Nick stood before the sink in the bathroom and rubbed his hand over the stubble of beard, trying to decide if he felt up to shaving tonight. He hadn't shaved in weeks, yet the beard was still only a two-day growth. It would never grow any longer.

He thought of his master's eternally smooth jaw. LaCroix had come from the baths when Divia brought him across. He had been impeccably groomed and immensely self-satisfied at the moment of his conversion, having recently won a major victory; all of Rome lay at his feet just ripe for the plucking. He was powerful and wealthy, practically a god among men. That was his immortality.

Nick used to wonder why LaCroix hadn't properly prepared him before his conversion. How long could it have taken to let him shave once, then never need do it again? Instead, Nick had been on a two-day drunk, his blood potent with new wine as he tried to drown the taste of disillusionment in women and song. Yet LaCroix was the personification of self-restraint. He would not have made a mistake in bringing him across. Nick decided then that LaCroix must have wanted him just like this: slightly scruffy, a little dangerous, passionate, moody, and needing.

The night of his conversion, Nick had needed something. Someone to trust, to believe in, something to replace the faith he had lost somewhere between the battlefield and a Saracen prison camp in the Holy Land washed red with blood.

Eight hundred years later, Nick felt he was still in need. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror as he felt tears threaten to overwhelm him again. "Enough!" he cursed himself. He was through brooding, at least, for tonight.

He stood straight, holding the edge of the sink until he felt strong enough to move and decided he would not shave again. It took too much effort. There were 158 days left of this existence, he would do only what he felt like doing at any given moment, and nothing more. Nick returned to the bedroom he used when he stayed above the Raven and dressed with care. Tonight he would return to the loft. LaCroix had to let him go!

Perry woofed once and wagged his tail. *Why is it so important? * he asked through the psychic bond that he shared with the vampire.

Nick feigned indifference as he shrugged his shoulders. "Who ever said that it was?"

Perry barked, more loudly this time.

"Look," Nick said, with a trace of annoyance. "I know that the time is coming when I won't be able to manage on my own any more. But for as long as I am able, I have to. I need to. I can't be a helpless dependent for the rest of my life. Can't you understand that?"

Perry licked Nick's hand tentatively. It didn't matter if he understood or not, LaCroix was the one the vampire would need to convince. Perry trotted to the corner to fetch Nick's cane, a present from the witch, Samantha. It was intricately carved with healing symbols, painted white with a red tip. Nick didn't need the white cane because he was blind, for Perry guided him everywhere, but the vampire was simply too weak to walk much without it.

Nick buckled Perry's harness on, then took the handle with one hand and the cane in the other. "Let's go, boy," he said.

*It is cold tonight, * the carouche warned.

"Ah, yes. I remember," Nick said vaguely. It was mid-November in Toronto. He reached into his closet for the short leather bomber jacket.

Perry shook himself all over. Nick could be such a brick.

The living room was too quiet. Natalie was in Romania. Tracy would be at work already. Vachon and Urs were downstairs in the Raven. Only LaCroix remained in the apartment with him. Nick waited, resigned to the argument LaCroix was sure to give him.

LaCroix rose and slowly drew near. Silently, the ancient zippered the jacket and turned up the collar to shield him from a cold wind. "Take care, Nicholas," he said.

Nick cocked his head. "That's it? You're not going to fight me on this?"

LaCroix laughed humorlessly. "Would it do any good?"

"No."

The ancient sighed. "Keep in touch."

Nick could have laughed at the irony. LaCroix was finally giving him his freedom, only because he was totally dependent on his master for his very survival. The strange ailment that had plagued him for more than a year affected his ability to feed. Only vampire blood would stay down, and only the blood of his master would soothe his pain. Nick had been ready to end his existence, but he had promised to wait six months while Zuhayr's team of doctors sought a cure. Nick would have to return to LaCroix daily just to feed.

"Nicholas," LaCroix said quietly. "I shall be glad to visit you at the loft. You would not need to come here."

"No, that's not necessary," Nick said.

The ancient reached out tentatively and stroked the stubbled cheek. Nick's features were hollow and gaunt, the curse of his illness, but there were still the boyish charm and spirited defiance that had first enticed him. Their relationship had been a yo-yo of ups and downs on a taut string, but for the first time it felt like Nicholas was truly pulling away from him. The boy believed that he would die, and he was severing his ties. There was nothing LaCroix could do to comfort him. He had never felt so powerless before.

LaCroix opened the door for him. "I shall see you soon then. Good night, Nicholas."

Nick leaned on the cane, wincing as though each step he took was painful, as he turned and walked away. The carouche instinctively slowed his own pace. LaCroix blinked away the telltale traces of his concern. His beloved son walked like an old, old man. "Please, Zuhayr," he whispered in the still silence of his empty home. "Do not fail me now."

The cab was waiting for him when he reached the curb. It wasn't far to his loft, but the distance was too far to walk these days. As he felt the cab dart through traffic, Nick thought about what he would like to do with what little time he had left.

Work was out of the question. Nat's parting gift was to ensure that he was on disability leave until further notice. Captain Reese had come to the loft to visit him, promising him that the precinct would cover his medical bills. The money wasn't important; but the captain's visit had further depressed him. Reese had been polite, but he hadn't been able to hide his shock at Nick's condition. Until recently, Nick had been able to conceal the truth from everyone, including his ancient master. Now he couldn't even fool a mortal.

* You could depress a hyena, * Perry growled softly.

"Sorry, boy," Nick said. He ruffled the carouche's fur behind the ears. "But you're right. No more grieving. If I have but a few months left, I should enjoy every minute. I want to see Cody and take him to the zoo. I want to go dancing, and spend a weekend at my cottage with Urs and Tracy. I want to go to a concert with Janette, and spend the night on The Liberty with Vachon-"

* You can't possibly think you will accomplish all this tonight, * the carouche interrupted with a note of humor.

Nick laughed. "No, Perry. We'll take it just one night at a time. Let's start with Cody, okay?"

Perry heaved a sigh. He'd been afraid Nick was going to say that.

Nick wandered through his loft apartment. He touched the end table, where he stored his gun and badge when not on duty. He touched the smooth, shiny surface of the grand piano and the rough texture of one of his paintings. Perry sighed at the heavy emotions emanating from his vampire ward.

* Is this how you enjoy every minute? *

Nick laughed. "Sorry, Perry. Old habits."

The vampire went to the refrigerator next and pulled on the door. It was a useless appliance for him these days, but he could still feed Perry before they left. He rubbed at his own stomach and winced. LaCroix had offered himself, insisting that Nick feed well during the day, but it was never enough.

The refrigerator seemed to have more bottles in it than he remembered. Had someone filled it with Perry's bovine product for him? Nick lifted the nearest bottle and sniffed the cork. Something tantalizing and familiar tingled at his memory. Nick yanked off the cork and took a swallow.

LaCroix's own ancient blood soothed over his palate, instantly calming the chronic pain he suffered. Nick leaned against the refrigerator, overcome with emotion. Why had he done this? Why would his master give him this, give him freedom? LaCroix had always wanted to hold him close, to smother him as he tried to remake him in his own image. Now, when Nick could not survive without his blood, he gave it to him freely? Nick blinked, rubbing at a stray tear with the back of his hand. "Thank you, master," he whispered.

*Take some with you, * Perry suggested, nudging Nick's hand with his nose.

"Good idea," Nick said. He poured an amount into a small flask and slipped it inside the breast pocket of his jacket. He filled Perry's dish and waited for him to feed, before they returned to the waiting cab below. "Take me to St. John's," Nick told the driver, giving him the street address as well. He smiled, thinking that the next few months could make this driver a very rich man.

 

Father Pierre wrapped Nick in an impulsive hug. "I'm so glad you came! Cody has missed you! Are you ready to take him home?"

"No," Nick said quickly. How could he take on a commitment for the next twenty years when he might not have four months left? Then the conversation was ended as Cody caught sight of him. The three-year-old orphan child fairly flew across the room. With a shriek of delight, he leaped into Nick's arms and hugged him tightly.

"Unka Nick!" the toddler exclaimed, kissing his cheek. "Unka Nick, go bye-bye?"

"Yes, Cody. We're going out. Do you like trains?"

"Uh-huh," the child said agreeably.

"Let me get his jacket," Father Pierre offered. "Just wait here."

"Whatsa train?" Cody asked.

Nick laughed. "Trains are steel cars that ride on tracks. They're big and fast and noisy. You'll like it."

Father Pierre returned and helped the toddler pull on a winter jacket, hat and mittens without dislodging him from Nick's arms. Then he tightened the shoestrings and tied them in double knots. "Nick, he kicks off his shoes regularly. If you hear something hit the ground, you might want to check it out."

"Do you hear that, Perry?" Nick asked, grinning at his carouche. "Keep an eye out for the shoes."

"Woof!" Perry barked sharply. This was not part of his job description.

"Go bye-bye!" Cody squealed, jumping in Nick's arms and swinging his feet.

Father Pierre laughed. He opened the door and escorted the vampire and child to the waiting cab. "Have a good time," he wished them.

 

The zoo was opened all year, but it drew fewer visitors when the weather turned cold. Nick could not visit it in the summer, as the longer days meant that the sun did not set before closing time. He paid the passage for the three of them to ride the small train that circled through the zoo. It would give Cody a view of all the animals, and it would not tire Nick excessively. A few other patrons boarded the small train. Nick sent them to other cars with a gentle hypnotic suggestion.

Perry sat on the floor blocking the car's exit from Cody. If that cub ever survived his childhood, it would be a miracle, he thought crossly.

Cody climbed up on the hard plastic seat and looked out of the side window. "Bye-bye!" he shrieked. "Lookie-lookie!"

"What do you see, Cody?" Nick asked conversationally.

Some of his next words were unintelligible. Nick had been around children before in his long life, and in the past year he had spent a lot of volunteer hours at Father Pierre's day care, enough to know that Cody was very delayed in his maturation. Although he was three years old, some eighteen-month-old toddlers were more developed. Father Pierre assured Nick that there was nothing physically wrong with Cody. It must have been that his former environment was not as stimulating as it could have been. The Day Care teachers agreed. Cody needed lots of adult interaction, lots of field trips and experiences, and above all, lots of conversation.

The whistle blew shrilly. Cody clamped his hands over his ears and shivered, frightened by the loud noise. Nick winced as well. "That's a whistle," he explained, patting the child on the back. "It is warning us that the train is about to move."

Sure enough, the conductor called out, "All Aboard?" and the train began moving, slowly at first. The cars rattled and clanked as old steel connections held firm. Then, the chug-chug feeling as the wheels spun over steel tracks increased in tempo. Cody lost his moment of fear and laughed excitedly. "Bye-bye!" he sang.

"What was it like," Nick asked, as he tried to sense the child. "Why do you enjoy going bye-bye? Were your parents kind to you?" For a moment he felt insanely angry, hoping that the unknown mortals had not abused this precious child.

"Whassat?" Cody asked, pointing out the window.

Nick remembered the layout of the zoo from the last time he'd been here with Natalie, about four years ago. Since he wasn't aware of any recent remodeling projects, they should be going around the polar bear cage now. Nick liked this zoo, as the cages were designed to be as close to the animal's natural environment as possible. The Brabant Foundation had funded some of projects over the years. Nick reached out with his senses, made stronger these past months, and he smelled the blood of the bears, caught the scent of fish on their breath, the tang of icy saltwater as it flowed over the stone caves of their dwelling.

"Those are Polar Bears," Nick said. "They are huge, white carnivores, feeding mostly on seal and fish."

"Bears?" Cody asked, clearly confused.

"Yes, Cody," Nick said patiently. "There are many kinds of bears. Tonight you will see Polar Bears, Black Bear, Grizzly Bear, and even Koala Bears, which aren't really bears at all."

"Whassat?" Cody asked excitedly, as the next animal display came into view.

Nick laughed. He'd forgotten how exhausting little mortals could be, and was glad he could sit for most of the trip. Patiently, he told Cody about each of the different species they passed, and answered thousands of questions. He retied the sturdy white shoes repeatedly, as Cody kicked them off and Perry fetched them back, again and again, like some new toddler game the child had invented. He bought Cody a milkshake, and tried to teach him how to sip through a straw, and then he convinced a nice-smelling woman to take Cody into the restroom and clean him up and change his diaper. She hadn't even needed a hypnotic compulsion, either, he thought with surprise. Finally, when Cody was nearly asleep with exhaustion, Nick brought him back to the day care.

"You tell Father Pierre to find him a good home," Nick told Edna, one of teachers on the night shift.

She just smiled, her dimples joining the folds and creases of a long, happy life. "He's working on it, Nick."

 

A dark figure hovered in the shadows of the Raven, cursing each hour that passed, as he wondered where Knight had gone to. Two months he'd been following him, studying his habits and discovering his weakness. The time had almost arrived...

Nick stopped by the Raven before returning to the loft. Urs was dancing tonight. He felt a twinge of guilt as he sensed her joy and abandon in the dance. He loved her once, briefly... and if he were to be honest with himself, he still did. His loins stirred and his teeth ached to feel her tender flesh, to drink her bittersweet blood, to make love to her until she cried out in ecstasy. But she was unfinished business.

Urs had come a long way since that crucial night over a year ago, the night the vampire Jacqueline had fallen to her death. Nick had taken Urs to the Hilton that night to comfort her, yet in her arms he had himself found comfort. With Urs, Nick had begun to accept who he was, his true nature, the vampire and the man.

After two wonderful weeks Nick had asked her to move in with him. She had been there, nursing him after Flavius's vicious attack. She had been there, helping him to adjust to Tracy's decision to come across. She had helped to create the beautiful signature quilt Tracy made for LaCroix. Urs was quiet and unassuming, and yet, she had done more to reunite him with his family than any other being in the history of his long existence. Nick had to help her now. He had to set her free, get her to move on, to lessen the blow of his own mortality.

When the band took a break, Urs joined him at his table. "Hello, Nick," she said, offering a tentative smile.

Nick gave her a broad, easy grin. He had been an ass lately and they both knew it. One thing he had learned at LaCroix's hand was the art of apologizing. "Good evening, love," he whispered, his voice dark and suggestive. "Almost done?"

Urs touched his shoulder, then stroked his cheek tenderly. "I can be. Do you have something on your mind?"

"No," he said slowly. "Not something... someone. There is someone who's been on my mind a lot lately. Someone I need to show just how sorry I am for ignoring her, and I think it is going to take me a long, long time."

He turned his face to capture one of her fingers with his teeth. He sucked on it gently, scraping his fang tips across the tender flesh, before releasing it. He felt Urs's interest grow, as her heart beat twice in quick succession.

"Nicky, you're back," she murmured.

Nick rose then and pulled her into his arms. "A dance first, my love?"

Urs glanced around the nightclub nervously. "Is that a good idea, Nick?" she asked.

Nick winced, angered by the reference to his failing health, but he quickly recovered. "I have fed well, Little Bear. Just one dance."

She led them through the maze of tables and into the center of the floor. Nick pulled her close, moving into the slow dance suggested by the CD piped over the speakers while the band took a break. She laid her cheek against his breast, her hips molded to his own. He inhaled deeply, relishing the faint trace of shampoo, perfume and the scent of San Francisco in her blood. "I've missed this," he confessed.

"Me too," she said.

The dance ended. Nick knew it was the last dance he would share with her. A moment of melancholy threatened to overwhelm him. He blinked quickly.

"Nick, are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Just tired. Ready to go home?"

"Always."

She didn't comment on the waiting cab that took them to the loft. Nick paid the driver a large sum and thanked him. "That's all for tonight," he said. "Will you come by tomorrow evening, about the same time?"

The driver agreed. "Sure think, Mr. Knight."

Upstairs, Nick concentrated on all his thoughts on Urs. He poured her a drink, then sat on the floor in front of her. When she would have objected, he kissed her feet. "Sh, my dear. You must let me do this."

She still seemed uneasy for a few moments, but Nick took one foot in his hands and began to massage it. He knew she loved to dance, but he also knew that her feet were often sore by the end of the night. He tugged gently on the toes, rolling them between his fingers, and then sucking on them, as he made love to her feet. Urs relaxed completely.

When both feet had been caressed, Nick moved upward slowly. He brought pleasure to her, offering her his wrist to release the first of her building orgasms. With great care, Nick wooed her and seduced her, satisfying her many times before the lethargy of day stole over them.

"My Nicky," she murmured contentedly as she snuggled up to him after they finally made it to his bed.

"You know that I'll be going to Europe soon," Nick began. Now that she was drowsy and happy it was probably time to reveal the next step of his plan.

"Um-hum," she said. "Have you heard from Zuhayr then?"

"No," Nick said. "But I'm sure it's only a matter of time." The lie rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. It was only a matter of time, after all. If Zuhayr didn't find the cure, then he was honor bound to end Nick's suffering. "And I thought that when I'm gone, maybe you would like to take some courses at the University. You seem to have enjoyed your quilting class."

"Oh, Nick. I've never really thought about that. I'm not college material. I never even finished high school before my family sold me into the business."

Nick kissed her forehead and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You are smart, Urs. And talented. And you have an eternity to develop your abilities. But this school is different. It's a small, private school for fashion design in Dallas, Texas. I took the liberty of sending for the information." Nick reached over to the nightstand and pulled a large envelope out of the drawer.

Urs leaned up on one elbow. "Gee, Nick, you're really serious about this, aren't you? Why?"

Nick forced a boyish grin. "I like the quilt you made for LaCroix," he said. "I think I'd like one myself, sometime."

He handed her the envelope. She sat up and crossed her legs, tearing it open with childish enthusiasm. "Me! Go to college! What a strange notion," she said, giggling nervously.

Nick touched the glossy brochures. He couldn't learn a thing from them, but he had researched the school thoroughly over the internet with his Braille-adapted computer. He'd already paid for her tuition, and made arrangements for her to take their night courses, and even paid for her to have a private apartment near the campus, which was located on the second and third floor of a high rise office building in the downtown area, not more than a few blocks from the local hangout for the "night shift". He listened as she poured over the brochures, learning of her interest through senses other than sight.

"Oh, Nick. This really looks like fun. Textiles, and weaving, and introduction to fashion design, and a history of fashions - hey, I'd be pretty good at that one! But look at the price. Nick, that's just out of the question."

Nick kissed her hand and grinned broadly. "No, it isn't, Urs. It's already paid for."

"Nick!" She stared at him. "Nick - no, it's too much! I can't take this from you, it doesn't matter that you can afford it. I can't. And I won't be able to pay you back for a long time."

"You could pay your tuition with the sale of only two or three quilts. You already have a good sense of color, I remember from before. With what you learn at this school, you'll be able to pay your own way next term. Please, let me do this for you. It would make me happy to know that you were doing something you'll enjoy, after I'm gone."

Urs still thought he was referring to his trip to Romania. "Really, Nick? Do you really think I should go?"

Nick laughed heartily. "Of course, I do, Urs. Otherwise I wouldn't have paid for it!"

She shoved him playfully. "Oh, you're impossible."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, my love," he said, gathering the papers back into a pile which he placed in her lap. "Go to the school. I know you'll enjoy it."

Urs yawned, covering her mouth politely with a delicate hand. "Very well, Sir Knight, if you insist." She set the papers aside, to look at more carefully tomorrow. "I love you."

Nick was nearly asleep before his head hit the pillow. "Hm. Love you too."

 

Natalie blew out a breath that lifted the hair from her forehead and she sighed. It was so damned frustrating! And exciting, and terrifying... For years she had had to do her research in secrecy, and only when work wasn't overwhelming her, and when Nick was being cooperative. Now as she poured over her notes, translating them to the room full of hostile vampires and a single mortal, she was appalled at just how little she had been able to learn in five years.

Dr. Luka Kovach was the one bright spot in this whole misadventure. He smiled at her now, encouraging her wordlessly with his compassionate eyes. He had gorgeous eyes. Nat stared into them, losing herself for a moment. He reminded her of Nick some how... what was it?

Luka looked like a lost little boy, but there was something about the eyes, an ancient look that spoke of unbearable pain and suffering. He was compassionate and tender, yet manly. Natalie wondered what had put the sadness there. He was a doctor, and intelligent, and gorgeous, and kind! Women should be falling all over him!

Nat drew a deep breath and tried again. "I was trying to help Nick become mortal again, because he asked me to help him. I'm not anymore," she said firmly. More eyes glared at her, as though she had just uttered vile profanity at a wedding, or suggested dancing nude at a wake. "At first, I thought that something I had done was the cause of his current illness. But that just doesn't seem to fit."

The vampires were unconvinced. She rolled her shoulders to relieve some tension as she surveyed the room. They were an intimidating lot. All six of them were men, making her wonder just what the statistics of women to men were in the vampire community.

Booker was a slim black man, who looked to be roughly in his early fifties. He had been a surgeon in life, but he had not practiced medicine in years. He had a nervous twitch that made the corner of his lip pull up in a sneer.

Charles and Dudley sat side by side. She wasn't sure which was which, except that one was younger by a few years. Both vampire infants, they had been general practitioners in the last decade. Zuhayr was the master of one of them. He sat patiently at the back of the room, a calming presence, and the only reason why she didn't run from the chamber in mortal fear. He was not a doctor and did not pretend to know how to help, but he was a good facilitator. He kept this from becoming a lynch mob.

Takis was mid-forties, with dark hair and handsome, European features, but the look of smug arrogance spoiled it. He had been a gynecologist, and Nat wanted him thrown out. What could he possibly hope to contribute? It showed her the hopelessness of this endeavor. They had to find a cure for a sick vampire soon, and no one knew any more than she did.

Then there was Dr. Taylor, an orthopedist, and Dr. Simm, an ophthalmologist. Nat shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Nick," she whispered.

"So you thought you could make him mortal again. And how did you hope to accomplish this feat?" That was from Takis, as he looked down his aquiline nose at her.

"I tried to find him something to drink besides blood," she began, before she was interrupted again.

"Like what? How could a vampire survive without blood!" Charles and Dudley spoke together.

"What made you think that the blood was what kept him vampire," Luka asked quietly, genuinely interested.

"From his blood samples," she said, turning to him. "Early on I detected the nucleotides unique to his blood, which I labeled the "vampire" virus. This virus was always much more prevalent after feeding. Then, if he didn't feed on blood for a long time, this virus was in smaller numbers and less aggressive. Only, my protein shakes weren't enough. While it weakened the vampire element, it didn't make him any more mortal, just a weak vampire."

"So could these protein shakes have caused his current stomach ailment?"

