This little piece of fantastical, melodramatical, sentimental
whimsy is offered for your entertainment at Christmastide. It
takes place in a universe where "Last Knight" never happened and
won't happen.

Nick, Nat, LaCroix, Grace, Tracey, Janette and Schanke are the
property of James Parriott, Sony, Tri-Star and others. No
copyright infringement is intended. All other characters and the
story are © to me.

My ignorance of Toronto is profound -- the last time I was there
was the year Skylab fell. I had no desire to send Nat and Nick
off  to the middle of a lake or a shopping mall, so 
geographical references are intentionally vague. Also, there are
at least two churches dedicated to St.George in the greater
Toronto area. The parish of the same name mentioned in this
story is my own fabrication.  

This story was inspired in part by an old French carol (not as
old as Nick, but pretty old) that my handbell group used to play
every Christmas Eve. I wish I could also pass on the music.
Kathleen Battle has a lovely recording of it, and it is in some
published collections of carols, including the old (and I hope,
the newer) Oxford.  It's called "Quittez pasteurs."
Unfortunately, the English version does not begin to reflect the
richness of meaning in the original words, so I will inflict an
unpoetic translation upon you at the end of the story. If you
don't read French, don't worry.

The story assumes knowledge of the episodes "For I Have Sinned,"
"Be My Valentine," "I Will Repay" and "Sons of Belial." To
clarify the time frame, this is Christmas 1996.

Vocabulary note: A "hennin" is the tall, exaggerated and
hideously uncomfortable headdress, worn by elegant ladies in the
15th century, from which the modern, cone-shaped "fairy-tale
princess" hat is derived.

Comments to mcombs@erols.com.

Shepherds  Part 01/04

By Mary Combs

Natalie Lambert sat staring at the file on her desk, pen poised
as if to make a note. She saw neither the pen nor the paperwork
nor the dark shape that loomed up behind her.

"Hi!" Nick whispered in her ear, preparing to be swatted or
otherwise punished for sneaking up on her. His grin faded when
there was no reaction. He came around, sat on the corner of her
desk and looked at her. She was still staring at nothing, her
expression one of unutterable sadness. For a moment, with no one
to see, he let down his own guard, and his face came alive with
tenderness, love and longing. He closed his eyes, waited for his
control to return, then reached out to touch her cheek.

She didn't start at his touch, but came slowly back from
wherever she had been, raising her eyes to his and smiling a sad
little smile that tore at his heart more than a flood of tears
would have done.

"Hello," she said, putting her pen down and propping her chin
wearily on her hand.

"Hi." He raised an eyebrow at the torn wrapping paper and ribbon
on her desk.  "Did I miss something? Isn't it a little early for
Christmas presents?"

She chuckled. "It's never too early for Grace, the Christmas
elf. She believes in the 25 days of Christmas, and a present
every single day." She opened her desk drawer. "On the first, it
was a pen." She held up a bright red ballpoint topped with a
tiny Santa Claus. "On the second, it was a pair of earrings.."
She dangled two little candy canes in the air. "On the third, it
was Swiss chocolate, and there isn't any left."

"And today?" Nick smiled, poked around in the pile of paper and
tinsel on her desk and came up with a mysterious object -- a
loop of narrow elastic attached to a small piece of brown felt
decorated with a snippet of miniature plastic holly, topped with
two cream-colored padded objects resembling stunted tree
branches. A tiny red bell was suspended from one branch by a
piece of gold braid. Nat laughed at his puzzled expression.

"It's for Sidney." Nick looked at her skeptically. "Here..." She
took the strange little structure, made a fist with her left
hand, sat the branches on her knuckles and slipped the elastic
underneath. She bobbed her fist gently up and down, the bell
danced and jingled, and light dawned.

"Reindeer antlers. For a cat." Nick laughed and shook his head.
"And I thought I'd seen everything."

Nat couldn't help but smile. She loved to see him like that,
relaxed and laughing at something ridiculous. The moments were
always fleeting -- and much rarer since Schanke's death. When he
was like this, she felt she was seeing the man he had been -- or
the man he could be if.... She firmly pushed that thought away.

"You aren't actually going to put those on him, are you?" Nick
asked.

"Certainly not, it would be beneath his dignity. But I do have a
stuffed bear that Richie gave me when we were kids, and it
should fit him just right." Her smile faded and she started
shuffling the paperwork in front of her.

"What's wrong, Nat?"  He didn't mean the case, and she knew it.

She started to give him an excuse, then thought better of it.
She didn't have the strength to make anything up anyway. She
took her pen and idly circled a headline in the newspaper
sitting on the desk --   "20 more shopping days to Christmas."

"I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself. My Christmas plans just
kind of fell apart...."

"I thought you were going to spend the holiday with Sarah and
Amy."

"That was the idea, until this morning." She took a deep breath.
"Amy's having a very hard time. The second year seems to be
worse than the first. Sarah has decided to take her on a trip,
to have their Christmas somewhere away from all the
memories...." Her voice caught, and he watched as she blinked
back her own tears. "It's a good idea, getting away to someplace
new.... And they *did* ask me to come with them."

"But?"

"But I only have the 24th and 25th off. Not enough time." She
shrugged and gave him her best, "I'm fine, I can handle it,
that's life, don't worry about me, I'll get on with my work"
smile, and picked up the pen. He lightly put his hand over hers.

"That's not all."

"No." Sometimes he could be so blind, and sometimes it was as if
he could read her mind.  "No it isn't." She dropped the pen and
the facade. It didn't matter if he saw how tired she was, or how
sad. Suddenly it was more important that someone who... cared
... about her should know how she was feeling. (Who else is
there?) a little voice asked in her mind.

"I'm having a hard time with the holidays myself."

He waited patiently, in silence. (This much I've learned,) he
thought. There were any number of possible reasons for her mood,
and he was probably right about most of them, but he knew that
she was teetering on the brink between unburdening herself and
putting up all the barriers and dismissing it as ordinary
holiday blues. He dared not guess wrong.

"This used to be my favorite time of year. I guess we led a
charmed life when it came to Christmas, when we were kids." She
spoke in a small, tired voice, not much louder than a whisper,
but he had no trouble hearing. "It was the one time of year when
Nana never lost her temper with me." She was quiet for a time,
smiling faintly, looking back down the years to a distant, happy
past. Then she sighed.

"Right now, there are times when I feel as if I'm from another
planet. It isn't that I've lost faith. And it isn't as if the
world has suddenly gone grey around me, either. If anything,
it's just the opposite. It's as if all my nerves are at the
surface. Everything's too bright, too loud, too much. What I
want most is peace, and I can't find it anywhere...."

She toyed with the ridiculous cat antlers as she spoke, and
Nick's fingers ached to take her hands in his, to kiss away the
faint trembling that only he could see, to....  (No,) he told
himself. (We can't go there. Not after Valentine's Day. And I
mustn't even think about it.) 

Unaware of his inner struggle, she went on. "It's nothing
unusual, it happens to lots of people, this time of year.
Especially people who've lost family...."

The spectre of Richard rose between them. Her beautiful, brave,
heroic baby brother. She had convinced Nick to save his life by
making him a vampire. No, she had threatened and browbeaten and
blackmailed him into it., playing desperately on  the love she
knew was there, beneath the "we're just the best of friends"
front. She would never know what kind of battle her brother had
fought -- or if he had been overwhelmed from the beginning. She
only knew that in a matter of hours, the beast had won. Nick had
put an end to the creature Richie had become, cleansed Sarah's
memory, comforted her as much as she would let him, and never
reproached her.

