DARK LIGHT
(Forever Knight)
by Nancy W.
e-mail: tannervin@aol.com
Rating: PG 
Main Characters: Vachon, Tracy
File Size: 310K 

This fic presumes the episodes Ashes to Ashes and Last Knight never
happened, and it also contains spoilers for Blind Faith
------------------------------------------------------------

---ONE---

If Javier Vachon had any faults hazardous to his eternal well-being,
it was the fact that he was nosy, although he preferred to think of
it as curious. It had gotten him into trouble more than once, not the
first time being when he just had to find out what would happen if he
signed up with one Francisco Pizzaro for a cruise to the New World.

He'd never returned, at least not in the life span of anyone who had
known him before he was the Vampire Vachon.

But this time, it was more than curiosity that had him interfering
with Tracy Vetter in her capacity as a homicide detective. This time,
he had information. Real, critical information. Problem was, the
little tidbit in question would be of more interest to her vampire
partner, whom she did not know was a vampire, and who was not
supposed to know that Vachon was one, even though... well, it was
just all too damned complicated.

Tracy would serve as a convenient excuse for him to be at the scene
where a corpse had been discovered in an alley, drained of blood,
though not by him (and, absently rubbing the spot on his neck where
Nick Knight had once almost crushed his throat, he fervently hoped he
would have a chance to explain that). He needed to get Knight alone,
to tell him what he had seen, to let him know that this murder was
more than just a vampire killing.

It was revenge. Pure and simple. He'd seen it go down. The dead guy
was a vampire hunter. He'd made one wrong move, and now, he was dead.
Where he came from and who he was were things the Enforcers would
deal with, in their own way, in their own time, and preferably
without any outside interference from the Toronto PD, which was where
Knight would come in.

He didn't owe Nick anything, although after a shaky start, he kind
of liked the guy a little. Knight cared about Tracy, so that was
something they shared. And, Tracy liked him, looked up to his as sort
of a big brother.

But, mostly he wanted to tell Nick what he knew so that Nick would
keep Tracy's involvement in the case to a minimum. The Enforcers had
never found out that Tracy knew about vampires, which was bad enough.
If they found out that she knew it from *him*, things could get
unpleasant for him, and if they found out she was a resister... well,
that could cost Tracy her life. The less dealings she had with the
vampire community in general, and Enforcers in particular, the better.

So, he'd waited, just in case she was the one sent to the scene of
this homicide. It was a good thing he did....

It had been a beautiful night. So warm he'd spent most of it
outdoors in just jeans and tee-shirt. And now it was almost dawn.
Soon, he'd need to head back to the safety of the abandoned church he
called home.

He watched the approaching Caddy from the top of one of the
buildings that abutted the alley, seeing it approach from three
blocks away.

He dropped silently to the ground and stepped out of the shadows as
Tracy was getting out of the car. She turned right into him.

"Vachon?" She tried to think if she'd ever seen him without his
leather jacket, and then took one look at the slender, taut muscles
on his arms and figured she would have remembered if she had.

"Hi."

Nick tried to end the conversation right there with a curt glance in
his direction that clearly said, "Go home."

"So, what's going on?" Vachon said to Tracy, but gave Nick a pointed
look that was meant to convey that he had something to tell the
senior detective.

"Police business." Nick's eyes warned him again.

Oh, right, like he was too dense to see that. Vachon folded his
arms, stared at Knight, and blinked. "Really?"

Sarcasm was counterproductive, but Knight's attitude was rubbing him
the wrong way, especially since he wasn't there to get in the way.

Exasperated, Nick grabbed his leather coat from the back of the
caddy and slipped it on, causing Vachon to take a cursory look at the
sky. It *was* getting kind of late, but there was still time. Nick
pushed past him.

"There's a body on the loading dock behind this building," Tracy
explained. "An officer doing a close patrol phoned it in. The perp
might still be in the area... You didn't see anything, did you?"

Never mind that he had, in fact, done exactly that. He said, "Why do
you always ask me that, Tracy? Do I have 'CNN' tattooed on my
forehead or something?"

"No, but you see things other... people... can't."

"Only when I'm looking."

Tracy sighed. She liked Vachon. She really did. But she was going to
have to think of a polite way to tell him to stay out of her way when
it wasn't convenient to have him around.

"Coming, Tracy?" Nick called to her.

"I gotta go to work," she told the vampire.

He had to restrain himself from following her. Something about
having Tracy around dead bodies - other than his and Nick Knight's,
anyway -made him feel protective. But, it was Knight he needed to
talk to, and he had to get the vampire cop alone, first.

Nick examined the body. It was a middle-aged man, short, stocky,
with thinning dark hair. He was wearing work coveralls, and his
wallet was still in his back pocket. Robbery wasn't the motive... He
appeared to have died from a single shot through the back that had
probably hit his heart.

Appeared to... Nick's eyesight was keen enough that he could tell
that the gaping hole went all the way through the victim's torso. He
should have been lying in a pool of blood, but there wasn't any to be
seen, either near the corpse or on it. His sense of smell told him
there was no blood left *in* the corpse, either. It had been bled
completely dry.

He checked the neck for fang marks. He didn't find any, but that
didn't mean anything. Not all vampires used the neck, or even used
their fangs, for that matter.

He took a cautious glance around out of habit and spotted Vachon
lurking nearby, invisible to everyone but him. Their eyes met and
Vachon nodded, indicating to Nick that he knew how this person had
died. Nick didn't think the Spaniard would still be hanging around if
he was the guilty party, but questioning him would definitely be the
next order of business....

"Over here, Nick!" Tracy called to him.

She used a pen to gingerly lift a gun from the ground and drop it
into an evidence bag.

When he walked up to her, she was studying it with a quizzical
expression on her face.

It didn't have a trigger, at least not a conventional one, and it
didn't look like any gun she had ever seen. Despite appearing to be
made of burnished steel, it was light, like a toy. Maybe it was a toy.

Nevertheless, she placed it carefully in Nick's outstretched hand.

"Is it ceramic?" she asked him. She'd never seen a ceramic gun, but
she knew they existed. Custom jobs, for the most part, although Glock
actually manufactured them in Germany. She didn't know what they
looked like, though, and this gun was... strange.

"It feels like a toy," Nick echoed her earlier estimation. "Could be
ceramic, though."

He looked for a magazine and couldn't find one. It seemed to be more
a crude, generic replica of a gun rather than an actual weapon. He
handed the thing back to her. Figuring out what it was would be a job
for forensics.

Tracy took it back and through the plastic evidence bag ran her hand
across the shimmery surface. There were no markings, no indentations.
The surface was entirely smooth except for a rectangular piece that
seemed to be set into to the left side of the grip. She ran her thumb
over it curiously...

She yelped and jumped back when the thing made a series of puffing
noises, each accompanied by a small flash of blue flame at the end of
the nondescript barrel.

A smoking hole appeared in the plastic bag, its edges melted and
hardening as they rapidly cooled.

Nick turned quickly back to her. "Tracy?"

She knew the look on her face was sheepish. "I think I discharged it
by accident."

Nick wasn't worried about that. "Are you okay?"

"Sure... but we had better tell the forensics people to be careful
with this thing. I don't even know what I did that made it fire."

Nick took the weapon from her and set it carefully back on the ground.

He scanned the area, the rooftops, and looked uneasily at the sky.
It was already going from black to purple. This was cutting things a
little too close. If he didn't talk to Vachon now, it was going to be
too late.

He looked into the shadow where Vachon had been standing.

Vachon was still there, but now he was face down on the ground, not
moving.

Nick puzzled over this only for the instant it took him to realize
that the younger vampire had been in the direct line of fire when the
gun-thing had gone off in Tracy's hand.

He sighed in exasperation. He knew Vachon had been hit, but with
more cops and forensics people gathering at the scene, he couldn't
take the time to give it a second thought. Bullets didn't kill
vampires, and Vachon was not in need of the medical attention that
would be summoned if he was noticed.

Besides, if he'd sustained enough damage to be rendered unconscious,
he was going to be good and sore for a few hours. Maybe he would
think twice about sticking his nose where it didn't belong next time.

It was now so close to sunrise that Nick could see where the
sunlight would fall. He moved into the shadows and was careful to
stay there while he and Tracy finished the details of having the body
moved, the crime scene photographed, the evidence bagged and tagged.

Tracy was aghast when she noticed that dawn was imminent. She knew
Nick was allergic to sunlight. "You need to go Nick, I can take care
of the rest."

Nick knew she could handle things, and he was grateful and relieved
to be on his way. The sun was already up, though just barely so. To
his eyes, however, the sky was already blazing, and he'd left his
sunglasses in the glove compartment of the Caddy. It felt as though
tiny pins were being jabbed into his eyes as he crossed the alley,
intending to stick to the shadows as he made a run for the Caddy.
He'd never make it home, but he was close enough that he could get to
the Raven before he was fried, and at least he wouldn't spend a hot,
miserable day in the trunk of his car.

He almost tripped over the smoking heap that had left a scorched
trail behind it attempting to crawl away from the light....

Vachon.


---TWO---

Nick knelt over the young vampire, and saw to his horror that there
was no skin left on him. Blood and the fluids of cell decomposition
were forming a puddle around him. But, he was still alive.

Nick felt sick. He'd been so sure Vachon would come to and get out
of there long before this happened to him that it had never occurred
to him that he'd be caught by the sun--that he was injured badly
enough that he hadn't been able to get out of the light before being
horribly burned.

Vachon was clinging to his immortal life by sheer power of will, and
that was fading rapidly.

He'd have to feed him, and soon, but not right there. Someone might
see them.

He pulled off his leather coat and wrapped the other vampire in it.
He lifted Vachon easily--*too* easily. He was alarmingly light. Most
of his body fluids had either evaporated or drained out through his
burns.

But as luck would have it Nick had either underestimated Vachon's
will to survive, or his level of consciousness, or both. His head
fell limp against Nick's shoulder, but in the next instant, Vachon's
fangs were in his throat.

Nick almost cried out, not only in surprise, but in pain, the attack
was that vicious. Vachon was desperate for blood.

He grabbed Vachon's hair and tried to pull him off, but the injured
vampire hung on like a pit bull. He finally resorted to dropping him,
but even then, he didn't release his grip. He tore away a bite-sized
chunk of Nick's neck when he fell.

Nick sank to his hands and knees, his own blood gushing like a
fountain onto the pavement. The wound quickly healed itself, but left
him weak and slightly disoriented. Vachon lunged at him. Nick managed
to dodge the attack only an instant before the other vampire
succeeded in biting him again.

He pushed Vachon away as gently as possible, not wishing to
intensify his pain. He didn't bother offering him his wrist - Vachon
had already helped himself to more blood than Nick could afford to
loose and still function.

Nick staggered to his feet, and tried again to lift Vachon, being
more careful to mind where his mouth was this time. Vachon cried out
in a way Nick had never heard a vampire scream. It was all rage and
pure agony. Nick knew first-hand the exquisite torment that even
minor burns inflicted on a vampire's hyper-sensitive skin. Vachon
had to be mad with pain.

He also knew the screams would attract attention, so he had no
choice but to quiet him by letting him feed again, hoping that maybe,
because Vachon was smaller than he was, the other vampire's body
could not physically contain all of his blood.

It was an act that should have been one of intense sharing, even
sensual pleasure under the right circumstances. But there was no time
to appreciate that right then. He had to get Vachon out of there
before Tracy or, even worse, someone else, discovered them.

He'd left the Caddy parked on the shaded side of the building, and
luckily was able to get to it without crossing the sun's path. It was
still too early for traffic, so no one saw him put Vachon in the
trunk. He took back his coat and wrapped himself up as best he could
for the short drive to the Raven. The inside of the coat was sticky
with Vachon's blood, and the smell of burned flesh was everywhere.
The sunlight, though not directly on him, was making his skin sting
and his exposed hands were becoming uncomfortably hot. It didn't help
that he was beginning to miss the blood Vachon had taken.

He drove to the Raven in a dizzy haze, and ran the car onto the
sidewalk trying to park it.

LaCroix always knew when Nick was in trouble.

Instead of being safely tucked away wherever it was he slept, he was
there waiting, and darted out to pull Nick through the Raven's doors
to safety. Sickened by the daylight and loss of blood, Nick's knees
buckled as soon as he was inside. LaCroix let him fall flat on his
face.

"Nicholas, so nice of you to *drop* in."

Nick wanted to stake the sarcastic sonofabitch, but he remembered
why he'd come. "Vachon..." he stammered. "He's in the trunk."

LaCroix just stood there, as if to say, "So?"

Nick was so weak he actually found the cold, hard, liquor- soaked
floor comfortable. He wanted to stay there, but instead, he struggled
to his feet. "He's hurt.... Burned... It's bad..."

Maybe he should have stayed on the floor. The room was spinning
wildly. LaCroix caught him and sat him down in a booth. Nick let his
head drop to the table, shoving his car keys in LaCroix's direction.
"Please go get him. He needs help."

For a moment, he thought LaCroix wasn't going to go, but finally the
old vampire sighed and took the keys.

LaCroix hated to believe that the mess in Nick's trunk was a
vampire. He wasn't even sure it was still alive, but there was no
time to check. LaCroix had age on his side as far as his tolerance
for daylight was concerned, but the sun was already well over the
horizon, and even the indirect light was irritating.

He didn't repeat Nick's mistake - he knew a vampire in this
condition would want and need blood so badly that he'd bite anything
that moved. The first thing he grabbed was a handful of Vachon's
hair. Unlike most of the rest of him, it was only singed a bit around
the edges, so he was able to get a healthy grip and immobilize his
head. He jerked the rest of him out of the trunk and hurried inside.

Nicholas had collapsed completely, and he didn't know what he was
supposed to do with Vachon. LaCroix didn't like disorder in his life.
It annoyed him, especially during the *daytime*.

He carried Vachon to the downstairs apartment Janette had occupied
when she had owned the place. He kicked the canvas dust- cover off
the queen-sized bed and dumped Vachon onto the bare mattress.

He could see that the younger vampire's burns were already trying to
heal themselves, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon if he
didn't stop thrashing around in a desperate and futile attempt to
escape his pain.

LaCroix had absolutely no idea what to do for him. Vampires as a
general rule didn't need to know so much as the rudiments of first
aid.

No matter. Nicholas surely had learned something about these
concerns as a cop, to say nothing of his little stint as a
battlefield surgeon.

He went to the Raven's kitchen and thawed a frozen zip-loc bag of
cow's blood in the microwave. It got much too hot, and he had to pour
it into two coffee mugs before the bag melted.

He took the steaming half-cooked liquid over to the table where he'd
left Nick, forced him to sit up and held a mug to his lips.

Nick pushed it away.

"Drink, Nicholas. It's your brand."

Nick gulped down a few greedy swallows before he suddenly stopped, a
look of utter abhorrence on his face.

"What did you do to this LaCroix? It's *terrible*."

"If you don't like the cuisine, feel free to take your business
elsewhere."

Nick finished the blood, and remembered Vachon.

LaCroix followed him to the bedroom, where Nick knelt beside the
bed. He grabbed Vachon's head on either side. Hypnosis had worked
with his patients before, and some vampires could be whammied by an
older vampire.

"Vachon, listen to me!" he commanded.

Vachon's eyes were the most intense red possible, and his fangs were
extended. Nick knew he would not get through to him in that state.
"Vachon, you have to hold still," he said softly. "You're only making
it worse."

There were already loosened pieces of skin sticking to the mattress.
He ordered LaCroix to bring towels and ice, and felt his master
bristle at taking orders from him, but LaCroix left to comply with
the request.

Nick continued to talk to Vachon in a soft, rhythmic voice. He
didn't succeed in hypnotizing him--he couldn't get him to make eye
contact--but it did calm him down.

Had Vachon been human, the last thing Nick would have done would
have been to wrap him in cold, wet towels and risk possibly fatal
shock, but luckily, he didn't have to worry about that.

When he'd finished, he picked up Janette's phone to see if it was
still connected. It was. He started to dial the only person he knew
who could and would help.

"What are you doing?" LaCroix asked him.

"I'm calling Natalie."

LaCroix took the phone from him. "No, you are not."

He stabbed a finger in Vachon's direction. "Look at him, LaCroix! I
don't know what to do for him, do you?"

LaCroix tried to look stern, but it took effort even for him.
Vachon's suffering was so intense it was almost palpable to the
keenly developed senses of the 2000-year-old vampire. His missing
skin was already regenerating itself, but how long that would take
was anyone's guess.

Something else was wrong, too. He and Nick had not spoken of it, but
they both sensed it. The injured vampire was distant and
unresponsive, as if the pain had driven any conscious thoughts from
his mind and left him only with unendurable agony.

LaCroix gave him back the phone and dismissed him with a curt wave
of his arm. "Call her if you must. I'll have nothing to do with this."


---THREE---

Natalie had just crawled into bed and was almost fully asleep when
the phone jarred her awake. She muttered a hoarse "hello" while her
brain tried to boot itself back up to operating speed.

It was Nick. "Natalie, you have to come to the Raven. Someone's been
hurt. He's a <no, don't say the word, Nat might be on a cellular
phone>... he's one of us."

Natalie registered the "one of us" part, but thought at first that
Nick was talking about another cop. She was about to mumble that
whoever it was would do better at a hospital than being cared for by
a doctor who specialized in dead patients when she made the
connection.

She was instantly alert. She knew few members of the vampire
community well - in fact, she knew none of them well, except for
Nick. But somehow, especially after the incident with the escaped lab
virus which had sickened and killed so many of them, she felt as
though she had a vested interest in their well-being.

She threw off her blankets and headed for the closet to find some
clothes. "Who is it? What happened?"

"Tracy's friend. Sunlight." That three-word answer told her almost
everything she needed to know.

"How bad?"

"Real bad, Nat. Can you hurry?"

"I'm on my way." She shut off the phone and pulled on a pair of
jeans, a pink tee-shirt and a pair of sneakers.

She kept a department-issue paramedic kit in her car, because she
never knew when the "M.D." after her name would find her called up on
to use one. It was pretty well-stocked, but she gathered whatever
other medical supplies she had in the apartment on her way out.

No amount of preparation would have sufficed for what she found when
she arrived at the Raven, though.

She'd treated Nick for burns more times than she could count, but a
quick look under the towels in which Nick had wrapped Vachon told her
this was far worse than anything that had ever seen happen to Nick,
far worse than she'd expected.

"Nick..." she shook her head in disbelief... "I can't handle this."
She felt herself gasping for breath. "He needs a trauma center... a
burn unit..."

Nick grabbed her shoulders, a bit more roughly than he meant to,
"Natalie, he's a vampire! No hospital, remember?"

Natalie looked at Vachon. He was barely recognizable as a person,
vampire or otherwise.

She tried to stop the old horror from flooding in, but it didn't
help. As a child, she'd seen a family burn to death, trapped in their
car after an auto accident. She'd heard their screams as they died.
Even with her ears covered, she'd heard that horrifying sound. She
still had difficulty handling the dead burn victims that came to her
morgue, and had never expected - or wanted - to be confronted with
one who was still alive. It took a special kind of doctor to meet
that challenge and she wasn't it...

<Get a grip> she scolded herself.

She stepped closer with caution. Vachon's back was arched and he had
raised his knees and lifted his hands off the bed - instinctively
trying to avoid as much contact with the burns as possible. It looked
as though his skin had melted away. His left arm was so severely
burned that it was nothing more than shreds of seared flesh clinging
to scorched bone. Only his face, neck and right hand had been spared.
Nick's theory was that the only reason he was still alive was that
his head probably hadn't been exposed to the sunlight. If it had
been, the boiling blood in his brain would have disoriented him past
the point where he would have been able to crawl into the shade like
he had done.

His eyes were wild and crimson, and his fangs had dropped to their
full length. Natalie had just enough experience with vampires to know
that those characteristics were brought out not only by bloodlust,
but also by pain and fear. His breathing was an unclassifiable
combination of vampire hiss, animal growl, and human cries. She also
knew that his injuries increased his craving for blood, and he'd bite
her if she got too close.

She removed Demerol and a syringe from her bag.

"Will that work?" Nick asked.

She looked at him like it was a stupid question, because it *was* a
stupid question. She had no idea what happened when you gave a
vampire a drug meant for humans. With Nick, sometimes it worked as
expected, sometimes it had no effect, and sometimes his reaction was
totally unpredictable.

She tried to mentally calculate the dosage based on her
approximation of Vachon's weight, only to have Nick inform her that
that figure was about two-thirds what it normally was, that vampires
dehydrated a lot more rapidly than mortals did. Nick reassured her,
"No amount will kill him, Nat. Give him as much as he needs."

That went against all of her medical instincts, but Natalie knew
Nick was right. She filled the syringe with enough Demerol to take
down a horse. She located a vein on Vachon's unburned hand, and
turned on the bedside manner. "Vachon... Javier... This is going to
sting a little, but it will help the pain. Do you understand?"

Vachon turned his head towards the sound of her voice--the first
sign Nick had seen that he was aware of anything going on around him.
He didn't actually look at Natalie, but indicated with an almost
imperceptible nod of his head that he had heard her.

Natalie went ahead and swabbed his hand for the injection. The
vampire was in such agony that he didn't notice either the syringe or
the caustic medication entering his vein.

Natalie continued to hold his hand, and his fingers slowly wrapped
around hers, until they were so tight she winced.

"I know," she whispered, "it hurts, but you should feel better in a
few minutes."

The Demerol worked with merciful speed. Natalie counted only two
powerful vampire heartbeats before his eyes returned to their natural
dark brown, and his fangs retracted almost - though not quite -
completely. His breathing became normal again and she felt him relax.

"Better?" she asked him.

He gave weak nod of his head.

She forced herself to look closely at the ghastly injuries. The
sunlight hadn't damaged his clothes, of course, but they were soaked
with blood and serous fluid from the burns, which had mostly dried so
that his clothes were literally stuck to him. When she realized that,
Natalie wanted to throttle Nick for not removing them, because
getting them off now without causing Vachon more pain was going to be
impossible.

She started an IV and tripled the dose of Demerol, giving Vachon
enough to kill a human. As she hoped, it quickly rendered him
unconsciousness.

She cut what she could and peeled off the rest, working quickly so
that the horror of what she was doing wouldn't have a chance to
settle in before she could finish. The heavy denim of his jeans had
afforded a bit more protection than the tee-shirt, which had shielded
his skin only slightly better than nothing at all. Nick pulled off
his boots and socks. He was literally burned everywhere.

If it was possible for Nick's colorless complexion to look any more
pale, it did then.

Both of them stared at the mass of raw flesh that showed no hope of
ever being covered with skin again.

"How long is he going to take to heal?" Natalie wanted to know.

Nick shook his head. She thought he looked like he was going to be
sick, but Natalie couldn't handle his squeamishness at that moment.
She was having too much trouble controlling her own.

"I've never seen a vampire burned like this," he said.

"I've never seen anyone burned like this," Natalie shook her head.
"Not alive, anyway." <Not even some who were dead.>

Natalie tried to think of what to do next, but her heart was racing.
In a part of her brain she wasn't consciously aware of, she was
hearing the screams again. Those people dying in that burning car.

"These burns..." she tried to sound professional. "They need
debriding, dressings. We simply can't do this here Nick... I can't do
this." <I don't want to do this. Please don't make me...>

But she knew she was being foolish. Vachon was a vampire. His burns
would not become infected whether she tended to them or not, and
they'd heal without antibiotics and skin grafts and endless physical
therapy. All he needed was to be kept comfortable while his body did
the rest.

She adjusted the IV so that it would continue to pump lethal doses
of Demerol into the sleeping vampire, and then headed out to hunt up
as much burn ointment and as many bandages as she could find.

When she returned, she was amazed to find a gossamer layer of
delicate pink skin had already grown over all but the deepest
injuries, those on the areas that had been directly exposed to the
sunlight. She cleaned, dressed and bandaged the burns, anyway.
Covering the exposed nerve endings would diminish the pain and
protect the new skin, which was a delicate as tissue paper. There
really was nothing else that needed to be done for him.

LaCroix, certain that the most unpleasant aspects of this adventure
were over, brought Vachon a bottle of human blood and then quietly
slipped out again. This business had just about ruined his day.

Vachon awakened as Natalie wiped the blood off his face with a wet
washcloth. There were no injuries she could see. The blood was from
tears and sweat.

Natalie wasn't certain what happened physiologically when a vampire
went into shock. There was no blood pressure to suddenly plummet to
dangerous levels, no organ systems that would begin to shut down.

Psychological shock was something else. Vampires had minds and they
had emotions. She imagined if you scared or hurt one badly enough,
they'd go into emotional withdrawal the same as a mortal would.

Vachon seemed confused, but he didn't say anything, didn't ask where
he was or what had happened to him. Natalie supposed his brain was
still trying to deal with the fact that his body was horribly injured.

Nick helped him sit up to drink the blood, and he cried out softly
because the movement caused him pain. But he consumed the blood
itself with the greedy eagerness of a starving puppy and asked for
more.

Nick brought another bottle. Vachon had managed to sit up by himself
by then, and so Nick held the bottle out to him. He didn't take it.
He didn't act like he even knew it was there. His eyelids drooped
sleepily from the drugs, but he was awake, Natalie was sure of that.

She waved a hand in front of his face to test his reaction. It
didn't look as though he noticed that, either, until she was close
enough to his face for him to smell her, and feel the heat from her
body.

Then he grabbed her arm and tried to bite her.

Nick noted that it took considerable strength to loosen his grip. It
was obvious Vachon was no longer parked on Death's doorstep.

Nick distracted him by literally shoving the bottle of blood into
his mouth.

The attack surprised Natalie, but she quickly regained her
professional demeanor and announced her suspicions. "Nick, I don't
think he can see."

"Don't be silly Nat. That's not possible."

"If he were human..."

"If he were human, he'd be dead. There's no way..."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," Vachon interrupted.

Nick and Natalie exchanged sheepish glances as Vachon eased himself
back down onto the bed. Nick sat beside him and waved his hand in
front of Vachon's face just like Natalie had done.

Vachon reached out with his unburned hand and grabbed Nick's wrist,
but only after he had located it by feeling for it.

"Stop that, or I'll bite you, too," he said irritably.

"Vachon?" Nick said frowning. "Can you see?"

Vachon shrugged, the squeezed his eyes shut because the sudden
movement hurt. He mouthed the word "No," and then added is a hoarse,
quiet whisper, "Not a damn thing."


---FOUR---

Natalie fished out her penlight and gradually moved it into Vachon's
visual field. Vampire eyes were extremely sensitive to light, to a
degree that would be almost incapacitating in a human. She had never
gotten a good look at Nick's eyes because he simply couldn't stand
it. He would instinctively avert his head the moment the intense
little beam entered the angle of his peripheral vision.

Vachon's eyes didn't track the light, and the pupils didn't react
even when she shined it directly into them.

She looked at Nick. "I'd like a closer look. Maybe you should hold
him down."

Nick nodded. Vachon was still sedated, but he didn't like being
manhandled and he tried to shake off Nick's hands.

"Easy," Nick said softly. "Natalie won't hurt you."

"Leave me alone," Vachon muttered. He was on his way out again, so
despite his protest, Nick maintained his hold and nodded at Natalie.

She moved in for a closer look, without really knowing what to look
for. There was no damage to Vachon's eyes themselves, at least none
that was readily apparent. She could see no evidence of hemorrhage,
although she discovered that there appeared to be several times the
normal number of blood vessels. <Was that how their eyes turned red?>

She also discovered a tapetum - a layer of reflective cells coating
the retina that was most often found in nocturnal animals (which, of
course, was what a vampire was). She had long suspected that their
"glowing" eyes were not a supernatural phenomenon, but rather due to
some adaptation that enabled them to concentrate and reflect a pre-
existing light-source. The fact that the basic structure of Vachon's
eyes was recognizable--if not entirely human--bore that out.

But despite the aberrations that were no doubt characteristic to his
species, Vachon's eyes looked fine. She had no idea from her
examination why he couldn't see.

The light in his eyes hadn't bothered him a bit. In fact, he'd gone
back to sleep while she'd been examining him.

"Do you think it's psychological?" Nick asked her.

She shook her head. "No. He'd still react to light if it was.
Besides, hysterical blindness happens far more often on TV than in
real life."

Earlier, she had only been concerned with Vachon's burns, and hadn't
thought to examine him for other injuries. When she did, she
discovered three recently-healed puncture wounds on the left side of
his neck at the base of his jaw.

They weren't fang marks. They were too big, and fang marks came in
pairs.

They resembled something else she'd seen often enough in her work.

"These look like bullet holes, Nick."

It wasn't until then that he thought to tell her how Vachon had
ended up in the sunlight.

She gave him an annoyed look. "You might have told me he'd been shot."

He frowned. "I didn't think it mattered. Bullets don't hurt us."

Natalie looked for exit wounds and didn't find any.

"They're still in him."

Nick shrugged. He had at least a dozen bullets in his own body.
"They usually don't hurt us, Nat," he repeated.

Natalie sighed tiredly. "Well *something* is wrong, Nick. I think we
should get him to the lab so I can at least get some x- rays."

Nick looked at Vachon, concerned but not actually worried. The
younger vampire slept fitfully, but he *was* asleep, and right then
rest was what he needed more than anything. Besides, it was 10 am. He
pointed this fact out to Natalie.

"Bring him in tonight then..." she began, before she realized that
she wasn't going anywhere, that she couldn't leave Vachon like he
was. He was drugged senseless, and the deepest of his burns had yet
to close, let alone heal. Someone had to monitor his medication, if
for no other reason than to make sure he didn't wake up crazed with
pain and dangerous.

+ + + + +

To her surprise, LaCroix brought her coffee and some fruit. Not the
breakfast she would have ordered, but she didn't imagine there was
much else in the Raven's kitchen that she'd want to eat.

Just as she was about to think maybe he wasn't so bad after all, she
caught him looking at Vachon with disdain.

"He's an orphan, you know... Really, vampires who just bring a young
one across and then sit in the sun should be... well it really is too
late to do anything about it, I suppose."

Nick had told her about Vachon's past. Abandoned immediately after
his rebirth, the Spaniard had fended for himself, taught himself to
be a vampire. He had no master, and that fact had made him more
independent than LaCroix was willing to tolerate.

It wasn't that LaCroix didn't like Vachon--at least to the extent
that LaCroix was capable of liking anyone. But it was clear that he
didn't want him there under those circumstances, incapacitated and
quite unable to leave of his own accord.

"He cannot stay here," He told Natalie.

Natalie was afraid of LaCroix, but she'd heard enough about him from
Nick to know that weakness was the last trait he admired. "Too bad,"
she told him, "because he's going to."

And really, what could he say to that? There was no way she could
move Vachon in broad daylight and he knew it.

LaCroix, taken aback by her candor, opted to change the subject.
"The Enforcers can't know of this," he said to Nick.

"I know, I know," Nick muttered.

"I won't have them knowing I'm involved."

"I'll take care of it, LaCroix," Nick said crossly.

"See that you do."

LaCroix left without another glance at any of them, and when he was
gone, Natalie turned to Nick.

"What was he talking about? Why would the Enforcers care?"

"Because they enforce our rules, our code..."

He looked at Vachon, still wondering what that had to do with
anything.

"And?" she prodded Nick.

"And, when something like this happens to a vampire, it's their job
to take care of it."

"Take care of it?"

"They'll destroy him."

"But...." <But what?> She doubted Vachon's injuries were permanent.
They *always* healed. Maybe as severe as his injuries were, his body
was just prioritizing his recovery.

Still, if he didn't regain his sight sometime soon, she was going to
have to find out why. Vachon was a predator. Without his eyes, he'd
be like a hawk with one wing, and somehow, she suspected that as ugly
as it sounded, what Nick was saying was that the Community would not
tolerate him being unable survive on his own.


---FIVE---

Urs awakened after a sleep during which she did not rest. She had
dreamed of fire and fear and blood. Usually, she didn't dream at all.

She knew that something had happened to Vachon. The link between
them was not as intense as that forged between some vampires and
their masters - Vachon had never forced her to submit to his will,
that wasn't who he was - but the bond was still there, and something
had disturbed it while she slept.

She looked for him at the church before going to the Raven to see if
he was there. As soon as she entered, she knew that he was.

"How could this have happened?" she asked Nick in an accusing tone
of voice.

"It was an accident," Nick assured her. Vachon was Urs' master, but
she could be as protective of him as he was of her, maybe even more
so. He thought it was best not to mention that Tracy Vetter had been
involved in any way.

Urs wanted more of an explanation than that, but she studied Nick's
eyes and knew she wouldn't get it, not from him, and not from his
mortal doctor friend.

