This is something that Patt,(the person with whom I share this account) =

wrote and asked me to post. It takes place after Last Knight, and is =

IMHO, pretty good. Send comments ,etc. to her (VIA me) at =

knightie@sat.net.

PS While she hasn't "Officially declared herself, I (and anyone who =

knows her) know she is a Cousin.

Now on with the story...

With apologies to all the Nat-packers.  You can't change
history . . .

LOST KNIGHT
By
Patt Elmore

        Winters in Canada could be so bleak.  What was it that
Schanke once said--"I hate the cold."

        A soft, chilling breeze lifted one golden lock.  The dark
figure tremored slightly, then stood silent again.  Only the
eyes moved, occasionally lifting to the horizon. More often
they remained downcast, void of thought--no, more rightly,
dulled by thought.

Natalie.

        He was rooftop, looking out over the heartbeat of Toronto.
Drinking in the activity of the night, perhaps for the last time.
"Well, all that remains now is to turn out the lights and lock
the door on our way out  . . ."

Natalie.

        The darkened blue eyes closed.  A venomous pain tried to
rise to the surface, but he bid it back down.  He wasn't ready
just yet, not to face THAT pain.
        Instead, he let his thoughts go to the other.  Tracy.  Her last
conscious thought had been to recognize his lie, to know his
betrayal.  No accusations, though, in her voice--just pain that
he hadn't trusted her.  Now, his lack of trust, her ignorance
of his secret and her misunderstanding of his lack of peril in a
confrontational situation had cost Tracy her life.

She was dead . . .

She was dead.  Just like . . .

Natalie.

The figure winced, visibly, in pain as the memory came.  Her
sweet face.  The trust in her eyes.  This intelligent, beautiful,
funny woman had given herself to him in total trust and faith
and . . .

The betrayal.

"Nicholas?"

        Nick Knight, AKA Nicholas de Brabant, AKA a thousand
other forgotten names, didn't move.  He stood on the
precipice of the building, the precipice of his undead life,
staring out over Toronto.  Another chilling gust of wind
brushed across his face, stinging yet unfelt.  The thing which
had spoken his name hesitated  a moment, then moved to his
side.
        LaCroix, hands folded neatly behind his back, stood on the
balls of his feet and stared off the edge of the building.
"Contemplating jumping?"  The senior vampire pursed his
lips in a semblance of thoughtfulness.  "I seriously doubt it
would accomplish any goal you . . ."
        "GO AWAY," Nick hissed, turning toward LaCroix and
staring dead into his eyes.  Those eyes which flashed gold
with hate for just a moment before resuming their normal
dark blue color.  LaCroix wavered slightly, but kept his
ground.  Nick turned away from him, resuming his solitary
pose.
        There was silence between them.  They stood there quietly.
LaCroix observing Nick, Nick staring into the void.

Natalie.

        He could still feel her warmth against his lips, her life
coursing through him.  "She trusted me, LaCroix," why he would even =

speak to the other, Nick didn't understand, but somehow verbal
articulation seemed important at this moment.  "She had faith, and that =

faith extended to me."  He turned to LaCroix, the pain so deep in his =

eyes that they almost appeared black. "Why am I here?  Why am I standing =

here, rather than with her?"
        Nick allowed the memory to come, to wash over him.  Her
limp form in his arms, then on the floor.  The last of her
blood still clinging to his mouth.  The imploration to
LaCroix.  The final request.
        Lucien LaCroix matched his son's dark look.  "Because,
Nicholas, I did not share your faith."
        LaCroix broke the connection, shrugged and said, his voice
forced into lightness, "And, perhaps I'm not as good a
`friend' as you thought.  Or, perhaps I'm a better friend than
you give me credit for--looking after your best interests, so
to speak."   LaCroix looked quickly at Nick, but the other
vampire had looked away, turning his gaze back toward the
eastern skyline of Toronto.

Natalie.

        He had reached for the antique wooden lance, heavy and
intricately carved.  He had steeled himself to join Natalie in
death, to walk the darkness, or perchance the light, together
forever.    LaCroix had raised the stake, cursed him, then
struck.
        For just a moment, Nick had seen her alive again.  Her eyes
open, her face radiant with life, welcoming him to join her. =

He had reached out for her hand, brushed his fingers against
hers . . . Then, with an unholy scream, LaCroix had pulled the lance
from Nick's body, broken it across his knee and hurled the
bloody pieces of wood across the room.
        "Ask of me anything but to take your life," LaCroix had
screamed in rage and pain as Nick had clinched a fist to his
bleeding chest.  "I cannot, will not, let you waste the gift of
immortality because of your temporary mourning of a mortal
life." Nick's head had lowered in pain as he gasped at his
body's healing of itself.  When he again looked up, LaCroix
was gone.
        Nick had risen, struggled across the room, taken up the
broken, pointed shard of the lance and was preparing to
thrust it back into his chest. Then he had looked back at her.  At this =

angle, he could see her face.  Peaceful.  Her long hair draping her =

features like a veil. He'd faltered.  He'd dropped the stake.
        LaCroix followed Nick's gaze, seeing the first suggestion of
pink peaking from behind the building spires, reflecting off
the clouds.  His full lips curled cruelly.
        "All right, Nicholas.  Believe that I betrayed you, believe that
you betrayed her.  Throw yourself into the fiery pit, if you
deem it necessary.  I wash my hands of you."
        LaCroix moved away from Nick, stopping and standing
approximately five feet from the younger vampire, his back
turned toward him. LaCroix tilted his head back, closed his
eyes, then opened them again.
        "Since the day I chose you, since the day I made you, I've
tried to make you understand what you are, your strengths,
your predatory instincts, your need to vanquish this mortal
conscience which has threatened to destroy your ability to
survive.
        "But," LaCroix turned to face Nick, his demeanor angry,
threatening, "You've continued to `play' mortal, insisting that
if somehow you deny your true nature you can erase that
`horrible' decision you made so long ago and pretend that,
once again, you are a good and noble `man,'=93 LaCroix spat
out the last word, causing Nick to glance his way, briefly,
before returning to the dawning sky.
        LaCroix moved behind Nick, his breath like venom on the
back of Knight's neck, "Foolish boy," he hissed.  "You
mourn a corpse.  A husk which you fed upon.   And all the
regrets, all the sack cloth and ashes that you cover yourself
with won't change that fact.  She's dead . . . and by your
hand." Oh, so quickly, Nick turned on LaCroix, his fingers tightened
around LaCroix's throat.  Knight lifted LaCroix into the air,
winching his hold, feeling the bone and muscle crushing
under his grip.  LaCroix gasped, reached instinctively for
Nick, then hung loosely, just matching Knight's stare.
        "Do it.  Do it if you really feel it will help matters," LaCroix
said weakly, but with challenge.  "Destroy me if it will help you redeem =

your precious nobility.  You honor.

"Your mortality."

Nick hefted the other undead slightly higher, then dropped
LaCroix in a crumpled heap.  Lucien rubbed his throat, a
pained but thoughtful expression in his eyes, while Nick
loomed over him.
        "Hear me, LaCroix, " Nick spoke the words calmly, but with
malice.  "Yes, Natalie is dead . . . and by my hand.  But the
things she stood for--honor, truth, goodness . . ." Nick
choked slightly ". . . love-- these still live."  Nick turned back
toward the skyline.  "And maybe, by striving toward those goals, I will =

keep her alive--within me."
        Nick turned back toward LaCroix, staring down at the figure
which had always, somehow, looked larger to him.  The
figure, now rumpled and broken, on the ground.
"Hear my words, LaCroix, and understand them.  Keep away
from me. I choose my own path, and there is no room in my
existence for you.  You may have tried to wrest my humanity
from me, tried to make me in your image, but you will not
win this battle."
        A gentle whoosh and LaCroix was alone on the rooftop.  He
stood up and brushed himself off.  A cruel sneer spread
across his face, his eyes lit with inner fire.

        "But, my dear Nicholas, I think I already have."
*****************

Lost Knight (2/?)
By:Patt Elmore

Requests for missing parts and comments made to: knightie@sat.net

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

Faye McLaurin chewed through her third erasure of the night,
staring with some irk at the geometry problem which just
couldn't be worked.   She knew the answer--it was in the back
of her text book.  But, the steps to reach the correct sum
seemed, at this moment, as foreign as Egyptian Hieroglyphics.
Her eyes were heavy, her mind saturated with math to the point
of imploding.
Faye glanced toward the lighted dial of her alarm clock.  3
a.m. Yeech, she thought, rubbing her forehead and stretching
her neck, I know I'm a night person, but this is ridiculous.  She
shuffled the papers for the hundredth time, but the answers
became no clearer.
The telephone by her bed jangled sharply, causing Faye to
jump and curse as she reached for it.  Only one person would
have the nerve to call her at this ungodly hour, risking waking
up the whole dorm floor.
"What?" she said sharply into the phone.
"Saw your light on," Edward's cheerful voice didn't have tired
tones attached and she hated him for that.  "Figured you were
still working on the math assignment.  Tough questions, huhh?"
"Get lost, pervert,"  she started to cradle the receiver but his
tone caught her attention.
"Hey, girl, I can't help it if I'm in love.  I have food."
This made her pause.
"Popcorn," he continued.  "Fresh popped and drenched with
butter. Good stuff."
Faye suddenly became aware of the gnawing in her stomach.
She began to hate him even more.
"Lot of damn good it does me that you have popcorn," she
retorted.  "You're across the quad and the dungeon doors have
been sealed for the night."
"Not if you slip out the Yardley side and put a shoe in the door
jamb,"
For just a moment, she considered this.  Then, shaking her
head at her own insanity, she responded,  "You're crazy.  Do
you know what they'd do if they caught us sneaking out.  Does
the word `suspension' appear in your vocabulary?"
Very gently he replied, "Being able to take care of you, to be
with you, if only for a moment, is worth the risk, Faith McLaurin."
"Dumb, gullible, woman," Faye scolded herself as she crept
toward the door which opened onto Yardley Street.   She was
the first in her family to even attend college, much less be
accepted to Loyola University in New Orleans.  Now, here she
was, sneaking out of the dorm to meet a boy, risking everything
she'd worked so hard to accomplish.
She smiled naughtily to herself  and pushed the door ajar.
Across the quad, standing in the shadows near a hedgerow,
was Edward.  Edward Chenier of East Baton Rouge.  Fine
strapping boy of twenty with thick brown hair and light brown
eyes which made your heart melt like Jell-O in the sun.  Faye
felt a rush just looking at him.
He'd seen the door open and was waving to her.  She took off
her slipper and stuck it in the jamb so that the door couldn't
close. Then, easing into the darkness, she slipped quickly
toward where he was standing.
Or rather, where he had been standing.
When she reached the spot, Edward Chenier was not there.
"Not funny, Edward," Faye squinted into the darkness, her
irritation returning swiftly.  "Come out right now, or I'm going
back inside."
No answer.  Faye's irritation began to shift into uneasiness.
"Edward," she whispered hoarsely into the bushes, "Edward,
come out now or I'll never speak to you again."
"That sounded so lame," she thought to herself, but she was
poised to run back to her dorm building if her phantom
boyfriend didn't make his appearance immediately.
Popcorn.
She actually smelled it before she saw it, the broken
microwave bag and the kernels scattered  along the ground,
making a little trail into the bushes.  Uneasiness became
apprehension. "Edward?" she spoke, reaching to part the
leaves with her hands, "Eddie, you okay?"
Faye saw the outstretched foot shod in an expensive tennis
shoe under a privet bush at the same moment that two very
large hands clasped hold of her smaller ones.  She tried to
scream, but she was spun so quickly and held so tightly, that
her breath was expelled from her body.  She gasped and one
of the large hands clamped across her mouth.  She never saw
the face, just felt his
closeness lift the hair on the back of her neck, his words softly
in her ear,
"Do you believe in monsters, little girl?"

**********************
to be continued....

Lost Knight (3/?)
By: Patt Elmore

Request for parts and comments to : knightie@sat.net

************************************************
Nicholas Knight sat quietly in the terminal of Moisant
International Airport, renamed New Orleans International
Airport since the last time he'd been in the city.  He could
remember neither a time longer nor shorter than the past two
weeks of his immortal life.
He had taken Natalie's body to her apartment, where he'd
called police headquarters to report "discovering" it. =

Hypnotizing the assistant coroner to rule her cause of death
had been almost too simple.  The report listed that
Natalie Lambert had died of exposure to an unknown virus,
probably something she had contracted during the course of
her work.  Whatever it had been, the disease
had stricken her swiftly and she had died quickly and with little
or no pain.

"Natural causes."  Nick chuckled bitterly to himself,
remembering that notation on her death certificate.
Her family was contacted and funeral arrangements were
made.  A white coffin lined in soft blue satin became her final
resting place.  Among the flowers that arrived was an immense
spray of white roses, unsigned by the sender.  The
burial was held in the afternoon, a cloud covered day which
threatened rain, but produced none.  Nick had ventured out,
but had remained near the Cadi=92,
standing and watching the service from the cemetery road.  He
saw others glance his way, heard their whispers about his pain
and his being unable to accept her death--they were very
close, you know.
Captain Reese had not seemed terribly surprised when Nick
Knight turned in his resignation from the Toronto Police
Department, effective immediately.  He urged Nick to consider
a temporary leave of absence, to collect himself, but did not
insist when he saw that Nick's decision to quit was intractable.

"Good luck, Knight," Reese had said, squeezing Nick's hand
firmly.  "Keep in touch and let us know how you're doing."
With this degree of closure and tying of loose ends, Nick had
been able to make arrangements for the contents of the loft to
be packed and put into storage.  When he returned to his
lodging for the last time, he had stood for a long time in the
darkness, looking at the spot where she'd died.  Then, Nick had
picked up his luggage, two pieces only, and had left.
The hard plastic multi-chair in which Nick sat creaked as he
stretched his legs and turned his shoulders to relieve the
tightness in them. He settled back, arms folded across his
chest, and looked around the nearly empty holding
area.  The other passengers due to board the "red-eye" flight to
Atlanta were in various states of slumber.  An older teenager
with orange spiked hair slumped against a wall, breathing
heavily in his sleep, a touch of moisture at
the edge of his mouth.  A middle aged man dressed in rumpled
suit trousers and loosened tie, alternately punched at a laptop
computer and cursed its answers.
Directly across the room from Nick, separated by two rows of
seats, a thin woman in her late twenties rocked a toddler,
speaking softly. Though she tried to conceal it from the child,
Nick could hear the tears in her voice.
He tried to ignore it, but he felt the anguish radiating from her,
felt her heartbeat quicken with her silent sobs.
Nick reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a silver
flask. He loosened the cap and tipped the flask to his lips.  He
drank deeply, the cow's blood quelling the thirst, but not the
hunger.  Nick glanced across the room and
noted the woman looking at him, disapproval in her eyes.  Nick
took another swallow from the bottle, recapped it and returned
it to his pocket, wondering if she would have been so quick to
condemn his "drinking problem" if she'd
been the alternative.  Despite his dark mood, Nicholas de
Brabant almost smiled at that thought.
A flickering overhead caught Nick's attention.  He glanced up
at the television mounted on the wall.  It appeared to be a
newscast, the spokesperson in full face, speaking directly into
the camera, with graphics changing behind her.

