Dance of the Hours

Tracy jumped as Nick slammed his fist against the computer monitor. He must have pulled the punch somewhat, as she didn't see any shards of glass and plastic fling out. "Take it easy, Knight," she admonished him.

He swore. "I've seen more sophisticated hardware in an all-night gas station. Keeps locking up," he continued to grumble.

Tracy got up from her desk and went over to him, looking over his shoulder. The "your computer has just performed an illegal action" error message stared back at them, mocking the two law-enforcement officers. "Too bad Larry Merlin doesn't make mortal calls," she whispered.

Nick didn't smile. In fact, she hadn't seen him smile almost since Christmas. It had been a wonderful party... LaCroix really seemed to like his gift, Natalie had enjoyed herself, Nick and Urs were again settled into the loft, and life was just about perfect. So, why was her vampire brother brooding?

"Lighten up, bro," she said easily. "What was it you were looking for? Maybe I can run it by on mine. Some of your files must be corrupted, you'll probably have to reload them."

"There's a bunch of sites dedicated to reuniting lost pets with their owners," he said, the irritation not quite as pronounced. "I thought maybe I could find Mrs. Whitcomb's Pekinese."

Tracy laughed. "Not a bad idea, Knight. Although, I don't know if I should help you." Janice Whitcomb, the forty-year-old wife found dead in her apartment, had been a difficult case. So far they had nothing to go on, no motive, no suspects, no clues, except her dog was gone. It was just as frustrating as the murder of the high school boy, Jason Wilton, on top of which Nick had volunteered to help an Amish woman find her missing husband, whom he now believed to be dead.

Nick gave her a clueless look.

"Well, to reunite that dog with its owner, you'll have to kill it once you find it."

"Sick, Tracy. Very sick."

She just laughed. Her sense of humor had grown a little dark lately. But she had coaxed a slight half-smile from him. She flounced back in her chair and asked him for the address to bring it up on her screen.

Reese had been at the water cooler, slapping the glass tank. He tossed the paper cup in the trash with a growl. "Knight! Do you still work for me!"

Nick glared at his captain. He didn't need this tonight. It was a disgrace that one could never rest on his laurels... all the past successes he'd ever had were as nothing, since he had not closed a case in weeks. Although he had one of the best success records in the precinct, maybe in the entire force.... Angrily, he gave a curt nod, since Reese seemed to be waiting for it.

"Then kindly tell me why you are looking for lost dogs and Amish husbands! You work homicide!" The captain loomed over Nick's desk, radiating his irritation like a star about to go nova. The other officers in the bullpen shrank from his onslaught, uttering prayers of thanksgiving that they were not the target.

"The dog is related to the Whitcomb case, captain. It is a lead. I've got nothing else to go on right now. And Joseph Schloss is a homicide case. You must know that!" Nick did not flinch under his captain's tirade. He spoke with at least as much fervor.

"Drop the dog! If you don't have any other leads, then go over the case again. Find one! Have you talked with her little brothers?"

Tracy interrupted, hoping to diffuse the situation. She sensed Nick was not entirely in control at the moment. "She has brothers? It isn't in the report."

Reese grew more voluble. "It would have been, if my officers had been tracking down leads instead of dogs! And Schloss isn't a homicide case until there is a body. It is missing persons! Now unless you want to be reassigned, I suggest you get to work! The work the city pays you to do!" At that the captain stormed into his office and slammed the door.

Nick bolted from his chair to leave the bullpen. "Nick?" Tracy called after him. She grabbed his coat and hers, before running to catch him. "Nick? Where are we going?"

He yanked open the car door. The old metal groaned at the abuse, and Nick regretted his lack of control. He closed his amber eyes and counted, forcing his lungs to inhale and exhale calmly, an action that was no longer really involuntary. When he opened his eyes, they were once again the deep, mutable blue. He caught the short, leather jacket Tracy tossed to him and put it on.

"Let's go interview Mr. Whitcomb personally," Nick said.

Tracy shrugged. "Okay." She climbed in the passenger side of the Caddy and closed the door. "I don't want to sound like Reese, but, why haven't we done this before?"

Nick sighed. He wasn't really angry with Tracy. As his partner, and as his sister, she deserved to be treated better. "He's in rehab, Tracy. The facility is a Christian, non-profit, privately run place for alcohol and drug rehabilitation. I've called him over the phone, but I am really not looking forward to this."

Tracy nodded. She had noticed that some things frightened her now that she'd never paid attention to in the past. Some crosses actually hurt, but some didn't give her any sense of pain at all. She found her undead heart would beat hard when she walked past a church. She was also strangely drawn towards cemeteries. They seemed to be almost charged with a power she could not define. They were the ground where holy and unholy were unleashed in confused array, vying for the soul.

Nick had explained that holy and sacred things could hurt them, even destroy them, but holy things that had been desecrated were no longer hurtful. Vampires generally avoided all crosses, rather than endure the pain of discernment.

"Maybe, you need to recharge your battery before we go?"

Nick shrugged. It couldn't hurt. But he stopped at the loft instead of the Raven. Tracy wasn't sure what was brewing between him and LaCroix, but she didn't like it.

The loft was empty. Urs worked part-time at the Raven, sometimes singing, sometimes waitressing. Nick didn't know what else she did with her time. He hadn't asked, and she hadn't volunteered the information. He took out two bottles and passed one to Tracy. Silently, they both drank straight from the bottle. Nick put the empty on the table and turned to go. Tracy lingered a few moments. Everything looked fine. Nick's loft had always been dark and gothic looking. Maybe Urs could brighten it up a bit, if he'd let her.

"Shall we go," Nick snapped, in a tone that was more a command than a question.

Tracy shrugged and followed him into the lift.

"Father's House" was situated on the edge of the city at the top of a hill. A huge cross made out of Christmas lights was mounted on the rooftop- visible from quite a distance. Nick glared at the road, keeping his eyes lowered from the sign of light.

The drive was a narrow black top pavement that snaked steadily up the incline, twisting sharply back along itself so the uphill angle wasn't too steep. The pavement was still partially snow-covered and the Caddy's tires spun on patches of ice. Finally, they arrived at the summit.

The parking lot wasn't very large for the size of the facility. Tracy counted only six vehicles present.

"The patients aren't allowed to have cars," Nick explained. "They make a commitment to their own rehabilitation by leaving their cars and their suitcases at home."

She nodded. It made sense. Her mother was an alcoholic. She wondered what it would take to get her to come to a place like this. But then, that was her mortal mother. She probably wouldn't even see her again. They had never been close in the past. Years ago it might have made a difference if her mother had found the courage to change... now it was too late, as far as Tracy was concerned.

Nick knocked on the front door and waited under the bright porch light until someone answered. He gave his name and showed his badge before the door opened. The thin desk clerk looked wary as she stepped aside to let them enter. She was clean and comfortably dressed, but her face was devoid of any make-up. Her mouse-brown hair was pulled back in a barrette, adding severity to the cold lines of her face. Her hands shook a little as she spoke. Tracy knew then that she was one of the patients.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, in a tone that was less than enthusiastic.

"I would like to speak with Mr. Whitcomb," Nick explained.

She nodded then as she sighed softly. No one was in trouble. Mr. Whitcomb's wife had been murdered a month ago, and the entire house had prayed with him. He almost gave up, wanting his booze again. It had taken a lot of prayers and constant supervision to help him to deal with his grief. "I hope you get the bastard that killed her," the clerk said fiercely.

Tracy looked surprised. "We always do our best," she said. "But what makes you say that? They were separated for over a year."

The clerk's chin thrust up as if defying Tracy to disagree with her. "Janice left because of the booze. She said that if he ever got treatment, she'd be back. They loved each other."

The clerk then flipped a switch behind her desk. "Judd, are you there?"

"No," came a deep-voiced reply. "I think he's in the chapel. Need me to get him for you?"

"No thanks," the clerk answered. "We'll get him ourselves." Then turning to the officers, she explained. "That was his room mate. I can't leave the desk. But the chapel is down that hall, last door on the end."

Nick nodded gruffly. Already his palms felt sweaty. Sometimes this job was the pits.

Tracy walked beside him down the wide, well-lit hallway with glossy floors, her shoes making clicking sounds as they went. Nick's shoes were silent. Her taste in clothes was slowly changing, now that she was undead. Silent, rubber-soled shoes that would allow her to sneak up on her prey were next on her list.

Nick pushed open the door of the chapel, pulling Tracy behind him protectively. "Judd Whitcomb?" he called.

There was a single figure in the chapel, kneeling in one of the pews. He was deep in thought and made no sign of having heard them. "Wait here," Nick bossed. He gritted his teeth and entered.

Tracy waited at the door, but peeked inside curiously. The walls were a bright blue, the pews glossy white. There was a simple wooden cross at the front, but the chapel was missing many of the sacred signs and symbols found in most churches. It was almost Spartan by comparison. Still, she felt a sense of fear that convinced her this house of rehabilitation had a greater power behind it.

Nick neared the lone figure and knelt down beside him. Nick's shoulders were hunched as though from great pain and his head was bowed. Tracy could hear his whispered words clearly, even hear the fear behind them, which most mortals might have missed. "Judd Whitcomb? May we have a moment of your time?"

The man looked up then, as though just noticing that he was not alone. "Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Knight. We've spoken over the phone a few times."

Judd nodded then and rose. His motions were slow and painful, although he was not more than forty. Nick hurried from the chapel and introduced Tracy when they were in the hallway. Judd shook her hand. "We can talk in the lounge. It shouldn't be busy this time of night."

He led them into a comfortable living room, complete with several couches, a fireplace, piano, books, and lots of lamps. Everything in the rehab center that they'd seen so far seemed to be brightly lit. Judd almost fell into a chair. He rubbed swollen fingers through his thinning hair. "I guess I was sort of expecting you to come. I'm glad you waited for a while, as I was in no shape to talk to anyone, but I sure hope you get the bastard..."

Nick assured him that they were working on it. "I know we talked on the phone, but I want to go over a few things, to make certain we have the facts right. You and your wife were separated."

He nodded and a small groan passed threw his lips. "For one year, two months, and a few days...."

"Her apartment looked barren, though. There was almost no food in the cupboards. Was she planning on moving soon?"

"Yes, she was," Judd answered. "She started to move back into our house, just as soon as I came here. When she left, she told me she still loved me, but she wouldn't come back unless I tried to get help. Then, when I moved here, she didn't need to keep paying for the apartment, while our house sat empty. She don't make that much you know."

They had learned that Janice Whitcomb worked at a small, used bookstore. They had already checked out the store, questioned the owners and some of the customers. It hadn't brought any leads.

Judd wiped several tears from his hazel eyes. He still was grieving but was over the shock. He was much more coherent tonight than he'd been over the phone.

"What can you tell us about her dog," Nick pressed.

Judd shrugged. "Not much, I'm afraid. We didn't own one. She told me she was going to get a dog when she moved out. She was uncomfortable living alone. Guess the dog gave her some company and protection."

"I can't imagine a Pekinese being much protection," Tracy said.

Judd merely shrugged. "Is that what she got? I never knew. Guess a little dog can bite as well as a big one. She named it "Gypsy"." Judd fell silent for a few moments, staring off into the dark outside the window. "Guess that's how she felt. A bit like a gypsy, living out of suitcase. Dear God, I miss her! When you find her dog, I want it back. I'll take care of it, like I should have been taking care of Janice!"

He broke down then and sobbed. Tracy handed him a box of tissues and gave some comforting phrases. Nick just scowled.

"So you don't know what kind of dog she owned, or where the dog would be."

Judd shook his head, struggling for control. "Sorry, Detective."

"Did she have any family? Captain said something about her brothers, but the records state she was an only child," Tracy said, when Nick made no further comment.

Judd blew his nose loudly. "She considered her last foster home her real family. She still keeps in touch with them."

"Can you give names and addresses?"

Judd shook his head and rubbed at his temples. "I just can't think any more. One maybe. Jimmy, ... uh, Asanto I think." He gave them a street name, but he couldn't remember the exact address. "Jimmy was good with computers," Judd volunteered. "I think that's what he does for a living."

"Thanks," Nick said, standing to leave. "You'll call us if you remember anything else?"

Judd nodded and shook their out-stretched hands. "I mean that about the dog. When you find Gypsy, I'll take her. I already spoke to the boss about it, and he'll let me have the dog here. One of the perks for not being government-funded."

"We'll do that," Tracy promised.

Nick instructed Tracy to page through the phone book for Asanto. She tried several spellings and found one J. Assanto living on the right street. Nick turned the car around and drove there.

"This looks familiar," Tracy said, as he slowed and parked.

"Tracy, sooner or later everything in Toronto will look familiar."

"Look! Isn't that West Side High," she said, pointing to a brick building at the end of the street.

Nick walked around to the curb. "Are you coming?" he asked. She followed him towards a ranch-style brick home. Snow piled in the yard in odd shapes, and a long, low-sloping ramp lead to a wide front door. Tracy rang the bell.

A man's voice came through an intercom system inquiring who was there. Nick introduced himself and his partner.

"What's this about?" the voice asked.

"We'd like to come inside and speak with you about Janice Whitcomb."

The door opened slowly. Nick entered first. The polite custom of letting the woman go first was too recent for it to be second-nature for Nick, and in police matters he liked to be in the frontline. Tracy stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Jimmy Assanto stared at them from almond-shaped eyes, his straight black hair hung loose around his face. Although his features were Asian, his complexion was very dark. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He turned his wheelchair around; his shoulders looked almost too broad and muscular for the small, twisted body. He gestured to a couch. "Won't you please sit down," he said. His voice was surprisingly deep.

"Please accept my condolences on your recent loss," Nick said. The words sounded trite after all the times he'd had to utter them in this line of work, and yet he continued to use them for lack of anything better to say.

Jimmy's dark eyes were solemn. "Janice was the sweetest lady. I just can't believe she's gone. I mean, a freak accident would make more sense than...than... murder."

"So you and your sister were close?" Tracy asked.

Jimmy shrugged. "She was a few years older. I'd like to think I was special to her, but truth is, she made everyone feel that way. It was her gift."

Nick and Tracy continued to field questions for half an hour. Jimmy seemed open and cooperative. He didn't think she had any enemies, and he didn't have clue why this had happened.

"We'd like to speak with the rest of her siblings. Can you give a list of names and addresses?"

For just an instant, Nick thought he saw hesitation on Jimmy's face. Then the look passed. The man wheeled around and went into another room. "Just a moment," he called, "And I'll print that off for you."

Nick rose and peered into the other room. It was a home office stuffed with almost as much computer equipment as Larry Merlin's place. Two sheets of paper came through the printer quickly. Jimmy handed them to Nick. Tracy peeked over his shoulder at the names.

"Jimmy, there's got to be forty names here," she said with surprise.

He nodded. "Yes. The MacPetes adopted some; the rest were foster kids. But it didn't make any difference to them. We all called them Mom and Dad. They were wonderful people."

"What happened to them?"

"They died last year," Jimmy said, his voice suddenly soft. "Car accident."

"Thank you," Nick said, bringing the discussion to a close. His stomach had twisted as he heard more about Janice Whitcomb. She hadn't been beautiful or intelligent or talented, but she had a gift of compassion and made life-long friends everywhere she went. It was appalling that such tragedy had come to this family.

The list held thirty-seven names and all of them lived in or near Toronto. They saw five of them that night. Three were multi-ethnic and disabled. Two were birth-brothers. Four worked in computer-related fields. When the fifth one, a grade school music teacher, also had a large computer in his living room, Tracy said something.

The teacher just laughed. "We can all thank Jimmy for that! You see, he was doing poorly in school. Dad knew he was smart, and challenged him, if he brought his grades up to a B or better, he'd buy him a computer. Jimmy made all As that term. And Dad was so proud, that instead of buying just some little second-hand computer toy, he got him the biggest, best machine money could buy. Jimmy took it like a fish to water. It was something that he could excel at, that didn't depend on muscular coordination. And he taught the rest of us. We all spent time playing computer games with him, and we used to challenge each other with writing our own programs. Jimmy opened a home-based computer business before he even finished high school. Last year he grossed four times what I earn. He's good. And I think Jeep's going to take right after him."

"Jeep?" Tracy and Nick asked in tandem.

"Yeah. The baby. His name is really Jimmy, too, but we nicknamed him Jeep his first day, because we couldn't have two Jimmies."

"Do you know how we can get in touch with him?"

The teacher hesitated. "You've talked with Jimmy already?"

When Tracy nodded, the teacher became hesitant. "I really don't know, " he hedged, doing a terrible job of lying. "He's only 17, and after Mom and Dad died, he became part of the system again. I know Jimmy tried to adopt him, but some authority felt that Jeep was better off in a group home than with a disabled, single-parent, Afro-Asian-Native American. We all tried to adopt him. I don't know where he is right now."

It was getting too late to interview any more family members that night. Nick wasn't sure if they were learning anything useful or not. Now they knew she had a large, loving, supportive family. But nothing connected her to anything even slightly dishonest or dangerous. They were getting nowhere.

Reese grunted and popped some aspirin, washing them down with a soda from the machine. His head was hurting. It had been throbbing off and on for going on three weeks now, maybe four. Eventually he might have to break down and see a doctor about it. He felt no other symptoms, no aches like a flu coming on, just this damned pressure, like his eyeballs were getting too big and were about to burst. And he'd been taking it out on Nick again.

What really ticked, was that it wasn't Nick he was mad at. Oh, he wished Nick would get a few cases closed and press charges against his old man, but that wasn't enough to justify the seething turmoil that was threatening to give him an ulcer. No, that belonged to Mr. LaCroix.

His gut told him Lucien LaCroix was more than he appeared to be. His instinct had never failed him yet. He stopped investigating LaCroix when he'd learned the man was Nick's father, but recent events had made him start again. The arson investigation of LaCroix's bar, for one. The way he treated Nick, and his unnatural relationship with Tracy, and now he was courting the coroner. Three of Reese's favorite people! And he distrusted that man intensely. He cared for them too much not to look into LaCroix, but the subversive situation was eating away at him. If Nick ever found out, would he forgive him?

So far his investigation hadn't turned up much except LaCroix's net worth. The man was rich. Filthy rich. He was rolling in dough, and Reese suspected some of it was ill-gotten gains. Had Nick grown up rich? Did Nick know his father was a crook? Is that why he'd kept their relationship secret? It just didn't make sense.