Javier Vachon was not Urs's mentor, or her lover. He was not really
even her friend. He'd done the unspeakable to her, damning her to
eternal life when life was the last thing she wanted. The fact he was
sorry for it did not atone for what he had done and never could.

Still, the bond was there. If you'd asked her what feelings she had
for him, she would not have been able to answer. She didn't hate him.
She didn't love him, either. She merely accepted that he was a part
of her, and she a part of him. That would not change until one of
them was dead.

But she didn't want him to die, of that she was certain. She would
be unspeakably alone without him.

Even so, she knew that was a possibility in the event he was
permanently injured.

A few months before, she wouldn't have entertained that thought for
a moment, but since the Fever had taken Screed and so many of the
others, she could no longer be so complacent.

She had not met Natalie Lambert before then, but she knew who she
was. Like the others, she had been infected with the man-made virus
that had taken down every vampire in Toronto. She had been literally
minutes from death when Vachon, still weak and barely able to walk
himself, had come to her with the antidote that Dr. Lambert had
discovered. Every vampire still alive in the city owed his life to
her, and her name was known to vampires that Natalie would never meet.

Natalie knew Urs only because Nick had mentioned her once or twice.
She was Vachon's "child," although Vachon's mortal life had ended
when he was no more than one or two years past the age at which he
had ended hers.

But despite not being completely unknown to each other, the two
women were awkwardly silent, neither knowing what to say to the
other. Finally, Urs extended her hand. "I'm honored to meet you,
doctor," she said sincerely.

Natalie accepted the greeting. "I'm sorry it had to be under these
circumstances."

Bandaged and heavily sedated, Vachon was nowhere near as gruesome a
sight as he'd been when Natalie had first seen him, but Urs was
shaken, nonetheless. She gently pushed his dark hair away from his
face.

"Javier?"

He awakened more to her touch than her voice. He didn't look at her,
but a small smile told Urs he knew who had spoken.

She took the hand that wasn't burned and felt his cold fingers fold
around hers. His grip was strong, determined. He had so much life in
him, even as badly hurt as he was. She wondered, had she been him, if
she would have crawled out of the sunlight.

"Leave us," she told Natalie and Nick. Her tone of voice was gentle,
yet left no room for argument.

When they had stepped outside, Urs lifted her wrist to her mouth and
made two tiny, but deep, holes with her small, delicate fangs. She
offered her blood to Vachon.

For Vachon, it was the first pleasant thing he'd been aware of for
quite some time. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened to him, or
where he was. The only thing he knew for certain was that he hurt.

But, it was not the torture he'd endured in the beginning, pain that
not even the blood of another vampire <had he done that to Nick
Knight? taken his blood?> could ease. That pain was gone. The mortal
woman had done something to him. He remembered how soft and warm her
hand had felt in his. <Was that Natalie? Nick's Natalie? The mortal
doctor who cared about sick vampires? It had to be...> She'd taken
the worst of his pain away. <No wonder Nick loved the woman.> Even
so, the slightest movement evoked unpleasant memories of it.

Urs's blood was salty-sweet and satisfying. It felt cool against the
back of his throat and yet spread a healing warmth through him. There
wasn't much of an erotic thrill to it - there often wasn't with Urs - 
but he wasn't seeking one, anyway. He was too sore and too sleepy to
get excited about the blood as anything but nourishment.

Urs was talking to him. He felt her cool breath against his cheek,
heard her voice, but he didn't understand what she was trying to tell
him....

Her voice was soothing, though, like a breeze on a hot day, and her
presence was comforting.

Urs had to know exactly what had happened. There had to be a reason
why Nick wouldn't tell her the whole story.

Her worse fear was that Vachon had done this to himself on purpose,
but she quickly dismissed that. Vachon didn't *not* want to be a
vampire, and he liked the idea he was going to live forever. Someone--
or something--had done this to him. She had to know, and in the state
he was in, he couldn't tell her. He didn't even understand that she
was asking him.

Gently, she pushed Vachon's head back to expose his neck, and
touched her mouth to his skin. It was cool and dry, but smelled of
blood-sweat and chemicals. There were three little wounds there
already healed and fading. She almost didn't notice them, but when
she did, she wondered how they had gotten there.

Vachon knew what she was going to do and tensed in anticipation. Urs
never sank her fangs in and gulped blood the way some vampires did.
Most vampires. The way *he* did, anyway. She slid them in so
delicately and slowly that it was sweet agony. The wave of pleasure
that swept over him as he felt her drawing his blood into her mouth
was exhilarating, but all too brief. She only took a few swallows.

He would have let her take it all, but the sad fact was, he was a
mess, and couldn't really spare it. Even the little she'd taken had
been enough to weaken him, make him so sleepy...

Urs had what she wanted. Javier's blood had told her everything,
including what he didn't remember. Even if it had not, she dared not
take more. It was still saturated with the memory of hellish pain,
and she didn't want to have to think of him suffering like that.
Also, he was full of drugs. He probably needed to be full of them,
but she didn't.

She let Nick and Natalie back into the room. Then, she went to find
Tracy Vetter.


---SIX---

Tracy didn't know the woman at the door, although she had seen her
before, at the Raven. She'd been talking to Vachon a couple of times
when Tracy had gone there to look for him, but had always walked away
when she'd approached them.

Tracy had no idea if she was human or like Vachon, but she suspected
the latter. There was something strange about her, something sad,
even though objectively speaking she was quite beautiful

Right then, though, she looked pissed off.

"I want to talk to you," she said, in a tone of voice that left
Tracy with no doubt that she'd force her way in if she didn't invite
her.

Tracy opened the door and motioned her inside.

She looked around the apartment as though she were inspecting it,
but didn't give any indication what she thought about it one way or
another.

"My name is Urs. I'm a friend of Javier Vachon's," she said tersely,
pronouncing Vachon's name 'Hah-vee-yay' which Tracy found
irritatingly pretentious.

"So?"

"You saw him this morning, at one of your crime scenes."

Tracy didn't know where this was going, but she figured there was no
harm in admitting that much. Anyone could have seen her there with
Vachon. "Yes. He was there. Sometimes he gives me... information."

The woman nodded, but said, "Don't try that one on me. I know there
is more between you two than that."

Urs's caustic tone of voice did nothing to put Tracy's mind at ease.
She recognized Old Girlfriend Syndrome when she was it, and she had a
gut feeling that with Vachon and Urs, there was even more to it than
that.

"He's just a friend," Tracy said in her own defense.

"He's my friend, too," Urs said angrily. "That's why I have to know
how you could hurt him like you did."

Tracy blinked. "I didn't hurt him."

"That gun, at the crime scene. You fired it."

"It went off by accident. It didn't.... Oh my God... he was in the
alley." <In the line of fire.>

Urs turned on her. "Do you have any idea what you did to him?"

Tracy shook her head slightly, dumbfounded, her mind still denying
what Urs was telling her. "No... I would have seen or heard
something...""

"How could you not know you *shot* him? How could you just leave him
there?"

Urs was suddenly so angry that Tracy braced herself for a blow, but
none was forthcoming.

"I... I don't understand..." Police had swarmed the loading dock. If
Vachon had been there, they would have found him. Never mind that
Vachon was vampire. She'd shot the Inka in the gut at point blank
range and had slowed him down for maybe three seconds. How was what
Urs was saying possible?

Whether it was or not, she continued her tirade.

"How could you let this happen? Aren't you supposed to serve and
*protect*? Didn't they teach you *anything* about guns in cop school?"

Tracy backed away from her. Urs looked like she wanted to hurt her.

Like she had hurt Vachon?

"I didn't know..." Tracy stammered. "He didn't... I didn't.... I
didn't know."

She had no doubt that however it had happened, Urs was telling the
truth, and she added, "How bad is it?"

She was rewarded with sarcasm. "You want to know? He's in the worst
pain you could possibly imagine, and he doesn't even know what
happened to him."

Tracy still didn't understand. Vachon couldn't be hurt by a gun. At
least, that was what he'd told her. And even if he had been, he
healed instantaneously. He's stuck his own hand back on his arm for
God's sake. How bad could a gunshot wound be?

But Urs wasn't lying, nor was she exaggerating, Tracy knew that and
it gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh my God," she muttered. "I didn't know. Please believe me... I
really didn't know... I have to see him..."

"You can't," Urs snapped. "You can't know where he is."

"But... he should be in a hospital... someone should..."

"Someone is, but that doesn't change anything.... He doesn't even
know what happened," she repeated herself, her voice breaking.

Tracy still had no idea what Urs was to Vachon, but in that moment,
she realized that the woman cared about him. Maybe not in the same
way she did, but her anguish was real. She couldn't bear the though
of Vachon in pain, and that was why she had come. She had to be angry
at *someone*.

Tracy dared to make a move to comfort her. She put a hand on Urs's
shoulder and said again. "I didn't know, Urs. I'd never hurt him. You
have to believe that." She covered her face with one hand. "I never
would have hurt him."

Urs pulled her hand away and stared at her, making Tracy even more
uncomfortable than she already was. Her tone of voice had softened
when she spoke to Tracy again.

"No..." she whispered. "You wouldn't.... I'm sorry. I don't know why
I came here."

She made a move to leave, but Tracy stopped her.

"Do you know where he is?"

Urs nodded. "He's safe. He's being cared for. He's just... It's just
hard to see him like that."

"I do want to see him. Please tell me where..."

Urs shook her head. "No. You can't do that."

She studied Tracy's face. Tracy made no effort to hide her turmoil.
How could she have been so *stupid*? How could she have not *seen*
anything? Why hadn't Vachon told her he was hurt?

"You care about him," Urs stated.

Tracy nodded numbly. "I don't understand how this happened. Please
believe me."

Urs signed sadly. "No, I guess you wouldn't."

Tracy decided she had nothing to lose by asking, "Do you know what
he is?"

She expected Urs to be puzzled by the question, but she only nodded.
"I know."

"Then how..."

"How could this happen? You tell me. The police have the gun."

"You think that's the answer?"

Urs nodded. "It has to be. Things like this don't happen to ... They
don't happen...." Her eyes darted about as if maybe she had said too
much and was afraid someone had overheard. "Look, I have to go. I'll
let you know how he's doing if I can."

"Thank you," Tracy said and she meant it.

She thought back to that strange little weapon and wondered how it
could do what it had done. It seemed so... harmless.

Of course, guns were *never* harmless. How many times had her father
drilled that into her head?

And how many times had she heard of stupid accidents exactly like
this one?

She had to know where Vachon was. She was a *detective*. She could
find out.

But what was she going to do when she found him?


---SEVEN---

Natalie had dozed off on the couch in Nick's loft just minutes after
they'd arrived there with Vachon. She'd put her plans to take him to
the lab on hold temporarily. For one thing, she was exhausted, having
had no sleep in almost 36 hours. For another, moving Vachon had been
an ordeal for him. He was too weak to fly and barely able to stand,
but he had adamantly refused Nick's attempts to carry him. By the
time they'd made their way out of the Raven and into the loft, he was
on the verge of collapse. Nick led him up the stairs to the bedroom
and helped him out of the silk robe they had appropriated from
LaCroix so that he'd have something to wear besides bandages.

He eased him gently onto the smooth, satin sheets and then went back
to the Caddy to retrieve the supply of whole human blood they had
brought with them from the Raven. LaCroix had unwittingly donated
that, too.

By the time he returned, Natalie had stretched out and was dead to
the world. It was just as well. Seeing him with human blood bothered
her, even if he wasn't drinking it. It was knowing that the
temptation was always there that made her uncomfortable.

He grabbed a bottle and took it to Vachon. He was awake, and
appeared to be staring at the wall, although Nick knew he wasn't.
Neither of them had brought the subject up, but he still couldn't
see. Nick had no idea what to say to him about it, and it had been
easier to ignore the matter entirely.

He sat on the side of the bed. "Brought you something to eat," he
said, taking Vachon's unburned hand and wrapping it around the
bottle. The younger vampire looked a lot better than he had that
morning, but it was obvious he was hurting. Natalie had lightened up
on the Demerol so he could remain conscious, and maybe it was too
soon for that.

He struggled to sit up, grimacing as he did so.

"Do you need something for the pain, Vachon."

"I don't need anything," he replied irritably, then took a long
swallow from the bottle in his hand.

As he tossed his head back to drink, Nick saw the faint, circular
red marks left by the bullets that were still inside him somewhere.
Unable to examine the wounds internally, Natalie had approximated the
trajectory from the fact that Tracy had been holding the gun at chest
level when it had gone off. She and Vachon were near the same height,
which meant the bullets had been traveling at an upward angle when
they'd hit him. Natalie was certain they were somewhere inside his
skull.

He carried around a bullet inside his own head, and it had caused
plenty of problems, hadn't it? <Nick, you're a... vampire.> <Oh,
thanks for reminding me, I forgot.>

But, he'd recovered. Vachon probably would, too, eventually.

Vachon shoved the bottle back in Nick's direction and lay down again.

Nick abent-mindedly lifted it to his lips before he caught a whiff
of the fresh, rich human scent.

Vachon hadn't finished it - had barely touched it, in fact. Nick knew
Vachon would heal faster with a vampire's blood, and he supposed
Vachon did, too, but he also knew Vachon would never ask for it. That
wasn't like him.

Nick accepted the blame for the other vampire's condition. If he
hadn't left him in an alley, minutes before dawn, with a bullet in
his head, he wouldn't be lying here now looking like something from
Curse of the Mummy's Tomb.

He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and offered Vachon his wrist.
"Here," he said softly. "Drink."

Vachon didn't need a lot of encouragement. He sank his fangs in and
with a soft sigh began to drink without any restraint whatsoever.

Vachon's damaged body desperately wanted Nick's blood - and
ultimately, they both knew he wasn't getting enough from the little
wound in Nick's wrist. Nick pulled his arm away and loosened the
collar on his shirt. He gently placed his hand behind Vachon's head
and drew him towards his neck, then allowed Vachon's instincts to
take over.

The injured vampire located the large blood vessel there, and sank
his fangs in deep so he could drink his fill with greedy abandon.

Why Natalie hadn't stayed asleep, as tired as she was, Nick would
never know.

He was startled when she called out his name, her voice filled with
horror and revulsion.

She had seen what they were doing.

Vachon didn't care. He didn't want to stop. Nick had to ease him
away, his senses reeling from a combination of guilt and
embarrassment - guilty that he had allowed the act, and embarrassed
because he'd enjoyed it. Vachon's only concern appeared to be that
he wasn't going to get any more of Nick's blood. He wiped the back of
his hand across his mouth, ignoring Natalie's reaction..

Despite her obvious anger and disappointment with Nick, she glanced
at Vachon, and then at the fang marks on his Nick's neck and asked,
"Are you okay?"

Natalie had seen him doing the one thing he had never wanted her to
witness. His embarrassment was almost unbearable. He couldn't even
answer her.

With professional detachment, she checked the wounds on his wrist
and neck. They had already closed.

He had no idea what to say to her. "I'm sorry" came to mind, but it
sounded woefully inadequate. He tried to explain that vampires healed
faster if they drank the blood of another vampire, but it sounded
like a lame excuse.

To Nick's profound relief, it didn't appear that she was going to
make an issue of it. She sat down on the bed beside Vachon, and he
saw that she held a syringe in one hand. That was why she was there.

She touched the other vampire lightly on the shoulder, but even that
small contact made Vachon wince. Whether it was because his skin was
still that sensitive, or because she had surprised him was hard to
tell.

"How do you feel?" she asked him.

"It hurts," Vachon stated the obvious. He wasn't whining. His tone
of voice was closer to sarcasm. He was angry. Angry that he'd been
hurt and angry that he didn't know yet how badly. But, the little
edge in his voice was the only hint he gave Natalie of that.

"I'm going to have to change those dressings, Vachon, but I'll give
you another shot, first." she told him.

Nick expected Vachon to protest, but he didn't. He offered her his
Hand - the only spot beside his neck where he had usable veins - and
sat quiet and still while she pushed the Demerol into him. She waited
for his heart to beat and circulate it through his system, and then
waited a few minutes more to make sure it had taken effect.

Even with the drug, removing the bandages was painful. Nick gently
locked his forearm under Vachon's chin to restrain his head, and
Vachon let him do it. Both knew there was a very real likelihood that
he would bite if Natalie hurt him enough.

Except for his back and arms, which had gotten the worst exposure,
Vachon's skin was beginning to look normal again. Vampire normal,
anyway. "It's incredible..." Natalie shook her head. As many times as
she'd witnessed a vampire's ability to heal, it still amazed her.
"He's going to be okay in a day or two."

"It still hurts," Vachon muttered, reminding them that he could hear
them.

Natalie placed her hand alongside his face. "You guys are wired
differently. The pain is probably from residual damage to the nerve
endings. There are a lot more of them in your skin than in ours.

Vachon nodded that he understood. He was drifting off again, but he
was trying to fight it.

He looked frail and vulnerable, and Nick hated seeing him that way.

"Nick, what happened to me?" he said softly. "I don't even know."

Nick told him everything, except that Tracy had been the one holding
the gun. He wasn't sure it was a good idea for him to know that just
yet.

"Vachon... I wouldn't have left you alone if I'd known how badly you
were hurt. Please believe that."

Vachon had no response other than to nod in acknowledgment. What was
he going to say? 'No problem, that's okay?'

It *was* a problem and it *wasn't* okay.


---EIGHT---

By the next evening, Vachon had finished the supply of human blood
they had brought from the Raven.

Nick offered him a bottle from his own supply, and surprisingly,
Vachon didn't seem to care that it wasn't human. That's probably what
he would have preferred, but he was so accepting of his vampire
nature that Nick imagined he could enjoy *any* kind of blood simply
because it was blood.

Nick wanted him to feed before he took him to Natalie's lab. His
burns were healing rapidly, but an injured vampire was still a
dangerous vampire. Physical trauma was a double-edged sword. It
heightened their need for blood and at the same time broke down their
ability to control the urge to feed indiscriminately. And for
whatever reason, Vachon wasn't able to pull his fangs in all the way.
They were not fully extended, but the tips of them were plainly
visible beneath his upper lip. He *looked* like a vampire, and that
was unnerving, even to Nick.

Besides, Vachon's behavior, he had noticed, was not entirely
rational. He still wasn't able to tolerate conventional clothing, yet
he refused to wear LaCroix's robe. He had no reason, he simply didn't
want to.

"Fine," Nick told him, "but you're going to look ridiculous walking
around looking like that." He indicated the bandages, which now
covered a lot less of him than they had before.

"I wouldn't know, would I?" Vachon replied tersely.

Nick sighed in exasperation. "Vachon, this is ridiculous. Why are we
arguing about this? What's really the problem here?"

Vachon though for a moment, as if calculating his answer, and
finally said, "I don't want to go."

Nick frowned. "Why?"

If he expected Vachon to hedge, he was mistaken.

"Because I'm afraid," Vachon said simply.

Again, Nick frowned. "Afraid of what?"

Vachon turned his head towards him, even if his gaze was off by a
bit. "That's a stupid question, Knight."

Nick didn't think it was. He had to think about it before he
understood. Vachon was afraid Natalie was going to find something
that couldn't be fixed. Where would they go from there? The chance of
that happening was remote, and he hadn't thought of it, but
obviously, Vachon had.

His first instinct was to clap Vachon on the shoulder reassuringly,
but he didn't know if that would hurt, so instead he tousled his hair
lightly. "It'll be okay," he said.

But he wasn't sure. Comparatively, his own head injury had been far
more serious, but he'd recovered a lot more quickly. Vachon's burns
were healing, but whatever damage the bullets from the strange gun
had done inside his head, wasn't.

Eventually, he got Vachon into the robe and to the lab, where
Natalie was waiting for them. Her x-ray machine was ready, and she
locked the door to ensure their privacy.

Nick led Vachon to the x-ray table. He climbed onto it without
argument, but the cold, hard surface pressed uncomfortably against
his damaged skin, and he seemed apprehensive about the procedure in
general.

It occurred to Natalie that he had probably never been x-rayed,
that maybe he didn't have the slightest idea what to expect.

"This isn't going to hurt," she reassured him, "and I'll try to be
quick about."

He nodded complacently, and let her position his head so she could
do a complete skull series on him. When she was done, she sent them
to be developed immediately.

There wasn't any place for Vachon to lie down and be comfortable,
and his stamina began to wane after a few minutes. Nick took him back
out to the car and settled him in the back seat, covering him
completely with a blanket in case anyone chanced to peer through the
window. Vachon fell asleep in minutes, so Nick returned to the morgue.

"He's too weak," he told Natalie.

"I know..." Natalie agreed. "Does Tracy know anything about this?"

Nick shook his head. He had booked off the last two nights and
hadn't spoken to his partner. "Did forensics find out anything about
that gun?"

"They aren't giving it priority. It wasn't the murder weapon. We dug
a .38 slug out of the asphalt under the victim. Nobody knows what
kind of gun that is, but the barrel is too narrow for a .38."

"Maybe it's better they don't find out... can you requisition it for
me, so that I can take a better look at it?"

"Sure... What are you thinking?"

"The victim was killed by a vampire. Maybe the vampire had a reason."

"Other than the usual one?"

"There were no fang marks on the body. I think the blood was taken
after the fatal wound was inflicted, probably from the wound itself.
The killer didn't want to be obvious about it, but he couldn't resist
the temptation of a free meal."

Natalie gave him a dirty look. It was because he had referred to a
mortal as a meal.

He was about to make amends when the technician returned with
Vachon's x-rays.

The lab never questioned what Natalie sent them.

Naturally, this time would have to be the exception.

The technician eagerly hung the x-rays, ignoring her assertion that
she was perfectly capable of reading them by herself.

He flicked on the viewing light. "Is that weird, or what?" he told
her, pointing out three black masses at the center of over-exposed
areas of x-ray film. "What do you think that is?"

She admitted she had no idea. Usually, solid objects appeared white
on x-ray film, not black.

She suggested a malfunction in the machine, but as she looked more
closely, she could see that the spots were all the same size, with
roughly the same definitive shape.

"They are definitely objects of some kind. I'd say maybe the size of
a raisin, one centimeter or so. They're black because they seem to be
emitting their own radiation..."

"Radioactive?" Natalie gasped. "How..."

"Beats me. If these films weren't from stiffs, I'd order a lot more
tests. If you plan to take these things out for evidence, I'd suggest
you handle them as hazmat until we know for sure what we're dealing
with. In fact, I'd suggest you leave them alone until we know how
much radiation we're talking about."

"Uh, yeah... That sounds good to me...."

"That's not all," the technician chattered on. "Look at this!"

He used a felt-tip pen to point to a side view of Vachon's skull.
"What do you make of that?"

Natalie had completely overlooked the little detail that vampires
had fangs.

There, on the x-ray, just as they were in his mouth, Vachon's
partially retracted fangs were plainly visible, and not only the part
that could be seen. Their entire structure within the jaw was
obvious, complete with the shadowy image of the tendons and muscles
used to retract and extend them.

Natalie pretended not to know what he was talking about.

The technician laughed. "Look at those canines... If I didn't know
better, I'd say this guy was a vampire."

Natalie felt the blood drain from her face before she realized he
was joking. She then pretended to study the x-rays, and forced a
laugh of her own. "No, no... It looks more like a werewolf to me."

<Hahaha.>

"Whatever. It's enough to give an orthodontist nightmares."

"Well, that's another thing he won't have to worry about ever
again." She indicated a body under a sheet. The technician didn't
know it wasn't the same as the one in the x-rays.

<Hahaha.>

Natalie flicked off the screen and discretely began ushering the
technician towards the door.

"Thanks for getting to these so quickly. I'll let you know what the
lab reports turn up on those bullets."

When pigs fly, she would.

She closed the door behind him, locked it, and then let out the
breath she'd been holding while she leaned against it.

Nick had heard everything. "Nat, you have to get rid of those x-
rays. It's empirical evidence..."

"I've got to study them, first, Nick. I need to know what we're
dealing with, or otherwise what's the point?"

"The point is, the Enforcers won't let you live if they know you
have them."

"I'll destroy them as soon as I can. But for now, you have to get
Vachon back in here. I'll need blood and tissue samples so I can do a
toxicology screen...."

"Do you think what he said was true?"

"What if it is, Nick? What does radiation do to vampires?"

Nick honestly didn't know. He'd heard stories, but at the time they
hadn't concerned him enough to pay real attention to the details.

"Another contemporary environmental variable to deal with," he
remarked. She knew he knew more than that, so she kept staring at him
until he told her what it was.

"There were communities in Nagasaki and near Chernobyl," he said
finally.

"What happened?"

"In Japan, some of us were instantly incinerated along with the
mortals. Vaporized... no more vampire. But the ones who survived the
blast, and the ones in Chernobyl... some of them died, too. Not from
the radiation, but from what it did to them."

"What are you not telling me Nick?"

"There were stories. I don't know if they were true. Vampires who
starved because they would not feed. Vampires who became mentally
incapacitated and died from carelessness. Vampires who went mad and
killed themselves - or other vampires. Vampires who... had to be
destroyed..."

Natalie looked stricken. "Disabled ones. Like Vachon."

Nick nodded, "The ones who could not survive on their own."

"We need to know for sure what we're dealing with here, Nick."

"I know, I know."

But what were they going to do when they found that out? If the
strange weapon had left Vachon permanently impaired, what, exactly
were they going to do about it?


---NINE---

Nick returned Vachon to the loft and called LaCroix. He needed a
fresh supply of human blood for the injured vampire, and he had some
questions he wanted to ask. He didn't think that leaving Vachon alone
was a good idea, so he hoped LaCroix would come to them.
Unfortunately, all he got was an answering machine.

He left a message and then stretched out on the couch and closed his
eyes while he waited for LaCroix to return the call. He was tired. He
was unaccustomed to sitting up with sick friends. Hell, he didn't
*have* any friends, except for Natalie.

He only intended to rest for a few minutes, but when he opened his
eyes again, the sunlight pouring through the blinds threatened to
saute him where he lay.

He looked at the clock on his VCR. Tracy had shown him how to set it
so it didn't blink 12:00 all the time. It was after 9 in the morning.

He went upstairs to check on Vachon and was greeted by the sight of
two vampires in his bed instead of one. There were empty bottles from
the Raven on the floor, and a paper bag on the dresser. The bag
contained a few clothes -jeans, a couple of tee-shirts, some socks.
There was a pair of boots beside it. Vachon's stuff. Apparently, Urs
had dropped in through the skylight and had decided to make herself
at home. She lay with her arms wrapped around Vachon, the black satin
sheets draped casually across their naked bodies.

The party definitely looked over, and neither of them stirred.
They'd sleep the rest of the day.

Nick thought he should call Tracy. He hadn't talked to her since the
morning Vachon had been injured.

He thought he should discuss the case with her, just to make it look
like he cared that a vampire hunter was dead, but she sounded tense
and distant when he mentioned it.

He asked her what was wrong.

"It's Vachon... you know, my informant?"

Nick tensed. "Yes."

"He's uh..." She hesitated so long he almost asked if she was still
there. "There's a problem, that's all."

"What kind of problem?" he hedged.

"I'm not sure. A friend of his came to me and..." She stopped again.

"Tracy?"

"Nick, I really can't explain it. I'm just really worried about him."

"I'm sure he's fine," Nick said, and then added cheerfully, "He
looked like the type who could take care of himself."

"Yeah," Tracy muttered. "I thought so, too."

Another pause. "Anyway, Nick, we still have nothing to go on. No
motive... hell, the victim doesn't even seem to actually exist. His
ID was a fake, and so far his credit cards have been untraceable."

"That's not possible." He knew, however, that it was.

"You would think not, but it's true. The database doesn't show
anyone issuing the account numbers on them, but they're valid."

"So, things seem to be at a dead end for now?" he said.

"Couldn't get much deader."

Good, he thought. "Well, I guess then it won't matter if I book off
a couple more days. I think I'm coming down with something.... in the
meantime, don't worry about your friend. I'm sure he's fine."

"Uh... yeah..." She didn't sound convinced.

He hung up, wondering who had told her about Vachon. Obviously, she
knew more than she felt free to tell him.

The door buzzer sounded, and Natalie let herself in before he could
answer it.

She looked tired and worried as she set down her purse and a heavy
bag that was slung over her shoulder.

Natalie had studied the x-rays until she'd memorized every detail.
She'd done the tox screens herself and now knew the results.

Nick was waiting for her to explain.

The one thing she liked about forensic pathology was that she never
had to give a patient bad news. They'd already gotten that from
someone else or they wouldn't be dead.

"Nat?" Nick asked her.

"The blood tests indicate radiation poisoning. It's not doing to
Vachon what it would do to a human, but it is doing what I would
expect it to do to a vampire."

"Which is?"

"Destroying the tissue in the immediate area around the bullets.
It's acting in much the same way as sunlight, only on a minute scale.
The matter inside the cells vaporizes and causes the cell walls to
burst. If that happened to a human, that would be all she wrote. In a
vampire, the cells attempt to regenerate... they do regenerate, in
fact. But only to be destroyed again. It's an endless cycle."

"You'll remove them, then."

"It's not that simple, Nick.... In the first place, It would have to
be done in a hospital with the proper safeguards...."

"Natalie, you know that's not possible. Besides, you can't do
anything to Vachon that won't heal."

"Not if he was healthy. But you said yourself, this is a new
environmental variable. Like the Fever, Nick. And that *killed*
vampires."

"You have to get those things out of his head, Nat."

"I'm not a neurosurgeon, Nick. And as fast as you guys heal, I don't
even know if it would be possible to open his skull and keep it open
long enough to repair the damage that just hacking my way in there
would to him."

Nick sighed patiently. "The damage will repair itself, Nat."

"In a *healthy* vampire, yes, Nick. Don't you understand what I'm
trying to tell you?"

No, of course he didn't. Vampires never went to doctors. Never had
to face the possibility of chronic illness or permanent disability in
one of their own kind.

He nodded, but she wondered if he really understood.

"And if we do nothing?"

"He'll never get any better. He might even get worse."

"Worse? How?"

"If nothing else, the radiation has to be wreaking havoc with his
brain chemistry. I don't think it's unreasonable to expect behavioral
changes, headaches, periods of disorientation, transient paralysis...
It's not a death sentence, but he's not ever going to recover." She
touched the back of her skull. "Two of them are lodged in area of the
brain where the optic nerves are located in a human. I doubt a
vampire's brain is that geographically different. He'll stay blind.
The location of the other might eventually cause him to loose his
hearing, too."

Nick ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture reflecting his
frustration. "We can't let that happen, Nat."

"I don't want that to happen, Nick. I just don't know what we can do
to stop it. Even if I dared remove the bullets, radioactive material
has to be disposed of properly. There are strict rules. It would have
to be done in a specific type of medical facility designed and
designated to treat victims of nuclear accidents. There'd be dozens
of reports to file... It just isn't possible to do it and not expose
a lot of people to the truth about you guys."

He was looking at her as if she had betrayed him by not having all
the answers, and that wasn't fair.

She left him staring and went for the bag she had brought with her.
She removed an instrument Nick recognized as a Geiger counter. The
thing looked like it was 50 years old.

"It looks like junk, I know," Natalie said. "But it's all I could
come up with. I 'borrowed' it from the old Civil Defense Shelter
under the Coroner's Building. I don't think anyone even knew it was
still there." That wasn't exactly true. It had an inspection tag
dated only three months before. Even though the Cold War was over,
someone apparently still cared about such things.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I have to find out if Vachon poses a danger to anyone. If he does,
he's going to have to be confined somehow."

"Do you know how to use one of those?" he asked her.

Truthfully, she didn't, butNick had lived through the 50's and the
Cuban Missile Crisis, when every one was sure the Russians were
poised and eager to nuke the neighbors next door. "I was hoping you
did," she confessed.

He did. He gave her a quick course on the use of the instrument.

No abnormal radiation levels were detected when she passed it over
his body, and he'd been closer to Vachon than anyone else had.

"His body must be absorbing it, acting like a natural shield," she
said.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Well, it's good in the sense that he can still have a normal degree
of contact with us mortals, but it's certainly not good for him. His
blood sample contained a number of ruptured cells. I don't know if
his body has figured out how to dispose of them, or what will happen
if they are just left to collect inside of him."

Nick had no answer for that. He didn't know, either.

"Nick, those vampires at Chernobyl and Japan who had to be killed...
What if the Enforcers come, Nick? Vachon wouldn't be able to defend
himself."

"He wouldn't stand a chance against the Enforcers even if he could
see, Nat."