The graphic now posted was the drawing of a prone human
figure with a question mark overlaid.  Although the volume was
turned too low for mortal ears, Nick concentrated until he
could hear the hum of words in his head.
" . . . unknown woman, possibly in her mid-twenties, near St.
Charles and Napoleon.   Police had no comment, but sources
tell us that this death appears to have
similarities to that of twenty-two year old Edward Chenier who
was found slain on the campus of Loyola University
approximately two weeks ago.  You will remember that
Chenier, of East Baton Rouge, was found with multiple
injuries, including a slashing neck wound.  No weapon was =

found and the police say they have no suspects."
The camera panned outward and the woman on the television
screen turned to another figure standing near her desk.  They
began discussing humidity, low pressures and storm activity. =

Nick tuned them out.  The woman who had
been sitting opposite him was gone, as was the child she had
been holding.  The man with the laptop was latching the cover
shut, glancing impatiently from his wristwatch to the wall clock. =

10:21 p.m.  The Atlanta flight was scheduled for departure at
10:48.
Nick arose from the orange plastic seat and walked toward the
large glass window which looked out over the tarmac.  Several
jets in various stages of loading, unloading and servicing, were
visible.  Baggage persons and maintenance crew scurried
about.  A large rolling carrier piled high with bags and
suitcases was being towed by a small tractor toward one of the
jets.  Among the luggage was a portable kennel, made of gray
plastic with a wire
front.  A small terrier dog wailed within its walls.
That's how I feel, Nick thought with a slight, sad smile.  Like
wailing.
He'd left Toronto eight days ago.  He'd driven the Cadi north, to
Rouyn Noranda, where, in anonymity, he'd transferred his
Canadian funds to his account in New York, USA.  He then
drove to Montreal, where he had papers to
sign, and then down Interstate 87 into the American city itself.
By day, he slept in rented rooms in the darker sections of town
where people left you alone.  By night, he drove.
In New York, he ran out of blood.  He'd gone to a butcher in an
older, ethnic area of the city and given the merchant too much
money for the product needed.  On
the way back to his nearby hotel room, Nick had been
accosted by two youths, demanding money.  Nick had tried to
suggest them away.  One had ran.  The other had died.  Nick
had taken the struggling young hoodlum in his grip and
drained him, felt the hot strength flow through his body.   Gone,
it seemed, was the noble Nicholas who had sworn off human
blood so many years ago.  Too many things had happened this
past year to revive the blood lust, to bring it closer to the
surface than it had been in so long--the fever, the game, the
possession.  And then Natalie .  .  .  =

He'd remained in New York City for almost three days,
converting property and assets into more liquid availability.  He
transferred most of these to an account in Europe, retaining
only as much as he would need to reach his next
destination.  He sold the Caddy to a Bronx teenager for
$1500.00 much to the boy's delight and incredulity.  Then Nick
had flown west.
In Chicago, Nick remained only long enough to settle
accounts then flew to Dallas, where he did the same.  From
Dallas, he went to New Orleans.  He'd been in the Crescent City
for just under twenty-four hours. Atlanta would be the last stop
before leaving the continent, headed for Europe.
The static of the overhead speaker system coming on alerted
Nick and he listened.
"All passengers waiting for Southwestern Flight 431 to Atlanta,
Georgia, we have been advised that weather has delayed your
flight. Projected departure time is now 4:34 a.m. with a
scheduled arrival time of 6:45 a.m. We apologize for the
inconvenience."
The efficient female voice faded from above.  The man with the
laptop cursed softly.  The woman with the child had returned
and now looked anxiously around.  Her eyes met Nick's and
she quickly looked away.  She gathered
herself, the child and their belongings and headed down the
terminal hallway.   The boy with the spiked hair never woke up.
Nick picked up his black leather overcoat, draped it across his
arm and moved down the long hallway to the Southwestern
reservations desk.  He stood in line
behind the thin woman, who kept glancing nervously at him. =

He tried to smile reassuringly at her, but she shrugged him off. =

Nick noticed the child, blinking with sleepy eyes, staring
upward at his tall form.  He wanted to
speak to the child, but decided that it would not be wise.  The
woman finished speaking to the counter attendant and, taking
the child's small hand, moved quickly away.  Nick moved
closer to the counter and cleared his throat.
The attendant, a very pretty young woman with short auburn
hair and sharp hazel eyes, looked up and smiled
professionally.  "Yes, Sir?"
Nick smiled back, noting the gentle curve of her white neck,
the graceful line where it connected to her jaw.  She must have
noticed his observing her, because her color flushed slightly
and her smile quickly went from professional courtesy to
genuine pleasure.  Nick leaned on the counter,
looking directly into those clear, almost gray eyes.
"I have a problem," he said.
"Well, let's see if we can solve it," she replied, just a tiny bit
more friendly than professionalism demanded.
"My flight to Atlanta, Number 431, it's been delayed."
"Yes, Sir."
"And, from what I understand, it will be leaving around 4:30 and
arriving in Georgia around 6:30 or 7 a.m."
"Yes . . ."
Nick leaned closer, as did the woman.
"If I'm right, that means the plane will arrive sometime after sun
rise, right?"
She faltered slightly, looking perplexed.  "I . . . I'm not sure, but I
guess so."
Nick sighed, a dramatic gesture, "And, that is my problem.  I
have this medical condition.  When I go out into sunlight, I get
these really ugly lesions all over my skin, which the doctor said
could lead to cancer."
"Ooooo," she exhaled.  "That would be terrible."
"So," Nick continued, "you can see why it is very important that I
be on an evening flight.  Would it be any trouble for you to
change my reservation to tomorrow night?"
The woman smiled and said "There should be no problem at
all, Sir."  She drew back and began tapping keys at her
computer terminal.  Nick turned, surveyed the large open area,
then returned his attention to her, smiling as her
fingers danced over the keys.  She looked at the screen, her
lips pursed and a slight frown edged across her brow.  Nick
waited.
"I'm sorry, sir, but, tomorrow's Red-Eye is booked solid.  It's the
football special and we have a bunch of Saints fans flying to
Atlanta.
"We don't have a single seat available," she looked up from the
computer screen, her eyes full of apology.
"Perhaps, one of the other airlines? . . ." Nick suggested.  She
continued to tap at the computer and began shaking her
head.
"The same as ours--booked solid.  I'm terribly sorry . . ."
Nick leaned in close, catching her eyes and lowering his voice.
His tone was soft, yet demanding, "Look again," he said,
watching as her eyes glazed slightly.  "I'm sure you'll find
something available there."
With robotic efficiency, she returned to the keyboard.  A few
moments later, she had "discovered" a cancellation in first
class and made arrangements for Nick to have the seat at
coach price.  Nick smiled at the woman, tucked the airline
ticket into his inside jacket pocket and moved away from the
counter.   A moment later, the attendant shook her head as if
to clear it, looked around
sheepishly and said, "Next."

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

to be continued ...

Sorry for the delay. My server has been crazy. So here is part 4 of
Patt's story.

She asked me to thank everyone who has responded. She is enjoying this.
I want all of you guys to send her notes telling her to hurry up and get
me more.<BG> I just like to say she says that the character's, who is
introduced in this part, name will grow on you.(I don't believe
her<BG>.) His name(first name only of course) is from an agility judge
she has shown under.

Comments and request for missing parts to knightie@sat.net

Lost Knight (4/?)
By:Patt Elmore


*********************************************
Marquand Ebarb hated the night shift.
It was an absolute sin to be wasting the prime of his manhood
wrestling with the scum of humanity rather than sporting the
finer ladies of New Orleans around in the evening hours.
But, being the rookie detective in the homicide division of the
New Orleans Police Department, it just followed as fact that
Marquand be assigned the graveyard detail.
"Graveyard, indeed,"  Marc thought as he looked down at the
plastic draped corpse recently found in an alley off Napoleon.
Underneath the tarp were the remains of what had once been
an attractive young woman.   She had been decapitated, her
throat viciously lacerated, exposing jagged remains of
cartilage, tissue and muscle . . .
. . .  but very little blood.
 "Which means that either the murder took place somewhere
else and the body was moved here," Marc analyzed aloud to
himself, "or, we have a maniac loose in New Orleans who is
draining blood."
He certainly hoped it was not the latter.
The forensics people were finishing their shuffling about and
Franklin Lowe, ever present plastic baggie in hand, walked up
to Marc.   "Where's Voohries tonight," Lowe inquired, referring to
Marc's partner.
"Flu," Marquand replied absently.  "Saint's Game Flu."
Lowe pressed his fingertips laterally along the top of the bag,
zipping the plastic container shut.  "Notice anything odd,"
Frank asked smugly.
"No blood," Marc replied with a shrug.  A moment of
disappointment crossed Frank's face, but then he nodded.  "So,
was she killed here?" Marc asked.
"Looks like it," Frank looked around and pointed at a spot near
a section of wrought iron fence which bordered the alley.
Marquand groaned inwardly, thinking "maniac."
"There appears to be signs of a struggle and a few drops of
blood over in that area.  We're taking samples of the blood to
the lab to compare it with the victim's."  Frank returned his
attention to Marc.  "If it did happen over there, there wasn't
much of a struggle and I don't know how the body got over
here against the building, because there is no sign of
dragging.
"I guess he could have picked her up and thrown her." Frank
finished his preliminary report, but Marc had stopped listening.
This was the second time in two weeks he'd been given
basically the same analysis of a crime scene.  But this time, the
perpetrator had taken a trophy.  The woman's head was
missing.
Marquand Ebarb was not at all happy.
*******************************************************

Here it is the next part, and I'll get to post another part today and =

another 2 parts on New Years eve!

requests for parts nad comments virtual anythings to : knightie@sat.net
(Yes this Amethyst's  Addy , Patt share's my account)

Lost Knight (5/?)
Patt Elmore


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

The taxi dropped Nick at the corner of Tchoupitoulas and
Napoleon as requested.  He paid the driver  with a fifty
dollar bill and told the man to keep the change.  The man had
flashed a golden toothed grin and wished Nick a "Happy
Mardi Gras" season before driving away.
Nick checked back into the small establishment he'd stayed in
the evening before.  It was located in a dark corner of
Uptown, close to the Mississippi River, but not so close as
to be in the glare of the newly docked casinos.  Nick paid for
the room in advance and felt assured that he would not be
disturbed during his stay.
By the dirty clock behind the deskman's head, it was 12:16
a.m.  Still much too early for repose, so after putting his
luggage into the small rented room, Nick went back outside
into the night.
His stroll took him first toward the River.  He stood on its
banks, looking south toward Marrero and remembering the
first time he'd stood there.
Then, this expanse of housing had been a foul smelling
swamp, swarming with mosquitoes and primordial growth. =

Jean Baptiste le Moyne, Sieur de Bienville had already
erected his huts and storage houses in this curve of the
Mississippi, and as of yet only one flag had flown over the
colony. The population descended from the prison dregs,
slaves and bonded servants recently sent from France to aid
in the plunder of this new land.  The cassette =

were already arriving, replacing the prostitutes and offering
the male settlers women of modest means but of good
reputation.  The area was growing and men of vision began
to see the port as a real source of future wealth. LaCroix
appreciated the language of these early French settlers, but
not the sparseness of human activity nor the insect
population, so they had moved on north, to more populous
areas.
They had been in New Orleans again just prior to the civil
insurrection which had shook the very core of the young
United States of America.  LaCroix had become enamored
with the strong-willed Baroness Pontalba, she of the fiery red
hair and missing finger.  Nicholas had run off to live in the
woods, preferring the quiet culture of the native Chahta to
the crassness of the painted whore de Orleans.  He had
returned nightly, though, to hunt within the walls of the
metropolis.  When the hostilities escalated, LaCroix had
insisted they go northeast again, closer to the battlegrounds. =

They fled the city just as Farragut's occupational forces
entered her limits.
As Nick moved westward along the river's bank, he found
himself nearing Audubon Park.  He sensed the movement of
the animals inside the zoo and of the homeless camping on
the grounds.  Nick recalled another visit to the city in the
mid-1900's.  This time he had been alone.  He recalled
coming upon a dark woman sitting on a bench in the park,
glutted with alcohol and pain.  Her grief was so severe that it
had aroused Nick.  He had approached her, considered
ending her pain, but had ended up spending the waning hours
talking with her.  She had told him of the recent loss of her
child.   She was in the city visiting relatives and had sought
solice in the darkness of the park she=92d grown up near.  As
the hours passed, he had held her tiny hand in his cool one,
and she had seemed to derive some comfort in his presence. =

Within her, he sensed the soul of a poet.  He had looked into
her eyes and suggested that she channel her grief into
creativity, rather than destruction.  He had since wondered
what had become of her.
Nick skirted Audubon, turning north on Jefferson until he
reached St. Charles.  He walked east on St. Charles,
admiring the stately homes  which now housed private
schools, clubs and apartments. Ahead of him, Nick sensed
activity and saw the  rotating blue glare of police car lights. =

Something unbidden in him stirred. He considered moving to
the site of the activity, but ducked into a neighborhood bar
instead.
Inside the mutely lit establishment, Nick slid into a booth and
ordered claret.   The proprietor had seemed bemused , but
had brought the wine and left the bottle when Nick handed
him two twenty dollar bills and requested he do so.  Nick
sipped at the sweet, dark liquid, not finding it too disdainful,
and surveyed the place.
He appeared to be one of ten or so patrons.  Three men,
dressed in scrubs, sat at the bar, drinking beers and looking
too exhausted to move.   Five young people, three boys and
two girls, huddled around a table, speaking in hushed tones. =

Nick tuned to them, hearing their whispers of murder.  He
tuned them out again.  In the furthest booth from Nick, a
middle-aged man argued quietly with a young woman.  She
grew angry and attempted to rise, but the man clutched her
hand, imploring her to stay.  She reseated herself and the
argument resumed.
Nick looked away and sipped at the claret.
He sensed her before the padded door opened.
She entered the bar, looking disheveled and lost.  Wariness
in her eyes as she looked about the room.  She seemed to
know something, to sense something was different, but she
was very young and did not focus in on Nick.  Nick knew
her, or at least of her, immediately.
She was petite, dark like Jeannette, with long tousled hair.
She had a sweet, heart shaped face and a pale complexion,
despite recent feeding.   Nick prepared to close his mind to
her probing, but then realized that he didn't have to.
She knew something was wrong in the room, but she didn't
recognize Nick as the source of her discomfort.  With
sudden clarity, Nick realized that someone had made this
young one--then left her.
Untrained, without crucial survival knowledge and alone,
had left her.
Nick's mind moved out to her, a friendly, questioning probe. =

She appeared startled as his thoughts connected to her's. =

She quickly surveyed the room again, this time looking into
Knight's eyes, but quickly passing on when she did not
recognize him.  Her memories were confused, disoriented;
her emotions shattered.  Nick felt a terrible overwash of pain
and broke the mental connection.
Nick moved to intercept the young one, but from the corner
of his eye he saw one of the student patrons eyeing her
curiously.  She made eye contact with the boy at the table
and, as he started to speak, she turned and fled.
Nick went after her.  But, by the time he reached the pub
door, she was gone.  He was greatly disturbed, but resigned
himself when he could sense her no where.  Again, he saw
the rotating blue glare.  This time he succumbed to its siren
call and walked toward its source.

