Nick knocked tentatively at the door to Natalie's apartment. She'd been out sick with the flu and he wouldn't want to wake her if she was resting. He heard her cough, then ask who was there.
"It's me, Nat," he said. "Nick."
He turned the doorknob and stepped inside. The living room was still comfortably tidy, the way she kept everything, but the whole apartment had the slightly stale odor of a sickroom. Shifting his grocery sack, he crossed over to her bedroom and peered politely around the edge of the door.
"How are you feeling?"
"Oh, you know, ...I'll live," she moaned, her voice sounding thick and raspy.
"Actually, not long ago the flu was considered quite life-threatening..." he whispered. His eyes lost their focus. Nat recognized the look of one caught up in memories. Had he lost friends- mortals he cared about- in the influenza epidemics of the past?
Nick smiled as he came back to the present and held the paper grocery sack in front of him like a peace offering. He perched on the edge of her bed. Listing the items in the sack, he proudly showed them to her. "I checked with the store clerk on what foods might be appropriate. She suggested chicken soup, saltine crackers, and warm 7-up. Any of that sound edible?"
She smiled weakly. "How thoughtful of you," she whispered, then coughed again. "Yes, it sounds fine. You can just set it out in the kitchen and I'll heat it up later."
"No, you're to stay in bed. The clerk told me that plenty of rest and lots of liquids were required. I'll fix it for you."
A slightly panicked look came to her face before she could conceal it. "You'll fix it? I mean, can you cook?"
Nick laughed, rising from her bed. "I can read. I learned a long, long time ago. Directions are on the label. Now, you just rest and don't worry about a thing.
Nat sank back into the pillow and closed her eyes. She listened to the noises emanating from the kitchen- her kitchen, ...the tidy kitchen, with a place for everything and everything in its place. The kitchen with a bachelor in it, banging cupboards, clattering utensils, riffling through drawers, and in general, creating chaos while trying to prepare a single bowl of canned soup. It was the price she had to pay for maintaining a relationship with Nicholas. Some girls might complain that their boyfriends were too old-fashioned. But none of them really knew the meaning of the phrase unless they had dated a knight from the thirteenth century.
Sydney bolted through the door and pounced on her lap. His fur was all fluffed out, like he had been frightened by something. He worked his claws, pulling at the bedspread and kneading it furiously, while his odd little grunts and purrs tried to tell her all about it. She lifted a weary hand to stroke the long, soft fur. "What is it, kitty? Just stay with me, and I'll take care of it," she whispered.
The cat worked at her blanket again, then circled around and curled into a fat ball of fur. His purring continued, loud and erratic for a bit, until he settled into a deeper sleep. It must be Nick, she thought. For some reason her cat didn't care for him. Her eyelids closed, as she gave in to the weariness.
A soft rap sounded at her door, and she awoke. Nick stood there, with a tray in his hands. She smiled at him. "I'd say it smells good, if I could smell anything," she quipped weakly. She pulled herself into a sitting position, and accepted the tray. Nick fidgeted awkwardly.
"Come in and join me?" she offered.
"I ah, ...didn't know how much to heat it," he said. "The clerk wasn't too clear, the label didn't specify. I hope it isn't too hot."
He was trying so hard. Nat tried not to let him see how it amused her. She tested the yellow broth and nodded to him. "It's just fine," she said.
Nick sighed with relief as he came closer. Sydney bristled, arching his back and hissed at him viciously. Nick glared at the cat. Nat thought she caught a glimpse of yellow vampire eyes, but when he looked up, it was gone. Sydney bolted from the room with a loud complaint.
"What is it with you," Nat asked. "Sydney may not be the most friendly cat, but he really does not like you."
"Cats don't like vampires," he said simply. "Janette says it is because they are bewitched."
"And here I thought you just didn't like pets."
A comfortable silence filled the room. Natalie was glad they were again on good terms. Her life had seemed so empty without him. She finished the bowl of soup, and set the empty tray on the nightstand.
"Maybe you should get a pet," Nat said abruptly.
Nick had already started to shake his head no. "Just think about it first," Nat insisted. "There's more to becoming mortal again than just biology. You need to learn- or relearn- how to live like a mortal. And pets are a large part of that. We find their love, companionship and devotion contributes to the quality of our lives."
"I had a pet once," Nick said softly. She heard the wistful tone in his voice. "A dog... I called him Raleigh."
"And?"
"LaCroix, what else? He turned the dog into a monster. I was forced to destroy it."
"And when we lose a beloved pet, we grieve for a time and then we get another," she said.
Nick shook his head again. "My place isn't set up for a dog. I work nights, I live upstairs... it wouldn't be fair to the dog."
"So don't get a dog. And cats are out. But there are other kinds of pets. Like guinea pigs, or rats, or snakes... now there's an appropriate pet for a vampire!"
Nick laughed. He stood up and took the empty food tray with him. "You should get some rest now," he said softly. "I'll check in again after my shift."
Natalie nodded, as she settled back down into the sheets. "Thanks, Nick," she murmured. The last thing she felt before sleep reclaimed her was Nick, as he lightly pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Nick adjusted the radio again. Adam had been playing with the dials all night and now nothing was coming in. He could tell LaCroix was on the air. His deep whisper slipped between the static, breathing more of his damned philosophy no doubt and yet none of the words were discernable. Nick let out a sigh and flipped it off. Maybe he would need to replace the entire sound system again. It seems he had just done that, what... was it ten years ago already?
Natalie had been sound asleep when he stopped by. So he had quietly placed the small bouquet of fresh daisies on the nightstand with a humorous get well card and let himself out. He knew she needed rest, but he couldn't help feeling just a little let down. It had been such a quiet night at the precinct, mostly just paperwork; he had looked forward all night to catching her smile once more before going to bed.
The new morning was just highlighting the horizon as he turned the corner and pulled the Caddy into the garage. For a few moments he sat there. He was home... what was it LaCroix had been misquoting just the other night- the poem that expressed the author's delight, his sense of connection to the place where he belonged?
"Breathe's there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land?"
LaCroix was again urging Nick to move on, of course. He was nothing if not persistent. He had tried for years now to get Nick to leave. He had tried framing Nick for murder. He had lured Natalie to Azure's and held her in his seductive gaze, fully intending to destroy her. He tried to turn everything sour... to make Nick's life a living hell and all under the guise of a loving, caring "father". Even so, Nick wondered at the strange sense of loneliness and longing that pervaded him tonight. Natalie would be better shortly. He was a big boy; he'd managed for 800 years without her. Why did her temporary leave of absence affect him so strongly?
Nick closed the car door and pushed himself away. He ran one hand down the length of the hood as he walked past. The old, green Caddy was as much a home to him as the loft. He'd owned it longer- thirty-eight years now. He could only remain in the loft a few years more at best, before someone noticed that he didn't age, he didn't die and he didn't eat. Then he would be forced to leave, but the Cadillac would go with him.
Something was in the garage. Nick dropped the random thoughts, focusing all of his vampire instincts for self-preservation on the intruder. A faint heart beat. A strange smell.
It was not human. Nick brought the vampire back under control, chuckling to himself. He was as jumpy as a teenager tonight.
The heart rate was erratic. The scent was a cold-blooded creature, not the least bit appetizing. Nick felt new hunger pangs fiercely. Other officers grabbed donuts and coffee while on duty, but he was not allowed the luxury of a snack. The best he could hope for was to grab a nasty protein shake at the morgue and Natalie hadn't been there tonight to make it for him. Of course, he could make it himself, but what was the fun in that? He liked to hear her complain when he gagged on it, or see her smile if he managed to down the whole thing.
Nick followed the scent to the far corner. Under some boxes inside the rim of the snow tires lay an injured bird. It looked at him weakly with one round, black eye, barely stirring. Nick gently lifted the boxes and looked for injuries.
The feathers were rumpled, many were missing and the remaining ones were still lightly coated with white flakes. It was a very young bird, less than four weeks old, certainly. The tail was missing all of its feathers. This bird would not be able to fly for some time.
The bird didn't move. It closed its eyes and Nick heard its heart rate slow even more. "You are frightened, little bird, aren't you, and maybe going into shock," Nick whispered. "Some thing... or some one, has been torturing you."
Tentatively, Nick touched the bird's foot with his index finger, discovering a few drops of blood. Even frightened and injured, this infant bird had clawed at its tormentor. He brought the old blood to his mouth and tasted. It was a boy, a young one. There was not enough of it, or it was too old, to get much information from it. But Nick was certain he would recognize the boy by scent if he came around here again.
"I don't think I can help you, little bird. I should just leave you... but no one should have to die alone. Come with me and you will have a warm, safe place to rest." Nick removed his jacket and tenderly lifted the bird. He wrapped it in the jacket and carried it to the lift.
"I don't know much about caring for an injured bird," he admitted. "I've been a doctor before, and a vet- but I handled mostly livestock in that life. I've been a teacher, a cop, and an archaeologist, but I really don't know what to do for you."
Well he didn't expect the bird to recover. He would make it comfortable and when it was all over, he would bury it. If a cat or other predator had caused the bird's injuries, then it would have become part of the food chain, part of the dark circle of death and life, dying that another might live. But this bird's death was an unnatural one, not contributing to any creature's life, only to the sick fancy of a juvenile delinquent in the making.
Nick laid the bird, jacket and all, inside a box and placed it on the coffee table near the fireplace. He closed the curtains to the morning light, then leaned over the box once more. The bird's eyes were still closed; it sat deathly still. Only Nick's vampire hearing could detect the faint beating of its heart. Nick shrugged, feeling even more depressed than he had only minutes ago.
"How shall I calm you?" he asked. "Would you like to hear some music? "
He put the top down on his piano, to soften the sound and pulled out the bench. Playing a few progressions, aimlessly at first and then some arpeggios, the music evolved into the opening strains of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It was a love song the great composer had written in his youth. It was one of Nick's favorites. Beethoven had been so full of joy at that time.
Nick closed his eyes as the melody grew, almost with a will of its own. In his memories he could see the young composer strolling with his lady along the river's edge. The song descended with quiet, broken chords as the piano strings vibrated ever so softly. A peaceful silence permeated the loft. Nick listened intently. His bird was quiet, yet the heart beat continued. There was nothing to do for it now. He would sleep as well.
It is said that vampires sleep the sleep of the dead. Their hearts beat too slowly to be discernable by mere mortals. Their flesh feels cold to the touch. Vampires are most vulnerable when they are resting. They sleep while their only predator - mortal man - walks the earth. By mimicking the dead, given mortals' natural aversion to death, the vampire finds solitude and safety. So when Nick awoke only two hours into the morning, it was something most unusual.
Nick sat up abruptly. His eyes were golden, his fangs fully extended. The vampire within responded purely on instinct, but no danger threatened. He was alone. Nick shut his eyes, willing the killer to withdraw. Slowly he stood and made his way to the refrigerator. He must have slept poorly because he hadn't fed well first.
A strange sound alerted him again. A loud, raucous caw and the scratching of claws on cardboard. Nick flew to the box near the fireplace.
The bird stared up at him with round, shiny bright black eyes. It opened its beak widely, emitting another noisy caw.
"Well, little bird, so you are still here. Now what do I do with you?"
Nick gently stroked the bird under its beak. It turned and pecked at him, its sharp little beak drew blood. Nick watched, mesmerized, as it pecked at the spot of vampire blood before the small wound closed. "Hungry," he asked, stating the obvious. "But because of the daylight, I can't take you to a qualified injured wildlife volunteer. And Nat's been in bed, so I can't ask her to take you there."
He went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass. The bird objected strenuously when he went out of sight, and cawed more loudly than before. Nick downed the first glass and refilled it. "I know! There must be something on the Internet!"
He laughed. It was LaCroix who had admonished him to get a computer and join the 20th century, before the 21st began. Now LaCroix would indirectly be helping him to save his newest little pet. He sat down on the couch where the bird could see him and logged on with the small laptop. The second glass of blood disappeared as quickly as the first. He wasn't even aware of it, as the time passed. He discovered a chatroom for animal lovers, which lead to a number of related addresses. By noon he discovered the ASCAR homepage - The American Society of Crows and Ravens. That gave him the information he needed. This young raven might feed on bits of crackers or raw hamburger, at least until he could get to the store for the other items they suggested. When he got up to search the kitchen, the bird was so noisy that he took it with him. He held the bird close, tucked under his arm much the way one might run with a football. The bird's caws became calmer.
Natalie often kept some food in his refrigerator for the times when Natalie visited and hoping that he might be brave enough to eat something. There were several frozen microwavable entrees and two hamburger patties. He put one in the mic to defrost. The smell of the meat turned his stomach slightly. He sipped again from his own glass, then offered the bird a few drops of the cow's blood with the tip of his finger.
The hamburger was warm and soft, but still raw. He dropped blood onto the meat to make it softer, then rolled a small piece into a ball and pushed it back in the bird's beak. The bird bobbed its head forward several times, then opened its beak for more. Nick stifled a yawn, patiently feeding the bird on raw hamburger until it wanted no more.
"I'm really tired, bird. Let's get some sleep," Nick suggested. But when he put the bird back into its box, the cawing noises it made would have kept the dead awake. He growled at the bird to no avail. He played another piece on the piano, but when the song ended, the bird cried again. Nick was nearly unconscious on his feet. He had to go lie down. He tucked the bird under his arm and took it to bed with him.
Two hours later, the vampire was awakened again.
And so it went, for the rest of the day. Nick would stagger into the kitchen, feed the bird, and flop back into bed, catching only a cat's nap in between. When it was time to get ready for work, Nick was as exhausted as if he hadn't slept at all. And he had to shower and change his clothes to get rid of the bird's flakes, which were imbedded with thousands of tiny feather mites.
"Sorry, little bird, but I have to go to work," he informed his temporary houseguest. "But you should be safe and warm in here. And I'll be back before sunrise." Just before he left, he turned on a radio and tuned it in to a public station for the morning concert. At least the bird would have something for company.
A car door slammed, startling Nick awake. He looked up, momentarily confused. He was sitting in the Caddy, parked outside of the Precinct; these past three days of feeding and caring for the bird instead of sleeping were really starting to wear him out. If he had known what a commitment it was going to be, he would have just let the bird die. Maybe. At least, he should have. He yawned and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. It was much harder to control the beast when he was exhausted, when all of his instincts were demanding that he feed and find rest. It was going to be a very long night.
Nick tugged at his long coat absently as he entered the precinct. The coat was part of the charade to look like any other mortal, and yet he chose a style that was rather outdated. It was very long and black with a caped collar and it gave him an almost sinister, intimidating appearance. It was as if, though he walked as a mortal in a mortal world, he felt compelled to warn the sheepfold of the wolf within. But tonight his coat drew more stares than normal as he drifted through the halls.
"The night of the living dead," Adam said cheerfully as Nick approached.
Nick glanced up. He smiled at Natalie, as she got up from the corner of his desk. "Feeling better?" he asked.
"I'm fine, Nick, but what about you?" She smiled broadly.
Nick sensed he'd just walked into the middle of a conversation in which he was the main topic. He shrugged, trying to brush them off. "Glad you're back," he answered. He slipped into his chair and picked up a new file. They seemed to procreate in his absence. He wondered if he never booked off -if he kept a constant eye on his desk- would the case files cease to come it?
"Like I told you," Adam continued. "One of us just isn't with it these days."
Reese stuck his head out from his office. He signaled to them. "Nick, Adam."
Natalie leaned over Nick's shoulder as he stood. "Ditch the winter coat, Nick," she whispered. "You're overdressed for the weather- spring's nearly over."
Nick slipped the coat off and handed it to her absently. She looked at it with surprise, then stared hard at him. His coloring was normal, for a vampire. No blood sweat on his brow. But Adam was right. Nick wasn't himself. "Nick?" she said.
He turned to her and didn't seem to even recognize her. With a limp wave of his hand, he followed Adam into Reese's office. Natalie hesitated. Tossing his coat onto a chair, she invited herself to the meeting. Some one had better keep an eye on him, she decided.
Reese nodded as she closed the door behind her. Adam jumped up, offering her his chair.
"A call just came in- an elderly man, living alone," he stated. "One neighbor said he thought he saw a TV repair truck parked outside- I'm going to assume it's the same Senior Scammer that's been eluding us, but now that he's crossed into violence, I can justify putting homicide on the case."
"Do you have any evidence linking this case to all the other scams?" Adam asked, when Nick seemed disinclined to join the conversation. "I mean, none of the others were injured. Most of them didn't even know they'd been robbed for several days. Why would he suddenly change his MO?"
"Senior Scammer?" Natalie asked. She'd only missed three days from the flu, but she felt completely out of the picture.
"Yeah, that's what we've been calling him," Adam began. "He dresses like a repairman, gives them some cock'n bull story to get inside, and when they turn their backs, he robs ' em blind."
Reese turned to Nick. "Care to join us, Detective?" he asked, the touch of sarcasm clearly audible.
Nick looked at Reese with an innocent expression.
"The case, Nick!"
"Yes," Nick answered. "A petty thief. Why would he become a murderer? Maybe they aren't related."
"Well, Detective, that's what you're paid for- go do a little detective work and find out!"
"Good going, Knight," Adam muttered under his breath.
Nick strolled past his desk and grabbed his coat. Nat took it from him before he could put it on. She folded it over his arm, staring at him intently. She gasped as she caught a brief glimpse of golden eyes before Nick blinked. When he smiled at her, she saw eyes of clear blue with a vacant look. "Mind if I bum a ride," she asked.
Adam smiled broadly. Life would be so much easier for him if his partner's love life would straighten out. "You are always welcome," he answered, reaching into his pocket for his keys.
"I'll drive," Nick said.
"You sure?" Nat interrupted.
Nick answered by sliding into the Caddy. He waited impatiently for the others to follow. Adam opened the passenger side door and held it for Nat. She slid in to the middle, then Adam sat beside her. Nick backed out of the parking space a little too quickly, without even giving Adam a chance to shut the door. Adam thought of a dozen caustic remarks and waged an inner debate on which one would be the most appropriate. Being Nick's partner was sometimes more trouble than it was worth.
"So tell me, why haven't I heard about this Senior Scammer before?" Nat asked.
Nick remained silent. Adam grunted. "No reason, I suppose," he began. "Until now, there haven't been any bodies. So it hasn't been our problem. But this guy really sucks. I mean, the elderly aren't really the most wealthy- why scam them? Its like, I don't know. Amoral or something. Like taking candy from children. It's...."
Natalie laughed softly. Conversing with Adam was so normal. He reminded her of her little brother in some ways... of the ways she tried to remember Richard- boyish, human, and out to save the world. "It's disrespectful."
"Precisely. Nick! " Adam shouted.
The Caddy had pulled into the oncoming lane. Nick forcefully overcorrected, throwing Adam against the car door. Tires squealed and the car swerved until Nick brought it back under control. Then he continued to drive as though nothing had happened.
"Nick! What is wrong with you!" Natalie demanded.
Nick shrugged, "It's nothing."
Adam interrupted him. "Nothing? You just missed our turn! Let me drive!"
Nick turned the '62 Caddy around. "I'm just a little tired," he said. "What was that address again?"
A few minutes later he pulled to a stop in front of the apartment complex. Several squad cars were parked to block nosey neighbors and police wannabes from interfering. Yellow tape designated the crime scene. Flashing lights cast an eerie glow on the mortals' faces- alternately blood-red then ice blue. Nick felt his stomach lurch. His teeth tingled. He clenched his mouth shut and shuddered.
The officers parted for Natalie, guiding her to the victim. She pulled on latex gloves as she squatted down for a closer look. An old man lay awkwardly on the low cement stairs. He was maybe 75, give or take a few years. She saw no open wounds, no obvious bruising. He probably died as a result of falling, but whether he tripped or was pushed she couldn't tell from here. "Any one see what happened?" she asked.
"Yes, at least we think so," one officer answered. He indicated a civilian several paces away, an aging male of Asian decent. "The neighbor called it in. His name is Sam something. But we can't get much more from him. He doesn't speak much English."
The officer turned to Adam. "Don't suppose you can...."
"No," Adam said, a little too quickly. "I mean, I remember how to swear in Japanese- the words my brothers and I practiced the hardest. But I never did speak Vietnamese."
