled lightly in their link and then burst
loudly on his ears.

"YOU DRINK COW??!!!"

She stared at Nick for a fraction of a second before she doubled over,
sputtering between peels of laughter, "Oh my god...COW?...What in the
world?...When?..."

She stopped suddenly, cocking her head to one side as though straining to
hear something just out of range. Her eyes narrowed as she realized what
was happening.  She raised one eyebrow in her father's direction and
snarled, "I thought you shut me out completely years ago."

Nick turned his back on the anger...and pain the words held.  He grabbed
the bottle Janette still held and returned to stand near the fire in less
than a human heartbeat. "So did I."  His curt answer was delivered in a
tone that was an exact duplicate of his daughter's before he poured half
the contents of the bottle defiantly down his wide-open throat.

"WHY?"  The word was flung across the room like a gauntlet.

Nick chose to accept the challenge by answering gently, "Why do I drink
cow's blood?  Why am I still "alive"?  Why did I shut you out?  Why -?"

Charlotte cut off the litany, shouting to drown out decades, lifetimes, of
rage, "I *know* why you shut me out.  The more I learned to enjoy my
immortality, the more obvious it became that I couldn't - wouldn't -
conform to your twisted notions of guilt and atonement, the harder it was
for you to accept me.  Why was that...Father?  Were you afraid I'd spoil
your martyrdom?  Ruin your self-pity party?  Maybe you should have just
killed me like you did your other children who couldn't live up to your
high standards."  She saw his eyes widen and pressed her advantage.  "Did
you think I wouldn't read that in your blood?  Did you not know how
frightened I was wondering if you would do that to me, too?"  Suddenly the
anger was gone, drained into the well of pain she didn't need a link to
know they shared.  She breathed one last question in a whisper too soft for
a mortal to hear,  "Or did you just not care?"

Nick drained what was left in the bottle he held, battered by the intensity
of what he'd felt through their barely-functional link as his daughter had
raged at him.  How could he ever explain that he'd withdrawn because he'd
cared too much.  He didn't want his "twisted notions of guilt" to corrupt
her...forcing her to doubt herself...or learn to hate him.  Although the
latter, he acknowledged ruefully, seemed to have happened anyway.  But at
least he knew what had been pulling at him since he'd walked into the club
tonight: Charlotte's refusal to judge him had always made it easier for him
to accept what he was, enjoying the pleasures of his existence without
always weighing them against the pain he caused.  He suddenly wondered if
that was what LaCroix had felt with her as well.  They'd certainly never
discussed it.

 He smiled as he studied his daughter, still so completely comfortable with
who - and what - she was, pleased that he hadn't robbed her of that.

He looked at Janette, indicating that he wanted - needed - another drink.
The urge to switch to human blood was still almost overpowering.  He knew
his sister could feel it, but wouldn't force the issue.  He hoped his
daughter would be as considerate.  There was a time when he would have
*known* what her reaction would be.

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

The moon had risen several hours before and he'd been sitting in a dimly
lit tavern waiting for LaCroix to join him.  It was one of those
increasingly rare times that the two of them were comfortable with each
other.  They'd been in Virginia for several months, enjoying the spoils of
the colonist's revolt against England, wagering lightheartedly on the
outcome.  It was finally becoming apparent, as much to his own surprise as
LaCroix', that he would win their bet.  He admired the colonists and their
desire to determine their own destiny, but he'd chosen them only to get a
rise out of his master.  Now he wondered if Lucien would honor his wager.
A couple of years away from the "family", with no interference, was a very
pleasant idea, but Nicholas knew that LaCroix had only accepted the terms
because neither of them believed they would actually have to be met.   He
fatalistically put the thought aside as he sensed his master entering the
room.  He didn't need their link to verify the elder vampire's presence:
the momentary suspension of conversation and the rustling of cloth as the
other patrons, soldiers and civilians alike, moved to the side were enough
to confirm his passage.