If it were him, he had to grudgingly admit that LaCroix would
intervene, but he didn't know what LaCroix would do about Vachon. Urs
might attempt to defend her master, simply because he *was* her
master, but Urs had a death wish and was hardly more than a
fledgling, much too young to offer an Enforcer any contest. No, if
anyone was going to stand between the Enforcers and Vachon, it would
have to be him, and he wasn't sure he cared enough about the Spaniard
to assume that responsibility.

But, he knew he might not have a choice. Tracy knew about Vachon,
and he had to keep her from getting any more involved. The Enforcers
would destroy her before she had time to think it, especially if they
learned she'd been the one who shot him. It wouldn't matter that it
was an accident.

Nick warned Natalie that Urs was there before she went up to check
on Vachon, but when they entered the room, he knew the doctor was in
no danger. Both Urs and Vachon slept the deep, dreamless sleep of a
vampire who felt completely safe. Vachon appeared literally lifeless
as she examined him.

All that remained of his hideous injuries were some deep lesions on
his left arm.

Vachon snarled at her in his sleep when the bandages stuck to the
scabs as she removed them.

Natalie stroked his head. "Shhhhh. I'm almost done." It never failed
to amaze Nick how completely comfortable Natalie could be around his
kind. He supposed it was one reason he loved her, but he did
sometimes wish she was just a little more afraid of vampires. She'd
be safer that way.

After she had changed the dressing, she used the Geiger counter on
the sleeping vampire.

"He's definitely hotter than normal, but still within safe limits."

She took a curious look inside his mouth. The fangs were still only
partially retracted. Whether it was some sort of self-preservation
mechanism to compensate for his injuries, or a manifestation of the
damage to his nervous system, Natalie had no way of knowing. But it
was disconcerting that, even asleep, he looked very much like the
vampire he was. Too much.

"Nick, don't let him out of your sight, okay?"

"Where's he going to go, Nat? He can't see."

"Yes, but he's still a vampire. Who knows what else he *can* do? Be
careful, please?"


---TEN---

Vachon knew the sun was down. He could sense it. It was dark, safe.
Or should have been.

He thought he was fully awake, and he knew he was still in Nick
Knight's bed. Urs had been there, too, but she was gone now. She had
a job to go to...

A job. What kind of life was *that* for a vampire? He'd probably
never know. He only worked when - and if - he felt like it.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't see a thing. Even in
complete darkness, vampires could discern objects by the heat that
they gave off or absorbed, colors in the infrared and ultraviolet
spectrums that humans had no words to describe.

But now, there was nothing. He waved his own hand in front of his
face. Nada.

He really couldn't see.

He knew Nick was gone, that he was alone, and he felt a brief moment
of panic. He hated the dark. He'd been petrified of it as a child and
had never completely gotten away from that.

He swallowed the fear before it could take hold.

Things could be worse. In fact, not much time had elapsed since they
*had* been worse.

The terrifying pain was gone, and it wouldn't be back, unless he was
stupid enough to get caught in the sun again, which he most assuredly
would *not* be. Ever. If he hadn't cut it so close, he would have
been safe at home when the sun rose instead of barbecuing on the
asphalt. It would be a long time before he made that mistake again.

He felt good now, and strong - and ravenously hungry.

He got up from the bed. His legs were stiff from disuse, and he was
still shaky from the drugs Natalie had given him for his pain. But
instead of stumbling blindly around the room like he expected,
somehow, he knew where everything was.

It was a completely new and unfamiliar sensation - as if the new skin
that covered his body had a sight all its own. He did not know
exactly what everything in the room looked like, but he knew its
exact location. And, from differences in the heat and the vibrations
of the air moving around each item, he could tell what most of it
was, as well.

The wood of the dresser was warm, and the almost imperceptible air
currents in the room rebounded gently from its porous surface. The
sheet rock walls, cold and hard, echoed the faint sound of his own
breathing. The soft bed swallowed the echo and a flat, neutral aura
emanated from it.

It was an interesting experience, but one that made him uneasy. It
was so totally unexpected, something he'd never had any idea he could
do.

He stood perfectly still for a moment, hoping to discover how such a
thing was possible. Instead, he became acutely aware of the bandages
that covered most of his left arm. They itched, so he pulled them off.

He found his clothes easily. His own scent was on them. Urs must
have brought them. He smelled her scent on them, too.

He located the bathroom with very little effort, following the scent
of fresh water, soap, the faint aroma of rust from the pipes, When he
was close enough, he felt the flat, cold tiles reflecting back at him
from their polished surface.

He turned the shower on and stepped in, but the rush of water
droplets felt like sharp little rocks pelting his sensitive, healing
skin. He filled the tub, instead, and helped himself to Nick's comb
and razor. That was probably taking undue advantage of Knight's
hospitality, but what the hell, it wasn't like Knight couldn't afford
it.

Soaking in the warm water felt good, and he could have stayed there
a lot longer if he hadn't been so hungry. He'd need to feed, and
soon. He knew when he was reaching the point of not being able to
control it. He recognized the sensation, although he was not quite
sure there was a reason for it. Nick had brought him blood. He was
certain he remembered that. But being injured had increased his
body's demand for it.

Knight, of course, would expect him to control his hunger. Knight
had willpower with a capital W.

Well, wasn't that just too damn bad. He was a vampire. He needed
blood to survive, to heal. He'd get it.

It was awkward doing everything in total darkness, but he managed
it. When he was dressed, he left the same way Urs had gotten in -
through the skylight.

Nick sensed something was the instant he stepped through the door. A
few million brain cells were activated and he was instantly alert to
the fact that he did not sense Vachon's presence anywhere nearby. It
flashed through his mind that maybe the younger vampire's condition
had been more critical than they had suspected, and that he had died
in his absence, but he was almost certain that was not the case.

Natalie was right behind him. She'd driven up in her car at the same
time he'd returned from the Raven with a fresh supply of bottled
blood. Urs had helped consume most of what LaCroix had sent with her
the night before. Vachon had been sleeping soundly when he'd left,
and it had never entered his mind that the Spaniard would think to
leave, let alone actually do it.

He wondered if he could keep from Natalie the fact that Vachon was
gone.

He decided that would serve no purpose, so he told her the truth.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He was certain he'd already answered that, but he repeated himself.

"He's gone."

He tried to sound calm about it, but he knew it was a problem--a big
problem--and so did Natalie.

He dashed upstairs and followed the scent trail Vachon had left
behind. Great. He had flown out. Who knew how far he'd gotten?

He gave the pile of bandages Vachon had left on the floor a kick
that sent them flying everywhere and said "Shit!"

Natalie would have laughed under other circumstances. It was so out
of character for Nick to swear that it often struck her as funny on
the rare occasions he did it.

But she could appreciate that this time he had good reason to be
upset. Where Vachon could go, and what he could do, were anyone's
guess. Mortal, he would not have even found his way out of the
apartment.

Natalie stated the obvious. "You shouldn't have left him alone, Nick."

Nick bristled at that. "Well, I didn't think he was strong enough
for this Nat. I'm not the doctor here."

She put up her hands in a calming gesture. "It won't do him any good
for us to fight about it, Nick. We have to find him."

He hated what he knew he had to do, but Natalie was right.

He went to the phone and called LaCroix.


---ELEVEN---

He hadn't seen daylight in over 460 years, but Vachon had forgotten
what real darkness was like. Even on nights with overcast skies and
no moon, in the middle of nowhere, he'd been able to see what was
around him. And in a completely darkened room, he could still see
everything plainly.

But not now. Not any more.

He sat on the roof of Nick's apartment building awhile, trying to
orient himself to his surroundings. He had no idea if he could find
his way to the church, or to the Raven, but if he paid attention, he
thought maybe he could find his way back to the loft. He concentrated
on the smells and sounds around him, trying to memorize them, but it
was hard to focus.

He was too hungry. Being injured did that to a vampire, and the
burns had been worse than anything he'd ever done to himself.

He wanted to control his hunger, he really did, because he knew if
he didn't, he was going to do something stupid.

But as he sat on the roof, his senses being assaulted by the noises
and scents of the mortal world around him, his resolve quickly faded.

He was a vampire. He had a vampire's urges and instincts. Why should
he argue with them?

He let the night air embrace him, and took to the sky.

That seemed foolhardy even to him--flying when he couldn't see where
he was going. He didn't think he'd crash into any buildings, though.
He seemed to just *know* where they were, or at least that there were
solid objects nearby to be avoided.

He had no idea if anyone could see him, though, and counted on them
not believing what they saw if they did.

<How stupid was that?>

It made no difference that he couldn't see them. He smelled the
mortals, and their blood, and the overpowering urge to feed became
his one conscious thought, even though not-too-deep down, he knew
that was a Really Bad Idea.

It didn't matter. He had to have blood.

He sensed the ground coming up at him and was able to land on his
feet. He congratulated himself for that.

There were no shouts, no cries of astonishment. No one had seen him
land, or at least not anyone who was willing to point it out to
others. But there were humans not far off. He could hear them
breathing, hear their heartbeats. He felt their distant warmth
everywhere on his body, through this new sense he had. Their scent
was an intoxicating essence that excited the vampire in him almost
unbearably. He wanted to feast on them all, but whichever one he got
his hands on first would do.

There were solid objects around him. Cold metal. Trees. Concrete.
Bricks. He'd never noticed that you could sense inanimate objects
like you could living things. In almost five centuries, why had he
never noticed that?

No time to think about that, though. Mortals were gathering around
him in the darkness like bugs drawn to a light bulb. He didn't even
need to hunt them down. This was going to be so easy...

He leaned against the nearest wall and waited for the single
heartbeat that was coming gradually closer.

Someone was walking right into his arms.

The heartbeat was steady, but there was thin, trilling sound to it.
It was an old heart, healthy but long-used. He smelled her perfume.
She was probably somebody's abuelita.

He didn't care. He took her.

The struggle was more than he anticipated. His left arm was still
sore and when she sank her fingernails into the healing burns, he let
out a yelp. He wasn't as fast or coordinated as he should have been,
either, and once, she almost got away from him. But he used his
powerful legs to pull her off her feet and the rest of his body to
pin her to the ground. Problem was, she was not a small woman - she
was probably bigger than he was - and her unexpected resistance had
allowed her the opportunity to scream her lungs out.

He went for her neck. He was too hungry just to leave her now that
he had her. He hoped he could finish the job before too many people
were alerted by her screams.

His fangs pierced the struggling flesh. The heartbeat roared in his
head, instantly calming his hunger with a spurting fire as the
ecstasy of feeding on warmth and life spread through him. It felt so
good, he moaned softly from the sheer pleasure of it.

Then, someone pulled him away. Someone stronger and faster than he
was.

The joy of the kill was replaced by a tide of unmitigated outrage.

Whoever it was, he'd kill him, too.

Then, through his anger, he sensed the other vampire.

Oh hell. It *would* have to be LaCroix.

Before he could even complete that thought, his arms were pinned to
his sides, and he was locked in an embrace he couldn't escape, no
matter how hard he fought. LaCroix was physically larger than he was,
but more importantly, he was older, which gave him a distinct
advantage when it came to strength. It was useless to struggle, but
he did anyway. He was pissed off.

He snarled and tried to bite and kick his way free, but LaCroix
dragged away from the mortal and then lifted him off his feet and
into the air.

The old vampire's hold on him was viciously tight, and the pressure
on his tender skin made him cry out in pain and rage, but it did stop
him from struggling.

When they finally landed again and he was released, he immediately
turned on LaCroix, baring his still-bloody fangs and hissing at him
threateningly.

He got belted in the face for his trouble. If he'd been human, it
would have knocked his teeth out. As it was, the sensation the blow
sent up to the base of his fangs was not unlike being kicked in the
crotch - it was genuinely incapacitating.

When the agony finally subsided, he was furious. But now, he not
only couldn't see LaCroix, he couldn't feel him anymore, either.

He reached up and rubbed at his aching mouth. LaCroix had been smart
to leave...

Where was he?

There was music, and he smelled alcohol and blood, and sensed the
presence of other vampires. The Raven.

He found a wine barrel and kicked it hard enough to make his foot
hurt, which made him mad enough to kick again, causing it to burst.
The wine splashed everywhere.

He hoped it was a rare vintage a thousand years old and
irreplaceable and that LaCroix would slip on it and impale himself on
the barrel slats and be pinned to the floor like a bug until daylight
hit him, so he would die a slow and hideous death...

Then Urs was there.

She touched his face with cool, tiny fingers. "Javier? Are you all
right?"

It was only then that he was aware he was breathing heavily, but it
was only because he was pissed off.

She tried to lead him away from the mess he'd made, but he pulled
away from her. He was still hungry and didn't want to deal with
whatever she wanted from him.

She put her hands on either side of his face. "Try to calm down,
Javier. Everything's okay."

He jerked free of her grasp. How the hell could she say that?

"Leave me alone, Urs."

She rarely defied him openly, but this time, she said, "No, I won't.
LaCroix will hurt you if you defy him, and I know you. You will."

She was right, on both counts.

He let her lead him, even though he hated it, and he realized she
had taken him to LaCroix's office when she gently forced him
backwards onto a leather couch, leaving him no choice but to sit. She
sat down beside him and carefully touched her hand to the spot where
LaCroix had hit him.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked softly.

He took her hand in his. "I'm fine," he assured her.

She put her arms around him, which was something Urs didn't do very
often, so it was unfortunate that it made him wince with pain.

Urs pulled back, and then he felt her tugging at the waist of his
tee-shirt. He didn't know what she was doing, but he let her take it
off.

She stifled a gasp. She didn't think he heard it, but he did.

"Damn him," she muttered.

"What?" he asked her. "What's the matter?"

"You're covered with bruises."

He had to think that one over. He was a little sore where LaCroix
had held him, but not markedly so. He suspected the newly-grown skin
was just more susceptible to injury. He told Urs that, but she still
took him into her arms again, which was not an altogether bad thing.

He leaned his weight against her, knowing she had the strength to
support him easily. He was tired, even though he hadn't done anything
to really exert himself.

She drew him close to her and kissed his tangled hair.

She didn't say anything to him. She didn't need to.

In all the time since he'd brought her across, Urs had fought with
him, nagged him, laid endless guilt trips on him, belittled him,
threatened him, or very often simply ignored him.

But he could not recall her ever before showing him any sign of real
affection like that. Not once. It took them both by surprise.

He felt himself relax in her embrace in spite of himself.

He sensed her through every pore and the sensation was frightening
and new to him, but it was delicious nonetheless.

He nuzzled his head against her neck, and she knew what he wanted.

Anger had dulled his hunger, but it was still there, demanding to be
satisfied, and he sighed contentedly when she leaned her head to one
side so that he could feed.

He encircled her waist with his left arm and placed his hand against
her lower back to support her as he pushed her down onto the couch.
Her cold, vital blood filled his mouth as she sank her fangs into him
and drank.

It was an exquisite moment. He felt no need to hurry it. She would
take from him as he took her into him, until their blood mingled in
an endless river.

Some things didn't need to be seen to be appreciated.


---TWELVE---

Urs knew Vachon would sleep for awhile - he always did. She wished
she had a blanket to cover him. LaCroix didn't need heat, so he never
turned it on, and Vachon looked so exposed in the dim light. Hw
looked so pale. So... dead. It gave her a chill.

It angered her to see the bruised, scraped skin on his torso where
LaCroix had grabbed him, but she knew Vachon, and didn't doubt for a
moment that the use of force had been necessary. He was independent
and stubborn, and not being able to go his own way was certain to
make him more so. Vachon could be... difficult... under the best of
circumstances.

She left his things where he could find them, then locked the door
so that no one would walk in on him.

When she got to the bar, she saw LaCroix talking to Nick Knight.
They were talking about Vachon, she knew. Everyone in the Community
was talking about Vachon since word about what had happened to him
had gotten around.

He wasn't safe, not from the Enforcers, not from any of them, and
that frightened her.

Nick expected LaCroix to be livid, but all he got when he arrived at
the Raven was an amused look.

"Nicholas..." LaCroix lifted his glass. "You look ... radiant...
Been playing around the Day-Glo again?"

Nick glared at him. "I'm glad you think this is funny, LaCroix."

LaCroix's expression changed. "I think no such thing. Our young
friend made quite a spectacle of himself tonight."

"It wasn't his fault."

"Oh, I quite agree, Nicholas. It was *yours*, and I won't have it
happening again, do you understand?"

Nick didn't acknowledge him. "So you know, about the bullets, then?
What they are?"

"I made a point of finding out. How could I not?" He took a sip of
his drink and smirked, "Radioactive Vampires, next on Oprah..."

"Damn it, LaCroix, this isn't a joke!"

"Calm yourself Nicholas. Every problem has a solution."

Nick wasn't expecting to hear that. "What?"

LaCroix remained maddeningly silent.

"What is it, LaCroix? What do you know?"

"We are a durable race, Nicholas, but not indestructible.
Nevertheless, it seems we survive, no matter what."

"Stop talking in riddles, LaCroix. I'm not in the mood."

LaCroix sighed. "Nor am I."

"Your *point* LaCroix, or do you even have one?"

LaCroix swirled his drink around in his glass. "I don't think the
Enforcers will want Vachon dead. They'll want to know how this
weapon, whatever it is, works on us."

Nick took only mild consolation in that fact. He'd met Enforcers who
wouldn't think twice about turning Vachon into a living lab
experiment and simply tormenting him to death.

"That won't help him."

"No, but it would provide useful information. The time was when a
stake and a vial of holy water were all that a vampire hunter needed.
It seems the technology has advanced."

"If it's all the same, I'll put my trust in Natalie."

"I'm sure Natalie is a fine physician, Nicholas, but her patients
are usually mortal..." LaCroix reflected on that for a moment. "Come
to think of it, her patients are usually dead, so perhaps she does
have some potential... But right now, I am quite convinced that there
is nothing she can do to help. If there was, she would have done it
by now."

Nick admitted that was true. Natalie cared about them--the vampire
Community. She didn't want to see Vachon suffer, unlike the average
Enforcer, who wouldn't care.

Even if he hadn't paid attention to the talk about the Chernobyl
vampires and the Nagasaki victims, Nick was certain that LaCroix
probably had. Bad news was his favorite form of entertainment.

"Is he going to die, LaCroix? Do you know?" he asked him.

"I assure you, mon Nicolas, he is not, although we may wish otherwise
before this matter is resolved."

Nick ignored that portent of impending doom. LaCroix tended to
embellish reality at times.

"The Chernobyl vampires..."

"A gross over-exaggeration. You know how gossip travels. They all
lived, and unless he is destroyed, so will Vachon."

"But as what, LaCroix? Some blind, mindless revenant *thing* who
can't control himself and will have to be put down like a sick dog?"
Those last words just slipped out. He didn't mean for them to sound
as ugly as they did, and he certainly didn't mean for Urs to hear
them.

He didn't realize she was listening until he saw her anguished
expression.

The smirk had left LaCroix's face by then. "That won't happen,
Nicholas. I promise you that much." And even though he didn't say the
words, his face added the rest, 'I'll kill him myself before I let
him be hunted down like an animal.' Whatever his reasons were,
LaCroix considered the orphan Vachon one of his own, and that would
accord him a certain degree of protection, although no one could
effectively protect him from LaCroix.

"That's a real relief, LaCroix," Nick said bitterly.

He took LaCroix's glass from him and downed it. It was human blood,
but so what? He was angry enough that it didn't do anything for him.

"Where is he? I need to take him home." He set the glass down. "I
need more blood, too. I have to keep him from doing this again."

"You will have it," LaCroix assured him. "All you need, although I
won't count on that solving the problem. He was after the kill, not
the blood. You know how that can be."

Nick glared at his Master. How dare he gloat under the circumstances?

"Why do you even care, Nicholas?"

"Because it's my fault he got hurt."

LaCroix smiled condescendingly. "Poor Nicholas. Always ready to
accept blame... I heard it was your young partner who shot him."

Nick looked suspiciously at Urs. "Who told you that?"

"Word gets around."

"LaCroix, do you know who made that gun? And why?"

"The answer to the first question is no. Obviously, it was designed
to injure, not to kill, which brings up interesting possibilities.
But as to the why? That's a moot point now, since the owner of said
weapon is no longer a problem."

"What if there are others?"

"That is not something you need concern yourself with, Nicholas. You
have a more immediate situation to deal with. Vachon cannot be
allowed to wander freely about. The Enforcers won't have it, the
Community won't have it, and *I* won't have it. Is that understood?"

"So I'm to keep him prisoner?" Nick laughed bitterly.

"If you don't, I will."

That was not a threat. It was a certainty.

Vachon was a free spirit in every sense of the word. Nick hated the
thought of taking that away from him, even though he saw the need for
it.

He turned from LaCroix in disgust and followed Urs to the office at
the rear of the club.

Vachon didn't seem surprised to be awakened by him, and slowly
dressed while Nick tried to follow his every move without actually
looking at him.

He pulled his tee-shirt on last, and Nick grabbed him by the arm as
soon as he had it on. He tried not to make it too obvious that he was
leading him out of the Raven, but still, there were stares, and
murmured whispers that he was sure Vachon heard.

When they were outside, he opened the passenger door of the Caddy
and shoved Vachon inside, taking care not to hit his head on the door
frame or otherwise handle him roughly. Vachon was his captive, but he
didn't want him to feel like it.

He darted around the car and was in it before Vachon realized he was
no longer guarding the passenger side. Vachon didn't give any
indication that he intended to flee, though. He sat perfectly still,
his expression unreadable.

Now was as good a time as any...

"Would you mind telling me exactly what the hell you thought you
were doing?" Nick demanded.

Vachon winced almost imperceptibly but said nothing.

"Well?" Nick prodded when he didn't get an answer. "Has your brain
stopped working, too?!"

"Shut up, Knight," Vachon muttered. "The only reason I don't fly
through the roof of this heap is because you'd make me pay for it."

"Goddammit, Vachon, what were you thinking?! You took a mortal in
full view of a dozen bystanders!"

"So how was I supposed to know that?"

"That is no excuse, Vachon, and you know it."

"I kind of liked it myself," Vachon muttered sarcastically.

"This isn't funny."

Vachon stretched his legs out on the floorboard and folded his arms.
"I agree. I think it sucks."

"That's the problem, Vachon. You *didn't* think. You just *did.*
That stops, now."

He realized he was speaking to Vachon as though he were a child, and
Vachon was resenting every second of it, he could tell, which was why
it surprised him when the younger vampire's head dropped and he
muttered "Okay. I'm sorry."

Nick immediately realized what those two little words had cost
Vachon, and that he'd uttered them only because he was trapped, and
not just in the car.

Nick felt like a jerk for talking to him like that. It didn't help
that with his youthful face and big, dark eyes, the 500-year-old
Vachon could look like an innocent kid when it suited him, and right
then, it suited him.

"Okay. It's all right. I'm sorry I yelled at you. Just don't do it
again. It's dangerous. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Vachon signed.

He hated this, Nick could tell.

It was going to be a long night. Perhaps the first of many.


---THIRTEEN---

When they got to the loft, Nick made Vachon carry the case of
bottles from the Raven. He would have expected him to do that under
ordinary circumstances, and thought that after what had happened, it
might be best to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

As soon as they were safely inside, Vachon grabbed a bottle and
gulped it down. Nick imagined how wonderfully sweet and rich it was,
and found that the mere thought awakened powerful urges in him. He
had grown accustomed to controlling his hunger when he was alone, but
around other vampires, he was like an alcoholic in a bar. It was
possible to resist--he usually succeeded--but the temptation was
always greatest at those times.

Vachon, he knew, didn't care about any of that. It didn't bother him
that he needed blood to live. He actually seemed to *like* being a
what he was, which was going to make dealing with his impulses a
challenge.

Vachon couldn't possibly have been truly hungry. He'd just fed,
first from the mortal, and then, Nick suspected, from Urs. But hunger
was not the only reason they consumed blood. Nick knew that. Vachon
was not even trying to curb his instincts. Why should he?

The Spaniard finished the first bottle and grabbed another. Nick
didn't know what sensations the younger vampire was experiencing, but
he got the idea that Vachon was using blood more as a diversion than
anything else. By concentrating on it, he could block out reality for
a time.

Nick couldn't say he blamed him. Vachon had to know how vulnerable
he was.

He checked the messages on his answering machine. Natalie had called
twice, but hadn't left a message either time. He hoped she didn't
decide to drop by on her break. Vachon couldn't be trusted around a
mortal. He'd already demonstrated that.

Vachon seemed to read his thoughts.

"I wouldn't hurt her, you know," he said softly. "I owe Natalie my
life."

"I believe you wouldn't *want* to hurt her, Vachon, but what you did
tonight..."

Nick signed. There was no point in rubbing the younger vampire's
nose in it. He took him gently by the arm and lead him to the leather
couch.

"Sit down," he told him. "We need to talk about this."

Vachon sat, but said nothing. He simply sat perfectly still, the way
he had in the car, the nearly-drained bottle of blood dangling from
his hands.

Nick finally spoke. "Hell of a mess you're in, you know that, don't
you?"

Vachon nodded. "Nothing is going to make this go away any time soon,
is it?"

There was no self-pity. It was a simple statement of fact. Nick had
noticed that about Vachon--he didn't waste time worrying over things
he couldn't change. He'd dealt with the death of his friend Screed in
much the same way. He'd mourned him, for a time, but then realized
that nothing would bring him back, and he seemed to have moved past
it with the same quiet serenity that Nick was seeing then. What he
thought and felt were anyone's guess, and it was impossible to tell
just by looking at him.

"Vachon... if Natalie can find a way to help you, she will."

"I know."

"And if she can't, she'll keep looking," Nick laughed softly.

Vachon smiled slightly. "Yeah." He drank the remaining dregs from
the bottle he was holding.

"More?" Nick asked him. Now was not the time to have a problem with
Vachon consuming human blood.

Vachon shook his head. "It doesn't really help much."

Nick knew that "it" meant mortal blood. He'd been injured himself a
few times. He knew that the most effective "medicine" for any vampire
was the blood of another vampire. In Vachon's case, that probably
wouldn't improve his condition in any way, but that didn't change the
fact that Vachon would still have the instinctive urge to take blood
from one of his own kind. Urs, being younger and weaker, had probably
not served that end as well as a vampire older than Vachon--
preferably one from his own bloodline--would have. Vachon had a twin,
the Inka, but not even Vachon knew where he was, and their master was
dead. Vachon had no one to turn to turn to for that simple comfort.

Allowing Vachon to drink from him again went against every principal
Nick held concerning what he was and who he wanted to be, but
somehow, he just couldn't muster the resolve to ignore the injured
vampire.

Besides, there was something else to consider - the need to know just
how dangerous Vachon was. The casual acceptance reflected by his
nonchalant demeanor told Nick nothing. He had to know what dark
thoughts were lurking beneath that calm facade. He not only had a
responsibility to protect others from Vachon, but also to protect
Vachon from himself. Exchanging blood would tell him what he needed
to know in ways that words or actions never could.

He put a hand on Vachon's shoulder. "Take my blood."

It was a simple, direct invitation, and while Vachon, with good
reason, seemed surprised at the offer, he didn't question it.

With the ever-present revulsion, even fear, that he always
experienced when doing almost anything involving blood, Nick tilted
his head to one side and guided Vachon to his neck. His loathing was
compounded by the sudden rush of euphoria he felt when Vachon's fangs
pierced the large vein there. There was no other sensation like it,
and, as usually happened, the immediate pleasure quelled any
misgivings he had about the act.

He reached around to the back of Vachon's head and pulled his hair
back. An instant later, a surge of confusing images flooded into him
along with Vachon's blood.

He tasted fear, confusion, and perhaps most alarmingly of all, he
detected that the thin wall that held Vachon's natural instincts in
check had almost completely eroded away. Vachon had never cared that
he was a vampire, but now, he simply didn't care. About killing,
about being caught, about anything. If he wanted blood, he'd take it.

He was dangerous.

Left to his own devices, Vachon would attempt to kill again, and
despite his assertion that he would not harm Natalie, Nick knew that
no mortal was safe around him. Not Natalie. Not Tracy Vetter. And
certainly not complete strangers in dark alleys.

As their blood flowed into each other, it was as if an unspoken
conversation was taking place.

Nick knew that Vachon would have to be restrained somehow, and as
soon as he knew it, Vachon knew it.

Nick sensed that the Spaniard accepted this would happen, but also
that he would not willingly comply.

Both of them knew Vachon's freedom was one thing he treasured, and
that it had come to an abrupt end.

Nick expected anger from Vachon, but there was only profound sadness
and despair, emotions he knew Vachon would never allow to rise to the
surface.

He gently embraced the younger vampire. He wanted to tell him
everything would be okay, but of course he and Vachon both knew that
was a lie.


---FOURTEEN---

Natalie hadn't bothered to knock. She knew the vampires were still
asleep, and tried not to make too much noise, even though she also
knew that even asleep, they'd know she was there.

She tossed the newspaper she'd picked up at the front door onto the
coffee table and removed her coat.

The loft was cold. The recent warm spell had passed, but Nick
apparently hadn't turned the thermostat back up. She got the
fireplace going and in a few minutes the room began to feel warmer.

She was about to make herself comfortable on the couch when she
realized that both Nick and Vachon had to be in the bedroom. The
couch and the bed were the only places to sleep, unless Nick actually
had a coffin she didn't know about.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she crept slowly up the stairs,
where she found them both on the king-sized bed. Sensing no danger
from her, neither of them moved.

How vulnerable they looked, she thought. Nick with his blond hair
curled over his forehead, looking like a Greek statue sculpted from
the purest marble. Vachon, a porcelain angel, a bit dusty perhaps,
but nonetheless perfect.

Natalie had to smile at the way Nick slept on his back, hands folded
across his chest. He reminded her of Bela Lugosi's Dracula. No doubt
it was a habit acquired during the times when vampires were believed
in, and had to worry about being staked as they slept.

Vachon lay curled on his side as far from Nick as the wide mattress
allowed. There was that guy thing even among vampires, she guessed.
He felt icy cold to her touch. She knew that was perfectly natural
for him, but since there was a quilt folded at the foot of the bed,
she covered him with it. As she did, she noticed he was anchored to
the bedframe by a chain formed by four pairs of police-issue
handcuffs. She had no idea why Nick had done that to him, and didn't
even want to guess. It wasn't as if he didn't have the strength to
break free if he wanted to....

Not waking, Vachon pulled the quilt close around himself and sighed
as if it pleased him to be warm.

Natalie studied the remarkable innocence of his centuries-old face.
Long, dark lashes rested against his pale, perfect cheeks. Even the
unretracted fangs, just visible between his slightly parted lips,
didn't detract from it. The were rather appealing, in a feral sort of
way. <Yeah, Nat, leave it to a vampire--and not even a guilty one, at
that--to bring out your maternal instincts!>

She had to remind herself--again--that Vachon was a dangerous,
vicious predator who might try to kill her where she stood if he woke
up, and not think twice about it.

She sat down on the bed beside Nick and gently kissed his forehead.
His eyelids fluttered enough for his sleepy blue eyes to peer out
from beneath them. His pale lips curled into a smile, but when he
turned his head towards her, she saw the bruising on the left side of
his neck, the almost-healed twin puncture marks. She tried to be non-
judgmental, she really did, but it didn't come out sounding that way.
"You let him drink from you..."

Nick hunched his shoulder to cover the marks, and was thankful that
Vachon was lying so that she couldn't see that he had similar marks
on *his* neck.

It seemed to occur to both of them at the same time that the bites
should have healed completely by then, but they hadn't.

Natalie shifted to her clinical mode, but put him on the spot when
she asked, "Did you drink from him, too?"

He missed the fact that her question was a purely objective one. His
response was defensive. "It's something vampires do, Natalie."

Natalie. He only called her Natalie when he was getting mad or
upset. "Okay, Nick. I won't pretend I understand it..."

"You couldn't even pretend. You have no idea."

How many times had she heard that? She debated letting the subject
drop, but the fact that the bites hadn't healed meant something.

"Are you feeling okay, Nick?"

He touched his neck absently and shrugged. "A little tired, maybe.
Why?"

"Because Vachon is radioactive, in case you've forgotten."

Point of fact, he had. Completely.

He sat up, attempting to assess his overall condition. He finally
concluded that he was not in imminent danger of total collapse, but,
now that Natalie had mentioned it, he didn't really feel that well.
He had a slight headache and felt mildly nauseous. He usually woke up
hungry, but right then, the thought of drinking anything - especially
if it was one of Natalie's concoctions - was in no way appealing.

After determining that there were no dangerous levels of radiation
near the surface of his skin, Natalie took a blood sample from him.
She wanted to take one from Vachon, too, but didn't have the heart to
wake him.

"I am going to have to book off again," Nick said, nodding towards
Vachon. "Cover for me?"

