Date: Fri, 24 May 1996 01:41:24 -0400 From: "Meredith E. Pickering" What follows is my first contribution to Forever Knight fiction. A few out- of-the-ordinary disclaimers apply: 1) This story was titled "The Black Rose" in February. I did *not* know that a song on the soundtrack had the same name! 2) This story was set in San Francisco *before* Kindred was first aired! 3) The antique shop in part 3 was my idea, before someone posted that concept to the FORKNI list a few weeks ago. 4) The storyline was altered slightly to explain an alternate ending to LK... Standard disclaimers apply. The characters are not my own. (They've just been bugging the heck out of me to finally finish this story!) The concepts and characters are the property of J.P., TriStar, etc. Comments, Geordie Johnson, and virtual sleep welcomed. (Plan2@aol.com) The Black Rose a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering Prologue (Logan International Airport, Boston, Massachusetts, USA) Dr. Natalie Lambert made her way through the crowded airport terminal, clutching her ticket in one hand and the handle of Sidney's cat carrier in the other. The bag slung over her shoulder was getting heavier by the minute, but it she didn't think she'd have to walk much further to get to Gate 12B. At least she hoped not. Over the past week, she had traveled a greater distance and by more modes of transport than in all of the previous ten years combined. And to what end? The journey before her seemed to stretch seamlessly into a fog of exhaustion: the last few nights, she had not slept at all. When would the restlessness which plagued the twilight hours begin to fade? 'Stop it, Nat!' she told herself, fiercely, 'Concentrate on the here and now.' She was relieved to see, only yards ahead, the sign directing her to the appropriate departure gate. As she handed the ticket to the flight attendant and navigated the narrow corridor to the waiting 757, she wondered, fleetingly, if she looked as tired as she felt. She had promised herself that she wouldn't look in a mirror until her trip was over. She wasn't sure she would recognize her reflection. Once she had slid into her seat and had secured the tranquilized Sidney's carrier on the floor, Natalie broke another of the many promises which she had made. Turning to look out the window as the plane taxied away from the terminal, onto the runway of Logan International Airport in Boston, Nat began to think about the past, about the friends and job she had left behind, and about Nicholas B. Knight. And without realizing it, Nat let the tears roll down her face. When the stewardess, some time later, asked her if she was okay, Natalie shook herself awake from her memories and wiped her cheeks dry with the palms of her hands. Resting gently across her lap lay one black rose. "Nick," she said, to no one in particular,"Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?" The Black Rose (2/*8) a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering You vanish at the dawning of the day: I learn to live with light, but you decay, Caught up inside the guilt no soul can know... Love's memory will die a deep, black rose. Part One - Black and Blue (1228 Fulton Street, San Francisco, California, USA) It was well after midnight, but Natalie found herself curled up on the couch staring at the painting on her townhouse wall. The fact that she was still wide awake could be blamed on an inability to adjust to working days, even after two and a half years. The painting was a silhouette of the Toronto skyline at sunset - or sunrise- she wasn't sure which. Nat cursed herself softly, closing her eyes and letting her head hit the back of the couch with a thud. Disturbed by the sudden movement, Sidney woke from his nap, stretched, and jumped from the arm of the sofa. "I know, Sid, I know. You're tired of this whole routine. I stay up late. I wake up late. I complain a lot. I'm really tired of all this, too. It should be simpler." She flung away the afghan, which had been draped over her shoulders, and got to her feet. "I'm not homesick anymore. I like it here. But I miss him, Sid." Sidney meowed pitifully and brushed against her legs. "I know, I'm stupid. I'm teaching in a University hospital, and I'm an idiot. Great!" she exclaimed sarcastically. She began to pace the stiffness out of her complaining joints, but the townhouse suddenly felt too small and too close. Outside, the fog would be rising, slowly unfolding itself from the harbor and reaching for the hills. A few minutes later, Natalie found herself rummaging under the coffee table for her socks and sneakers. She was still wearing a tee-shirt and sweatpants, her typical, un-glamorous, after work outfit. She pulled on her favorite hooded sweatshirt, which had been draped over the back of a chair, and picked up her keys. Sidney had settled himself into the warm spot she had created on the couch. "I know this is silly, Sid, but I'm going for a walk. Be a good cat and call the police if I'm not back in an hour." She laughed at herself after the words were spoken, but crossed the living room and took the stairs two at a time, anyway. Flicking the porch light on, she stepped outside and found herself shivering, rendered small and alone by the empty, indifferent city. She stood, letting the cool night air of San Francisco blow her tangled hair away from her face and gazing at the shadows moving in the depths of the darkness before testing the front door to assure herself that she had remembered to lock it. She turned left: it was less than a mile to the most frequented areas of Golden Gate Park, and she really needed to clear her head. As she walked, she thought about what had driven her from Toronto, and the grim months which had followed. She had half expected Nick to come after her: she had almost wanted him to track her down. But after that last night, she had known that he didn't really want her. That he had never wanted them to be together. Her attempt to make him realize the depths of her feelings had very nearly ended in disaster. Had Nick ever really loved anyone? Nat wasn't sure. All she knew was that her love for him refused to die. The journey to a new life had been dizzying and terrifying. She had paid for her purchases with cash, and had taken an indirect route to San Francisco, staying with friends in upstate New York and Vermont along the way. Finally, she had flown from Boston to Los Angeles and had driven north, boarding with her old college advisor and his wife until suitable lodging could be found. Suitable came months after her arrival, after she had started working daytime hours as an Assistant Professor at the University. A townhouse, vacated by a colleague during a two year sabbatical, proved ideal. But the two years were almost over: Natalie almost wanted to rent a place in her own name this time, just to see if Nick was even trying, or if he had forgotten Natalie and his dreams of mortality. 