****************************************************************
To be continued.....

requests for parts and comments virtual anythings to : knightie@sat.net
(Yes this Amethyst's  Addy , Patt share's my account)


Lost Knight (6/?)
Patt Elmore

***********************************************
The body had been removed and only a chalk line remained
to mark her passing.   The rest of the evening for Marquand
Ebarb would be paperwork and the long wait for forensics to
provide further clues relating to the murder.
One good thing about this evening, Marc had to smile, had
been the arrival of Kayla Bernard.  She had showed up,
camera in hand, to take photos of the victim.   By day, Kayla
made portraits at K-Mart, but by night she did what she
loved---crime scene photography, hoping to sell her shots to
magazines or the local newspapers.   She was very good at
her job and, Marquand noted as he always did, not too bad
on the eyes.
Marquand knelt again by the chalk figure.  He was watching
Kayla move with her camera among the shadows
when an authoritative voice questioned, "So, what have we
got here?"
Startled, Marquand did not look up, but began a professional
response regarding the victim's description.  He was just
about to enter a discussion of further crime scene findings
when he looked up at his questioner for the first time.
A tall blonde man, unknown to Marquand Ebarb, was
standing there, looking down at the outline etched on the
pavement.  Marc stopped in mid-sentence, dumbfounded.
"'Scuse me, but who are you?" Marc inquired, then vented a
touch of anger at himself for being duped, "This is a crime
scene and . . . how did you get past the yellow line,
anyway?"

Nick looked toward Ebarb, making eye contact with Marc.
"I've been very careful not to tamper with evidence," Nick
assured him.  "I was allowed to cross the line when I
explained to the officer back there that I was a homicide
detective in Toronto until recently."
"Toronto?  As in Canada?" Marc stood up and shook his
head, feeling a bit strange looking into Nick's eyes.  Nick
broke the contact and knelt by the outline, noting the
jagged horizontal line where the shape of a head should have
been.
"Yes," Nick murmured.  He looked up at Marquand.  "She
was decapitated, wasn't she?"  Nick did not wait for a reply,
but returned his attention to the figure on the ground.  "We
had a similar case in Toronto a couple of years ago.   By the
way, I'm Nick Knight."  He stood up and extended a hand.
"You may be 'Doris Day' for all I care," Marc began to
fluster, refusing the handshake.  "That still doesn't give you
the right to be back here."
"The case was solved and the perpetrator dispatched with,"
Nick continued, dropping his hand and ignoring Marc's
protest.  "But, you may have a copy cat
working here.  You may want to contact the Canadian
authorities and request the particulars of the case."
"Uh, yea, okay," Marquand fumbled in his pocket for his
notepad and began scribbling notes.  This gave Nick an
opportunity to observe the man more closely.
Marquand Ebarb was slightly shorter in stature than Nick
Knight. He had a muscular torso and wide shoulders, but
appeared to have thin legs beneath his loose fitting trousers.
Marc was "high yellow," in complexion, suggesting
that he could be of mixed heritage or of an older, creole
bloodline.  His hair was dark brown-black, straight and
slicked back. He was clean shaven.
Marc punched the tip of the ball point against his left
shoulder and returned the pen to his pocket.  He looked at
Nick, his dark brown eyes curious and his face brimming
with checked animation.
"I think we're finished here," Marc addressed Nick.  "Maybe
you should come down to headquarters, help us check this
out?"
Then, we can also check your story and make sure you're
who you say you are, Marc added to himself silently.  Nick
smiled and nodded.
As they moved carefully from the crime scene, a female
voice called out Marquand's name.  Ebarb turned to the
source, and Nick sensed a flare of emotion from him.  A
young woman approached them, barely acknowledged Nick,
and began questioning the New Orleans detective.
Nick observed her.  She was approximately five feet three
inches in height with an average build and an attractive
curvature.  She carried an expensive camera and held it with
authority.  Her dark chestnut hair, glinting with red
highlights, fell just past her shoulders and was tied back with
an emerald green scrunchie.  Her complexion was light, with
a suggestion of covered freckling.  She had a high forehead
and a sharp bridged nose. Her eyes were
alert, observant and dancing with green pigment.
"They have history," Nick noted, watching their
conversational interplay.  "No," he corrected himself, "no
history, but a desire for one.
"At least," Nick corrected himself again, "he does."
Nick waited patiently until their conversation ended.  They
both turned to acknowledge Nick, and this time the woman
took note of the blonde man, making eye contact.   Nick
sensed a dawning of sensuality from the woman as
Marquand provided introductions.   Kayla Bernard eyed
Nick with growing interest, then flushed slightly when she
noted he was doing the same.
They finished speaking and moved off in opposite directions,
Nick accompanying  Marquand.  Kayla's interest in Nick had
not escaped the young detective's attention and Marquand
noted with some irk that Kayla glanced back toward them as
she moved away.  He could not remember her ever making a
backwards glance when it was only him.
After they had moved away from each other, Nick sensed
Kayla's movement with the camera.  He turned slightly and,
out of the corner of his eye, saw her pointing it in his
direction, heard the soft click of the shutter.  Marquand had
not seen that.  Nick smiled.
************************************************

to be continued .....

Comments and missing parts requests to : knightie@sat.net
Hope everyone is enjoying this!

Lost Knight Part 7
By Patt Elmore



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

"Canada, huhh?" Marquand Ebarb posed the question for at
least the third time, as though the concept amazed him.  Nick
simply nodded.
They were sitting in the homicide precinct room on the
second floor of the central office of the New Orleans Police
Department.  They were surrounded by muted nighttime
activity--people moving around, the tapping of input keys
and the soft electronic buzzing of printers.  A telephone rang
and someone grabbed it on the first ring.
Once back to the office, Marquand had introduced Nick
Knight to the Homicide Commander, Captain Albert
Pettiford.  Pettiford had contacted Joe Reese, verified Nick's
identity and requested information on the Canadian murders.
Marc and Nick were now waiting for the fax from Toronto
to arrive.
"Does this make you some kind of 'Mountie' or something?"
Marc pushed a little.  "Like, do you wear one of those red
coats and 'Smoky the Bear' hats.  Nick raised an eyebrow
and shook his head.
"No, I just wore regular clothes, much like what I'm wearing
now," Nick replied.
Both men took this moment to access each others wardrobe.
Nick was dressed in well-cut black trousers and a high neck
black silk shirt.  His black leather longcoat had been casually
lain across the back of the wooden
chair he sat in.  Marquand wore gray trousers and a brown
leather short coat.  As they were now inside from the cold,
Marquand chose to remove the coat, exposing an open
necked, long sleeved blue cotton shirt. Around Marc's neck
was a gold chain of medium weight from which hung a small
crucifix.  Nick flinched slightly at the sight of the cross.
Marquand was looking down at his desk, shuffling some
papers, and didn't notice Nick's temporary discomfort. "Too
bad," he remarked.  "I thought I might want to borrow that
'Smoky' hat for Mardi Gras."
"Even if I had that hat, I doubt that I will still be in the city
for those festivities," Nick replied cheerfully.
Marc looked up, catching the glimmer of humor in Nick's
eyes.  At once, he became more warm in opinion and, at the
same time, wary of the blonde Canadian.   Looking straight
into Nick's eyes had given Marc more of a jolt
than he'd bargained for.  There was something about those
eyes. Marc did not question his own sexuality, but, for just a
moment, he'd been terribly compelled by the man.  Marc
shook his head  to clear it and avoided further direct eye
contact as much as possible.
Small talk.  Marquand seemed uncomfortable in silence, so
he soon sought conversation again.
"Canada, huhh?" Nick winced and cocked a wary eye at the
Louisianan.  Marc looked across the desk at Nick and said,
"What part of Canada?"
"Toronto," Nick replied.  The crucifix caught the glare of the
overhead fluorescent.  Nick shifted uncomfortably.
"Toronto," Marc repeated.  Then he brightened with a
thought and said, "Hey, we might be cousins.  I'm Acadian,
you know.  'Cajun.'"
"How nice for you," Nick smiled.
"Yea, we may be from the same old good northern country
stock," Marc seemed actually taken with the idea.
"Well, actually, I was born in France," Nick interjected.  "I
immigrated to Canada."  Marc was not deterred.
"France, French Canadian, 'Cajun,' whatever.  You may still
be my cuz.   'Knight'--that's not a French name anyway.  Was
your mama French? What was her birth name?  Do you have
any Boyette or Iberia people in your bloodline?"
"That's a distinct possibility," Nick affirmed with just a touch
of his old, wan smile.  "But still, the Acadians were from
New Brunswick.  That's as remote from Ontario as
Louisiana is to Ohio."  Marc seemed not to hear and Nick
fell silent, watching in some amazement as Marc continued
to prattle on about family ties, punctuated with references to
Nick as "cuz" every so often.
This could prove to be a very long night.
*****************************************

Parts request, etc : knightie@sat.net

Lost Knight part 8
By Patt Elmore

*****************************************
Kayla Bernard squinted her eyes in the pale red cast light.
She was standing at a sink, watching pictures materialize
from the watery developing solution.   There were several
rolls of film hanging from a wire to her left. A small electric
fan whirred and made them flutter gently.
Many of her contemporaries were now using the digital
photography method, putting their film directly into the
computer and printing out photos and enhancements.  Kayla
still found extreme satisfaction puttering around in a
darkroom.
She'd picked fourteen shots from the proof sheet and was
making five by seven copies.  She picked up the tongs and
fished one of the prints out of the liquid chemicals. She
looked at the developed print, smiled and slipped it into the
rinse solution and then into the fixing bath. Kayla looked
down at the profile shot of the blonde man, Nick Knight,
noting the deep set eyes and high cheek bones.  She allowed
the nail of her little finger to trace the line of his strong,
square jaw and slightly jutting chin.  The chin's cleft could
not be discerned in the picture, but Kayla remembered it
well.  Yep, she reassured herself, well worth the second
look.
She sighed and returned to the developing tank, stirring at
the other photos swimming within its reservoir.  Kayla
removed several more pictures (common crime
scene--nothing special.  Ummm, that one has a nice contrast
from the street lamp), rinsed them and placed them into the
finisher.
Kayla continued her work, keeping an eye on the timer
clock.  As she neared the bottom of the developing well, she
noticed something unusual in one of her photos--something
she had not seen when she'd taken the shot.
The initial image had been one of Marquand Ebarb (good old
Marc, flirt extraordinaire.  Bless his non-committal heart),
poised near the victim, his thick eyebrows scrunched
together in concentration.  Now, as the picture came more
into focus, Kayla's own brow furrowed. Though she
had not seen the second figure when she'd snapped the
picture, she had no trouble acknowledging the half form
clearly seen hiding behind the corner of a building.
What truly disturbed her was the distortion in the right upper
corner.
***************************************

Patt shares my account send any responses or requests for parts to : =

knightie@sat.net =


Lost Knight part 9
by Patt Elmore
*****************************

The facsimile of the case had finally arrived from Canada.  Pettiford =

had reviewed
it, asked some questions of Nick, then turned it over to Ebarb. Ebarb =

had perused
the case, noting the similarities and the differences, and developed a =

new respect
for former Toronto Homicide Detective Nicholas Knight.
Nick had begun, a little grudgingly, to acknowledge there was more to =

Ebarb than
first met the eye, too.  Yes, the Cajun detective was young and a bit =

more
conversational than Nick preferred, but Ebarb was smart and quick to =

pick up on
things.  He'd listened to Pettiford and, after the initial consultation, =

had asked Nick
some probing and intelligent questions.
Nick had become privy to further details of the case.  The first victim, =

a male in his
early twenties, had been found with his throat lacerated, but his head =

still relatively
attached to his shoulders.  The prime murder suspect was a fellow =

college student
of Chenier, a female named Faith McLaurin.  McLaurin could not be found =

after
the murder.  Ebarb had supplied Nick a photograph of the missing suspect =

and the
blonde detective had recognized the dark girl immediately.   =

"Shades of Hannibal Lector," Marquand said as he finally finished
reading the report from Canada and put it down on the desk.  He picked =

up the
Styrofoam cup of coffee which had been cooling for the past few minutes. =

 He'd
offered a cup of the deadly stuff to Knight and the Canadian had, =

intelligently,
declined.
=93I can see why this case jogged your memory, Cuz, but, there are plenty =

of
differences.=94  Marc looked back down at the report and said, mostly to =

himself. =

=93This Sedrick fellow not only took of the heads, but also the hands, and =

did it
surgically.  Our perp=92s methods weren=92t so clean.  =

=93Also, this fellow,=94 Marc indicated the report with a shake of the =

papers, =93used the
drug Thyobarbitol to knock his victims out--our toxicology reports have =

been
negative on both bodies.  The Chenier kid had some canibas in his =

bloodstream,
but . . .=94 Marc shrugged and Nick smiled inwardly.  =

=93And, your boy was exclusively female oriented.  Our guy has killed both =

sexes. =

While the Kolb woman was an exotic dancer, which might be akin to escort =

service
personnel, Chenier sure wasn=92t.
=93But Kolb=92s missing head does support the =93trophy=94 theory--  I=92ll=
 agree =

with you
there, Cuz.  That must have been one nasty case to investigate.=94  =

Marquand looked inquiringly at Nick over the rim of the cup, =93And this =

fellow got
hold of your female partner?=94
Nick nodded, remembering Tracy.  Can't think of that too much right now. =