"You know I will, but if you rack up enough sick days, they're going
to send the department physician to check on you. Which reminds me,
Tracy Vetter said she'd stop by on her way home."

Nick panicked. "What?!"

"I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how headstrong she is.
She wants to ask you something about that weird gun."

"Great," Nick muttered. He looked over at Vachon apprehensively,
hoping he'd stay asleep until Tracy was gone.

"Why is he handcuffed?" Natalie asked.

"So that if he tried to get out, it would wake me up if he had to
get out of them first."

"He let you do that to him?"

"No, not really..." He had, in fact, waited until Vachon was asleep
to handcuff him to the bed. "We're going to have to lock him in while
Tracy is here," he nodded towards the door.

Back when Nick's apartment had actually been part of a warehouse,
what was now his bedroom had been a store room. It bolted shut from
the outside, and the steel door was strong enough to keep even a
vampire busy for a few minutes if necessary.

No sooner had Nick secured the heavy door behind them, when there
was a faint tapping on the door downstairs.

Tracy took one look at him and blurted, "Nick, you look terrible."

Nick managed a smile. "Thank you."

"No, I didn't mean..." the young detective stammered.

"It's okay, Tracy. I probably look worse than I feel. I'm doing
okay, really." As long as his partner thought he was sick, he might
as well play along, but apparently, he looked a lot worse than he
felt.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Tracy asked him. She was honestly
concerned. He made a note to check himself out in the bathroom mirror
as soon as she was gone.

"Natalie is taking good care of me," he assured her.

Tracy accepted that.

"Nick, the other morning... that weird gun... when it misfired..."

"Yes?"

"Did you see anyone? Someone in the shadows, maybe?"

Nick knew what she was getting at, but he said, "No, not that I can
remember."

"It's just that Vachon... my informant... remember he was there that
morning?"

"Yes...."

She sighed. "Well, I haven't seen him since then, and the word on
the street is that he... got hurt."

"Word on the street?" Nick raised an eyebrow.

His attempt to change the subject only exasperated Tracy.

"Someone told me he was shot, that same night. It had to have
happened right after we saw him, or..."

"Tracy, I'm sure he's fine. People like him can take care of
themselves."

Tracy frowned. "People like him? You mean street punks?"

Her voice almost cracked when she said it, and Nick realized that he
had underestimated her concern for Vachon. Obviously, she didn't know
where he was, or what condition he was in, and she was worried about
him.

"I'll make some calls," he assured her. "If I find out anything,
I'll let you know."

Natalie was about to add a reassuring comment when she was cut short
by a sudden racket coming from the bedroom upstairs.

Vachon.

"What the hell..." Tracy began.

Nick tried to explain, "Uh, it's nothing, Tracy. Just some... uh..."

"Construction," Natalie volunteered. "They're working on the roof."

"It sounds like they're trying to come right through it."

"Uh, yeah, it gets pretty noisy at times...." Nick said quickly,
ushering Tracy towards the door.

A metallic thud vibrated through the loft, punctuated by a short
exclamation in Spanish that didn't require translation to be
recognizable as profanity.

Natalie smiled. "The blue collar vocabulary can be so colorful."

"I don't know how the hell you're going to get any rest with all
that racket, Nick," Tracy observed.

"I'll be fine," Nick assured her. "They'll be done soon, I'm sure."

Tracy nodded, a bit uncertainly. Luckily, and perhaps thanks to the
inch-thick steel bedroom door and the fact that he was speaking (or
rather, shouting) Spanish, Tracy apparently hadn't recognized
Vachon's voice. After a brief good-bye to them both, she was gone.


---FIFTEEN---

The handcuffs had proven no more than a temporary nuisance, and
Vachon was now trying to kick the bolted steel door down.

"He's hungry," Nick explained, and then recalling what he'd detected
in Vachon's blood the night before, he added, "I think it would be
better if I took it up to him."

He grabbed four bottles from the refrigerator, and Natalie looked at
him questioningly.

He felt like he should explain that he had no plans to drink any of
it himself--he still felt queasy - but Vachon wasn't going to wait.

Natalie made a move to follow him up the stairs.

"I think you'd better wait down here," Nick cautioned her.

When he reached the door and tried to pull the bolt back, it stuck.
Vachon had pounded the door with such force that he'd actually bowed
it outward. A few more good kicks and it would be off its hinges. He
probably would have had an easier time coming right through the
concrete wall.

Nick had to put the bottles down so he could give the bolt a hearty
shove. He managed finally to dislodge it, but it would never work
properly again.

He didn't even get a chance to offer Vachon the blood. As soon as
the door was open, he other vampire rushed him in a pale blur. Nick
didn't see the splintered bed slat in his hands until it was imbedded
in his gut. Vachon lifted him like a speared fish and slammed him
into the floor fifteen feet below, rendering him senseless.

Had there not been a mortal available, Vachon would have tried to
drink from Nick while he had him immobilized. That would, all things
considered, still probably be the easiest thing for him to do. But,
his self-preservation instincts were still intact enough to dissuade
him. Taking the blood of an older, stronger vampire without being
invited to do so was an open invitation to get your ass kicked. It
just wasn't done.

He left Nick on the floor, struggling to get to his feet, and headed
more or less straight for the mortal he knew was there. Had he been
able to actually see her, she would have been instantly doomed, but
in the few seconds it took him to locate her by her scent and the
sound of her pounding heart, he recognized who it was.

Vachon didn't know what to think about this. He wanted this
mortal... or, more appropriately, he wanted her blood. At the same
time, he realized he knew her... It was Natalie Lambert. Somehow, it
seemed wrong to bite her, and not only because he knew he'd have to
deal with Nick if he did.

But he couldn't do anything about the hunger that gnawing its way
out of him from the inside, nor his rage at being confined. He knew
the vampire inside him was beyond his control, that he could not
reign it in at that point no matter how much he might want to...
which, in truth, wasn't much....

He snarled and moved closer to Natalie. He knew exactly where she
was now. He moved in on her with his fangs aching and fully
descended, while Nick moaned helplessly as he attempted to stagger to
Natalie's rescue. This display of chivalry annoyed Vachon. He hadn't
intentionally missed the other vampire's heart, but there was nothing
he could do about it right then.

Natalie looked around frantically for something to ward Vachon off.
She wished she had a crucifix, but then wondered if one would even
work with a blind vampire.

Nick was attempting to shield her, but he still had the makeshift
stake in his abdomen, and he could barely stand.

She grabbed the newspaper off the coffee table and quickly rolled it
into a torch that she lit in the fireplace. In her haste, she forgot
that Nick was as afraid of fire as Vachon - more so, since he saw it
coming. He instinctively got out of the way, leaving her without
cover.

Vachon detected the flame even though he was several feet away. He
didn't know the exact source of it, but he perceived the light and
the heat through his skin, and it alerted every nerve in his body.

He froze.

He really, really, *really* did *not* want to get burned again, and
he didn't know where to run. The vampire bloodlust dissipated in an
instant, and a wave of undiluted terror swept over him.

Natalie watched, puzzled, as Vachon crouched down in a posture that
reminded her of an abused child waiting for a beating, his eyes
clamped shut against what he couldn't see. All he could manage was
the word "No!"

She felt like the school yard bully.

Vachon was petrified. Did he really think she was going to use the
torch on him?

An utterly irrational urge to toss the flame aside, give him a hug,
and apologize, surfaced, but common sense suppressed it. As long as
he thought she was a threat, Vachon would leave her alone. Still, she
felt bad for frightening him that way. He looked so confused and
helpless that it would have broken her heart, had Nick not been
staring at her with an equally pained expression, a piece of wood
sticking out of his gut.

She tiptoed cautiously around Vachon to get to Nick. She kept her
torch between herself and the frightened vampire, but Vachon made no
threatening moves. He was completely, utterly subdued.

Just as she reached Nick, the elevator door opened, startling the
three of them.

It was LaCroix, a case of bottles under one arm and a leather jacket
in the other.

He stood in the doorway staring at them, obviously trying to fathom
exactly what had transpired.

Natalie could only stare back, wondering what the old vampire was
doing there, until the burning paper singed her fingers.

She swore softly and tossed the torch into the fireplace.

LaCroix, ascertaining immediately that Natalie had not staked Nick,
and that Nick had probably not staked himself, headed directly for
Vachon. He cuffed him on the back of the head as though he were a
wayward urchin and told him, "Stay exactly where you are. Do not
move, do not even think. Do you understand?"

Vachon nodded.

LaCroix moved on to Nick, and without a moment's hesitation, ripped
the stake from his body. It came free with a sickening slurpy sound,
and Nick cried out in pain.

Natalie ran to him, but LaCroix held her back. "Your services will
not be required, doctor, I assure you."

Natalie ignored him and knelt beside Nick, but by the time she had
unbuttoned his bloody shirt, the wound on his belly was already
closing.

LaCroix, satisfied that he had been right, returned to Vachon and
pulled him to his feet.

Natalie expected him to deal harshly with the young vampire, but his
tone of voice was patient, even indulgent. "What *are* we going to do
with you, Javier?"

The jacket in his hands was Vachon's. He casually slipped it on him
while he and Nick exchanged wary looks.

"Won't you join us, Nicholas?" he smirked.

"Join you in what?"

LaCroix's response was impatient. "What do you think?"

Natalie was horrified when it soaked in that LaCroix intended to
take Vachon with him, perhaps - no, *probably* - to look for a live
victim.

"LaCroix, you can't do this..." she protested.

"My dear Dr. Lambert, I can *do* whatever I please, and I assure
you, I shall."

Nick rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Don't take him, LaCroix. Don't make him do this," he said.

LaCroix smiled at him with what appeared to be genuine affection,
but it gave Natalie the creeps.

He laughed, "Do not attempt to affix your questionable values on the
rest of us, Nicholas." He clasped Vachon's shoulder with fatherly
pride. "This young one needs no coaxing to remember what he is."

Natalie saw the expression on Nick's face change. There was no
anger, no despair, no guilt.

She could have sworn he looked jealous.

Whether LaCroix pulled Vachon out the door with him, or Vachon
followed, it happened too fast for Natalie to see. An instant later,
they were gone.


---SIXTEEN---

Natalie decided to spend the night at Nick's apartment. The injury
Vachon had inflicted had instantly closed on the outside, but the
internal damage would take a few hours, and she also wanted to watch
him for any further symptoms caused by ingesting Vachon's blood.

Neither of them knew if Vachon would be back, and it would suit her
just as well if he stayed gone. Nick wasn't aware of half the
prejudices Natalie harbored concerning typical vampire behavior. He
had enough baggage to deal with without her telling him that she
found most of what was natural to them abhorrent and repulsive. This
included the thought of Nick and Vachon drinking from each other. It
seemed so... intimate, in the most unnatural of ways.

She laughed to herself. "Unnatural" was certainly the word for it,
wasn't it? But Nick was right. She *didn't* understand what it was
like for them, and she never would.

Nick's injuries demanded that he feed, and all things considered,
she thought it was unfair to expect him to stick to cow blood for the
moment. After she had cleaned him up and replaced his bloody shirt
with a more comfortable tee-shirt, she settled him on the couch and
offered him the stuff LaCroix had brought from the Raven. She was
certain it was human, certain it was the highest quality, and, from
her physician's viewpoint, she knew that whether she liked it or not,
it was what Nick needed.

She went out to get some food for herself and to rent a couple of
videos. When she got back, Nick was finishing his third bottle, proof
that he was, in fact, capable of following doctor's orders when it
suited him.

She noted that he was not nearly as embarrassed by his menu as he
usually was. Could that, too, be an after-effect of drinking from
Vachon?

She could only guess. It would do no good to ask Nick. He'd deny he
even had a craving for human blood.

She put in the first of the videos, but a few minutes into it, she
found herself just barely paying attention. Nick declined her offer
of medication, but she knew he was in pain. She wanted so much to
hold him, and comfort him, to feel his cool body against her warmth.
But she knew it was dangerous, and that Nick would never allow it, no
matter how bad he felt.

Eventually, he fell asleep, and didn't stir even when LaCroix
returned, alone.

"Where is Vachon?" Natalie asked him. She wondered if there would be
a mysteriously murdered body waiting for her in the morgue the next
day.

"He's at the Raven. I've left instructions that he's not to leave."

"I hope he wasn't the one you left them with," she said sincerely.
"He's not exactly receptive to taking directions at the moment."

"So I've noticed. However, I have my own means of... providing
guidance and inspiration, shall we say."

Nick didn't open his eyes when he spoke, "So how many times did you
throw him across the room, LaCroix?"

LaCroix smiled. "Very amusing, Nicholas... Provisions are going to
have to be made for him, of course. Obviously, he cannot stay here,
and I certainly cannot let him go back to that... church..." he said
the word 'church' as if talking about someplace vile. "And, of
course, we should be thinking of a long- term solution if his
condition does not improve. A more... permanent... arrangement."

Nick sat up and opened his eyes. "LaCroix, don't kill him! He hasn't
done anything. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,
that's all."

"Unfortunate for him, I agree. But I cannot jeopardize the entire
Community for one debilitated vampire. I will do what I must."

"Is that all you came here to tell us?" Natalie snapped.

"It's nothing personal, I assure you," LaCroix told her. "But Vachon
is a liability now, and our... culture deals with that in a different
way than yours does."

Nick bristled. "Get out, LaCroix."

The older vampire's eyebrows peaked. "What?"

"I said, get the hell out of my house!"

"Mind how you speak to me, Nicholas...."

"And bring Vachon back!" Nick defied him. "If you hurt him, I'll
kill you!"

"Really?" LaCroix said casually. "Well, I've had quite enough of
this insolence, but I'll keep in mind that you are injured. As for
you, Nicholas, it would serve you well to remember how you got that
way."

Thankfully, he didn't stay to belabor the point, because Natalie had
a few more things she would have liked to have said to him that were
better left unspoken.

After he was gone, Natalie said, "He came here to taunt us and for
no other reason, didn't he?"

Nick laughed softly. "I suppose that when you're 2,000 years old,
you have to constantly find new ways to entertain yourself."

Natalie's eyes widened. "2,000 years?"

"Give or take a decade, yeah."

Natalie was about to comment on that when she was cut short by the
phone.

It was Urs, at the Raven, and, naturally, she had called to tell
them Vachon was gone.


---SEVENTEEN---

He was supposed to have stayed at the Raven. There was nothing wrong
with his mind, at least not to the extent that he couldn't understand
that. LaCroix would probably knock the shit out of him when he found
out he'd eluded Urs and his other baby- sitters by simply leaving.

He'd had no choice. The Raven was too noisy--he'd never noticed
before *how* noisy--and without the diversion his eyes normally
provided, it was driving him nuts.

There were too many people there, both mortal and vampire. Too many
whispered conversations about him, and too many curious thoughts
directed at him.

The mortals he could deal with, even though it was intimidating that
so many of them noticed something wasn't right. To them, he was just
another--what was the term they used now? "differently-abled?" or
"something-challenged?"--person to be avoided in case whatever was
wrong with him was somehow infectious. They made a few sympathetic
remarks to their friends and left him alone.

The vampires were another story. No one had seen a blind vampire
before. No one had even heard of one. The curiosity was bad enough,
but the speculations as to what should be done about the situation,
sometimes made on the assumption he couldn't hear what was being
said, and sometimes with the thought that he could, were unendurable.
He'd escaped to a back room and flown through a closed window.

It had felt good to break something.

He imagined someone would come looking for him. If he was lucky, it
would be Urs, although 'lucky' didn't describe the recent events in
his life, did it?

He kept track of where he was going by tracing his path along the
walls of the buildings with his hand as he passed them. It would be
easier to retrace his steps by following his own scent and by touch
than by trying to identify his surroundings by sounds and odors. He
hoped so, anyway. He could smell rain in the air. Maybe it would wash
everything away.

No matter. Any one of his kind could find him with no effort, and he
only needed to be alone for a little while. Just long enough to
straighten out his thoughts, and decide for himself what needed to be
done about his predicament.

He supposed he could kill himself, but exactly how was a problem. He
didn't want to sit and wait for the sunrise, not with the agony of
being burned still fresh in his mind. Besides, he didn't want to die,
although he realized that option might be entirely out of his hands.

It was 2 or 3 in the morning, and he walked for more than an hour
before he encountered anyone. He had left his jacket at the Raven,
and the cool, damp air was becoming uncomfortable. He was thinking of
heading back when he smelled the two mortals heading for him. A
*dead* vampire could have smelled them. They wreaked of liquor and
stale tobacco and drugs and just plain body order.

He could easily get around them. He knew exactly where they were,
even if he couldn't see them. But why avoid them when they could be
put to better use?

<No! He must *not* do that. LaCroix had warned him. Nick had warned
him. Hell, *he* had warned *himself*.>

He knew when a couple of assholes were looking for trouble, though,
and from what he overheard, he knew they'd picked him to be the
target for their abuse. He knew the smart thing to do was just walk
away, and though it had never been his nature to avoid a good fight,
he did.

But, they followed him. Two complete losers who hadn't the foggiest
clue what they were dealing with.

One of them spoke to him. All he said was "Hey, you," but his tone
of voice was enough to cause Vachon to stop in his tracks and
reconsider his decision not to kill them.

"What do you want?" he challenged them.

One of the pair moved so that he was in front of him. They thought
they had him surrounded, these two nameless, faceless mortals who had
just made their last mistake....

"I don't know," the one in front of him said. "Depends on what you
have."

"I don't have anything. Now why don't you just go away and pretend
you have a life?"

The guy in front of him delivered a vicious blow to his gut. His
inhumanly solid abdominal muscles easily absorbed the impact, and it
didn't hurt that much, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

His assailants began to frisk him, looking for hidden cash, and when
they went deep into the pockets of his jeans, it got just a little
too personal. He swung a fist, but didn't connect with anything.

Laughter.

"You got lousy aim, man."

Hands waving in front of his face.

"Hey, the dude can't see!"

More laughter, more experimenting. One of them poked him in the eye,
signing his own death warrant.

Vachon held his anger in check, though. It would be better if they
made him good and mad. That way, he could say they'd provoked him,
that he hadn't really meant to kill them.

It wasn't possible to beat a vampire to death, and Vachon could take
whatever these guys dished out. He allowed himself to be spun around,
pushed, tripped, kicked and generally ridiculed.

Let the mortals enjoy their sport. It was the last fun they'd have,
and the more they abused him, the more satisfying it would be to rip
their throats open.

Vachon was average height, and slightly built. Even as a mortal, he
had not appeared to be as strong as he was, something more than one
of his fellow conquistadors had learned the hard way.

But these guys were big, with arms like hams and fists like
sledgehammers. After a very short time, their abuse actually began to
hurt, and it was time to put a stop to it.

Vachon intercepted an incoming fist and clamped his own hand around
it. With only the slightest effort, he broke every bone in it as the
owner shrieked in agony.

Vachon didn't release his grip, intent on turning what had been a
hand into jelly, until something slammed into his back and knocked
the wind out of him.

He felt a cold steel blade enter his body, penetrating the muscles
in his back and slicing through his lungs. It scraped across a rib
before the tip came out of his chest.

Now *that* really did hurt.

He tried to reach behind and pull it out, but it the angle of entry
made it impossible for him to get a grip on it. As he tried, he was
driven to the ground by a fusillade of blows, including a kick from a
steel-toed boot that caught him in the forehead and almost knocked
him out.

He lay on the dirty pavement, coughing up the blood that had filled
his lungs before his body's natural defenses has stopped the internal
bleeding caused by the knife in his chest.

It would only take him a moment or two to recover and finish the
fight, but as he was gathering his wits, there came more laughter and
then the sensation of a warm liquid pouring over him. It was urine.

In Vachon's judgement, peeing on a vampire was near the top of the
list of Fatally Stupid Things to Do.

His fangs were already fully descended. He didn't know if his eyes
had changed. Normally, he would have been seeing everything through a
curtain of red if they had.

He sprang to his feet with no effort at all, which surprised his
tormentors long enough for him to locate their heads by the odor of
their exhaled breath.

He grabbed them both by their greasy hair and easily held one of
them at arms length while he gripped the throat of the other one in
his jaws.

He did the first one quickly, because it was awkward trying to
control two victims at once.

The second one screamed as he watched his friend die.

As the first victim's heart slowed to a stop, he remained on his
feet, Vachon released him and instant before he died, letting him
stagger in circles as his blood-deprived brain sent out its final
burst of electrical impulses.

Vachon drained the other more slowly, tasting those images unique to
a life that has no good purpose. It gave the blood a quality that was
neither good nor bad, which in the end he likened to the way he
remembered pomegranates--tasty, but not really worth all the trouble.

When the second victim's heart grew too weak to pump the blood to
the neck, he dropped that victim on top of the first one, and heard a
satisfying thud as his skull hit the sidewalk.

He knew that protocol demanded he dispose of the bodies, but he had
no real idea where he was, let alone where to put them. When he heard
sirens in the distance, coming closer, it occurred to him that
someone might have seen the entire altercation.

What the hell was he thinking?!

Energized by fresh blood and sheer panic, Vachon took flight from
the scene, literally. When he landed a few seconds later, he was lost.

He followed the scent of garbage into an alley. He didn't sense
anyone else there, and if the worst happened and he was caught in the
open when the sun came up, he could climb into a dumpster and hope it
wasn't garbage day.

Then, it started to rain. It couldn't be just a light shower,
either. No, it had to be a deluge.

He was soaked by the time he found shelter in a notch between a
brick wall and a dumpster. He wiped his face on his shirt, but it
didn't help much. He was cold and wet and filthy and he had consumed
a lot more blood than he needed. It trickled continuously out of the
knife wounds until his clothes were saturated with it. The knife
itself caused acute pain with every breath he took. Those two dead
guys were going to be a problem, too, but there was nothing he could
do about that...

Trying to think of someone who was not going to think he'd screwed
up big-time proved impossible.

LaCroix wasn't going to take this little adventure well when he
found out about it, and that was probably looking at it
optimistically..

Lacroix was going to be furious with Urs and any other vampire who'd
had the bad luck to be at the Raven that night, and they, in turn,
were not going to be too happy with him.

That went double for Nick Knight (not that he had ever seen Knight
happy), and Natalie certainly hadn't forgotten he'd tried to feed on
her.

Tracy... Well, Tracy might understand at first. Until the cop in her
took over.

He wondered if Tracy Vetter knew what had happened to him. He
wondered if she'd care.

He pulled his knees up and rested his head on them.

This time, maybe, for once, he should have done what he was told.
Maybe he should have stayed at the Raven.


---EIGHTEEN---

Vachon accepted the fact that it might be awhile before someone
found him, but just as he resigned himself to being completely
miserable, and was getting comfortable with feeling sorry for
himself, he sensed another vampire approaching. No, two vampires...
except one of them was... different somehow.

He quickly concluded that they weren't anyone he knew, so he debated
whether or not to ask for help, and then decided he was in enough
trouble. If the other vampires didn't actually *see* him, they might
just ignore him and go away.

He found the latch on the dumpster and climbed into it without
making a sound. He was immediately greeted by an army of cockroaches.
He could feel them moving through the garbage, examining this new
tidbit with their feathery antennae and mandibles. Millions of them,
and he could feel every one.

God, he hated bugs!

Luckily, bugs generally weren't too fond of vampires, either. Most
of the roaches quickly lost interest and returned their attention to
the more savory contents of the dumpster, doing with it whatever bugs
did. But the rest decided to crawl on him anyway, and it wasn't easy
to sit quietly and let them do it.

He heard a female voice, one vampire talking to the other as if
expecting an answer, but not seeming at all concerned when none was
forthcoming.

The tone was casual, and Vachon dared to hope neither had noticed
him or knew where he was. But then he heard two sets of footsteps
coming towards him. No... three sets, but two sets were small, light.
Three sets of feet, but he knew there were only two vampires. What
the hell....

He prepared to defend himself.

As soon as the fresh air from the outside hit him, he hissed and
lunged forward.

And one of the vampires reacted by licking his face.

"Hey!" Vachon pulled back.

The other vampire laughed, probably at his shocked expression.

"The mean and scary vampire act won't fool him," she laughed.

Vachon reached out and touched damp fur, and he detected a familiar
odor he knew as Wet Dog.

But, it *was* a vampire, of that he was certain... How...

A cold, soft tongue licked his hand.

A vampire *dog*?

Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him. Screed had brought a rat
across once just to see what would happen. Unfortunately, the
creature still had a rat brain, and in its quest to do what rats did
best- eat - it had wandered off and they'd never seen it again. End of
experiment. More or less, anyway.

He felt a hand close on his own.

"I was hoping we'd find you before anyone else did. You know the
entire Community is looking for you. There's a reward."

"How much am I worth?"

She laughed. "I'm not interested in that. I had other reasons for
wanting to find you... C'mon, get outa there."

Vachon was thinking he probably shouldn't trust this vampire with
her vampire dog, but in his predicament, how could it make things any
worse?

He eased out of the dumpster, and the female vampire's small,
delicate hands went to work brushing off the stray bugs. When she
inadvertently jarred the knife in his back, though, Vachon yelped in
spite of himself.

She turned him around and gasped softly. "I'm sorry... I didn't know."

Vachon gritted his teeth against the pain. "Can you take it out?
Please?"

A lot of women would have hesitated, but she took a deep breath and
yanked the knife out with one powerful tug.

It felt like half his insides were pulled out with the blade,
though, and Vachon probably would have screamed if he hadn't fainted
first.

He woke up in a parked car. The heater was going and the warm air
felt good against his cold skin and damp clothing. The car was old,
full of used smells, all of them overpowered by the sent of garbage
(which he realized was him), blood (ditto) and wet dog, in no
particular order of intensity.

His face was being licked again.

"Perry, leave him alone," the female vampire laughed.

She was a very young fledgling--both vampires were--but many
vampires had no regrets about leaving their mortal lives, for any
number of reasons, and his instincts told him this woman fell into
that category. The dog, he didn't know about, but it seemed perfectly
content to be at her side, happily oblivious to the fact that it was
anything other than a loyal and faithful companion.

"That's his name? Perry?"

"Yes. And I'm Jodi."

Vachon took the dog's big head in his hands and scratched behind its
ears. Like a normal dog, it seemed to like that.

"How... I never knew a vampire dog."

"It's a long story. I'll tell it to you sometime. But right now, you
need to get back to the Raven."

"That eager to get your reward, are you?" He smiled and she seemed
to take it for the gentle teasing it was. Vachon liked her. She was
comfortable with what she was, like him. Or, rather, like he had been.

She touched his face, gently. "I have other reasons."

Vachon didn't ask what they were. He had a feeling she didn't want
to tell him.

It turned out he was only a couple of blocks from the Raven. It
seemed she had no sooner started the car than it slowed to a stop.

Jodi's voice was calm, but serious when she spoke. "Javier...
Perry... he was a guide dog, once."

Vachon suspected where she was going with that, and he smiled. "I
don't need that, Jody. I'm not going to walk into any walls."

"That isn't what I mean. He knows your needs... he's a vampire, too.
He could make sure you... you know... were safe."

"Safe from what?"

"From being seen. When you... hunt."

Now that idea, Vachon had to admit, was ripe with possibilities.

It was also asking for more trouble. "I think maybe I'd better not
do that for awhile... Besides, he belongs with you. I can tell."

"Still, if you change your mind, or if you ever, you know, just want
someone to talk to about this..."

'This.' Even she couldn't say it, which was ironic when he realized
that Jodi had gone looking for him not for the reward, or because she
felt sorry for him, but because she'd been there and done that. Perry
had been *her* guide dog, he was sure of that.

He took her hand in both of his. "Thanks, but I'll be okay."

"You know, I said that, too, when.... well, boring story, never
mind. But if you need anything...."

He shook his head slightly, dismissing her concern. He would have
kissed her on the cheek, but he was afraid he'd miss. He knew they
were in front of the Raven. The smells, the music, and the proximity
of others of his kind told him that.

He felt for the door handle and let himself out.

"Thanks again," he said.

The Raven was not exactly home sweet home, but he experienced a
distinct sense of security upon realizing that he was once again in
the presence of other vampires.

Too late, he understood that that was not necessarily a good thing.


---NINETEEN---

"Just ahead--bloodsucking vampires in our midst - eye-witness proof
they exist, right after these messages..."

LaCroix set down his glass with the greatest control and stared at
the blaring TV over the bar in disbelief.

At the same time, Urs turned and looked at him. Even though they
didn't make eye contact, his expression made her cringe.

The commercials took forever, but then there it was. Interview after
interminable interview with people claiming they had seen a woman
attacked by a vampire on a Toronto sidewalk.

Even worse, there was very little conflict in their stories, which
lent them an uncomfortable degree of credibility. Certainly, absolute
belief in their story depended upon the degree to which each viewer
took such things as vampires seriously (and after all, most mortals
did not), but it would be hard to convince even skeptical viewers
that the entire group had experienced one mass hallucination. They
had obviously seen *something*.

The vampire had dropped out of the sky. <A crowd had gathered
because at first, everyone thought he'd fallen from the roof of a
nearby building.> <But he'd landed on his feet, unhurt.>

Yes, they had seen fangs.

His eyes glowed yellow <Some of the witness claimed it was red.> <It
was probably both...>

He had overpowered his victim with incredible strength.

Then, someone had intervened and dragged him off...

One witness claimed it was a second vampire, that he'd seen them
both fly away...

LaCroix thought he'd been more careful than that.

Looking back, he'd done what he'd had to do. There was no
distracting Vachon and if he'd been caught, there'd now be more than
an item on a tabloid TV show to deal with. Thank the gods that no one
considered it serious journalism.

They interviewed the victim. All things considered, LaCroix thought,
she didn't look too much the worse for wear. But her physician
assured the interviewer that she was indeed anemic and had required
treatment for shock induced by psychological trauma and sudden blood
loss. He explained this as the camera panned down to the neat little
pair of puncture wounds, 3.3 centimeters apart, on the woman's neck.
They formed part of a ring of marks which, other than the puncture
wounds, had been made by human teeth. <Or at least, teeth that had
once be human...> The physician would not commit to an opinion as to
what had made the two deep little holes.

Then there was the police artist's sketch of The Vampire. Undead or
alive, he was wanted for assault. Luckily, the drawing only generally
resembled Vachon, except for the long, dark hair, which caused
LaCroix to briefly contemplate giving Vachon a buzz cut. But,
considering the Spaniard's current circumstances, that was probably
overkill.

At least no one had been there with a video camera.

"Now do you understand why I offered a substantial reward?" LaCroix
asked Urs.

"Yes," she said meekly, avoiding his gaze.

The Enforcers would be on their way as soon as they saw the show, if
they hadn't already found out by some other means, which they most
likely had.

Vachon had attacked a victim in full view of a dozen people. He'd
killed two others (three, if you counted the one LaCroix had handed
over to him, which LaCroix did not), and it was only luck that no one
had seen him that time.

Urs read his thoughts. "What will the Enforcers do?" she asked
timidly.

LaCroix glared at her. "They will do as they will do. They are
Enforcers."

But even he wasn't sure of the answer to that. Vachon was not a
rogue, he was sick. Of course, neither condition was acceptable to
the Enforcers.

Maybe if someone offered to take responsibility for him...

He shook his head to clear *that* thought away. He was beginning to
think like Nicholas...

"LaCroix, you must help him..."

"My dear, what was required of me was that I stop him from revealing
us all, and that has been taken care of... Perhaps that will be
enough. But if it is not, you must prepare yourself for the solution
to be of a, shall we say, more permanent nature."

The young vampire knew that pleading with LaCroix was pointless, but
she tried anyway. "But this isn't his fault..."

"So I've been told," LaCroix said tiredly. "Repeatedly. However,
that argument is moot, I fear."

Her tone changed to one of unaccustomed boldness. "I'll protect him,
then."

"And I must protect us *all* my dear. He's safe where he is for now.
Leave it at that."

Urs had no choice but to agree, even if her heart wasn't in it.

Vachon was being restrained right there in the Raven, in the old
owner's bedroom, a place that most of the local vampires didn't know
existed, and where she herself had never been. He'd been beaten,
poisoned and chained, not by LaCroix, but by a others eager to
collect the reward LaCroix, a reward which they had claimed even
though they hadn't seized her master until someone else had found him
and he'd been returned to the club.

LaCroix was not pleased at the condition in which he had found
Vachon, but he'd paid the reward and hadn't done anything to the ones
who had brutalized him. She couldn't understand that.

Her link to Vachon echoed his despair. He was cold and sick and
alone, unable to see and with nothing to stir his other senses. He
barely had the strength to breathe.

And he was afraid. Afraid the Enforcers would come. Afraid of what
else could and would be done to him. Afraid of being alone in the
dark. Fear was one emotion she could not remember ever sensing this
strongly from him, and that frightened *her*.