'Mortality,' she mused, lacing her hands together inside the pouch of her sweatshirt,'I have it, and I couldn't care less. Here I am, walking in the shadows of a big city at night, remembering another big city...' He had given her no choice. He had kept hinting about moving on. Ever since the incident with the black buddha that fall, and Janette's return in the spring, he kept talking about... No, that wasn't exactly right, he hadn't talked at all, he had merely seemed restless. And bored. She was passing by a row of Victorian brownstones now, and she paused to look up at one of the lighted windows, hearing the faint strains of an argument within. The brownstones reminded her of the house she had briefly considered buying, out near High Park, and of the real home she had dreamed, foolishly, might belong to Natalie Lambert and Nicholas Knight. Nick had grown so distant over the preceding months: Natalie was sure he had felt trapped between her friendship and her love. Well, so had she. In desperation, unwilling to bury the feelings and "put on a happy face", Nat had forced him to choose. It had been a mistake. A nearly fatal mistake. Blinking away the tell-tale signs of her sadness, she turned her back on the brownstones as she rounded the corner. She remembered waking up feeling weak and drained, in her own bed. A figure stood at the window, gazing out. "Nick?" she had asked, in a voice that seemed to small to be her own. She had reached up to touch her neck and had felt the two small scars: the Natalie Lambert who was walking through San Francisco two and a half years later did the same. "No." the reply had come, and Janette had stepped from the shadows. She looked as pale and fragile as Natalie felt. "No, Dr. Lambert, Nicholas is not here." "Am I..." Natalie had ventured in a questioning voice, instinctively knowing the answer. "You are not a vampire." Janette had looked directly at her, the sadness in her gaze speaking volumes. "He could not bring you across. He would not." she had continued in a hushed tone, "And he condemns himself for almost taking your life." Natalie had struggled to sit up, but the effort winded her. Janette had moved forward and gently rearranged the pillows, tucking the covers back in place. "You lost too much blood." Janette had informed her, "You've been sleeping for three days." "Three days!" Nat had repeated, dazed, then "Where is Nick?" "Gone." Janette had turned from the bed and walked back to the window. "Out there somewhere." she made an expansive gesture with her hand, "LaCroix is watching over him. I think it is best if you do not try to find him, no?" At that, Natalie had lapsed into silence. She and Janette had understood each other, in that moment. Nicholas deBrabant always ended up hurting the people he claimed to love. "Would you like some tea?" Janette had asked, abruptly, clearing her throat. "I'll go make something for you to eat." She had left the room quickly, but Natalie still noticed the beginnings of red tears in her eyes. The disastrous impact of the last night had left Natalie feeling like she was slowly falling apart. Janette had stayed only another couple of days, enough time for Natalie to regain some of her strength. Nat took a several week's leave from her job, using her accumulated vacation time and vague references to personal losses. There was no word from Nick: none of the usual flowers, no explanations, no apologies. Only Grace showed up early on a Friday morning, telling her that she looked awful and advising her to get some sleep before reminding Natalie of their long- standing friendship. 'Some things are stronger than friendship. Or love.' Nat had thought, listening patiently to Grace's obligatory "Call if you need to talk." It had been a nice offer, but her plans had already been made. Saturday was D- Day: Departure Day. She could never return to the Toronto P.D., to the coroner's office, even to the Raven. Tracy was gone, Vachon, Laura Haynes, now Nick, all vanished from her life. All night Friday, until dawn on Saturday, Nat had alternated between packing and dissolving into miserable tears. It would have helped to talk to someone. Anyone. Who? Continuing her walk, Nat shook herself out of her memories and forced herself to notice the details and noises which surrounded her. Her vision was adjusting to a darkness which was populated by parked cars, streetlights, and the occasional drifter sleeping on a park bench or grate. Ahead she could make out the faint outlines of the University of San Francisco's Life Sciences complex where she taught. The students in her forensics and gross anatomy classes were, generally, very bright, but couldn't be compared to her colleagues in the Toronto Coroner's Office. On a weekly basis, she was seldom likely to be intellectually challenged, an aspect of her work which she still missed. But she didn't pine for the corpses, siphoned dry, which occasionally appeared on the slab. Nor did she wish to discover that another body had risen to capture her soul with an odd mixture of charm and fatalism. As she crossed the street toward the sprawling expanse of the park and the lights of the harbor, she found herself wondering if Nick really had captured her soul. 