Date: Wed, 6 Jan 1999 00:52:19 -0700 Reply-To: Cousin Mary From: Cousin Mary Subject: adult: 'Tis the Season (1/18) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU All right, here goes my attempt at an FK Christmas tale, late I know, but it kind of took on a life of its own. I was expecting 3-4 parts, HA! I should have known my muses would never be so predictable! Hopefully, everyone will excuse its tardiness in exchange for its originality. It's a little unusual, especially for a X-mas story, no elves, no Santa, very little Nick. But it -does- have lots of Tracy and lots of Lacroix, time travel and the occult. What else could you possibly want?! I'm putting it under an adult header (wow, my first 'adult' story!) because of some adult language, a couple of fight scenes and one rather steamy love scene. An R rating I think, if that bothers you, delete now. This story has no real place in the FK time line, other than being in season three that is. Basically Lacroix hasn't shown much interest in, or even seen Nick's new partner. HF, AtA and LK haven't and won't happen, and by part four of this story I throw even that questionable time line out and throw it all back into 19th century England so prepare yourselves for weirdness. Special thanks to my two wonderful beta readers Ren and Shana, for putting up with me and my attempts at humor, fixing my spelling and historical misconceptions, stroking my ego when I needed it and kicking my butt when I slacked off. Thanks guys! Legal stuff: Forever Knight and its cast o' crazies are owned by people who are not me. This story was written for free and I will except no money for it heaps of praise and a medal are all I want, and maybe a nice marble statue in my honor Any Dark Perks or CERK Perks have my permission to archive this where ever their little twisted hearts desire, Mel can archive it at www.fkfanfic.com too, all others please ask. Now on with the show Enjoy! 'Tis the Season (1/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) "Oh dammit to hell," Tracy groaned as she read the innocent looking memo sitting in the center of her desk. "Careful Tracy, Santa's watching." Nick smiled and glanced up from the Dickens report as his usually cheerful partner let loose a string of curses that would have made Dennis Leary blush. He knew what she was looking at, 81 kilo had been given the unenviable assignment of working Christmas Eve, Day -and- New Years. "Santa can go screw an elf." She mumbled, slamming her desk drawer open and grabbing her bottle of Tylenol. She glared at her partner, he'd probably volunteered them to work again, Nick had told her earlier that month that they should work, since they didn't have any family like the rest of the precinct. She wouldn't put it past him, after all, that's how she'd ended up working Halloween, and Thanksgiving before that! "An elf and the reindeer he rode in on." Nick raised an eyebrow at that and was about to comment when Reese stalked up to their desks. "Knight, Vetter, got one for ya," The Captain looked down at his two best detectives and grimaced. Tracy looked like she was about ready strangle her partner, and judging by the pile of paperwork on her desk, and the relative emptiness of Nick's, he was pretty sure he'd call it justified. Looks like he'd have to have another 'chat' with Knight about respecting his partner. Reese shook his head, but that would have to wait, they had more pressing business now. "Twelfth and Tanenbalm, cleaning lady just called it in, and sounds like it ain't a pretty one, been there awhile." "Great," Tracy griped, yanking at the child-proof cap with all her strength, "Just the thing to get me in that 'Christmas Spirit.'" Nick took the bottle from her and easily popped the lid before handing it back and turning to Reese. "We're on our way." And with that he headed out the door, not even checking to make sure Tracy was following. Tracy glared at her partner's back, then at the now open bottle. She quickly downed three tablets with what was left of her luke warm coffee and made to follow him. Reese put a restraining arm on her shoulder and pulled her to a stop. He stood there a moment, looking like he was going to say something, but then shook his head and seemed to change his mind, "You get the Donor write-up done?" Tracy nodded. "Yeah, top of the pile next to the key board," She turned back as if to grab it for him. "That's alright, I'll find it." Reese nodded, "And Trace-" "Yeah Cap?" Tracy pulled on her coat and waited. "Don't let Knight or anyone else push you around," Reese paused, "You've got just as much right to that shield as anyone else, and you've more than proven it in your time here." For the first time in weeks a genuine smile curved Tracy's lips, "Thanks Cap, I needed that." "And I mean it. Now," Reese smiled back at her, "Go catch me some bad guys." Tracy nodded and gave a small salute, "Yes sir!" >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>. By the time Nick and Tracy were about half way to their destination, Tracy's mood had again soured. She'd tried to talk to Nick but he'd pretty much ignored her, deciding instead to listen to that creepy Nightcrawler guy. 'What is it with Nick and that guy?' she thought bitterly, her suspicious mind acting overtime, 'Is he the president of his fan club or what?' Tonight's topic was 'Family, Love and Tradition.' It usually was lately, or some variation of it Tracy had noticed. 'Seems ol' Worm-boy's got the holiday blahs too,' She smirked as the DJ launched into yet another tirade about the hypocrisy of the season. A small laugh bubbled past her lips as he made a rather spiteful comment about how naughty children should be thankful for the coal. Nick shot her a glare. Tracy glared back. What, she wasn't supposed to even listen to him now? Well, Nick's private obsession was no business of hers. One thing their partnership had taught her was that everyone had secrets, especially Nick, and sometimes you should just stay out of it. It had taken her months to figure Nick's big secret out. Months of tiny slips, paperwork, and research into Nick's past. Eventually it had been a report on the Morris case that had given him away, 'Uses blood as a paint thickener my ass!' She thought. Nick snapped off the radio as they turned down Twelfth. Tracy just looked out the window at the darkened storefronts and closed cafes. "There's just something morally wrong about a closed Buckstars." She commented wryly. Nick just shrugged, apparently not appreciating her coffee humor. Tracy sighed. Well, when had they ever been on the same page anyway? When she'd finally figured him out, well, she'd felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach. At first she'd been angrier than hell, wanted to confront him. Then, before she'd really had a chance to do anything about it, that feeling had seeped out of her and some sort of cold acceptance had settled in its place. She could deal with it. She could live with the secrets and lies if she had to. After all, she let her father get away with lying about Bruce, Vachon with pretty much everything, why not Nick? Nick was a damn good cop, he got cases solved, and in the end that's all that mattered, right? As soon as Nick pulled the Caddy up to the crime scene, Tracy climbed out, and stepped right into a large oily mud puddle, "Oh dammit!" The blonde cursed as she felt the icy water slosh over the top of her new suede half boots. "Bad enough I have to work every holiday between now and kingdom come, but on top of that I have to go and ruin yet another pair of shoes. Happens every time mother " She trailed off, continuing to swear under her breath as she stomped up onto the curb. A uniformed officer stared at her with undisguised shock as Tracy finished up questioning the parentage of Kris Kringle. "Uh, Detective?" "Yeah?" Tracy answered distractedly as she squished her boot against the cement, watching dark water ooze out. "I was wondering if maybe I could knock off early? We're almost done here anyway and with only three days 'til Christmas and all, and I got kids unlike you and Detective Knight " Tracy glared up and opened her mouth to tell him a little something about duty, procedure and shouldn't they at least see if they'd need him inside tonight before letting him book off, when Nick came up beside her and said, "Yeah Tim, go ahead, we'll cover for you." The Officer's face lit up, "Thanks, I figured you would, no family and all." The man quickly headed for his car before they could change their minds. Nick smiled absently, oblivious as always to Tracy's thoughts, and headed inside. Tracy grimaced, stopping herself just in time from making an obscene gesture at her partner's retreating back. She looked up at the storefront, 'The Black Unicorn' one of those metaphysical new-agey bookstores the tofu crowd liked to frequent. But then she noticed this particular one was sort of scary. The brickwork that made up the outer walls was crumbling and stained, the name and unicorn logo painted on the frosted window were slightly off in some way. And the beast seemed to be glaring at you no matter where you stood. Someone -had- tried to dress the place up a bit for the holidays by stringing a few strands of colored lights around the edge of the window, but the red and green blinking lights just seemed to make it worse. Tracy looked for a moment, then mumbled, "Bah Humbug." The second Tracy entered the crime scene du jour, she knew something was wrong. It was more than the over powering stench of death effecting her, it was something far less tangible. She frowned and moved into the circle of crime lights where Nick and Natalie crouched over the body. "Well somebody's going on Santa's naughty list," she heard Nat crack, "Stabbed, looks like, eight, nine, ten times, something sharp, probably a butcher knife. Bag and tag her boys!" Tracy gave the body a courtesy glance as Nat's assistants zipped up the three day-old corpse, making sure there were no obvious 'other signs' on the body. 'Nat seems to have this problem with seeing fang marks,' She thought sharply, 'Nothing like a ME with no problem covering up vampire murders. Of course I'm guilty on that count too aren't I?' If it were possible Tracy's mood soured even more. She walked over to Nick as he dismissed yet another uniform and waved Nat and hers off. "So partner, you planning on it just being the two of us? Planning on trying something are ya?" Tracy asked, her annoyance coming through loud and clear. "What?" Nick looked at her with confusion, "I just figured we could handle this by ourselves, and no I'm not planning on having my wicked way with you." He teased her with one eyebrow raised lasciviously. "Hrumph, your loss," She said tartly, moving to look at the stained area where moments before one Merribelle North, the 23 year-old clerk and victim, had lain. The shop had been closed for the past weekend, apparently the co-ed had been killed Friday sometime after closing and had just been found tonight by Rita Jinglemaker, the cleaning lady. Finally Nick caught on that his partner was not 'Fa-la-la'ing her way through the holiday season. "Uh, Trace? Something bothering you?" Tracy looked up with an 'oh -now- you want to talk' look on her face, "Nothing a little eggnog and a baseball bat couldn't fix," Ah sweet sarcasm, truly man's greatest gift. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Perplexed, Nick followed Tracy as she moved through the small two-roomed shop. "Is it your boyfriend?" Tracy stopped cold in her tracks and stifled a laugh, "No, it isn't Vachon, and he isn't my boyfriend." She moved on into the back of the shop to a small kitchen and storeroom. She pulled open the refrigerator and pulled out a half bottle of smoked oysters marked 'July.' She wisely decided not to open them. Nick frowned as she so easily dropped the Spanish vampire's name, she'd never done that before. "Your father then?" He tried again. With a small exasperated noise Tracy stood and slammed the already printed appliance shut, the image of her father sunning himself with his secretary in the Bahamas this Christmas flashed before her, she frowned, "What is it with this sudden interest in my personal life?" "I," Nick's brows furrowed, "Nothing, we're partners and " "Well, maybe we should talk about -your- father then," Tracy knew she'd just overstepped her bounds when Nick's face went suddenly blank, and even as she mentally kicked herself for it she went ahead and made it worse, "How is Herr Nightcrawler this Yuletide?" Nick's face went from blank to out and out mad, pretty much confirming Tracy's stab in the dark suspicion, "Look Trace, I don't know what you think you know but-" "Oh more than I want to, believe me," Tracy crabbed, "Let's just drop it alright? Wouldn't want to actually get to know each other or anything, we might bond." Nick grabbed her arm and turned her roughly to face him, "Tracy you'd better stop looking into my affairs you-" She cut him off, "Won't like what I find?" She arched a brow, "Too late for that partner, and I'm done looking, I didn't like it and I know all I need." Nick dropped her arm and just stared at her, "And what are you going to do?" His voice was cold, distant, but Tracy thought she could hear an underlying threat. 'Oh, so if I compromise you it's snacky-time is it?' Tracy thought, well, not like she hadn't heard the same thing from Vachon and Screed countless times, and she decided to deal with it the same way she dealt with every other vampire in her life. If she found out he was hunting she'd take care of him, but until then she'd just let him be. "Nothing." "Nothing?" Nick echoed, again trailing her as she made her way back into the main room of the shop, switching off the crime lights and making sure all the little plastic baggies of evidence had been taken in by forensics. "Look Nick," She turned, facing him full on probably for the first time since she'd found out the truth several weeks ago, "I'm fine with it, and as long as you don't do anything illegal," She fingered her badge through her coat pocket, "I'll be fine with it." Nick couldn't stop himself from asking, "And if I don't?" Tracy didn't say anything, she just turned on her heels and marched out of the shop, effectively ending that dangerous conversation. >>>>>>>>>> Holiday blahs got you down? Suggestion number 1228 in the Saint Nick files: call up a pet store and ask if they give refunds if you forget to cut air holes in the box Send all comments (about the story, not the joke) to anteros@juno.com See disclaimers in part one, see 34 different reruns of 'It's a Wonderful Life' between now and the 25th on channel 56! 'Tis the Season (2/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the precinct, not a creature was stirring 'cause they wanted to stick me with the paperwork." Tracy was talking to herself once again. It was a bad habit, she knew it, but somehow she couldn't seem to curb it. "Repression will do that to you," She mumbled under her breath. She'd been walking on eggshells around Nick for the past two days, carefully avoiding any mention of their conversation at the Black Unicorn, which was difficult because it was now their number one case. Just then Reese, Nat and Nick came wandering into the bullpen, laughing and joking in a way she was rarely included in. When Nick saw her he stopped abruptly, though the Captain and Nat continued right on talking. 