She wished she had the strength to control Vachon, and that Screed
was still alive. Between the two of them, they could handle him.
They'd done it before, in those terrible days after Bourbon had been
lost to them.

She wondered how hard it would be to contact The Inka. Even though
they'd end up beating the crap out of each other, it had to be better
than what Vachon had now.

She herself saw the necessity of preventing Vachon from going off on
his own again. Javier's judgement was occasionally questionable even
when he was in possession of all of his faculties. But he was
intelligent and clever, and fiercely independent. No one told him
what to do. Forcibly confining him did seem to be the only option.

One thought consoled her. LaCroix ruled the Community with the
proverbial iron fist, but he looked upon them one and all as his
children. He'd kill Vachon only after he'd exhausted all other
possibilities and there was no other recourse open to him.

+ + + + +

Tracy Vetter saw the tabloid piece and had no trouble recognizing
Vachon from the police sketch. She ran to the phone before realizing
she had no idea who she planned to call, or what she planned to say
to them.

Instead, she got dressed and went to the Raven. Maybe Vachon would
be there and would tell her it wasn't him. Maybe if it was him, she
could use her badge to get an interview with the victim so Vachon
could convince her it never happened with that hypno- thing he did.

But it had happened, hadn't it? Vachon had told her he was a killer.
Although it wasn't something he boasted of, it had never been a thing
he was secretive about or ashamed of, either.

He'd also told her enough about the Community that she knew if he
really had done the Vampire Thing in public, being wanted by the
Toronto PD might be the least of his worries.

The Raven's lack of illumination didn't make it easy for her to
search the place for Vachon, but even in the dim light, Urs' blond
curls stood out. She wasn't sure how she'd be received by Urs after
their last meeting. Urs clearly thought that what had happened to
Vachon was the result of Tracy's carelessness. When Urs saw her,
though, she hurried to meet her.

Urs looked upset, and that wasn't a good thing. Tracy hoped she
wasn't going to bring the accident up again, because it just wasn't
fair to hold her responsible for Vachon getting hurt. There was no
way she could have known that gun would go off. She still wasn't
certain what she had done to trigger it. She felt bad for Vachon, of
course, but she was not going to take the blame. That belonged to
whoever had designed that strange weapon.

She got right to the point with Urs. "I'm looking for Vachon. Do you
know where he is?"

Urs' doll-like face clouded over, and she didn't answer.

"Has he been here tonight?" Tracy prodded

"Yes..."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

Urs covered her face with her hands. Was she crying? Tracy couldn't
tell in the dark, but when the young woman replied "I don't know
where he is," Tracy knew it was a lie.

If she had only been looking for Vachon to get some tidbit of
supernatural information out of him, she would have let it go at
that, but this was too important.

"Urs, do you know anything about the woman who claimed she was
attacked by a vampire?"

Urs looked at her with pleading eyes. "Yes."

Tracy understood what that meant and didn't expect Urs to elaborate
beyond that. "How much trouble is he in?"

Urs pursed her lips to keep them from quivering. "I really don't
know, Tracy, but..."

"But what?"

Urs shook her head violently. "I shouldn't be talking to you!" And
with that, she was gone.

Tracy wondered what Urs had been trying to tell her while *not*
telling her anything.

She asked a handful of other patrons if they knew Vachon, and it was
clear from their initial reactions that most of them did, but all
either claimed they didn't know him, or they hadn't seen him, or they
had seen him but didn't know where he had gone. Each and every one of
them was lying.

When she started getting unwelcome looks from the crowd, a fair
percentage of which she assumed were probably vampires, she decided
it was time to leave. Whatever had happened to Vachon, she wasn't
going to find out about it here.

She decided the only thing she could do was go to the church and
hope Vachon showed up.


---TWENTY---

As soon as she arrived at the church, she knew that waiting for
Vachon there would almost certainly prove futile. His guitar was
coated with a fine layer of dust. It hadn't been touched in days.

Where had he gone to recover from his injuries? Who had taken care
of him?

She supposed she was silly to worry. He'd told her that not much
could hurt him permanently. Of course, that was before he'd gotten
sick with some kind of vampire bug and almost died on her.

She sat in his chair, thinking she'd at least wait there until
morning. She picked up the guitar, strummed it a few times, and then
thought maybe he wouldn't want her touching it. Musicians were
sometimes picky about such things.

She found the remote for his TV and turned it on. For a guy with no
income, he somehow managed to pay for cable. Or maybe he just stole
it. She wouldn't blame him. There was nothing worth watching on at
night, let alone worth paying for.

Eventually, boredom caused her to succumb to the temptation to snoop
through Vachon's things. Unfortunately, the entertainment that
provided was brief. He didn't have much in the way of revealing
possessions. No videos, no CDs, no porno magazines. She discovered,
in fact that he wasn't much of a reader. There wasn't a book,
magazine or newspaper in the place. And of course, there wasn't
anything to eat, either.

She sat down on the bed, the same spot where she had sat that awful
night when she had thought he was dying. The night she had realized,
almost too late, that she really did care about him.

The same plain white sheets and red blanket were still there. The
bed wasn't made, and didn't look like it ever had been, but it was
clean, and comfortable, and it smelled like him...

At some point, she must have decided it was cozy enough to curl up
on, because that's where she was sleeping when Urs arrived and found
her.

She was trying to think up something that would explain away her
embarrassment, but Urs got right to the point.

"He won't be coming here," she said.

"You know where he is, don't you?"

Urs nodded sadly and told Tracy what she knew. Vachon had not
recovered from his gunshot wound. He couldn't see. That was
distressing enough, but then Tracy learned that he was in effect
being punished for being hurt. No wonder Urs was upset.

With his other supernatural senses compensating for the loss of his
vision, Vachon was still probably better equipped for survival than
the average mortal. But he wasn't going to think of it that way, and
neither were his fellow vampires. Vachon was now a flawed oddity in a
population that survived by virtue of its predatory perfection. Urs
didn't come out and say as much, but she hinted that Vachon might be
"eliminated."

She had to go to him, and she asked Urs to take her.

Urs shook her head at that request. "LaCroix would know."

"Who is LaCroix?" Tracy wanted to know.

"He's like... He runs things," she shrugged.

"Is he a... like you and Vachon?"

Urs nodded. "Only he's older, and more powerful.

But still a vampire, which meant he couldn't venture out into the
sunlight.

"You don't have to take me there. Just tell me where he is. I'll go
during the day. I'm not afraid of this LaCroix."

"Tracy, that's the cop in you talking. Trust me, you should fear
him. You should fear us all." <Except maybe for your partner...>

"Well, I don't. Tell me where he is. I need to make sure he's all
right."

Urs cocked her head sideways. "He's *not* all right, Tracy. That's
what I'm trying to tell you. And there's nothing you or I can do
about it."

"What do you mean?"

"What are we going to do? Help him escape? I don't have the strength
to keep him from going off on his own again and doing what he did to
that woman on TV, and neither do you. And as soon as they find him
gone, they'll hunt him down, just like they did last night, only this
time, maybe they'll kill him. Besides, it's not physically possible
for him to leave. He's... been restrained."

"What are you talking about?" Tracy knew she wasn't going to like
Urs' answer, and she was right.

The vampires who had claimed the reward on Vachon had been thorough.
Simply locking him up would not work for long, and they had known
that.

They had drained Vachon's blood, and then they had poisoned him by
forcing something down his down his throat, Urs wasn't sure what.
Garlic juice, holy water, or even milk or fruit juice would trigger a
massive allergic reaction in most of them that was as effective as
drinking lye.

"What will that do to him?" Tracy had to know.

"Make him sick. Make him hurt," Urs sighed. She explained that while
solid food was immediately rejected, their bodies were designed for
the rapid ingestion of liquid nourishment, and substances other than
blood were often at least partially absorbed before they were
recognized as toxic. While they were not lethal, it could take days
for the discomfort to subside. "It will be impossible for him to
feed. If he tries, it won't stay down. The effect would wear off more
quickly if he had a vampire's blood in him, but without it, and with
no way of getting it..." She hung her head. She wanted Tracy's help,
but didn't know how to ask for it, nor did she know what she expected
of the mortal woman.

She did the only thing she could do. She knew it might cost Tracy
her life, but she had to order her priorities, and her first one was
Vachon. She didn't care if she had to sacrifice a mortal to keep him
safe. She told Tracy where to find him.

+ + + + +

Urs had told her that the Raven's doors would be unlocked. There
were often times when a vampire had to gain quick access to the place-
-preferably without ripping out a door or window--and any mortal who
entered and seriously disturbed anything would, for various reasons,
never get away with it, so locks were pointless.

Cash and liquor were both safely secured during the day to remove
the temptation, and all that greeted Tracy were empty tables and
silence. She'd come as well-prepared as she could however. Slung over
her shoulder was a canvas bag in which she had placed whatever she
could think of that she might need, including a large crucifix, even
though Vachon had told her they only worked with vampires who
actually thought they would.

Urs had told her about Janette's room, and given her directions from
the front door. She had also told her there was a way into it from
the wine cellar. Urs had never had a reason to explore the passage
herself, but she described where it could be found.

As Tracy expected, the door to the room was padlocked. It was a
simple lock that would not have stopped even a determined mortal. She
assumed its sole purpose was to convey the message that the room was
off-limits, rather than to keep anyone in or out.

She found the kitchen and in it the steps that led down to the wine
cellar, lit by a dim, single bulb. She had expected a maze of secret
passageways or something, but the wine cellar was simply that, a wine
cellar. And the passage to the bedroom above was hardly a secret one.
Just a door marked "Private" that wasn't even locked. The steps on
the other side of the door ended inside an empty closet.

Tracy pulled a flashlight from her bag when she saw that no light
came from under the door, and sucked in her breath. It occurred to
her that she had absolutely no contingency plan for the possibility
that Vachon might come flying at her in full vampire mode. She'd seen
him that way, and even though he had never hurt her, she knew she
didn't stand a chance against him.

Feeling totally ridiculous, she opened the bag and pulled out the
crucifix. Around her neck, she placed a gold cross her father had
given her, a Star of David on a silver chain, a Native American
fetish which assured protection from supernatural forces, and a
leather cord from which dangled a Celtic rune symbol which promised
to ward off evil. She had never considered herself an especially
religious or superstitious person, but she had discovered, much to
her surprise, that she believed in the power of all of them. <And why
not? She believed in vampires now, didn't she?>

She only hoped that if it came to that, Vachon believed in at least
one.


---TWENTY-ONE---

When she stepped from the closet, she wasn't attacked. She was
greeted only with the sound of slow, labored breathing.

Vachon was awake despite the hour, but he didn't acknowledge her.
She knew he couldn't actually see her, but she had still expected him
to know it was her, by her scent, or her heartbeat, or however they
knew those things.

He looked awful, far thinner and even more pale than usual. He was
wearing only a pair of jeans, even though the room was so cold she
could see her breath in front of her, but his skin was covered by a
thin layer of sweat that, unlike the time he'd been sick with the
Fever, had almost no hint of blood in it. His only movement was an
intermittent twitching, as if he were being given sudden electric
shocks.

He looked so frail that she thought maybe she'd be able to carry
him. He'd be heavy, even without the added weight of the blood that
was normally in his body, and it wouldn't be easy because he was as
tall as she was, but she'd have to try.

When she got closer, though, she saw that someone had already
thought of that. A moderately heavy chain extended from a freshly-
made hole in the wall, where her flashlight revealed it to be wrapped
around a steel girder. Vachon's wrists were manacled to either end of
it. The chains would not ordinarily have been enough to restrain him,
but incapacitated as he was, they were more than adequate.

She lifted one of Vachon's hands. He had small wrists, anyway, but
they looked painfully tiny inside the heavy bands of metal that
encased them.

She found a lamp beside the bed turned it on. Vachon still didn't
move, didn't close his eyes against the light the way she had seen
him do a couple of times.

His appearance was even more appalling than it had been in the dark.
He looked like a corpse, his skin paper-thin, and his eyes sunken
into dark sockets.

There was something around his neck, and when she took a closer
look, she saw what at first appeared to be a necklace of beads, but
when she saw a second, shorter, string of beads attached to it, with
a crucifix at the end, she recognized it as a Rosary. She wasn't sure
of its significance, but she knew it was a powerful religious symbol.
He was burned everywhere it had touched his skin.

Vachon, who was almost certainly raised a Catholic, and right smack
in the middle of some nasty religious fervor at that, was probably
completely paralyzed by the relic.

She slipped it over his head and put it in her bag.

Vachon took a deep breath as if something heavy had been lifted off
of him.

"Tracy?" His voice was just a thin whisper.

"Yes, Vachon. I'm here." <I can't do a thing to help you, but I'm
here.>

She took one of his cold hands in hers. The long, graceful fingers
now looked positively skeletal, and there was no strength in them.
With her other hand, she stroked his hair, which was fine and soft
and thick despite the tangles. She noted absently that in the light,
it was actually a deep chocolate brown, not black like she had always
thought.

One of these days, she was going to have to gift him with a
hairbrush. She ran her fingers through it, carefully separating as
much of it as she could without pulling at it.

She let her hands caress his bare shoulders. Not too hard. He looked
so uncomfortable already, and she didn't want it to be painful. His
eyes closed at her touch.

"Does that hurt?" She asked him. "I'll stop if it does."

He shook his head, just the slightest bit.

She wanted him to talk to her. Did he even want her to be there? But
he just lay there, too weak to do anything but breathe.

So she talked, instead. Telling him the stupid things you tell
someone who is sick or hurt when there is no hope for an immediate
recovery anywhere in sight. She told him he'd be okay, like she knew
a damn thing about poisoned vampires. Like she could protect him from
something even worse, should it happen, which it probably would if
she was caught there.

Vachon was comforted by the sound of Tracy's voice. It was a very
small comfort, because he felt terrible, but he was grateful for it
nonetheless.

His head hurt, his throat was on fire, and his insides twisted with
painful spasms. His body cried out for him to feed, but he knew if he
did, it would make him feel even worse.

He wondered if Tracy knew what had happened to him?

"Someone shot me," he said, just in case she didn't fully appreciate
how miserable he was.

Tracy decided then was not the time to tell him it had been her, so
she replied, "I know."

"I can't see."

"I know that, too. Urs told me."

He used what little strength he had to roll over onto his aching
stomach so she could continue to massage his back. That felt good.

It was a lucky thing that he had neither the strength nor the
appetite to do anything about the rich, sweet smell of her blood, so
warm and so close, because despite the haze of pain and nausea, he
was wondering if maybe he couldn't manage just a couple of swallows.
Just a taste...

"How could they do this to you," Tracy muttered, more of a statement
than a question.."

She bent down to kiss him and the nearness of her was overpowering.
Reflexes took over and he grabbed her, pulling her close to him.

Or, he tried to. She extricated herself from his grasp with no
effort at all.

His face contorted as the pain of both hunger and the sudden
movement gripped his body.

Tracy knew what he'd meant to do and preferred to believe he hadn't
been able to control it. Rather than being frightened or angry, she
tried to think of some way - *any* way - to relieve his discomfort,
but the only idea that came to her was one that she knew was probably
really, truly, colossally stupid...

"You need blood," she told him.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "Gonna steal some for
me again?"

"I have a better idea."

She slipped the various religious objects from her neck <stupid
stupid stupid!> and encircled Vachon's chest with her arms. She
pulled him to her, alarmed at how easy it was to lift him.

<Stupid-stupid-stupid.>

She was certain he did not have the strength to kill her. Certain
that if she felt his strength returning, she could push him away. He
felt like a big rag doll in her arms. But nevertheless, she kept the
religious ornaments within easy reach, just in case.

Vachon had no power to resist her invitation, but he did manage to
push himself back from her neck.

"Not there," he rasped. "Too much..." He tried to lift her wrist to
his mouth, but didn't even have the strength. She held her arm out
for him, and he let his head flop forward so that his fangs fell
against her flesh with enough force to break the skin.

Tracy winced. She didn't know why, but she hadn't expected it to
hurt... A dull ache spread up her arm and shoulder as the razor sharp
canines imbedded themselves in her flesh.

Vachon wasn't actively sucking the blood from her, not so that she
could feel it, anyway, but she watched him swallow it as it drained
from the wound of its own accord.

Even though this had been her idea, she wasn't at all sure she liked
it...

Oh, yes, she was sweet... He only wished he'd had the good luck to
hit an nice, fat major blood vessel, which he hadn't. The blood was
just a trickle.

But so sweet and so good and so wonderfully full of Tracy....

For the first couple of swallows, anyway.

Vachon felt his stomach rebel as soon as the fresh blood hit it. He
made himself let go of her and gagged a couple of times.

Lucky for them both, he hadn't taken that much from her, but him
puking blood was not the ending either of them had hoped for.

So much for *that* dumb idea, Tracy thought. She fished in her bag
for something to clean him up, but this was one event she hadn't
planned on. She ended up using a corner of her tee-shirt.

Vachon collapsed, completely exhausted by the brief ordeal. Tracy
spoke his name, and when he didn't answer, she feared for a frantic
moment that he had died.

But finally he took a slow, painful breath and said, "Tracy, go."

He'd said that to her another time, and she'd done what he'd asked.
Afterward, she had never stopped regretting that she had left him to
die alone. Even after she had found out he had survived the Fever,
she still wondered how she could have left him that night.

He wasn't going to do that to her, or to himself, this time.

"No. I'm staying right here." she said. "Now shut up and try to get
some rest."

There it was. Just a hint of it, but it was there. That charming
smile that had melted away her fear right from the start. "You're
crazy, Trace."

Vachon did feel a little better. The effect was bound to be
temporary, because he hadn't held that much of Tracy's fresh blood
down, but for the moment, it had neutralized some of the poison
inside him.

There was no heat in the room, and if she'd had as little on as
Vachon did, Tracy would have been freezing. Cold probably didn't hurt
vampires, but the fact that Vachon owned a jacket, and wore it when
it was appropriate, told her he probably preferred to be warm. She
lay down beside him to share her body heat. Now that she knew he
could not hurt her even if he wanted to, she did not fear the close
body contact. Shamelessly, she allowed herself to enjoy holding him
close. Whether he recovered or didn't, it was very likely that she
would never get--or take-- that chance again.

She buried her face in his hair. The long, silky, perfect hair of a
vampire. Her vampire.

She kissed him, and entirely without meaning to whispered, "I love
you."

But he was already asleep...


---TWENTY-TWO---

Natalie knew Vachon was responsible for all three of the corpses in
her morgue. The dental prints from the live victim matched exactly
the bite marks she found on the three dead ones, and the fang marks
were all 3.3 centimeters apart.

The difference was that she didn't intend to mention the bite marks
on the deceased in her reports.

She listed Victim A as having died from a drug overdose. It was true
that the guy had so many puncture wounds and sores from shooting up
that Vachon's little trademark was hardly noticeable. Victim B and C
were listed as having died of massive internal trauma. That was more
or less the truth--having all of your blood sucked out was pretty
massively traumatic.

Victim C had a head injury, so she added the speculation that he had
been thrown from a vehicle. She was dead wrong, of course, but hey,
that was what 'speculation' meant, wasn't it?

All three of them had rap sheets that would have papered a living
room, including drug trafficking. No one was seriously going to
question how any of them had died.

As she dissected the brain of one of the victims, an idea struck her.

She couldn't perform surgery on Vachon. Even if he didn't heal
within moments of her opening his skull, there was still the problem
of what to do with the radioactive material lodged in his brain.
Radiation poisoning might just be a mild inconvenience to a vampire--
Nick had seemed fine after a few hours but what it did to a human was
unpredictable and often ugly.

It wasn't that she wasn't willing to take the risk, just that she
wasn't willing to do it without protecting herself, and that was
going to require preparations and facilities that were beyond her
scope of expertise.

No, what she needed was someone who didn't have to worry about being
affected, someone who could also wield a scalpel and maybe knew a
little anatomy. A vampire doctor. Or, rather, a vampire who had been
a doctor... once. Like Nick...

+ + + + +

Tracy heard footsteps coming closer and panicked. A few hours
before, she had been prepared to protect and defend Vachon against
anyone and everything, but with the thought that there might be three
or four vampires coming her way, her courage quickly evaporated

She made a move to wake Vachon, but she didn't have to. Something
startled him, and he tried to sit up.

"Vachon, who is it?"

He knew, she could tell, but he didn't answer her.

Someone was fumbling with the padlock.

Tracy took a deep breath and faced the door even though she was not
prepared to face what was on the other side.

Then she remembered her bag and climbed over Vachon and grabbed it
off the floor. She rummaged through it until she found the crucifix
she had put in there. It was a huge thing, more than a foot and a
half tall, with a figure of the Christ attached to it. She meant
business.

She also pulled out the Rosary she had dropped in there earlier, and
grabbed the Star of David, the Cross, the rune, and the fetish she'd
worn earlier. She put all five of them around her neck and then held
the crucifix out in front of her.

She subconsciously noted that Vachon was not especially bothered by
any of those things, maybe because he couldn't *see* them. Lucky
thing she hadn't found that out earlier, when she'd relied on them to
protect her from him.

The door opened and Tracy thought her heart would pound its way out
of her chest.

The strange vampire hissed and immediately backed out, but then
said, "Geez, Tracy, put that thing away!"

The voice was familiar, but Tracy couldn't place it. If she could
concentrate, it wouldn't have been a problem, but she was too scared
for that.

"What do you want?" she said nervously, still holding the cross out
in front of her.

The vampire didn't come closer, but stepped into the light where
Tracy could see her. Tracy was sure she did a very bad job of hiding
her shock when she saw who it was. "Jodi?!"

"One and the same," her college friend smiled.

"But you... I thought..." Tracy noticed the dog with her. It was
Perry, her guide dog, only now he wore a colorful bandana around his
neck instead of a harness.

"It's a long story, Tracy, but you always were the smart one. I'm
sure you'll figure it out for yourself," Jodi laughed softly. "I
thought you might need some help."

"You don't even know what I'm doing here... Hell, *I* don't even
know what I'm doing here..."

"Well, whatever it is, you had better do it before LaCroix finds
you... You do know who Lucien LaCroix is, right?"

Tracy still had no idea, other than she knew the name, nor did she
care, and she almost said something really dumb. She almost asked
Jodi if she knew they were dealing with vampires. Luckily, she
stopped herself. Either Jodi would think she had gone mad, or... Or
Jodi already knew the answer to that was 'yes.'

Jodi nodded at Vachon. "You'll need my help to get him out of here."

Tracy was still dumbfounded at seeing Jodi there, and a number of
possibilities ran rampant through her mind in a brief instant. Jodi
obviously knew Vachon. Either Vachon habitually went around sharing
his secret with mortal women <which she would not put past him--he
was a *guy* after all>, or Jodi had somehow found out about the
Community on her own, or...

She studied her friend carefully. Not only could she see, the other
devastating effects of the disease that had ravaged her body not that
long ago were completely absent. She looked happy and healthy, even
if she was a little pale.... No, make that *very* pale...

Pale like Vachon. Pale like Urs.

Pale like a vampire.

"Oh my God..." she muttered. "You're one of them!"

Jodi laughed. "Told ya you'd figure it out."

"But why... how... when..."

"Uh... we don't really have time to chat, Tracy. We really have to
get him out of here."

Tracy knew that was true, but there was one question she had to know
the answer to. "Vachon... he didn't... You and he..."

Jodi laughed out loud at that. "Really, Tracy, he's a nice guy, but
he's definitely not my type." She spoke to Vachon, "No offense,
Javier..." Then back to Tracy, "No, it wasn't him."

Tracy wasn't sure why she was glad to hear that.

Well, yeah, she was sure. It was petty jealousy, pure and simple.
She didn't want to know that Jodi, her friend, had had that kind of
relationship with Vachon, *her* vampire.

"C'mon," Jodi said. "We're wasting time."

Tracy watched as her friend, who had barely had the strength to lift
a teacup the last time she'd seen her, twisted the manacles off of
Vachon's wrist as if they were made of cardboard.

Then she sat down on the bed and offered her wrist to Vachon, the
way Tracy had seen Vachon do with the fatally ill Screed.

Vachon drank, not eagerly, but he managed to keep Jodi's blood down,
and when she pulled her arm away, he looked noticeably stronger.

"Think you can walk?" Jodi asked him.

Vachon nodded.

"He's all yours," Jodi said to Tracy. "I have to get out of here..."
She turned to Vachon, and touched the side of his face. "I know how
it feels," she told him. "I know how scary it is... but just the
same, Tracy is my friend. If you hurt her, I'll do something about
it."

Vachon didn't seem to take the slightest exception to that warning.
He nodded that he understood. "Thanks, for everything," he told her.

Jodi kissed him on the forehead and then motioned to Perry, who had
sat patiently at the foot of the bed the entire time, that it was
time to leave.

Tracy knew it was time for her and Vachon to do the same, but she
had no idea where to take him.

Her apartment would be safe so long as they didn't know he was with
her, and there was no reason for anyone to suspect that he was, but
she couldn't take him out on the street looking like he did. He
really needed something more to wear than jeans, especially since the
ones he had on were filthy. He smelled like a garbage dumpster, too.

"Where are the rest of your clothes?"

A shrug. "I dunno."

A quick stop at the church probably wouldn't do any harm, if they
could do it before anyone was looking for him.

She dug around in her bag until she found her car keys.

"What about... uh... food? Are you hungry?"

"Not right now. Not really. But I guess we better take some. The
stuff I have at the church is probably rotted by now."

She decided to leave the way she had come in, so they would not have
to walk through the club itself and risk being noticed. Vachon
followed her through the closet and the wine cellar even though the
serpentine path was disorienting.

When they reached the kitchen, he didn't know that's where they were
until he heard her opening doors on the restaurant- sized
refrigerators.

"It's in the second one from the door, middle shelf." That was where
Urs had said the best stuff was, anyway. What the hell, LaCroix
couldn't get any madder at him than he already was.

Tracy took a bottle, pulled out the cork and sniffed. The thick,
metallic odor was disgusting. Yep, that was it. She crammed as many
bottles as she could into her bag.

She was in a hurry, moving too fast for him to locate her
accurately. She headed out of the room without him and he lost her
completely.

He hadn't been in the Raven's kitchen before, and now it was going
to take him forever to figure out how to get out of it.

Shit.

"Tracy!" he hissed as loud as he could whisper.

Tracy pulled up short, realizing Vachon wasn't behind her anymore.
She went back and found him exactly where she had left him.

How could she be so incredibly dense? How could she have forgotten
that he couldn't see?

She wanted to apologize, but knew from the look on his face - anger,
embarrassment, resignation <that one was the worst> - that to do so
would only make the situation even more awkward.

She wrapped his hand her arm. "This way."

He didn't say a word the rest of the way to the church, and she
didn't know what to say to him. "Sorry you're blind," sounded pretty
damn lame.

Surprisingly, he was able to find his way around the church with
almost no problem. He didn't seem to bump into things, and Tracy
could only guess that he was using some sort of sense that humans
didn't have. She didn't dare ask him about it, though.

He seemed to notice something and turned to her.

"You were here," he said. Not an accusation, just a statement.

"Yes."

"Urs was with you?"

"For awhile. We didn't touch anything. She told me where to find you."

"They've been here, too." He said softly. "Enforcers."

Her heart skipped. "Then it isn't safe here."

"Probably not."

He was trying to sound nonchalant, but there was an edge in his voice.

"What will they do to you, Vachon?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, Trace. Probably kill me."

<Thanks Vachon. How very comforting.>


---TWENTY-THREE---

She tidied up her apartment while he took a shower. She started a
load of laundry, tossing Vachon's dirty jeans in with her stuff. She
was still wearing the tee-shirt with the blood he'd tried to swallow
all over it. She took that off and tossed it in with everything else,
but didn't plan on the stain ever coming out.

It probably didn't matter that she was left wearing only her bra,
since Vachon couldn't see her, anyway, but modesty won out and she
went to the bedroom for another shirt. She was still wearing the
Rosary beads and other symbols around her neck. She started to remove
them, but happened to glance in the direction of the bathroom.

There was a vampire in there. A potentially deranged one, at that.
Never mind that she would do anything to protect him. It wouldn't
hurt to protect herself. She left everything where it was.

She realized she was famished, checked to see what was in the
refrigerator, and remembered the blood. It would keep much longer
chilled, so she made room for the bottles they had commandeered from
the Raven, then found a frozen dinner and tossed it into the
microwave. Vachon joined her as she was taking it out.

He had navigated effortlessly around her furniture.

"How can you do that?" she had to know.

"Do what?"

"How can you walk around and not run into anything?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I can sort of feel where everything is.
I didn't know I could do it until.... maybe it was something I could
always do but never had to."

<Time to change the subject> Tracy was thinking.

He found the refrigerator and opened it, but didn't know where the
blood was. She reached past him, pulled a bottle out and handed it to
him.

"Do you want to warm it up in the microwave?"

Vachon didn't mind it right out of the bottle, but warm was nice,
and it tasted a lot better. "Okay."

"The bottle won't fit, I'll pour it in a mug for you."

"Eat your food. I'll get it."

He had snooped through her kitchen enough times to know where she
kept the dishes. He felt around until he found a mug and set it on
the counter. He knew the sound of the pouring liquid would increase
in pitch as it neared the rim of the mug. No problem. Except that he
didn't really know what pitch meant "full." The mug overflowed and
blood went all over the counter top.

"Vachon!"

She hadn't meant to shout at him, but too late, the damage was done.

As he fumbled to regain control of the situation, he dropped the
bottle and it splattered across the floor. Her kitchen went from
clean to a scene out of a Freddie Kruger movie in a second flat.

And she'd yelled at him.

"I'll clean it up," he said, and they both knew he couldn't.

"Sit down. I'll do it."

No argument. He sat, and was completely silent. She poured the
excess out of the mug into the sink, wiped it off, and zapped it for
30 seconds before she gave it to him. Then she set about picking up
the pieces of bloody, broken glass. The blood smell was sickening.

"Tracy?"

"Hm?"

"You really should wear rubber gloves or something to do that."

He was absolutely right. She had no idea where - or who - this blood
had come from. What on earth was she thinking? She had a half dozen
pair of rubber gloves under the sink, and selected the ones she used
for cleaning the floor. By the time everything was back to normal,
she had a mop bucket full of bloody water, a bloody mop, and several
bloody dishtowels. All that was missing was a biohazard symbol.

She transferred the load in the washing machine to the dryer, then
tossed in the mop head and towels with enough bleach to either get
them clean or dissolve them. She used paper towels and bleach to
disinfect everything. Her eyes were stinging from the fumes by the
time she was done. She couldn't imagine what it was doing to Vachon,
with his inhumanly acute sense of smell.

He hadn't touched the blood she'd given him to drink.

"It was a mistake, Vachon. Don't worry about it," she said softly.

He gave her one of his Looks - the one that she could never tell
what it meant.

Her own dinner had gotten stone cold, but she sat down and dug into
it, anyway. "Eat," she ordered him.

She didn't know why she expected him to sulk and say he wasn't
hungry, but that wasn't what he did. He gulped down the contents of
the mug and asked for more. "Just bring the bottle."

She did as he requested and watched him guzzle that down, too,
before she realized what he was doing. Losing himself in the
sensation of the blood so he didn't have to talk to her.

"Vachon, I'm sorry I yelled at you. It's just been a bitch of a
day..."

"You're telling *me* that?" he said sarcastically, irritatingly so,
in fact.

"Well, what the hell do you want me to do? Baby you? Feel sorry for
you?"

Again, the response was unexpected. "Yes, damn it!"

And for some reason - probably because she was too tired for any
other reaction - that made her laugh. And her laughter made him smile.

She reached across the table and took his hand in hers.

"Must be scary."

He shrugged. "I don't like the dark."

She had to think that one over. "But you're a vampire."

"Vampires can see at night, Tracy. It's never really completely dark
like it is now. I don't like it."

How to answer that? A creature of the night confessing to her that
he was afraid of the dark?

She reached out to stroke his hair, but he didn't see it coming and
it startled him. She didn't let that stop her from doing it, though.

He looked better much better than he had at the Raven, but even
though there were hours to go before the sun came up, she could tell
he needed rest.

"You're tired," she told him.

She did a quick mental scan of her apartment. She wasn't fond of
dark rooms, and unless she wanted to cram him into one of her tiny
closets, the only place where he would be completely protected from
the sunrise--should he sleep that long--was her bedroom.

She'd purchased thick, opaque drapes shortly after she'd started
working the night shift. She made certain they were tightly drawn and
then pulled down the covers. He was already half asleep when he
followed her into the room, not only because of the daylight, but
because he'd been sick most of the day before, and he was exhausted.