'If I could have explained...' she said, to no one in particular. That last dawn, she had left the windows open to spill the first light across the carpet as she checked the kitchen drawers for items she might forget. She had almost finished when the soft rustling of the curtains made her straighten and turn abruptly, hitting her head on the open cupboard above the sink in the process. Blinking back tears, she had focused on an unfamiliar shadow laying across the coffee table. In the dawn, the rose was as black as a midnight sky in December. The note had been written neatly and succinctly. "Goodbye." With three years of hindsight, Natalie still wasn't sure if Nick had understood: the human life she was living didn't really matter. In the end, Nick would be alone, moving through another century without being able to share his pain. At first, Natalie had really believed that she could help him find the cure and could grant his wish, but she was no genie in a bottle. The risk she had taken in asking Nick to love her had been senseless: she should have known that he would never "condemn her to darkness", as he so colorfully referred to it. What could she do? Approach LaCroix and ask him to bring her across? She almost laughed at the thought. Her life had changed, forever, and she wasn't sure she liked the direction it had taken. She was just a lonely woman in a big city, living without a reason. Nat shivered again, aware that she was thinking herself in circles. She had walked further than intended, but had solved nothing. She stood for a moment in the depths of the darkness and wondered if Nick were standing in the depths of the darkness, and if so, where? Then Natalie turned around and headed back to Fulton Street, never noticing the shadow watching her from amidst the trees. The Black Rose (3/8) a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering You waken to the touch of memories: The strength of love can bring you to your knees, Caught up in framing reasons to say "no".... Love's memory will die a deep, black rose. Part Two- Black and Red (Toronto, Canada) "I was born before the dark/And seeing its conception,/Understanding its nature,/Am myself part of it./ My acts are acts of contrition." The voice of the Nightcrawler reached out from the radio, and Nick glanced around the shop, shaking off the feeling of another familiar presence. "Taliesin, the immortal Welsh poet, reincarnated in every age of man to express the suffering of humanity. Taliesin speaks of life: it is the wind through the trees, the longing in a lover's eyes. Taliesin speaks of death: it is the endless ocean, the fate that cannot be denied. Just so, Taliesin writes that death is part of life. Yet Taliesin has cheated the finality of death for centuries. Can we cheat fate? Can we be given a second chance?" LaCroix voice trailed off into silence. It was four a.m.. The Nightcrawler was off the air. Sighing, Nicholas Knight finished polishing the dagger and placed it beneath the glass of the display case. The feeling of being watched wouldn't be shaken off. He turned to find Tracy illuminated by the light in the hallway and dropped the heavy ring of keys for the cases and cabinets of 'Another Life Antiques' squarely on his foot. "Hi, Nick." she said, with a faint smile. Her pale blond hair was tied back and her face was so pale as to be almost transparent. "What a mess you've got, partner." He couldn't tell if she meant the shop, which he opened in the evenings during the week, and 'by appointment', or if she was referring to his life. Such as it was. Ignoring the comment, he asked the obvious instead. "Who brought you across?" Tracy walked past him and sat in an elegant 18th century chair, curling her legs up under her. "Vachon." she replied, simply, then "You didn't tell me that vampires don't necessarily die when they're staked. Of course, you didn't tell me that you were a vampire, either." Nick winced. He had regretted that decision: when Natalie told him that Tracy was dead, the secret he had kept from his partner had added to his burden of guilt. So had everything else that happened that day. "I'm sorry." he bent and picked up the keys, placing them on the counter top and avoiding Tracy's eyes. "I know." she answered, shrugging, "I didn't mean it to sound like an accusation." "So, what happened to Vachon? To you?" Nick pulled up a packing crate and sat down, leaning his arms on his knees. He couldn't seem to stop himself from staring at Tracy. She was beautiful as a vampire, and so self-confident. "Well," she began, shifting to make herself more comfortable. "It started when I poured a bottle of blood over Vachon's grave, as a memorial. The soil, I guess, was loosely packed. If I had stayed, I would have seen that all those hours spent digging in the cold ground were for nothing. He stopped at the Raven to say goodbye on the night that I was shot. It was almost dawn: you had gone to LaCroix, you had told him about the incident. LaCroix told Vachon. He found me in the hospital, drained me almost to the point of death." "Then they pronounced you dead, and he stole you away and brought you across." Nick interrupted, standing and turning his back to Tracy abruptly. He was remembering Natalie's still form as she lay in his arms. "No," Tracy called his attention back, her voice soft. "He brought me across right then and there. He felt that I would be more comfortable taking my first blood from those who were already dying. Then he let them take me to the morgue. After that, it was merely a matter of persuasion," she emphasized the word 'persuasion', "My parents quickly saw the merit of a closed-casket funeral." Tracy shuddered. "You know, Nick, you never realize how much someone loves you until you can't be with them anymore." "I know." Nick leaned against the doorway, eyes closed, trying to shut out the image of Natalie as she asked him to make love to her. Trusting Natalie. Loving Natalie. Gone-from-his-life Natalie. "Well, Nick, I have to get back to the church before dawn." She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Vachon and I, well, we haven't decided where we'll go. For now, I'm enjoying this new point of view. I still have a lot to learn." "Take care of yourself, Trace. You and Vachon, both." He had said far too many goodbyes in the last few years. He was not going to say goodbye again. But what else was there? 