'Nice to know he doesn't tell Nat much of anything either,' Tracy silently commented, out loud she asked, "Anything new on the North case?" Reese went from jovial to all business in one second flat, kind of impressive really. "Still can't get a hold on the owner of the shop, some guy named Robert Crotchet." Tracy racked a hand through her already mussed hair, "I found Merribelle's roommate, Kathy Gibson. She's in Vancouver with her family for the holidays, but I called her and she said Crotchet and Merribelle had dated, but broke up last month. Said they were real intense, had kind of the whole soap opera love-hate thing going for them." "Got a look at the report," Reese shook his jowled head, "Place sounds creeped out to me. More devil worship than anything else, poison, books on human sacrifice, maybe Merribelle just decided she didn't want to play any of his reindeer games anymore and he lost it." "Well," Nat chimed in, "I can tell you Merribelle was likely taken completely by surprise, no marks at all to show she defended herself. Who ever did it though was pretty clumsy, missed the heart by a mile, most of the vitals too, it was blood loss that got her." Through this Nick stood stoically to one side, "We'll find him." "If it was him," Tracy commented, "I mean, she was still working there even after the break up, if she'd felt threatened chances are she would have left. Could have been someone else." The assembled gave her a strange look, "Most devil worshippers are very nice people, pretty much hedonists, but nice. And besides, looks like Crotchet is more just an occult scholar than anything else, plus that was Merribelle's major in school, folklore and the occult." Tracy defended herself. The looks got stranger. "Look, I'm not saying I think he's innocent, just that we can't close the book on him solely on the basis of his religious beliefs." Tracy finished hotly, not too happy about defending their most likely suspect but wanting to make sure they were going after him for the right reasons. "Right," Reese shook his head again, "Let's try and keep an open mind, could be anyone. But I want this one closed nice and tight and wrapped up in a bow sitting on my desk by New Year's people." Then, with that last Yuletide wish, the captain walked off to his office and shut the door. Nat turned her eyes on Tracy and raised a brow, "So when you'd get so interested in the occult." Her tone adding 'as if I didn't know.' Tracy forced a smile and thought, 'Nice that the Coroner knows about my ties to vampires, it'll make it so much easier to cover up if they kill me.' She sighed, "You know me, just chalk full of useless information," she let her eyes flick over her partner before returning to the report on her desk. Nat shot Nick an amused look, completely oblivious to the undercurrents between the two. "Well, I think I've been dismissed, see ya later Nick," She moved to kiss him on the cheek but his sudden scowl stopped her. Nat frowned herself and headed back to the morgue in a much less festive mood. "What was that about?" Nick asked as he took his seat across from Tracy. Tracy looked up, "There is supposed to be another employee, another clerk named Jacob Marcel, we can't find him either. Can't rule him out." Nick nodded, he'd already heard about Marcel, college sophomore and part time seasonal worker for the holiday rush, "That's not what I'm talking about and you know it," he hissed. Tracy arched a brow and moved a stack of files from her desk to Nick's. "This is your share." "Tracy," Nick almost growled her name, "We have to talk." "Talking won't change anything, we can work with this, we have for the past year after all." Tracy stood suddenly, "I'm going to go back over to the Unicorn, see if we missed anything." Nick frowned, "We've been over that place a dozen times Trace, sit down." Tracy pulled on her long leather duster, "Just a drive then, to clear my head." She didn't add that she wanted to get away from him for awhile, she didn't need to, they both knew it. "Fine." Nick said flatly, opening the top file and staring down at it unseeingly. "Fine," Tracy echoed, and headed for her car. >>>>>>>>>>>> As Tracy was letting her car warm up she rummaged through her glove compartment looking for her other bottle of Tylenol, "Like I'd actually put it in there," She griped, "I'd actually be able to -find- it if I did." "Talking to yourself Trace?" Came an amused voice from her left. She paused briefly to wonder how he'd opened her car door without her hearing, then continued to dig through the out-of-date maps, receipts and chocolate wrappers that filled her glove box. "Talking to yourself but not to me." Vachon commented, laughter filling his voice. "Where've you been?" Tracy gave up and slammed the box shut, "Haven't seen you in two weeks." Vachon frowned, "I've been gone three." Tracy smiled slightly, "Wanted me to count the days did you?" Vachon blinked at her and closed the car door. Tracy waited as he walked around and climbed into the passenger's side. An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Tracy looked at his profile a moment, he still didn't know she'd found out about Nick, caught them both in a lie, he'd been gone when she'd found out. 'Good thing he was, probably would've staked him,' she thought with a small giggle. "What's so funny?" He turned those big brown eyes on her. Tracy shrugged, "Nothing." Vachon waited, she usually would talk just to fill the silence but this time she seemed content to just sit there and watch the temperature rise on her dashboard. "So " He trailed off. "So " She echoed with a smile, "Where'd you go?" Vachon blinked at her, she wasn't pushing, or demanding like he expected her to. No, she actually just seemed to be making conversation. "Here and there," He shrugged. "Ah," She nodded sagely, a quirky smile tilting her lips, "Lovely weather there this time of year." "Aren't you curious?" Vachon asked, and was startled that it sounded like whining, even to him. Tracy paused and looked at him, "I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to, one thing I've learned is you usually don't tell me anything unless you want me to know." Vachon frowned, then shrugged and smiled, "I was in Phoenix, brought you something in fact." Tracy smiled at his eagerness, he looked a lot more like 5 than 500. "Oh?" She arched a brow, "If it's a rattle snake, I don't want it." Mock horror filled his face, "How'd you know?!" He smiled, "No, close your eyes." Tracy frowned, "What?" "Don't you trust me?" Vachon smiled. The obvious response to that was 'Hell no!' but that answer was not exactly diplomatic, she shut her eyes. She might have felt a bit more charitable if she hadn't known from Screed that Vachon had been with Urs for the last couple weeks, but on the other hand, maybe she wouldn't. Suddenly she felt Vachon's cold hands on her throat, she jumped and her eyes flew open. "Whoa Trace, calm down!" Vachon smiled at her. A second later Tracy realized he was fastening a necklace and managed to stop herself from screaming for the SWAT team. She closed her eyes again, not really wanting him to see just how much she didn't trust him. "There," Vachon announced when he'd finished, "Open your eyes and look." Tracy did, then angled her rear view mirror to take a look. It was a beautiful turquoise and silver choker. "It's lovely, did Urs pick it out?" Shock flashed across his face, then guilt, finally his usual blank expression and a blink, "What? No, Urs wasn't with me." 'Lie number 178 for the Vachon files,' Tracy thought with a sad smile, "It's a wonderful present Vachon," She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, "Thank you." He frowned, "Heading home?" "No," Tracy shook her head, "To a crime scene, nothing that would interest you though." She mimicked a bite and smiled, "Not a fang mark in sight." Vachon frown deepened, "Urs wasn't-" She cut him off, "She called Screed last week." Blink, "Oh." Another sad smile, "You coming along?" She asked as she released the parking break and shifted into reverse. "No," Vachon shook his head, "See you around Trace huh?" "Sure," Tracy smiled, "And thanks again for the gift, it's beautiful." He nodded, then he was gone. Sighing Tracy pulled out of the lot and headed towards the Black Unicorn, not because she thought she'd find anything new, but because she didn't have anywhere else to go. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Fruitcake had a large variety of uses: sidewalk chalk, bear repellant, solar panel, and my favorite, cannon fodder! Just bring your family out into the back yard on Christmas Eve, load up your cannon, point it skyward. Tell the kids you're hunting reindeer! Send all comments to anteros@juno.com See disclaimers in part one, see Santa at any mall and finer bowling alleys. 'Tis the Season (3/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) "Why am I back here?" Tracy asked herself as she pulled up in front of the Black Unicorn. "They've been over this place with a fine tooth comb already," She continued as she climbed out of her Taurus, ducked under the police tape and used the key to let herself in. Immediately the same feeling of unease from the first night slammed into her. "Oh yeah, write that in your report Vetter," She sighed as she shone her flashlight around, "'The crime scene was filled with 'bad vibes.' While you're at it might as well tell them you've seen ghosts, believe in vampires and might be a reincarnated classical violinist." She snorted, "Then I'll hand over my badge and let the nice men in white coats take me somewhere with padded walls and jackets that buckle in back." She crept forward and examined the bloodstain, a shiver raced up her spine. "You're being ridiculous." She stalked over and switched on the light, "And you're talking to yourself again." She sighed and circled the shop, making sure all the rooms were empty. Of course they were, she was just being paranoid. Once the circuit was complete she went back to the front room, "I'm missing something, I know it." She chewed her lip and closed her eyes, dragging a long draught of air into her lungs. The shop smelled of incense and leather bound books, and mold. Tracy opened her eyes and frowned. Nick had probably missed it the first time simply because he'd never been alone in the place before, actually her partner hadn't returned to the crime scene since that first night, trusting the uniforms and forensics to find everything. A whiff of something damp and cold seemed to float past her, she had the sudden impulse to call Nick or Vachon, they could pick out what was causing it in a second, but she quickly dismissed that, "Do it yourself Vetter." She crept along the creaking wood floors and tried to determine where that draft was coming from. Again she closed her eyes and followed her other senses, "Use the force Tracy." When she banged into a counter she opened her eyes, "But don't forget to look where you're going," She mumbled self-decrepitly and grinned, she was back in the kitchen, "Probably those damn oysters." She opened the 'fridge again and saw the same mollusks staring back at her, there was also an empty bottle of catsup and a box of baking soda. "Mmm, mmm good." She stood and slammed the door. She was about to leave when she realized something, the 'fridge hadn't been cold. She opened it again to make sure, no it was definitely room temperature in there. Frowning she walked around to see if it was even plugged in, but it was pressed so tightly against the wall she couldn't tell. Chewing on her bottom lip Tracy crouched slightly and prepared to push the refrigerator, "You've got -way- too much time on your hands Vetter." She mumbled and heaved. "Christmas Eve and you're moving the furniture " Surprisingly, it didn't budge. Tracy stood. Now that wasn't right. The thing was practically empty, it couldn't be -that- heavy. She walked around and looked at it from the other side, then she saw them hinges. "My, my what do we have here?" She frowned and walked back around, looking for the latch. Finding it quickly, it was easy now that she knew she was looking for one, she undid the small hook and eye latch and pushed the refrigerator again. It swung to one side and revealed a small opening cut through the drywall, a ladder led down. "Curiouser and curiouser," She mumbled, trying to peer down into the darkness, a small light seemed to flicker from the depths. "Hmm," She pulled out her cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Nick's cell. "Come on, pick up, pick up." Suddenly a moan echoed up from the tunnel. "Oh hell," Tracy started to close the phone just as Nick picked up. "Knight." "Nick, I found something at the Unicorn, I think someone might be hurt, get over here now!" And with that she snapped closed the phone, pulled her gun and climbed onto the ladder. "So help me God if this leads to Screed's place I'm quitting the force and joining the post office, better hours, more guns. ...Stop talking to yourself Vetter." She whispered as she descended into the darkness. The further down Tracy went the louder the moaning sounded. There was a strange affection to the sound, an echo or something. Tracy moved stealthily down the ladder, "Here goes nothing," She whispered, her breath making a small white cloud before her. When she reached the bottom she discovered she was in a basement, the place was obviously divided into two rooms, just like the shop above. Her gun at the ready, she mouthed a silent prayer to St. Jude, an old habit picked up from her Uncle Sonny, though why they both decided to pray to the patron of lost causes was beyond her. She spotted the door to her left, the flicking glow of candlelight beckoned her, the only light now was that door and a tiny speck coming from the kitchen high above. Stepping lightly she moved towards the slightly ajar door. Another moan sliced through the silence, this time quickly followed by a sharp slapping noise and a scream. "Great," Tracy whispered, "So much for waiting for back-up." Taking a deep breath she swung open the door and stepped inside. The sight that greeted her was horrific. The shop owner, Robert Crotchet, was hanging from the ceiling from his bound hands, his bare feet barely skimmed the damp cement floor. Marcel had what looked like a poker in his hands and was just about to press it into his employer again when he saw Tracy. "Freeze!" Tracy finally remembered to yell, "Metro Police!" The scraggly, twenty-something blonde just laughed at her, "You can't hurt me, I'm too powerful for that!" "He's crazy," Crotchet managed to gasp, "He killed Merribelle, going to kill me .thinks he's a demon or something " "Shut up!" Marcel shrieked, waving his poker and running towards the back of the small cement room. "I said freeze!" Tracy yelled, "I will shoot if I have to!" "You can't hurt me, I already told you," Marcel's voice had taken on the icy calm of a mad man, "I can escape, I have this box you see!" "Crazy," Crotchet groaned, "Forces he doesn't understand don't let him use it, won't know where he'll go when mess everything up " "I know what I'm doing!" Marcel yelled, suddenly angry again, "You two always treated me like a child, but I'm better, I know the true way! -I'm- the one who figured it out!" "Never!" Crotchet suddenly seemed to come to life, screaming like a banshee at the black clad youth behind him. He flailed against the ropes that held him, Tracy could see blood begin to race down his arms, his words became incoherent quickly, then again, they might have been in another language. Whatever the case, they seemed to scare Marcel, because the student suddenly lost all color and began to shake. "Stop it!" Tracy yelled, "Both of you!" "This has got to end!" Marcel reached for a small suitcase sized box. Thinking it held a gun, Tracy cocked her gun, "Don't move!" Marcel's wild eyes met her, then he smiled and grabbed the box, wrenching it open. There was a flash of pure white light. Crotchet screamed. Tracy's gun went off. Then everything went black. >>>>>>>>>>> Ways to annoy Santa, 1) Leave him a note that you've gone away for the holidays and would like him to water your plants. 