Le Coeur A Ses Raisons (The Heart Has Its Reasons)

by Imajiru 
imajiru@mindspring.com 
imajiru@unicorn-x.net

Originally printed and released May 1995

-------

Author's Note:  This story takes place after "Be My 
Valentine" and diverges from the established universe at 
that point.

Any conflicts between the following story and subsequent 
episodes are not my problem.

-------

The cross-country trip had been interesting, but now it was 
time to take a rest: time to settle for a while, just a 
brief period, long enough to catch her breath and decide 
where she might wish to voyage next.

Even after all the years, it was still a new and wondrous 
thing to be so free, so unfettered.  To be unbound by 
tradition and convention, able to do as she pleased, in a 
world of technological marvels so closely akin to magic...

The airport shuttle had let her off at the bus station, and 
she strolled down the street with her carrysack slung over 
her shoulder; her Walkalong radio was strapped to her 
waist, tiny earphones spewing rock music, and her feet were 
almost airborne as they carried her along.  Uncaring of who 
might be watching, she danced to the music only she could 
hear, nostrils quivering with the scent of the air -- city-
tainted, but still cleaner than the wafting CO2 that 
pervaded the larger metropolises -- thoroughly enjoying the 
Toronto night.

Instinct guided her unerringly toward the finer section of 
town, and she absently window-shopped through the diamond-
lattice security gates of the stores as she headed toward 
the hotel that held her reservation.  Such pretty things, 
glittering baubles... she considered whether a diamond 
necklace might look stylishly gauche in combination with 
her worn jeans and brightly- colored shirt; tie-dye colors 
emblazoned over faded flannel plaid and appliqued with 
sequins, the work of an up-and-coming young Californian 
designer she'd befriended.  Yes, diamonds, perhaps 
cascading from her earlobes... or maybe rhinestones would 
be more sensible...

Hands grabbed her abruptly, roughly, and something sharp 
pressed ominously against her ribcage. "Gimme yer money," 
grated a voice in her ear, "an' nobody gets hurt."

Unseen, she smiled: a predator's smile.

Faster than thought, she whirled to confront her attacker.  
His confidence faded as he stared at her, at the fire in 
her eyes.  "Holy..." he began, with the first stirrings of 
fear.

Her fierce grin became mischievous, almost playful.  "Not 
quite," she said, and laughed.

He tried to flee, but before he could do more than turn, 
she was on him...

A whisper of displaced air, and the street was empty.

-------

Don Schanke was not having a good night.  First the bit 
with Myra about the new dishwasher, then Jennie and the 
hundred forty-five dollar sneakers she kept whining for -- 
//what does any kid need with shoes that cost that much?  
What do they think I am, made of money?  And then, of 
course, I hear it about the late nights and the overtime 
shifts.  Nick doesn't have these problems.  Lucky 
stiff...//

He was distracted by the car that cut in front of him and 
accelerated sharply, sailing down the street.  Annoyance 
turned to satisfaction as he noted that the driver was 
clearly exceeding the speed limit.  "Gotcha," he muttered 
under his breath, as he pursued.  Normally, he wouldn't 
have bothered with a traffic violation, but he was in a 
sufficiently nasty mood to enjoy apprehending this reckless 
driver.

He finally caught up to the car several blocks later, and 
it pulled over obediently in response to the flashing light 
on his car's roof.  Still, Schanke kept his hand in the 
vicinity of his weapon.  Nowadays, there was no telling 
what might happen -- granted, this wasn't New York or L.A., 
not yet anyway, but he wasn't about to chance becoming a 
statistic.  //'Course, then Jennie could buy her sneakers 
out of the death benefits,// he thought morosely.

As he proffered his badge for her inspection, Schanke felt 
his guard relax despite himself.  She was just a little 
slip of a thing, small and slender, with an open, engaging 
face.  Barely eighteen, if he was any judge.  Hard to 
imagine this sweet-faced child presenting any danger.  But 
then, stranger things had happened, //especially in the 
last few years,// Schanke thought, //ever since I got 
hooked up with Nick; I swear, trouble follows that guy like 
heartburn after souvlaki.// "Going a little fast, there," 
he said casually, alert for any trouble.

She gazed up at him plaintively, huge blue eyes apologetic, 
without the faintest trace of feminine wiles to mar the 
effect of complete innocence. "Was I?" she queried.  "I'm 
sorry, sir.  It's just *such* a nice night, and there was 
such good music playing on the radio, and y'know, my feet 
got to tapping... I'm really sorry, truly."

Schanke sighed.  His earlier annoyance was draining away; 
impossible to be angry with this winsome angel.  "Lemme see 
your license," he said, out of habit.

She handed it over, and he glanced at it.  "Okay, Miz 
Chase," he muttered.  "A tourist, huh?  Born July second, 
nineteen... you're *twenty-six*?" Schanke shook his head.  
"You look like a kid!"

"I'm older than I look," she said softly.

It seemed improbable, but the other identification in the 
wallet corroborated her license, and the papers from the 
car rental agency were indisputable.  "You should be more 
careful," he told her sternly as he returned the papers.

"I will," she said earnestly, gazing up at him; the 
streetlights reflected oddly in her eyes for a moment, 
turning the soft blue an eerie silver.  "I promise."

Schanke felt momentarily dizzy -- //damn burrito,// he 
thought ruefully.  "You do that," he said, nodded a brief 
farewell, and headed back to his own car.  He turned back 
as her car pulled away, feeling... what?  Nothing he could 
pinpoint.  But hadn't there been something... *weird* about 
that girl?

"You're losing it," he admonished himself, as he got behind 
the wheel.  Miz Chase was just a regular kid, probably on 
spring break from school; no reason to harass her for a 
minor violation, no reason to detain her.

Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing at all.

He barely noticed that his bad mood had disappeared like a 
wisp of smoke as he continued on his way to work.

-------

Nick was hungry, and fighting it.  Every time the need to 
feed crept over him, it was a bright, vicious reminder of 
all the things he tried so hard to deny.  Added to that was 
his memory of an evening several nights past, and his 
bitter disagreement with Janette.  Verbal battles with 
Janette were always ferocious; she was an expert at 
striking to the very core of his soul, lashing into every 
sore spot in his psyche.

This latest argument had been especially vicious, centering 
as it did on the issue of the latest developments in his 
pseudo-mortal life. Valentine's Day.  Natalie...  Janette 
was understandably jealous, but then that was nothing new; 
Janette had never been fond of his attachment to mortal 
ways -- or to mortals.

His 'father' might have been deceived by his lies (or might 
not have been; the jury was still out on that one), but 
Janette knew him too well for Nick to get away with the 
same trick twice.  She knew he was in love with another, 
and wasn't there a saying about the fury of a woman 
scorned?  In Janette's case, that fury could be lethal -- 
to him, or to his mortal love.

LaCroix, on the other hand, was a ticking time bomb just 
waiting to explode.  When and where and how remained to be 
seen.

Days of self-imposed solitude had not helped his state of 
mind: and so he sought her out, the one being who could 
almost always still the maelstrom of turmoil within him.  
The scent of her mortal body, of her blood, would be as 
tormenting as always -- yet there was something about her 
that always seemed to soothe him when he was troubled.

Natalie was indefinable, unique; her complexity was one of 
the things Nick loved most about her.

It was barely past sunset, far earlier than most of his 
visits, but Nick felt sure that Nat would be pleased to see 
him -- even if she did bawl him out for running the risk of 
spontaneous combustion.  She enjoyed his company as much as 
he enjoyed hers, of course without the legacy of what felt 
like nearly unbroken loneliness to add an acute poignancy 
to the intimacy of their friendship.  But then, she had her 
own loneliness, and her own pain.  When they were together, 
though, pain seemed to disappear, assuaged somehow by the 
chemistry between them.  Natalie was a rare being, a rare 
friend...

And always, lurking in the depths of his mind, was the 
knowledge that someday she would die, and he would be alone 
again.  Too soon, much too soon.

She was in the midst of an autopsy, dictating notes into a 
microcassette recorder.  "Nick," she greeted him, as if 
she'd been expecting his arrival.  "You're early, aren't 
you?  What time did you get to the station?"

He shook his head, momentarily confused.  "I came here 
straight from home," he told her, "why?"

Her eyebrows lifted.  "I assumed Schanke called you.  The 
day shift found this guy tucked into a dumpster this 
morning."

Nick nodded.  "Have you determined the cause of death?" he 
wanted to know.

"Well, now," she said, "that's why I wanted to see you."  
Silently, she drew back the thin sheet that covered the 
corpse's face.

She didn't have to indicate the cause of her unease; his 
eyes locked instantly on the tiny marks at the juncture of 
neck and shoulder. Anyone else might have guessed that the 
wounds were indications of an addict's last intravenous 
fix, or perhaps oddly symmetrical insect bites -- but Nick 
knew, as Natalie did, what had caused those small, 
seemingly innocuous punctures.

"The cause of death is listed as apparent drug overdose," 
Natalie said.  "Which is a logical enough conclusion, 
considering the concentration of cocaine in his blood.  
What's left of it."

"So he was wired," he murmured.

"Mmmm.  But... he didn't die from that, did he?" She 
regarded him with calm certainty.

"Not likely."  The fang marks were very small, but to a 
practiced eye, unmistakable.  "He had help dying," Nick 
said grimly.

"That's what I thought.  Of course, there's nothing in the 
autopsy report that justifies a homicide investigation.  Or 
perhaps I should say, an *official* investigation."  
Natalie's eyes questioned him silently.

He met her gaze squarely.  "Nobody I know would be so 
careless..." he began.

Until a fragment of drifting memory sailed through his 
mind, bringing him an image that contradicted his words.

-------

Nick remembered:

It was the heart of the flower-power sixties, The Summer Of 
Love or another summer like it.  He'd journeyed to one of 
the sundrenched cities along the California coast for a 
brief respite from the mortal lifetime he'd been living at 
that point; although the beaches were of course not a 
suitable tourist attraction for a visiting vampire, there 
was plenty of diversity to keep him from becoming bored.

Mindful of the dangers of being too distinctive, his own 
clothing was conservative for the period, although he'd let 
his hair grow a little longer than he usually kept it -- 
but it was delightful to watch the young mortal 'hippies', 
with their outlandish fashions and their love beads.  They 
seemed so exuberant, filled with energy and enthusiasm.  As 
he strolled down the moonlit boardwalk, one lovely young 
thing reached up to place a daisy behind his ear, as her 
girlfriends giggled; he allowed her the liberty, and 
favored her with his best boyish smile as he passed by.

All along the boardwalk, there was music and laughter, the 
sounds of mortal celebration: the sound of being young and 
alive on a Saturday night.  It was almost enough to make 
him forget his dark nature, almost enough to let him 
believe, just for a moment, that he was one of them.  The 
aura of merriment soothed him, and he soaked it in as he 
made his way down the crowded strip.

He stopped to listen to a trio of youngsters making 
acoustic music with guitars and tribal drums, tossed a 
fifty-cent piece into the guitar case left open for such 
donations, and turned away to move on.  As he turned, he 
caught sight of a figure perched precariously on the edge 
of the metal railing separating boardwalk and moonlit sand; 
her feet dangled, like those of a child in a highchair.

Nick could not have said what it was about her that 
attracted his attention, only knew that he could not look 
away.  She was utterly unremarkable: long straight golden 
hair kept in place by a macrame headband, Indian-print 
blouse and worn jeans more subdued than many of the more 
unconventional fashions gracing the boardwalk, rope sandals 
revealing toenails painted in the shades of the rainbow.  
Her eyes were wide pools of calm blue, fringed with 
luxuriant long lashes - - and they were gazing into his, he 
noticed with startlement, seeming to bore into his very 
soul.

The steady gaze was disquieting, sending a chill of 
apprehension through him.  It was as if this small stranger 
knew him, knew his terrible secret...

Before he could make sense of the feeling, she smiled at 
him and beckoned, slipping down from her seat on the metal 
rail.

Still feeling the vestiges of that odd chill, yet strangely 
numbed, Nick moved to where she'd been - - only to glimpse 
her retreating form moving lightly, swiftly, almost 
skipping down the boardwalk.

She paused once and turned back, smiled once more, and one 
slender arm moved in a 'follow-me' gesture.

Intrigued by the game, Nick followed.

Even vampire vision was sufficient only to barely permit 
him to keep a fix on her as she darted down the boardwalk, 
leading him eventually onto the adjacent side streets, 
further and further from the crowds.  Senses alert for any 
danger, he tracked her to a dark alley...

The girl was there, with a companion.  Not seeing Nick's 
silhouette in the shadows, the burly man dragged her deeper 
into the darkness, one arm tight around her slim neck.  She 
was a small pale shape against his huge bulk, frail and 
vulnerable against his greater strength.

As he caught a momentary view of her expression, Nick was 
startled to see not terror, but a strange calm smile etched 
across her face.

In a blur of motion, the large man went flying backwards 
into the wall, and the girl was standing alone.  She 
straightened, as if throwing off an invisible cloak, and 
all at once Nick *felt* it, sharp and heavy as a physical 
blow: a sense of power, of immeasurable strength, a 
presence more imposing and intimidating than any he'd ever 
encountered.

//Mon dieu, she's one of us,// he thought, astonished and 
dismayed.

She didn't do a thing, didn't say a word, merely stared at 
her attacker -- but he cringed helplessly and began to 
whimper, driven by an instinctive fear he didn't 
consciously understand.

Motivated by a similar unreasoning fright, Nick stood 
frozen as she advanced toward her attacker- cum-victim, one 
slow step after another...

-------

"Nick?" Natalie's concerned voice interrupted his reverie.

He roused himself from the memory with an effort. "Hmmm?"

She knew him too well to miss the signs.  "Someone you 
know?" she prodded, discerning his thoughts with uncanny 
accuracy.

Nick considered.  "Perhaps," he conceded.

"Another...?"

"Maybe."

Nat let out a long, long sigh.  "Nick," she said, "there 
are already too many vampires in this town."

"If it's the person I was thinking of, unlikely as that 
might be," he replied, in an ironic tone, "we have worse 
problems than population density."  The spacing of the 
punctures indicated a smaller than adult-sized jaw, which 
would be consistent with his suspicions -- though if it had 
been her doing, she should certainly have known better than 
to leave such an obvious kill behind.  On the other hand, 
Nick was familiar with the effects of drug- tainted blood 
on the vampire metabolism; it was entirely possible that 
she'd been too stoned to think clearly.