 =

=93Jeesh, that must have been rough.  She must be some lady.=94
Nick paused for just a minute, wondering if he wanted Ebarb to share his
knowledge, then said, softly, =93Yes, she was.=94
Marquand picked up on the tense immediately and looked at Nick.  If he =

didn't
want me to ask, he wouldn't have said it.  Marc suddenly liked Knight =

even more,
felt a kinship to him.  Marquand took a deep breath.
=93What happened to her, Knight?=94
Nick looked up, smiling faintly.  =93Killed in the line of duty.=94
Marquand sat his coffee down and moved his finger around the rim of the =

cup.
=93That's rough, Nick.=94 Marquand said finally, but when he looked over at=
 =

Knight,
the other man was lost in his own thoughts and probably hadn't even =

heard him. =

Marc continued to finger his coffee, remembering the time that Peron had =

been
wounded . . .
=93Oh, shit,=94 Marc yelped suddenly, causing Nick to start as the younger =

man
fumbled across his desk, reaching for a small radio.  Marc noticed =

Nick's raised
eyebrow as he began rotating the dial.  He grinned sheepishly.
=93I 'spect you're going to hate it, but I've kinda got hooked on this =

program which
comes on at 1 a.m.  It's one of those trash, call-in talk things, but =

it's addictive. =

Started broadcasting about two weeks ago and . . .=94  Marc broke off the
conversation with a curse and yelled, =93Who's been messin with my radio?=94=

Marquand finally found the station he was seeking, which was on =

commercial
break, and sat back with satisfaction.  When the voice came, Nick was =

not as
surprised as he thought he should have been. In fact, he wasn't =

surprised at all.
A darkness spread across Knight's face, unnoticed by Ebarb, who was =

happily
enthralled by the voice and words coming out of the box.
=93He calls himself the 'Devil's Advocate,'" Marquand was almost brimming =

over
with enthusiasm.  =93He has this really cool accent-wonder if it's =

real--and cuts
people down something fierce when they call in crying about this and =

that.  I just
love it.=94
=93Sounds to me like 'He' just likes the sound of his own voice,=94  Nick =

offered with
scorn, then lapsed into silence as the radio continued its litany.
=93And so, gentle listeners, if you've just tuned in, tonight's topic is =

betrayal.  That
betrayal which devours the soul and leaves you too weak for thoughts of =

revenge. =

Not the cheating spouse variety of betrayal, but rather the one that =

continues to
cuckold you with promises of love and affection while bleeding you dry. =

Not the
child which denies you, but the one who maims you with soft words, tears =

and
kisses, only to cut the tendons behind your knees and laugh as you drop.
=93We've all known such betrayal, haven't we?=94 the voice continued, just =
a =

hint of
malicious challenge in the tone.  =93It's from dealing with these =

delusions of love=94 the
word was almost spat out, =93that we either draw strength . . . or choose =

to curl up
and die.   We've all drank the bitter waters of rejection, =

loathing--been betrayers as
well as the betrayed.=94
The voice lowered confidentially, almost allowing one to see in their =

mind the
spokesman drawing closer, the whisper of intimacy in the discourse.
=93Tell me, children of the night, what's the nastiest thing you've ever =

had done to
you or, better still, done to another?=94
Nick shook himself out of the hypnosis of the voice and looked at Ebarb, =

=93When
did you say this show started broadcasting?=94
=93I first found it about two weeks ago,=94 Marquand said, reluctant to loo=
k =

up, but
finally doing so, =93Why?=94
"And, when did the murders start occurring?"  Now, Marc looked up in =

genuine
interest.
"About two weeks ago--think there's a connection?"
Nick looked thoughtful for a moment, then settled back in his chair. =

"Probably
not," he said finally, allowing Ebard to return his attention to the =

radio, but not
before planting that seed of concern which Ebarb would mull over until =

the case
was solved.  Probably not, Nick continued thinking to himself as the =

voice droned
on, interrupted occasionally by callers who wanted their minute of fame. =

He's too
smart to bring this much attention to himself, unless he was doing it =

for that
reason.  I'll keep his presence here in mind, though.
Then, Nick remembered that he'd be leaving New Orleans in less than =

twenty-four
hours.  Keeping an eye out for LaCroix and how he might be involved in =

the case
wasn't Nick's concern anyway.
****************************************
to be continued.....

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

Dr. Margaret Clayton fumbled for her keys and wished she'd never heard
of a twelve step program.  If she'd ever needed a drink and a downer,
this was the time.
She'd In one of the parking areas off Louisiana Avenue sublet for the
employees of Touro Infirmary been up to her knees in blood all day.
"Damn," she said aloud as the keys connected, then fell from her hand,
skittering across the concrete with their metallic clinking.
"Having trouble, Doc?"  Clayton looked up to see one of the orderlies,
Rainey she thought was his name, looking at her.
"Nope, got it covered.  Just have to retrieve these keys.  Should have
gotten them out while I was still in the hospital, probably."
"Yea," Rainey said.  "Probably should have.
"Well," he seemed reluctant to move on, but turned away slightly, "If
you're sure everything is okay."
"Yep, all is right with the world," Margaret now had her left hand under
the BMW, her fingers grazing the beeper key chain.  "Here we go!"
With a little snort of triumph she arose and looked around, her keys in
her hand. Rainey was gone.
She'd not heard his retreating footsteps, nor an acknowledgment that he
was leaving.  He had just . . . vanished.  Clayton felt the hair at the
nape of her neck tingle.
"Don't need this shit," she thought to herself, pressing the activator
button and hearing the car bleep back, allowing her access.  She put the
round headed key in the door and prepared to turn it.
She caught sight of Rainey, sprawled perhaps ten feet away, his back
slid down along the cement wall of the garage, leaving a large splatter
then a thin trail of blood.  His body was contorted in an impossible
manner, if the body were still living.  Clayton froze, her hand
still holding the key in the door lock.
A large male hand suddenly reached around and covered hers.
"Bonjour, Mamselle," it breathed in her ear.  "Would you mind giving an
old fellow a lift?"
As Clayton prepared to scream, the hand left hers and clamped itself
across her mouth.  It pulled up and back, bracing her across its chest
and bending her spine into painful contortion.  Once again, the keys
went skittering across the pavement, landing near Rainey's left big toe.
 Clayton mercifully lost consciousness before her neck was snapped,
twisted and pulled from her body.  Her head rolled across the ground.
The thing which had killed her lifted Margaret Clayton's body above it's
head and allowed her blood to stream into it's mouth.
When it had finished glutting itself, the creature casually tossed
Clayton's body over next to Rainey's, her left foreleg sprawling across
his lap.
"Such a nice couple," it breathed headily.  Then it reached down, picked
up Margaret's head and peered into its face.
"Ah, poor Margaret, I didn't even know you at all."
It tucked the head underneath its arm and, with a netherwordly laugh, it
rose into the night and vanished.
************************************
To Be Continued ......

I forgot to mention Patt asked me to post parts 10 -12 as a thank you
to Cousin Jules for her wonderful stories.

 Requests for missing parts or comments to knightie@sat.net

 Lost Knight part 11
 By Patt Elmore

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

The initial forensics report had finally come in, confirming that the
woman in the alley had apparently died where her body had been found.
Trace elements under her fingernails and debris found on her clothes
confirmed this.  The perpetrator was not trying to conceal the
location of her death.
The coroner's preliminary report came in a few minutes later.  Knight
felt a twinge as he perused the familiar makeup of the report.  Too many
memories. Shake it off for now--study the facts.
The report stated that the woman had apparently died of severe trauma to
the head region. Time of death was estimated to be between sixteen and
twenty-four hours before the body was found. "Tell me, Cuz," Marquand
said as he finished up the second page of the pathologist's  findings
and handed it to Nick.  "Just how does a body stay undiscovered for that
much time when it's out in the open like that?"
"Way I see it," Marc continued, a thoughtful look on his face as he
stared pretty much over Nick's left shoulder.  "Somebody may have just
hidden that body all day and then put it back out in the alley this
evening for us to find.  You think that might just be the case, Cuz?"
"Well," Pettiford's appearance caused both Marquand and Nick to sit up
and pay attention, "Whatever he did with the body yesterday, he's not
hiding the one tonight.  Fresh kill reported over in the Albert Parking
Garage off Louisiana.  Deceased male and headless woman--sounds like it
could be our man.  Ebarb, go check it out."
Nick got up and picked up his jacket, preparing to leave with Ebarb. He
stopped when he saw Pettiford looking at him intently.  Ebarb stopped
too, but moved off when he saw Pettiford nod at him to go.
Pettiford turned to Nick.  "Mr. Knight," he began and Nick pretty much
knew what the rest of the speech would be.  Thanks for the help, cannot
risk getting civilians involved, have a nice time in the city, here's
your hat, what's your hurry, good night and good-bye.
Outside, Ebarb was waiting, pacing near his black Honda Accord. "Hey,
Knight, let's go," he shouted when he saw Nick coming out the front
door.
"Sorry, Cuz, but I've been relieved of duty," Nick said, then turning
his back on Marquand, Knight walked off into the night.
 *****************************************************
To Be Continued .....

Lost Knight (12/?)
By Patt Elmore

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

Kayla looked at the strange photograph for at least the twentieth
time--really looked at it. And, just as before, the more often and
closer she looked at it, the more the distortion bothered her.
This was the third print she'd made from the negative.  She'd cleaned
the negative thoroughly this last time, and the distortion still showed
up.  She'd taken a magnifying lens to the contact sheet and the
distortion had not been there, but when she printed, it showed up.
And, it grew clearer.
The image of a woman. A woman with wide eyes staring straight ahead as
if caught in fright. A woman with her mouth open as if to shout in
warning.
Kayla shivered slightly as she looked at the picture again.  She reached
to the back of the sofa where she'd thrown her jacket and pulled the
material across her shoulders.  She looked at the picture again.
The cloudy woman's eyes had moved!  They were focused directly on Kayla
now. Kayla jumped up, stuffed the photograph into her purse and ran
outside to her car.  She pulled out of her driveway and headed in the
direction of the police station.

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

It was almost 3:30 a.m. when Nick dropped gently down into the alley
beside his lodging. He let himself into his room and switched on the
radio by the bed.  If  he knew LaCroix, the vampire's talk show would
just now be winding down.  Nick smiled as he turned the dial and was
rewarded by the tones of LaCroix's satin smooth voice, berating some
poor soul for his lack of backbone and initiative.  Nick noted the call
number location then rifled through the desk by his bed until he found
the Greater New Orleans telephone directory.
He looked in the yellow pages under radio stations, finding the call
numbers and address of the one he wanted.  Nick left the room again,
noting the time of 3:45.  Plenty of time to intercept LaCroix as he came
out the door at 4 a.m.  Nick went back to the alley and barely stirred
the air as he took flight.
*********************************************
To Be Continued .......

Requests for parts and comments to : knightie@sat.net

Patt has been generous lately and two parts will be posted tonight.
Let us know what you think. (Patt shares my account, Of course by now
everyone knows that<G>)
Amethyst

Lost Knight (13/?)
By Patt Elmore

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

In the second floor washroom, Marquand used his hands to splash water
upon his face, relishing the cooling trickle down his stubbling chin. He
looked into the mirror, seeing hollow dark eyes staring back. This had
sure been one crummy ass night.
He had left the last murder scene just fifteen minutes ago.  Had seen
the bodies, still warm, the mangled man and the decapitated woman.
What had the coroner said?  It looked like her head had been "wrenched"
off. Marquand felt bile in his throat.  He quickly cupped a handful of
water and gulped it.

And again, very little blood.

There should have been rivers of it.  But . . .

Where was the blood?

Marc snatched a paper towel from the dispenser box and pressed it
against his face.  A repressed memory of bonfires and dancing bodies
tried to come forth, an image of an earthen bowl brimming with red
liquid.  Marc's subconscious pushed it back.

Kayla Bernard had met him at the crime scene, appearing agitated, but
saying nothing.  She had taken quite a few pictures in the parking
garage, many not of the scene itself, but of the walls, window gratings
and the entrance/exit area.  Then, she had followed Marc back to the
station.  She said she had something to show Marc, but excused herself
first.  Marc had taken the opportunity to refresh himself as well.

As he left the men's room, Marquand paused and turned upon hearing his
name. One of the uniformed officers approached and handed him "a
background check you requested."  Marc took the report, thanked the
officer and went to his desk. He laid the papers in front of him and
began reading, his right middle three fingers pressed against his
forehead. In a few moments, Marquand Ebarb muttered the single word,
"Shit," got up from his desk, grabbed his short coat and marked himself
as "out on call" on the assignment board.  He was heading for the front
door when he ran into Kayla. She looked flushed and was holding a single
photograph.

"Marc . . ." she started but the homicide detective cut her off.

"Sorry, kiddo, but I have to go check something out.  Looks like someone
has been lying to me.  I don't like that, especially when I thought I
could trust them."

Marc walked away hurriedly, leaving Kayla behind, her mouth frozen half
open. The anxiety she'd been feeling since she'd discovered the voyeur
and distortion suddenly vanished in her anger at being brushed off by
Ebarb.  Well, she thought, he's not the only fish in this little coastal
town.  She went over to the clerk and, sitting astride the corner of his
desk and beaming her most winning smile, asked what motel Nick Knight
was staying at.  In a few moments, she was heading out the front exit.

*********************************
To Be Continued ......

Request, etc. to : knightie@sat.net

Lost Knight (14/?)
By : Patt Elmore

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

At precisely four minutes past four a.m., the side door leading to the
ally behind radio station WDRK opened.  A tall man of impressive build
exited the building. Once fully outside, the man paused, tensing, and
looked around. Nicholas Knight ducked back behind the corner which
shielded his presence.  When Nick looked back around the corner, the man
was gone.

Nick left his hiding placed and hurried across the street, following the
path the other man had taken.  The street was dark, but soon gave way to
gaudy neon and open doors, flanked by persons who beckoned the unwary to
enter and engage in unspoken delights.  The loud klaxon of jazz music
wafted from inside these portals, the sickly smell of spilled beer and
sweat filled the nostrils as one walked by. As he passed one entrance,
Nick sensed LaCroix.  He stopped, eyed the dwarf who bade him enter,
then went inside.

The large room was very dark and murky with smoke.  A chunky woman
dressed in a tired red G-string moved upon an eye level stage, caressing
a pole.   Yellowed brassieres hung from the overhead pipes of the steam
heating system which crisscrossed the ceiling.  One undergarment died
and fell at Nick's feet; he pushed it away with his toe and looked
around.