"Oh, sorry, detective," the officer answered.
Nick went to the neighbor and laid a gentle hand on his arm. He spoke to him softly, just a few words. The Asian responded in rapid Vietnamese, gesticulating with his hands. Nick nodded, and bowed politely.
"He says he was suspicious when the TV repair truck came. Says the old man didn't own a TV. He heard shouting and when he came out, the truck was leaving and the victim was dead," Nick explained.
The Asian neighbor clutched at Nick again, still quite upset about something. Adam felt his ears burn. Nick the magnificent, Nick the hero, had showed him up again. Nick didn't need a partner.
"What's the matter," Natalie asked.
"He's worried about the victim's pet," Nick said. "A cat- he wants to know if he can take care of it for him. I don't think that would be a problem. But the cat is loose- it ran out of the apartment during the confusion."
Adam looked around the crime scene nervously. "I'm not sneezing... it can't be too close."
"Nick, if the cat is here, he's probably terrified. Can't you help to locate it?" Natalie asked.
"I've got work to do," he grumbled.
Natalie touched his forearm. "Please, Nick? Just look for a few minutes?"
Nick shrugged. "Adam, circle around left, I'll go right. Come with me, Nat. If I find him, you get to pick him up."
Adam snickered softly. It pleased him perversely that cats didn't like Nick.
Natalie walked with Nick into the shadows. His eyes glowed yellow then red, his stance shifted from a distracted cop to a predator. He frightened her, and yet she found this side of him enticing, almost seductive. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn't notice her rapid pulse. Nick stopped near a thorn bush.
"It's under there," he said.
Natalie knelt down. "Here kitty," she coaxed. At first she couldn't see it at all. Then as it turned to the sound of her voice, she caught the light reflected in its eyes. The cat remained, firmly rooted in its hiding place. "Here, kitty-kitty," she whispered again.
Nick stepped away from her and made a wide circle, coming up behind the bush. Adam came from behind the building just as the cat hissed and took a flying leap into Natalie's arms. Natalie stood, gently stroking the cat and whispering soft, soothing syllables. Adam clapped Nick on the shoulder.
"Gotta hand it to you, Knight. You sure have a way with animals," he said.
Nick returned silently to the Caddy. Adam went with Natalie, as she handed the pet to the Asian neighbor. "Adam, I need Nick to drop by my lab tonight, the sooner the better," she said.
"Sure, whatever," he responded. Their relationship was strange, but it was none of his business. He almost envied Nick, the way he kept his private life so private. It seemed that Adam and his fiancée couldn't say anything to each other without the entire precinct knowing about it.
Adam slid into the car and slammed the door. "Keep it on the road this time, Knight," he grumbled. "So how did you learn Vietnamese? Someone suggest you pick it up in your spare time, since it might come in useful someday?'
"No," Nick said slowly. "I was with the Red Cross during the war."
Natalie poked him in the ribs. "After the war, Nick. You were there after the war, right?" She glanced at Adam, wondering if he had picked up on Nick's near blunder. He would have to be older than he looked to have served in the Vietnamese Conflict.
Nick drove absently. Adam gave him directions, 'turn here, turn there" and Nick followed silently. Presently he found himself in front of the coroner's building. Natalie patted Adam on the arm, then nudged Nick none too gently. "Come inside for a minute, Nick," she ordered.
Nick followed her down the hall, waited while she opened her office door, and stepped inside.
"Out with it!" she demanded, barely waiting for the door to close behind him.
Nick looked at her vacantly. "Nat?"
Nat put a hand to his forehead. "You are out of control tonight, Nick. Why Adam hasn't seen your fangs yet, I don't know! I have at least four times tonight!"
"I'm just tired, Nat. I haven't been getting much sleep lately."
Nat went to the refrigeration unit and pulled out two units of blood. "Drink up."
Nick took the packets and glanced at her. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine."
"I'm worried about Adam. I don't think he's safe with you tonight."
Nick paled. She regretted speaking so harshly, but she had to get through to him. Nick tore open a corner of the packet and drained its contents. A moment later the second was emptied as well. His eyes glowed red. Nat forced herself to remain where she was and not turn away from him.
"I'm going to check in with you several times tonight, Nick. And don't you ever show up to work again when you are this tired. You must have enough sick-leave accrued to take off several years."
Nick glanced at the floor, shifting his feet uncomfortably. He looked so much like a guilty little boy. She fought to conceal the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Now get out of here," she said, more gently this time. "Adam's waiting for you."
"Got any news I want to hear," Reese snapped at Nick, when he and Adam returned to their desks.
"The perp could be the Senior Scammer," Nick began. "Nat doesn't have a cause of death yet, but it looks like it was accidental. The suspect left in a TV repair truck and the victim didn't own a TV."
"So it's a start. Keep me informed. And the next time you want to rescue kitties in distress, you might want to notify the newspapers. We could use the publicity."
Nick looked up sheepishly. He heard a collective snicker move through the precinct. Reese grinned sardonically; he was ribbing them and not really annoyed. "Sure, Captain," Nick answered.
The human blood set comfortably in his stomach, making him feel very relaxed. He would have to keep busy to stay awake now, but Natalie had been right, again. The warm scent of Adam's fresh young blood was no longer tantalizing him. He glanced at his young partner, watching the way he slouched in his chair as he filled in the report. Black hair fell over one eye giving Adam an even more youthful look. Nick's eyelids felt so heavy. He blinked slowly; his head nodded forward.
Nick jumped to his feet. The chair slid back and banged into the partition. Adam looked up at him quizzically. "Going somewhere?"
"Yes," he said, as he searched for an excuse. "We are."
"Okay," Adam responded. "But I get to drive."
Nick shook his head. "You can drive tomorrow. I need it to stay awake."
"Now that's comforting," Adam grumbled.
The streets of Toronto spread before them with soft yellow lamplight and the hazy diffused glow of a moon nearly full. Few pedestrians milled about; few vehicles drove past them. Nick glanced down the side streets but didn't see any sign of a repair truck. The perp would have hidden it by now, and most likely was repainting the side panels for his next scam. Adam was right; scamming the elderly was disrespectful.
A muffled ring split the silence. Adam hid a smile behind his hand and turned to look out the side window. Natalie had called Nick three times already. He was glad they were apparently getting back together, but he hoped she wouldn't be such a mother hen all week.
Nick flipped open his cellular phone. "Knight," he said, nodding absently as though the caller could see him. Then he tensed. Adam sat up straighter, looking around. Nick held the phone away from his ear and peered outside. Simultaneously he slammed on the brakes and spun the car, tires squealing.
"Nick? Nick, what's going on," Nat's voice called loudly over the cell phone.
"Later, Nat," he said, sounding wide-awake now. He snapped the phone shut. Adam reached for the siren and flipped it on the dash. Nick floored the accelerator. They both heard someone scream. Nick swerved down a side street in the residential area just as a dark figure jumped through a window, shattering the glass. A huge dog appeared in the broken window, growling and snarling. Inside behind the dog an older woman cried for help.
Nick killed the engine and took off after the suspect. Adam ran with him, preventing him from using super human abilities. The suspect was gone. He heard no footsteps, no breathing. Nick knelt. Several spots of fresh blood splattered the pavement, but there was not enough of a trail to follow. He touched the thick, warm blood. Stealing a sidelong glance at his partner, he brought it to his lips.
"Let's go check on the victim," he said.
Adam grumbled. If only they'd been a little faster... but even so, Nick had responded to the crime even before the suspect had jumped from the window. How had Nick known? Nobody could hear that well. Was his partner a psychic as well as a polyglot?
Together they retraced their steps. Nick knocked on the victim's front door. "Metro police," he announced.
The dog growled. Nick started to open the door, but slammed it as the canine's toothy jaw snapped the air mere centimeters from where his hand had been. Nick held the door firmly and called inside. "Ma'am? Metro police. Will you call off the dog and let us inside?"
"How do I know you're police," she asked, her voice trembling.
Nick pulled out his badge. Opening the door just a fraction he waved it inside for her. The fierce beast leaped up on its haunches to snap at it. Nick pulled it back outside.
The woman slowly approached. She was very tiny, not even five feet tall, and very old. She stuck a gnarled, shaking hand outside. Nick placed his badge in her fingers, guiding her hand to touch the raised metal police shield.
"So, you're police," she said. She held the badge down to her dog's nose. The enormous beast sniffed at it. Adam laughed and muttered something about dog snot. Nick just took his badge back and slipped it inside his pocket.
"Someone jumped through your window, ma'am. May we come inside and take a statement?"
The woman leaned over, letting the dog lick her face. "These men are good guys, Bitsy," she said, before opening the door.
"Bitsy" backed off slightly, allowing Nick and Adam to enter, but the overgrown German Shepherd with fierce yellow eyes never looked away from either of them. It was a mongrel, very large with odd coloring. It looked more like a wolf than a dog.
"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened here?" Nick asked.
Adam cast a nervous glance at Bitsy as he left the relative protection at Nick's side and approached the broken window. There was a small television set tipped over on the floor near the window, like it had been dropped in the hasty retreat made by the perpetrator. No other signs of vandalism or conflict were visible. The old woman- or at least her dog- must have caught the burglar by surprise. Casting another glance at the dog, Adam figured the suspect was lucky to have escaped in one piece.
The old woman clucked to Bitsy. The floor seemed to tremble as the dog trotted to her side. She placed her hand on the dog's head and leaned on it slightly, following the dog's lead to the couch where she sat down with a huge sigh. "There's not much to tell, detective- what did you say your name was?"
"That's my partner, Adam Sakai, and I am Nick Kn-" Nick started.
"Nickie! Nickie is that you, you rascal!" the old woman exclaimed. "Nickie come here and let me get a look at you!"
Nick stared at her hard. There was something vaguely familiar about her. He had a near perfect memory, for faces, smells, names....
"Nickie!" The old woman scolded. "Now don't keep an old blind woman waiting a single moment longer! Where have you been all this time?"
Nick stepped closer and sat down next to her on the couch. She reached up with gnarled fingers to feel his face and the way his blonde hair curled softly around his forehead.
"That is you, Nickie!" At that the old woman burst into tears and embraced him. Nick returned Adam's surprised look with one of his own. "Nickie, I don't think you've changed a bit in...how long has it been? Fifty years?"
Adam laughed aloud, smothering it at a sharp look from Nick.
Nick pulled the woman's hands from him and stared at her again. There was something vaguely familiar, a scent that stirred his memories. He cupped the side of her face in a gentle hand. "Mamma John?" he asked.
"Of course, Nickie," she stuttered, wiping away tears from her face. "I may be old and blind, but I haven't lost my mind yet. I remember voices, and I could never forget yours! Remember how you used to read to me? While I worked? Oh, for hours and hours, we read so many books together! Detective Sakai, have you ever heard him read 'Hamlet'?" I swear, no one reads it better!"
Adam left off surveying the room; there wasn't much to learn anyway. He came closer to them. "Gee, Nickie," he teased. "I wonder just how good you could read fifty years ago. Didn't peg you for being that old- you must give me the name of your plastic surgeon."
Nick glared at his partner. He wasn't sure how this would all work out. He stared into the old woman's sightless eyes, but he was unable to influence her with a hypnotic suggestion. "Mamma John, can I call someone for you? That window will need to be boarded up tonight."
She patted his hand affectionately. "You just go right ahead, Nickie. There should be some plastic still in the closet behind the stairs, and nails and a hammer under the sink."
Nick turned from this old, dear friend, to his youthful, impatient partner. He owed the woman much- she'd given him a home and friendship at a particularly lonely time in his life. He owed Adam nothing, not even an explanation. Nick got up from the couch and went to find the plastic sheeting.
"Nick?" Adam called after him. Bitsy glared at Adam. He decided not to follow his partner, but stood rooted to the floor.
Nick got the hammer from the toolbox. Who'd have thought such an old acquaintance would ever meet up with him, much less recognize him. Mamma John had run a soup kitchen for the homeless and indigent victims of the depression. Nick had worked for her part-time in exchange for room and board, while he studied to become a policeman. There had never been a romance between them. She hadn't been much older than he appeared to be back then, but she had always "mothered" him, seeing him as a lost, lonely boy in need of a home.
Nick nailed the plastic over the gaping window, holding extra nails in his teeth. "So, Mamma John, what brought you to Toronto?" he asked.
"Oh, I moved here years ago," she explained. "I married once, years after you moved on. He's gone now. All I have is Bitsy, but she's such good company."
Nick finished the window and put the tools away. Adam shifted nervously. "Speaking of 'Bitsy'," he began. "We'll have to take it in."
The woman paled. "No! Why? Not my Bitsy!"
The dog stood up and growled menacingly at Adam. The younger detective looked to Nick for support. "Because it bit some one. It's regs, ma'am."
"But that- that thief broke into my house! Bitsy was protecting me! You can't punish Bitsy!" The woman was nearly hysterical. Nick glared at Adam.
He put a gentle, firm hand on her arm and helped her to sit down again. "It should be all right, Mamma John. Has Bitsy had her rabies shot?"
Mamma John put a trembling hand to her mouth. Fresh tears slipped down her face. "I don't know!" she cried. "I don't drive, I don't get out much."
Nick held his hand out tentatively towards the dog. Bitsy sniffed it, then permitted Nick to touch her. He patted her head, down the side of her neck, and felt for her collar. There was a small metal tag. Nick read the inscription with a sinking feeling. The tags were expired. The laws regarding dog bites were clear in this matter. The dog would be destroyed and an autopsy done to check for rabies. But, how could he take Mamma John's beloved pet from her? The woman was still in shock over the bungled burglary. She'd always been such a survivor, full of faith and enthusiasm, but she was clearly frightened.
"Mamma John," he whispered. "I can't promise you anything, but I will see what I can do. I'll let Bitsy stay with you tonight. You must keep her inside and don't let her run away. I will stop by tomorrow."
"Bless you, Nickie," she sobbed. "Thank you! You hear that, Bitsy? I told you he was the good guy!"
Nick grabbed Adam's arm and steered him out the door. Adam was sputtering mad.
"Knight, we have to take that beast in! Not only did it bite the suspect, but wolves aren't even legal inside the city limits," he insisted.
Nick pulled the door closed and stared at his partner in the dim light from the broken window. "The dog didn't bite the suspect," he said firmly, holding Adam in a hypnotic stare. "The victim was injured jumping through the window. The dog is fine."
Adam followed him to the car in a distracted state, taking several long minutes before he recovered from the effects of the hypnotic suggestion. Nick hated to do it to his partner- Adam was so easily caught, and so deeply affected by it, but he hadn't seen any other alternative. Nick covered another yawn, slicing his hand on his fangs. Seeing Adam stare vacantly out the window, Nick licked his blood until the shallow wound healed. When would this night ever end?
As if on cue, Nick's cell phone rang again. The familiar sound helped to pull Adam back into reality. "Nat sure worries about you," he teased.
Nick smiled and nodded. "If you only knew," he muttered, flipping open the phone. "We'll be there shortly," he spoke into the mouthpiece.
"So, this perp's had a busy night and not too successful either," Adam said. "Maybe he'll just give up and find another line of work."
"They're not the same person," Nick answered.
"How can you be so sure? Looks the same to me- both targeted seniors, both were going after televisions, same neighborhood...."
How could Nick explain it? The blood of the second perpetrator had tasted of fear, ignorance and of a deep, desperate hunger. There was also something disturbingly familiar in it. Nick knew it couldn't be. He didn't hunt any more and seldom consumed the bottled human vintages the other vampires preferred and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that the perpetrator was someone he had tasted recently. None of this could he explain to Adam.
"The truck," he said. "The first one drove a truck. The second may have worked for him, though. She must have been picked up by some one, or we would have caught up to her."
Adam made a disgruntled sound through his teeth. "And you're sure the second's a girl? Even the old woman didn't say that."
Nick nodded as he turned the Caddy into the parking lot behind the coroner's building. "Ran like a girl," he lied. He pocketed the keys and stole a look at the horizon before going inside. Nat would have to speak fast.
"Hey boys," she called. She was covered in the sack-like white garb, her hair pulled carelessly into a lopsided ponytail with a scrunchie and she looked so desirable that Nick's eyes flashed red instantly. He stepped behind Adam to force the beast to withdraw. Natalie was too engrossed in her work to notice.
"Mr. James Anderson died of a coronary. By the extent of scar tissue and muscle damage, I'd have to say it was not a first attack. He was living on borrowed time. If the burglary wouldn't have frightened him, he might have even died in his sleep. Sorry, but the suspect is not guilty of murder."
"So why did you want to see us?" Adam asked. "Or did you only want half of us to come in?"
"Because, Mr. Sakai," she said, ignoring his jibe, "Our victim was kind enough to scratch the suspect, and from the amount of material under his nails, I'd say he left a pretty good mark- even drew blood. If you bring in a suspect, we should be able to nail him."
The two detectives nodded. Homicide or not, they were still interested in seeing this case closed. Natalie looked up at them. "So tell me, what have you been up to? The last I heard, you were really burning rubber."
Adam's expression blanked out as he tried to recall just what they had been doing. He stuttered once, then grinned sheepishly at her. "Must be getting old, I guess," he replied.
Nick shifted uncomfortably under Nat's scrutiny. "The dog," he coached.
"Oh yeah, that's right. Some burglar tried to steal from an old friend of Nick's but her dog forced him to jump out the window. Nick thinks it's not the same perp as the first."
"Old friend, huh? Do I know her?" Natalie thought of Janette first, but even the incredibly young-looking detective Sakai wouldn't refer to Janette as 'old'.
Nick shook his head. "Her name is Margaret John, although almost everyone calls her Mamma John. I knew her a long time ago. She must be a hundred by now."
Nat nodded with comprehension. Another of Nick's really old friends, but most likely mortal. Mr. Constantine was the only vampire she knew of that was brought across late in life. "Good thing she had a dog," Nat said. "So we wouldn't be meeting her in here."
Adam agreed. "I figure Nick needs to get himself a pet. A nice little cat of his own. Something to keep him from getting any stranger, the way he lives all alone...."
"That's what I've been telling him," Natalie said. "But maybe not a cat." She grinned broadly, enjoying the light-hearted teasing.
Nick glanced at the large clock on her wall. "I need to be going," he said. "And besides, I already have a pet."
He turned to leave. Nat dropped the scalpel she'd been holding. Adam dropped his jaw.
"Nick! You do? What is it?" they demanded in unison.
Nick grinned, struggling to keep the expression mortal. "Drop by later and see for yourself."
Music softly filtered through the heavy door of the lift as Natalie neared the loft. Quietly she slid the door open and slipped inside so she wouldn't disturb Nick's playing. He sat regally at the grand piano, his back straight, his fingers gracefully caressing the keys. He was too engrossed in his music to sense her presence, she realized. Nat smiled softly and just listened.
The piece was "Claire De Lune," by Claude Debussy. The sweet, simple melody brought her tears. Being a vampire definitely had some advantages. It offered time to pursue so many interests that a limited mortal existence would not allow. Why weren't more performers vampires, she wondered idly. Nick played so well and with such feeling.
Nat felt suddenly uncomfortable. She knew enough about vampires to never sneak up on one. Nick's innate killer instinct could finish her off before he was capable of conscious thought. She could try to slip back out unseen and make her next approach a little more loudly, but she still risked startling him. As she heard the familiar arpeggios roll to the song's conclusion, she concentrated with the new skills Vachon was teaching her to use. She focused on Nick and sent him a mental image of her.
A seductive smile spread across Nick's face. The message had been received. He looked up from the keyboard and nodded to her. "Ah, Natalie," he said. "I was just thinking about you."
She smiled secretively. She was about to ask him about his new pet, when a raucous cawing from the living room shattered the calm. "A crow?" She exclaimed. "You got a pet crow?"
Nick went to lift the young bird. He tucked it in the crook of his arm and stroked under its beak with his finger. "It's a raven, Nat," he explained.
She came closer and eyed the black feathered baby. "What made you decide on a raven? I was just kidding about finding an appropriate vampire-pet, you know. You didn't want to try a guinea pig?"