Emerging from his private musings, he could see that he'd 
piqued Nat's curiosity unbearably. "Nick..."

"It's a long story," he said hurriedly.  That was the 
literal truth; but as well, it masked his real reasons for 
not wanting to explain things more fully.  The very thought 
of *that* vampire was unnerving, and he still hadn't come 
to terms with recent events as it was; Nat herself was 
unsettling enough at the moment.

"You know," The unusual hesitancy in Natalie's voice caught 
his attention.  "I don't like this, Nick."

He favored her with an inquiring look, inviting her to 
continue.

Nat drew a deep breath.  "I know that this man was 
murdered," she said, gesturing with the hand that held the 
file folder containing the paperwork on the vampire's 
victim.  "I know it for a fact, despite what *this* says."  
She slammed the folder down on her desk in frustration.  
"It's supposed to be my job to expose the truth, and 
instead I'm looking for ways to cover it up!  There's a 
killer out there, Nick, and I know it, and I'm doing 
nothing about it..."

He held himself steady against the sharp pain that stabbed 
at his heart.  It wasn't Nat's fault; she didn't know what 
she was saying, how badly her words hurt him -- and that 
was just the point, wasn't it?  For all she knew of him, 
even despite her love for him, Natalie was mortal, with a 
mortal's perspective.  The reason her words were painful 
was the simple fact that they were so very true.

"Well, that's nothing new, is it?" he said softly. "After 
all, there's a killer in here, too -- isn't there?"

Confusion spread across Natalie's face, chased away by 
chagrin.  "Nick, wait!  I didn't mean..." she began to 
protest -- but he was already gone, disappearing down the 
corridor without another word.

-------

Driving was an automatic thing to vampire reflexes -- 
although he'd nearly caused several major accidents that 
way -- but the memories would not be denied; Nick made his 
way to the precinct, remembering:

Motivated by a similar unreasoning fright, he stood frozen 
as she advanced toward her attacker- cum-victim, one slow 
step after another...

"No," Nick managed to say, somehow, through the icy 
numbness of his fear.

He suppressed an urge to shrink back as her eyes found him, 
assessed him harshly, raised eyebrows underlining her 
silent query as to the identity of the young upstart who 
dared challenge her.

And then, incredibly, she smiled.  "You're Lucien's child," 
she said, to his absolute amazement.

He *stared* at her -- until the burly man's soft moan 
caught his attention.  "Help me..."

The girl-vampire turned to her victim calmly. "You picked 
the wrong target, honey," she advised him, and though her 
voice was melodious and ludicrously gentle, he began to 
whimper again.

Nick forced himself to speak, but before he could, her blue 
eyes impaled him, dried his voice up in his throat.  
"Don't," she told him, and he was powerless to disobey.

He watched helplessly as she lunged toward the cowering 
thief, eyes blazing brightly, small sharp fangs bared.  She 
fastened herself to the man's neck, and her body molded 
itself to her victim's as if they were lovers; her face was 
tranquil, almost childlike, as she drew the hot blood from 
his veins.

The scent of it was very strong, and Nick had not fed in... 
too long.  He felt his body quiver as it hit him, provoking 
the bloodlust: a wave of desire closely akin to passion, a 
need beyond controlling that he must somehow restrain.  He 
struggled desperately with himself, trying to hold back...

She looked up, and her mouth was a red slash of spilled 
blood -- Nick moaned aloud.

One hand beckoned, that same fluid gesture that had lured 
him from the boardwalk: from his comfortable falsehood of 
mortality, into the dark alley of his troubled soul.  "Join 
me," she said softly, warmly.

The invitation caught him off guard, wrenched another moan 
from his lips.  "No..."

"It's all right," soothed the velvety voice persuasively, 
"it's all right."  And oh, how Nick wanted to believe it; 
the hunger was building inside him, an agony of need that 
could barely be resisted, and never denied...

In a single lightning move he was beside her, sinking to 
his knees, bending to drink, succumbing finally to the 
inevitable.  But even as the bloodlust claimed him, a tiny 
voice of conscience howled in anguish; even in the 
mindlessness of the feeding frenzy, he could find no peace.

As his fangs pierced the man's flesh, he felt the girl's 
hand against his face, forming a slow caress that traced 
his cheekbone before moving to twine fingers in his curls -
- an oddly possessive gesture that was somehow comforting.  
The cry of protest within him receded, as if her touch had 
withered the seed of self-loathing that grew wild and 
tangled in Nick's tormented psyche.

He had vowed that he would never do this again... but then, 
*he* hadn't attacked the man, it wasn't *really* his 
responsibility... and at that moment, the telepathic power 
the girl was using to calm his guilt seemed to be a very 
welcome gift.

Then the rush of blood filled his mouth and his aching 
soul, and Nick lost himself in the smell and the taste and 
the feel of it.

-------

"Where've you been?" Schanke said irritably, as Nick sat 
down at his desk.  "Nat said you left ages ago."

"Sorry," Nick said, with a quick flash of a smile. His mind 
was still very much elsewhere, preoccupied with his parting 
shot at Natalie (unfair of him, he knew; he owed her an 
apology) and the too-vivid memory that still haunted him. 
Even recalling the intensity of feeding was enough to evoke 
a reaction, and the feeling had not entirely receded; he 
was acutely aware of the pervasive scent of mortal blood, 
surrounding him, pressing in on him.  Nick took a deep 
breath and tried to steady himself.  "Do we have an I.D. on 
him yet?" he asked, forcing his mind to attend to nominally 
safer matters.

"You're always sorry," his partner grumbled, but there was 
no real anger in it.  In fact, Schanke seemed more cheerful 
than he had in days.  "Yes, as a matter of fact, we do," he 
continued, "turns out he had a record."

"Dealing?" Nick said idly.

"Manslaughter," the other corrected.  "Assault, robbery, 
you name it."

"Really."  A distracted frown creased Nick's face.

"No great loss to society," Schanke concluded, oblivious to 
his expression.

"No great loss," Nick repeated softly, thinking hard.

"Nat said she couldn't come up with anything for us," his 
partner commented.

"Nothing to justify an investigation."  Natalie was right, 
Nick realized; although the deception was necessary, that 
didn't mitigate the fact that it was a betrayal of the very 
nature of his chosen career -- and hers.  For Nick, 
deception was a way of life, but for him to have involved 
Natalie so deeply in his falsehoods was an injustice -- 
even a cruelty.

He looked at Schanke, and wondered what the other detective 
would say if he knew that there was a murderer on the 
loose, and his two most trusted colleagues were doing their 
best to cover it up.

//What am I doing?// Nick wondered suddenly, bleakly.  //In 
my eternal quest for redemption, what damage have I done to 
these mortals -- these people who I consider my friends?  
The one mortal in eight hundred years who I truly love?//

"Well, it's not as if we don't have plenty of other work to 
keep us busy," Schanke said. "Right, Nick?"

When his partner didn't respond, Schanke nudged his arm.  
"Nick?  Earth to Nick..."

"Hmmm?  Right," Nick said, and did his best to bury his 
newfound realization in paperwork.

-------

"Fine, cherie," Janette said in bored tones, handing her 
platinum credit card over to the sales clerk.

The ultrachic boutiques she favored were only too happy to 
stay open late on occasion, for Janette was a frequent 
customer; only the very finest materials and leathers, only 
the newest fashions - - only the most expensive items.  She 
watched as her driver carried bag after bag to the car, 
waited for the clerk to return her credit card and the slip 
for her to sign.

As her gaze drifted across the store, she noticed a young 
girl poring over a display of rhinestone bracelets.  Her 
interest was piqued; she liked youngsters of either sex, 
young luscious bodies and their hot, pulsing blood.  But 
this one was odd, somehow -- she was...

The girl looked up, sensing Janette's gaze, and as their 
eyes met, Janette *saw* her.

A mischievous smile crossed the girl's face; she selected a 
bracelet and snapped it on her wrist, and promptly vanished 
in a blur of unseen motion.

"Ma'am?" the salesclerk inquired timidly, unaware of the 
vanished shoplifter.  "Your card?"

Janette signed the slip and pocketed her credit card 
distractedly.  //How... interesting,// she thought.  //No 
doubt, Nicolas will want to know...//

Nicolas.  Now there was a thought to warm the heart -- 
among other things.  Perhaps this news would be worth 
something to him, worth enough to induce him to join her -- 
for a drink -- and hopefully, much more.

She strode out to her car, eager to return to the club, to 
don one of her new outfits and prepare for his inevitable 
arrival.

-------

Natalie's car was in the shop, so she'd called a taxi to 
take her home.  She'd meant to ask Nick to drive her, 
but... well, considering what had happened during his brief 
visit to her office, it hadn't seemed a good idea.

As she waited for the cab to arrive, idly watching the sky 
lighten to the east, her thoughts were preoccupied, filled 
with endless questions. Coming across this sort of killing 
had disturbed her more than she liked to admit: among other 
things, it indicated the presence of another vampire in 
town.  From Nick's expression, perhaps someone from his 
past -- and whenever Nick's past got tangled with his 
present, things tended to get messy.

The medical report she'd filed disturbed her too, mostly 
because she felt it didn't disturb her *enough*.  It was a 
usual thing for her to file false or incomplete reports on 
Nick's behalf -- //and at what point did I stop being 
uncomfortable about it?// Natalie wondered uneasily.  //I 
used to feel guilty, but somehow I don't even think about 
it anymore.  Just how far have my ethics eroded?//

Never mind the fact that the fellow she'd dissected had 
been an eloquent reminder of Nick's true nature.  A truth 
she had chosen to ignore, in view of the extenuating 
circumstances of his beliefs -- but too often, the lines 
blurred; too often, she was encountering conflicts.  This 
latest death... years ago, she'd have pored over the test 
results until she'd found a cause less ambiguous than 
'probable overdose', anxious to pursue any avenue that 
might lead to the apprehension of the murderer.  Now, 
because she knew who, or more properly, *what* the killer 
was, she was hanging back, letting Nick handle the 
situation.  Which could be very good, or very bad -- Nick's 
allegiances and sympathies were sometimes at odds with his 
self-imposed moral code.  The results could be less than 
satisfactory, to say the least.

She had never thought that anything could make her question 
her own morals and medical ethics, but the simple fact of 
Nick's existence and her willing complicity with his many 
subterfuges had long ago made hash of her certainties.  And 
then she had fallen in love with him -- or maybe she had 
loved him all along -- but either way, the fact remained 
that her own beliefs and loyalties had become as confused 
and tangled as his, and the situation wasn't likely to 
improve any time soon.

//In more ways than one,// Natalie thought wryly, with 
equal parts sarcasm and wistful sadness.  For ever since 
that fateful Valentine's Day, she and Nick seemed to be 
drifting inexplicably apart, and she hadn't the faintest 
idea why.

She knew better than to be so oblivious to her 
surroundings, but the familiarity and relative safety of 
the area lulled her into a false sense of security, and her 
preoccupation was so severe that she didn't notice the 
young man until he was upon her.

His dirty fist shoved into her mouth, so that she couldn't 
cry out; he dragged her down, into the shadows, where no 
casual passerby (if one were to happen along -- the area 
was deserted) would see. "Hold still, honey," he leered, 
"this'll only take a second."

She fought and struggled, but he was bigger than she was, 
and the knife he produced and held tight against her throat 
was an effective persuader. Natalie closed her eyes as he 
ripped at her clothes, thinking, //Nick, oh god, help me,// 
and the fact that she was praying for heavenly intervention 
in the form of a vampire was an irony that never occurred 
to her in the face of the imminent rape.  The man's hand 
fumbled lower, invading her most intimate parts, and she 
whimpered involuntarily.

And then, salvation.

Her first thought was //Nick!// but it wasn't; faster than 
thought, blazing eyes, yes, but not Nick...  It tore the 
man away and drove a fist into his face with a force that 
obliterated it: blood spattered everywhere, and Natalie, 
who had never been even slightly squeamish, shrank away 
from the crimson shower.

The figure shoved the body away and licked its fist, 
obviously savoring the taste of the blood -- then it 
turned, and looked at her.

It had the face of an angel, so innocent that neither the 
blood nor the fangs nor the fever- bright eyes could dispel 
the aura of little-girl sweetness.  "Are you okay?" it 
inquired.

Nat shook her head slightly, stunned, instinctively moving 
to rearrange her torn garments.  Her skirt was salvageable, 
the zipper still functional though the button at the top 
had popped off, but her blouse was a ruin.  "I'm going into 
shock," she observed clinically, as if from a great 
distance.

"You'll be all right," her savior decided.  She brushed at 
her bloodstained jeans with one slender hand, then moved to 
place that hand against Natalie's forehead.

"What are you doing?" Nat wondered aloud.  "Who are 
you?"The angel's face creased in a warm smile.  "I'm a 
friend," she said soothingly.  "Okay?"

Oddly enough, Natalie felt no fear.  Perhaps it was that 
this creature had earned her trust by rescuing her from her 
assailant; perhaps her exposure to Nick had simply numbed 
her to the terrifying prospect of such immortal hunters.  
As the girl's wide blue eyes gazed soundlessly into hers, 
she felt the knot inside her unravel and loosen; her 
dizziness and nausea ebbed away, and her pulse evened and 
slowed.

Time slowed as well, became a thick syrup in which Natalie 
floated effortlessly.  She sensed the vampire's close 
scrutiny, as if the girl could see inside her, discern her 
every secret -- yet there was a feeling of benevolence, of 
vast understanding, that made the inquiry seem utterly 
unthreatening.  She gave herself over to the other's 
limitless strength, and let herself drift...

Her eyes blinked open suddenly, and she looked around 
wildly.  The ruined corpse of her attacker lay nearby, on 
the blood-spattered pavement.  She shuddered at the memory 
of what he'd nearly done to her, then frowned -- it seemed 
as if there was something she should remember, but couldn't 
quite manage to recall.  An almost familiar feeling of 
vagueness hazed over her consciousness.

Something had saved her -- but what?

The cry of sirens told her that someone had already called 
the police.  The very first thing, she would tell them her 
name, tell them which precinct to call, and Nick would 
come; Nick would be there for her.  She needed him now, 
needed the comfort of his strength, his protection.

She knew that Nick would be there when she needed him.

-------

Almost sunrise... he knew he had time to get home safely, 
but still it made him nervous.  There had been enough times 
when he'd been trapped in daylight, had felt it scorching 
his tender skin, screaming through his nerves...

He breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut behind him, 
the closed shutters sealing him in a secure womb of 
darkness.