He saw LaCroix in a booth near the back of the establishment, in the
darkest hole of this bleak place, his back to the front entrance.  No
one sat near him.  Even the waitress who was serving him seemed relieved
when she could hurry away.

Nick walked over and stood beside and to the rear of his master. LaCroix
did not look back, did not speak nor acknowledge Nick's presence, but
merely continued to sip his drink.  Nick waited for sometime before
finally walking past LaCroix and slipping into the seat opposite him,
facing him.  LaCroix's face remained impassive as Nick leaned forward.

"Tell me what you know of these murders," Nick demanded.

"And hello to you, too, Nicholas," LaCroix responded, a touch of
amusement glittering in his eyes.  "I am certainly surprised seeing you
here, especially considering our last tearful good-bye . . ."

"They started about the time you 'flew' into town," Nick continued,
ignoring the elder vampire's interruption.  LaCroix leaned back, his
hands cupped around the ruby drink in front of him.  "Are you involved
in them?" Nick continued.

"I suspect you're talking about the rather gruesome killings which have
been dominating the local media coverage," LaCroix said.  Then he shook
his head, "Not my style, Nicholas, as you are well aware."

"But, you know about them, don't you?"

"I have watched the news, of course . . ."

"You KNOW more than what's been on the news, LaCroix," Nick cut him off.

LaCroix put his drink to his lips and eyed Nick over the rim. "And, I
want that information." LaCroix let the silence grab hold before he
inquired "Is this an official call, Nicholas?"
Nick sat back, exasperated, looking away briefly before returning his
eyes to LaCroix.  "No, not official.  But, if you don't give me the
answers I want, I could well point the local authorities in your
direction.  I know they wouldn't find anything to connect you with the
crimes, but the involvement of the police in your life could make it a
little uncomfortable for you."

LaCroix digested Nick's threat thoughtfully.  The waitress approached
them, but Nick waved her away.  She retreated, almost gratefully.
LaCroix laced his fingers together, his hands on the table.  "How many
murders have occurred so far?"

"Two mortal deaths, that I'm aware of."

LaCroix looked at Nick, noting the careful wording of his last response.
 "Two mortal demises and  . . .?"
Nick looked down then back squarely at LaCroix.  "And I think one victim
who was 'brought across.'

LaCroix leaned back, his laced fingers tightening.  "And, the one that
was brought across . . . was it a young female?"

"Yes."

"And the human victim, the woman, was she decapitated?"

Nick leaned forward, his eyes full of menace.  "LaCroix, what do you
know of this?"

LaCroix remained unmoving for some moments.  Finally, the elder vampire
responded, his voice quiet but firm.  "Just what is your interest in all
this, Nicholas?"

Nick leaned back in the hard plastic booth, glowering at LaCroix. "Let's
just say that I was taking a walk and got involved."

"You could not have just walked away for once, could you?" LaCroix said
ironically.

"Like you said, `Not my style.'"  Nick waited for a reaction, a response
from LaCroix.  LaCroix finally drained his glass, arose and placed two
bills on the table.

"Come with me then, Nicholas," LaCroix moved away.  Nick slipped out of
the booth and followed. They left the bar, walked to the split between
it and the building next door and went through the narrow opening.
LaCroix had taken three steps into the alcove when he suddenly turned
and faced the younger man.  "But, I warn you, Nicholas" LaCroix said
with a tinge of malevolence,  "You are not going to like what I have to
show you."

LaCroix bolted into the air and took flight.  Nick looked around warily,
then followed.

******************************************
To Be Continued .......

Request for parts or comments to : knightie@sat.net
If you don't see to be continued at the end you didn't get it all. Let =

me know.
Amethyst

Lost Knight part 15
By Patt Elmore

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

A few minutes later, LaCroix alighted on the outdoor balcony of a =

modern, fashionable hotel in the middle of the Vieux Carre.  Nick =

dropped down beside him and waited as LaCroix slid open the unlocked =

glass door.  Both men went into the apartment and LaCroix slid the door =

shut, locking it from the inside.  =


LaCroix's lodgings were located on the eleventh floor, high enough to be =

safe but close enough to the ground to afford a good look at the passing =

citizenry, especially through vampiric eyes.   =


The central room of the suite was nicely decorated in muted neutral =

tones and accented with expensive dark leather chairs and sofas.  The =

end and coffee tables appeared to be of real oak, darkly stained and =

styled in the manner of reproduction antiques.  Several original oils by =

local, modern artists were attractively placed upon the walls.  There =

was an exquisite wooden executive desk against one wall and a wet bar =

against another.  LaCroix crossed the room to the bar and opened the =

double hutch doors. =

 =

Nick waited patiently as LaCroix took out one of the bottles of dark red =

liquid. LaCroix held it toward Nick, an eyebrow arched inquiringly.  =

Nick shook his head "no."  LaCroix poured a measure  of the liquid into =

a goblet, placed the bottle on the counter and indicated to the chairs.
 =

Again, Nick shook his head no.  =


"This is not a social call, LaCroix."  =


LaCroix smiled slightly, "Ah, the impatience of youth."  He took a drink =

from the goblet then sit it down on one of the end tables, next to a =

fernish plant which seemed to curl slightly as LaCroix's hand brushed =

against it.  The tall vampire strode toward one of the paintings and, =

clasping the edge of the frame, swung it aside.  =


Behind the painting was an electronic wall safe, the lock activated by =

the patron's voice.  LaCroix spoke.

"LaCroix.  7  2  1  ."

There was a purring sound and then a soft click as the safe's door =

unlocked. LaCroix opened it and Nick made a quick mental inventory of =

its contents. Inside were several stacks of wrapped currency, a bundle =

of papers, a large ring of keys and a tattered brown chest.  LaCroix =

removed the chest and closed the safe.

LaCroix carried the chest over to the desk and placed it carefully on =

one corner. The small box was made of metal and leather, flaking in =

places, exposing the tender white core of the once proud veneer.  There =

were no jewels encrusting its shell, no gold leaf or magnificent =

stitching.  It was just a simple thing, designed to hold objects of =

little value.

When LaCroix opened its lid, Nick scanned the contents quickly.   The =

inside was dominated by a piece of bound vellum, but Nick also saw =

several small figurines, a pair of blood stone earrings and an ancient =

cameo before LaCroix had time to remove the document and close the lid. =


LaCroix carefully removed the strapping and spread the leathery =

manuscript across the desk top.   He smoothed the surface gently .

The document itself was tattered, thin veins of sinew held together by a =

slightly more solid center.  It was serrated across the top, mangled by =

age, and it appeared that a section of the right bottom corner had been =

torn away.  =


On its surface were a series of drawings--not the well stroked =

hieroglyphics found on ancient Egyptian papyrus, but of a more crude, =

stick like execution, more like the petrogliphs found on primitive cave =

walls.  Nick looked at it in open interest and LaCroix smiled gently =

over his shoulder.

=93A little something left behind by Divia upon her first passing,=94  =

LaCroix remarked.  He looked down at the document and continued.  =93I had =

the foresight to have a translation made when I first discovered this =

among my young master=92s affects.  It was ancient then,  and most of the =

people who could read it had long turned to dust.  I was fortunate to =

find a Greek scholar in Athens who seemed able to decipher a great deal =

of its meaning.=94

=93And this relates to the recent homicides?=94  Nick looked at LaCroix =

skeptically.

LaCroix shrugged.  =93That is for you to decide, Nicholas.=94

=93So, what does it say, LaCroix?=94

=93Mind you,=94 LaCroix began with a warning, =93I cannot read this verbati=
m =

nor remember the Greek=92s  exact words, but as my memory serves me, the =

tale goes something like this . . .

=93=91At the end of the time, the Sivapire, the dark one of legend, shall =

rise up from his resting place in the womb of the earth.=92

=93The old ones did like their flowery speech, didn=92t they?=94 LaCroix =

stopped reading and seemed almost  apologetic regarding the text.
  =

=93Just keep reading,=94 Nicholas said.  LaCroix placed a long finger on th=
e =

vellum, tracing the lines.  Then he resumed speaking.

=93=91He shall take an innocent as his mistress, take from her the virgin =

blood he needs to strengthen himself, and her innocent shall remain. =

 =

=93=91He shall gather his three dark handmaidens, the Erinnyes, and offer =

their corporal bodies to the gods.  He shall place them on thrones of =

fine wood, anointing their heads with crowns of gold and facing them to =

the corners of the known world. They will call the dark faithful to the =

womb and identify the deceivers. =

 =

=93=91When this is done, the Sivapire, the one of regeneration shall become=
 =

the one of vengeance.  Two hundred years of darkness shall descend.  He =

shall wipe from the earth all the blooded children who would oppose him =

and replace them with his own legions, sprang from his loins.=92

LaCroix gave Nick an odd look, then continued.

=93These will be many,=94 LaCroix said softly.  =93And the Sivapire will =

summon forth even the dead and replenish them to serve the needs of the =

new ones.  =


LaCroix paused, glancing quickly at Nick.  The younger vampire seemed =

lost in thought.  LaCroix resumed the translation, choosing his words =

with great care.

=93=91But the Sivapire will not come unopposed.  A young Krishcapyre, fair =

and of faith, may overcome and vanquish the dark one.  But, this will =

not necessarily =


=93=91The dark one is old and made of the old blood, the old dust.  =


=93=91 But, if the Krishcapyre can discover the weakness of the Sivapire an=
d =

overcome him,  the earth will remain as it is and lightness will rule.  =

If the earthly ones win the battle, the Krishcapyre may request of the =

gods one desire be granted . . . =91

=93And, that is the conclusion of this text, as told to me by the =

translator,=94 LaCroix moved away from the desk, retrieved his glass and =

downed the contents in one long swallow.  Nick, who had been listening =

thoughtfully throughout the oration, now turned to LaCroix, amusement =

tingeing his words.   =


=93You are kidding, aren=92t you?=94  LaCroix cut his eyes at Nick, but hel=
d =

his counsel. =93 I mean, you really don=92t see any real connections betwee=
n =

this little ode and our present situation, do you?  I don=92t.=94 =


=93The young one--the female recently brought across.  What was her state,
Nicholas.?=94

=93Okay,=94 Nick said slowly, recalling the dark beauty=92s innocence and =

confusion. =93I=92ll give you that one.  But, where in your story does a =

slain college student and a headless corpse occur?=94   The brief silence =

which followed hung heavily. =


=93Always the skeptic, the literal based creature, ehh Nicola?=94 LaCroix =

looked at Nick, his eyes narrowing.  =93Use you imagination, rather that =

you detective skills for once, and you might see the parallels.=94

Nick looked steadily at LaCroix.  =93You=92re not telling me everything, ar=
e =

you?=94

LaCroix returned Nick=92s hard look and slowly shook his head,   =93No.=94

=93And you are convinced, LaCroix, that we are dealing with some ancient =

creature come up from the pit?=94

LaCroix did not immediately answer.  He returned to the bar, poured =

himself another glass of the sanguine liquid, then turned to Nick.

=93I have no thoughts on the matter, Nicholas,=94 he said quietly.  =93 I h=
ave =

simply made you privy to the information I had as my disposal.  What you =

choose to do with it is entirely your business.

=93But I do have a question to pose.=94 LaCroix said.   =93 It has to do wi=
th =

faith.=94  Nick looked up sharply at the elder vampire.

=93You asked me once if I=92d ever had faith in anything but myself.=94 =

LaCroix paused then continued, ignoring his prot=E9g=E9=92s withering look.=
   =

=93When I was a boy, I believed in my gods.  They were as real to me as =

the Christian deity is to so many now and I honored them with sacrifices =

and my faith in them.  At the same time that I worshipped the true gods =

of my past emperors and those on Olympus, there were tales of pagan =

godheads being bantered about, but these were fantasy, fables, and I =

accepted them as such.  =


=93Now, my gods are the mythology, the legends.

=93Who am I to comment positively or negatively on the tale told upon this =

skin?=94 LaCroix said.  =93Who am I to dispute the ancients and say that =

their gods and demons were not as real as my own.=94

LaCroix looked at Nicholas, his eyes glittering.

=93And if this tale is true and the base of this current situation, then =

it appears that there are at least two more headless corpses awaiting =

your discovery before this predicted doomsday for us all occurs.  I =

suggest you get to work solving the case, =91Detective=92 Knight.
  =

=93And, unless you plan to stay the day with me, you=92d best be leaving.  =

Sunrise is less than an hour away.=94

Nick glanced through the glass balcony door, noting the lightening sky. =

He stepped toward it and then turned back to LaCroix.

=93Tell me what you=92ve not told me, LaCroix.  Tell me why these killings =

made youthink of that document and its contents.=94

LaCroix stared across the room at nothing.  Finally, he spoke.  =93I=92ve =

felt a presence of late, Nicholas.=94  He turned to Nick and smiled sadly. =

 =93A darkness gathering.  Something I=92ve felt only once before in all my=
 =

centuries on this earth.=94  He paused and looked far away again.  =93And =

this time, it=92s much stronger.=94

Nick moved back to LaCroix, the first glimpses of understanding crossing =

his features.  He touched LaCroix=92s arm and spoke with intimacy.   =93If =

you do believe the actions of late are the fulfilling of a prophecy, a =

prophecy which appears to include our destruction, what are you planning =

to do, LaCroix?=94

LaCroix shrugged and smiled, =93Short of checking on possible passenger
accommodations aboard the next space shuttle, what can I do, Nicholas?  =

I=92ll stay . . .and I=92ll fight to survive.=94

Nick nodded.  =93I=92ll get back to you as soon as possible.=94  Then he =

stepped outside the door and vanished into the darkness.

LaCroix walked back to the bar, replenished his drink and returned to =

the desk.  He scanned the parchment, took a long drink from the goblet =

and said softly, aloud to himself

 =93Two hundred years of darkness.=94

*************
To be continued

Comment, part requests etc. (including requests for clean parts if one =

had those little "=3D96" things and such.) to : knightie@sat.net

Thanks for all the interest and encouragement.
Amethyst and Patt

Lost Knight part 16
By Patt Elmore

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

When Nick arrived back at his lodgings, the sun's red tinge
was just beginning to appear.  His mind was swirling with
LaCroix's words.  He had not told his master that a second
headless body had already been found.  =


Nick was exhausted and needed to feed.