2) Leave a plate of milk and cookies with a note that says "for the Tooth Fairy." 3) Throw a surprise party for him when he comes down the chimney. 4) Decorate your tree with Easter eggs. 5) While he's in your house find his sleigh and sit in it. When he comes out tell him he shouldn't have missed a payment and fly off. Send all comments to anteros@juno.com Disclaimers in part one, rum in egg nog. Graphic fight scene ahead, be forewarned. 'Tis the Season (4/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) The first thing that permeated Tracy's stunned mind was that she was laying on cobblestone. Cold, damp, filthy cobblestone. "What the-?" She mumbled, raising to her hands and knees. She looked up, she was outside, a full moon shone down on her, a few frozen black clouds flitted by. Then she noticed Marcel. The scraggly blond was about thirty feet away, sitting in the middle of what Tracy finally recognized as a street, looking just as dazed and lost as she felt. She groaned, training kicking in when the rest of her refused to function. Her hand found her gun lying next to her and quickly scooped it up. Climbing to her feet she pointed the weapon at him and yelled, "Freeze!" Marcel's head snapped up and a look of pure disbelief flashed across his face. Like a cat, he was instantly on his feet and running down the block still clutching the strange box, leaving the fireplace poker forgotten in the street. Tracy froze a second, watching Marcel disappear into the fog. "Stop!" She yelled, pulling the trigger. She waited for the recoil. Nothing happened. She glanced down at her gun then back up, Marcel was gone. "Oh just great," She muttered, snapping open the weapon she grumbled, the blasted thing was hopelessly jammed, it would take a gunsmith to fix, "Guess slamming it against the ground didn't help it much." Looking up finally, she reholstered her useless gun and pulled her coat tighter around her. Now that she had a second to think, she realized she had no idea where she was or how the hell she'd gotten there. She was on a deserted city street, but not in any part of town she recognized. She glanced up and down the street and noticed for the first time that it was lined with gaslights. "Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore Toto," She whispered. She started walking, turning corner after corner, looking for anything familiar, or failing that, a pay phone or taxi. But the town seemed deserted. She kept walking, she relaxed slightly when she saw that the street signs were in English, even though she didn't recognize any of the names, "Bradford and Hilldeen, Panyfine and Westbury," She read them off, passing closed store fronts and dark homes, "Where the hell am I?" "Why, you're 'ere luv, roight where you wants ta be." An English voice sounded from her left. Tracy stopped walking when out from a darkened alleyway stepped two men. There was something odd about the way they were dressed, but she didn't bother to process that immediately, instead she moved slightly back, maintaining a comfortable distance. The men moved closer. "'Ere now," The shorter of the greasy pair sneered at her, "Ya ain't bein' at all friendly are ya?" Tracy looked from one man to the other, her cop's eye dissecting them. They both had flat caps pulled over dark hair and their features were enough alike to suggest a close relation, probably brothers. They wore heavy but thread-barren coats, but they'd left them hanging open. For the first time Tracy noticed that where ever the hell she was now, it was at least 15 degrees warmer than Toronto had been. The men were both obviously drunk, but not so much as to make them any less dangerous. 'This probably isn't going to be pretty.' Tracy thought, instinct and common sense both agreeing that she should get out of there. "Maybe tha lady is shy 'arry," The larger one laughed when Tracy continued to back away. "Nonsense Carl, 'ores can't be shy!" Harry leered at her then, "and you can tell she's a 'ore by 'ow she's dressed, plus bein' out in tha night like this? Nah sumpthin' fer a lady, nah at all." Tracy glanced down, under her leather duster she was wearing khakis with a blouse and vest, not exactly risqui by anyone's standards. "Look, I'm just looking for a phone, I'm not looking for any trouble." She said slowly, though she really didn't expect these two to just point her in the direction of the nearest 7-11. No, there was going to be trouble, she could already tell. "Ooo, a fureniner!" Carl exclaimed, clearly not liking her accent. "I'm in England?!" Tracy yelped, completely dismissing their disapproval, she didn't care what they thought of her, she only wanted to know where the hell Marcel had taken her! "Where'd ya think ya was?" Harry snorted, "Bloody Yank, don't even know she's en London!" While his brother was glowering at her, Carl just leered. Apparently he didn't care if she was wacko. "I've got a two shillin's wit your name on 'em, one fer each o' us." He grabbed at his crotch and nodded towards the alley. "I'm not for sale," Tracy said calmly, moving to walk around them. Her mind was going a mile a minute, London! How the hell had she gotten here?! "Well then," Carl shot Harry a look, "Maybe we just won't pay." And with that the pair grabbed for her. But even though most of her mind had been elsewhere, that in no way meant Tracy had forgotten her immediate surroundings. When they came at her, she was ready. As Carl's hand shot out to grab her arm Tracy easily slipped to the side and had him in an arm lock before he could blink. A second later he was on the ground. Harry came at her next, raising his arm to cold-cock her, at the same time Carl swept his arm to knock her legs out from under her. Tracy easily dodged the fist and sweep, but had to step back to do so, this left her way too close to Carl's legs. One sharp kick to the back of the knee and she stumbled forward. Harry laughed and grabbed for her hair, but Tracy quickly regained her balance and before his hand reached her she swung her leg in a swift roundhouse kick to his ribs. She followed that up with a powerful side-kick that sent him crashing into the wall behind him. By then Carl had managed to climb to his feet and with a roar of rage lunged at Tracy. Her back kick caught him full in the mouth, blood splashed to the ground as his lip tore into his broken teeth. He fell back a few steps, hate burning in his eyes as he held his ruined mouth. Harry took that moment to regain his wits and pull a knife. Tracy retreated a few steps, careful to keep track of where Carl was in the corner of her eye. Suddenly she became aware of a third person. Turning slightly she discovered an elegantly dressed man standing not twenty feet away, apparently enjoying the show. "Very impressive," The man nodded at her, touching the brim of his hat. At first Tracy was just going to dismiss her audience as irrelevant, she after all had more important things to worry about, but then something clicked in her mind. She knew him! Turning wide eyes on the man she called him by name, "Lacroix?!" Lacroix looked surprised and Tracy thought he was about to say something else when Harry lunged. Cursing herself for getting distracted Tracy turned her full attention again on the brothers. As Harry rushed her she turned to her left and missed the knife by scant inches, she grabbed his wrist as it passed her and turning so her back was parallel to his she elbowed him first in the floating ribs, then in the back of the head. Carl chose that moment to intervene, and while still holding his brother's arm in a half lock she swung into a full roundhouse kick to the side of Carl's head. Her momentum was enough to wrench Harry's arm from the socket, which of course made the knife drop. Tracy quickly pushed Harry away to the ground and dropped into stance to defend herself from the enraged Carl. He swung a punch at her face, but it was so wide she wondered how he even expected to hit her. Easily ducking the blow, Tracy reached up and slid her palm under his cap and over his head, a quick pull down brought his face in contact with her knee. Burying her hand in his hair she pulled his head up and then slammed it down again, bringing her knee up hard to meet him again. She repeated this a few times until he was practically unconscious, then she dropped him, letting him slump to the ground. When his head hit the cobblestone he was out. Turning to where she'd last left Harry she found Lacriox had him jammed up against one of the walls of the alley several feet away. Had the forgotten brother managed to climb to his feet and come after her while her back was turned again? Had Lacroix saved her, or had he just taken advantage of the situation and was about to feed? 'Where's the knife?' Tracy asked herself, she glanced down and saw that it was gone. Looking back up she saw where it had gotten to, Lacroix was holding it to Harry's throat. Again Tracy wondered, had he picked it up or taken it from Harry? "That's no way to treat a lady," The vampire hissed at the blubbering would-be rapist. "Lacroix," Tracy said in warning, the cop in her not wanting to see a man murdered even if he deserved it. Lacroix turned his eyes on her, though he still held Harry and the knife, "Do I know you?" He asked with some annoyance. Tracy's mind raced, suddenly she took in Lacroix's clothing and what had been nagging her about her attackers' garments was thrown into sharper relief. Lacroix was dressed very elegantly, no big surprise there, the publicity photos she'd seen of the radio host had already proven he had an eye for fashion. But Lacroix was wearing a great coat and top hat for god's sake! Breeches and tall boots! And something told Tracy that it wasn't for a costume party, no, Carl and Harry's clothes we dated too, just not as noticeably. Tracy stared open mouthed, 'oh my god,' she thought, suddenly the gas lights and lack of cars made sense. And hadn't Carl offered her a shilling? Not a pound, but a shilling. And what had Crochet said? 'Won't know where he'll go when ' She went white, 'I'm in the freakin' past!' She thought frantically. Lacroix glared at her, "Not going to say?" Tracy shook her head slightly, realizing he was waiting for her to answer. What had been the question again? Oh yeah, 'Do I know you?' "No," Tracy forced a smile, it came out looking more like a smirk, "I just know -of- you." "From who?" Lacroix demanded. Tracy's mind raced, the scary thing was this vampire was the closest thing to home that she had at the moment. "Well," She ran a hand through her hair nervously, not sure what to tell him, then she shrugged, the truth could work, at least part of it, "From Nick." Lacroix blinked, then suddenly pulled Harry off the wall and slammed him back. He let the man fall to the alley floor and turned his full attention on Tracy, "Oh really?" >>>>>>>>>>>>>> At last things begin to get interesting! Send all comments and gingerbread billy-clubs to anteros@juno.com Disclaimers in part one, go ahead, read 'em, I dare you! 'Tis the Season (5/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) Tracy glanced at the two fallen men and shrugged, well, they weren't going anywhere for awhile and it's not like she could report them to the local authorities anyway, that would raise too many questions about her own identity. Sighing she looked back at Lacroix, who was watching her intently, "Yeah, from Nick." She turned and walked out of the alley, pausing at its mouth and looking back at him. Lacroix immediately realized she wanted him to follow her, intrigued, he did. They walked in silence for several blocks, side by side in the night. Finally, when it became obvious she wasn't going to say anything, Lacroix asked, "Do you have the slightest idea where you're going?" Tracy stopped mid-step and looked at him, the shadow of a smile fell across her lips. "Not a clue." She admitted. Lacroix raised an amused eyebrow. Tracy began walking again, slowly and again making sure he was accompanying her, "I have to find a man named Jacob Marcel, can't leave the city 'til I do." Tracy laughed lightly, it was such an unbelievable situation it didn't really seem like it was happening, "I don't know anyone in this city, have no money, just these clothes that are apparently so wrong it's not even funny, no clue as to what I'm going to do." She cast Lacroix a sidelong glance, "Basically I'm completely screwed." She laughed at the absurdity of it all. Lacroix nodded at her with a light twitching of his mouth. "Oh, I'm Tracy Vetter by the way." She paused and held her hand out to be shaken. "Lucien Lacroix," He said with flourish, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. Tracy grinned, she could get used to treatment like this! Suddenly it occurred to her that while Lacroix would be alive in 1996, right now he was living very much as an 19th century gentleman. 'This could make things interesting.' She thought, beginning her trek up yet another unfamiliar street. They walked in a thoughtful and strangely surreal silence before Lacroix asked, "You and Nicholas?" "Friends." Tracy stated firmly, not willing to go into anymore detail. Despite the fact that she knew Lacroix to be a vampire, Tracy was comforted by his presence, his voice, face, his tie to Nick and Toronto made him somewhat familiar. He was her only anchor to her time, maybe even her only possible ally, no way she was going to ruin that by telling him a fairy tale about time travel and magic boxes! "Friends," Lacroix repeated, tasting the word. "And how close of -friends- are you?" Tracy shot him a glare, "We're not lovers if that's what you're asking." Lacroix chuckled at that, "I never said you were," Then when Tracy began to look offended he quickly added, "I meant, how much do you know about," He was watching her very closely now, "Each other?" Tracy squirmed under his close scrutiny but kept looking him in the eye, "You mean do I know what he is?" Lacroix raised an eyebrow, looking slightly pleased, "Yes, how much do you know?" "Enough," Tracy shrugged, "More than he wanted." "So he wasn't the one to tell you?" Lacroix was intrigued. Tracy took a deep breath, "No, I sort of figured it out on my own, Nick wasn't too happy but he was dealing." "And where is Nicholas?" Lacroix's voice was nonchalant, but his eyes were intense. Tracy felt her first true trill of fear since her arrival flash through her at that look, she swallowed and answered truthfully, if a bit cryptically, "I have no idea, last I saw him he was quite a time removed from here and now." Lacroix seemed to mull that over, maybe the idea of allowing her her secrets was amusing him, but in any event, he didn't press her. In fact, he didn't say anything, but at last took her hand, placed it lightly on his bent elbow and began leading her north. 