Sometimes Nick seemed like a rich kid, but sometimes not. He walked like a prince and had a certain arrogance about him, defying orders whenever it suited him... but he had such a sensitivity for the homeless, as though he knew personally what it was like to live on the streets, a creature of the dark, hunting for any morsel of food. Nick spoke their language. In fact, Nick seemed to speak a lot of languages. Including Latin and Chinese. And another one... but he couldn't remember what it was. The pain in his head got suddenly sharper and Reese blinked back tears. Damn. Maybe Denise had better make that appointment after all.

He flipped open the LaCroix file and looked at the rest of the scant information he'd gathered so far. LaCroix had moved here four years ago, although Nick had been here for two years already. So the father had followed his son. Last known address was Paris. He could find no information on LaCroix's parents, place of birth, siblings, or even a wife. Had Nick been brought up without a mother? It used to be that single men could not adopt children, especially not little ones, and yet LaCroix had said that Nick did not even remember his own parents. So, he must have been adopted at a very young age. Why would a single, rich gangster adopt a baby?

Reese felt something sick in his stomach. Did LaCroix have an unnatural relationship with little boys? Immediately he felt like throwing up. No, he wouldn't think that. Not because he didn't believe LaCroix was that depraved, but because he felt that Nick was reasonably well adjusted. Maybe LaCroix was violent, intimidating, and even physically abusive, but Nick still loved him. And Nick was not easily intimidated himself.

LaCroix's bar was another enigma. The man was rich. Why work? Why run a business at all, unless it served some purpose, like a front maybe, for an illegal operation? A way of laundering money? But so far the Raven seemed like what it was. A dark, gothic bar that attracted a few more of the really weird ones than most, but otherwise, was rather harmless. In fact, it had fewer episodes of violence than almost every bar in the city. So, the bar owner kept things pretty well under control. Of course, there was that headless corpse about six months ago. The dead man had been a two-bit grave robber and no connection between him and LaCroix had ever been discovered.

That didn't necessarily mean that there was no connection, however. Reese had to do something. He couldn't just keep looking the other way. His integrity as a cop was on the line, but so was his department. If the officers learned he was investigating them privately, it could destroy their trust in him. Hell, it was a damned-if you do or don't situation. He placed the call to the private investigator that he'd spoken with one week ago.

"Joe Reese," he said cryptically into the phone. He heard loud music in the background, nearly drowning out the speaker.

"Yes, Joe, nothing so far. I've got a short list of contacts in the city, but there doesn't seem to be anything strange about them, other than the fact they all work night shift. But then, since he works nights and sleeps days, that shouldn't be too strange. Although, I know other people who work nights during the week, and they are up during the day on weekends to be with their friends."

"I told you before, his son is allergic to sunlight," Reese said. "I don't think they ever go anywhere during the day. From what I've heard, this allergy is very dangerous, even life-threatening."

"Weird," the investigator mumbled. Reese bristled at that. Yeah, it was weird, but he'd gotten used to the idea, and now he felt very protective of his detective.

"The girlfriend hasn't completely moved in," the other said. "She's here on weekends, but is staying at her place during the week."

Reese felt awful. This was so wrong, spying on his friends. "Just let me know if he does something illegal. I don't need to know his love life."

"You got it. I'd better go, the battery's getting low," the P.I. said, as he disconnected them.

Reese stared at the folder a moment longer. "Mr. LaCroix... you may have won round one, but I'm not going down for the count yet."

LaCroix smiled sardonically. The plainly dressed mortal trying conspicuously to remain anonymous stuck out like a red flag, and now he was speaking to Nicholas's police captain. This was interesting. LaCroix felt no threat from the mortal. It might even be amusing to toy with him for a while. But why had Reese hired him?

The Roman thought back over the past few months, recalling each brief encounter he'd had with the rotund, capable captain. Reese had only just learned of his relationship to Nicholas few months ago, and he hadn't been pleased. It would seem that Reese didn't like him. His smile deepened. The feeling was somewhat mutual, although LaCroix actually disliked Reese less than most mortals. The captain had his share of fears and doubts, but he controlled them masterfully as he performed his duties, and he did seem genuinely concerned for Nicholas. For that alone, LaCroix respected him.

This situation might be worth some amusement, but he would have to be careful. He could not let any real harm come to Nicholas's playmates. Perhaps tonight's broadcast could intentionally mislead the investigator....

Tracy yawned as Nick drove towards the Raven, allowing her fangs to descend. It felt good, like it really gave her a good stretch, and loosened up the tenseness that striving to keep them concealed created. Nick pulled a slim flask from an inside pocket.

"Here, Baby. This should help."

She took it, grinning at him widely. "I'd rather have you."

"No, you wouldn't. I don't taste very good right now," he grumbled.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

His tone of voice was firm, brooking no argument. Tracy opened the flask and swallowed. She offered it to him next and he drained it without hesitation. Something was wrong. Maybe she'd give Natalie or Urs or both a call tonight.

Nick pulled up behind the Raven and waited for her to get out. He didn't even follow her inside, although he waited, listening, as he heard her go up the stairs and let herself in. "Hello LaCroix," she called, as Nick pulled away from the curb.

So what was wrong? Nick wished he knew. It was almost like the boredom he'd felt back while investigating the R.H. Loh murder, back when the vampire virtual reality game gave him some excitement. But now seemed worse. And it wasn't boredom, exactly. He felt trapped. He was suffocating. Some unseen force had him surrounded, was pressing in on all sides, and Nick was fighting it back with anger. Nothing made sense any more.

So, he'd go home and argue with Urs. Later, if he pretended to be asleep, he'd hear her cry, and the feeling of suffocation would increase. He'd apologize then, but the anger wouldn't abate. And it wasn't Urs. He loved her. He didn't want her to go. He didn't know why she was still there, with how awful he'd been to her lately, but he only knew that he was grateful every evening to wake and find her presence still in the loft.

It wasn't Tracy, either. He'd gotten over the initial feelings of jealousy he'd experienced when LaCroix brought her across. He was a big boy now and could deal with it. It wasn't Nat and it wasn't LaCroix either. Nick knew in his heart that he loved them all, and forgave them whatever slights, real or imagined, and he was glad to have them in his life. So, what was it? What was making him into this ticking bomb of raw explosives? Maybe he was losing his mind.

Tracy bounded up the stairs two at a time. She was sorry Nick was going through a rough period, but she wasn't going to let it drag her down, too. Life right now couldn't be better. "Hello, LaCroix," she called out as she burst into the apartment.

He smiled indulgently at her. Although her enthusiasm could be rather annoying, he had to admit that she certainly added color to his quiet existence.

"Nick had to go into a chapel tonight," she said, as she helped herself to dinner. She always tried to share something about their work with LaCroix, to let him in on that part of their lives. Nick never just talked with the ancient. She suspected LaCroix might be more tolerant of Nick's "pastimes" if he was more informed.

"I thought he was going to melt right through the floorboards for a while there, but he managed. Then they came out into the living room and we questioned the widower. Still don't know who popped his wife."

"I'm sure that you and Nicholas will solve the mystery, given time," LaCroix said. "I have asked Vachon to join us for tonight's lesson."

Tracy whirled around to see her Spanish lover leaning in the doorframe. "Damn, I hate how you do that," she said.

Vachon grinned. Tracy had learned how to sense vampires. She could sense her master and Nick best, since they were related, and she could tell when meeting a stranger if he was mortal or immortal, but she still could not sense Vachon except immediately after making love. Vachon wasn't sure how he did it either. He assumed it was because, other than his twin and a few surviving children, there just weren't any other vampires from his bloodline.

Tracy finished her dinner and put the bottle in the sink. "I'm ready. What is it?"

"You have improved your landings sufficiently, that we may now progress to basic hunting."

Tracy glanced from Vachon to LaCroix, her easy grin fading with uncertainty. She'd known that vampires hunted and killed, but it was the scariest part of coming across.

LaCroix ignored her obvious discomfort. These modern fledglings had a lot of emotional baggage to unload. "I will go seek shelter somewhere within the city limits. You must hunt for me, using only our bond. Vachon's purpose is to stay with you, ensuring your safety. He is not permitted to assist you. Is that clear?"

Tracy nodded. Then she grinned as she realized that this lesson would not be that frightening after all. "Do I get any help? Can we strengthen our link first?" She hugged LaCroix, rubbing up against him intimately while a finger caressed his throat.

LaCroix's mouth thinned into a firm line even as the dimple in his cheek betrayed his amusement. "There is no time for that, Tracy. We do not have long before sunrise. Have another drink, and then you may begin."

Before long Tracy and Vachon flew up through the skylight and out over the city. A low fog blanketed the land below, amber dots of the streetlights illumining it at intervals. It looked deceptively soft, like a quilt spread out just for them. Tracy knew how dangerous flying could be. Her first one hundred landings had dumped her into the icy waters of the lake before she'd mastered the process. Now, it was like second nature. She couldn't remember not knowing how to fly.

"Tracy, pay attention," Vachon chided softly.

She laughed. "Are you hinting that I'm headed in the wrong direction, Javier?"

He just whistled, not answering. Tracy closed her eyes briefly and tried to sense LaCroix. It was hard. For long moments she sensed nothing. Then she felt fierce rage that surprised her. Vachon caught her hand as she dropped altitude.

"There's the loft," she muttered. "It must be Nick I'm sensing."

Vachon nodded. "But it would be just like LaCroix to hide near here, using Nick's bond with you to confuse you."

She agreed. Trying to block out Nick's mood, she reached out again for her master. Then she felt him. Within moments she slipped inside Nick's garage to find her master leaning comfortably against the Caddy.

"Got you," she said, laughing.

"Not bad, my child. But then, I wanted to ensure your success. We have time to try again."

"I'm ready."

At that moment the noise from the loft grew. Something smashed and Nick's voice was easily heard, if not the words. LaCroix merely raised an eyebrow. "Do you know anything about this?" he asked, including both of the younger vampires in his question.

They shrugged. "Beats me," Tracy answered. "He's been grouchy all week. Post-holiday stress syndrome, maybe."

LaCroix nodded then. He exited the garage and flew up, high into the atmosphere, and made fast for his destination. When mortals ran, they often tried to confuse their pursuers by changing course and covering up their tracks. But, the trail Tracy followed was between her and LaCroix. It was always a straight line. It would not lead her to the places LaCroix had been, only to where he was now. He had chosen his destination hours ago, made the necessary reservations, and warned Vachon that if Tracy didn't catch his trail promptly, that he was to see her safely back to the Raven well before dawn.

Tracy enjoyed the flying game of hide-and-seek. Her reward for a job well done was to spend the day in the executive suite of the Lakeshore Motel with two of her favorite vampires.

Natalie dumped her purse and coat on the couch as she scooped Sydney into her arms. It had been a long night and without any relief. Nick hadn't dropped in once; there'd been no new calls, and no breaks on the existing post-mortems. Then, before she could even relax and enjoy herself, she remembered the cat food.

"I'm so sorry, Sydney!" she apologized. She'd have to go out right away. She glanced at her watch. Her favorite store for cat food wouldn't be open for another couple of hours. She'd have to pay the extra money for a can or two at the convenience store, and stock up later.

"I'll hurry home," she promised.

That morning a crimson sun rose on the horizon, casting a blood-red pall over the city. Natalie slept through it, as did the vampires of Toronto. Sydney awoke. He hissed at the sun, yowling his displeasure. Then after feeding well, he crawled onto his mistress's bed and took a nap.

The busses ran on schedule. The day shift began, despite the dire predictions of the weather forecasters. But ten o'clock brought the first snow flakes. Big, wet sloppy snow. The skies darkened and the temperatures held just below freezing. All day the snow drifted silently to the ground. The wet blanket first covered the black-stained slush of old snow. The sidewalks were covered, then the streets. At two p.m. the schools closed and busses starting transporting their small cargoes back towards the safety of their homes. By four more than eight inches had fallen. Toronto snowplows were out in full force, spreading sand and salt behind the newly plowed streets, but more wet snow fell on top. Then as evening turned towards night, the temperature dropped. The wet turned to ice.

Nick was quiet while he dressed for work. He had yelled at Urs last night, and it had been about nothing at all. Nothing that had anything to do with her, anyway. He felt horrible. A rock-hard pain had settled in his stomach and he felt faintly nauseated. A long hot shower had done nothing to ease his pain and guilt. Nick couldn't even feed. When he went downstairs to apologize, Urs was not there. A small brief note said she was at the church. Nick slumped into a chair, cradling his head in his arms.

He didn't deserve her. Maybe this was for the best. She should find someone nice, someone to love her... but the pain in his stomach lurched at the thought. Nick flew into the bathroom and heaved.

It unnerved him even more, increasing his concern. Vampires were never sick. He slid to the floor and leaned back against the cold tile wall. Breathing deeply, slowly, he felt his stomach begin to heal itself. The pain subsided a little. But he still didn't feel like he could feed. He grabbed a bottle to tuck under the seat of the Caddy for later, and finished preparing for work.

As he backed out of the garage, the Caddy's tires spun. Nick stared, surprised, at the white world Toronto had become. "Guess I should listen to the news once in a while," he said to himself. Driving more cautiously, he closed the garage door and headed in to work. The Caddy had much better traction now. LaCroix had new snow tires put on last month when he'd confiscated Nick's keys for a week. Nick was suddenly grateful for that small gesture.

He drove past a fender-bender on the way to work. Stopping to give assistance, he called the police. Neither party wanted an ambulance, and the accident did not look that severe. Nick lit some flares to warn the on-coming traffic and herded the parties involved to the sidewalk to wait. When the uniformed officers showed up, he was able to continue on his way. Tracy called him, saying she'd just meet him at work. Vachon volunteered to fly with her.

"That's good, Baby. Because I'm running late now," Nick said.

He made it to work with no further complications. If he kept busy enough, he could forget his pain, so he plunged into the reports with fervor. The precinct seemed strange tonight. Almost a third of the force hadn't made it in to work because of the roads. Another third was out on the roads, handling the many accidents and directing traffic. To compound the dangers, heavy snow and ice had knocked out several stoplights, causing more accidents.

"It's really bad out there," Tracy said as she plopped into her chair. Nick glanced up vaguely and shrugged. "Good thing you aren't out there, then," he answered as he turned back to his work.

Tracy stared at him for a few minutes. Now didn't seem like the time for that chat. He was doing some really productive work. She'd let him work off a few dozen favors before she interrupted him.

Then a silence fell around the bullpen, so profound that Tracy could hear every heart beat. She glanced up, as Reese came out of his office and headed straight towards her partner.

"Nick," Reese said softly.

He looked up from the screen.

"I just got a call. There's been a traffic accident at the intersection of fifth and York. Three cars, ambulances are already on the way. Nick, one of the cars is Natalie's."

Nick froze, that sick feeling in his stomach hitting him worse than LaCroix ever could have. He swallowed quickly before he would heave blood on the computer.

"You just sit tight now and I'll have someone drive you to the hospital."

"No!" Nick said fiercely, getting to his feet. He dug his keys from his pocket and tossed them at Tracy. "You drive!" And he raced from the bullpen without a backward glance.

Tracy grabbed Nick's coat and hurried after him.

She got to the parking lot just in time to see Nick lift into the air. She knew he would go straight to the accident, which was probably best. With the snow, the ambulances might have difficulty getting there, and Nick could give Natalie a direct flight to the hospital, if it was needed. Still, Tracy would have to drive the Caddy there, to give Nick some explanation. She tossed his coat on the seat beside her and drove as quickly as the weather allowed.

Nick flew directly towards the intersection. It looked bad. Two cars had collided when the streetlight failed, and Natalie had been unable to avoid them. One bystander was assisting the most critically damaged car. Nick flew into a shadow then raced straight for Nat. He tore the door off and tossed it aside.

Her blood assaulted him. His head swam and red blazed before his eyes. Her heart pulsed rapidly. He tried to ask her how she was, but his fangs had erupted. Suddenly, the hunger hit. He hadn't fed well last night, and then the stress of the argument, and heaving this afternoon when he'd awakened, and now the fear for Natalie, all combined to destroy his tentative control. The vampire leaned back his head and roared before going in for the kill.

LaCroix had remained in the motel after Tracy and Vachon left. Motel hours were dreadfully inconsiderate for vampires. Checkout was usually in the middle of the day, so any stay usually meant reserving the room for two days. He had decided to remain behind and enjoy the private suite a little longer. He watched the snow-laden world from the balcony for a time, as he sipped the last of the supplies he'd had delivered. Winter was his favorite season.

Suddenly he was struck with fear and rage. LaCroix calmly shut his eyes and tried to sense his son, since such emotions were not uncommon coming from the young knight. LaCroix was not disappointed. Nicholas was definitely upset about something.

Then he sensed his new lover. She was not as clear to him, since she was not yet related. He could only sense her at all because he had tasted her blood recently. That tenuous bond would fade over time, if it weren't continually fed. Natalie was also terrified. That alarmed him. He leaped at once into the air as he focused on her.

Natalie was afraid of Nicholas? Nothing was making sense, but he sensed the urgency of the moment. His son was out of control. LaCroix saw the traffic accident, heard the ambulances approach, and saw his son tear the door off Nat's ruined car and toss it aside. He heard the roar of the vampire. LaCroix flew into the midst instantly, without regard for any mortals present.

"No, Nicholas!" he shouted, grabbing his son and striking him in the face to get his attention. Then he took him by the arm and flung him aside. He turned back to Natalie, ignoring his son completely.

Nick was thrown across the street, slamming into the side of a brick building. He sat there, unmoving, as the vampire receded and he saw how close he had come to killing. Anger and disgust overwhelmed him. He rolled onto his side and heaved again, staining the snow with his blood.

LaCroix knelt on the edge of her car and peered at the pale woman inside. "Natalie my dear, talk to me," he whispered, trying to still his fear.

"I'm all right," she said through gritted teeth. "I've broken my leg, but its nothing life-threatening."

LaCroix felt a wave of relief that quickly turned to anger. Nicholas had been about to bring her across, and she wasn't even in danger? Why? To replace him as her master? He turned towards the heap his son made on the sidewalk, considering a more thorough beating, but Natalie stopped him.