"You were right," she said in a small voice. "I should have left
it in God's hands."

Nick tried and failed to find the words to console her. Instead,
he came around behind the chair and put his arms around her. She
leaned back and for a moment allowed herself the fantasy that
she was at last safe and sound in the refuge of his embrace --
the fantasy that she could turn and do the same for him, and all
would be well forever, as if they were characters in one of the
old Russian fairy tales Nana told at Christmas.

(But this isn't a fairy tale, or if it is, it's out of the
unexpurgated Brothers Grimm, with LaCroix as the evil sorcerer,
and nothing as simple as a kiss to break the evil spell,) she
thought. Nick's voice brought her back. "I'm sorry, what did you
say?"

He gave her a quick hug before releasing her, then sat on the
edge of the desk. "I said, how about I take you out tomorrow
night?"

"No. No thanks," she said firmly, in her best professional
voice, dismissing him with a wave. "I'll be okay." {No wonder he
can't figure me out,) she thought, (I can't make up my own mind
about how I feel.)

Reluctantly, he moved to go, until Nat reached out and caught
the edge of his sleeve. She didn't look up as he bent over her.
"It's not you, Nick. It's the 'out' part. I just can't...." her
voice broke and she stopped.

"I promise," he whispered. "no crowds, no shopping, no bright
lights, and no loud music. Deal?"

"Deal."

He lightly pressed his cheek against hers and left. 

*******
Quittez pasteurs
Vos brebis, vos houlettes,
Votre hameau, et le soin du troupeau.
Changez vos pleurs
En une joie parfaite
Allez tous adorer
Un dieu
Un dieu
Un dieu qui vient vous consoler.
******

Shepherds Part 2 of 4
By Mary Combs

Nick arrived at her apartment the next evening in full knightly
mode, behaving with comically exaggerated courtesy. Natalie fell
easily into the game of being treated like a stage princess. "I
should have worn my hennin," she said laughing.

He shook his head emphatically. "Ridiculous fashion. No
self-respecting woman would have been caught dead in a thing
like that when I was young."

"Okay, gramps, I'll take your word for it. Besides, it wouldn't
fit in the car with the top up."

"True enough. Now, before we go, Nat, are you on leave or on
call?"

"On leave. Why?"

He held out his hand palm up, raised his eyebrows and waggled
his fingers. "Give..."

She knew exactly what he wanted. "But Nick, what if they need
me?"

"You'll be too far away to be of any use. And if it's a real
emergency, they can squawk the radio in the Caddy. Hand them
over, Nat."

"What about you?"

"I give you my word, no electronic gadgets of any kind," he
raised his hands in the air. "You can search me, if you like."

She shook her head. "No. I trust you." With an exaggerated show
of reluctance -- and thinly disguised relief -- she produced her
cell phone and beeper. Nick turned both of them off, put them on
the coffee table and offered her his arm with a bow. "My lady,
your carriage awaits."

It felt rather like stepping into a carriage, Nat thought, as
she slid onto the unusually soft and warm seat.  Nick leaned in
and swiftly and expertly tucked the fur lap robe around her,
anchoring it with her seat belt. "We have a drive ahead of us, I
don't want any complaints about how cold this car is," he said
with a grin. 

Before she could think of a snappy comeback, he distracted her
by producing out of thin air a gigantic linen napkin -- really
an infant table cloth -- and a large, old-fashioned lunch box,
which proved to contain a thermos of wonderfully fragrant tomato
soup and a huge turkey sandwich made just the way she liked it,
with mayonnaise and cranberry sauce. She stared at him, mouth
open. "Sorry dinner has to be informal, Nat, but we'll miss the
best part if we're late."

"You're going to let me eat in your car?"  she said in an
awestruck voice.

He smiled and shrugged, and kissed her on the nose. "What's a
little cranberry sauce between friends?"

They drove through the night in companionable silence, while
Natalie savored every bite of her supper. At last, she closed
the lunch box and put it on the seat beside her. There were
initials painted on the lid in white enamel -- N.C. She traced
them lightly with her thumb. The box was clearly a relic of one
of his many lives. 

(Who were you then, Nick?) she wondered. (Were you able to make
it last as long as possible, or did LaCroix shatter it for you?
I can guess the answer to that one,) she thought sadly. There
was barely a scratch on the black metal surface. (But it must
have been important for you to have kept this.)

She had completely lost track of the route, and began to suspect
that Nick was actually taking her on a meandering course as part
of his "treatment" for her Christmas blues. All she knew was
that they were somewhere out in the country. Before she could
ask where, however, she heard the crunch of gravel and the Caddy
rolled to a stop in a corner of a very large parking lot,
currently occupied by about 20 vehicles of assorted sizes, makes
and ages, ranging from an elegant late-model sedan to an
extremely ancient but well-cared for Volkswagen bus.

Nat peered through the windshield and saw a large wooden sign on
which she could make out in gilded letters the words "St.
George's" and the date 1872. The rest of the sign was obscured
by a bed sheet proclaiming the wonders of  "Deck the Halls"
Sunday, reminding readers to "bring cookies, ladders, and
pruning shears." Judging by the artwork, the oversize "poster"
had been joyously decorated by the youngest members of the
Sunday School, with minimal interference from adults.

(A church. He's brought me to a church.)

Nick walked around the back of the car, paused to get something
from the trunk, and then opened her door "Here," he said,
wrapping her in an insulated blanket. "I don't want you to get
frostbite."

"We're suddenly very high-tech, Milord," she said with a laugh,
fingering the thin fabric.

His response was teasing, but it made her heart skip a beat. "If
I wrapped you in sables, it would be like holding a little bear
in my arms. What's the fun in that?" She blushed a little as he
swept her up in his arms and before she knew what was happening
the ground had dropped out from beneath them, and Nick was
landing carefully among the branches of a tall evergreen, just
outside the rose window.

"This is the best spot," he said conversationally, settling her
on his lap.

"For what?"

"To listen."

"To what?"

"Choir practice."

Nat started as a sound like an avalanche in reverse came from
the wall next to them.

Nick chuckled. "Boy choir," he whispered. She couldn't hear what
they were saying as they thundered their way upstairs, but
clearly Nick was mightily amused. "If you are going to laugh in
my ear," she said indignantly, "at least give me some idea
what's going on."

"You're absolutely right," and he proceeded to provide a
narration so comical that she eventually choked trying to stifle
her laughter in his overcoat.

"Enough, enough," she hissed. "They'll hear me for sure." The
scuffling had been reduced to a mere whisper, and the relative
silence indicated that they were getting down to business. Nat
was prepared for something good -- no music that had attracted
Nick's attention could possibly be mediocre -- but she had not
expected magic......

She decided later that listening to the rehearsal was not unlike
one of those events where you get to savor tiny samples of 
wonderful dishes from the best restaurants. Yes, it made you
want more, but even the taste was immensely satisfying in itself.

She closed her eyes and lost herself in the music and the
security of his embrace.

He closed his eyes and lost himself in the music and the comfort
of her warmth in his arms.
------
"How did you find this place?" she asked during a brief
interruption, precipitated by the loss of some important sheet
music over the edge of the choir loft.

She couldn't see Nick's face very well, but his voice sounded a
little shy. "I was out this way one night, driving and
thinking.... I heard the music." He stopped, as if at a loss for
words.

"I understand."

"I'm glad. I thought you might.... Ah," he said, cocking his
head toward the window.  "Brian's turn now. This is what I heard
that first night."

