Date:         Fri, 21 Jan 1994 09:00:43 -0700
 
 
 
Til Time and Times Are Done
 
A Forever Knight\Highlander story
 
by Tara O'Shea
 
 
 
 
          I had a dream,
          When I was young,
          A dream of sweet illusion,
          A glimpse of hope and unity,
          And visions of one sweet union,
          But a cold wind blows,
          And a dark rain falls,
          And now in my heart is shows,
          Look what they've done to my dream.
 
                    - Queen, "One Vision"
 
 
 
 
Part I "A Cold Wind Blows"
 
     Niamh took one last look around the front room, and turned the little
metal sign in the window from open to closed, flipping the deadbolts as she
did so.
     "Did you sell that end table?" she poked Kit in the ribs as he lowered
the blinds.
     "No, but that lady did pick up a carriage clock."
     "Better than nothing," she shrugged.  She was actually rather glad she
had hired Kit to help her in the shop. It was a very pleasant arrangement.
Christopher was a teaching assistant at the University, and really needed the
money, and she now had someone to keep her company, and look after the shop if
she went on holiday or business trips of all kinds.
     Her eyes strayed to matched dai-sho hanging in the case above her desk.
She had gotten the longsword from the police auction, and the wakizashi she
had retrieved from Himiko's home in Osaka.  They were her only remembrances of
her friend and teacher.  The rest had been put in storage during the police
investigation.
     The sword was definitely not for sale, though she had had many, many
offers since she had acquired it.
     "I can't believe you got it."  Kit whistled through his teeth, following
her gaze.  "Where did you get the money?"
     "Oh, I have quite a bit tucked away."  Only about 800 years worth in
antiques, gold and cash.  She laughed, then grew strangely silent, as
something tickled her awareness.  There was another of her kind near. "Well,
it's getting late."  She pointed Christopher in direction of the door.  He
picked up his jacket and helmet and she forced herself to smile so he might
not suspect what was wrong as she walked him to the back door.  "See you
tomorrow, Corrine."
     "Bye, Kit."  She watched him mount the motorcycle and turn out the end
of the alley, and she ran up the stairs to her apartment and retrieved her
daito.
     The buzz increased, and she saw a shape behind the blinds near the front
door.  She peeked through the blinds, sighed, and opened the door as far as
the chain would allow.
     Fitz looked delighted to see her, then saw the katana. "I hope that's
not for me."
     "No, Fitz.  Regardless of the fact that you have succeeded in scaring me
to death, I'll not take your head."  Niamh sheathed the sword.  "Either of
them," she added, a twinkle in her eye, and he put his hand to his heart as if
wounded.  She stepped aside so he could enter, and then re-locked the door.
     "Niamh n! Bhriain, you are ever so charming when you want to be," he
observed, wryly.
     "I go by Corrine Michaels at the moment.  I haven't been Niamh O'Brien
since..."
     "Dublin, 1926."
     "Fitz, I'm flattered you remember."
     "A woman of such loveliness one never forgets."
     "It was '29."  She smiled sweetly.  Fitz reminded her of one of Kit's
favourite television characters.  Her first thought when he tried to get her
interested in Doctor Who was that that Baker fellow reminded her of Fitz minus
the libido. "What brings you to Toronto?"
     "I wish it were merely that I missed your company, dear girl, but I'm
afraid it's something more depressing.  Darius died a few weeks ago."
     Niamh went ashen, then her face was flooded with colour, as they climbed
the stairs to the back door of her flat. "I was just there a month ago," she
said softly.  "He and Himiko were the first of our kind I ever knew."
     She sank into a chair, signing as she ran her fingers through her dark
hair.  "How?  He was on holy groundD"
     "It wasn't one of us."
     "What?"  She was visibly shaken, and could not find words for a moment,
trying to comprehend what that meant.  "It was a mortal?"
     "Yes.  A group of mortals who apparently hunt immortals.  Duncan took it
very badly."
     "But his Quickening.... all that knowledge, all those centuries of
experience and life..."
     "I know, love."  He put his hand on her shoulder as she blinked in
confusion and then anger.
     "All of it lost, it just isn't fair!"
     "I know, love, I know.  But what's done is done."  He hugged her, and
she wiped her sudden tears away with the back of her hand impatiently.
     "He left something for you, that's why I came.  I thought it better that
you hear it from someone you know than over the phone or by letter."  He
removed a paper wrapped parcel from his bag, and she ran her fingers over the
writing, her adopted name and Curiosities's address in the familiar hand.  "He
had this set aside for you."
     She carefully undid the string and found a very ancient looking book,
with a folded letter.  She took a deep breath, and opened it.
 
Niamh,
 
It was a delight seeing you again, after so long.  I will miss Himiko very
much, and feel her loss keenly, especially after being reminded of what a
great teacher she was, as you have proven her to be.  When you described the
dilemma of your friend Nicholas to me, I was reminded of this volume, which I
am now entrusting to you, because I think it may do some good.  I am sorry I
could not produce it for you during your visit, but it took some time for me
to hunt through my archives.
 
This book contains a section of cures for curses.  Guard it well.  It is my
gift to you, sweeting.  Do come and visit again, someday soon, if you can.
                                        Darius
 
     Niamh brushed away another tear, and smiled.  "I wish I could, old
friend."  She looked up at Fitz, and smiled.  "This book may be able to help a
friend of mine."  She removed a framed photograph of the ruins of a tower in
Ireland from the wall.
     "Ah.  One of us?"
     "No.  Not quite."  She opened a wall safe, and set the letter and book
inside.  "But someone extraordinary all the same."  She picked up the cordless
and dialled as she replaced the photo.  "I'd like to speak with detective
Knight, please."  She said into the receiver, and Fitz quirked an eyebrow.
"He's not in?  No, no message."  She hung up and dialled again.
     "A police detective?"  Fitz seemed bemused.
     She nodded, then pressed the phone closer to her ear as a voice
cheerfully answered "Natalie's Bed and Breakfast, our day begins when yours
ends."
     "Nat?"  Niamh couldn't keep a chuckle out of her voice.
     "No, this is her assistant, Grace.  I've been hanging around here too
long.  Can I help you?"
     "Is Dr. Lambert there?"
     "I'm afraid she is out on a case, can I take a message?"
     "No, I'll call back some other time."  She hung up the phone, frowning.
She tried Nick's loft, but got his machine.  Sighing, she sank back into the
couch.
     "I really need a drink."  She sighed, staring at the wall safe, then at
Fitz.  "And I don't feel like having one here.  Are you up to a little
socialising?"
     "I'm not quite sure what you mean."
     "Well, I don't know how well the tweed will go over, but I've been
meaning to go to this club, and now seems like as good a time as any."
     "Club?  As in discotheque?"  Fitz was quite bewildered now.
     "Sort of.  I need to change though."
 