"I'm really hurting, Lucien. Since you're here... can you help me?"

He looked at her then and noticed the tears on her face, the cut on her forehead bleeding down on to her jacket, the awkward angle of her leg, cut and bleeding from torn sheets of metal. She could have lost her leg. She was very lucky it was only broken.

LaCroix brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Look at me, dear," he whispered. "You feel no pain."

At once the agony was ended. Natalie smiled at him with gratitude and desire. "I don't understand," she whispered. "Nick. I was afraid. I've never been afraid of him before, what happened?"

"I don't know, my dear. But I shall find out."

"Don't leave me now," she begged. "Just stay with me?"

LaCroix nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tracy arrive. She helped Nick to his feet and forced him to put on a jacket. Nick leaned on her as she helped him into the car. Good enough, LaCroix thought angrily. He would be having a little "chat" with him before dawn.

Finally the ambulance arrived. One of the victims was quite seriously injured and was taken first. No one else was hurt beyond a few bumps and bruises. Natalie went in the second ambulance, and LaCroix rode with her. He held her hand all through the ride, while the doctors set the bone, and while a large temporary plaster splint was put on it, to immobilize the bone but allow the bandages on the cuts to be changed. The splint stretched from her toes clear up to mid-thigh. Her forehead needed only one stitch and a band-aide, and the doctor gave her a prescription for painkillers.

"I guess you're numb now, from shock or cold, but eventually you're going to hurt," he said. "And I want to keep you here overnight, just for observation."

Natalie hesitated. She really just wanted to go to her apartment and pretend that none of this had happened. She wanted to stay with Lucien. He would not be able to stay the day.

"It is probably for the best," LaCroix was saying, patting her hand gently. "I will stay with you until you fall asleep."

She smiled wanly. The process of being admitted was never pleasant. She was exhausted and starting to feel real pain before she was finally in a hospital semi-private gown in a semi-private room. The other bed was empty, at least. A nurse brought her two codeine tablets, which Natalie willing accepted.

LaCroix pulled up a chair and sat beside her. She looked so pale. Although her coloring would be permanently pale when she joined him in unlife, this color was not the shade of a healthy vampire, but a very wretched mortal. She had come close to dying tonight! That freak accident could have claimed her. LaCroix felt a knife of ice cut into him. And Nicholas could have claimed her for himself. He wasn't sure where Nick and he would have their confrontation, but he was glad that Natalie would be here, well out of it.

Reese sat in his office and worried. The headache was nothing compared to the anxiety he felt now. Natalie was a nice woman and damn good at what she did. He hated to think of her out on a night like this, injured and in pain. Poor Nick. That man needed some serious time off. There'd been his grandma's death, and then Bunati had roughed him up quite a bit a few months ago, then only weeks later his father's place of business was destroyed by fire, and now this. How much stress could one man handle? Maybe the stress was getting to be too much for him. Maybe that was the cause of his current bad temper.

The phone rang and he grabbed it immediately before it reminded him he had a headache. "Yes," he said distractedly.

"It's me," the P.I. said. "I saw the accident. I called the ambulance. I couldn't just drive away, but I don't think she saw me."

"Hold on and back up. I'm not following you," Reese snarled. It wasn't the P.I.'s fault that Reese didn't like him. He was mostly mad at himself that he had felt compelled to hire him.

"The old man wasn't doing anything interesting, so I was trailing LaCroix's lover," he said. "I saw the accident. Then, I called for the ambulance, and one of the victims was pretty mangled, so I stuck around."

Reese was beginning to understand. "How is she," he demanded.

"She's fine. A broken leg it looks like. But, Knight and LaCroix both showed up before the ambulance. I swear they are like bloodhounds or something. Anyway, Knight was going to help her and his old man belted him, tossed him around a little. Then Knight left with that little blonde number he works with."

The headache was back. Reese popped two more aspirins, mindless of when he'd taken the last ones.

"So did LaCroix see you," he asked. If so, then this P.I. would be fired. He couldn't investigate once the subject was on to him.

"No. I was nobody, just a concerned citizen lending aid. It was really confused there. I didn't even give anyone my name."

Reese shook his head. It was sloppy police work, but it worked to his advantage this time. "Fine," he said, before hanging up. Then he stared at the inside of his eyelids while he worried about what to do next.

He heard the commotion as Nick and Tracy entered. Everyone crowded around, asking about Natalie. Reese leaned against the door frame and watched. Nick seemed angry, which was familiar. Tracy was fending off the crowd, almost protectively, as she allowed Nick to slip away. Reese thought he walked a little stiffly.

"Nick," he called. "Come inside."

Angry eyes glared at him. For a moment he half expected his detective to ignore him. Then Nick slowly obeyed. Reese watched the almost predatory approach. He closed the door for privacy.

"Nat's going to be fine," Nick said, his voice low and threatening.

"So I've heard. I can't tell you how relieved I am."

Nick waited impatiently. "Is there something else?"

Reese nodded, not sure how to go about it. What was he going to say? Nick didn't look good. Although melted snow dampened his hair and shoes, he looked almost too warm. He must have got chilled.

"How are you doing, Nick?" he asked.

Nick glared at him. "I've been following up on Whitcomb's foster family. I've spoken with some of the siblings, and have addresses of more."

"I don't mean about work, Nick. How are YOU doing?"

"I'll be fine," he snapped. "I was worried. Hell, we all were."

Reese reached out a hand to pat him on the shoulder. Nick winced at the touch, before his angry façade returned to cover up the pain that small contact had caused.

"That does it," Reese yelled. "Either you file charges against him, or I will!"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Nick, witnesses saw LaCroix hit you. Now you're going to see a doctor and you're going to press charges."

"I will do neither," he said firmly, trying to catch his captain in a hypnotic stare.

"Don't look at me like that," Reese yelled. "I've got a splitting head ache, and that isn't helping."

Nick felt a tremble start up his spine. He was ravenous and still strangely nauseated. The room seemed a little off center. Reese grabbed his arms and helped him into a chair. Nick sat down weakly.

"Nick, I want you to see a doctor."

"I will, captain. But, I think I'd better go home. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure," Reese said, surprised Nick had caved in so readily. "Maybe Tracy should drive you? You really do not look good."

Nick nodded, wincing slightly. Reese watched with sad eyes as the detective stood and struggled just to walk, leaving the precinct with firm, angry steps to keep up a façade in front of the others. Only the captain knew that it wasn't real. He glanced at his watch. The night was still young. He had hours to go before he could sit around a cup of coffee with Denise and unload his worries on her. He went back in his office and shut the door.

"Where to, bro?" Tracy asked.

"The loft," Nick whispered hoarsely.

"Are you sure? Maybe you'd better come to the Raven. I mean, he can help you."

"Sure. Right before he kills me."

"What did you do this time?" Tracy drove slowly, trying to keep the car on the road and avoid catastrophe.

"This time I deserve it," Nick said miserably. "I don't know what happened. I lost control and I almost killed her."

"Natalie?"

He nodded.

"You mean, you were that worried about her, that you were going to bring her across?"

"No." Nick's voice dropped to a whisper. "I mean, I was going to feed from her. I would have killed her if he had not arrived."

Tears flowed down his face unchecked.

"Gosh, Nick. You've really been uptight lately. I don't know what's wrong, but you really need to talk to someone."

She pulled the Caddy into the garage and turned off the engine. Nick just sat numbly. She opened his door and helped him to his feet, then helped him into the lift and onto the couch. He gave her no resistance and very little help. Tracy got a blanket from the closet and covered him. Normally, vampires wouldn't feel the cold, but he looked so miserable. Was it the fever? Could it have come back, a new, resistant strain? Tracy touched Nick's forehead and her hand came sticky.

"Nick? Can I get you something?"

"No. Thanks. Good night, Tracy," Nick said. Already his eyes were closed.

She kissed his cheek before she left. Now what? Reese would expect her to return to work, but LaCroix still did not want her to be alone. She wouldn't get Nick into more trouble. She pulled out her cellphone and called Vachon. He was perfectly willing to escort her to the Raven where they both waited for LaCroix.

LaCroix sat impatiently while nurses took her blood pressure, checked the dilation of her eyes, her temperature, and pestered her endlessly. His expression was solemn; his eyes betrayed his concern.

Natalie patted his hand to console him. "Don't fret, Lucien. This is our way, unfortunately."

Then the codeine started to kick in and Natalie's eyelids grew heavy.

"Is there anything else I can for you do before I go?"

Nat smiled. Actually, there were probably a lot of things. "Find some paper and a pencil and I'll think about it," she said.

He pulled open a drawer where a Gideon Bible was hiding. He slammed it shut and tried another one. A cheap pen and two sheets of paper bearing the hospital's logo lay inside. He returned to his chair and waited expectantly.

"Number one," she began. "I need you to talk to Nick. Emphasis on the talk part. I want your promise you won't strike him."

"No," LaCroix firmly. "He was out of line. It is my right and duty to put him in his place."

Natalie touched his cheek tenderly. "Please, Lucien? Not tonight? This wasn't like him at all. You've got to talk to him. I won't rest a moment if I'm worried about you both."

LaCroix grudgingly gave his assent. "I will not hurt him tonight," he stated. He would keep tomorrow open.

"Next, someone can call Grace. She'll be able to take me home tomorrow when I'm discharged. And I still need cat food."

"Cat food!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, cat food. I was on my way to Bargain Barn to get a case of it before the accident. It's much cheaper there, when they have any, and so I stock up. Send Nick to get it for me as part of his penance, if you like."

LaCroix nodded. She had only a few more directions, before her eyes became unfocused and her speech no longer entirely coherent. LaCroix eased her back onto her pillow and pulled the thin hospital blanket up under her chin. "Good day, Natalie," he whispered as he brushed a kiss across her forehead.

It was time to find his son.

LaCroix folded the note and put it in his pocket. Taking to the sky he soared out over the silent city. Night was only half over, yet he felt strangely tired. Reaching out to sense his children, he was surprised that neither of them seemed to be at work. Tracy was with Vachon, and Nicholas waited for him in the loft. That was good. He chaffed at the promise he'd made Natalie. She was too good to Nicholas.

LaCroix flew in through the skylight and landed by the couch with his arms folded across his chest. He glared at his son sternly.

Nicholas didn't even move. He didn't look up, or beg for mercy, or even for a fight. He just lay there.

"Stand and face me, Nicholas," LaCroix growled.

Nick lifted a limp arm and tried to toss the cover aside, but it fell to his chest again. LaCroix grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. He hadn't hurt him... yet, anyway.

"Master," Nick whispered. Then he looked up at him with grief-stricken eyes. LaCroix felt the cold angry knot begin to melt a fraction. The

younger vampire was spineless in his arms. LaCroix shook him.

Nicholas said nothing. LaCroix was disgusted. He released his grip and stared, slightly horrified as Nicholas collapsed on the floor.

"Stop this pathetic display at once," he demanded. "Get up and explain yourself."

Nick curled onto his side, clutching his stomach. The pain was worse. He felt dry heaves shake him, but he'd had nothing to feed for over a day. There was nothing left to lose.

LaCroix's alarm was growing. A year ago he would have declared that vampires were never ill, but the fever had rocked the entire community. Now he knew better. It had been cured, and very little else could hurt his kind. Still, something was obviously very wrong. LaCroix pulled Nicholas into his arms and carried him upstairs. With centuries of practice, he removed his clothing to begin the search for injuries.

Nicholas's shirt was torn and bloodstained from his crash with the building. He may have even broken a collarbone. LaCroix touched the shoulder and gently probed. Nick flinched. There were no other signs of trauma, however, and certainly nothing to explain his weakness or his loss of control. There was nothing for it but the blood kiss. It would explain his behavior more than eloquently, even if it did assault LaCroix with those unbridled emotions. Here he had wanted to beat the boy to within an inch of his unlife, and instead he was going to share blood with him, and it was all Natalie's fault. The corner of his lip lifted as he considered his bold lover.

LaCroix loosened the buttons of his collar and lay down beside his son. Nicholas curled into the crook of his arm and wept. "Forgive me, LaCroix. I don't know what happened. It wasn't intentional, I swear!"

He put a hand behind Nicholas's head and brought him closer. "Feed, my son," he said. He craned his neck, exposing more of his throat.

Nicholas licked at the throat weakly. When at last his fangs penetrated, he sucked fiercely, like a starving vampire, for several moments. Only, before LaCroix could complete the circle, Nick withdrew, flying into the bathroom. LaCroix heard the sounds of his weakness as he heaved repeatedly. Rising, he followed him.

"How long has this been going on," he demanded.

Nicholas pushed away from the toilet and tried to shrug. His movements were weak. Blood sweat dripped from his forehead. "Just a couple weeks, I think," he whispered.

"And you haven't been able to feed?"

Nicholas shook his head slowly.

LaCroix pulled him off the floor and carried him back to the bed. "Then you had no business going in to work, my son," he said firmly. "When you are off your feed, you are too dangerous. Surely after eight centuries you've learned something!"

"Is Natalie okay?" he whispered.

LaCroix settled the covers around him. He went to the kitchen and returned with several bottles of blood and a knife. "Natalie will be fine," he said. Taking the knife, he slit first Nicholas's wrist and then his own, holding the two wounds together. He felt his son's body draw his ancient blood away, thirsting for the fluid that would heal.

"Which is more than I can say about you. She made me promise not to hurt you tonight."

Nick nodded weakly.

LaCroix resliced his wrist, feeding his son all that his body would take. He drank from two of the bottles himself as he waited. Then, pulling away, he licked at the wound on his son's arm. The wound was just beginning to close, although LaCroix's had closed twice over.

He was struck by the sweetness of his son's unique fluid. It always affected him thus. His eyes closed, and for a few moments he felt peaceful and warm. He soared back over eight centuries, to the dirty stable, and the tiny boy who had prayed over him. That same feeling of joy warmed his undead heart. Then LaCroix opened his eyes. Nicholas was older, sadder, and no longer blindly trusting. But now as he drifted to sleep, he wore the same look of innocence.

LaCroix savored the last taste of blood, drawing from it what little he could. The strong emotions were overpowering and jumbled. That Nicholas was distraught had been evident even without blood, but just what was the cause remained a mystery. LaCroix grew concerned. After placing a call to the Raven, he crawled under the covers to spend the rest of the night and the day with his son.

LaCroix did not sleep soundly. He awoke repeatedly from the turmoil of his son's nightmares. Nicholas had not intended to steal his lover from him, LaCroix knew now with certainty. For that he was greatly relieved. A month ago he had vowed that Natalie would not come between him and his son, but now the ancient wondered if he could keep such a vow. Were his feelings for her the deep, eternal kind, that he had for Nicholas? Or was she merely a passing fancy? He was uncertain and that infuriated him.

He sensed his daughter Tracy as well. She seemed to be remarkably well adjusted. Her coming across had him concerned on a few occasions, and he was sure that there would still be stormy seas ahead where that one sailed, but he didn't worry about her. Tracy had a buoyant resiliency and an almost feline ability to consistently land on her feet. She was a pleasing addition to his growing family, even if the Spaniard came with her. Every family needed its black sheep, a role that Vachon seemed willing to fill.

He sensed Janette as well. That surprised him. She had been very distant this past year and her bond to the family was now quite confusing. LaCroix had never heard of anything like it in all his long unlife. She had been his daughter for nearly a thousand years. Then, she discovered a path to mortality, only to be denied a mortal's death by her brother who had struggled for over a century to achieve just that. Nicholas, unable to let her die, had brought her back across. So, who's child was she? LaCroix's, or Nicholas's?

Janette had been furious. She grieved still for her mortal lover and in a final act of defiance she fled from Toronto entirely, refusing to acknowledge either of them as master. And Nicholas suffered in silence.

Janette had always been very special to Nicholas. She was his one true love. He was the forever-faithful kind, that would never end a relationship except by death, and he was unable to let even death take her from him. LaCroix knew that his son's feelings for the coroner had never come close to what he had with Janette. And the infatuation of his youth, that Celtic princess, had been nothing more than mortal hormones asserting themselves.

So where did Urs fit in all of this? Why wasn't she here? He'd known they'd had an argument last night, as surely any mortal within a three-block radius had been able to over-hear. Perhaps later he should meet with young Urs. She seemed the calm, levelheaded sort, and was exactly what Nicholas needed in his life right now. Perhaps he could persuade her not to leave him.

When evening finally came LaCroix was short-tempered and irritable. He would have to work very hard to control his temper.

Nick yawned and stretched, feeling surprisingly well rested. He could not remember when he'd had such a good day's sleep. As he reached out for the body beside him, he was surprised to find LaCroix there instead of Urs. Instantly awake, he flung back the covers and sat bolt upright.

"What are you doing here! What did you do to Urs?"

LaCroix hissed at his son, allowing the amber glow in his eyes to convey his displeasure. Nicholas didn't even flinch but continued to glare at him. "Think back, you insolent cur! Remember the snowfall, Natalie's accident, and how you tried to kill her! Watch your tone when you speak to me."

Nick's expressive face conveyed his emotions plainly. The memory returned, as did his guilt and anguish. A blood sweat dotted his brow instantly. Tortured eyes sought his master. "How is she?"

"She will be fine, she says. Moral bones take time to heal. She wants you to fetch a case of cat food from a place she called Bargain Barn as an act of penance."

Nicholas nodded solemnly. "And what about you?"

LaCroix did not understand. "What about me," he snapped angrily as he got out bed. He pulled on his pants, intending to shower before he finished dressing.

"What do you require from me," Nick whispered.

LaCroix felt a moment of power. Nicholas knew he'd been wrong and expected LaCroix to exact retribution. His voice dropped; his words came slow and pronounced. It was the voice that sent chills through the blood of mortals and immortals alike. "I demand instant and immediate obedience!" He slammed the bathroom door between them.

As the hot shower pelted him, he struggled to find the advantage. How could he use this current situation as a learning experience for his obdurate child? What did he want from him?

Shortly, he joined Nicholas in the kitchen. He noticed that although his son was dressed for work and seemed much improved, there was still a quiet desperation emanating from him. LaCroix scowled. In the past his blood had always healed. What was wrong this time?