As his hand reached for the door knob, Nick detected a
presence in his room.  It was mortal, a young male with a
very strong heart beat.  Nick caught Marquand's scent and
sighed.  Damn.  =


Nick turned the knob and entered the darkened room.  He
saw Marc immediately, sitting in a chair pulled into a corner,
facing the door.  Nick went through the motions and flipped
on the overhead light.  Feigned a look of slight surprise at
finding Marquand in the room. =

 =

"You keep some late hours, Mr. Knight," Marquand drawled
and stretched, never taking his eyes off the blonde man. =

"What cha been up to since we last saw each other" Marc
glanced at his wrist watch, "almost three hours ago?"

Nick shrugged.  "This is New Orleans.  No such thing as day or
night, right?  I've been out sight seeing, doing the tourist
thing.  So, what brings you here, Ebarb?"

"Came by awhile back, after my visit to the garage.   =


Thought we'd go out for a drink and I=92d bring you up to date. =

Get your input--the Canadian connection."
 =

"Sorry I missed you," Nick crossed the room to the window,
his profile to Marquand, his face tilted from the Cajun's eye. =

Nick could hear Marc's pulse quicken, sense the heat of his
blood.  'He's toying with me,' Nick sensed.

"Oh, well, maybe next time," Marc said easily.  He was
enjoying this little cat and mouse game, enjoying Nick's
uneasiness at his presence there.  Caught the bastard, he
thought.

"In the meantime, I did do some follow-up work on an idea
you suggested to me, Knight.  Need to thank you for that, by
the way."  Nick glanced at Marquand, then returned his stare
to the window.  =


"That radio fellow, the "Devil=92s Advocate," Marquand noted
with satisfaction the slight stiffening of Nick=92s body,"I decided
to do a little background check on him."

"Seems his real name is," Marquand paused and Nick quickly
looked  his way, watched him pull a folded piece of paper
from his shirt pocket and read something from it.  "LaCroix. =

Lucien LaCroix."

Marquand looked up quickly, before Nick could look away,
catching the vampire's eye.  =


"Ring any bells?"

Nick did not reply.  Marc continued.

"Seems that before relocating to Orleans, this Lucien LaCroix
had a program on a radio station up north way--CERK,
Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Called himself 'the Nightcrawler.'  Ever =

listen to him when you lived up that way, Nick?"

Nick continued to stare out the window.  "I may have," he
said absently, then he turned to Marquand.  "What's the
point of this,  detective?"

Marc rose and took a step toward Nick.  "The point,  Cuz, is
this. Seems this Mr. LaCroix also owned a nightclub up in
Canada called the Raven.  A few months back, a headless
corpse was discovered in the refrigerator of said Raven and
Mr. LaCroix was arrested in connection with the case."
  =

"As a material witness," Nick replied.

"Oh, I see you're beginning to remember the case," Marquand =

said, a note of satisfied sarcasm  in his voice.  Nick's head
began to throb.  He turned slowly toward Marquand, causing
the New Orleans detective to take a step back.

"I was the arresting officer in the case, as I'm sure you're well
aware of."

Marquand turned away from Nick and walked across
the room.  For just a moment, Nick's eyes flashed golden
before he regained his composure.  Marquand turned back
toward Nick.  "So, Cuz, when were you gonna  tell me about
this?"

"LaCroix was cleared of all charges . . ." Nick began.   Marc
ignored the interruption. =


"Ya know, somethin, Cuz,  this murder, unlike the red
herring case you threw me, was never solved." Marquand
moved within Nick's comfort zone, tilting his chin upward
into Nick's face.  Nick smelled his heat, noted the pulsing of
his carotid.

"And, the LaCroix story bears a closer resemblance in modus
operandi to our case than does the body parts collector  you
threw me as a bone.  His corpses were decapitated surgically. =

The corpse found at the Raven was shredded.  Like the ones I've been =

having to look at, Cuz.  Jugulars torn to shreds like hamburger."

"When I told you about the first case, I didn't even know
LaCroix was in town."  Nick said softly.
  =

"And when you did discover he was in town, why didn't you
tell me then?"

"LaCroix was cleared of all charges," Nick repeated.  "I saw no
purpose in harassing an innocent man."

Marquand said nothing, just continued to stare into Nick's
face, searching for a flicker and seeing nothing.  Finally, Marc
sighed and turned his face away from Nick, moving off to the
left.  He stopped and turned back toward the Canadian.
"How well you know this Lay-Croix?"  Nick didn=92t answer. =

Marc took a heavy breath and continued.  "Is he who you've
been visiting since you left the station house?  Do I need to
be thinking of arresting you, Knight, as withholding evidence
and interfering in a murder investigation?"

Nick looked at Marc.   A strange, piercing look.  The eyes
glinted, held no color for a moment.  Marc suddenly felt the
hair standing on his neck.

"I know nothing of LaCroix," Nick said in a low, commanding
voice.  He moved toward Marc, holding the smaller man's
eyes, matching his spoken syllables to the beats of Marc's
heart.  "LaCroix was cleared of all charges and does not merit
investigation in this case."

"No more investigation . . ." Marc repeated slowly from the
fog.

Nick removed the paper from Marquand's fingertips, staring
deeply into the now glazed eyes.  =


"We're both tired, Marquand, and it is time for you to go
home and get some sleep."

"Sleepy," Marc said.  He turned and walked slowly toward the
door.  He opened the door and walked into the outside hall. =


Nick crossed the room, shut the door and bolted it.  =

Nick breathed very deeply and went to his overnight bag,
which had been casually tossed onto the floor when he'd
checked into the room.  The bag appeared to have been rifled
through, but the contents were all there.  He removed a large
antacid bottle, unscrewed the false half bottom and prepared
to drink its contents.

A gentle knock came at his door.  Nick closed his eyes, cursed
softly, replaced the secret flask without drinking and went to
the door.  =


He opened it and Kayla Bernard stood before him.  She was
shivering slightly. She looked up at the tall man and said, " I know its =

late, but may I come in for a second.  I have something I want to show =

you."

Without waiting for an answer, she moved past Nick into the
center of the room.  =


"I've been sitting outside in my car for over an hour, waiting
for Marc Ebarb to leave," she said.  She was digging in her
handbag, her eyes not on Nick.  =


Her proximity sent a jolt of hunger through the vampire.  =

Where Marquand had been inviting because of his
availability, Kayla was beyond intoxicating in the promise of
quenching the fire within Nicholas.  The tiny vein on her
neck pulsed gently and Nick found himself unable to take his
eyes off it.  =


"Here," she said, pulling a photograph from her purse and
thrusting it at Nick.  Nick shook himself and accepted the
photo. Nick studied the picture for a moment, Kayla standing on tip
toe to look over his shoulder.  She looked up at his face,
waiting . . .

Nick=92s eyebrows were clenched in concentration when he
said, "I recognize her."

"You DO!"  Kayla almost squealed in delight.  Nick looked at
her with a puzzled expression.  She was almost bubbling, "I
was beginning to think I was crazy, but you not only see her,
you RECOGNIZE her!"

"Of course I can see her," Nick said, frowning just a little.  "I
thought, being familiar with the case, you'd recognize her too,
Kayla.  Her name is Faith McLaurin." Nick's finger touched
the image of the woman half hidden behind the building. =

"She's the woman who disappeared after the first murder
victim, Edward Chenier, was discovered."

"But," Nick watched with acute interest as Kayla's expression
went from triumph, to confusion, to unhappiness.  Finally,
she nodded and looked up at Nick.  "Do you see anything else
in this picture, Nick?"

"Besides the murder victim?"

"Yes, besides the murder victim."

Nick studied the picture then, slowly, he shook his head
negatively.  Kayla looked absolutely crestfallen and Nick was
immediately sorry that he was unable to see what she'd
hoped he would see.  "Can you tell me what you see in this
photo?" Nick inquired gently, handing the photo back to her. =

 =

Kayla accepted the photo.  She glanced at it briefly, seeing
the wide open eyes which dominated the ghostly face which
had once been only a distortion.  She felt like crying.   Nick
saw her waiver slightly and caught her, helping her to the
edge of the bed.  Kayla sat down, trembling, looking long at
the photo.  Nick stood, waiting.  =


Kayla finally looked up, tears misting her eyes, "You really
can't see anything strange in this photo, can you?"

Nick sat down beside her, taking her hand.  Dangerous move. =


The thirst returned, striking him hard.  He looked into those
sad, worried green eyes.  "Tell me what you see, Kayla."

She shook her head "no," lowered her head and broke eye
contact with Nick.  "Nothing, I guess," she whispered.  She was
so close.  Her soft breath, fresh with mint, was warm against
his hand as he took her chin and tilted her face back toward
his.  =


"Tell me," he repeated.  Her scent was fresh soap and peach
lotion.  Her skin soft.  Her blood coursed strongly just
beneath the surface.  "Don't be afraid."

"But, what if I'm losing my mind?" she blurted out, half
crying.  "What it I'm just going crazy and there really IS
nothing there."

"You're not crazy," Nick tried to soothe her fears with his
voice, his touch.  "Just trust yourself and tell me what's in
the photo."

She dropped her eyes again, in thought, and Nick allowed her
her space.  He found himself listening to her heart beat, let
himself to be lulled by it's rhythm.  Almost too late, he
realized he was caught in the spell of her blood.  =


Nick tensed, using all his will to chase his internal demon
back.  Kayla felt Nick's body stiffen and looked up into his
face.  She saw his eyes, the strange yellow glow.  She caught
her breath, her eyes caught by his, felt herself falling.
    =

She reached out to steady herself, her left hand grazing his
upper thigh.  His arm circled her back, a supporting gesture,
but the touch was excruciatingly pleasurable.  She was
unable to escape from his eyes. Dangerous and erotically
hypnotizing. Kayla felt Nick's arm pull her closer, felt her
back arch as he brought her toward him.  Felt the crush of
his chest, the strength of his limbs holding her.  Felt his soft
whisper across her cheek, down her neck, onto her shoulder. =

  =

Nick suddenly pushed her back.  Confused, she looked back
into his golden eyes, blinked and they were dark blue again.  =


They withdrew from each other's embrace.  Kayla was
unsure of what she'd just seen, unsure it had even happened,
but she felt internal alarms begin to go off.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Knight," she said, rising.  Her knees were
unsteady, but Nick allowed her to stand on her own.  He =

remained seated on the bedside, trying to compose himself. =

"I'm sorry I troubled you, because it's obvious that there's
nothing in this photo but the victim and that Faith
McLaurin woman."

She turned back to look at Nick.  He was looking down at the
floor, seemingly lost in thought.  Kayla was suddenly more
sure than ever that she was not crazy, that there was
something strange in the photo and somehow Nick Knight
was connected with that something.  She was also suddenly
very acute of his presence, not afraid, but cautious.  She felt
her strength returning.  Nick sensed the change, which
seemed to strengthen his own will.  He looked up and smiled
at her--a warm, non-menacing smile.  =


She found herself smiling back.  =


"Jeesh," she laughed.  It was a sigh of relief laugh and it was
pleasant.  Nick found himself smiling even more.  She sat
down beside Nick, shaking her head.  "I  think I'm chalking
this one up to sleep deprivation."  She sobered slightly.  "I
hope you don't think I was being too forward, coming here. I
really thought I saw  something in the photo. "

"It was probably just a smudge," she concluded, starting to
throw the photo into the small wastebasket under Nick's
nightstand.  He caught her hand.  =


"You don't mind it I keep it, do you?" He said, smiling.  She
shrugged and allowed him to take it.  "Have you shown it to
Marquand yet?"

At the mention of the young Cajun's name, Kayla hrumphed
and Nick caught himself watching her in amusement as she
made a few choice comments concerning his recent rejection
when she went to show him the picture.  =


When she finished, Kayla looked at Nick and saw his bemused
look.  She was suddenly a little embarrassed.

"Gosh," she said, jumping up from the bedside, "Talk about
sleep deprivation.  I really need to get out of here so both of
us can get some rest."  Nick rose and accompanied her to the
door.  She turned, drawing him into her comfort zone again.
 =

"Good night, Mr. Knight . . ."

"Nick"

"Nick," she felt flustered as a school girl again.  She made
herself look into those blue eyes again.  They were smiling. =

No menace, no ghosts.

After Kayla left the room, Nick made sure the "Do Not
Disturb" sign was in place and dead bolted the door.  He
retrieved the antacid bottle, drank the measure of cow's
blood and then fell onto the bed.  The old motel mattress was
in its last stages of life, but Nick Knight did not care.  He was
so fatigued that he could have slept in a coffin this night.

He closed his eyes, images of LaCroix, Marquand and Kayla
upon his closed lids.  Then another image came.

Natalie.    =


In this semi-dream like state, Nick embraced her, held her
close, tasted her.  His recent encounter with Kayla Bernard
only fortified the strength of the imagery.

When Natalie had offered herself to him, when Nick had
taken her, it had been his first taste of living, human female
blood in many, many years.  He had loved Natalie, as much or
more than any other love in his life, but with the first sip of
her blood, she had become the source of his need.

The hunter, the hunger had taken over.  The pure ecstasy of
the feast had consumed him.  Her fresh blood, warm and
alive, had coursed through every molecule of his body, filling
him up with her.  The power of it.  The control.  The
selfishness of the act.

All the self recriminations, the feelings of apology after the
deed was done, the sorrow, did not erase the fact that, after
years of starving for fresh blood, he had enjoyed taking her.  =

Nicholas de Brabant, the vampire, had relished the kill.

As Nick succumbed to sleep, the blood sweat dotting his
forehead, Natalie whispered to him . . .

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

To be continued ....