Nick carried the bird into the kitchen area and began to fix its food with the air of much practice. He pulled some cooked oatmeal from the refrigerator, poured a little of his bottled beverage over it, added some raw hamburger, and warmed the noxious concoction in the microwave. Natalie stared as he stirred it and scooped up a fingerful. The baby bird opened wide its beak, momentarily silent as it swallowed. It cawed impatiently between each mouthful.
"Kind of a cute little thing," Nat said slowly. She knew better than to criticize anyone's pet, but birds were never really her thing. She liked to see them outside and watch them fly, but as housepets she thought they were noisy and dirty. "But, you can't keep it, can you? I mean, isn't there a law against it?"
Nick shrugged his shoulders indifferently without meeting her gaze. She wondered again how someone could live for eight hundred years and still act like such a child sometimes. "Some laws don't make sense," he said defensively. "Legally, you can shoot crows and ravens and you can ignore them when they are injured, but you can't take them inside or offer them food. You can't tell me the law is right!"
The bird turned its head away from the food. Nick put the remains away in the refrigerator. One handed, he washed his finger, then poured himself something to drink. Nat followed him to the couch. She stroked the bird's head tentatively, then felt like she should go wash. "So, have you named it yet? Like Edgar Allan, or Poe?"
Nick laughed softly. "Actually, Juliet would be more appropriate."
Nat stared at him. "How can you tell?"
"And you call yourself a doctor?" he teased, smothering another yawn. He'd have to ask her to leave shortly.
Nat slapped his arm. "Nick, you're awful. I bet even a veterinarian couldn't tell male and female ravens apart, especially when they're so young."
"It smells like a girl," he answered, unable to conceal either the yawn or the fangs. He closed his eyes, yet the soft red glow illumined his lashes.
Natalie watched him. There were so many things she wanted to know about him, about vampires, so many questions, but she knew he needed rest. "And Juliet is the reason you haven't been getting enough sleep, isn't she," Nat said.
Nick's eyes remained closed. The red glow had faded. He was already dead to the world. Smiling, she quietly got up and let herself out. "Good night, Nick," she whispered. "But tomorrow you're going to have to explain to me why you're hypnotizing your partner."
"Natalie, what was I supposed to do? That dog is all she has," Nick said.
"But you can't just go around breaking rules every time one of them gets in your way, Nick! I thought we went through this before with the harp!"
"This is different."
"Yes, very different," Nat agreed, shaking her scalpel at him with frustration. "That was just larceny. This could be manslaughter! Nick- he could die!"
Nick lowered his gaze. "She," he whispered.
Nat slapped the scalpel down. "She. And do I want to know how you know this? What else do you know about the perp? Is she... is she dead?" Nat's voice had dropped to a whisper. She eyed him suspiciously.
"How should I know," Nick spat. He'd just come in for a little friendly conversation, but Natalie was begging for a fight.
Nat heaved a sigh. She knew Nick claimed to have given up the hunt, and yet she'd seen his beast too often to trust him entirely. "Nick, whatever you decide about that dog, you make sure that it isn't dangerous. You hear?"
Nick shuddered. Natalie had no idea what she was asking of him; the very thought was repulsive. He turned his back to her. What did it matter if the perp came down with something? Wasn't that a kind of justice?
But the thief was a person, too... a young girl, who was hungry and frightened and had probably never stolen before. Nat's pulse sounded in his ears, beating rapidly. She was really upset about this one, he thought sadly. Maybe he wasn't any closer to his humanity after all. He simply could not see her point.
"So how's Juliet?" she asked.
Nick spun around. She had changed the topic and her mood so quickly that he felt lost. Nat had returned to her task with steady hands. He stared at the small bare spot on her neck, as her pulse sang to him. Her anger was gone. He wondered if he'd ever really understand her.
"Juliet's fine. She's grown a little and we get to sleep for longer periods now," he said.
"I'm happy for you, Nick. I'm glad that you have her, and that you get to experience this very mortal relationship."
Nick stepped closer to her tentatively. Was he forgiven now, or just being ignored? He leaned over her neck and pressed a gentle kiss. Nat looked up at him and smiled.
"I'll stop by later," he said.
It was a relatively quiet night. Nick was able to swing by the twenty-four hour grocery on his way home. Juliet seemed to eat a great deal, considering her small size, and he wondered just how the expression 'eat like a bird' ever got started. Nick had been in the grocery store more this past week than all of last year combined.
He lifted the sack off the back seat. A breeze blew in the garage before the door closed completely. A scent alerted him. It had an air of familiarity. Nick set the sack on the hood of his car and stepped outside. The stars were fading. The horizon was just starting to lighten; he had a little time yet before he would be driven inside. Nick glanced both ways, then lifted into the air. He alighted on the roof and peered intently at the road below.
A small child was ambling through the back alley pitching pebbles at different targets. First a tinny ping as he hit a trash can, then a scratch as it bounced off a window. The boy was alone, no adult or guardian near. Nick felt anger well up inside, as he recognized the boy as Juliet's attacker. Without clearly thinking it through, Nick flew down and landed abruptly in front of the boy.
The boy started, momentarily froze, then turned to run away. Nick flew behind him and caught his wrist as the boy ran right into him.
"Lemme go! Lemme go!" the boy screamed.
Nick held his arm firmly. He felt his eyes change and his fangs descend. He wasn't the least interested in the boy- his blood was tainted, soured with meanness and something else Nick could not quite place. He only intended to scare the little bully.
"What are you," the boy cried. "Leave me alone!"
"I am the raven," Nick whispered menacingly. "You tried to kill me."
The boy screamed and redoubled his efforts to pull free. Nick wondered how far to push it. He wanted to know that he'd influenced the child, but he didn't really wish him harm. Then suddenly the boy went limp. Nick heard a sickening crack as the boy's head met the pavement.
Nick knelt down beside him. A small pool of blood formed where the gravel had cut his forehead; a purplish lump shone above his eyebrow. Nick listened for his pulse. It was abnormally low. The boy had fainted. Wishing he had just gone home, Nick lifted the boy. The child weighed almost nothing; Nick felt a new wave of guilt. He flew with the boy to the roof and dropped inside through the skylight.
Juliet flapped her stubby wings and cawed. Her sounds were starting to mimic human speech. "Nick-aw, Nick-aw," she squawked.
"Hello, Juliet," he answered her, if only to shut her up. He wasn't going to start carrying on a conversation with some idiot bird, the way many mortals did. The boy was still limp and getting cold. Nick laid him on the couch, propping his feet up. He pulled off his jacket and laid it on top of him, then went for a washcloth to cleanse the boy's cut.
He dabbed at the cut. It wasn't very large or serious, but the boy had whacked his head pretty hard. He'd better call Nat over to check on him before he let him go. Nat was going to split seams over this. Much as he'd like to have her company, he really did not want to contact her. He could always try to make up a story, but that had never worked with LaCroix. Nick doubted his ability to tell a lie convincingly. He reached for the phone and dialed her number.
She didn't answer. He tried both at work and at her apartment. She must be in transit. He'd have to try again later. He laid the phone down, feeling oddly relieved.
Nick lifted the boy's hand and held it. The fingers were long and slender, the nails broken and very dirty. The bones in the boy's wrist were bulging. Nick slid up the sleeve of the torn, gray sweatshirt. The forearm was dirty, scratched, and abnormally thin. His face was gaunt. Dark circles shaded hollow cheeks, limp blonde hair hung dirty and lifeless over his forehead. With sudden realization, Nick recalled the odd taste of the boy's blood. He was suffering from acute malnutrition. It didn't excuse his behavior, but it helped to explain it.
Nick touched a hand to the boy's cheek and tapped him lightly. "Come on, wake up," he said gently.
The boy drew in a deeper breath and blinked. Suddenly he tensed, drawing up his thin fists defensively. Fear and anger rivaled in his eyes. "Go away! Leave me alone," he shouted.
Nick held him down effortlessly. "Now that isn't going to happen," he said, keeping his voice low. "So just relax. You hit your head pretty hard."
"You- you- I saw you! I saw your eyes!"
"You hit your head," Nick repeated. He didn't dare try to hypnotize the child, in case he had a concussion. It could have serious consequences. But this whole thing had gotten out of control. The boy's struggling would only make things worse. Nick decided he might as well play out the charade a little longer. He allowed his eyes to change and the fangs to descend. It was easy, given how tired he was becoming.
It had the desired effect. The boy lay still, too frightened to move.
"Tell me your name," Nick said.
"I-i-i-ian," the boy stuttered. "Ian Stewart. And I'm older than I look."
"So am I. Where are your parents?"
Ian closed his eyes tight; his lower lip trembled. "I live with my sister, Holly. She takes care of me. And she'll worry about me, so you better let me go!"
Nick took the washcloth off the boy's forehead and looked into his eyes. "I want my doctor look at that bump before you go," he said.
Ian looked puzzled. He put a hand up to his forehead and probed the purple goose egg. Half a smile tugged at his mouth. "Holly says I bruise easy. It's nothing."
Nick saw a deep purple bruise on Ian's wrist. The wrist he had grabbed and held firmly. Much too firmly.
Juliet took that moment to wake up. She squawked noisily, "Nick-aw! Nick-aw!"
Ian bolted upright, hiding behind Nick and clutching his thin arms around Nick's neck with a death grip. "Don't let her take me!" the boy whispered in his ear.
Juliet continued to squawk. Nick had learned that her noises would crescendo until he fed her, but the boy smelled of terror. It didn't make sense. He reached for Ian's arms. "Come here," he said, coaxing Ian onto his lap. Ian pressed tight against his chest, burrowing his face into Nick's shoulder. "What are you afraid of?"
"The ra- ven!" Ian whispered. "It's - it's death!"
Nick sighed. The raven was considered the harbinger of death in several cultures, but to his knowledge none of them lived in Toronto. "Who told you this?"
The boy trembled more as Juliet's complaints escalated. "Corndog told me. We saw the raven last week, and he told me it was coming for us, for me and Holly. He said he saw it last year just before my mom died. I had to kill it, ...before it killed me."
Nick swallowed against the thickness in his throat. He felt worse than when LaCroix's disputes became physical. What kind of monster was he to frighten a child? He was no better than Corndog, and Corndog was an ornery dictator among the city's homeless population. That meant Ian lived on the streets as well.
Nick just sat there, unsure of what to say. He held the frightened child, gently patting his back and whispering softly to him. Juliet gave up, settling down for a temporary cease-fire. Gradually, Ian's trembling slowed, then stopped. He curled up on Nick's lap.
"Ravens don't kill people, Ian. And they aren't some evil omen, either. That's just a myth," Nick began.
"Like vampires?" Ian whispered.
"No. Not like vampires." Now what, Nick wondered. How to get out of this mess? And where was Natalie when he needed her? "Ian, let's have you take a bath, and let me wash your clothes out, all right?"
"Why?"
Nick tugged at the filthy sweatshirt fabric. "Because you got blood on your shirt. We wouldn't want to alarm Holly, would we?"
Ian nodded. Nick stood up, but Ian clung to him, so he carried the small boy into the washroom. The child was much too light, even for his small size. Nick sat on the edge of the tub and filled it. Ian stripped off his clothes without a thought. Off came his battered shoes, no socks. His heels were red, his toes blistered. The shoes were too small. Off came baggy jeans, torn just below both knees, and the gray sweatshirt. He had no other clothes on. Even though it was late in the spring, Nick felt the child should have had some kind of a jacket. Ian's legs and arms were covered with ugly purple bruises; the skin was red and chapped. His fingernails had an unhealthy bluish color. If he had seen the child two hundred years ago, Nick would have diagnosed it as scurvy, but he hadn't seen anything like this in ages. Ian stepped into the tub. He looked up at Nick with open trust. "You have to wash my hair," he said.
Nick tried to comply. He could have come up with a dozen excuses not to, but he simply felt that he owed the boy. He'd never washed anybody's hair before, not even Janette's, and he had spent more of his life with her than any other creature, mortal or immortal. Nick finished, then he picked Ian's clothes off the floor. "When you're all clean, I'll see if I can find you some food."
Nick grabbed the phone on the way to the washer and dialed Nat again. She answered on the first ring. "Nat, I need a favor," Nick said.
Natalie laughed harshly. "Hello, Nick! How are you? I'm fine, by the way. What have you been up to? Well, now that we've covered the small talk, what sort of favor do you need?"
Nick hesitated. She sounded mildly irritated already. Should he proceed? "Nat, I found the child that hurt Juliet."
Nat was quiet.
"I frightened him and he hurt his head. I wonder if you could come and look at him?"
"Nick, I am not a family practitioner! You revealed yourself to him? You hurt a child, Nick! What were you thinking!"
Nick nodded, he agreed with her completely. But, just once, it would be nice not to be reminded of his many shortcomings. He dumped soap in the washer and shut the lid. The child's outfit was no where near a full load, but he didn't really want to put anything else in with it. "Nat, I know. You're right. But will you come?" Sometimes it was just easier to give up and agree with her. "And would you bring something to eat? The kid is hungry."
Nat didn't even say good-bye before she hung up.
Nick went through his clothes and pulled out a zippered sweatshirt of his own. It had shrunk the first time Nick washed it, so it was still like new. Then he mixed up Juliet's meal and fed her. Juliet gobbled it down quickly. She was awake for longer periods now, and mischievous. She liked to shred papers- magazines, utility bills, paperbacks, and she liked to stuff small objects inside of shoes. Nick had reverted to shaking out his shoes before putting them on, a habit learned when he had roamed the desert in the American southwest a century ago.
Ian timidly opened the bathroom door and peered around it, wrapped in a towel. Nick helped him put on the sweatshirt and rolled up the long sleeves. "Dr. Lambert will be here soon," Nick said. "And she's bringing breakfast."
Ian hugged Nick tightly. "Thank you."
Natalie heard the piano music again as she rode the lift. The song was vaguely familiar, although she'd never heard it played on the piano before. She slid open the door and stared at the boys. Nick's hands poised above the keys. He leaned closer to the little boy beside him on the bench. "But Peter didn't want to obey his grandfather," Nick said, "he wanted to go on the hunt!"
The boy giggled, swinging bare feet. Nick attacked the keys, playing the energetic theme from Tchaikovski's Peter and the Wolf. His face was animated; he seemed so natural with the child. The lift door squeaked on its hinges as it slid shut. Nick froze and stared at Nat with his guilty little boy expression. Nat struggled not to laugh. The other little boy shied away from her, clutching at Nick's arm.
Nick rubbed his back. "It's okay, Ian. This is Dr. Lambert. She's here to help you."
Nat went to set her sack down on the table. Nick rose, carrying the boy to her. Ian hugged him desperately. "Nick, go ahead and hold him," Nat suggested. She looked at the goose egg, now partially concealed under clean, damp hair, then shined a small light into his eyes. She noted the bruises on his legs, and the dark one on his wrist. Nick looked so guilty, still. She used to wonder if he used that face intentionally to manipulate her since she found it irresistible, but she knew him better now. He was guileless, and for all his violent past, he seemed so naïve at times.
"Well, Ian," she said. "You aren't getting enough fruits and vegetables to eat. Who feeds you?"
"Holly," he whispered. "My sister."
"You need to tell Holly that you should have a glass of orange juice every day, okay? Then you won't get these bruises so easily. Will you tell her?"
Ian nodded. It was hard to judge his age; he was small, like a four or five year old, but seemed years older. Poverty and street life could do that to a kid. She guessed he was more likely seven. "How about some Cheerios?" she asked.
"Thank you, Natalie," Nick said formally.
Nat put her stethoscope back into the bag and got up. She opened the cereal box and fixed Ian's breakfast. It might have been amusing to watch Nick do it, but she guessed the boy was too hungry to wait. Ian remained on Nick's lap, but eagerly accepted the food. She poured him some juice, gave him a banana, and refilled his cereal bowl. She was beginning to wonder if he'd ever fill up. But eventually the boy slowed down. His eyes drooped, and he leaned against Nick and fell asleep.
Nick carried him to the sofa. Natalie watched silently as he spread a blanket over the boy, tucking him in with as much care as an experienced parent. Then he went to the washer and tossed the boy's things in to dry. It was all a bit more domestic than she was used to.
"Nick, I don't think he has a concussion. He seems fine, just terribly undernourished. You should bring him to social services."
Nick shook his head. "He has a sister. I will try to talk with her, but I can't take him away from family. That isn't right."
"You've made quite an impression on him," she said.
Nick looked surprised. He shook his head. "No, Nat. I terrified him. It was my fault he got hurt."
"Still, he really likes you, Nick. So, what are you going to do with him? You aren't going to let him stay here while you rest, are you?" Nick didn't like to sleep when she was near. Not any more, not since that fateful night when he had nearly killed her. He hadn't told her why. That wasn't his way. He would just make decisions for her, and expect her to agree on faith.
Nick pulled her into his arms. He breathed along her neck, kissing her tenderly. Her earlier frustrations with him melted. She yielded to him, her heart and her soul. "Ian will be safe here," Nick whispered.
"But I'm not?" Nat asked, a little hurt.
Nick's kisses grew more passionate. She could feel the sharp points of his teeth on her neck, hear the slightly odd accent of his words shaped around fangs. "I'm not in love with the boy," he said slowly.
Natalie closed her eyes. It was a rare moment, one she would treasure. That was as close to an all-out confession of love as he'd come since that night. Then abruptly he was gone. She blinked, struggling to breathe again. Nick was at his refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of blood and stared at her with red glowing eyes. There was an unspoken challenge in his look. He yanked off the cork with his teeth, raised the bottle and chugged half its contents.
Her first reaction was anger. She knew he still drank the blood, but he generally did so privately, at least giving her the impression of trying to quit. To drink it now, so openly, and right after making a profession of love was... was... such a guy thing! Natalie grinned. It was a truly mortal, male thing to do! She had seen her father do it, and her brother Richard, even some of her old dates. It was as if some guys at least, afraid of intimacy, would try to ruin any intimate moment by becoming totally obnoxious. She refused to be baited.
She went up to Nick and pecked him on the cheek. "Good night, tiger. Get some rest and I'll see you later." She grabbed her bag and hummed a happy tune as she left.
Three times that day Juliet demanded food. Nick wondered just how long before she would start feeding herself as he rubbed tired, aching muscles. She didn't want to go right back to sleep either. He tried taking her to bed with him, like he had on her first day, but she hopped on his chest and pecked at him. When he set her on the floor, she squawked. With resignation, they played a game of tug-of-war with a piece of string, and then she rode on his shoulder while he quietly tidied his bachelor apartment. When Juliet finally settled down to nap, Nick pulled the covers back over Ian before collapsing into bed.
Having the child and the bird around to fill his time was rather nice, he thought as he sank into the deep sleep of the undead.
Late in the day Nick awoke for the last time. Something seemed wrong immediately. He sprang from bed, his vampire senses quickly tuned. The shades were still drawn, the lift door closed. No one was there, not even the boy. Nick flew to the vacant couch, saw the blanket tossed to the side, but no trace of Ian. The child had gone. At least he had taken the sweatshirt Nick gave him.
"Nick-aw! Nick-aw," Juliet demanded.
Nick lifted her to his shoulder. He poured himself a glass and took it to his piano. Taking a sip, he set it next to the music stand. "What would you like to hear, Juliet?" he asked. The bird tugged on a strand of his hair. Nick laughed. "How about something to drink by?"
His hands floated above the keys as skillful fingers played a contemporary tune- well, it had been contemporary only a few decades ago, he mused. The melody was haunting, bittersweet, the words amusingly macabre. He smiled, then softly sang to Juliet as he played "Mac the Knife".
"Oh, the shark has pretty teeth dear, and he keeps them pearly white.
Just a jackknife has MacHeath dear, and he keeps it out of sight.
"When the shark bites, with his teeth dear, scarlet billows start to flood,
Leather gloves though, wears MacHeath, dear, so there's not a trace of blood.
From a tugboat by the river, a cement bag's dropping down,
The cement's just for the weight, dear, bet you Mackie's back in town.
On the sidewalk Sunday morning, lies a body oozing life;
Someone's sneaking 'round the corner, is the someone Mack the Knife?
Louis Miller disappeared, dear, after drawing out his cash;
And MacHeath spends like a sailor; did our boy do something rash?