Brian -- whatever he was like in real life -- had the voice of
an angel. It was a long, a cappella solo, and the choir director
let him sing it straight through once before focusing on
specific phrases. Natalie thought of a bird, then bells and then
a flute, as the swift bright notes danced through the air. (It's
the way a star would sound if it could sing,) she thought.

She understood the few words that she could catch -- her French
really was excellent --  but she simply couldn't hear most of
it. Nick sensed her frustration, and, while Brian retraced his
vocal steps under closer supervision, he whispered the first few
verses to her, the words of an angel calling the shepherds and
the Magi to Bethlehem....

Quittez pasteurs
Vos brebis, vos houlettes,
Votre hameau, et le soin du troupeau.
Changez vos pleurs
En une joie parfaite
Allez tous adorer
Un dieu, Un dieu,
Un dieu qui vient vous consoler.

Vous le verrez
Couche dans une etable
Comme un enfant
Nu, pauvre, languissant.
Reconnaissez
Son amour ineffable
Pour nous venir chercher.
Il est, Il est,
Il est le fidele berger.

Rois d'Orient

L'etoile vous eclaire.
A ce grand roi
Rendez hommage et foi.
L'astre brillant
Vous mene a la lumiere
De ce soleil naissant.
Offrez, Offrez,
Offrez l'or, myrrh et l'encens.

At last, their practice finished, the boys rumbled away down the
stairs. Nat tried to imagine what they looked like, ordinary
kids with the voices of cherubs. "Thank you, Nick," she sighed.
"that was beautiful."

"It's not over yet. That's just the first act. And while we
wait...." Holding her easily with one arm, he reached into a
coat pocket and produced a small thermos. Nat unscrewed the top
and the aroma of hot chocolate filled the air. She inhaled the
fragrant steam contentedly. 

"Chocolate, music and laughter......  This is definitely
reviving my Christmas spirit. In fact," she whispered, snuggling
ever so slightly deeper into his embrace, "this is pretty close
to Heaven." Nick was inclined to agree.

More thuds emanated from the unseen choir loft, but this time
they were louder and somewhat more purposeful. The bantering
voices were adult this time, about a dozen men and women, and a
sudden brassy clash and the sounds of groans and abject
apologies revealed their nature.

"It's a bell choir," she whispered, her voice full of
excitement. Nick smiled with satisfaction.

Natalie had confided her passion for handbells to him several
years ago. The scientist in her was fascinated by the precision
and the coordination required when each player was responsible,
not for an ongoing line of music, but for a set of individual
notes within a line -- and sometimes more than one line -- of
harmony or counterpoint. The frustrated soprano in her secretly
cherished the dream of someday learning to play. "Just think,
Nick," she had said with a sigh of longing, "As long as you ring
it in the right place, you can *always* hit high C."

All their joking aside, this group was clearly very good. Nat
recognized some of the tunes, including a sparkling version of
the piece young Brian had sung. The runs were so smooth that she
could only begin to guess how the bells were divided, and every
note seemed to be in the right place -- until they started a new
piece.

It was a medley of the more triumphant carols that started off
in riotous concord but soon became less harmonious and more...
unusual. Nat was puzzled, but reserved judgment. After all, she
was hardly an expert on contemporary music. She supposed Nick
could appreciate it -- or at least understand it. But at last,
she simply couldn't take it any more. She had to satisfy her
curiosity. "Is it *supposed* to sound that way?" she asked Nick
incredulously.

"No," he replied, stifling his own laughter. "It definitely is
not. But they are nothing if not persistent, and they won't stop
until they get to the end."

"Train wreck! Train wreck!" came the voice of the director, who
was apparently calling a halt to the mess. "Fine. Now where was
everybody?" The answers revealed that half the choir had turned
two pages together and jumped 20 measures ahead of the other
half. After much carrying on, they played the piece through with
reasonable success and called it a night.

Nick and Nat sat snug in their perch, listening to the friendly
banter as the bell cases were loaded. There was a brief crisis
when someone named Mark got stuck under a pew searching for a
missing bell. "Don't worry, if we don't find it by Christmas,
Margaret can sing that note...." There was a burst of laughter
that faded away as the ringers moved down the stairs.

A small line of cars formed in front of the church, and soon
children and teens ran out and piled into them, shouting to each
other, breath steaming in the cold. Then the adults began to
leave, strolling to the parking lot in twos and threes. Sounds
of mirth and an occasional snatch of song floated up through the
branches.

They waited until the last of the choir members pulled away,
Nick making faces at a few less-than-complimentary remarks aimed
at the Caddy. The final sally had something to do with "boys and
their toys." Nat patted his chest reassuringly. "There, there,"
she said in excruciatingly maternal tones. "Don't you worry
about them."

"Thanks, Mom," Nick chuckled. He took the empty thermos and
tucked it in his pocket, preparing for descent. "I think now is
a good time to make a graceful exit." 
-------
Neither of them spoke again until they were back on the main
road. "That was lovely, Nick. Especially the boy soloist....
What did you say his name was?"

"Brian. Yes, he has one of those voices that's a gift. Not that
it will last, of course. Let's hope he gets some warning when it
changes." There was an odd catch in his voice, and she looked at
him closely. His eyes were focused on the road ahead, but the
corner of his mouth was twitching.

"What's so funny?" she asked, a suspicion growing in her mind.

"Nothing really, I was just remembering something...."

"Remembering... as in remembering how it felt?"  She shifted a
little in her seat, turning toward him as much as the seat belt
would allow. "What kind of voice did you have, Nick, when you
were that age?"

He shrugged. "Not bad," he said casually, but he was definitely
showing signs of his "if I could blush I'd be beet-red but I
can't so I'm not but I'm still totally embarrassed" look. She
simply stared him into submission.

"All right, all right. It was good. It was very good. If I'd
been born in Italy five centuries later I might have *stayed* a
soprano...."

"Don't try to distract me with a history lesson, thank you very
much," she said firmly. "I know all about that. I am a
full-fledged graduate of the Don Schanke School of Opera
Buffery." They both  laughed, then sat for a  while remembering
their dear, lost friend.

Natalie broke the silence, speaking half to herself. "There's
music in you, Nick, I know there is; because I've heard it when
you play the piano. But I've never heard you sing, not a note --
not even at some silly precinct birthday party where nobody
could hear you. Is that why? Did you lose your singing voice
when it changed?"

"No. That wasn't it." His voice was steady, but full of some
deep emotion she couldn't quite discern. (Oh no,) she thought
(Maybe that's part of being a vampire. Maybe they *can't*
sing....  And I've reminded him....)

"Does it sound ridiculous to say that I just haven't felt like
it ...for a long, long time?" He glanced  over at her and she
shook her head.

"No, it doesn't sound ridiculous at all." (Unbearably sad,) she
thought. (But not ridiculous.)

"I've probably forgotten how."

"I doubt that."

They drove on through the night. Nat settled back against the
seat, closed her eyes and let herself relax, not thinking about
what lay ahead, simply enjoying the moment, sailing through the
starry darkness with Nick at her side. She was just drifting off
to sleep when a faint sound roused her.

It was Nick, singing very softly in a pleasant if somewhat
hesitant baritone. The tune was unfamiliar, the words
meaningless -- it reminded her just a bit of the Russian songs
her grandfather had sung to her when she was very little.

She counted six verses before he stopped. "That's pretty."

He glanced over at her and smiled. "I thought you were asleep."

"Almost. Not quite. Is it French?"

"Some of it. It's a mix of old French, Latin and my nurse's
dialect."

"What do the words mean?"

"They're kind of impossible to translate. Some of it's nonsense.
It's basically about a duck."

"A duck?"