Parts Requests / comments to knightie@sat.net
Story by Patt / posted by Amethyst (Patt shares my account)

Lost Knight (17/?)
By Patt Elmore

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

The next evening, Nick went directly to the police station.  He
found Marquand at his desk, nursing a cup of coffee and fondling
a small bottle of Ibuprofen.  When Nick approached him, Marc
looked up sheepishly.
"I got the damnedest headache, Cuz.  I was at your room last night,
wasn=92t I?  I don't remember leaving your place, just heading over
there.  You didn't slip me a Micky, or something, when I came to
visit, did you?" =

"No," Nick slipped into the chair at the desk opposite Marc's;
Voohries' desk.  He faced the Louisianan.  "But, I  believe I owe you
an apology for something else."
Marquand=92s look sharpened despite the throbbing in his temples. =

Nick continued.
"I actually didn't put the Raven case together with this case until
you pointed it out to me," Nick said.  "The Raven case involved an
Egyptian national who was attacked in that country and then the
body smuggled into Canada."
"I know, Cuz, I read the report." Marc said.   "But damned if I can
find it now." Nick removed the report from his inside jacket
pocket and returned it to Marc.  Marquand lifted an eyebrow but
said nothing.  =

"As I said last night, LaCroix was arrested as a material witness
and later cleared of all charges."  Nick looked away, then back to
Marc.  "The case was not solved, but the general feeling by my
department was that this was most likely an organized crime
related incident and the body was placed in the Raven as a
method of convincing LaCroix to pay protection money."
Marc mulled this over then slowly nodded.  "That would make
sense . . . But," the Cajun said, looking at Nick.  "That still doesn't =

explain why you didn't come clean about LaCroix when his name first
came up."
Nick leaned back in his chair and glanced away before looking
back at Marc.  "LaCroix was cleared . . ."
Marquand shook his head.  Nick stopped, backed up and said
slowly, "LaCroix and I . . . we have history."
Marquand said nothing.  He began fiddling with the child proof
cap on the medicine bottle, twisting it until the arrows aligned. =

He placed his thumb under the bottom of the lid and pressed.  It
made a hollow 'pop.'  Marc shook three pills into the palm of his
hand, threw them into the back of his throat and washed them
down with a large swig of luke warm coffee.  =

"I ought to throw your ass in jail, Knight."  he said, finally.  =

Nick nodded.  "I'd probably do the same to you, if the roles were
reversed. But, I think I can be of more use on the outside." Nick =

continued.  I need to call and cancel my airline reservation and then =

I=92m at your disposal . . . and I promise, no more half-truths.  =

Everything on the table."
Marc looked at Knight and finally nodded.  "Okay, Cuz, we'll try it
this way for awhile.  But, at the first sign of funny business, I'm
locking you up . . . as a 'material witness.'
"Fair enough,"  Nick almost grinned, but quickly sobered.  He
reached for the phone, dialed "O"  and requested information.
**********************************************************
To Be Continued ....

Parts Requests / comments to knightie@sat.net
Story by Patt / posted by Amethyst (Patt shares my account)


Amber, You'll enjot this part the "dog" in it is based on My own Grey =

Cloud.
Amethyst

[PART 18]

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

Kayla Bernard did not want to wake up.  =

When she'd finally gotten home at just before 5 a.m., she'd barely
managed to let Shadow Walker outside before collapsing in fatigue
onto the sofa.   A soft scratching at the backdoor  was her next
conscious thought.
There was full sun shining outside.  Kayla looked through the slit
of one eye toward the glass paneled back door and was greeted by
the sight of a moist black nose pressed against the pane.  The half
husky/half wolf turned its one soulful brown eye toward her,
then the ice blue one.
"Okay, okay, Shad, I'm coming," Kayla shoved herself bodily off the
sofa and stumbled toward the kitchen.  Outside, the dog began to
prance, jumped off the back stoop then back on again, his furry
tail wagging furiously.
Kayla opened the door and the dog rushed in, thumping the door
in its haste.  "Hey," Kayla mocked anger, "I know you're hungry,
but give me a break."
She turned and went toward the sink.  She stooped and retrieved
the dog's water bowl, put it under the tap and turned the water
on.  Shadow Walker watched her intently.   Kayla placed the bowl
on the floor and the dog immediately began to lap the contents in
long, sloppy gulps.
Kayla looked down and shook her head as splatters fell from the
dog=92s mouth.  "I really must love you, Shad, because I wouldn't put
up with your being such a slob if I didn't."
Kayla reached down and lifted a second dish from the floor.  She
turned back to the cabinets and opened the lower compartment to
the left of the sink.  Inside was a large, lidded plastic bucket.  As
she moved to extract the container, the dog's complete attention
focused on her actions.    She lifted the bucket's lid and retrieved
the plastic measuring cup inside, nestled on top of the dry dog food.  =

Kayla began scooping out dog food and prepared to pour it into
the dish.
The dog suddenly reared, placing its front two paws into the small
of  Kayla's  back.  She felt her knees buckling, muttered an "Oh,
Shit," and watched helplessly as dry kibble flew aloft then
descended like chunky rain.   =

"Shad," Kayla looked at her dog food trashed floor in dismay.  The
husky looked up for just a moment, then put his nose to the floor
and began grazing again.
Kayla decided that she didn't have the strength to discipline the
dog and opted instead to go to bed.  She made a quick call to the
department store, feigning hoarseness, then made her way into
her bedroom.  Kayla shed her clothes and had just pulled the
covers to her chin when something pressed against the mattress
top beside her.  Kayla opened one green eye and saw two
mismatched ones.  =

"Okay, you can come up, but only if you'll behave yourself. =

Mommy needs to sleep,"  The dog jumped up on the bed and
stretched itself along her back, but by this time, Kayla was already
dreaming.
The first result of REM sleep was pleasant enough.  She saw
herself, dressed in white gossamer, sitting in a glen, surrounded by
wild flowers and furry little animals. =

Suddenly, the sun was blocked by clouds and a shadow crossed
overhead.  The colors in the glen darkened and dimmed.  Kayla
looked up into the sky, expecting rain to fall, but it did not.  When
she returned her eyes earthward, a man in full armor stood
before her, holding the reins of a magnificent black unicorn. =

Kayla stood up, not certain whether to be frightened or thrilled or
a little of both.  The knight dropped the reins of the horse-like
creature and approached the maiden.  He went to remove his
helmet and  . . .
Kayla moaned and rolled over in the bed.   She reached out a
hand and clasped Shadow Walker=92s rump, entwining her fingers
into the fur and caressing it.   The dog stirred slightly, then lay
still.
Kayla found herself on a hill.  She was surrounded by mist and
when she looked down off its slope, she could not make out the
ground below through the haze.  Suddenly the hillside began to
shake.  Kayla reached out for something to hold onto and could
find nothing to brace herself with.  She felt her feet slipping out
from under her as a great fissure split the top of the hill.  Gas
fumes and steam began rising out of the crack, then fountains of
sparks.  Kayla began screaming as she slid off the hill top into the
misty void . . .
Kayla mumbled and snorted in her sleep. Shadow Walker raised
his head, looked at her briefly, then lay it back down again with a
sigh.
Kayla was in a large room.  She was standing over the body of a
woman. The woman was dressed in a white sweater with a lace
bodice and a light floral printed skirt.  She had long, curly brown
hair which spread out over the floor, partially covering her face. =

The flesh Kayla could see was very pale.  Kayla stooped to check
for a pulse and found none.  =

Still in a crouch, Kayla heard something and looked up in
apprehension.  She saw a face outside the window,
indistinguishable in the shadows.  All Kayla could make out were
the eyes.  They were a shade of dark yellow, almost golden if it
were not for the mist of red which dimmed them.  Kayla was
unable to take her eyes off those orbs until something touched her
hand and broke the spell.  =

Kayla looked down at a small, pale hand which clutched her own. =

The woman stirred and began to lift herself, rising toward Kayla. =

She turned her face slowly in Kayla's direction,  her delicate
features expressive with pain.  The eyes.
Dark brown darkened further by sorrow and worry.  Haunted.
Ghostly familiar.  =

Kayla felt herself sliding into a vortex.  She was unable to stop
moving backwards, yet the woman seemed closer.  Then the =

woman in the white sweater and flowered skirt began to shrink. =

The floor on which she lay seemed to shimmer, then turn to thick
viscid liquid, sucking the woman down.  She reached out an arm
to Kayla, imploring her to help.  Kayla reached for the woman, =

touched the tips of her fingers.
Kayla felt strong limbs reach around her waist, pulling her
backwards.  The arms lifted her roughly, skyward.  Theirs was not
a saving gesture, but an attempt to prevent her from
accomplishing.  Kayla began thrashing, but she felt herself lifted
off the ground, forced aloft against her will. Her back was
breaking from the pressure of her captor's grip.   Kayla screamed . . .

This was the dream that Kayla finally awoke from.  She found
herself damp with sweat and twisted within her cotton sheet. =

Shadow Walker had long since given up his attempt to sleep beside
her and was lying on the bedroom  floor , watching her struggles.  =

When he saw Kayla waken, the large dog jumped back on the bed
and began licking the salty liquid from her face.
It's cool nose pressed against her eye and Kayla shrieked. =

"Get off me, dog," Kayla tried to push the hybrid away.  It strained
against her hands and continued to lick, finding her ear with its
muzzle.  "Oh, shit," she cried and swung herself swiftly out of the
bed, the memories already faded.
After the necessities were taken care of and a shower had, Kayla
fed herself and Shadow.  It was now just past 6 p.m. and darkness
had a firm hold on the city.  Plenty of time left in the day, though, =

to develop the rolls of film taken the previous night.  Kayla looked
over at her camera bag, draped over one of her living room chairs. =

She felt a chill on her forehead and touched it absently.  Kayla
looked down at her fingers in surprise when she pulled them back
from her temples, wet with perspiration.   =

"Some crime scene photographer, some great photo journalist," she
chastised herself, rising from her kitchen table and adding her
supper dishes to the stack in the sink.  "Get a grip, Kay, and get to
work."  She picked through the bag until she found the exposed
film, then headed for the darkroom.
She never saw the lampshade in her living room tilt and sway
briefly, as though brushed by a wind.  It was winter and all
windows were closed, but a chill air enveloped the room, then
vanished.
*****************************************************************
to Be continued ...

Parts Requests / comments to knightie@sat.net
Story by Patt / posted by Amethyst (Patt shares my account)

[PART 19]

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

In a climate controlled storage company in downtown Toronto,
the grave yard shift was just ending.  The morning man came in
and, as usual, found the night guard sitting with his feet propped
on the desk, his eyes closed and his mouth gaping.  Around the
desk, the television terminals hummed gently, focused on all
aspects of the little business.
The morning man  tapped the shoe bottom of the night man.
"Wake up, Clyde, time to go home and finish your nap."
Clyde did not move.  The morning man grasped the others lower
leg and shook it.  "Wake up, Clyde."
In what appeared to be deceptive slowness, the night guard slipped
out of the chair and fell to the floor.  His limbs were still pliable,
but his face was rigid in its death scream.  The morning man felt
warm liquid trickle down his leg as he stared into Clyde's face.
In the ensuing homicide investigation, it appeared that only one
storage compartment had been forced open.  As the renter was the
only one privy to its contents,  it would be necessary to reach him
to determine what, if anything, had been stolen.
Captain Joe Reese stood among too many faces new to this type of
crime scene.  The new night medical examiner,  Antah "Owl-killer"
Swallon, was prodding the body with a latex gloved finger while
recently promoted detective Fenton Gore was questioning the man
who'd discovered the slain guard.
'He's gonna have a lot of fun on this job with that name,' Reese
thought to himself.  'A homicide detective named Gore.'  Reese
shook his head and turned away for a moment.
"Captain," Gore walked up.  He was a tall man in his late twenties
with light brown hair and eager blue eyes.  "Here is the list of
patrons of this establishment.  You'll never guess who leases
compartment 72."
'He'll soon lose that enthusiastic look,' Reese thought to himself,
taking the paper the young officer was thrusting at him.  He
looked down and scanned the list until he found number 72.
"Do you know how to get in touch with him to find out what was
inside, Captain?  Did Knight leave a forwarding address?"
"No forwarding address, but if he hasn't moved on, I know where
he was last night," Reese said heavily.  He left the building,
wondering what the perpetrator had taken and how Nick would
be involved.  The boy had had enough pain for one lifetime.
Losing Schanke and Cohen in the airliner crash had been bad
enough, but then seeing his partner shot before his eyes and then
losing a friend to some mysterious illness in the course of two
days, it was a wonder that Knight hadn't gone off the deep end.
Reese drove his vehicle back to police headquarters, went into his
office and located the telephone number of the New Orleans
Uptown Police Department.  As he dialed the number, Reese said a
silent prayer for Knight's safety and well-being.
***********************************************************
To Be Continued ....

Parts Requests / comments to knightie@sat.net
 Story by Patt / posted by Amethyst (Patt shares my account)
 =