He crawled into bed with all of his clothes on, and she tucked the
comforter around him.

"Tracy, stay with me," he mumbled.

Did he mean in the same room, or in the same bed?

What the hell, she thought, he won't wake up until the sun goes
down. She kicked off her own shoes and crawled under the covers with
him. It was like being in bed with a block of ice, he was so cold,
but somehow, it felt so right.


---TWENTY-FOUR---

It really wasn't her habit to wake up with a man in her bed, so it
took Tracy a moment to get her bearings when she opened her eyes to a
headful of dark, unruly hair.

She had no idea what time it was, but Vachon was still fast asleep.
She eased herself from the bed carefully so as not to awaken him,
unsure of exactly what had motivated her to sleep with him in the
first place. All they *had* done was sleep, but still, he'd told
her... things... once. About vampires. About vampire sex. About why
he'd never do that with her (even though at the time, she had noted,
she hadn't actually implied she *wanted* to have sex with him, so she
had found the entire conversation a bit assumptive on his part.)

How did she feel about it now? When he'd almost died from the Fever,
she had realized that she didn't want to lose him, but was that the
same as being in love with him? Even now that she was risking her
life for him (because she was sure someone had to be looking for him
by now, and that whoever it was would not be pleased that she had
rescued him from the Raven), she wasn't sure why she was doing it.
Maybe because he needed her. This super-strong, super-fast,
supernatural being was dependent on her to keep him safe, even though
both of them knew she did have a chance in hell of doing that if
someone seriously wanted to get him.

She peeked out the window. The sun was still high in the sky, so
they'd be safe for awhile. Then, she'd have to think of someplace to
move him. Some place that no one, mortal or vampire, would think to
look. But first, she'd have to plan a few diversions.

Eventually--if not immediately--someone would show up at her
apartment, so the first order of business was to move her car
elsewhere. It wouldn't be a good idea for them to leave in it, in
case someone was watching, but she had to put it somewhere she could
get to it relatively easily. After she'd taken a quick shower and
dressed, she hurriedly packed a few things to pick up when she got
back, and then drove the car to the airport and left it in the lot.

Then, she took public transportation back to the church and hoped
Vachon's motorcycle was ridable and that the key was somewhere
reasonably obvious. Luckily, because Vachon had so few belongings,
there weren't that many places to look for it. She found it in his
guitar case.

She hadn't been on a bike since she was a teen-ager, but after a few
wobbly attempts, she managed to get in under control, although riding
it through daytime traffic proved to be a bit more exhilarating and
beyond her skills than she had expected..

He next stop was the evidence locker at the 96th, where she signed
out the gun that had wounded Vachon. If it held more than the rounds
it had already fired, then it was still loaded. No one had figured
out how to get the ammunition out.

She left with it, even though it would mean the end of her career if
anyone found out she planned to use it if she had to. The one thing
she knew for certain about the odd weapon was that it would stop a
vampire, whether it be the thugs who had imprisoned Vachon, or this
LaCroix person, or even the Enforcers everyone was talking about..

She got back to her apartment with about 20 minutes to spare before
sunset.

Vachon was already up, and didn't seem the least bit surprised when
she walked in on him.

"It's me," she said, just in case.

"I know."

She frowned. "How?"

"Heard your footsteps, you weren't trying to sneak up to the door,
and, you had a key." He was pulling on a pair of battered cross-
trainers that they had brought from the church. They were the only
other pair of shoes he had.

"I never figured you for a jock," she said.

"Huh?"

"The shoes."

"Oh." He smiled. "Great for sneaking up on your dinner."

"That isn't funny, Vachon..."

"What?"

"Talking like that."

"About being a vampire?" He wasn't being completely defensive. Just
a little.

"No, I just meant... Oh hell, I don't know what I mean. I still find
it hard to believe at times. What you are..."

He walked to her, not really looking at her. He was locating her
some other way, and it was eerie that he did it so well. She recoiled
slightly when he reached out to touch her face. "Nothing has changed,
Tracy. I'm still what I am."

"Vachon, *everything* has changed. It's not safe anymore..."

"It never was."

She still held the key to his bike, and he casually ran his hand
down her arm and opened her fingers.

"You need to ease up on the gas a bit more when you brake," he said,
taking the key.

"How... How did you know?"

"I heard you ride up on it. Engines are like voices, each one is
distinct, if you know what to listen for."

He held her chin in his hand, and brushed his thumb lightly across
her lips before he leaned in and kissed her. "I have to go."

It took a few seconds for the implications of what he had just said
to sink in.

She tried to snatch the key back, but he was expecting it, and his
grip on it was too tight. "Have you gone completely insane?" she
asked him. It came out more bitchy than she meant for it to, but she
couldn't believe he was actually thinking of going off again after
all that had happened to him.

"I can't put you, or Urs, or anyone else in danger, Trace."

"And you think riding through the streets on a motorcycle when you
can't *see* isn't going to endanger anyone? I can't let you do it. I
won't." She grabbed for the key again.

He pushed her gently away.

"I'll be okay. I can do it."

She grabbed his arm. Not viciously tight, but tight enough to let
him know how serious she was. "Vachon.... I know you want to pretend
everything is fine, but it's not."

He didn't turn to face her when he spoke. What was the point? "You
think I don't know that, Tracy? I'm lucky if there are a half dozen
people in this city who don't think I should be put down like a rabid
dog. I'm not exactly a good risk at the moment."

Tracy glanced in the direction of the sink. There were three more
empty bottles in it, so at least he had fed and she didn't have to
worry about that. But, she couldn't just let him leave, especially
not on a motorcycle.

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"Well, you're *not* going alone."

He made a dismissive, 'as-if' snorting sound. "Yes, I am.."

She pulled her gun from her purse and cocked it. "I said no, Vachon."

He laughed softly and waved her off. "Put that away, Trace. You know
you won't shoot me."

She let him get as far as the door before she shot him in the foot.

The impact knocked him on his butt, and he ended up sitting on the
floor, his expression one of total disbelief.

He pulled his foot up and felt the exit hole in the sole of his
shoe. He was furious, but she guessed it was more about being wrong
than the fact he was shot. "Why the hell did you do that!?" he
demanded.

"Because I *could*!" she shot back. "Now sit there and don't you
dare move while I get my stuff, or I'll shoot you again."

She grabbed the bag she had packed earlier, the same one that still
had the big crucifix in it. She placed the weapon from the evidence
locker inside, and for the first time it crossed her mind that she
might end up having to use it to stop Vachon, but she quickly pushed
that thought aside. It had been hard enough to shoot him with a
conventional weapon.

She put the remaining bottles of blood from the fridge into the bag
and used the extra clothing she had packed to pad them.

When she returned to Vachon, he had his shoe and sock off, although
she couldn't imagine why. He couldn't see, so it wouldn't reveal any
more about his injuries than he already knew. It was probably for her
benefit. He wanted her to see that she had hurt him.

She knelt beside him. The bullet hole had already closed, but there
was big black and purple bruise on his instep, and his shoe and sock
were bloody.

"Can you walk?" she asked him.

"Do you care?"

She took his sock from him and started to put it back on his foot.
He sucked in his breath.

"What's the matter?"

"There's a *hole* in my foot. Do you think that doesn't fucking
*hurt*?"

"I'm sorry," she said, and really tried to be gentle. "We'll get you
some clean socks and another pair of shoes as soon as we can...." She
slipped his shoe on and tied it loosely. "It's almost dark. We need
to find someplace else to be."

"Where are you taking me?" he asked her.

The truth was, she didn't have the vaguest idea, but she said
"Somewhere they will never think to look for you."


---TWENTY-FIVE---

They took the elevator to the underground garage, but as soon as the
door opened, Vachon stopped in his tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut
and put his hands on either side of his head.

"What is it?" Tracy whispered.

"I don't know..." he whispered. "My head really hurts."

He seemed to take a few seconds to recover, but then assured her he
was okay and stepped out of the elevator. He was limping, but when he
stumbled sideways, she didn't think it was because of his foot. He'd
lost his balance all of a sudden. She grabbed his arm to steady him.

"Vachon? Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He wasn't very convincing, and he leaned against her for
support. "Do you see anyone?"

There didn't appear to be anyone in the garage. "No one."

"Look up," he told her.

She did, but there was no place on the ceiling for a vampire to
hide, even a small one. She did notice a late-model white Mustang
with Michigan plates and heavily tinted windows. It had backed into
its space so that it could drive straight out. She described where it
was to Vachon, and he tried to get a 'fix' on it, but finally said,
"I can't tell if anyone's in it," he shook his head. "It doesn't
matter. If there is, they already know I'm here... Where is my bike,
Trace? They won't be expecting me to make a run for it."

He sounded a lot less determined than he had before. It was obvious
that he was in pain and he was having trouble walking. His gait was
unsteady and uneven..

"No, Vachon. Something's wrong with you."

"Don't argue, Tracy!" he snapped. "My only chance is to go alone.
They won't hesitate to kill you if they catch me, and it will be
harder for them to catch me if you don't slow me down."

She knew what he was saying was the truth, but she also remembered
the weapon she was carrying. She took it out of her bag, cradling the
butt gingerly in her palm and keeping the barrel pointed away from
them. She still had no idea how to fire it, but she had only been
holding it when it had gone off and injured Vachon.

She took him by the hand. "Stay close to me."

He pulled back. "It's too dangerous."

"Damn it, Vachon, just do what I tell you!" She yanked on his arm
and tried to appear casual as she guided him to the bike.

Her heart quickened as the Mustang's engine started and it pulled
out of its space, edging its way towards them even though the exit
was in the opposite direction.

It was pulling up alongside them as Vachon started the bike. Tracy
climbed on behind him, still trying to appear unafraid, even though
she was shaking.

Vachon was afraid, too. He couldn't see what was happening, but he
heard the Mustang coming closer, and sensed that it was closing off
the space where his bike was parked, cutting off his avenue of escape.

He gunned the engine. Tracy was thrown backwards with such force
that she almost fell off, and the weapon in her hand somehow
discharged.

The bullet struck the windshield of the Mustang and entered leaving
just a neat little hole, but exited out the rear window in a hail of
glass. The driver hit the brakes and Vachon maneuvered around the
vehicle and started heading in the same direction the Mustang had
been going.

"This is the wrong way, Vachon!" Tracy shouted at him.

He pulled the bike to a stop and then almost dropped it on its side.
Tracy had to reach around him and grab the handlebars to steady it.
"The other way," she told him softly, although both of them now
realized they were cornered.

Vachon took control of the bike again and turned it so that it was
facing the Mustang. "Get off," he whispered to Tracy. "This isn't
your fight."

She did as he asked, but only because she realized she could aim
better if she didn't have to shoot around Vachon.

She raised the weapon in her hand and pointed it directly at the
Mustang. "Go," she whispered to Vachon.

Vachon gunned the bike and skirted the vehicle, swerving unsteadily
as he tried to control it.

Tracy didn't know what she was expecting to happen next, but what
did happen was that the driver of the Mustang stepped cautiously from
the car, his face completely drained of color. He was a portly middle-
aged man in a business suit. He extremely pale. Not vampire pale,
scared- shitless pale. He raised his hands in the air. "Don't shoot,"
he stammered.

"Aw crap!" Tracy cursed, kicking the car nearest her. She lowered
the weapon. "I need your car," she told the man.

He stepped away from the vehicle quickly. "Take it! Take it!" he
said. "Take whatever you want, just don't shoot!"

She picked her bag up off the ground and put the weapon back inside.
She flashed her police ID at the frightened owner of the Mustang.
"I'm sorry!" she called to him as she jumped behind the wheel. "This
isn't what you think!"

<I'm not really a carjacker. Well, yes I am, but not really. Oh HELL!>

She backed the car into its original parking space and then pulled
out going the right direction, towards the exit.

Vachon had enough of a head start that by the time she got to the
exit, she could only guess which way he had gone. She figured it
would have been easiest for him to turn and go with the traffic
rather than try to cross to the opposite lanes, so she turned right
and hoped for the best.

+ + + + +

Navigating a busy city street was nowhere near as easy as he'd
thought it would be. He knew where the cars were--that part was easy--
but he was having to go slower than the surrounding traffic in order
to keep track of everything, and that was making other drivers
impatient. His head was already pounding from the sudden headache
he'd developed, and the car horns blaring in his ears were an added
distraction.

It also occurred to him very quickly that although he could hear
mortal heartbeats all around him, he couldn't single them out while
he was moving. If anyone walked in front of him he wouldn't know it
until it was too late

Traffic lights were also meaningless. He could here the little
clicking sounds that their switches made as they changed from red to
yellow to green, but without concentrating on the movement of the
traffic, he had no idea what color the light was.

This was a big mistake. He soon realized that.

There was just too much information to take in and analyze all at
once, and without his eyes, it overwhelmed him.

He stopped the bike and tried to regain his bearings. He wasn't even
sure what lane he was in.

He'd only been there for two or three seconds when a car horn blared
impatiently behind him. A stabbing pain shot through his skull and an
odd tingling spread down the entire left side of his body. He "saw"
flashes of white light inside his head, each one a burst of pain, and
he started to feel sick to his stomach. The guy leaning on the horn
behind him was pissing him off, too. In a few more seconds, he was
going to kill the son of a bitch.

Then, he heard it....

It was several cars back, but unmistakably the engine of the Mustang
from the parking garage.

In a panic, he opened the throttle all the way and the bike took
off. It took every bit of his concentration to avoid the cars that
now seemed to be everywhere. Even if he'd been able to see, it would
have been tricky.

It also took monumental physical effort to keep the bike steady. His
left side was not only going numb, he wasn't exactly sure where his
hand and foot were, and the sensation was strange and frightening.

He wasn't even aware of the intersection until, too late, he
realized he'd run a red light.

He heard brakes screech off to his right and swung the bike to the
left only to have a second car block his path. He turned sharply to
avoid it and the bike turned over, the weight of it pinning him so
that he was dragged along as it slid across the asphalt.

He was dimly aware of more brakes screeching behind him, followed by
two loud, solid metallic thuds and the sound of shattering glass.

The bike didn't stop completely until it hit a utility pole.
Unfortunately, *he* didn't stop completely until he hit the same
pole, bounced off of it, and rolled a few feet.

There was immediate mass confusion and excited mortal heartbeats
everywhere around him, echoing like unrelenting thunder in his ears.
Momentarily dazed, he'd forgotten how he'd ended up on the sidewalk,
but one thought--escape--was still burning in his mind.

He tried to lift himself off the ground, and discovered that his
left arm was broken. Not a neat little separation that would knit
itself quietly in a few seconds, either, but a compound fracture that
would have to realign itself in a process that could take days and
was going to hurt like hell when the shock wore off.

He drew the injured limb against his body and staggered to his feet.

Someone placed a concerned hand on his shoulder.

"You had better lie down and wait for the paramedics," a woman's
voice told him.

Lying down sounded like the best idea he could think of, but, he
couldn't stay there. For one thing, he couldn't be taken to a
hospital. For another, he could still hear the Mustang, stalled in
the traffic now, but close enough that whoever was in it would be on
him as soon as he was seen.

To make matters worse, pain and fear had made his fangs descend. It
was a primal response to danger and there was nothing he could do
about it. He didn't know if anyone had noticed that, but someone was
bound to, eventually.

He shrugged the woman off and tried to walk away. If he hadn't
stumbled into the side of the building in front of him, he would have
fallen flat on his face.

"You're hurt," the woman said. "Please sit down, at least." She
reached for him and inadvertently jarred his injured arm. The pain
was excruciating.

He hissed at her.

She screamed.

A loud, long piercing screech.

Pain exploded in his skull like shards of glass.

He sank to his knees and felt his body go numb.

In the instant before he lost consciousness, he knew there was no
escape.


---TWENTY-SIX---

Tracy's voice urged him back to consciousness. She was tapping the
sides of his face, completely unaware of how much that made his head
hurt.

"Tracy, stop," he muttered, pushing her hand away.

"Vachon, get up! There's going to be an ambulance here any minute."

She didn't tell him that a crowd had already gathered around and was
watching their every move. Surely they were not going to be able to
walk away unnoticed, but maybe they'd be able to at least walk away.

Vachon tried to get to his feet, but he could only put weight on one
leg. The other was still numb and wouldn't do what he wanted it to.
If Tracy hadn't been supporting him, he wouldn't have been able to
stand, let alone walk. Holding him up wasn't easy because she had her
bag slung over one arm. She had no plans to go back to the stolen
Mustang.

Tracy looked around frantically for someplace--anyplace--to take
Vachon where he wouldn't be seen. He hadn't "turned"--or whatever
term they used--completely, but he didn't really look human any more,
and even if he had, he was so uncoordinated that he would certainly
be mistaken for drunk.

A patrol car had pulled up and the officers inside had hurried to
tend to the injured in one of the four vehicles that had been
involved in the wreck Vachon had caused. She flashed her police ID to
the crowd gathered around Vachon so no one would question it as she
ushered him to the unit and placed him in the backseat.

Her career, she was certain, was pretty much down the tubes at that
point, anyway, so she figured she might as well go out in style. She
put her bag carefully down on the front seat, got behind the wheel,
turned on the lights and sirens to clear a path, and, as the two
officers who belonged with the vehicle stared in dumbfounded silence,
she drove off with their patrol car.

Once she had Vachon safely away from any onlookers, she realized she
hadn't solved any of their problems. She had no more idea where to
take him then than she'd had at her apartment, and they would not be
inconspicuous for more than a few minutes in a stolen patrol car.

Making matters worse, Vachon lay across the back seat, obviously in
shock and maybe worse, and she didn't know how badly he was hurt or
what to do for him. She didn't think he needed a doctor. His foot had
healed almost immediately when she'd shot him. But he did need
someplace to rest.

She thought about driving to the airport to pick up her car, but all
that would mean would be transferring Vachon from one vehicle to
another, and she'd still be stuck driving around with him when what
he really needed was to be someplace safe and quiet so he could feed
and heal.

She decided to take him underground, instead, to the place where
Screed used to live.

Luckily, Screed liked to keep a low profile, so the entrance to his
domain had been well- hidden. Still, the stolen patrol car was
glaringly conspicuous, and she was going to have to ditch it
somewhere and then come back to Vachon.

Screed's front door was an old coal chute, and it was only with
considerable difficulty that Tracy got Vachon out of the car and
virtually lifted him onto the thing. She heard him hit the concrete
at the bottom and called down to him.

"Vachon? Are you okay?"

He mumbled something unintelligible. For the moment, she would have
to be satisfied that he was still alive.

She discovered that hiding a stolen patrol until was no easy task.
She ended up parking it under the pilings of a freeway overpass.
Oncoming vehicles would think it was a speed trap, and with luck, it
would be hours before anyone noticed it was empty, but it took her 30
minutes to hike back to where Vachon was. On the way, she stopped to
purchase first aid supplies, bottled water, food for herself, and
some socks to replace the bloody one Vachon was still wearing. When
she slid down the coal chute, Vachon was waiting at the bottom. He
didn't see that she had her arms full, though, so he did nothing to
stop her descent or to keep her from dropping everything.

Other than that, though, he seemed relatively okay.

"Feeling better?" she asked him.

"Don't you really want to say 'I told you so?"

She picked up the bottles of water that had rolled away. "Actually,
that thought did cross my mind, yes."

"What'll they do with my bike?"

She looked up at him, pretending she made eye contact with him.
"Vachon, you caused a major traffic accident. People were injured. Is
that all you care about?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, and it annoyed her that he even
had to think it over.

"I don't know what happened," he shrugged. "I really thought I could
do it."

He sat down on the old mattress Screed used as a bed. He was still
holding his left arm close to his body. "Are you hurt?" she asked him.

"My arm's broken. It's going to take awhile to heal."

"Let me take a look..." she knelt beside him, but the light was too
dim for her to see very well. Vachon told her where to find matches.
Screed's candles were still scattered around the place, and when she
had them all lit, she was able to make out the hideous deformity
caused by the fracture. It looked like he had an extra joint between
his wrist and elbow. But, there were no sharp edges of protruding
bone, even though she could tell there had been. Skin had already
grown over everything, and the bone ends were already pulling
themselves toward each other.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, gently stroking the fingers of his
injured arm.

He shook his head slightly. Ironically, the strange numbness in his
left side had acted as a natural anesthetic.

Tracy looked him over, and discovered that most of the first aid
supplies weren't necessary. She used the bottled water and some gauze
to clean him up, and got the clean socks on him, but there was really
nothing else to do, except feed him. She pulled one of his bottles
from the bag. It was a miracle that none of them were broken.

He took two or three disinterested swallows before putting the
bottle down.

"Was anyone hurt bad?" he asked. "Back there, I mean?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to get you out of there."

He took another small swallow. "I can't do this, can I Trace?"

That remark was vague, but somehow, she knew exactly what he meant.
He couldn't be hunted and unable to defend himself. He had survived
centuries of being hunted by the Inka, and he had the internal
strength to adjust to a disability, if he had to, but he couldn't be
hunted and be blind at the same time. Who could?

"What are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Stand and face the music, I guess. If the Enforcers
come for me... well, you saw for yourself there isn't anyway I can
escape, not without endangering you or someone else, and even if I do
that, they'll still probably catch me."

She didn't know what to say to him. He was right. Anyone who tried
to help him would only be considered in the way. His mortal friends
stood no chance against vampires, and his vampire friends stood
little chance against the Enforcers, of that she was certain.

She sat down on the mattress next to him. She wanted to hold him,
but it was Vachon who put his arm around her, drawing her close so
that her head rested on his shoulder.

"You know, before Screed died, he asked me to clean this place up.
How'd I do?"

She laughed slightly. He'd once accused her of alphabetizing her
refrigerator.

"It looks fine. I could live here myself if it wasn't for the rats."

He smiled. "Screed loved the rats. He fed on them, because that's
what he was, but he really liked them." He shuddered as if to
indicate he didn't necessarily agree with that opinion.

"I kind of liked him."

That surprised him. "You did?"

"Yeah. He was... I dunno... a nerd."

"From what I hear, that's not a good thing."

"Not usually, but it was like Screed was proud of it."

Vachon laughed. "That he was."

They were silent for a moment. She felt his cool breath against her
hair and she was about to ask him what he was thinking, when he told
her.

"Trace, if anything happens..."

"Yeah?"

"I want to be with him. With Screed. He was my friend for a long,
long time, you understand?"

She nodded that she did. Then she kissed him.

She hadn't planned on it, she just did it.

He kissed her back, and a wave of desire washed over her. His cool
tongue. The sharp points of his fangs raking across her lips. The way
the soft stubble of his beard tickled her nose... All of it made her
want him, made her want to give herself to him, right there.

He broke the kiss. "I can't do this, either, Trace," he smiled sadly.

"Why not?"

"I've already explained that to you."

"You explained that you 'might' hurt me. I don't believe you would."

He ran his long fingers through her hair. She was getting used to
him not actually looking at her. "The last mortal who thought that is
dead."

She grasped his hand. "Just tell me one thing... If you killed me,
would you let me stay dead?"

"Tracy, you don't know what you're saying."

"Yes I do. There are three choices. You kill me. You don't kill me.
Or you kill me and make what you are. I don't think you'd kill me, so
that leaves two choices. Either I live, or you make me... a ..."

He laughed softly. "You can't even say the v-word, Tracy."

"Is it so bad, really?" she asked. "What you are?"

He held her tighter and kissed the top of her head. "You want the
truth, Tracy?"

She nodded. "The truth."

He didn't speak for so long, she thought he'd forgotten it was his
turn. But then he sighed and in a voice that was almost a whisper,
said, "No. It's not bad at all."

"Then make love to me, Vachon. Here. Now."

He ran his hand slowly along the side of her face, then traced
across her lips with his index finger before he lifted her mouth to
his and kissed her again, this time long, sensual, and deep. His
fangs were out all the way, and he used his tongue to push hers to
the base of them, then encouraged her to tease them with by stroking
their length. She quickly got the idea, and when he moaned softly
with pleasure, she felt her own passion swell.

He broke away from her just enough so that he was able to speak.

"Are you sure?"

She kissed his lips, dragging her tongue across them. "I'm sure."


---TWENTY-SEVEN---

It was the purest, most intense pleasure she had ever experienced.
She didn't want it to end, ever, even when she felt her senses
leaving her, even when the small part of her brain that could still
think told her Vachon was taking too much.....

A loud, sudden noise startled her out of her reverie.

Dazed, she wasn't sure if she'd actually heard it or imagined it,
but then decided it must have been real because Vachon suddenly
pulled his head away.

She heard it again, twice this time.

And again.

Slowly the fog lifted and she recognized the sound.

It was a dog. A barking dog!

She opened her eyes and it was standing right there, its tail
wagging happily as it watched them copulate.

There was another sound a bit further away. Someone coughing
slightly, just to make their presence known.

Vachon didn't move. He didn't even breathe.

Her face crimson with embarrassment, Tracy lifted her head and
peered over his shoulder.

"I'm... uh... really sorry, Tracy, but I couldn't let him kill you,"
Jodi apologized.

Vachon didn't seem the least bit embarrassed. Maybe if he couldn't
see her, it didn't bother him that Jodi could see him, but it
bothered Tracy.

"I wasn't going to kill her," Vachon said.

"Yes, you were."

Perry took the fact that Vachon had actually said something as an
invitation to lick his face.

Vachon pushed him away gently, and, Tracy noted, didn't bother to
deny Jodi's accusation.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her

"I live down here. We aren't welcome in polite vampire society,
remember?"

"You're a carouche?" Vachon sounded surprised, although not knowing
what a carouche was, Tracy wasn't sure why.

"Something like that," Jodi laughed, and then noticed Tracy's
bewilderment. "Politically correct doesn't apply to vampires, Tracy.
Some of us," she looked pointedly at Vachon, "are endowed by our
creator with certain inalienable rights... And then, some of us
aren't... I'll explain it to you someday, but, for now, trust me, he
was going to kill you."

Tracy looked at Vachon, but he didn't know it, so he didn't look
back, and didn't bother to conceal the guilty expression on his face.

Tracy stood up, but she immediately felt dizzy and had to sit down
again.

"You won't tell anyone where he is, will you?" she asked her friend.

Jodi shook her head. "No, but they already know."

Tracy froze. "They? Enforcers?"

Jodi nodded and stepped forward with a bottle of juice and a box of
crackers that she had taken from Tracy's bag. Tracy took them from
her with shaky hands. Jodi's revelation that they hadn't escaped the
Enforcers after all had tied her stomach in a knot, but she knew she
had to eat something before she passed out.

She took a couple of gulps of the juice and wolfed down two dozen
crackers.

"I guess it was dumb to think we could hide from them," Vachon said.

Jodi nodded, and then said "Probably," for Vachon's benefit.

Tracy, however, wasn't ready to accept defeat.

"Can you help us get out of here?" She asked Jodi.

She tried to stand up again, but didn't make it. Vachon caught her
before she collapsed.

He took her in his arms and held the bottle of juice to her lips.

"No, Trace," he said softly, kissing her cheek. "No more running,
remember?"

 
---TWENTY-EIGHT---

They slept, because it was what both of them normally did during the
daytime, and anything even remotely resembling normal was a comfort
at that point.

Tracy could only imagine what dreams haunted Vachon's sleep. He woke
up suddenly a couple of times, as if from a nightmare, but, as usual,
he wouldn't tell her anything. Vachon wasn't into "sharing." She had
figured that out a long time ago. She would ask him about his past,
at times when she caught him with an expression on his face that told
her he was thinking about it, but all he would ever say was "It's
nothing," which was exactly what he said to her now. She wanted to
smack him one, for lying to her, for not trusting her.

As for herself, she didn't dream at all. Maybe she didn't dare.
Vachon had told her he was sorry about biting her and taking as much
blood as he had, but neither of them had addressed Jodi's assertion
that he would have kept going until she was dead. Tracy figured he
was already carrying around enough baggage, so she hadn't asked him
about it, and he hadn't offered anything in the way of an excuse or
explanation. Not that she wanted to know--although she did wonder if
he would have kept his promise to bring her across.

How close had she come to being like him? In the heat of passion, it
had seemed like a good idea, but now she found herself horrified at
the thought of having to drink blood to live, of taking the lives of
human beings so that her own could continue... forever. And yet,
Vachon had said it wasn't bad. How could he think that? And Jodi...
Jodi hadn't seemed unhappy, either. Vachon had explained to her that
Jodi was a carouche, a different kind of vampire, the same kind of
vampire as that goofy Screed. They didn't feed on humans. Maybe that
made it tolerable, although social isolation was not something Tracy
had experienced in her lifetime. Of course, Jodi hadn't either, until
her mortal friends--Tracy included--had deserted her during her
illness, wanting to spare themselves her pain.

She couldn't be the kind of vampire Vachon was, though. She was
certain of that, now. How had she ever thought she could?

She looked at Vachon, asleep beside her on the old mattress. Did he
have regrets? Guilt? He didn't seem to. What did that make him?
Callous at best. Evil, maybe. A monster? Probably.

So why did she love him, anyway? How could she look at him right
then--his fangs still visible--and not see him for what he was, no
matter how hard she tried?

She was living out some stupid, dangerous, romance-novel fantasy
with a deadly predator. She knew that much. The question was, why
didn't she care?

She had taken him into her arms before she fell asleep. They had
tried it the other way, but he was just too cold, and both of them
were more comfortable if she held him.

She had to block out the thoughts of Vachon tortured, dying. It was
a wonder she slept at all, although she did, finally.

She was awakened by his touch. Soft, cold fingers caressing her
cheek, her lips, her nose. Her eyelids fluttered open when he ran his
thumb carefully across her lashes.

"Awake?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm"

He laughed that soft little laugh of his. "You know, I don't
remember what you look like."

"You don't?" she frowned.

He shook his head. "I don't understand it. The memory is just sort
of... gone...."

His best guess was that his vampire brain was adapting to the loss
of his sight, replacing it with this new ability to perceive his
surroundings through his skin. The new tactile sensations were
filling in the blanks left by the visual images that were no longer
there. In typical vampire fashion, the process was quick and
efficient. He would know Tracy immediately by her scent and the sound
of her heartbeat and even by the way air flowed through the unique
configuration of her respiratory tract, but the image of her *face*
was gone.

"We don't have much longer, Trace," he said. And that was true, one
way or another. He wasn't dying. When he'd had the Fever, his
hyperacute senses had actually known that his body was shutting
itself down, that his immortal life force was waning. That wasn't
happening now. He was sick, and he was getting worse, but his body
was gradually adapting to what was happening to his brain. His
condition would probably stabilize, eventually, although what shape
he'd be in when that happened was anyone's guess.

He couldn't see. His coordination had already failed him, That's
what had caused him to wreck his bike. He wasn't able to think
rationally anymore. He'd proved that when he'd almost killed Tracy.
He knew better than to ever do what he had done with her, but the
usual alarms just hadn't gone off. If Jodi hadn't shown up when she
did, Tracy would probably be dead. He might have brought her across.
Maybe. But then what? He couldn't teach her the things she would need
to know if he couldn't even think straight, and that was assuming
that she turned out okay after being given his contaminated blood.
What the hell had he been thinking?

The decision to quit running had been the right one. He didn't like
it, but there was nothing else he could do. Tracy and Urs and maybe
even Nick Knight would continue trying to protect him well past the
point when even he would agree that he needed to be destroyed.

He didn't want to die. But he wanted even less to be hunted down,
cornered and disposed of without first having the chance to let
everyone who mattered to him know that he cared enough not to drag
him down with him.

No more running, he had told Tracy. But, he would stay there with
her until they came for him. He wasn't going to just walk into their
hands.

His head hurt. Just a dull throb, usually, but once in a while, the
steady ache would suddenly escalate to a hammering agony without any
warning..

He felt it coming on, and he dug his fists into his eyes, trying to
make it stop.

Tracy sat up quickly. "What's the matter, Vachon?"

"My head hurts," he completely understated the situation.

Fierce daggers of white light exploded inside his skull and when
Tracy asked him if she could do anything for him, he couldn't even
answer her. He tried, but the words just wouldn't form.

She cradled his head in her arms. A monumentally stupid thing to do
with a vampire in as much pain as he was, but lucky for her, he could
only think about biting her. His body simply refused to coordinate
the movements necessary to actually do it.

Eventually, the pain began to subside, and he dozed off again, not
really asleep, but too spent to want to move.

Tracy felt completely helpless. If Vachon had been mortal, she would
have taken him to a hospital, where he'd be given something for his
pain and at least be made comfortable and where maybe something could
be done to make him okay again. But because he was... what he was...
there was nothing she could do for him beyond kind words, which
weren't helping much.