'Apparently he isn't going to let me try and walk back to Toronto,' Tracy thought wryly, and as she didn't know what else to do, she let him lead her. Finally, after several blocks Tracy asked, "Where are we going?" Lacroix gave her a brief glance before returning his eyes to their path, "My townhouse." He answered simply. Tracy blinked in surprise. Clearly this man was quite willing to help any friend of Nick's, whether she volunteered information or not. On the other hand, maybe he was just taking her home to kill her. Silence fell again, but this time it was slightly strained. They walked another block before Lacroix managed to hail a passing handsome cab. Tracy hesitated before climbing inside, eyeing the strange contraption and horses with unease. At last it was sinking in that this was -not- her time, she had no idea what to do, if it wasn't for Lacroix Lacroix sighed and made to help her inside, his 'help' constituting pushing her in and quickly following. He gave the driver his address and looked at her, "Is that acceptable?" "Going to your townhouse?" Tracy clarified, she was distracted slightly by how surprisingly similar the cab smelled to its modern counterpart, cigarette smoke, stale sweat and just the barest hint of vomit. Ah, the comforting stench of home. "Well," She again turned her attention on Lacroix, "I suppose that depends on what you think is going to happen once we're there." "You'll be my guest," Lacroix smiled as she pretended to relax slightly, he could tell she feared him, but there was no way he was going to let this little enigma get away. When he'd been out hunting tonight he had heard a fight, landing lightly he had discovered this slip of a girl skillfully thrashing two ruffians twice her size. That plus the combination of her strange dress, stranger mannerisms and mysterious connection to Nicholas was enough to keep him utterly fascinated. It seemed that he wouldn't be bored this Yuletide after all! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Lacroix's town house was surprisingly normal looking. After her few visits to the Raven, Tracy had expected his home in this time to be a bit more, well, Chez Dracula, but the two story brownstone was actually pleasant. That's not to say it wasn't obviously a rich and opulent home, the house practically screamed money and station, it just didn't scream 'Vampire!' As they quitted the cab Lacroix paid and tipped the driver, then led Tracy up the steps to the door. They had no need to knock, even at this late hour, or maybe because of it given the owner, the butler was at the ready to open the door. "Thank you Wadsworth," Lacroix nodded at the gray hared servant, "This is Miss " He paused and his eyes took on a devilish twinkle as he continued, "Miss DeBrabant, my ward. Please have Mrs. Crenshaw prepare the rose guestroom for her use." The butler showed no outward signs that he thought anything was amiss, either in his master's statement or Tracy's appearance, but simply nodded and said, "Very well sir," And went on his way. Tracy glanced at Lacroix, as she knew from countless forms and reports, Brabant was Nick's middle name, at least in her time, maybe it was his true last name in reality? She wondered briefly if there was any connection to the Brabant Foundation there? Her partner the philanthropist? Could be. "Uh, won't Nick mind me using his name? And who's Mrs. Crenshaw?" She asked when the servant was out of earshot. Lacroix raised an eyebrow, "I was wondering if you would recognize that name, and Mrs. Crenshaw is my house keeper, Wadsworth, the butler. Both very discreet, have no worries there my dear." Somehow Tracy wasn't put at ease by his assurances, "And what's this about being your ward? Isn't that for children? I'm 26 you know." Lacroix gave her a disbelieving look, "I doubt very much you are of age, but as my ward we'll at least be giving propriety a nod." With a very unlady-like snort Tracy quipped, "Well, can't have the neighbors talking can we?" "No we cannot," Lacroix agreed solemnly, though his eyes twinkled, she was such an amusing little thing! With another smile, Lacroix led her into a darkly paneled on their right, "I'm afraid I must leave you now Miss Vetter, I have some things I must attend to before the dawn." "Tracy," She corrected off-handedly, eyes sweeping through the ornate room, "What things?" He arched a brow at her directness. Tracy turned her attention back on him, just in time to see his eyes sweep down her body. "Things," he repeated. Tracy frowned, an uncomfortable warmth spreading through her middle, and opened her mouth to say something, but his finger on her lips stopped her. "Hush, Mrs. Crenshaw will be down shortly to show you to your room, I'll be back soon," He smiled as she glared at him, "No, I'm not going to tell you where I'm going." Tracy opened her mouth only to be cut off again. "It is not as if you are volunteering much of your own," He reminded her. She shut her mouth with a snap, no she wasn't, and she wasn't going to either. Here he was opening his home to her and she was giving him the third degree? She sighed, "You'll be back soon?" He smiled, "Before dawn." Tracy rolled her eyes, surpressing the 'well duh!' that wanted so badly to be said. Suddenly it occurred to her that she had no idea what time it was, she pushed up her sleeve and glanced at her watch, 3:34 am. "What-?" Lacroix clasped her hand and examined the Casio closely. "Hmm," He made a noncommittal sound and let her wrist drop. "I'll be back by seven, but by then you will no doubt be sound asleep. So until tomorrow evening Tracy." He shot her one last devastating smile before departing. Tracy sat down heavily on a delicate brocade settee. "What am I getting myself in for?" She asked the empty room. Luckily for her jangled nerves, no one answered. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jingle bells, Screedy smells, Natty cuts up corpses, the Knight-mobile lost it's wheel, and Tracy saved the day! Hey! Send all comments and candy canes to anteros@juno.com Disclaimers in part one, those car keys lost forever. Special thanks to my wonderful beta and fact checker Shana Nolan for all the info leading to Tracy's dress in this scene, it took a lot of research on Shana's part and a lot of stupid questions on mine to get it done. Thanks for putting up with me Shana! 'Tis the Season (6/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) Mrs. Crenshaw turned out to be a middle-aged woman with salt and pepper hair drawn back into a tight bun. Her 5'2 body was rail thin and poker straight, Tracy wondered how it was even possible for the woman to bend at the waist much less keep Lacroix's spacious townhouse clean. The housekeeper found Tracy slumped in a wing-chair before the parlor fireplace and made a noise half way between a sniff and a tsk, obviously disapproving Tracy's less than lady like posture. Tracy was instantly reminded of her third grade teacher Sister Maria, and the late afternoon sessions with the ruler to the back of her knuckles for climbing trees and playing with frogs. Tracy sat up and climbed to her feet. The woman frowned, "So you're Miss Tracy then, hmm?" "Yes ma'am," Tracy nodded, for the first time actually feeling self-conscious about the way she was dressed, khakis and hiking boots were probably not what most woman wore around here. "Hmm," The woman looked her up and down and frowned, "Come on then, I'll show you to your room." Tracy nodded, actually she just wanted to ask for a shower, but they probably hadn't been invented yet, though she didn't know for sure. As a matter of fact, the only things she knew about this time period came from Sherlock Holmes and Harlequin romances, not exactly the most reliable sources. Tracy sighed as she followed the housekeeper upstairs, she really was screwed. >>>>>>>>>>>>> "This is your room here, the Rose Room," Mrs. Crenshaw indicated the door next to hers. "Stay out of that one." "Is that Lacroix's?" Tracy asked. "Heavens no!" Her eyes narrowed, "I figured you'd know to stay out of his on your own." "Of course," Tracy rushed to assure her, not wanting the woman to think she was Lacroix's mistress or anything. "I just thought that's what you meant by " The older woman looked somewhat appeased, and Tracy suddenly wondered why she cared what the old bat thought. "Well, the Master's chambers are at the other end of the house," She sniffed, "Yours are here," She pushed open the door and led Tracy inside. It was a tastefully decorated rose room, hence the name Tracy supposed. There was a rose colored oriental rug spread over the hardwood floor and the walls were papered with an understated pink and beige floral design. The bed was large and dressed in a dark pink silk, a chest sat across its foot and a spindly-legged chair sat next to it. There was a large wardrobe and a door that Tracy sincerely hoped led to some sort of bathroom against one wall, a dresser and what looked like a mini desk by the heavily draped window against another. The over all effect was lovely. "Nice," Tracy let out a low whistle. Again disapproval flashed across the housekeeper's face, apparently ladies didn't whistle either, "Of course, the Master has excellent taste." Tracy began to get annoyed, she swept off her duster and draped it over the bed, giving Mrs. Crenshaw full view of her shoulder holster and service revolver, "So, is there anything around here I can wear to bed or is it au natural tonight?" The housekeeper looked appalled, that cheered Tracy up immediately. "You can borrow one of my nightdresses," the woman told her. "I'll just get that for you now." "Thank you," Tracy nodded, drawing off her holster and draping it over the headboard of her new bed. She sat down to take off her boots and looked up at the lingering woman, "Oh, and Mrs. Crenshaw?" "Yes?" The woman had just managed to regain her composure, and was again looking down her nose at Tracy. "Do you think you could get me something to eat?" Tracy asked, "I'm famished." "Something to eat?" The woman looked at a loss. "Is something wrong?" Tracy frowned, suddenly wondering if the servants knew Lacroix was a vampire and assumed she was as well. "No, It's just that Master Lacroix always dines at his clubs, there isn't much for guests. If I knew you were coming I would have done more shopping," Mrs. Crenshaw sniffed, giving Tracy the impression that she had no idea that her master might be 'different.' "I suppose I can find something for you though." Getting real tired of being talked to like a child, Tracy forced a smile and dismissed the woman with a nodded, "That would be nice, thanks." Another sniff and Mrs. Crenshaw left, returning for only a moment later to hand Tracy the gown and a wrinkled apple. "Merry Christmas to you too," Tracy mumbled as the housekeeper left, talking about inconveniences and silly American girls. >>>>>>>> Tracy woke up the next morning around ten, "Almost a year of night shift and I still can't sleep 'til noon," Tracy groaned in disgust. Then she remembered where she was and seriously thought about pulling the covers over her head and hiding for awhile. She stared up at the ceiling for a bit then gave up, she was awake, she was in London and that was that. Sighing, she swung back the covers and climbed out of bed, she reached her arms up in a stretch and the hem of her borrowed nightgown skimmed her knees. She walked over and pulled back the drapes, allowing the thin English sunlight to steam in. It was then she noticed them. Draped over her bed, chair and chest were gowns, three of them. And from the looks of them they'd actually fit her too! Gasping and laughing at the same time, Tracy noticed several boxes littering the floor, opening them she found undergarments, shoes, bonnets and a long velvet cloak. The dresses themselves were simply cut, -that- was what Lacroix had meant when he said he 'had some things to attend to before the dawn!' She squelched the sudden urge to go jump on his bed and thank him like a little girl, "He'd probably bite me," She laughed, "He's definitely -not- a morning person!" She looked down at the dove gray dress spread over her bed, he must have come in while she'd been sleeping and done all this, a blush stole over her face. Now -that- was an interesting thought. Shaking her head she decided there was nothing she could do about that now and walked over to the wall and pressed the buzzer Mrs. Crenshaw had said would summon her. Tracy walked back to the clothes and picked up what could only be a corset, "How humiliating, 26 and I can't even dress myself!" While she waited for the housekeeper Tracy wandered into the small bathroom. She'd been delighted last night to find a flush toilet and a small sink, of course the water was ice cold, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Washing off as best she could in the sink, there was a claw foot tub but no faucet into it, she shivered at the cold. Tracy brushed her hair and used something pretty close to a toothbrush on her teeth, though she suspected they were boar's bristles she tried to forget about that. Mrs. Crenshaw arrived a few minutes later, looking much the same as the night before, "Up already are you?" She asked, sniffing her disapproval in a way that was truly beginning to get on Tracy's nerves. "Yes, I wanted you to help me dress," Tracy waved her hand at the clothes. The housekeeper's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't ask where the clothes had come from. "Of course, Miss Tracy." She nodded, closing the door firmly shut behind her. Tracy smiled nervously, a bit uncomfortable undressing in front of a stranger, but then took a deep breath and pulled the nightgown over her head. The belly button piercing must have shocked the older woman because she let out a strangled gasp. Tracy stood there in her panties, that said 'Thursday,' and crossed her arms over her chest, watching the woman slowly regain some color. 