He poured a beverage for his son and passed it to him. In silence they drank. Nicholas's hardest lesson had always been obedience. He even defied his mortal police captain whenever it suited him. LaCroix knew that as a boy it had not been learned, his own father having mostly abandoned him and his mortal mother never commanded him to do a thing. The knights and peasants on his lands had obeyed him completely.

Then he recalled what little he knew of Nicholas's servitude to his uncle, after his father's "disappearance" and his time as a squire and eventually a knight. He had learned to obey then, so LaCroix knew there was still hope. He set his glass down and turned to face his child.

"First, you will feed only on human or vampire blood. No more bovine product or protein shakes, until I give permission."

His tone was frigid; there was no room for discussion. Nicholas squared his shoulders and glared at him, but LaCroix could see that the boy's resolve was fluctuating. Finally, his chin lifted. He gave a seemingly indifferent shrug.

"You will come to me before you enter your mortal games every day until I am assured that you are fully in control."

Nick felt his stomach churn. He'd been working so hard to avoid confrontation with his master for two months now, and the angry resolve in the elder's voice was hurtful. Why couldn't they just talk, like adults? Still, he had been seeing LaCroix every day now since Tracy came across. This one would not be hard to keep. Again he nodded. His hands trembled. He drained the glass and set it down on the table. He sensed the worst was yet to come. He swallowed hard, forcing the blood down.

"When I say it is time to move on, we will leave immediately. It may be tomorrow, or next week, or in five years, but when that time comes, you will obey at once!"

Nick's voice caught in his throat. "But, I can't just up and leave! There are too many people here that count on me. There would be questions asked, no doubt a police search-"

LaCroix cut him off. "We leave at once. How I chose to cover our tracks is none of your concern. All you need to do is obey."

Nick shut his mouth. He was too tired to fight today. There was nothing he could say when LaCroix was in such a mood. The elder set his glass down too and stalked towards him. Nick felt himself take a step back, and then another, until he backed up against the wall. LaCroix placed a hand on the wall on either side of him. The ancient's eyes were blood red, his fangs fully distended. He hissed in Nick's face.

"Do you understand!"

The sick feeling returned, spearing his gut, cleaving it in two until blood pooled in his mouth. He blinked back his growing fear of the pain. LaCroix had fed him last night... whatever this was should have been healed. He knew what the enforcers did to the weak. If he could no longer feed and care for himself, he would be destroyed. Nick must conceal this from everyone. Judging how angry his master was with him right now, he must even conceal it from LaCroix. He clenched his teeth and tried to swallow, merely nodding his assent. He wasn't agreeing to leave, after all. He just admitted that he understood.

LaCroix didn't seem to notice the fine line. He removed his arms and stepped back. Then in an eye blink he flew through the skylight and was gone. Nick raced into the bathroom where he emptied his stomach of his breakfast.

Reese sat at the dinner table with a cup of coffee while his daughters cleared away the dishes. He caught Denise's attention. School had been on two-hour delay this morning, to allow the sun and road salt time to melt some of the ice, and so he'd been unable to have a private chat with her before going to sleep. Denise poured herself a cup and joined him.

They talked about trivial things, school activities, neighbors, church events, until the door to the kitchen closed and they could hear the girls arguing over whose turn it was to load the dishwasher. Then Denise shifted in her chair more comfortably.

"So what is it, Joe," she prodded.

He rubbed at his headache. Every time he thought about Nick it came back. He'd just realized that last night, so he decided not to see a doctor yet. First, he must deal with Nick, and then if the headache persisted, there'd be time to make the appointment later.

"It's about some one in my department," he began. Denise knew the drill. He wouldn't mention any names, but she could usually figure out whom he was discussing anyway. So she waited and listened for clues. "He's a really good cop. I respect him, and I like him. He's- I don't know how to explain it- almost like one of my own. I feel very protective of him. I feel that way towards lots of folks on the force, but there's just something about him. Anyway, recently I met his father."

Now Denise knew. The first clue had been that the officer was a male. That knocked out almost half the force. The next clue was that it was someone special. She only knew of a handful of officers that had really affected Reese that way. But knowledge of Nick's father was all the gossip. Everyone in the precinct had been talking about Lucien LaCroix being Nick's dad. It was really incredible, in a way. She sipped her coffee to hide the knowing smile.

"The man is bad news. I had a gut feeling about him ever since we met. I just knew he was up to something, but I didn't do anything about it, because I didn't want to offend this officer. Only, the man is abusive. He's knocked his son around on several occasions. The officer has come to work with blood on his clothes, too weak to stand. He refuses to press charges. And I learned that the father is filthy rich. So, I hired a private investigator."

"You did what!" Denise almost slopped her coffee. She was very alarmed to hear about the father/son difficulties Nick Knight faced. She really liked him. He was always politely old-fashioned around her and the girls, and he had nothing but respect for her husband. "That's a little drastic, don't you think?"

Reese shrugged his shoulders. "The father is a thief and a crook. I just know it, Denise. How can I turn my back on that and remain on the police force?"

"You suspect he is a crook," she amended.

"My instincts have seldom been wrong before, Denise."

"But you must be thinking that if you can arrest the father, then you will be protecting the son."

Reese glanced up in surprise. Had he been thinking that? Not consciously, maybe... but was it his motivation?

"All right, Joe. Let's assume that you uncover something about the father. Something that you can have him arrested for. How are you going to explain that to your officer? He will know you've hired a P.I. You will lose his respect and his friendship. Most likely, everyone else's too. It could even hurt your career."

"But what if I'm right? What if the father is really committing a crime? How can I ignore that?" His head was pounding. He's been running through variations of this scenario for weeks now. He was no closer to solving the dilemma.

"Joe, if you discover through normal channels something about the father, then you may act. You can even tell the son what you've learned before you file the report. But fire the investigator, Joe, before it is too late!"

Reese was silent. He wanted to do as she suggested. It would be so nice to just ignore the problem. "But what about the son?"

"He's a big boy, hon. He doesn't need another bossy, overbearing father-figure making decisions for him. He needs a friend."

Reese smiled at her. How had he been so lucky to find a woman like that? She was wise when he asked for counsel, but she was supportive of his decisions when he acted on his own. And she was damn good-looking, too. He set down his cup and it was as if he'd put down a great weight. He picked up a phone and dialed the investigator immediately. Case closed.

Nick wanted to swing by Nat's, but he was afraid to see her yet. He'd scared her pretty good last night. He'd scared himself. Taking the coward's way, he lifted the phone and dialed.

Nat sounded sleepy when she answered. "Hello?"

"Nat, it's me. Nick." He closed his eyes, fighting down the hollow ache.

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she furious? Would she forgive him?

"How are you, Nick?" she asked softly.

He shrugged, unsure how to put it in words. "Worried about you."

"Well, I'm going to be fine," she said. She was angry with him, but more than that she was worried. She tried to lighten the tense moment with chatter. "It's just a break. I'll be on crutches for two months, I'm afraid. I'm not going in to work for a day or two, not until I can manage without the codeine. But, I'll be fine. Really."

Nick nodded. It was such a relief just to hear her voice.

"Nick? Can you come over? I think we should talk."

He tasted blood again. Only, it wasn't a sweet taste. It was old, cold, flat... it was his own. "I can't," he gasped. "I've got to go. But, later. I'll bring your cat food."

Natalie laughed then. Her laugh was the same- a light-hearted, lightly teasing tone that soothed him more than anything could. He blinked rapidly, trying to calm his confusion.

"I want you to pick up a case of Kozy Kat cat food from Bargain Barn. It's down the corner from the accident. They close shortly, so you'd better get going. Okay?"

"Why does it matter?" he asked. The twenty-four hour gas station sold cat food.

"Sydney likes that brand best. And Bargain Barn isn't like most stores. It doesn't carry a standard inventory. It buys truckloads of damaged goods, liquidation sales, whatever, and sells things for just cents on the dollar. I always stock up there first, then buy what I need at the supermarket."

Nick consented. It was a small price to pay for his humiliation over his near attack on her last night. "I'll stop by before dawn. But if you're asleep, I won't disturb you."

"Nick. We really need to talk."

"Later, Nat. And for what it's worth. I'm very sorry." Then he hung up. He'd better get Tracy first, then the cat food, then hope he made it in to the precinct before Reese got too ticked off with him. He still hadn't figured out how to handle the captain's growing interference into his personal affairs. If Reese didn't drop it, he might force Nick to move on. Would he be able to? Before when LaCroix had tried to make him go, he'd wanted Nick to leave Natalie. Would the ancient leave Nat behind, or take her with them? Tracy would go, as would Vachon and Urs. Who else was there? Schanke was dead; his wife and daughter had moved away. Cohen was dead. Reese and Stonetree were some of the only other people he cared about, but would he grieve for them when he left? Not for long.

"Hi Nick," Tracy called as she slid into the Caddy beside him. She eyed him suspiciously while he drove down Fifth, even as she kept up a steady stream of conversation. Nick was getting annoyed. "Tracy," he said. "I'm fine. You can stop the Clara Barton routine."

"The who?"

He parked in the store's lot, then rolled his eyes at her. "Clara Barton, founder of modern nursing. Nice lady. But I'm fine."

"You mean LaCroix didn't-"

"No. He didn't. Not yet, anyway." Nick slammed the door behind him. Tracy jumped out to follow him through the store.

Bargain Barn wasn't half as awful as most stores. They didn't carry any deli items or hot, cooked foods, so the air contained no noxious odors of garlic or onions or butter. It was only loosely organized, though, and cases of tuna were right next to toilet paper. He grew more impatient as they drifted through the aisles. Finally, the Kozy Kat food appeared at the end of an aisle. Nick grabbed two cases and turned towards the checkout.

"Nick? Wait up. Isn't this the kind of food Janice Whitcomb had in her apartment," Tracy asked, holding up a tiny can of fancy dog food.

Nick glanced at it. "Yes. Looks like it."

"So why to do you think she and Nat shop at the same store? This isn't anywhere near her apartment."

Another customer coming up the aisle behind them answered for Nick. "Because this is the cheapest store in the city to buy canned goods. If you're lucky, and your pet doesn't care what brand of food you give it, then you can really save a bundle."

Nick nodded at the old woman absently. She took twenty of the tiny cans of dog food and dumped them into her cart.

"That'll keep your pet happy for a while," Tracy said, making polite conversation.

The old woman just laughed. "Oh not really. That will feed Nelson for four days, tops."

Nick picked up one of the little cans and stared at her. "Nelson? He must have quite an appetite."

She dug in her pocket and pulled out a crinkled photo of an enormous Saint Bernard. "This is my Nelson. I give him four of these and seven cups of dry kibble every day. Then he gets a fifth can at night with his medication mixed in to it."

Nick stared at Tracy with sudden insight. "That's it! Tracy! It's not a Pekinese! I'll bet the ranch it's a Golden Retriever!"

Tracy grinned. "Come on, partner. Let's get out of here!"

The old woman shook her head at the nonsense of youth.

Nick glanced at his watch. The animal shelter was probably closed, but he'd go and check anyway. If the murderer stole the dog, he wouldn't likely leave it with a vet. If the dog had run away and a stranger found it, it was still more likely to turn up at the shelter.

"But what if someone just kept it," Tracy asked.

He shrugged. "Then, we're out of luck."

The dog pound was down a gravel road with just the recycling center across the way. A tall chain-link fence surrounded it with barbed wire and no trespassing signs everywhere.

"Reese is not going to like this," Tracy said.

"He doesn't need to know," Nick pointed out. "Come on, now. You like dogs."

"Little ones."

Nick laughed then. He lifted effortlessly into the air and landed just inside the fenced enclosure. Tracy grudgingly followed.

The dogs set up serious barking. Some were eager to see a friendly face; some were fiercely protecting their little square of the world, while some were just being sociable. Nick thought how very much like mortals they were.

The dogs all had a fenced run and a small door to get inside out of the weather. Nick walked slowly down the rows and rows of dog runs, looking at the assorted mongrels. There were lots of little curly-haired dogs, and mid-sized dogs, but only a few that were of any size. And on the other side was a beautiful golden retriever. She sat regally, not jumping and yipping like the rest, with a narrow leather collar and a leash clipped to the door of her cage. Tracy was excited, but Nick tried to temper his hopes with realism. Slowly he approached the dog.

She stood when he drew near. Her tail wagged hesitantly. "Gypsy?" Nick asked. She sat and yipped once softly. "Gypsy? Is your name Gypsy?" he repeated, feeling slightly foolish for counting on a dog as a material witness.

The retriever pranced happily, making dainty woofs.

"Nick! I think we found her!" Tracy clapped her hands.

Nick forced the lock on the cage and let the retriever loose. He felt its collar and searched for an ID tag. It listed the dog as "Gypsy" and the address was Whitcomb's house. Brave Janice had confidently put her home address on the dog, expecting to move back one day, rather than the temporary address of her apartment. Only, no one lived at the Whitcomb's house right now. The place was empty, so no one had been there to take the shelter's phone calls that their dog had been found. Nick knelt before the retriever and buried his face in its soft, sleek coat. Gypsy waited patiently.

"So what now? They won't be opened until after dawn," Tracy said.

"We're taking Gypsy with us," Nick answered. Tracy held her breath. Nick was being just like before, during the R.H.Loh investigation... bull-headedly doing as he pleased, without regard for police procedure. But he'd been right then.

Nick broke the lock on the door to the shelter and went inside. It still smelled faintly doggy although the linoleum floors were shiny clean. Tracy held Gypsy's leash and watched. She had no idea what her partner was up to. Nick flipped on the computer and drummed his fingers impatiently while waiting for it to load. Then he checked into their records.

"How'd you know that they wouldn't have it locked up with passwords," Tracy asked, as he changed the records to state that Gypsy's owner had come to pick her up just before closing that night.

"Because shelters run mostly on volunteer labor. Too many people coming in and out to keep passwords private." Then, he searched quickly for the record of Gypsy's arrival. She'd been brought in during the afternoon of Janice's death, even before the murder had been reported. The name on the record was Jimmy "Jeep" MacPete, the missing youngest brother.

"Wow," Tracy said. "Coincidence?"

"Maybe. In this line, generally there isn't any such thing as coincidence."

Tracy knelt down and patted the dog affectionately. "If only you could speak," she said.

Gypsy licked her cheek. She seemed to smile as she drew back her lips and panted.

Nick turned off the computer. "Let's go, Baby."

"Fine. But you can carry the dog, just in case she gets air sick."

"So what do we do with Gypsy?" Tracy asked as they drove away. "Do you want to take her out to Father's House right away?"

Nick shook his head. "No. I think she knows something. We need to check in with Reese, and then I want to take Gypsy back to the scene of the crime."

Nick felt uneasy as he approached the precinct. He'd told Reese he would see a doctor, but he hadn't yet and his doctor wasn't up to seeing patients yet. And what would he tell her when she would see him? Maybe this stomach pain would just go away. Vampire bodies were self-healing. He didn't know what was causing the pain, but he knew that if he could just feed and keep it down, it should disappear on its own.

He lowered a side window a fraction for the dog. "I won't be long, girl," he said, patting her neck affectionately. Gypsy woofed once, then settled down on the back seat to wait. Nick locked the doors, just to be on the safe side.

They were more than a little late when they clocked in. Nick felt Reese's disapproving gaze, but the captain was busy in conversation with someone. Nick pressed a hand against his stomach and rubbed at the ache. He made a copy of the addresses they'd been given, then signaled Tracy to hurry. She tried to check her messages, but Nick was already out the door.

"Nick," Tracy called. She closed her screen. The messages might wait, but her brother would not. "You know Nick," she chided as she joined him. "If you don't start to remember your coat, people are going to notice."

Nick pulled on the short leather jacket absently. Then he passed her the list of addresses.

There was a lot of footwork involved in her job, a lot of chasing down the wrong rabbit hole, but it was interesting. Something inside her seemed to thrill at the hunt, even more so now that she was immortal. Maybe it was because she was no longer afraid. Any of these leads could pull a gun and start firing... but it didn't matter any more.

The clan of MacPete adoptees seemed to be nice, well-adjusted, honest people. They were all forthright in their answers, until Nick asked them about Jeep. It seemed that although the thirty-eight assorted siblings kept in close contact with one another, many of them even working together, no one seemed to have an address for the youngest member. It didn't fit.

Gypsy went to each of the homes with them. She seemed friendly, and most of the siblings even called her by name. Nick couldn't pin his finger on it, but he was certain the dog knew something about this case. If his gut didn't hurt so much already, he'd be tempted to taste the dog's blood in hopes of discovering what it knew, but the murder was already a month ago. Any information locked in the blood would be old and vague, and just the thought of biting through dog hair was enough to make him nearly gag.

Tracy pulled her cellphone out and dialed work to access her messages while Nick drove aimlessly through Toronto. It was getting late again by mortal standards. He wondered how many more siblings he should try to reach tonight. He could hear Tracy's messages, but he wasn't listening. One was Vachon, one an old girlfriend who was coming in to town and wanted to get together. Then Mrs. Wilton, the mother of the deceased Jason Wilton, also one of their unsolved cases, had called. She said that she thought of something that might be important, and would they please give her a call.

"Nick, maybe we should stop there next," Tracy suggested.

Nick shrugged. They weren't very far from her home. If there were no lights on inside, then he'd suggest waiting until tomorrow.

Mrs. Wilton gave them a sad smile as she opened her door for the two detectives and their dog. "It's too cold to be out on a night like this," she said distractedly. "May I get you anything?"

"No, thanks," Nick answered quickly.

"Well, I wanted to tell you that Jason's best friend didn't show up at the funeral. I thought that was strange, but then maybe he'd been sick, or just wasn't emotionally ready to handle it. So I didn't say anything. And then today the school called me and asked if I knew where he was. He hasn't been there since Jason died." Her voice broke once when she spoke, but she quickly recovered and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

"They called the boy's parents? Notified children's services?" Tracy asked.

"Oh, Jeep didn't have any parents," Mrs. Wilton answered.

Nick and Tracy both jumped at the odd nickname. It was highly unlikely that two Toronto boys would share it.

"Tell us about this Jeep," Nick said.

"Well, I don't know much, really. They didn't often come here, because of the stairs."

"Stairs?"

"Yes, Jeep is disabled. He walks with crutches and leg braces. Jason's computer is upstairs. They usually hung out at Jeep's brother's, or at the library. They were both really computer-addicted, I'm afraid. They spent too much time at it, if you ask me."