She would have offered him more of her blood, but she didn't think
it would really do any good in the long run, and if he killed her....
well, she didn't want to say it wouldn't be worth it, but the truth
was, she wasn't ready to die just to make him feel better for a few
minutes, no matter how badly she wanted to ease his suffering.

Still, she was convincing herself that she could afford to lose a
few more drops, and that Vachon was too ill to really harm her, when
Urs arrived and took the question out of her hands. With her was a
tall, elegant gentleman with close-cropped blond hair and cold blue
eyes. He looked at her and Vachon with an indifferent expression that
gave Tracy a chill.

"This is Lucien LaCroix," Urs introduced him.

So there he was. The vampire who controlled the Toronto Community.
Tracy didn't know what to say to him. "Pleased to meet you," didn't
cut it, because she was not.

She sat up, and her muscles rebelled with fatigue. It would take her
a couple of days to recover from losing the blood Vachon had taken.

Vachon didn't move, but he opened his eyes. "They're here?" he
asked. "Enforcers?"

Tracy felt a cold knot form in the pit of her stomach. He was so
calm, but she knew he was afraid. How could he not be?

Urs knew, too. She knelt beside him, kissed him on the forehead and
said softly, "Yes, Javier. They only want to talk to you."

Vachon didn't believe that, Tracy could tell.

He tried to sit up, but his left arm buckled under him and he
couldn't pull himself upright. He kept trying, and finally LaCroix
reached down and lifted him to his feet, but his left leg wouldn't
support him, either, not if LaCroix let him go. Luckily, the older
vampire didn't let him fall.

Vachon insisted he could walk, and amazingly, the stern,
expressionless LaCroix humored him by supporting most of his weight
as they made their way out of the underground labyrinth to a car
waiting for them in a hidden alley.

He eased Vachon into the back seat, but then restrained Tracy when
she tried to get in with them.

"This matter no longer concerns you," LaCroix said, in a tone of
voice that was more gentle than the words merited. Tracy knew their
meaning. The old vampire wasn't telling her to go away, he was
telling her "You don't want to see what's going to happen."

As she watched the car pull away, she could not recall in her life
ever having felt more helpless. There was no one she could tell about
this. No one whose help she could ask. No one to whom she could
complain about the unfairness of it.

She wandered out of the alley and then realized she'd left her bag
behind, in Screed's lair. Muttering an oath, she wondered if she'd
even be able to find the place again, but she had to try. Her keys,
her ID, her gun, that *other* gun.... all of it was in the bag.

She'd never see Vachon again. That was the thought that nagged at
her as she made her way back through the tunnel maze. She remembered
the first time she'd been down here, when Screed had advised Vachon
to kill her. "I couldn't," he'd said. Or something like that. Why
not? Why not her when he had no doubt killed countless others?

The second time she'd been down there was when they had come to look
for Screed, and had found him stricken with the illness that would
take his life. She had watched as Vachon had offered Screed his own
blood. There was no hesitation, no question as to whether or not it
was a wise thing to do (which it had turned out not to be). He saw
the need and he did what he had to do. Was that the point at which
her feelings for him had changed? She knew that by the time he was
seriously ill with the infection transmitted by Screed's bite that
she would have done almost anything to save him. She'd stolen blood
for him, when she had never stolen anything in her life.

She loved him. She might as well admit that now.

What did it matter? She wasn't going to see him again.

Suddenly, she didn't care if she found the bag. She didn't care
about anything in it at that moment.

But eventually, she did find her way back to Screed's place without
really trying. She sat down on the mattress where she had made love
to Vachon for the first and last time.

She could cry here, where no one would see her, where no one would
ask her why she cried for a vampire.

She buried her face in her hands, but only a few quiet sobs escaped
before she knew she wasn't alone.

"Tracy? I've been looking for you..."

Tracy looked up at the familiar voice. "Nick?" <How the hell had he
known to look for her here?>

Frantically, she tried to think of a reason--any reason--that would
explain what she was doing there. Did Nick know about the
misappropriated evidence, the carjacked Mustang and the stolen patrol
car? She was sure he didn't know the truth about Vachon. How could
he? But yet he had found her here, of all places. How was she going
to answer his questions?

But, he didn't ask any. He held out his hand to her and said simply,
"I'll take you home."

His hand was so cold.


---TWENTY-NINE---

She couldn't tell Nick about Vachon, but she had to talk. About
anything, it didn't matter what. The thought of sitting alone with
her partner in the cavernous front seat of his Caddy and the two of
them not saying a word to each other seemed too unnatural.

She learned that Nick knew about the Mustang and the stolen patrol
car, and she wasn't surprised that everyone had guessed that she was
the officer involved. There weren't that many women on the force who
matched her description, and the car had been taken in the basement
of her apartment building.

What did surprise her was that Nick didn't seem to think any of this
was a problem. He assured her that everything would be taken care of,
and that she shouldn't worry about it. He wasn't implying that her
father's connections would come into play, either, although they
certainly weren't going to work against her. He told her that
everything would be okay, and for some reason, she believed that they
would.

Except that she'd never see Vachon again.

Oddly, even though she couldn't tell him anything about that, he
seemed aware that something was troubling her. She knew he was a good
detective--one of the best, in fact--but his instincts seemed a bit
*too* good at times. She couldn't shake the idea that he knew
something he wasn't telling her, that his attempts to ease her fears
about disciplinary action were a thinly-disguised attempt to comfort
her.

It also didn't escape her attention that he never once asked her why
she had risked her badge and maybe her career to help out a snitch
whom she supposedly hardly knew. It would do no good to ask him about
that.

Nick was a puzzle. He seemed to just *know* things, and yet he
rarely asked personal questions of anyone, and if the were asked of
him, he was invariably evasive. She knew very little about him. Not
how long he'd been a cop. Not where he'd worked before coming to
Toronto, Nothing about how he had come to have no family. Not even
the exact nature of the mysterious ailment that made him deathly
sensitive to sunlight. In many ways, he was more of a mystery than
Vachon.

But right then, she didn't mind that he kept to himself. If he
didn't ask her any personal questions about Vachon, that was more
than okay with her.

He hadn't mentioned her taking the gun from the evidence locker, so
she did. "I guess I better get it back as soon as I can."

Nick did a bad job of trying to sound casual when he asked, "What
are you doing with it?"

<Oh, great. How dumb could she get?> Now what was she going to tell
him?

"I don't know," was all that fell out of her mouth. "I guess I just
wanted to see... I don't know."

Suddenly, she felt on the verge of tears. How foolish she was to
have thought she could protect Vachon.

As long as she'd blown it, she figured she might as well confess the
rest. Maybe Nick could fix that, too. She told him she'd accidentally
discharged it again, and had shot out the window on the Mustang.

Nick brought the Caddy to a screeching halt. "Where?!" he demanded.
"Where were you when you shot out the windows?"

Tracy couldn't think of a single reason why that mattered, but she
told him.

Very carefully, he took the weapon from bag and then slid out from
behind the wheel.

"Go ahead and drive it home. I'll take care of this." He nodded
towards the strange gun.

Nick had to find the bullet Tracy had fired. The young detective had
not known the pellets used as ammunition in the strange weapon were
radioactive. The gun itself didn't emit radiation, so she was not in
any danger herself from handling it, or so he hoped. It must have
been shielded in some way, although Nick had no idea how. It was too
light to be made out of lead.

The bullets were another story, however. How dangerous they were to
mortals he could only guess, but they emitted enough radiation to
injure a vampire, so chances were, they were extremely 'hot'.

He didn't know where Tracy had been standing when she had discharged
the weapon the second time, nor did he know the trajectory of the
bullet, so it took him two hours to find the innocuous-looking
pellet. With his vampire vision, he could look at it and the interior
barrel of the weapon and tell if they were a match, but he had
reservations about looking down the business end of the piece. He was
careful to set the gun down on the hood of the nearest car, first.

When he moved around the front to look at it, though, someone said,
"I wouldn't do that."

He literally jumped. He had thought he was alone, and he could not
sense either mortal or vampire anywhere nearby.

An innocuous-looking man stepped out of the shadows. Nick recognized
him as the owner of the Mustang. He hadn't filed a complaint, but had
seemed overly-anxious to get through the paperwork necessary to get
his car back.

"Who are you?" Nick demanded.

"The owner of that gun," he said casually. "And this one..." He held
up a weapon identical to the one on the hood of the car. He didn't
point it at Nick, but Nick knew that didn't mean he wouldn't shoot
him with it. "Move away from it, and don't try any of your vampire
moves on me. I assure you, I'm too fast for them."

"Vampire moves?" Nick tried to sound dumb.

"Don't play games with me, Knight. I know who you are and what you
are."

Nick rephrased his question. "What are *you*?"

"What your kind made me." He pulled aside his shirt collar to reveal
two small scars. Only one kind of person bore scars from fang marks--
those who had survived a vampire attack and had not been brought
across. Neither mortal nor vampire, these people were perfectly
adapted to one purpose.

"You're a hunter," Nick said.

"No, I'm a *bounty* hunter," the man said. "You know, wanted dead or
alive? And you guys are worth far, far more alive."

Nick frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Your blood... surely you know the effects it can have on a mortal
in small doses. Ends disease, stops aging, reverses disability... You
guys are a walking pharmacy of miracle cures. Unfortunately, for a
vampire to sell his blood violates your precious Code. So.... let's
just say there are those who are willing to pay any price to anyone
who can procure a live, if unwilling, donor."

"Who hired you?"

"You'll never find that out, even though you have his body. I'm
afraid he didn't survive our little adventure."

"The man in the alley?"

The bounty hunter shrugged. "He insisted on coming along. Luckily,
he paid in advance."

"But Vachon was shot by accident..."

"Not exactly. True, he wasn't our original target, and when he
showed up, we had to abandon our plan. Unfortunately for my
benefactor, that meant that I had to abandon him, but that was the
risk he took."

He picked the gun up from the hood of the car and looked at it
admiringly. "Amazingly little piece of technology. It homes in on
body temperature. You could never shoot a mortal with it. However, I
have your kind to thank for my body temperature being well below
normal, so when your partner started brandishing it at *me*, I felt
it best to get out of her way, otherwise, I could have solved your
problem for you right then and there."

"What problem?"

"Javier Vachon, of course. Having a wounded vampire running around
loose in your fine city must certainly be an inconvenience, one that
I assure you wasn't meant to happen."

"What about the other vampire? The one who killed your partner?"

The bounty hunter shrugged. "He got away. Shit happens. For a price,
I'll find him and take care of him, too."

Nick flew at the man and grabbed him. "Get out of here. Get out of
Toronto. Get out of Canada. Do you understand me?"

The man was intimidated, Nick could tell, but he laughed. "You can't
kill me, can you? I know who you are, deBrabant"

"Then you also know you what will happen if you shoot me with that
thing, or if you don't do as I say."

"Lucien LaCroix... " the hunter smirked. "Daddy dearest."

Nick gripped the man more tightly and let his fangs descend. "Tell
me why I should let you live."

The man's heart raced, but his voice was cool. "Because I'm not
working alone. Because if we can find *you*, we can find your mortal
friends.... Dr. Lambert, Detective Vetter, Myra Schanke... her little
Jenny... Shall I go on?"

Nick flung the man into a concrete pillar as hard as he dared.
"Don't let me see you again. Ever."

The man picked himself up and carefully pocketed his toys, but as he
walked away he turned back and pointed a finger at Nick. No words,
just that subtle, irritating gesture that said "You don't scare me."

Nick had too much to lose by killing the bounty hunter without
knowing who he was working with. It was possible he was lying, but if
there were others.... if Nat and the others were in danger...

The guy was right. If they could find vampires, they could find
anyone. He was between the proverbial rock and hard place.

Still, he couldn't just let him walk away to come back and do to
someone else what he had done to Vachon, or maybe even something
worse.

He had too much to lose, and he knew it. But, he knew one vampire
who had no ties to the city--except for his link to Vachon.

He decided that maybe it was time to send a message to Aristotle,
along with a nice, fat check.


---THIRTY---

Vachon was so weak that he couldn't sit up, not even after LaCroix
had brought him the finest of his personal stock. He wasn't used to
this, and he didn't like being so vulnerable. Who did?

He didn't really feel ill, except for the headache, which was now
pretty much constant. He simply had no strength in one side of his
body. It was as if the muscles had suddenly become disconnected from
his conscious control.

Urs had propped him up on LaCroix's leather couch for his meeting
with the Enforcers. It was bad enough he had to face them, without
doing so looking totally helpless.

LaCroix had sedated him, probably so he wouldn't shoot his mouth
off. The blood he'd provided had been generously laced with wine and
maybe a couple of drugs, too. The result was that he could only
manage mild apprehension, even though he should have been terrified,
under the circumstances.

He didn't want to die, of that he was certain. He could handle being
blind. He could handle being dependent on Urs, controlled by LaCroix
and even pitied by Knight and Tracy. He really could. If it came down
to having to do so, he was not above begging for his life. It
probably wouldn't do any damn good, but he had never regretted his
immortal existence, and even if he had to adapt in order for it to
continue, he wasn't ready to give it up.

He sensed the two Enforcers even before they entered the room. They
felt like vampires, but there was something that was different about
them. He had expected to sense something sinister, or even evil,
about them. But instead they had a distinct aura of power and
authority, a not-so-subtle indication that they were not to be
challenged, or questioned.

Vachon had never had direct dealings with the Enforcers.
Occasionally, he and the Inka had been warned about involving others
in their on-going sibling rivalry, but so long as they only hurt each
other, it never went past that.

He knew that some of them were bullies who abused the authority of
the office, and that all of them adhered unwaveringly to The Code. No
exceptions.

The two Enforcers didn't say a word, not to him or to anyone else,
at first. Instead, the poked and prodded him with huge, meaty hands
<Why were they always so damn big, he wondered?>.

He didn't know what conclusions they drew from their quick
examination, but it was obvious even without it that he could not
function, not in his present state.

He couldn't hunt. He wasn't even sure he could feed properly any
more. What did he expect the Enforcers to do?

Even though he dared to hope that his options hadn't completely run
out, he still had to ask, "When? How long do I have?"

One of the Enforcers answered in a cold, powerful baritone. "I wish
I could tell you that. You have a right to know, of course. But I'm
afraid there is a certain matter that must be researched beforehand."

Vachon had no idea what they could be talking about. Apparently,
neither did LaCroix, because he asked them.

"He was brought across with another vampire," the Enforcer
explained. "That is so rare that no one is sure how close the blood-
tie is. Killing one of them might kill them both."

Vachon thought it ironic as hell that the only thing keeping him
alive at that moment was the one thing he despised about his
existence--the fact that he was eternally chained to that damned Inka
warrior. It would have been funny, were he not facing a death
sentence.

He wondered what the Inka would think of it. He was the one who was
always so ready to save anyone he believed needed it, whether they
wanted him to or not.

Vachon wondered if that included *him*. He had long ago realized
that he and the Inka didn't actually want to kill each other. They'd
had five centuries to try and neither had ever done it. But the
chance opportunity for either of them to be rid of the other... well,
that possibility had never entered his mind, until now.

Still, he'd never counted on the Inka for anything, and he wasn't
about to start now. He had to ask one more question.

"How will it be done?"

The same Enforcer answered, and he was simple and direct, "As
painlessly as possible."

Vachon ran down a quick mental list of the ways to kill a vampire
and narrowed the list down to the method that was quickest and
easiest for the vampire.

"Decapitation?" he asked calmly.

"Unless you wish another method."

He might as well say it. He had nothing to lose. "I don't wish *any*
method. I don't want to die."

"This is not a question of what anyone wants," a different voice--
the other Enforcer-- spoke. "Your body is damaged, your judgment is
flawed, and the mortal girl you have entangled in your predicament is
a threat."

Vachon was instantly defensive. "Leave her out of this. She's not
involved in this."

"Of course she is. And now she knows about the carouche and her dog.
Where is it to end, Javier? How long do we let this situation
continue?"

Vachon thought that over while his fingers lightly encircled the rim
of the bottle in his hand. There was no way around it. He'd become a
"problem." And Tracy's attempt to rescue him had only made matters
worse.

"It's my fault the mortal is involved," Urs said meekly. "I told her
Javier was in trouble."

"Urs..." Vachon began, but a cold hand on his face silenced him. It
wasn't Urs who touched him. It was LaCroix.

"If a viable solution can be found, will you allow us to attempt
it?" he asked.

"What sort of a solution?" an Enforcer asked.

"There is a mortal doctor. She knows about our Community. She knows
more about our physiology than we do..."

"You speak of the friend of Nicholas de Brabant, correct? Natalie
Lambert?"

"Yes, the one who saved so many of our kind from the epidemic."

It came as no surprise that the Enforcers knew about Natalie, but
Vachon wasn't comfortable with what LaCroix was implying. Making
Natalie responsible for him was tantamount to throwing her to the
wolves, and all it would do was buy him a few more days.

It didn't matter. The Enforcers weren't buying it, anyway. "We are
aware that the injuries this vampire has sustained are unique, and
that they pose a distinct threat to a mortal doctor. It's out of the
question."

"Only if she were to perform the actual surgery," LaCroix continued,
in a voice that was a bit more assertive than Vachon would have used
on an Enforcer. "The good doctor has proposed an idea which I think
must be considered."

Instead of being curious, at least one of the Enforcers was
perturbed. "You have discussed this matter with a mortal?"

"She came to me," LaCroix said, with no trepidation in his tone. It
occurred to Vachon that LaCroix was probably much older than either
of the Enforcers, and even though he had respect for their office, he
wasn't afraid of them.

"Continue," the Enforcer with the baritone voice said.

"Nicholas was once a surgeon. He will attempt to remove the
fragments. Dr. Lambert will tell him how."

Vachon did *not* like that idea. He didn't want his head opened up
like a cantaloupe, and he certainly didn't want Nick Knight's
inexperienced hands poking around in his brain. But, he kept his
mouth shut, waiting to see what the Enforcers said.

Finally, one of them spoke. "How long will this take to prepare?"

LaCroix honestly didn't know, and said so, but to Vachon's surprise,
he volunteered, "I will see to it that there is no more trouble in
the meantime. If Dr. Lambert is unsuccessful, then I shall also
ensure that what must be done is done."

Vachon felt a cold chill go through him. Certainly, Natalie would
anesthetize him, so it wasn't pain that he feared. It was the thought
that he might go to sleep and never wake up that gave him a dark,
empty feeling, even though that was exactly the way he'd want it. If
he was to be executed, he didn't want to hear the guillotine fall.

The two Enforcers didn't speak, but Vachon felt that something was
exchanged between them.

"We'll discuss it," one of them told LaCroix. "Until we decide, we
hold you to your word to see that this young one causes no more
difficulty."

Vachon heard Urs and LaCroix both breath a sigh of relief when the
three of them were alone.

"Thank you," Vachon said, and he meant it.

"Let's not be premature," the old vampire cautioned him. "I
personally have my doubts that what Dr. Lambert proposes will even
work, and not leave you with permanent brain damage."

Vachon had honestly not considered that. He had figured he'd either
die, or be cured. It hadn't entered his mind that he might stay
exactly as he was, forever.

There wasn't any place for a vampire who needed constant care.
Unless he wanted to be kept as someone's pet, it was as simple as
that.


---THIRTY-ONE---

Nick stared at her like she'd hit him. "You want me to do what?"

"You're the logical choice, Nick. You've had experience performing
surgery...."

"Not *brain* surgery, Nat! And I was a surgeon in the 19th century,
remember? I'm a bit out of practice."

"But you know the basics, Nick. A scalpel is still a scalpel. And
you know the anatomy. Plus, you can work a lot faster than I can, and
radioactive material won't permanently harm you."

He couldn't argue with any of that, but still, the idea of exposing
someone's--anyone's-- brain went against several centuries of
accumulated taboos. He knew it was done every day, in modern
hospitals, by meticulously trained neurosurgeons, but his experience
in comparison was the equivalent of setting a broken finger.

Natalie knew she'd made her point, however. "You'll have to study
the x-rays. It would be better if we could get a CAT scan, though."

"That can be done." Nick was sure he could arrange that somehow.
He'd talk to Aristotle about it when he saw him.

He told Natalie about his encounter with the bounty hunter.

"And the guy who hired him was the one who ended up dead?" she asked
when he was finished giving her the facts.

Nick nodded. "I guess he just got a little too close to his quarry.
Can't say it didn't serve him right."

"But why capture a vampire?" Natalie had to ask. She'd seen what an
enormous task it had been to keep Vachon from doing pretty much
whatever he wanted, and he was seriously hampered, compared to the
average vampire.

Nick shook his head. "They wanted the blood. A live vampire is worth
more than the treasury of some small countries to some people."

"But why not just find a willing vampire and pay him for his blood?"

"Because it violates The Code. Most vampires are not that willing to
cross the Enforcers, and money usually isn't enough of an incentive.
Most of us either acquire wealth on our own over time or aren't
interested in it to begin with. Besides, it's not that easy to just
*find* one of us."

Natalie held back a glib rejoinder. Vampires seemed to just fall on
*her* doorstep like stray cats.

"So you think he'll come back for Vachon?"

Nick shrugged. "I think he might try. But now that his buyer is
dead, it would be with the intention of finishing him off."

Natalie studied his face. "You've got something planned, don't you?"

Nick made no apologies. "I can't turn this guy over to the mortal
authorities, but I'll stop him if I can."

Natalie couldn't think up an argument to dissuade him. Anyone who
hunted down a living, thinking being for profit was pretty low on her
life form classification list.

She returned to the subject Nick was trying to avoid. "So you'll
help me? With Vachon?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't suppose he has any other chance,
does he?"

"No," Natalie said. "LaCroix made that perfectly clear when he
called me."

He took her into his arms and studied her face. "Why do you care so
much?"

The question puzzled her. "Care?"

"About Vachon. You hardly know him."

She embraced him. "I guess because it could have been you, Nick. You
were there, remember? Besides, if I didn't care about him, who would?"

Nick knew she was right, on both counts. It could be him walking
around with his brain slowly turning to mush. He'd been shot just
like Vachon, except he'd been 'lucky' and the shooter had used
conventional ammunition. And Vachon--all he had was Urs, and Tracy.
Urs was to young to protect him from other vampires, and too young to
keep him from endangering himself. And Tracy was too mortal.

He sighed. "Tell me what you want me to do."

+ + + + +

Vachon was feeling better. He could walk again, even though his left
side was stiff and uncooperative, and his head didn't hurt so much.
But, he didn't think he could fly--he didn't seem to actually
remember how-- and LaCroix had left the same two goons who had
collected the reward on him in charge of guarding him, so there was
no way he was leaving the Raven, anyway.

He was safe, for now, and he planned to stay that way as long as
possible. The boredom, however, was excruciating. He couldn't read,
and could only listen to the TV. Urs stayed with him, but they never
really had been into deep conversations, and besides, they already
knew everything about each other. A set of dominoes kept them
occupied for a while. He could play because he could feel the
indentations where the dots were. But Urs played the game better than
he did, and when he won, repeatedly, he began to suspect she was
letting him. It got on his nerves after a while.

He was pacing the room like a rat in a cage. He almost wished he
didn't know where everything was. At least tripping over something
would liven things up.

Urs came up from behind him and encircled his chest with her tiny,
cold arms.

"Calm down, Javier," she said softly.

"I am calm," he snorted. "I'm so calm, I might kill myself just to
have something to do."

She spun him around, "Don't talk like that!"

He had upset her. It was pretty easy to upset Urs, but this time, he
didn't really feel like dealing with it. He had his own problems, and
then some.

The enforcers had agreed to let him live long enough for Natalie to
attempt to remove the bullets from his head, but only because they
didn't know what would happen to the Inka if they killed him. LaCroix
had a number of theories, best-case scenario being that the Inka
would continue on his happy immortal way free of him once and for
all. But even the youngest vampire knew how strong the blood-link
could be, between master and child and between the children of the
same master. He and the Inka were unique, in that they shared
identical vampire blood. They were essentially preternatural Siamese
twins, one vampire in two bodies. Severing the blood-bond could be
comparable to cutting a human body in half. If that were the case, at
best the Inka would become some sort of grotesque mortal hybrid, or a
vampire who, like Vachon, would have to be destroyed.

Letting Natalie attempt surgery was the only chance they had. If she
failed, he was history. Even if she succeeded, and it didn't cure
him, he was history. And if he didn't even let her try, he was
definitely history.

Urs kissed him, long and deep. If nothing else, she always knew how
to get his mind off of his immediate problems. For a moment, he
forgot about everything but the sweetness of her bloodscent, the
softness of her cold lips on his own. The thought was forming in his
mind that he could take her right there, standing up, in the middle
of LaCroix's office, when someone knocked on the door.

He felt Nick, and when the door opened, he smelled Natalie's blood.

Natalie wanted to examine him again when she noticed that he limped
when he walked.

"What's the point?" he asked. "You know what the problem is."

"You be the vampire, I'll be the doctor," Natalie chided him.

He gave in, even though he hated being *looked* at, especially in
front of an audience. Luckily, Natalie asked Nick and Urs to leave.

Nick was reluctant. He understandably feared for her safety. But,
Natalie wanted a chance to talk to Vachon without anyone else
present. She wanted him to know what was going to be done, although
at that point there really wasn't much for him to decide in the
matter. He either submitted to the surgery, and maybe died, or, he
died, period.

She asked him to remove his shirt, and he tried to pull it off with
just his right hand. It was a lot harder to do than he expected, but
finally, he succeeded.

Natalie did her usual doctor thing, making him breathe when he
didn't need to, and listening to his heart for several minutes before
she was rewarded with a beat. The burns had completely healed, and
most of his body hair had grown back.

"This is good," Natalie said. "It means you are still able to heal
quickly and completely."

She explained to him that Nick was going to be the one to take the
metal fragments out of his head, something he already knew. He still
didn't like the idea.

"Nick is a *cop*, Natalie. Why can't you do it?"

She explained that to him, too, reminding that they were dealing
with a substance that was potently hazardous to humans and adding,
"Radiation poisoning is not a pretty way to die."

"What are you going to do with the stuff?"

"Let us worry about that," Natalie said, although the fact was, she
had no clue. Most medical facilities made provisions for the disposal
of radioactive waste, but the amounts were strictly controlled. Even
the 3-4 grams Vachon was carrying around would be noticed. "Nick said
he'll come up with something..." She wrapped her fingers around his
left hand. "Make a fist for me."

He tried, but she could barely feel any pressure. "How long have you
been like this?"

He told her about losing control of the bike, the headaches, the
weakness that came and went, then came back again.

She finished her examination without saying anything to him. She
didn't need to.

"It's getting worse, right?" he said finally.

"Well... your body doesn't seem to be keeping up with the damage
this thing is doing. The sooner we take care of it, the better."

She handed him back his tee-shirt, and resisted the urge to help him
put it on as long as she could, but he had a real problem with it,
and he didn't seem to mind when she finished pulling it over his head.

"Natalie?"

She pulled his hair out of the back of his shirt. "Yes?"

"If it doesn't work, I know they're going to kill me...."

"Vachon..."

"Just hear me out... I don't want to wake up, okay? Just let them do
it and get it over with."

She nodded, and then realized he couldn't see her. "Okay," she said
softly.

"And I want to see Tracy again. Before... So I can, you know..."

<Say good-bye.> "All right." She smoothed his hair down in the back,
and something occurred to her. It was trivial, but she thought she
should tell him, anyway.

"We're going to have to cut your hair."

He smiled. "You've seen how fast it grows back. Don't worry about it."

"Can I bring you anything?" she felt compelled to ask.

He shook his head and said "No," so softly she didn't actually hear
it. He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his
eyes.

"Lie down," she told him. "You need to rest."

He didn't argue with her. The poison inside him had probably spread
to his bloodstream, and likely was affecting his entire system to
some degree.

The results of her examination had not been at all encouraging, but
she didn't mention it until she was alone with Nick.

"He's had a stroke," she told him. "Maybe more than one. The blood
vessel walls in the vicinty of the fragments are probably
deteriorating."

Nick knew enough to understand that meant the possibility of a
massive hemorrhage.

"The big question will be if he can heal before he bleeds out.
Normally, you guys don't bleed to death, but in his condition..."

"Did you tell him?" Nick asked.

"There was no point. If we can't take care of the problem, he wants
us to let him go."

Nick said what they were both thinking. "We can't wait much longer
then."

Natalie shook her head. "No. I need you to come to the morgue with
me now, so I can run you through the procedure on a cadaver.... but
you're going to be on your own Nick, from the time I anesthetize him,
it will be just you and him."

He took her hand and kissed her. "C'mon. We have work to do."


---THIRTY-TWO---

The CAT scan revealed that there were five fragments instead of the
three she had seen on the x-rays. Arranging it had been easy enough.
It was done in a regular hospital by the people who usually did those
things, although finding a technician to interpret it who would not
be surprised that Vachon was first of all not dead, and second, was
not even human, proved a bit trickier. But Aristotle, as usual, came
through. Vampires occupied almost every niche in the mortal community
and came from all walks of life-life, so it was never impossible to
find one to do whatever job was necessary.

Natalie felt that the fewer questions asked, the better, so it was
her idea for Vachon to pretend he was unconscious. That meant putting
him in a hospital gown and sticking an IV into his hand, just for
appearances sake.

Afterward, he was wheeled into an empty room and left there alone to
wait for someone to come and tell him what he was supposed to do
next. Natalie hadn't told him that would happen, but he trusted her
not to just leave him there. She knew where he was, and it wasn't
likely she was going to forget him.

He could hear voices through the walls. He should have been able to
tell what was being said, but now was only able to catch bits and
pieces of scattered conversations. He could still hear fine, but his
ability to differentiate distant sounds was leaving him. He hadn't
told anyone that, because like everything else, there wasn't anything
anyone could do about it.

He pulled the IV out of his hand just to have something to do. He
felt blood trickle from the puncture wound and raised his hand to his
mouth and sucked in a mouthful. Big mistake. It tasted more like
whatever was in the IV than blood, and he didn't know where to spit
it out. He thought about getting up and feeling his way around the
room, but the thought of someone walking in on him wearing that
stupid gown convinced him that wasn't a good idea, so he swallowed
the stuff and gagged on it. Luckily it stayed down.

So much for entertaining himself.

He wouldn't have thought waiting to stare death in the face could be
so damned boring.

Again, just to be doing something, he stuck the IV back into his
hand, but he got the tape that had held it in place before twisted up
so that it stuck to itself, and he couldn't re-use it. He was trying
to straighten it out by touch when he felt the vampire.

Not just any vampire, but *that* vampire. The Inka. What the hell
did he want?

That was exactly what he asked him as soon as he knew his blood-
sibling was in the same room.

The Inka fingered the neckline of the gown he was wearing. "Nice
outfit. Did you pick the color?"

Vachon slapped his hand away.

The Inka took the tangled up wad of tape from him and sat down on
the bed next to him. "As usual, you have made trouble for us both."

"Fuck you. I didn't get hurt on purpose."

"How it happened does not matter. It happened. And now, they tell
me, if you die, I die."

"That's not a sure thing," Vachon said, and for some inexplicable
reason, he wanted that to be true. He didn't want to die, but if he
did, he didn't want to take the Inka with him. That seemed more
unfair than even his old nemesis deserved.

The Inka was surprisingly casual about the whole thing. "If it
happens, it happens."

Vachon felt him place the tape over the IV. He pressed it down a lot
harder than was necessary to make it stick, and it stung.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"I just knew. I could feel it. You know that. But Knight paid
Aristotle to find me, so I would have found out that way."

"Why did you come?"

"I would have come, anyway, but Knight told me what happened, that
the people who did this to you had to be dealt with, and Knight
couldn't do it. The safety of too many mortals and the secrecy of
this Community were at stake."

"So?...."

"So I disposed of the problem. The man responsible for this won't do
it to one of us again."

"You killed him?"

"No. I drank his blood, and it just happened that he did not survive."

Vachon smiled in spite of himself. The Inka had never considered
himself a killer. He thought of his vampirism as a form of divine
retribution to be visited upon the unjust through him. Vachon thought
he was a self-righteous sonofabitch, but... well, what the hell.
Blood was thicker than water, and vampire blood was thicker than mud.
He might not *like* the Inka, but he *was* the Inka, and the Inka was
him. He suspected that some degree of revenge had been involved in
killing the hunter. He knew there would have been had the tables been
turned. If anyone was going to kill the Inka, it would be him, not
some mortal with a high-tech weapon and a big expense account.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"No problem."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. We *do* have a problem here, in case
you haven't noticed.."

"Only if you die," the Inka said. "See to it that you do not... I
must go. They're coming for you. I'll see you again later."