'Oh this is going to be -so- much fun,' she thought wearily. First came a chemise, a sleeveless slip with a bit of flowered embroidery on it, white roses from the looks of them. There were some silk hose, feeling smooth against legs that were used to nylon panty hose. And instead of underwear, there were pantlets, something like drawers. They were knee length, with lace trim, and came in two pieces, one for each leg, the parts were tied together at the waist and had a button in the back. And to Tracy's infinite embarrassment, they were also crotchless. For convenience's sake she'd imagine, but still Next came the corset, oh joy. Tracy had to remove her belly ring, she didn't want to feel it stabbing her all day did she? The corset fitted tightly around her waist, shrinking, with Mrs. Crenshaw's sadistic help, her waist down several inches. It went down over her hips and also flattened what breasts she had, and the house keeper -did- comment that that wasn't much. Tracy felt like one of Grandma Vetter's pork sausages in the get up. Romantic period her ass! After she'd been sufficiently tortured with underwear, Tracy and Mrs. Crenshaw moved on to the actual gown. The first skirt went over the corset and stayed next to body, it was full length, full cut and had frills and lace at the bottom. But still, Tracy was somewhat pleased by it, she'd been expecting a few dozen petticoats before actually putting on any real clothes. All her excitement over the beautiful gown quickly passed when the housekeeper held aloft the birdcage like thing that was to be her bustle. "You have -got- to be kidding me!" Tracy glared at the offending article. The housekeeper just snorted and tied it on over her rear. Tracy looked at her reflection in the mirror, "God! My ass is huge!" She turned to side to side, but from every angle the gigantic posterior remained. "And this is considered attractive?!" Mrs. Crenshaw ignored her and held up a blouse for Tracy to slip over her head. It was a soft off-white and actually not too bad. Tracy calmed down somewhat, but had to suppress a growl when it was buttoned up to her chin. Another skirt came next, this one going over the bustle. It was full length, matching the style of other layers, dove gray color, same lace, some white roses embroidered along the hem. Finally a short, fitted jacket went on. It buttoned snugly under her breasts and was made of the same gray silk as the rest of the outfit, Tracy sighed martyr style, "Just way too many clothes for any ten people." "Hussy," The housekeeper mumbled under her breath. Tracy glared at the woman, but chose not to smack her, basically because she still hadn't figured out how to move in the blasted contraption yet! She tried to sit, to pull on some shoes, things that bore an uncanny resemblance to the 'new' chunky heeled look back in her time, but had a bit of trouble. "How do you sit in this thing?!" The housekeeper snorted again and roughly grabbed Tracy by the hip and shoulder and forced her into a semi-reclined position. Graceful, if you didn't know the pain involved! Grumbling, Tracy pulled on the shoes, and stood up. Too fast. She sat down again, "Ugh, corset bad, sweat suit good." Mrs. Crenshaw just gave her another insulting look and headed off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving poor Tracy to figure out how to move on her own. >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Send all comments and mocha nogs to anteros@juno.com See my disclaimers in part one, see the elf slave labor force at the North Pole 'Tis the Season (7/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) A half-hour later Tracy had figured out how to move without killing herself and was sitting in the ill-used morning room with the paper. Tracy smiled to herself, finally she would find out the date without looking like a complete psycho by asking what year it was! "December 19, 1886," She read slowly out loud, "One hundred and ten years and five days." Shocked, she absently took a sip from the cup at her elbow. "Ugh!" She set the cup down in disgust, "Tea? Eww!" Setting down the paper with its mind-blowing date, Tracy got to her feet and went about the much more pressing business of finding some coffee. Entering the kitchen was like facing the dragon in its den, Mrs. Crenshaw looked up from where she was polishing the silver and glared at her, "What can I do for you miss?" Somehow she managed to make 'miss' sound like an insult. Tracy sighed, thinking that the housekeeper must not act this way around Lacroix he would have drained her. "I was just wondering if I could get some coffee?" She made a face, "I'm not much of a tea person." Another sniff, "Ladies drink tea, or chocolate if you prefer." "I -prefer- coffee," Tracy said evenly, trying to keep her annoyance in check. She'd allowed this woman to peer down her nose at her, she let her pull the stays on her corset until she'd started seeing stars, she'd even let her pull her hair back into a bun, but there was no way in -hell- she was going to let her deprive her of her morning coffee! "I'll put it on my shopping list," The housekeeper sniffed, then returned to her polishing. Realizing she'd been dismissed, Tracy turned on her heels and marched back to the morning paper. She had to get out of there before she rang that woman's scrawny neck! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It took about twenty minutes of Tracy pacing like a caged tiger around the house for Wadsworth to suggest she get out. The butler must have felt sorry for her, or been afraid she was going to break something, but either way he offered to call her a ride to take her down to the shops for the afternoon. Tracy warmed up to the idea of getting out immediately. Lacroix would probably be incommunicado, a la Nick, for at least six more hours, Mrs. Crenshaw was driving her up the wall and most of all she felt the burning need to start the search for Marcel! Wadsworth smiled kindly at her, reminding her strangely of her Uncle Sonny, someone she'd always been able to wrap around her little finger. "But," Tracy began in her best damsel in distress voice, "I have no pin money." That's what they called it in those damn romance novels, right? "Have the shop owners simply send the bills to the master," Wadsworth smiled at her again before going to call the equivalent of a taxi. Their regular driver had disappeared mysteriously several weeks ago after a disagreement with the master, Wadsworth suspected he'd been canned and was drowning his sorrows in Sussex. And of course, Master Lacroix had his own rig, but there was no way Miss Tracy would be allowed to drive herself anywhere! Tracy wasn't too keen on the idea of being anymore in debt to Lacroix than she already was, but she needed to get out of the house and agreed quickly. She ran upstairs, pulled on her cloak, gloves, tied on a bonnet and grabbed her purse, er, reticule, shoved a few things inside and was good to go. Then she paced the halls for another hour waiting for the carriage to arrive. Apparently the Victorians hadn't heard of the '30 minutes or its free' rule. As Tracy climbed into the carriage, some little part of her brain reminded her that she should have a chaperon, but her independent streak just couldn't quite bend itself around that one, so she chose to ignore it. Not to mention that the only one around for the job was Mrs. Crenshaw, and she sure as hell wasn't going to ask her! >>>>>>>>> The area the driver took her was lovely, packed tightly with picturesque little shops and boutiques full of doilies and little porcelain knick-knacks. Five minutes later she was out of there. After dismissing the driver, Tracy immediately pointed herself in what seemed to be the direction of the 'bad side' of town, and started walking. A few blocks south, she found exactly what she was looking for. A jewelry store, and a rather shady one at that. The kind of place that wouldn't ask too many questions. As she walked in the clerk behind the counter eyed her suspiciously, but when Tracy shot him her brightest smile he quickly warmed up. "And what can I do for you today, Miss?" The shop owner beamed, hoping no doubt that this fine lady was going to buy something very expensive and not quibble over how much he'd tacked on to its true price. But Tracy hadn't come there to buy, she was there to sell. After making pleasant small talk about the weather, no matter the century small talk is always the same, Tracy got down to business. "I have some items I'd like to sell please," She smiled winningly at him, ready to start negotiations. "Oh?" The man raised an eyebrow and wondered what the beautiful young woman with the strange accent could be about. Tracy pulled the turquoise necklace Vachon had given her out of her bag, the shop owner's eyes widened. Then, to sweeten the deal, she removed the cubic zirconium earrings she'd been wearing when she'd 'quantum leaped' back to merry ol' England. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt for both items, after all, the necklace had been a gift, one picked out by her almost boyfriend's girlfriend, but a gift none-the-less. And the earrings, well, they were just cheapies from J.C.Penney's, but she was about to pass them off as real diamonds. The shop owner wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the man-made stones and real gems, but who knew what damage she could cause the time line! But hopefully, she reasoned, someone would lose the earrings long before anyone invented more. And well, at least she wasn't selling the watch! After giving her conscious one last swift kick, Tracy smiled at the shop keep and placed the pieces on the counter, "These." The man's eyes nearly bulged from his head and his mouth fairly drooled as he jammed in his eye-piece to examine the jewels. He immediately quoted a price. Now Tracy wasn't current on jewelry prices, or English currency for that matter, and she had no idea how much her items were worth, but she -did- have her cop's instincts and knew when someone was trying to pull something over on her. She instantly quoted a price five times what he'd offered. And so the bargaining began. An hour later Tracy left the shop confident that she'd made a good deal, she hadn't stopped haggling until the shop keeper had been in tears and she'd squeezed every shilling she could out of him. So now she had money, and the real games could begin. >>>>>>>>>>>> Tracy's next stop was the shadiest working class pub she could find, a place called the Roasted Beast. "No matter how bad it is, it can't be as bad as the Raven." She told herself, "After all, it has windows and it's daylight," She nodded, trying to convince herself she'd be fine. "You can do this Vetter," She whispered, and after squaring her shoulders, setting her jaw and taking a deep breath, she went inside. Being taller than most of the men, finely dressed and totally unescorted, she got more than a little attention. But the look in her eye kept most of the wolves at bay, this woman was obviously trouble. Tracy strode to the bar and ordered a pint, she next walked to a corner table and seated herself. She watched the crowd through lowered lashes, she had everyone's attention now, the question was what was she going to do with it? When the barkeep brought her pint he asked not so subtly, "Wot's a purty lass like you doin' in a place like mine?" 'Exactly how old -is- that line?' Tracy thought to herself before answering, "I'm looking for someone, or at least, someone who can find him for me," Tracy took a swig of her ale, fighting not to gag on the warm thick brew. "Oh yeah?" The barkeep frowned slightly, casting a look over his shoulder at the crowd. "I'm more than willing to pay for information," She told him casually, as if just making small talk. "Does this feller 'ave a name?" The keep asked, "An' why ya want 'im?" "That's my business," Tracy glared, but then decided some sort of cover story might help swing the man in her favor, "He took something from me, I'm going to get it back." 'Something' being my place in my own freakin' time!' She added silently. At her deadly calm voice and piercing eyes, the keep was a bit unnerved. He nodded and walked away. Several minutes later a different man, this one with a sly look and shrewd manner came up to Tracy's table. "'Ear yer lookin' ta find sum'un," The man, who introduced himself as Jack Horner, said. "That's right," Tracy nodded, looking over the man. He had the look of a snitch, something about his eyes, she thought. But other than that, he was a small man, maybe 5'4", with wiry red hair he'd parted down the middle and a hook nose that made him look older than he probably was. 24, she'd say, though it was hard to tell in the dim pub. "Jacob Marcel." "N'er 'eard o' 'im, but if 'e's out there I can find him fer yas," Horner boasted. Tracy eyed her new snitch for a moment then laid out her terms, some money now, more if he could find out anything. She gave him a description, telling him also that Marcel would have an accent just like hers. Finally she gave him Lacroix's address and told him to send any messages her way if he found anything. Horner agreed, and scurried out of the pub like a hound on a scent. Sighing, Tracy wondered if she'd just thrown her money away, then she took another gulp of ale and paid the keep. After leaving the pub another man approached Tracy, he motioned her into the alley next to the Roasted Beast and made as if he was going to tell her something. Leery, Tracy followed. Not surprising, he didn't have any information. He tried to mug her, but as she'd been expecting it Tracy was able to deliver one sharp jab to his nose and he went down like a ton of bricks. Wiping her hands on her skirts, Tracy left him there and started back for the shops where her ride was set to pick her up at six. She made it easily and even had time for some actual shopping. So when the driver found her with several packages and he was none the wiser that she hadn't spent her afternoon shopping for doilies and tea cups. >>>>>>>>>>>>> Religion or not, a manger is a damn comfortable bed! Send all comments and limericks about mistletoe and vampires to anteros@juno.com See disclaimers in part one. And no those aren't the economy Christmas lights sparking like that, it's a Lacroix and Tracy scene! 'Tis the Season (8/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) When Tracy arrived back at Lacroix's townhouse just after sunset, the place was in an uproar. From the doorway Tracy could see the drawing room, parlor and maybe even the library looked like a war zone, broken furniture, smashed pictures, shredded upholstery, basically it looked like a tornado had swung through the fashionable part of London and chose to touch down in only this one house. "Where is she?!" Came Lacroix's growl, Tracy watched as Mrs. Crenshaw darted to the relative safety of the kitchen, apparently it was the butler who was facing the Master's wrath. "How could you let her leave?!" Another shout, something crashed to the floor, a lamp by the sound of it. "Oh just great, someone has a temper," Tracy mumbled, dropping her packages to the parquet floor and dashing off in the direction of the clamor. Lacroix had Wadsworth pinned to the wall and though his features were still human, Tracy could almost feel the vampire about to lose control. She cleared her throat. Lacroix swung fierce eyes her way, they flashed gold for an instant but then returned to their normal icy blue. Tracy raised a hand and waved merrily, as if she didn't even notice that a man's life was hanging in the balance, "I'm back, miss me?" The look he gave her was so utterly disbelieving it was almost comical, but luckily for Wadsworth, Tracy controlled her mirth, "You going to let him go?" She asked, flicking her eyes over the terrified servant. The man was instantly released and scurried out of the room after shooting Tracy a grateful glance. Lacroix's full attention was on her alone now, God help her. "How dare you-" Lacroix began. "Go shopping?" Tracy cut him off, doing her best to miss the point entirely. Lacroix starred at her in surprise, as if he couldn't believe how she was acting. "You should sit down," Tracy smiled calmly at him, "Under normal circumstances I'd be worried about your blood pressure." Lacroix growled low in his throat again and stalked toward her, backing her up to the wall without even touching her. He towered over her and stared angrily down, almost trembling with rage, "You should -not- have left." His voice was low, his words well measured, and though he hadn't raised a hand to her Tracy flinched none the less. "I-I had some things to a-attend to " She offered, cursing