'Hey Tracy, we should all get together and talk about the past.' Yeah, right. She walked past him, then turned, extending a small envelope. "LaCroix asked me to give you this." He shook his head and refused to take it, so Tracy laid the note on the back stairs and smiled sadly, letting the screen door shut behind her with a sharp bang. For the next hour, Nick avoided the back hallway by cleaning the cases, closing the heavy drapes, and settling the cash register, even though he'd only made one sale. Eventually, he could feel the sun beginning to rise, so he locked the doors and went up the stairs, taking LaCroix's letter with him. "Can we be given a second chance?" LaCroix's words mocked him. He set the envelope on the bedside table and tried to sleep. Burying his face in the black satin sheets, he waited for darkness to take him. Instead, he saw her face again, sweet Natalie, gentle Natalie, why Natalie? He woke with a start, drenched in a cold sweat, expecting to find her lifeless body next to him in bed. He had dreamed that LaCroix drained her and made him watch. He had dreamed that Janette had stood at the foot of the bed, looking on. But there was nobody in the room, no sound except his own, harsh breathing. "You win." Nick picked up the note and opened it. The typeset card read: "The Nightcrawler regrets to inform you that the Raven is under new ownership. Any correspondence for Lucien LaCroix may be addressed to: 81 Second Street San Francisco, CA Watch for the opening of San Francisco's newest night spot at the above address!" Nick stared blankly at the card. So LaCroix was leaving? Why? Who was in San Franciso? As Nicholas Knight began replace the card in its envelope, he noticed that the envelope was not empty. Turning the contents over into his hand, he began to cry as soon as the first black rose petals spilled across his skin. The Black Rose (4/8) a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering Still waiting for the moment you awake: The strength of love can cause your heart to break. While angels tread above, you walk below.... Love's memory will die a deep, black rose. Part Three A - Just Black (San Francisco, California, USA) Her own apartment, at last. It wasn't luxurious, but it belonged to Dr. Natalie Lambert, and that meant something. Besides the fact that it was a third floor apartment, which made Nat's knees hurt like hell by the time she had conquered the three flights at the end of the day, it was also the top floor in an expansive old house with an unparalleled view of Golden Gate Park, and, on a good day, the Bridge. So maybe she was spending a little too much for rent and a lot too much for utilities, but she could choose her own style, her own furniture, and her own memories. Nat fought to remove the key from the door with her arms full of groceries and a bag of final grade sheets, which had to be proofed, slowly slipping from her shoulder. The phone began to ring as soon as she was safely inside, leaning back against the door and exhaling sharply to blow wayward strands of hair from her face. Nat debated dropping the groceries in order to catch the phone, but decided that whoever was calling could leave a message or try again. The natural foods market around the corner was great, but their insistence on using paper bags instead of plastic was beginning to complicate her life: anything with handles would have been so much easier to carry. Natalie listened to the recording of her own voice as she walked into the kitchen, tripping over Sidney the whole way. 'Hi ,' the Natalie on the answering machine said, 'The doctor's not in just now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you eventually.' The machine beeped just as Nat put the groceries on the counter and slid her briefcase to the floor at her feet. It was a Friday, and still early: the spring air was almost too warm, but the breeze off the water was pleasant. Nat picked up Sidney, and then almost dropped him as she heard the voice on her answering machine. "Dr. Lambert, I really do hate talking to inanimate objects. If you are there, do pick up." LaCroix began. Trembling, Nat gently placed Sid in his favorite chair. There was a brief silence as LaCroix waited for an answer and Natalie hesitated, hand on the phone. "I realize that it must be a shock to hear from one of your *old* friends..." Steeling herself, Nat extended the antenna of her portable phone and clicked on the power, an action which automatically disconnected the answering machine. Nat realized that she could hear her own heart beating: no wonder, when she was talking to a man - no, cancel that - a vampire who had almost ended her life. Permanently. A vampire who had insisted on keeping her apart from Nick. "Hello, LaCroix." she said, surprised by the calm tone of her voice., then "Why are you calling me?" The last sounded a bit more abrupt than she had intended, but it communicated her feelings of resentment adequately. LaCroix had seen Nick, had talked to Nick, had been in the same city with Nick over the past three years. All of the above were events which would never occur in Natalie's life again. A sense of desolation washed over her. "No need to be hostile, Doctor," he returned smoothly, "And I think the more appropriate question might be 'What are you doing in San Francisco, LaCroix?'." "You're in San Francisco?" Natalie squeaked in a very undignified tone. All the breath had rushed out of her: she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. "You're *in* San Francisco?" she repeated, forcing the words to come out more strongly. "Yes, Doctor, I have made my new home in the Bay Area. I have been here for some two months now." LaCroix was measuring his words very carefully, sensing Natalie's fear. Frankly, he didn't blame her. He had found himself on the edge of being afraid on that night, three years ago. It was a feeling that he wasn't likely to forget. Natalie wasn't sitting down, but she wished she was closer to a chair. She turned and leaned against the doorframe, grateful for the support of the solid wood. Outside, the sky was a brilliant blue, but inside, Nat was unaware of her surroundings: the sound of the gulls crying in the distance, the sunlight slanting across the oriental rug in the living room, the breeze moving the curtains. She felt completely numb. "Damn you!" she spoke aloud, "Why are you calling me?" "My dear," LaCroix replied, "I am already damned. In any case, I have called to offer you a truce..." he paused, "And a gift." "Why should I believe you?" Natalie shot back, without pausing to think. She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn't seem to force it past the lump in her throat. Sidney stood on the arm of the couch, watching her quizzically. "What do you have to offer me that I could possibly want?" "Eternal life." LaCroix answered, truthfully, waiting for her angry response. When it didn't come, he asked "Dr. Lambert? Are you listening?" Natalie wasn't listening. She had slid to the floor, knees against her chest, back against the doorframe. All the color had drained from her face, and she had to fight to