"Do you have an address or phone number for this brother?" Tracy asked.

Mrs. Wilton gave them Jimmy Assanto's number. "I am worried about him," she said. "He's really a sweet boy. I'm praying he hasn't met up with Jason's killer. You've just got to find him, detectives!"

Nick was deep in thought as they returned to the Caddy. Jeep's sister and best friend were dead, murdered, and nothing seemed to connect the cases except Jeep. A disabled mulatto teenager with computer skills was missing. It was time to question Jimmy Assanto again.

The Asian greeted them with worried eyes. "Have you found him? Jeep?"

Nick grunted. "We would have known to start looking for him two days ago if you'd told us then. So why now?"

Jimmy patted the dog absently, his hands trembling. "The temperature's dropping," he said.

Nick hadn't really noticed, but he'd been very distracted lately. "So?"

"I just know he's hiding on the streets. But he's partially paralyzed; he won't feel the cold and he could get frostbite. Please go find him- but you have to protect him. He's scared, or he wouldn't be hiding."

Tracy sat down on the couch and pulled out a notebook. "Okay, Jimmy. Tell us about Jeep. How is a disabled boy going to hide on the streets? Do you have any idea what sort of trouble he got mixed up with? We're going to need something to go on."

Jimmy told them a tale then, of a street-wise kid hustling and making cons before he was eight years old, caught in the crossfire of gang retaliation. A bullet that nearly ended his life, and left him paralyzed, saved him instead. The emergency room doctor called the MacPetes. He told them of a boy who wasn't expected to last the night, and he hated to see him die alone. The MacPete's had come to the hospital and stayed with Jeep all night, and started adoption proceedings the next morning.

"So Jeep knows the streets," Jimmy said. "But it's different now. And I'm worried for him."

Nick nodded. "We'll look, Jimmy. And if you think of anything else, do Jeep a favor. Call us."

Tracy thought maybe her partner was really losing it when he pulled up at a convenience store and loaded the truck with bags of charcoal, lighter fluid, matches, and a sack full of sandwiches.

"Nick. I don't think you're supposed to warm salami and cheese over a grill," Tracy said.

"Nope. This is bargaining power. The only thing the homeless have of value is their information. We're going to buy it."

They pulled into several dark alleys, underpasses, abandoned buildings, and at each place some one called out to Nick by name. They were distrustful of Tracy, although Gypsy drew more than a few friendly pats. Nick passed out the goods at every stop, whether they had information or not, with the stipulation that they let him know right away if they heard anything.

Tracy felt oddly humbled. She knew that poverty existed, and sometimes she put money into the can of a Salvation Army bell-ringer, but here was this 800-year-old vampire with the guilt of the world on his shoulders, doing something about it. He treated them with quiet respect. And his simple gift of charcoal on a cold night might even save a life.

She checked the temperature on the radio. It was nearing zero. She hoped they would find Jeep soon.

They didn't. When the trunk was empty, Nick drove silently towards Nat's apartment.

"Nick. It's pretty late. Don't you think she's sleeping?"

"I've got some cat food to deliver," he answered. He grunted as he lifted the two cases. Tracy was alarmed. Even a mortal should not have found the small boxes heavy. Nick set the boxes on the hood of his car, leaning against it. She jumped out and tentatively touched him, relieved when he didn't flinch from the contact.

"Nick?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he doubled over, clutching at his stomach.

"Nick? What's wrong? What do you need?"

He kneeled over a snow bank and vomited. Tracy caught the sent of cold blood on the snow. It wasn't human or bovine. It held Nick's unique scent. He struggled to his feet then, a fine sheen dotted his forehead.

"Nick? Do you need to drink something?"

"No!" he said, more forcefully than he'd intended. "No. I'll feed later. But, would you... come inside with me?"

Tracy nodded. She went with him to Natalie's apartment, to find the coroner sleeping. Nick quietly left the cases on her table and let himself back out.

"Nick. Maybe you should come see LaCroix?"

He shook his head. "No, kid. I'll be fine. Really." Then, he grabbed her and glared at her, trying to look forceful, but Tracy saw the fear behind the expression. "Don't tell LaCroix. Or Vachon. Or anyone. You hear! I'll be fine."

Tracy started to argue, but Nick was adamant. "Promise me!"

She nodded, suspecting she was going to regret it. "Okay, Nick. But you take care of yourself."

He drove her back to the Raven then and waited while she went inside. The loft would be cold and lonely tonight. Just what he needed. Secure in the knowledge that he was evil, that he had failed everyone who ever counted on him, that he had killed whatever he found beautiful and lovely, Nicholas Knight went to sleep alone, but for one mournful canine.

Nightmares plagued him. LaCroix loomed over him, sneering at his weakness, his need to seek redemption from the evil he felt he had become. Natalie stood surrounded by hundreds of glasses of protein shakes, scornful that Nick had failed to drink even one of them. Schanke, broken and bleeding in the ashes of the plane, demanding to know why Nick had never told him. Richard Lambert, fully fanged and vengeful, rising from his cursed crypt, denied the eternal salvation that had been his heritage because of Nick's interference. Urs, weeping bitter tears, unable to find love and happiness in the life she shared with him. And then he was surrounded by enforcers armed with stakes, preparing to end his existence and he was too weak to resist.

Late in the day the ringing phone woke him, rescuing him temporarily from the torment.

"Nick, it's Natalie. I just wanted to thank you for the cat food. Are you awake?" she spoke into the answering machine.

Nick lifted the phone. "Hi, Nat," he said.

"You sound awful. Talk to me, Nick," she said.

"I'm okay," he lied. "It's just work. Lots of unsolveds and I'm getting no where. How are you?"

"Better," she said. "Although my arms hurt. They're not used to this workout I'm giving them. But I haven't needed the codeine all day, and I'm thinking I'll go in tonight, at least for awhile."

"That's great," he said. Nick wondered why he didn't feel happier. Hunger clawed at him. He felt his fangs erupt and was unable to force them back.

"Well, I'll see you then." Nat waited, but he didn't speak. He didn't apologize or make any excuses, or say anything. She wished she knew what was going on. Then she heard a dial tone. Nick had hung up. Nat blinked back the urge to cry. "Jerk," she snapped, slamming the phone down. She didn't believe it, but it helped to release some tension.

Nat grabbed the crutches and made her way into the bathroom. A long hot soak would be nice, but even a shower was out of the question until further notice. Stripping down to only her goosebumps, she took a washcloth and cleaned up at the sink. Life's a bitch, she thought to herself, for not the first time.

"Let me help you."

She screamed, as she caught sight of her ancient lover. "Don't do that!"

LaCroix kissed her neck, holding her against his solid form. He reached to take the washcloth from her. With gentle motions, he washed her back, sliding the warm cloth lower to places she'd rather wash herself.

"I'm planning to go in to work tonight," she told him, trying to stop the surge of emotion he stirred so effortlessly.

"Hmm," he answered. "Keep an eye on my son for me then."

She took the cloth back. That was clean enough. "Why? What's up?"

LaCroix lifted her and flew into her room, sparing her aching shoulders the trip. Then he sat and watched in fascination as she dressed. Natalie felt her face flush. Somehow, sitting naked next to him in the hot tub was one thing, but dressing in front of him while she learned to negotiate a full cast that weighed more than expecting triplets was downright embarrassing. "Nicholas?" she asked again.

"I am unsure what the problem is, Natalie. He's been off his feed. He can't seem to keep anything down."

Nat stopped and stared at him with a strange, hopeful look. "I wonder! Is it happening? Is he regaining his mortality then?"

"No!" LaCroix sprang to his feet, the desire in his eyes quickly replaced with disgust. "This is NOT a good thing. He can't eat anything- not blood, not food. He vomits everything. And the hunger has him out of control. That is why he nearly killed you."

"But he's planning to go in to work," she said. "I talked to him."

LaCroix nodded. "I will not allow him to work among his mortal friends until I am assured that he is properly fed. You will call me if you see any sign that he is losing control?"

Natalie nodded distractedly. She'd have to take some blood samples. Maybe, despite what LaCroix wanted to believe, the vampire cells in his blood were changing somehow, weaker maybe. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. For years she had looked forward to his mortality to share a relationship with him, but that was no longer an issue. She should be happy for him, only because it was what he wanted, but she felt strangely melancholy. Part of her would grieve.

LaCroix knelt before her and lifted the white athletic shoe as if it were made of glass. She shivered deliciously at the way his fingers caressed her foot before it was encased in leather and securely laced. His hand trailed up her thigh. She wore a most unglamorous sweat suit, the left leg cut off just below the hip as nothing would fit over the bulky cast. She had considered a dress, but with the temperatures expected to fall below zero and remain there all week, she decided to be warm instead of pretty.

"You will move in with me, my dear, until you are more ambulatory?"

Although it sounded like a question, Natalie heard the unspoken command. "Why, Lucien? I can't be much fun right now. This thing hurts too much to snuggle, and even if you whammied the pain away, I don't think it would be good for the leg."

He lifted a length of her hair and let the strands slip through his fingers. "You will require assistance... I promise not to cause you discomfort." He pressed a kiss on her neck.

Natalie felt a shiver up her spine. It was so damned awkward managing alone, but she could do it. Still, she wasn't out to earn any merit badges for courage and independence. "I can't be very attractive with this hundred pound monstrosity," she said, weakening.

"On the contrary, my dear... A nightingale with wings clipped still sings as sweet."

Natalie smiled. "All right then. I'll move in, but just for now, and only if Sydney comes too."

LaCroix sneered disdainfully, making a face that made her laugh. "I will take you in to work, and you will call me when you are finished," he stated. "We will gather your things then."

She kissed him. "Thanks, Lucien. I really appreciate this."

LaCroix helped her into the morgue, enduring the scrutiny of her coworkers until he was satisfied that she would be all right for a few hours. "Call me," he said, kissing her before he left. It was time to return to the Raven and wait for his son. Tracy was ready and waiting impatiently for him as well.

"We're going to be late," she snapped.

"Tracy. How was Nicholas last night," LaCroix asked softly. He noticed the sudden beat of her heart and felt her anxiety through the link. It alarmed him more than anything she could have said.

"Um, he was pretty frustrated about some cases," she hedged.

LaCroix took her chin and tilted her face to look at him. "Tell me the truth, my daughter. You know I can take it from you."

She blinked red tears back, indecision pulling at her. "Please, master. If I tell you the truth, I will be breaking a promise Nick forced me to make, and as you said, I cannot lie to you. So please don't ask."

LaCroix kissed her then. She had told him enough. "Please wait downstairs, my dear. I wish to speak with him alone."

Tracy nodded. Her heart felt heavy as she worried for these two vampires that had come to mean so much to her.

LaCroix felt his son's approach. He sighed deeply, drawing upon reserves of patience he didn't know he'd kept, as he did not want this meeting to escalate out of control. Nicholas opened the door and entered. LaCroix remained sitting, deceptively relaxed in his favorite chair in the living room. He took in his son's appearance, the black leather jacket and dark, dangerous look, but he sensed fear behind the façade.

"Reporting as ordered, sir!" Nicholas snapped angrily.

LaCroix wouldn't be baited. He sipped from a glass of excellent vintage. He had poured one for Nicholas when he felt his approach. "Sit, Nicholas."

"I'm going to be late."

"And you will be later still if you do not comply."

Nicholas flung himself onto the couch with an injured air. LaCroix sipped again, appearing to ignore him while every sense he possessed was trained upon his contrary progeny. It didn't take long to notice the amber look of hunger in his eyes. Nicholas took the glass and sipped at it, yet he seemed to hold the blood in his mouth, hesitant to swallow. LaCroix said nothing. He wondered what stormy thoughts disturbed his overly emotional son this time. Why didn't Nicholas talk to him, tell him what was the matter? Why must he always fight for every shred of information? He longed to share blood with him again. They had not done so for many weeks, almost since the hunter's attack on him. Perhaps the boy was still unnerved by that frightening event.

Nicholas finally swallowed. He sipped from the glass several times then set it aside. LaCroix suspected he was still hungry, but at least Nicholas should have fed enough to control his nature for a few hours.

"You will see Dr. Lambert tonight," LaCroix asked with a tone that was more of a command.

Nicholas stammered incoherently until LaCroix gestured for silence. "I have decided not to punish you for your abhorrent behavior in this matter, Nicholas. You have convinced me that you were not in full control of the moment. However, the doctor is mortal and as such she will expect an apology from you. Now you will see her and you will make such speech as to appease her."

Nicholas nodded numbly. "Yes, LaCroix. You are right," he whispered.

The ancient wasn't sure he had heard right. He had never thought to hear those words uttered from this one. He felt a new closeness to his favorite. Could he hope that their years of tension and estrangement might be coming to an end?

"I've been thinking about going undercover," Nicholas said then. "We haven't found anything that can help us solve Joseph Schloss's disappearance. I was thinking that Tracy and I might dress Amish and ask around."

"No," LaCroix said softly, his tone final.

Nicholas did not seem to have heard. "It will only be for a night or two. I'm hoping to find out from whom he was buying land, whom he saw, who might have seen him."

"No, Nicholas. Absolutely not. I will not permit it."

Then Nicholas glared at him angrily. "LaCroix, this is my job. This is what I do. You have no jurisdiction to interfere with police matters!"

LaCroix felt the ice-cold finger of anger grip him hard, yet still he kept his voice quiet. "I have every right, my son. The Amish are an agrarian society. They are farmers and as such, they work in the day. You cannot possibly pass as Amish. Since your captain is aware of your "sun allergy", he would be foolish to give his permission for this imprudent adventure. You will not put Tracy in this danger!"

Nicholas's eyes were glowing amber with flecks of red. LaCroix would have found the sight erotic in any other circumstance, but at the moment it only further alerted him to his son's weakened condition. Nicholas rarely lost control of himself in front of LaCroix, and never that quickly.

"May I go now, sir," he demanded sarcastically.

LaCroix gave his assent. "Heed me, my son." His only answer was a slamming door.

Nick flew into the men's room of the bar and heaved. It was going to be a long night.

"Oh man," a mortal said behind him. "That's one nasty ulcer. You better have that checked."

Nick flushed the red fluid stains from the urinal. He smiled wanly at the stranger. "Yes. You're right. I'm going to see her tonight."

"Oh, a lady doctor. I got to get me one of those," the man said. They shared a laugh as they exited the small room.

Tracy smiled. It was good to see Nick smile and laugh. Maybe he and LaCroix had had a nice conversation after all. She patted Gypsy as she got inside the Caddy. "Did you and Nick have a good time together?" she asked. The dog made of sad whine. "Well, don't you worry," Tracy told her. "We'll have some fun now."

"Tracy," Nick said, trying to sound casual. "I think we should split up for a bit tonight."

"Why?" she asked, concern shading her voice.

Nick gave an indifferent shrug. "I need to talk to Natalie, and I'd like to be alone when I do. I know LaCroix still wants you chaperoned. So I thought maybe you and Vachon could check with the homeless tonight. You can take Gypsy with you."

Tracy smiled. "Okay, partner. Works for me."

Nick dropped her off in front of the abandoned church where Vachon lived. "Have him bring you back to the precinct when you're through, and he can hang around until I return. Okay?"

He watched protectively as she went inside. Reaching out, he sensed another vampire's presence. Sure that she was safe, he pulled away. There was a lot to do, and so little time. First, the apology.

Nat looked up with concern when he came in to the morgue. "Where's Tracy?"

"With Vachon," Nick answered. He watched Nat work for a few moments. Her cast looked so large and heavy. Nick hurt for her. "Natalie," he said softly. He'd better do this soon before he lost his nerve. Already his stomach was churning and he tasted blood. "I want to apologize. I was out of line three nights ago. I scared you. And I'm very sorry."

Natalie smiled at him. Concern still clouded her face, but not anger. Nick wondered how she could so quickly forgive him. "Apology accepted, Nick," she said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I've made you something." She pulled a fresh protein shake from her cooler. It was pink and frothy and it smelled dreadful. Nick tried to conceal the shudder of disgust and pretend interest.

"Ah, thanks Nat. You really shouldn't have bothered. I know how difficult it must be for you now."

"I get around. Now drink up, while it's still fresh."

LaCroix had forbidden this. Truly, Nick didn't want to taste it either, but he'd hurt Natalie enough. He put the glass to his lips. If he didn't inhale, he wouldn't have to smell it. The chalky substance felt like poison. It burned his throat and injured stomach as it slid down. He saw the look of disappointment in her eyes when he set the glass aside. "I'll finish it, Nat," he promised. "Just give me a minute."

"I want to take some blood samples," she said. "I haven't checked you in several months, and I want to see if there's been any change."

Nick lay down on an empty slab obediently. He pulled up his sleeve and waited while she swabbed his arm with antiseptic, an unnecessary step for the vampire, but she always treated him with the same concern she'd show a living patient. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

She drew several large vials before releasing him. "Thanks, Nick," she said.

"I've got to go," he said. He really wanted to do something for her. Taking the drink, he opened his mouth and chugged the entire contents. Keeping his mouth firmly closed to fight against the gag reflex, he smiled at her and left quickly. In the men's room down the hall he vomited the shake back into the john.

Tracy was settled, and he had fulfilled LaCroix's demand to apologize. He had known that he should, but had been putting it off. In a way, he was grateful that the ancient had forced him to get it over with. It was something of a relief. Now he had to hurry if he still wanted to go under cover and ask some questions and be back at the precinct before dawn. LaCroix need never know. Besides, the ancient had forbidden him and Tracy to do this. Tracy wasn't going to.

Nick dressed in dark pants with suspenders, white shirt, and a thin dark coat. He couldn't do anything about growing a beard. Actually, LaCroix had helped by denying Tracy the option of coming, as among the Amish married men sported full beards. Clean-shaven, Nick would still be single. He found a suitable hat, then, leaving the Caddy at the precinct, he flew to the park where he'd first seen Rachael Schloss and her children. Since Joseph Schloss had been on foot and expected to be back shortly, Nick would concentrate in that area and work outwards.

There were a lot of small specialty shops that were only open days. A few businesses were still running and of course, he could try all the bars. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on being Amish. He had been to Germany during the period now labeled the Reformation, when the Mennonite church had been founded. He could speak the language, an antiquated German dialect. His manners must be more European, more tightly controlled. He should appear awkward and uncomfortable among the Canadian "Englishers". Although he knew that Amish ordnungs varied, the one from which Joseph hailed seemed to be very strict. When he felt prepared, Nick entered the first door. Circulating among the bar's patrons, he asked over and over, "Please, have you seen my brother, Joseph? Joseph Schloss?"

Some patrons laughed at him and ignored his question. Some stared, pointing at him. Some reacted as though he carried a disease, shrinking away from him. Finally the bouncer forced him to leave. Nick went into the next opened business and then the next. He suspected he was getting no where, but hopefully, some one would tell some one that someone was looking for Joseph. He hoped if he shook enough trees, a few nuts would fall.

He felt like he'd been walking for hours. Hunger was making him weak. He would ask only a few more, then he'd better go. Would he even have the strength to fly back now? Maybe he'd have to take the bus. Nick shuddered at the thought.

A young man called out to him. "Hey, freak!"

Nick stopped at the ugly slur. He wondered how an Amish man would respond, but knew it would be different from his desire to drain the cruel man a few quarts. "Please, melaasich gsicht," (molasses face) he said, struggling to keep his voice controlled. "I do not want trouble. I am just looking for my brother."

"There was another "Haamish" boy here a few weeks ago. If you want information, go to the footbridge over the Humber River and wait. Someone will come to take care of you."

Nick was ready to nod his agreement when he realized that would be a mistake. "Entschuldigung, faulenzer (Please, lazybones), where? What is this place?"

The other snorted. "Why did you ever leave the farm, boy? See this road right here? Follow it that way to High Park. You can't miss it."

Nick thanked him before the young man disappeared. He could follow him, but Nick knew the man had only been a messenger. It wasn't likely that he was involved in the murder or abduction, and he might not know anything useful. It would be best to keep the appointment, even knowing that it was probably a ruse intended only to get rid him. He would have to be careful.

He flew southwest through the city to the small bridge, then sat and waited. They wouldn't expect him to arrive so quickly. He was so tired. He hoped they didn't take long. Traffic was light this time of night. There were few cars in sight, and no pedestrians at all. He shook his head, struggling to stay alert. If only he could take a short nap... maybe the hunger would let him sleep better tonight.

Nick saw a car park and a man get out. He walked with his hands in his pockets. He could have a gun, Nick knew, or he could just have cold hands. It was below zero tonight.

The man came closer. Nick had never seen him before, not even paging through the rap sheets of known offenders. He looked to be about fifty, with hazel eyes and a fleshy face. A cigar hung from his lips. It was unlit, but it waggled when the man spoke.

"Hear you've misplaced your brother," he said to Nick. "Terribly careless of you, really."

"Joseph came to town to buy land," Nick said, keeping his accent fairly thick. "He never returned. Do you know anything about him? Can you help me find my brother?"

"Oh, I can help you," the man drawled. Nick felt a flutter in his stomach. He hoped he wouldn't lose it now. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the man.

"Seems he didn't like the land I sold him. He got real mean. Wanted his money back. Now, I wouldn't stay in business long if I did that. So I told him to go home. Only, he didn't take my advice. Or he took it too literally, 'cause he sent himself to his eternal home."

Nick had a foul taste in his mouth. Could the man be telling the truth? Could Jacob Schloss have killed himself? He didn't know the man at all, except from what Rachael had said. It was possible, but how would Rachael accept that news?

"What was wrong with the land you sold him?" he asked. "Where is he now?"

The man laughed. "I'll show you."

Then something struck the back of Nick's head and pain exploded through him. He went to his knees. Cold sticky blood dripped down his neck. His strength fled. He was going to lose consciousness. Now, he'd failed Rachael too. Tracy would worry about him, Nat would worry, and LaCroix would be furious. He had failed them all again. He couldn't stop the retching this time. Soon he lay in a pool of his own vomit.

"Get him out of here," the man said.

Nick felt his arms being tied behind him. It was just rope. When he'd regained his strength he could break it easily. Then they tied his ankles. The rough ropes were tied too tightly, chafing his sensitive skin. Then the mortals lifted him and swung him out over the railing of the bridge. Nick felt a moment of panic. Not the lake! Not tonight! Although he was immune to hypothermia, he did not look forward to the cold dunking. Then the hands released him. He fell too quickly. The ropes that bound him were also tied to cement blocks, and they were pulling him down. "I'm sorry, father," he thought. He hit the cold water, where the river joined Lake Ontario. It was the last thing he felt, as the water and the injury sucked his strength away.

LaCroix dropped the CD he'd been holding. It fell to the floor and rolled a few feet before clattering and coming to rest. Damn him, LaCroix thought. Nicholas was in pain again. That boy was exhausting! He would have to find another line of work. LaCroix had been trying to stay tuned to him all night, in case his control should fail him, and so the pain he felt was quite severe. He put his hand to the back of his head and it came away sticky with blood.

He roared in rage. Some one had been able to take Nicholas by surprise and strike him from behind? Something was terribly wrong. He would get to the bottom of this immediately.

LaCroix clutched his stomach as he sensed his son's distress. He heard the whispered apology across the distance that separated them. And then, nothing. All feelings from his son stopped. That meant Nicholas was either dead or sleeping without dreams. He hoped the later, prayed for the later. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to rouse his son. He tried pleasant memories, erotic ones, angry ones, but he felt nothing. Trying a different tack, he reached for Tracy. She was totally unaware of trouble. Damn him! Nicholas must have gone off alone. Not quite thinking rationally where his son was concerned, he flew towards the precinct to confront the mortal captain.

Tracy entered the church. It seemed different now. Before, she had been afraid of the dirt, the dark loneliness of the abandoned building. Now the haunting presence of its former spiritualism caused a different sort of fear. There were places in the church she knew she did not want to go.

She sensed a vampire presence, but knew before she opened the door to the apartment that it was not Vachon. Urs looked up and smiled sweetly, a pile of mending on her lap. "What are you doing?" Tracy asked.

"Mending," she answered briefly, stating the obvious.

Tracy came in and sat near her. It was one of Nick's jackets, a short black leather bomber-style identical to the one he'd been wearing tonight, except for the bullet holes that went in the front and out the back. Urs was meticulously patching the holes with leather scraps she'd cut from yet another leather jacket, its damage from a machine gun being to severe to repair. There were three more jackets on the floor, already mended. Tracy held one up and admired the work. The patches were perfect, blending into the jacket almost as though part of the original design.

"Some how I can't see Nick wearing this, no matter how well you've fixed it," Tracy said bluntly.

Urs blinked back tears.

"I'm sorry, Urs," Tracy said, once again kicking herself for her loose tongue. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Its okay," Urs said, sniffing slightly. "It is part of what we were fighting about."

Tracy helped herself to the refrigerator and returned with two glasses. "Want to talk about it?"

When Urs hesitated, Tracy encouraged her further. "He's my brother now, Urs, and my partner. And I know what he's like. He's passionate and loving and mulish and stubborn and wonderfully old-fashioned, and sometimes you just want to throttle him."

Urs laughed even as a new tear slid silently down her pale cheek. "He hates for me to do anything," she confessed. "Like work is beneath my station now, as his lover. But I can't stand feeling like a kept woman. I have to be busy. I have to do something."

Tracy nodded. She understood Urs perfectly. If LaCroix had not allowed her to return to work, she would have gone crazy by now.

"I cleaned the refrigerator, and he got mad at me, like I was taking food away from his housekeeper or something. Then, I did his laundry, and he yelled. When I asked if I could patch his clothes, he started to throw stuff.

"He doesn't want to wear garments with bullet holes in them, and I understand that. It would cause suspicion among the mortals with whom he works. But it is such a waste that he just throws his old clothing away. I wanted to mend them, and give them away to someone who needs them."

Tracy nodded. "Do you want me to speak to him for you?"

"No," Urs said hesitantly. "In fact, I don't think you should tell him we talked. He feels so guilty about everything. I left, not because he hurt my feelings, but because I didn't want to keep hurting his. I wish I could just wave a magic wand and make him happy."

"Urs, he loves you. Leaving him isn't going to help. And, I really think he needs you right now. Honest."

Urs finished the patch and broke the thread. "Maybe. But he knows where I am."

"And he will never come and ask you to come back. Because he's sitting there, lonely and miserable, and thinking that he's doing you a favor by letting you go. Come on, Urs. You know I'm right."

She hesitated. "Maybe."

"He dropped me off, expecting Vachon to "baby-sit"," Tracy said, her sarcasm thick. She objected to her overprotective men, but Urs was almost envious of her. No one had ever really cared whether she lived or died, not like that.

"I don't know where he is right now," Urs said.

"Right. So, will you hang out with me tonight? I don't want to get Nick into trouble with LaCroix. And, as it happens, Nick wants me to go check in with the homeless that we visited last night. You can come along, and we'll trade Nick's coats for information."

Urs smiled then. She transformed into something so sweet and precious, like a trillium in the spring, a rare wildflower that needed protection from the elements. Tracy wondered at the protectiveness she felt towards this vampire that was at least a hundred years older than she was. It was more like the blind leading the blind, she thought, as they prepared to enter into the dark, dangerous places of the city where a mortal woman with any sense would fear to go.

LaCroix stormed through the brightly lit bullpen and forced Captain Reese's door open. It slammed into the back wall with enough force to rattle the framed documents hanging there. "Where is he!"

Reese stilled the panic inside and remained deceptively calm. He pushed his chair away from the desk, folding his hands on the expanse of his stomach to still them from trembling. "Where is who?" he asked. He was proud of the way his voice sounded, deep and controlled. He could not let this man know the fear he instilled.

"My son! He is in danger. Where did you send him!"

Reese's brow puckered. Something more was going on here, and he hadn't a clue. "What makes you think he is in danger? Other than the fact he has a dangerous job. Why is tonight any different?"

LaCroix had no time for this. He placed his hands on the captain's desk and glared at him. "Where is he!"

"He and Tracy should be out checking leads on a case. Same as last night and the night before." Reese didn't know why he was telling this man anything. LaCroix was the manipulative, controlling sort and didn't need any encouragement.

"He is not with Tracy. They separated. He told me he wanted to go undercover tonight to find Joseph Schloss's killer. I forbade him to go. Did you give him permission!"

Reese stared, unable to answer at first. For just an instant, the father's angry face seemed to contort into some kind of beast. Reese blinked. He must be letting his imagination run wild. He disliked this man, but he didn't believe that he actually saw what he thought he saw. Not for more than a second, anyway.

"Amish? I did not even give Nick permission to pursue this case. Until a body shows up, it isn't even a homicide. We have standard procedures, and if he went undercover, then he has violated them." Reese was getting angry himself. He didn't know how this father had sensed his son might be in danger, but Reese didn't like the sick feeling he was experiencing now, either. Without another word to the father, Reese tried to contact Nick's Caddy. "81 Kilo, respond. 81 Kilo, respond, please."

Nothing. Both Nick and Tracy were away from their vehicle. He tried their cell phones next, but still did not reach them. It would have alarmed him greatly if it had been any other duo, but this pair was notorious for disappearing.

"Tracy doesn't respond, either," Reese started.

"Tracy is fine," LaCroix spat. "It is my son you should concern yourself with!"

Reese rose from his chair and got into LaCroix's face. "If something is wrong with Nick, how do I know you aren't the cause? You could have hurt him yourself, and then came running in here claiming to be concerned."

"You are wasting my time," the vampire snarled. "I will go search for him myself."

"Wait," Reese said, surprising himself. This man was dangerous. In his present mood, Reese couldn't stand the thought of unleashing him on the unsuspecting of Toronto. He should keep LaCroix close, keep an eye on him. "I don't even know yet that Nick is missing. You could be wasting my time. But let us assume that you are correct. Where will you start? Perhaps we should work together."

LaCroix narrowed his eyes at the mortal captain. Reese was afraid of him, he knew by the man's elevated blood pressure and the faint perspiration that dotted his forehead every time they met. But Reese was controlling his own fear and trying to do his job as he saw it. LaCroix nodded almost imperceptibly.

"So you think Nick was going under cover as Amish. My guess is that he would start near the park where Schloss had told his wife to wait. Come with me, we'll take my car."

Out in the parking lot, Reese couldn't hide the look of shock when he saw Nick's Caddy parked there. "He never goes anywhere without it," Reese stammered.

"Amish men would not drive themselves anywhere," LaCroix said.

Reese felt the fear tighten into knots. Maybe LaCroix was right? He got into his car and waited pointedly for his intimidating guest to buckle his seat belt. LaCroix sighed before complying. Then he shifted into gear and left.

Reese wondered at this errand... he had only LaCroix's conviction Nick was in danger, and the Caddy that had been left behind. He half expected to find Nick, blow his cover, and chew him out for disobeying procedure. Somehow, having his father along when he found him seemed all wrong. Would this only create more tension between them?

At the first place they stopped in, LaCroix pulled out a photograph of Nick. Reese glanced at it, a bit surprised that the father would have been so prepared. It was a black and white photo, faded with age, and Nick was dressed in period clothing from a few decades past. His expression was somber. They must have had it taken at one of those gag-photography booths now so popular at amusement parks.

Several patrons recognized him. Nick had been there earlier. They progressed down the street, finding others who recognized him, which Reese found encouraging. LaCroix looked distant. He placed a hand against the brick wall of a building to steady himself, looking suddenly very, very old.

"Nicholas is no longer in this area," he stated with conviction.

Reese could have argued. He should have insisted they continue working the street hoping to find some inkling of where he'd gone, but something told him that LaCroix was right. There was nothing else to learn here. He sat behind the wheel of his car and wondered where to go.

LaCroix indicated a direction with his hand. "That way. We will question Tracy, but I am certain she knows nothing of this."

Following LaCroix's almost psychic directions, he led them to a dark alley where Tracy's car was parked. Reese got out hesitantly, searching the shadows. This was not a safe place to bring anyone, and no matter what his personal feelings for the abusive parent in his car, he had no wish to see him come to harm.

"Perhaps you should wait here," Reese said.

LaCroix ignored him and got out of the car with as much poise as though he were entering a theater. He took the lead then, and Reese had to hurry to keep up. They hadn't gone far before a big golden retriever barred their advance, growling fiercely. Moments later a woman emerged from the shadows.

"Captain? LaCroix?" Tracy asked hesitantly. "Gypsy, down girl. They're friends."

The dog obeyed, but remained tense and protective.

"My dear," LaCroix said, his voice soft and comforting. Reese marveled at the man as his anger and concern was carefully concealed. "Do you know where Nicholas is?"

"Um, yeah," she said nervously. "He wanted to talk to Natalie, and then he said he'd meet up with me at the precinct. Why?"

"And would you mind telling me, Detective Vetter," Reese interrupted, "what you are doing here, in this neighborhood, without your partner? You don't even have your phone turned on." Reese's voice was firm, with none of the patience LaCroix had shown.

Tracy shrugged sheepishly. "I found the missing brother," she said, gesturing towards the building. "He needs medical attention, and I think he should be under protective custody. He's related to both the Wilton and Whitcomb cases, and I don't want him to be next."

Reese pulled a phone from his pocket and called for the ambulance. Then he followed Tracy back into the shadows.

Nick's girlfriend Urs was there. So she and Tracy were together? Reese did not like this at all. A female detective and a civilian alone out here? Tracy and Nick were going to get an earful when he got them together.

The boy looked to be in his teens. The whites of his eyes were huge, showing his fear although he tried to sound tough. The three vampires could clearly see the discoloration in his skin, the beginnings of frostbite, but the police captain could see very little in the dark. He pulled out a small pocket flashlight and tried to shine it on the boy.

"Mind telling me how Jason Wilton and Janice Whitcomb are related to you," he asked.

The boy trembled. "I didn't do nothing! Honest!"

Reese patted the boy's legs, meaning the gesture to be comforting. Instead his hand landed on the cold metal of his braces. Damn. The streets were no place for anyone, least of all a disabled kid.

"It's our boss, I'm sure," the boy continued. "I don't even have a name. We never met, only online. He hired Jason and me to do some work for him, and he mailed us money. But I suspected he was doing something illegal. He had this piece of land that he sold, over and over, and he kept asking me to change the ad. The last time, he said to put down that it was an Amish farm, right in the middle of an Amish community. I said I didn't want to do it, unless he told us where this place was, so we could see for ourselves. He got ugly. Threatened us. I ran to my sister for advice. When I left to talk to Jason, he was dead. When I went back to Janice, she was dead too! I've been hiding ever since. I don't know what to do. I don't want to die!"

Tears streamed down his face, making him look much younger. Urs comforted him with her quiet, motherly ways. They could hear the ambulance then as it pulled into the alley. Reese scowled at Tracy. "Return to the precinct, and do not go anywhere until I return." Then he went into the ambulance with the boy.

Tracy looked at her master. "What's up? What's wrong?"

"Nicholas," LaCroix sighed, sounding his age. "I believe he has found your killer."

LaCroix returned to the precinct with Tracy, but he did not remain. The bright lights, the noise, and the press of mortal heartbeats were pure torture. He needed dark and quiet to concentrate. "I will wait for you at the Raven. Call either Vachon or me when you are finished here," he informed her.

"LaCroix?" She touched his sleeve tentatively. "Is Nick going to be okay?"

He closed his eyes. He wanted to believe that, and yet, he still felt nothing from him. It wasn't that unusual. When the vampire Flavius had abducted him, he had taken him through a river to hide their presence, and a priest had shielded Nick from the bond that he shared with LaCroix. But this felt different. He didn't think a priest was with him now. He could sense him, vaguely. He knew Nicholas was in pain. His head was hurting, as was his stomach, and he was thoroughly chilled. But he could not sense a direction. It was almost a ghost of his son, rather than a vampiric presence. It concerned him deeply.

"I hope so, Tracy," he breathed. Next he contacted two younger vampires and commanded that they protect the teenager Jeep and capture alive any mortal that tried to harm him. It was a long shot, but he would try anything to find his son.

LaCroix stopped in the morgue to bring Nat home. She knew immediately that something was wrong.

"Nicholas," he answered, as though that explained everything.

"Well, you were right about the stomach ailment, anyway," she said. "I took a blood sample earlier, and the vampire element is stronger than ever before. Whatever is causing this, it isn't onset of mortality."