All night long, he'd been busy tracking down old 
acquaintances, trying to find out whether the 'new kid in 
town' was the person he most feared it would be, without 
having to consult the two sources who would be most likely 
to have an answer for him -- and most likely to make him 
pay through the nose for that information.  A difficult 
pursuit, made more frustrating by the fact that he had 
turned up zero data: a complete waste of time that would 
have been better spent otherwise.

//Have to call Nat,// he thought, feeling a pang of remorse 
that he hadn't done so earlier.  his earlier realization 
that he had inadvertently betrayed Natalie by involving her 
in the complexities of his existence had disturbed him, 
more than he had been already; he'd hoped to come to terms 
with matters before contacting her again. It didn't look as 
if that was going to happen, though, and his conscience was 
bothering him.  He wondered if she would still be at work, 
or if she was already home...

There were messages on his machine, far more than was 
normal.  He thumbed the switch, and waited. "Nick," said 
the familiar voice at last, "it's Schanke.  Where the hell 
are you?  We've been looking all over."  The voice grew 
somber. "Listen, something's happened..."

Nick listened, and felt a sick feeling take hold of him.

There were eight messages from Schanke, increasingly 
anxious as to his whereabouts; the ninth was from Natalie 
herself.  "Nick?" came her voice, small and scared, and 
each word was a stake through his heart.  "Please come.  I 
need you..." A short silence, and then the click of the 
phone disconnecting.

He sprang for the window control, but the smallest crack in 
the shutters told him that it was far too late.  The sun 
had risen, and the world had become a deathtrap for him.

Too late to go to Natalie.  Too late.

*Please come.  I need you...*

His fist lashed out and shattered the closest object -- the 
glass surface of the small table where the machine rested -
- and Nick hardly felt it; the pain inside him was too 
great.  "Damn!" he swore uncharacteristically, vehemently.

Natalie needed him, and he was useless...  She was the 
closest thing he'd had to a friend in years. She understood 
and accepted him as none of his own kind ever had.  Her 
friendship, her affection, was the single bright point of 
light in the otherwise impenetrable blackness of his 
existence.  He loved her as he had loved no one in the 
entire course of his immortal life...

And now that she needed him, the facts of his nature kept 
him from being there for her.

Betrayal, indeed.

The other hand, the one not studded with small sparkling 
shards of glass, dashed at his eyes, which burned suddenly 
as if sunlight had struck them.

-------

Natalie had told the detectives all she knew, all she could 
remember of the incident -- which wasn't much -- and 
afterwards, she'd waited at the station for Nick to respond 
to her messages, to come and get her.  She'd waited 
fruitlessly, long past sunrise, until finally she gave up 
and let Schanke drive her home.

Once alone in the privacy of her bedroom, she'd unplugged 
her phone and given in to the quivering emotion which lay 
beneath the thin veneer of equanimity she'd maintained 
since the attack; Natalie the strong, the brave, the 
unshakable, collapsed on her bed in helpless sobs.

She awoke to the dying embers of late afternoon sunlight 
spilling through the thin curtains of her bedroom, and the 
dull ache of loneliness.  The coolness of a breeze wafting 
through her window... she didn't recall opening it...

And a figure, poised motionless against the wall.

Natalie let out a long sigh.  "Nick," she moaned.

He was shrouded in heavy fabric, long hooded coat and 
unseasonable scarf, which he discarded as he came to her 
bedside.  "Nat," he murmured, in that soft, compassionate 
voice of his, and she burst into tears again.

Nick held her as she cried into his chest, reliving the 
terror of the attack in a nearly incoherent rush of words.  
So strong, and so caring; the warmth of his embrace was the 
sweetest thing she had ever known.  "Oh, Nick," she 
pleaded, "why didn't you come sooner?"

An odd, guilty look came over his face.  "I came as soon as 
I could," he said softly.  "I tried to call..."

She hated to see him look that way, so defeated and lost; 
"It doesn't matter," she said hurriedly, "you're here now."  
And snuggled against him, feeling safe in his arms as 
nowhere else.

Nick was such a wonderful man, and she'd cared for him so 
much, for so long.  Hard to understand in retrospect why it 
had taken them so long to get together, when it had been 
virtually inevitable from the start.  Whyever hadn't she 
done anything about it before?  Uncertainty seized her for 
a moment, and Natalie thought that there was something 
else, something she was forgetting, some difficulty between 
them... and there was that vagueness again, a weird hazy 
feeling...

Then his lips grazed her forehead, and both vagueness and 
uncertainty disappeared in burgeoning desire.

"Nick," Natalie whispered, and kissed him properly.

Such hesitancy, at first, such restraint -- and then all at 
once a response so intense it left her reeling.  She 
surrendered blissfully to her passion, and Nick's.

Her hands moved with a life of their own; they clutched at 
him with fierce urgency.  She wanted so badly to be close 
to him, wanted...

"Nat."  Nick's voice was breathless.  "Nat, stop." He 
disengaged from her embrace with infinite care, and held 
her at arm's length.

"I... I'm sorry."  Flustered, disoriented, Natalie 
backpedaled; she hadn't expected Nick to reject her, and 
her embarrassment brought a hot flush to her face.  "I -- I 
didn't mean... never mind."

"No, Nat..."  Nick seemed uncommonly awkward, as if he was 
as embarrassed as she felt.  "It's not your fault."  His 
arms slipped around her again, holding her loosely.  "It's 
mine."

She shook her head, dazed, not understanding. "Why?" she 
queried.

"My... control... has limits."  Abruptly, he released her, 
took a deep breath, and ran his hands through his hair in a 
quick nervous gesture.

"Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about control," Nat said 
softly.

"You don't know what you're saying."  His voice was flat, 
lifeless.  "You don't know how dangerous this is."

She moved toward him, not thinking, only longing to ease 
the hurt, despairing look in his eyes. "How dangerous could 
it be?"  Her hands moved over his shoulders and drew him 
closer.  "There's nothing wrong with... intimacy."

He *stared* at her, as if she was speaking some foreign 
language he couldn't understand.  "Nat," he said, "you know 
why... it can't be that way between us."

"No, I don't," she pressed.  "Tell me -- help me 
understand.  I love you so much, Nick.  I just want..."

"Nat, don't," he said hastily, as if he couldn't bear to 
hear what she might say next.

"...to be closer to you," she finished lamely, trying to 
comprehend the distant, pained look in his eyes.  "Nick, 
please -- I need you now, I need to be close to you..."

He flinched, as if she'd punched him.  "Nat, we can't... 
you know why we can't..."  All at once, his face changed, 
from anguish to dawning realization.  "You *know* why, 
Nat."

She blinked at him, surprised.  "What are you talking 
about?"

He moved, uncommonly swiftly, cradling her face in his 
hands and gazing deeply into her eyes.  "Are you on 
medication?" he said suddenly.  "Or taking drugs?"

She was outraged.  "Are you out of your mind?"

"No," Nick said, "but I think you may be."  He held up his 
hand at the first sign of her protest. "I believe someone's 
tampered with your memory," he said gently.

"Don't be ridiculous," Natalie scoffed.  "How could that 
be?"

"One of my people might have done it..."

"What do you mean, your people?"

Nick stared at her, and Natalie stared right back, unaware, 
unknowing.

"Lydia," he growled under his breath.

"Who?" Natalie asked.

"Never mind.  Nat, I want you to stay here until I return.  
*Don't* argue," he overrode her.  "Don't go to work, don't 
leave your apartment, and don't let anyone else in.  I have 
reason to be concerned for your safety."  His eyes bored 
into hers, almost frightening in their intensity.

"Nick, what's wrong?" she asked him, her voice subdued.

"I don't know yet," he muttered, "but I'm going to find 
out."

He moved to leave -- but turned back after only a few steps 
and returned to Natalie's side.  His lips brushed across 
hers, and lingered there for a long moment.  She could feel 
him trembling, could feel the tension and longing in him, 
and wondered distractedly why he seemed so afraid to give 
in to it.

"Be careful," he whispered in her ear, slipping away from 
her embrace in a quick evasive motion.

"You, too," Nat said forlornly, in the direction of his 
retreating form.

-------

There was only one vampire he knew who possessed telepathic 
powers of the strength necessary to affect mortal memory to 
such a degree.  Only one vampire whose presence inevitably 
led to disasters such as the one he was living through now.

It was obvious that Natalie didn't know -- had somehow 
forgotten -- that Nick was a vampire.  To all intents and 
purposes, he was a stranger to the woman he loved, his 
closest friend.

For all the damage LaCroix had done to him throughout their 
long and tempestuous association, nothing had ever hurt 
Nick as badly as the realization that Nat didn't *know* him 
anymore.

Memory stalked him, crouched and leapt, assailing him with 
images from his past:

"We share a certain affinity," she told him, as they sat 
together in her small apartment.  "You feel guilty about 
the kill I made, even though you were given no choice in 
the matter.  You're ashamed of even the small part you 
played in my actions."

His face burned, and he turned away from her in discomfort.

"He intended to rape me, Nicky," she elaborated. "In his 
mind, I could see the evidence of a dozen assaults.  He 
preyed on young girls, dear; he used their ideals and their 
slogans of 'peace' and 'love' to gain their trust, and then 
he raped them -- and killed them afterwards."

"And that gives you the right to be his executioner?" Nick 
protested.

"I don't tolerate the victimization of the weak by the 
strong," she said stridently.  "So I use my strength to 
compensate for mortal weakness."

He shook his head.  "No," he said softly.  "It's not 
right."

She smiled, an expression halfway between innocent mischief 
and predatory venom.  "Dear little Nicholas," she said, her 
voice condescending in its gentleness.  "I am over four 
thousand years older than you are.  When you're my age, 
*then* you can try telling me what's right and wrong."

Helpless against that incontrovertible statement, Nick was 
silent.

"You're misguided," she decided, "but at least you have 
morals, twisted though they are.  I can tell you, I don't 
have any particular liking for most of your kind.  
Bloodthirsty creatures, the lot of you.  When I was 
created, back at the very dawn of humanity, I was a goddess 
of the moon, of the night.  I helped my people, I protected 
them, and they paid me tribute willingly, gladly."  She 
drew a slender hand across her eyes, as if to banish her 
vision of the past.  "Then one day the invaders came and 
tore our tribe apart, and I was alone.  So I voyaged afar, 
looking for others of my kind -- and what I found sickened 
me."  Her gaze was appraising.  "And now I find you, and 
all at once I think there may be hope for our species."

"We're not a species," he said bitterly.  "We're an 
obscenity."

His words provoked startled laughter.  "Maybe you are," she 
teased him, "but I refuse to accept that designation."

"You hunt," Nick shot back, marveling at his own daring; 
this creature could easily destroy him, yet he spoke as if 
he were her superior.  "You kill."

"But only when the death has meaning," she said earnestly, 
leaning forward in her intensity. "Only when by doing so I 
can alleviate pain.  In my eyes, anything else would be 
immoral."

"In my eyes," Nick muttered, "it's immoral to kill, no 
matter how much *meaning* one might place in the death!  We 
have no right to interfere with mortal lives, no right 
whatsoever."

He expected her to be angry, perhaps to lash out at him as 
LaCroix would have, but instead she seemed pleased.  
"Better misguided morals than none at all," she said 
philosophically.  "And by the way, please do not compare me 
to *that one* again.  Not even in the privacy of your 
thoughts, which by the way are not nearly so private as 
you'd like to think.  Aside from the fact that my mental 
powers are quite advanced, you, Nicky, are extraordinarily 
transparent."

He set aside the question of her telepathy and his own 
transparency in favor of a more tantalizing puzzle.  "You 
knew I was LaCroix's... creation," he said, preferring that 
term to the one she had used.

She smiled.  "His child," she emphasized.  "Don't make the 
mistake of turning your back on that fact.  It's the 
strongest bond our kind can ever have between us -- and the 
only bond that not even time can obscure."

"How did you know?" Nick demanded, disregarding the rest of 
her words.

Her hand extended, caressing his cheek as intimately as if 
they'd known each other forever, fingertips brushing the 
wilting daisy that still dangled from behind his ear.  
"There was no way I could fail to see such an obvious 
truth," she said.  "His influence has guided you throughout 
your immortal existence.  You labor desperately to be the 
exact opposite of everything Lucien is. That struggle 
shapes every part of you."

Violently, Nick shook his head.  "No matter what affinity 
you claim we share," he told her, "no friend of LaCroix's 
can possibly be a friend of mine."

She laughed, but this time there was no merriment in the 
sound, only a strange, wistful sadness.  "I am no friend of 
LaCroix's, believe me."

"Then how do you know him?" he pressed.

"Imperfectly," she said.  "I am the force which has driven 
him to the extremes he so favors, and you so despise.  It's 
my doing that Lucien has become what he is -- and so, by 
extension, you are to some degree my child as well as his."  
Her sadness lifted abruptly, replaced by a wickedly 
mischievous grin.  "A cute kid, at that," she said 
whimsically.

He couldn't help but be pleased by the compliment, but, 
"You didn't answer my question," he prodded.

A small sigh.  "Then you may assume that I didn't intend 
to," she stated flatly.  "Leave it alone, Nicky -- believe 
me, it's better that way."

He acquiesced, but could not ignore her more trivial 
infraction.  "Don't call me Nicky," he said.

She smiled, a mischievous look much more suited to her 
elfin face than the despair that had been lurking there.  
"Nicky," she said placidly, "I do what I want.  I *always* 
do what I want."

-------

"Not this time, Lydia," Nick growled under his breath, and 
took to the air.

------- == "Janette," he said some time later, as he stood 
in the doorway of her office at the Raven, trying for 
equanimity.  It was hard; memories of their argument left a 
bad taste in his mouth, and the more recent recollections 
of Natalie's blank expression, and of the sweetness of her 
kisses, still haunted him.  Janette was the last person he 
wanted to see, but he had no choice -- he preferred not to 
confront LaCroix unless absolutely necessary, and he needed 
any information he could get.

"Dear Nicolas.  Come in, make yourself at home." She glided 
over, hands caressing him possessively. "I have news for 
you," she cooed, "at a price."

"Well, of course there's a price," Nick murmured. His body 
was reacting to the lure of Janette's, but he forced the 
arousal to the back of his consciousness.  The memory of 
Natalie in his arms was still too sharp; Janette's 
closeness seemed too much of a betrayal.

"Not such a terrible cost," she countered.  "It's been such 
a long time..."