A familiar sound of rushing of air, and the Inka was gone. Natalie
was there with his clothes. "All done," she told him, as she removed
the IV and handed him his shirt. For the time being, the weakness on
his left side was just a minor nuisance. He was able to dress
himself, and he did so as quickly as possible.

"When are we going to do this?" he asked her.

"Soon," she told him. "Tomorrow or the day after."

"I still want to talk to Tracy... before it happens, you know?"

"Nick doesn't think that's a good idea."

Under ordinary circumstances, Vachon would have said screw what
Knight thought, but it wasn't as if he could go traipsing off and
visit Tracy on his own. Someone would have to bring her to him, and
apparently, that wasn't going to happen. Crossing Nick Knight was
something most in the Community wouldn't consider, not only because
Knight was 800 years old and a cop, but because his master was
LaCroix. Vachon simply replied "Oh."

Natalie touched his face affectionately. "She should have never been
involved in any of this Vachon. You know that as well as anyone."

He nodded and took a deep breath. He never cried, but sometimes,
lately, he wanted to, often for no good reason, and the thought of
not being with Tracy again was a good reason. But he left it at that.
No point in getting emotional, especially since Natalie couldn't just
ask Tracy to come and see him. Tracy wasn't supposed to know that
Natalie knew about vampires, just like she wasn't supposed to know
that Nick was one. Hell, it was a wonder anyone could keep all of
that straight.

Natalie kissed him lightly. "I'll see what I can do, but this isn't
like a last wish thing, okay? Nick knows what to do, and now that we
have the scan he knows where to do it, and he'll do it quickly.
You're going to be fine, okay, Vachon?"

He gave her a hint of smile. He had to remember to keep his mouth
closed, because his fangs still wouldn't retract all the way, and it
made him feel like he was walking around with his fly unzipped.

He was taken back to the Raven, to the basement room that had become
his prison. They'd do the surgery there. It was the safest place. The
room was completely underground and surround by dirt, and the ceiling
was 8 inches of concrete. LaCroix would rig up microphones and a
video monitor so Natalie could talk to Nick if she needed to.

He didn't let any of that concern him. If he thought about having
his head cut open, he worried about it, and he didn't like to worry.
It was a waste of time and energy, and he had precious little of
either left.

He turned on the TV and stretched out on the bed with the toy
LaCroix had given him. It was a Rubik's Cube with raised markings on
the different sides instead of colors. He hadn't even thanked the old
vampire for it. It was for a blind person, and he hated being a blind
person. Plus, he'd never been able to solve the damn things even when
he could see. But, it gave him something to do with his hands, and it
kept him from going completely nuts, so even though he now had the
cube hopelessly scrambled, he welcomed the diversion.

He fell asleep playing with it and was awakened by the sudden
silence when someone turned the TV off.

Her scent filled the room. Apricots and calla lilies. "Hi, Trace."
He could smile at her. She didn't care about the fangs.

She moved a chair close to the bed and sat down, then took one of
his hands in both of her own. She raised it to her face, and kissed
his fingers. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

He let his fingertips brush against her cheek. She'd been crying.
"It's almost over, Tracy. One way or another."

"I know. Urs told me. I wanted to be here when they do it, but she
said no."

"It's not a good idea." He ran his thumb down her nose. "Too many
vam... too many of us. It would be dangerous for you, for the
Community."

"What about after? Will they let me see you then?"

"Maybe. If I'm still around to see."

"Stop saying that. Of course you'll be around. God, I hate it when
you feel sorry for yourself."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not feeling sorry for myself."

"Yes, you are."

He absently picked up the Rubik's Cube. "Well, somebody has to do it."

She climbed onto the bed beside him and nestled her face in his
hair. It was purely an affectionate gesture, but her warm breath on
his neck instantly aroused him.

He pushed her away as gently as he could. "Careful, Trace. They
haven't fed me in awhile."

She pulled back, but was still uncomfortably close. He was forcibly
drawn to her scent, her heat, the live, wonderful blood in her veins.
She touched his cheek with her soft, warm hand.

"Don't worry," she laughed softly. "Urs and Jodi are right outside."

"And the dog?"

"And the dog. It's not like we could... you know... without them
knowing it."

He took her hand and held it."It's not like we can do that again,
anyway, Trace. Jodi was right, I would have killed you the other
night."

Tracy didn't say a word, and the uncomfortable silence prompted him
to continue. "You said you wanted this... to be what I am. But we can
tell things from a mortal's blood, Trace. Sometimes things even they
aren't aware of. You can't even say the word 'vampire' and there's a
reason for that. The whole idea disgusts you."

There was no accusation in his tone of voice, but Tracy felt she had
to explain herself, anyway.

"I can't help it that I feel that way, Vachon. But if my blood let
you know me that well, you also know that I don't feel that way about
*you*."

He kissed her hand the way she had kissed his. "I know."

Her voice was somber when she spoke again. "If you know things from
my blood, then you know that I was holding the gun..."

He put his fingers more or less on her lips. "Shhhh... I know you
didn't mean to do it. I don't blame you. I want you to know that."

"If you can accept that Vachon, then I can... well, let's just say
things can change... they do all the time. Not so long ago, I didn't
think you guys were even real. It's just going to take me awhile to
get used to the possibility that maybe I... You know what I mean."

He moved his hand up her arm to the back of her head, where he ran
his fingers through her cornsilk hair. He drew her close and kissed
her. He was asking for trouble, but he did it, anyway.

She returned the kiss, letting her tongue meet his, teasing his
fangs with it.

Finally, he pulled away, breathing heavily, not because he needed
air, but because he was trying to calm the urge to take her again,
and not just for her blood--although he wanted that, too.

She knew she was exciting him. He felt the heat and desire emanating
from her body, as well. Both of them knew they were flirting with
extreme danger, and both of them knew it might be for the last time,
ever.

"Let me make love to you, Tracy. Just for a little while."

"They'll know..." she referred to Jodi and Urs.

He managed a devilish little grin. "And if it goes too far, they'll
stop us." <and Knight will let my brain roll out and bounce off the
floor if I kill you.>

"But Vachon, that's.... embarrassing..."

He smiled and said "I know," before he kissed her again. Even with
the fangs he had a charming smile, and there was something about them
that excited her

They kept at it longer than either of them would have thought
possible, kissing occasionally, exploring each other until they would
feel the desire surging forward, trying to break free, and letting it
ebb again

Vachon's voice was a hoarse whisper when he spoke, urgent in his
arousal. "Go."

She didn't want to leave him that way. "Vachon..."

"Go," he pleaded. "I'll finish with Urs. I have to... Please, go...
now."

She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, but that would be
all it would take for him to attack her, they both knew that.

She brushed his hand lightly and moved quickly from the bed. "Good-
bye Vachon..." <I love you.> "I'll be here..." <for you, always....>


---THIRTY-THREE---

Vachon was alive, but that was all.

It had been a thoroughly no-frills procedure. The operating table
was a section of the Raven's bar that had been removed and hauled
down there because it was just the right height, and since he'd been
asleep when he was lifted onto it, it hadn't mattered to Vachon that
it was cold and hard.

Natalie had prepped Vachon herself, shaving a patch of hair behind
his left ear. Theoretically, she should have shaved his entire head,
but Vachon had such thick hair that what was left would easily
camouflage the bare spot until the hair grew back, and since there
was no risk of infection, there was no point in it.

She overdosed him on intravenous phenobarbital to put him out. Not
only was it an adequate anesthetic, it also inhibited seizure
activity, a potential complication any time the brain was exposed and
subjected to intrusion. In mortals, anyway. She had no idea about
vampires, but better safe than sorry. She also administered curare,
which instantly paralyzed him. Vampires could and would defend
themselves even if they were unconscious, and they needed him
perfectly still.

There was no need for respiratory or cardiac support. Whether Vachon
was kept supplied with oxygen or whether his heart did or did not
beat once every ten minutes was irrelevant. He could go without
breathing indefinitely, and having no heart activity did not mean a
vampire was dead. There was no kidney function to monitor, and his
liver could metabolize every poison Natalie knew of, so a nice fat
hit of potent drugs was relatively inconsequential. All there had
been for her to do was to make certain he didn't move, and didn't
feel any pain.

Nick had done a brilliant job--Natalie imagined that in his day, he
had probably been a gifted surgeon. If he'd had time to train with a
laser, and if one had been available, everything might have gone off
without a hitch. He opened Vachon's skull with a circular saw
attached to a power drill. He was incredulous about using it, until
Natalie assured him that that was basically the way it was done.
Unglamorous and certainly creepy, but it worked, for both mortal
doctors and vampire doctors with vampire patients.

She'd taught him to use hemostats and a cautery tool, but for the
most part, Vachon would stop bleeding almost instantly. That fact,
unfortunately, gave Nick and Natalie both a false sense of security
that had nearly proven disastrous.

When he'd isolated the five fragments lodged in Vachon's skull, he
had discovered that the vampire's natural immune response had kicked
into overdrive and had encased them in a solidified mass of tough,
fibrous tissue. It effectively created a protective shield between
the objects' destructive surfaces and the delicate brain tissue, but
it also made them extremely difficult to extract.

An added complication was that, as Natalie had suspected, the
leaking radiation had literally eaten holes in the walls of the
surrounding blood vessels. Nick could see in microscopic detail where
they had ruptured and then sealed themselves and sometimes ruptured
again. The vessel walls were extremely thin and fragile.

Nick could only work a few minutes at a time before Vachon's skull
would close enough that he had to re-open it. But he stayed calm as
Natalie guided him using the video camera image as a reference. He
abandoned himself completely to her judgment, letting her be the eyes
and mind behind his hands.

Actually removing the encapsulated fragments was not an easy task,
however. Nick tried cutting through them a little at a time, but the
slower he worked, the more time Vachon's body had to heal what it
perceived as an injury.

Eventually, both Nick and Natalie had had to concede that they were
getting nowhere.

There was no need to worry about Vachon's vital signs--he barely had
any, and there was no reason to think he couldn't stay under the
anesthetic for hours. But, they had to face the fact that after three
hours, they hadn't made any progress at all.

Nick had asked Natalie what she wanted him to do.

It wasn't a question of what she wanted, but what had to be done. In
a misguided attempt to protect his brain from further injury,
Vachon's body was jealously guarding the radioactive fragments and
preventing their removal.

"You're going to have to sever the entire mass from the surrounding
healthy tissue," she said finally. "And you're going to have to do it
quickly."

Nick had looked up at the video monitor. "You mean just... chop it
out?"

She traced a pattern in the air for him to see. "Plunge the scalpel
in as far as you can at angle. Get behind the thing and rotate it so
you cut a cone-shaped section, then pull it out as quickly as you
can. Do each one until you have them all."

Nick tested a tiny irradiated blood vessel. It took only slight
pressure to cause it to rupture, sending a minuscule cascade of blood
into the surgical field. He watched it for several seconds. Unlike
the healthier vessels near the surface, this one didn't seal itself
off. It bled profusely until he clamped it. "He's going to hemorrhage
if I do this, Natalie."

"I know, but I can't think of anything else."

Nick had to admit that he couldn't either. He picked up the longest
scalpel he had and took a deep breath.

"He might start convulsing, Nick. Push some more phenobarbital, and
be ready for it."

Nick depressed the plunger on the syringe that was hooked to the IV
line. He didn't know how much to inject, but neither did Natalie, so
he went ahead and gave Vachon all of it. Luckily, the phenobarbital
did its job and he didn't seizure when Nick carved into his brain.
Nick made the first excision so fast that his hands were only a blur.
He removed two more fragments before he announced, with a definite
edge to his voice, that he wasn't able to control the bleeding.

"His heart rate is picking up. I can hear it."

"Just keep going Nick. Get them all and worry about the bleeding
later."

Nick continued to work, cursing the slippery surgical field and at
the same time grateful for his superior vision which enabled him to
see through the pooling blood well enough to keep going. He dug out
all five fragments and sealed them, and the radioactive tissue
surround them, in a lead container which LaCroix had ordered
fabricated in accordance with Natalie's specifications. He was making
mincemeat out of Vachon's brain, he knew, but a vampire could survive
having half his brain totally ripped out of his skull. He was himself
proof of that.

Still, there was *so much* blood... By the time he was ready to let
the incision close, the sheet draped over the table was saturated
with it, and Vachon's hair was soaked. Both Vachon's torso and his
own were drenched in red. Nick knew Vachon had to have lost more than
half his blood volume, and it continued to pour out of him even as
the incision sealed itself.

Natalie had him clip the tubing on the IV and create a makeshift
surgical drain so that the pressure didn't build up inside his skull,
but it didn't work. The bone knitted itself so tightly around it that
it pinched shut.

"What do I do now?" Nick had asked her.

She couldn't tell him. Massive intra-cranial hemorrhaging would
quickly kill a human, but if she was going by those standards, Vachon
should have been dead and buried days ago. She decided that the best
thing would be to just let nature--or un-nature--take its course and
let him try to heal on his own.

Vachon would have to be decontaminated before she could get near
him, and that involved thoroughly washing every bit of blood from his
body. The Inka volunteered for that task without being asked, while
Urs and Jodi scrubbed down the room and LaCroix got rid of the by-
products. Natalie didn't ask him where he was taking them. From what
she knew of LaCroix, that might be something she'd be happier not
knowing.

Nick followed the necessary procedures on himself, and surprised
Natalie by emerging from the process wearing only a towel.

She'd never seen him with that little on before, and for a moment,
she completely forgot why she was there.

"Nat?" he waved a hand in front of her face. "The Geiger counter?"

"Oh... yeah..." She fetched the instrument and ran it over Nick's
body, feeling a few pangs of guilt that she took the time to look at
him while she did. He was pale, but somehow, it enhanced how
beautifully formed he was. She really wished they had both been there
under different circumstances.

She finally concluded that his hands were a bit hotter than the rest
of him, but he was safe to be near.

He took the machine from her and disappeared to join the others.
When she saw him again, he was dressed, and Vachon looked nothing
like the bloody mess he'd been a short time before. He looked like he
was only sleeping as Urs patiently untangled and combed out his wet
hair.

The Inka stood by, shirtless and barefoot, drying his own long hair
with a towel. It had turned out that the only way to get the job done
had been for him to actually get in the shower with his unconscious
twin.

Natalie knew the link between the Inka and Vachon was far stronger
than the powerful bond Nick and LaCroix shared.

"Can you tell me anything?" she asked him. "Can you feel anything
from him?"

The Inka nodded. "He is not aware, if that is what you mean. There
is some pain, but he feels hunger more."

Natalie opened Vachon's eyes. His pupils were completely dilated and
unresponsive. His heart was beating every 30 seconds or so. He needed
blood. Giving it to him would likely increase the pressure in his
brain, but without it, he wouldn't heal. Natalie had to gamble that
an infusion of vampire blood would seal at least some of the bleeding
vessels, and she agreed to allow him to feed.

As Natalie watched, the Inka helped himself to one of the freshly-
washed scalpels and slashed open a vein in his wrist. He held the
dripping wound over Vachon's mouth, letting it splash against his
slightly-parted lips and unretracted fangs, then flow down into his
mouth. Natalie didn't see Vachon actually swallow it, but their
digestive tracts were like sponges. All it had to do was make its way
down his throat. He didn't choke on it because he wasn't breathing.

Natalie administered an anti-convulsant, but held off on pain
medication. She knew Vachon would hurt, probably a lot, when he woke
up, but pain was a powerful stimulant, and in his case, preferable to
giving him narcotic drugs that would only depress his respiratory
system even further. He needed oxygen to rebuild his body, even if he
didn't need it to stay alive, and that meant that eventually, he had
to breathe, the sooner the better.

The vampires took turns feeding blood into him. It was a long, slow,
process because each of them could only keep it up so long before
their self-inflicted wounds healed and had to be reopened again.
Natalie shook Vachon occasionally, trying to get him to breathe on
his own, and when that failed, she'd try a few minutes of CPR. They
kept the cycle up for hours before he began to breathe on his own.

But, he didn't wake up. Not that day, or the next, or the next, or
the one after that.


---THIRTY-FOUR---

The only signs that Vachon's body hadn't completely shut down were
periodic, staggeringly high fevers, and the Inka's perception that he
was in pain. They always managed to bring his temperature down by
immersing him in tepid water, and she was able to keep him reasonably
comfortable with potent pain-killers, but Natalie wondered if both
the fevers and the drugs weren't doing even more damage.

By the fifth day, she thought they had waited long enough. She had
LaCroix ask Aristotle to arrange to have the scans redone.

This time, Vachon didn't have to feign unconsciousness. He had no
muscle tone, no reflexes, no deep pain response. Natalie had to put
him on a ventilator so he wouldn't look dead. Even so, when the
unwitting technician positioned him for the scan, he callously
remarked, "Looks like we got us an organ donor here."

She had to agree, but she tersely reminded the guy that maybe they
*didn't* and maybe Vachon could hear every word they were saying.
That wasn't true, of course, Vachon didn't react to sound any more
readily than he did to anything else, which was not at all.

She did an EEG on him herself. It was against hospital policy, but
Nick 'persuaded' the technicians that they really had to be elsewhere
so that she could work alone. She'd done EEGs on Nick and knew that
baseline readings for vampires blew human "normal" away. Certain
areas of the brain which were largely dormant in humans displayed
intense activity in vampires and vice-versa. There would be no way to
explain it, assuming Vachon wasn't completely flat-lined, which she
half-expected.

Much to her surprise, however, his brain was very much alive. What
it was *doing* she couldn't tell. She had to defer that question to
her vampire colleague, who despite working with mortals in his cover
life, seemed uncomfortable actually discussing a vampire patient with
one of them. It didn't help their professional relationship that
Natalie didn't know who he was or where he came from. That was
information that had not been shared with her. He was a little guy,
as the vampires she knew went, smaller than Vachon, who was
diminutive compared to Nick and the imposing LaCroix. Still, there
was something intimidating about him, and Natalie didn't attempt to
get social.

He studied both the CAT scans and the EEG and then pointed his
findings out to her.

Vachon was healing, but because large areas of his brain were still
radioactive, it was taking place with painstaking slowness. His
visual cortex was completely gone, and none of his brain was
functioning as it should. As new tissue grew, it became contaminated,
and his body destroyed it. It happened to a lesser degree with each
attempt at regeneration, so eventually, a point would be reached at
which the regenerative process overcame the degenerative one, but it
would take weeks, maybe months. The fevers, he surmised, were the
result of the reabsorption process. Vachon's body simply didn't know
what to do with the stuff, so it treated it as an invading virus or
bacteria, and overproduced the potent vampire antibodies that
normally protected them from everything from the common cold to the
plague. The result was the same as in a mortal - his body temperature
increased in an attempt to destroy the offending organism.

"Do you know when he'll wake up?" Natalie asked.

He showed her massive areas of Vachon's brain that were still filled
with blood. The pressure inside his head had to be staggering, and
would have long since killed a mortal, or at best caused severe and
irreparable brain damage. But the hemorrhaging had stopped.
Eventually, the huge blood clots would be reabsorbed by Vachon's
body, a body that, unlike a human's was designed to metabolize blood.

"When some of this is gone, he'll start to regain consciousness. He
just needs time."

"Will he heal completely?" Natalie asked.

"Do you mean will his brain return to normal? If this was an
ordinary trauma, I would say yes. But radiation... who knows? What
grows back might be incapable of functioning as it did before.
There's just no precedent for this. All you can do is what you've
been doing--wait and see what happens."

Vampires, Natalie learned, were good at waiting. Even the Inka, whom
Natalie knew had a life elsewhere, chose to remain until the outcome
was known. He clearly had the most to lose--it had not been
determined conclusively what would happen to him if Vachon had to be
destroyed, and the fact was, Vachon was actually worse at that point
than he had been before they removed the fragments.

Natalie asked him what he'd do if Vachon didn't recover.

He shrugged. "His place is with me. It always has been, even though
he hates the idea," the Inka told Natalie. "I'll take him someplace
safe, away from mortals, away from our kind. There are still places
like that."

<I won't go.>

Vachon wanted to say that, but it wouldn't come out of his mouth. He
barely managed to make a sound, and nobody was listening to him. They
were too busy talking about him like he wasn't there again. Damn it,
he hated that. He'd been listening to it for what seemed like days.
Urs, LaCroix, Nick Knight, Natalie Lambert, the Inka. Only Jodi, the
carouche, talked *to* him, but she wasn't there very often, and when
she was, it was usually in the role of Motivational Speaker. He
appreciated the encouragement, but... Well, actually, no, he didn't
appreciate it. If he *could* have responded, he would have. It wasn't
like he was being stubborn, at least not this time.

"But, that won't happen," the Inka assured Natalie. "He is stronger
every day. He can probably hear us right now... can't you my brother?"

Vachon hated it when the Inka called him that. The Inka *knew* he
hated it. That was why he did it.

Vachon felt a hand slapping his face, just a little bit too hard to
be called 'affectionate.'

"You know, Vachon," the Inka continued. "You are much more
entertaining when you can fight back."

Yes, he hated the Inka. He was sure of that.

Sometimes, Urs would bring Tracy to him. She, at least, didn't talk.
She would just sit with him and rub his fingers between hers, or lie
with him and hold him. Sometimes, she'd cry, though. He wished there
was some way to let her know that he *was* getting stronger. As soon
as he could remember how to *swallow*, he'd be able to feed properly,
and everything would be fine.

He also wished she could be with him more often, but she couldn't be
there when Nick or Natalie was there, and they often were. She wasn't
supposed to know about them....

He tried to move, tried to open his eyes, but neither would happen.

Natalie and his vampire sibling kept right on talking, and talking,
and talking.

This sucked.

Really, really sucked...

He must have slept, because the next thing he was aware of was being
bathed, which was another thing he hated. It was humiliating, and to
make it worse, this time Tracy was there. He didn't want her to see
him like that, naked and helpless.

But as he became fully alert, he realized that he knew Tracy was
there not only because of her scent, or her voice, but because he
could *see* her. Not clearly, but well enough to know it was her.

"Tracy?"

There it was. He heard himself say it.

Tracy heard him, too. She stopped what she was doing, and he was
mortified when it dawned on him that she was the one giving him a
bath. He looked around for something-- anything--to cover himself
with, but his eyes weren't that focused. Everything was a soft blur
that blended into everything else unless it moved, like Tracy did.

There was restrained excitement in her voice when she said his name,
"Vachon?"

He touched the back of his head. He remembered being in terrible
pain, feeling like his skull wanted to explode, and having to depend
on the Inka to let someone know that. He felt okay, now though.

"How... long?" he asked her.

She pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "Two weeks."

"It's... out?"

"Yeah. They got it all out. You just need some time to recover... We
thought you were never going to wake up, Vachon. You've been so
sick..."

He tried to sit up, but that was way too much to ask. He did manage
to find the sheet and pull it across himself, though.

Tracy laughed at his modesty. Only Tracy *would* laugh at him.

"It's too late," she giggled. "I've been there, done that, and seen
it all."

"Very... funny, Trace."

He closed his eyes again. This was wearing him out, and he wanted to
feed. Tracy was not in any immediate danger, though. There was no way
he could take her unless she stuck his fangs in her neck for him.

She covered him with a blanket. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "There
just wasn't anything else I could do for you.... Not like the others."

He reached for her hand and was lucky to find it. He couldn't really
see it, he just knew the general area where it had to be. His eyes
moved around the room. Light. Color. He knew when something moved. It
was like looking through frosted glass, but it was a start.

The Inka joined them--he would have known Vachon was awake even
without being told. Normally, Vachon would have cursed his blood-
twin's lousy timing, but his entire body ached with hunger, and the
Inka would also know that.

The other vampire offered him his wrist. He'd already slit it open--
Vachon could smell the blood.

The first few drops trickled down his throat like they always did,
but this time, they triggered an intense, familiar urge and he
grabbed the Inka's arm and sank his fangs all the way in. The first
couple of gulps threatened to go up his nose, but he managed not to
choke on them.

The Inka ripped his arm away, and Vachon felt like he'd been
electrocuted. The interruption sent a shock wave down his spine that
wrapped around him and spread throughout his body. He whimpered
softly in spite of himself.

The Inka undid the buttons on his shirt. "Leave for now," he told
Tracy.

Vachon couldn't see the look on her face. Was she staring at him in
wide-eyed revulsion, or just staring at him? Either way, he didn't
want her there, either. Not right then.

The Inka lifted him to his neck and positioned his head so he could
bite, and he did, with a fierce determination to get as much as he
could as fast as he could, before he was made to stop again. But,
this time, he was allowed to drink until his hunger was satiated.

When he was done, the Inka collapsed into a chair next to the bed.
Vachon had taken way too much from him, but the healthy vampire would
recover in short order, with the help of a few bottles of the Raven's
"special." Vachon didn't feel too sorry for him, especially since his
first real feeding in weeks had left him feeling almost normal again.

He wiped the blood from his lips and then licked it off his hand.

"Why?" he asked the Inka.

"Why what?"

"Why are you here? Why did you stay?"

The Inka moved in the chair. Vachon still couldn't see him clearly,
but he pictured him stretching out his long legs and folding his
hands together. It was what he always did when he was about to
pontificate.

"My mother had eleven children," he told Vachon, even though Vachon,
of course, already knew that, just as the Inka knew all the details
of his mortal life. "Once, I asked her if she loved one of us best.
She told me yes, so I asked her which one. She said, 'The one who is
gone away, until he is home. The one who is sick, until he is well.
The one who is sad, until he laughs again.'"

Vachon didn't get it.

This was one of those profound Inka-isms that required deep thought
to interpret, and he was still too weak for that.

The Inka sighed. "Never mind. I will leave soon."

Amazingly, Vachon was not all that happy to hear that.

The Inka rose slowly from his chair, but paused on his way out of
the room. "You know that you are lucky," he told Vachon. "For
whatever reason, these... people here... they care about you. Such
friendship should not be wasted."

Vachon nodded. He knew that.

He knew.


---THIRTY-FIVE---

Tracy went with Vachon to expedite the paperwork necessary to get
his bike out of police impound. He had a license for it, which
surprised her, and somehow, the report on the accident he had caused
had been re-worded so that he looked like an innocent bystander.
Vampires were very good at avoiding the law, she had discovered,
although she couldn't imagine how Vachon had pulled this one off. She
hadn't altered the report, although she might have if she'd thought
about it.

The bike was damaged, but rideable, much to Tracy's dismay.

Vachon had largely recovered from his gunshot wound, although Tracy
had now added vampire hunters to her list of things that went bump in
the night. When she had first met Vachon, she had overcome her
natural fear of him by thinking of him as a friend who would always
be there. Nothing would take him away from her, not something like
that horrifying accident that had taken little Suzi Feldman, or the
disease that had almost claimed Jodi, or some fatal split-second
decision like the one that had almost cost her partner his life when
he had decided to take a bullet for her. Vachon couldn't die. She'd
never lose him.

Then, he'd gotten sick, right after saying a final good-bye to his
friend Screed, and both of them had had to come to terms with the
fact that nothing--and no one, not even a so-called- immortal
creature of the night--was guaranteed forever.

And now it was Hunters. Nameless, faceless entities who preyed on
predators, for fun and profit. The vampire world's counterparts to
the Men in Black, known only to each other and unseen by all. She
would have liked to think that they'd never be back, but they would,
one day, and somewhere there were vampires like Vachon who had fallen
victim to them, who were beyond anyone's help.

Yeah, that was scary stuff.

Almost as scary as the fact that Vachon fully intended to ride off
on his newly re-claimed bike.

He was healthy again, and as agile and fast as any other vampire,
and he seemed able to see fine. Unfortunately, his battered brain was
still incredibly slow at processing visual information. That was one
reason she'd gone with him to fill out the forms. He'd mess them up
because it would take him forever to figure out where to put what,
and it was going to be the same thing with the bike, she was sure of
it. He could see a traffic light, but he still had to make a
conscious effort to remember that 'red' meant 'stop'--and that was
assuming that he didn't see a balloon and think 'UFO' or a crane and
think "dinosaur" (both of which he had done) and get distracted and
forget about the light completely.

Vachon was aware he had a problem, but he thought it was funny, just
enough of a challenge to make things interesting.

"Nothing is going to happen, Trace. I'll be fine."

"The last time you tried this, I shot you in the foot," she warned
him.

He took her chin in his hand and kissed her. "I remember."

"At least let me ride with you."

He shook his head. "No way. Too dangerous."

"See? Even you admit it."

"I mean, there's only one helmet. I don't want my brain trashed
again.... and you..." he kissed her again, "only have one life...
unless you've changed your mind about... you know."

She nodded that she did, in fact, know exactly what he was talking
about.

He fingered her hair. "You really should think about it, Trace. None
of us has as much time as we think. *Carpe diem* and all that."

She didn't answer him, so he hopped on the bike.

It wouldn't start. Someone had drained the gas tank.

Vachon swore and Tracy breathed a sigh of relief.

"I guess you'll have to walk it home," she told him.

"Not a chance. Entirely too lame... I'll walk it to the nearest gas
station."

There was a gas station two blocks away, but Tracy volunteered to
walk with him so she could steer him around it. He still navigated
mostly by scent and sound and touch. One street *looked* exactly the
same as any other to him, and he had to methodically decode street
signs, which was tedious and frustrating. It wasn't at all difficult
to get him hopelessly disoriented.

Mean, maybe, but not difficult.

It didn't take him long to wise up to the fact that she had
deliberately gotten him lost. "You know, Trace, eventually everything
is going to come back, and you'll have to let it go."

"Let what go?"

"This need you have to be my guardian angel," he smiled.

She kind of missed the fangs now that he could pull them all the way
in again.

"Well, Vachon, don't tell me that vampires don't need guardian
angels. You're proof that they do."

He stopped walking and turned to her. "Congratulations."

"What?"

"You said it. The v-word."

She smiled. "Yeah, I guess I did. But that doesn't mean I want to...
you know."

"Yeah, I know. But, you'll think about it? Maybe?"

"Maybe."

He ran the back of his fingers down the side of her face. "You are
going to show me how to get home, right?"

"We're almost there... " she pointed down the street at the
abandoned church.

He seemed surprised to see it, probably because for him, it seemed
to have just suddenly materialized there.

When they reached it, he rolled the bike inside and tucked it into a
corner where it couldn't be seen through the cracks in the boarded up
windows.

"I should go," she told him, and they both knew what she meant.

She had wanted him even when he was sick and frail, and seeing him
in front of her, the fit, potent predator that he was... it was just
too much of a temptation. Just the thought of his cold, powerful body
against her, inside of her, heated her blood with desire. There was
no way to hide that from him, she knew, so it was better just to walk
away before both of them lost all semblance of good judgment.

But, Vachon took her in his arms and kissed her, letting his tongue
slide into her mouth, encouraging her to do the same to him. She knew
she should simply run, but instead, she responded, pulling at his
fangs with her lips, feeling them move just the slightest bit.

They were playing a dangerous game, but they'd play it just a little
while longer...

Tracy felt something thump against her leg, which startled her.
Then, she heard someone giggle, which made her mad.

She looked around and saw the dog at her feet, its tail flapping
against her thigh. At the same moment, she heard Jodi's voice say "Hi
guys. Nice night for... whatever."

Tracy was not amused. "You know, just because you are a vampire now
doesn't give you the right to..." She couldn't think of anything
except, "*spy* on people."

"I wasn't spying, Tracy. I was covering your butt. You always were
one not to see people for what they really are... No offense, Javier."

"Is there... uh... something I can do for you?" <before you Get
Lost> Vachon asked.

Jodi ignored his question. "Tracy, do you remember the old days?
Back at the sorority house?"

Vachon looked at Tracy askance. "You were in a sorority?"

Jodi and Tracy both ignored that one. Jodi continued, "Remember how,
if one of us had a date that we thought maybe we wanted to bring
home, but then it turned out he wasn't such a good idea, we had this
signal that would let the others know it was time for a fire drill,
or something?"

Tracy nodded, but said, "What are you talking about, Jodi?"

Jodi patted Perry on the head affectionately. "Meet the fire alarm,"
she winked at Tracy. "I'll leave him with you guys...." She looked
directly at Vachon. "He has this thing about protecting mortals..."

Tracy and Vachon exchanged meaningful looks. The dog *had* stopped
them from going too far once before.

"Oh, and I should mention," Jodi said to Vachon, "he does bite. In
fact, he rips throats out. I know that's just a minor inconvenience,
but, you know..." she wrinkled her nose "it does wreck the mood."

She looked down at Perry and said simply, "Stay."

And in an eyeblink she was gone.

Perry looked up at them, his tail wagging, his tongue hanging from
his mouth, eager to please, to do his job.

He stayed.

THE END