Natalie winced, but Luka's comment, like the man, was honest and not boiling with innuendo. "I thought so at first. The vomitus was equal parts blood, vampire blood, and stomach acids. Since vampire stomachs have no stomach acids, that much was probably a result of his trying to digest my protein shakes for six years. I thought that this was just an ulcer then. We tried to treat it by having him consume only small amounts of pure blood, and finding other ways to deal with stress-"

"Vampires do not suffer from stress-related illnesses, Doctor," Takis sneered. The way he said "doctor" sounded like an insult.

"And you know this because?" she snapped. "Have you done your research? Or is this just the indoctrination you've been fed from your master?"

Takis rose from his chair swiftly, but Zuhayr quickly intervened. "I believe your seat will suit you just fine," he said calmly. Takis glared a moment longer before he sat down again.

"Children, no more pointing fingers," Zuhayr said. "These are the facts. Nicholas is ill and slowly dying. We have four and a half months to find a cure. I have gathered you all here to work together. If anyone is not capable of this, speak now!"

Nat looked hopefully at Takis, but the arrogant former gynecologist remained silent.

The vampires were still not convinced that her protein shakes weren't the cause. She was compelled to mix up batch after batch of her recipes, which were studied, then fed to vampire volunteers, who promptly threw them up again. Not one was able to keep the liquid down, making her appreciate Nick's efforts all the more. She remembered watching him fight the gag reflex, and how irritated she would get with him. She shook her head sadly. She owed him a big apology.

"Hang on, Nick," she prayed. "We'll beat this yet."

 

Nick stretched lazily. LaCroix's bed was large and comfortable, with a faint trace of Natalie clinging to it, although the sheets smelled of laundry soap and fabric softener. The mortal holiday, Thanksgiving, had come and gone, the time for reflecting on one's many blessings. A faint smile twitched at the edges of his lips. He was two weeks closer to the end. That was something to be thankful for.

Urs had left for Dallas a few days ago. Already she had called him twice, just to thank him and tell him all about her new friends. The next semester wouldn't begin until January, but she would be all moved in and settled before then. She sounded so happy, it made him feel better about leaving her.

Janette had been harder to send away. As his child, she was more aware of his pain. Nick had been forced to use guilt to his advantage, by telling her that her worry was upsetting his stomach. Only then had he been able to convince her that it was time to move on. She should be in Paris now, with her new lover Amaru. Nick liked Vachon's twin, the responsible one of the pair. Janette would grieve for him, he knew, but not for long.

He couldn't send Tracy away. LaCroix would not want her to be on her own for many years yet. He still wasn't sure how he would deal with her, but he knew something would come to mind. He also knew that she would adjust once he was gone. She was fond of him, maybe she even loved him, but she didn't need him. Besides, she still had Vachon.

"You are awake," LaCroix said quietly, as he came to sit on the edge of the bed.

Nick smiled. "So it would seem," he said, stretching again. He arched his back, his elbows bent and hands near his shoulders. With a sensuous, toothy yawn, he relaxed again and rolled onto his side, closer to his master.

LaCroix chuckled softly as he patted Nick's back. "You are getting lazy in your old age, my child."

"M-hum. Come here, old man. I want you," Nick said, tugging on LaCroix's wrist.

The ancient pushed him over enough to make room, then he stretched out beside him, pulling Nick into his arms before offering his wrist. "Old man, is it? When did you become so disrespectful?"

"Since always," Nick said, nipping the wrist playfully. "It's one of my most endearing qualities."

LaCroix growled in Nick's ear, teasing him, wanting him, but denying himself even a taste. "You impudent brat," he said. "Time to get up."

Nick snuggled more deeply into the arms that held him, keeping his eyes closed and ignoring the gentle command. LaCroix scooped him into his arms then and lifted him from the massive bed. "Perhaps you need some assistance, my child?"

Nick laughed, and struggled half-heartedly to get down. "Okay, okay, I'm up," he said.

LaCroix carried him to the master bath before setting him on his feet. "I shall expect you shortly, Nicholas," he warned, before closing the door.

Nick showered quickly and dressed in the clothing LaCroix had laid out for him. The trousers were soft and fit well, they must be fairly new. The shirt was soft as well, a warm, brushed silk. He wondered briefly what color they were, but assumed they would be black, for it was LaCroix's favorite color. He raked his fingers through damp hair, settling it into place. Then he joined LaCroix in the living room.

"So what are your plans tonight, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked.

"Vachon and I are going out later," Nick said. "There's a club on the east side, the Silver Chains. He wants to check it out, but Tracy says she's never going set foot in there again. We had to go there on that one case, the Hunter baby."

LaCroix nodded as he recalled the case. Natalie had been considering her own nesting urges, and having to autopsy an infant affected her deeply. "What sort of club is it? I don't recall hearing about that one."

Nick smiled. He could not remember a time when he and his master had ever sat and engaged in such small talk before. It was rather amusing. "Really?" he said, feigning surprise. "It seems to be just your kind of place, actually. You'd fit right in."

LaCroix scowled. His child was toying with him and he wasn't sure he approved. Still, Nicholas was looking a little better these days. He was feeding daily, without coercion, and he was able to walk without the cane most of the time. "Perhaps I shall join you and the Spaniard then," he said smoothly.

Nick laughed. "Great. I'll save a dance for you."

They fell into a companionable quiet then. Nicholas seemed in no great hurry to be going. LaCroix reached out to him through their bond, but once again he sensed only peace from the young knight. LaCroix had been fooled before into believing that this was a good sign. Now he knew that it meant Nicholas was consciously controlling the bond, manipulating it. This was what Nicholas wanted him to sense. His scowl depended.

Nick rose and walked around behind LaCroix's chair. He wrapped his arms around the elder's neck and leaned down, giving him an affectionate hug. He nuzzled the ancient's throat, licking at it, seeking permission before he struck. LaCroix chuckled. His child was still manipulating him, but he was also being delightfully loving. LaCroix patted Nick's hand and craned his neck in offering.

Nick bit gently and sucked for only a moment. LaCroix breathed in deeply, searching his son as he drank for any crack in his pleasant façade. Briefly, just a flash, LaCroix caught the truth. The depression, thick and suffocating, nearly smothered him. Then, as soon as it had begun, it was gone. Nicholas was lapping at the twin wounds to close them, the fingers of his hands roaming playfully across LaCroix's breast.

"Until later, master," Nick said, straightening, then he whistled for the carouche. "Come here, boy!"

Perry trotted to the door and waited patiently as Nick slipped the harness over him.

"I have some business to attend to first, my son. If I miss you at the club, then I shall visit you tomorrow at sunset."

"Good night," he said.

LaCroix stared at the door for long moments. He knew what he had to do... He closed his eyes and shuddered.

 

The music was too loud.

Vachon ignored the discomfort as he and Nick danced in the dimly lit nightclub. Tracy had not wanted to return to the Silver Chains with them. Something about the bondage culture still bothered her. Nick had surprised them both when he offered to come with him. Only a few weeks ago he had been closer to death than any vampire should ever be.

Nick had been ill for a year now, although he had managed to conceal it at first. Something had happened to him and he was no longer able to feed. This in turn affected his ability to heal, which increased his need to feed. It was a vicious cycle, which left the handsome vampire blind and severely depressed. In fact, he had been determined to end his suffering by simply starving himself. Vachon still wasn't sure who had been able to convince Nick to wait six months, but now the ancient Zuhayr was gathering the finest physicians in the world to work on the problem. Nick, though, wasn't holding out hope. He was keeping track of the number of days. When he reached 182 - six months - he expected Zuhayr to honor his death wish.

Vachon feasted his eyes on his dance partner. Nick was a fantastic dancer. It didn't seem to matter what the music was - from middle eastern folk tunes to mid-thirteenth century Musettes to acid rock - Nick absorbed it, internalized it, then immortalized it as he moved across the dance floor.

Vachon could sense the interest of every Dom, male and female, in the club. He pushed more than a few away with an amber glare and a mild suggestion. He was very defensive where Nick was concerned.

Nick didn't seem to realize the stir he was causing, either. That was one of the things Vachon loved most about him, for while Nick was exquisitely passionate, fantastically gorgeous, he was also incredibly innocent. Vachon would have willingly submitted to him. Still, with Nick's weakened physical state, it was better if these mortals considered Vachon to be the Dominant in their relationship.

Nick's hips moved with the exaggerated beat, pulsing erotically. Vachon was drawn to him like a moth to flame. He stared at the exposed vee where the top buttons of Nick's white silk shirt were undone. The smooth, firm chest beneath was so seldom seen and well worth the view. Nick should go into modeling, Vachon decided, once he shook this strange illness and put back on a little of the weight he had lost. It would be much easier on him than police work and that body deserved to be captured on canvas and film. He smiled even as he forced his throbbing fangs to retract. Before the blindness, Nick had always been very self-conscious, keeping layers of clothing buttoned securely. Vachon still hoped the ancient would find the cure for Nick soon, but in the mean time he would enjoy this new, freer, more sensual side of him.

Nick grinned at him, the tips of his fangs just barely visible. "Javier? You're drooling."

"Do you blame me," he countered. He put his hands on Nick's hips and pulled him in closer. "Come with me," he commanded, playing his part.

Nick submitted, letting Vachon draw him towards a dark corner. He moved into the younger vampire's embrace and sank his fangs in the tender skin behind the ear. Vachon groaned, somewhere between pain and ecstasy. Then he returned the blood kiss.

 

'Did they think they were being discreet?' Tyrone sneered disgustedly from his position near the back of the nightclub. He snubbed his cigarette into the ashtray, glaring at anyone who dared to approach him. This was some weird club. It wasn't his idea of a good time. He would never have come in, if he hadn't been following Knight. The vampire homicide cop was certainly giving him an interesting tour of the city.

He stared at them as they clung to each other. They shuddered and moaned, obviously in the height of sexual release. Tyrone rubbed himself angrily. There wasn't time to pick up some bimbo tonight. He sensed that after nearly forty years of planning, his revenge was about to be complete.

Knight pulled away from the dark-haired one and Tyrone saw his fangs before they retracted. He glanced around sharply, but no one else in the club was watching. These weird sadist morons weren't even aware of the danger that danced in their midst! It was kind of funny, really. Knight had sent him to prison on drug charges and one count of manslaughter and yet how many had the vampire killed?

The younger vampire pulled Nick's shirt away from his neck and licked at the twin wounds. The gesture was both tender and erotic. Tyrone cursed. He was so hard now it hurt. Maybe he should postpone for one more night? He couldn't afford to have his concentration less than perfect. Vampires were too dangerous.

"Master, would you like another drink?"

Tyrone nearly jumped. The scantily clad girl had come out of nowhere. She carried a tray of empty glasses and a small pile of tips. The tips didn't look like much, considering the view she was providing in her short leather skirt and leather bustier, with all the zippers half lowered. Her cleavage went nearly to her navel.

"I'd rather give you something to drink," he grunted angrily.

She set the tray down on his table and beamed at him. "Yes, Master!"

He nearly choked on his tongue as she knelt under the table and crawled between his knees. She took his zipper in her teeth and pulled. His hard cock sprang to attention. Tyrone groaned. He must have crossed over into the twilight zone.

He felt her warm mouth encase him and begin to work him eagerly. He closed his eyes for a moment and relaxed. He was so near to exploding already, this shouldn't take long.

Her fingers worked inside his jeans and cupped his ass as she sucked harder. He started thrusting, nearly deep-throating her in his need. He had almost forgotten how good it could be. Prison had nearly destroyed his ability to enjoy sex at all... thanks to Knight.

 

 

The blood kiss brought a temporary flush to Nick's pale face. Vachon stared, mesmerized by his beauty. The twin wounds at Nick's throat continued to bleed. He leaned forward to lick at them again. Small drops of blood stained Nick's collar. Vachon doubted anyone could tell in the dimly lit club, but it was probably time to take him home before Nick was too tired to move on his own. He was so much worse these days, and LaCroix seldom let him out of his sight. Vachon didn't want the evening to end on a sour note.

"One more dance," Nick said, grinning broadly.

Vachon cleared his throat before he tried to sound authoritative. He was going to tell him no, but Nick was already moving to the music. He shrugged. What harm could one more dance pose? Still, Nick's motions were not quite as fluid as before. Vachon slowly danced towards the exit, bringing Nick with him. When the number ended, he pushed them out the door.

Nick laughed. "Okay, boss. Take me home."

"You know, Nick," Vachon snapped angrily, "if you took better care of yourself, I wouldn't have to act like your master."

"I don't need a lecture," Nick said. His eyes blazed gold for a moment. Sensing his loss of control, he drew in a deep breath and blinked. Vachon saw stormy blue once more.

"I'm sorry, Nick. But I am getting tired and I promised Tracy I'd meet her later."

Nick shrugged, no longer angry. He was like that. He could go from anger to tranquility in an eye-blink, unless the target of his anger was his master. Then Nick could brood and nurse his hurt feelings childishly for ages.

Vachon used to envy him. Nick had a family who loved and supported him, but Vachon valued his freedom too much. Recently LaCroix had accepted him into the family. It was a gift he no longer wanted.

"The Loft or the Raven?" Vachon asked as he mounted his bike.

"Loft," Nick answered.

Neither of them saw the dark figure hovering in the shadows, listening to every word.

 

Perry pranced around the motorcycle, sniffing at his charge. Nick seemed to be fine, but the carouche sensed something wrong. He felt ill at ease and he didn't understand why. He would not relax until this one was safely home, preferably in his bed. Then Perry could leave him for a while to hunt. He licked his lips hungrily.

"Hi there, boy," Nick said, laughing lightly. "You didn't have to wait for me, you know. You can trust Vachon."

Perry barked. That was debatable.

Vachon grunted as he revved the bike. He'd never minded carouche before, but he was willing to make an exception for this one. "Ready, Nick?" he called.

Nick put his arms around Vachon. "Yes. Let's go."

Vachon started with a lurch, zipping from zero to just past the speed limit in the shortest possible distance as his tires spun dirt at the carouche. Then his irritation was forgotten as his bike chewed up the road. He loved to feel the wind in his hair, the motor thrumming, the comfort of another behind him. He licked his fang tips, remembering the heady taste of Nick.

Perry was waiting at the door to the loft when they arrived. Vachon watched Nick dismount and approach the door. He looked tired, but not unstable. He could make it upstairs without help. He waited while Nick tapped the numbers into the lock and opened the door.

"Thanks, Nick," he said then. "I had fun tonight."

Nick turned in the direction of his voice and smiled. "Me, too. Say "hi" to Tracy for me."

Perry turned his nose to the sky. There is it was again, a different scent. He briefly considered going hunting now, but pushed the thought away. As soon as Nick was settled...

He accompanied Nick to the lift and into his loft apartment, although it wasn't really necessary. Nick could navigate the entire warehouse alone now. Once inside he watched his charge pour himself something to drink and settle at the piano. Although the vampire was obviously tired, he didn't seem quite ready to sleep.

Perry went to the couch. It was a little narrow for walking in circles, but he managed a few good turns before flopping down to get comfortable. The music tonight was restful. Perhaps his fears for Nicholas were unfounded.

Finally, Nick closed the lid over the keys. "I guess I'll retire," he said, rising slowly. Perry jumped down from the couch. He licked at Nick's hand and wagged his tail.

"You need to go out? Why didn't you hunt while I was in the nightclub?"

Perry barked. That was an unsavory neighborhood, and he preferred squirrels to rats anyway.

"Okay," Nick said. He pressed a switch on the skylight that opened it a few inches. Perry would be able to wedge his nose beneath the glass and lift it when he returned. The photocell would seal the skylight at sunrise. Then Nick rode the lift down with Perry.

 

Tyrone grinned as he heard the vampire get up from the piano. He had been watching him for nearly two months now. Thankfully, Knight was a creature of habit, making his job so much easier. Soon Knight would let the dog out, and then he would go to sleep.

Tyrone pulled the can of spray refrigerant from the trunk of his car, leaving the trunk slightly open. Stuffing a small, short stick in his pocket, he went to Nick's door and sprayed the hinges well. The cold metal would not work as smoothly and the door would open or close in slow motion. Then he leaned the stick against the door.

His receiver crackled in his ear and he winced. That damn lift interfered with the transmission. Why couldn't he just take the stairs - were vampires lazy as well? They were coming; Tyrone had to move. He quickly climbed back inside his rental car, a small, nondescript black four door, and waited.

There was Knight. "If you see a sweet bitch, give her a good roll," Nick said. The dog barked at him, then strode down the street, his nose sniffing at the trash on the sidewalk.

Tyrone watched the door swing closed slowly, slowly, then stop. The old stick trick had worked. The door didn't latch. He turned the volume off on his tap, then dialed Animal Control from his cell phone.

"Hello, Hieroff? This is Mr. Jones. That dog is out again."

"Yes, Mr. Jones. You said it was a Golden Retriever?"

Tyrone sighed. How did such idiots get jobs, much less keep them? "Yes. And he is vicious. I want him picked up immediately."

"On my way, Mr. Jones."

"Don't come alone. He bites, and he'll tear your arm off. You'll need a muzzle."

The city employed reassured him that he knew how to handle it. "And thanks for letting us know, Mr. Jones. We'll get that dog off the street before someone gets hurt."

Tyrone flipped off the power and waited. There was nothing he could do now until Hieroff called back to say it was done. He wasn't too worried about overpowering Knight, but he didn't want to test his strength against that demon dog.

He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it. Thanks to that slave girl in the club, he was much more relaxed than he had been in weeks. He didn't really need the cigarette either, but it would help to pass the time. He drew in deeply and held his breath for a moment before letting the smoke and air out in a long, slow sigh.

Odd, but he could thank Knight for this as well. He hadn't smoked before he went to prison. He couldn't afford it... not with a wife and child to support, and not even a high school education. He closed his eyes against the memory of his little son, a cop's bullet through his chest. Stevie had been only three years old! Tyrone had emptied his chamber into that cop before Knight took him down. The cop didn't even have the decency to die, and his shooting of Stevie had been investigated and pardoned. The cop took an early retirement though and walked with a permanent limp.

It wasn't the other cop that Tyrone blamed; he was an idiot. He blamed Nick Knight. Knight was the one to gather enough evidence against him to get a warrant; Knight was the one to draw his gun first.

Tyrone had died that night, along with his son. The young man, struggling to provide for his family in the only way he knew how, ceased to exist, and was replaced with an automaton powered by silent rage. He did his time. He endured countless beatings and sexual assaults, working out daily until he could defend himself, and always his one goal was to get out and get even. He had sworn that he would see that Knight suffered everything that he had.

The phone distracted him. Tyrone pulled it from his pocket and pressed the send button. "Yes?"

"We got 'im, Mr. Jones. You weren't kidding. He went berserk! Snapped my pole in two, tore the muzzle to shreds. We shot him with the hypodermic gun I don't know how many times. But he's in custody now."

"I want him dead, Hieroff. That's what I paid you for. Destroy him!"

"Well, now, I will, but I have to do this carefully. That dog has a license, and there could be problems."

"Just do it!"

"I will," the city employee vowed. "I just couldn't sleep nights if I let that beast go and he bit someone's child. But wait until my partner is off, and I'll mess up the paperwork real good."

"See that you do. And when it's done, burn the body. There'll be no evidence that he was ever there." Tyrone turned off his phone and pocketed it. It was time. He checked his pockets. Everything was set. "So, Nicholas Knight... you get to meet the fiddler."

 

 

Chapter three:

 

Nick shifted on the couch to a more comfortable position. He should go on upstairs, get undressed and climb into bed, but he felt a little lazy. The couch was good enough... and he was so tired. He'd had fun tonight, though.

There'd been little of that lately. The strange illness that kept him blind and weak was getting worse, and with his increased dependence on LaCroix, he had seriously considered ending his long existence. Zuhayr was still optimistic, but Nick wasn't holding out any hope. He'd had that crushed too many times in the past. Instead, Nick was preparing for death. He was settling his affairs, providing for the people he cared about and spending time with them as a way of saying good-bye.

Then suddenly the door opened. Nick sat up groggily. "Perry?" he asked.

"Um, hello, you don't know me, but I've seen you around with your dog," the stranger said is a rush. His voice was high pitched and nasal sounding. "I'm real sorry to tell you, but someone just hit your dog. I thought you should know."

Nick jumped to his feet, wheeling slightly as he tried to clear the cobwebs away. "Where is he? Take me to him!"

"He's a goner, mister. It was a semi- never even stopped. I only got a partial on the plates. If it's any consolation, I don't think he suffered."

Nick rushed to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle. He didn't bother to sniff the cork to ensure that it was Perry's cow or not. If Perry had been hurt, then he would need blood fast.

"Please, take me to him," Nick said again, approaching the stranger.

"Okay, I'll take you, mister, but I warned you."

Nick ran down the stairs holding the railing. He was tempted to fly, but didn't dare in the stranger's presence. He hesitated at the door. The air felt warm. The sun must be on the horizon. He didn't have much time.

The stranger came up and offered his arm. He was shorter than Nick by a few inches, but his arm was solid and well-muscled. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Nick didn't have any close neighbors; he wondered where the man was from.

"This way," the man said and led Nick across the street.

Nick inhaled deeply. He didn't smell blood, carouche or other. The accident must have happened a few blocks away. He heard the sound of a car door or trunk opening, then he felt a bumper press into his shins as the once helpful neighbor shoved him roughly.

"What?" Nick started to ask, confused.

"Sleep well, Detective," the mad said, his voice low and no longer friendly. Then Nick felt the sharp sting as a bullet was fired at close range. It pierced a lung as it flew right through him. He heard crying then, and sirens, and wind, but it was all a muffled confusion as the small wound began to burn.

"Perry!" he called. He lost his grip on the bottled blood. It clattered as it fell to the street and broke.

The man laughed, but the sound was not pleasant. He yanked Nick's wrists behind his back and snapped on handcuffs. "I wasn't lying about that much, Detective. The dog is dead. But don't worry. Soon you'll be seeing him again. If dogs go to hell, that is."

He gave Nick a shove. Nick felt himself fall forward into the trunk of a car. The man stuffed his legs in before slamming it shut. Nick winced. The space was narrow and confining. He tried to think. The wound was burning, clouding his thinking, and the rising sun was making him groggy. He tried again to reach Perry, but he could not find him.

He should try to reach his master, Nick realized. But maybe not just yet? If he wanted LaCroix to stop hovering over him, then he should stop calling him at the first sign of trouble.

