An unholy sound shrieked through Nick's subconscious. He rolled over and tried to return to sleep. He still felt groggy and the bed was so comfortable. But the noise filtered through again, incessant and demanding.
"Snow! Snow-snow-snow! Wake up, everybody!"
Urs groaned. "Do something, Nicky."
"Hm. I am," he murmured, breathing into her ear.
Tracy burst into his loft room and jumped on top of the bed, shattering a romantic moment. "Get up, lazybones. It snowed last night, and it is so pretty. Come on, get up!"
Urs sat up and smiled. "One would think you'd never seen snow before," she said.
"I haven't," Tracy confessed. "Not like this. Not with vampire vision! Everything is so much clearer now, and I can play and not get cold! Nick, let's cut a Christmas tree tonight and trim it!"
Nick laughed. "Tracy. Vampires do not celebrate Christmas."
She pouted only a moment, then started tugging the comforter off from them. "I know. I just want a tree. I already figured LaCroix wouldn't let us put one up in the apartment. So can I have one here? And we'll come visit it on weekends! Please!"
Vachon came in then, fully dressed and partially awake. "You might as well get up, now, Knight. No one sleeps after the baby wakes."
Nick grumbled good-naturedly. "Fine, fine. A tree. Baby wants a tree. You're going to spoil her, Vachon."
Before long they were dressed and fed, and began to hike through the woods in search of the perfect tree. Tracy didn't want a long needle pine. She didn't want one too small, because it wouldn't hold enough trimmings. One tree was too sparse at the bottom, another was lop-sided. Their shoes got soaked, the wet flakes clung to their hair. After a few snowball fights, and making a snowman, she finally found her tree. A pretty little balsam fir, growing too close between two larger ones, and didn't have much of a chance to mature. Nick chopped it down, and Vachon flew it back inside the cabin.
Nick had never put up a tree before. They were a fairly recent addition to the Christmas traditions, dating back to seventeenth-century Germany-- long after he'd forsaken his right to celebrate the holy day. Tracy had to explain to them every step of the process- finding a bucket and some stones to hold the tree upright, in the absence of a tree stand, then filling it with water. Nick had no tree lights, but he had hundreds of candles. She selected the smallest ones and wired them to the branches, then they cut paper star ornaments. Late in the night, they lit all the candles and sat around the darkened living room to admire Tracy's tree.
Nick felt a moment of melancholy, as he vaguely remembered his mortal family and the quiet, spiritual way they had celebrated the Christ child's birth. The memories were not clear- not like his near-perfect recall of events since becoming a vampire. He'd suffered amnesia about six months ago from a gunshot wound to his head. LaCroix had been able to give him back many of his memories, through sharing blood, but not all. And his mortal memories were probably gone forever.
"Know any songs?" Tracy asked, looking around the cabin. "What, no piano here, Nick?"
"No," he said. "The cabin is unheated much of the year, which is terrible for an instrument- it would always be out of tune. And I told you, vampires don't celebrate Christmas."
Vachon remembered some carols from his childhood, but Tracy didn't know the Spanish songs. Urs said they had never celebrated the holiday as kids. Tracy looked glum, finally losing some of her bubbly enthusiasm that annoyed Nick. She snuggled in to Vachon's arms and the four of them sat around the couch and shared the silence. Then, as if on cue, they all started to sing...
"I'll be home for Christmas, You can count on me. There'll be snow and mistletoe And presents on the tree...
"Christmas Eve is coming As the twilight gleams I'll be home for Christmas, If only in my dreams."
Vachon kissed a tear from Tracy's cheek. "What's the matter, Querida?" he whispered. "Are you missing your mortal ways?"
"No," she said. "Well, maybe. But not my mortal family. You are all my family now. But this weekend's been great. I'm kind of said to see it end."
"We can come back next weekend," Nick offered.
Tracy stared at him. Nick, the morose, was suggesting that they actually have fun? "Do you mean it? Really?"
Urs was already on his lap, kissing him in her happiness. "The week is going to drag by too slowly, now, my love!"
Tracy jumped up from the couch to refill all their glasses, her enthusiasm returned, even if exhaustion was still creeping in on her. "Let's make something for LaCroix!"
The others fell silent. "I don't think that's such a good idea," Vachon hedged.
"He doesn't need anything, he's rich," Urs said.
Nick reminded Tracy for a third time, putting more firmness in his voice. "He will not celebrate Christmas."