      The Raven was, as usual, packed with people.  Niamh didn't know so much
velvet clothing could exist in one place at one time.
      Niamh was wearing a loose dress of black crepe which she had dug out of
a trunk in the shop's basement.  It smelled of lavender and a time long past,
and she was actually fairly comfortable in it.  Fitz noted that she had worn
it in Dublin.
      He didn't even want to know where she had stashed her katana.
      "Funeral clothes."  Niamh sighed as she watched the black-clad young
people on the dance floor.  She spotted a young woman sitting at the bar, a
long, tapered cigarette holder in one hand, a glass of wine sitting untouched
in front of her as she watched the patterns the blue smoke made in the
changing lights at the edge of the dance floor.
      Niamh recognised her by the choker.  Nick said he hadn't seen her
without one in two years.
      Janette noticed them the moment they walked in.  Their clothes, and the
way they wore them, spoke of people who had lived in them, rather than
children who had searched through vintage and trendy shops for them.  The way
they moved, the way their eyes moved as they scanned the crowd, their faces
momentarily blank, told her that perhaps they were different.
      "Janette?" the girl made the question a statement, and she nodded.  "I'm
Niamh.  I'm in your debt."
      "Ah, you're the one who bled all over Nicky's car!"
      "What a wonderful way to be remembered."  Niamh shook her head, cracking
a smile. "This is Fitz."  she cocked her head in the direction of her
companion, who bowed gracefully, a gleam in his eyes as he took Janette's
proffered hand and kissed it.
      "Hugh Fitzcairn at your service, madame."  He did not release her
fingers, and Janette smiled at the peacock's charm.
      "Fitz, give her hand back."  Niamh sighed, realising just how much she
had missed him.  When he hesitated, Niamh leaned closer, a ghost of a smile on
her face.
      "She's bites, Fitz."  She said in a stage whisper, and he dropped
Janette's hand, still smiling.  "Now be a good lad and go find yourself
someone else to dazzle for the evening."
      "I thought you wanted a drink?"
      "I do.  But I also need to talk to Janette, and it might bore you."
      "My dear girl, how could two such jewels of your sex possibly bore me?'
      "Girl stuff, Fitz."  Niamh replied cheerfully.  "I won't be long, now
run along and play."
      "You're friend is quite the charmer."  Janette remarked, taking a long
drag of her cigarette as she watched Fitz slip through the crowd after a
slender blonde.  "Perhaps I should warn him."
      "Hmm?"
      "To find someone else besides Alma--"
      "Oh, I don't think it matters.  It's not like she can kill him."
      "Ah."  Janette studied her openly.  According to Nick, Niamh was older
than he by little more than a century, and was of an entirely different kind
than Lacroix and all his kin.
      "Fitz came all the way from Paris to give me a book."
      "That good a book?"
      "I think it may be."  She leaned over, and very softly explained the
cures and how Darius thought they may hold the key to Nick's mortality.
Janette listened with measured calmness, trying to decide if she should be
pleased or upset.
      "Have you told Nickolah?"
      "That's just it, I can't find him.  Or Nat, that's why I'm here.  That,
and the fact that I could use a stiff drink and some company."
      "Surely your amorous friend..."
      "My amorous friend simply reminds me too much of someone else right
now."  Niamh's tone was light, but the depth of her pain shone in her pale
eyes, and Janette knew that look well.  Nickolah got it often.  It meant some
crushing defeat.  He always got his hopes up too high, and she guessed it was
much the same for this nine hundred year old woman before her.  She motioned
for the bartender, who refilled her glass and handed Niamh a rum and coke when
she asked for one.  They carried their drinks to a table in a remote corner of
the club, away from prying eyes and ears.
      As they sat down, Niamh took a long sip of her drink, her throat
suddenly tight.
      Niamh plucked the wedge of orange slice from the rim of her glass and
stared at it with a sad smile on her face.  "I remember when I would have
killed for an orange."
      Janette just watched her with large blue eyes, unblinking, impassive.
But she carried her own memories.
      "I remember how our gums used to bleed, and the children's bellies in
winter would swell from hunger, and we buried half that were born, some years.
Winter now means hot chocolate and snowmen, and Father Christmas on every
corner."  She sighed.  "Times change, so fast sometimes it seems.  People
don't...."
      "Don't they?" Janette purred, sipping her wine and blood.  "I think
perhaps they are not as blind as they were."
      "How so?"
      "Now, everyone questions.  They question everything.  Religion,
politics, life.  No one blindly follows anything as they once did."
      "I wonder about that."  Niamh laughed.  "Look at these children, slaves
to fashion as ever man was."
      "Perhaps."  Janette allowed herself to smile.  "Now we have, oh what is
it called.... Grunge, is it?  Children who even when they want not to look
fashionable are fashionable."
      "They all dress alike now.  Remember when fashion meant something?  When
dressing was a ritual that denoted class, household, clan and status?"
      "When dressing took hours, and required the help of at least three
servants?"  Janette laughed.  "I hated those days!"
      "Why?"
      "Because I never had the servants, and Nickolah was ever eager to
*unlace* something, but lace up?  He and Lacroix were as useless as newborn
babes."  They both collapsed into helpless giggles.
      "Men." Niamh snorted, noticing Fitz seemed to be holding his own with
Alma.  "I only ever knew one good one."
      "Really?  Only one?"
      "Darius."  Niamh swallowed the rum and coke, tears stinging her eyes.
"Ah, he was the best."
      "Lover?"
      "No." Niamh choked on a laugh.  "No, Darius was a priest by the time I
got to him.  I can still remember what the day was like.  Paris in January.
Miserable.  Grey, damp, chill.  Perfectly dreadful.  Himiko was bundled up to
her ears in furs, and me in my woolens.  God, I haven't thought of this in
years.  It was right after the Normans had torn up England, conquering they
said, like the Northmen they really were.  Pirates the lot of them.  Crossing
the channel was hell, even with Himiko's perfect French we never slept a wink
with all the sailors up to their mischief.  They'd never seen anyone like her,
and there I was, this grubby little Celt.  Well, not grubby.  Not any longer.
      "Anyway, we finally got to Paris.  All the students were drunk, and
partying in the streets and we stole along in the dark to this stone church at
the gates of Paris.  It's much larger now, grand, a cathedral.  In any case,
back then the roof leaked in the monks quarters, and it was cold and damp, but
it had a marvellous library.
      "I don't know how Himiko managed it, her being an infidel and all as far
as any and all were concerned, but next thing I knew we were in the chapel.  I
had no idea what I was in for, Himiko had been strangely silent the whole
trip.  I had never known any immortal besides her, and was terrified when I
sensed him.  So old.  So much raw power in one being, he must have been two
thousand years old even then, and I fumbled for my sword until he turned
around, and he had the face of an angel.
      "His eyes were pale blue, like the sky on a crisp fall day, and he just
smiled.  I felt like I had known him all my life in that one second.  Darius
had that effect on people.  Ah, but he was a sweet one.  Sly sense of humour,
you never knew it till it was upon you."  She laughed.  "He and Himiko used to
brew these teas.  The two of them were like mad scientists, with their molds
and fungus."
      "Sounds perfectly dreadful."
      "Oh, I assure you they were."
      "What happened to this friend?  Did he die inDD what do you call it?"
      "The Game?  No, Darius was on holy ground when he died.  He hadn't taken
part in the Game in over a thousand years.  Darius was a pacifist.  He was
once the greatest General in all the world, and yet he spared Paris, and
become a priest.  He rarely left the church, maybe venturing out once every
hundred years or so to do some good deed.  None of us would have dared kill
him, except perhaps Greyson, and he's dead now."  She sighed, draining her
glass, feeling the liquor warm the emptiness in the pit of her stomach, making
her just a bit fuzzy.  She welcomed the effects of the drink, blurring the
hard edges, blunting the pain just a bit, making it more bearable.
      Janette was silent, thinking back to a time in Paris, not much later
than the winter Niamh had described, when Lacroix had insisted on entering a
church.  She had not followed, been unable to follow, and the fledgling
Nicholas could not have withstood the fire in the holy symbols, so she had
waited with him out in the snow while Lacroix disappeared into the building
for hours.
      She never knew what had happened.  She wondered now.  What would two
ancient beings might have said to one another, if they had ever known one
another at all.  What two beings so opposite might have shared just by the
virtue of their nature, both having lived so long.
      Not unlike herself and this Niamh, this girl who was a little like a
mirror of herself.  Alike, yet exactly the opposite, an image flipped by the
glass.  Had the two of them sat down to tea, or had they raged at one another?
Had Lacroix played the gentleman or the truant child with this Darius, this
amazing priest?
      She would never know.
      "Have you ever lost someone?"  Niamh tried to make the question sound
purely academic, but the ice in her glass shifted as her hand shook.
      "I think I have lost and found Nickolah more times than I can count."
Janette smiled sadly.
      "If he does become mortal again, as he longs to, would you let him go?"
      "You ask hard questions."
      "Hey, I bared my soul.  Now it's your turn."
      "Some might say my kind have no souls."
      "Bullshit."  Niamh leaned back in her chair, cradling the empty glass in
her chilled hands.  "Every living thing has a soul.  I can feel it in the
land, the animals, and men.  I can feel it in you."
      "Can you?"  Janette was amused.
      "I can feel it strongest in mine own kind, but yes, I can sense life in
all it's forms.  It's like background noise.  Like the vibrations of the music
that hum under my feet and hands.  If you didn't have a soul, there were be a
void when I look at you.  But there isn't.  I can't explain."
      Janette laughed.  She didn't believe a word of it.  "How did your friend
the priest die?"
      "Mortals."  Niamh said, shaking her head.  "There is a group, almost
like a religious order who watch us.  Fitz knows more about it that I, he
actually was caught by one of them.  He said that only the renegades hunt,
that they are founded merely to watch and record."
      "And you don't believe that?"
      "I don't know what to believe."
      "Tell me more about this volume that has come into your hands from your
ancient priest."
      "From what I can tell it's written in an old Indian dialect, some form
of Sanskrit.  Darius made some notes in French and German among the pages,
those I could understand.  I just scanned it before I put it away in the
safe."
      "Are you sure it's safe there?"
      "Janette, you, Fitz and myself are the only people on the planet who are
aware a copy of the abarat even exists."
      "In this place, the walls have ears.  I would not bring the Enforcers
down on your head."
      "The Enforcers?"
      "I see Nick did not tell you everything.  The Enforcers enforce the
code, and if we are threatened with exposure to the mortal world, they will do
anything to ensure that does not come to pass.  If tangible proof exists, a
photograph, a book, a computer disk, anything concrete, the mortal cannot be
hypnotised.  Therefore..."
      "Therefore they must die."
      "Yes."
      "What about Nat?"
      "No one knows, and of the few who do, none would turn her in.  They fear
Nick and myself more than they do the Enforcers."
      "I see.  My kind have no such code."
      "But you do have rules, as we do."
      "Yes.  But some of them are conventions only, adopted so long ago we
don't know if they are physical, or merely etiquette."
      "What do you mean?"
      "The Quickening is something none of us really understand.  In all of my
memory, I have never heard what would happen if we fought on Holy Ground.
Some say we can't hurt each other, that there is something physically barring
it.  Others say there will be no Quickening if there is a kill on Holy Ground.
Still others say that Quickening gotten on Holy Ground would destroy the
recipient."
      "Ah."
      "Indeed.  And I am not one to break a law to test a theory.  Not if it
could mean my life, or worse."  The bartender brought Niamh another rum and
coke, half of which she drained in one long sip.  Janette raised a brow, but
said nothing.  "Darius's Quickening was lost.  There was no one to receive it
when that bastard took his head."
      "Which do you mourn more, the loss of the knowledge, or the loss of the
man?"
      "Both.  They are all tied up together for me.  If someone had been
there, gotten his Quickening, then a part of him would live on.  But..."
      "But now he is well and truly gone.  Just like a mortal."
      "Yes.  He deserved so much more... Darius should have lived forever.  If
any of us deserved it, it should have been *him*."
      "Your friend, Fitz.  Would you kill him, if it came down to it?"
      "I don't know.  I have few friends left.  I don't like to think about
it, what would happen if we were the only ones left.  I hate it!"  She hissed,
tears blurring her eyes.  Janette touched her hand, lost in thought.  "I hate
all the death.  I'm getting so tired of it, all of it.  But what can I do?"
She laughed hollowly.  "It's not like I can kill myself."
 