This man had shot him and cuffed him with standard issue handcuffs. He thought a semi truck could kill his carouche. The man obviously didn't know about their special abilities. Nick wasn't in too much danger. At the moment he couldn't free himself, but that would change. He needed to think... he was so tired. The gentle motion of the car was lulling him away, and as his blood oozed onto the carpeted trunk, Nick's strength fled with it. He blinked, struggling to stay awake. Tonight he would break free... Then he might even forget his promise not to kill... he'd at least taste this man to find out what really happened to Perry.

 

Cody was all cried out. No one came to help him. No one cared. He really was all alone! First Daddy went away and he didn't come back. That was when everything started going all wrong. Mommy wasn't nice any more. She smelled bad. She used to smell of shampoo and cedar. He would ride in the backpack carrier all day, clinging to her long braids, and her scent would fill each breath, comforting him even when he slept. After Daddy left, the shampoo smell went away, and when they moved to the noisy place, then he could no longer smell cedar or pine, either. Now there was a yucky smell in the air that confused him and sometimes made him cough.

Cody shook the crib rail angrily. He was not going to cry any more. That nice man with friendly smile and sharp teeth, he had been good to Cody. He read to him, just like his real daddy used to do. He sounded a little like his real daddy. Cody couldn't quite remember what Daddy looked like. That man had told him he wasn't Cody's daddy, but he could call him "Uncle Nick."

Uncle Nick hadn't come by to see him for a long time. These people weren't nice to him. They were always saying "No!" They were impatient, and they didn't carry him like mommy and daddy always did. They wanted him to walk, and they got angry when he had accidents. The one teacher with the gray hair took away his underwear then and put him in diapers. He didn't really mind. He thought underwears were a dumb idea anyway, but Mommy used to come when he cried. These people were busy. They had lots of crying children to help. Cody felt another tear slip down his face, in spite of himself.

It was time to go look for Uncle Nick! Cody examined the crib carefully. It was smaller than his crib in Mommy's house. He pulled the teddy bear Edna had put in the bed with him over to the corner and stepped on it's head. "Sorry, Teddy," he said.

It wasn't quite high enough. He grabbed his blanket and wadded it up, stuffing it under Teddy and tried again. The feet of his pajamas were slippery, but he was strong. Bending his knees and bouncing several times on the mattress, he lunged for the crib rail. Success! He felt the rail on his stomach, his feet suspended above Teddy's head. For a moment he was scared as he looked at the floor way below. If he let go, he could fall back into the bed, but then what? No, he had to go find Uncle Nick.

With renewed courage, he swung first one leg over the rail and then the other. He clung to the rail as he lowered himself. His feet were still off the floor, and he was staring Teddy in the face. "Can I make it?" he asked.

Teddy's head seemed to nod as the mattress shook a little from his struggling. Cody smiled and let go.

He fell to the floor with a quiet thud, his soggy diaper taking most of the force. Cody shuddered once, almost ready to cry, but then he realized he was free! He reached through the crib slats for Teddy and tugged.

Teddy's body came through easily, but his head caught. Cody knew what that was like. "Sorry," he apologized again. "Come, Teddy. Go bye-bye!" He yanked again.

Teddy came free. Cody hugged him and grinned, his thumb finding its way back in his mouth. "Go now," he whispered.

The door to the nursery had been left partially opened and a soft light filtered through. There were no other children sleeping in his room right now, but there was another bedroom next door where some older kids usually slept and a bunch of kids were playing in the playroom. He could hear them talking. Last night when Cody had woke up, the teacher wouldn't let him get up and play. She had simply changed his diaper and put him back to bed. He didn't like that at all. But he knew better than to try to play now. Besides, he had to find Nick. Cody looked towards the door that Father Pierre always took.

Father Pierre was really nice. Cody liked him almost as much as Nick, but Father Pierre had lots of kids to take care of. Nick didn't have any.

Two boys started arguing. The night teacher with gray hair, Edna, turned to stop them. It gave him just enough time to dash to the door and quietly slip out. Nobody saw him. The door closed with a soft click.

The hallway was dark and strange. Cody hardly remembered it at all, since he'd been crying when he'd first come here. Mommy gave him away! She didn't want him anymore. She never came to visit! And then, then, one day, he knew she was really gone, just like his daddy.

But Cody could smell things. Father Pierre's scent was everywhere. Cody couldn't tell which way to go by his scent, but Uncle Nick's scent came stronger from one direction. Cody would know his scent anywhere. Nick smelled sweet, like honey and fruit, and something else Cody couldn't quite place - yeast maybe, like bread? Cody rubbed his stomach. He was really hungry. He hoped he could find Nick soon!

Cody found a door that brought him outside the brick building and into a cold, dark night. He shivered from his wet pajamas. Well, if he got cold enough, maybe he could take them off. He climbed down the stone stairs and hurried along, eager to follow Nick's trail now, while it was still dark and there was less traffic to mask the scent.

The streetlights were burning, casting little circles of amber light. Cody didn't need them to see, though. He could see well in the dark, so he kept to the shadows. He didn't want anyone to bother him.

When he'd walked a long way, he came to the end of his path. A street loomed in front, blocking him from the other side. Cody hesitated. The cars were noisy and they scared his mommy sometimes. She'd told him to stay away from streets.

But Nick went this way, Cody was sure of it! He could smell Perry here as well! Cody swallowed his fear. Maybe, if he made himself really small, the cars wouldn't see him? He got on his hands and knees and crawled onto the cold pavement. One car whizzed past, but it didn't stop. Cody crawled as quickly as he could, holding his breath, and feeling faintly dizzy before he reached the other side. When he came to another street, he didn't even hesitate. He knew just how to do it!

On and on Cody went, running until he was too tired, then walking, crawling across each street, and always keeping to the shadows, somehow knowing that the few people out at this time wouldn't leave him alone if they saw him. Mommy had always distrusted people - everyone except Daddy.

He was getting closer! He just knew it! Nick and Perry's scent was very strong. But a man in a car was nearby. Cody crouched down behind the car to listen.

The man was angry. His voice sounded different, too. Cody shivered and it wasn't just from the cold.

"Hello, Hieroff?" said the man. "This is Mr. Jones. That dog is out again."

Cody looked around. Yes! There was Nick's dog! Perry was three blocks away. Cody almost yelled to him, when he heard the man again.

"Yes. And he is vicious. I want him picked up immediately. ...don't come alone. He bites, and he'll tear your arm off. You'll need a muzzle."

'No!' thought Cody. Perry wasn't vicious! He glanced down the street to watch the Golden Retriever. He would have to warn Nick!

Perry had his nose to the ground and was sniffing. Something small and fury darted out to cross the street and the dog chased after it. Cody smiled. His dog was good. Perry could take care of himself.

The man in the car was getting out now. Cody ducked under the car further. He didn't want to be seen. And now he didn't know where his dog had gone. He would just wait here until the dog came back, and then they could be together.

The man came back first. He had Uncle Nick with him. Cody grinned. He would wait just a little longer, until the man went away and then Nick would hold him and make him feel special again. He crunched lower under the back end of the car. Two pairs of men's shoes were close enough to touch almost. Cody held his breath.

A siren started to blare several blocks away. Cody covered his ears. It was such an ugly sound, and it was coming closer. Sirens meant some one was in trouble. Sometimes they meant someone was hurt. Cody shuddered.

Then something bit him! It hurt so bad! Cody screamed. He forgot that he had to be quiet, because it hurt so much. There was a loud thumping sound above him, too, and the trunk slammed shut. The bad man got back in the car and started the engine. Cody cried harder, coughing at the stink from the car and the scent of blood and the pain. He should never have crawled under that car! He hurt worse than he had ever hurt before. He put his hand on his shoulder and touched the sore spot. His hand was all bloody. Cody screamed again.

"Unka Nick? Wanna go home!" he cried.

But no one came. Cody couldn't cry any more. He could hardly stand either. He crawled back to the sidewalk, to a shadowed doorstep and huddled as far away from the wind as he could.

His shoulder was bleeding bad. Worse than a splinter or a blister, or when he fell off the slide in Father Pierre's playground and cut his forehead. Cody started to suck his thumb again, but it was sticky. He didn't want it that bad.

The door opened behind him. Cody held very still. Big feet stood too close, and a tall man closed the door, locking it. Then he tripped over Cody. Cody cried again. Now he had to get away, too. He tried to stand, but his legs didn't work right.

"Where did you come from?" asked a man's voice.

Cody just cried. The man hunched down to look at him. Cody shrank back, looking furtively for his escape.

"It's okay, don't be afraid," he said. He had a kind voice, too. It was deep and gentle.

Cody was scared and cold and hurt and bleeding. His dog was gone and he didn't know what to do. He reached out to the kind man.

The man seemed startled when he hugged him. He stood up. Boy he was tall! Cody felt so tired. "Go bye-bye," he whispered. He wasn't going to be awake much longer.

"My name is Jarod," the man said. "Where are your mother and father?"

"Gone," he answered truthfully.

"You're bleeding," Jarod said, surprised. "You need a doctor."

"No!" Cody exclaimed.

"Sh," Jarod comforted him. "I'll take care of you."

 

LaCroix knocked on the door to the rectory. "This is all your fault," he muttered to himself. "Damn you, Nicholas."

The light flicked on, momentarily blinding him, then the door was pulled open. The young French priest gave a startled gasp, uneasy in his presence. LaCroix smiled sardonically.

"Good morning, Rochefort," he said calmly.

Father Rochefort nodded nervously. "Yes, good morning, LaCroix. Would you care to come in?" He stepped back, making room for the ancient vampire.

LaCroix followed him into the formal living room, a pleasant, comfortable place filled with hand-me-down furniture and hand-knit afghans, a mix of castoffs and gifts from the parish. LaCroix settled in the recliner, the least offensive chair in the room.

The priest folded his hands and started twice to ask the purpose for his visit, but he stammered incoherently. Finally, he cleared his throat and chose a subject. "Nicholas seems well. He's been by several times this week, thank goodness. Only he can handle the child, Cody. My staff is begging me to call social services to take him away. I wish I could help him, though. He's really a sweet little boy, just such a -"

"Nicholas is not well," LaCroix interrupted.

The priest shut his mouth, squirming uncomfortably. It amused LaCroix. The young man did not like him, he didn't trust him, and he didn't understand him at all, and yet, his training as a priest forced him to treat LaCroix with the same polite manner as he would a visiting Bishop. LaCroix would never understand the philosophy of those Christians. In Rome, the big people were treated with respect, and the little people were trod underfoot. That was the way of things. It seemed more honest to him. One always knew who one's enemies were.

"He seemed fine," the priest stammered. "We talked for some time two days ago. He told me about his family, Urs's decision to go to school, and he seemed happy."

"He is saying good-bye," LaCroix said firmly.

Silence wrapped around them. LaCroix watched the information register as the young priest considered his words. Then the young mortal nodded. "Yes, I believe you are right. How stupid of me not to see it for myself."

"I find that I am in your debt, priest," LaCroix snapped. It was time to state his purpose and get out of here. He knew instinctively that the sun hovered on the edge of rising. "You alone were able to turn my son away from his self-destructive behavior. I ask you to do so again. Save his life, and you shall have my protection for the rest of your mortal days."

The priest rose, pacing a small circle as he avoided looking at the intimidating vampire in his living room. "You do not need to do that, Monsieur. I will speak to him, as it is both my duty and my honor. No form of payment is required."

"Never the less, the offer stands. Because of your friendship with Nicholas, you are in danger from others of our kind. I am accorded an amount of respect, as befits my age and rank in the community. With my protection, none would dare to harm you. Good day."

The priest stared at the empty place the vampire vacated, as the front door softly clicked shut. "Poor Nicholas," he murmured. "No wonder you have an ulcer."

 

Chapter four:

Jarod held the small boy, patting his back softly, as he glanced around. Although the sun had risen, it was still a dark, shadowed street - no place for a child. His mission wasn't far from here, but would it be safe for the child? It never occurred to him to take the child to a hospital. Jarod had been a doctor before, and a child psychologist, and an FBI agent, and even of thief. Like a chameleon, Jarod pretended to be many things, because he didn't know who he really was.

Holding the small boy close, he hurried through the streets, leaving the small warehouse where he was gathering the information to prepare for his next identity, towards the Fourth Street Mission.

He had come to Toronto for a rest. After four years of running, he was worn out. Sometimes he was so lonely that he considered turning himself back in to the Center. He missed Sydney, the only father figure he had ever known, the psychiatrist who had trained him, developed his ability and intelligence.

Jarod had not known anything was unusual about his childhood. He had not known any better. He had started breaking out of his room more out of boredom than any desire for freedom. For a year it went unnoticed, but then one night his playful exploits were discovered and the center reacted violently. He had been thrown into a cell where he was ill treated, humiliated, and starved. The growing resentment planted the seeds of his rebellion. Later, when he'd discovered that his simulations were being used to hurt people, he swore to set things right.

So he had escaped. He called Sydney sometimes, as he needed his advice and guidance. The world was a strange and wonderful place, but it could be overwhelming to a man raised in isolation. Jarod had never been to a grocery store before, or crossed a street, or learned how to say "hello" to a stranger. He knew nothing of women at all, as his only contact had been a few hours in the company of a girl his age, Miss Parker, and a first kiss when they had both still been children.

Jarod felt a strange pain when he thought of Miss Parker. He missed her, too, although he wasn't sure why. She wanted him caught, dead or alive, and she had made it her crusade to see him brought down. She seemed like a cold, heartless bounty hunter, but Jarod knew she had a beautiful soul. She was as much a victim of the Center as he had been. Oh, she had not been exploited as he had, but she was almost just as isolated. She too had no freedom. She had to serve the Center. No one ever left or retired... they just ceased to exist.

He forced his troubled thoughts away. He had to be alert if he wanted to keep his freedom. He knew if the Center ever caught him again, they'd kill him before they allowed him to escape.

So now he was known as Brother Jarod, an itinerant member of the Glenmary missionaries. He had obtained an abandoned building, hired the homeless to help him clean it, and he ran a soup kitchen there. His doors remained open and unlocked all the time, so no one had to sleep outside in the cold. Right now few came there to sleep, but it was still relatively mild. He worried for them, wondering who would care for them when he had to move on.

Being a brother was one of the easiest disguises, though. He had discovered quite by accident two years ago that when he pretended to be a religious, few people ever looked him in the face. They lowered their eyes mostly, in a show of respect. When Miss Parker had happened to catch up with him, none of the people he had met and worked with had been able to recognize his photograph. They couldn't remember that his hair was dark and his eyes were brown. They only remembered that he was tall and he was someone they trusted.

That kind of bothered him. It seemed wrong to take advantage of their trust, but he never really told the lie. He never said he was a Brother. People just assumed that when they saw him dressed in the brown monks' cloth, a rough hemp rope belted at his waist and sandaled feet. Still, maybe it was like lying to encourage their misconceptions, but that was what he was. Jarod was a pretender.

He didn't know how to stop. He had been trained from his earliest memories to become other people, to think and act like them, to predict their next actions... and the Center used his simulations to carry out their sick little power games. Now, although Jarod was free, he could not stop. He didn't know who he was. He could never pretend just to be himself.

Jarod turned the last corner and hurried along to the door of his mission. The title painted over the door still seemed odd to him. One of the homeless patrons had chosen it and had done the work himself.
"Our Lady of Perpetual Help" was lettered in Old Bookman script with bright blue paint. The patron had given Jarod a tiny card with a picture of the icon on it. Jarod had nodded, pretending he knew what it meant. So far he hadn't been able to find any information about it, though, and none of the homeless seemed to notice that he was the most ignorant brother they had ever met.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Three bodies were stretched out on the floor still deep in sleep. They smelled and their tattered, layered clothing was filthy, still he felt such sorrow for them. They were the forgotten ones.

The main room was a large open hall, now filled with rows of folding chairs and tables, which had been donated by area churches. It had taken some convincing to show them the need for this soup kitchen, as there was one already in existence, but the homeless were also without a means of transportation. It would be better to have a lot of little soup kitchens around the city, than one big one that required volunteers to locate, pick up, and transport the hungry masses.

Just off of main hall were the kitchen, a single bathroom, and several other smaller rooms. He had plans to remodel, adding larger bathrooms with showers and tubs, but that would take time.

Jarod used one small room as his bedroom. It held a single cot, a table and chair, and a curtain for the window and that was all. It wasn't a cheery place, but then he'd learned that brothers were expected to live simply. Now he laid the small boy on his cot and inspected his wounds. Gently he cut away the soiled remains of a yellow blanket sleeper.

A bullet hole went clear through the boy's right shoulder. It wasn't serious as far as bullet wounds went, but the boy had lost blood and the wound looked dirty. 'Who would want to hurt a child?' he thought angrily.

Jarod opened his bag. He'd been a doctor many times in his pretend life and the homeless that came to him were often in need of medical care. He treated infected cuts mostly, some chest coughs and pneumonia. He'd stitched up larger wounds from broken glass or street fights, but he hadn't treated any bullet wounds in a while. Sometimes it seemed he used his first aid kit almost as much as his laptop. He flushed the wound with distilled water, then antiseptic, before covering it with gauze and adhesive tape. Then he examined the child further.

The boy looked to be about three years old. His fingers were still pudgy soft with baby fat although his ribs were too prominent. His diaper was soaked and he was thoroughly chilled. His hair was tangled golden ringlets of wispy baby hair that covered his forehead and much of his ears, but it too smelled like wet diapers. Jarod blinked back tears of compassion. This poor little boy! He deserved a home and a mother who loved him! All children did! Jarod would find out who had done this to him and see that she or he suffered for it. Then he would not rest until he found the boy a loving home.

He filled a basin with warm water from the small bathroom and bathed the unconscious child. His eyes were blue, Jarod noted, as he lifted an eyelid to check the dilation. The child was unusually pale as well, no doubt from the loss of blood. Jarod would test his blood later for vitamin deficiencies. For now, the child would need breakfast and something to wear when he woke up. Jarod touched the child's face tenderly. "Don't worry any more, little one. I'll take care of you," he promised.

  

Chapter five:

The car lurched to a stop. Nick awoke, cursing as the sudden movement made his wound bleed again. He was hungry. His fangs descended and his stomach rumbled. He would need to feed to stop the bleeding. He yanked on the handcuffs and cursed again. Simple stainless steel and he couldn't break them! An idiot had caught him off guard and kidnapped him. Nick was furious with himself.

He tugged on the cuffs again. Then he saw an image of them in his mind clearly. Nick felt that thing again, that power that he had only recently discovered. It pressed on his forehead with such force that the bullet wound was forgotten. At first he tried to stop the images, but then he had an idea. It was a long shot, but worth a try anyway.

Nick forced himself to relax, ignoring the pain as the images pounded in his mind and just let them happen. He saw the cuffs again and the locking mechanism. Nick focused on the lock. He became the key. He imagined himself inside the cuffs, shifting shape to become a perfect fit. Then he turned.

It didn't work at first. He tried again and again. The metal grew warm and the fine blonde hairs on the backs of his hands began to sizzle. The car started forward. Nick clenched his teeth, then tried once more. This time he heard the soft click. The handcuffs sprang open.

He pulled his arms in front, rubbing at his chaffed wrists. He had managed to open the lock! It worked once, so it could work again. Nick tried to picture the trunk.

He had no success.

The car continued to take him away. Nick could tell that the sun was fully up now. He was hurting and hungry and he needed to sleep, but he did not want to sink into the deep slumber of the undead while at the mercy of this inept crook. He tried to reach the man with a hypnotic punch even through the steel that separated them.

He felt the cold hatred of the other man. It was glacial ice of mammoth proportions. Nick was stopped short. What had he ever done to him? He knew he had probably sent this man to prison once, and so he would expect animosity, but the power of this man's hatred was nearly overwhelming.

"Why?" Nick asked, sending his thoughts to the other without thinking.

The man cried out in pain. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Get out of my head, vampire!" He drew his handgun and fired through the back seat into the trunk again.

The first bullet missed, but the second pierced Nick's lower calf. He cried out in anger and rage. The gun suddenly became too hot to touch, forcing the man to drop it.

"Damn sonofabitch," the man cursed vehemently.

Nick blinked. He was so tired. Now his leg was bleeding, draining him of more needed blood and energy. He slipped into the man's head once more, this time very carefully. "You forgot something," he thought. "You must return to the loft..."

 

Tyrone shook himself. He was exhausted and not thinking clearly. Maybe he'd better return to the loft before he took Knight to Chicago. He needed to keep the vampire alive long enough to suffer the tortures he had planned for him, and he had no idea how to procure blood for him. Knight had bottles of the stuff in his refrigerator. Tyrone would grab a few and then they could be on their way. He'd have to hurry. The demon dog should be dead by now and the other vampires would be held prisoners by the daylight. He was safe enough for now, but he intended to be far, far away before sunset.

Nick felt the car turn around. He had no idea how far they had traveled from the loft as he had been unconscious, but he didn't think they had gone very far. He tried again to pop the trunk.

Perseverance paid off. The trunk opened suddenly. The kidnapper slammed on his brakes, squealing tires. Cars all around started blaring their horns and slamming on brakes. The one right behind them had not been able to stop in time. He rear-ended the car. The bumper crumbled, torn steel sliced into Nick's thigh even as the morning sun started to burn his exposed flesh. Nick screamed as he flew from the trunk.

He put his arms over his head, a pitiful shelter from the sun. His skin was smoldering. His chest and legs were still bleeding. Then another car slammed into him. Nick was thrown more than thirty feet, crashing headfirst into brick. He crumpled to the pavement, bleeding and broken.

More cars rammed into each other. Horns were screaming, steel ripped and glass shattered. Pain and suffering were all around him. Nick winced guiltily. He had caused this accident, but somewhere that kidnapper could still see him; he had to get away! Nick struggled to move. He couldn't stand. Both legs hurt too much. His hands were blistering; he could smell the foul odor of searing flesh. Nick groped the pavement anxiously, dragging his body along. He felt the cold circular shape of a manhole cover. Lifting the lid, he threw himself down; the lid clang shut behind him. The tunnel rushed up to meet him. He felt cold water splash around his legs, but the cement under most of his body was fairly dry, if a little slimy. Algae and filth covered the surfaces. He pulled himself further until the small beams filtering down through the manhole cover were no longer a danger, then Nick gave in to his exhaustion.

Somewhere a siren started up. Good, he thought in a daze. Maybe help was already on its way for the unfortunates in that mess outside. There was nothing he could do.

 

 

Chapter six:

Lori leaned against the door to the nursery and drew in a deep breath. "You really do love children," she reminded herself. "You love your job. And Cody is just one little boy!" Drawing in a deep breath, she entered Mary's Little Lambs day care center.