herself as her voice broke in the middle. Lacroix sighed, though it was obvious none of the tension had drained out of him. He lifted a hand and drew cool fingers across her cheek, "You are under -my- protection, but you will obey me." On the inside Tracy balked at that, but her heart was pounding so strongly against her ribcage, and anything but capitulation seemed foolish. Instead, she changed the subject, "Thank-you for the dresses, by the way." Lacroix blinked and let his hand drop. A dozen emotions flashed across his face, a slight frown of confusion, some frustrated annoyance, but finally amusement. What was it about this young woman? There was just something about her, something that called to him. He sighed again and this time some of his anger really did leave him, "My pleasure Tracy." He whispered into her hair, his mouth almost touching the delicate shell of her ear. A shiver raced up her spine and her knees buckled. Leaning heavily against the wall, she nodded, then shook her head, she smiled ruefully, "You certainly have an effect on me, Lacroix." Lacroix raised an eyebrow at that and took a step back, he looked around and frowned at the chaos around him, "So my dear, did you enjoy your shopping excursion?" Tracy nodded, "It was a very productive outing." Lacroix looked at her for a moment, eyes searching for hidden clues, but finally he took another step away and led her into the relatively untouched library. He sank into the oxblood chair behind a huge mahogany desk, indicating she should take a seat on one of the smaller chairs facing him, "You must tell me of your ties with Nicholas." Tracy took a breath, steadying herself after the sudden change of moods and topics, "Well, there isn't much to tell," She seated herself and tried to think of what she -could- tell him. Lacroix just raised an eyebrow, steepling his fingers and waited for her to continue. Realizing that she had to give him something, Tracy plunged in and started talking, deciding to just forget about the time difference for now, "Nick and I are friends, we had a few laughs, for the most part I think he sees me as some annoying side-kick more than anything else." The vampire regarded her with unreadable eyes, but she got the distinct impression he didn't quite believe her. "Indeed? And your current relationship is ?" Tracy snorted, "He's mad at me." Amusement lit up Lacroix's eyes. Tracy ran a frustrated hand through her hair, completely ruining what was left of her bun. Lacroix watched in fascination as her blonde locks tumbled down. She began absently picking bobby pins from her hair, heedless of the vampire's attention, "I've known about his, your, kind for about a year now." Lacroix nodded, watching her intently. "Anyway," Tracy continued, "I knew about them, but not about Nick though I knew Nick." Lacroix frowned slightly, processing that. "Then a couple weeks ago, I found about him too," Tracy sighed, pulling the last pin from her hair and holding it up to examine in the light, "Three days ago I slipped and Nick found out I knew about him." Tracy looked up at Lacroix with rueful eyes, "He was -not- happy." "Yes, I can see that he wouldn't be," Lacroix chuckled, "So Nicholas is not the sole member of our kind you are acquainted with?" He asked smoothly. Laughter lit up Tracy's face, "Not by a long shot." Tracy had one of those grins you couldn't help but respond to and in spite of himself, Lacroix found himself returning it, "And you do not fear us?" "Of course I do!" Tracy gave him an exasperated look, then smiled, "But 'Danger' is my middle name, even though my mother swears its 'Anne.'" Lacroix chuckled at that. And Tracy suddenly realized that all of those jokes people had heard a million times were new here! She could make a fortune inventing tons of things, and writing too! 'Tom Sawyer' by Tracy Vetter, 'The Sound of Music' by Tracy Vetter. Tracy hid a grin as she watched Lacroix rise from his chair. 'The Star Wars Trilogy' by Tracy Vetter! So lost was she in this most interesting of plagaristic ideas that Tracy nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Lacroix's hand briefly touch her shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her, "There is a small get together at Lord Wassailing's place of residence tonight, perhaps you'd enjoy accompanying me?" Tracy blushed and nodded as she climbed to her feet, "Sounds lovely," She answered, already knowing that there would be something appropriate to wear awaiting her upstairs. "Let me just get ready." Lacroix nodded crisply and moved aside allowing her to pass, "Oh by the way, my dear." Tracy paused in the doorway and looked back at him. Lacroix glanced down at her dress and for the first time Tracy noticed the blood stain where she'd wiped her hands and realized he could probably smell the pub and fight all over her. He knew she hadn't been shopping all afternoon, no matter what the butler and driver claimed, "What -did- you do today?" He asked. He wasn't demanding an answer, actually he seemed amused more than anything else, so Tracy just smirked and answered sweetly, "Wouldn't you like to know?" >>>>>>>>>> Ah, such chemistry! Send all comments and rum laced fudge to anteros@juno.com See disclaimers in part one, more Lacroix and Tracy fun ahead! 'Tis the Season (9/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) The 'get together' was slated for after 9, Tracy was surprised at what late hours society of this century kept, even the mortals didn't serve dinner until nine. So as it was, Tracy had plenty of time to get ready. More than enough in fact. After finishing her bath, hair wrapped securely in a towel, Tracy wandered around her chambers wondering just what to do for the next few hours. "Hmm," Tracy pulled on a robe and sat down at her little desk, something Mrs. Crenshaw called her secretary. She looked at the stationary in the drawer, pretty stuff really. Next she glanced at the fountain pen and inkpot. No, she wasn't going to attempt that one yet, she'd probably need another bath if she did! Deciding she needed a treat, Tracy finally gave into temptation and slipped out of her room and into the one next door. Mrs. Crenshaw had specifically told her to stay out of the neighboring chambers so, of course, she felt obligated to investigate. It was a lovely room, done in deep burgundy and teal, but despite the dark colors it was obviously a woman's room. Tracy noted the delicate furniture, the odd knick-knacks around the room. A figurine here, an empty crystal vase there. She next moved to the wardrobe, finding it full of dozens of beautiful stylish gowns, all at least six inches too short for her. Tracy sighed and closed the doors, moving next to a small vanity table sitting before a large leaded glass mirror. She looked down at the upholstered bench sitting before it and decided to take a seat. There was a box sitting in the middle of the vanity, next to it a set of silver brushes, combs and other toiletries. "Hmm, well, who ever she is," Tracy lifted a small matching silver frame that held a likeness of her one-day partner, "She has lousy taste in men." The sound of a deep chuckle caused her to spin around. Lacroix stood in the doorway, watching her snoop. "Oh!" Tracy wracked her brain trying to come up with a reason for being there, but other that the really pathetic 'I'm lost' or the equally bad 'I'm being nosy' she came up blank. But Lacroix didn't seem the least perturbed about her being there, he sauntered into the room and came to stand beside her. "This room belongs to my daughter, " he nodded down at the picture Tracy still held, "Nicholas's sister." Tracy nodded and replaced the keepsake. "How long has it been since you've seen her?" "Almost a year," Lacroix answered, almost casually, though his eyes met hers in the mirror and watched her like a hawk. "Will you be ready for the party tonight?" He continued. Tracy nodded again and absently glanced down at the box, it was cherry wood with inlaid initials. J.d.C. A name instantly presented itself to her detective's mind. When she'd still been in 'discover-Nick's-secret' mode she had done more than a little research into his past and one of the names she'd checked out, actually one of the few names she'd been -able- to track, had been their favorite late night radio host. And imagine her surprise when it turned out Mr. Nightcrawler also happened to be the owner of the most popular of undead clubs, the Raven the pieces had really started to fall together about then. But a trace on the Raven had also turned up another name. Tracy glanced at Lacroix, he was looking at her now with a small trace of a smile on his lips. "Janette du Charme?" His smile broadened and he straddled the bench next to her, "My, my but you certainly are full of surprises aren't you?" "Yeah, well " She shrugged, butterflies began to flutter in her stomach, gee he sure was close wasn't he? With one pale hand Lacroix flipped open the box, tiny pots of what Tracy assumed were cosmetics lay in neat little rows, bouquets of tiny horse hair brushes, and a large porcelain dish covered by a power puff lay inside. She leaned forward slightly to get a better look, but a sudden hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Here, let me," Lacroix whispered in her ear, a chill ran up her spine. "Um, alright," Tracy nodded, almost immediately knowing what he was going to do. She closed her eyes and drew a breath as she felt his hands skim her face, as if getting a feel for it before beginning. First came some sort of fragrant cream, it smelled of lavender and jasmine. Tracy felt a nervous giggle try to work its way out as he gently coaxed the cream into the delicate skin of her throat and face. Then she gasped as his hand dipped down the front of her dressing gown and massaged a few drops onto her chest and the tops of her breasts, she was rather disappointed when they failed to go below the lace edge her chemise. Powder was next, talc from the smell of it. Tracy made the stupid mistake of taking a good whiff, she sneezed. "God bless you," Lacroix mumbled. Tracy raised an eyebrow, she knew it was probably more an automatic response than anything, but still, it was kind of funny. Undead, blood-sucking denizen of the night blessing you after a sneeze. Luckily for her, he missed her amusement. She closed her eyes as he blew off the extra powder, briefly wondering if she looked like the Pillsbury dough-boy or something. His breath was cool, but sweet too. She sighed at his gentle ministrations, when she opened her eyes that same small smile hovered on his lips, she smiled back. Next came eyeliner and some sort of wet coal dust on her lashes. Now Tracy had never been too keen on letting other people near her eyes with sharp instruments, but she let Lacroix do it regardless, though he must have heard her heart race. As Lacroix applied the smallest hints of rouge to her cheekbones, Tracy flashed back on playing with her 'Salon Barbie' head as a girl. The same one that she'd used her dad's nail gun on to pierce the nose with when she was nine. The memory of her horribly mutilated, one eyed, purple lipsticked Barbie made Tracy chuckle. "What?" Lacroix frowned slightly. "Nothing," Tracy grinned, "Having fun?" Lacroix looked mildly surprised by the question, "Yes actually, I am." He shook his head just a little and smiled, "Take a look." Tracy looked at the mirror and apprised his work. Subtle, not overdone at all. Actually, it was a lot less makeup than she usually wore on her infrequent nights out back home. "Very nice." She nodded solemnly. "Glad you approve," He chuckled. Tracy turned sparkling eyes on him, "Going to do my hair too?" "Only if I get to help you don your gown " He trailed off with a teasing leer. "Hmm, I have no problem with that," Tracy leaned forward and brushed her lips across his cool ones, in exactly the way she'd been thinking about doing since he'd entered the room. Abruptly Lacroix stood and looked down at her, obviously she'd startled him. "I'll send Mrs. Crenshaw up to assist you right away, we wouldn't want to be late." He made a slight bow and strode quickly from the room. Tracy just sat there a moment, staring at the empty doorway, "Was it something I said?" >>>>>>>>>> Send all comments and brown paper packages tied up in string to anteros@juno.com See disclaimers in part one, see Mrs. Claus, Santa and the Easter Bunny on Jerry Springer next Tuesday! Note** I'm messing with the HoD flashback here, let's just say Urs was brought across in 1880 instead of 1890 okay? 'Tis the Season (10/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) They arrived at Wassailing manor well after ten, just after the other guests had finished dinner. Tracy smiled to herself as Lacroix helped her off with her cloak, good thing she'd remembered to grab something from Mrs. Crenshaw's kitchen before they left, a girl could starve if she didn't think ahead! Besides their hosts, Trevor Makepeace, Fourth Earl of Wassailing, and his good wife, Dorothea, Tracy was introduced to the dowager sisters Noel and Holly Betford, as well as their brother Christopher. Col. Kringle rounded out the party. Everyone was very nice, if a bit restrained, and took the announcement that Tracy was Lacroix's ward without a blink. Lacroix and Tracy weren't the only late callers, however, soon after they'd joined the small group in the drawing room, the butler announced the arrival of another couple, Anton Bourbon and his companion Daphne Blackwell. Even if Lacroix hadn't given her a meaningful look as the pair arrived Tracy would have recognized Anton and Daphne for vampires, they simply screamed undead chic. Pale, elegant and utterly predatory. She took an unconscious step closer to Lacroix. And if her instincts screaming at her that they were dangerous weren't enough, Tracy also knew exactly who Anton Bourbon was, hadn't Vachon, Screed and Urs mentioned him at least a hundred times? She knew enough to know that Vachon and the rest of 'the crew' were by now somewhere in California, but if she guessed the years right, the infamous split had happened just a few years earlier. Too late Tracy wished she'd pressed the trio more for information on their absent crew member, it sure would've come in handy now! "Small world," Tracy mumbled under her breath, but Lacroix heard anyway and shot her a questioning look. He had no time to drill her though, as the couple was approaching them. "Ah Lacroix!" Bourbon and Lacroix clasped forearms, "And who is this beauty?" His eyes swept over Tracy with appreciation. Tracy bristled under the inspection, Screed and Urs had never liked the Frenchman, and neither did she. There were just some people you instantly disliked, and Anton Bourbon was one of them. Lacroix smiled at Bourbon, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "This is my ward, Tracy deBrabant." His words were polite, but his tone was menacing, the overall message was clear, 'Mine! Hands off!' A small frown marred Bourbon's handsome face, but he nodded none the less. He then looked away and turned his attention over to their host, "So Lord Wassailing, what diverting pastime do you have planned for us this evening? Your invitation was worded most cryptically." "I've been waiting for someone to ask!" The sixty-something Earl grinned like a school boy as he motioned a servant to throw open the doors that led to the parlor, inside dozens of candles burned, a round table had been centered in the room and a mysterious woman sat facing them. "We're going to have a siance!" Dorothea gushed. "Doesn't that sound like fun?" Holly and Noel started talking over each other in excitement, the Colonel and Christopher looked intrigued, and the vampires exchanged amused looks. Only Tracy looked at all apprehensive. "Is something wrong my dear?" Dorothea asked gently, putting a comforting hand on Tracy's arm. "No, nothing," Tracy forced a smile. 