"Mmmmhmmm. A duck and an angel."

"A duck and an angel.....?"

"And a goat and a chicken and a pig and a donkey...."

"So what happens to this menagerie -- not to mention the angel?"

"I don't know," he grinned at her. "I always fell asleep after
the sixth verse."

She chuckled softly, smiled at him through half-closed eyes and
enunciated with exaggerated care: "Encore, s'il te plait." 

She was asleep before he finished singing about the duck.

She dreamed of a little boy with curly blond hair, drowsing in
her arms while Nick sang sweet nonsense to them both. 
--------
"Nat? Nat, wake up. You're home." She blinked and roused herself
with considerable difficulty. Nick had carried her to the door
of her apartment. "I would have just taken you in, but your key
wasn't in your purse." He gently set her on her feet.

"I've been carrying it in my pocket." She opened the door and
stepped in, holding it wide. "Come in?"

He shook his head. "No. Not if you'll promise to go straight to
bed and back to sleep."

"Sleep?" She looked at her watch. "By my latest schedule this
is..." she screwed up her face as she tried to calculate...
"Well, it's somewhere in the afternoon. "

"The perfect time for a nap." He raised an eyebrow. "You're
exhausted, Nat. Sleep if you need it." There was a loud,
demanding meow as Sidney made his presence known. Nick looked
down and grinned at the cat, who was purring furiously and
entwining himself in Nat's ankles.

"Correction. Feed Sidney and then sleep. He'll probably join
you." (I wish I could,) he thought, as his traitorous
imagination suddenly presented him with the image of what it
would be like, if only he were mortal, to curl up under the
covers with Natalie in his arms, keeping her warm and safe
against the cold, dark night, dreaming of their future
together.... He banished the thought.

She nodded and held up her hands in mock surrender, then smiled
at him so sweetly that he could have sworn he felt his heart
beat twice.  "Thank you, Nick, for a beautiful evening." She
kissed him lightly on the lips and closed door softly behind her.

He reached out and touched the door with his fingertips. "Sleep
well, Nat." Then he stretched out his arms and rested his palms
against the door frame, bending forward, breathing in the last
of her scent, resting his head against the door. He heard the
steady thrum of her heartbeat and knew that she was leaning
against the other side.

After a while, he turned and walked slowly down the hall. Nat
heard him singing as he went.

*********
Vous le verrez
Couche dans une etable
Comme un enfant
Nu, pauvre, languissant.
Reconnaissez
Son amour ineffable
Pour nous venir chercher.
Il est, Il est,
Il est le fidele berger.

*************************
Shepherds   Part 3/4
By Mary Combs

One week before Christmas and, thanks to Grace's continued
offerings, Natalie's desk now had a very merry, if somewhat
lunatic, air. A marshmallow snowman rubbed sticky shoulders with
a goggle-eyed pipe-cleaner reindeer, a paper cup angel with
Nat's face (snipped from a snapshot), and a slightly
tipsy-looking miniature tree decked with popcorn and tinsel. A
motley collection of less-recognizable items was neatly arranged
around the little tree.

There was still room to sit on the corner of the desk, however,
and Nick did so, watching as she started to glove up for her
next "customer."

"Hey, Nat, got a minute?"

"Sure," she said cheerfully. "Mr. Evans can wait a bit." She
smiled at his quizzical expression and gently patted the
sheet-covered figure. "This is the kind I don't mind so much,"
she said softly. "The only reason for an autopsy is that he died
in his sleep, and they need to know the cause of death. He had a
long life, and from what they tell me, a good one, and he was
with people who loved him. You can't ask for much more than
that."

"No. You can't." The room was silent for a moment, as they each
held up and then carefully tucked away the precious, bittersweet
hope that someday the same words might be said of Nick.

Nat shook her head slightly and walked over to sit behind at the
desk, a trail of faint music moving with her. He chuckled
softly. "You're wearing them?"

"Of course," she said, lifting up her hair to reveal the tiny
silver bells in her ears. "I assume you know that they are
actually in tune."

"Mmmm hmmm. C sharp major. They had another pair, but  I don't
think of you as the D minor type."

She laughed again, and without warning Nick felt his heart beat
twice in quick succession. It was almost painful, but he
welcomed it. For reasons that escaped him, it was easier to keep
the vampire safely buried these days, even around Natalie. And
LaCroix had been conspicuously absent of late. Whatever the
future might hold, at this moment, life was very good. He
realized that he was staring at her with what was probably a
very silly grin on his face. Of course, she was grinning right
back at him. Only she didn't look silly. She looked beautiful,
so beautiful....

She was also asking him something.

"Nick, I said, Did they ever find that bell?"

"If you want to find out, come there with me on Christmas Eve.
Unless, of course, you have other plans."

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do or anyone I'd rather do
it with," she said simply.

"Oh." He smiled shyly.  "Would it be pressing my luck to ask you
out for dinner on Christmas Night?"

"No..... That's 'No,' as in, 'No, it would not be pressing your
luck,' " she hastened to add.

"Then where shall we dine, milady? Your wish is my command." He
made her a flourishing bow, narrowly missing the marshmallow
snowman.

She took a deep breath, said a small prayer, lifted her chin,
looked him straight in the eyes and said very quietly and
steadily. "Anyplace you like.... except Azure."

Nick's smile vanished. He stared at her for a moment, then
closed his eyes. There was a strange mixture of pain and relief
in his face, and she realized that he was fighting tears. (She
remembers....She knows.....) A fountain of joy threatened to
explode inside him, and he tamped it down, suddenly afraid. (Oh
God,) he prayed, (please don't let him know. Please don't let
him feel this...) He opened his eyes and saw her still looking
up at him steadily, eyes full of love. (Such courage,) he
thought.

He started to speak, but she stopped him, reaching up to press
her fingertips gently over his mouth. He took her hand in his,
brushed his lips lightly against the back of it, then turned it

over and pressed a much longer kiss into the palm. He gently
folded her fingers over the place he had kissed and held her
fist cradled in his own cold fingers, her hand like a tiny sun
in his, not daring to look her in the eyes lest he lose the
control on which her life depended.

He remembered her answer to him almost two years before: "Are
you afraid?" "No." Now he *was* afraid, not of the beast within,
at the moment, but of his master's revenge....

Nat felt the cool place in the center of her palm where his lips
had touched her flesh. It was as if he'd given her a piece of
himself to shelter in the warmth of her embrace, and suddenly
she realized, as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud, that that
was exactly what he was doing. He was giving her custody of
those two days, the sweet ecstatic knowledge of their mutually
declared love and the bitter truth of LaCroix' enmity. Because
for him, those two days must remain buried, lest she pay for
them with her life -- or her soul.

Very gently, she pulled her closed hand out of his grasp, slowly
bringing it to her heart and cradling it with her other hand.
Their eyes met and held in a long moment of absolutely perfect
understanding.

"Hey Nick, we better get going.." Tracy swept into the lab.
"Ooops. Am I interrupting something?" she said brightly, adding
in a stage-whisper directed at the reindeer on the desk, "I
hope."

"No, Trace. You can have him," Nat said, adding under her
breath, too quietly for any ears but Nick's to hear.  "For now."
--------------
At the Raven, Lucien LaCroix was savoring one of his favorite
vintages, admiring the view through the window of his broadcast
booth, and looking forward to the evening's hunt. Mortal
holidays, and this season in particular, provided delightful
opportunities to indulge without drawing attention. A
sufficiently violent automobile accident concealed a multitude
of sins.