A chorus of greetings welcomed her, as five children latched on to her legs and hugged her. "Lori! Lori! We missed you!"

She touched each one of them and greeted them by name. Then she smiled at Lisa, one of the day shift teachers. "How was today?" she asked.

Lisa grinned. "Very peaceful. Nick must have kept Cody with him."

Lori felt a twinge of guilt at the relief she felt. It wasn't really Cody's fault, as much as his parents. He was undisciplined, rambunctious, and had no social skills. He was inquisitive, demanding, and his speech was severely delayed. There were tots in the birth-to-two year old room that were more developed than he was. If she could work with him, one on one, she knew she could help him learn, but in the three-to-fives group, with as many as twenty other children at once, there just wasn't time. It might be best to put him into the other room with the younger children, but there was no room for him yet.

Lisa grabbed her purse and jacket. "Enjoy your night!"

"Why don't we go outside," Lori suggested, as it would soon be dark.

"Yay," the children cheered, running for the racks were their jackets and outdoor clothes were stored. She helped them start their zippers, pull on boots, and find matching mittens, then led them through the hallway to the back door leading to a fenced-in play yard. They could play for about half an hour before she had to take them inside again. She leaned against a fence post as she watched over them, her thoughts drifting back to the pretty little boy with curly blonde hair.

"Penny for your thoughts," Father Pierre offered softly.

Lori jumped, then smiled at the handsome priest. She was glad that the pink on her cheeks could just as easily be from the cold as her embarrassment. "Ah, Father, nice to see you," she stammered.

He smiled, oblivious to the thoughts and fantasies many of the young women had about him. "I came to see how Cody was getting along," he said.

"I don't know," she said quickly. "He's with Nick."

Father Pierre's eyebrows knit together. How puzzling, he thought. The last time he'd talked to him about adopting Cody, Nick had been adamant. Well the Lord worked in mysterious ways. He smiled, knowing that they would be good for each other. Cody needed a caring adult with patience and fortitude; Nick needed only to be loved. Father Pierre would give them some time alone for a few days, before he dropped in to visit.

 

Vachon dropped into the loft. He'd had a good time with Nick last night, and wanted to tell him so. No, that wasn't quite it. He was worried about him. Nick wouldn't appreciate that, though. Maybe coming had been a bad idea? He knew Nick needed his space.

Nick's bed was neatly made though- too neat for him to have even used it. Had he slept on the couch again? Vachon smiled as he quietly crept downstairs to sneak up on him.

Only, the couch was also vacant. He looked around, growing a little uneasy. There were no glasses or empty bottles on the counters or in the sink. He lifted the lid on the box where Nick kept his watch, it was also gone. He must have changed his mind and slept at the Raven, he realized. Well maybe he'd catch him later. Vachon flew out through the skylight.

 

Ben Adams stared at the report again. The Golden Retriever the night shift had brought in was scheduled for extermination. He hated that part of his job, but at least the unfortunate beasts would see an end to their suffering. Most of the time the dogs he put down were starving, sick, abused, neglected, pitiful animals, but this dog was beautiful. Cautiously he approached the cage again.

"Hello, there," he said softly. The report claimed the dog had been violent, but this animal looked up at him with sad, knowing eyes.

"Did you really do all that stuff?" Adams asked. "Attack those two dog catchers? Bite the muzzle in half? You don't look like a tough guy."

Perry kept his irritation in check. After a few hours cooling off in the pound, he knew that he'd have to play it smart if he wanted to get out. He gave a pitiful whimper and slowly sat up. He raised one paw, as if offering it to shake and whimpered again the way that collie always did on TV.

The man chuckled. "You want to make friends, huh? Well, it's nice to meet you."

Perry shook his head, making sure the light bounced off his new license. Tracy had bought it for him as soon as they got back from Chicago. The man noticed it and gave a startled whoop.

"Well, you are someone's pet! I just knew that you couldn't be a stray. Will you let me read that tag?"

Perry remained motionless, as the man was still uneasy around him. The man nudged his license with a pencil, keeping his distance.

"Nick Knight? You're Knight's dog! Holy bejeeses, it's a damn good thing I waited! You just sit tight and I'll give him a call straight away."

Perry lay down again and rested his chin on his paws. Mortals could be so tiring to be around, but this one seemed harmless. He watched and waited as the man dialed Nick's loft. He could hear the phone ring again and again. He rolled his eyes. Nick could sleep through anything.

Ben Adams hung up and sighed. He looked upset again. "My shift is almost over, boy, and I really hate to go when you're still here. Hieroff seemed so intent on having you put down. Don't know what you did to tick him off so, he's really a nice guy when he wants to be."

Perry was beginning to feel apprehensive. He knew he was stronger than mortals and could survive almost anything, but the pound had a large oven in which they cremated the remains of the animals they destroyed. He had to stay out of that oven! He sat up and barked once, not too loudly.

Adams snapped his fingers. "I'll call the precinct. I know Nick works nights, but he should have reported you missing by now."

That was good thinking, Perry acknowledged. He wondered how Adams knew Nick, but somehow his vampire charge had left a positive impression on him.

The phone rang twice before he heard Nick's Captain Reese answer it.

"Hello, I'm Ben Adams at Animal Control," the mortal began. "And I have Nick's dog here. Do you know where I might get in touch with him?"

Reese sounded surprised and worried. He asked if Ben had tried Nick's loft, then he asked about the Raven.

"No," Ben said. "But I had thought that maybe Nick might have called you to report that his dog was missing."

Reese sounded even more concerned. Perry liked him. He was a little tough on Nick, and his blood pressure was tantalizingly intense, but he was sharp minded and he knew trouble when it was brewing. Reese said he'd call Nick's father and send someone to pick him up shortly.

Perry barked once and smiled, wagging his tail happily. Ben laughed. He even reached his hand inside Perry's cage and tentatively patted his fur behind the ears. "You'll be going home soon, boy," he promised.

 

Reese dialed the Raven immediately. It rang and rang, which irritated him. It was late enough that Mr. LaCroix should be awake by now. Finally he heard that smooth, deep voice answer, "Yes?"

He felt a shiver down his spine. That man always gave him the creeps. "Nick's dog was picked up last night. He's at the pound. Do you have any idea where Nick is, or why he hasn't reported his dog missing?"

Mr. LaCroix's manner changed at once. His words were clipped and urgent. "I will look into it directly."

The line went dead. Reese stared at the phone for a few moments. "Good bye to you, too, Mr. LaCroix," he said sarcastically as he hung up. Well, if Nick didn't call in shortly, he'd send a car to the loft.

 

LaCroix shot from the skylight of his apartment and flew to the loft, ignoring the discomfort of the setting sun. The western horizon still glowed, but already the evening star was out overhead. 'Damn you, Nicholas,' he thought with irritation.

He knew Nicholas was severely depressed, but he had agreed to wait six months. Just last night LaCroix had had a call from Gammaus. Natalie hadn't had any news, but she sounded hopeful. Tired, and frustrated, too. LaCroix smiled briefly as he recalled her conversation. The smile faded. He had to find Nicholas immediately.

Nicholas was still moody and depressed, but he generally kept his promises. LaCroix was livid. That one was driving him to distraction. Nicholas had better have a damn good excuse this time.

The loft was empty. LaCroix flew from room to room, looking for some sign of a struggle, anything that could give him some idea of what had happened to his precious child, but all was as it should be. Nicholas was simply not there.

The phone rang, startling him. He glared at it while it continued to make noise and interrupt his ability to think. When the answering machine kicked on, he was surprised to hear Tracy's voice. He lifted the receiver.

"Yes?" he snapped.

"Uh, hello, Dad," she stammered nervously. "Is Nick there? Is he all right? I just got in to work and Reese told me his dog is in the pound."

LaCroix closed his eyes, striving to shut out the image of his son lying injured in some obscure location. "No, Nicholas is not here. I don't know where he is."

"I'm coming right over. I'll stop and pick up Perry first. Don't touch anything!"

"I beg your pardon," LaCroix growled menacingly.

"LaCroix, I mean it. I'm a cop, and I know what do to. Let me treat it like a crime scene - I might find something."

She could be right, he realized. He cleared his throat. "Do hurry."

 

 

 

 

Chapter seven:

Nothing made sense! The child was too little to be a threat to anyone. Why had he been a target? His wound was definitely behaving abnormally. It seemed to be healing at an amazing rate, even though the child grew increasingly weaker. Jarod felt a cold fear. Had the little boy been a test subject, as he had been? He needed to know. If the child were being hunted by evil people, as Jarod was, then taking him to a hospital would be a death sentence.

The child's condition had not improved all day. The wound was no longer bleeding, but it seemed that his heartbeat was slowing down. He was so cold. Jarod gave him another blanket but it didn't help. Jarod held him close then, trying to warm the small body. Still, the boy seemed to be dying.

Jarod stared, tears filling his eyes. Poor little boy! Robbed of a chance to live... it was so wrong. When he could not bare it another moment, he pulled out his cell phone, pressing the number stored in memory.

After two rings, a quiet, gentle voice answered. "Hello?"

Jarod clutched the phone, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Hello?" the man's voice asked again, growing concerned.

Jarod shifted wiping away a tear. He breathed deeply, unsure of himself, or of why he called.

"Is that you, Jarod?" Sydney asked. "Something's wrong. Tell me about it."

"He's, he's dying," Jarod whispered. His voice cracked. "I can't save him."

Sydney nodded, a paternal smile of understanding on his face, even though his eyes were sad and full of compassion. "And that makes you feel angry."

"Why, Sydney?" he demanded. "Why does he have to die? He's only a little boy! His life was stolen!"

"Death is a part of life, Jarod," he began, hoping to comfort his surrogate child from across the miles. "We are born, we live awhile, and then, then we die. It is inevitable."

"But he hasn't lived!" Jarod shouted. "I told you! They shot him! I treated his wounds, but he's growing cold and he looks so pale. I don't know what to do, Sydney! I can't fix this."

"Who shot him, Jarod?"

Jarod ignored the question. He knew better than to give Sydney any information that could lead back to him. His feelings toward the elderly psychologist were confused. Sydney had been with him for as long as he could remember, he was the only father-figure he had, and yet, Sydney had used him for the Center's evil games. And if Sydney ever caught up with him, he would imprison him again. Still, Jarod loved him. And at times, he hated him for it.

"I'm sorry," Sydney said then. "There is something you can do for the child. When death is inevitable, we can ease the patient's suffering, to make the journey as pleasant as possible. Put on soft music, light a scented candle. Remain in contact with the patient, rub his back or forehead, sing to him, talk to him, let him know that someone cares and will miss him. These are all ways we comfort the dying."

Jarod nodded, wiping away more tears. Then he simply hung up. Sydney pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it with that same gentle, knowing smile. Jarod didn't hang up because he was rude, but simply because he had never been taught the custom of saying good-bye. Sydney had been his teacher. He had encouraged his intellect, and taught him how to be a pretender, but he had never taught him the simple social graces.

Jarod pulled out his laptop and logged on, searching for a music program. What sort of music did one play for the dying? There were Requiem Masses, but they seemed a little heavy for a child. The children's music was often silly and mindless, but then he found a song that said it all. It was under a "Disney" file, called "Stay Awake". He downloaded the song and set it to play continuously.

The scented candles weren't hard to find. Jarod had boxes of them donated to him when he'd first opened the mission. Some were broken or damaged and the gift shop had needed the tax write-off. Jarod lit a dozen of them. He breathed in deeply, experiencing the mixed scents of melted paraffin, jasmine, bayberry, lemon, and vanilla. Then he lay on the cot and pulled the small, cold body into his arms and hugged him.

 

Natalie rubbed at the ache in her neck and groaned. What she wouldn't give to be back in Toronto right now, sitting in Lucien's hot tub, and him rubbing away all her tension. She smiled wistfully. With any luck, he would be bringing Nick here soon. Luck? Hell, they needed a damn miracle.

"Here, let me help," Luka offered quietly.

Before she could object, his strong hands were on her shoulders, massaging with a firm, expert touch. "So tell me about Nicholas," he asked. "How did you meet?"

"Ah, that feels wonderful," she said, leaning her head forward and rolling her shoulders. "I met him in the morgue, actually."

"That sounds like an interesting story," Luka said.

Natalie found herself relaxing for the first time in weeks since she'd arrived. She told him how Nick had been "killed" as he tried to save some people from a pipe bomb. When he'd awakened on her autopsy table, her life changed forever. "He's so moody," she said, with a note of exasperation. "He's like, still a knight, governed by the code of conduct that went out with the Middle Ages. He is compassionate and caring, filled with self-doubt and a sense of guilt that just won't quit. I used to fancy myself in love with him. Now, I just love him, like a brother, or a son."

Luka was quiet, letting her speak, while he rubbed her shoulders, neck, and forehead. "I met Zuhayr a few years ago," he said. I had been playing with my daughters one afternoon, when I needed to run to the store. They asked to go with me, they begged to go, but I told them "no". It was too dangerous. Our land was racked by sniper fire and unrest. I left them home."

His voice trembled for a moment. Natalie felt the anxiety grow in her stomach as she sensed what was yet to come. Luka wore the face of one who had suffered a terrible loss. She knew, before he told her, that he would return from the store to find his children dead, his wife buried, in the rubble and aftermath of a mindless attack.

"I wanted to die," he said. "I had to die. My reason for living was no more. I lay down in the rubble and I did not move for days. My neighbors, some of them, tried to console me. They buried my children and my wife. Then, Zuhayr came. He convinced me that I had to live, to honor the memory of my loved ones."

"Did you know then that he was a vampire?"

Luka smiled shyly. "In my country, the old ones all believe in vampires. I grew up on stories of the undead, the myths were as real to me as my lessons. When I felt his cold hand, when I saw that he seldom breathed, and that he could not go out in the daylight, I knew. I also knew better than to let him know."

"Do you think that this will work? Will we honestly be able to save Nick?" she murmured.

"I would not be here if it was hopeless," Luka replied.

 

Just after noon, Jarod had his young, mentally challenged assistant, Freddy sit with the child, while he left once to get some supplies, which he took from the city coroner's office. He considered leaving money behind to pay for the items, but that would alert someone that the items had been taken. For now, the missing things might go unnoticed for some time.

He set up his makeshift lab quickly, drawing samples of the child's blood and discovered that he was iron deficient and lacking in vitamins, but his blood was also strange in other ways. It was missing white blood cells almost entirely, and in their stead was a strange nucleotide he had never seen before. Some one had been experimenting on this child! It was just too horrible to imagine.

"I won't let them take you back," he promised the still small form. "You might die here, but you won't suffer any more. I will do what I can for you. The rest is up to you. If you want to fight, to come back, I will protect you. Please fight. Come back! You don't want to die. You are too young to die!"

The child stirred then and he awoke briefly.

Jarod laughed, wiping away his tears. "You're alive," he whispered in awe.

The boy looked at him. "Hungry," he announced.

"Of course you are," Jarod said happily. "I'll fix you something right away."

Cody watched as the man opened a can of soup and heated it. It looked yummy, but it didn't smell right. It was red and thick, but it made his stomach turn. "No-no," he murmured.

Jarod nodded. The boy would have to eat soon to get back his strength, but it could wait a little while. The child was rubbing his eyes sleepily. He lay back down and became so still that Jarod ran to feel his wrist for a pulse. It was there, although it was slow. The child stirred, pulling his hand way.

Jarod smiled. "Do you know who hurt you?" he asked, brushing at the wispy blonde bangs.

"Bad," the child whispered. "I want my Daddy!"

The boy closed his eyes then and his chest rose with a deep breath. Jarod hoped a corner had been turned, and the child would recover... Knowing sleep was probably the best thing for him, Jarod turned on the baby monitor he procured that morning and quietly slipped out. There was much yet to do before he could serve today's soup.

 

 

At four he opened his doors. Only a few homeless were hovering outside then, but he knew more would come by later. He helped one old woman to a chair and served her himself.

"'afta noon, Brother Jarod," she said, giving him a wide, toothless smile.

"Good afternoon, Edie," he said pleasantly. Freddy, his young mentally challenged assistant, was busy dishing the other guests, so Jarod pulled out a chair and sat with her. "Tell me, Edie. What sort of things does a little boy need?"

She grinned at him. "Oh, you aren't so little, Brother Jarod!"

Jarod blushed, uncomfortable at the way she was ogling him. He wasn't quite as naïve as he had been four years ago, but he was certain he wouldn't want to find out what was on her mind at the moment. "I mean for a little boy, about this big," he said, holding his hand thirty-one inches off the floor.

"Well, why didn't you say so," she cackled. "A little one, huh? Somebody dump him on your doorstep? Poor little guy. Don't let Social Services have him! You hear? If you have to hide him here yourse'f, you do that!"

Jarod just nodded, hoping she would be able to help him.

The woman took several spoonfuls of soup and stuffed half a sandwich in her mouth. He ignored the two sandwiches she tried to slip surreptitiously into her pockets. His guests were welcome to take the sandwiches, or to come back in a few hours and eat again, but nearly all of them felt the need to squirrel food away in pockets, under hats, even inside their pants. Jarod blinked rapidly. Although he had been raised without love, he had seldom ever felt hunger, and then only as a punishment to coerce him into cooperating.

"If he's young enough, he'll need diapers," she began. Jarod nodded, indicating that this was so.

"Boys'll go through between six and ten diapers a day, so buy as many as you need, depending on how often ya feel like going to the laundro-mat. Then plastic overpanties, so a soggy diaper don't get you all wet. Overalls are best for little kids, because their shirts stay tucked in better, and half a dozen shirts. Being October, get 'em long sleeved. Socks, shoes, undershirts if you can afford 'em, to be extry warm. And a jacket. That ought to do 'im fine."

"Thanks, Edie," he said, committing her list to memory. "May I listen to your lungs after you've eaten?"

She laughed heartily until she started coughing. "No, no, Brother Jarod. I'm doin' jess fine now. You done me real good. I tells all my friends, Brother Jarod is the best."

Jarod excused himself and hurried into his bedroom. A quick check revealed that the child was still sleeping soundly. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed a large department store and began to place his order. He charged the clothes to Mr. Parker's private credit card, figuring that with the birth of his own son last fall, the bill would go unnoticed.

The department store clerk was very helpful and suggested a few other items as well, when it became obvious that it was going to be a large order. "Do you perhaps require a diaper bag? A child carrier? A car seat? Baby shampoo?" Jarod listened to her describe each item and it's function carefully. He ordered everything except the car seat. In this pretend, he didn't have a car.

"I will be sending someone to pick that up within the hour," he said, and thanked her for her assistance before ending the call. "Thank you, Mr. Parker," he added softly, a sly smile spreading across his face. It was strangely satisfying to charge his expenses to the one man who had made his life what it was. Mr. Parker had stolen him from his parents. Then he became the quiet Glenmary missionary again, Brother Jarod, and wondered how long he could maintain this identity now with the child to care for.

The crowd was getting larger when Jarod emerged. Freddy was quietly dishing soup. He grinned at Jarod as he continued to perform the simple task.

"Freddy," Jarod said. He had to lean closer to the young man's ear and speak loudly to make himself heard. "I need you to run an errand for me."

"Sure thing, Brother! Where?"

Jarod gave him careful directions three times and had him repeat them back to him. Then, satisfied that Freddy wouldn't get too lost, he patted the young man's shoulder and took over serving.

 

"Here's the things you asked for, Brother," Freddy said when he returned, struggling with three large plastic sacks and a cardboard box.

"Thank you, Freddy." Jarod gave him a friendly smile. "Set them down over there and I'll look through them after everyone has been served." He had to repeat the instructions once more. It was always noisy at suppertime and Freddy had a difficult time comprehending things.

"Bless you, Brother Jarod," an old woman said as he ladled today's hearty beef and vegetable soup into her bowl.

"How's your hand, Lydia?"

She waggled three bandaged fingers at him. "Still there, Brother. I guess I won't lose 'em this time."

He nodded as the line of hungry moved her away from him. "Let me look at them before you leave," he said.

A scuffling sound caught his attention. Jarod turned the volume up on the monitor he had shoved in his pocket, but all was silent again. The small, wounded boy slept on. The electronic baby monitor was so the boy wouldn't wake up alone. Jarod wanted to be there for him.

He kept on smiling as he served the soup, although he felt like weeping for them. He had served 72 people yesterday, young and old, men, women and even children, and it looked like he would nearly double that today. He was not going to be able to keep this up on his own. He would have to find help.

The monitor alerted him to more sounds from his room. "Freddy, will you take over here for a little while?" he asked.

The retarded man beamed. "Yes, sir, Brother Jarod. I can do that!"

Jarod patted his arm encouragingly before he left. He lifted the plastic sacks and hurried to his room.

Cody was just sitting up. He stared at Jarod with wide blue eyes, his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.

"Good evening," Jarod said quietly. He hunched down on the floor until he was eye level with the little boy. "Do you remember me?"

The boy nodded his head solemnly.

"Good. Then you know that I want to help you. I have some clothes here for you. Let's see what they look like."

He pulled the new clothes out of the sacks and awkwardly dressed the child. A yellow and white striped shirt with a yellow collar, a pair of red corduroy overalls, socks, white leather shoes with laces, and a bright red hooded sweatshirt. When the child was all dressed, Jarod saw the six new undershirts at the bottom of a sack. Well, maybe he wouldn't need one tonight.

The child sat quietly while Jarod dressed him, without offering any assistance. "Where's Teddy?"

"Teddy?" Jarod asked.

The boy's eyes filled with tears. "Did he go bye-bye too?"

Jarod thought quickly. There was only the bloodied toy bear with the child when he found him. "The toy, is his name Teddy?"

"My Teddy?"

"He's, um, having a bath," Jarod replied. "He was very dirty. What is your name?"

"Cody."

"Cody what?"

The boy shrugged. The thumb returned to his mouth.

"Why do you do that?" Jarod asked curiously.

"Ith gooth," Cody said around the soggy digit.

Jarod pulled Cody's thumb out and looked at it closely. He let go and the thumb returned. "I guess it might be a symbolic gesture, reminding you of the comfort and safety of your mother's arms when she nursed you as an infant, but I don't recall ever seeing someone suck like that before. How do you do it while you sleep?"

Cody shrugged, grinning around his thumb. The man was funny!

"How about something to eat?" Jarod said, getting to his feet. Cody reached out to him and Jarod lifted him easily. Cody clung to him. Jarod hesitated to bring the small boy out into the main hall, but he couldn't ignore the others.