blink back tears. Was LaCroix saying that he accepted her relationship with Nick? Or that he felt Nick needed her? She struggled not to hope that the answer was yes. She merely asked, "Why?" The small, quiet voice wasn't hers. It belonged to the woman who had left Toronto with her beliefs and her heart shattered, the pieces scattered on the floor of her soul. The Black Rose (5/8) a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering Part Three B - A Little Blacker (San Francisco, California, USA) It was nearly ten, or it was only four hours later: whichever way Natalie thought about it, her last evening among the *living* had been methodically planned. She had been pleased that she could view the whole experience with an almost clinical detachment. However, as she tucked the supplies into her briefcase, she realized that her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't get the closures to latch. LaCroix had explained everything. Everything. She was fairly sure that he hadn't left any reasons out. Not even the reasons that might have hurt her feelings. Natalie and LaCroix, and even Janette, had an odd bond of kinship: Nick was ignoring them all, as if pretending that there was no relationship was an alternative to the difficult situations they faced. Yet they all loved him. Janette had followed Natalie to San Francisco three years ago and had been watching over her, knowing from their brief contact that Nick had damaged more than just Natalie's health. LaCroix had stayed near Nick, but their contact had been brief and bitter. That last night was never mentioned, yet Nick's nightmares reflected his guilt. "You don't just talk to him, you speak to him. The difference is this: Nicholas listens to you. He hears. Neither Janette nor I have that kind of power over him, despite all the years." LaCroix had sounded neither jealous nor angry, "So, I came after Janette, in hopes that through you, we might somehow regain our Nicholas." The decision had been easy. Natalie was allowed to choose the time, and the place. "Janette would have brought you across herself, you know." LaCroix confided, "She hated to see you suffer for Nicholas' sins. But she is still a novice, in terms of her control, if not her knowledge." Natalie had decided to give herself a few hours to set things straight. She had watched her last sunset from Golden Gate Park. She had delivered her grade sheets to the University and requested night classes for her fall semester assignment. She had stopped by the lab to pick up some fresh blood, although she was sure that Janette and LaCroix would bring an adequate supply. 'Better safe than sorry.' she told herself, giving a wry smile at her choice of words. It was better that Natalie knew what to expect. She asked her neighbor to keep an eye on the apartment, and Sidney, because she might be away for several days. She drew the blinds in case she decided to return home. She left some of the blood in the refrigerator, in case she came home hungry. Finally, Nat sent out for all of her favorite foods. Chinese. A hamburger and fries. Pizza. Souvlaki, in honor of Schanke. Chocolate. She didn't eat much of any one item, just enough to remember the taste. Blinking, Natalie looked around the kitchen again. She had done the dishes, made the bed, cuddled Sid. She hoped she was dressed appropriately for the occasion, in jeans and a low-necked black top. She had briefly considered wearing a dress, but could think of nothing more embarrassing than fainting dead-away in a short skirt. She might be getting used to Janette and LaCroix, but they were not yet intimate friends. Nat envisioned writing a new best- seller based on her experience: "Get To Know Your Killer *Before* You Die" by Natalie Lambert, Vampire. Picking up her keys and her purse, Nat heard the taxi honk its horn down at the curb and took a deep breath. It was 10:15: she had 15 minutes to get to Ghirardelli Square. LaCroix and Janette would meet her there, they would take a walk by the water, she would ask questions, they would answer them. And when she was ready, she would be brought across. "That's not so scary Nat, is it?" she asked herself aloud, closing and locking the door. With a sick sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, Natalie began her descent. The Black Rose (6/8) a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering Part Three C - Black As Sin (Ghirardelli Square, San Francisco, California, USA) She didn't see them at first. She stood at the outskirts of the Square, watching people pass by, arm in arm, casting long shadows in the romantic glow of the gas lamps. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and found herself turning to face Janette DuCharme and Lucien LaCroix. "Hello Natalie." Janette said softly. The two women embraced. Janette could feel Natalie's fear: it was as palpable as the mist which had started to blanket the harbor. For a night in May, it was going to be chilly. LaCroix took off his cloak and wrapped it around Natalie's shoulders. "It is all well and good that you should make this process easier by baring your neck," he began, inclining his head in greeting, "But we don't want you getting cold, my dear." Natalie shivered at his choice of words. "Ignore him." Janette instructed, taking Natalie by the arm and sweeping her along. LaCroix fell into step on her other side. They were headed for a small restaurant down by the docks. "I already ate." she told them flatly. LaCroix simply smiled and kept walking, but Janette whispered conspiratorially "You'll never be able to drink and get drunk again, Natalie. Besides, we were thinking that a few glasses of wine might calm your nerves. And we will have a quiet place to talk." It was thoughtful, Natalie admitted, aware that the restaurant was empty. "Is it closed?" she asked, peering through the glass of the door. This time LaCroix answered, matter-of-factly, "I know the owner." He took a key from his pocket and fitted it to the lock. As a courtesy to Nat, LaCroix turned on the lights. Her vision was still poor in the darkness, but that would change soon. "After you, ladies." he announced, bowing low. Nat had to suppress a giggle. The deck had a lovely view of the harbor, and the bar was fully stocked. "White or red?" Janette queried, removing three crystal goblets from the rack above the bar. She shrugged and explained "Once a barmaid, always a barmaid." Natalie had always loved a good white zinfandel, but she supposed the transition would be easier if she drank a red, so she requested merlot. Picking up her glass and turning her back to her companions, she stared out over the ships and the lights. She was still shaking like a leaf, but had developed a certain level of comfort, both with her companions and her decision. LaCroix's cloak smelled like horses and leather, and Natalie found herself smiling faintly. "If you'd rather wait until another night..." Janette was the first to voice the thought. She had come up behind Natalie without a sound. "No," she shook her head and took another sip of the wine, savoring the smoky droplets on her lips. "Waiting won't change my mind." She though that she could smell, faintly, the bitterness of the blood they were drinking, and wondered, briefly, how it would taste. "I'm glad." Janette walked past her to the railing, drawing her own cloak more closely about her. "You're intelligent. I won't have to explain *everything*." She looked over her shoulder at Natalie and her face expressed her impatience. Then her tone moderated. "Of course, that doesn't mean I won't answer your questions." "Speaking of questions..." LaCroix began, pouring himself a second full goblet, "Ask away, Natalie Lambert." He met her eyes and seated himself on a table, as if he were sitting in a comfortable chair, placing his feet on the bench which had been intended to serve as chair instead. Janette remained at the railing. Nat took her place on the table opposite LaCroix, sitting cross- legged. "Aren't you just a little bit scared?" Natalie inquired, trying, unsuccessfully, to hold his gaze. "No." He dropped the word onto the air and it sank like a lead weight. "The truth." Nat countered, looking from LaCroix to Janette and back. "You promised that you would only tell me the truth." LaCroix took another deep gulp, then "Yes, Dr. Lambert. I'm actually more than a little bit scared." His tone mocked her words, but he was making fun of himself for his perceived weakness. He continued, and his expression became distant. "I never thought that Nicholas really loved you. I never thought that he could believe in anything except his eternal misery. I never thought that he would lose control with you. I never thought that he would fail to listen to me - eventually. You were right to test him, to push him to his limits. You were right to tell him - what was that? - 'You only have to love me as much as I love you.' The problem wasn't in your trust. No, the problem was that I never thought that Nicholas would believe in anyone else as much as he had believed in me." "And now?" Natalie pushed him to continue. Janette, apparently, wasn't listening: she kept her back toward Nat and LaCroix, watching the ships and the stars. "And now," there was a deep sorrow in LaCroix's words, "Now Nicholas blames me for keeping you apart. I drove the stake through his shoulder, you know. I disabled him so that he couldn't fight, and he couldn't protest, and he couldn't save your life. It was Janette who saved you, and Janette who Nick spoke with soon after. He asked her to watch over you. He told her that he could never see you again: he was so sure that you must hate him." Janette interrupted, in a voice that was barely audible. "Forgive me, Natalie. I told him that you *did* hate him. I thought if you were no longer part of his life, he might move on at last." She bowed her head, her hair hiding her features. "You see," Natalie looked back at LaCroix, "I made him break his vow." LaCroix took a deep breath of the night air, his knuckles going white where they were curled around the table's edge. "He swore to never leave you. I made him leave. Worse than hurting you was the knowledge that he had destroyed your faith by disappearing." Natalie was stunned. All of them had made some foolish assumptions: Nat wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She had assumed that Nick could control his hunger. Nick had assumed that she would never understand his loss of control. Further, Nick had assumed that her love was finite, and had ended in that moment when her trust was betrayed. LaCroix had assumed that Nicholas could not have faith in a mortal soul. Janette had assumed that Nick needed to move on. It wasn't fair, but she couldn't help it: she felt cheated out of three years of her life. "You gave me back my human life, but you took away everything that mattered. Isn't that a little like playing God?" she asked, glancing down at her empty wine glass. Janette, who had been watching as she drained the last swallow, took the goblet from her grasp and admitted, "Yes." "I feel responsible." LaCroix stepped toward Natalie, "I know I threatened to cause Nicholas no end of grief if he ever found his true love. It was an idle threat: I cannot stand to see my child in pain. If the only way that you can conquer the past and claim the future is for you to become a vampire, I would not put the means beyond your reach." LaCroix held his hands out toward her, palms up. She reached out to him, unfolded her legs, and stepped away from the table. "You won't feel much pain." Janette began, "But then, you already know what it feels like to have one of us drain you. You will witness some vivid memories: they come with the blood, so don't try to understand them. And don't worry: I will stay, Natalie." "Thank you," she whispered, meaning both for the explanation and for the way they were about to change her life. She walked into LaCroix's arms and almost burst into tears as she felt his gentle kiss on her forehead. Natalie Lambert stood on tiptoe to tell Lucien LaCroix "I forgive you." before tilting her head to leave her neck exposed. The Black Rose (7/8) a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering You find a hidden meaning in your prayers: The strength of love is borne if it is shared, It comes to you, a saint in devil's clothes... Love's memory is kept by one black rose. Part Four A - Black Again (81 Second Street, San Francisco, California, USA) Natalie woke and stretched, uncurling herself and rolling over onto her back. She felt as though she had been trying to sleep off a really bad hangover, and wondered how late it was. She became aware of two things simultaneously: first, that there was no sun shining through the window onto her bed, and second, that she wasn't in her own bed. Blinking, she opened her eyes to darkness and lifted her hand to her neck. There was no scar, no bruising, no tenderness, but the memories rushed back, flooding her conciousness. LaCroix had been unexpectedly careful, gently draining her until she was lost somewhere in that never-never land between life and death. Then he had brought her across, pressing his opened wrist to her mouth until she began to drink, hunger overpowering amazement and fear. His blood was rich and the taste surprised her: it wasn't bitter, as she had expected, but sweet and heady. Nat pushed herself to a sitting position against the pillows. She was wearing a nightgown, but did not remember undressing. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, she realized that LaCroix was sitting in a chair by the bed, watching her. "Good evening, Natalie," he had steepled his fingers together and now pressed the tips of his index fingers against his lips, "I trust you slept well." She wanted to inspect her own hands, her face, her skin, but was afraid that he would laugh. Natalie knew she had changed, as if the very composition of her body had been altered. "Yes, I did." she replied, after a moment's hesitation. Then she glanced expectantly at him, unsure of the next step. "You will be fine, Natalie." LaCroix said, as if he could read her mind. She felt the link between them, the bond of child to father. Out of habit, he switched on a small lamp on the bedside table and stood, his clothes creased into the shape of the chair, trying without success to smooth the wrinkles. "Did you sleep in the chair?" she inquired, "Watching over me?" "I did." he nodded, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. "Do you have any other questions, Natalie?" "Why didn't you sleep on the bed with me?" Nat asked the first thing that came to mind. "I mean I half expected to wake up with your arms around me: that's the last thing I remember before the hunger took over..." She busied herself by trying to straighten the sheets, her cheeks coloring. 'So vampires can still blush.' she made a mental note, berating herself for talking before thinking. Of course, it was her first evening to wake up dead. LaCroix caught her by the shoulders and turned her so that they were standing eye to eye. "Don't be embarrassed." he instructed, his expression serious, "It is a reasonable question. But I'm not sure that I have a reasonable answer." He paused. "Which, by the way, may be a first for me." He continued, "It has something to do with my daughter who was also my mother. It has something to do with Nicholas' sister. And it has much to do with that fact that you belong to Nicholas." Natalie breathed deeply, trying to piece together the images she had derived from his blood. "Divia I know about," she said, almost apologetically, sitting at the foot of the bed and looking up at LaCroix, "Nick told me. I hope you aren't arriving at any comparisons! But Nick's sister?" "Fleur." LaCroix sat beside her, a wistful look crossing his face, then "As you may be aware, Natalie, I did not intend for you to drink so deeply of my blood- and therefore my life." He took her hand, tracing the thin line of the veins in her wrist as he talked. "Fleur was Nick's sister, and she was my one true love. She was so trusting, so warm, and so entirely like you, Natalie, that I could not bring myself to draw away. Janette had to force you to drink from a bottle of blood instead. The strange thing," he looked away from Nat, as if by staring into the dark corner of the room he could catch a better glimpse of his former life, "The strange thing is that I seem to have forgiven Nicholas now, for separating me from Fleur. We were both merely trying to protect her. In the end, neither of us knew how. It seems that you can never save the ones you care about the most: not from the world, and most certainly not from themselves." "Ouch," Natalie complained, trying to lighten the mood, "It hurts to think too much. Let's turn to a less complicated subject. Where am I?" "You're in one of the upstairs rooms of my new nightclub." LaCroix replied. "Actually," Janette interrupted, pulling back a thick velvet curtain which hung across the doorway, "This is *our* new nightclub. The Black Rose." Natalie looked up quickly, surprised. Janette continued, coming to a halt in front of LaCroix and Nat, "Yes, ma chere, the name was chosen to remind Nicholas of his true love. He will find you here. He must." "You really believe that Nick and I belong together?" Natalie asked. "I'm not so sure about 'believe'," LaCroix responded, getting to his feet and gazing pensively down at Natalie, "It reminds me a little too much of 'faith'. But I've developed a certainty," he paused, "A feeling that you two will be just fine. That no matter how hard I might work to keep you separate, I'd be fighting a losing battle. I have learned something about war since my years as a Roman General: I have learned the art of surrender. Or, as I am fond of saying, if you can't beat them, let them join *you*!" LaCroix chuckled and continued, "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have a club to open." He paused to kiss Janette lightly on the lips as he left the room, and their eyes met in a moment of deep understanding. Somehow, Nat felt like an interloper, so she busied herself taking stock of the room until LaCroix was gone. "Now," Janette began, sitting unceremoniously on the foot of the bed next to Nat, "I know you must have a million questions. More important, however: you are hungry. We should go for a walk, no? But first, we will should get you cleaned up, and dressed." Janette paused and smiled encouragingly at her. Nat felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach and realized that she would have to feed. "You're going to teach me to kill." she stated blandly, mildly bewildered by her lack of distaste at the thought. She got to her feet, stretching, as Janette observed her, clearly trying to gauge her reaction. "You could drink the house vintage, if it bothers you." Janette conceded, making a face. "But you might not always... That is, it would be..." "Better to learn." Natalie interrupted, "I agree." She glanced around and added "Do you have anything for me to wear? I gather my outfit was ruined." She felt that she was being rather businesslike about the whole matter, but the hunger was starting to tear at her. The night before, she had fed until sated. She remembered