Thanks to Liza and Jeanne for beta-reading this story on short
notice.  How was I to know the writing bug would hit me at 11 pm
Wednesday night?  Anyway because of their work, this story is seeing
the light of day.

        In the true spirit of Christmas, no character was allowed to
remain depressed during the writing of this story; no one was shot,
maimed or injured, though, alas, some peripheral characters bought it
prior to the start of the story. :) Everybody ends up feeling good for
the Christmas Holidays.  May all of you have a great holiday, too!




Snowfall
by Dorothy Elggren


        The snow fell thickly, softly, silently.  The large fluffy
flakes quietly covered the earth with a blanket of pristine snow.
Within the snowfall was silence, as if the world had stopped.  He was
cocooned in a blanket of peaceful, absolute quiet.  There was nothing
but snow, luminous snow, falling gently in the night.
        He stood immobile within the shadows watching the snow with
rapt fascination.  Slowly he reached out a hand, holding up his palm
to catch a crystal.  He cupped his hand slightly and brought it closer
to look at the gentle flake.  Its uniqueness amazed him--it always
did.  He loved watching snow fall.  Within the silence, he felt at
peace, as if he, too, were cleansed and made new and without blemish.
And the only sounds he could hear were silence.  Sweet silence--no
cacaphony of humanity enticing him, no temptation, no struggling with
his soul.  How he loved the silent snowfall.
        The trees of the forest around him were frosted with new
fallen snow.  The ground around him was covered deep with crystalline,
sparkling snow.  No footsteps detracted from his view.  The only
sounds around him were the occasional soft plop as a branch bent heavy
under its burden of snow and released it to fall to the ground.
        Gradually the snowstorm decreased until only a single flake
here and there lazily descended to the ground.  The moonlight broke
through the clouds to dip the landscape in glittering silver light.
        Nick stood silently, oblivious to the cold around him, caught
up in the fragile beauty, wanting it to last forever.  And he
remembered another snowfall, a very special snowfall...