He was relieved to see that everyone had been served and they were all seated and eating. Jarod found two chairs side by side and sat down in one. Cody would not sit in the other, though. He chose to remain on Jarod's lap. Freddy brought them each a bowl of soup, then he sat and joined them.

The soup was filling. Jarod had learned to prepare food soon after his great escape. He'd been a French Chef in one of his pretends, and a cook at a greasy truck stop, too. Cooking for a crowd was so different, though. He started early in the mornings just after his four a.m. walk, with stew beef and bones, browning the beef, then simmering the bones for hours. Later he added onions, potatoes, turnips and parsnips, then later still tomatoes and tomatoes and tomatoes. Shortly before dinnertime, he added pounds of macaroni and some seasonings. It was hot and filling and it didn't taste too bad, he thought to himself.

Cody picked at his soup. Jarod hoped the child wasn't developing an infection. He felt Cody's forehead, but it was still cool and dry. One of the guests passed the plate of sandwiches along. Cody accepted a half a peanut butter sandwich, but he didn't eat that either.

"Don't worry about it," an old woman said, noticing Jarod's concern. "Kids will eat when they are hungry."

Jarod nodded. That was good to know. "Thanks."

 

 

Chapter eight:

LaCroix stood when he felt them approach. The skylight opened and Tracy and Perry soon stood before him. LaCroix glared at the carouche.
"What do you know about this!"

Perry cowered, shrinking back before the ancient's rage.

"LaCroix, stop," Tracy pleaded. "Let's figure out what happened and lay the blame later!"

Perry wagged his tail once, in a hopeful gesture. LaCroix turned away, effectively dismissing him. The carouche, temporarily pardoned, bounded for the lift door. They had to go down to the street to search for the vampire. He knew Nick wasn't in the loft any more.

Tracy had different ideas. She tried to replay last night as she spoke aloud. "Nick and Vachon went out dancing..."

Perry woofed impatiently.

"Did anything strange happen there? Anybody confront Nick?"

No. It was a pretty strange club to begin with, filled with weirdoes, but no, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He paced restlessly while she talked. Some of her questions seemed irrelevant, but then somewhere along the line she started to make sense.

"There is no sign of a struggle," she said.

"I figured that out some time ago," LaCroix snapped angrily.

"So for some reason Nick went out on his own. He wouldn't have gone out the skylight, so we'll go downstairs."

Perry yipped excitedly.

"Stay with us," Tracy commanded. "You are not to run off on your own to search for him. We need to stick together until we know what happened!"

At the door, Tracy knelt down. She pointed to the stick that still kept the door from latching. "This is the stupidest trick," she remarked. "A juvenile stunt, which wouldn't have worked on anyone but a blind man."

Then she went into the street. LaCroix followed her. He didn't see anything unusual, but she did. She searched the area and found the broken bottle, which he would have ignored. Street trash seldom interested him. She pointed out that it was green glass and blood. Nick must have dropped it.

LaCroix examined the glass and Perry sniffed at it. It was mostly dried now; it must have been here all through the day. Perry pawed one of the bigger pieces and whined. LaCroix lifted it gingerly. "Not all cow blood, I'm afraid," he said then.

"What do you mean?"

"This smells of Nicholas."

Tracy pulled out an evidence bag from her pocket and held it open for him. "I wish Nat was here to check it," she began.

LaCroix glared at her disdainfully.

"I trust you're right," she said. "But, maybe we should get the police to help this time. And they'll want evidence."

"No police," LaCroix snapped.

Tracy ignored him for a moment. She examined another puddle of blood a few feet away from the spilled cow. She followed the stains to the sidewalk, to a doorway, and then they stopped. She retraced her steps and spotted something on the curb. Pulling another evidence bag, she picked it up.

"This was done by amateurs," she said. "Look at this." She held out the evidence bag. In it was an empty shell casing. "Someone tried to shoot Nick, and probably stuffed him in the trunk of a car to dispose of the body. It looks like there might have been two of them, and they had a disagreement. A mortal was shot, and he crawled to that doorway. So, the cops could help speed this investigation. There's an injured partner out here somewhere, and he's the fastest way to find Nick."

"Very well," LaCroix said. Although bullet wounds were nothing to vampires, he knew that in his son's present condition, it was far more serious. Somewhere his child was hurting and there was nothing he could do. "Call them. I will see to the coroner, that he identifies the sample as Nicholas's."

Tracy took her cellphone and contacted Captain Reese. She briefly told him what she'd discovered.

"Oh no," he breathed. "I'll send a team out now to help with the investigation."

 

Nick sat up suddenly. Something was chewing on his hair! He swayed, nauseated and dizzy, pain shooting through him in too many places. He cried out. The furry creature squeaked and scurried away.

It was dark. Nick couldn't see a thing. He rubbed at his eyes, but that made him gasp again. A large swollen lump covered much of his forehead, dried blood crusted on the side of his face. What had happened to him? Where was he? He tried to think, but that hurt, too. He hurt. And he couldn't remember anything.

Tentatively, he felt around, discovering what he could. Short wavy hair, cut above the ears but longer on top, and stubbled whiskers. The stubble felt familiar. He didn't think he wore a beard, but maybe he didn't shave regularly. Was he a vagrant?

There was that large, painful bump on his forehead. Briefly he remembered hitting it against a brick wall. Forcefully, again and again, he felt the brick slam into him in his memories. Had someone thrown him? Why?

The blindness felt wrong. It wasn't familiar. He felt lost and alone. This must be temporary, probably a result of the blow to his head. Perhaps his sight would return soon, along with his memory?

Next he felt the pain in his chest. There was a hole in his shirtfront and the fabric was stiff. Beneath there was tender skin. He had been injured there, but it was already beginning to heal. Was the stiffness in the fabric his own blood? How long had he been running?

He continued further. There was nothing in his pockets. No wallet containing a driver's license... He was crestfallen. A driver's license would have confirmed his hope that this blindness was temporary. Also, he had no money, no ID, and no thoughts about where to go from here.

Continuing his inventory, he patted his trousers. The fabric was torn. Again he found a hole in the fabric, stiff with blood, only the wound was still open and oozing. There was not an exit wound, either. The bullet must still be inside. He would need to find help soon. The other leg was cut as well, a gash that was long and jagged, a deep cut of unknown origin.

Again the sense of urgency swept over him. Something was wrong. Why did he have to run and hide? Why was someone shooting at him? Could he be wanted by the police?

Cold fear slapped him. Maybe he was a criminal? A murderer perhaps? He didn't feel like one now. He should remember if he had been a killer, but the feeling of guilt was familiar. Nick had a sinking feeling. He must avoid police and public figures, at least for now. That it was night now, Nick did not doubt, nor did he question how he knew. He only knew that he had to get out of here.

 

Captain Reese rubbed his forehead. It was all happening. He had worried about Nick coming back on the force. It was no place for a disabled man! But this was weird. Who was after him?

Natalie's replacement had called and confirmed that some of the blood at the crime scene was Nick's. Until then, he had been hoping that there was a simple explanation for everything. That Nick had simply gone out with a friend and, neglecting to tell anyone, lost track of the time. Now with a shell casing and blood samples, it really looked like he was the victim of a crime.

They could still hope to hear from the perpetrators, if this was a kidnapping, but Reese wasn't holding his breath.

They had brought in Nick's father, his girlfriend Urs, and then his girlfriend Janette for questioning. Both women had been out of town, but returned recently. Reese shook his head at that one. The bullpen scuttle had called his detective the "ice prince" for years, claiming that he didn't have a sex life, and now he had two gorgeous women drooling over him! They seemed to know each other too, and take that in stride. It was weird. But no weirder than his father. That man could scare the scowl off a jack-o-lantern. Much later Tracy was questioning her boyfriend, the longhaired Spaniard who had played in the band at the Policeman's Ball last Christmas. Reese went to listen in on the questioning.

Vachon had been the last person to see Nick. They had gone out bar hopping together, and Vachon left him at the door to his loft around 5:45 AM. That was barely half an hour before Animal Control picked up his guide dog Perry. Vachon seemed innocent though. He was a good friend of Nick's and it was clear that he was worried about him.

"Do you think this has anything to do with Chicago?" Vachon asked, when Tracy had thanked him for coming in.

Reese scowled. "You mean, when your boat was blown up? Didn't they ever catch that guy?"

Vachon shook his head, although he looked embarrassed. He had addressed his question to Tracy and clearly forgot Reese was in the room.

"Then that's as good a place to start as any. Tracy, call Chicago and get a list of suspects. Let's see what they've come up with."

The list was inconclusive, though. Chicago PD had pulled a list of all the perpetrators Nick's "real" dad, Nicholas Knight Sr., had ever sent to prison. They too felt that since this crime seemed targeted at Nick specifically, then it must be someone with a grudge. They'd ruled out some perps because they were either dead or back in prison, but the final list they faxed to Tracy still had more than forty names on it. Tracy chewed off a thumbnail as she read the first file. This was going to take time, while her brother was out there somewhere, bleeding and weak and hungry. It was so damned frustrating!

 

 

Chapter nine:

Jarod scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hand. Cody had sat on the kitchen counter all the time he was washing up dishes and putting things away, but then the boy grew tired again. Jarod put him to bed and turned on the baby monitor. No one was sleeping here yet, but it would be a few hours before they started to drift in, and then only if the temperature dropped. The homeless with whom he had talked seemed to prefer to sleep outside beneath what ever starlight managed to filter down through the lights of the city. Jarod wanted to check out the street where he'd found Cody to see if anyone was looking for him.

First he asked Freddy to sit in his room and watch Cody while he slept, then bracing himself against the strong wind, Jarod stepped outside. He wondered if brothers were allowed to wear warmer trousers underneath their cassocks? It was definitely getting colder.

When he returned to Gateway Lane there was a commotion in the street. Several squad cars, their lights flashing, had blocked off the road. Yellow tape marked the area where Jarod had found the boy early this morning. Someone was looking for him! Jarod slipped back into the shadows unnoticed.

He stared, taking note of the people involved. Later he would use his skills to discover who they were and what connection they had to the boy. There was a young blonde woman with a professional manner. She seemed to be in charge. There were several police officers, and a tall man with short-cropped white hair. He was dressed all in black and had an imperious air about him. He snapped with barely concealed rage when any officer dared to speak to him. He was Jarod's prime suspect at the moment. Jarod felt the hair on his neck tingle as he followed him with his eyes. That man was dangerous.

Jarod slipped back into the shadows. He would take a circuitous way home to make certain he wasn't being followed and thought about the mystery and the people involved. If there were a sensible explanation for any of this, then it would be on the news. Jarod would need to find a place to watch television. If there were no mention of the missing boy or the shooting accident, then Jarod would know that the people's intentions were not honorable.

Jarod was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't see a man step out in front of him. They collided; the other went down with a cry of pain. The fallen man rolled away and half sat up against the wall, swinging a section of lead pipe menacingly.

"Excuse me," Jarod apologized. "Are you all right?"

The man was gasping, obviously in a great deal of pain, yet he held the pipe firmly. "Who are you!" he demanded.

Jarod knelt down slowly, keeping just out of reach of the pipe. "You are hurt. I can help you," he said kindly. "I am Brother Jarod."

The man shrank back. He nearly dropped his pipe as fresh blood soaked through his stained shirt. He must have reopened a wound. "How do I know you're speaking the truth," the man demanded.

Jarod was momentarily at a loss for words. The brown cassock was usually a give-away. No one ever questioned him. Then he realized that the man was blind, as he reached out with one hand, the other still clutching the potentially lethal weapon.

Jarod slowly moved a little closer and kept his voice soft and gentle. With such injuries, the man would not survive the night without help. "I have a mission not far from here. Come with me. I will tend your wounds and give you a safe place to rest."

The man felt the coarse fabric of his cassock and the rope belt. Then he blinked back tears as his pain and fear nearly overwhelmed him. He lowered the pipe to the ground. "Forgive me, Brother. I didn't know," he whispered.

"May I take you to a hospital?" Jarod asked, already doubting the man would let him. Many of the homeless he had met had a profound distrust of anyone in a profession.

"No!

"Then you are coming with me," Jarod said.

The man nodded. Jarod took his hand and helped him to his feet. "What are you doing out here all alone?" he asked.

Nick staggered, nearly falling. Jarod put both arms around him to support him. He still held the pipe, using it as a cane. "I don't know," he whispered.

Jarod shook his head. Being a brother was a lot of work.

At the shelter he led the man to the room opposite his bedroom. It was the only room in the shelter that he kept locked. It had a cot and more bedding, and a cabinet where he stored medicines and supplies. Carefully he helped the wounded man onto the cot.

Nick sat down gingerly; each breath was painful. He was a little alarmed to discover that he could hold his breath so long without passing out, but since it felt better to do so he continued. He heard the brother pull up a chair.

Jarod flashed his light in Nick's eyes. There was no reaction at all. Then he lightly lifted the wild blonde hair to examine the large bruise. "There is a lot of dirt and gravel in the cut at the center of this bruise. It will be painful, but I will need to clean it," Jarod said.

"Do it."

"What is your name?" Jarod asked conversationally, as he filled a basin with water and brought a washcloth, towels, and soap.

Nick shrugged. "I, I don't remember."

Jarod gently washed the dirt from the man's forehead. He would need to call him something, and if this man was being hunted by the same people, then Jarod had better find out who they were quickly. Hiding two people would be harder than one.

"This lump on your forehead could be why you can't remember," Jarod said gently. "Memory is stored in the frontal lobes. This isn't a severe injury though, so it should all come back to you."

"When!" There was a desperate sound to his voice.

"I don't know," Jarod replied. "Maybe a few hours, maybe days."

"What about my eyesight," Nick whispered. "Could it be from the same injury?"

Jarod saw the terrified look again, before the man struggled to conceal his true feelings. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to wake up scared and blind, knowing someone was after him, someone wanted to kill him, and not remember why. "I'm sorry, sir," Jarod said, touching his arm compassionately. "I'm afraid that you were blind before this injury. Check out your watch."

 

The man touched his left wrist and found a watch there. Without even thinking, he opened the crystal and felt the sturdy raised hands. It was nearly nine p.m. "Damn," he cursed.

"Your shirt is ruined. Have you been shot!" Jarod exclaimed, as he began to cut away the shreds of the man's ruined shirt.

Nick felt his chest, felt blood on his fingers. "I don't remember. I woke up, and there was a big accident, and I crawled into the shadows and hid. I was afraid. I think... I think someone is after me."

Jarod stared at him. He was very familiar looking. He had the same blue eyes and blonde hair as Cody. It was too bizarre that there would be two people, terrified for their very lives, with similar bullet wounds in the same neighborhood and have it be purely coincidence. "Do you have children?"

Nick thought hard. Children? Little ones. No, he started to shake his head. He didn't have little ones. But children? Someone who depended on him? Or took his advice? Someone he was responsible for? "Maybe... I'm not sure," he whispered.

"What if I'm a bad person," Nick murmured. "A murderer or something?"

"That you would even worry about that tells me that you are a man of conscience. When your memory returns, I am sure you will do the right thing," Jarod said. "Besides, you must be the "good guy". Don't bad guys always wear black?"

Nick cocked his head as he touched the soft trousers. "White?" Yes, there was something about that. A quick flash of memory. When he'd been a small boy, he had always worn white. White breeches of fine linen, and a white tunic with full sleeves and a tight-fitting cuff. Sometimes he wore a royal blue velvet supertunic, open at the sides and belted with an ornate golden girdle, and often the white breeches were stained at the knees. He smiled, remembering how someone would scold him about that.

Jarod examined the chest wound next. There was a small scab high on the man's back, then a larger exit wound in front. He had been shot through a lung. Jarod felt a cold sense of dread, as he told the man that he needed a sample of his blood. He knew what he would find. He was certain that this man was part of the same genetic experiment performed on the boy.

Then he had the man lie back while he examined his legs. A huge gash in one thigh was partially healed. It should have been stitched, but now it was too late. It would leave a nasty scar. The man had been shot in the other leg, but there was no exit wound. The bullet was still lodged inside.

"That bullet must come out."

Nick nodded.

"You rest a moment. I will get everything ready," Jarod said.

The man made no response. He looked like he might have finally passed out, which was probably for the best. Jarod would hurry. Maybe he could finish before he woke again.

He returned to the kitchen to sterilize his instruments. While he waited he quickly examined the man's blood sample, comparing it to what he'd seen in the child's. There was the same nucleotide, but in far greater numbers and the man was not anemic at all. He peeked in on Cody, eager to tell him that his father had been found, but the child was still sleeping soundly. The good news could wait until the man was feeling better.

The man stirred when Jarod returned, taking a defensive posture. "It's me," Jarod said quickly.

"Old habits," the man replied. He lay back down and waited.

Jarod cut away the man's pants, noticing that his clothing was very high quality. Vagrants didn't usually wear silk boxers. Yet the child had been wearing only an inexpensive blanket sleeper that was filthy and wet, and a soggy diaper. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the treatment of these test subjects. And why use family members? The genetic similarity was hardly useful and might negate the experiment entirely. Jarod wondered what purpose that nucleotide might serve. It seemed to be very aggressive, and yet, it was not infectious. Jarod knew he wasn't in any danger of catching something.

"What are you doing?" the man asked, when Jarod was about to begin.

"I don't have access to anesthesia," he said, "but this should help ease the pain."

"That won't be necessary. It won't work on me. I don't know how I know, but I'm sure of this."

The blood drained from Jarod's face. He'd been a surgeon before - but he couldn't bear the thought of the pain he would put this man through.

The man lay down again and was very still. First Jarod washed the wound, surprised that there wasn't more blood. The man never even flinched. His skin felt cold, like Cody's, and was abnormally pale.

Concentrating then only on his task, he took a scalpel and cut into wound to locate the bullet. The man winced, but he didn't scream as Jarod would have expected. The bullet was not deep; he swiftly removed it. Then, he gasped and dropped the bullet, as the oozing blood stopped and slowly returned into the wound. Moments later, all that remained was a small, open sore.

The man groaned then, rubbing at his stomach. Jarod shook his head. He took a gauze bandage and wrapped it around the man's leg, securing it with adhesive tape, before he moved on to the deep gash on his thigh. He cleaned that and covered it as well, marveling again that it didn't bleed as it should.

"Mister, I think you were a victim of illegal experimentation. Something is very strange about your blood. I think that you might have escaped and they tried to stop you. They would rather kill you than let you go. I have a small boy here in much the same condition as you. I think he might be your son."

Nick rubbed at his eyes. Did he have a son? He didn't think he had children, but a woman's face kept dancing just out of his reach. A lovely, elegant face with raven hair. She was his child. But she looked too old to be his child. Nothing made sense. Something was there, at the edge of his thoughts, but he couldn't touch it. His head was throbbing. "I should know," he whispered.

Jarod took his hand and rubbed the back of it comfortingly. "I know how it feels, not knowing who you are or where you came from."

There was such pain in his voice, Nick thought. He felt it. Through the contact with Brother Jarod's hand, Nick saw him in his mind. Jarod was tall and strong, with short black hair and dark eyes that were compassionate and hurting. "Yes, you do," Nick said.

Jarod pulled his hand away. The blind man was frightening. He was weak and injured and in danger, but there was something else about him. He was more than what he seemed.

The man looked exhausted. Jarod checked the bruise on the forehead again, noting that already it was beginning to fade and the swelling had gone down. Could the man in black with the short-cropped hair be a scientist, perhaps trying to find a cure for disease, or to find a way to boost the auto-immune system? Perhaps the child was intentionally being poorly fed to weaken his immune system before the full test was to take place.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "Could I bring you some soup?"

Nick considered the question before shaking his head, wincing at the pain that motion caused. "No, thank you. I'm just... tired."

Jarod took a blanket from the shelf and gently spread it over him. "I'll bring you something to wear after you've rested then," he said. "I'm glad I bumped into you. I think I found you in the nick of time."

The man startled. "Nick," he said, giving a wide, friendly smile. "Nick. That's my name. It just came to me, just like that. Everyone calls me 'Nick'."

"That's great! I'm sure all of your memories will return soon, Nick. You just rest then. And if you need anything, ring this bell. The mission isn't very large. I'll hear you."

"Thanks, Brother Jarod," he said.

"Sleep well, Nick."

 

Chapter Ten:

Tracy glared at her master as he twiddled with the pencils on Nick's desk. "Do you mind? I'm trying to concentrate," she whispered quietly.

LaCroix returned her glare. "You must do something! My son is out there, who knows where, and he needs our help. Now!"

"I am doing something, LaCroix. I am going over his old case files. One of these creeps is the perp, I just know it! But you are making it harder for me."

LaCroix's angry features softened slightly. "I feel powerless," he confessed. "I need to do something."

"Wait here a moment." She grabbed half the files and left. Fifteen minutes later she returned and handed LaCroix a stack of copies she had made. "I shouldn't be doing this," she said, too softly for mortal hearing. "But it's Nick we're talking about. You can help by going through some of his old cases."

LaCroix stared at the papers in horror. Did she expect him to do such menial, mortal labor! "What is it that you want me to do," he stammered, outraged.

"Look for the creep that took him," she said patiently. "Try to find out something from the past that would link to the present. This guy blew up a boat and he tried to blow up an entire apartment. He knows explosives. I think he's the same one that captured Perry and tortured him, so he knows something about us."

Tracy returned to the open file on her desk and said nothing more. LaCroix stuffed the papers under his arm and left abruptly, before he chewed a few heads off, literally. He intended to return to his apartment, but on a whim he flew to the loft instead. It felt comforting somehow, as if it brought Nicholas closer to him.

It was useless to remain in Toronto. The kidnapper must have taken Nick somewhere. It bothered him that he could not sense his son well, but that must mean that either Nicholas was in no immediate danger, or he was no longer near by, or perhaps, both. 'Where are you!' he thought through their mental bond. He waited impatiently, but he sensed nothing. Heaving a sigh, he sat on the couch and glanced at the papers Tracy had given him.

The first one was named Denis Von Reisinger. The case file stated he was arrested for stealing a car. LaCroix was surprised that his son would have bothered over something so trivial, but then he remembered that Nicholas had merely been a street cop then, not a homicide detective. He must have handled a lot of inane, petty grievances.

Reisinger had served his time, finishing his high school education while inside. Upon his release, he had entered a technical college, got his degree in auto mechanics, and was currently teaching high school in Chicago. LaCroix might visit him yet, but he didn't seem a likely kidnapper. No, the person they sought must have a real grudge and a death wish. He must want Nicholas so badly, that it didn't matter to him that he would likely die in the attempt. LaCroix set Reisinger aside and read the next case.