      Christopher looked up at the sound of a key in the lock.
Or rather, someone attempting to insert a key into the lock without much
success.
      He peaked through the window, smiled, and pulled the door open.  Niamh
almost fell inside, and Fitz was hanging on her, babbling in a language Kit
did not recognise, which Niamh seemed to be ignoring.
      "Corrine?"
      "Yes?"
      "Are you shitfaced?"
      "You bet, bhoyo.  Have you met Fitz?"  He shook his head.  "This is
Kit."
      "Sut rydych chi, heddiw?"
      "eh?"  Kit looked bewildered and Niamh shrugged, pushing Fitz in the
direction of the stairs, and he ambled up to the loft, still muttering to
himself in Welsh.  "That was Fitz."
      "Corrie, it's 9am."
      "I know.  I'm actually not as drunk as I seem to be."
      "Yeah, *right*."
      "Yeah.  I think I'm going to crash for a while."  She seemed so
cheerful, Christopher knew she was going to have an amazing hangover by
evening.  "You're in charge."
      "Great."
      "Don't sell anything too important while I'm asleep."
      "I'm sure I won't."
                                     * * *
      Niamh awoke fully clothed under her down quilt, the LED display of her
alarm declaring it 3pm altogether too brightly, and she was pleased to note
that Fitz was also fully clothed.  This was important to note only because he
was in the bed with her.
      She would have been pissed off if it weren't for the simple reason that
they had both been too amazingly drunk to do anything they might regret later.
      Not that she hadn't done such things in the past.
      But now was *not* a good time.
      She ambled down the stairs, blinking in the afternoon sunlight that
flooded the room.  Kit suppressed a chuckle at the expression on her face as
she shielded her eyes are drew the blinds.
      "Hey, Corrine, there was a message on the tape when I opened this
morning, something from a friend in the States."
      "You catch a name?"
      "Mitch in Seattle ring any bells?"
      "Got it."  She snared the portable and dialled from memory.  Mitch
picked up on the first ring.  "Mitch? It's Corrie, I just got your message."
      "Where were you last night?  I called and called..."
      "I was out.  With an old friend.  So what's up?"
      "Look, I was going through the paper yesterday morning and thought you
might like to know your artist friend, Tessa Noell, died the other day.  The
funeral was Saturday, and the shop is up for sale... Corrie?"
      "I'm here."
      "MacLeod has some guy named Ryan selling the whole thing, stock and all.
I figure you'd want to know before it gets out on the grapevine and every
antique dealer in the northern hemisphere converge on the place like piranha."
      "Look, do you have Nash's number in New York?"
      "No, but I have Rachel's home number.  Why?"
      "Nothing... I just thought he should know."
      "How do you know Nash?  He's a weird bugger."
      "Old friend."
      "*Jesus*, Michaels, is there some sort of conspiracy among antique
dealers around the world?  What is with all this old friend stuff?"
      "Mitch, I'd love to talk, but I need to think.  How did Tessa die?"
      "Carjacker with a gun."
      "Jesus God...."  She blinked, not believing.  Not able to believe it.
      "Yeah, the things that happen nowadays... remember when it was just
"lock your doors'?  Now it's 'own a gun.'"
      "I gotta go, Mitch."  Her voice was devoid of feeling.
      "You take care of you."  Mitch sounded concerned, and Niamh smiled
sadly.  If he only knew.
      "Yeah.  Bye."  She hung up the phone quietly, then suddenly threw it
across the room.
      "Corrine!"  Kit froze in the act of opening a display case.
      "Dammit dammit *dammit!*"  He came over, placing one hand on her
shoulder, and felt a shudder pass through her tiny frame.  "Tessa's dead."
She gave half a laugh that ended in a sigh.  "I don't know why I should be
surprised."
      "Hey, I'm sorry."  Kit hugged her, knowing that somehow there was more
to what he was witnessing than the death of a new friend.  Much more.  But
then, there were things about Corrine Michaels that he didn't think he'd ever
be able to figure out.
      "I've got calls to make.  Duncan and Richie are selling the store, I
have all kinds of things I have to do.  When Fitz comes down, tell him I'm in
the office."
 
 
      I'm not seventeen, but I've cuts on my knees
      falling down as the winter takes one more cherry tree
 
                               -Tori Amos, "Girl"
 
 
Part II "Falling Down"
 
      Niamh hung up, somehow feeling calmer after speaking with Rachel in New
York.  She liked Rachel.  The grand English lady who looked after Connor was
much more accessible than her employer for some reason, despite the fact that
MacLeod was one of her own.
      Connor MacLeod rarely let people get close to him.  That much Niamh had
picked up when she had first met him, years ago.  It had been at an auction in
Vermont, where they attempted to outbid one another for a Masamune dai-sho.
There they were, Corrine Michaels and Russell Nash, rival antique dealers for
all those assembled there knew.  Mitch had been there, and that was when he
started wondering what it was with certain dealers.  He made an observation
then.  Upon meeting, one of three things were bound to happen, he remarked to
her that very afternoon.  Either they were "old friends", or they alternately
loved or hated one another on sight.
      Niamh had laughed it off.  She wasn't laughing later, when they had
confronted one another in the freezing cold out in the parking lot.
      "I am Connor MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod."
      "I am Niamh Ni Bhriain, of the Brianagh."
      And then they had whipped out near-identical Masamune katanas.
      That was how she had discovered how much they actually had in common.
Ramirez had been their link, albeit indirectly.  They had chatted for a few
hours, gotten pissed in the hotel bar, and then the next day they had parted.
      She hadn't seen him since.  She had no idea there was more than one
MacLeod until she had met Rachel.
      Rachel was Connor's conscience, his memory, his heart.  She was like a
daughter to him.  She loved him dearly, perhaps better than any mortal had in
hundreds of years.  Connor had raised her, but in turn she had taught him to
open his heart again in a way he hadn't apparently since the death of his
first wife.
      It had been a year or two after Nash had snared the dai-sho.  She had
been in New York, and on a passing whim had looked up the shop and dropped by.
The store had been empty save for a slim blonde woman, perhaps 30, perhaps 35,
with a crisp English accent and guileless blue eyes.  Niamh had admired the
matched dai-sho, which then had hung in the main room.  They had chatted,
Niamh meaning only to leave a message for Mr. Nash, but finding Rachael to be
a delightful woman.  It had not taken long for the two of them to realise all
the pretence was pointless.  Rachael knew exactly what Niamh was, and Niamh
knew she would never have to be anyone else when she talked to her.
      Thinking about Rachael now, Niamh was reminded of Kit.  They had the
same eyes.
      Niamh couldn't help wondering what it would be like when Rachael finally
aged and died.
      Or if Rachael outlived her and Connor both.
      It was not a thought she wanted to follow at the moment.
                                     * * *
      The sun slipped behind the horizon, and Nick's eyes snapped open.  He
padded into the kitchen and spotted the note he'd tacked to the fridge that
morning.  He glared at the tupperware container of protein drink standing
alone among the two remaining bottles of cow blood, but picked it up anyway.
Nat would kill him if it wasn't empty by the time she brought the next batch.
He poured a small serving, and grabbed the portable phone.  He had gotten home
with minutes to spare and couldn't keep awake long enough to call Curiosities
during work hours, and Niamh's private line had been busy.
                                     * * *
      Fitz had started out looking a bit green, and after hearing the news
about Tessa, was now pale.
      "I have no idea where Duncan is,"  Niamh sighed, running her fingers
through her hair.  "He's disappeared, or at least I can't find a listed
number."
      "I don't think he'd ever worried about surviving her, not with the
Gathering here at hand."  Fitz sank into one of the chairs, steeple ing his
fingers.  "It must be terrible for him and the boy."
      "Richie."  Niamh supplied, lost in thought.  The phone rang, and she
snatched it out of its cradle a bit too hastily.  "Curiosities, can I help
you?"
      "Niamh?"
      "Nick!"
      "I got your message, and tried to call this morning..."
      "I'm sorry, I got in late and must have kicked the phone upstairs over
on my way to sleep.  I was not myself.  Should I drag out my cook books yet,
or are you still on a liquid diet?"  She forced cheerfulness, and was relieved
that it was not as hard as she thought it would be.
      "I'm afraid it may be a while before I can sample your culinary
talents."
      "It may not be so far off as you think."
      "No?"
      "I got a visitor and a package from Paris.  Fitz found a book set aside
for me among Darius's things, something he wanted me to have it would seem.  I
can't read it yet, it's in a language that predates me, I'm afraid, but I
remember you telling me something of a book you were looking for in Germany?"
      "The Abarat?"  Nick sounded guarded, and she couldn't blame him.  he had
been looking for a copy for so long she was sure he had given up hope by now.
      "Darius had an extensive library, one that would rival any museum, I'm
sure.  His letter was short on the details, certain he would be able to
explain them to me in person but..... time caught both of us up, I'm afraid."
Her voice caught, and Nick's voice was filled with concern.
      "How did it happen?"
      "Fitz said it had something to do with a mortal group, called the
Watchers.  *Everyone* is rather short on the details it would seem.  In any
case, before I even think about a museum or anything else, I want to get the
thing translated.  We wouldn't want anything potentially dangerous to either
of our kind falling into the wrong hands."
      "Niamh, be careful.  There is something I haven't told you, about some
of my kind called the Enforcers--"
      "Oh, I know all about them.  I've had quite a little chat with Janette."
      "Oh."
      "Yes, we talked at length, about many things."
      "Oh."
      "Listen, can you be over here, or are you on duty?"
      "My shift ends at four, do you think you can hold on till then?"
      "I'm not going anyplace."  She smiled, toying with a lock of her hair.
"I'll be expecting you."
      "Well?"  Fitz perched on the edge of the desk.
      "We've got ten hours to kill, more or less."  She removed the photo and
opened the safe.  "Let's see how much of this bastard we can get translated.
You know Sanskrit?"
      "A smattering."
      "Great, that's a smattering more than I."  She settled down, gingerly
opening the decrepit manuscript.  "I can manage the French and the German,
however."
      "The French and German what?"  Kit stuck his head in the office.  "I
sold the end table, by the by.  That lady came back with her husband."
      "Just a book that Fitz brought from Paris."
      "How old?"  Kit's archaeologist's instincts had kicked in, she could see
it in his hazel eyes.
      "Very, very old.  I don't suppose you know any sanskrit?"
      "Quite a bit, actually."  Niamh's jaw dropped, and he grinned.  "Hey,
there are some things I do better than you, you know."
      "Remind me never to doubt you."  She scooted her chair over, making room
for another at the desk, and they got to work.
                                     * * *
      As a light rain began to fall on Yonge street no one seemed to take
notice of a tall man in a large overcoat standing in the centre of the walk,
staring up at the lighted windows above a closed antique store.
      And no-one saw him smile.  Had they, it would have chilled them to the
very bone.
 
      There was a tap at the window, and Niamh almost jumped out of her skin.
      "Nick!"  She whispered fiercely, lifting the sash.  "Kit's here, what if
he'd seen you?  Doors were invented for a reason."
      "Kit's here at 4am?"
      "Get that lecherous grin off your face, we've been working on
translating that damned book for hours."
      "Nice pun."
      "What pun?  I'm quite serious."
      "Any progress."
      "Only if you are suffering from warts, blighted crops, and sleepy
sickness."
      "Oh."
      "Don't look so glum, we've got four chapters still to cover."
                                     * * *
      After forty-five minutes of checking their translations, Nick felt
rather than saw the glow that was beginning to spread in the East.
      "Look, Sunday is my night off, so how about we relocate to my place and
you and Nat can do some cooking, and I can be there in case the Murphy case
cracks."
      "Stonetree working you ragged, eh?"  Niamh grinned, her voice a whisper
as Fit and Kit napped in the living room, each on opposite couches.  Fitz had
traded one tweed jacket for another, and the smell of his silly pipe still
lingered, making Nick look rather green.
      "Well, everyone has to make a living."  Nick matched her smile, feeling
better than he thought he would about the entire affair.  He had refused to
get his hopes up, but things seemed to be getting better and better all the
time.
      "Give Nat my love."  She hugged him, quickly.  "I best tuck the boys in.
Big day tomorrow.  Inventory."
                                     * * *
      "Corrie, what is this?"  Kit held up a pottery bowl, frowning.
      "It's either a seventh century thrown vessel, or one of the onion soup
bowls that disappeared from my kitchen last month."
      "Ah."
      "I wondered where that went."  Niamh smiled, and put the bowl aside to
wash out upstairs.  Fitz had taken off that morning to see the sights,
whatever that meant.
      "How long have you been running the shop?"
      "About eleven years," she replied without thinking.
      "Did your family own it, or did you start working here instead of
babysitting?" Kit laughed, trying to picture her as a busy thirteen year old,
arms full of manifests and silver polish.
      "My mother... my mother owned it before I did.  She left it to me in her
will."
      "When did she die?"
      "A long time ago.  Why?"
      "Oh, I don't know.  You just seem awfully young to be an antique
dealer."
      "What, you think they should all be grey old men with glasses on their
noses and sweaters with elbow patches?"
      "Something like that."
      "It's a good thing you never met MacLeod.  He looks like an antique
dealer about as much as I do."
      "What does Fitz do?"
      "As little as possible," she laughed.  "He's old money.  Very, very old
money."  The phone rang, and Niamh snagged it, shifting the ledger to her
other arm.  "Curiosities, can I help you?"
      "Niamh?" a woman's voice with a midwestern American accent.
      "Who's this?"
      "It's Alma, from the Raven.  I need to talk to you, about the Abarat."
The word was a whisper, but it carried.  Niamh's eyes widened, then narrowed.
*Curiouser and curiouser.*
      "Where?"
      "Not here, it's too risky."  Niamh wanted to ask why, but held her
tongue, as the young vampire sounded exceedingly nervous. "Can you meet me at
St. Aquinas on Hoskin Ave. at sunset?"
      "Deal.  See you there."  Niamh hung up, and glanced at her watch.  "Kit,
can you take over?  I have some errands to run."
      "Sure.  When will you be back?"
      "I won't be long."  She shrugged.  "I don't think."
      "What about Fitz?"
      "Fitz can take care of himself.  If I'm not back by eight, lock up early
and head home."
      "Gotcha, boss."
                                     * * *
      Alma hung up the phone, shivering.  Gloved hands encircled her throat,
and she closed her eyes, terrified.
      "Excellent, my dear."
      "Janette is gonna kill me."
      "Janette will never know, will she?"
      "No."  Alma whispered, and then he was gone.
                                     * * *
      Kit snatched the receiver out of the cradle on the third ring.
"Curiosities, Christopher speaking, can I help you?"
      "Hi, this is Nick Knight.  Is Ni-- Corrine there?"
      "She's gone out.  Can I take a message?"
      "Out, eh?  Did she say where?  Is Fitz with her?"
      "I'm not sure."  Kit shrugged, though there was no one there to see him.
Old habit.  He used his hands and body to talk for him, even on the phone.
"She got a phone call, and then said she had some errands to run.  She should
be back by eight, or so."
      "I'll ring back, then."
      "Sure thing.  And if I see her I'll tell her you called."
                                     * * *
      Niamh paced back and forth outside the small anglican church, frowning
at her watch every few minutes.  The sun had set over an hour earlier, and
still no Alma.
      "If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was being set up," she muttered
to herself, and vowed that if the young vampire did not appear in fifteen
minutes, she would head back home.
                                     * * *
      Kit balanced the bowl on top of the inventory ledgers, and started up
the stairs to Niamh's flat when he heard the front door open.
      "Fitz?  Is that you?"  He took two steps back down the stairs, craning
his neck to check the front room.
      "I'm afraid not."
                                     * * *
      "Kit?"  Niamh frowned.  "Kit?  I thought I told you to lock up?  The
blinds are still up, and the lights in the shopDD"  She froze at the sight of
the foyer.  Papers and shards of pottery littered the floor, the brass lamp
from the desk was overturned, casting odd shadows.  The wall safe was open,
the door half torn off it's hinges, the photograph that covered it ripped and
sliced by the broken frame.
      Shattered glass and blood on the floor.
      Blood.
      "Where's the book?" A voice hissed in her ear, and it was all she could
do to register the words with her eyes fixed on the smear of blood, trying to
determine if it was Kit's or Fitz's.
      "I don't know what you're talking about."  She forced her heart to
still, her voice devoid of all emotion.
      "Oh I think you do, and I could get the answer easily enough, if I
wanted to.  But it would be so much less painful if you simply told me."
      "Why?  Why do you want it?"
      "Ah, but I don't want it at all.  However, Nicholas does, and for that
reason alone I'll make sure he never gets it."
      "Because you'll lose him?  I know who you are, Lacroix."
      "I'm flattered to be recognised."
      "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
      "I am very hard to kill, my dear, unlike yourself."
      "I think you might be surprised."  She actually smiled, he could feel it
in the semi-darkness of the shop.
      "You're very devoted to our Nicholas, aren't you?"  He laughed, a
hollow, empty sound that grated on her nerves like glass in a wound.  "But I
think, given the opportunity, pain can be quite an inducement."  His hands
tightened around her throat, but she remained calm and limp.  He frowned.
      "I have a very high tolerance for pain."  Niamh sighed, but remained
still all the same.  "Go ahead, kill me.  You'll never find the Abarat."
      "Such a pity."  Lacroix crooned, and she could feel his breath on her
neck, and then the pain.
      He could taste the centuries in the sweet copper tang, and his eyes grew
wide, reflecting like a cat's in the darkness as he spun her away from
himself.
      "You...!"  He seemed surprised, and with a flash of sorrow she realised
the blood on the floor couldn't have been Fitz's, else he would have known.
Known what she was from her taste.
      Which meant it could have been Kit's. Or worse, Nat's.
      She forced the thought aside, a hand pressed to the sticky puncture
marks slowly oozing hot blood down her neck.  "What about me?  You want to
kill me, vampire?  I am ready to die.  I do so want it all to end, every last
moment of it."  She pulled the katana down from the wall display, her bloody
fingers leaving marks on the wall and streaking the lacquer of the scabbard
black in the dim light.  "Take my head."
      *All you are will be lost*, her mind screamed.  *There will be no
Quickening*.  Still she presented him with the sword, and stood, waiting.
Lacroix looked from the sword to Niamh, and she thought she could hear the
wheels turning in his twisted little mind.
      "You're like *him*."  He said it with wonder, and she regarded him
blankly.
      "Whom?"
      "*Him*.  The priest.  Darius."
      "What do you know of Darius?"  Her voice was filled with anger and pain
and hatred, and she stepped towards him with each word.  He almost stepped
back, driven back by the force of the emotion in her voice.  Almost.
      "Ah, yes, I know your Darius."
      "Knew him.  He's dead."  Her voice went flat again.
      "I thought a church stopped your kind as much as it did mine."
      "Aye, it does *my kind*.  He was not killed by *my kind*.  He was killed
by a sick, jealous bastard who was not stopped by crosses and holy water."  He
knew by her implication that she was equating him with Darius's killer, and
ignored it for the time being.  He was too shocked to learn that a man perhaps
older even than himself had been laid low by a mortal.
      He, Lacroix, would never have stood for such a thing.  But then, that
had been the difference between them.
      "What are you waiting for?  Kill me.  I have so little left to live
for."  She knelt on the wood floor, ignoring the chill that crept into her
bones.  Still he stood there, holding the sword and staring at her stupidly.
"Damn you, do it!"
      "No," he said quietly.  "You want it too much, little girl."  He reached
down and lifted her head so she was forced to meet his eyes.  "And I do not
grant favours."  And then he was gone before she could move.
      "Damn you."  Niamh whispered, clutching the katana in her cold hands,
silent tears streaming down her face.  "Damn you."
                                     * * *
      The phone rang, and Nick practically flew across the flat to snatch it.
      "Niamh?"
      "Is Nat with you?"  She sounded hoarse, as if she had been crying,
which, in fact, she had been.
      "Yes.  What is it? What's wrong?"
      "He came for the book."
      "Who came?  Niamh, are you alright?"
      "Kit's gone.  There was blood on the floor.  I think he came for the
book, but he didn't get it, Nick.  He has no idea where it is, that must be
why he took Kit."
      "Who came?  Who took Kit?"
      "Lacroix."
                                     * * *
      At the other end of the line Nick's already pale face grew ashen as he
replaced the receiver.
      "Is she okay?"  Nat's eyes were dark with worry.
      "I don't think so."  Nick said softly.  "She's fine.  But I don't think
we are.  Not any more."
                                     * * *
      "Alma?"  Janette swept through the back rooms of the club, brows knit,
with annoyance.  "That girl... she has no sense of priorities.  *Alma!*"
There was no answer.  She sighed, and stood in the hallway almost comically,
hands on her hips.  "One of these days... one of these days I'm going to
*fire* her."
      "Literally?"  A lazy drawl reached her ears, and she whirled around.
      "You!  But... you're dead."
      "Rumours spread so quickly, now-a-days."  Lacroix smiled, sending a
chill down her spine.  "I'm quite alive, so to speak."
      She walked past him, into her office, and froze at the sight of a
halfdead boy tossed onto her settee like a discarded rag doll.
      "Who is that?"
      "An immortal girl's pet, and the bait for my trap."
      "Immortal--Niamh!  This is Niamh's boy?"
      "You know her?  Of course you do, how silly of me.  Nicholas always did
have such a tight circle of friends.  I've had the pleasure of the lady's
company, alas only for a moment.  Right now she should be running like a
scared rabbit straight to our Nicholas's bolthole."
      "How do you know?"  Janette played devil's advocate with relish, almost
hoping against hope that what she said might be true.  "How do you know she
won't come after you herself?"
      "She will, because I will it.  She may be immortal, but her mind is just
as malleable as any other.  And I tasted her blood.  I may not control her as
I have some, but whether she realises it or not, she cannot destroy me if I do
not let her."
                                     * * *
      "I'll kill him."  Niamh paced back and forth across Nick's living room,
still shaking with fury and terror.  "I'll spit his head on a pike.  If he so
much as touches a hair--"
      "Calm down."
      "Calm down?  *Calm down?*"
      "Yes.  I need you to think clearly.  Are you sure it was Lacroix?"
      "Yes.  Oh yes.  The bastard whoreson *slug* told me so himself.... This
was after sending me on a wild goose chase to the University--"
      "Slow down.  How?"
      "Alma called, he must have gotten to her first.  She said she had some
information about the abarat and want to meet at St. Aquinas instead of the
Raven.  When I left he must have gone to the shop and found Kit."
      "And the abarat?"
      "It wasn't in the safe, Lacroix searched it.  Fitz must have it."
      "And where's Fitz?"
      "Your guess is as good as mine.  He left this morning and as far as I
know hasn't been back.  Once he sees the shop, he'll know to come here I'm
sure.  I pray he has it.  It may be our only bargaining chip."  She sank onto
the couch, face in her hands as she hastily wiped away angry tears.  "This is
all my fault."
      "Don't blame yourself.  Lacroix is my daemon.  Everything he does is
designed to hurt me, and your only sin is being my friend."
      "You don't understand.  Kit is my responsibility.  He doesn't know what
I am or what you are.  He thinks he's looking after me instead of the other
way 'round, a poor young antique dealer who's taken over the family business.
I should have sent him on vacation the moment this all started.  I should have
known someone would have come after the book."
      "But Lacroix was dead.  None of us could have anticipated this."  Nat
had watched all of this, from the rage to the blame to the fear and clenched
her fists to keep her hands from shaking.  Lacroix was determined to turn
their world upside down, and was succeeding.  "You can't blame yourselves."
      "You're right."  Nick cringed.  Nat was constantly chiding him for
taking responsibility for things that were outside his control.  He supposed
it was his upbringing.  Nick's eyes suddenly grew wide.  "You said Alma called
you?"  Niamh nodded, and he was suddenly at the phone, having moved to quickly
for her eyes to register.
 
      Janette almost jumped as the phone rang.  She reached to answer it, but
Lacroix moved it out of her reach, tsking and wagging a finger.
      "Not just yet.  Let's let him stew a bit first.  The phone rang for what
seemed like forever, and then was finally silent.
                                     * * *
      "No answer," Nick snarled, slamming the receiver down and somehow
managing not to turn the device into a mass of twisted plastic and metal.
                                     * * *
      Janette leaned back in her chair, regarding her master with cool,
impassive eyes.  "So what rock have you been hiding under, hmmm?  How did you
survive that little bonfire you set last year?"
      "Please.  Allow me to retain some secrets, my dear.  It's none of your
concern."
      "Why do you want Niamh?"
      "The book."
      "Ah.  I should have guessed.  Like a little boy, you can't stand to have
your toys taken away from you.  You must play with them until they break."
      "Very astute.  I would watch my tone, however, if I were you."
      "How very glad I am that I am not you."  Her smile was icy, and she
sucked in her breath as Lacroix leaned in very close to her and smiled.
      "Wait."
                                     * * *
      As Nick snatched up his jacket, Nat grabbed his arm.  "Where are you
going?"
      "The Raven.  He has to be there."
      "What about Janette?"
      "She can't handle him."
      "And you can?"
      "I have to try."  Nick shrugged.
      "Then I'm coming with you."  Niamh retrieved her trench and sword from
one of the chairs, and Nat sighed.
      "You're forgetting something.  You may well be nigh invulnerable, but
Lacroix knows how to kill you both."
      "We'll be careful, Nat."  Nick gave her a quick hug.
      "What about Fitz?  You don't know where the book is, why put all the
pieces into Lacroix's hands?  The two of you aren't thinking clearly.  If you
go there, what's to stop him from just taking what he wants?  All he has to do
is use you as bait, and Fitz and I come running, abarat and all.  *Think*,
Nick."
      "I am thinking."
      "No.  No, you're not.  You yourself said the book may be your only
bargaining chip for Kit's life."  Nat's eyes grew dark with worry.  "It could
just as easily have been me he took, or Schanke.  But he was being rash,
grabbing the first mortal he found, knowing that you would be honour bound to
help Niamh."
      "And Janette."  Nick clenched and unclenched his fists.
      "And Janette."  Nat nodded.  "It's a trap, and you'd be walking straight
into it."
      "Do we have any other choice?"  Niamh sat down on the arm of the sofa.
      "Yes.  Right now, Lacroix is holding all the cards, calling all the
shots.  He is controlling you, whether you believe it or not.  But he hasn't
made his move yet.  He hasn't contacted us."
      "Should we let him?"  Niamh couldn't keep the anger out of her voice.
      "Yes.  At least, to find out where we stand."
                                     * * *
      Fitz whistled as he walked down Yonge, patting his pocket and feeling
the comforting shape of Darius's book.  The chaps at the University had been
very helpful, as he knew they would be.
      Fitz prided himself on taking the initiative.  Niamh and her policeman
friend were obviously too close to the subject to think clearly, and it made
perfect sense to talk to people who delighted in the intellectual puzzles of
translating sanskrit and didn't have a stake in curing immortality.
      The fact that one of them was a lovely associate professor named
Cherise, who was by some amazing coincidence quite single and quite inviting
was, as far as Hugh Fitzcairn was concerned, a happy bonus for him.
      As he approached the shop, he prepared himself for Niamh's expression.
After all, he had made off with the book without telling anyone where he was
going.  That, and he had cracked her safe.  She might be annoyed by that.
      Still, it was all for the good.  He smiled, and fit his borrowed key in
the lock.
                                     * * *
      The phone rang.  The three of them jumped, and once again Nick answered,
barely controlled fury shining in his expression.
      "What do you want?"  He growled.
      "That's hardly good telephone manners."  It was a surprised English
voice.  "Is this Detective Knight?"
      "Fitz?"  Nick's eyes widened, and Niamh jumped off the couch and picked
up the portable.
      "Fitz, where are you?"
      "Niamh, my dear!  I was hoping to find you there."
      "Are you at the shop?"
      "Yes, and I found it quite a mess.  I took my chances with your redial
button."
      "Fitz, listen to me carefully.  Do you have the book?"
      "Why, yes.  I'm sorry to have stolen it away, but I had an astounding
revelation quite early this morningDD"
      "Thank God.  Look, I need you to bring it here this instant.  It's very
important.  Kit's life is at stake."  She proceeded to give brief directions,
and when she hung up, it was with a sigh of relief.  "I don't know how much of
a bargaining chip it may be, but it's something."
 
 
      Who waits forever, anyway?
 
                        - Queen, "Who Wants to Live Forever"
 
Part III "Forever"
 
      Lacroix watched the dancing mortals with some amusement.  They had begun
filing into the club a few hours after sundown, completely unaware of the tiny
struggle for power occurring in the back room.
      He left the doorway, closing against the pounding music and cigarette
smoke, and was greeted by Janette's scowl.
      "Why must you involve me in your games, Lacroix?"
      "Because, my dear, you are already a part of them."
      "And the boy?"  She gestured to the unconscious Kit.  "Were such crude
methods really necessary?"
      "So now the student seeks to rebuke the master?  You have grown bold in
my absence."
      "I have *grown up* in your absence, Lacroix.  I'll not be your pawn any
longer."  It may have been false bravado, Janette thought, but it still felt
damn good.
      It would have felt better if she could stand up without using the desk
for support.  Her legs refused to obey her, thanks to sheer terror.  That he
could still terrify her made her furious with herself, but there was nothing
she could do.  She flinched as he ran a finger along her jaw, and then gripped
it painfully.
      "Your only purpose in this particular game is to serve as bait along
with this wrenched mortal here.  I trust you can manage that quietly, yes?"
      "Why are you doing this?"
      "There is a nasty little rumour going around that our Nicholas has a
copy of the abarat, and it striving for a 'cure' from this existence.  I
maintain the only true cure is death, which I would be happy to provide.
Still, kids today... They simply have no respect for their elders."
      "That's not what I asked.  I asked why you won't let us go."
      "Because you haven't broken yet, my little toy."  He handed her the
phone, and she dialled nervously.
                                     * * *
      The phone rang, and this time it was Niamh who flew to catch it.
      "Hello?"
      "Niamh?"
      "Janette."  Nick was at her side, and Nat picked up the extension.
"He's there, isn't he."
      "Yes."
      "And Kit?"
      "He's alive."
      *For now*, Niamh's mind finished for her, and she swallowed nervously.
"What does *he* want?"  She wouldn't even say the name.
      "A trade."
                                     * * *
      "They're coming."  Janette carefully placed the receiver in the cradle.
"Do you know what she is?"
      "An immortal?  I know all about them.  I even knew one of them."
      "The priest, Darius."
      "He was General Darius when I knew him.  His armies would have covered
the world like ants on a honeycake.  Instead he chose *peace*."  He filled the
word with contempt.  "Alexander thought he had beaten him, but he rose again,
and went farther than Alexander could have dreamed."
      "And you knew him."
      "I was curious about his kind.  Do you know they kill one another?"
      "Yes."
      "They will fight until only one of them remains, so they are not truly
immortal, for which he envied me.  Of course, he wanted to live simply to see
what wonders would come.  He was overly optimistic, as well as ridiculously
fond of the mortal race.  Yet their kind walk abroad in the day.  I envied him
that."
      "All of the pleasures, and none of the drawbacks of immortality?"
      "Something like that.  Of course, they cannot propagate their species.
A handful of them are born every few centuries, and they are all sterile.
Rather a pity."
      "They would have overpopulated the planet in a few centuries."  Janette
reminded him, and he dismissed the thought immediately.
      "Obviously that is what their game is for, an aggressive form of natural
selection."
      "There is nothing obvious about that conclusion."  Janette scowled,
annoyed by Lacroix's logic.  She had forgotten how his condescending attitude
could irk her.  "Do you think our kind could be related?  So similar..."
      "I do not know.  From the dawn of time they came, Darius once said.
>From the dawn of time.  I do not know how long our kind have walked the earth.
All I know is, when the last of their kind have battled till there is only
one, our kind will still be waiting in the wings, like cat's ready to lick up
the cream."
      "You are mad, Lacroix."
      "Gloriously so."
      "This Darius died, you know.  Killed by a mortal while he was still on
holy ground."
      "So the little Irish girl told me.  She was very angry, and I could also
taste her sorrow.  She loved him."
      "Did she?  As I friend, I knew..."
      "Oh no, I could see it in her eyes, taste the longing in her blood.  She
was furious that he had been stolen from her.  I could almost appreciate it.
Perhaps our two races were created to compliment one another?  After all,
think of it, an immortal lover who cannot die and can guard you while you
sleep during the day paired with the strength of the vampire, so guard them
against each other, with their swords and knives and axes."
      "A pretty fairy tale, I'm sure."
      "We are the stuff of children's stories, my dear Janette.  Never forget
from whence you came."
      "How could I with you here to remind me?"
      "Did you enjoy your little vacation?"
      "I had hoped it would be permanent.  No offense."  Her eyes smouldered
as she played his little word games.  Lacroix was ever one for dancing, be it
with words or actions.
      He played with his food.
      It annoyed her.
      "Will you miss your Nickolah when he's gone?"
      "More than I ever missed you."
                                     * * *
      "I'm going with you,"  Nat put a hand on Nick's shoulder.
      "Oh no you're not."
      "Nick,"  Nat was poised for a speech about trying to do too much on his
own, but Nick put his hand over her mouth.
      "You've never faced Lacroix.  You don't know what you're up against.  I
have too much to worry about without having to worry about you as well."  She
said something against his hand, and he removed it so he could hear her.
      "You're an idiot."
      "I love you too."  He kissed her forehead and went to collect Niamh, who
was having a similar discussion with Fitz.
      "Darius, if he were alive, bless him, would have my head if anything
were to happen to you."
      "Fitz, this is my fight.  If he were one of us, and challenged me you
would have no choice but to stand back and let us fight."
      "But he's not one of us.  He's faster and stronger, and he doesn't play
by our rules."
      "Well then, I won't either."  She grinned at him, and Fitz scowled.
"But this is about Kit, and Nick.  And it's my fault.  I've brought this down
in their heads."
      "That's very egocentric of you,"  Nick poked her in the shoulderblade.
"And I thought we agreed to stop blaming ourselves."
      "I will once this is all over.  Fitz, you stay and guard Nat."
      "'Guard' Nat?"  Natalie folded her arms across her chest and glared at
the pair of them.  "Do I have a great big neon sign attached to my forehead
that says 'easy victim, please attack'?"
      "*Yes*."  Nick and Niamh replied simultaneously.
      "You two are scary."
      "Stay."  Nick wagged a finger at her as the elevator swallowed them and
Nat sighed.
      "Great, I went from sidekick to lapdog."
      "My dear girl, I would never liken you to such."  Fitz put his arm
around her shoulders and steered her back towards the couch.  "Why don't you
tell me all about yourself?"
                                     * * *
      The Raven seemed no different, teeming with young, clueless people.  But
Janette's bartender glanced from Nick to the office door, a grim look on his
face.  Niamh clutched the hilt of her katana beneath her trench, nervously
stepping closer to Nick.  AS the music pounded on, they threaded their way
across to the door and cautiously stepped inside.
                                     * * *
      "Nicholah..."  Janette looked up from her desk, trying to look calm, and
failing miserably.
      "Where is he?"
      "The alley.  He said he didn't want to attract undue... *attention*.  I
don't like it.  I don't like it that he has come out now, that he has been
watching us all this time."
      "We don't know that he has, we don't know how long it took him to
recover."
      "What about Kit?"   Niamh was leaning by the sofa, inspecting a not yet
old bloodstain with dread.
      "I don't know."  She shook her head, and they moved down the hall, to
the back entrance facing the alleyway.
 
      "We're here."  Nick's voice rang in the empty space, bouncing off the
brick walls.
      Niamh felt Nick stiffen, and squinted as a figure separated itself from
the darkness.
      "Kit..."  Niamh thought her heart would break as she saw her friend's
blood spattered body in the lamplight.  Lacroix was holding the boy at an
arm's length out in front of him, licking his lips and sneering.
      "Such concern.  So typical."  They were the first words Nick had heard
from his master's throat in so long, and the sheer contempt beneath them sent
a frisson on anger down his spine.  It did more than that to Niamh, who has
already at her tether's end.  He heard the soft scrape of steel, and held her
back.
      "If he dies, I swear you will not live to see another sunset."  Niamh
growled, completely heedless of Nick's restraining arm.  "He's done nothing to
you!  Nothing!"
      "My dear girl, you cannot do a thing to harm me.  As a matter of fact,
you cannot do anything."
      Niamh watched in horrified fascination as her hand lifted of its own
accord and opened, her sword clattering to the ground.  She stared at it,
trying to move her fingers just a hairs-breath, and found she was completely
separated from conscious control.
      Nick stepped between her and Lacroix, who merely laughed.
      "I could make you do things you never dreamt of.  I could make you kill,
and you wouldn't be able to stop yourself."  She reached down and picked up
her sword, and found herself levelling it at Nick's neck.  "I could even make
you kill him, little girl.  If you were fast enough, of course."
      Nick wrenched it from her grasp in less time than it took her to blink,
and an apology shone in her eyes as she tried to break the master vampire's
control.
      "Which you would never be."  Lacroix finished, still smirking.  "But
think of it, your strongest desires, your will of which you are so proud, all
betray you.  How does it feel?"
      "Like I'm a puppet.  And you're pulling the strings.  So all I am is a
tool, and I have nothing to feel guilty for.  You may be able to control this
body, even this mind.  But I would not be responsible."
      "Fine words.  But only words.  It would tear at you, piece by piece,
until there was nothing left.  Because I know your kind.  The pair of you, so
alike.  So easy to predict exactly what you'll do, or won't do."
      "Why the games?  Why always the games?"  Nick's eyes flashed yellow, his
voice practically a growl.
      "Life is a game.  She knows it.  So do you."
      "So what are the rules of this particular game?"
      "Give me the book, and you'll have the boy."  Lacroix smiled, shaking
Kit's limp form like a terrier with a rat.
      "Give me the boy first."  Nick and Niamh didn't move, and Niamh held her
sword still, even though he had demonstrated its uselessness.  It was all she
could do, to focus herself enough to keep from shaking.  If she showed him
fear, allowed herself to feel it for even a second, he would destroy her.
      "My my, little Nicholas.  And who are you to give orders?"
      "Someone with something you want."
      "Now, see, you've gotten it all wrong.  *I* have something *you* want.
You have something I want only because you want it so very much.  We must keep
these things straight after all.  Now, give me the book."
      "We'll exchange them at the same time."  Niamh took a step forward.
"You could probably take it from me as easily as you have just demonstrated,
but I like to think of you as an honourable fiend, so please don't disappoint
me."
      "Such strength in the face of her adversary, and so polite as well, dear
Nicholas.  You can learn a great deal from her.  No doubt she never set fire
to her mentors."
      "My mentors never tried to kill me or those I love."  Niamh regarded him
coolly.  "My mentors were not prone to mindgames, exerting control simply
because they could, destroying out of contempt, judging from false pride.  You
have no right to compare."
      Lacroix snarled, and Niamh flinched, but held her ground.  Nick bared
his own fangs, eyes amber in the dim light.
      "And yet your precious Darius is dead while I, the soul of evil, live
on.  That should tell you something."
      "A cockroach in the nuclear winter of morality?"  Nick raised a brow, a
smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
      "Only the good die young."  He lifted Kit, who's head lolled like a rag
doll's, as example.  "The book.  After all, I am an honourable fiend."
      Niamh looked at Nick, who nodded.  She removed the crumbling little
volume from the pocket of her trenchcoat and held it up.  "We trade."
      "Certainly."  He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek,
and she struggled to keep from crying out.  He pulled the book from her hands.
She held her breath as he let Kit slip to the ground, but like a mouse caught
in a snake's gaze could not move.  She could see Nick out the corner of her
eye, also immobile.
      Lacroix ran one finger lazily along her jaw, and she felt the pulse leap
to life, throbbing so as she thought to echo in the alleyway.  But only the
vampires heard it.  To mortal ears, all was silence.
      "Take the boy, he is what you wanted," Lacroix addressed Nick, who
scooped up Kit in his arms, the smell of dried blood nearly making him sick.
He stepped back, waiting to see what his master's next move would be.
      "*How* are you doing this to me?"  Niamh could feel the suffocating
presence of his mind clamping down on her control.
      "To put it in scientific terms, you are being held under something
similar to a post hypnotic suggestion, placed their by me through non-verbal
communication aided by a chemical in your bloodstream, also placed their by
me.  Fangs are wonderful for that sort of thing, you know.  In laymen's terms,
once bitten, you are like a fly in amber."
      Lacroix leafed through the book, making clicking sounds with his tongue
as he scanned the pages.  "Very interesting, you know.... this may even work
as a cure.  I never thought of it before."  Niamh had not moved, *could* not,
and he continued to circle her.
      "You can read it?"
      "My dear girl, this is a child's primer to me.  Of course I can read it.
And a very interesting read it will be."  He slipped it into his pocket,
patting it with a smile.  Nick tensed, waiting for his chance...
      Niamh gasped as Lacroix took the sword from her lifeless fingers.  "No--"
she hissed, straining against the invisible bonds.
      "Ah, but I am feeling generous tonight, and you begged this favour."  He
levelled the sword slowly, enjoying the moment.
      "No!"  Nick screamed, dropping Kit and flinging himself towards the
pair.
      He was stopped in his tracks.  He had forgotten Lacroix could do that.
      Niamh bowed her head, waiting for the killing blow.  Lacroix swung, and
his smile faded as the sword stopped a hairs-breadth from her neck, a tendril
of lightning creeping up the blade and wrapping around his wrist.
      It was followed by another, a rope of blue-white light that climbed up
his arm and twisted over his body.  The ancient vampire went rigid with pain
as Niamh's Quickening wrapped around him, yet her head remained firmly
attached to her shoulders.  The sword hit the pavement with the clear ring of
a bell, and Niamh turned as the first wisp of smoke reached her nostrils.
Power seemed to be wracking Lacroix's body, his features caught in an
expression of surprise and wonder.
      Nick and Niamh watched, transfixed, as Lacroix began to scream, his
gloved hang bursting into flames, and the fire began to follow the path the
lightning had taken.
      "*What is happening to me*?"  Lacroix screamed, spinning as he tried to
put out the flames which cast dancing shadows on the walls of the alley.
Before anyone could blink, they enveloped his entire body, and Niamh picked up
her sword, stepping back and wincing as a small current of blue fire ran up
her blade, crackling over her bare skin.
      "The Quickening."  She whispered as Lacroix's flesh seemed to melt like
wax, and he disappeared in a blinding flash.
      "Nick, the Quickening did this!"  Niamh was horrified.
      "Scatter the ashes."  Nick growled, finally released from the fierce
hold of his master's mind.  "He burned before..."
      "What?"
      "He burned before, I don't know if it can stop him."  He spread the
ashes around with his foot, watching with satisfaction as some of them floated
on top of rainwater in the gutter to disappear down a grate.  "He had better
not come back.  Never again."
      "Nick, you're not listening to me.  He tried to take my head, *and the
Quickening stopped him*.  Do you know what this means?"  Niamh leant down next
to Kit, feeling for a pulse.  It was weak, but there.  "I wish Darius were
alive, there is so much I need to know!"
      "If wishes were horses..."
      "Beggars would ride."  Fitz finished the sentence, setting a match to
his pipe.  Behind him were Nat and Janette.
      "Where is Lacroix?"  Janette looked bewildered.
      "Gone."  Nick hugged her, and then Nat.
      "I told you to stay at my place."
      "Yeah, well, I got worried.  What about the book?"
      "Burned."  Niamh sighed, brushing Kit's hair out of his face.  Nat knelt
along side her, checking his pulse and frowning.
      "He's lost a lot of blood.  We should get him to a hospital.  He needs a
transfusion, and immediate medical care."  She started as Kit flinched, and
his eyes opened a crack.
      "Corrine?"
      "Hey!"  Niamh forced a grin.  "You shouldn't be talking."
      "I'm thirsty."  He licked his dry lips, and Nat drew back as his eyes
shifted from blue to amber.
      "*Nick*."  Nat hissed, glancing up at him.
      "Damn."  Niamh whispered, wiping sudden tears from her eyes.
      "So thirsty..."  Kit tried to sit up, and Nick knelt down, motioning for
the two of them to back away.
      "Kit, my name's Nick.  We're going to get you back to my place."  He
cursed Lacroix silently, wondering why he had done this, what twisted purpose
it would have served.  Perhaps just a small revenge.
      Janette's eyes were fixed on the scorch mark on the pavement, her arms
wrapped around herself as if she was cold.
      "Now who is broken, hmm?"  She whispered, and turned to go back inside
the Raven.
                                     * * *
      "I'm a *what*?"  Kit, having polished off a bottle without even noticing
now stared at it with a look of pure horror.
      "Vampire."  Niamh finished for him.  "How much do you remember?"
      "I was getting ready to lock up when some psycho grabbed me.  I thought
he must have been on some serious shit, dusted maybe.  Threw me across the
room, and didn't even blink when I hit him with  the brass lamp from the desk.
He kept asking me about the book, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in
an alley."
      "He had gotten all he could from you, and when the abarat wasn't in the
safe, decided to use you as bait."  Nick ran his fingers through his hair in a
gesture of frustration.
      "And after tonight, no more of this stuff."  Nat took the empty bottle
from the table.  "I'm starting you on a steady diet of protein shakes."
      "Are you a doctor?"
      "Yes.  Most of my patients are dead people, but yeah."
      "Are you a vampire?"  Kit looked from Nick to Niamh to Nat, still
frazzled.
      "No.  Not me.  I guess now I'm the token mortal in this little group."
      "I am."  Nick said quietly.
      "Corrine?"
      "Um... no.  I'm not a vampire."  She sighed.  "I'm immortal."
      "I don't follow."
      "It's a long story.  A really long story."  She sat down next to him,
taking his hand.  "My name isn't really Corrine Michaels.  It's Niamh.  Niamh
O'Brien.  I didn't inherit Curiosities from my mother, I've owned the building
since about 1939."
      "1939.  That would make you... what, Sixty?  Seventy?"
      "A little over nine-hundred."
      "I'm really confused."
      "Welcome to the family."  Nat laughed.  "How many semesters did you have
left?"
      "Two."
      "How do you feel about night school?"
      Kit looked from Niamh, to Nick, to Nat, and finally settled on Fitz.
"Why do I have a feeling that my life is going to be terminally weird from now
on?"
      "Because it will be?"  Niamh squeezed his hand.  "Are you angry with
me?"
      "Corrie... Niamh..."
      "You can still call me Corrie if you like.  Quite a few people do."
      "Corrie... I'm not angry."
      "If it weren't for me, you would be safe and sound, not to mention
mortal right now.  Instead you get kidnapped by an ancient vampire hellbent on
destroying Nick's chances of becoming mortal again."
      "Is that what was in that book?  A cure?"
      "Yes, but it's lost now.  It got burned up with Lacroix."
      "Um... about that," Fitz scratched his temple, looking sheepish.  "It's
not completely lost."
      "*Excuse* me?"
      "Well, you see, the revelation I had this morning was to find someone
who may be able to translate sanskrit better, and faster, than us, so I took
the book down to the University, to see what I could turn up among
academia..."
      "And?"  Nat gaped at Fitz.
      "And a lovely young woman named Cherise Powers has a xerox copy of the
entire thing in her office, and is hard at work, thinking to earn herself some
notoriety among the other professors by adding the book to the library
collection.  She'll be terribly disappointed to learn the original has been
accidentally destroyed, of course..."
      "Fitz, I could kiss you!"  Niamh threw her arms around his neck,
giggling.  "Ah, what the hell..."  She planted her lips firmly on his, and
thus they remained for some seconds, while Nat and Nick exchanged bemused
glances, and Kit cleared his throat.
      "Are you two kids quite finished?"  Kit's eyes sparkled, and he had to
admit, instead of being completely muddled, things actually began to make more
sense to him now that the whole truth was upon him.  Drinking blood, though...
he wasn't sure how he was going to cope.
      A shiver ran through him, but he tried not to let it show.
      "Kit, you and Nick might be cured!  This is great!"  Niamh hugged him
too.
      "Yeah, well, don't start partying until I get the 'formula' to my lab
and see what it's made out of, okay?"  Nat hated to be a party-pooper, but she
wasn't going to risk Nick getting his hopes up any farther than absolutely
necessary.
                                     * * *
 
 
            Fear no more the hear o' th' sun
            Nor the furious winters' rages;
            Thou they worldly task hast done,
            Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.
            Golden lads and girls all must,
            As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
 
                  - Cymbeline, act IV, scene ii, lines 259-263
 
 
 
Epilogue "Home Art Gone"
 
 
      Niamh sank onto her bed, exhausted, and began combing the tangles out of
her damp hair.  The phone rang, and she picked it up midway through the first
ring.
      "Hello?"
      "It's me, Nat."
      "Hi."
      "How're you holding up?"
      "I could use a few less weeks like this one."
      "Kit?"
      "He seemed okay, but I know this is going to hit him really hard.  His
parents live out in Vancouver.  I don't know whether what we should tell them.
If the cure doesn't work, I don't know what to do."
      "You keep on living one day at a time."
      "And if those days stretch into centuries?  What then?"
      "Hey, you're asking the wrong person.  You and Nick have cornered that
market."
      "He talked all night.  He made me talk, asking so many questions.  He
kept saying he wishes he could use me as a doctoral thesis, that I would be
the prize of any history department."
      "What did you say?"
      "`Honey, I *am* history.'"
      "You're evil." Nat giggled.
      "How 'bout Nick?"
      "He's sceptical about the formula.  I don't blame him.  Assuming it
translates into something I can understand, and even then, I would want to
test it before ever using it on anyone..."
      "I don't envy you your job."
      "Yeah, well, what are friends for?"
      "Some friend I was, getting a poor innocent kid mixed up in all of this.
What if he learns to hate me?  What if he turns?  I mean, how could I possibly
stop him?"
      "Can I tell you a story?"
      "As if I'm going to get any sleep for the next few nights."
      Nat took a deep breath, shifting Sydney in her lap as the sun peaked
through her blinds.  "I had a little brother, his name was Richard...."
                                     * * *
      Alma stumbled into the Raven, definitely looking the worse for wear.
The two vampires who has 'escorted' her left, leaving her to face Janette
trembling.
      "Uh... hi boss."
      "We need to have a long talk."  Janette steepled her fingers, and Alma
shivered.
                                     * * *
      Padding across the loft in his pajamas, Nick shut the blinds, wondering
just how long it would be before he would be able to watch the sun rise
without fear.
 
 
 
                                      FIN