When Nicholas finally looked up, he was surprised to see the woman on his
father's arm.  He hadn't heard her heartbeat, although she was most
assuredly mortal and very much enjoying her association with LaCroix if her
flushed face and sparkling eyes were any indication.  He looked covertly at
her neck to see how far their relationship had gone, but she'd styled her
hair to one side, effectively hiding any evidence from view.  He quickly
transferred his scrutiny to her face, which was quite lovely: more round
than oval with skin that suggested she spent as little time in the sun as
he did.  Exquisitely shaped brows curved naturally above dark brown eyes
that returned his gaze comfortably.

He felt his father's amusement at his brief try at detective work...and his
futile attempt to hide it, and smiled in return as he rose to greet their
evening's companion.

LaCroix stroked the fingers of her hand possessively as he extended it.
"Nicholas, may I present Miss Charlotte Jeffreys?  Charlotte, my dear, this
is Nicholas De Brabant, my...traveling companion."

Nick lifted the ungloved hand and stopped his lips just above it as he
acknowledged the introduction.  "I'm honored, Miss Jeffreys."

She smiled warmly as she replied "Enchante, Monsieur De Brabant," in
well-schooled French.  When she switched to English, Nick could hear the
unmistakable accent of upper-class London, noting with surprise that she
was totally at ease in the atmosphere of the working-class tavern.

"Miss Jeffreys and I met the other evening when I offered her my protection
as she walked alone outside the garden of her parents' home.  I suggested
that my presence would deter any unwanted attention her solitary state
might otherwise attract."

Charlotte laughed at the snort Nicholas couldn't quite contain that
indicated his feelings about the "protection" LaCroix' presence would
provide.

"I think the important words in Monsieur LaCrioix' explanation are
'*unwanted* attention'".  She laughed again and turned to look at her
"protector", exposing the left side of her throat - deliberately Nick was
quite sure - briefly to his inquiring eyes.  The two marks were small
enough that Nick knew LaCroix was being very careful: barely breaking the
skin, only sipping from the surface.  There were certainly enough other
ready sources of nourishment that he didn't need to feed from her, but Nick
had seen him instantly dispatch enough beautiful women without regret that
he couldn't help wondering what was different about this one.

Over the next several months he learned quite a lot about Miss Charlotte
Jeffreys and her differences.  The only child of the third son of some
obscure nobleman, she had gladly accompanied her parents when they left
London to settle in the colonies. Here she didn't have to pretend to care
about the pitying glances of her childhood friends as they married one by
one, wondering why Charlotte could never make a match.  She chose not to
tell several of them that she'd refused offers from the gentlemen who had
eventually asked for *their* hands.  In Virginia it could be assumed that
she'd suffered some tragic "loss" from which she was slowly recovering.
Her increasingly frequent appearance on the arm of one or the other of the
"foreign gentlemen" only added to the admiration her mother's friends had
for her "ability to recover from such devastating tragedy."

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

Nicholas found himself smiling at the memories of those months in Richmond.
 The time had truly been idyllic.  He glanced up and surprised a look of
nostalgia on his daughter's face.  He quickly checked their link to see if
he'd been transmitting to her.  She smiled at him the way she had on those
warm Southern evenings as they'd driven from one party to another, talking
about music or painting...or nothing at all.  Her voice held no edge of
sarcasm as she replied to his unspoken question.

"Nicholas, I don't need our link to guess what you were feeling..  We
didn't have it when we first met and I got pretty good at figuring out what
was on your mind."  She sipped from her glass and took a small step closer
to him.

"And if Nicholas had been as skilled at discovering what *you* were
planning, he would have spared us all a lot of...annoyance.  But careful
analysis has never been one of his strong points, has it?"

The dry comment froze Charlotte in place, her usual confidence deserting
her as the tall vampire moved easily into the room, stopping first to hand
a bottle to his son.

"Janette said you *needed* this."

The other two vampires looked around, only now realizing that the
dark-haired woman was no longer in the room.

LaCroix lifted the glass from Charlotte's hand, inhaled the bouquet of its
contents and settled himself comfortably on the love seat, one arm
stretched across its back, his legs crossed at the ankles.  He looked
expressionlessly at the woman who had provided his drink and said
conversationally,

"And I believe *you* wish to discuss betrayal...my dear."

The End

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

Please send all comments to bevainio@att.net