As the evening wore on he was impressed by how productive Nicholas had been. "Ah, my child," he said sadly. "If you would only use that same zealous energy towards achieving your own potential, you would far outshine us all."

 

Jarod slept lightly. He was bothered by the presence of his two guests, worried for them, and furious at the sick minds behind their suffering. At four in the morning, his usual time to awaken, he still felt groggy and sluggish, yet when he tried to return to sleep, it eluded him. Finally he gave up and went for his morning walk.

He had hacked into police records to begin his search concerning the people that were present at the crime scene last night. The blonde woman that had seemed to be in charge was a police detective, but the white-haired man was on file as a one-time murder suspect. It listed him as a nightclub owner named Lucien LaCroix. Jarod walked past the nightclub knowing it should be closed by now, but he needed to get a feel for it. He couldn't very well go inside dressed like a religious, anyway. If it became necessary, he'd have to find a different disguise.

This was the only address for LaCroix. He must live upstairs, Jarod thought, yet the windows were dark. He wasn't surprised, as at this hour he wouldn't expect to find anyone awake. Then, even as he watched, someone did enter the upper apartment. The lights went on, and LaCroix and the police detective, Vetter, embraced each other! Jarod felt a numbing fear. Those two knew each other... intimately. Where they in on it together? He would not be able to trust the police to help him, he realized sadly. Then the shades were drawn on the apartment, shutting him out. Jarod returned to his mission to begin the soup d'jour.

 

LaCroix kissed his daughter, exchanging blood with her. She was upset as well, and seemed to need his comfort. "Find anything?" he asked vaguely. He already knew the answer. She would have shouted it immediately upon her arrival if she had.

"No, sir. But I've gone through a large share of the files. Hopefully, something will turn up tomorrow. I'd stay up all day and search, if I thought it would help. I'm sorry, sir, but I just can't concentrate any more."

"You are too young yet to miss a day of rest. Go, my child."

Tracy nodded, blinking back red tears. "Good day, LaCroix."

He moved woodenly to his suite, undoing buttons as he went. He had spoken with Natalie earlier, and even Janette had called wondering if she should return. He had told her no. There was nothing she could do here, and yet, he discovered he did not want to be alone.

For a moment, anger nearly overwhelmed him. He swung around, needing to find someone or something to blame, to find a way to release the pent up emotion.

There was nothing.

Nicholas would have started to throw things around. LaCroix's lips curled in amusement. That his capricious child would fill his home with priceless antiques, then destroy them in a rage, then suffer guilt over their loss, never ceased to entertain the ancient. Driving his fist through a wall or door right now would do nothing to locate his son, and then he would have to pay for the repairs. Frustrated, he poured himself a stiff drink, a whiskey and mortal blood cocktail, and settled on the couch in front of the small gas fireplace.

* Nicholas, * he thought, trying again to find his child. * Come to me! *

The blood was having the desired effect. The pain was deadened and he thought he might just be able to get at least a short rest. Then there was movement in the apartment. Tracy was shuffling through the bottles in the refrigerator and pouring herself a drink. The microwave beeped when she popped open the door to warm her mug. So, although she was worn out with the lethargy of day, she too was finding sleep elusive.

He reached out to her, sensing her desire to come to him, and yet, she held back. * Tracy, * he coaxed over the link, when it seemed she would not enter.

The door to his private suite opened and she stuck her head inside. Lowering her voice and speaking with a touch of humor, she asked, "You rang?"

LaCroix merely smiled.

Tracy came in and closed the door behind her. She leaned against it, cradling the warm mug in both hands. "I wasn't sure if you'd want any company today."

He patted the spot next to him on the couch. "I'm not much company myself," he confessed, "but you are welcome."

Tracy needed no further encouragement. She sat on the loveseat with him. She curled up beside him, his arm draped around her shoulder and her feet tucked into the couch cushions.

LaCroix finished his drink and set the empty glass aside. Between the blood, alcohol, and lateness of the hour, combined with the stress he had been under for some time, he felt drained. Tracy wasn't just a pleasant diversion, but more of a healing balm. He needed to drink from her!

She saw the golden flecks in her master's eyes and set her cup aside. Her tongue darted out between her fangs to moisten her lips which had suddenly gone dry and her skin was too sensitive to tolerate the clothing she still wore. Moving beneath his seductive touch, she reached for his shirt to pull it from him.

LaCroix brought her arm to his lips and nipped it playfully. Tracy groaned. She struggled free. She was not in the mood to play tonight. With a sure grip, she tore his clothing off. Then she stood and rid herself of everything, until they were both gloriously naked. LaCroix chuckled at her impatience, but his own urgent desire was plainly visible.

She tugged on his hand, pulling him towards the king-sized with its black satin sheets and velvet signature quilt. LaCroix folded back the covers before lifting her and placing her gently on the bed. Then he covered her completely.

As their bodies merged in the ancient dance, Tracy's mind opened to LaCroix through the kiss of blood. "I love you, as well, my child," he whispered in her ear.

 

Cody was waking up. Jarod sat next to him on the edge of the cot. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.

The child rubbed his eyes and reached for him. Jarod pulled him onto his lap and hugged him. The small boy leaned his head against Jarod's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his neck. Jarod blinked. It felt so nice to hold the child. He wished that he could have children of his own, but that was impossible. As long as the Center pursued him, he could not afford to love anyone special. Any children of his would live in constant mortal danger.

Then Cody bit him! Jarod yelped, pulling him away and stammering in his surprise.

Cody started to cry. Jarod rubbed his neck. It had hurt, but Cody hadn't broken the skin. He tried to comfort the child. "Sh, that's okay. I won't hurt you. But please don't bite me again. I won't hurt you," he repeated over and over.

Eventually Cody quieted.

"I'll bet you're hungry," Jarod said. "I think I've got some cereal in the kitchen. Would you like some?"

Cody nodded solemnly. Jarod watched him as he picked at the food, tasting it but not really eating any. If Cody didn't start to eat, he didn't know what he would do. Then he brought him into the bathroom and filled the tub with warm water.

"I washed you up a little," Jarod said, "but you could use a really good scrub."

As he removed the bandages, he was stunned to see that the gunshot wound had completely healed. Nothing remained, not a scar or a scab. It was as if it had never happened at all. Jarod was speechless.

Cody climbed in the tub and started to play. He rolled onto his stomach, making noises like a submarine. His feet were the rudder, splashing water on Jarod and the floor.

Jarod was oblivious. He was thinking about Nick. Had Nick's injuries healed as well? He was eager to have a look.

"Cody, I think I found your father last night. He's resting now, but I'll take you to him as soon as he awakes."

The boy smiled at him. "My puppy?"

"No. What did your dog look like?"

The child splashed in the water some more before answering. "Big and lellow. Daddy's dog."

A guide dog, of course, Jarod realized. The blind man's son had bonded with his guide dog. He was further convinced that the two were related. The boy's reaction when he saw Nick would be the final proof.

He didn't know what to do with Cody all day, though. He had more soup and a hundred and fifty sandwiches to make. He had an appointment with a local parish to solicit volunteers, as he prepared for the day when he would be forced to move on. Jarod felt a moment of longing. It would be so nice to stop running for a while... a year or two, perhaps. The Center had robbed him of a childhood, of a loving home and parents, and now it stole his very existence from him. He had to be a chameleon, changing careers and identities nearly every two weeks- sometimes more often than that.

Cody opened a cupboard and pulled out some of the large pots. He turned them upside down and banged on them. Jarod winced at the loud noise, but the child laughed happily. "Spoon," he said, reaching out with his hand.

Jarod handed him a sturdy wooden one and the boy used it to bang more loudly on the pots. Jarod handed him a metal one next and watched as the boy discovered the different sounds that produced. Jarod shook his head. He could explain the physics behind the sounds, but he could not explain why creating the sounds gave the child pleasure. He had never played as a child. He took another spoon and knelt on the floor to join Cody in this new game.

Cody pulled another pot from the cupboard. Now there were four pots of varying sizes and sounds. Jarod took two wooden spoons and held the spoon-part, beating their handles like drumsticks. This was fun, he realized with a big grin. Maybe he would grow his hair long and be a drummer next?

"What's that racket," Nick called, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

Jarod looked up sheepishly at the wounded man leaning against the far wall. "I'm sorry, Nick. I forgot you were sleeping. I guess we got carried away."

Cody dropped his spoons and ran across the floor. He leaped into Nick's arms and clung to him. "Daddy!" he shouted.

Nick nearly dropped the child. Who was this creature that smelled achingly familiar of baby shampoo, honey and wine.

Cody was suddenly too hungry. His mouth tingled and his teeth hurt. He opened wide and bit. Thick, delicious liquid filled his mouth. He sucked and sucked, greedy and starving, clinging to the kind man with the warm, friendly smile.

The man yelped, nearly losing his balance, but then he hugged the child. He didn't remember him. He grew angry with himself. He should remember his own child!

Jarod watched the reunion, blinking away his tears. He wanted to find his mother and sister so badly that it hurt like a cancer, eating away at him, slowly consuming him. He felt empty, not a man at all. He hoped that when he knew the mystery of his past, he would be able to find his future. He turned away from the father and son and silently put away the pots.

 

Nick pulled away from the boy. Something about the bite felt so familiar. It was strange... dark and sensual, it warmed him even as it terrified him. He didn't want to think about what it all meant. His own teeth lengthen, exploding into his mouth. Without conscious thought, he returned the bite and drank the sweet blood of the child.

Images pelted him. People he could not remember. A young woman with straight black hair she wore in braids, a man in a uniform- a park ranger or warden. A young priest with a French accent. A bloodied Teddy Bear... suddenly Nick's stomach rebelled. He withdrew from the child's throat and licked at the twin wounds until they closed. The child clung to his neck and sobbed.

"Daddy! Wanna go home now!"

Nick hugged the small child and swayed gently as he comforted him. "Soon, Cody," he said, just remembering his name.

Nick felt the cool air and was reminded of the fact he was parading around in only his shorts. Slowly he made his way back to his room, now that the noise had ceased.

It angered him that he could not recall anything of his life with this child. He knew the boy's name, and knew his taste and scent, but he could not remember his birthday. That didn't mean anything, he thought with a wry smile. He didn't remember his own birthday.

Nick sat down on his cot. "May I touch your face?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," the boy said. "Where's puppy?"

Nick felt the wispy hair and soft baby face. Cody giggled as his fingers traced over his features. Then Cody rubbed his stubbled chin. "Scratchy," he said.

Nick froze, startled. A memory! He had done this before! He remembered riding on a train with Cody, and searching for twenty minutes for one of his baby shoes. He cupped the child's face in his hands as tears filled his eyes. "My son!"

Cody yawned widely. "I sweepy, Daddy," he said.

"Me too." Nick lay back down, pulling the child with him. Cody snuggled into his arms. Later he felt Jarod cover them with blanket, and then he sank into a deep, restful sleep.

 

LaCroix held Tracy close for a moment. Her distress was clearly audible in the pounding of her undead heart. Nicholas's disappearance was not in any way her fault, nor could LaCroix blame the Spaniard, although it would be entertaining to take out some of his frustrations on him.

"I must go to Chicago," LaCroix said then. "These mortal criminals are all there. Who ever took Nicholas must have taken him back to Chicago. Remaining here is useless."

Tracy nodded. "I thought you'd feel that way. But we can't be sure where he's gone. I mean, he came here to get Nick, but take him where? Why go all the way back to Chicago? Why not just take a motel room in town or something?"

LaCroix sat down wearily. He'd been reading his son's case files all night. The names and cases were starting to muddle around as the instinctual need for sleep overcame him. "We suspect Nicholas's abductor is mortal. We assume that he has a grudge against my son. We saw the stick against the door, so we know that he knew Nicholas's habits, that he would go downstairs and let Perry out, then retire. Then, someone called Animal Control to capture Perry. Have you interrogated them?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "Mr. Simon Hieroff has been suspended. He took the bribe to collect a dog and destroy it without waiting the necessary three weeks or filing the proper forms. The man who called him gave the name 'Mr. Jones'. He never met him, and he was paid in cash, which was delivered to his home through a courier. No one seems to know anything about this Mr. Jones, and I'm fairly certain that isn't his real name."

"So this Mr. Jones planned carefully. I would guess that when he orchestrated the mugging in Chicago, he had no idea Nicholas was not mortal. His next two attempts were clumsy. I shall have to speak to the Chicago community, to see why they did not take care of this nuisance sooner! Now this mortal knows about us and he is far more of a danger to Nicholas."

Tracy nodded. "Fine. You go. But I have to stay here. Will you be taking Perry with you?"

LaCroix glanced at the carouche lying mournfully at his feet. "Are you coming?"

"Woof." He thumped his tail once on the floor.

"Yes. I'll make the arrangements. We'll leave in a few hours."

"While it is still light?" Tracy blurted.

"I will be there before nightfall," he stated firmly. "Too much time has been wasted already."

Tracy winced at his criticism. She wasn't wasting time! She had eliminated over half of the suspects! She would make a list of the remaining ones for him to take with him. "Take care, dad," she said softly.

LaCroix turned around sharply. "I will, my daughter," he said, noting her lost expression. "And I shall keep my cell phone on. Call me the moment you learn anything."

She nodded. "I will."

 

 

Chapter eleven:

 

Jarod slipped quietly inside Nick's room. Both man and child still slept. They seemed to require more sleep than normal. Was that an unfortunate side effect of the genetic experiments being done on them? He quietly pulled up a chair and lifted the blanket to inspect Nick's legs.

Nick didn't even stir as he pulled up the adhesive tape and removed the soiled bandages. The wounds were still visible, but had greatly improved - far more than they should have in the space of only a day. Although he had expected as much, it was still rather amazing. He wondered what other side effects this experiment caused besides the need for sleep. That nucleotide intrigued him. If the scientists hadn't been using human test subjects, he would have loved to join their research. This was something puzzling and he didn't find that very often.

Jarod was a genius.

He had looked the word up once, as he had often heard it used in reference to him when he was a child. The definition had been strange. "An attendant godling or spirit of a person or place; tutelar deity. Primarily, the genius is the spirit of the masculine energy or virility of a man with whom it is born and dies..." He hadn't followed where that definition was leading, as it seemed to relate to folklore of which he had no knowledge, so he had skipped down a few. Number six was the only one that seemed to make sense within the context in which it was used. "Extraordinary mental superiority; uncommon native intellectual power; esp., highly unusual power of invention or origination."

Native power? The center wanted him because of something he had been born with? That still infuriated him. If he'd been born simple-minded, or even ordinary, then he could have been raised by his parents! Jarod had despised his genius for years after that. Now, it was simply what he was and he tried to use his special ability to help others.

He left the room briefly to get some of his own clothes for Nick, as he wouldn't be needing them for a while. Jarod was taller than Nick and his muscles were more developed, but the clothing shouldn't fit too poorly. Everything he owned was black. He spent too much of his life running to attract attention with neon colors. He laid black jeans, black tee shirt, and a black jacket on the chair, then he returned to the main hall. Already it was filling up. He'd be dishing soup for the next couple of hours.

"How is... the boy?" Freddy asked, his high-pitched voice stuttering as he tried to form the words clearly.

Jarod nodded. "He is resting with his father."

"That's... good. Real good. Fathers are nice."

"Where is your father, Freddy?" Jarod asked abruptly. The retarded man was in his early twenties, but he should not be out on his own. He struggled just to read or make change. Jarod worried that unscrupulous people might take advantage of him.

"Don't know," Freddy answered. "He told me to... wait for him. That was a... long time ago. When I was small. Smaller."

Perhaps Jarod could locate him. But had the father run out on his responsibilities, or had something happened to him? Jarod was almost afraid to find out.

Freddy was not unusual among the homeless, though. Many of the people Jarod helped were not really capable of changing. They managed as best as they could. Some like Freddy were mentally challenged, others were scarred, battling mental illnesses and crippling depression. For these, Jarod simply offered food and a place to sleep. Then there were some who were victims of circumstance, like Rick Lieman.

"Good evening, Mr. Lieman," Jarod said, as he helped the father to carry food to a table for his five children.

The man nodded and tried to smile, but it was an empty gesture. A year ago he had lived in a house with his wife and kids. He had had a job, and they had gone to school, just like normal people. Then things started to change. Mrs. Lieman fell ill and they had no insurance. The hospital took a percentage and the debt collectors took the rest. He had been evicted shortly after she died. Then, without a place to shower and shave, without even an alarm clock to get him up on time, or a car to take him anywhere, he had lost his job. He had tried to get help from social services, but they tried to take his children from him and divide them up in foster care. Maybe some of them would have had nice homes and maybe a home was better than living on the streets, but he knew in his heart that he had to keep them together.

Jarod winked at the oldest girl. "You keep getting prettier every time I see you, Sheneya."

She lowered her eyes and squirmed, but a wide smile crossed her face.

"How's your cough?" Jarod asked the father. "Has it cleared up yet?"

Lieman cleared his throat and shrugged. "Enough."

"Have you been taking the antibiotics I gave you?" Jarod prodded.

When Mr. Lieman wouldn't look at him, Jarod knew the answer. "You must not to sell your medicine! You have a bronchial infection. If you don't take care of yourself, then what will happen to the children?"

"You think I haven't worried about that myself," the tired father muttered under his breath.

"Look. I really need some help this week. I have two borders, a father and son. The father is blind, or I'd ask him. I need someone to clean the bathroom and wash floors. I'm really in a bind here. If the restroom isn't kept up, Health and Sanitation will close me down, yet I don't have the time to do it myself."

The man nodded grudgingly. "I can do it."

Jarod sighed with relief. Mr. Lieman wasn't likely to stick around for long, but at least for a few weeks Jarod would know that the children had a warm, dry place to sleep.

The father coughed into his sleeve. It was a deep, congested sound, and the man winced painfully. Jarod got up at once to get him more drugs. Just as he was about to knock on Nick's door, Cody opened it. The little boy grinned at him around the ubiquitous thumb.

"Good evening, Cody," Jarod said. "Did you sleep well?"

Cody just nodded. Nick smiled as he replied. "Yes, thank you. We both slept like the dead. I don't think a tornado could have roused me."

Nick looked a little better, Jarod noted with a physician's eye. His coloring was still pale, but his eyes looked clear and bright. Jarod glanced from him to the boy and back. Although family members often bore similarities, the resemblance was really uncanny. They had the same boyish face and innocent smile, pale complexion and golden hair. He could almost sense the relationship between them, like some metaphysical aura binding them together.

"Would you like some soup?" Jarod asked. "There is still plenty left."

Nick rubbed his stomach. He was very hungry, but he knew he didn't want the soup. He shook his head.

"Well perhaps Cody could eat something. There are some other children in the hall right now. Just let me get something, and I'll bring you there."

Nick waited until Jarod escorted him into the crowded soup kitchen, where he sat down with the Lieman family. Two of Mr. Lieman's children were around Cody's age. Jarod brought over paper grocery sacks and some crayons to occupy the children for a while. Mr. Lieman insisted on doing his chore immediately and receiving payment in cash.

"He needs so much," Nick said, when Mr. Lieman was out of earshot. "Do you know what he's going to do with that money?"

"No," Jarod said. "He's saving it, but he won't tell me why. I've offered to loan him what he needs, which he won't accept." Jarod sighed, rubbing at a knot in his shoulder. "I've always tried to reunite families. It's been a personal crusade for me, while I search for my own. But part of me really wonders if these kids wouldn't be better off with someone who could provide for them."

Nick shook his head. "He is providing for them, Jarod, to the best of his ability. And he loves them, I can feel that. Let me talk to him. Maybe together we can find a way to help."

"You're a puzzle yourself, Nick," Jarod said, as he rose. It was time to start on the dishes again. "You can't remember who you are, who's after you and your son, and yet you want to help someone else?"

Nick shrugged off the unwelcome praise. "Sometimes the best way to handle your problems is to get your mind off them."

Cody climbed up on Nick's lap then and sat down hard. Nick jumped, shifting the child slightly to be more comfortable. "Go home, daddy?" Cody pleaded.

Nick caressed the soft curled hair and placed a kiss on the top. "Soon, Cody. I hope." If they even had a home.

 

Hours later the kitchen was clean and everything was put away again. Nick was so hungry he could barely stand. He sank into a chair, leaning his head in his hands. He had been surrounded by food for hours, but he just couldn't make himself eat any of it.

"What did they feed you," Jarod asked quietly. "The people who did this to you?"

Nick tried to think. He wanted to drink. His teeth hurt. He didn't think he could chew if he tried. "Shakes," he said, shuddering at a memory. "I remember having to drink nasty shakes. Sometimes they made me sick to my stomach."

Jarod considered that. He would have to find out more about the work they had been doing. These shakes must be important. "There was a man at the crime scene," Jarod began, and carefully described the pale stranger dressed in black.

Nick tried to picture him in his mind. Someone strong, older, a little taller than he was... there was something. A confused vision. Then he saw the face contorted, frightening with sharp teeth and a vicious sneer, yet strangely beautiful in a way. He trembled, and the memory ended abruptly.

"Natalie," Nick said calmly. "My doctor's name is Natalie Lambert."

Jarod smiled. "That's great! What else do you remember?"

"She makes nasty protein shakes, and I try to drink them," Nick added excitedly. "She gets upset with me when I don't keep them down."

Jarod nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. With a full name and a profession, he could track her down. He needed to access her research. Cody had hardly eaten a thing in days; Nick nothing at all. There had to be something useful in her files. If Nick remembered having trouble digesting her shakes, then it must be an ongoing problem. Nick looked thin, but not emaciated. There must be something he had been able to consume.

"Dr. Natalie Lambert," Nick continued, as the memory expanded. "She is away, on vacation, I think."

"What about the man? Do you know him?" Jarod hesitated to push him too hard, noting the way he rubbed at his forehead with a shaky hand.

"No. I don't know him," he said firmly.

"Well, I'm going out for a while. I will see what I can learn about your doctor, and I want to see who, if anyone, is looking for you and Cody."

"I'd like to go with you," Nick said.

"That's not a good idea. You should stay here and keep Cody safe. He is in as much danger as you."

Nick groaned loudly then. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. It was on fire, it was chewing him up from the inside. He fell to the floor.

"What is it?" Jarod asked. "Tell me what you need, Nick!"

The main hall was mostly empty. The Lieman children were snuggled under blankets in one of the back rooms, and only a few of the homeless had opted to sleep inside. Nick rolled onto his side, turning his back to the sounds of people in the room. His eyeteeth throbbed and then they exploded, filling his mouth. His lips no longer quite covered them. It seemed familiar, and yet it frightened him. It was something dark and he did not want to know more.

"Blood," he whispered. "I need blood."

Jarod nodded. He didn't keep blood on hand. Would he have to slip into a hospital now and procure some?

Nick grabbed his wrist and held it in a vise-like grip. "Please? Help me," he pleaded.

"Yes," Jarod started to say. He would help him.

But Nick bit him then. It didn't hurt nearly as much as when Cody had bit him yesterday. He tried to pull away, but surprisingly, Nick was much stronger than he appeared. He watched in fascination as Nick sucked blood from his wrist. "What are you," he whispered, awestruck.

Nick felt the warm blood fill his mouth. It stirred memories like nothing else had. This was familiar. Nick could remember doing this thousands and thousands of times. He gulped hungrily, feeling his strength return and the powerful, consuming hunger withdraw if only for a little while. The images shifted. He saw himself as a tall, dark-haired young man, running from danger. He was a doctor, then he was a fireman. He was a priest and a pilot. Nick sucked harder as he tried to understand.

"Please, stop," Jarod said. "Let me go!"

Nick dropped the wrist abruptly. "Who are you," he demanded.

Jarod stared at the twin wounds in his wrist. "I don't know," he said truthfully.

Cody came over and plopped in Jarod's lap. He took the bleeding wrist and drank from it just as his father had done, but then the child licked at the open wounds. The saliva seemed to have healing properties, for Jarod's wrist scabbed over and healed as he watched. Jarod rubbed at his forearm. His arm felt weak, but there was no residual pain.

"What are you," Jarod countered.

"I don't know." Nick sat up. He felt much better. Still Jarod's blood opened too many doors all at once. "You are not a religious," Nick said firmly.

Jarod hesitated. "No, Nick. I'm not." He knew it was time to be honest with the blind man. He had to trust him with his life, but it was no more than Nick had already had to do. "I am running as well. I must continually change my name and my profession, as I elude the people who hunt for me. They are evil. They stole me from my parents when I was little. Now I don't know who I really am."

Nick was thoughtful. He sensed the truth in Jarod's words. "Your secret is safe with me," he vowed. Then he laughed. "It is a bit like the blind leading the blind, isn't it?"

Jarod shook his head. He could see fine; he didn't understand the reference at all. Maybe the lack of sleep was getting to him. "I need a couple of hours," Jarod said then, as he covered a yawn. "Can you wake me at 5, if I am still sleeping? I'll go look for this Dr. Lambert then."

"Sure," Nick said. "Cody and I aren't sleepy now. We'll just wait out here. And I won't let him bang on the pots while you rest."

Jarod chuckled. "Good night, Nick. Night, Cody."

Nick jumped again. That was his other name. Nick Knight. Soon he would have all the puzzle pieces. "Good night."

 

Amusing a small child without any toys was a challenge, Nick thought, but it amazed him that he could do it at all. First he had Cody bring out a sleeve of paper cups, like they had used for dinner. Then he showed Cody how to stack them. One upside down on the floor, then one right side up on it's base, and the next one upside down again. At first Cody could only stack three cups. His babyish enthusiasm and clumsiness would always topple the flimsy tower then, but after a while, he managed to do four and then five. Finally, they made a tower as tall as Cody, before the game lost its interest.

Nick played horse with him next. He crawled on his hands and knees while Cody rode on his back. He tugged on Nick's shirt to make him turn or stop. They collided with a few chairs and tables, but Nick didn't go fast enough to get hurt. He rolled onto the floor when he was tired of the game, and scratched his whiskers onto Cody's belly. The little boy squealed delightedly.

Nick laughed. It felt so right to play with the child. Maybe he really was his son? But why didn't he remember?

Finally Cody crawled into his lap and demanded a story. Nick leaned against the wall and thought. "I'll tell you a story about The Princess and the Pea," he began.

 

"So where's LaCroix tonight," Reese asked derisively as Tracy took her desk.

"Um, he's in Chicago," she said.

"Why! He's not going to interfere with this investigation, is he? Do I have to call down and have him picked up?"

"No, please don't," she said quickly. "He's just worried about Nick. You can't blame him."

"What do you have on the case?" he asked, changing the subject.

Tracy shrugged her shoulders with a defeated air. "Not much. I know who didn't do it, and that's about all."

"Well, keep working on it."

Tracy blinked rapidly. What the hell did he think she was going to do? "Nick, you are the biggest pain in the rear end sometimes," she muttered under her breath. She continued to paw through the old case files with growing apprehension.

Then she flipped to Tyrone Johnson's case file again. She had dismissed it once before, because he had been a young teen at the time of his arrest, caught for dealing drugs. He had no history of explosives. He had spent most of his life in prison, though. She read more carefully this time, wondering what he had done to extend his sentence so severely. Most first-time drug dealers served very little actual time.

The report said that Officer Knight was trying to talk him into lowering his gun and giving himself up, as the police surrounded the apartment where he lived. Another officer had kicked down the back door and fired inside, killing Johnson's three-year-old son. Johnson had fired at the officer, critically injuring him, before Knight took him down.

Tracy read the report over again and again. A small child was dead. It was a policeman's nightmare. That Johnson was guilty wasn't the issue. Why hadn't the officers tried to get him somewhere else, away from the sanctity of his home? Why had the other officer fired first? She read on, but no charges were ever filed against the officer. It made her angry, too.

How much more would it have affected the father? He had been so young, only seventeen. He was just a kid himself. Babies having babies. She shook her head sadly as she logged onto the police network, to see what else she could learn about Tyrone Johnson.

The computers were running very slowly lately, though. Somewhere the providers were upgrading their equipment, which would be helpful in the long run, but now she cursed the blank screen as she waited for her information to load.

"We'll find him," Ledford said, startling her. He patted her shoulder once in a friendly gesture.

Tracy forced a smile. She didn't like him, but at least he wasn't being a creep. "Thanks," she said. "How are your cases coming along?"

He shrugged. "Not much interesting. There was a big pile up two days ago, lots of smacked up cars, but only one serious injury. The bloody bastard is still in intensive care. He's not expected to live."

"That's too bad," she said flatly.

"Maybe. I see it's divine justice. He seems to have caused the accident in the first place. Well, I'd better go."

"At last," she sighed, as her screen opened to the site. She read more on Tyrone's less than stellar activities. Released from prison after serving fifteen of a twenty-year sentence, he was arrested several times on assorted charges, from gambling and swindling to aggravated assault, but the charges were dropped each time. There was no mention of explosives and yet she couldn't dismiss him completely. She felt that he certainly had motive, although he should be shooting for the other officer and not her vampire brother. She contacted Chicago PD to check in on Johnson's location for her, then she returned to searching the files for other possibilities.

Just before dawn, Chicago returned her call. Tyrone Johnson had a home on Lake Shore Drive, but he was not there. It didn't look like he had been home for about two months, judging by the newspapers piling up on his doorstep. They checked with the post office and he had stopped his mail about the same time Nick had left Chicago.

"Thanks," she told them. She called LaCroix next. They still didn't have a location, but at least she was fairly sure they had a solid lead.

 

 

LaCroix and Perry flew out to the address Tracy had given him. The home was a large, older building in the elite neighborhood of north Lake Shore Drive. The police had already been by, so he knew that they would not find his son here, but he needed to look anyway. Perhaps there was something to this detective life Nicholas had chosen. LaCroix felt his heart pound once in anticipation.

The lower floors were ordinary. Comfortable, expensive furnishings, art, and nothing really personal. There was only one photograph anywhere, and it was of a little child, perhaps a relative. LaCroix checked the basement, and then he entered the attic, thinking that this had been a waste of time after all.

The attic stopped him short. Perry whined, sneezing repeatedly as the door closed behind him. The air reeked of garlic. LaCroix blocked open the door and held a handkerchief to his nose. Then he continued his investigation.

Several pair of handcuffs lay around, and whips whose ends had been rubbed with garlic. Crucifixes hung in all the windows. When he saw wood darts rubbed in garlic oil, he was fully enraged. This mortal had planned on torturing his beloved son! "I'll tear him limb from limb!" LaCroix promised. "Perhaps I shall bring him across, so that his torture can last all the longer!"

Perry cowered at the ancient's wrath and whined softly. Revenge would come in it's own time. Right now all that mattered was finding Nicholas.

"Come, carouche. We'll return to Toronto at once!"

 

Chapter twelve:

Jarod slept until Nick woke him shortly before dawn. He showered and shaved, then dressed in jeans and a dark shirt. He couldn't be a brother this morning. He'd have to be invisible. The sun was up by the time he was ready to go.

"Will you two be all right for a couple hours," he asked, as he waited by the door.

"Sure," Nick said. He was feeling a little sluggish. Maybe he could convince Cody to take a nap with him.

"Okay then. Don't go anywhere while I'm gone."

Cody lunged for him. "Go bye-bye! Wanna go!"

"Stop!" Nick shouted.

Jarod grabbed him before he could run out the door. "It is too dangerous," he said to Cody. "You can't come with me."

"Play," Cody pleaded.

"I'll see if I can take you to a playground later," Jarod promised. "But it isn't safe now."

"We cannot go out in the daylight," Nick said with sudden insight.

"Well, at least, not here. We are too close to the people who are searching for you."

"No. I mean, ever. We cannot go out in the sun."

Jarod looked at him. "Are you remembering something else?" he coaxed.

Nick nodded. He stepped to the door. Then, taking a deep breath, he spoke. "Open it."

Jarod pushed the door open and held it with a foot. Nick slowly stretched out his hand until a ray of light touched it. At once the skin began to smolder and smoke. Nick pulled his hand back and held his wrist, grimacing in pain.

Jarod took his hand and examined it. "This is a severe burn," he said in surprise, even as he watched it begin to heal. "But you knew that would happen."

Nick nodded. He showed his hand to Cody. "You must never go outside in the daylight. Never. Do you understand!"

Cody whimpered. "I sorry, Daddy."

Nick pulled him close and hugged him. "It's okay, son."

Jarod stared at the strange pair. "I'll hurry back," he said, then he was gone.

Nick felt a lump of fear nearly choke him as he clutched the small boy to him. He couldn't even remember him, and yet, he meant so much already. Nick could not imagine a life without him. "I love you, Cody," he whispered as he soothed the child.

Cody nuzzled his neck, scraping his sharp baby teeth along the sensitive flesh. Nick chuckled in anticipation. "Yes, my son," he said.

Cody pierced the skin and drank, sucking from him. For a moment, Nick was filled with a sense of familiarity, that this was what he was. It almost had a name. He concentrated, trying to pull the words from behind the thick fog of his confusion, but the harder he tried, the more elusive it became. Nick felt his own eye teeth lengthen, felt the overpowering instinct to return the bite and complete the circle. Gently he tipped Cody's head to the side, searching for the small child's jugular by scent and by instinct.

Cody's blood filled his mouth, soothing away the pain of hunger and isolation. The child tasted of innocence, the scent of cedar clinging to him. His cold blood warmed Nick, and at once he felt stronger than he had for days. The last trace of pain from his leg wounds was gone, as were the headaches. Then he tasted himself in the blood. He had taken enough, the circle was complete. Nick withdrew, lapping at the twin wounds. Moments later, Cody withdrew as well.

"I sweepy, Daddy," he murmured.

"Me too, Cody. Time for bed." Nick smiled as he changed the small boy and helped him into his pajamas. It felt like the first time he had ever done it, and yet, he had to have done this many times in his life. If only he could remember.

Nick pulled off his borrowed jeans and Tee-shirt, then lifted Cody on to his lap. "How about a lullabye?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," the baby agreed, slipping his thumb inside his mouth. "Frue the night."

Nick began to sing, the words came easily, along with the memory of having done this before. He sang until Cody was sound asleep, then he lay down with Cody curled in his arms, the child's sweet head resting on his breast. "Good night, my son."

*****

"Great healing power, drinks blood, can't go in the sunshine," Jarod said to himself. It was all very strange. He could not remember hearing anything like it before, but then, he had been very isolated. Although he could build a rocket from scratch and hack into any secure location in the world, his knowledge of American culture -or any culture- was totally lacking. He'd never tasted Jell-O or Twinkies or Pez candies until fairly recently. He had never seen Star Wars, or read a comic book. Now, as he tried to remain free, to find his mother, and to help those in need, he was also trying to catch up on all the things he had missed.

The only Doctor Lambert in the phone book was a coroner. Jarod couldn't believe that she was Nick's doctor, so he widened his search, but that search came up blank. There was a Natalia Lambertini practicing medicine in the States, but that was too far away. Why would Nick see a coroner? Unless that was only her front, a legitimate cover for the illegal research she was conducting.

There was nothing in the newspaper about Nick or the child, which was highly irregular. Cautiously, Jarod returned to the warehouse room he rented on Gateway Lane, near the scene of the crime. He unlocked the door and entered, leaving behind the cement world of the inner city, and entered his private sanctum.

The warehouse had been transformed. Several large potted trees were placed around the area, and a layer of pine needles and shredded bark mulch covered the floor. A large steel reinforced cage stood in the far corner. Jarod flipped a switch, turning on a CD of the Sounds of Nature: wind blowing, wolves howling, and the soft lap of water.

Here Jarod had been preparing for his next pretend, where he would immerse himself in an environment, becoming the one he studied, before assuming a new identity. A Park Ranger in Wisconsin was dead and it was assumed to be from a wolf attack. Outraged residents were demanding that the reintroduction of wolves into the area be halted permanently, and all existing wolves in the state be hunted to extermination, while animal rights activists insisted that the attack could not have been committed by a healthy animal.

Jarod would become a Park Ranger next. That was fairly easy. He'd been a ranger before. But this time, he was learning what it would be like to be the wolf, either in the wild or in captivity, so he would better understand the situation. But that wasn't why he was here. Instead he sat at the desk, with the newest computer and high-speed internet access and hacked into the city's system, to see what rocks he could turn over.

He discovered that Dr. Lambert was indeed on vacation, although her location was not part of public record. He got her home address and wrote it down, as he figured he'd check it out shortly. The address looked vaguely familiar. Jarod felt a chill of apprehension. She was living with the pale stranger, his prime suspect!

Jarod shook himself. She had to have files somewhere, private documents regarding her research. It took a while to locate. She didn't have them stored on the city's computers, which didn't surprise him, or on the webpage included with her internet provider. When he finally did locate something, it was password protected. This was the fun part, he thought, cracking his knuckles as he tried one combination after another.

He tried her name, various nicknames, her birthday, her profession, and even her mother's maiden name. He was about to give up, when he discovered in the public records that her godchild had died a few years ago. Then he typed in luce1996, and that brought up the files.

She hadn't written Nick's name anywhere. She wrote 'the test subject' on page after page. Still, it didn't look like she was responsible for his condition. As Jarod read more of her work, it sounded as though she was trying to undo what had been done to him. At one point she had thought she had succeeded, when she gave him large doses of lidovuterine B. Jarod shuddered. That much should have killed Nick, not cured him. He still suspected that the white-haired man was responsible for Nick's condition, and given her relationship with the white-haired man, Jarod wasn't ready to trust her.

He would have to set a trap for the white-haired man. He was the one with all the answers; he was the key to Nick's suffering and freedom. Jarod would have to watch him carefully.

 

Tracy rubbed her neck and rolled her shoulders. She was too tense and it was affecting her work. Tyrone Johnson seemed to have disappeared. Chicago couldn't find him, she couldn't find him, and LaCroix had just phoned to say that his search had been fruitless as well. "I do not believe Nicholas is in Chicago," LaCroix had said, his voice sounding tired. "I will be returning to Toronto tonight."

She got up and grabbed her coat. She needed a break. Maybe a trip to the morgue would revive her?

Natalie's assistant, Grace, was just covering up a body when she came in. "What's his problem?" Tracy asked politely, not really interested.

"Cause of death, internal bleeding as a result of a car accident," Grace said. "But, you get to look for next of kin. All I can give you is a name."

She lifted her clipboard and read from it. "Tyrone Johnson. He's American. Don't know whom he was here to see, and no one has called looking for him, although he survived in the hospital for nearly two days before he succumbed to his injuries."

"Tyrone?" Tracy screamed. "Johnson!" She whipped off the sheet and stared at the lifeless face of a middle-aged black man. "Oh, no!"

"What is it?" Grace asked, concerned. "Did you know him, Tracy?"

"No! He's the one who took Nick!"

Grace grabbed for her chair and sat down. "Well that's good news, then isn't it?"

"We don't know where he took him! All we know is that if he had a partner, he fired him, literally. Somewhere, in Toronto, he must have Nick imprisoned. How will we ever find him?"

"We'll find him," Grace promised. "Come. Let's go look at the car. It should still be on the police lot somewhere."

Tracy found where the car had been towed. Eventually it would be hauled off to the dump, but for now it remained part of the investigation into the crash. It was a small rental car, the company logo displayed on bumper stickers. The front end was shoved in; the driver's side door was gone. The rescue workers had had to use the jaws to remove it before getting him out. The steering wheel had been sawed off as well. "No wonder he didn't make it," Grace said as she inspected the wreck.

Tracy went around to the trunk. It was crushed as well. If Nick had been inside, he would have been severely injured. She handed the flashlight to Grace, as she didn't really need it to see by. "Look, here's a bullet hole," she said, pointing into the floor of the trunk.

"Hmm, by the angle, I'd say the victim was standing here," Grace said, pulling Tracy over to stand in front of her. She put a finger on Tracy's back. "Nick's taller than you. I'd guess that Johnson fired here, and it traveled clear through Nick and through the floor of the trunk."

Tracy nodded in agreement. "There's another hole, though." She had to move the flashlight until the mortal could see it. They thought for a while before Tracy figured it out. "Okay, so Nick was in the trunk. The guy is driving along, and Nick pisses him off. Maybe he was talking to him? Tyrone fires from the front seat. The bullet travels through the upholstery into the trunk and hits Nick. There is no exit hole anywhere. Nick must have taken that bullet with him."

Tracy pulled up some of the carpeting from the trunk floor. Underneath she could smell Nick's blood quite clearly. Protected by the carpet and in the shadow of the trunk lid, it had not yet burned away. "But Nick wasn't in the trunk when the ambulances arrived. Where did he go?"

"He must have escaped before the crash," Grace thought aloud. "It's the only reasonable explanation."

"Then why hasn't he contacted us? If he's free?"

Grace shook her head.

Nick was free but injured. Had the bullet struck his head again? Or was he too severely injured? In his current condition, any injury was serious. There was a strip of lethal looking steel that shoved inward. How long would they search for Nick, before they gave him up for dead? Would they ever know? Tracy felt dizzy, as the adrenaline surge of her fear swamped her.

"We'll find him," Grace said firmly. "Because Captain Reese will never quit looking."

 

Freddy willingly served the soup that evening as Jarod talked with Nick about what he had learned. "This LaCroix seems to be the key to everything. I think we need to capture him and force him to answer a few questions. Then you can decide what you want to do."

Nick agreed. "I feel afraid every time you say his name, yet I know my own strength and healing ability. He must be very dangerous."

Jarod smiled sardonically. "I've had a lot of practice capturing dangerous people." Together they laid the trap.

 

LaCroix was livid. He roared in his rage when Tracy told him the mortal kidnapper had died. "How could he be dead! Where is my son!"

"I don't know, LaCroix," she said timidly. "But there's still the possibility that he had a partner. Chicago says he worked alone, or he hired kids to work for him, but there was that patch of blood on the pavement and the bullet casing we found on the curb. Perhaps his partner has Nick?"

"So what do we do now," LaCroix spat.

"I think we should put out a reward for him."

"I am not paying anyone who has dared to touch one of my own," the ancient hissed.

"No, the reward isn't for him. But he has to have taken Nick some place. Somewhere, a housekeeper or a neighbor or a gas station attendant might have seen Nick. We plaster the reward and his picture on the news and wait for a call."

LaCroix shuddered. Vampires generally avoided such recognition, but this was an extreme case. His son was alone, blind, injured, and now it had been three days since he'd fed. Even if the kidnapper had offered him blood, LaCroix knew that unless it was vampire blood, Nicholas would still suffer, for his strange illness made human blood inadequate.

"All right," he sighed. "I'll put up the money. However much you think is necessary. I'll put up all of it."

"No, I think $500,000 should be enough to make someone take notice."

"Is that the price of a child these days," he asked sarcastically.

"No. It is the price of a miracle."

 

"Listen Nick, you're on the news," Jarod said, as he turned up the volume on the small television set. Someone had donated it to the mission a week ago, but Jarod hadn't bothered to repair it until this afternoon, when he thought that it might help to amuse Cody.

Nick listened. He didn't recognize the voice of the speaker, but then he heard a deep, silken voice that made his heart jump and his skin crawl. "That's him," he breathed. "I know that man."

"Listen," Jarod said, turning up the volume.

"And how long has your son been missing, Mr. LaCroix?" asked the television reporter.

"Three days," the rich voice replied.

"Again, Detective Nicholas Knight was taken from his home three days ago. There is a $500,000 reward for information leading to his rescue. Call this number if you have any information that might help the Toronto Police Department-" Jarod turned the volume off then.

"That man says he is your father," Jarod said. Until now he had thought he was helping Nick, but families should be together. Now he was no longer sure.

Nick shuddered. "It is familiar. I know that voice. But, I'm afraid to see him. Could he be lying?"

"Let's go ahead with the plan. If he convinces you of his sincerity, then we can always let him go."

Nick nodded, but he was still uneasy. "What's the worse thing that could happen," he muttered, hoping he would never have to find out.

Jarod grinned. "I think Freddy should go to the police," he said. "He can deliver the message for us. I've been wondering how he would manage when I leave. That money would do him a lot of good. Do you think it is real?"

Nick considered it carefully. "Yes. I think so. In fact, my first reaction was, why did he place my value so low."

Jarod chuckled. "Holding out for more money, are you? Come on. Freddy will need a lot of coaching to get his lines right."

 

LaCroix paced restlessly in his apartment. He wanted to be out, flying over the city, reaching out through their bond to find his son. The bullet holes in Johnson's car unnerved him. What he felt now, the lack of a tie to Nicholas, was so similar to the time he had been shot and lost his memories. LaCroix had almost lost him for real back then. Not because of the gunshot wound, but because Nicholas hadn't known enough to keep out of the sun.

Several police officers lounged around his apartment, against his wishes. This was all Tracy's fault. They had his phone lines tapped, and waited until the calls started to come in. They didn't have long to wait either. One officer jabbed pins in a map at each Nick-sighting. Someone had seen him at the Laundromat on the north side, another claimed he was seen on the school grounds around noon. LaCroix reminded them that any daytime sighting was impossible, but the officers meticulously mapped each one.