He specially enjoyed taunting Nicholas by justifying his
depredations. "Ah yes," he said aloud in silken, self-righteous
tones, "I shall do the citizens of Toronto a great service
tonight by keeping their streets safe from an intoxicated driver
or two -- or more."

Beyond the pleasures of the season, however, he foresaw the need
for change. He had found himself growing impatient with
Nicholas' waywardness of late, and was musing on an appropriate
time to retrieve his lost lamb and remove him from this travesty
of a life.

His child's feelings for Natalie Lambert were all too apparent,
and while the suffering of the star-crossed lovers had proved
adequate food for his revenge -- he had, after all, quite
efficiently deprived them of each other -- even that was
beginning to pall. He was restless. He was bored. He
was....uneasy?

LaCroix ruthlessly dismissed that last thought, and idly
searched along his link to his son. There had been an oddly
tenuous quality there of late. Almost as if Nicholas had
acquired some modicum of control over his thoughts. In fact
there had been brief periods -- mere moments really --  when he
had been unable to penetrate his mind at all. And there were the
nightmares.... or rather, one relentlessly repeated nightmare.

Usually, it required no conscious effort on LaCroix's part to
ignore the guilty nonsense that interrupted his protege's
sleep. This new dream was profoundly disturbing, in part because
he was unable to suppress its echo through their link, in part
because he knew that Nicholas never remembered it. It was
simple, brief, and horrifying: a deafening roar; the sound of
ripping, splintering wood; the scent of blood and fire; and a
gigantic, flaming darkness sweeping down like a living thing,
bringing with it excruciating pain.

LaCroix would have been seriously concerned, were it not for one
thing. When he did push past Nicholas' conscious mind and its
perpetual struggle, he found the vampire lurking below to be
stronger and more desirous than it had been in years. And what
it desired, beyond anything, was the heart's blood of Natalie
Lambert.

A little more than a year had passed since that defrocked priest
had exorcised the demon possessing his son. LaCroix seldom
thought of the episode at Vanderwal's for long. To dwell on it
was to entertain too many questions, questions that, once asked,
demanded to be answered. Eight centuries as Nicholas' master had
told him that there was, indeed, something alien there. Yet to
believe in the demon was to believe in the possibility that
......  No. He would not consider it.

Oh, he had to admit that it had been a triumph of sorts.
Whatever the source of the problem, Nicholas would have
endangered himself and the community if he had not been...
helped. The consequences might have been unpleasant. Doctor
Lambert no doubt considered it a victory -- in spite of the fact
that Nicholas had come within inches of tearing her throat out.

Yes, Natalie was definitely a problem.  Her fear of the vampire,
once awakened, might have proved useful. Unfortunately, LaCroix
had reason to believe that she had actually mastered it. The
woman had too much courage for her own good.

But if she had been strengthened by the experience, for Nicholas
the battle at Vanderwal's had been won at the cost of a thousand
smaller ones before it. The demon had not lied when it spoke of
reviving the vampire's taste for death, unleashing a thousand
murderous incarnations of the beast, all eager for a new chance
at life. He could feel it in his son even now, deep below the
surface, like a subtle flow of lava beneath green hills. 

What had Nicholas called it? Ah yes, a "setback."

Poor boy, he had no idea.

The most delightful irony of all was the fact that because
Nicholas' love for the mortal  -- his precious, unspoken,
hopeless love -- had been his anchor in that chaos, he now
endured an even more desperate struggle to keep those feelings
buried. "Too late, my boy," he whispered. "Much, much too late."

He meant what he had said to the thing in his son. Nicholas
was his, for all eternity, and no demon from some supposed Hell
-- much less a mere mortal woman --  would separate them.

Oh yes, the old general nodded to himself. All was well enough.
He adjusted the passport case and airline ticket in his inside
breast pocket. He had business elsewhere in the world. Nicholas
could spin in the wind for a fortnight. Time enough to deal with
him -- with them --  when he returned.

Yes, this would be an interesting New Year indeed.
---------------------------
"Feels more like Hallowe'en than Christmas Eve," Nat said,
looking at the storm clouds scudding across the sky and
squinting her eyes as a gust of icy wind tried to snatch away
the hood of her coat. "It's going to be a little difficult
getting up there without being seen, isn't it," she whispered to
him, nodding at tall stand of pines and then at the stream of
people walking from the parking lot to the church door.

Nick said nothing, but tucked her arm firmly in his and joined
the throng.

"Nick?"

"Don't worry." He flashed her a reassuring smile. "It's all
right."

She was even more astonished when the usher at the door greeted
Nick by name and pointed him toward the stairs with the words
"Mac can't wait to see you." Arm in arm, they climbed up to the
choir loft.

Inside, the church was very much as she had imagined it -- gray
stone and white plaster, old timber and stained glass, a rather
happy mix of Victorian and early 20th-century Gothic.  Deck the
Halls Sunday had clearly been a success. No beam had been left
undraped with greenery, no pillar uncrowned with holly, no piece
of brass unpolished, right down to the rows of bells lying ready
on their padded tables.

"Mac" turned out to be the music director, a very tall,
sandy-haired man who was trying to simultaneously set the stops
on the organ, tighten a bell spring, and reassure a tearful
young woman that it didn't matter in the least that there was a
misprint in the service leaflet or that the third Wise Man
didn't know any of his lines or that two of the angels had
repaired their torn wings with duct tape. "God is a loving
Father, Annie, not a drama critic," he said, patting her on the
shoulder.

He caught sight of Nick and Natalie and came forward beaming,
arms outstretched in welcome. Nick feinted gracefully to avoid
being clobbered by the bell and made introductions. After
shaking Natalie's hand and wishing her a Merry Christmas, Mac
turned earnestly to Nick.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am for your advice. I heard
from the library in Munich  yesterday, and the manuscript is
right where you said it was...." The conversation soared into a
realm of musical history that was beyond her, so Nat simply took
the opportunity to step back and try to make sense of what was
happening.

It was Christmas Eve. She was with Nick, in a church. If he felt
uncomfortable, he was concealing it beautifully. And he had
clearly gone beyond mere endurance. He had somehow found a way
to touch the life of this place.

Years ago, she had seen him draw hope from being able to hold a
tiny gold crucifix in his hand. "Maybe I'm a little closer," he
had said when he gave it to her. She still had it, tucked away
with her most precious keepsakes.

Last year, he had won a greater victory. "You beat the devil.
Not bad for a day's work," she had told him, trying to make
light of the hell that had opened up before them both in the
moments before he had broken free of the demon. Yet Nick had
been unable to admit what was so obvious to Vanderwal, to her
and, she suspected, even to LaCroix -- the depths of his own
faith. 

And now.... She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Oh, God,"
she prayed, "If he can have this...."

She never finished the thought. A noise from below of young
voices and scuffling feet sent Mac flying downstairs to shepherd
his choristers into line for the processional, and Nick led Nat
to their seats in a nook at the end of the balcony with a
wonderful view of the nave below.

"I know it's a little cramped," he said as they squeezed onto
the bench. "But we can hear and see everything from here, and if
I pass out on you, you can just lean me against the wall and no
one will notice."

"Okay," she said, matching his bantering tone and secretly
delighting in the close quarters. "Do you think that's likely?"

"I hope not," he said fervently. "Here comes the bell choir...."

Nat tried not to stare too obviously as she matched faces with
voices while the ringers put on their gloves and double-checked
their bells and music. Margaret, famous for singing missing bell
notes, was a tiny woman in her sixties who could have modeled
for Mrs. Santa Claus. Mark, whom Natalie had imagined as being
rather plump, turned out to be a tall and lanky young high
school student. "I bet he plays basketball," she whispered to
Nick.  "Center," he whispered back. 