        The horse struggled through the deepening snow, his flanks
heaving as he gasped for breath.  Nick reluctantly pulled him to a
halt and dismounted.  His horse hung his head, and his breath hung in
heavy puffs in the air.  Anxiously Nick looked at him through the
driving snow.  The horse's liquid eye met his with an air of defeat.
Anxiously, Nick stroked his exhausted roan's face.
        "It's all right.  It's not your fault we didn't get through
before the snow storm--that's my fault.  I delayed leaving.
Hoping...," Nick bit his lip and turned away, staring up at the leaden
sky through the torrent of swirling snow.  He sighed and looked again
at his sweat-stained steed.  He had hoped to reach Dijon before
sunrise, but that looked extremely doubtful now.  He had better find
shelter soon.  The storm had made the roads all but impassable for man
or beast.  He had left Dole as soon as the sun had set and moved with
best speed.  It was a stretch to make Dijon in one night, but he had
done it before.  He just hadn't tried to do it in mid-December before,
when the weather could be so unpredictable.
        He had stayed in Geneva, hoping against hope to repair the
damage that Veronica's death had done to Hans.  Hans had been slowly,
but surely, slipping away, deranged, angry and hostile.  He had blamed
Nick for her death.  Maybe it was his fault that she had been injured,
but he had not been the one to plunge a knife into her heart.  She had
chosen to do that, and from that moment on, nothing could have stopped
or deflected Hans from destroying himself..  Nothing...  And last
week, he had died--just simply slipped away.  Starvation they had
said; madness they had whispered.  Nick knew better.  It had been
suicide.  He could not live without her; *refused* to live without his
beloved Veronica.
        Unable to attend the funeral in the bright light of day, Nick
had left Geneva in despair, heading for Paris, heading to the place he
thought of as home.  And where he knew Janette was--for in her embrace
he could find some kind of fragile peace.  He needed her with an
urgency he hadn't felt in more than a century.  His battered soul
needed her arms around him, and he wanted to rest his head upon her
breast.  She might not understand, but she would not judge; she would
simply hold him, caress him, and love him.  Janette... He had just not
counted on the weather.
        He plowed a trail through the nearly waist-high drifts for his
steadfast horse, and they moved slowly up the almost indiscernable
road.  The night grew colder as the storm broke.  The blinding snow
ceased and only a few tardy flakes still floated down from the skies.
The clouds began to break apart and the moon shone down.  The air grew
icy.  His horse's breathing became raspy.  Nick looked around in
despair for shelter.  His horse needed to get out of the cold, even if
he didn't.
        Nick heard the soft cry, muted by the snow, echoing around
him.  He stopped, unsure of where it had come from, or if he had even
really heard it.  He unleashed *all* of his senses and slowly looked
around him.
        He heard silence; then as he listened more acutely, the soft
fall of snow thudding to the ground, and branches springing up,
released from their heavy burdens, small whispers of the passage of
deer, delicately picking their way through the snow--and then he heard
it.  A cry.  Pain.  Fear.
        He turned unerringly towards the source, further up the
road--or what should have been a road, if it hadn't been under three
feet of new fallen snow.  He focused his eyes and stared at the road
through a red haze.  Faintly he could see a shape, but that was all.
        Nick looked at his horse, close to exhaustion, and knew he
couldn't leave him.  Another cry pierced the night.  He couldn't
ignore *that* either.  Grimly he pulled on the reins and pushed
through the snow as fast as he could, his horse struggling behind him.
        A few minutes later he stood looking at a wagon, toppled in
the snow.  A horse, old and grey, lay dead--tangled in the wreckage.
The wagon was as old as the horse.  He was amazed it had gotten this
far without collapsing.  And worse, a man not much younger than horse
or wagon also lay dead in the wreckage.  It reeked of death.  Nick's
nose quivered at the smell of blood.  He licked his lips and closed
his eyes.
        Another shriek pierced the air, and Nick turned and saw her
lying against a tree.  She was completely unaware that he was there.
All her attention was turned inward.  Blood still oozed from her
temple and mingled with the sweat on her brow.  Her eyes were closed
and her forehead was furrowed with pain.  She lay panting against the
tree.  Tears slid down her face and froze upon her cheeks.
        Nick stared transfixed, and then coming to life plunged
through the snow and fell to his knees at her side.
        "Madame...," he whispered.
        Her eyes flew open and grew enormous.  She clutched at him
with cold, reddened hands.
        "Help me, M'sieur, please...oh...oh...mon Dieu!"  she gasped
and another cry wrenched itself from her.
        Nick stared into her green eyes, ringed with deep circles,
taking in her ruddy cheeks, standing out starkly against the pallor of
her skin.  He cast his eyes down her body, at her swollen belly and
bedraggled, sodden clothes.  The coppery scent of fresh blood hit him
abruptly, and he felt the surge of desire sweep through him like a
raging blast furnace.  He shuddered and bit down on his tongue to
control the instinctive desire to take her.
        "M'sieur....," she whispered, her nails clawing into his arm
as a contraction swept through her body.
        "You're ... having a baby."  Nick said blankly, almost
stupidly, when he gained control.
        A shaky laugh escaped her.  "Oui, and very soon, I think."
She gasped for a few moments and then her grip loosened.  Nick was
barely conscious that she had broken his skin with her convulsive
grasp and that blood welled up in cuts on his hand.
        "Jules...I think he is dead.  No?"
        Nick nodded his head, unable to break contact with her eyes.
Tears filled her eyes, but she struggled on.  "He has been with my
husband's family...always..."  and then, "The horse?"
        "Dead, too, I'm afraid, and the wagon is ruined."
        "So there is no way to get help."
        "No," Nick hesitated. "Even if there were, the roads aren't
passable."  He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently
wiped her face.  "Where were you going?"
        "Home.  It's only another three miles further up the road.  We
went to Auxonne to, to...ah ohhh OHHHHH...."
        Nick held her hand while she struggled against the
contraction.  Finally she gasped out, "The baby wasn't due for another
month.  My husband is away in Chagny.  Please, M'sieur...help me!"
        "Is there anyone at home?"  Nick asked hesitantly.
        "Marthe.  Jules, wife," she gasped.
        Nick briefly thought of flying her home and tossed it aside.
He knew she couldn't be moved.  Not now.  He thought even more
longingly of flying off and getting Marthe, and bringing her back.
Somehow he suspected she would die of fright.  The Marthe's of this
world were unimaginative, placid, and scared to death of the
supernatural.  No, that wouldn't do.  He would have to do this.  He
hadn't delivered a baby since becoming a vampire.  All that blood...
but he had helped deliver one once, before...  He shook his head, and
dismissed the past.  This was no time to to lose himself in a memory.
        He smiled at her.  "My name is Nicolas.  Nicolas de Brabant.
You just relax, and we'll get through this.  All right?"
        She stared at him, hope welling up in her face.  Then she
nodded.
        "What's your name?"
        "Marie.  Marie Therese Rocher"
        "Marie Therese, you are going to be just fine.  Let me get my
cloak and see if we can warm you up a bit," Nick said with a slight
smile.
        A small uncertain smile washed across her face in response.
        Nick stood and walked back to the wagon.  His horse still
stood there, head hanging, shifting nervously.  Nick decided to take
no chances and tied him to the wagon.  No sense losing his horse as
well.  He opened his saddle bag and pulled out his cloak, wishing he
had something more.  Moving back to Marie Therese, he settled the
cloak around her and put his scarf behind her head for a pillow.
        "Forgive me for the...er...indelicacy of the moment, Marie,
but I think I'd better see how much time we've got.  May I?"
        Marie grimaced as another contraction engulfed her.  And then
another cry was ripped from her.  She clutched Nick's hand, and he
hung on to her while they waited out the storm.  Nick stared in
fascination at her stomach.  He could literally see the movement as
her muscles spasmed through her wet clothes.
        Finally Marie whispered hoarsely, "I don't think it's going to
be long, now."

                            End Part 1

                 "Well, uh....I'm glad Nick's here!"
                       -- Schanke, Blood Money


                 Comments welcome at delggren@es.com

Snowfall - Part 2
by Dorothy Elggren

        Nick settled her securely against the tree, and scooped the
snow away, packing it around them, making a small area in which some
warmth seem to creep and stay, and giving them some privacy from the
world.  He quietly removed her encumbering clothes, soothing her with
who knew what words, and found that she was right.  This baby was soon
to make an appearance.  Nick stared at the crowning head, caught
between his awe and his hunger.  The blood clawed at him, ripping
through him, much as the contractions ripped through Marie.  His eyes
cast down, he struggled for control, and somewhere, somehow, found it.
He looked back up at Marie, to find her watching him.  In her eyes was
all her hope--placed squarely in him.  Shoving the beast down, he
began to talk to her, soothing her through the contractions.
        "You are almost there, Marie.  It won't be long.  I promise,"
Nick said.
        Marie screamed again as another contraction hit, and it echoed
among the trees.
        Nick encouraged her as she wept and cried in agony.  "You've
got to push, Marie.  Push!"
        "I can't."
        "Yes, you can.  You want this baby, don't you?"
        "Tired,"  she gasped
        "Just a couple more.  I promise," Nick pleaded.
        And as Marie gave her last efforts, the storm closed in again
with renewed ferocity.  Snow began to fall fast and furiously.  Flakes
coated them, the air was dark with snow.
        "We're going to die...," Marie cried.
        "No, we are NOT!" Nick countered.  "PUSH!"
        She screamed hoarsely, crying out, and Nick smiled as he
caught the head and supported it.
        "The head is out, Marie, just a little more, I promise."
        "...can't..."
        Nick looked up at her and saw the utter exhaustion dragging at
her face.  Sweat ran freely down her face, turning to ice.  Her auburn
hair was dark and matted from her exertion.  He wondered briefly how
long she had been lying here by herself, struggling to have a baby.
Struggling to give life in the midst of death.  And possibly facing
her own death.  Alone.
        "You aren't alone anymore, Marie," he said.  She met his eyes
and he caught her in his gaze.
        "You can do it, give me another push."
        Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.  She stared at him
mesmerized.  "...push...I can do....it..."
        She never knew where the strength came from, or understood the
insistent demand, she only knew she had to push, and she did.
        The shoulders slid out and the baby turned in his hand.  And
then the body followed easily.  Nick cleared the mucus from the
child's mouth and holding him up by his feet, slapped his tiny
buttucks.  A cry issued forth.  Faltering, then stronger and angry.
        Nick cradled him gently, and looked at Marie.
        "You can stop now," he said softly.  "You have a beautiful
little boy."
        He laid him gently on her stomach, and tears filled her eyes
as she touched him.  Snow baptized him, and the tiny red package with
a squashed button nose screamed his anger at his introduction to the
world.  Quietly Nick produced a knife and cut the cord and knotted it.
Surprisingly anowether push brought the placenta--long before he would
have expected.  But it was a blessing.  He could seek shelter for them
now without waiting.  Shelter from the cold, and shelter from the
coming light.
        The blood slippery on his hands, suddenly called to him.  He
stared at them, and then at the baby he'd helped give birth to, and
the hunger slid away in the face of his awe.
        Marie tried to cover her baby with her wet skirt.  Nick put
out his hand and stopped her.
        "I've got something a littler dryer and warmer in my bag," he
said softly.
        Nick stood and ran to his horse.  From his bag, he pulled his
silk shirt and spare wool jacket.  They would do.  He fell to his
knees at Marie's side and brushed away the snow from the infant.
Quickly he wrapped the tiny boy in his shirt and then his jacket,
while Marie watched.  Her face was drawn and worn, but shown with
luminous joy as Nick handed her the baby.
        Smiling, she took Nick's bloody hand in hers.
        "Merci, thank you, so much..."
        And as she spoke, the moon broke through the clouds and shone
down, enveloping them in a pocket of silvery light.  Snowflakes danced
through it, glittering like gold.  The air was hushed suddenly.  Marie
and Nick looked up in wonder at the moonlight which was by some
miracle focused exactly, and only, on the baby in her arms.  For some
moments neither could speak at this blessing upon them.
        Finally Nick cleared his throat and looked at Marie.  "We've
got to get you and the baby to shelter.  You say it's only three miles
to your farm?"
        "Yes, maybe not even that far," Marie replied softly, her eyes
on her baby with his red face and shock of red hair--it was exactly
the same color as her own.
        "Can you endure the ride?"  Nick asked.
        "I must."
        Nick helped her pull her clothing back into some semblance of
order, and then he picked her up and carried her to the horse.  He
placed her gently in the saddle.
        "Can you hold on?" he asked anxiously as she swayed, knowing
it would be better for them if he could lead.  It would kill the horse
if they both rode in these conditions.
        "Yes."
        And so Nick led them through the faltering night to safety.
In his mind were the words to a hymn, a fairly new hymn.  One whose
words parallelled, in no small way in his mind, the events of this
night.  Silence, calm, mother and child, the benediction of the the
gentle moonlight on the miraculous wonder of life.