When LaCroix didn't give her a smug look, she became more concerned.

"My son is missing. Again." He faced her then and tried to give her an encouraging smile. "Let us get you home, my dear. You must be exhausted."

"Missing?" she asked, as he flew her into her apartment. That was such an exciting way to travel, and a definite bonus in the "shall I" debate of her impending immortality. "What happened?"

He sat distractedly on her couch while she tossed items in a bag. "I am unsure," he sighed. "We had angry words before he left for work."

Nat had thought Nick looked strange during his visit. His apology had almost seemed like a farewell. Had he finally had enough? Maybe he was running away, moving on, to start a new life and a new identity. She needed LaCroix to talk to her, tell her what was going on, but the ancient vampire seemed only very tired. Maybe after they were settled, she could get him to open up before drifting off to sleep.

She went into the bathroom and packed a smaller bag of toiletries, then started to look around. Sydney was hiding. She wanted to hurry, as LaCroix was not the sort of vampire to keep waiting, but just like kitty nature, her pet was nowhere. She glanced at LaCroix. His head was tilted back against the couch and his eyes were closed. He had fallen asleep.

She came around to look at her vampire lover, so sweet in his slumber, and gasped. Sydney lay curled up on his lap. The amber eyes of the cat glanced at her lazily, as though staking a right to his territory. "Traitor," she whispered lightly. She returned to packing, adding cans of kitty food, the kitty box and bed, kitty dishes, and realized that Sydney had almost as much stuff as she did. Then she nudged her immortal lover back to wakefulness with a caress to his neck.

LaCroix sleepily dialed a number to summon his limo. This was more cargo than he felt like carrying. He returned to his slumber until the driver rapped at her door, then he carried Natalie into the limo, leaving everything else for the driver to get, including the hissing, snarling feline trapped in his carrier.

LaCroix brought her things into his bedroom. Natalie watched with uncertainty. She really did not feel up to intimacy and thought she had explained that to him earlier. "Where does the cat sleep," he inquired.

"Anywhere he wants," she answered lightly. At LaCroix's disdainful glance, she continued. "Cats sleep off and on all day. Thus the expression "cat nap". Sometimes he sleeps with me, sometimes on the sofa... and he really loves to sleep in a patch of sunlight."

LaCroix shuddered, but he took the cat bed into Janette's bedroom and set it on the carpet near the window. Then he opened the blinds. "If it will encourage him to sleep away from me, it will be worth it," he muttered.

Natalie smiled to herself. A lot of men pretended not to like cats, but she had met precious few for whom the feelings were genuine. She suspected that LaCroix and Sydney were going to get along, if not fabulously, at least moderately okay.

Before long she lay in bed with him, snuggled against the firm, cold chest. Her eyes were heavy. Then LaCroix told her everything, from the first moment Nick entered his apartment earlier that night when LaCroix had forbidden him to masquerade as Amish, until the moment LaCroix knew he'd been injured. He glossed over the visit with Reese, only to highlight that the police were now looking for Nick as well.

"Are you certain he is still in Toronto?"

LaCroix grunted. He wasn't certain of a thing. Only that the thread that connected him to his son seemed more tenuous than it had ever been since he had brought the boy across.

"Could he be running? Moving on?" Natalie whispered.

"No! That is not the case," he said firmly, a little louder than he had intended.

Natalie waited a few moments, until the echo of his angry outburst had faded. "It's just that Nick's seemed so stressed out lately. I don't know what he's thinking, but he seems like an over-stretched rubber band- one more yank and he'll break."

LaCroix sighed sadly. "I too have noticed he is more despondent than normal. However, I am certain that tonight he defied my wishes and went undercover. We found a number of witnesses to that effect. He was injured from behind, which could not have happened to a healthy vampire, and then suddenly our bond faded. He is here in Toronto, but I have no explanation for the faintness of our link."

"But he's okay," she insisted. "Isn't he?"

LaCroix hesitated, before he finally nodded. "Yes. I believe so. I think this killer has no idea of Nicholas's special nature. I sense he is hurting, but nothing more. I am only sorry that he must always suffer."

Natalie brushed the tear that escaped the ancient's control. "You need to tell him, Lucien. You must tell him how much you love him."

"If he doesn't know by now through the blood kiss, then why waste my breath?" LaCroix almost sounded like his proud, arrogant self again.

"Because he deserves to hear you say it. We may show our love through hundreds of little actions every day, the small things we do- like the way you brought me here, and my cat, and how you're trying to make me feel more comfortable and still make me feel special even though I'm suddenly a hundred pounds heavier. But, we still need to speak the words."

"Natalie," LaCroix whispered, his words sounding slurred with exhaustion. "I love you."

Vachon showed up at the precinct a little before dawn. He looked confused at his daughter sitting in a chair near his lover's desk. It always made him nervous when they hung out together, worrying about the subject and content of their discussion. They looked at him with expressions of concern.

"What?" he asked, wondering if he'd managed to screw up again.

"It's Nick," Tracy explained.

Vachon was relieved. He wouldn't be sleeping alone again, and Nick was always in some sort of trouble.

"And LaCroix's gone, too. He left with Natalie. Will you take me home?"

Vachon grinned seductively. "It'd be my honor," he said.

Tracy slugged him playfully. "You are so bad. My brother is missing, maybe hurt, and you can still think about that?"

Vachon shrugged, guilty as charged. "It will be dawn soon- you can do nothing more tonight. You'll help him best by getting a good rest and being clear headed tomorrow." He put one arm around Urs and the other around Tracy. Whispering too low for the mortals, he continued. "I think we'll all rest better if we do it together, don't you, Urs?"

Tracy clapped a hand over her mouth to cover the embarrassed squeak. She looked subconsciously at Urs. They had never shared blood before. But somehow, it did not seem wrong. She knew it would bring them closer, at least for a time, and she would understand the pensive look that was so much a part of Urs. Breaking free from Vachon's embrace, she flicked off her computer and grabbed her coat. "Lead on," she said.

Nick blinked, his eyes stinging at the harbor water. Slowly he returned to consciousness, although he still felt so tired. His arms and legs were like dead weights, too heavy to move. His clothing was wet as well. The water was incredibly cold. Normally, he was unaffected by temperature, but this was definitely unpleasant. The heavy wet clothing chaffed at his sensitive skin.

Water was in his nose and mouth. Yes, he realized, it was even in his lungs. He was no longer able to breathe. He had drowned. Ice water filled his stomach, burning the tender, injured tissue. If only he could retch, he might drive the pain away, but he had no strength left to move.

The water looked different. It was no longer black and fathomless, but faintly green. He could see small fish, clusters of algae, and sand particles suspended in the arctic liquid. As he watched, the green lightened as well. It warmed slightly. A ray of sunlight pierced the water.

Nick tried to scream. Sheer panic gripped him. The sun was his worst nightmare, more deadly than stakes, more powerful than vampire hunters... only fire was as terrifying, and what was fire but a piece of sun, burning, roiling, destroying all in its path? Although he'd managed to escape near death from the vampire hunters, this time he could see no exit. He could not move, and the sun was coming nearer. He did not want to die! LaCroix, he screamed without making a sound. Help me!

Still the sun drew nearer. It was full day. The ancient vampire would be powerless to do anything until nightfall, and by then it would be too late. Nick felt a strange calm steal over him. It was truly finished now. No more running. No more guilt. He was surely damned, and would now be sentenced to Hell, where he belonged, where he would pay for his sins, but he would be unable to harm the innocent again. "I am sorry," he thought, offering the simple parting to the living and undead, all those whom he had failed. It was brief but sincere.

Then the sun's ray touched him. He looked up through the deep, murky water of Lake Ontario and saw it, bright and round. He had not looked upon it for nearly 800 years. It looked different, distorted as it was by the water's motion, but still it was beautiful. He knew he should close his eyes against the bright light, but since he was dying, it really didn't matter. He had wanted to see it for so very long. And so he stared.

The water started to glow as well. It warmed slightly while the sun filled it, and Nick was not quite as uncomfortable. Little schools of fish darted into the sunlight. He watched them as they snapped at small pieces of algae. Something startled them and then school was out as the fish split into smaller groups and fled in all directions. A larger fish darted into Nick's view. He was just quick enough to catch two little minnows in his mouth. It was nature's song, the eternal cycle, to either live or die, a cycle mocked by the vampire. Oh, mortals could still dance as they were meant to, living and dying, but the vampire was no longer a part of it. He merely existed. Forced to dwell among the shadows, to drain the essence from the living and hurry them along their ultimate journey toward death, still the vampire himself was an outcast.

Nick wondered about vampire death. It was a rare thing, and not one he had much experience with. He had thought Francesca dead, only to find her nature reincarnated in Frank's body. Nick had been forced to kill her again. Was she dead now? Would he meet her in hell? Or had she somehow escaped the grim reaper again, and was even now laughing at him as he lay powerless in his watery sunlit grave?

LaCroix had beheaded his master, his mortal daughter, Divia, and sealed her inside an Egyptian tomb. Many centuries later she had escaped, her head returned to her shoulders and her savage, cruel nature still intact, to reek vengeance and havoc on all who knew LaCroix. Nick had killed her again. Together, he and LaCroix burned her body and scattered the ashes. Was she truly gone now?

Nick wondered if he would be damned for killing the vampires as much as for killing mortals. The commandment said not to kill. Thou shalt not kill. It was brief and immediate. It did not give allowances for any exceptions: except in self-defense, except to eat, except if the other deserved to die, except vampires. If the words were to be taken at face value, then capital punishment was a sin. Consuming meat or even the blood of animals a sin. War was a sin. And Nick was even more the sinner.

The sun was starting to fade. Please don't go, Nick begged with only his thoughts, for he controlled nothing else. Now he saw several suns, three, then four, big orange balls of fire. Little spots of fire broke off into swirls of color at the edges of his vision. He felt such peace. It was like a last request, to finally be able to see what his heart had so desired, before going to his reward in hell. Somehow, the eternal punishment would be less severe now. He would cherish this memory for eternity.

Fleeting images of children danced before him, between him and the suns, in his watery crypt. He saw a little girl all dressed in white, her golden tresses, the same shade as his, draped around her like a cape of silk. He looked at her with a child's eyes. For a moment he knew her. Fleur. He was a child, and together they played in a courtyard in the full light of day. He heard laughter. Her laughter. It was musical and sweet. Nicky, she called him. I love you, Nicky. And I love you, Fleur. I will protect you always. The image passed. He could not remember who Fleur was.

He felt unconsciousness creep upon him. Nick fought against it. He didn't want to miss a moment of this rare gift. He would remain awake as long as he could see. His sodden clothing had chaffed raw wounds and yet he barely noticed. It wasn't until the sun itself began to fade, that Nick could no longer fight. Blackness took over. Slowly, the water cooled again. His father might be up soon. LaCroix would be angry when he learned that Nick had defied him. Then he would be worried. Nick knew he would never find him, never learn what had become of his prodigal child, for when his existence finally fled from his undead body, it would become but a pile of ash, scattered by the water. He felt sad for LaCroix. Although there were times he almost hated him, Nick knew that the ancient vampire had been constant. LaCroix had always tried to protect him, and in his own way, Nick knew that he loved him.

There was something he should have told him! Nick couldn't remember though. Something he'd meant to say for a year now.... It was just there, standing just beyond the limit of his understanding, but Nick only knew that it was very important. He had to tell LaCroix before he died. Tell him what? And, if he could remember, tell him how? He was trapped, dying. But if he didn't tell him soon, he would never have another chance. Nick tried to fight, tried to remember. The pain was worse now. Nick grasped on to the pain and welcomed it. As long as he hurt, he knew he was not yet dead. Focusing, he felt each wound rubbed raw by his clothing, burning in the ice water. He felt the throb in his skull, his old blood slowly flowing from it still. He felt the dull agony of his stomach and the burning in his eyes. It was intense. Remember, he chanted to himself. Feel and remember.

LaCroix had slept fitfully all day. Natalie winced as he shifted, occasionally bumping against her splint. He awoke in a blood sweat, his eyes wide and fearful, and yet he could not remember his dream. Nat knew he dreamed only of Nick. As soon as darkness drew near, he prepared to leave.

"But how will you know where to look," she asked.

"I will look everywhere," he answered, his voice heavy with dread.

"Make sure you keep your phone on, then, so Tracy or I can call you if we hear anything."

He nodded and placed a hasty kiss on her forehead. Natalie swallowed past the lump in her throat as he flew out through the skylight. She wasn't sure for whom was she more concerned- the errant son, who may be injured and dying, or the grief-stricken parent who would never recover

if anything were to happen to him.

She struggled with her toilette then and spent a few minutes playing with Sydney. She might as well have stayed at her apartment. Nick had better be okay, she thought angrily. She was going to have to sit him down and give him a good talking to. There was no keeping up with him, with the constant worry.

She'd need a ride in to work tonight. Tracy was not in her room; she must not have come home at all last night. Natalie found the phone and tried Vachon's church. His sleepy voice squawked into her ear. "Yeah?"

"Is Tracy there?" she asked.

A moment later the phone was passed along and Nat heard Tracy. She still sounded sleepy. Nat went to the window then and pushed open the curtain. It was still lighter out than was normally safe for vampires. LaCroix's age gave him strength, but a part of her still worried for him.

"Hi, Tracy," she said. "I'll need a ride in to work tonight. Can you come get me?"

"Sure, Nat," she promised and hung up. Nat wondered if she would even remember.

LaCroix flew for hours. The constant strain was wearing on him. He fed and flew again, repeating the cycle, searching for any sense of his son with growing trepidation. In his nightmares, Nicholas had seen the sun. If it were true, then his son was truly dead, beyond the ability to heal. LaCroix refused to accept that. He would not believe it until he held the ashes of his son in his hands, until he felt completely severed from the link they shared, which even now, though slight, was still there.

He could not find a direction. He felt the grief that was always so much a part of Nicholas, but he could not tell from where it came. Whether he flew north of the city or south out over the harbor, he felt no closer and no farther away.

"Damn you, Nicholas!" he spat, using his rage to give him strength.

Tracy smiled sheepishly at Natalie as she helped her into the morgue. "I'm really sorry I was late," she apologized again. "I really do not remember you calling."

"It's okay," Nat said. "I know I called a little early, and if you slept anything like LaCroix did last night, then you must be beat."

Tracy turned away, hoping Nat would think she was really grieving instead of blushing. She had slept well. Very well.

"So, what are you going to do?" Nat asked.

Tracy shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I thought I'd start by taking Gypsy back to Mr. Whitcomb. Vachon's going to hang out with me."

"Fine," Nat said, wondering why she felt like Tracy's mother. "But keep your phone on. Right?"

Tracy nodded and left. Gypsy yipped once as she climbed inside her car. "I miss him too," she told the dog as she stroked the long, feathery coat. "But you're going to meet Mr. Whitcomb now, and I think he really needs you." She stopped first at her desk, listened to several of Reese's lectures, and filled out some paperwork, before she could finally slip out. Reese gave her the "thou shalt not work alone" lecture, until she explained she was just going to take the dog to the rehab facility and she'd be right back. He started to object, but she was already out the door. Reese rolled his eyes in defeat.

"I can almost understand him now," Vachon said cryptically as Tracy pulled on to the Gardiner Expressway heading out of the city.

"Who? What?"

Vachon cocked a half-smile at her. "LaCroix. Nick told me once that LaCroix got so angry at him that he chained him up in a dungeon and kept him there for three years."

Tracy shuddered. She knew her master had a vicious streak, and Nick had often seen it. She didn't like the image of Nick, gallant and heroic, chained like a common criminal in a cold, damp hole.

"I mean, it must get tiring, always flying in to his rescue, worrying about him. If he's locked up, he can't get into trouble."

"Vachon, that's despicable."

The Spaniard shrugged. He felt like locking Nick up himself, except that he probably wasn't strong enough.

Gypsy suddenly lurched across the back seat and started to bark. Tracy winced, momentarily losing control of her car, at the painful racket. "Stop it," she commanded, but the dog grew only more insistent. Tracy pulled over and parked just short of the bridge. Maybe the dog needed to whizz or something. She opened the back door. Gypsy bolted from the car and took off.

"Come back," Tracy called. Nick hadn't kept the dog on a leash, because she always stayed right near him. He would not be happy if Tracy let the dog get lost. "Gypsy! Stop!" She glanced around quickly, then flew in pursuit with Vachon right beside her.

Gypsy ran onto the bridge, her nose low to the ground. Halfway across, she pawed at the bottom, whining and barking frantically. Tracy landed near her. "What is it, girl?" she asked.

Vachon held his hand over the spot. He looked up at Tracy with sad eyes. "I sense a vampire was here," he said.

Tracy knelt down and looked more closely. "I don't see anything."

"You wouldn't," Vachon whispered. "Even the ash blows away."

Tracy fumbled with her phone. Natalie would know what to do. Maybe she could take a sample or something. Good old Natalie would be solid in the crisis. Tracy had to dial three times before her frantic fingers found the right buttons.

"Natalie. You've got to come here right away," Tracy explained. "Bring your medical kit. Gypsy's found something, and Vachon says its vampire."

Natalie didn't know whom to call. LaCroix was flying. If she called him, he would go straight to Tracy, but she needed to be there, too. She could call an ambulance, but they wouldn't pick her up. Finally she called Nick's captain. Reese could be persuaded. When she was in his car enroute to Tracy's location, then Natalie called LaCroix.

"I don't understand this," Reese grumbled as he neared the bridge. "Why did LaCroix know something was wrong with Nick before anyone else. What clue did Tracy find? I'd really like to know what is going on."

"I wish I could tell you," Natalie answered truthfully. She stared out at the dark city while wondering how to settle Reese's concerns without betraying too much. "I know you don't like LaCroix. I didn't used to, either. Theirs is a complicated relationship. But, they really do care for each other deeply. They are very close. So close, that they can sometimes feel one another's pain."

"I've heard of that kind of crap among identical twins, or mothers and their children, but never, ever from two unrelated people."

"Well, Now you have," Natalie said.

Reese saw Tracy's car, but she was on the bridge. He parked near her car. LaCroix was standing on the railing, and it looked like he was preparing to jump. Reese threw open his door and shouted. "Don't do it! Stop!" But it was too late. LaCroix, the powerful, sinister, sometimes abusive father of his missing detective, dove to his death in the frigid waters of the lake. Reese stared, unable to breathe.