 Part 20
 =

 ***********************************************************
 =

 "Shusssshhhh," the elderly woman touched her finger to her lips
 for the fifteenth time and glared at the two men sitting at the
 polished maple table.
 Marquand Ebard ducked behind a stack of books while Nick
 Knight turned to the woman and shrugged apologetically.  The
 woman looked with disdain at the two men who had invaded her
 research room.  Satisfied that they were now comporting
 themselves correctly, she returned to her own studies.
 "We don't need to be looking up no witches stories, Nick,"
 Marquand whispered, peaking from  behind the red leather
 covered volume he was holding. "We got us a bonafide spook sitting
 over there just waiting to put the hex on us."
 "Hush, Marc, before you get us both thrown out of here," Nick
 whispered back.  From the corner of his eye, Nick saw the
 librarian lift her head and look in their direction again.  Nick
 buried his eyes in his book, but not before noting the smirk on
 Marc's face.
 They were sitting in the second floor research room of the Latter
 Memorial Library on St. Charles.  Scattered around them were
 books relating to mythology, magic and ancient legends.   Nick had
 informed Marc of  LaCroix's  document and LaCroix's suggestion
 that the case might be paralleling the story.    Marc had just
 stared at Nick when told the tale, but the Canadian had been
 persuasive enough to convince the Cajun to at least check it out.
 Marc=92s first instinct had been to go to LaCroix immediately,
 confront the man and find out 'why' he felt this 'legend thing'
 applied to the recent murders.  Nick did not approve of that
 approach, but kept quiet while Marc tried to reach  'Mr. LaCroix'
 by telephone.  When they found that LaCroix could not be located,
 Nick had convinced the younger detective that a fact finding trip
 to the library might make their task easier when they questioned
 LaCroix later in the evening.  It took a little more persuasion, but
 finally Marc agreed to it.
 "Tell me again, what is it that we're looking for?" Marquand
 whispered hoarsely to Nick.  Nick looked at Marc with
 exasperation.
 "We=92re looking for any references to 'Sivapire', or words that may
 sound like it,"  Nick said patiently.  "Also, any allusions to gods of
 regeneration and to the Erinnyes."  Nick refocused on his own
 reading.
 Nick found the ancient legends fascinating and enchantingly
 familiar at times.  He had to make himself stick to the research at
 hand, rather than get lost in the stories.
 "I really don't see the point to all this," Marquand slapped his book
 shut with a loud 'kathump.'  The librarian's head snapped up like
 an ostrich, causing Nick to duck.
 Nick glanced at the librarian, who returned to her own reading,
 but not before she lifted one eye to Nick, catching his look.  Nick
 averted his eyes quickly while Marc watched the interplay with
 amusement.
 Nick was not amused.
 "I had a partner once who kept telling me that the key to real
 detective work is 'research.'" Nick said to Marquand in a scolding
 tone.  "I'm beginning to believe that he was right. What good will it
 do to go over to the radio station tonight and ask LaCroix about how
 this prophecy relates to these murder cases if we don't even know what
 the legend is telling us?" Nick said.  Marc didn't like it, but Nick
 had a point.
 Nick reached across the table and jabbed at the page Marc had
 open, "Now, just keep reading."
 In a few minutes, Marquand emitted a sharp yelp which not only
 caused the librarian to 'shusshh' them again, but several fellow
 patrons as well.  Marc was so excited he could barely contain
 himself.  He stood up, spun his open book on the desk one hundred
 eighty degrees and thrust it in Knight's direction.
 "Siva!" Marc whispered triumphantly.
 Nick looked at the indicated page relating to the Puranas.  Siva
 was mentioned as the second (and sometimes third) member of
 the Hindu triad, the others being Vishnu and Brahma.  Siva
 himself was described as the "god of destruction" who would "be
 called into exercise  . . . at the expiration of twelve millions of
 years, or when the universe will come to an end . . ."
 "So, if I'm reading this right," Marc said.  "Our nut thinks he's the
 Millennium Man.  Come home to the final days of life on earth to
 lead his people to the promised land."
 Nick was busy reading the text Marc had given him.  "Says here
 that his name means 'kind' and that he was the god of storms
 before he married the goddess Kali, who took over that task," Nick
 said without looking up.  "Siva is supposed to restore what he
 destroys so that man may live again."
 "Kali," Marc repeated the word thoughtfully.  "Isn't that the ugly
 lady with all the arms?  I think I saw her on some 'Highlander'
 episode last year."
 "Whatever," Nick said, dismissing Marc and continuing to read.
 Marc became restless and picked up another book.
 A few moments later Marquand yelped a second time.  The
 librarian rose and headed in their direction, her purpose obvious.
 "Sorry," Marc whispered quickly to Nick as the woman descended.
 "But, I found the other one.  Those Erin gals."
 Nick half turned in his chair and started to rise as the librarian
 came into final approach.  He smiled at her in what he hoped was
 a disarming fashion, but she was not charmed.  "You two
 'gentlemen' are going to have to leave.  You are disturbing the
 other researchers."
 "We apologize, Ma'am," Nick had fully risen now and stood facing
 her.  "My friend here," Nick indicated to Marquand who gave the
 woman a little wave, "gets excited easily."  Nick returned his full
 attention to the woman.  "We promise faithfully that there will be
 no more outbursts."
 The woman looked at Nick thoughtfully then said, "Leave this
 library at once."
 Marc shrugged and started to get up, ready to leave the
 claustrophobic little cloister.  Nick bade him to sit back down with
 a sharp cut of his eyes.  Nick then turned his full attention back
 to the librarian.  His voice lowered an octave and he said, politely
 but firmly, "We really do need to continue our research.  We
 promise that there will be no more interruptions from this table."
 "All right," the woman said absently,  She turned and left.  Marc
 watched in some amazement as she returned to her desk, sat
 down and dropped her head over her book.  Marc then looked at
 Nick, who had reseated himself and appeared to be patiently
 waiting for Marc to share the information he'd just found.
 "How'd you do that?" Marc asked, wonder creeping into his voice.
 "Do what?" Nick had his hand out, waiting for Marc to hand him
 the second book.
 "Convince her to let us stay?  How'd you do that?"
 "I didn't 'DO' anything, Marc," Nick smiled.  "I just reasoned with
 the woman and we were lucky that she was accommodating.  Now,
 you said something about finding reference to the Erinnyes . . .?"
 "Uh, yes, uh, here," Marc handed the book across the table to Nick.
 Marc looked toward the reference desk where the librarian was
 sitting.  She appeared happily engrossed in her own research and
 Marc could swear she was whistling.  Marquand looked back at
 Nick, but the blonde man was so deeply engrossed in his reading
 that he took no notice.
 *************************************************
To be continued ...

Request for parts/ Comments to:   Knightie@sat.net

Lost Knight part 21
By Patt Elmore

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

In a dark warehouse in the decomposing Irish Channel section of
New Orleans, a demon stood waiting.  He was tall and thin, dressed
in appropriate black,   His long hair was pulled back from his pale
face and fastened behind his head with a silver clasp.  He held a
long, narrow box and appeared nervous.
A fetid smell reached his delicate nostrils.  He dearly wanted to
flee, but held firm as the other entered.  It chuckled and
approached the demon.
=93So, you have retrieved my prize.  Were there any complications
relating to your recent journey?=94
=93I killed a guard, but you told me that would be all right,=94 the
demon answered.  =

=93And, so I did.=94 the other smiled, exposing darkened fanged teeth.  =93=
I
hope you enjoyed him.=94  The fiend held out a hand for the package
the demon was holding.  =

The black clad demon quickly complied, passing the long, slender =

box to the other.  The other quickly sliced the strapping tape with
its clawed fingers and pulled out the contents.  It smiled as it
hefted the wooden lance, admiring its rounded knob head and the
snake like spiral which corkscrewed down its circumference.
=93You=92ve done well,=94 the fiend exhaled deeply, its breath humid like
the swamps of this place.  =93You may go now.=94  The demon quickly
scurried off.  The other walked across the warehouse floor, raising
the lance and mock-thrusting it.
=93Now,=94 it said to itself.  =93Let=92s get on with it.=94
*******************************************************
=93I swear, it will take me two lifetimes to figure out what makes
you tick,=94 Marquand said through a mouthful of the best shrimp
Po Boy in town.  =93I bring you to one of the finest eating
establishments in the food capital of the United States of America
and you ain=92t hungry.   Umm, umm, umm.=94
Nick smiled and shrugged, =93Some live to eat, I eat to live.=94
Marquand shook his head.  =93That is the stupidest philosophy I have
ever heard.  Guess you=92d turn down my Granny Navarre=92s hot
water cornbread, too, because of cholesterol and all that.  Man,
Knight, you are one sick puppy.  Bet cha don=92t drink, either.=94
Marc finished his sandwich and delicately jabbed the leftover
napkin to the corner of his mouth.   Then with all the aplomb of
an NBA All star, Marc wadded the napkin into a ball and arced it
gracefully toward the open trash bin.  It swooshed in easily.
=93Could have been a contender,=94 Marc grinned at Nick.  =

They had left the library almost an hour earlier, armed with the
notes Knight had taken.  Upon returning to the police station,
they found a telephone message waiting for Knight.  Nick had
called Captain Reese and learned of the murder and break-in at
the storage unit where Nick=92s belongings were housed.  When
Reese had asked for an inventory of the contents of the storage
unit, Nick had hesitated slightly, then explained to Reese that he
couldn=92t list everything in storage, but knew there were
twenty-seven boxes.  Reese had seemed a little surprised when
Nick began listing the exact dimensions of all twenty-seven
cartons, but took down the information and advised Nick that he
would call back as soon as possible.  =

Nick and Marquand had seen Pettiford coming their way, so they
decided to leave the precinct house and return to the streets. =

They had almost thirty minutes before it would be time to head
over to the broadcasting offices of WDRK and their hoped for
rendezvous with LaCroix.  Marc suggested grabbing a bite and
going over the notes while they ate.  =

=93Recap time,=94 Marc propped his elbows on the red and white
checked plastic table cloth and gave his full attention to Nick. =

They sat across the small table from each other.  Nick looked up
from the notes he had been studying while Marc gorged himself. =

=93I think I have the Sivapire thing straight, but tell me again about
those Erins gals.  =

=93Erinnyes,=94 Nick said.  =93E-R-I-N-N-Y-E-S.=94
Marc waved it away, =93Whatever.=94
Nick took a deep breath and repeated from memory.  =93Erinnyes. =

Also known as the =91Eumenides=92 or =91Furies.=92=94
=93Furies.  I remember them from Greek, or was it Roman, =

mythology.  They were the ones with the snaky hairdos.  So why
didn=92t that old legend just say that in the first place, rather than
making us spend all this time hunting for them?=94
=93I don=92t know,=94 Nick said.  =

=93And, how is it that this prophecy we=92re researchin mixes up all
kinds of myths--Hindu, Greek, Roman--heck probably even some
Tasmanian if we had a book on that to check up on.=94
=93Why are there ancient pyramids in both Egypt and in South
America,=94 Nick replied absently.  =

=93Extra-terrestrials?=94 Marc quipped, noting with satisfaction Nick=92s
look of annoyance.
=93I just meant that myths and legends have paralleled in different
cultures through the ages,=94 Nick said.   =

 =93Yea,=94 Marc nodded.  =93Like witches, werewolves, fairies and =

vampires--you find reference to them in quite a few different parts
of the world.=94  Nick had looked up sharply, but when he noted
that Marc was simply speaking in general, he lowered his head
again.
=93But, why does our guy mix his mythology on what you said was a
very old document?  Seems to me, he=92d be culturally specific.=94
=93I don=92t know, Marc,=94 Nick said.  =93I didn=92t write the damn thing.=
=94
Marc looked at Nick in surprise.  Seems even laid back Nicky boy
had his breaking point.   Did he really give that much credence to
some stick writing on a piece of old leather.  Marc became more
serious.
=93Okay, Nick, let=92s just take this tale at face value and  see if I got
this right,=94 Marc said.  Nick noticed the change in the other man=92s
tone. =93These Furies -- those are the ones who were used by the gods
to seek out and punish the criminals.=94  Nick nodded.  =

=93And according to this legend we=92re following, they=92re supposed to
identify the faithful to the Millennium Man and those that are
not.=94  Marc paused, thinking.  =

=93There are three of them,=94 Nick picked up the conversation. =

=93Alecto, Tisiphone and Megaera.
=93Now in artist depiction=92s, they each carried one of three
weapons--a  torch, a sickle or a whip.  That, however, isn=92t
mentioned in any of the Aeschylus or Virgil tales, just in the
renderings.=94
=93So we don=92t know if our ladies are armed or not,=94 Marc grinned.  =

He became more serious as he recalled the parallel they=92d both
noticed upon first reading of the Furies.
=93The doctor=92s name was Margaret Clayton.=94 Marc said.  =93That
sounds something like Megaera.=94  =

=93And the dancer, Alice Kolb, used the stage name Tassie.   . . .
Tisiphone.=94  Nick completed the thought.  Marc looked at him and
shook his head. =

=93This is really getting weird, Cuz.  Looks like our maniac does
indeed know the same story as LaCroix.=94  =

Marc suddenly looked very hard at Nick Knight.  =93Nick,=94 he began
slowly, =93I know you said you and this LaCroix had, em, history,
but, are you sure it isn=92t possible that he=92s the one doing these
killings?=94
=93I=92d stake my life on it, Marc.=94 Nick answered without hesitation. =

Marc nodded thoughtfully. =

=93Okay, just had to ask--part of the cop thing,=94 Nick=92s turn to nod. =

Marc pushed back in his chair and continued, =93Anyway, if LaCroix
were the murderer, he sure wouldn=92t have clued us in on that
little epic he has in his possession.  That would have been a dead
giveaway.
=93So now, we have to try and find this Alecto before our perp
carves her up,=94 Marc looked tired.  =93Any ideas, Cuz?=94
=93The items the Erinnyes are supposed to carry -- I can=92t get it out
of my thoughts that there=92s a clue there,=94  Nick said, rubbing his
temples.  At some point, soon, he knew he would have to slip away
from Marc and feed.  =93Torch, sickle and whip.=94
=93Maybe Tassie carried a whip in her dance routine,=94 Marc
suggested helpfully.  =

=93And Dr. Margaret was a surgeon.  Maybe our guy got scalpel and
sickle mixed up.  They=92re both cutting instruments,=94  Nick knew it
was far fetched, but he was tired and it made as much sense as
any of this.
=93Okay,=94 Marc said.  =93That leaves us with the torch.  Who would be
carrying a torch these days.=94
=93Except you for Kayla,=94 Nick said slyly, =93I can=92t think of a single=

person.=94
Nick Knight had the supreme pleasure of seeing the Cajun caught
for a loss of words.  Marquand Ebarb=92s mouth opened, but no
sound came forth.  Nick grabbed the opportunity to explore this
new subject.
=93Tell me, Ebarb,=94 Nick leaned forward in interest, he face open and
warm, =93What=92s the story with you and Kayla?=94
=93No story,=94 Marc flustered.  =93She=92s a real nice girl.=94
Nick waited.  =

=93Okay, she=92s a great girl,=94 Marc continued, his face flushing warmly.=
 =

=93I like her a lot, but there are complications.=94
=93Complications?=94
=93Yea, complications,=94  Marc reiterated.  =93She=92s got a kid . .=94
=93She does?=94 Nick grinned with delight.  =93A kid.  That=92s great.  But=
,=94
he looked at Marc pointedly, =93how is that a complication.  Don=92t
you like children?=94
=93Hey, don=92t get me wrong,=94 Marc began to protest, =93I like kids, I l=
ove
kids, they=92re wonderful, but . . .=94 his voice trailed off.
Nick waited.
=93Kid=92s are special,=94 Marquand said slowly, and Nick noted that the
Cajun was choosing his words carefully.  =93I=92ve seen how adults
hurt kids.  Kids get attached to an adult and then when something
happens and that adult doesn=92t come around anymore, the kid is
the one who gets hurt.=94
=93Personal experience?=94 Nick said with gentle inquiry.  Marc looked
up, saw the empathy and nodded.  =93Want to tell me about it?=94
Marc laughed in avoidance, =93You sound like the precinct shrink,
Cuz.  He=92s always saying, =91Would you like to share that with me?=92=94
=93No problem, Marc,=94 Nick pushed back from the table and began to
look around.  =93It=92s about time we were going anyway.  LaCroix
should be getting to the radio station as we arrive.=94
=93Yea,=94 Marc nodded, got up and picked up his ticket.  As he walked
toward the cashier, Nick heard him mutter, =93torch.=94
**********************************************************

Parts Request / comments to : knightie@sat.net
Story by Patt Elmore

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

[PART 22]

The two men said nothing as they drove toward WDRK.  They
were running later than planned and would not arrive before
`The Devil's Advocate' was scheduled to go on the air.  As
the car's digital clock neared 1 a.m., Marc pushed the
radio's power button.

" . . . bucolic.  Are we all children of Pales, being tended
as we graze our pastures, or do we have a chance  to be the
progeny of Mulciber, forged in fire and able to move
forward, fueled by our passions.

"Man asked these questions long before he entered the Age
of Enlightenment.  His progenitors and their ancestors
looked to the heavens and bade their deus to advise them of
the truth and the promise and their destiny.

"What