"I know that! So you've told me! And I know he can buy what he needs, and that you all think he is not a sentimental old fool, but I want to make him something, just to show him my gratitude for all he's done for me. And all of you could show him a little thanks, yourselves."
The older vampires were quiet. Tracy addressed them each. "Urs, he gave you a job. He's treated you fairly, and he protects you from being harassed by the older vampires. Don't you feel safer in the Raven than any other nightclub?"
Urs nodded sheepishly.
"Vachon-- he's tolerated your rudeness, since he knows you've no master to defend you. He doesn't take that crap from any other vampire in Toronto. He's hired your band, and he pretty much lets you set your own hours."
Vachon shrugged his indifference, but Tracy felt a twinge of shame from him.
"And Nick, you know you have a lot to thank him for! And surely you must know that you are cherished, and protected. When's the last time you told him thanks and meant it?"
"I think that is a sweet idea, Tracy," Urs interrupted. "But what did you have in mind?"
The two girls talked about a few possibilities, tossing each out as impractical or impossible to complete in the time they had left. "Maybe we should all just write him a letter," Nick grumped sarcastically.
"Nick! You're a genius!" Tracy exclaimed. He wiggled his eyebrows at Vachon. It was past time to put Baby to bed.
Urs smiled brightly. "Yes, he is! We can all sign a quilt!"
"Exactly!"
Vachon laughed. "Do they practice this in nursery school?"
"What?" Nick asked.
"That ability to carry on a totally female conversation that no one else can follow?"
"Oh, that. No, I think they're born doing that," Nick said.
"Velvet and satin. Nick, do you have any?"
"Oh, sure. I always keep velvet and satin at a cabin. You never know when it will come in handy." He and Vachon burst out laughing. Urs punched him playfully.
"Nick, be serious! Christmas is only a little over two weeks away. We'll have to get started right away!"
"So, how much velvet and satin, and what colors, and what are you going to do with it," he said, still laughing hard enough that he had to wipe red tears from his face.
Tracy held her hands about six inches apart. "Fabric scraps- no bigger than this. And dark colors would be best."
Nick got up then and went to the loft, the other three following close behind. He disappeared into the deep closet, and came out shortly with six evening gowns on padded hangers, the clear-plastic bags from a dry cleaners still over each one.
"Oh! These are gorgeous!" Tracy exclaimed, lifting a velvet hem and rubbing it against her cheek.
"Nick, these are too nice to cut up," Urs said.
"Nope. These are perfect," Nick said. When the girls looked skeptical, he explained their origins. "These were Janette's. She'd left them at the dry-cleaners when she moved on. I brought them here, hoping she'd return for them eventually. But, she never wears a gown that's over a year old. And what do you do with old evening gowns. They're hardly appropriate for the Good Will, and somehow, I just can't bare the thought of someone else wearing them. So cut them up and make your quilt. In a way, the gift will be from her then, too."
"You don't have to ask me twice," Tracy said enthusiastically.
She took the gowns back down by the fireplace and started to cut them into irregular shapes. Small piles of crimson, black, royal blue, and forest green velvet shapes began to form. Urs cut the satin slip from one crimson gown into six-inch squares. "Here, Tracy. Sign your name on this, and I'll see how it looks."
She accepted the pencil and thought for a minute. Embroidering all the names was putsy, so her message shouldn't be too long, and yet, she had to say something meaningful. "To my father, my friend, and my hero, Love, Tracy."
"That's perfect," Urs whispered.
Tracy shrugged, trying unsuccessfully to hide her embarrassment. "Yeah, well, I just wish we could start embroidering them tonight."
"It is past your bedtime already," Nick chided her softly. "We are not going in to the city tonight for thread."
She laughed, even as she yawned. "That's fine. Each of you take a square and sign it, too. Then I'll go to sleep."
Urs's message was brief. "Respectfully, Urs." Vachon wrote about ten words, but would not tell Tracy what they were. He'd written his in Spanish. Nick tried to think what to writet. This quilt idea was Tracy's, and seemed so important to her. He was beginning to warm to the idea, too, but wondered how the ancient general would accept it. Would he be pleased? Or embarrassed? Or merely angry that they marked a mortal custom? His message needed to be nice, one didn't write angry words on a gift. And it needed to be true. He couldn't write a eulogy to feelings that he didn't share at the moment. Finally, he knew. In his elegant, medieval script, he wrote: "Forever yours, Nicholas."
Tracy kissed him on the cheek. "That's perfect, brother. Good night."