the taste of LaCroix's blood: it had been like fire running through her veins. The blood from the bottle had been without flavor by comparison. "Your style of clothing has always been a bit, well, conservative." Janette offered, standing, "Although," she paused, and Natalie found herself laughing. "What?" "Janette," Nat fought to smother more laughter and drew a long breath, "I'll wear whatever fits me. To tell you the truth, I feel like a different person now, anyway." The Black Rose (8/8) a Forever Knight tale by Meredith E. Pickering Part Four B- Black of Knight (81 Second Street, San Francisco, California, USA) They walked back into The Black Rose together, hours later, looking strangely like sisters. Two beautiful women, one in a crushed red velvet top and tight- fitting leather skirt, the other in a blue silk blouse and tight- fitting black jeans. LaCroix wore a look of surprise as they seated themselves at the bar. "Have you enjoyed youselves?" he asked, trying not to stare at Natalie. In the nine years since Nicholas had made the doctor's acquaintance, LaCroix had never seen her so animated, so alive. No, that was a poor choice of words. Natalie Lambert was glowing. The royal blue of the blouse brought out the color of her eyes, and the lines which formerly betrayed her age had practically disappeared from her face. She cast a sidelong glance at Janette and licked her lips. "She was definitely hungry." Janette told LaCroix, "Yet she was so careful feeding. The man she took was the kind who deserved to suffer, but I don't think he felt any pain. She's a natural." There was a note of satisfaction in Janette's voice. Natalie, disconcerted by the attention, turned her attention to an examination of the nightclub. The Black Rose was located in a neighborhood of old townhouses and retail shops. It had once been a hotel, but had been renovated and now boasted two dance floors: one on the ground level, and one at the top of the wide stairs. Both the upstairs and downstairs had a scattering of tables, the lights were dim, and the music was loud enough to mask the sounds of conversation. Or at least it would have been, to human ears. Natalie could hear each voice distinctly, if she concentrated. "Hello...Natalie..." Janette interrupted her thoughts, and Nat turned her attention back to her companions. Vaguely, she wondered if Sidney was getting lonely. Perhaps tomorrow night she would stop through the empty apartment. A sense of something important and familiar intruded on her conciousness. "I have the strangest feeling of being watched." Natalie told Janette and LaCroix, "Why?" LaCroix merely took two glasses down from the shelf behind the bar and filled them, refilling his own glass at the same time. "Shall we explain, or let her wonder for a while, Janette?" he inquired, arranging the full wine glasses on napkins in front of Natalie and Janette. Janette kept her face expressionless and shrugged. "If you will excuse me, I have matters I must attend to." Her departure seemed abrupt, but LaCroix merely sighed, watching Janette make her way toward the staircase, and took down another glass. Shifting restlessly, Natalie took a sip of her drink and looked over her shoulder. He was there, in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her. If she hadn't known better, Nat would have sworn that her pulse skipped a beat. She slid off the barstool in a less than graceful motion, aware of the surprise written on his face, unsure, giddy. Dressed in faded jeans, a white, button-down shirt, and his black leather jacket, he looked very young and very confused. The soft glow of the lights reflected shadows under his eyes which shouldn't have been there, but he was still her Nick. Her Nick. There he stood, letting in the cool San Francisco evening, holding her fascinated gaze. Except for fifteen feet and three years, there were no more obstacles between them. "Why don't you go talk to him?" LaCroix urged in his best fatherly tone. He reached out and nudged Natalie away from the bar, which she had been leaning back against for support. As Nat walked up the three shallow steps to the door, she felt suddenly shy. Nick was still watching her, motionless. Would he hate her for being brought across, despite his insistance that he couldn't stand to see her live in darkness? Nat stopped herself a short distance from him, unable to read the expressions which played across his face. "Oh, for goodness sake!" LaCroix exclaimed, his vantage point, after a few minutes of observing Nick and Nat in stubborn silence. "Life is a gift. Even this life." He raised his glass in salute. "Dance with me." Natalie heard herself say. She reached out and took his hand, leading him across the crowded room toward the pale lights of the dance floor. The music was a steady beat, but Nat felt numb, all except the hand which was twined with Nick's hand. It was as if electricity was flowing through that point of contact, yet Nick held himself stiffly, resisting her attempt to draw him closer. "Natalie." Coming from his lips, her name was like a prayer. She drank in his appearance, taking stock of the way her perceptions had changed. There were deep gold highlights in his hair which she had never noticed before. There was a sadness in his eyes. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers linked. "Natalie, I'm so sorry." He was staring at some dark corner of the room and trying to keep from touching her. "What have you done?" Nat felt as though she had died all over again. Her certainty and determination were rapidly falling away. Dropping her arms, she shrugged and whispered, "I had faith that, together, we might make next few centuries a little better than the years we have both spent alone." When he didn't reply, she continued, "You know so *damn* little about the human soul, Nick! You can walk away, but I still love you, and that's never going to change!" "I almost let you die." Nick said flatly. "Kiss me, Nick." Nat suggested by way of reply, again reaching up. This time, she slid her hands under his jacket, feeling the bones of his shoulders contacting the soft skin of her palms. He shook his head. "Then I'll kiss you." The moment their lips made contact, she felt the tension melt. It was like coming home. Nick's arms cradled her gently and he bent his head to meet her. "Don't you know," she told him, speaking against his mouth, "I'm too much in love to die."