'Its just a parlor game, something they did all the time in Victorian England, no need to worry,' she told herself. Of course, she might have been a little calmer if she didn't have a history of dangerous supernatural encounters. A chill raced up her spine as she remembered the ghost her childhood friend Sarah trying to lead her into the path of an oncoming truck, if Nick hadn't been there Col. Kringle took her arm grandly, "Come my dear, nothing to worry about, I'll protect you, eh?" She could feel Lacroix's eyes drilling into her back as she allowed the middle-aged military man to lead her into the parlor. Well, what did Lacroix want her to do? Shake the man off and throw herself into his arms? Tracy blushed at the thought, actually that's exactly what she wanted to do! The group seated themselves around the table, alternating genders. Tracy ended up with the Earl on her right and Lacroix on her left. When everyone was settled, the Earl introduced them to Madam Olga. Tracy relaxed a bit more when the Medium began speaking in an outrageously bad Hungarian accent. "Ve must all join 'ands and seek tha spirit world," Madam Olga trilled her R's and let her voice trail off into a whisper. She was dressed like a B movie's idea of a gypsy, in garish silks and heaps of fake jewelry. Her dark hair was covered by a bright red and green scarf, and huge earrings weighed down each lobe. Tracy looked down at the felt covered table to hide her grin, the scene was so clichi there was no way any of it could be real, no, nothing to worry about here. Lacroix put a finger under Tracy's chin and rose her face to look at him, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Then his cool palm slipped into her warm one and they both tried to look suitably impressed at the goings on. The rest of the table joined hands, and Madam Olga began to hum and moan. Suddenly the Medium's head snapped up. "There es one among us who should not be 'ere," She breathed. Tracy shifted uneasily in her seat, the Medium caught the movement. Tracy silently cursed herself for drawing the woman's attention, she knew the first rule of a successful con job was to focus on the weakest link, the believer, the fool. And to Tracy's chagrin she realized she'd just shown herself to be the biggest fool in the room. Sure enough, Madam Olga turned her heavily lined eyes on Tracy and said, "It is you, you should not be in this place." Tracy wasn't sure how to respond to that one, but Lacroix saved her somewhat by saying, "She is -exactly- where she should be," His voice oozed with possession and authority. Tracy grimaced, he made her sound like his favorite pet poodle or something. Madam Olga gave Lacroix a withering look and Tracy cheered somewhat, looked like someone was a fellow feminist 'Maybe I can talk her into burning our corsets with me later,' Tracy thought with a smirk. She shifted again in her seat, but this time only because her undergarments had apparently decided to declare mutiny. She'd have bruises tomorrow for sure! "Is there anyone from the beyond you would like to contact?" Again the Medium's gaze settled on the believer. Tracy's mind raced, the idea of making peace with Sarah's ghost presented itself, but then again Sarah wouldn't even be born for another century would she? Then Tracy remembered this was all just a parlor game, something bored aristocrats did to pass the time, no more real than fortune cookies or pro-wrestling! "Um, that's okay, I'm fine," She smiled weakly. "I say," The Col. interrupted, "I'd like to talk to someone, my old CO." "The spirit world clings to Miss deBrabant," The Medium sparred the military man a brief, but dismissive, look, "Strong and untapped is her power." Tracy flashed on Star Wars, "The force is strong in this one, Obe Wan," She mumbled under her breath, luckily no one heard. The Gentry all looked very impressed by the Medium's proclamation, the vampires just looked amused and again Tracy was the center of attention. "Is there anyone you want to talk to Miss deBrabant?" Dorothea pressed. One name presented it to herself then, someone who'd been dead for over 130 years, Comtesse du Montaigne, her killer, or rather, Faubert's killer, but it amounted to the same thing didn't it? Tracy shot Lacroix a look. No, maybe she'd better not ask about that one. By Nick's reaction to that case she'd figured out he must have known the Comtesse, and if Nick had known her, maybe Lacroix had as well. And it was probably better in this case to let sleeping dogs lie. "It must be someone you knew. To call a spirit back there must be a personal connection." The Medium exhaled, letting her words sweep across the gathering dramatically. 'Great,' Tracy thought. She went over her mental list of dead people she knew. Some morbid part of her mind offered up the faces of the five people she'd killed in the line of duty, she shuddered, no she didn't want to talk to any of them again. Besides, same problem as before, none would even be alive for another eighty or ninety years. That went for all her relatives too, so no chatting with Grandma Vetter after all, that carrot cake recipe would stay lost forever. She looked up, all eyes were still on her, Madam Olga and Lacroix's especially. Tracy looked the Medium straight in the eye, "I can honestly say there's no one I can think of I'd like to talk to right now," She grinned then, "But thanks for asking." Madam Olga shrugged elegantly then began rocking and humming again, "Then I shall move onward, I shall ask tha spirits if any wishes to speak." As the Medium shut her eyes and continued to sway Tracy allowed herself a somewhat disgusted sigh, she didn't want to be here. She didn't like this sort of game. It hit too close to home and some part of her just plain objected to people playing at it like this. Lacroix squeezed her hand to get her attention and she turned her face towards him. He raised a questioning brow, but whether he was asking about Bourbon, the siance or why her bustle was hanging crookedly from her hips after all that fidgeting, Tracy didn't know. Suddenly Madam Olga's eyes flew open and her head snapped up, "The spirits tell me there is a killer among us!" Everyone gasped, though Tracy noticed the vampires exchanged smirks as well. Daphne and Bourbon looked like they were going to burst out laughing any second. Tracy rolled her eyes, oh yeah, this was fun. A general hubbub broke out around the table as the guests began whispering to each other, it was then Tracy realized she wasn't the only one there taking this game a little too seriously. "But," The Medium said, calling all others to be silent with a wave of a ring-filled hand, "They were done for duty." "Must mean you Col.," The Earl commented. But the Army man shook his head, "Not me." Tracy wondered if either of the men at her sides had noticed that her hands had begun to sweat? And was it her imagination or were Bourbon and Daphne staring at her? "There were five," The Medium went on, a slightly unearthly gleam in her eyes. Eyes that settled on the believer. Tracy gasped, and would have leapt to her feet if Lacroix hadn't held her in place. Tracy looked around at the table full of people, realizing after a moment that she should have denied it. She opened her mouth to protest but Lacroix had already begun to speak. "Nonsense!" He scoffed, rising to his feet, "Lord Wassailing, I will not stay here and have my ward insulted this way!" The Earl looked immediately abashed, "Sorry old boy, wife's idea to invite her, didn't know she was a looney." Madam Olga said nothing, just frowned and swept to her feet, leaving the room and presumably, the house. Lacroix continued to glare at the Earl, "In the future I would recommend some forethought in planning these little 'get togethers.'" He held out a hand to Tracy, "Come my dear, we're leaving." Tracy took his arm and rose, gratitude shinning in her eyes. As if from a great distance she could hear the Earl and his wife protesting their departure and apologizing profusely, but she just wanted to get out of there and quickly followed Lacroix to the hall. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Soon enough they were in the carriage riding home. Neither had said a word since they'd donned their coats. Tracy shot Lacroix a glance across the bench. What -could- he be thinking after her bizarre reaction? She sighed. She was glad he wasn't pressing her for an explanation, though she was a bit confused why he wasn't. She certainly would have if the roles had been reversed! Shrugging, she closed her eyes and let the cool night air bathe her flushed face. Lacroix sat in silent reflection, just directing his team through the wet icy streets of London with the barest flicks of the reigns. They were almost home before he asked her simply, "Are you a hunter?" Tracy started, she'd grown used to the quiet and even his whispered words sounded loud in the darkness. She'd been looking at the darkened storefronts and slick unlit cobblestone streets, the strangeness of it all reminding her just how much she didn't belong in this time or place. She turned and stared at his profile, processing his question, "You mean of your kind?" A barely discernible nod. Tracy shook her head and a humorless laugh escaped her, "No Lacroix, all my victims have been mortal." She turned away and watched the passing buildings in mutely. She'd never been completely comfortable with that aspect of her job. After a shooting she was always nagged by the possibility that she could have somehow prevented it. Most cops went their entire careers without ever having to fire their gun in the line of duty, she'd done so countless times, and been forced to kill no less than five times. Sure the precinct always patted her on the back and I.A. never blinked, but still, she couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't in some way her fault, getting herself into situations where that was the only possible conclusion. Tracy shook herself out of her dark musings and glanced again at her silent companion, wondering what Lacroix was thinking. She reconsidered her words for a moment and thought she'd better add something, "Though in all the cases they say it was self defense." She didn't sound too convinced, and didn't volunteer anything else either, just turned back and stared morosely into the night. Lacroix didn't comment, and whatever his thoughts might have been, he kept them to himself. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Send all comments and Ouija boards to anteros@juno.com Disclaimers in part one, plums in Christmas pies. Warning: I got a bit gory in the last scene of this part, I don't know, visiting relatives always seems to bring out the horror writer in me 'Tis the Season (11/18) By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) After a rather restless night Tracy woke well before noon. Shrugging on a thick robe and slippers she made her way down to the kitchen, a prayer that Mrs. Crenshaw had had time to buy coffee on her lips. As she stumbled into the kitchen she was almost tempted to kiss the housekeeper. She could smell and see the most perfect of all beans percolating on the stove, "Coffee!" She cried joyously, immediately swinging open cupboards in search of a mug. Mrs. Crenshaw whacked her with a wooden spoon, "Here now, I'll bring you some when it's ready, go wait in the morning room!" Rubbing her red hand Tracy grumbled and headed towards the library, she didn't want to deal with all the glass and sunlight of the other room this early. When she saw Lacroix sitting behind his desk she stopped cold. "You're up," She said. "You do have a knack for stating the obvious my dear," Lacroix's eyes swept up to meet hers as she entered the heavily draped room. Tracy walked over and stood before the fireplace, warming herself and staring at the vampire. He went back to reading the paper, a glass of something not quite wine in his hand, completely ignoring Tracy's presence and her watchful gaze. Finally Tracy took a deep breath and spoke, "Look, Lacroix, I'm sorry about last night, I," She broke off as his icy blue eyes met hers, "I was in a mood." She finished lamely, not knowing for sure what she meant by that. Lacroix quirked a brow. He motioned for her to come closer. Tracy took one tentative step towards him, but then strode purposefully to his side. She came within a foot of Lacroix, trying to show she wasn't frightened of him. "I'm not sure why I, er, freaked like that," She gave him a lopsided smile, "I don't do well with that kind of thing." "That kind of thing?" He repeated, setting down his glass and turning to face her. "Yeah," Tracy nodded, "Psychics, the supernatural, exorcisms, reincarnation ghosts." Lacroix reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. His eyes were thoughtful, "Sounds like you have some experience in that area." "Yeah, my life is one big gothic novel." She sang mockingly, suddenly a bit too aware that she was still in her robe. Sure she was a lot more covered than anything she had in her regular wardrobe back home, but it was the principle of the thing. She blushed. Lacroix's patient smile took on a playful edge as if he'd caught the change in her thoughts. And knowing what he was, he probably had. Tracy blushed harder. It was then Mrs. Crenshaw walked in with a tray of coffee and scones, she cleared her throat rudely and gave Tracy a disapproving look. The Detective looked down at Lacroix and realized she was way too close for propriety's sake, especially propriety 1880's style. "Sorry," She mumbled to no one in particular and retreated back to a chair by the fireplace, snagging part of the morning paper as she went. Lacroix shot her a surprised look, but said nothing. The rest of the morning was spent in comfortable silence as the pair perused the papers and drank their respective breakfasts. >>>>>>>>>>>>> That afternoon Tracy went out, with Lacroix's permission and a reluctant Mrs. Crenshaw in tow to chaperon. She wasn't expecting to get nearly as much accomplished today, but she figured disobeying Lacroix two days in a row would be tempting fate. Never mind that she hadn't -known- she'd been disobeying him the day before, but the vampire had made it abundantly clear that that is how he'd seen her little 'shopping' trip. Sighing Tracy walked up one fashionable street then down another, looking for anything interesting. There seemed to be an awful lot of places that sold buttons for some reason, quite a few tearooms and haberdashers galore. Finally, after much griping by Mrs. Crenshaw, Tracy found a halfway interesting shop. A bookstore. Of course, the housekeeper had to make a few comments about 'ladies not reading,' and 'you don't want to get a reputation as a blue-stocking,' but Tracy ignored her. The shop was called, Figgy Pudding Book Sellers, for reasons that escaped Tracy's Canadian mind, "Honestly, the English have such weird names for everything!" She commented. And the housekeeper scolded her for talking to herself. "Can I help you, miss?" An eager young clerk called from behind a stack of books. "Just looking," Tracy answered back with a smile. The shop smelled like all used bookstores smelled, of leather, old paper, glues and inks. She smiled and fell into her old habit of looking for her favorite type of books, true crime/detective. To her surprise it turned out she had read most of the detective stories already, at least all those worth reading. She scanned the front page of a particularly bad one called 'Night at Death House,' then put it down with an embarrassed smile. She'd actually read that one when she was eleven. Next she headed over to the occult section. Maybe should could find something about time travel and magic boxes? Since it was quite in fashion for high society to dabble in the black arts, the section was quite large. Unlike the detective novels, Tracy had read only handful of the books here. Most likely because a majority had been debunked decades ago she reasoned, picking up one that claimed that 'unchristian thinking' was at blame for male pattern baldness and impotency. "Uh-huh," Tracy smirked and put the book back. It was then that she noticed a flyer pinned to the side of another bookcase, a flyer for 'Madam Olga's Spiritual Readings'! Tracy ripped the paper down and memorized the address before stuffing it in her pocket. She then looked around and spotted the housekeeper perched on the edge of a chair carefully avoiding all the 'unlady-like' books. "We can go now, Mrs. Crenshaw," Tracy called out as she made her way to the door. "About time," The woman sniffed. Tracy rolled her eyes. She'd spent an hour twiddling her thumbs while the housekeeper had picked out the perfect color embroidery thread, but fifteen minutes in a bookstore was too much to ask? "Yeah, it was torture wasn't it?" She nodded in mock agreement, wondering what the woman would think of her other favorite pastime, going a couple rounds in the kick-boxing ring with her old college buddies. 