Mac returned and took his place with his back to the railing,
facing the ringers, who stood at attention, each gloved hand
grasping a bell. He paused to catch the eye of the organist,
then nodded, and the choir raised their bells as one. A single
beat, and the bells began to peal; soon the organ joined them,
first in a matching cascade of sound, then resolving itself into
the harmonies of "O Come All Ye Faithful." The congregation rose
to its feet and burst into song.
--------
For Natalie, the first half of the service was like a wonderful
dream. The music lifted her soul, the Nativity play made her
laugh (along with everyone else), and her own heart was singing
with joy for Nick. He had just one wobbly moment, when the
priest blessed the congregation after the act of contrition. She
had reached down and gripped his hand as tightly as she could,
without looking at him, and after a moment he had squeezed it
reassuringly.

Brian had turned out to be exactly as she had imagined him -- an
Irish cherub with freckles and hair like a new penny. His family
was easy to spot in the congregation below, since they all had
the same bright hair: Father, mother (pregnant, in her third

trimester, the doctor in Nat observed), and a girl and boy,
about 3 and 5, who spent a good deal of time waving furiously at
their brother. Apparently waving back was "not done." Brian, who
solemnly refused to acknowledge his siblings' gesticulations,
was rewarded with a nod and a wink of appreciation from Mac.

And he did sing like an angel.
------
But as the consecration began, Nat looked up at Nick to see him
leaning against the wall, his face drawn and tight with
concentration.

"Nick, are you okay? Do you need to leave?"

"No. No. It's not.... It's not that." He gestured blindly toward
the altar. "There's something wrong.... outside..."

"Outside? Can you hear anything through that?" She knew his
faculties were acute, but it was hard to believe that even a
vampire could distinguish any particular sound in the storm that
had steadily strengthened during the service.

"Yes. No. I haven't heard it yet, but it's coming...." Nick put
a shaking hand to his forehead and strained to make sense of
what he was feeling.... A sense of impending doom, a horrible
memory demanding release, gut-renching fear, a desperate need to
escape....

He did hear it then, the sound that had plagued his unconscious
mind for weeks, the sound of rending wood. He remembered the
first part of his dream and knew at last what it meant. In one
fluid motion he was at the choirmaster's shoulder. "Get them
out."

"What?"

Nick summoned all his powers of command, his voice deepening,
compelling everyone within range to listen. "Get them out, now.
And not through the front door. Take them down the aisle and out
through the transept." Without hesitation, Mac swept the choirs
before him, Nick quelling every protest with a single look.

"What is it Nick? What's wrong?" He pulled her close to him and
turned his head toward the roof as a groaning shriek pierced the
roar of the wind.

"The trees are giving way. Come on." He led her down the small
spiral staircase behind the organ.

Downstairs, the choristers poured down the aisle and out through
the South door, Mac leading them like a Pied Piper toward the
church hall. Nick wasted no time in forcing the ushers to send
the bewildered congregation after them. "Help them Nat. We have
to get everyone as far from this end of the church as
possible..."

And then time ran out. 

To Nick, it all happened in excruciatingly slow motion as, one
by one, the ancient pines gave up the struggle and collapsed
onto the church. The first shattered the rose window, sending
shards of colored glass flying through the air. The second
battered the roof, showering plaster and brick onto the floor
below. A third and then a fourth added their weight to the
overburdened roof, which collapsed onto the choir loft, driving
it onto the pews below.
-----------------------------
"Is this what it's like to be bombed?" Nat whispered into his
shoulder.

"Yes," he answered quietly, holding her close against him, one
hand tangled in her hair. "Are you all right?" She nodded
dumbly. She was feeling oddly detached, but she wasn't
physically hurt. Nick had seen to that, although Nat had no idea
whether he had run or flown with her to the center of the
church. She backed slowly out of his embrace to look at the
damage.

Nick let her go. His first impulse was to snatch her up and fly
her far away to safety. But it would be wrong, and he knew it.
Her presence might mean the difference between life and death
here. Deep within himself, he felt an odd vibration, a flicker
of some other need beside his concern for her, but it was gone
before he could focus on it.

He turned his attention to the disaster around him.

Nat was right. Change the howl of the wind to air raid sirens,
and it might have been a scene from the Blitz. The only thing
missing was a bomb crater. Icy gusts swept through a yawning
hole in ceiling, snatching at its edge and widening it even
more, sending wires and dangling beams swaying, stirring up a
fine dust like choking fog. Leaflets and pages from shredded
hymnals swirled in the air like autumn leaves. By some miracle,
the gyrating chandeliers in the east half of the church were
still lit, although they flickered as the power fluctuated,
casting eerie shadows over the rubble. A tiny bell danced madly
along the floor until it came to rest against the steps to the
altar.

The scent of fresh blood was everywhere.

For a moment the only sounds were moaning and crying, the wind
tearing at the damaged roof, the ominous creaking of strained
timber. Then Nick heard the community rallying itself: the
chorused beeps of cell phones summoning help; the voices of
doctors and nurses calling to each other, Natalie's joining them
as she squeezed his hand and moved away; slamming doors from the
parking lot as cars were emptied of tools and blankets; the
whoosh of fire extinguishers deployed where candles had set
greenery alight; the soothing tones of teachers gathering the
children to safety; the clatter of furniture in the parish hall
being cleared for first-aid.

He set himself the task of using his heightened senses to aid in
the search, and closed his eyes to listen. But he couldn't make
it work. One heartbeat drowned out all the others. No matter how
hard he tried to screen it out, the vibration of Natalie's life
reached out to him, called to him, drew him.... He shook his
head and opened his eyes. (Idiot,) he said to himself, (you have
eyes don't you... and a nose; use them.) He lifted his head
slightly, nostrils flaring.... catching an elusive but familiar
scent..... No one saw his eyes turn  faintly gold.

He found Natalie bending over a man who was trying to drag his
unconscious wife toward the door. "Sir, I'm a doctor. It's
better not to move her. We should keep her warm and let the
rescue team take care of it." Nat felt a hand on her shoulder
and looked up to see Nick's grave face.

He drew her aside, speaking quietly in her ear. "I don't think
we can let them wait, Nat." He nodded toward the mangled roof,
trembling under the wind's continuing assault, and the ominously
tilted choir loft. "That isn't stable. And Nat," he lowered his
voice even further. "It's very faint, but I smell gas."

She looked at him in horror. "Can't they shut it off?"

"No." He nodded toward the nearly solid mass of stone, timber
and crushed pews at the West end. "There's no way to get to the
shutoff valve, or to the main power switch -- not even for me."
He squeezed her arm reassuringly. "We have time. But not enough
to wait." He closed his eyes, listening to the frustrated wail
of sirens stopped in the distance. "Help is on the way, but
there must be trees down all along on the road."

"Okay," she said. "Let's do it. Tell the others."

Nick managed, with a little mental pressure, to convince the
other medics of the need to evacuate. He followed Nat as she
moved calmly through the disaster, easing each victim's pain as
soon as she had learned what she needed to know. From time to
time, he moved off to lend an extra -- and surprisingly
effective -- pair of hands where needed to free someone trapped
under fallen stone or crushed wood, but he always circled back
to Nat's side, partly because she could use him in ways the
others couldn't, and partly to be sure of her safety.

Afterwards, more than one observer remembered that he carried
out the wounded so quickly and carefully it looked as if he were
floating with them.

All the while, he struggled to remember the rest of the dream.