Sukey Tawdry, Jenny Diver, Polly Peachum, Lucy Brown,
Oh the line forms on the right, dear, Now that Mackie's back in town."
Juliet bobbed her head in time to the rhythm and occasionally harmonized with Nick. She truly seemed to enjoy the song, demanding between each verse that he share his drink with her. Yes, he decided with amusement, a raven was a good pet for a vampire.
Nick rose from the bench and peered tentatively behind a window shade. The sun had set; the last glow was fading. He would be able to leave shortly, as he hoped to check in with Mama John before he needed to be at work. As he leaned his head back to drain the last blood from the bottle, Juliet held on to his hair and adjusted her footing. It tickled some when she squawked right in his ear.
"Okay, you ugly, mite-infested, stubby feathered runt," Nick teased, "keep out of mischief tonight, will you?"
"Bye Nickaw, bye," the raven cawed.
Bitsy opened the door for Nick. The door had a latch instead of a knob; the big wolf-dog pawed the latch and tugged on a rope cord. Then she stood ominously in the doorway. Nick could hear Mama John in the back room, probably the kitchen.
"Who's there?" she called.
"It's me, Nick."
"Bitsy, let him in," Mama John ordered. "I'll be out in a few minutes, Nick. Just make yourself at home."
Bitsy backed off, allowing him entrance. Then she jumped against the door to slam it shut. Nick eyed her nervously. She seemed healthy. Her coat was thick and shiny, her eyes clear, her nose very cold and wet- she sniffed at his hand, and licked it once as if to say he passed her inspection.
Nick knelt in front of Bitsy. He patted her between the ears and spoke in friendly tones. Bitsy showed her sharp teeth. Nick decided it was only fair, so he showed his as well. The dog rested her head on her front paws, with her rump still up in the air. The tail twitched from side to side. Then she lay down and offered him her stomach. A dog's way of showing submission to the leader of the pack, Nick thought dryly. He rubbed her stomach. Bitsy rolled over, and licked his neck excitedly. Even at over 90 pounds, this overgrown watchdog was still just a puppy at heart.
Nat had asked him to make sure the dog wasn't a health risk. He parted the fur on Bitsy's neck as he searched for the jugular vein. He tried to focus on the dog's pulse. He tried to prepare himself, but the thought of biting through that fur was absolutely repulsive. His stomach flipped. Nat was asking too much from him! Mortals could only tell if a dog had rabies by destroying the animal and studying brain tissue, but he should be able to tell just by the taste of the blood. If only more vampires went into science, they might be able to design better rabies testing techniques.
"I won't hurt you," Nick whispered, as he tried again to fulfil the obligation. Instantly he started to gag. Bitsy whimpered. She laid her head in his lap and gazed up at him. Nick rubbed her gently. "It's okay, Bitsy," he assured her.
He thought back on all the ways Mama John had helped him, back in another life. He met her shortly after LaCroix left....
(Flashback, Chicago 1930's)
LaCroix was furious. He struck Nick in the face, throwing him across the room. Nick crashed into the bureau. The ceramic pitcher slopped water as it fell and shattered. The landlady beat her fist on the door, shouting at him to let her in. Nick pulled himself up weakly, as his master vented his wrath again.
Nick seldom fought back. He had learned how totally useless it was; LaCroix was much too strong, and fighting would only further enrage him. It would soon be over, and he would quickly heal- one of the few vampire benefits that he really appreciated- that and flying.
"I will leave you to wallow in your pathetic choices, Nicholas! But you will regret it," LaCroix hissed. Then he flew through the window just recently broken.
The landlady had produced a key and let herself in. She calculated the damage instantly as she shook her fist at Nick. "I want you out of here! You and your odd hours and odder companions! Who needs you!"
Nick pulled himself to his feet, wincing slightly. He wiped the trickle of blood from his lip. "I apologize for the damage. I will repair it."
"Fine. You have 24 hours to find another place, or I'll throw you out in the street!" With that she turned and left, the floorboards creaking beneath her heavy tread.
Nick shrugged. Already the lip had healed. Nick had turned down his commission with the Chicago police force, wishing to attend the academy with mortals. He felt that his lack of experience had put his mortal partner at risk. LaCroix believed that vampires, with their centuries of experiences, were beyond such mundane, mortal prerequisites. He wanted Nick to revel in his vampire superiority, and yet Nick humbled himself not just among mortals but in the vampire community as well. But none of that mattered now. LaCroix had left. He knew his master would return, but for a while at least, he was on his own. The thought was exhilarating!
He would move to a new apartment and enjoy his temporary independence, as he split his time between night classes and the force. He pulled on a long, winter coat as he stepped out into the chilly evening.
Small slushy black piles of snow dotted the streets and sidewalks. Nick was well dressed for the weather, although he wouldn't have felt the cold, as part of the charade to blend in with mortal society. He hummed a tune. Freedom! What would he like to do first?
He had met some of the other young rookies on the force, but hadn't made friends with any of them. They were a mix of envy and admiration since he had received the commendation. Nick had tried to refuse the award. Sure, he had saved his partner's life, but he felt that his inexperience had put his partner in danger in the first place.
Well, it was best not to have friends at work, anyway. He needed companionship, but he needed privacy. The two were often hard to accommodate. If he were too private, he would have no friends. If he was too friendly, someone would get suspicious of him, and then he would have to move on and start all over again. Immortality wasn't all it was cracked up to be, he thought dryly.
Something struck him from behind. Nick fell onto the sidewalk, feeling the gritty slush slice his cheek. Had LaCroix came back for more, he wondered? He started to push himself up, but several blows struck him all at once. Too many blows for one man, even a vampire. Nick summoned his vampire strength and tried again to get up. Someone swung at his arm with a crowbar. Nick felt the bones shatter. More than a dozen mortal men attacked him. He was already weakened from his earlier injuries. He had not yet fed to rebuild his strength. One of the attackers struck him in the stomach with the crowbar. Old, cold blood filled his mouth. As he sank again into the cold slush, they pulled off his coat, his boots, his scarf, and took his wallet, before disappearing into the shadows. Nick sensed his own blood flowing slowly from his wounds. The sun would rise in little more than three hours, yet he knew it would take longer than that to heal. He had to find a dark, protected corner. He tried again to pull himself up. The broken arm was too painful. He would have to lie here, at least for a while.
Sometime later a mismatched couple turned the corner. She was small and plumpish, and sensibly dressed in sturdy, practical clothes without any hint of fashion or jewelry. Her thick glasses slightly distorted pretty blue eyes, giving her an almost cartoonish appearance. Her companion was unusually tall and stout. He held her arm carefully, as though afraid he might break it off. His face was clean-shaven, but his black unruly hair curled down into brown, innocent eyes. Because her step was so much smaller than his was, he looked to be tiptoeing through the slush. No one was around to laugh at the couple. They traveled a dark, empty street.
"Oh Harlie, no!" the lady exclaimed, when she spotted the lone figure lying face down on the sidewalk. She hurried to Nick and knelt down to feel for a pulse. When she looked up at her companion, large tears filled her eyes. "We are too late."
Harlie stood mutely. He felt some compassion for the half-naked man lying dead in the snow, since his lady had rescued him from a similar scene only a year ago, but he also felt annoyed that this dead vagrant should upset her.
The lady sat down in the slush and pulled the dead man's face onto her lap. She stroked his cold cheek. "No one should die alone, Harlie. It isn't right. We will take him home with us and give him a proper burial. Go, find us a taxi!"
Harlie hesitated. She was an odd one, but he adored her. He would obey her every command. With an awkward half bow, he turned and hurried up the street.
Nick was vaguely aware of something warm and salty on his cheek. The need to feed was overwhelming. His fangs descended, his eyes changed to search for food in the dark, but he was unable to move. He couldn't even taste the warm saltiness dripping on his cheek. He couldn't stop the animal growl that escaped.
"You're alive! Oh, dear God, it's not too late!" a woman's voice exclaimed. She stroked his face, brushing back a lock of his hair.
Nick flinched. Every little move caused new waves of pain to shoot through him, and yet he needed to turn away from her scrutiny, at least until the beast was under control. He felt another tear fall. Who was she, and why did she care?
The lady removed her own winter coat and spread it over Nick, tucking it around his shoulders. "You hold on, now, sir! We'll have you better soon! I'll get you a doctor and a warm bed... how about some soup? Help is on it's way," she said softly, all the while stroking his cheek comfortingly.
She smelled so enticing. The sound of her pulse grew louder, nearly blocking out her words entirely. If he could feed, he would begin to heal, and he could flee this place... Nick shuddered with self-loathing. He hadn't killed a human in almost fifty years, how could he even consider harming this selfless Samaritan! He shed tears of his own; tears of blood, from glowing eyes tightly closed.
A vehicle approached, spraying slushy snow as it braked to a stop. Nick tried again to move, to flee, but he gasped in pain.
"Harlie!" the lady called. "Harlie, hurry! He's still alive. Get him into the taxi!"
Harlie grasped Nick's shoulders and started to roll him over. Nick cried out. Blackness was creeping in on him, yet he fought to remain conscious.
"Gentle, Harlie! Don't hurt him. Be careful of his arm, it's broken."
Harlie lifted Nick easily, and set him in the back seat of the cab. The lady sat down next to Nick and wrapped an arm around him protectively. Harlie climbed in front with the driver. "Hurry, driver," the lady ordered, giving him her address. "And fetch Doctor Levine for us, for an extra tip."
Nick was losing the battle. The cab and the drive were slipping away from him. If he fell asleep, he would be at the mercy of mortals, a dangerous position. If he remained awake, they could be in danger, totally unsuspecting of the wounded vampire in their midst. He didn't remember the cab stopping, or being lifted again by the large man she called Harlie. He didn't remember screaming in pain as he was laid on a bed. But at some point he was aware of a doctor's presence. He felt the cold stethoscope as the older man tried to listen to his heart. Nick snatched the stethoscope with his good arm.
The doctor placed his hands on Nick's shoulders, guiding him to lie down. "Take it easy, son. You've had quite a rough night."
Nick swallowed, gagging on the taste of stale blood. Some trickled from his lips. The doctor scowled, alarmed. "Perhaps we should take you to the hospital," he began.
Nick panicked. Mindless of whom might be watching, he locked his eyes on the doctor's and hypnotized him. "I will be... fine!" he gasped. "Tell the lady I will be fine. Just close the curtains and leave me alone!"
Then he fainted.
The doctor shook his head. The lady, Margaret St. John, looked at him questioningly as she came back into the room. "I think he will be fine," the doctor answered, strangely unfocused. "But pull the drapes. He needs to sleep. Then ask Harlie to hold him while I set his arm."
Nightmares filled his dreams. Blood sweat covered his brow. Late in the day Nick struggled back to consciousness, feeling like he'd been run over by a train.
The room wasn't familiar. Instantly he sat up, and instantly he was sorry. He cradled his head in his hand, fighting back the nausea of an injured vampire stomach swimming in his own blood. Then he tried to make sense of the strangeness. All of his clothes were missing and one arm was completely sealed in a plaster cast.
As an unfamiliar woman entered his room, Nick snatched a blanket to pull over him. She set a bowl and pitcher on the nightstand and smiled at him. "Good afternoon, sir," she said cheerily. She poured water into the bowl. Nick stared at her, clutching the blanket desperately. His head pounded, his arm throbbed. The veins in her neck pulsed strongly, urging him to feed.
"My name is Margaret St. John," she said. She dipped a washrag into the water, wrung it out and knelt before him to wash his face. Nick was still holding his blanket with his good, right arm, so he swung the left arm up to block her. The simple motion was almost unbearable. More blood sweat covered his forehead. The lady appeared in shades of red and gold to his vampire vision.
"Now you just rest yourself," she demanded gently. "Don't mind me a bit. There's been more than six dozen young men in this house over the years, and every one of them has called me 'Mama John'. She continued to cleanse the blood from his face, then moved the washrag lower.
Nick stared at her. The thick lenses magnified her eyes, yet he saw no trace of fear in them. He lowered his face, forcing his fangs to withdraw, forcing the vampire urges away. Releasing his hold on the blanket, he placed his hand over hers on the washrag. "Go," he whispered.
"Ah, so you're going to be a might ornery today, are you? Well, if you're well enough to object, I guess you can see to your own bath. But take it easy. The doctor said you should rest."
"My clothes?"
"Gone. What little you had on was in shreds." Mama John went to a dresser and pulled out a shirt and trousers. "These are Martin's things, he won't mind. This is his room- he won't be back until the end of next week, so you don't have to worry about where to stay. I'm sure we can find you a place before then."
The woman touched his cheek tenderly. "You call now, if you need help. I'll be just down the hall." Then she smiled and left, pulling the door closed.
Nick heaved a sigh. None of it made sense yet, although he felt a little more awake. Why did he have a cast- the arm would have healed on its own? Why hadn't he healed already? His arm throbbed. He needed to feed; yet his stomach lurched at the thought.
Gingerly, Nick finished washing, then struggled into the pants. Everything was more difficult with only one arm. The shirt was impossible. And she hadn't left him any shoes. He lifted one edge of the shade to check at the sunlight. Several hours yet until dark. A fresh wave of nausea hit; he grabbed the bedpost to keep from falling.
Mama John threw open the door. "Now how's that for pigheaded stubborn, I told you to call for help!"
She came to his side, and lifted the shirt that hung from one shoulder. She pulled it over, tucking his broken arm inside, and buttoned up the shirt. Only the button where his left hand poked through wouldn't close. Then she tucked the tails inside his pants before Nick could object. She moved to his side, guiding him to sit back on the edge of the bed, and knelt in front again to pull on socks and shoes. "Tell me, sir, by what name shall I call you?"
"Nick," he answered. "Constable Nicholas Knight." He remembered to answer with the soft Gaelic brogue he maintained in this identity.
Mama John tilted her head and eyed him with amusement. "Scottish, are you? Well that explains the stubborn streak. Would you like something to eat yet?"
" No, ma'am. No, thanks," Nick replied.
"Well, you might as well come with me, so's I can keep an eye on you," Mama John said, as she helped him down the stairs. "It's time I started the soup. There'll be a lot of hungry boys here soon. How are you at paring vegetables?"
Nick gripped the handrail, trying not to put too much weight on the small woman's shoulders. The stairs curved and opened out into a large, comfortable living area of an older, Victorian style home. A fire crackled in the cast-iron fireplace. Two sofas and several occasional chairs were arranged for comfort more than looks. The dining room held a huge table with chairs and place settings for sixteen.
She led him to a kitchen chair. Nick slid into it gratefully. He hated the weakness, but knew he had to conserve his strength until dark. She patted his cheek and looked at him with concern. "Are you sure you are up to this? Perhaps you should go back to bed?"
"I'll be fine," he said. "But, would you shut the curtain? The light hurts my eyes."
Mama John smiled, unconvinced. "Aye. Stubborn."
She went to the windows- one behind the sink and one on the other wall- and closed the white ruffled curtains. It didn't completely block out the light, but it did cast a shadow over the small kitchen table. Then she began to wash and scrub an assortment of vegetables. After slicing them in half lengthwise, she set them on a cutting board in front of Nick. She handed him a small paring knife. "Are you a rightie or a leftie, Nickie?"
Nick stared at her. Sometimes knowing the language wasn't enough to understand the words. "What?"
"Your arm, Mr. Knight? Are you right handed?"
Nick stared at his right hand and back at her. She placed the paring knife in his hand, and guided him as she sliced a potato. "If you can slice the vegetables, I suppose you're well enough to be up. All my boys give me hand. I don't hold with laziness. There's no sin in being poor, and Lord knows enough of us are so cursed to fill Hell to overflowing! But laziness, that's an entirely different matter."
He sliced the potato, then the other half potato as well. Preparing food wasn't something he had much experience at. Of course, if he ever became mortal, he'd have to learn, but he always assumed there'd be time enough for that later. Hunger would be a great motivator. Watching mortals prepare meat had often brought out his beast. But these vegetables weren't a problem. They didn't smell, not like raw stew meat. It would have been easier to cut if his left arm weren't immobilized. It throbbed still. He couldn't understand why it was taking so long to heal.
Mama John hummed a happy, vaguely familiar melody as she began filling an enormous pot with water. When it became too heavy, she placed it on the stove and added more water with a pitcher. Then she opened six glass jars of canned tomatoes and put them into the pot, turning up the flame to bring it to a boil. Nick fought back another wave of nausea by trying to concentrate on the vegetable he sliced next. It was yellowish and oddly scented. It was harder to cut than the potato. "What is this thing," he asked.
She laughed. Her laugh was even more musical than her humming. It was a pretty sound, and Nick didn't mind that she laughed at him. "What, sir? Don't turnips grow in your part of Scotland? Or do you not fancy your vegetables? No, I guess you don't, do you. Your pale coloring is proof of that."
Nick smiled with her. As if to change the subject, he sang the same tune she had been humming.
"I will take you back, Kathleen, to where your heart will feel no pain. And when the fields are fresh and green, I will take you to your home again."
Mama John joined in, singing the currently popular song with him, only recently published right here in Chicago. Nick sliced more vegetables and she added them to the pot. Then she brought him more, and more after that. He would have liked to get up and look into the pot to see just how much more it could hold, but then she got out another pot. She never seemed to hurry, but her movements were constant. As the sun sank lower in the sky, she prepared enough soup, bread, coffee and sandwiches to feed an army.
Presently, the front door opened and several people entered. Their heavy tread marked them as men, even before the scent of their pulsing blood reached him. The door banged, and more men entered. They spoke to each other, some friendly, some barely civil. Mama John called out from her kitchen. "Welcome home, boys! Come and meet Nickie."
Nick glared at her. She was only a few years older than he appeared to be, why did she sound so maternal towards him? What if she was to learn how old he really was?
The "boys" filed into the kitchen, and one by one mumbled a dutiful, "Hello Nick."
Nick repressed a grin as he observed her "boys." The youngest in the bunch was nearly fifty! Yet, they all treated Mama John with respect and obeyed her words without question, like a room full of school children. They ladled out portions of the soup into serving tureens and set them on the table. Two of the many loaves of bread were set, and one plate of the many sandwiches. More "boys" arrived home before the table was finished being set. Then Mama John took Nick's arm to bring him to the table.
"No, thanks, ma'am," Nick insisted. "I couldn't eat a thing."
"But you can still join us, Nickie. You're part of our family now, and families eat together. Come, you'll sit by me today."
Nick couldn't find a way gracefully out of the invitation. He leaned on her shoulder and slowly made his way to the dining room. The men all stood with their hands on the backs of the tall chairs, their heads bowed. Nick grabbed his chair for support, suspecting what came next. Mama John folded her hands and prayed over the food. She prayed for each one of the men by name, asking that they find honest work and earn enough to meet their needs. She prayed for Nick, that he would heal quickly and find peace. She got right to the point in her prayer, ending it quickly before the food cooled. Nick shivered. Prayers weren't quite the same as crosses, but they still made him fearful. He gripped the back of his chair so firmly that he made small indentations in the wood.
The prayer ended, something Nick might have missed, except that the noise level shot up as fourteen men slid back chairs, plopped into them, and began passing the serving trays. Nick slid into his chair as well. The food passed by him, Mama John guessed that he didn't have enough strength to lift the trays. He observed the men while they ate.
They were all different. They were different nationalities, different ages, and different cultures. Some seemed more refined, like they had not always been poor. Some were crass, and Mama John reminded them throughout the meal when their conversations became too vulgar. Some trembled from withdrawal symptoms of alcohol abuse. Nick realized that these men, seated at a fine table and eating soup from china plates, were all homeless, penniless, street bums. Mama John had opened her arms and her home to the refuse of society. And she had welcomed him, too.
Nick stared at the men again. Some of them seemed to appreciate the gift this woman had offered. They were trying to get work- not an easy task in this era. She charged them only a small percentage of their income for room and board. One man, at least, had a family out in the country; his farm had been destroyed by the drought. He sent most of his income to them. His eyes seemed vacant, except when he talked about them.
Some of the men were drifters. They took advantage of her hospitality, ate her food, slept in her rooms, but when the novelty wore off, they would disappear, maybe taking whatever they could lift with them. And Harlie seemed like a little boy. For all his size, he wasn't any more grown up than a child of eight or nine.