It *had* been a long time, a very long time. Nick's body 
was acutely aware of that, no matter how hard Nick himself 
tried to deny it.  "Tell me what you have to tell me," he 
said roughly, forcing himself to back away from her, "and 
leave personal considerations out of it."

"Oh, but there are always personal considerations," Janette 
whispered.

Her body was as sinuous and lovely as ever, attracting Nick 
despite himself, and it infuriated him that even after 
seven centuries she still had that power over him.  "Tell 
me, Janette," he demanded, letting some of his anger show.

She regarded him with amusement, and Nick was annoyed to 
realize that here was one more person who could see right 
through him, along with such disparate types as Lydia, 
LaCroix and Natalie. "Why do you resist?" she asked him.  
"Why do you persist in tormenting yourself?"

"I've chosen the only path I can consider worthwhile," Nick 
stated, drawing strength from his irrevocable gut-certainty 
in that truth.

"You'd rather remain celibate with your mortal sweetheart 
than indulge yourself with me?  Am I really so hideous?"

"That has nothing to do with it, and you know it. Janette, 
what do you have to tell me?"

She sighed, and acquiesced.  "We have a new... associate in 
town," she said offhandedly.

"Yes, I know," Nick affirmed, "the day shift picked up a 
victim."

Eyebrows rose.  "You know more than I do," Janette said.  
"And this... rogue left the corpse behind? Hmmm.  
Careless."

"There won't be an investigation," he told her, "the cause 
of death has been listed as 'probable overdose'."  The 
exchange of information went both ways, Nick knew -- if he 
didn't divulge what little he knew to Janette, he'd get 
nothing in return.  "I'm not sure who did it..."

"I saw her," she said smugly.

His eyes narrowed.  "Lydia," he said, not as a question.

"Of course, darling; who else?"  Janette smiled at him, an 
expression that reminded Nick disconcertingly of LaCroix.  
"I'm surprised she hasn't already looked you up."

"In a sense, she already has."  He moved to go, was 
restrained by a long-nailed hand clutching his arm.

"Don't go, Nicolas," Janette purred seductively. "Stay 
here, with me."

"I have other concerns at the moment," Nick said firmly.  
Then decided to indulge himself, just a bit.  He reached 
out and seized Janette's hips, pulled them together with 
vampire strength and kissed her fiercely.  "Thanks for the 
information," he said with a smile, separating from her 
despite the throbbing ache within him, and left.  It wasn't 
difficult -- it had been much harder for him to walk away 
from Natalie's embrace.

He could almost feel Janette watching his departure 
forlornly.

-------

The security people knew him, though not by name, and he 
made his way into the studio.  LaCroix glanced up, looking 
(as always) as if he'd expected Nick's arrival, though Nick 
(as always) had given no warning.

"Nicholas," LaCroix said, in a velvety-soft purr. "To what 
do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

He drew a deep breath and launched into his query without 
preamble.  "Lydia's in town, and I need to know where she 
is."

Genuine startlement lit up the elder vampire's face; he 
laughed, long and loud.  "And you've come to ask *me*?"

"I thought you might know," Nick said steadily.

"Well, you're wrong."  All traces of mirth left the severe 
face.  "I neither know nor care," LaCroix stated coldly.

"Are you quite sure?"  In some distant, unacknowledged 
corner of his psyche, Nick was enjoying himself; LaCroix 
had so few vulnerable points that it was a real treat to 
have the excuse to probe one of them.

Of course, LaCroix was at his most dangerous when he was 
vulnerable -- that was part of the game, Nick supposed.  It 
was always interesting, playing with fire...

The other vampire chose not to attack, instead retreating 
behind a barrier of haughty unconcern. "If you wish to find 
Lydia," he said, "inquire elsewhere."

"I have, to no avail.  But tell me," Nick said, matching 
LaCroix's subtle defense with his own brand of cool 
contempt, "if I manage to locate her, do you wish to be 
informed?"

LaCroix's eyes narrowed, and he turned away. "Unlike you, 
Nicholas," he said smoothly, "I don't enjoy suffering."

"And you believe I do?"

"I *know* you do," came the instant answer.  "You have a 
gift for it.  You inflict punishment upon yourself more 
efficiently than even I could."  A bright, toothy grin, 
directed at the far wall. "Go ahead and suffer, Nicholas -- 
it seems to be what you're best at.  But if it's Lydia's 
brand of torment you seek, please leave me out of it."  He 
flicked a switch on his console, effectively ending the 
conversation.

Nick stood there silently as the other launched into his 
smooth monologue.  LaCroix had ceased to notice him, as if 
he had vanished, and after awhile, Nick took the hint and 
departed, closing the door silently behind himself.

-------

Another fruitless endeavor, as indeed he had expected -- 
but he'd had to try.  Confronting both Janette and LaCroix 
in the same evening had left him feeling exhausted, drained 
of everything except his growing despair.

Instinctively, he sought out Natalie: she might be missing 
a few vitally important memories, but she was still the 
best friend he had.  And besides, she'd been through a 
terrifying experience, had had her mind tampered with and 
rearranged by an expert; he needed to be sure that she was 
all right.

He hovered just outside her window, peered anxiously 
through.  Yes, there she was, bustling around her living 
room, absently tidying up, whistling...

Nick frowned.  She looked almost *too* good. Almost as if 
nothing had happened.  Natalie was extraordinarily 
resilient, but still...

He descended to the street and entered normally, rang her 
bell and waited anxiously for her to answer.

"Oh, hi, Nick," she said cheerfully, between mouthfuls of 
danish.  "Come on in."

He did as he was told, studying her closely.  "Are you all 
right?" he probed cautiously.

"Well, sure.  Why wouldn't I be?" she said breezily.

"The... assault..." he began, without the faintest idea of 
how that sentence might end.

"Oh... that.  It's over now," Natalie demurred, "no sense 
dwelling on it."  Her brow creased thoughtfully.  "I'm 
tired," she mused, "I'm really, really tired."

Nick took her face in his hands and gazed deeply into her 
eyes.  There was an abstracted look there, a look he didn't 
like at all.

"What's the matter?" Nat asked him.  "Nick?"  Her concern 
faded, becoming something else; her hands rose to cover 
his, stroking gently.  "Nick..."

He disengaged in a hurry -- *that* mistake, he would not 
make twice.  "What happened between us before," he began, 
again without knowing what words might come next.

"Come to pick up where we left off?" she asked, in a soft, 
seductive voice.

"No!  I..."  Nick collected himself with an effort.  "I 
just wanted to check up on you," he said nervously, "see 
that you were okay..."

"Well, I'm fine," Nat reassured him.  "I wasn't hurt -- and 
you know what they say about falling off a horse; you're 
supposed to get back in the saddle as soon as you can, 
right?"

She was too close, much too close for Nick's comfort; her 
scent filled his nostrils with the distinctive, alluring 
aroma of mortal blood.  Her body was just as compelling, 
arousing within him a desire that was all too human.  But 
more torturous and tantalizing than any physical longing 
was his emotional hunger -- his need for consolation, and 
acceptance, and love.  Of all the millions of mortals on 
the earth, of all the immortal beings he had come to know, 
Natalie was the only person who could satisfy that aching 
need...

Nick stood still, trembling, as Natalie moved toward him, 
and felt his resolve and his resistance melt away.

Her cheek brushed against his, her lips caressing his 
earlobe.  "Nick, please," she breathed in his ear.  "I need 
you..."

And all vestiges of logic and reason evaporated in the 
surge of heat that accompanied Natalie's passionate kiss.

For a few blissful moments, Nick lost himself in the 
heavenly pleasure.  So long he had wanted this, to taste 
the forbidden fruit, and it was every bit as sweet as he'd 
imagined it would be -- and impossibly hard to be content 
with such a small taste, when the lushness of her beckoned 
to him with a siren song of mortal beauty.  He pulled her 
close, desperate suddenly to touch her, to feel her against 
him: the softness of her skin, the rapid beating of her 
heart, the taste of her lips, the taste...

They parted, and Natalie gazed up at him, smiling -- but 
her smile dissolved into puzzlement as she stared at him, 
into his eyes.

He had become so completely immersed in their passion that 
for one crucial moment, Nick failed to understand why she 
was looking at him so strangely.  "Nat?" he said curiously.

And realization struck as she screamed, and lunged away 
from him, landing in a tangle of sprawled limbs on the 
floor.  //Oh, God -- I've *changed*...//

Nick drew a deep breath and managed to reinstate his 
precarious control, all remnants of their brief intimacy 
banished by her terror.  "It's all right," he attempted to 
placate her.  "Here, let me..." and he extended a hand 
toward her, to help her up.

She scrambled away from him on all fours, frantically 
trying to put some distance between them.  "Get away from 
me!" Natalie shrieked.  "Get away from me!"

He recoiled as if she'd struck him.  "I'm *sorry*, Nat," he 
said desperately.  "Listen... listen to me... I can 
explain..."

She was shaking so hard it was a wonder she could still 
breathe; Nick knew with sudden certainty that anything he 
did would only upset her more. "Nat," he said softly, 
despairingly.  "Please..."

"Get out!" she howled, only a step away from hysteria.  
"Get away from me, you *monster*!"

All the agony he'd endured throughout his eight hundred 
years of immortality was as nothing beside the pain of that 
one word.

For a single moment, he'd allowed himself to forget what he 
really was, and in that brief instant, he'd destroyed... 
everything.  There was nothing he could do to correct his 
mistake.  Even his presence in Natalie's apartment was 
corrosive, destructive.  She was quite clearly terrified of 
him, and the only truly helpful thing he could do at this 
point was to leave.

"Go away!" Nat pleaded, and burst into tears.

His lips compressed into a tight line; with one last 
longing look back at her, Nick gathered himself and 
departed.

-------

Natalie paced the length of her bedroom, found it too 
confining, extended her path to take her through the main 
room as well.  She had to keep moving; if she was still, 
the fear would set in again, the shakes, the chills.  The 
memory, horrifying beyond words, of Nick's face altering 
into something savage, something inhuman...

She couldn't bear to think about it; she hugged herself and 
moaned.

And she couldn't escape the feeling, subliminal and 
indefinable and annoying, that something was *wrong*: that 
things shouldn't have happened as they had, that she had 
failed Nick in some vital way.  Every time she tried to 
analyze the feeling, everything got all vague and fuzzy and 
she couldn't think straight -- but the feeling persisted, 
and she couldn't shake it.

Nat breathed deeply, fought for calm despite her turmoil.  
Rationality intruded, sorting through the terror and the 
pain, separating strands of tight-knotted anxiety within 
her.  It was a hard- earned skill, the ability to quiet her 
nerves by sheer force of will, a side effect of medical 
detachment.  Without it, she'd never have survived this 
far.

She almost hadn't survived tonight...

No, that wasn't true, Natalie realized instantly. Nick 
could have hurt her, could have killed her easily.  If he 
had intended to do her harm, he'd certainly had his 
chance...

But what had happened?  Try as she might, she couldn't make 
sense of it.  It was an effort to think about it at all; 
there was a strong compulsion to forget, to ignore it all, 
the assault, Nick, everything.

She was tired, so very tired.  Defeated, drained, confused, 
Natalie fell across her bed and was instantly asleep.

-------

*Monster.*

*You monster.*

*Get away from me, you monster!*

It echoed over and over in his mind, a relentless loop of 
hatred battering at his soul.

The fear in her eyes, the horror.  "Get away from me, you 
monster!"  One moment of ecstatic yielding, sweet beyond 
bearing, and then...

Nick groaned and buried his face in his hands.

He'd half expected something like this from the very start, 
but the reality of it was worse than anything he could have 
dreamed.  Natalie's face, contorted with terror.  
*Monster.*  But worst of all had been the revulsion in her 
eyes...

*Go ahead, Nicholas, suffer.  It seems to be what you're 
best at.*  //Oh, yes, LaCroix,// Nick thought, //that's all 
I ever do.  I suffer.  I suffer a thousand agonies, while 
you laugh...//

"Not this time, Nicholas," came the voice from before him.

Wearily, he raised his head, not even caring about his red-
rimmed eyes.  "How did you find me here?"

LaCroix seated himself beside Nick on the park bench, 
settled one arm along the backrest, behind Nick's 
shoulders.  "You were calling to me," he said.  "Your pain 
beckoned to me like an open wound."

"That you might sink your fangs into," Nick said bitterly.

"But of course; what else would I do?  Certainly, I would 
never go to the trouble of tracking you across the city, 
merely to offer... consolation." LaCroix smiled brightly, 
and the effect was fearsome.  "So you lied to me, Nicholas. 
Congratulations -- I applaud your growing skill at 
deception.  Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

"So I lied to you," Nick murmured hopelessly. "What are you 
going to do about it?  Bring her over?  Kill her?  Kill 
*me*?"  A short, contemptuous laugh.  "I wish you *would* 
kill me. The way I feel now, it would be a relief."

"Ah, what an invitation.  But what pleasure would there be 
in such an easy victory?  I find that I prefer to watch you 
wallow in your misery.  A much more insidious vengeance, I 
think."

"Fine," Nick said.  "Enjoy your vengeance.  I assure you, 
it's every bit as excruciating as you've always hoped it 
would be."  He buried his face in his hands, too tired and 
heartsick to summon up his usual venom for LaCroix's 
benefit.

An exasperated sigh.  "You really don't *see*, do you?  For 
a change, Nicholas, we have something in common."

Curiosity overcame despair, and Nick glanced up, was caught 
and held irrevocably by LaCroix's gaze; his eyes were like 
lasers, piercing in their intensity.  "I loved a mortal 
once," he said, "and you took her away from me."

"My sister."  Memory of a sweet face filled with light and 
warmth...

"Fleur."  The elder vampire pronounced the name as if it 
were a prayer.  "You know, Nicholas, the pain has never 
left me."

"I believe it," Nick said, in a moment of bleak empathy.

"Yet I will always have the memory of her innocence.  I 
suppose that *that* is better than nothing."  A faint 
mocking smile touched LaCroix's lips.  "And now Nicholas 
has found his mortal love.  I had thought that denying you 
that love would be the ultimate revenge for the eternal 
pain which you have inflicted on me.  As it turns out, 
allowing you this doomed romance is its own punishment."  
The condescension disappeared, replaced by an expression 
Nick had rarely seen: honesty, untainted by facades or 
pretenses.  "But I have endured this incessant pain for 
centuries, and I find -- oddly enough -- that I cannot wish 
this agony on another."  LaCroix sighed, an uncommonly 
human expression.  "Not even you."