                     Silent night, holy night
                     All is calm, all is bright...


        And tears came to his eyes, bloody tears of gratitude for the
opportunity to help give life, rather than take it.  And in the
gratitude, he found the peace he had been lacking, taking root in his
heart.  He could not save Hans, but he could save Marie Therese and
her child.  Now sleeping in peace.  Peace....

                                +++++

        Nick returned slowly to the present.  Snowflakes still fell
lazily from the sky.  Moonlight still christened the new-fallen snow.
He smiled slowly, happily.  He loved snowfall.  In it, he remembered
and felt a peace.  The peace of giving rather than taking.  The peace
of life, not death.  The peace of a God whom he might have forsaken,
but who had not forsaken him.
        Suddenly, he started and glanced at his watch.  Time was
growing short.  He had better hurry if he was going to get back to the
loft before Natalie got there.  He gently lifted the tree from the
ground.
        "Fresh-cut, Natalie," he murmured with a grin.  And took to
the skies, tree and snow, trailing behind.

                                *****

        When Natalie arrived at the loft, she was running on less than
one cylinder.  It had been a grueling night at the office.  She almost
wished she hadn't promised to come and help Nick decorate a tree for
the holidays.  She just wanted her bed.
        Sliding the door open, she walked in to the scent of fresh
pine, and a glowing Nick.
        "Merry Christmas, Nat," he said with a wide grin.
        She gave him a puzzled look.  He looked far too happy for her
Nick.
        "What's with you?  You look like you've won the lottery."
        Nick laughed.  "No, not the lottery."  With a sly look at her
he said.  "That's small change anyway, for me."
        Natalie laughed, and swatted him on the arm.
        Nick smiled back and then took a good look at her.  "Bad night
at the morgue?"
        "Yeah, you could say that."
        He took her by the hand and led her to the couch, and pulled
her down beside him.  He held her close and whispered softly, "Welcome
to Nick's Miracle Restorative Massage."  And with, that he began to
work on her neck.  Natalie felt like she was in heaven as her knotted
muscles loosened under his gentle touch.  He worked on her back and
neck for a while, humming a tune.  It was 'Silent Night.'  Her
curiosity was fairly screaming to know what was going on.  She just
had to ask.
        "Umm, don't stop or anything, but what brought all this on?"
        Nick smiled.  "I went tree shopping, and got a fresh-cut
tree..."
        "And that put you in this incredibly good mood?"
        "Well... actually, sort of, partly."
        "Huh?"
        He leaned against her and whispered, "I went up in the
mountains and chopped it down myself, in the middle of a snowstorm."
        She looked up at him, incredulous.  "How'd you get up there in
this weather to get a tree... "
        "I flew," Nick said mischievously.
        "You....flew."
        "And I stopped to watch the snow fall.  Natalie, have I ever
told you why I love to watch the snow fall?"
        "No, not that I can remember."
        "Well then, let me put on a very special CD, and I'll tell
you."
        With that, he picked up the remote and clicked a button.  The
strains of Manheim Steamroller's version of Silent Night began to
play.
        "It's also why I really like 'Silent Night'."
        Natalie stared at him, her mouth open.  Normally she had to
work like a dog to get any information out of him, and tonight tidbits
were falling like rain.
        He pulled her into his arms and cuddled her on the couch.
Nick began with a smile, "It was the fall of 1830, and Hans had been
trying to help me gain my mortality..."

                                Fin

            "See, you're not immune to happy endings!"
                    -- Natalie, False Witness


                           Merry Christmas!
                 Comments welcome at delggren@es.com