And how would Nick treat Mama John? She had offered him a home, however temporary. What would it be like, to be a part of such a big family? He had to go back to his old apartment, to feed and collect his things, but maybe he would return here. Like she had offered, at least he could stay until Martin returned.
His stomach flipped, his fangs itched. He'd have to leave soon. Only a few minutes more, and it would be safe to go out. As the men finished, they carried their china out into the kitchen, then reset the table with clean dishes. They brought out fresh platters of sandwiches, refilled the soup tureen, and poured more cups of coffee. Nick was puzzled. Certainly, they weren't going to eat again?
Mama John patted his right hand affectionately. "You won't need to help with serving the meals, Nickie, at least not until your arm has healed. Would you like to sit in the living room?"
Nick shook his head. "No ma'am. I should be going."
Mama John looked alarmed. "Going! Where! It is getting late, and dark out. Surely wherever you need to go can wait until morning."
"I must go tonight," he insisted. "My landlady evicted me last night. I need to go collect my things."
"Harlie," she said. "Go with Nickie. Help him get what he needs, and bring him back here safely."
"Yes, Mama," the big giant said, lifting Nick to his feet swiftly.
"Gently!"
"Yes, Mama."
At the front door, Mama John put a great, warm coat around Nick, buttoning it securely and turning up the color around his neck. She tied a knit scarf around his neck and patted it in place.
"I am not penniless," Nick snapped, a little irritated to be treated like one of her poor waifs. "I was just robbed. I can buy a new coat."
"Certainly, Mr. Knight," she said lightly. "Then someday you may give this coat to someone who needs it. But I ask you to keep the scarf. I made it myself." Then she turned to Harlie. He stooped lower so she could adjust his coat too. "Make sure you bring him back safely," she told him again.
"Yes, ma'am."
Harlie held the door, as Nick stepped outside. The front yard was full of men! Maybe a hundred cold, hungry men huddled together, waiting for room at Mama's table. Nick swallowed a lump in his throat. He should leave this place, before he cursed it with his very presence. The world needed people like Mama John.
Harlie took Nick in one arm, and parted the masses with his other. "Coming through," he said, his voice surprisingly high-pitched and innocent.
"Harlie, let go. Harlie, slow down," Nick objected.
"Keep you safe," the big man repeated.
"Fine. You can come with me, but you don't need to rip my other arm out of its socket."
"Sorry," Harlie said. He hung his head, his shoulders stooped. "But I must keep you safe. Mama said."
Nick sighed. The big man was crying. He never meant to hurt his feelings! "Harlie, it's okay, really. Let's just go a little slower, all right?"
Harlie nodded. He loosened the grip on Nick's right arm, and rubbed Nick's back. "Slower. Gently. Safe," he said.
"That's right," Nick said. Some night this was going to be! He had so looked forward to his freedom, was it just last night when LaCroix had left? Well, he would still enjoy it. Just feed, and recover, then he could begin to enjoy it. He had several bottles left at his old apartment. He wasn't sure where LaCroix was getting it here though, and Aristotle hadn't given him that information, either. It annoyed him, how LaCroix tried to keep him dependent, by never giving him quite all the information he needed to survive. Well, he'd have to use his own, poorly trained vampire skills. He'd hunt down other vampires, find his own sources!
At last they neared his former residence. Nick was so weary; he nearly asked Harlie to carry him the rest of the way! He and LaCroix had shared the room at the very top, as LaCroix preferred to enter from the roof. Tonight, the stairs were sucking away his strength. He was too weak to fly, even if Harlie hadn't been watching. At the top, he fumbled with his key. Harlie took it from him and opened the lock. He pushed open the door.
The inside was empty! Gone was the broken pottery from the night before, the broken glass, the shattered bed frame. Gone also were all of Nick's possessions- clothes, books, even the green bottles of cow blood.... Nick leaned against the door; his knees buckled and he slid to the floor.
"What now?" Harlie asked.
Heavy footsteps came up the stairs and towards them. The landlady appeared, arms akimbo. "I put it all under lock and key, mister I-can-pay-for-it! You'll get it back just as soon as you take care of this bill." She waved an itemized sheet in Nick's face. "Everything except the booze. I told you I'd have none of that in my place! You want to get me shut down? Have the cops wreck up the place? I dumped it all out."
Nick squeezed his eyes shut, striving not to kill her at once. He laid his head down on his arm.
"Nickie, what's wrong?" Harlie asked, worry driving his voice a pitch higher. "Are you hurting? Should I take you home now?"
"When am I going to get paid? I need my money," the landlady complained.
Nick reached out for Harlie to help him up. He glared into the woman's eyes, but stopped himself from hypnotizing her. "I was robbed last night. I have no cash on me. I will send you the money shortly, and you will send my things to this address! And as for the police, you can bet that they will investigate these premises for building violations, scalping, unfair business practices, ...could get rather expensive. Good night."
Nick turned sharply. If Harlie hadn't been there, he might have lost his balance, but as it was, his abrupt departure left the landlady trembling. Harlie escorted him down the stairs and outside. They walked aimlessly up the street for several blocks. Nick stumbled repeatedly. He was so hungry; he was tempted to feed on Harlie. Blackness crowded in, even his superior vampire night vision could not see clearly.
"Harlie, take me to the hospital," Nick whispered, leaning against the big man for support.
"You're hurt? Taxi! Taxi! Help!"
"No, Harlie! Hush," Nick ordered. "We will walk to the hospital. Quietly."
Harlie nodded, although he clearly did not understand. Nick stumbled again, and Harlie picked him up and carried him. Nick did not object this time. He would conserve his strength. He tried to capture Harlie with hypnosis, but the big man wouldn't look at him long enough. Harlie slogged through the snow for several miles without ever getting winded. The traffic sounds and an approaching ambulance alerted Nick as they drew near the hospital.
"Around back," Nick said.
Harlie complied. The hospital had a main entrance blocked by a secretary, and the emergency entrance, which was too crowded. Nick looked for an emergency exit to gain entry unnoticed. In the back he spied a fire escape, but it only came down to the second story. He would have to fly that far.
"Harlie, I want you to go around to the front and wait for me," he said.
Harlie shook his head. "Mama John told me to go with you, and bring you back safely."
Nick marveled at the man-child's memory. He wondered just how long Harlie could retain simple commands. "And so you went with me to the hospital. You don't need to come inside. You should rest, in case you need to help me back. I will return shortly."
"Promise? Cross your heart?"
Nick blanched. "I promise. Go."
He watched as the big man turned slowly and slogged around the corner. Then he eyed the fire escape. Just standing was a challenge. He summoned the last of his strength. Concentrating on the promise of food inside, he bared his fangs and growled softly. Then by sheer effort he lifted the few feet to the fire escape. The door was locked, but he forced it open.
The halls were only dimly lit. None of the night staff was visible. Nick moved stealthily through the corridors to find a supply of human blood. He chugged one after another, like a starving man. His injured insides heaved, his stomach threatened to hurl, and still he drank. The blood was a mix, and too old to retain much of the donor's life, yet it was so much better than the bottled cow of his normal diet. Gorging so much left him sleepy. Already he could feel his injuries mending, the healing process boosted by the blood. He licked his teeth, savoring the last drops. He might have to wait a few days before feeding again, depending on if he had any luck in his search tomorrow. When he was certain he couldn't hold any more, he slipped out of the room.
His arm was still painful; the break had not yet healed. He'd probably have to wait until tomorrow to lose the ridiculous cast as well. He caught sight of Harlie waiting out front, pacing back and forth on the steps. Nick contemplated just leaving, going out on his own, but changed his mind. He would return to the warmth and comfort of Mama John's, at least for the night. He went out the front door and greeted the big man. "Time to go home, Harlie."
Harlie started to lift him again, but Nick resisted. "I think I can walk now. I feel much better."
"Hospitals are good for that," the man said simply.
Nick slept well the next day, without dreams. He awoke feeling whole again. Only his arm hurt. It was most likely just stiff from lack of use. He struggled into his pants, and stomped his feet into the borrowed shoes. He was on duty tonight, but he would be able to cash his paycheck then. Wouldn't Mama John be surprised when he repaid her for the coat and his lodgings?
Someone knocked at his door and moments later Mama John came in. She buttoned his shirt again and tied his shoes. "You're looking well, Nickie!"
"I feel right well, myself," he said, pouring on the Scottish, boyish charm. "I feel like a night out."
"I can't spare Harlie to go with you, Nickie, he's running some errands for me."
"That's fine. I'm up to going alone." Nick pulled on the warm winter coat and waited while she tied the scarf under his chin. It had been so very many years since anyone had mothered him. He blinked back sudden tears.
"You be careful now, Nicholas Knight, or I'll send out the troops out to find you," she warned, with a smile on her lips.
Nick bowed to her, then nearly skipped down the stairs; the front door banged shut behind him.
The police chief was not thrilled to see him. He wanted to know how he'd been injured, then why he hadn't filed a report on the incident, then how long the doctor said before his arm healed. Nick promised it would be better tomorrow, but the chief just laughed at him. He was given a three-month leave of absence, without pay, and escorted out. Nick growled in frustration, and slammed his fist into the wall. The brick crumbled, and his knuckles throbbed for a few moments.
Three months off! He loved working on the force. Of all his former occupations, none of them had seemed quite as fulfilling. This position needed him to work nights. He was needed to serve and to protect, to see villains brought to justice, and vicariously, to feel himself vindicated, one sin at a time. His wonderful newfound freedom wasn't working out so well at all.
He took to the skies. Flying often helped him to unwind. He could think better with the wind whipping past his ears, the cold air in his face, and no one around to distract him. First, he needed to contact the local vampires for a source of nourishment. Then, he needed to get the doctor to free his arm. But, if all these mortals expected his arm to take months to heal, what would they think if he were suddenly better? Apparently, the break had been severe, tearing through the skin. He couldn't just hypnotize the doctor, Mama John, Harlie, and anyone else who had seen it, that they were all mistaken. Maybe he would have to play out this charade? Or move on. And he had only been here for a short time; he wasn't ready to leave.
But he couldn't just mooch off of Mama John for three months. She had her hands full with feeding and caring for others who really needed her help. Maybe there was something he could do for her, to help her out, until he could reasonably expect to return to work.
Locating the vampire underground wasn't really difficult. They were always well concealed from human senses, but never intended to hide from the creatures they served. Nick had to settle on bottled human; they didn't get many requests for the other. They did agree to put some up for him. Nick slung the sack of green bottles over his shoulder and flew to his new home.
The attic of Mama John's home had only two small windows, one facing west and the other north. Nothing could be more perfect, from a vampire's perspective. The west facing wall was the best portal for careless vampires caught out too late. The north window didn't ever get much sunlight. The windows were shut but not locked. People seldom expected perpetrators to enter from the third story. Nick opened the window and slipped inside.
The attic was dark and dusty. The roof sloped at odd angles, creating potentially interesting little spaces. Very little littered the floors- an old bed frame, some boxes of men's' clothing. Nick nodded to himself, a new thought taking shape. He set his precious bottles down. The attic was cold; the blood would keep well. Then, he flew back out of the window, to enter by the front door.
Nick wiped the slush and mud from his shoes and closed the front door quietly. The house was strangely peaceful. All of the male residents were still asleep. Only one lamp glowed from the living room. Curious, Nick peered around the corner.
Mama John sat by the fire. She was knitting something, a large pair of mittens from scraps of blue and black wool. Her needles clacked together softly. She wasn't even looking at her hands while she worked. Suddenly she seemed to notice him. She smiled brightly.
"Welcome home, Nickie!"
Nick smiled. That had such a nice sound to it. He went in to join her. "You are up early."
"Yes, I like to get up while the house is still quiet. I love my boys, every one of them, but sometimes I just need to be left alone. I guess that sounds awful, doesn't it?"
"No, not at all. I don't know how you do what you do. Or why."
She looked genuinely surprised. "Because I am needed! There is so much work to be done! Where would all these boys be, if I closed my doors?"
Nick nodded. "And I am sorry, Mama John, because I fully intended to pay you back tonight. But I was laid off for three months."
"I expected as much. With a hundred able-bodied men for every job, why would anyone hire you with one good arm? But you don't owe me a thing, Nickie. Everything I have given you was given freely. All my lodgers help around the house, with whatever skills they possess."
"But, setting tables and chopping food doesn't seem like much help. Surely there is something more you need?"
Mama John started to shake her head, but then she hesitated. "No, nothing, ...not really, unless-"
"What?"
"Can you read, Nickie?"
Nick almost laughed. He thought back to his tutor that had taught him so much when he was a boy. He had studied Latin and Greek, Geometry, Rhetoric, Logic, and gymnastics. Then when he was nearly ten, he became a squire, and later, a knight. He had learned to read so very long ago that it was one skill he more or less took for granted. But this sweet, simple woman seemed so sincere; he didn't want to risk hurting her feelings.
"Yes, ma'am. I read well."
She lifted a stack of unopened letters from the side table and clutched them to her breast. Her eyes, oddly magnified in the thick lenses, were filled with moisture. "Would you be willing to read to me? I get letters all the time, from boys I have helped to move on, but my eyesight has gotten worse. Even with these glasses I don't see very much at all."
Nick took the letters and her hand and held both tenderly. "I would be honored to read to you, as long I stay here," he said solemnly.
"By the way, I discovered your attic. Would you allow me to fix it up, and move in?"
Mama John looked surprised. She tapped the side of her face with a finger as she thought aloud. "It would help to have the extra room. Especially during severe storms, I have to turn some boys away- I have them sleeping on couches and carpets all over the place. There is no heat up there, but a small Franklin stove could be added quite simply. Yes, ...yes, Nickie. But I insist that you let Harlie or one of the other boys help you until you are two-handed again."
That was how it all started. He returned home every morning an hour before sunrise and read to her. When she needed to start breakfast for the lodgers, Nick followed her into the kitchen and continued to read. He read her mail, and she had a lot of it. He got to know some of the "boys" well, the ones that wrote often. Some married and named their daughters Margaret, or their sons John. One had entered the priesthood and served the poor, following her example. Several wrote to her from their prison cells. Many times their letters held paper money- anywhere from a few dollars to much larger bills. Nick counted the money for her and watched as she tucked it carelessly into a cookie jar on the counter.
"That's not very safe," he chided her.
She shrugged and tried to ignore his warning.
"Seriously, Mama John. That money could get stolen."
"I know. I don't need that money. I have money of my own. I tell all my borders that the money is there and if they really need something they should take it. I have never been robbed by any of my boys, because everything is theirs to take."
Nick just shook his head. She was definitely one of a kind.
After three days passed without any mail, Nick stopped by a bookstore and brought home one of his favorites to surprise her. He read Hamlet.
"Oh, Nickie! You read that one so well! Surely you must have done it on stage," she exclaimed.
Nick shrugged off the complement. How could he tell her that Shakespeare had been a close, personal friend? That he owned an autographed, hand-written copy of the original script? That the characters of Hamlet and his father were at least partly influenced by the relationship between Nick and LaCroix? "Glad you enjoyed it," he answered simply.
"You must read to the boys sometime," she said.
That didn't sound interesting at all. He read to her, as a way of thanking her because she could no longer read. But why should he read to a group of old men?
"It would mean so much to them," she continued, "...and to me."
So he read. Now he read twice a day- privately to Mama John in the mornings, then to the men right after dinner, after having spent several hours teaching Harlie basic carpentry skills as his attic apartment took shape. It cut his free time severely, as the men did enjoy hearing the stories and often begged for just one more chapter. Nick read late into the night, with only a few brief hours to travel outside before sunup.
Nick came to realize that most of the men were illiterate. Some had managed to stay in school for several years; some even managed to graduate from the eighth grade. Some were barely capable of filling out a brief job application, but none of them could read the newspaper. They knew nothing of the problems of the nation, just their own little corner of it. Most felt isolated in their miserable, poverty-stricken condition. Through Nick they learned that the depression covered the entire nation. Oddly, that encouraged them.
One of the younger "boys" started sitting behind Nick while he read, trying to follow along. That lead to reading lessons. Nick began teaching them all to read.
Nick's arm throbbed constantly. His fingers tingled and felt numb. The skin underneath itched. One man showed him how to straighten a wire hanger and use it to scratch up inside the cast. Nick used it vigorously, pulling out a hanger stained with his own blood. Mama John took it and threw it out, admonishing him to behave. Finally, after the last of the snow melted, and the days grew longer towards spring solstice, the doctor returned to free him. He sawed off the ragged, dirty plaster cast.
Nick rubbed his arm briskly. The skin flaked, but already it was healing. He quickly shoved the arm into his sleeve, concealing it from the doctor's scrutiny.
"You need to exercise it slowly every day, until you get full mobility back. I wish there was a quicker way to mend bones, because sometimes the cure takes as long to recover from as the injury," the doctor mused.
Nick just nodded absently. Tonight he'd fly all over town, and tomorrow he would start back at the police force. Mama John passed him a broom and dust pan.
"You can start exercising it by sweeping up the mess you've made," she said lightly.
Nick shook his head, watching her take some cash from the cookie jar to pay Doctor Levine. Even the gentle sweeping motion was painful. The arm was still numb, as though it belonged to some one else. "So being mortal has its drawbacks," he mumbled.
Mama's boys had finished their meal, and started to set the table for the first wave of indigent guests. With the lengthening days it would be an hour yet before Nick could leave. He took a platter of sandwiches out, and helped to serve the meal for the first time. Sixteen men were ushered in politely. They filed through the small washroom to scrub grimy hands, then were seated at the fine dining table. Mama lead them in a simple grace, then poured coffee. She greeted nearly every single man by name, or asked the new visitor what he would like to be called. Two of her boys assisted Nick, keeping the soup tureen and sandwich platters filled. When one group of men had eaten their fill, they stuffed extra sandwiches into their coat pockets and left, then another group would enter. None of them ever removed their coats. When he asked about it, one of the boys answered him.
"A coat is probably our most important possession. It means survival in the cold weather, and it serves as a bed in summer. It never leaves our sight."
Nick's own hunger gnawed at him. He felt restless, eager to leave yet held back by duty and sunlight. Most of the guests he served smelled foul. Many were silent, seething with anger and defiance. Only a few here and there stopped to thank the selfless woman who devoted her entire existence to serving them. Nick wished they would all just go away.
As the last group entered, Mama John nodded to Nick. "I think you've worked hard enough tonight, Nickie. Put your coat on before you go out, we're supposed to have a spring snow."
Nick grinned. He grabbed the navy wool coat and slung it over his shoulders. Something stopped him. Something very odd about a young man at the dining table. He was wearing Nick's coat!
He stared at the man, as he approached him slowly. Nick was sure it was his coat. Although not a unique style, there were still bloodstains on the left sleeve and the collar. Even after three months, the blood was unmistakably his own. Anger boiled out of control. Nick's fangs were barely concealed as he nailed the man with a glare.
"You! You are wearing my coat!"
The man shrank from him, gripping the edge of the table. He quivered. "You are mistaken," he whispered.
"Nickie! Stop it at once," Mama John warned.
Nick stepped closer, grabbing the man around the neck. Mama John tried to intervene. She grabbed Nick's left arm, which still throbbed and was not as strong as it should be. Nick gasped, releasing the man. The man bolted from the chair and flew from the house. Mama John glared at Nick.
"Go into the kitchen at once!" she snapped, giving him a forceful shove. She righted the chair, and turned to Harlie. "Go and try to find him. Bring him some sandwiches."
Then she stomped into the kitchen, giving Nick another forceful shove in that direction.
"He stole my coat!" Nick exclaimed.
"Aye. And you don't need it any more!" She stepped closer towards Nick. He backed up a few paces.
"He tried to kill me! Why are you protecting him? What is he to you!"
Mama stepped still closer to him, shaking a finger. "You must go and find him. You must apologize!"
"Never."
"Yes. And you will invite him to return!"
"He's a criminal. I should bring him in to the police."
"You must forgive him, Nickie!"
Nick stood his ground this time. He knew the law. "Why? What good will it do?"
"For him, probably nothing. You must forgive him for yourself."
For a moment, Nick was speechless. But his anger still outweighed his reason. "You don't know what you're talking about."