Nick sighed as well, a long shuddering sigh.  Yes, he 
despised this man, but there were times... times like 
these, when LaCroix was there, was the only one there, the 
only one who knew what he felt, who could possibly 
understand...

The arm around his back tugged at him, just a slight nudge 
but enough to urge him forward, closer, until his head 
rested against the other man's shoulder; and aching inside, 
Nick succumbed to the comfort of the slight embrace.

He had no recollection afterwards of how long he lingered 
there, knew only that for that time, the pain was 
blissfully remote.  He remembered a time long past when he 
had truly cared for this man, when LaCroix had represented 
all the warmth and safety that there was in the world, and 
for those few precious moments he was in that sheltered 
past once more.

And he knew that despite all their conflict, despite all 
the bitterness that had intervened in the past and surely 
would again, he would remember these moments of comfort for 
the rest of his days.

Slowly, he regained a measure of composure; slowly, he drew 
away from LaCroix, until he felt capable of managing on his 
own.  Solitude: the legacy of the vampire.  He straightened 
his lapels, rubbed at his eyes, and was startled to 
discover the soreness there -- he hadn't known he was 
crying.

The proof of that was the dampness of LaCroix's shirt.  
"Wash your face," he advised curtly.  "You look 
ridiculous."

Nick nodded, surprised by the comparative gentleness of the 
reproach.  "Thank you," he said softly.

A strong vampiric hand clamped on his shoulder. "You're 
welcome," LaCroix said, still with that startling mildness; 
smiled briefly, sadly, and took to the air.

Alone, Nick made his way to the park's water fountain, 
splashed his face until his eyes stopped burning.  He 
determined that he would return home, clean up properly, 
change clothes; perhaps then he might go to the precinct, 
bury himself in work, anything to forget.

Instead, he found himself at the Raven.

Janette merely glanced up as he strode into her office; her 
attention focused more strongly on Nick as he grabbed the 
bottle on her desk and popped it open, draining a third of 
its contents in a swallow.  "It's human," she warned him.

"I don't care," Nick said savagely, and gulped down another 
portion.

She rose from her desk and came to him, draping herself 
across him seductively.  "Ah, Nicolas," she sighed, 
"perhaps this is the beginning of a new phase in our 
relationship, oui?"

"Don't press your luck!"  Nick seized her and pulled her 
close.  "I'm desperate," he said in her ear, "just 
desperate enough to come to you.  Don't take it as more 
than that."

"I'll take what I can get," Janette breathed, succumbing to 
Nick's urgency.

The press of her body against his, the feel of her fangs 
brushing against his neck, were as electrifying as any 
mortal erotic impulse.  He sank his own teeth into her 
flesh and felt it begin: *contact*, intense and intimate 
and gorgeous.  It was as if their central nervous systems 
were wired together, giving them each access to the other's 
pleasure as well as their own.  With the blood flowed 
communion, closeness more complete than any mortal joining, 
more thoroughly satisfying.

But even as he clung to Janette, inhaling her fragrance and 
savoring the taste of her life's essence, even as the human 
blood he'd drunk spread through his system, warming and 
filling him as animal blood never could, even as physical 
pleasure spiraled through him in an endless eddying wave... 
even in the midst of inhuman ecstasy, his mind was filled 
with the memory of Natalie's loathing, and there was no 
peace, none at all.

-------

"You okay?" Schanke said, concerned.

Natalie made a concerted effort and pulled herself 
together.  "I'm fine," she said without hesitation.  It 
wasn't true, for she felt distracted, hazy, as if she'd 
been drugged. Nick's words returned to haunt her, and she 
wondered what he knew that she didn't -- although she 
couldn't substantiate the feeling, she was oddly sure that 
there was more to all of this than met the eye.

"Y'know, after last night and all..." the detective 
pursued.

What had happened last night?  Memory kept drifting in and 
out of focus -- the assault, growing ever more distant -- 
and a scene between herself and Nick that was so unreal it 
had to have been a nightmare.  It disturbed Natalie to have 
so little control over her own thoughts, and Schanke's 
presence was making her unusually edgy. "Thanks for 
stopping by," she said, "but you should probably get back 
to work."

"Look, I don't know where Nick disappeared to," Schanke 
continued, unaware that he was making matters worse, "but 
y'know, I want to help, too. If you've got a problem, you 
can talk to me."

"I'm fine..." she began.

"I'm your friend, okay?" Schanke concluded.

His words seemed to echo weirdly, dissolving into another 
voice that spoke the same words -- Natalie shook her head.  
And shook it again.

And then memory exploded inside her consciousness in a 
great wave.  The vagueness dissolved, artificial barriers 
toppling like dominoes inside her mind, and it was all 
crystal clear -- she remembered... *everything*.

"Oh, my God," she said, dazed.  "Ohmigod, ohmigod... 
Schanke, where is he?  Where's Nick?"

The detective made an annoyed sound.  "Does anyone ever 
listen to me?  I don't know where he is, and what's the big 
deal, anyway?"

"I have to tell him something," Natalie said, heading for 
the door, barely remembering her purse and coat, completely 
ignoring Nick's edict in her desperation to find him.

He wasn't *anywhere*, and finally, forlornly, Natalie took 
a taxi home.  Realization had made her aware of the 
hugeness of the disaster that had occurred between them, 
and she wondered if Nick would ever speak to her again.  
//I called him a monster,// she thought miserably.  //How 
could I? How could I ever have been so cruel?//

The eventual knock on the door startled her badly, and she 
jumped up anxiously to answer it.  She searched his face 
for a clue to his feelings, but his countenance remained 
carefully neutral. "Natalie," he said courteously, as if 
she were a stranger.

"Nick, I have to talk to you," she said hastily, as he 
moved past her and inside, shying away from the open 
windows where the faint tinge of impending daylight shone 
too brightly for his comfort.

"You're not screaming," he said, face ironic. "That's a 
good sign."

"I want to explain what happened..."

"It's all right," he said, very softly, as she busied 
herself closing the blinds securely.

"Nick, you don't understand!" Natalie rushed, afraid that 
if she didn't speak now, she would never get the chance.  
"Last night, when I was attacked, this girl saved me, but 
she wasn't a girl, she was a vampire..."

"I know," he murmured, under his breath.

"Nick, what I said..."  She moved closer tentatively, 
shyly.  "She saved me from being raped, I think maybe she 
saved my life, but afterwards... she was looking in my 
eyes... and I didn't realize until Schanke said 
something..." The words spilled out of her in an incoherent 
jumble, composure shattered by her desperation to convey 
the truth.  "She hypnotized me, Nick," she said urgently.  
"And very efficiently.  Until Schanke triggered the memory, 
I didn't know that she'd saved me -- and Nick, what 
happened before... I didn't remember what you were.  I 
*forgot* that you were a vampire."  She floundered, wincing 
at the inadequacy of the words that were all she could 
think of to say.  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"Forget it," Nick said, in that same soft, gentle tone.  "I 
know what happened.  And besides, you were right."  Emotion 
broke through his mask of nonchalance; that awful look of 
self-loathing and wistful longing.  "I *am* a monster, 
Natalie."

All at once, she felt herself trembling.  "No," she said 
firmly.  "That's not true."

"Ah, but it is.  And it's what I've been telling you all 
along.  My nature, Nat."  The soft voice had become 
strangely intimidating, almost predatory.  "No matter how 
hard I try to evade the truth, I can't escape it.  I am a 
vampire."  His voice dropped lower, became nearly 
inaudible.  "I *am* a killer."

Natalie could not let that stand unchallenged. "You *are*," 
she said forcefully, "my best friend. Not to mention... the 
man I love."

Her words affected him, she could see; for a moment, she 
was sure he was near tears.  But the weight of guilt which 
he carried -- the burden of shame that *she* had placed 
upon his shoulders, she thought remorsefully -- was far too 
heavy to be lightened by her declaration.  "Maybe you 
should make your choices more wisely," Nick said, his voice 
quiet and implacable.

He paced toward the door, as if to leave.  "You're going to 
just walk away, then?" Natalie said stridently.  "You can't 
escape that easily."

One hand came to rest against the wall, propping him up.  
He seemed to slump in on himself, sheer weariness taking 
its toll on even an immortal form.  "I shouldn't have come 
here," he muttered.

"I'm glad you did," Natalie whispered.

He didn't reply, and for long moments the silence stretched 
out between them, bleak and endless.

"Who is she, Nick?" Nat asked at last, curious.

"She usually calls herself Lydia," Nick said absently.

"Another old friend of yours, I suppose," she said, probing 
without asking.

A burst of wry humor brought an involuntary smile to his 
lips.  "Actually," he said, "she's my grandmother."

She could almost see the memory seize him, taking him far 
away from the here-and-now...

-------

Natalie could almost see the memory seize him, taking him 
far away from the here-and-now:

-------

"French," she said with certainty.  "Or French- Canadian?"

"French," he agreed, "thirteenth century."  And studied her 
closely.  "Scandinavian?  Celtic?"

"Nope.  And the designation wouldn't apply in any case.  
Remember how old I am, dear."  She stretched her legs and 
yawned, a curiously human gesture.  "Actually, I was born 
in Mesopotamia... somewhere.  Keep in mind that I was only 
barely adolescent when I was brought over," she said, "to 
be the new 'goddess' of my people.  We didn't leave many 
traces for the archaeologists to find; there's no written 
history for me to fall back on. I only know that I served 
as goddess and guardian for several hundred years, until 
the invaders came to my people's lands and massacred the 
only way of life I'd ever known."  Her expression was 
pensive, abstracted.  "That was... traumatic, to say the 
least.  For a long while, I was a mindless thing, taking 
one victim after another without reason, wanting nothing 
more than a continual supply of mortal blood to assuage the 
pain."  Abruptly, she returned to the present, focusing on 
Nick's face as an anchor against the old memories.  "I 
don't remember much of what happened to me before, oh, 
twenty-seven hundred bee cee or so.  I remember virtually 
nothing of my mortal life; it's as if I was never anything 
other than what I am now."

Studying her intently, Nick couldn't help thinking that 
*that* fact explained a great deal of Lydia's detached view 
of human morality.

"You *are* remarkably easy to read, you know," she 
commented casually.

Somehow, Nick didn't mind her evaluation as much as he 
minded it from Janette or LaCroix.  "So I've been told," he 
murmured.

It was near sunrise, perilously close, yet Nick didn't want 
the evening to end.  He'd been talking with Lydia for hours 
as stick after stick of incense burned to ash, filling her 
tiny apartment with pungent smoke; he felt as if he could 
talk with her for hours more.  "I should leave now," he 
murmured, though it was the last thing he wanted to say.

She looked surprised.  "Why?  It's perfectly safe here."

A vampire's first concern was always to ensure him/herself 
a sanctuary through the deadly hours of daylight; it did 
seem a sensible alternative, to spend the day with Lydia.  
"Why do you want me to stay?" he countered, vaguely 
distrustful -- he'd seen enough of LaCroix's hidden 
motivations to be suspicious of anything that seemed to be 
too much of a gift, and Lydia's oblique offer was indeed a 
gift -- though Nick didn't dare take that line of analysis 
too far; he hadn't yet been able to bring himself to admit 
how strongly he was attracted to her.

Lydia sighed heavily, and Nick became aware that once more 
she'd read his thoughts, apparently effortlessly.  "Lucien 
and I do not maintain contact," she said, "for the sake of 
our mutual safety and mental health.  To put it in modern 
terms, we aren't on the same wavelength.  I resent any 
comparison between us as much as you would dislike any 
assertion of similarity between Lucien and yourself, if not 
more so.  Therefore kindly abandon that line of thought; it 
makes me, shall we say, *uptight*."

"Why don't you get along with him?" Nick probed warily.

She smiled at him, a smile that was about as friendly as a 
snarl: all bared teeth, and no humor whatsoever.  "Why 
don't *you*?" she shot back.

He decided that it would probably be prudent to abandon 
that line of inquiry, and sensed her unspoken agreement.  
Still...  "After all your talk of family, I would have 
thought..."

"Drop it," she said suddenly, sharply, and Nick complied.

They sat in silence together for a few awkward moments.  
Lydia poked at the ash in the incense burner with one 
restless finger briefly before her quiet voice rose to 
break the stillness.  "Lucien LaCroix," she said softly, 
sadly.  "The light of the cross.  I was the one who 
extinguished that light, Nicholas.  I snatched it away, 
took all the light for myself, and left him only darkness."

There was nothing Nick could say to that, but the distant 
misery lurking behind Lydia's placid facade led him to edge 
closer, to slide one arm around her hunched back, offering 
what little comfort he could.

Without a word, she settled against him.  A small unhappy 
sound emerged from her lips, and without conscious thought 
Nick found himself embracing her, holding her.  The warmth 
generated by their closeness permeated his awareness, 
pervasive and powerful, driving away everything else...

One small query rose to the surface of his distraction.  
"When you were brought over," he murmured.  "What happened 
to the one who made you?"

Something warm and wet splashed against his neck, trickled 
down his chest; a single teardrop, Lydia's tear, as 
startling and contradictory as was everything about her.  
"He went into the fire," she whispered.  "He was tired, 
Nicky.  As tired as I am now."

He drew her closer, wanting to ease her pain, and wanting 
much more; his lips met hers, and they kissed...

-------

"My grandmother," Nick repeated absently.  "And possibly 
the most dangerous creature I know."

"She saved me," Nat reminded him.

Roused from the memory, he spared her a glance that, while 
devoid of anger, seared her to the core nevertheless.  
"Trouble comes in odd shapes and sizes," he said dryly.  
"You could doubt that, after what she's already done?"

"She blocked my memory of you," Natalie clarified. "Why?"

"Ostensibly to protect her privacy, or so she would 
probably claim," Nick stated, and it was clear from his 
expression that he didn't believe it one bit.  "It's my 
opinion that she thought it might be *fun*."

"To mess with my head?"

"To mess with *mine*," Nick growled, his voice 
uncharacteristically ominous.  his face was closed, set in 
a grim look of foreboding; accordingly, Natalie was silent.

It had been a mistake, of course.  If she had remembered, 
she'd never have come on to Nick that way; why remind him 
of the dangers of their relationship, and the frustrating 
impossibility of any consummation of their passion?  If she 
had remembered, she would have been content -- no, not 
content: blissfully happy -- to simply rest in his arms and 
feel the gentle warmth of his love for her.  Love could go 
a long way all by itself; physical passion was a delightful 
fringe benefit, but by no means essential.