Natalie grabbed her crutches and hobbled closer to the vampires and the golden dog. Gypsy lay on the cold ground, her head on her paws. She glanced up at Nat mournfully.

Vachon pointed to the pavement. "I felt a presence here. LaCroix says it was Nick's blood. Although the sunlight destroyed it, there is still a presence. He says there isn't enough blood to be worried. He thinks Nick is down there."

Natalie looked over the railing, but in the dark her mortal eyes could see very little. Reese joined her. He seemed to be swaying as he wiped his forehead. "Dear God," he prayed. He hadn't liked the man, but he hadn't wanted to see him dead.

"He's okay," Nat said, patting Reese's arm. "He thinks Nick is down there. You'd better call an ambulance."

"Do you think he should," Tracy asked. She knew how risky that would be.

"Yes, it will be fine," Nat reassured her. "Nick may need help."

"Natalie, you're not thinking clearly. If Nick is down there, he's beyond help," Reese whispered, trying to console her. "And I'm not sure we can do anything for Mr. LaCroix now, either. Damn. I knew he loved him, in his own way, but I didn't think he'd jump."

"Captain, call that ambulance," Nat said firmly, "or I will."

Reese took out his cell phone and made the call. He felt numb. The coast guard would have to be called to dredge the bottom for bodies. The thought of his detective now a cold lifeless corpse made him shudder.

The others all leaned over the bridge waiting expectantly. Reese looked too, knowing there was nothing to see. He heard the siren of the ambulance. Then, something bobbed in the water. Tracy squealed. "It's them! It's them! Come on, let's go!"

Reese stared at the shadowy figure in the water below. Someone was trying to swim, and he was carrying something large. Tracy was already on the shore, but her boyfriend had plunged into the frozen water to aid in the life-saving effort. Natalie hobbled along, but Reese had to huff and puff to even catch up with her. He made it to the shore at the same time as the swimmers. LaCroix and Vachon collapsed to their knees, water already turning to ice on their hair and clothing, as they dropped their bundle. Reese stared at the frozen, still body of Detective Knight.

Tracy clutched her hands, stunned silent. Natalie maneuvered herself carefully to the ground to sit on the snow. She touched Nick's frozen face.

"LaCroix, can you sense him?" she asked.

"He lives," LaCroix stated. Reese looked at him in disbelief. The man wasn't even shivering. He should be dead.

Natalie prepared to start CPR, but Tracy stopped her. "Let me," she offered, gesturing towards Nat's cast. The coroner was shivering, but she was too worried to notice her own pain. Tracy straddled her dead partner and started applying pressure to his chest. Nat put a palm beneath Tracy's hand and over Nick's chest. "Not too hard, Trace," she cautioned.

Tracy stopped for a moment and puffed air into Nick's lungs. Nothing happened. His clothing was completely frozen. While she continued in her efforts, Vachon and LaCroix tore the frozen material from him. Reese hurried back to the highway to direct the ambulance. He was certain that Nick was dead and that nothing would bring him back. That Natalie and LaCroix in their grief would refuse to acknowledge it didn't surprise him, but surely Tracy and her boyfriend knew death when they saw it?

The ambulance drove down the embankment and stopped near Nick. The rear door was flung open. A team of paramedics pulled out a stretcher and hurried to him. One knelt down to speak with Tracy, as she continued the CPR. "How long?" he asked.

"Get the defibrillator," Nat ordered them. "Now!"

The paramedics looked dubious. They would do as they were trained, and let the doctors declare him dead, but he looked beyond hope. Transferring Nick to the stretcher, with Tracy still straddling him, they carried him back towards the waiting ambulance. LaCroix discreetly told the driver not to leave yet.

"Okay, clear," a paramedic called. Tracy stepped away from Nick and watched as the electricity jolted his frozen body. There was a single heartbeat that made her cheer. "Clear!" the paramedic called, and shocked him again. Twice more.

Suddenly Nick stirred, gagging. Nat helped him to turn as he vomited lake water and blood. Reese felt tears sting his eyes as he saw life return to him. LaCroix groaned, a sound somewhere between relief and pain. Natalie gave orders to LaCroix, who then told the EMTs what to do, and zombie-like, they carried out the doctor's orders. They did not take Nick's vitals, or start an IV, but they did bandage the open wounds on his arms and legs.

Natalie touched Nick's cheek, still cold as ice. After ridding his body of the water, he had taken two deep breaths on his own. It would be another eleven minutes before she knew if he would take another.

Tracy touched LaCroix's arm. "Sir, you should get out of your wet things. They're frozen solid."

LaCroix didn't seem to notice. He endured her touch distractedly while he kept a watchful eye on his son. Tracy worked at the buttons and buckles. They would have been impossible with mortal strength alone. She ended up tearing the fabric in places as she forced his clothing away. Accepting a blanket from the paramedic, she draped it around him, then went to assist Vachon.

Reese just stared. Once he had feared LaCroix, had even tried to find some fault that he could have him arrested, and yet the man had plunged into the icy depths to save his son, the child whom he loved yet often hurt. If he had succeeded, if LaCroix had been in jail tonight, Nick would have died. He would never forget the sight of that man diving from the bridge into the lake. It would haunt his dreams for a long, long time.

Natalie sighed with relief as Nick took another breath. She touched his still, frosty face tenderly. He remained unconscious, which was probably just as well for now. This injured, the vampire in him would be sure to react. "I think we can take him home now," she said to LaCroix.

"But he should go to the hospital," Reese insisted when none of the paramedics said a word. "He still looks critical to me."

LaCroix stared into the captain's eyes, wondering if he needed to be hypnotized. "I will watch over him," he said firmly.

"As will I," Nat assured him.

"I'll head back into the precinct, then. Call me, keep me informed," he said to Natalie.

LaCroix carried Nick to Tracy's car, while Vachon rearranged a few of the paramedics' memories. That they had been called to the lake was a matter of record, so that much had to remain. Even knowledge of LaCroix's arctic dive was retained, as well as their efforts to revive Nick. But after that, their memories altered. They reported that Nick was alert and coherent and much improved before they left.

Nat and LaCroix sandwiched Nick between them on Tracy's back seat. LaCroix cradled his head, as he held him close, tucking the borrowed blanket around him. "Lucien, he will be all right, won't he?" Nat whispered. "He's so cold. I've never seen him like this before."

The ancient shivered once, the first sign of discomfort he'd made since his swim. Natalie reached over Nick's still form to touch his face. "Will you be all right?"

"I am always all right," he snapped, although his teeth chattered.

Silently, Tracy turned the car heater up full. Even Vachon was shivering. She just felt drained, strangely lethargic. She wasn't even sure she was hungry. About three days of rest would be nice, though. She blinked, struggling to remain alert as she brought them home.

LaCroix carried Nick up into the apartment. Vachon struggled on his own, so Tracy hung back to offer Nat assistance if she needed it, and carried her bag for her. When they entered Nick's bedroom, LaCroix had already sliced both their wrists and held the wounds together. He gave Natalie a worried look.

"His body does not take what it so desperately needs," he said.

"Maybe because he's still so cold," she guessed. "Before I've given him blood directly into the stomach." She gave him a questioning look, and LaCroix merely nodded. As she set up to give him the transfusion, she noted the odd hue of his skin. It had a decidedly reddish cast to it. Almost like sunburn, only she knew that vampires literally burned in the sun, right down to a fine ash.

"We've got to get his body temperature up, at least to vampire normal," Nat was saying. "Tracy, fetch some towels, warm them in the microwave, and we'll lay them around him. LaCroix, can you turn the temperature up in this room? Vachon, I could really use some pain-reliever. Can you find me an aspirin, or anything, and a glass of water?"

They left to do her bidding, just as she slipped the needle into Nick's stomach. Slowly at first, the blood was taken in, much slower than she would have expected. When it finally emptied, she started to give him a second, but Nick gagged and coughed, heaving the blood back up. LaCroix grabbed a hot towel from Tracy to absorb the mess.

"I don't understand," Nat gasped. Nick needed blood. He would not heal until he got it.

"Neither do I," LaCroix confessed. "But I told you he has been unable to keep anything down. Apparently, his stomach is still injured. We will continue to warm him, and I will try to feed him again shortly."

Natalie nodded. "Okay. But, first you go take a warm shower and put something on. I don't need two patients."

LaCroix did not move. Although he still shivered, he was reluctant to leave Nicholas's side.

Natalie swung her crutch at him. "Get out of here, Lucien! Go!" She smiled at him.

With a dignified sniff, he departed.

Vachon returned then with two tablets and the glass of water. "I begged 'em off someone down in the bar," he confessed.

Natalie took them and swallowed. Her leg was throbbing badly enough that she wished she hadn't left the codeine at her apartment. In a few more days she would get a walking cast, and hoped that the pain would be less severe.

"So what about Nick," Tracy asked. It was so hard to see him like this, unconscious, injured, so near to death.

"All we can do is wait," Natalie answered. "You two go get some rest."

"But we can sit up with you," she offered.

"No. LaCroix will not sleep at all, I'm sure. It is the worst part about being a parent. Some doctors call it the dance of the hours. When parents pace the floor in the waiting room, back and forth, for what seems like an eternity, waiting for some word- some sign- that their child will be all right."

Tracy yawned as she thought about the image Nat created. A dance of hours... an apt description for mortal parents, but it was euphemistically brief for the dance LaCroix and Nicholas made. Theirs was more infinite.

"Well, you call us, if you need anything," Tracy said, covering a yawn. "Come on, Vachon. Maybe you need some company in your shower?"

Natalie felt her eyes growing heavier. She fought back sleep by doing a more thorough examination on Nick. His body temperature was slowly warming, although the reddened skin still looked like sunburn, especially where his clothing had not offered any protection. His face and neck down to the v where his shirt had been was redder than his chest. He had probably been in the water all day. Had some of the sunlight filtered down through the water to touch him? Enough to damage the skin but not to kill?

LaCroix returned, looking much improved in his silk pajamas, his hair still damp, and the ubiquitous beverage in his hand. He took his son's hand in his own and held it.

"You should rest," he told Natalie after a long silence.

"I couldn't. I'll just wait up with you for now." She yawned once. "So, tell me the rest of the story."

LaCroix didn't need her to clarify the request. He had been telling her about Nicholas's childhood, and he knew she would not let up until she'd heard it all. He sighed wearily. "It isn't a happy tale," he confessed.

'Why am I not surprised,' she thought to herself. "Tell it anyway. Think of it as practice, before you tell Nick."

LaCroix thought back... he had not dwelt on these memories much, as they always elicited feelings of guilt and self-doubt, two emotions he forbid himself to indulge in.

"I concealed the father's body, as well as the priest's. I gave Nicholas other memories, and then I fled."

LaCroix thought back over the centuries, recalling that period as clearly as yesterday. How he had loved that child! He had come to Brabant, prepared to bring him across, to keep him forever! But all that had changed the moment he killed the boy's father. Those deep blue eyes staring up at him in fear... it had been as a stab wound to the heart.

And so, he had covered his tracks. The father's body was never found. He had often wandered off, staying away for months at a time. No one would even begin to worry until LaCroix was long gone. The priest had been another matter. LaCroix hadn't killed him. He didn't even want to touch him, but he needed to remove that horror from the child's memory, so he dropped the body behind a monastery and left him to be buried. There was an investigation, but it had never been closed.

Then he carefully gave the child new memories. Nicholas missed his priest, who had been his teacher and friend most of his young life. But he didn't even remember the stranger LaCroix, whom he loved. That memory was gone, locked behind the power of suggestion. Perhaps in his dreams visions of the pale gentleman in black danced just beyond his reach, but they faded away in the light of day.

LaCroix flew away from the small castle in Brabant, feeling like he had torn out a piece of himself. Nothing had hurt more, not even when he'd killed his daughter, for Nicholas had seemed more like his own flesh and blood, his own child, than the prostitute's daughter ever had. He stayed away for two years, then unable to resist, he checked back in on the boy.

He was not pleased with what he saw. The mother refused to remarry, since no body had ever been found to prove her husband's death. She would not risk committing adultery. Instead, the father's brother took control of her lands, managing the estate poorly. He detested young Nicholas, whom the peasants respected and obeyed, and so he had sent him away to serve as squire to the lord Dellebarre.

Dellebarre was hateful to the boy, treating him more like a slave than squire. Nicholas performed his tasks silently, still praying to the god that had forsaken him, but he missed his home and sister. LaCroix longed to comfort him, to take him away, but still he resisted. If he had not killed the boy's father, his life might have turned out differently. LaCroix could only try to make amends. So he came to Dellebarre in a dream and threatened him, compelling him to treat Nicholas better, to knight him swiftly, and love him like a son. Satisfied, LaCroix left again.

Only, Dellebarre was incapable of loving anyone. Perhaps the uncle had paid him to get rid of the young heir, or perhaps Dellebarre had a scheme of his own, but Nicholas was framed for murder and sentenced to join the Crusade in the Holy Land.

When next LaCroix looked for him, the castle in Brabant was but a shell of its former self. No one remained, no peasant or noble, except for the two women, Nicholas's mother and little sister. They lived on the edge of poverty, alone in the stone fortress. They knew not where Nicholas was, only that when the Crusade had ended, he had not returned. LaCroix made them forget him, and he returned to Paris to be miserable.

Then that one fateful night Nicholas showed up in the very inn where LaCroix and Janette were staying. LaCroix had refused to bring him across as a child. Instead, he gave the boy the chance to live the life to which he had been born. Each time their paths crossed, though, LaCroix saw less and less of that brave and tender child, and more of a man plagued by frustrated dreams and failing faith. He watched as the young knight, still favoring his side from wounds received in battle, drank himself to near oblivion, and LaCroix made the final decision to bring Nicholas into his family.

"So you see, Natalie," LaCroix said, finishing the tale. "It is not the loss of his mortality for which he grieves. It is the loss of his faith. I did not take that from him, nor can I give it back."

Natalie listened thoughtfully. The sad story of his childhood was that others had always directed his steps. His mother had not allowed him the normal activities of play, as she pushed him to be the man of the family too soon. The priest had been pushing him towards religious orders, the father towards the military. The uncle had pushed him away from his inheritance, and Dellebarre had pushed him in to battle. Then LaCroix had pushed him into an eternal life. Perhaps, what Nicholas needed most was not his mortality, but just his life. The right to decide. The right to make his own decisions. That was something LaCroix could give him, but would he?

Her reverie stopped as Nick started to cough. LaCroix clutched him to his breast, holding him, comforting him, until the spasms stopped. Nick was still too weak to move. His arms hung limp, his head leaned against his master.

Natalie touched his cheek and spoke soothingly. "We're here, Nick. You've had a rough day, but you're going to be all right."

LaCroix gently laid him down. He took Nicholas's wrist and stroked it with a finger. Then taking the knife, he tried again to give him blood. This time, he felt a faint tug, as his son's vampire nature reached out to claim what it needed to heal. He could have laughed for joy even as he felt a little lightheaded. Natalie wordlessly refilled his glass for him, while he continued to nourish his son. When the vampire no longer drew his blood, he pulled their arms apart. He licked at the wound on Nick's wrist until it closed.

Nick stirred slightly. His eyes fluttered open, but his hands flailed out aimlessly. "LaCroix? Where are you?"

LaCroix took one hand, Natalie took the other. "We're right here," Nat said softly, patting him reassuringly.

"It's dark in here," Nick whispered.

It was nothing of the sort. The lights were turned on. LaCroix was speechless.

"Yes," Natalie said, to comfort him. She got up carefully and took out her otoscope, fitting a clean tip on it. As she continued to speak soft words to Nicholas, she flashed the light directly in his eyes. There was no reaction to the light, no sign of recognition. Something had burned a whole on the retina of both eyes. In mortals, that would result in permanent blindness, but how it would affect vampires, she had no idea.

"Just rest," she cooed. "We will stay with you."

He dozed then. A few hours later, LaCroix repeated the blood ritual, and the small sores on Nick's arms and legs healed. The strange red color faded from his skin. But when they asked if he would like to try to drink something, he shook his head no.

Natalie yawned yet again. She simply could not stay up a moment longer. Nick seemed to have turned the corner. Although still blind and very weak, he was healing. She kissed him goodnight and struggled to her feet.

"Let me assist you," LaCroix offered reluctantly.

Nick trembled. "Don't go? Please?"

Nat declined the offer. "You stay with him. Come and wake me when you need to rest," she said.

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered.

"Rest, my son."

Nick fought the temptation to sleep. He had to speak now. There might never be another chance. He'd learned that today as he faced his own mortality. "I'm sorry. I should have listened to you. And whenever you want to me to move on, I will go. As you wish," he said. He was gasping for breath, red sweat dotting his forehead from the minute exertion.

"Sh-sh-sh. Do not tire yourself."

But still Nick fought. He had wanted to tell his master something that day, while he lay trapped at the bottom of the lake. Something terribly important. He shook his head, struggling to remember.

"Where is it?" he asked, his voice still barely above a whisper. "I have to have it back. Please, tell me where it is?"

"Where what is, Nicholas? What do you want?"

"My pocket watch. I want it back. Father!"

LaCroix blinked back sudden tears. Could it be? He had given him a watch a century ago, engraved with a single word: Forever. Nicholas had returned the gift on Father's Day a few years back. LaCroix had kept it, burying the hurt, telling himself that this day would come, and his son would regret his impetuous action.

"I have kept it for you, Nicholas," he said.

Nicholas didn't seem to hear him, trapped as he was somewhere between nightmares and dreams. He struggled weakly, tossing on the bed, whispering over and over, "Where is it?"

LaCroix released his hand momentarily, and Nick cried out as if in pain. The ancient went to the dresser and opened a small drawer. There he took out the silver watch. Returning to Nicholas's side he placed it in his hand.

Nick's fingers tightened around it and his struggles ceased. His features relaxed. "Forever," he whispered.

LaCroix watched him sleep. He was still so weak. It might be days before he was fully recovered, and yet LaCroix knew that the worst was over. The dance had ended. He stretched out in the bed beside his son and held him close. He whispered a promise into his son's ear then. "Forever."

The end.

To be continued in "Tap Dance," the seventh story in this series.