LaCroix eyed the elder pair as they sulked in their booth at the far corner. They had seemed almost petulant that his children had not been in for two nights. He was angered as he thought about them bringing any harm to them! Nicholas, although no longer an infant, was still so vulnerable. He wanted to be brave, daring, independent, even as he denied himself the very essence that would help him achieve his goals. And little Tracy... he had been unsure about adding her to his family, and immediately after the event he'd regretted her intrusion, but she was coming to mean much to him. She was so like his son in many ways. She was emotional, passionate, a golden ray of sunshine in the dark. Yet, there was something unique about her. She was younger, fresh and eager, loving, ... she was distinctly feminine. He felt his undead heart quicken as he considered his children. He would do anything to protect them.
Caspian looked bored. He seemed to be only half listening to his sister, as she complained in his ear. That made LaCroix smile. Caspian had been fun, once. He and LaCroix had been best friends back in the second century. LaCroix had not liked his sister then, and the years had not been kind to her. She was older than them both, but not by enough years to matter. He had taken her once... which had been a mistake. She was always coming between him and Caspian, and ever since their little brother Takis had assaulted Nicholas, LaCroix had had nothing to do with either of them. Seven hundred years was a long time to carry a grudge.
"Patrick, hand me the special reserve, from under the shelf," LaCroix said at last.
The young bar tender eyed his employer suspiciously before complying. The case of vintage mortal was blended with a potent wine, and the last time LaCroix had consumed it had been the only time he had ever seen the ancient inebriated and out of control. Still, one did not defy a two thousand-year-old vampire, especially if he was also your boss. Patrick took the key from his pocket, unlocked the door and withdrew the bottle. LaCroix accepted it, taking a glass for himself, and went to join Caspian at his table.
The other vampire looked up and almost smiled as his one-time friend approached.
"Hell and damnation," Corda complained as LaCroix sat down. "It's getting too crowded in here. It's time to go."
"No," LaCroix said, barely civil. "It is time to chat." He uncorked the bottle and watched for the reaction as the fragrant scent tickled their nostrils. Caspian's eyes took on the golden flecks. Corda blinked and turned away disdainfully.
LaCroix filled his own glass, then looked questioningly at Caspian. The other pushed his glass nearer. LaCroix poured his as well, but set the bottle down without offering any to Corda. He knew she was too arrogant to ask for it, and she would sit there and stew for hours without allowing herself to taste it. He smiled to himself. Although women as a whole were delightfully unpredictable, Corda was the exception.
"Why are you here," LaCroix asked then, after he and Caspian had each tasted their beverage.
Corda snorted. "What? We need a reason to sit in a bar?"
LaCroix opened his mouth to snap at her, but Caspian made a gesture. "Corda, don't waste our time. You know what he meant."
LaCroix was surprised. Caspian had always acted like the baby brother, falling behind her shadow and obeying her blindly. It was the first independent thought LaCroix had seen him voice.
"We were sent by the Council," Caspian began. "Not to investigate you, Lucius. But, there has been so much happening in Toronto recently. That strange fever for one. And dozens of vampire deaths, including two ancients. There have been rumors of mortals who know about us, besides that doctor who cured the Fever. Your son is still a topic of debate among the elders, and the community here has grown quite large- perhaps too large for safety. We are simply to observe and report back. Nothing more."
"Then why the petty taunting of my children," LaCroix demanded.
Corda started to speak, but again Caspian cut her off. "I apologize, Lucius. It is over. And I will be pleased to report to the council that your son seems to be changing his ways. Although I disagree with your decision to allow him to be so involved with mortals, he is not breaking the code and he seems more contented now as a vampire. Certainly, you must be pleased with him now."
LaCroix nodded to his former friend. "Very. And I will not permit anything to harm him."
The air was stiff with the implied threat. Then Caspian nodded and smiled, almost looking like the friend he once knew. "And congratulations on your newest child. She really is quite delightful. I have been considering taking on a child of my own. Seeing her has deepened my feelings."
"You are a fool," Corda spat. "Both of you. Excuse me!" She got up and left the table. A look of sadness crept across Caspian's face, but neither said a thing. They sat together, finishing the fine wine, deep in their memories. When the bottle was empty and Caspian was no longer quite steady on his feet, he rose slowly.
"Good Day, Lucius. I am sorry that our presence here has been awkward. We do not plan to remain much longer."
"You, Caspian, are welcome to return," LaCroix said firmly, his inflection clear that the invitation did not include Corda. The other made a slight nod of acknowledgement before he left.