*Monster.*  Oh, God.  How much more cruel could she have 
been?  All the more so because it had been inadvertent, a 
natural response to an unnatural reflex.  If she'd had 
access to her memories, if she'd *remembered*, she might 
have been startled by his change, but she would have 
understood -- not run screaming from him like the heroine 
of some B-movie.  How horrible it must have been for Nick, 
lulled into complacency by their ongoing friendship and 
blossoming love, to be confronted with terror and loathing 
from the one person he'd dared to really trust in almost 
eight hundred years.

"Oh, God," she said softly.  "Nick..."

He spoke as if she hadn't already been speaking, cutting 
her off.  "It looks as if you've overcome Lydia's 
conditioning.  Most mortals couldn't do that, but I thought 
you probably would.  I have faith in you."  His words were 
laudatory, but his voice was nearly expressionless.

"Nick," Natalie pressed, "we have to talk."

"You should be immune, now, to a repeat attempt," he 
continued, ignoring her.  "All the same, I don't think 
she'll make the same mistake again."

"Nick, don't do this..."

"Not even she can afford to make enemies so casually," his 
voice overruled Natalie's.  "She must realize I may never 
forgive her as it is."

She sighed.  "Nick, can't you forgive *me*?"

A brief pause.  "It's myself I can't forgive," he said 
finally.  "I betrayed you, Natalie."

"No!" she protested, anguished.  "I betrayed *you*!"

He laughed grimly, a hopeless sound.  "And how do you 
figure that?"

"What I said..."

"Is as nothing beside what I *did*.  Natalie," and the tone 
of his voice held an agony of self- loathing, "if you 
hadn't screamed, I would have... I don't know what I would 
have done."  A brief, humorless laugh.  "Actually, I know 
*exactly* what I would have done."

"You wouldn't have hurt me," Natalie said steadily.  "I 
know you wouldn't have hurt me.  You see, I have faith in 
you, too, Nick."

His eyes met hers in incredulous wonderment -- then, in 
abrupt, fierce denial, Nick wrenched his attention away.

A few moments later, he spoke again.  "There can be nothing 
between us, Nat," and though the familiar nickname warmed 
her, the rest of his words coupled with the death's-mask of 
finality he wore chilled her to the core.  "It's far too 
dangerous."

She dared to reach out and touch his hand, clasp it gently 
as it clutched the doorjamb with white- knuckled ferocity.  
"To which one of us, Nick?" she queried.  "Me... or you?"

He didn't answer, only slid his hand from beneath hers, 
denying even that small contact.  "Leave it alone," he 
said, his voice achingly bleak.  "Leave it alone, Nat.  
It... it's better that way."

And though it wrenched at her, it seemed the only kind 
thing to do was to obey.  She had never seen Nick so 
tormented; she feared that the smallest stress would tear 
away his perilous control, leaving him defenseless.  He was 
a creature of the night, immortal, a drinker of blood -- 
and she had never known anyone so utterly vulnerable in all 
her life.

"All right," she murmured, hating it, hating herself for 
what she'd done, and hurting from the knowledge that she 
couldn't fix the damage.  "All right, Nick."

"I have to go."  He seemed to be searching for an excuse, 
any excuse, to get away from her.  "It's almost sunrise... 
and I have to find her, before she does any more damage."

She didn't bother pointing out that any other time, he 
would have sought sanctuary in her apartment until 
nightfall.  "And when you find her," she said, "what are 
you going to do?"

"I don't know."  There flashed in his eyes an incandescent 
fury unlike anything Natalie had seen before, a savage 
ferocity so great it frightened her.  "I'll talk to her," 
Nick said, his voice very carefully controlled.  "Explain 
to her in words of two syllables or less that her actions 
are *unacceptable*."  His fist slammed into the wall -- and 
she noticed that the uncharacteristic gesture was 
apparently not his first; there were tiny scars gracing his 
hand, unnoticeable except to a trained eye, and 
disappearing as she watched.

Concerned with Nick's welfare, she barely noticed that his 
impulsive gesture of anger had knocked a neat hole in the 
plaster.

"You think that'll help?" she wondered aloud.

"Probably not.  Probably get me killed.  Quite frankly, I 
don't much care anymore."  His eyes slid sideways, the 
better to avoid Nat's gaze, and focused abruptly on the 
damage his fist had done. "I'll pay for that," he said 
sheepishly, hopelessly.

"I'm not worried about the *wall*!"  She reached out and 
grabbed his hand, examined it closely. "Funny," she said 
absently, "LaCroix thought that I loved you because you 
were a vampire."  The marks were rapidly fading, leaving no 
sign.  "But without that memory, I loved you as much as 
ever."

"You remember that...?"  She wouldn't have thought it was 
possible for Nick to be any more distraught than he already 
was.

"I remember everything," Natalie said levelly.

His face darkened, and he turned away.

"Our conversation afterward," she elaborated, though he 
hardly needed to be reminded.  "The things you said to me.  
And what I said to you."

"Nat, please..." he began.

"Why did you want me to forget that, Nick?" she asked him 
intently.

His eyes were ablaze with pain, a flame that frightened her 
far more than the light of vampiric bloodlust.  "It 
*hurts*, Nat," he said, with an intensity of his own.  "It 
hurts too damn much for me to bear."

All at once, he was moving, out of her apartment, and -- 
Natalie feared, with a sudden rush of instinctive 
apprehension -- out of her life. "Nick!" she cried out, 
almost without thinking. "What about... what about us?"

Halfway down the hall, he stopped, turned halfway around so 
that only his profile was visible. "There can be no *us*, 
Nat," he said quietly, painfully.

She watched him go, until his figure disappeared around the 
corner, not bothering to wipe away the tears that streamed 
silently down her face.

-------

A day's worth of nightmares haunting him -- Natalie, and 
Lydia, and Natalie, and LaCroix, and Natalie, and Janette, 
and Natalie again; a thousand times Natalie, images of 
loving her and losing her and hurting her and himself.  No 
chance for rest, and no relief, only an eternity of waiting 
for darkness to come and make the world accessible to him 
again.

Finally, night, and freedom.  As soon as the last painful 
traces of sunset had faded, he was aloft, searching blindly 
for his 'grandmother'.  No leads, no clues, leaving him 
with no other choice than to roam helplessly, searching for 
any sign of the errant vampire.

//Now, if I were a tourist here,// he asked himself, 
//where would I go?//  Not just any tourist, but a vampire, 
and female: almost five thousand years old and yet still a 
child, born to darkness in her early youth, and separated 
from most aspects of their demonic society by her immense 
age and her quirky nature.  A creature more alien to him 
than any mortal could be.  //If I were Lydia -- where would 
I go?//

He diverted his course, swinging away from the sports arena 
in a wide arc.  There was a show there tonight, some rock 
concert of another, and the bright lights that ensured no 
drunken teenagers would be copulating in the corners would 
surely make him visible if anyone happened to look up...

//A show.  A rock concert,// he thought, irrelevantly.

//Born to darkness in her youth...//

It was possible; in fact, knowing Lydia, it was entirely 
probable.  After all, she was the one who'd dragged him to 
Woodstock -- both times. //Why not?// Nick thought.  So 
far, it was the best lead he had...

Arena security verified his I.D. and let him inside, and he 
made his way through the crowded venue.  The place stank of 
sweat and beer and human bodies, and the loud music grated 
at his sensitive hearing.  He scanned faces as he passed, 
searching, in vain he knew, for one face among thousands...

And then he saw her.

Second tier, right by the edge, leaning over the railing 
and shouting her approval of the band.  No longer the 
flowerchild he remembered, thoroughly modern in her grunge-
rock clothing, but golden- haired and angelic as always, 
slim and tiny as a china doll -- Nick shoved his way 
through the throngs until he was one section away, 
struggling toward her.

Abruptly, she became aware that she was being watched; her 
head jerked around, and her eyes met his.  Youthful 
countenance, blue eyes lighting up as she registered his 
presence, and his identity - - and then she was gone.

Nick knew that trick too well himself, as indeed every 
vampire did; he followed her up, into the rafters of the 
arena, where the speakers and the lights hung from the 
rigging.

She was perched on one of the highest I-beams, watching him 
closely.

"Hi, Nicky," she said lightly, warmly.

Gazing at her so-familiar face, he remembered:

"You."  The smooth civilized tone sharpened to acid with 
the single syllable, the pale eyes narrowing eloquently.

Lydia, seemingly so fragile beside LaCroix's larger frame, 
drew herself up to her full height - - which wasn't much to 
speak of, but the aura of power she exuded more than made 
up for it.  "Me," she agreed soberly.  "Who else?"

Nick looked around nervously, but though Venice Beach's 
Oceanfront Walk was teeming with mortals, no one seemed to 
be taking any particular notice of the confrontation.  
LaCroix was utterly consumed by silent rage -- while Lydia, 
by contrast, seemed wholly at ease with the situation.  
Nick, feeling powerless between the two elder vampires, 
took a step backward and hoped that his luck held: that the 
other two would continue to be so absorbed with each other 
that they would continue to fail to notice his presence.

"How dare you interfere?" LaCroix spat, with a fury not 
even Nick (who was so good at provoking such outbursts) had 
seen from him before.  "He's *my* child!"

"He's my *grandchild*," Lydia shot back sharply.

"We had an agreement!"

"I'm changing the terms."

Eyes locked in a fiery glare, lighting with the telltale 
red glow -- and Nick found himself suddenly reluctant to 
let the encounter continue; he could extrapolate its 
ending, and much to his surprise, he found that he didn't 
particularly want to see tiny Lydia beat the tar out of 
LaCroix.  "Stop it!" he spoke up suddenly.

When both sets of angry eyes focused on him, Nick wished he 
hadn't been so quick to intrude.

He moved forward, one swift step that took him from Lydia's 
side to LaCroix's.  "Let's go," he urged his vampire 
'master', "come on, let's go home."

This was so far from what LaCroix had become accustomed to 
hearing from Nick that his rage vanished in a blank-eyed 
stare of astonishment. Lydia threw back her head and let 
out a long, derisive laugh.  "You see?" she confided to 
LaCroix.  "I've done you a favor already."

The malevolence returned in an instant.  "Don't do me any 
more *favors*!" LaCrois hissed at her, enunciating each 
word with ominous clarity.

Lydia's smile was innocent, thoroughly filled with 
sweetness and warmth -- which made it even more of an 
insult.  "Ah, Lucien, mon cher cauchemar," she cooed, "I 
missed you too, sweetheart."

A dark scowl shadowed his face, and LaCroix turned on his 
heel and strode away; his hand locked on Nick's arm, 
propelling him along with the steely grip.  Nick twisted, 
managed to catch one last glimpse of Lydia -- she seemed 
unconcerned with LaCroix's anger, simply blew him a kiss 
and waved.

The hand on his arm tightened, tugged him forward roughly.  
"Stay away from her," LaCroix advised, "she's nothing but 
trouble."

"And you're not?"  The words were out of his mouth before 
Nick realized the foolishness of provoking LaCroix when he 
was already enraged.

He glanced sideways at his 'father', and was surprised to 
see that the fury he had expected was absent; instead, 
there was an expression that defied analysis -- thoughtful, 
among other things, and a bit wistful, and very definitely 
irritated.

"If you think that *I* am trouble," LaCroix said, his voice 
oddly calm, "then you have not had sufficient time to get 
acquainted with Lydia," pronouncing her name as if it were 
something distasteful.  "She is highly manipulative and 
extremely dangerous."

"She's your *mother*," Nick shot back.

"And since when do such relationships carry any weight with 
*you*?"  The smile on LaCroix's face was an eloquent 
indication that it would be wise for Nick to be silent.

He didn't argue further, but wondered privately -- deep 
within his mind, so deeply that his 'father' couldn't 
discern the thought -- whether LaCroix had brought him over 
as some sort of retribution for his own relationship with 
Lydia.

//Maybe he just resents the fact that she's easier to like 
than he is,// he thought rebelliously, and had the sense to 
bury that thought deeply as well.

-------

He shook off the memory, faced the one who'd evoked the 
reminiscence.  "Hello, Lydia," he said quietly, to the 
still silent figure perched on the ceiling beam closest to 
his.

In a flash, she moved to stand beside him, and as she 
looked up at him, he was struck once more by her smallness, 
her apparent vulnerability.  That appearance was extremely 
deceiving, as he knew so very well.

"I knew it had to be you," he murmured.  "Your style of 
killing hasn't changed."

She did not dispute his charge.  "Ah, the old argument 
again," she said, with a trace of annoyance.  "Couldn't you 
just say hello, and leave it at that?"

Silently, Nick withdrew his wallet and displayed his badge 
and identification.

She stared for a moment, then laughed.  "Oh, I see," she 
said, and promptly held her wrists out. "I admit my guilt.  
Go ahead, arrest me.  Slap on the cuffs, Mister Cop."

"Don't be absurd," he snapped, "you know I can't do that."

"Of course you can't," she agreed.  "And therein lies the 
fallacy of your existence, dear."

"Stop it," Nick said, almost inaudibly.

"Your loyalties are betrayed by your morality," Lydia 
continued, oblivious, "and vice versa."

"Stop," he repeated, his tone virtually pleading.

"When will you learn?" she scolded him.  "You cannot 
continue to try to adhere to mortal standards, Nicky!  
You're not one of them, nor will you ever be again..."

Unthinking, Nick lashed out; his hand struck her face, 
hard, knocking her off the narrow beam and sending her 
plummeting down toward the cheering crowd that lined the 
arena floor.

Aghast, he knelt and peered downward, striving to see what 
had become of her.

A swift, subliminal sound of flight, and Lydia was sitting 
on the beam beside him, so abruptly that he nearly fell 
himself.

Her expression radiated calm, but her eyes were dangerously 
bright, hovering on the edge of bloodfever.  "Maybe you'd 
like to tell me why you did that," she said casually, 
"before I scatter your remains across eastern Canada."

Involuntarily, Nick shivered, for she was perfectly capable 
of doing so if she chose.

He rallied, summoning the anger and pain he'd locked away 
within himself as a defense.  "To begin with," he told her, 
his voice as falsely nonchalant as hers had been, "you've 
done a lovely job of destroying a relationship I value far 
more than my association with you..."

Slender eyebrows shot up.  "Ah, your mortal *friend* 
Natalie," Lydia recalled.  "In case you were unaware, 
Nicky, I saved her life."

"And tampered with her mind!" he challenged.

"I was not about to take a chance of compromising my 
anonymity," she replied with dignity.

"You knew who she was, you *knew* she was keeping my 
secret!"  Nick held himself precariously on the edge of the 
fury he felt threatening him; Lydia might tolerate one 
lapse of control, based on her affection for him and the 
fact of their 'family' relationship, but another would 
likely provoke her wrath.

"And I know, as you do not," her quiet voice rang 
unnaturally loudly in his ears, drowning out even the 
amplified music emanating from the stage below, "that your 
dear friend 'Nat' is more than a little ambivalent about 
this thing you two have going."

It stopped him cold.  "Ambivalent?" he said, hearing his 
own voice as if it were coming from a great distance.  
"What do you mean, ambivalent?"

"What do you think I mean?"  She reached out and touched 
his face, the same gentle caress that had captured him over 
a decade ago in a California alley.  "She's a doctor, 
Nick," Lydia said compassionately, caringly.  "She's sworn 
an oath to preserve life.  How well do you think that fits 
into her association with you?"

"But I don't..."  Nick's voice faltered as his relentless 
sense of honesty forced him to examine the subject more 
closely.  He didn't hunt, he didn't kill, that much was 
true, but it was equally true that over the years he had 
caused more death than any mortal murderer in history. And 
how many times had Natalie had to cover up for him, had to 
falsify reports of otherwise obscure the truth, in order to 
keep his secret -- when her nature and her occupation 
demanded the very opposite...?

"You love her," Lydia said softly, a whisper of sound that 
pierced him as sharply as a scream.

Nick sighed.  "It's pure folly to love a mortal," he said.

"But you do," she observed.

"But I do."  His admission was hardly audible, even to 
vampire hearing.

Lydia smiled sadly.  "Poor baby," she said.  "It's 
inevitable, of course.  How can one not love mortals?  
They're irresistible.  Especially that rare human capable 
of comprehension.  Those few precious souls who understand 
who and what we are -- and who manage to love us despite 
that."  Her hand settled on his arm, not grasping with 
vampire strength but in the weak pliancy of a human grip. 
It reminded him of Natalie, the way she'd covered his hand 
with her own while she'd pleaded for him to listen, to 
forgive her.

"I have wronged her," Nick said, almost unaware that he was 
speaking aloud.  "I've wronged her terribly."

"By loving her?"  Lydia's voice was nearly as gentle as 
Natalie's had been.

"By making her a part of my life."  Nick forced the words 
through clenched teeth.  "By desiring her."

"But that's the *nature* of love," the smaller vampire 
insisted.  "To wish to unite, to become one, in whatever 
way possible."

"Well, it's *not* possible!"  Nick slammed his fist against 
the beam, felt the sturdy steel yield slightly beneath his 
hand.  "Not with Nat; I won't do that to her."

"Do what?  Love her?  It's no crime, Detective Knight."  
Beneath her teasing tone, Lydia's sympathy was deep and 
genuine; he could feel that with certainty.

Her fingertips stroked his arm slowly.  "I've had my share 
of paramours," she told him.  "Some have been lovers for a 
lifetime; some I've brought to join me, so that we could 
have even more time to share.  Some have become rivals, or 
enemies.  And of course, you know about Lucien, who is as 
always in a category all his own."  A short, humorless 
laugh.  "Lucien is a testimonial to the fact that even I 
make mistakes on occasion.  But your Natalie... she's no 
LaCroix, Nicky.  She's strong without being vicious, and 
unlike you, she is a realist -- she could be such a perfect 
companion for you, yet you hold her at arm's length."

"My *love* for Natalie," Nick said, spitting out the word 
as if it were an epithet, "could substantially shorten her 
lifespan."

"Or lengthen it," Lydia interjected.

He glared at her fiercely, angry enough to strike her again 
despite the risk.  "Don't say it," he warned her.  "Don't 
even think it!"

"Why not?  It's perfectly natural to want a family of one's 
own," she said, delicately drawing euphemism over the blunt 
reality of her suggestion.

"I would never betray her that way," he argued.

"Which is the worse betrayal?" Lydia said thoughtfully.  
"To give eternal life, or to watch mortal limitations 
snatch all life away?"

"Either choice is a betrayal, and both are unthinkable... 
everything I do is *wrong*!  And you tell me that loving a 
mortal is not a crime?" Nick said rhetorically.

"And so we return to the eternal argument," Lydia murmured, 
into his anguished silence.  "Am I an unrepentant murderer 
-- or are you hopelessly deluded?  Or does the truth lie, 
as I suspect, somewhere between those extremes?"

His chin lifted in defiance.  "So tell me, oh wise one," he 
said, with open sarcasm, "what do you do with the human 
lovers you deem unworthy of immortality?  How do you evade 
the conflict?"

"I don't," she whispered, her voice so bleak that it 
dampened Nick's anger, reduced his fury to a muddled snarl 
of confusion and concern.  "I watch them die.  And I 
suffer.  And you know what, Nicky?  It's worth it.  It's 
worth all the pain, if only for a moment of happiness!  
What else is there, in this unending loneliness we call a 
*life*?"

He didn't reply; couldn't reply.

"Don't be foolish," Lydia urged him.  "Don't shut yourself 
away from someone who matters so much to you, just because 
you're afraid!"

"I'm afraid for *her*," he groaned.

"Of course you are," she nodded.  "Because you love her.  
But consider this, Nick: in any decision that concerns you 
both, should she not have the opportunity to make her own 
choice?"

He was saved from the necessity of a reply by the 
overwhelming roar of noise that rose from the arena below 
them.  "Show's over," Lydia said.  "In a few minutes, the 
house lights'll come up.  Time for us to go, I think."

She extended her hand to him, and he took it, and together 
they descended to the stadium floor.

-------

Soaring over Toronto with Lydia at his side, he remembered:

The 'morning' after the incident on the boardwalk, he'd 
awakened with the sunset.  He could hear voices in the 
other room of LaCroix's suite; his natural curiosity 
piqued, Nick went to investigate.

A few steps into the corridor enabled him to discern the 
conversation, and wrapped in the complimentary hotel 
bathrobe, he leaned against the wall and eavesdropped 
shamelessly.

"I could do great things with that one," said a familiar 
girlish voice.

"You will do *nothing* with that one," returned a velvety 
voice laced with fury, a voice so much a part of Nick's 
life that he heard it sometimes in his dreams.  "He is 
*mine*."

"He doesn't seem to think he is," she said reflectively.  
"But then, children never do."

"You agreed to stay away from him!"  LaCroix was more than 
simply furious, Nick realized; he sounded almost desperate.

"And for seven hundred years I've adhered to your whim," 
Lydia countered, "and denied myself the pleasure of your 
company, to boot.  Surely you must realize that I have been 
extraordinarily patient with you."

"I want you out of my life," LaCroix hissed. "More 
importantly, I want you out of his!"

"Why must you always meet me with hostility and contempt?  
Why must you always be so damned *contrary*?"

"You should know, dear mother."  Pure malevolence in his 
voice, unyielding.  "After all, you made me what I am."

"You mean, the same way you made your child what he is?"  
Nick winced at the casual rejoinder; he could predict 
LaCroix's reaction.

But the rage he'd expected was absent from his 'father's' 
voice when the other finally spoke. "Perhaps," LaCroix said 
slowly, to Nick's utter shock; it was the closest he'd ever 
heard him come to an admission of guilt.

"Perhaps I did," he continued.  "Perhaps I made the same 
mistakes with him that you made with me. Which does not 
change the fact that they *were* mistakes."

"But, perhaps, makes them comprehensible?"  The tone was 
one of pure pain, of honest pleading.

"Perhaps," LaCroix allowed, very softly.

A long silence.  "All I ever hoped for from you, Lucien, 
was understanding," Lydia said, after awhile.

"Oh, you hoped for much more than that," LaCroix shot back, 
on the heels of her remark.

"Yes," she admitted, "at first."  Her voice strengthened, 
from near-breaking to steely resolve.  "And then I gave up 
on you."

There was no reply to that.  Nick edged forward another 
half-step; he could just make out their silhouettes, facing 
each other across the room, only a few feet apart yet 
separated by a much greater distance.

Lydia traced a circular path on the thick carpet with one 
sandaled foot.  "Probably should have given up a lot 
sooner," she muttered.

"Probably," LaCroix agreed.  "It certainly would have been 
healthier for both of us."

"At least we're speaking again," she said, in that 
philosophical tone that said: hell of a universe, ain't it?  
"Definitely an improvement over snarling at each other."

"Is it really?  I hadn't noticed."  Pleased with the dig, 
LaCroix turned away from her.

Lydia sighed.  "I hope you know how much I love you," she 
said, to his back.  "Despite everything we have done to 
each other over the years, I've always loved you -- cold 
consolation though that might be."

LaCroix was utterly still and silent, revealing nothing.

Defeated, she shrugged hopelessly.  "Oh, well.  I tried," 
she said.

Her hand was on the doorknob when LaCroix finally spoke.  
"Leda...?"

She swiveled back to face him, and he moved toward her.  
Their embrace lasted only a second or two -- but in the 
space of that moment, there seemed no barriers whatsoever 
separating them; there existed between the two an intimacy 
of which Nick had never dreamed, and which he envied more 
than a little.

He could not have said who he envied more: LaCroix, for his 
intimacy with Lydia -- or Lydia, for her closeness to 
LaCroix.

They parted, and spent another few seconds simply gazing at 
each other.  Then Lydia reached up and pressed the very tip 
of her index finger against the tip of LaCroix's nose, a 
gesture both humorous and touching.  He reached out and 
rested his palm on the top of her head, and she smiled -- 
then her hand found the doorknob again, and turned it, and 
Lydia was gone.

Nick remained in concealment, trying to sort out the 
intricacies of what he'd seen, trying to make sense of it 
in light of the facts.  If he had not known LaCroix for 
centuries, if he had not witnessed first-hand the 
atrocities of which the man was capable, he would have 
sworn that this was a very different person from the one he 
knew. *This* LaCroix seemed to be someone Nick could live 
with, someone Nick might love...

How was it that he could despise LaCroix so completely and 
yet feel bound to him so strongly? They had been allies at 
times, enemies more often than not, never quite friends.  
Yet even in the midst of his most frenzied attempts to 
escape the elder vampire, Nick had never been able to deny 
that bond.  It tugged at him, no matter how hard he fought 
it.

He wondered, briefly, whether his 'master' was subject to a 
similar constraint with his own creator.

The silhouette in the living room paused, then turned to 
face Nick.  "You can come out now," LaCroix said, his voice 
utterly polite.

With trepidation, Nick emerged, expecting the worst -- but 
LaCroix only beckoned him closer with a fluid gesture 
reminiscent of Lydia's grace.  The elder vampire seemed 
content with his silent company, seemed disinclined to 
renew the old enmity that lived continually between them.  
Nick, on the other hand, felt as if they were perched on a 
razor's edge, and that any slight misstep might send them 
both hurtling over the precipice.

"Do you really?" he ventured, after awhile.

"Mmm?"  LaCroix was gazing out the window; the heavy blinds 
had been pulled back, but the thin white inner curtain 
still hung like a veil between them and the view of the 
California surf.

"Understand," Nick clarified.

LaCroix was quiet for so long Nick thought he wouldn't 
answer.  "A little," he said finally, "sometimes."

Nick drew a deep breath, released it in a sigh. "I hope you 
know..."

His profile visible to Nick only in outline, LaCroix's chin 
lifted fractionally in an almost defensive motion.

"...how I feel," Nick finished lamely.

"Oh, yes, Nicholas."  LaCroix's voice was smooth as silk, 
but utterly without hostility.  "That, I understand 
perfectly."

-------

//Well, that makes *one* of us,// Nick thought.

-------

//Well, that makes *one* of us,// Nick thought.

He tore himself away from the memory as Lydia dove sharply, 
beginning her descent to the ground; he followed her, and 
was unsurprised to find himself on the roof of his own 
apartment building. Of course Lydia knew where to find him, 
and of course she had waited for him to come to her, 
bringing him closer by the most insidious of lures.

Anger surged up within him again, his most common emotion 
where Lydia was concerned; almost before he'd landed, his 
diatribe had begun.  "How could you tamper with her 
memories that way?" he spat. "You can claim all you like to 
have the right to judge whether or not a mortal should die 
for his sins, but there is *no* way you can pretend you had 
any right to come between me and Nat!"

"Is that what I did?" she wondered aloud.  "I rather 
thought my 'tampering' struck straight at the *heart* of 
the matter, so to speak.  After all, it has forced you to 
confront things you'd rather avoid..."

"Such as what?" Nick demanded.  "The fact that I am doomed 
to an existence of constant suffering, simply because I'm 
unlucky enough to have gained some measure of conscience 
over the years?"

"You don't have to be so unhappy," Lydia countered.

"No, that's right," he agreed, "I can proclaim myself a 
god, and thereby give myself the right to kill whoever and 
whenever I choose!"

A flash of genuine anger flared blood-red in her eyes.  "Be 
very careful, Nick," she admonished, in a soft voice that 
nevertheless reverberated with overtones of imminent peril.  
"Be very careful where you place your contempt, and your 
blame.  I will not take responsibility for a situation that 
is not my doing."

"If not yours, then whose?" he parried.

In another situation it might have been comical, this 
sweet-faced girl emitting such an air of menace -- but this 
was Lydia, survivor of the millennia, and there was nothing 
at all humorous about the barely-leashed fury lurking 
behind her deliberate calm.  "I may have thrown a 
monkeywrench into the works," she said, "but you built the 
machine, Nicky, and you wrote the program.  If it's not 
working for you, I strongly suggest that you re-examine the 
blueprint."

Faced with the prospect of an abrupt end to his immortal 
existence, courtesy of a momentary lapse of Lydia's 
obviously precarious restraint, Nick backed down.  The 
realization that she was maddeningly correct in her 
assertions stripped him of his anger, leaving only the 
usual lingering residue of shame.  "I should never have 
involved Natalie in my life," he murmured, almost unaware 
that he was speaking his thoughts aloud.  "If I had any 
sense, I'd leave now; I'd go see Aristotle, and simply 
disappear..."

Lydia made an exasperated noise, blowing a stray lock of 
hair away from her face.  "Stubborn damn fool," she 
retorted.  "Listen to yourself.  D'you think it would hurt 
her *less* if you disappeared? Leaving her with a lifetime 
of guilt over driving you away?"

"Why must you be so relentlessly logical?" Nick questioned.

Another bright burst of laughter.  "You mean, why am I so 
consistently, annoyingly *right*," she countered.  "Nicky, 
you need to go to her.  Talk to her.  Trust me -- women 
know these things."

He looked her up and down with a probing gaze he usually 
saved for Janette.  "Women?" he inquired, with polite 
disbelief.

"All right, so physically I'm a girl," Lydia amended, 
unaffected by his scorn.  "And a vampire. I'm still female, 
dear, and you're not, which means I'm one step closer to 
understanding your friend Natalie than you are.  The 
dichotomy between mortal and vampire is as nothing beside 
the difference between male and female; and if you haven't 
learned *that* in eight hundred years, sweetheart, there's 
no hope for you whatsoever."

Nick smiled, a wistful expression.  "All right," he 
responded, "tell me, oh wise one -- if you were Natalie, 
what would you want me to do?"

Lydia didn't return his smile; her eyes filled, 
inexplicably, with tears.  "If I were your Natalie," she 
said softly, "I would want you to come to me and take me in 
your arms, and tell me how you truly felt."  She heaved a 
deep sigh. "Nicky, my saving her was no accident.  I was 
blocks away when it happened...  I *heard* her, Nick.  She 
was calling out for help."  Her eyes were very dark, thin 
rings of blue around huge black irises.  "She was calling 
out for *you*."

Nick didn't reply, lost in thought.  When Natalie had 
nearly been raped, he hadn't been there. Hadn't been there 
when she'd needed him, not at the time nor later, and when 
he *had* come to her, everything had gone wrong...

"For a mortal to know your nature," Lydia continued, "and 
to trust you so completely nevertheless, to look to you for 
salvation in her time of need -- what do *you* imagine that 
signifies?"

"But I let her down," Nick muttered.  "I always let her 
down..."

"Nobody's perfect!"  Lydia stared up at him with her fists 
jammed into her hips, the very picture of confrontation.  
"If you don't go to her," she delivered her ultimatum in a 
stern tone, "I will shove my fangs so far down your throat 
that you'll be sucking your own blood for breakfast!"

He couldn't help laughing -- the mental picture of the fate 
she threatened was humorous, and the sight of this tiny 
creature facing him down was utterly ludicrous, despite the 
very real danger. "Yes, Lydia," he acknowledged solemnly.

"I mean it!  Don't be an idiot, Nicky.  You know how rare 
it is to find a mortal who *understands*?"

"I know," he whispered.

"So talk to her," she insisted.

"Later," he relented.

"Now!" she demanded.

"All right."  Overcome by a sudden impulse, Nick pulled 
Lydia into an embrace, lifting her off the ground 
effortlessly.  "You think you've won," he said into her 
ear.  "You haven't, you know."

"Oh, sure I have," she said breathlessly.  He would have 
released her, but her arms locked around his neck, 
maintaining the contact.  "You only think you're angry," 
she said with certainty. "Someday, you'll thank me for 
this."

"You think so?" he wondered, with honest curiosity.

"I know so.  I know *you*, dear."

(scene continues)

(scene continues)

 "Someday, you'll thank me for this."

"You think so?" he wondered, with honest curiosity.

"I know so.  I know *you*, dear."

Her smug sureness annoyed him.  "As well as you know 
LaCroix?" he spat venomously.

"Far better.  You're so much more like me than he is.  You 
spend your immortal existence looking for the truth, and 
never realize that it lies right before you..."  Sadness 
engulfed her, but only for a moment; she banished it with a 
bright smile. "But you're lucky, Nicky.  You have people to 
help you through your turmoil.  Me, for instance."

"If this *disaster* is your idea of *help*...!"

"A first small step.  You can't see that; you don't have my 
perspective.  Not your fault -- you're just a kid."

"*I'm* just a kid?"  He shook his head.  "You're insane."

"Sometimes, certainly," she agreed, "but not at the moment.  
Just... lonely."  A long, heavy sigh coursed through her, 
sending a tremor through her small body, and she released 
her grip on Nick and turned away.  "Believe it or not, I 
didn't really come here to interfere with your life.  Or 
with anyone's.  I just... I wanted to see my family again.  
Lucien, and you..."

"Well, here I am," Nick said sharply.  "Do you like what 
you see?"

"What do you think?!"  Lydia's face held outrage. "What is 
there, here, to like?  You're *killing* yourself, Nicky!"  
She stared at him, with an expression halfway between anger 
and misery. "You're killing yourself."

"I'm trying to save myself," he murmured.

"You ain't doin' a damn good job of it," she scolded.

"Perhaps not.  But at least I'm making the attempt."

"How?  Tell me how," Lydia demanded.  "You mock me for 
trying to ensure the safety of the mortal flock, and then 
you turn around and become a *police officer*?"

"Detective," he corrected.

"So you got a promotion.  Congratulations."  Her eyes were 
accusing.  "You want to *redeem* yourself, so you choose 
the most ineffective and frustrating way possible to do so.  
You want to feel a connection with the mortals you seek to 
emulate, so you make friends with all your usual skill, and 
then berate yourself for *caring* about them!  You refuse 
to be a proper vampire, you're incapable of being a proper 
mortal, you exist in limbo between two conflicting worlds 
and deny yourself any form of companionship that might 
bring you pleasure -- and you wonder why you're constantly 
miserable?"

"I'm not *always* miserable," he protested.

She cocked her head sideways, looked up at him, and didn't 
say a word.

Nick shrugged helplessly.  "Sometimes I'm not miserable," 
he said weakly, attempting a smile.

"Let me guess.  When you're with Natalie... right?"  She 
took his silence for assent.  "And this would be the same 
Natalie who you're considering running away from.  Right, 
Nicky?"

Exasperation and fatigue combined to make him reckless.  He 
grabbed her upper arms, held her in a grip that would have 
bruised mortal flesh, momentarily unintimidated by her 
immense age and superior strength.  "Do you think," he said 
roughly, "that you could find something, *anything* to call 
me, other than Nicky?"

Her eyebrows lifted.  "Certainly," Lydia said. "*Idiot.*"

The stern expression on her face dissolved into mirth, 
inviting a suitable response -- despite himself, Nick felt 
his anger fade away.  "Bitch," he countered, trying to 
muster up resistance to her insidious charm.

"S'me."  She pulled back, eyed him suspiciously. "I'm not 
gonna leave you alone 'til you fix things with your lady 
friend."

"I'd better `fix things' quickly, then, hadn't I? Before 
you annoy me into doing something that will cause you to 
kill me."  Misery spread over his face.  "If it is in fact 
possible to repair the damage."

"Oh, it's more than possible; it's extremely likely.  Long 
as you don't do anything stupid like try to shut her out of 
your life.  Make no mistake, Nicky -- Nick," Lydia 
corrected herself pointedly.  "That would hurt Natalie a 
great deal. Maybe even more than it would hurt you.""I 
don't think I could feel any worse than I do right now," 
Nick whispered.

Her eyes closed tightly, as if holding back tears. "You're 
just a kid," Lydia said.  "You haven't lived long enough to 
know.  Believe me, there's worse pain than this.  Whatever 
suffering you think you've endured -- you have no 
*conception*." She blinked hard, looked up at him.  "Let go 
of Natalie," she murmured, "and you'll start learning real 
quick."

She looked so forlorn that Nick's instinctive response was 
to embrace her; he regretted that action as soon as he 
moved toward her, for he was still furious with her, and it 
looked as if she'd found an effective way of neutralizing 
his rage. But Lydia sank into his arms, almost melting into 
him, trembling -- and he realized that he couldn't stay 
angry at her, he *couldn't*: the same compassion and 
empathy that made him such a good cop and such a lousy 
vampire rendered him unable to do anything but try to 
soothe her.

Unexpectedly, she wrenched herself away from him, and Nick 
recognized what an effort it had been for her to do so -- 
as hard as it had been for him to turn away from Nat.  "My 
pain is not the issue here," she said firmly, ignoring her 
own tears. "I'm not the one on the edge of imminent 
breakdown."

"And you believe I am?" he wondered.

"Oh, yeah."  Absolute certainty in her voice. "You're 
losing it, Nick.  Your mortal friends don't know enough to 
recognize the signs.  Lucien knows, I'm sure, but you won't 
let him near you, and it seems that for a change he's got 
enough common sense to leave you alone and let you figure 
it out for yourself.  Except that you *won't*, because it's 
not what you want to believe." Lydia's voice became 
sardonic.  "Whatta time for Lucien to learn common sense.  
Somebody oughta be taking care of you."

"Not him," Nick said firmly.

"`Course not.  Nor me, right?"  She folded her arms and 
studied him.  "Who, then?  Who will our Nicholas allow to 
give him the support he needs?"

His eyes narrowed.  "So that's what all this is about."

"What did you think?  That I was fooling around with your 
personal life for my own amusement?" She made a disparaging 
noise.  "There is this thing that mortals have invented, 
dear; it's called *television*.  Believe me, there are less 
strenuous ways for me to entertain myself."  Her expression 
turned whimsical.  "Y'know, maybe someday you can teach me 
how to program a veedee... vee tee... the little black 
boxes that play picture tapes."

"VCR," Nick furnished.

"Right.  Vee-cee-arr.  What a funny name," she mused.

(scene continues)

(scene continues)

"You can barely manage the Roman alphabet," Nick said 
patiently, "and here you are, making a psychological 
evaluation based on very little data..."

"Sweetie, I was born before the pyramids.  Human 
technology, I'm still getting used to."  She took his hand 
and held it in a simple, non-threatening grip.  "But the 
workings of the human heart and soul haven't changed in 
five thousand years."

"But I'm not human," Nick muttered, "am I?"

"What are vampires," Lydia asked reasonably, "but humans 
with odd dietary needs?"

He was silent, absorbing that.

"Gotta go," Lydia said, her voice cheerful, her face 
containing its usual look of cocky sweetness and suppressed 
mischief.  "Call me, hmmm?"  She held up one hand and 
waggled her fingers at him in a farewell gesture, grinned.  
"We could go down to the city jail and... do lunch."

"I don't think so," Nick said ironically.  "Do me a favor, 
will you?  If you must mete out justice, be a love and do 
it in someone *else's* jurisdiction, yes?  Or at the very 
least, fake a reasonable cause of death..."

"Hey, I was tired," she protested, "three hours circling 
over O'Hare, wondering if I'd make it to cover before 
sunrise; it wasn't a pleasant trip. That's the last time I 
take a commuter flight!" She poised on the edge of the 
rooftop, studied him for one last long moment.  "It's 
getting late," she said, waving one hand vaguely eastward, 
at the telltale glow in the sky.  "Get some sleep, dear. 
You'll feel better in the evening."

"I wish," he said sourly.

Her smile this time held an edge, the faintest trace of 
smug knowingness muting its angelic innocence.  "You'd be 
surprised, she said, and sailed upward and outward, into 
the fast-fading night.

He watched her go, then made his own way to shelter, down 
the stairs from the roof and into the secure shelter of his 
own home.  The shutters closed, enfolding him in comforting 
darkness.  //If only I could shut out the pain as easily as 
the sunlight,// he thought grimly.

Hesitantly, he picked up the phone... set it down again.  A 
vision of Natalie's face swam before him: her concern, her 
guilt, her tears -- and then it was gone, replaced by a 
picture of her in the midst of her terror, staring at him 
as if he were a loathsome creature...

He checked his answering machine.  There was only one 
message, and the sound of the voice warmed him and chilled 
him at once.  "Call me," was all she said, nothing more -- 
but even the sterile technology of magnetic media was 
sufficient to allow him to discern the tears in her voice.

Nick picked up the phone again, pressed the rapid- dial 
button that would connect him with Natalie, listened to the 
swift series of tones as the call was relayed.  At the 
other end of the line, the phone rang -- and he jammed his 
finger against the disconnect button in an instant of near-
panic.

He was in too much pain already, and any further discussion 
with Natalie held the potential for even greater agony; 
despite Lydia's admonitions, despite his memory of 
Natalie's tears, he couldn't call her, he just *couldn't*.

The refrigerator yielded a bottle of blood -- after a 
moment's thought, Nick replaced his selection and reached 
deeper, to the back of the shelf.  A gift from Janette, a 
gift which had in fact provoked their last argument, but 
which was now his only source of relief.  Human blood: 
solace and torment wrapped up together in a neat package.

Janette, who he could have -- his vampire nature was no 
threat to her, resulted in fact in some pretty mind-blowing 
sex, to use the vernacular. Natalie, who he could never 
have -- not without either killing her or bringing her 
over.  It seemed so unfair... and guilt assailed him for 
what he had done, for dispelling the arousal and pain 
Natalie had provoked in him by going to Janette.  A 
particularly nasty betrayal, the most unjust of all.

Nick looked at the bottle he was holding, and thought, 
//betraying Nat's trust again?//  And even though the pain 
inside him cried for the luscious relief, for the *real* 
thing instead of the poor substitute of animal blood, he 
put it back and chose the lesser option.  He'd done enough 
damage to his mortal love in the past few days; unfair to 
continue, even if Nat would never know of his sacrifice on 
her behalf.

He curled up on the couch and drank, and tried desperately 
not to think, not to feel... not to hurt.  Impossible to 
find peace, but eventually he managed to reach a state of 
numbness, and that in itself was a blessing.

-------

"Thanks for the lift," Natalie said, as Schanke held the 
car door for her.

She'd succeeded in recapturing some measure of serenity, 
mostly by forcing the entire issue with Nick to the back of 
her mind.  "I need to get back to work," she murmured under 
her breath.  Anything to avoid thinking about the 
disastrous events of the past... had it only been two 
nights?  It seemed as if she'd been miserable for a lot 
longer than that.

Of course, she had spent most of the day agonizing over 
what had happened, and what might happen next, and she'd 
started to dial his number so many times that her index 
finger was sore...

It wasn't quite dark yet, so there was a good chance she 
wouldn't encounter Nick for at least a little while.  
During that brief respite, she could pretend that nothing 
had happened, that her life had returned to normal.

"You should probably take some time off, after... well, you 
know," Schanke said uncomfortably.  "But I can't pretend 
I'm not glad to have your help with this one."

She turned to look at him sharply.  "What's up?"

He exhaled, a long loud sound of fatigue.  "That probable 
overdose of yours?" he said.  "Well, you might want to take 
another look, Nat, `cause we got another one.  And this 
time, the killer left a note."  Schanke's expression 
darkened.  "It looks like we might have a vigilante on our 
hands."

Caught between startlement and dismay, Nat was silent.  //I 
should have known I couldn't escape so easily,// she 
thought.  //O