'She'd probably keel over and die from the unseemliness of it all!' Tracy thought, and her mood lifted considerably. >>>>>>>>>>>>> That night Tracy was left on her own. Well, not totally alone, Wadsworth and Mrs. Crenshaw were both in the house, but Lacroix had gone out. Tracy had eaten dinner alone at the huge gleaming dining room table, a piece of furniture that probably saw very little actual use. She'd then retired to the library where'd she'd helped herself to Lacroix's most expensive bottle of brandy and propped her feet up on his desk while she read the book she'd found sitting on his desk. Defiant, yes. Childish, oh yeah. But did it make her feel better? No. "Damn, damn, damn." Tracy mumbled, tossing the book aside and climbing to her feet. Lacroix hadn't told her where he was going. Not that she had any right to ask in the first place, but "Well, he did have a life before you came along," Tracy told herself, "He probably had plans, long standing plans that he couldn't just ignore." Even faced with logic she didn't feel any better. Lacroix had forbid her to go out, which would normally be enough to get her out and wandering the cold London streets out of sheer spite, but the truth was she had no where to go. Sure she planned on paying Madam Olga a visit, but 2 AM was hardly the time to show up unannounced at someone's door. Especially if the last time you saw said person your supposed guardian had thrown a fit. Then there were the man she'd hired to help her track Marcel, but he'd only been at it one day, plus he were supposed to come to her if he found anything, not the other way around. Tracy stalked through the darkened ground floor rooms, the servants had both gone to their quarters on the fourth floor so she didn't worry about waking them. And there was enough light from the moon shining in through the windows to light her way, so she didn't bother bringing the lamp either. Tracy let out a frustrated growl. She would have been searching Lacroix's rooms, but a couple things had stopped her. One: It would be an invasion of privacy. She snorted, yeah, that would stop her. Two: He'd probably be able to tell that she'd gone in there and would be angry. That gave her pause, but she was still tempted. Three: He'd locked his door. Well, there you had the real reason. "Gee," Tracy mumbled, digging around the kitchen for something to pick the lock, "Acts like he doesn't trust me or something!" Then she heard a noise. Soundlessly closing the drawer, Tracy straightened and stained her ears. There it was again, a slight scrapping sound. Coming from the library. Almost a tapping, but not quite. Tracy moved to investigate, wishing she hadn't left her gun tucked with her old clothes upstairs in that trunk. She thought about running upstairs to retrieve the broken weapon, if only for intimidation purposes, but in the end she just scooped up a large brass candlestick off the parlor mantle and crept towards the library door. She pushed it slightly ajar, she'd left the reading lamp burning so its soft yellow glow illuminated the still room. Then she saw him. Someone was standing next to the corner bookcase, almost out of her line of vision. She pushed the door open a little wider. His back was towards her, but she could see that it was a man. He was dressed all in black, shorter than her, with a slight build and dark blonde hair under a fashionable black hat. From what Tracy could tell he was looking for something, pulling off books and flipping through the pages restlessly. "You might as well come in," the man turned and looked straight at her, "I can smell you anyway." Tracy straightened, "Bourbon." He bowed slightly, "So good of you to remember me Miss deBrabant." Tracy entered the library boldly, hoping to God he wasn't listening to her heart race, "What are you doing here?" She asked point blank. The Frenchman gave her a twisted smile, "Such manners, Lacroix would be disappointed." Tracy's eyes narrowed, "Lacroix is-" "Is not here," Bourbon shut the book he was holding with a snap and strode over to her. His eyes fell on the candlestick she still held and he laughed humorously as he swept it from her grasp, "And what are you planning on doing with it? Hmm, little Miss Tracy?" Tracy took a step back, "If you know Lacroix isn't here, why are you?" "Why to see you of course," He smiled at her with all the warmth of a barracuda and set her weapon aside. Tracy didn't respond to that, just took another step back. "You are Lacroix's newest pet," The Frenchman gave up all pretext of being a polite caller and swept off his hat to run impatient fingers though his oily hair. "And Lacroix has insulted me for the last time." "You're going to kill me," Tracy stated matter-of-factly. "Yes," He smiled again. "Lacroix will kill you if you touch me," She promised. "My dear," He took a step and closed the distance between them, "He'll never know it was me." And with that he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her to him. But he obviously hadn't counted on Tracy fighting back. Twisting her body down and under his still outstretched arm, Tracy forced the vampire to bend the arm that held her at an unnatural angle. When his elbow was perpendicular with the floor, she jerked to the side and grabbed his wrist at the same time. With a fierce pull she tore his arm from the socket. Bourbon let out a howl of pain, his fangs extended and his eyes turned blood red. Using his superior speed, he grabbed at Tracy with his good arm and twisted her violently around so her back was to him. He was about to wretch her head to one side, when Tracy flung her head back and caught him square in the face with the back of her skull. As his nose broke, cool blood poured into her hair. At the same time she stomped with all her weight on his instep and twirled away. As she escaped his broken grasp though, she forgot to mind the other dangers in the room. The edge of her dress caught the smoldering coals of the fireplace and greedy flames leapt to life. Screaming, Tracy pulled her skirt up and tried to smother the fire out with yet more of her voluminous dress. Bourbon charged her, sweeping them both down to the carpet below. Flames licked at their legs as Bourbon tried to pin her wrists above her head. With all of the vampire's weight on top of her, and the heavy, burning silk encasing her legs Tracy began to panic. Bourbon laughed as he saw her fear and shoved his face down for a brutal kiss. When he forced his tongue into her open mouth, Tracy bit down. Hard. Blood spurted everywhere, he tried to pull away but like a pit-bull Tracy refused to let go. Finally the muscle tissue began to give and Tracy's sharp teeth severed the bloody flesh. Jerking himself off her, Bourbon retreated a bit, enough for Tracy to flip over to her hands and knees. She spat out the bloody chunk of tongue and began to stand. Her outer skirt was now a smoldering hell, but she was able to strip the damaged silk off like a snake's skin. Tossing the blazing fabric aside, Tracy pushed herself up and was immediately tackled by Bourbon again. His fangs sunk into the top of her shoulder as they flipped over the desk, landing with a thud next to the jimmied window. Trying to pry his face off her bleeding shoulder proved impossible, he was just too strong. But then Tracy realized that maybe that was the best place for him, as long as he was there, he couldn't go for her neck. Holding him to her, like an unnatural child to a bloody breast, Tracy dragged them both closer to the window. Closing her eyes, she punched through a pane of glass and then grabbed at the wood strip that had held it. When it finally came, she plunged it straight through Bourbon's back and into his heart. He instantly went limp. She scrambled out from under him and scurried to the false protection of the corner. She stared at him and he stared back with eyes he couldn't close. He wasn't dead yet, Tracy realized, but he was dying. His face was covered with blood, his, hers, it blended together with no discernible difference. Tracy was panting, she looked down at her hand, a jagged scratch cut across the top of her wrist, but it wasn't very deep. She could feel the blood dripping from her chin. Bourbon's, all of it. She scrambled tighter into the corner near the desk. She could feel the cold December wind streaming through the broken pane, and the heat of the not quite dead fire radiating from the fireplace. But her eyes were filled with the sight of Bourbon's death. "Tracy?!" Came a yell from the front hall. Lacroix. Tracy closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks to whatever god looks over cops and time travelers. When she opened her eyes Lacroix was rushing through the library doors and taking in the scene before him. The room was a shambles, the furniture overturned, everything that had been on the desk strewn across the room. The burning remains of Tracy's gown. And blood. Blood everywhere. "Tracy?!" His voice was a roar of rage and fear, he was so panicked he couldn't even calm down to listen for her. "I'm here," Tracy's voice sounded small even to her own ears. Lacroix instantly rushed around the desk, pausing only an instant to notice Bourbon's near dead body before he was at her side. His eyes were wide as he looked at her, her face was covered in blood, the tendon between her neck and shoulder savagely bitten, her gown ripped and scorched, her hair was matted with gore and her white hands doused with even more blood. "Oh Tracy," he whispered, his voice filled with sorrow as he pushed a lock of bloody hair from her cheek. Tracy's eyes filled with tears, "He was going to kill me, I had to." Lacroix's face registered shock and he looked back at Bourbon before turning back to her, "I know, I didn't think you had-" Tracy cut him off by throwing herself into his arms, "Oh God, Lacroix." Lacroix wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently, before scooping her into his arms and carrying her upstairs. He didn't bother to pull the drapes, if Bourbon wasn't dead yet, he would be by dawn. After taking Tracy to her chambers, he pressed the buzzer for Mrs. Crenshaw. "Haven't I been through enough?" Tracy whined, the hint of smile lighting her eyes. She sat on the trunk at the foot of her bed with a damp cloth in hand, trying to wash off some of the blood. Lacroix had bandaged the bite and her arm, now all she really needed was a bath and lots and lots of sleep. Lacroix smiled at her, "Oh my poor darling, scared of the help?" Tracy gave a dramatic shudder, "Aren't you?" He chuckled appreciatively and made to open the door, but Tracy's quiet voice stopped him. "Stay," She whispered, so softly that he wondered if he'd imagined it. Turning to look back at her, he saw she was just looking at him with pleading eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Mrs. Crenshaw burst into the room, her robe tied tight and her hair up a thousand pins and rollers. The housekeeper, of course, screamed when she saw Tracy and Lacroix slipped out of the room before either of the women noticed. >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Send all comments and dark pink mouth guards to anteros@juno.com Disclaimers in part one, bad movies about giant gorillas in a theater near you 'Tis the Season (12/18) BY: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) The next day Tracy managed to sleep past noon, actually, it was almost three before she rolled out of bed. "Urgh," Seemed to sum up how she was feeling. Every part of her body seemed to be stiff and aching. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire and it felt like something had crawled in, died and started to grow fuzz in her mouth. Pulling on her robe, she somehow made it down the stairs and poured herself a cup full of mud. Apparently Mrs. Crenshaw had expected her up earlier because she'd obviously made the coffee hours ago, though from the taste Tracy would guess weeks. Tracy made her way to the library next, her morbid curiosity working double time. Sunlight steamed in from the uncovered windows, most of the clutter was gone, and the housekeeper was on her knees scrubbing the carpet. Tracy crept in and walked around to where Bourbon had fallen, but his body was, of course, gone. Someone had put a piece of wood over the broken pane of glass, and swept away all the debris. Tracy then glanced up and saw the streaks of blood in the corner where Lacroix had found her. She shuddered, drawing back into the middle of the room. "Mrs. Crenshaw?" Tracy began, trying to think of what to say about what had happened the night before. She hadn't given the housekeeper many details, merely telling her she needed a bath and that she wanted to be alone. The housekeeper looked up and smiled, then her eyes fell on Tracy's bandaged hand. "Oh! What happened to you?!" Tracy's eyes widened, then she realized the housekeeper had been, as Screed put it, 'whammied.' 'Does she even realize she's cleaning up blood?' Tracy wondered. "Nothing," She told the woman, "Just a scratch, tree branch." "Have to learn to be more careful," Mrs. Crenshaw nodded and went back to work, "Silly girl." Tracy shook her head slightly and walked out of the memory-drenched room. She thought about getting dressed and going out, but she really didn't want to even look at a corset today.