She nodded. "Yes, I do, Nickie. You are so filled with guilt that it almost consumes you! Only by forgiving those who have wronged you, can you hope to find forgiveness yourself."
Her words hit a little too close. He struck out defensively. "You're just a blind old woman! What do you know?"
Mama John grabbed a small black leather book from her pocket and shoved it at him. "Aye. And you're not Irish! You're a spoiled, rich child! Open it!" she demanded. "Read to me- Matthew Seven, verses one through three!"
Nick backed up, right against the wall. He trembled with fear. "No," he whispered.
She grabbed his wrist and slapped the book into his hand. Nick tried to pull away, but the tiny woman was stronger than she appeared. His hand burned. He couldn't breathe, or think, or move; he was paralyzed.
"I will tell you what it says, then! Judge not, lest ye be judged! And another one for you to consider. 'Worry not about the speck in your brother's eye, when there is a log in your own!' When you are without sin, Mr. Knight, then you can talk to me about right and wrong! This is MY home, and the only safe haven these poor boys know. You have no right to frighten any one of them. Do you understand me?"
Nick clenched his teeth. His hand was burning. Blood tears formed at the corners of his eyes.
Mama John took the small Bible from his hand and slipped it back into her pocket. She took him by the wrist. Turning the palm upward, she brought his hand to her lips. Nick looked at his palm. The flesh had burned and blistered. Even though she was nearly blind, she had to have smelled the acrid odor of seared skin.
She laid a tender kiss on his wrist, just above the injury. "I love you, Nickie. And I care about you deeply. You must find him and forgive. Then you may come home."
She turned then, and left him alone.
Nick closed his eyes. He drew in a breath, trying to calm the unnatural fear. Then he pulled the kitchen door wide and escaped.
Nick leaped into the air in a wind of fury. How dare she! He would find the man; he would find him and seek his own revenge.... He swooped lower, searching for the enormous form of Harlie. Maybe the big man-child could lead him to his prey.
Snow was falling. It was spring, yet the Windy City was besieged with strong, arctic air of a late-season storm. The snowflakes were large and wet. They clung to his hair, melting on contact. Golden, sodden curls plastered to his face. The wool coat flapped open, slowing his attack.
Harlie loomed up ahead. He was running intently, he must have the prey in sight. Nick hovered silently.
The big man gained ground; a thin young man stumbled as he turned his head back, not watching where he was going.
Harlie helped him up. Nick couldn't make out the words, through the stormy winds, yet he could hear the soft, gentle child's voice of the big man. Harlie handed the man some sandwiches, then turned and walked away. The man stuffed them in his pockets, and ran.
Nick alighted. He stalked the man. He could have done so without being noticed, but he felt like intimidating him. He kept just out of sight, but he made sure the man knew he was being followed. The man ran. He changed directions, ducked behind corners, doubled back, and led Nick circuitously all through the district. The man was growing tired, still onward Nick pressed.
The game lost some of its charm. Nick hung back, allowing the man to feel a moment of victory. The man then ran in a direct path, probably seeking refuge in whatever place he called home. Nick followed.
The man ran up a drainpipe, which was mostly empty because of the colder weather. When this snow melted, the pipe would fill with the runoff. Just inside, far enough to escape the wind, was a sad tent constructed with cardboard and rags, held together with clothespins and tape. The man slipped inside, Nick drew closer, silent and deadly.
"Hello, honey," the man whispered. "Here, my love, I brought you some food."
Nick froze. The man was not alone. Well, he could wait, and capture the man when he reappeared. Because of his superior hearing, their whispered conversations were clearly audible.
"Please, honey, you need to eat. You need your strength."
"I can't," a woman's voice answered. "So cold..."
Nick stepped closer, peering in through the opening. The tent was dark, a single candle stub burned within. The man unbuttoned the stolen coat, and lay down next to the thin, sick woman. He pulled the coat flap around her, cradling her in his arms.
"You must try, love. This storm will soon be over, and spring will come. Then you can get well again, I just know it! Just a few more days." The man's voice was husky with emotion.
The woman's breathing was labored. She smelled of sickness, her blood was poisoned with infection. "Don't grieve for me, Billy. Some things just... Weren't meant to be."
The man rose up on one elbow. He stroked her cheek. "Marina, please! Marina!"
Nick burst into their cardboard home. The man, Billy, hugged his wife tight. "Please, sir! In the name of God, go away! I'm all that she has! Who will take care of her?"
Nick swallowed. His hand had healed, but he still ached inside. The anger had left him at the sight of the sick woman. He pulled off his coat. Kneeling, he slipped Marina's arms into the large, woolen sleeves. She was hot with fever. Nick grabbed the thin, worn blanket and wrapped it tightly around her, then lifted her.
"She needs a hospital, now," he said.
Billy trembled with fear. "Aye, I know, but I can't get passed the front doors, with no money and no job."
"Come," Nick said. He left their crude dwelling, the drainpipe, and walked towards the hospital. His anger was redirected from Mama John and Billy, to the hospital policies that discriminated against the poor. His steps became more purposeful, his anger more intense. Billy had to nearly run to keep up with the tall, fearsome stranger who was abducting his wife.
Nick ran in through the hospital emergency entrance, demanding assistance.
A desk clerk and two nurses tried to intervene, but Nick shoved past them easily. "I need a doctor, now!" he shouted.
He strode through the room, until he saw some one, who must have been the doctor in charge. "This woman is ill. She needs your help immediately."
The doctor indicated a vacant bed, and quickly examined the sick woman. "She has advanced pneumonia. There is nothing I can do for her here. She can rest just as well at home."
Nick whirled on him. "She has no home! And you can try penicillin."
"That drug is experimental, only! And very costly! I can't give it to her."
"I'm afraid I will have to ask you to leave, sir, or I will call the police," a nurse called.
"I am the police!" Nick shot back. "And I will pay for her expenses."
"Oh, on a cop's salary? You wouldn't live long enough."
He grabbed the doctor by his immaculate, white collar and stared into his eyes. He waited a moment, as the doctor's pulse grew louder and he was caught. Nick lowered his voice, only the doctor could hear him. "You will give her penicillin. You will give her nourishment intravenously as needed. You will have the nurses give her a bath, and a private room. You will do all that is humanly possible to save this woman's life, as though your life depended on it. Understood?"
The doctor nodded weakly, repeating fragments of the command. Nick released him. Then the doctor set about fulfilling each instruction. The sick woman, Marina, took Nick's hand. "God bless you, sir," she whispered.
Nick flinched, pulling away. Why would she try to call a blessing on one of the damned? His anger had been spent. He felt strangely empty, tired, weary. He turned to leave.
Billy followed him a few paces, and taking off the stolen coat, offered it back.
Nick looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. He felt nothing. It puzzled him, and he thought about it again. He felt no anger towards this man, no more self-righteous indignation, no more need to seek revenge. He did feel something, though. Lighter, perhaps. He held up his hands to block the gift. "No, Billy. Keep it. I don't need it any more."
Then he turned and walked away.
Outside, the storm raged, but Nick was unaware. Other travelers stared at the lonely figure, soaked to the skin, but shied away from his formidable presence. He walked on. His journey was aimless, going nowhere. His thoughts were in turmoil. Trying to blank out the entire night, he concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other. The hours passed. The skies were black, no stars or moon could peer through the cloud cover. Snow piled up six inches thick, and still more fell. His shoes were sodden. His shirt clung to his back. The soft yarn scarf Mama John had given him fluttered in the wind.
At length he found himself at the foot of the steps of Mama John's front porch. He argued with himself whether to enter. He wanted to turn and run away and never face her again, and yet he knew he'd been hurtful to her. Miserably, he climbed the stairs. He pulled open the door, and shut it softly behind him.
Mama John sat in the parlor, still wearing the same outfit she'd had on the night before. Nick doubted she'd gone to bed at all. The fire glowed, warm and inviting. She had been knitting by its dim light. She laid her work aside and smiled at him.
"Nickie!" she welcomed.
Nick moved to stand in front of her. He couldn't meet her eyes, but kept his gaze on the floor. "I followed him," he whispered. "I wanted to hurt him."
Mama John waited patiently for his confession.
"He had a sick wife. They were freezing in a cardboard home, with only a single candle for warmth and light. ...I took her to the hospital. But...she still might not survive the night."
Mama John took in the sight of him, soaked, coatless, wretched, and filled in the parts of his story that he had left out. "Oh, Nickie, my dear," she exclaimed, taking his cold wet hands in hers. "I am so proud of you!"
Nick sank to his knees. He laid his head in her lap, choking back tears of blood. "But I am too late. She needed help weeks ago. Billy was driven, to do anything to protect the one he loves. I would have done the same."
The small woman stroked his wet curls tenderly. "Ah, Nickie. We are only here to offer help. We must do all that we humanly can, the rest is out of our hands."
Nick stiffened, but her gentle pressure held him. "I am not human."
She laughed lightly. "I know, my boy. I know."
He rested. He had confessed all, and yet still she welcomed him. She comforted him, like no one had in many, many centuries. The fire crackled soothingly, beginning to dry his sodden clothes, but the bond of friendship offered by this woman was a flame of hope.
"I first suspected you weren't what you claimed, when you told me to call you Knight."
Nick listened, surprised, but too weary to respond.
"You see, that first night in the taxi, you were in such pain, and I am quite sure that the language you cried out in was French. But, it was no matter. I don't think any of my boys give me their true name. It's part of being homeless, they seem to want to be nameless as well, perhaps ashamed of what they have become. So, I don't pry. But it seems that the worse my eyes get, the better I am at seeing people for what they truly are. And in you, I see a wonderful boy with a lot of pain and a lot of possibility."
Nick felt a smile tug at his face. "I'm really very, very old."
She laughed. Her voice was musical. "But you have a young soul, Nickie. I am comparatively young- not yet forty- but I have an old soul. I was born to mother the motherless."
She fell silent. Nick closed his eyes. He was exhausted and hungry, but he didn't want to go. She continued to stroke his head. The fire dimmed. The storm outside abated; the soft pink rays of the morning sun glinted on a white world. Mama John slipped to her knees and took Nick's face in her hands. "Please stay here a while longer," she said. "I will not put you in danger."
"By I might endanger you," he whispered.
"Good. Sometimes my life could use a little excitement. Now, you ought to get to bed."
Toronto again....
Nick patted the wolf-dog, coming out of his reverie. Mama John had taught him so much. He would do anything for her. Baring his fangs, he steeled himself to go through with it.
Mama John came into the room. "Come come, Nickie. Time to go."
He jumped to his feet, his fangs still ready. "Go where?"
"To the vet's, of course. I made an appointment and I need you to drive us over. Come, Bitsy."
Saved, he thought with relief. At least, temporarily! He escorted the old woman and her beloved pet to the Cadillac. It was after hours, but the vet she chose operated out of her home with a flexible schedule. She greeted Bitsy warmly. The dog wagged her tail and pranced with youthful energy.
The vet tapped the metal examining table and Bitsy leaped up. The vet checked her ears, eyes, and mouth, listened to her heart, and prepared to give Bitsy her rabies vaccine.
"But the shots are late," Nick said. "Can you be certain the dog isn't already infected?"
The vet didn't look at him as she continued to treat her canine patient. "Her shots aren't late. Mrs. St. John just neglected to put the most recent tag on the dog's collar. This pet is perfectly healthy."
Nick sighed hugely. "That's a relief," he muttered. After driving Mama John back home, he raced into work for whatever was left of his shift. His thoughts kept turning to LaCroix, though. He remembered how Mama John had insisted he forgive the homeless man who had wronged him. How much anger did he hold for LaCroix? The ancient vampire was possessive, demanding, and obsessive. Part of Nick blamed him for what he had become, although he knew in his heart that he alone had made the decision to become a vampire. Still, LaCroix had been the one to bring him into this endless world of darkness.
After forgiving Billy, Nick had felt lighter. It was unexplainable, as though a small portion of the guilt he carried had been lifted. How would it feel to be able to forgive his master? He felt impatient, eager for his shift to end. Finally, begging off a little early, Nick stopped by The Raven on his way home.
LaCroix was just pouring two glasses. He took one, and offered the other to Nick. "This is your beverage of choice, of course," he said, his silken voice condescending.
Nick accepted the glass. That LaCroix had been expecting him irritated him somewhat. He wished he could learn to shield his thoughts from the ancient one. So, the other must also know why he was here.
LaCroix said nothing about it, though. He sat on his couch and waited for Nick to join him. "The spring's longer days are a two-edged sword. Although we must be confined for longer periods, it brings family together more often. You are always welcome here, my son."
Nick felt himself relaxing, just a bit. LaCroix was in a mellow mood, not specifically trying to pick a fight. They visited companionably, recalling old times and older friends. LaCroix asked after Natalie. "I'm becoming somewhat fond of her, as far as mortals go," he purred. "I think she'd make a good addition to our family. Just say the word, and I'd be happy to do it for you."
"No," Nick said firmly. "And, I should be going."
LaCroix rose and followed Nick out. "Yes, well. Bring your new pet next time. Then you can spend the day."
Nick looked surprised. "How?"
"Come, come, Nicholas. Could you ever hide anything from me? But do not worry. Juliet and I have become friends. Good day."
The precinct was suddenly very quiet as Nick entered. He felt everyone's stare. He looked himself over quickly, but he was correctly dressed for the weather: both shoes, matching socks... he shrugged and continued on to his desk. Adam smirked at him.
"Is there something you're not telling us, Knight?"
Then Captain Reese appeared in the doorway. "Knight!" he snapped.
Nick went to the captain. He was mildly annoyed. Someone had better start explaining. A small figure raced from Reese's office and leaped into Nick's arms. It was Ian.
"Nick, you've gotta help! It's Holly, she's real sick! I didn't know who to go to! You gotta come right away!" The boy trembled; his arms locked around Nick's neck like a vice.
Realization struck Nick. The familiarity he tasted in the suspect's blood outside of Mama John's place was just like Ian's! The perpetrator and Ian's sister were the same!
He turned to Reese. "I'll take care of this, captain," he said.
Reese grunted. "Kids don't belong here, Nick." Then he slammed his door. Nick carried the frightened boy out, still wondering why they were all staring. Surely they had seen children before. And how could Holly be sick? Bitsy was healthy. Nothing was making sense.
He opened his car door and let Ian scramble in first. "Where do I go?"
Ian couldn't give directions. He didn't know the name of the street, or the building. He was crying, and it was hard to understand him. Nick sighed.
"Okay. If you were going to go home now, how would you go?"
The child got up on his knees to see out of the window better. His directions consisted of "Turn here- go there," at the last minute, making Nick a traffic hazard, but eventually Nick parked in front of one of several condemned buildings being considered for a future parking garage. Ian threw open his door. "Hurry, Nick!"
Nick took his hand and followed the small boy inside. The ground floor wasn't even safe to walk upon. The floor covering looked mostly solid, but it concealed very rotten plywood decking beneath. Nick's foot went through the floor, scraping his leg up to the knee. If he had been human, he would have fallen clear through. He lifted Ian then and carried him.
"Where?" he demanded.
"Upstairs. Over there."
Nick didn't want to take the risk. He flew with Ian over the rotten floor to the far corner and the warping, rotting stairs. Upstairs was in only slightly better condition. The windows were all broken out. Cardboard and rags were jammed in the openings to block out the wind. A smelly mattress lay in the middle of the room. A teenage girl, Holly, huddled on the mattress. She was shivering, yet covered with perspiration.
Ian wiggled out of Nick's grasp and ran to her side. "I brought my new friend! He's gonna help you, sis, I promise."
Nick knelt beside the girl. He pulled back the thin blanket to see her arm where Bitsy had bit her. It was bandaged crudely with a torn sheet and the injury was putrid. Here everyone was so worried about rabies, Nick thought wryly, and they never even considered the danger of blood poisoning. He scooped up the girl, blanket and all.
"Please, sir, take care of Ian," she gasped.
"Hush, girl. We'll take care of you, first," Nick said. "Ian, climb on my back."
Nick hunched low enough for the boy to get a chokehold on him, then he flew with both children to the relative safety of solid ground. When the children were inside the Caddy, he turned on the siren and raced for the hospital.
He didn't have to argue with the staff, like he had decades ago when he brought in Marina. It wasn't the first time he had brought in a penniless patient here, and the staff all knew him. The emergency room nurses especially treated Holly with as much concern as they would have a daughter of their own.
Ian was terrified by all the plastic tubes and wires being connected to his big sister. "What are they doing? Is she gonna die?" he asked, his voice quivering.
A doctor looked up at the small boy in Nick's arms. "No, son. She's going to be just fine."
Nick wanted to ask the doctor more, but the look the doctor gave him said to leave, and take the boy out. Nick backed out of the curtained room. He listened in, following the conversation, but not understanding it entirely. Then he heard what he was waiting for. The arm was not gangrene, it would be saved. He sighed with relief.
Swinging Ian up onto his shoulders, he went to the desk clerk to give her the information she'd need for their records. "Her name is Holly Stewart," he began.
Ian laughed. "No, Nick! That's my name. She's Holly Andrews!"
Nick hesitated. Sister, half-sister? Were they even related? "Okay, kid, you tell her what you know. How old is she?"
"She's old," Ian answered. "She's seventeen."
The clerk shared a smile with Nick. "Mother's name?"
"Our mama was Laverne Lamontagne. She died last year."
"Your father?"
Ian shrugged. "I don't have a dad. But Nick is our guardian."
Nick swung Ian off his shoulder and stared at the child. Not wanting to make a scene, he nodded at the clerk.
"Come on, kid. Let's go," he said.
"Go where?"
"Shopping. How about getting you some new shoes?"
Nick knew all the twenty-four hour stores in the city of Toronto. They went first to a major department store for new shoes and socks, jeans and a T-shirt with a cartoon character on the front. Nick took him out to a fast food place for a hamburger. He tried to order orange juice for Ian, seeing it was on the breakfast menu, but the young clerk said it wasn't available until six a.m. Nick insisted that the child needed juice, under doctor's orders. He pointed out that soda wasn't even nutritious, and it wasn't like he was asking the clerk to go out of his way or anything, but the clerk only repeated the rules. Exasperated, Nick stared into the clerk's eyes, held him in a hypnotic trance, and ordered him to give the child juice.
"That was so cool!" Ian exclaimed as he climbed into the booth. "You can make anybody listen to you! I want to be just like you when I get big."
"No, you don't," Nick snapped. "And why did you tell the clerk at the hospital that I was your guardian?"
Ian squirmed on the bench. "Don't be mad, Nick. I don't know. But at the police station, when that man was asking me all sorts of questions, I got scared. Holly's always warning me, telling me which questions I shouldn't answer or they'll take me away from her. She needs me, Nick. Mama ordered her to take care of me- how can she obey Mama if they take me away? So, I told that police man that you were my guardian, and then he left me alone."
Nick was stunned. "Who? Captain Reese?"
Ian nodded. "Uh-huh." He pushed ketchup around on his napkin with a French fry.
Nick stared at the ketchup, as it dripped and smeared. Suddenly he was hungry. He laughed. "It's okay, Ian. That was quick thinking. Now hurry up and eat."
Then, not knowing where to go next, he brought the boy home. They played with Juliet for a while. Ian took another bath before putting on his new clothes.
While Ian splashed happily in the tub, Nick gave Natalie a call. He filled her in briefly on Holly's condition.
"So, what are you going to do with the boy?" Nat asked.
"I don't know. I was wondering if you had any ideas."
"Well, there's always social services, but I know you didn't want to call them before. That is why they exist, though. I mean, you can take off tonight and baby-sit, but Holly isn't likely to be released tomorrow, either."
"Do you know anyone I could hire?"
Natalie laughed. "No, I don't have much need for babysitters, myself. I have a hard enough time finding someone to watch Sydney, and compared to a child, he's no trouble at all."
"Thanks, anyway, Nat." Nick hung up the phone. He really didn't mind missing the rest of work tonight. He had a lot of explaining to do when he returned, and just yet he didn't have the right answers. And he still had to solve some problems about Ian and vampires. He had twenty-four hours, more or less, to come up with something for tomorrow.
Nick finished the musical narrative of "Peter and the Wolf" for Ian. The small boy swung his short legs as he sat beside Nick on the piano bench.
"Peter should have listened to his grandfather," Ian declared, when the story was over.
Nick laughed. "But he did get the wolf, and Sasha was saved, and everything turned out all right. He thought he was old enough to go on the hunt, and the grandfather disagreed."
"How old was Peter?"
"Does that make a difference? Is it acceptable to disobey when the child reaches a certain age?" Nick was really just playing with the boy, but part of him was thinking of LaCroix. Although Tchaikovsy had just set a simple folktale to music, it was ironic how much it mirrored his own familial relationship.
Ian pondered the question. "I don't know, Nick. It seems that no matter how old I get, Holly will always be older. Doesn't that mean she'll always know better than me?"
Nick pulled Ian onto his lap and playfully tickled the boy's stomach, growling at him. "You'll have to figure that one out on your own!"
Ian squealed and wiggled free. Nick chased him through the loft. Juliet squawked loudly, alternating cheering for Nick, then for Ian. When Nick caught the child, he settled onto the couch. "Ian, we need to talk," he said, sounding serious.
The child resisted. "Talk later. Play now."
Nick touched Ian's face gently, not wanting to bruise him again. "Look at me, Ian. And listen." Nick caught the child's attention, listening as the sound of his heartbeat grew louder. "There are no such things as vampires," Nick stated.
Ian wiggled, "Yes, there are. I saw you, Nick!"
Nick persisted. "Listen! Yield!" His voice became forceful. The boy's heartbeat quickened. "No such thing as vampires. Say it!"
"No... vampires," Ian responded.
Nick sighed with relief and released the boy. He hugged him, kissing the top of Ian's head. "How about watching a show?" He flipped the remote and tuned in Star Trek on the SCIFI channel. At this hour it was one of the few programs that was suitable for children to watch. The original series had never been vulgar or violent.
Ian sat very still. He felt stiff in Nick's arms. Presently, he sniffed. His shoulders trembled.
Nick started. He tilted Ian's chin up to look at him. Large tears spilled over, running down the boy's cheeks and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
"Ian?"
"Why don't you want me to believe in you, Nick?"
Why couldn't he do it! Why did this child have to be a resistor? LaCroix might be able to wipe his memory, but so far LaCroix was not involved. He might know about the boy, given that he seemed to know everything about Nick's life, but at least he didn't see the boy as a threat. If he tried to wipe Ian's memory and failed, then Ian's life would be in the hands of the enforcers. Or rather, his death would be.... Nick hugged him closely. "Oh, Ian. What am I going to do with you," he whispered.
Natalie stopped by after her shift. She let herself in when Nick didn't answer the door. The normally very neat and tidy bachelor dwelling was a mess. A chair was overturned, sheet music littered the floor near the piano, and shopping bags were left on the table, along with tags and receipts. The bathroom door was ajar, the floor still puddled and wet towels slung on the knob. Nick lay in his deathlike sleep on the couch. Ian lay on top of him, and Juliet slept on the arm of the couch, her beak tucked in a lock of Nick's hair. Babysitting was doing Nick a lot of good, she thought with a smile. Quietly, she spread a quilt over the two boys and let herself back out.
"Nick, I'm hungry."
Nick leaned his head out of the bathroom, where he was mopping up after his little houseguest. "I think there's still some Cheerios left."
"Nope. I ate them for lunch. Can't we go out for pizza or something?" Ian pulled up the corner of a window blind. "And maybe go see Holly?"
"Don't touch the blinds!" Nick snapped.
Ian dropped them, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his new jeans. "Maybe I should go," he mumbled.
Nick tossed the wet towels in the general direction of the washing machine, as he swept the boy into his arms. He plopped onto the couch. "I cannot go outside until the sun has set. It is part of what I am," he explained.
Ian nodded; his eyes were wide with wonder. "I'm sorry Nick. I didn't know. You mean you can't ever go out in the day?"
Nick nodded.
"Bummer."
Nick reached behind the couch and grabbed the phone. He dialed the pizza place on the corner and ordered a small pepperoni and cheese, delivered. "It will still be a while, though," he apologized.
Ian slipped onto the floor to play with Juliet. "Do you think she's forgiven me?" he asked.
"Yes, Ian. She forgave you, just as soon as you forgave me. It often works out like that, like a two-way street." The phone rang and Nick carried it into the kitchen while he washed up Ian's dishes. "Knight here."
He listened as Adam Sakai filled him in on last night's events. Then Adam mentioned discovering that a suspect was in the hospital, being treated for a dog bite. "Yes, I know," Nick confessed. "I brought her in. I was going to tell you tonight. .... Right. See you shortly."
Nick returned the phone to its cradle as he watched Ian play. Maybe the boy would be better off with foster parents? But the children would be separated. Most homes were licensed for either girls or boys, and due to the shortage of quality homes, placing siblings together was next to impossible anyway. Who was he to play around with this boy's life? At least in a home he would get proper food and clothing. But, he would wait and consider other options first, before betraying the trust the child placed in him.
Later, after Ian had demolished the pizza and the sun had set, Nick was still no closer to a solution. He put Ian in the car and decided to talk with Mama John. She'd been able to help him in the past. Maybe she could guide him now.
He swung by the hospital first. Holly looked so much better. She was in a semi-private room, although the other bed was vacant. She had on a clean gown and a big smile.
"Ian! How are you, kid!" she exclaimed.
Ian jumped up on her bed. "Fine. When are you getting out?"
Holly looked up at Nick. She seemed pensive, perhaps a little fearful. Nick pulled some change from his pocket. "Here, Ian. There should be a candy machine down the hall. Why don't you go find something for you and Holly?"
He grabbed the money and flew off faster than Nick would have thought humanly possible. Nick pulled up a chair. "I know you were involved in some of the burglaries, Holly. But, I also know that you are not capable of masterminding this whole thing. If you cooperate with us, it will go easier for you in juvenile court."
Holly hesitated. "What about Ian?"
"I don't know, Holly. Let's just take one step at a time. First you get well."
She nodded. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked quickly. "I'll help, Officer."
Ian flew back in. "Do you want the one with almonds or caramel?"
"Either."
Nick waited outside the room for a brief time, allowing the children a chance to visit. Then he poked his head through the door. "Come on, Ian. Your sister looks tired. We'll come back later."
He drove again to the quiet street where Mama John was living. How long had she been here and he didn't even know it? And now to see her again, four times in a little over a week?
"Can't I just go to work with you?" Ian pleaded, as they got out of the car.
"No. My job is too dangerous."
"Will I ever see you again?"
Nick squeezed Ian's hand. "Yes, Ian. I promise. Now, this woman is an old friend of mine, and I want you to behave."
"You're going to leave me here?"
"Hush." Nick rang the doorbell. Bitsy barked, but Mama John opened the door. Even before Nick said a word she knew it was he. He wondered how she did that.
"Come in, come in! Nickie, it's always good to see you. And who have you brought with you?" She hugged Nick, then held a hand out to the small guest. Nick introduced Ian, who hung back shyly. Mama John took Nick's arm and led him to the sofa. Bitsy sat aloof. Nick was a friend, but children were questionable.
Mama John turned in the general direction where Ian stood leaning on Nick's knee. "There is a cookie jar in the kitchen on the table. Do you think you could look for a plate, and bring out some cookies to share with Nick?"
Ian burst out laughing. "Nick won't eat cookies!"
Nick clapped him roughly on the back. "GO!"
Mama John settled herself more comfortably. "So, Nickie. I gather this isn't just a social visit. How much does the boy know about you?"
"It's a long, complicated story. But I need to go to work for a change, and I don't know who to get to watch him. I was wondering if you might know anyone trustworthy."
She smiled. "What a delightful idea! Yes, of course he can stay here!"
"No, Mama, that isn't what I meant. I wouldn't want to dump an active little child on you..."
She slapped his knee. "Don't you think I can handle a little boy! What's so hard about that, it isn't like I've never done it before."
"But Mama, he slept all day at my house. He won't want to go to bed now- he'll be awake all night long," Nick explained, trying to keep the sound of panic from his voice. He would never want to hurt this woman, but how else could he tell her she was too old for the job?
She was adamant. Then a crash from the kitchen ended their dispute. The sound of shattering pottery preceded absolute silence. When Nick started to rise, Mama motioned him to stay put. "This is still my house! And I am not too old to take care of it!" She got up angrily and made her way into the kitchen. Bitsy watched, but not seeing anything in her master's way, she remained where she was. Nick listened to the sounds as Mama John comforted Ian and swept up the mess. "Don't worry about that jar, son. I'm just so glad you weren't hurt. How would you like to help me make a new batch of cookies?"
A few minutes later Mama John and Ian came back. "It's all set," Mama declared. "I will watch Ian until you come back for him."
Ian held Mama's hand, but tears ran silently down his cheeks.
"What's wrong?" Nick asked.
Mama touched Ian's face and felt the wet tears. "Oh baby! What is the matter!"
She sat down and pulled Ian onto her lap. He sniffed. "Nick won't come back," he whispered. "He doesn't want me any more."
Nick was speechless. His thoughts raced. What had he ever said to give the boy that impression?
Mama John comforted Ian. "Now that can't be true. What makes you say that?"
"He tried to make me forget about him."
Nick sprang from the couch. He paced restlessly. Kids! Too much work and too much worry. Life was simpler once, wasn't it?
Mama John rocked Ian as she sat on the couch. She stroked his hair tenderly. Nick watched and was transported back through the decades remembering how it had felt when she comforted him. "Ian, Nick tried to make you forget because he cares about you. Nick is part of a world that is darker, and more evil than anything you or I can imagine. He just wants to protect you from that. There is great danger for you in knowing of his kind. You, me, and everyone who knows you, we are all in danger. If his people ever even suspect that you know, we will be dead."
Again, Nick was struck at how accurate this woman's perceptions were. He had never actually told her anything.
Ian seemed placated. He wiped the last of his tears. "You can go to work, Nick. I'll stay and keep her company."
Nick left so quickly that Bitsy didn't even have time to follow him to the door.
At the precinct the other officers were still eyeing Nick. He was in such a dark mood he didn't even care. Adam tried to approach him, but he nearly took the kid's head off. Unsolveds were starting to pile up, the senior scammer ring had resumed in full force, and Nick wondered what mortal headaches felt like, as the vampire equivalent was splitting his brains in two. It was the night from hell.
Then the hospital called.
"Detective Knight? I thought you'd want to know, but that girl you brought in the other day-Holly Andrews? Well, she's gone."
"Gone! What do you mean 'gone'?"
The voice over the phone stuttered. "I-I- don't know, Detective. I checked on her once, and she was sleeping. She seemed fine. Then some young man came to visit, and the next thing I knew she was gone. She wasn't going to be released until tomorrow- although the bacterial infection has cleared up, she's still a little dehydrated."
Nick hung up, forgetting the polite formalities like saying good-bye. Holly had agreed to help him. He knew she had been sincere. She wouldn't have gone back with the thieves she worked for, unless....
"Adam! We're going! Ian's in trouble!" Nick pulled out his car keys and raced for the Caddy, not even bothering to see if Adam followed. He had the engine running and the car in reverse before his young partner yanked open the door.
"Geesh, Knight. Want to fill me in?" Adam sounded peeved, and with good reason, Nick realized.
Briefly, he told Adam about Holly. "She agreed to help us nail the ringleader, only now she's missing. I think they may have taken her brother to ensure her cooperation."
Nick turned on his siren as he careened down the highway. It seemed to take much longer to return to Mama John's place. The front door was wide open. It was too quiet. Nick barged inside.
Adam came right behind him with his gun drawn. He flipped on the lights, but Nick had already seen the damage. Bitsy had been stabbed in the chest. She was bleeding, critically wounded but still alive. Mama John was tied up and gagged. The room was ravaged. Nick tore the bonds from Mama's hands and loosed the scarf from her mouth. She shook violently, her sobs were heartrending.
"Oh, Nickie! You were right! I have no business babysitting, and those men have taken him! Oh my! The poor little baby! He must be so frightened!"
Nick helped her gently to the couch. With his vampire senses he checked her out. She was frightened and her wrists were bruised, but she was not otherwise injured. He stared into her large blue eyes, filled with compassion and possessing a beauty he had not truly noticed before when she had concealed them behind thick glasses. He wished he could hypnotize her to bring her comfort, but he needed to hurry after Ian before the trail grew too cold. His panic for Ian was even stronger than his fear of the quickly approaching dawn.
"Mama! Tell me everything! Now!"
She tried to calm herself. She nodded and drew a deep breath. "Bitsy heard them first. She paced at the front door and growled. Ian and I were making our cookies, so I didn't go and check right away. Then they forced the door open. Bitsy jumped on one of them and they- they hurt her! I heard her whine and then she was silent! I told Ian to run- I told him to go out the back door and never look back- I didn't know what the men wanted, but I didn't want Ian in the middle of it. One man tied me, and several others took off after him. I heard them catch him, one screamed- I think Ian must have bit him. Then I heard a metal scraping sound, like van doors make- the kind that slides open? And they left. The engine sounded rough and smelled bad. I don't think the van is in very good shape."
Nick kissed her on the forehead. "Adam-stay with her. Call it in." Then he left. He took to the air, flying in loose circles to search for the path. Finding an older van in the city of Toronto seemed impossible. He fought to control his anger, his personal investment in the situation, to think more clearly.
The ringleader taught kids to steal, training them first to steal from helpless seniors, but moving up to more difficult tasks. He must be planning something much bigger. The leader wanted Holly back, badly enough to kidnap her brother to ensure her loyalty. She must know his plans, or at least enough of them to be a threat. He could have just killed Holly, but maybe he needed her. Or maybe he wasn't that desperate, yet.
The leader might have gone straight from Mama's house to the hospital to get Holly, and then took both kids to wherever headquarters was. And that should be somewhat centrally located to the miserable hovel Holly and Ian lived in, as she wouldn't have the means to travel any distance. Nick flew towards the condemned house, his coat starting to smoke in the warm rays of dawn.
There were three vans parked within walking distance of Holly's former dwelling. One didn't have a sliding side door, so he went on to the other two. The red one was rusty and ducktaped over one window. Then he checked out the white one. It had a familiar smell. Nick pulled at the door, yanking it right off the hinges in his haste. There was a small puddle of blood on the stained carpet. It was Ian's blood.
Common sense and control vanished. The vampire took over. His coat smoked, his flesh started to sizzle. Blood red rays of sunlight flicked heavenward, devouring the last of the stars. Darting quickly, he followed the trail of little blood spots across the road, through a parking lot and inside the relative shelter of a rundown building. The windows were all without shades or curtains. Little spots of sun dappled the floor. Nick paused, looking in.
About a dozen teens scattered around the room, listening intently to a man of about thirty giving directions. He seemed confident, even arrogant. Holly was there. She'd changed into dirty jeans and a T-shirt. Her face was pale and drawn; she clutched onto the back of a chair for support. Ian was held firmly by a teenage boy.
Nick stepped back away from the door and quietly called Adam. He gave him the location. "Call for back-up," Nick finished, "but tell them to ride in silent. He's got two kids hostage in there."
Nick waited, watching them, and trying to pick up the conversation through the closed doors. Holly swayed, stumbled. The leader jerked her to her feet.
Ian struggled. The leader backhanded him in the face and yelled at him.
Nick flew in through the door, driving the leader to the floor. Ian cheered. "I knew you'd come! I knew it!"
He wrestled with the leader as they rolled in and out of sunlight. The building began to smell of smoke and burned flesh. Then the leader drew a gun and fired. The bullet went straight through Nick, ricocheted and struck one of the teenage followers. The boy cried out. Several youths fled the building to the waiting arms of the police backup outside. Holly went to Ian's side. Nick wrestled the gun from the leader, pinning his arm in back with almost enough force to break it. Contemptuously, Nick read him his rights. He cuffed him and tossed him outside to the nearest police officer.
Another officer handcuffed Holly. Nick spoke with her. "I'll do all that I can for you," he promised.
She smiled weakly. "Take care of Ian."
Then she was gone. All the teens were arrested. Several officers searched the room for incriminating evidence. Nick shouldered Ian and drifted out of the way to find an unobtrusive corner.
"That was so cool!" Ian exclaimed. "Did you find my blood? I grabbed that man's knife on purpose- I knew you could follow a blood trail. Was I smart or what!"
Nick sank to the floor, holding Ian tight. "You are very smart, Ian, and very brave." His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Then he pulled his cell phone out and dialed Nat. He told her where they were.
"I'm on my way," she answered.
"It's okay, Nick," Ian said, showing him the cut on his hand. "It isn't so bad, really. Let's just go home."
"Can't," Nick breathed. "The sun is up."
Ian was startled. He looked at Nick more closely. He saw the burned and blistered skin, the singed coat. "Oh Nick, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Hush!" Nick said. "Sh-sh- or you will alarm the other officers.
Ian curled up next to Nick and waited.
Sometime later Doctor Lambert appeared. She nudged Ian awake. "Hi, Tiger. Had quite a night?"
Ian jumped. Natalie signaled him to be quiet. He looked back at Nick. The burns were still visible, but didn't look quite as bad. Natalie lifted him and walked towards the door. The area was empty now, but marked with yellow tape. Nick's car was parked just outside with the trunk wide open.
"Ian, go sit in the car, shut and lock the door. I'll be right there, okay?"
Ian stared, nodding his head solemnly. Her words were comforting, but she sounded worried. He did as he was told, still, he knelt on the seat and peered through the window to see what she was doing.
Natalie tried to wake Nick. It wasn't easy. He brought a whole new meaning to the expression, "sound sleeper." And waking a vampire was risky business anyway, but waking a wounded one was plain dangerous. He would wake hungry. Nat was prepared with two pouches of blood to offer him, if she succeeded.
Ian watched her shake Nick, and pull on his arm, and stroke his face, then slap him. Finally Nick awoke, swinging his arm instinctively at the intruder. Nat was flung across the room like a weightless toy. Nick's eyes looked terrible and frightening, they were flaming red. His fangs were huge. Ian covered his eyes with his hands, then he sneaked a look between his fingers. The vampire staggered. He fell to one knee. Nat came back, limping slightly, and offered him something to drink. Ian watched, fascinated yet frightened as Nick drained the contents. Then Nat offered Nick a blanket. Nick threw it over his head and bundled it around his shoulders. He flew into the trunk of his car, slamming it shut. Nat came back out. She used her set of keys to open the door and climbed in. She rubbed her wrist absently. She must have hurt it, Ian thought. He was silent on the trip to Nick's house.
Nat parked Nick's car in the garage and closed the door. She opened the trunk, but left Nick inside it. Ian looked at him. Nick was sound asleep again. Golden curls lay on the throw pillow and framed a sweet face, innocent in sleep and completely healed. Nat took Ian's hand and lead him up to the loft.
"What about Nick?" Ian asked.
"He'll come up on his own. Now, let me look at your hand." She set Ian on the kitchen counter and ran the water until it came out warm.
"Why did he do it? Why did he risk getting hurt to come for me?" Ian asked.
Nat washed the cut as gently as she could. "Because he cares about you, Ian."
"But he was mad at me! I told him I want to be just like him when I grow up, and he yelled."
Nat applied a topical antibiotic and wrapped his small hand with gauze. "Well, Ian. Nick doesn't like being a vampire. He wants to be mortal. So, it probably scared him that you want to be like him."
"But I don't want to be a vampire," Ian explained with all the impatience of youth. I want to be like Nick!"
"Go on," Nat said, unsure of what he meant.
"Nick is nice. And he's strong, and loving, and everybody listens to him. They all look up to him. I want to be like that!"
Natalie blinked back tears. The child wasn't impressed by Nick's superhuman abilities; ...he admired Nick's humanity! If only Nick could hear him. She smiled through her tears. "And you will be... just like him."
Nick glanced in the mirror one last time. It was pleasantly reassuring to see his own reflection staring back. The navy shirt and vest were a gift from Nat, as she tried to lure him from the basic black he had been wearing. There was reason for the black, however. There were still times when mirrors refused to acknowledge his existence. He'd had so many setbacks recently- demon possession, the fever, even amnesia. At least with black everything always matched.
"Come, Juliet. Shall we go?" he asked. He stretched his arm out and held his palm near the growing raven. She scooted up the sloping incline, fluttering her young wings for balance. Once on his shoulder she pirouetted full circle, like any girl getting ready for a date.
"You look lovely, tonight, my dear," Nick replied. He grabbed his car keys and headed out towards Nat's. She was still in her bedroom with the door closed when he let himself in.
Sydney eyed the two guests with barely concealed contempt. Juliet did a controlled fall to land in front of the cat. Sydney hissed, displaying one claw at her. Juliet had grown some. She was not the least bit intimidated by the fat, spoiled cat. She pecked at him and flapped her wings, cawing and scolding him. Sydney took a flying leap, circled in midair, and hid in the bathroom.
"Nick! What are you doing to my cat," Nat called through the closed door.
"Nothing, Nat," he said truthfully. "Good girl," he whispered to Juliet.
Finally Nat opened the door. She tugged self-consciously at the skirt of her outfit, a cream-color silk dress with a low-cut bodice and sheer sleeves. A simple string of pearls was all the jewelry she wore, but they were a gift from Nick and probably very valuable- not merely cheap imitations. She looked up at Nick. He smiled.
"You look lovely tonight, Natalie."
"So what's with the bird," she said with a teasing tone.
"Juliet," Nick corrected, stepping closer to her, "was invited over as well."
"Yes, well there's no accounting for taste, I guess," she said. It was becoming a familiar topic of conversation. She picked on the bird and Nick still didn't like her cat. There was something else in the tone of her voice tonight, though...a nervousness that he didn't quite understand.
"Relax, Nat. It's just friends. Mama John is... like a grandmother, really."
"I know, Nick," she snapped, turning away from him. "It's just that... well. In another sixty years is that all I will be to you? Like someone's grandmother?"
Nick placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed the tenseness he felt there. "Natalie, you would never be a grandmother to me."
"But what was Margaret St. John like sixty years ago, Nick? Look at her now! And you haven't aged a bit. Isn't that our future, too?"
"Mama John and I were never... romantically... involved, Nat. Even sixty years ago she was always very maternal." Natalie didn't respond. Her back remained turned to him. He sighed and tried explaining further. "You have to understand, Natalie. When I met her, I was very new to the idea of trying to regain my mortality. Oh, I had stopped killing, but there's more to being a mortal than merely a change in diet. She helped me to rediscover many mortal qualities, like patience, forgiveness, compassion, qualities I may have once possessed, but which had been buried and long forgotten after centuries of living as a vampire. And I was very much alone at the time. I was shunned by the vampire community, and afraid to become too close to the mortal one. She was like a mother to me. She offered me a home, love... and acceptance."
Natalie turned around. She stood only a few paces from him, but the emotional chasm was growing wider. Nick lowered his gaze for an instant and when he looked back up his eyes were glowing fiercely. His fangs were full, the soft lamplight glinting off them menacingly. Natalie stared, at once both frightened and entranced.
"Consider the alternatives, Natalie," he said slowly, his words oddly accented. I could bring you across-if that's what you truly want. You have asked me to on several occasions, but think this one through carefully, because there may not ever be a cure." Slowly he closed the distance between them, stalking her like the hunter and she was the prey, paralyzed by his presence. "But if I bring you across, you will not become my lover. I will be your master. Forever and for always I would have dominion over you."
He stepped behind her, his hands resting lightly along her shoulders. His words, silken and smooth, caressed her neck. She felt the sharpness of his teeth against her skin. Natalie didn't move, didn't breathe.
"If you, like me, come to detest the vampire within you, then you would come to hate me for bringing you this curse. If you, however, are more completely altered, and accept your new way of life, if you revel in the dark and dangerous, then you would leave me. You would find me weak and foolish for my mortal longings."
Nick lightly bit her neck, and wound his fingers into her hair. Her heart beat faster, the sound of it filling her ears, making it more difficult to concentrate on the violent poetry of his words.
"But I could have LaCroix bring you over. Then I would not be tied to you as master, but as brother, lover, friend, ...and both of us would be slaves to LaCroix. Janette understood this. She desired me, but had LaCroix join me into her darkness. For centuries we have been as siblings-- at times fighting, at times passionate.... But LaCroix in his possessive, twisted form of paternal affection always comes between us. He pits her against me, and she obeys."
Nick suddenly released her. She swayed for a moment, seeking equilibrium. Nick suddenly appeared in front of her and he knelt at her feet. He looked up at her with his little-boy innocence and fierce glowing eyes. Blood tears swelled; one spilled over and dripped slowly down his face, a dark red trail personifying his own endless journey. His lips quivered with emotion. "Is that what you would want! Tell me that it is not!"
Natalie took his hands and clasped them in her own. She sank to her knees. "No, Nick. I don't want that for us. Forgive me for being selfish and having doubts." She took a tissue from her pocket and wiped his tears. Then she kissed him. Not on the forehead like a grandmother, but fully on the mouth.
Juliet was suddenly impatient. "Nick-aw! Go, Nick-aw! Go! Go! Caw-caw!"
Natalie and Nick separated, both a little disoriented. Nick stood up abruptly, turning his back. "Yes, Juliet. Time to go," he murmured, lifting the bird to his shoulder. Natalie stood and brushed at imaginary wrinkles in her skirt. "Damn bird," she teased.
Ian swung the door open wide and leaped into Nick's arms. "Hi, Nick! You're finally here! Grandma---Nick and Juliet are here! And Dr. Lambert, too!"
Mama John called from the kitchen. "Invite them in, Ian. Holly-take these out."
Natalie closed the door and knelt down to pat Bitsy gently between the ears. Bitsy's shoulder and chest were still swathed in gauze, but the playful glint in her eyes betrayed the seriousness of her injury. Bitsy nuzzled the doctor affectionately.
Juliet fluttered her unskilled wings and settled on top of Ian's head. The small boy giggled gleefully. "Come on, Nick! I want to show you something!" Ian dragged Nick by the hand towards the back door. Mama John chuckled. She smiled as Nick went past. "Don't be long, now."
Holly set a tray on the dining table, which was set for informal eating with finger foods and punch. She smiled shyly at Natalie. With her hair clean and stylishly cut, and dressed in new jeans and a feminine blouse, the girl looked fresh and innocent. She was petite for seventeen. Her dark hair and eyes, her pointed, heart-shaped face, were nothing like the golden little boy she called brother. Ian looked more like Nick. Natalie smiled at the thought.
"Hello, Holly. How is school going for you?"
Holly blushed. "It was hard at first. I'm more than two grades behind since I had to drop out when Mama got sick, but since grandma got me in to summer school, I will be able to catch up some. And she even got me into driver's ed!" Holly beamed with pride, as though learning to drive were the most important accomplishment of a high school education.
Natalie smiled at the thoughtful older woman. Mama John took Natalie's hand and led her to the sofa. "It's so nice to hear that word, "grandma." I've been called mama by hundreds of men and boys, but never grandma. And since the children remember their own mama so fondly it seemed appropriate."
"How's Ian adjusting here," Natalie asked.
Holly helped herself to some of the snacks. She still looked too thin. "He hates summer school. And unless he learns to read this summer, they will have to put him back in the first grade, even though he will be eight years old next January."
Mama John smiled. "I wouldn't worry, Holly. He'll do just fine. Ian's a bright child. Natalie, go peek out the window and check on our boys."
Natalie went to the kitchen and peered through the window above the sink. The yard light was on, softly illuminating the small backyard. Along the garage wall were a half-dozen wire cages of assorted sizes, and each one held a small animal. Ian was proudly showing a squirrel to Nick. The squirrel had a small splint and bandage on the hind leg. Natalie noticed similar bandages on several of the other little creatures. He had a raccoon, a white-feathered dove, a turtle, and two small birds-- Natalie wasn't sure what kind. Nick was hunched down, speaking with Ian. Two golden heads nearly touched in the pale moonlight. Natalie swallowed hard. She must keep trying and never give up hope. Nick would make a wonderful father some day.
She went back to the living room. "Did you want me to call them inside?"
"No, not yet. I just thought you'd like to see what an influence Nickie has had on the child. He talks about him constantly. He even tries to mimic the way Nickie says certain words."
Natalie smiled at the way this woman referred to the 800-year-old man in her life. "So, how is the child-care going for you? You weren't really wild about the idea at first, I understand," Natalie said.
Mama John nodded. "Oh, there were a lot of reasons. I blamed myself when Ian was abducted. I had promised Nickie I'd take good care of him, and the child wasn't even here one night before I was in trouble. But Nickie argued that I couldn't have protected Ian any better even if I had been young and sighted, and that my attentive hearing helped him to track down their vehicle. ....then I worried about not living long enough to help these children."
"Oh, grandma, don't talk like that!" Holly interrupted.
"There, there, Holly-girl. I can't live forever, you know that. But, Nickie repeated back to me something I had told him a long time ago. All I can do is all that is humanly possible. The rest is out of my hands. So, I'll give these children a home, and help Holly to learn the skills she will need, and rewrite my will for them. The rest... time will tell."
Natalie smiled at the wise old woman. At one hundred years of age, she was more alive and alert than half the people Nat worked with!
The kitchen door slammed shut with a bang as Nick and Ian plowed inside. The floor of the little house shook slightly from their roughhousing. Juliet squawked loudly, and even Bitsy yelped, unnerved by the noise and commotion in her once peaceful existence. Ian squealed and raced into the living room, laughing hard.
"Grandma! Buster's getting better---we may have to go back to the park tomorrow!" he exclaimed.
"I am so glad," Mama John answered. Addressing Natalie, she filled in the blanks. "We've been going to the park to release the wildlife Ian finds and rescues. Buster is the raccoon." Then returning her attention to the child, she took his wrists and turned his hands palms up. "And you need to wash up before you go anywhere near the food."
Ian raced back into the kitchen, dragging Nick with him. Natalie heard the sound of the tap water splash quickly, but grimaced at the thought of all the germs his half-hearted attempt would leave behind. Mama John poured some punch into small glasses.
"Help yourself, dear," she told her.
Natalie surveyed the table. It was attractively spread with foods guaranteed to please the hungry children- celery stuffed with peanut butter and raisins, baby carrots and dip, cubes of cheese, gingerbread boys, and a huge fruit platter. Off to one side stood a green glass bottle and a single wineglass. Natalie was surprised that the woman had even provided for Nick's needs. Thoughtfulness was becoming a lost art, she realized.
Nick settled into the large stuffed chair, shooing Juliet out of his drink. Ian coaxed her onto the floor with a piece of string. "So how's school going," Nick asked Ian.
The boy shrugged indifferently. Holly snorted. "Tell him, Ian."
Ian turned on her angrily. "Yeah, well I don't see why I should have to go to summer school. The judge only said that you had to go!"
Holly's face reddened. She blinked quickly. Mama John intervened. "Ian, leave your sister alone. You know that everything she did was for your sake."
"Yes, 'm," he answered quietly.
"I guess I touched on a delicate subject?" Nick asked.
Mama John just smiled. "Do you remember how you used to read to me? Oh the hours we shared! He read everything, from Shakespeare to Harper's Bazaar, and all sorts in between. Even poetry- I think he read Milton's Paradise Lost the best!"
Natalie grinned. "Yes, I'd love to hear you read, Nick."
"I feel like I've just been set up," he grumbled good-naturedly.
Mama John lifted a book from the end table and held it out to him. Nick took the dark colored tome and looked for the title. He flipped it open to the title page, then scowled. "I hardly think that this is appropriate," he snapped.
"I heard it was excellent-maybe the most original work of fiction of the century! I think it suits nicely. And Ian helped to pick it out." The old woman settled herself back into the couch, adjusting a small throw pillow.
Natalie looked at them. "What is it?"
Nick glared at Mama John, who remained unfazed. Slowly, he opened the book again and began to read. "Vampire Diaries. Book Two of the Vampire Sagas, by Emily Weiss."
Natalie grinned. This was going to be an interesting evening after all. She had thoroughly enjoyed the third book in the series. The author had written with great sensitivity and understanding concerning a subject she really knew nothing about. In fact, she had the entire vampire community alarmed as they contemplated her violent demise. Nick had been able to save her life, while ending her brief literary career. He commanded her while under a hypnotic suggestion never to write about vampires again.
Nick's resonant voice carried Natalie far from the cozy Toronto living room to long ago places filled with strange customs, and yet the fictional characters seemed almost too real. The narrator of the diary was a destitute young man named Guilio---born to wealth and nobility, cheated out of his inheritance, driven from his castle, and attacked by robbers and left for dead. Then an ancient immortal one presented his tempting offer-- Nat could almost understand the seductive lure of immortality.
Nick read on. He could not relate to the young hero. They'd faced different trials, had different reasons for the choices they had made. They were from different ages. And yet, there was enough similarity to make him feel uncomfortable the further into the story he progressed. At times it was like reading his own diary, if he had kept one. As the young hero told of his vampire father and the mixture of awe, admiration, devotion, and hatred that he felt for him, Nick thought only of LaCroix. It was as if the author had invaded him, raped his thoughts, and violated his privacy.
That section of the story passed. The hero went on to other adventures, other passions. Once when the author described him riding out at high noon Ian laughed loudly. "That's not right! Vampires can't go out in the sunlight!"
"Oh, Ian!" Holly lectured. "There are no such thing as vampires."
Ian seemed about to disagree, but changed his mind. He just looked at Nick for affirmation.
Nick cleared his throat. "Well, there are a lot of myths concerning vampires, and some of them conflict, but they do tend to agree on the major issues. One myth states that vampires cast no shadow, but they can travel at noon when the absence of a shadow would not be noticed."
Ian nodded gravely.
Holly got up and refilled Nick's glass, then filled everyone's punch cup. As she started to gather the plates, Mama John interrupted. "Holly-dear, leave the dishes until morning. I'll help you then."
Holly covered a yawn with her hand. "I'm sorry, Grandma, but I'm really tired. Think I'll go to bed. "Good night, Nick, - Doctor Lambert."
She gave Mama John a warm hug and kiss. "Coming, Ian?"
Ian climbed onto Nick's lap. "No. I'm not tired. I want to stay up until Nick leaves."
Mama John waved a hand. "He's fine, Holly." She was strict about some things, but bedtime wasn't one of them.
Nick read on. Guilio had been a man of strength and courage, but as a vampire he was like an infant again. Constantly hungry, requiring frequent rests, weak and fearful, he worried about becoming a burden to the ancient one. The night passed as they followed Guilio through more trials and experiences. Then midway into the diary Guilio fell in love with a mortal woman.
Natalie listened attentively, her own heart beating faster. She felt warm and excited, eager to hear how the fictional vampire would handle the relationship, and feeling a sense of regret that there would be no more vampire novels by this author. Suddenly Nick slammed the book shut. Natalie looked up quickly, startled out of her thoughts to see his eyes glowing fiercely for just a brief moment. The romance scene had affected him as well!
"That's enough," Nick stated. "I'll put Ian to bed."
He stood up, carrying the sleeping child easily. Mama John nodded sweetly. "His is the second room on the left, Nickie."
No sooner was he out of sight before Mama John grabbed the book and shoved it in front of Natalie. "Finish the chapter," she whispered conspiratorially.
Natalie flipped through the pages. Finding the place she read on, sitting closer to Mama John and reading softly.
"...Her face lovely in her innocence, full of the light in which she lived. Perhaps it was merely the darkness in me that attracted her, a taste of the forbidden. I found I enjoyed her company. I should have brought an end to our visits, but I was powerless at the thought of losing her beauty, her friendship, yes, even her love. I was a love-starved waif seeking only the warmth of her shadow as it passed over me. I was needing, taking, demanding... she offered freely that which I had no right to deserve.
"Her blood smelled sweet and delicious. It pulsed through her in warm tones, filling my senses with its compelling allure, demanding that I take. Sheer will turned me away, to protect the one I love, and yet as love grows stronger the call to drink becomes more than I can endure. If only she knew the danger she was in, she would never come near me again.
"If I could just sip from her, enjoy a small taste of her, to bring all her innocence into myself! For a few moments to know her completely as her blood, her very life, the essence of all that is her, fills me. She can never truly understand what it is for a vampire to feed! Nor can she know how her blood drives me! I fear to be near her, yet my endless existence will be unendurable without her. Damned I am! Damned I have become!"
Natalie stared at the pages, no longer able to see for the tears that filled her eyes. She sniffed awkwardly and dug through her purse for a tissue.
"She writes very intuitively," Mama John said.
"Yes, well, Nick said much of her work is uninformed."
"I'd say she was a little too accurate here, judging by the way it affected Nickie."
Natalie wiped her eyes. "Is that how it is for him? Does just being near me bring him both pain and pleasure? Fear? Loneliness? What should I do?"
Mama John patted her shoulder maternally. "Don't ever give up, Natalie. He needs your friendship and your understanding. Don't give up on him."
Natalie blew her nose. Mama John changed the subject. "It is a shame that she hasn't written anything else. I do enjoy her novels."
"She just can't write about vampires," Natalie explained. "The last I heard she was in London, working on a Gothic romance involving werewolves."
"Let us hope, then, that the werewolf community is more tolerant of her," Mama John said lightly.
Natalie was stunned. "Werewolf community! Werewolves? There aren't really such things as werewolves, are there?"
"I can honestly say that I have never seen one," the old woman answered. Just as Natalie sighed with relief, she continued. "But then, I have never actually seen a vampire, either." Her sightless blue eyes sparkled.
Footsteps on the stairs alerted them to Nick's return. Natalie laid the book where he had thrown it and tucked her tissue away. She forced a bright smile.
"Sorry," Nick said as he rejoined them. "Ian woke up when I laid him down. He says that he will read aloud the next time I come. This was all a set-up, wasn't it, Mama John?"
She smiled with feigned innocence. "That his admiration for you also motivates him is a good thing, isn't it? Now you two run along, and let an old woman get to sleep."
Nick went to her, and laid a tender kiss on her hand. "It's good to see you again, Mama."
She touched his cheek. "Of all the young men in my life, you were always my favorite, Nickie."
Natalie was quiet as he drove her home. For a brief moment he eased the firm hold he maintained on his vampire nature to try and sense her. She seemed withdrawn, distant. Confused. Worried. Was it that damn book Mama John had insisted that he read? But then Natalie smiled. Maybe she was just tired. He pulled into the parking lot behind her apartment and turned off the motor.
"Would you like to come up," she asked.
Nick shook his head, conflicting with the aching desire that threatened to consume him. "No, Nat. Get some sleep. See you tomorrow?"
She pecked him on the cheek. "Good night, Nick."
He watched as she entered the safety of the apartment, then backed out and headed home. Juliet squawked. She flapped around on the seat, distracting him as he drove. He pulled into the garage.
The night was not yet over. The stars were bright and clear, the warm summer breeze was enticing. Coaxing Juliet onto his shoulder he stepped out into the night. "Are you ready for your first flying lesson, Juliet?"
She flapped her stubby wings, which were still missing the crucial flight feathers, and cawed.
Effortlessly, he lifted into the sky. Juliet scrambled onto the back of his neck and pecked at a strand of his hair. Gently swaying with the breeze, he flew high enough to escape the sights and sounds of the city below. Nick knew he was going to miss Ian. The boy seemed genuinely happy with Mama John, and it was working out well for Holly too. He would continue to visit him and to worry about his safety, but now perhaps his life could get back to normal?
His life.... It had a long string of twists and turns. Once, a long, long time ago he had been the only son and heir of a nobleman. Then as a young man he was framed for the murder of his first love. That had forced him to fight in the Crusades, to experience violence and horror, to lose his faith. It had been the start of a downward spiral that never seemed to end. Only in the past hundred years-- relatively recent in a vampire's existence-- had he chosen to change his life, to assert his independence and to at least try to live as a mortal, even if he might never attain the ultimate goal. He had experienced brief interludes of happiness and contentment, between years of suffering and guilt.
The moonrise was spectacular. It was full and golden, casting an amber glow to the wisps of clouds within its reach. Nick soared closer to it, breathing deeply of the thin, cold air. The strains of the Moonlight Sonata played through his memory and he hummed along. His life was like a song, he mused... a song without words. It was often surprising. Sometimes tragic, sometimes uplifting. But always, the music endured.
The End.
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