After an hour, they had managed to clear the sanctuary. In
Natalie's entirely professional, unbiased opinion, Nick's
premonition had saved at least 100 people from certain death. At
least as many more had been spared horrible injuries. As it was,
a score of seriously wounded men, women and children were
waiting for the ambulances, astonishing their grateful friends
and families by drowsing peacefully instead of groaning in
agony, thanks to Nick's intervention. Scores of others were cut
and bruised and shaken.

A miracle, everyone agreed.

There was only one way in or out of the church, now, the door
through which Mac had led his charges to safety. As the medical
team moved through it into the parish hall, Nat insisted that
she and Nick should stay behind and take "one last look around."

He knew why, and stood waiting for her in the center of the
transept, trying again to focus his awareness, trying  to pick
up any sense of life.... But again, it was she who filled his
senses, the beat of her heart, the scent of her... (What is
this?) he thought. (Is it because I haven't fed?) It was as if
some unseen tide were trying to lift him off his feet, drag him
away, out to sea, into darkness, into.....

"Nick! Nick!" He followed her voice to a tangle of smashed pews,
just in front of the precariously tilted choir loft. Her hair,
face and hands were covered with grime, her suit was a wreck and
her stockings were laddered. He spent a fraction of a second
thinking how much he loved her, and that she had never looked
more beautiful.... He found himself fighting the urge to take
her in his arms, and felt his eyes begin to change....

"Nick, I think I heard something in there...." She looked up and
he saw her smile turn to concern. Not fear, but worry for him.
It was enough, and he thrust the vampire back once more. "Are
you all right, Nick? You've been.... working so hard, and you
haven't....."

"I'm okay. When we finish here, there's a bottle in the car." He
didn't add that he had hoped to  get through this night without
tasting blood at all. He didn't need to. She saw the
disappointment in his eyes.

He stood for a moment with his head bowed, listening. "You're
right. I can hear them." He raised his head and crouched down,
examining the tangled debris. "Is anyone watching?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Good. Try and stand so you're blocking me from view."

She saw what he meant when he moved into -- or rather over --
the rubble. It wasn't only that his feet didn't quite touch the
ground. It happened too quickly for her to see, but it seemed as
if he somehow managed to dematerialize and pass through parts of
it. "Beam me up, Scotty," Nat murmured to herself, and was
rewarded with a quick grin from Nick.

"I'll work my way back from here and clear a path for you, Nat,"
and in a few moments he was back at her side, brushing dust from
his hands. "Step right where I tell you. It's dangerous."

Once through, it was suprisingly easy to uncover their find, two
very small children huddled against their unconscious mother, in
a pocket of debris like a small cave. Nick smiled reassuringly
at the children. "Don't worry, we'll get you out," then turned
to Natalie.

"She's pregnant, Nat, I can hear the baby's heartbeat." Suddenly
his grasp on her arm tightened and his attention turned toward
the ceiling behind them. "It's started," he whispered. "The
fire...

Digging them out was easier than she had expected. The children
were terrified but unhurt, and Nat was able to determine that
the woman was concussed but had no serious injuries. Nick
reassured her that the baby was safe.  "You can take her now,"
she said. Nick gently picked up his charge, and the children
immediately attached themselves to his legs. Nat couldn't help
but laugh at the sight. "I'd better take them," she said,
standing up, brushing off her hands and taking a step toward
him, arms outstretched.

Even Nick didn't feel it coming.

Without the slightest warning, the choir loft succumbed to the
pull of gravity and completed its slide to earth with a
deafening crash, pulling down more of the walls, sweeping pews
ahead in a deadly cascade of stone and wood. As if in response,
flame bloomed in what was left of the ceiling, and a fine,
glowing ash began to fall like satanic snow.

Nick had instinctively lifted himself and his precious burden
off the floor, but Natalie....  She was lying next to the pile
of rubble they had just cleared. Nick gasped with relief as he
saw her reach up to brush the hair out of her face and sit
up.... or try to. Her left leg and hip were pinned. She blinked
up at him and made a face. "This is really not my day. You'd
better get them out of here and come back for me."

He put every ounce of his love for her into a single burning
look, then gently put the woman down on the floor. He lifted the
children one at a time onto his back, whispering the command to
"Hold on tight," picked up their mother and disappeared in a
blur.

His preternatural speed got them to safety in moments, but as he
handed them over to waiting hands he heard an explosion and a
loud crash behind him. He turned to see the doorway half-blocked
and burning. It looked like a gate into Hell. In vain, a dozen
pairs of hands tried to hold him as he leaped back through the
blaze.

The fire roared behind and above him. As Nick staggered into the
clear and caught the overwhelming scent of Natalie's blood, he
felt his eyes change and his fangs descend and knew that his
time had run out. Her blood sang to him....the fire drove
him..... The world turned red and the vampire burst out of its
prison filled with power, desire, hunger -- and terror.

She was pale, her respiration painfully shallow. Somewhere
beneath that pile of rubble her life was pouring out. Sobbing
with the effort, he tried in vain to move the stone. He might as
well have tried to lift the whole building. Ash and flaming
plaster fell around them. He knelt down and kissed her lips,
almost as cold as his own, and buried his face in her hair. He
heard her whisper,  "Go, Nick, go. Save yourself. There's
nothing you can do for me. I love you. I love you always."

He let her go and stood looking down at her, the fire sending
his contorted shadow dancing madly across her body and the wall
beyond.

He saw his choices. He saw them with perfect clarity, far more
clearly than he had ever understood the choice between LaCroix'
dark gift and an unknown judgment.  He stood between the fire
and the woman he loved, the beast within him at full strength,
howling at him to make her completely his own, to take all her
secrets, draw strength from the last of her life and fly away to
a new one.... Or better still, to bring her across, to the
endless nights of passion and dark delight that Janette had
promised, only this time there would be no betrayal, only the
two of them, together forever, beyond LaCroix, beyond the
Enforcers, beyond God or the Devil....

Natalie looked up and saw him silhouetted against the flames,
eyes red, fangs extended, his features more unearthly than even
the demon had made them, roaring defiantly in the midst of the
inferno. But his face was in shadow as he bent over her, the
light from the fire above turning his hair into a halo of dark
gold. She felt his lips, cool and soft against her own, and
heard him whisper as he took her in his arms. "I love you
Natalie. I love you forever."

The ceiling erupted in a shower of flaming timber, and the old
oak beams crashed to the floor, obliterating everything beneath
them.

*************************
Shepherds   Part 04/04
By Mary Combs

Christmas Eve 1997.....

There was a faint whiff of fresh paint and lemon oil beneath the
aroma of evergreen. The West end was still covered in
scaffolding (the rose window and the new choir loft would be
ready by Easter), but the network of beams was spangled with
bright silver and gold paper stars, produced by the 2nd and 3rd
grade Sunday School and hung by delegates from the local fire
department.

Otherwise, St. George's was practically as good as new.

The bell tables were lined up facing the altar, with chairs for
the boy choir in front of them -- close quarters, but not a
problem as long as the younger boys behaved themselves during
the Nativity play and didn't make faces at the smallest angels,
who had a tendency to burst into tears. Annie looked around her
with satisfaction, then hurried off to make sure that no one had
unswaddled Baby Jesus.

Brian's family was in their usual spot. Katie and Sean busied
themselves coloring the service leaflet while their mother
settled baby Nicholas. Their father leaned back in the pew and
simply watched them for a while, then pulled out a handkerchief
and wiped his eyes as discreetly as possible. His wife smiled
and gave him her hand, which he kissed, and together they turned
to look at the wall above the pew, where a small brass plaque
bore the legend: Dec. 24, 1996 / Nicholas B. Knight, Natalie
Lambert / John 15:13.1.