LaCroix felt mellow. The wine was affecting him as much as the encounter. Once, he had thought of Caspian as a brother. He'd been alone for nearly a century, and Rome was changing. It was weaker, more corrupt, and under constant attack from barbarian invasions. He was almost ashamed to call himself a Roman. Traveling further south into Turkish lands, he'd discovered a new life, teaming with wealth and power just ripe for the taking. Together, he and Caspian had plotted their schemes. But Corda had been jealous. At first, she had flirted with LaCroix, but when he took her, it was Selene who filled his thoughts, the lovely, vengeful prostitute, now long dead. Corda was livid. From then on, his relationship with Caspian became strained, as the other was torn between friendship and family. Finally, LaCroix moved on. Now, he suspected that the family ties were choking Caspian. How much longer would the vampire tolerate her? It was almost a shame that they planned to leave soon. LaCroix would love to be there when Caspian finally turned the tables on that conniving bi*ch.
Caspian's word that his children were no longer in danger was not enough to ease LaCroix's fears. Not as long as Corda still breathed. He would have to keep a careful watch on them when they returned to Toronto. And if she so much as looked at them, LaCroix was prepared to see she never breathed again.
He missed them. As he reached out to sense them, he could feel their happiness. Whatever activity they were involved in, they were both enjoying it immensely. He was glad they were there, safe for the time being, and yet, part of him longed to be with them. Perhaps he could call Natalie... but no. It was too soon. She might get the mistaken idea that he needed her. And that would never do. Angry with himself for his musings, he locked himself inside the sound booth to pre-record some dark advice for the city's foolish listeners.
It was the last night at the cabin. They would have to return to Toronto in a few hours, leaving enough time to arrive before sunrise. No doubt, LaCroix would want Tracy home early enough for her lessons. Nick recalled the centuries he had spent in the hot seat, learning from their hard master. Some lessons had seemed cruel at the time. Would LaCroix teach Tracy in the same way? Or had the ancient vampire mellowed?
The girls finished up cutting the quilt shapes. Their project didn't look like much to him, but they seemed happy with it. It was hard to imagine how the pieces would fit together, and what it would look like. Part of him was dreading Christmas. Tracy was so excited about this quilt. What if LaCroix didn't like it? She was so young. Nick had faced many disappointments at the hands of his master. Would Tracy be strong enough?
"You worry too much," Urs whispered in his ear.
Nick cocked half a smile. "Guilty. What are you going to do about it?"
She nibbled on his ear. "You get to help by gathering signatures," she said.
"Uh-uh, no way," Nick denied. "That's such a girl-thing. I can't possibly go around asking anybody to write mush on fabric."
Vachon agreed.
"But, I'm not supposed to visit vampires alone," Tracy reminded him. "You have to help!"
Nick saw her sad expression and felt responsible. He had to do something. "I can take you around," he volunteered reluctantly. "But you have to do the rest."
"Okay," she said. "That will work."
"You realize, that the first time you share blood with LaCroix, he's going to discover your secret."
Tracy gasped. "He can't! He'll ruin everything! Oh, Nick, what am I going to do!"
Vachon put a comforting arm around her. "How do you keep a secret from him, Knight?"
"I don't," Nick said. "I've never been able to keep something from him."
"Bummer," Vachon mumbled, suddenly grateful his master was dead.
"Just don't share blood," Urs suggested. "Christmas isn't that far away. Couldn't Vachon just come over every night? Maybe LaCroix won't bite you?"
"As long as I stay out of trouble," Tracy grumbled.
"You can do it, Baby," Nick encouraged, "just put your mind to it."
"Yeah- you too, then. I dare you."
"Do what?" Nick gulped nervously. Tracy had the look of trouble in her eye, and he knew he wasn't going to like it.
"I dare you to stay out of trouble until after Christmas. I dare you to be the perfect son."
Urs laughed. Vachon was grinning from ear to ear. "Come on, Tracy," he said, teasingly. "Give him a break. Dare him to do something he at least has a chance of succeeding at."
Nick wasn't certain whom he was more annoyed with at the moment.
"Come on, Nick," Urs challenged. If you and LaCroix share blood before Christmas, you'll spoil the surprise as well."
"Time to go," Nick replied. "Now."
The girls laughed harder. Vachon clapped him on the back. "Too bad, Nick. I think you've been duped."
He shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "It's no problem. I know how to handle the old general. Tracy's the one who's going to spoil it."
She laughed. "We'll see!"