Perry was restless. He trotted to the door and back again and again, whining occasionally. "All right," LaCroix said quietly. "You may go look for him. Be careful." Several officers jumped up to follow him as he opened the door to let Perry outside. He restrained himself from hissing at them with great effort. Then Tracy called him.

"LaCroix, I think you'd better get down here. This one's for real."

 

Perry returned to Nick's street and put his nose to the ground. There were many smells, but the one he wanted to find was very faint. He went to the site across the street where the broken glass and spilled blood had been found. Nick's essence had faded entirely. Only the other mortal's blood remained. It was not as sharp a scent as fresh blood, but it was enough. Perry sniffed it again, until the scent was ingrained. If he could not find Nick, he would find this mortal and look for what he needed in his blood.

The blood trail led him to an older, converted storefront in the downtown area, which now reeked of mortal food and sweat. Perry pawed at the door and let himself in.

The scent of his charge was everywhere! Perry barked and bounded into the room, sniffing furiously.

"Doggy!" a child cried enthusiastically.

Perry glared at the small one, recognizing something in the blood scent, only it had changed. It was as if his blood had mixed with that of the kidnapper and of Nick. This annoying mini-mortal was also vampire.

Cody flung himself at the dog and wrapped his arms around his neck in a stranglehold. "Puppy! My puppy!"

Perry shook, knocking the child to the floor. Cody let out a loud wail, blood tears filling his eyes. "Don't go, puppy!" he sobbed.

Nick and Jarod came through a back door together, twin looks of worry on their faces. "Cody? What's wrong!" they called.

Perry leaped over the crying child and jumped up on Nick, taking him down. Perry planted his paws on Nick's chest and licked at his face. At once he was glad to see him, and also angry that Nick was apparently fine and had simply not bothered to let anyone know. Perry licked and nipped, barking his annoyance.

"Nick? The dog seems to know you. Do you remember him?" Jarod asked, already suspecting that it might be Nick's guide dog.

"Down, dog!" Nick snapped, pushing the furry beast away. The fur felt soft and familiar. Slowly, Nick worked his fingers into the silky rough around the dog's neck, pulling the hair gently. "Perry?" he asked.

Perry barked.

"Perry," Nick repeated. "His name is Perry. How did you find me?"

Perry turned and glowered at the vampire child pulling on his tail. "My puppy," Cody insisted.

Nick reached for Cody and pulled him onto his lap. "No, Cody. This is Perry, and he doesn't belong to anyone. He does live with me, though, and he helps me to get around."

Perry barked again, and pranced about restlessly. It was time to go. He had to take Nick back to LaCroix at once! He took Nick's hand in his mouth and tugged.

"No," Nick said. "I'm not ready to go back yet. And I don't want you to leave, either."

Perry barked. If he didn't return to LaCroix, the ancient might skin him alive. He shook all over and barked again, more forcefully.

Jarod helped Nick to his feet. "Perhaps the dog could keep an eye on Cody while we meet with LaCroix?"

Nick considered it. "I'm not sure that is a good idea. Perry doesn't seem to like Cody very much."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Nick didn't. He lifted Cody and whistled for the dog. "Come with me, Perry."

Jarod returned to the basement room where they were preparing to meet the dangerous man called LaCroix, while Nick took the child out behind the mission to a parked station wagon. He opened a back door and sat inside, holding Cody firmly on his lap. Cody struggled to get free, reaching out to touch the dog.

"Perry, I want to talk to LaCroix, but I need to do it alone. I don't remember much yet. What I do remember is frightening. Please stay here."

Perry whined, laying his head on Nick's knee. When Nick asked him like that, how could he refuse?

"And keep Cody here, out of trouble, until I call for you. Okay?"

Perry sniffed. Part of him wished he were still in Chicago. He jumped over Nick and climbed into the back, flopping down with a resigned sigh. Cody finally succeeded in wiggling loose. He crawled on top of the dog and squealed gleefully.

* You are going to owe me, Nicholas, * the carouche thought.

Nick closed the car door and returned inside. He felt for the hand railing and slowly descended the stairs to the basement. Now that the time had come, he was having second thoughts. LaCroix claimed to be his father. What if he were? How could he treat family like this? But there were strange flashes of memory, of terrible fights, of hatred on both sides, and he thought of Cody, and how much he loved the son he couldn't even remember. How could any father treat his child the way Nick remembered being treated?

Jarod laid a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me. It will work out somehow."

 

One officer wanted to drive him in, but LaCroix refused. Enough was enough. Dashing around the corner of his building, he took to the sky. He landed, and paused in the parking lot of the precinct momentarily to rub his hand through the short-cropped hair before going inside.

Tracy opened the door to a room and motioned him to follow. A simple-looking young man sat at the table, with Captain Reese, a recorder, and two other officers. The young man looked very nervous.

"What can you tell me about my son," LaCroix said. His voice was deceptively calm, but the young man shrank back with instinctive fear.

"Mr. LaCroix, please sit down," commanded Captain Reese. "Now, Freddy. No one's going to harm you. Please tell this man what you just told me."

"I, I, I saw him," Freddy began. "Nick. I seen him for days now. He's staying with me and my buddy."

"Why!" demanded LaCroix, looming over him.

"Sit down," Reese reminded him.

"LaCroix, please," Tracy urged. She sat on the edge of the table, shielding Freddy with her body. "Go on, Freddy."

"Nick, he was hurt bad," Freddy said. "My buddy, Brother Jarod helped him. He fixed him up."

"Then why isn't Nick here? Why didn't he come back with you?" Tracy asked.

"Cause Nick, he's not sure of anything right now. He disremembered his own name at first. He's afraid. He wants LaCroix to come to him. Alone."

Captain Reese cleared his throat. He knew Nick had good cause to fear his foster father. "That isn't going to happen, Freddy. How do we know you are telling us the truth?"

"Me? I'm not smart enough to lie, Mister. I just try to say what they tole' me. And Nick, he said to give you this, to show I was rightful." He pulled a watch from his pocket. Tracy recognized it. It was just like the one Nick had got from the blind school, with a crystal that raised so Nick could touch the hands and know what time it was.

"Nick said to tell Mr. LaCroix that he didn't have time to have it, en... en..."

"Engraved?" Tracy coached.

"Uh-huh. He said he didn't have time to engrave "forever" on the back."

LaCroix paled. He sank into the chair. "That is Nicholas," he whispered.

"Where is Mr. LaCroix supposed to meet him?" Reese prompted.

Freddy gave the address. The front lawn of the Lakeside Country Club. "And he said to come alone. Do I get my money?"

"You shall get everything you deserve," LaCroix hissed.

Tracy glared at him. She patted Freddy's shoulder. "You wait here for a little while, okay? Mr. LaCroix will go find his son, and you will have your reward as soon as Nick is safe at home."

Freddy was ushered from the room then and shown to a seat in the waiting area. LaCroix rose, ready to depart, but Captain Reese blocked his path. The ancient vampire glared at this mortal insect that dared to stop him, but the police captain did not back down.

"This is my turf, LaCroix. You will do it MY way. You are not going there alone."

"Yes, I am."

"Captain," Tracy interrupted. "We know that it is Nick's watch, but we still don't know if it is Nick's idea to set up this meeting, or if it is the one who claims to be helping him. We should at least pretend to follow the demands."

"I agree," Reese said. "We'll fit LaCroix with a wire, and follow him from a distance."

LaCroix was all set to argue, but the captain left abruptly.

"Please, LaCroix. Remember Nick. He has to work here. You can't kill anybody tonight."

"Perhaps not," he warned. "But I could vent my frustration on the one who will ultimately recover."

Tracy paled and stepped back from him. "I'm worried for him too, sir."

A half-hour later LaCroix left the precinct, a wire taped securely beneath his shirt. The tape was uncomfortable. A mild skin irritation was already forming. "Damn," he cursed.

"LaCroix, please," Tracy whispered over the tap. "Remember, everything you say is being recorded here."

"Damn, damn," he said again.

He climbed in the cab and gave the driver the destination. Then he tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for the miles to pass by.

The driver stopped as he pulled into the parking lot. "Do you want me to wait?" he asked.

"No." LaCroix paid him and ignored him. The cab slowly pulled away. LaCroix turned in a circle. He reached out through the bond, but he could not sense his son. The night was getting late. The sun hovered just beyond the horizon. He couldn't stay out here much longer.

Then a van pulled into the parking lot and stopped about twenty feet away. "Are you Mr. LaCroix?" the driver asked.

He gave a brief nod of assent.

The driver got out and opened the side door for him. "Nick sent me to get you," he said.

Something didn't feel quite right. It seemed like a trap. He was not going to get inside that van. Ever. He stepped closer to the driver. "Who are you," he asked, controlling his voice with supreme effort. He heard the mortal's heart rate slow and beat in rhythm.

"I am Rick Lieman," the driver said flatly. "Nick hired me to take you to him."

"Why didn't he come here himself?" LaCroix demanded, getting annoyed.

"I don't know," the driver answered. It was a truthful answer. It still didn't mean that it wasn't a trap, only that the driver wasn't part of it.

"Where were we to go?" LaCroix asked. Then he laid a hand over the wire tap inside his shirt to muffle the reception. He certainly didn't want a lot of mortal officers to beat him to the address. He didn't want them there at all.

"Basement of Brother Jarod's mission, "Our Lady of Perpetual Help," Lieman responded, giving the address.

Now he was sure it was a trap. Nicholas would never willingly invite him to a church or any holy place! "Go to sleep," he commanded the mortal, not bothering to catch him as he fell to the pavement.

LaCroix hurried into the shadows before taking to the sky. He didn't know this mission, but he would find it. And he would tear the mortals to shreds if they had harmed one hair on Nicholas's head.

 

The back door was locked, but it opened easily. These mortals didn't know whom they were dealing with, he smiled sardonically. Listening, he heard fewer than a dozen heart beats in a larger room, but they seemed to be sleeping and Lieman had said the basement. LaCroix could always kill and interrogate the mortals later. He found the basement stairs and cautiously went down. Then he reached inside his shirt and tore the wire away, crushing it in his hand. Whatever he encountered, he did not want Nicholas's playmates involved.

The dark stairs were not a problem for the ancient vampire. It made him wonder just what these inept mortal kidnappers knew. He inhaled deeply, but did not detect a scent of garlic anywhere. In fact, he could only detect one heartbeat.

At the base of the stairs was another door. He opened it and entered an empty room. He walked cautiously, listening. "Nicholas," he called quietly.

There was no answer. He stopped, unwilling to go further. "Show yourself at once!"

A light snapped on, and electricity surged all around him. Dozens of little red lights flicked to life, tiny laser beams crossing the room intricately, trapping him where he stood. He could move less than four feet in any direction. "Nicholas!" he shouted, angry with himself that he had walked into the trap when he had sensed the potential all along.

A tall, dark mortal stepped through the back doorway, holding a remote control that must have activated the trap. An annoying smirk covered his face. "Good evening, Mr. LaCroix," he said.

"Release me at once," the vampire hissed.

"Tut-tut, daddy," he said. "If you are indeed, his father."

"You do not have long to live," LaCroix promised.

"Ah, but Nick has assured me otherwise," he said.

"Where is he? What have you done to him!" LaCroix felt his control slip. The laser beams could be deadly, as they could decapitate him. They would certainly be rather painful if he tried to fit between them.

"I helped him," Jarod replied. "Didn't Freddy tell you as much? Nicholas was hurt when we met. The bullet wounds and other injuries have healed, but his memory has not yet returned."

"Not again," LaCroix sighed, turning away from the mortal. He rubbed at his forehead.

"What do you mean? Did you do this to him? Take away his memories?" Jarod's voice was biting.

"Let me go to him," LaCroix demanded. "I can help him. He needs me."

"No."

"Then you are not his friend."

"Thank you, Jarod," came Nick's voice.

LaCroix turned around sharply, hissing as he singed his elbow on one of the beams. "Nicholas! Release me at once!"

Nicholas entered the room. He looked tired and pale, but he walked straight without a cane. LaCroix noted how he reached out and Jarod took his hand, and he knew then that his eyesight had not returned.

"No, master," Nick said. He turned towards the sardonic, dark-haired man. "I remember that, now, too, Jarod. I don't call him dad, and seldom 'father'. It is master. Isn't that a strange title for one you would love?"

"Nicholas, you've been hurt," LaCroix said, softening his voice. "You don't remember our ways. We are not like them. I am your master, because I created you. I have been your master for a long, long time."

Nick touched his forehead, wincing. He wanted to know more, but he was also afraid. There was a sense of freedom in his ignorance. Freedom from what, he didn't know. Master... he thought about the images that word created, and combined them with the deep, velvet voice.

"You used to read to me," Nick blurted.

"Yes, Nicholas. Often. Do you remember what we read?"

"Beowulf," Nick said.

LaCroix stammered. He had not read that since Nicholas had been a small, mortal boy. Many nights they had sat by the fire, while LaCroix read to him. He couldn't have been more than seven. That memory had been locked inside Nicholas since the last time he'd suffered amnesia.

"Let me out now, Nicholas, and we shall forget all about this unfortunate adventure."

Nick took a step nearer. "I want to believe you," he whispered.

Jarod pulled Nick back. "What about his injuries! Why would you shoot him, if he were your son? Why would you rather see him dead than free?"

"I don't know who you are, young man, but-"

"Do not harm him," Nick interrupted. "This is Jarod, and he has helped both me and my son. I owe him my life."

"Jarod?" LaCroix gasped. "The same Jarod Zuhayr is searching for?"

The name meant nothing to either of them. LaCroix glared at the mortal. He didn't look that intelligent, but then, he had been able to incapacitate him. Thinking that Jarod just might be the smartest man alive appeased his indignation somewhat. Then he recalled something else Nick had said. "You don't have a son, Nicholas!"

"Answer my question," Jarod insisted.

"Yes!" Nick shouted.

LaCroix sighed. He was most uncomfortable, but he could see that he was going no where until he could convince Nicholas that they belonged together. "I did not harm you, my son. You are a police detective. A position I have disapproved of for years. One of your old cases had a personal vendetta. He wanted to see you suffer, as he had suffered when you sent him to prison. He kidnapped you. He had your dog impounded, and he shot you. Twice, according to Tracy. But somehow, you escaped from the trunk of his car as it collided with several others. He was killed in the accident."

Nick rubbed at his head. The story rang true. Now he could remember the trunk, the sound of squealing tires and smashing steel. "I cut my leg on a piece of jagged steel," he murmured as he rubbed at his thigh, although the injury was mostly healed.

"Yes," LaCroix said, encouraging him.

"Then something hit me. I was thrown into a brick building, and hit my head..."

"That must be what blocked his memories," Jarod told the older man.

"But why do I fear you?" Nick whispered. "What have you done to me?"

"I don't know why, Nicholas," LaCroix replied sadly. "In the past, I have been very strict. You were always a difficult child, headstrong and willful. I meant only to protect you, even from yourself. Now, you are stronger than I am in many ways. You have skills I've never seen another vampire possess. You have no reason to be afraid."

"Vampire?"

"Yes, Nicholas. You are a vampire. Didn't your friend Jarod figure that out? You live on blood, you cannot go out in the sunlight. You heal quickly."

Jarod shrugged. "I've never heard of the word before," he confessed. "I thought Nick was the result of some illegal experimentation."

"Surely you've heard of vampires," LaCroix sneered. "Bela Lugosi? Count Dracula? That much is basic."

Jarod glanced at his feet, looking boyishly embarrassed and so like his son in that moment. "I was never allowed to watch television when I was a child," he confessed.

"Nicholas, you sent me a watch and told the courier to tell me "forever". Do you remember the reference?" LaCroix had reached the end of his patience some time ago.

Nick shrugged. "Not really."

"I gave you a gold pocket watch a long time ago. I had that word engraved on the inside cover."

"I gave the watch back once," Nick said slowly.

"Yes, you did. Because you thought you wanted to leave me. But later you asked for it returned. I gave it to you. It is in your bedroom at the loft, where you sometimes stay when you don't share my apartment."

Nick was silent. He seemed lost in thought for some time. Jarod watched them both, curiously. LaCroix tried to keep the irritation from his face when he was really ready to kill someone.

"Are you angry with me now?" Nick asked.

LaCroix saw the open, hopeful face. He was very angry, but not at Nicholas. "If that mortal who abducted you were still alive, I would kill him in my anger for what he has made you suffer, my child. But I am not angry with you. However, this confinement is quite annoying."

"What about my friend, Jarod?"

"Nicholas, you know the code." LaCroix winced, wondering just what Nicholas did know at the moment.

"Jarod won't harm us. He has his own demons to fight. Promise me you won't hurt him."

"I promise."

"How can I know you are telling the truth?"

"Nicholas!" LaCroix shouted in exasperation. "Open yourself to our bond. Read what is in my mind, if you dare. And let me out!"

Nick cocked his head in puzzlement. Bond? Mind reading? Could he do such things? Then he felt a familiar presence. It was the ancient master, slipping into his thoughts and comforting him. He saw a man who loved him enough to hurt him. He blinked back tears that pressed at his eyelids.

The memories were still unclear, but he knew this man. He remembered thousands of times spent in his company, both good and bad. He loved him and feared him, respected him and sometimes ran away from him, yet always the elder vampire was there for him in times of need. LaCroix was indeed his father.

"I don't want to let you out, LaCroix," he said then, an impish grin splitting his face.

LaCroix lunged forward, stopping just short of the rows of beams.

"It seems that I have you in a rare bargaining position."

"What is it that you think you want, my child?" LaCroix said, growing suspicious at his child's amused expression.

Nick rubbed his stubbled chin as if in deep thought. "I don't know what to ask for, since there is still so much I can't remember. I have it. I want you to grant me three wishes."

"Can vampires do that?" Jarod asked curiously.

"I am not a genie, Nicholas. It is not in my power to grant wishes."

"Oh, these wishes will be, when I decide what I want from you. Do we have a deal?"

"Nicholas!"

The two younger beings waited, holding their breaths, while he considered it. He cupped his chin in his hand as if deep in thought when actually he had to conceal a foolish smile. Nicholas was more his old self again, having lost the terrible depression along with his memories. Then he nodded his agreement. "You are impossible."

Jarod flipped the row of switches on his remote and the red lasers disappeared. LaCroix bolted and grabbed Nicholas into a bone-crushing embrace. Nick returned the hug. "I want to go home," he whispered. "Take me, please?"

"Come, my son. We shall leave at once."

"I can drive you," Jarod volunteered. "I have a car out back."

LaCroix would have flown home, but Nicholas did seem tired. He kept his hand firmly around Nicholas's arm as they followed Jarod outside. A rusting station wagon was parked by the curb, and the back door flung open. LaCroix tugged Nicholas behind him protectively as a small child emerged. The child ran towards Nick, lunging into his arms. LaCroix stared at him.

"Where did this come from," he sneered.

"I don't know, LaCroix. I thought maybe you might."

"We don't take children," he said disdainfully. Except Daniel. Once, he had brought across a boy child for Janette. Nicholas had been outraged and ran off, joining up with the Maquis resistance during the war and nearly getting himself killed, again. LaCroix had grown tired of the boy, and yet destroying him had been rather painful. The child had a certain charm about him that even the ancient vampire had found endearing.

Nick patted the child's back. "Well, he is mine, now, LaCroix. He comes."

The ancient chose to ignore the matter for now. He glared at the mortal, Jarod. "You will not remember who or what we are," he commanded.

Jarod smirked again. He had an irritating little smile that made LaCroix wonder what he was thinking. "I remember that Nick is my friend," he said. "And that he was happily reunited with his family. Family is everything."

LaCroix sniffed. It wasn't exactly what he expected, but it was enough. He touched Nicholas's arm. "Shall we go?"

Jarod tousled Cody's hair. "You take care now, son. You have a real family to be with now."

"Thanks for everything, Jarod," Nick said, climbing into the back seat of the car. "Are you going to be here for a while?"

"Another week," Jarod answered. "I need to make sure that the mission has enough funds and support to remain open."

"Good. I'd like to see you again before you leave. I don't know, but maybe there is a way I can help you."

Jarod shrugged, driving them back to Gateway Lane, across the street from his warehouse. "The center is world wide. They are too powerful to take down. I just need to remain free long enough that they grow tired of the energy and expense they waste trying to find me." He stopped in front of the warehouse on Gateway Lane.

"Well, maybe I can help find your family. Who knows? Take care."

Jarod shook his hand, then he drove back to the mission. LaCroix offered Nick his arm, but the younger vampire seemed to remember the way on his own. He followed him up the stairs.

Perry raced inside, running circles around the loft and barking excitedly. Cody tried to chase after him, squealing. LaCroix rolled his eyes. It would seem Nicholas had picked up yet another stray. He went to the phone to call Tracy.

 

Nick sat in the corner of his leather couch with Cody sound asleep in his lap. His loft was crowded with people that he only sort of remembered. There was his Police Captain, a big man by the name of Reese, and a young vampire named Vachon. And his two girlfriends, Janette and Urs. They both thought Cody was adorable. He liked them as well. Janette seemed more familiar, she even smelled familiar.

"That is because she is related," LaCroix reminded him.

Nick nodded as though he understood. Then there was Tracy. He remembered her the instant she kissed him. She was sunshine and enthusiasm, and she didn't shut up once all night.

Others called to talk to him, his doctor Natalie, and a priest. Father Pierre wanted to know how he and Cody were getting along. Nick couldn't remember the priest at all, but he invited him to drop in soon and see for himself.

"Is it coming back, yet?" Tracy asked him.

Nick smiled. "A little. Sort of. Maybe."

She patted his shoulder. "You sure gave us a scare. I'm so glad to have you back."

"So, where did the munchkin come from?" Vachon asked, when Reese had left.

Nick shrugged, but Tracy interrupted. "I think I can answer that. A bullet passed through Nick's chest and the trunk of the car. There was a puddle of mortal blood under the car. The boy must have been hiding there. The wound nearly killed him, but there was just enough of Nick's blood on the bullet. It brought him across."

"The code, Nicholas," LaCroix warned. "You cannot keep him."

"He is my responsibility," Nick said stubbornly. "I will take care of him."

LaCroix opened his mouth, but Tracy popped a kiss on his lips. "That's enough, Dad," she said. "I think it is time for everyone to go home."

Nick chuckled. There were still a lot of gaps in his memory, but they would return, he was certain. This was all very familiar. He was surrounded by people who loved and cared about one another. And he realized that he was very rich.

The end.