High up on the scaffolding, Natalie absently traced the outline
of a gold star with her finger and smiled at the scene below,
half lost in memories. The gentle pressure of a kiss on her
temple drew her back to the present; she turned and smiled as
Nick settled down beside her.

"Where was he?"

"Cairo."

She looked at him for a moment, then said softly, "He didn't see
you."

Nick shook his head, a flicker of sorrow moving swiftly across
his face. "No."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"Wouldn't. He knew I was there. At least for a moment."

"Are you really surprised?"

"No. But I hoped...."

"Rome wasn't built in a day." she said, patting his shoulder
comfortingly.

"I know. And it is his choice. I can't force him...."

"But you're never, ever, ever going to give up on him, are you?"

"No." He stared off into the distance for a moment, and she saw
in profile the set of his jaw and what she thought of as his
warrior's face -- a flash of gold and fine steel, like a sword
partly drawn from its scabbard, and sheathed again as quickly.
Then he turned a radiant smile on her.

"Enough of that. Merry Christmas, my love." He kissed her
soundly, on the lips this time, then grinned appreciatively at
the prospect below. "They've done a wonderful job, haven't they?
In just a year."

"It's hard to believe it's only been a year. It feels like a
century to me." 

"Wait until you see what a century feels like." He chuckled
softly as she nestled into the circle of his arm, and kissed the
top of her head. "I wonder if I'll ever get used to it, Nat."

"Used to what?"

"Being happy."

"I don't think we're supposed to 'get used to it.' "

"No, I don't suppose we are." Nick sighed and looked around him,
vastly content. A small shower of glory cascaded around the
church as he stretched out his wings and gently folded the right
one around Natalie. All the babies looked up and smiled.

Esprit divin
A qui tout est possible
Percez nos coeurs
De vos douces ardeurs.
Notre destin
Par vous deviens paisible
Dieu pretend nous donner
Le ciel, Le ciel,
Le ciel en venant s'incarner

*************
Shepherds -- Epilogue

"Whatcha looking at?" Sean whispered to Katie, who was staring
toward the back of the church with a rapt expression on her
face. 

"An angel," she said, matter-of-factly.

Skeptical, but still young enough not to dismiss the possibility
completely, he scanned the rafters. Nothing there.

"Where?"

"Up there, right next to Jamie McIntyre's star. The one with the
bubblegum in it."

Sean recognized the star instantly -- it was a legend in its own
time -- but there was no angel in sight. "What's he look like?
Like that?" he asked pointing to the robed figures decorating
the edge of the song sheet.

"No, like that," his sister replied, pointing to the image of
St. George in the stained glass window behind the altar. "Only
he's not wearing a hat."

"That's not an angel," he said, voice dripping with scorn,
"that's a knight. And it's not a hat, it's a helmet."

"He is too an angel. He has wings."

The conversation was getting out of control. "What's he doing?"

"He's kissing a lady in a blue dress."

That was too much. Sean was completely unable to imagine why any
self-respecting knight or angel would want kiss a lady, no
matter what color her dress was. That left him speechless, which
meant the only appropriate course of action was to stick out his
tongue at his sister....

"Nick." 

"Mmmhmm"

"I think we've been spotted. Or at least you have."

"Where?"

She pointed to the two bright red-heads. 


"Both of them?"

"No. I think that's the problem. Tell me," she said teasingly,
"Why is it always the girls?"

"Everyone knows they are much smarter."

"Good answer."

"I couldn't say it if it weren't true." he said mocking her ever
so slightly. "Now, I think I'd better break that up." He kissed
her on the nose and floated invisibly down. 

Nat watched fondly from above. Of all the wondrous revelations
that death had brought to them both, this one had been no
surprise to her at all. It seemed supremely logical that the
ancient and tortured soul of Nicholas de Brabant, freed of
darkness and filled to its depths with light and love, should
become the bright-winged guardian that hovered below her. Nick,
of course, had been totally astonished. However, " 'You cannot
deny what you are,' my love," she whispered.

"Hi." He slipped down into the pew behind them -- its occupants
remaining blissfully unaware that he was virtually sitting in
their laps -- and leaned over the back. Two freckled faces
turned and looked at him with round eyes and even rounder
mouths. 

"My name's Nick. You're Katie and you're Sean, right?" They
nodded slowly in unison. "Merry Christmas." Nick and Sean shook
hands as solemnly as a pair of judges. Then he turned to Katie,
flashed her his most charming smile and kissed her hand as
gallantly as if she were a queen. "Merry Christmas," he said
again, winking at them both. As if on cue, the bells began to
peal, the organ surged to life and their parents turned to rally
them for the first hymn.

Nick rose above the nave on a tide of music, pausing to give a
gentle tweak to the nose of his namesake, provoking a cascade of
ecstatic giggles. Natalie was already singing when he reached
their perch. Smiling, he offered her his hand and she stepped
lightly down onto the bright air beside him to join in the
joyous chorus.... "Adeste, fideles...."

End of Tale 
*************************
**********************
Lyrics to "Quittez pasteurs"

As I mentioned earlier, the English version does not begin to
reflect the richness of meaning in the original words, so below,
as promised, you will find an unpoetic translation, with a wave
to the spirit of Mme. Holenkoff, the "real" Russian princess who
introduced me to the magic of French Christmas carols 37 years
ago. Words or phrases with multiple nuances are enclosed in
brackets with slashes.

Quittez pasteurs
Vos brebis, vos houlettes,
Votre hameau, et le soin du troupeau.
Changez vos pleurs
En une joie parfaite
Allez tous adorer
Un dieu, Un dieu,
Un dieu qui vient vous consoler.

Shepherds, leave your ewes, your crooks, your hamlet and the
care of the flock. Exchange your tears for a perfect joy. Go all
and adore a god who comes to console you..

Vous le verrez
Couche dans une etable
Comme un enfant
Nu, pauvre, languissant.
Reconnaissez
Son amour ineffable
Pour nous venir chercher.
Il est, Il est,
Il est le fidele berger.

You will see him lying in a stable, like a baby, naked, poor and
weak. Recognize the [ineffable/indefinable/limitless] love by
which he comes to search for us. He is the faithful shepherd.  

Rois d'Orient
L'etoile vous eclaire.
A ce grand roi
Rendez hommage et foi.
L'astre brillant
Vous mene a la lumiere
De ce soleil naissant.
Offrez, Offrez,
Offrez l'or, myrrh et l'encens.

Kings of the East, the star [enlightens you/lights your
way/sheds its light upon you].  To this great king, give homage
and faith. The shining [star/celestial body] leads you to the
light of this new-born sun. Offer gold, myrrh and frankincense.

Esprit divin,
A qui tout est possible,
Percez nos coeurs
De vos douces ardeurs.
Notre destin
Par vous deviens paisible.
Dieu pretend nous donner
Le ciel, Le ciel,
Le ciel en venant s'incarner.

Holy spirit, for whom all is possible, pierce our hearts with
your sweet [passions/warmth/flame/ardors]. Through you, our
destiny becomes [peaceful/serene]. God [wishes to give/insists
on giving] us heaven by coming to be born a man.

First verse of Adeste Fidelis in English

O come, all ye faithful
Joyful and triumphant
O come ye, O come ye
To Bethlehem.
Come and behold Him
Born the King of Angels
O come let us adore Him
O come let us adore Him
O come let us adore Him
Christ the Lord.

*********************

John 15:13:1 (Revised Standard Version) Greater love has no man
than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends