Subject: Art Imitating Death (1/20) Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2003 14:04:58 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Episode 112: Art Imitating Death--a Forever Knight story By April French Author's Note: Every season has to have at least one episode in which Nick doubts his sanity, so this is the SoL: Season One 'Is Nick Barmy?' episode. Thanks again to KC Smith for her help in beta-reading. Praise, comments, criticisms and kudos make me giddy and will be given birthday balloons. Nasty flames will be tarred and confettied. Once complete, this episode will me archived with all the other episodes at my site http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html. Permission to archive is given to the FTP site. Anyone else wishing to archive must first bribe me with big party hats. ~~~ Art Imitating Death (1/20) Somewhere, a man was being savagely beaten. It wasn't the first time, far from it, but along the way, he had forgotten how many beatings he had received since coming to this place. Finally, he had had enough. "Painting!" he shouted, giving his captors a small, pointless piece of information. "He likes painting, okay?" To his surprise, the man with the whip turned and walked away. Boneless, he slumped to the floor of his cell, cursing under his breath. The man with the whip regarded his prisoner with disgust and a very small measure of grudging respect. "I thought a fat lump like you would have broken long before now." Locking the door securely behind him, the man with the whip met up with one of his subordinates. "Did you get a response?" the underling asked eagerly. "He said 'painting.' Now, we already know that the primary objective is somewhat inarticulate in expressing his emotions. He prefers to channel them into his artwork." "So that is where we need to look for results," the underling nodded. "But how will we get them? His home is like a fortress." The superior gave him a clout with the whip. "Stop thinking like a mortal," he sneered. "Give the JG-7 to one of the secondary objectives, then give that one's blood to the primary objective." "Which secondary?" The superior tapped the butt of the whip against his chin. "The younger one. Only a few drops each, mind you. I want it to wear off relatively quickly. No point in killing any of them yet. They could prove most amusing." They left together, the one with the whip over his shoulder. When he was certain they were well out of earshot, the beaten man finally allowed himself to scream. *** Kai looked up suddenly from his work, cries of pain and degradation throbbing in his ears. He gnawed the end of his pen, trying to identify the source of the psychic vibration. It was strong, very strong... but too far away to give even a tentative name to. Shaking his head, he tried to focus back on his business. He was looking over the books in his basement stockroom, cataloguing the new arrivals, when he came across a stack of paperbacks with a very familiar-looking face on the cover. "Huh," he muttered thoughtfully. "Well, I've heard of the collaborating author, but who in hell is 'Nigel Bennett'?" Kai tucked a copy of a book away in an inner pocket and went back to his cataloguing. Later, he sat down at the desk in his wood-paneled office behind the bookcase and thumbed through the paperback. Twenty-five pages in, Kai began to chuckle. "I wonder what a good psychoanalyst would make of this," he mused, weighing the book in his thin hand. "This is a decidedly guilty pleasure..." Then he laughed out loud. *** Deep in the bowels of the Eidolon, Étienne Le Mort was in his office, writing, making notes and small changes to the libretto of his production. He went about his work very slowly; it was a simple enough task, but unless he wrote deliberately and with care, no one would be able to read his handwriting... There was someone else in the office. Silently, Étienne put his pen down, and folded his hands on the desk. "Very funny," he said aloud. An abrupt scurrying sounded from behind a wall panel. "Oh, yes, I know you're there. Now, I suggest you get back to your own business and leave me to mine, before I come in there and show you what those secret passages can do!" Two of three pairs of feet retreated swiftly Étienne shook his head in disgust, snorted, and when back to his editing. It needed to be ready for tonight's rehearsal. *** Peace and quiet were not things Nick Knight had experienced very often lately, so the fact that he was able to lie on his couch with a glass of wine balanced on his stomach, close his eyes and listen to his just-finished painting dry, was a novel and pleasing one. But it is an unkind fact of existence that all good things... Nick felt the unmistakable presence of someone standing over him, and cracked one eyelid. "You really do enjoy making an entrance, don't you?" He gestured lazily to the big leather armchair. LaCroix sat down. Nick resettled himself and closed his eyes once more. "What can I do for you, LaCroix?" He examined their bond closely. "You seem a bit agitated." A manila folder landed with a soft plop on Nick's nose. He shifted his wineglass and opened the folder on his stomach. Still he did not sit up, only lifted each sheet to his face to examine it briefly. This only further annoyed his master, which was of course why Nick did it. The papers in question were copies of pages from the massive accounts belonging to LaCroix's winery. The current incarnation, called Winterborn after LaCroix's active partner in the business, was known among the world's vampires as a producer of fine, high-quality vintages, and had an international reputation for operating with principle, integrity and discretion. There was also a sub-division, called Daystar, that produced wines strictly for mortal consumption and did very well for itself; in the course of his police career, Nick had seen bottles of Daystar Merlot in some of the best hotels in Toronto. The balance sheets would therefore normally show a profit reflecting this. These papers, though, were showing a slight but steady decline. Nick grunted his sympathy. "Not a good fiscal year, by any means," he said, laying the paper back with the others. "One of the worst I've ever had," LaCroix agreed grouchily. His long, sensitive fingers drummed irritably on the arm of the chair, and it was clear to Nick that his master had come simply to gripe. "Winter has been harping on me to sell off some of the vineyard to make up for the loss." Nick's placid and dreamy face drew its eyebrows together in a frown. "It's really that bad? I mean, these are terrible numbers, yes, but hardly desperate enough to warrant selling off the estate piecemeal." "That was what I thought," replied LaCroix, "but Winter is much closer to the solvent end of the business than I. He had to stop importing from the Côte du Rhone back in the 1940s because we were losing money to a new American establishment." "What establishment?" asked Nick, studiously bland although he fancied he already knew the name of the place in question. "'Rivendell,'" LaCroix simpered nastily. "It's insufferable. Thirty-seven other high-class vintners across the globe, all of them over a thousand years old, and none of them have ever posed a significant threat to my monetary stability, and now along comes this upstart Yankee--!" Highly irritated, LaCroix vaulted out of his chair and paced rapidly up and down in front of the fireplace. "This Rivendell place is going to put me out of business!" he seethed. Nick, from his comfortably prone position on the couch, managed a shrug. "Your winery's been in existence in one form or another for what? Fifteen hundred years now?" "Sixteen." "That's a lot of blood under the bridge. It would be hard for a fifty- year-old American business to sink the great vintner Lucien LaCroix." "Careful how much sarcasm you drip; you'll stain your shirt." LaCroix rubbed his forehead. "I need a hook." "Pardon?" "Rivendell's main attraction to the Community is its unique vintages. I've tried some of them--the flavors are astounding on the tongue. And I've no idea how they're produced; I wish I could just appropriate the staff of the place and spirit them away to Tuscany. I need something new and unique to get my customers back." Nick sipped at his wine, lost in thought. "Coffee," he said at last. LaCroix stopped pacing. "" "Coffee. Blood and coffee, ready-made. Going to the Corvina, buying specially mixed drinks all the time, it does add up. Kai's great, but he's got a business to run, too. And his stuff gets expensive." He refrained from mentioning that most of the blood served at the Corvina was from the hated Rivendell. "Blood... and coffee..." LaCroix the businessman was a rare and amusing sight, especially when he had a new idea to play with. "That is... huh. Thank you, Nicholas. That will bear some thought." When he was alone again, Nick grinned. His master really was funny when he was burdened with such petty concerns. It was good to know that LaCroix cared about something Family. It made him seem more vulnerable, even--dare Nick think it?--more human. He glanced at the clock, he thought, taking a gulp of wine and hoping it would calm the butterflies in his stomach. End Part One April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (2/20) Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2003 14:05:53 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (2/20) Rehearsals for Étienne's first production were scheduled to have begun six weeks ago, but due to a series of circumstances that Étienne swore were beyond his control, tonight was the first night of actual rehearsals. And damn Étienne, he still refused to tell Nick what role he'd been coerced into playing! "That's just bad practice," Nick complained, sitting up at last. "How'm I supposed to get into my character's head if I don't know who my character is?" He had to admit, though, he was looking forward to getting back on the stage. Nick tossed back the rest of his wine and stood, stretching indolently. At least Natalie would not be at the theatre to witness his first stumbling steps as he got reacquainted with the footlights. She was out on the town at that very moment, shopping the night away and happily maxing out a new credit card. It had taken some doing to get her to accept it; Nick had had the devil's own time getting past her frugal upbringing. But in the end, she had taken it, and Nick had a feeling in the back of his mind that she was having a lot of fun. Grabbing his coat, Nick shut out the lights, and headed for the Eidolon. *** Lurking in the outskirts of a darkened school playground, a pair of murky red eyes hungrily watched a group of pot-smoking teenagers. One of them took a last drag on his joint and stubbed out the burning end on the sole of his scruffy sneaker, then tucked it into his pocket. He pushed a thick hank of blond hair out of his eyes. "Hey," he mumbled, kicking at the dirt around the merry-go-round with his toe. "You wanna go get some pizza?" There was a round of somewhat garbled chattering from his friends as they agreed with him. "Cool. Uh, who's got the keys?" They each turned out their pockets. A set of car keys fell out of the jacket pocket of a burly boy with a mop of red hair. "I guess that's me," said Pat. His girlfriend giggled and punched his shoulder, her silver bracelet jingling. "G'wan, go get in the car," she said, still giggling. "I gotta..." She waved vaguely at a clump of bushes. The hungry red eyes saw their chance, and backed further into the shadows. Pat and his buddies went and piled themselves into the car, and waited. And waited. They waited for at least twenty minutes--well, they thought it was about twenty minutes. Finally, they pushed Pat out of the car so he could go check on her. "Karen?" he called, pushing aside some brush. "Karen, c'mon. Pizza, remember?" Then Pat stepped on something that felt very strange, even to his marijuana-clouded brain. He looked down. It was a limp human hand, with a silver bracelet. "Oh, God," he gasped. Pat fell backwards, scrambling away. He tried to stand. Something sharp jabbed at his ankle, slicing the tendon. Pat collapsed again. A pair of eyes, thickly red and almost dripping, hovered above Pat's foot, and what felt like a pair of lips fastened to the wound and dug its teeth in. Horror-stricken, Pat managed a strangled scream, and then passed out. *** Étienne met Nick in the foyer in his shirtsleeves, without his dress coat or waistcoat or even his tie. "Oh, so it's a relaxed rehearsal, is it?" "Don't even start with me, Nicolas," Étienne rumbled, taking Nick by the arm and dragging him deeper into the theatre. His curly black hair was untamed and falling over his high forehead, there was a yellowish tint to his skin, and there was dirt under his fingernails, testifying to days without sleep or food. "So many delays... and not even begun yet! We should've been ready for opening night by now." Nick knew better than to try and berate Étienne for not taking better care of himself. "Why so many delays?" Instead of going directly to the stage, he was steering Nick into the Eidolon's domestic quarters. "Étienne, where are we going?" "I'm taking you to see the delays," he said shortly. Turning down an unrefurbished corridor, Étienne singled out a set of double doors, knocked once, and threw the doors open. An animated conversation had been taking place inside the large, open room, but it ended abruptly when the two vampires entered. Nick fell three steps back behind the master of the Eidolon. "Étienne," he whispered, "who are they?" "My delays." There were perhaps eight or nine people in that room, which had been outfitted as a sort of austere dormitory. Six were vampires, of that, Nick was certain. The other three were something he had never encountered before in all his eight hundred years, and they were the ones eying Nick and Étienne with equal parts lust, hatred and hunger. "Bloodhounds," said Étienne succinctly, looking back at his friend. "And Dragons. They are the . The Enforcers' Hunters." Nick jumped and swore. The enosh burst into derisive laughter. "What are they doing here?!" "I'm not one to turn people away from my door--however, this is pushing it my limits considerably." Étienne rubbed his forehead tiredly. "They are here because this is where Tenebres has assigned them and here is where they will remain until he recalls them." He looked frankly down his nose at the Hunters. "To the great detriment of my production. For hardened soldiers, they're incredibly picky." One of the enosh wiped his eyes and stood up. He had shoulder-length, curly, sandy-colored hair, sharp green eyes and moved like a stalking panther towards Nick and Étienne. "So this is yer star?" he asked with a noticeable Scottish brogue, grinning slightly. "Detective Nicholas Knight, Tamerlane Rimer." Étienne folded his arms over his chest. "Sub-Commander of the Bloodhounds." "Call me Tam." Still grinning, he held out his hand to Nick. Warily, Nick moved to take it. Étienne's long fingers closed tightly around Nick's wrist. "Don't," he said shortly. "I made that mistake already," he added, shooting a dark look at Tam, who looked more cheated than insulted. "You're Leif's brother?" Nick guessed. "Aye. Me, Leif and Leila. I'm th' oldest o' th' three. By about three, four minutes." He winked. "Triplets, y'know." "And you're a Hunter?" Tam held up a warning finger. "Careful, 'Knight.' Tha's a nasty word. Nae, yer friend O'Neal is a Hunter. We're all enosh here." "Do I... Have we met?" "Possibly," said the enosh evasively. "Think on it. We'll be here fer a wee while yet; ye're gonna be workin' closely wi' us while ye're prancin' aboot behind th' footlights." "What?" Nick came up beside his brother. "What's he talking about?" Étienne sighed. "Lyssa!" Tam called. A willowy girl with black hair like a sheet of silk unfolded herself and rose from the floor. She had the same panther-like gait in her walk, and the same strange hunger in her eyes, although they were a different shade of green than Tam's, who put his arm around her shoulder. "This is yer co-star, Knight." The girl, Lyssa, also held out her hand to Nick. He looked at Étienne, who nodded, so Nick accepted. There was power thrumming in her grip, though he was certain that she was no vampire. "A pleasure." "No, Detective," she corrected, smiling slightly. "The pleasure is mine, I assure you." She had a curious color to her voice, a combination of East Coat American and educated British accents. "Has the Maestro informed you of the name of our production?" "No, no, not yet." Nick paused to glare at the owner of the Eidolon, who suddenly found a cluster of cobwebs on the ceiling highly interesting. "Ah. Well, then I won't spoil the surprise." She turned her cat-like green eyes on Étienne. "Gulliver was looking for you earlier." "Gulliver?" Nick repeated. "Kai's old friend?" Étienne nodded. "He stuck around?" "He's sixty years out of the loop. Where else was he going to go? Did he say what he wanted?" This last was to Lyssa. "I think he wanted to discuss knocking out a wall or two to make room for his records." Étienne seemed relieved to be given a task that had nothing to do with his unwanted guests. "Come, Nicolas. You can palaver with your co-star later." The two vampires retraced their steps until them were once more in the properly finished corridor that led out of the domestic wing. "Did Tenebres make you put her in the cast?" Nick asked. "No, she auditioned for it like an honest actor, if that's not an oxymoron. Surprisingly, she's quite talented. In fact," Étienne added grudgingly, "they all are. There's a giddy cruelty about them, but from what I've seen of the enosh, they are all determined to live as much as they possibly can, and that includes acting, music, literature, whatever they can absorb. They are not immortal; even the vampires who decide to turn Hunter are more at risk of death than we are. 'Eat, drink, and be merry,' they tell me, 'for tonight, we die.'" He stopped in mid-stride, thinking. "It's quite tragic, really." Then he plucked at Nick's sleeve. "Gulliver's rooms are this way." *** Tossing her purchases onto the coffee table, the chair, the couch and the floor, Natalie Lambert Knight rubbed the back of her neck. God, but that had been fun. It had been a long, long time since she had just let herself . "A night of guilty pleasures," she said aloud, pulled out a bottle of the delicious Daystar wine Nick had begun to keep next to the fridge. she thought, remembering the admonition he had once given Nick about refrigerating red wine. Pouring herself a glass, Natalie kicked off her shoes and sighed in relief. Noticing that Nick had been busy at his canvas, she wandered over to the corner he maintained as a studio to study his latest work. "Hmm," she murmured, wrinkling her nose, "that's disturbing." It was clearly an abstract, long vicious strokes of dark red and sickly yellow, but to Natalie, it looked for all the world like a crudely severed foot. End Part Two April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (3/20) Date: Mon, 17 Nov 2003 08:35:14 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (3/20) "I still don't think I understand exactly what it is that you do," admitted Nick, craning his neck to look around the cavernous space. Some of the enosh had, puppyish, followed him and Étienne to Gulliver's rooms, and now they were scampering up the columns and settling themselves in the buttresses of the vaulted ceiling, their eyes glowing through the dust like so many bats. It was unnerving, but Nick did his best to emulate Étienne and Gulliver, and ignore them. The mousy-haired vampire from the 1940s shrugged his narrow shoulders and punched irritably at the computer keyboard on his desk. "Damn piece of new-fangled..." Nick swallowed a grin; he knew that feeling. "We're information brokers, Detective. Dirt diggers. We get all the information we can on every vampire in the present Community, who's been here in the past century, who's thinking of coming here, who left and when and why, who belongs to which Family--who's got a blood feud with whom--any information you can pay for you can get. We're not like Aristotle or Ambrosius--" "Who?" Gulliver scratched his head. "Erm, what's he going by now?" "Merlin," Étienne supplied, "Larry Merlin." "We're not like them. We're not bound by ethics of confidentiality. We like having our palms crossed with a bit of silver, you understand." "And this is legitimate? The Enforcers actually allow this?" "We're not allowed to deal with mortals. And we do have to submit records of all the information we sell. Other than that--" Gulliver shrugged. "The Enforcers exist to protect the safety of our species, Detective, not the integrity of it." Above them, one of the enosh muttered, "Well, that's the idea, anyway." Nick restrained the urge to look up. Instead, he motioned to the young-looking woman perched on a stool in the corner. "And what's she do?" "Huh? Who?" Confused, Gulliver twisted around. The woman's deep brown eyes regarded him solemnly. "Oh, her. Kai found her for me. That's Pierrot. She's my mole." He snorted. "I have to keep reminding myself she's here. "But that's the point, really. Thanks to that tendency to be overlooked, she's a very good gatherer of sensitive information." Then Gulliver chuckled. "She does drive Étienne nuts, though." "She's obsessed with Phantom of the Opera," Étienne complained. Pierrot rocked on her stool and grinned. "Now, about that wall..." *** Elsewhere in the domestic wing of the theatre, two vampires were fighting. "Parry! Parry! Thrust! Thrust! Good!" The shorter figure lunged suddenly forward, his foil slipping under the other's arm and planting its blunted tip firmly in his opponent's white-clad breast. "Damn!" "But not good enough," Alexei grinned, pulling off his mask and shaking out his dark brown hair. "You're rusty." Ruefully, LaCroix lifted off his own fencing mask. "So it would seem. Where did you learn to duel like that?" "Hmm. I left all my fencing trophies in Paris, otherwise you wouldn't need to ask." "Swept through the tournaments, did you?" "Oh, creamed them." "Good boy." LaCroix tousled his son's hair and gave him a rough hug. "Oh, yes." He followed LaCroix into the gymnasium's locker room. "Alexandre Le Mort was the French Fencing Champion for four years running. Finally had to stop when my team mates insisted on growing up." LaCroix peeled off his white fencing jacket and hung it up, and then hung Alexei's smaller jacket beside it. "That does occasionally become a problem." Alexei splashed some water on his face. "Daniel doesn't care for the sport much. He says it's 'too gentile.' He prefers boxing." "Indeed? I'm not surprised. Is he good at it?" Reaching for a towel, Alexei snorted. "He's beaten me into a fine shade of purple more than once. We were supposed to meet for a few rounds last night, but he never showed up. I think he's exploring in the underground. New place, y'know, and he loves getting into places where he's not supposed to be." Then, to LaCroix's surprise, Alexei reached into his locker and pulled out a pair of swimming trunks. "Going for a dip?" "Always do after a spar. Want to come?" "No, I do have a show to do." "All right," said his son, shrugging. "I'll be back before sunrise." *** Nick eyed his uncle--God help him, but ever since Aristotle had drawn up those new papers, that was how he had been thinking of Étienne--eyed his uncle dubiously. "It's been a long time since I sang in public," he confessed, "and an even longer time since I was onstage. Do you know what you're getting yourself into?" Chuckling, Étienne handed him a copy of the libretto. Nick stared at the title mutely. "You are an evil, sadistic, son of a--no wonder you wouldn't let me look the thing over first!" "You would've taken one look at it and thrown it at my head." Étienne clapped him on the shoulder. "Up on stage, Nicolas. We'll try out the opening number." He seated himself at the piano in the orchestra pit while Nick climbed up onto the stage. "Ready?" With his long, elegant fingers, he depressed the keys in the opening notes of the first act. Nick looked at the script in his hand. "'In each of us, there are two natures. If this primitive duality of man, good and evil, could be housed in separate identities, life would be relieved of all that is unbearable. It is the curse of mankind that these polar twins should be constantly struggling.'" *** Grimacing, Dr. Julian Gorey dropped the specimen into a plastic bag and sealed it tightly. "That's just disgusting," he muttered under his breath. He looked over his shoulder at Det. Tracy Vetter and her second partner, rookie detective Ian Taylor. They were busy questioning the surviving stoners, and from the sound of things, Tracy was getting ready to throw Taylor over the tall metal slide. Julian didn't blame her. "Kid's so green, I can smell the sap," he chuckled under his breath. Then he whistled sharply. "Hey, Trace! Taylor! C'mere!" When they were close enough, Julian tossed them the evidence bag. Taylor caught it, took one look at it, and turned a very pretty shade of green. "Eeew, gross!" he shuddered, in a perfect imitation of a high school cheerleader. "What is this?" Tracy and Julian exchanged world-weary glances. "It's called a foot, Ian," replied Tracy, patting his shoulder. End Part Three (The monologue Nick quotes will be explained soon, I promise!) April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (4/20) Date: Mon, 17 Nov 2003 08:37:55 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (4/20) LaCroix had given up on sleep hours ago. It just wasn't happening today. he thought, tucking one hand behind his head. He had hoped--he had thought--that once Nicholas had recovered and life had returned to normal, that his boys would come back to him, that Miranda would come back. And although Alexei had returned, both Daniel and Miranda remained firmly ensconced at the theatre-cum-vampire hostel. Daniel was afraid of him, now, he was certain, and Miranda... He didn't know. He didn't know. And he how that felt. His bond with the Russian prince tremored slightly, just before the soft rap on his bedroom door. "Come in, Alexei." Alexei was hunched over in the doorway, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "I think something's wrong with Daniel," he said quietly. LaCroix arched an eyebrow. "I feel nothing of the kind. Are you certain?" "Yes," said the boy hoarsely. Wordlessly, LaCroix held out an arm to his son. Alexei came willingly, curling into the hard circle of his father's arms, trying to let the confusion and the worry bleed away. *** Something was... dripping... thick and red... nauseatingly sweet... dripping into his mouth... Nick's eyes snapped open. In the few moment before sleep departed, his body was numb and immobile, so he stared at the soft white plaster of the ceiling for lack of anything better to do. "Jesus," he murmured, more than half in prayer. Turning onto his stomach, Nick blamed the dream on the horrendous little musical he'd been coerced into and promptly passed out again. *** For no apparent reason, Natalie woke up in the middle of the day. Instinctively, she looked for Nick, but saw only her grey-and-white cat Sidney, curled up on Nick's pillow. Chewing on her lower lip, she reached out along her bond with her husband. He was sleeping peacefully, and, she could tell, really needed the rest, so she drew back before she woke him. Snuggling back down, Natalie pondered what had woken her. Then, just before sleep overtook her, she changed her mind. It was not what had woken her that was the concern. It was what had her into waking. *** Utterly exhausted, Nick turned irritably away from the person poking him in the ribcage. "Go 'way," he mumbled, "or I'll be havin' breakfast in bed." Poke. Poke. Poke. "I mean it. Unless your name's Natalie..." A warm, wet tongue lapped at Nick's face. He cracked one eye. There was a fat puppy three inches from his nose, and a little girl with very long blond hair standing over his bed. "Your name's not Natalie." "No, it's not," Lori Le Mort agreed cheerfully. She picked up the wriggling black puppy. "And you're gonna be late for work." Nick opened both eyes and sat up. "What?" "Papa sent me to wake you up." The puppy was struggling to free himself so he could jump on Nick. "Easy, Fausto..." Nick sat up--careful to keep himself covered with sheets and blankets--and massaged his eyes. Rehearsals had been grueling, and had gotten out too late for him to go home, so he had accepted Étienne's offer to sleep the day at the Eidolon. "Fausto? Your father named him, didn't he?" "Yup." "Is he a Labrador?" "Newfoundland. I wanted a big dog." Nick chuckled. "Well, you're gonna get it." He scratched the puppy's head. "Thanks for the wakeup, kid." He scrubbed at his scalp through his tousled blond hair, yawning. he thought, fingertips feeling the thin scar up the back of his skull. With one hand, Lori pointed to a door. "The shower's through there. Oh, Papa said to give you this." She handed Nick a slip of paper, just as Fausto jumped out of her arms and tackled Nick, licking happily. "No, Fausto!" She hauled him off. Nick rubbed at his face. "Now, I really need a shower," he chuckled, opening the piece of paper. It was from Tracy. 'Skip the office. Meet us at the morgue.' End Part Four April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (5/20) Date: Mon, 17 Nov 2003 08:41:41 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Just wanted to warn everyone right now, this story may suddenly explode into more like 27 or 30 parts. Other disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (5/20) Nick got there in good time, once he had scrubbed the dog drool from his face. "Hey, Ian," he greeted the rookie outside the coroner's office. "Hey, Nick. How're you feeling?" "I wish you'd stop asking me that," complained Nick good-naturedly as they went into the building. "You're starting to sound like my wife." Honestly, Nick didn't have as much of a problem with Taylor as Tracy seemed to--he was a bit like Lori's puppy, actually, bouncy and eager to please--but to his credit, he had not developed the habit of purposely sticking himself into life-threatening situations. Yet. Then again, by this time in his law enforcement career, maybe Nick was just used to annoying new partners. "Where's Tracy?" Taylor shook his head. "Don't know," he replied in a falsely airy voice. Nick squelched a smile; for all his bravado, the boy's cheeks were fiercely red. "She said she'd meet us here, though." They went into Natalie's morgue. "Evenin', boys," said Grace cheerfully. "Nick, she's talking to one of the girls down in analysis. Don't worry," she teased, seeing his long face. "She'll be back soon." The door closed behind the two detectives. They turned to see Tracy standing there, looking a little sheepish. "Hey, guys." "Hey, Tracy," Taylor grinned, a little too brightly. Then, almost imperceptively, he blushed. Nick just nodded at her. Nick said very quietly to himself, remembering Schanke. The number of times he'd wanted to whammy the hell out of Schanke... or strangle him... or drain him... came the sad, comforting touch of Natalie's mind, as she and Julian entered the room in a whirlwind of papers and evidence bags. "What've we got, Dr. Lambert, Dr. Gorey?" asked Taylor eagerly. Julian grinned at the rookie. "Same thing we had last night, Ian," he replied jovially. "A severed foot." Taylor promptly turned green again. Merciless, Julian held up an evidence bag in each hand, and dangled them in front of Taylor's face. "Two severed feet, in fact, and two very dead stoners." Nick took one look at his younger partner and said, "Y'know, Ian, there's nothing here Tracy and I can't handle. Why don't you go out to the Caddy and get some air?" "That... oh. That sounds like a..." Taylor gulped. "A good idea." The poor boy rushed out of the office. Nick glared at the doctor. "Why are you being so cruel to that kid?" "Because he's an annoying little twit," Julian shrugged. "What more reason is there?" Grace smacked him on the shoulder. "Oww!" "Thanks, Grace," Nick said tightly, "you saved me the trouble." Natalie took the American by the arm. "Um, Julian, why don't you go and check on... something?" Before Nick rips your head off, said the set of her eyes and mouth. Julian nodded quickly. "And how 'bout I go with him," added Grace, giving him a stern look. He threw up his hands. "Heaven save me from determined women," he muttered, exiting the office in disgrace. "Thanks, Grace," said Natalie gratefully after her friend's back. "I don't know what's the matter with him, lately." Nick's eyes went wide, and he almost choked when he tried to swallow a laugh. He bounced on the balls of his feet, giggling under his breath. Tracy and Natalie stared at him. "What?" Natalie insisted. "You don't know what's wrong with him? Oh, God... I think he's being an idiot, but at least I know what the problem is." Tracy crossed her arms in front of her. "We're listening." Nick shrugged. "Ian's got a crush on you, and Julian's jealous." "What?!" Stunned, Tracy sat down heavily on a slab. "You... are you sure?" "I know what a lovesick puppy looks like, Trace. And I know how a vampire stakes his claim." Her head shot up, eyes burning. "Don't look at me like that! Frankly, Julian's being very patient, if all he's done is given Taylor a stomachache or two." "Tracy, you really shouldn't be stringing him along like this." Natalie set aside her paperwork. "You know how Julian feels about you." "Of course I know! But..." Tracy shook her head with a gesture of helplessness and looked at Nick pitifully. He understood. "She's still so young," he said, almost inaudibly, "that the only serious relationship she can handle is with her master." "With Kai." Nick nodded. he said through their link, He laid a comforting hand on Tracy's cheek. "Trace, go home." "I'm on duty," she mumbled. "I'll book off for you. Go home. Or go and see Kai. If you don't go, he'll come and get you, you know he will." Tracy dashed a fist across her eyes. "You're right about that." She slowly lowered herself down off the table. "But I'm still on-call," she insisted. "Okay, okay." When she had gone, Nick inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Poor kid." Then, dismissing Tracy from his mind, he put his arms around his wife and greeted her properly, giving her a good, long kiss. "Good evening, Mrs. Knight," rumbled the vampire possessively. "Mmm, good evening." Natalie brushed some loose strands of hair from Nick's forehead. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked, concerned. "Your eyes look a little glassy." "I'm all right," Nick assured, rubbing his nose against hers. "I just didn't sleep very well today." "Unfamiliar bed?" " bed," he corrected, leering playfully. "And some nightmares," he admitted. "I thought so." Natalie considered telling Nick about her own vaguely scary experience that day, but decided not to worry him. "What about?" But as Nick could not remember, he could not tell her. "Whispers of a nameless fear," he breathed, nibbling at her earlobe in a way calculated to arouse her, and slid his hands lightly over the swells of her hips. She moaned deeply, but with no little regret, Natalie had to halt his wandering hands. "Behave yourself, Detective." "What's the matter, Doctor?" Nick murmured, tongue darting out to lick at the shell of her ear. "Afraid someone might walk in on us?" As tempting--and as kinky--as the idea of making love in a morgue was, Natalie was forced to decline. "You're still on probation." "Dammit," said Nick ruefully. "I've really got to set up an appointment with our Resident Jerk to get that taken care of." Natalie grinned wickedly. "Oh, please do." "Am I the only one who finds it odd that a doctor we've decided we can't trust holds the key to revitalizing our sex life?" "The universe hates you, remember?" She captured his lips three or four times. "So, tell me about the show." "Show? Ah, yes. The show." Natalie waited. "Well? Who are you?" Nick rolled his eyes. "I got two roles," he said grudgingly. "Neat!" When he didn't elaborate, Natalie poked him in the ribs--his most ticklish spot. "Hey, hey, don't do that! That's against the Queensbury Rules, you know." "Which roles?" she demanded. "The title roles." Nick grimaced. "Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde." End Part Five April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (6/20) Date: Tue, 18 Nov 2003 06:10:38 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (6/20) Natalie tried to stifle her laughter, without much success. "You're kidding!" "I wish." He sighed a long, deep growl. "I was ready to kill Étienne." "But why? It's the perfect part for you--a scientist trying to conquer the darker side of his nature--this part was written for you!" Nick rubbed his palms up and down his wife's arms. "But Jekyll succumbed to his darker side, Nat. And in fighting it, he's ultimately destroyed by it. Étienne's trying to make a point." Abruptly remembering that they were on duty, Natalie extricated herself from Nick's embrace and went to her desk, shuffling through a stack of reports. "I thought Étienne was a friend of yours." "He is." "Then why is he acting like LaCroix? He should be backing you up in your search for your humanity." Nick's expression was distant, remembering with evil clarity the scars that still covered the better part of Étienne's body. "He's loyal to LaCroix. And Étienne has no use for humanity. He doesn't believe in it." Refraining from comment, Natalie gave him a copy of the report and showed him the severed feet. He made a face. "Dismemberment. And gnawed all to pieces. Oh, that makes my night complete." He listened carefully while she explained all the points of interest that might help him, but kept getting distracted by the way her curly chestnut hair fell across her cheekbones. "Sorry? What did you say?" "I said, this wouldn't have anything to do with your new painting, would it?" "That thing? Why? It's an abstract." "It looks like a rotting foot." "I'm mildly offended. Not only are you insinuating that I had something to do with this, but then you insult my artwork!" "I'm not insinuating anything," she retorted irritably. "Somehow, I think if you were involved with these murders, you would have had a bit more finesse." Nick gave her a graceful bow. "Why, thank you, Madame," he said formally, with just a hint of snideness. "As for the painting, it doesn't represent anything. I just felt like painting. It is a bit off-color for me, though, isn't it?" Then he cocked his head to one side. "Aren't you going to ask about how I spent the day?" "I assume you spent the day sleeping." At that moment, both their pagers went off. Natalie grabbed the phone from her desk and called the dispatch. When she hung up, she said simply, "We've got another one." "Aw, shit..." Nick helped her into her coat, and Natalie pulled her curly hair back from her face. "You assured me that there is nothing going on between you and Étienne and I believe you. But Nick. Now that I understand about relations in vampire Families... If there was something... some kind of relationship that went beyond the definitions of 'brother'... you'd tell me, wouldn't you?" Nick grasped her hand tightly. "Yes. But Family or not... Nat. Why in the world would I go to Étienne when he has Shosha, and I have you?" *** Nick got the Caddy past crowd control, pulled into the flock of patrol cars and turned off the gas. "Go ahead, Ian. We'll be out in a minute." Taylor nodded and got out. "There's Trace," Natalie noted. "She didn't get very far." "I don't know who's pushing her harder," Nick rumbled, "Kai or Julian or her own self. Christ, Nat, she doesn't have to prove herself to them!" "Prove herself?" Natalie repeated, surprised. "I thought you said she was doing well. And what's Julian got to do with it?" "Remarkably well. But on a brain that's still developing... and if Julian's pushing her to make some kind of decision..." sent Kai forcefully. Nick and Natalie both jumped; Kai's mental projection had been so loud, it echoed in the car. A little chagrined, Nick got out of the car. It was a gruesome scene that Nick and Natalie found behind the all-night fast food place. Taylor, carefully ignoring the carnage, was already deep in conversation with a highly-agitated Captain Reese, and Tracy, who had actually been driving by when her pager went off and consequently had been first on the scene, was all but gouging holes in her nasal cavities to alleviate the overpowering scent of blood in her nostrils. Natalie hurried off to join her fellow forensic techs, while Nick placated his partner. "You okay?" "I've been better," she rasped, shaking her butter-blond head forcefully. "I feel hungry and nauseous at the same time. Man, that is nasty! How can you not smell it?" "Trace, your nose was better than mine even when you were mortal." He prodded her shoulder until she began to move again. "What've we got?" "Three this time, down that embankment." She pointed. "Two teenage girls, one older man; looks like two hookers and a john--may I just pause here and say: Yuck?" She shuddered. "And the left foot chewed off one of the females and the male." Nick was surprised. "Not off the second girl?" "Ah, that is our first break in this weird little case." Tracy looked for a moment and then pointed out a tall man speaking with Dakins. "That's the night manager. He heard screams out back and came out to investigate--came out packing a pistol. He saw 'something' chewing on the body of the second girl, fired, and the murderer ran off before finishing his job." She halted in her tracks, feeling her fangs beginning to bud. "Um, Nick, you go and take a look. I've seen it once already." Nick touched her arm sympathetically. He knew how she felt. "I've got a flask in the car if you need it," he said before going to join Natalie and the three corpses. Tracy dropped her head into her hands and swallowed several times. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Taylor detach from Reese's side and follow Nick. She turned to speak to one of the uniforms. "No, no, don't take him in. Get his name, his address--all the pertinent information. Say we'll be in touch, but no, he's not a suspect." The uniform touched the brim of his hat. "Yes, ma'am," he said respectfully before moving off. Tracy blinked. <'Ma'am,'> she chuckled to herself. She looked around at nothing in particular, thinking vaguely to question some of the customers, when she noticed Taylor hovering on the top of the embankment, probably ten or fifteen feet away from Nick and Natalie, out of their line of sight. Bemused, Tracy shoved her hands into her pockets and sauntered silently over to him--not that the silence was necessary; the crime scene was noisy and Taylor was intent on the two figures kneeling over the corpses. "Taylor, what're you doing?" He jumped. "Jesus, Tracy! Gonna give me a heart attack." "You're young, Ian. Just think happy thoughts." "Y'know, you're as bad as he is." "Yeah, well, learned from the best." All the other forensics technicians had long since abandoned the body and returned to the main crush of officers. Only Nick and Natalie remained. "What're you doing?" she repeated, a little more forcefully. "Making sure Nick doesn't flit off." Tracy nodded. "Really. Why?" Taylor glanced at her. "'Cause the Captain told me to." He looked only vaguely uncomfortable with his spying. "He's tired of Nick taking off on his own all the time." "Oh, come on." "What?!" "Have some decency, Ian!" "Hey, I'm just following my orders!" Tracy swallowed a growl of annoyance and took her rookie partner's arm. He winced. "When the techs leave those two alone, there's a reason, so orders or no orders, when they want to talk privately, you let them talk!" *** In the background, Nick had known Taylor was floating around, and was glad when Tracy hauled him off, but he was more interested in what Natalie was saying about their victims. She was holding the only partially-chewed leg of the second female with rubber-gloved hands, and was indicating the bite marks. "The other victims' legs were all too badly torn to get any useable evidence from, but a forensic odontologist might make something of this one, if you could come up with a suspect to compare bite patterns with." Nick turned the dead girl's foot with a gloved finger. "You know, I'm not one to brag, but I do know a thing or two about bite marks, and whoever did this has an unusually small mouth." She nodded. "I measured the wounds already. I'll compare them to the others when I get back to the morgue, but at least right now I can tell you the obvious: all these murders were committed by the same person." "So." Nick sat back on his heels, thinking. "Dakins!" he called. The uniform came trotting up the embankment. "Send out a bulletin to all the hospitals and clinics in the city: We're looking for someone coming in with a .22 bullet wound. Male or female, probably with very small facial features, especially a small mouth." "Right, Detective." Dakins caught sight of the bodies and grimaced. "And tell the forensics boys they can pack up and go," Natalie called after the retreating officer. She sighed and looked at her husband. "Is our shift over yet?" "I wish." Nick offered her his hand. "Come on, Nat," he tried to encourage her. "Back to the grind." End Part Six April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (7/20) Date: Tue, 18 Nov 2003 06:15:32 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Anybody reading this? Art Imitating Death (7/20) Grateful though he was that his fledgling had come to see him before he was forced to seek her out, Kai was nonetheless completely unequivocal. "Absolutely not," he said firmly. "No. No! I'm not letting you do that." "Please?" Tracy begged. "I will not condone hypnotizing Taylor, no matter how much he's annoying you--not even if he's giving you a dose of puppy love." "Damn you," she pouted, sitting down heavily in her normal spot--on the floor in front of his chair. "And don't make fun of me." He smiled apologetically and leaned forward to kiss her temple. "You really shouldn't hypnotize your new partner. It's not good form. Besides, what's he going to find? Nicholas and Natalie are too careful to slip up where Taylor is going to hear them. If you're going to take care of this problem, you need to go right to the source." "Captain Reese? Kai, I can't hypnotize him; I can barely whammy a cat!" A longhaired blue cat with bright green eyes looked at Tracy accusingly. "Mreow," it complained in a plaintive tone. "Who wants to whammy a cat?" Kai wondered. Twilight jumped off the mantle and into Kai's lap, and he stroked her dusky blue fur absently as he thought out loud. "You have two choices. You can hypnotize Captain Reese, thereby eliminating any suspicions he has regarding Nicholas. Or, you can wait, and watch, and see if Taylor actually brings him any useful information." "What do you think I should do?" Her master arched a pale eyebrow. "What do think? Use the wits God gave you, child." Tracy closed her eyes, thinking. "I could hypnotize Reese into forgetting his suspicions... but unless I remove the source of those suspicions--every memory of every weird thing that Nick has ever done--it's just going to come back." She opened her eyes and sighed huffily. "Life's a bitch." "But she's a good ride." Tracy almost choked on a sudden fit of giggles. "That... has to be... the most chauvinistic thing you've ever said. You pig!" And she lobbed a throw pillow at him, unseating the cat. Somehow, Kai managed to keep his dignity, even as he launched out of the chair and gave her a sound thwacking with said pillow. "It's true," he said after the storm had subsided. "'Life's a bitch and then you die' doesn't exactly apply to you." "I guess not." Tracy stretched out and laid her head in Kai's lap. "So... can I hypnotize Taylor?" Kai tapped her forehead sharply with a talon-like finger. "No! Now get up. You'd better get back to the precinct before someone notices that flitted off." *** On the way home that night, Natalie had to stop at the grocery store to pick up a few necessities--coffee, aspirin, double chocolate fudge ice cream--so while she was in the market, Nick took a quick trip over to his own 'grocery store' for some provisions of his own. He was surprised to find LaCroix behind the counter with the other staff, tending the bar. "Miklos finally left you for good, eh?" "It was bound to happen sooner or later. Although, I never thought it would be so hard to find another bar tender." Nick grinned. "You're a harsh task-master, LaCroix. Word does get out. So, did you talk to Winter about the blood-coffee thing?" "Yes," LaCroix drawled. "He thinks it's a mad idea and isn't at all surprised that you were the one who came up with it." Nick smiled, pleased. "I knew he'd like it." "Research and Development is already hard at work." The General raised a glass. "A la victoire de sang."* "Au triomphe de caféine,"* Nick returned dryly. "LaCroix, I need a few bottles. From the Winterborn stock," he added. LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Anything particular in mind?" "Yes." Nick lowered his voice to an almost inaudible level. "The blend Winter recommends for 'reprimere i fuochi.'"* "Ah. Oh, you poor boy," LaCroix smirked, signaling for one of his staff to fetch the bottles from the cellar. "I don't see you getting any more than I am," Nick retorted irritably. "True. But at least it's not through any, how shall we say, 'incapacité physique' of mine."* "No, it's from an emotional one." LaCroix's face became dangerously expressionless. "Regarder votre langue," he warned. "Mes émotions sont ma propre affaire."* Abruptly changing the subject, he asked, "Have you seen or heard from Daniel in the past few days?" Nick thought. "No, no, I haven't. Why? Is something the matter with him?" "I don't know. I can barely feel him at all." To his disconcertion, Nick found that his bond with his brother was also faint, as though something or someone--perhaps Daniel--was consciously blocking it. "I'll keep an eye out for him," Nick promised. Taking the box of white-and-gold labeled bottles from the employee, Nick reached for his wallet. LaCroix waved the money aside. "Just take it, Nicholas. For what you're using it for, I'd be a terrible cad to accept money for it." Nick shrugged, reached over, and stuffed the wad of bills into his father's blazer pocket. "We have an old agreement," he reminded LaCroix softly. "I don't take anything from you for free." He felt LaCroix's eyes on his back while he was walking out of the club, but he didn't turn around. End Part Seven *"To the victory of blood." *"To the triumph of caffeine." *'supressing the fires' *'physical incapacity' *"Watch your tongue. My emotions are my own affair." April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (8/20) Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2003 11:19:19 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Just the one today; I'm swamped. Oh, and if anyone's interesting in my deep dark thoughts, try here: http://www.deadjournal.com/users/inkforblood. It's updated nightly. Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (8/20) Natalie Lambert Knight, M.D., considered herself a patient woman. But there were some things she could only take so much of. And listening to Nick whine was one of them. "Look, Nick," she said peevishly, "I have a job too." And to prove her point, she shoved her filing-boxful of papers at her husband's chest. "One that doesn't revolve entirely around you your cases." She lobbed a bag of groceries on top of the box, blocking Nick's face. "And as anxious as I am to have our bedroom life back--I think I'm too tired to have sex at this point!" Natalie threw open the door of the elevator and flounced off. <'Flounced.' What a word,> Nick thought as he followed her meekly into their shared loft. He sniffed the air judiciously. Setting the box of papers and the groceries on the kitchen table, Nick decided discretion was the better part of living and made a beeline for his studio. But almost immediately, he frowned. "Hey, Nat?" he called. "Yeah?" "Did you do something with that new painting?" Natalie turned off the tap and dried her hands. "No. Why, what's the matter?" Nick was bewildered. "It's gone." *** Folding his hands behind his head, Alexei stared at the springs of the bed above him. It was empty; his brother had not come home. Again. But he shrugged it off. In Paris, Daniel had been famous for disappearing for days, sometimes even weeks on end with no word of where he had gone. Once, he'd gone as far as Barcelona, and sworn Alexei to secrecy when he'd returned. The boy could be in any number of places between Moosehead and Mobile. He would turn up eventually. *** That day, something made Nick bolt out of a restless half-sleep, panting for breath. He spared a glance at his still sleeping wife and slid out of bed. In almost a trance, Nick stumbled down the stairs into his studio, and grabbing paper and pastels, he spent a furious ten minutes drawing, frenetically, shards of chalk flying this way and that. Finally tapped out, he dropped the bundle of drawings on the floor, made his way woozily to the couch and, exhausted, passed out, and did not wake again until he felt the sun slip below the horizon. When he did wake up, it was with a splitting headache and a churning stomach, and pain shooting through his chest. Nick groaned and sat up very carefully, but a pair of inexorable hands on his shoulder pushed him back down. "Just lie still, Nick," came Natalie's voice, faintly through the roaring in his ears. He felt the cold, slick rim of a bottle against his lips, and drank the uncut blood gingerly. The pain in his stomach and head abated almost completely, but the hot stabbing in his chest lingered for a while. Nick reached up and touched Natalie's face; it was haggard, and there were dark swaths under her eyes. He licked his lips. "What happened?" he whispered hoarsely. "I was hoping you could tell me. Aside from the vaguely horrific dreams. 'Whispers of a nameless fear,' and the sensation of being torn apart by four wild horses." Mindful of their myriad shared aches, Natalie helped him sit up and shed his pajama top. She prodded him with gentle fingers, looking for any anomalies and paying special attention to his left side, that had been so damaged in the car crash. But she found nothing. "I'm not overlooking the fact that it might be internal," she began, running her fingers through his short blond hair and tracing the barely-raised ridge of his scar, "but otherwise, I can't find anything wrong." "It's not that same pain," Nick said. He fingered the deep, straggling lines on his face. "Or that pain..." Natalie touched the outlines of the two crosses burned into his breast. "Or even that pain. It's not a familiar kind of pain; it's one I've never felt before..." Natalie stroked his bare chest absently. "This might sound a little crazy," she said doubtfully, "but do you have the sensation that this pain, whatever it is, came from somewhere... I don't know, somewhere outside of you?" Nick's brow furrowed in a frown, considering. "Something like that, yes." He rubbed his eyes. "Did you find the drawings?" "Drawings?" "I woke up, came downstairs, did a bunch of scribbly drawings and passed out. I think I dropped them on the floor." He waved his hand limply. "Over there, somewhere." Natalie got up to look. "I didn't see any drawings, Nick. Maybe you just dreamt it..." She trailed off when she realized Nick's hands were covered in chalk smudges. "Huh. Okay... What were the drawings of, do you remember?" "I think... I think they were, well, they had to do with the murders," replied Nick, a little sheepishly. "Severed feet, chewed leg stumps, red eyes..." Natalie arched a tired eyebrow. "Red eyes? Nick, d'you think you might want to stay home tonight?" "It's just a bad dream, Nat, I'm fine." "And you don't think it's odd that you've misplaced a painting and a bunch of drawings?" He rubbed her arms reassuringly. "Look, it's been a tough week for both of us. I'll find them eventually. And then I'll probably burn them." Nick shrugged. "Come on. We've gotta get ready for work, and I've got a rehearsal tonight." End Part Eight April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree Subject: Art Imitating Death (9/20--I think...) Date: Sat, 22 Nov 2003 09:24:08 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Is this part nine or part ten, I can't remember... Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (9/20) Not for the first time in this new endeavor, Janette found herself missing her old friend Alma. "No, Miklos, tell Dex I wanted the curtains!" "I did tell him!" returned a deep Hungarian voice. "You know how well he listens!" She did indeed know. "Then tell him he'd better learn, or he'll be the first item on the buffet menu!" If Alma hadn't already died during the Fever, Janette would've killed her for not being here to help decorate her new club... A small throat cleared itself from somewhere behind her. "Alexei!" The little prince smiled. "Janette, could I talk to you for a minute?" Glad to get away from the idiotic Dex for just a few minutes, Janette followed the boyish vampire into a quiet corner. "What is it, mon frere?" He played with the zipper on his jacket. He didn't know Janette nearly as well as he knew Nikolai or LaCroix, but he had to start with someone. "I was wondering if you'd seen Daniel lately." She frowned. "No," she said finally. "No, I haven't seen Daniel in some time." Janette lifted an eyebrow. "Is something wrong with him?" "I don't know," said Alexei mournfully. "I can't find him. Neither can LaCroix." He sighed heavily, dejected, and leaned on a piece of sheetrock. "It's really starting to bother me." "I'm sure he'll turn up," Janette soothed him. "He used to drive Nicolas and me crazy with his disappearing acts." She chuckled. "We never told LaCroix, you know, about Daniel's pranks. Nicolas wouldn't let me, and I don't blame him--LaCroix would have had all three of our heads." Alexei brightened slightly, then slouched and shook his head. "Disappearing acts are one thing. This is different. I can feel it. Something really is wrong with him, Janette. I know it. I have to find him." Before he left, he took a good look at the club being formed around him and passed judgment. "You should have Alain come back from Paris to help with this," he said. "He always said that next to diamonds, a gay man is a woman's best friend. He could help you decorate." Janette counted to thirty before she answered. @}----- September, 1997 "So that's it. You're just going back to Paris and leaving me here alone?" "Don't try and guilt-trip me, cherie; I invented that strategy." Alain zipped his bag shut. "And you're not alone. If you were, I wouldn't be leaving." He shucked into his jacket, opened his mouth, closed it helplessly, and ran a hand through his hair. "Let's face it, Janette: we both know that I'm the Family jester. I drink, I party, I'm irresponsible--Jokers' wild. But you deserve better than me and I don't deserve you and to descend even further into the maudlin, your son needs a decent father, and that's not me. It was good for a while," he said, not elaborating what 'it' was. Alain shrugged. "But I'm just the rebound, and you mean too much to me. I can't let this go on. It's not fair to anyone, least of all you." Alain picked up his duffel bag, but couldn't meet her eyes. "Take care of yourself, Princess." As soon as the door closed, the baby began to cry. @}----- "Thank you, Alexei, but I can decorate my club just fine." He nodded. "Just do a better job than LaCroix did to the Raven, please." *** Nick knew he was being followed from the moment he entered the theatre, but considering that it was <Étienne's> theatre, he was willing to admit that there might be some... not-so-natural... things... lurking about and sweep the uncomfortable feeling under the rug. Until he was tackled. Diving, Nick balled up and rolled, taking his assailant with him. Kicking out with his feet, he sent his attacker flying--at least, that was what was supposed to happen. But the fellow hung on, lacing his hands around Nick's throat and pressing against his windpipe. Black spots began to interfere with Nick's vision, and his throat started to burn. Reaching up, he grabbed the man's wrists, simultaneously pulling them away and crushing their bones. His attacker let out a pained and raspy cry, and with a vicious jerk, lifted Nick up by the chin and slammed him down against the marble floor. Scrambling, Nick tried to regain his feet. A heavy boot came down against his spine, then kicked him in the ribs to roll him over. "Still dinna know me, Knight?" "Tam!" he managed. "What are you doing?!" "Finishing what I started two hundred years ago." No idea what he was talking about, Nick still struggled to get up. "What's the matter, Knight?" Tam laughed, landing a brutal kick to Nick's midsection. "Canna ye handle puir little me?" He aimed another kick, this time at Nick's groin. Nick's hand shot out and grabbed Tam's ankle, smashing him to the floor. Flying to his feet, Nick prepared himself for another attack, snarling with each tearing breath. Chuckling derisively, Tam got to his feet. "Always th' gentleman, eh?" "What do you want from me, Tamerlane?" Nick rumbled. "Or have your Hunter's instincts taken you over?" "Bah. Dinna foist yer own follies up on me. I dinna believe it... Ye really have nay idea who I am, do ye?" In response, Nick went into a defensive crouch. Tam just laughed. "I pinned ye once, Knight, dinna think I wilnae do it again." Nick's whole frame tensed. A memory of running scared through thick underbrush in fear of his life flashed through his brain. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere," he said lowly. "It is you. England. 1840. The Hunter-boy. You ran me down for sport!" "Aye," agreed Tam softly. "Aye, that I did. An' th' only reason ye didna die then an' there wis tha Tenebres stopped me," He moved toward Nick with feral silence. "I dinna like unfinished business, Knight, an' Tenebres isnae here." His eyes darted over Nick's face hungrily. "Watch yerself." Rubbing his throat, Nick watched him disappear, his lean frame moving stealthily among the shadows. he thought to himself. Carefully, Nick veiled his emotions and sensations from the rest of his Family, broadcasting only a sensation of embarrassment, and went about his business. End Part Nine April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (10/20) Date: Sat, 22 Nov 2003 09:25:27 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU I'm sorry if this story is confusing anybody. Things will clear up eventually, I promise! Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (10/20) He knew better than to sneak up on any vampire, let alone Étienne, who was as jumpy as a jack rabbit on his good days, so Nick made sure to make some noise when he approached. But Étienne barely acknowledged Nick's presence. He was engrossed in some small mechanism of, to Nick's great surprise, a video camera, standing between the two front rows of the upper circle. "I have techies," Étienne grunted as he fiddled with the lens, "I know I have techies. And I have cameramen. But I just can't leave it alone; I hate being so anal-retentive sometimes." "You're taping the rehearsals?" "No, I'm taping the performances. The best one is getting sold through my company and the proceeds are going to yours--and how I'm keeping you from backing out of the show." "I wouldn't back out now, but--" "And there'll be a cast recording as well; I've got a new studio that I'm jus itching to try out." He stood up and vaulted over the circle railing, and hit the center aisle walking without missing a beat. Nick hastened to follow him, ignoring the snide laughs of the enosh and the other cast in on the theatre's little secret. "Étienne, you can't sell tapes of the show, not even for charitable causes." The taller vampire shrugged. "Why not, if not for charity? I'm certainly not doing these shows entirely for profit." Nick was surprised. "But I didn't think you cared about what happens to 'them.'" "I have always had a soft spot for children. And animals." "Well, I knew about the animals... But won't the Enforcers come after us?" "Not unless you vamp out on stage. Don't worry, Nicolas, I've cleared this through Public Relations." "The Enforcers have a PR division?" Nick whistled in amazement. "The wonders of the modern vampire." He ran a hand through his annoyingly short blond hair. "What if someone sees this twenty years from now and realizes I haven't gotten any older?" Étienne rolled his eyes, leapt up onto the stage and began tinkering with one of the footlights. "You keep that up, and the support staff won't have anything left to do." "Promises, promises." Étienne sat back on his heels. "You haven't figured it out yet, have you? Say someone points to a photo in a book and says, 'Hey, this looks like you in this Civil War tintype.' What do you do?" "You brush it off." Étienne shook his curly black head. "Wrong. You don't allay suspicions by saying, 'No, that doesn't look like me' when it bloody obviously does. You say, 'Hey, whaddaya know? It does. Funny, that.' "I needed a hook to get people to come, and what's better than 'Feed the Puppies!' Mortals really are saps for some things. Not that you're not enough of a hook yourself, Nicolas." Nick laughed. "You are one of the few law enforcement officers in this city that every Joe Schmo knows on sight," he pointed out. "Your success as a homicide detective is far more of a security risk than my little show." "All right," conceded Nick, smiling slightly. Digging into his coat, he pulled out a small notebook and a pen. "What charity d'you want the video proceeds to go to?" "Jumping the gun a bit, aren't we?" "With the way life is going, if I don't write it down right now, I'll forget and then you'll hurt me." Laughingly, Étienne gave him the name. "I've never heard of it," Nick commented, scribbling down 'G.W.D.' for future reference. "Yes, he's very big on charitable institutions, particularly children's charities. An actor," Étienne added, "which is how I found out about him. I think he had a spot in some short-lived vampire television show, but I could be wrong." He frowned. "By the way, what happened to you before? And your throat? You look like you walked into nine or ten live electrodes." "Walked into one of those damn Hunters," said Nick testily. "Ouch." "Tam and I have some unfinished business and he's out for my blood." "Ah, yes. From what I've seen of him, that is Tam." "He's my problem, Étienne." "Oh, he's all your, mon frere, by all means." Nick stowed the notebook away in its inside pocket. "All finished? Then let's get to work." Étienne stood in one graceful motion. "Places, everyone!" *** In another part of the theatre, Alexei was continuing his quest for answers. "Have you seen Daniel anywhere?" She thought, and then shook her head. "Not for a few days. Has he gone missing again?" "I keep telling myself he's just off exploring somewhere, and as far as I can tell--" Here, he touched his temple. "--he seems fine. But is it worrying me." His thin shoulders rose and fell in time to his deep sigh, and he ruffled his hair. "I don't know. Worried about LaCroix, worried about Daniel, worried about Amy--" "Alexei!" Miranda's eyes were amused, yes, but also lightly concerned. "You're not even a hundred years old. That's too young to be burdened with so much." Considering what she knew of his history, that comment was more than a little ludicrous, but he seemed to appreciate it. "Pick one worry and run with it. Daniel's just off doing his own thing and Amy--what's wrong with Amy?" "Huh? Oh, school troubles." "She's twelve. Shit happens in seventh grade. She has her mother, she has Natalie, and she has you. She'll be fine. As for Lucien--" "Doesn't have much of anyone right now," Alexei said simply, before he left to look for his brother. Miranda felt stricken. *** Savoring a particularly rare vintage, Kai turned the page of the unusual book he had been engrossed in, on and off, for the past few weeks. But tonight, he was not seeing the text. Something was very wrong in the Family. "Well," he admitted, "that's normal." But something was off that he could not put his finger on, and it had been going on for several days now. Like LaCroix, Kai hated being at a loss for information. He knew what it might be, of course. He just... didn't want to admit it. He had seen the enosh at work. He had no desire to unleash them on Toronto. *** Natalie dropped the evening paper onto the table in front of Nick, narrowly missing his glass of blood, and went to nurse her own addiction. "There was another murder from our foot fetishist," she reported, pouring herself a large mug of coffee. "The press is starting to call the guy 'The Bigfoot Killer' for some asinine reason." Nick ignored the paper. Frankly, he was sick of this case. It was just one of cases... "I'll bet it's the case that's giving me the nightmares..." he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. His fingers came away tinged red. Natalie grabbed his hand. "That's it," she said. "I want you to call in sick tonight." Nick was horrified. "Nat, I can't do that. I don't think I have any sick time left. And the case--! Besides, I've got a rehearsal tonight." "Doctor's orders, Detective. If work has this much stress on you two months after your surgery, maybe you went back to work too soon." Natalie hated to say it, but "You might want to go and see Julian." "Are you sure that's a good idea? I thought we more or less agreed that he's not quite on the up-and-up..." "Well, I'm stumped. Maybe he can find something. That doesn't mean you have to accept what he says at face value! But I'm running out of ideas... and see if you can't swipe a couple of his notebooks while you're there, the stingy bastard." She kissed his lips, cherishingly. "I wouldn't suggest going if I wasn't completely baffled. This could be a reaction to the car accident or the surgery... there's just so much about the vampire body that I don't know, and so much that I thought I knew that has been totally shattered. He's all we've got." Nick leaned his forehead against Natalie's. "You know plenty about my body," he teased gently. Then he sighed. "All right, I'll go. I'll book off work--but I'm not skipping the rehearsal. The other female lead is coming tonight, and I need to meet her." He paused. "D'you want me to ask him about the other thing?" She took a few minutes to think about that. Finally, she said, "Don't commit us to anything, Nick. Just ask him if it's possible." Nick nodded. Then he slipped his arms around Natalie and held her for a long time. End Part Ten April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (11/30) Date: Mon, 24 Nov 2003 08:56:17 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Sorry about the delay; campus computers were down on Sunday. And it's definitely gotten longer, so I apologize for that. Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (11/30) "Huh." Frowning, Julian disconnected Nick from his various machines. "Well, your heart rate and blood pressure are a bit elevated, but that could still just be your body healing itself." "Still?" "You were a pile of mush," said the doctor bluntly. "And as far as I know, there's never been a scientific study to determine just how much physical punishment the vampire body can tolerate before the healing factor gives out. For all I know, you could be permanently damaged. On the other hand, you could also be perfectly fine. You could even be turning into a frog--I don't know. It's a beach." "...You mean 'It's a bitch,' don't you?" Julian grinned. "Well, that too. No, that's what I call anything about vampire physiology that I can't explain. A beach. Beaching." "What, like whales?" "Pretty much." "You're a strange man, Gorey." "Physician, heal thyself." "Is there anything you can give me for the headaches?" "Maybe I should run some more tests on that quadrocaine I was giving you, to check and see if it's addictive," said Julian, frowning. "Your brain wave patterns are odder than normal, though," he continued, rubbing his eyelids. "Have you been experiencing anything else out of the ordinary since coming out of the hospital, besides nightmares?" "Yes," Nick blurted out. "Eating." @}----- After they were all settled, and the food had been blessed, they began to chat. Nick, not wanting to push himself too much, started off with some salad. It was an odd thing; he couldn't drink holy water because of the new risk involved, but his taste buds could still tolerate mortal food. @}----- "And going to hear Mass." "Eating?" Julian repeated, amused. "Well, that's not much. It's still coming back up eventually, right?" Nick nodded. "Because if you'd suddenly developed a functioning digestive tract, I'd've dubbed you a medical miracle." "This isn't natural," Nick insisted. Julian gave him a look. "For vampires. My taste buds can tolerate both blood and human food; I can still go to church. Holy water on my skin, crosses, a rosary--none of it has any effect on me." "That was what Kai was trying to do, wasn't it? Teach you how to withstand all of that?" But Nick shook his head. "No. I realize now that it took Kai years of practice to achieve what he has, even with his special abilities. And before the surgery, I still needed the holy water to touch a cross. I can't walk in the sun anymore, or drink holy water, but I still hold a cross." He fixed Julian with a piercing stare. "What did you do to me when you were in my head?" It irked a bit that Nick would immediately accuse him, but Julian didn't say so. Instead, he freely admitted, "Nothing. I didn't do a thing to you when I was inside your skull. Oh, except to remove this." He tossed Nick something. It was, Nick realized, the bullet that had caused his temporary amnesia. "I'd been meaning to give that to you," Julian continued cheerfully. "But no, I didn't do anything. And Russell wouldn't've bothered." That left only one possibility. "Leif Rimer?" Julian shrugged. "He does work for the Enforcers. Maybe he had orders to tweak... something." The idea made Nick vaguely sick. "Well, I'm all finished." Julian straddled a chair and rested his chin on the chair's back. "Any more questions?" "Well..." Nick propped himself up on his elbows. "Julian," he began hesitantly. "Now that I'm... well, kind of out of the woods--" "Getting there." "All right, getting there. Anyway, Natalie and I wanted to know if..." Julian raised a red-brown eyebrow. Nick licked his lips. "We were wondering if you would help us... to conceive a child." Julian stood abruptly and paced with jerky steps around the office, not looking at his patient. Several minutes passed, during which, neither man spoke. Very deliberately, Julian sat back down. "I was beginning to think you'd never ask me that," he commented at last. "Then you'll help?" "Don't get excited. What exactly did you have in mind?" "I thought that if you would give me the same treatment you gave Janette--make me temporarily mortal--if would be enough to... I mean, well, to--" "Jumpstart your system?" Nick nodded. "No. Absolutely not." He hated dashing Nick's hopes so casually, but when it came to a subject like this, he just to be truthful. "Nick, your tumors were malignant. And they were threatening to spread. If I were to put you on the denzinol, the tumors would just come back. Maybe too quickly to catch..." The expression on Nick's face was becoming physically painful. Julian pursed his lips. He rocked on the legs of his chair, thinking. "And if you want my professional opinion, then frankly, I think you honestly have a better chance of conceiving a child if you stay a vampire." He grinned when Nick blinked rapidly several times. "Tell me you're joking." "'Fraid not. This your night off?" "Uh... Natalie's got me on sick leave, so yeah. Why?" "It's a bit of a lengthy explanation." "Oh believe me, I'm all ears." "Okay." Julian rummaged around in his file cabinet and pulled out a metal lockbox. "You know that 'special bloodline' crap that Kai keeps tossing at you?" "Yes." "Well, it's not crap. It's actually quite true, in more ways than one. There's no way of pinpointing when it started, but my nearest estimates suggest that eight or nine millennia ago is about when your Family line started to grow. Now, for one reason or another--I've got theories, but I'm not gonna go into them tonight--vampires from your Family line have a very unique quality to them." Julian took a key from his pocket and, opening the box, pulled out a bundle of papers. End Part Eleven April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (12/30) Date: Mon, 24 Nov 2003 09:00:43 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (12/30) "I've done semen workups from you, LaCroix, Kai--every male in your Family who would let me near them--and I've found something pretty cool: you're not sterile." He gestured with the bundle. "Unlike the majority of other vampires, there is in your genes to prevent you from siring children. Or mothering them, for that matter, although I still can't satisfactorily explain Janette," he pouted. "Can you prove this?" Nick's voice in his own ears sounded very calm and far away. "That my Family is fertile?" "Yeah," Julian admitted reluctantly. "I can. See, you and I have an ancestor in common. And I know this for a fact because as far as I can determine, out of all the vampires on the planet, two bloodlines are capable of capable of siring children. The lilim is one. Yours--ours--is the other." "All right..." "Nick. My father is a vampire. My brother Joshua is a vampire. And they both had three children, that they fathered in the good ol'-fashioned, time-tested manner. Look, I won't lie to you. There is always the chance that what Natalie calls the 'vampire virus' will be passed on." He gestured to himself with a dark grimace. "Me. My siblings. Leif Rimer and his siblings. And others. There are a few of us out there. But most vampires from birth are perfectly happy with the way they are." He chuckled humorlessly. "I guess I'm just a congenital malcontent." Nick's still-tender brain was utterly refusing to process this information. "If I'm fertile, why haven't we conceived yet?" The doctor shrugged. "Your body's taken a lot of crap in the past century. Malnutrition, quack stabs at mortality, to say nothing of what you've been through in the past twelve months alone. You've been in no prime condition for fatherhood. And Natalie's how old, thirty-six? So, no fault of hers, really. There are conditions that need to be met, for conception to take place." "What conditions?" Julian shook his head. "I don't know," he said frankly. "I've attended on a few such pregnancies, and the situation is always different. But you've got to trust me on this; I know what I'm talking about. I'll even break down and show Natalie all my research, if she wants. You don't need to resort to science on this one. Just give it time, Nick, okay? You'll know when you've done it." Nick looked up, surprised. "I will?" "Yes, you will. 'Cause it'll hurt like hell. This is second-hand information, but after having sired six kids between them, I trust my father and brother. And I'm a doctor, so I'm allowed to be blunt. If you can reach orgasm without taking Natalie's blood, there's a damn good chance a child will be the result. But," he cautioned seriously, "don't try and force it. It's painful enough to begin with." Nick looked at him steadily, blue eyes expectant. "You really wanna know?" Nick nodded. "Okay. You can reach orgasm without tasting blood, but it will--according to Joshua--feel like someone has ripped out your testicles with a pair of needle-nose pliers." Nick gulped and shifted uncomfortably, perhaps trying to imagine exactly what that might feel like. "And you're in no condition to push your body like that," Julian pressed. "We just finished patching up your grey matter and the rest of you. I don't want to have to fix anymore of your equipment. God willing--if you'll forgive the expression--it'll happen. Burn some candles in church, make a grisgris or two, whatever you like, but . You'll just have to be patient." Nick hung his head. Then he chuckled a bit, humorlessly. "All right. I won't force it. But I've got to be able to go back to at least making the attempt. Come on, Julian. Won't you give me a date or something?" "Hmm. I don't know, Nick, you were banged up pretty badly..." Now he was just teasing. "Julian!" "Tell you what, Nick: I'll take the stopper off your bedroom life after opening night of Étienne's show." Nick gaped. "But we don't even know when that's going to be!" "Bit of incentive for you to hurry him along, then, ain't it?" "And the headaches?" Julian tossed the metal box into the drawer with a clang. "Your guess is as good as mine. Might as well try the all-purpose mortal remedy." "And that is...?" "Aspirin." End Part Twelve April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (13/30) Date: Mon, 24 Nov 2003 09:02:08 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (13/30) The new co-star Nick was so anxious to work with was Chloe Stone, and the reason he was so anxious to meet her had nothing to do with her reputation or her talent--Étienne had cast her; therefore, she had talent. Being Étienne's oldest fledgling certainly didn't hurt matters, but 'Ghost' was not known for nepotism. But Chloe was also part of Alain's crew, and Nick wanted to discuss his brother with someone who had seen him recently. "How's Alain?" Chloe sighed irritably, flipping her long, fine blond hair out of her eyes. "Terrible. I don't think he's had sex in eighteen months." Nick blinked, worried but unsurprised by the subject; the Family generally discussed Alain in terms of his sexual life. "I can't imagine Alain going eighteen hours without sex, let alone a year." "Well, it's been more than a year. I haven't seen all that much of him; he spends a lot of time by himself. A of time. He's jacking off like he thinks if he keeps going, he'll win something. He's constantly drunk--drunker than usual, mind you!--and he spends hours singing nothing but 'Yellow Submarine.'" "Ouch," Nick winced. "That isn't good." "He's depressed, Nick. He's lonely. He misses Janette." "Then he should come back! Nothing's keeping him in Paris." Disgusted, Nick accidentally tore a page out of his script. he thought, balling up the sheet and hurling it to one side. "He's keeping himself there. As far as I can tell, he thinks he's doing everyone a favor." "He's very rapidly taking my place as the righteous idiot of the Family." A wad of paper smacked him in the back of the neck. "Dinna worry, Knight," Tam yelled, "yer title is safe!" The enosh sniggered at their commander's joke. For his part, Nick clamped his lips shut over his budding fangs. Chloe stared at the rangy, feral group of Enforcer-employed assassins in disbelief. "Étienne, why do you let them stay here?" "Because, my dear, I was told to let them stay by an Enforcer. And an Enforcer is like a forty-foot gorilla. You either do what he says, or he steps on you." Étienne's voice was amused, but catlike eyes showed nothing but exhaustion and annoyance. Nick and Chloe exchanged worried glances; they knew he was going to work himself into a collapse. He had done it before. "Besides, one of them is playing Emma." He nodded at Lyssa. Then Étienne frowned. "Lyssa, you seem to be missing your other half. Where's your brother?" Her sharp green eyes regarded him calmly, revealing nothing. "Scott's out," she said simply. Then she added, "Working." Simultaneously, Nick, Étienne and Chloe shivered. They knew what kind of work the enosh did. "Right," said Étienne brusquely, shaking off the unnerving sensation. "Well, Nicolas, Chloe, on stage. We'll start off smack in the middle, because I'm in a bad mood tonight. Duet between Hyde and Lucy, in the second act." He flipped back his coattails and sat down at the piano, while Nick and Chloe took their places. His co-star straightened regally. "I feel your fingers Brushing my shoulder Your tempting touch As it tingles my spine Watching your eyes as they invade my soul Forbidden pleasures I'm afraid to make mine "At the touch of your hand At the sound of your voice At the moment your eyes meet mine I am out of my mind I am out of control Full of feelings I can't define..." Nick, tingling, took a deep breath. "It's a sin with no name Like a tiger to tame And my senses proclaim It's a dangerous game..." It took all his control to finish the song without releasing the beast, but his voice had roughened almost immediately and his fangs and eyes burned, and as soon the last notes faded, Nick's face contorted in the vampire rictus. He let out a full-throated roar and then buried his head in his hands. "Are you all right, Nicolas?" Étienne asked, concerned, but from his own past experiences he knew to give his brother space. He shot a dark look at Tam Rimer, who was watching Nick with hungry anticipation. "Do you need anything?" With a concerted effort, Nick banished the vague horrors from his mind. "A drink," he ground out. Étienne snapped his fingers, and someone--Nick didn't see who--brought a bottle of uncut blood to the stage. The thick liquid trickled down Nick's throat, bringing a form of relief to his nerves. "I'm all right," he assured everyone. No one looked especially convinced, but they continued with the rehearsal. End Part Thirteen April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (14/30) Date: Tue, 25 Nov 2003 15:29:15 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (14/30) Nick dropped onto the couch, exhausted. Then he forced himself to get up and go into the bathroom; he was pretty sure Natalie had some aspirin stashed somewhere in the loft. He washed down two tablets with a gulp of straight blood, and then--as much as he wanted to tear apart the studio in search of his mysteriously missing painting and bunch of sketches--he decided to surprise Natalie and make dinner. He rummaged around in the fridge and reemerged with provisions, so that when Natalie got home from work, she was greeted with prime rib, mashed potatoes, asparagus and warm bread. "Nick," she sighed, shedding her coat and other assorted burdens in one tired motion, "you are a god among men." She set to the food with a will. Nick chewed on a piece of steak and tried not to grin. "Does this mean I'm forgiven for the other night?" "Forgiven?" Natalie muffled around a mouthful of potato. "I forgave you that night. But don't let it go to your head," she warned. Nick smiled. "Never." "Did you see Julian like I told you to?" "Yes, mistress." "Ooh, I think I like being called that," Natalie teased. "And what did he tell you?" "He prescribed aspirin." "You're kidding." "He's as stumped as you are." Natalie munched on a stalk of steamed asparagus. "Well, I guess it's good to know he doesn't know everything. Did you ask him about the other... thing?" "Yes." Nick reached across the table and took his wife's hand. "He said that my bloodline is capable of producing children, and that he'll show you all his research to prove it. We just need to give ourselves more time." They finished their meal in companionable silence. After they cleared away the dinner dishes, Nick excused himself to use the bathroom--he did not have a working digestive system after all--and then joined Natalie on the couch. "So, how are the rehearsals going?" Natalie relaxed into her husband's chest and sighed. "Mmm, comfy." Nick kissed her temple. "Sure is. Rehearsals? Oh, they're going fine. My vocal cords haven't had such a workout in years. And those damned Hunters--" "Enosh." "Enosh, that's right. They promised to rip my tongue out if I forgot again. Whatever they're called, they're driving me nuts. Acting like they're better than I am... bunch of riffraff." "And your co-stars?" "One is Étienne's daughter, and the other a proper English gentlewoman surrounded by a sea of rabble." He winked. "But they don't kiss anywhere near as well as you." They smiled. "Other than that... we seem to be right on schedule. For once," he added dourly. "All the construction's finally finished, we're being plagued only by minor theatrical superstitions..." "What, no opera ghost?" she teased. Nick chuckled. "What about The Room?" Natalie asked curiously. "Has Étienne decided what to do about it?" "Not all that much he can do," Nick shrugged. "It's there to stay. But Gulliver's repaired it as best he could, and Étienne declared it off-limits, so..." He trailed off for a while, thinking. "I never told you what happened while I was in there." "You told me some of it," she reminded him, stroking his chest tenderly. "About how you wished you'd told me how you felt years ago." Nick took her hand and kissed it, lips lingering over each knuckle. "Some, yes. But not all." He pushed himself upright, forcing Natalie to sit up and turn to face him. "There was a young man--a boy, really--who showed up towards the end, when I was on the Plain. Everyone else I saw while I was in there, even the people who died centuries ago, I recognized. But not this man." "What did he look like?" @}----- Wisps of white-blond hair fell across the strongly boned face of a young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, as the gaze of his large, deep, nearly violet eyes rested disapprovingly on Nick, the intruder. Though he could not imagine why, Nick had the unshakable feeling that he knew this boy... @}----- "Very tall, pale blond hair, dark blue eyes, aquiline, almost royal features. Nat, I I'd never seen this person before, but at the same time... I feel as if I should have known him. As if I do know him. I have no idea why. It's just a very strong feeling." "Did he speak to you?" "Yes." Then Nick shook his head. "But not much that I understood..." @}----- "Who are you?" Nick wondered aloud, too curious to be angry or frightened. "Why do I know you?" The ethereal boy with the eyes like aged Roman wine shook his head. "You don't," he replied. "And I am no one." He raised an eyebrow in a disturbingly familiar manner. @}----- "He kept saying, 'You're not supposed to be here,'" as if it was my fault." "Maybe he was your guardian angel, trying to keep you safe. The Room was kind of intent on killing you," Natalie pointed out. Nick had never thought of it like that before. But somehow the image of an angel just did not fit with the impression he had gotten of the spectral boy. "He was trying to do something..." @}----- "Dreams die hard, Nicolas," the boy said quietly. "And die they must, eventually. When all this is gone, what will be left for you? Dreams alone cannot sustain the human spirit. There must be life as well as dreams." "I'm not human." "You are human ," the strange boy retorted. "And never let anyone tell you differently." @}----- "He kept me from descending completely into the phantom world that The Room and my mind had created," Nick murmured, eyes resting on Natalie but not actually seeing her. "Recalled me to life. But y'know... I don't think that's what he had actually had in mind." He struggled to remember. @}----- She walked over to the boy--who was literally twice her height--and put her tiny hand on his arm. "You tried," she said softly. Dejectedly, the boy nodded. "You did your best." @}----- "She said... She told him 'You did your best.'" "She?" "A young woman was there as well." "I thought you said it was just the man who--" "I've never seen her, specifically. But her face was familiar." Nick draped his arms around his wife, his large hands resting lightly in her hip. "She looked almost exactly like Divia." End Part Fourteen April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (15/30) Date: Tue, 25 Nov 2003 15:30:44 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (15/30) @}----- It was bright, daytime, and the sky was blue. Nick lifted his head, looking to the distance. There were hills there, grey-green against the living blue of the sky. With a single, slow, fluid motion, Nick straightened to his full height, taking it all in. "It is beautiful, is it not?" Nick stiffened. His head snapped around. "Divia." The lovely blond figure smiled. "Not quite," she contradicted in gentle Latin, but even before she was finished, Nick saw his mistake. Though she was short, this was no little girl, but a young woman, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old. There were definitely resemblances... but her eyes were calm and almost friendly. @}----- Natalie gasped softly in amazement. "But older," Nick continued. "She said... she said her name was 'Julia.'" "Julia," Natalie repeated consideringly, chewing on her lower lip. "Nat?" "Let me think," she shushed him. "Nick," she said after a moment. "You said she looked like an older version of Divia?" Bemused, he nodded. "And Julia is a Roman name, am I right?" "Yes." A beat. "Nat, my brain is still kinda bruised, so not to be rude, but--" "What if Julia was a relative of Divia's from Rome?" Nick physically started. "Mother of God," he muttered, passing a hand over his forehead. "She looked just like Divia, even had her eyes. And Divia had her father's eyes..." They were both thinking it, but only Natalie could put it into words. "What if Julia was LaCroix's mother?" "Whoa." Poor Nick blinked rapidly several hundred times. "That's... a little much to fathom." "Why?" asked Natalie, startled. "Well, it's a bit like meeting Queen Victoria's wet nurse. You know she must have had one, but her existence still seems rather unlikely. LaCroix's mother... But then, why would she have come to me?" "You are LaCroix's son." Nick sighed. "Right. Sorry, I'd forgotten." His wife poked him. "Don't get snotty with me, mister!" she scolded. "I am trying to help." "I know, Nat," he sighed, and had the grace to look at least somewhat sheepish. "I'm sorry." She frowned at him for another moment more. "Oh, forget it. You're too damn cute for your own good sometimes. But," she continued, "what about the other one, the man? D'you think he might have been LaCroix's father." "No." "Well, that was rather blunt. Are you that sure?" "Yes." "Why?" @}----- "No," Nicholas pleaded, utterly disgusted. "No, we're killers, not torturers." LaCroix's face was contorted in crazed pleasure. "I was referring to a more insidious kind of breeding," he hissed, holding the knife at the throat of the bound and gagged mortal. Nicholas wrinkled his nose; the man had soiled himself in his terror, and stank of fear-sweat. "Tell me that you love me," LaCroix was saying. "Father..." His eyes blazed a hot, sickly yellow and their expression, though intent, was distant, and Nicholas knew that his master was seeing another time and place. Another man... "Say 'I love you, Oedipus.' Say 'I'm sorry, Oedipus.'" "But Oedipus killed his father by accident!" LaCroix only laughed derisively. "No one really believes that anymore," he sneered. And then, while Janette looked on in anticipation and Nicholas felt his gorge rising, LaCroix drew the blade and sliced open the nameless man's throat. @}----- "Because LaCroix's father probably didn't give a damn about him and probably couldn't care less about me, and let's just leave it at that, okay? Remember, rule number one: always respect the vampire's privacy. Unless," he amended, "you happen to be married to him." A slow, wicked smile spread over Natalie's face, quickly replaced by one of amused disappointment. "Probation," she said simply. "Damn it all to hell," Nick grumbled. "Y'know, you get very foul-mouthed when you're deprived." She gave him a quick, chaste kiss on his delicious mouth. "All right, so he's not LaCroix's father. Are you you've never seen him anyplace else?" "Positive," Nick sighed. Then he frowned. "At least..." "Nick?" "Something you said to me last month, when we got into that spat over Étienne. You said, 'You taught him how to trust again.' And then said, 'I'd forgotten all about that.' And then said--" "I said, 'Étienne never has...'" @}----- "I can promise you that Étienne never has." The White-Blond Boy lit several candles standing in an elaborate upright candelabrum. "Thanks to you, Étienne was able to make a new life for himself." He raised a pale eyebrow. "Had you forgotten about that as well?" "I--I never thought his success was any of my doing. I thought it was all Shosha, and his own strength of character." "You freed him, Nicolas. Not LaCroix, not Shosha, not even Étienne himself. You." The Boy held out his hand to Nick. Curious, Nick looked. The White-Blond Boy carried a live flame in the palm of his hand. "How are you doing that?" Nick asked. His host smiled, and with a flourish of his hand, made the fire disappear. @}----- End Part Fifteen April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (16/30) Date: Tue, 25 Nov 2003 15:34:41 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Okay, this is the last part for a while; I'm on break for Thanksgiving and will be Internet-less until Sunday evening. Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (16/30) Nick gasped and thumped back hard against the couch cushions, as the memories of the month he'd spent comatose came cascading back. "Holy Mother of God!" he rasped, eyes darting back and forth at nothing as he struggled to process the onslaught of information. And then, "Son of a bitch!" "Nick? What the--?" Natalie found herself dumped unceremoniously on the floor as Nick shot up from the couch and darted into his studio. She followed him, wincing. "What is it?" she asked again He had found a large pad of paper and some oil pastels and was rapidly sketching out faces. In only a few moments, he had finished the first, tore off the sheet and thrust it in her direction, and started on another. Natalie was captivated by the face of the White-Blond Boy. "Do you know who he is? Have you seen him before?" "No," said Nick excitedly, "but I've seen him since then. I saw him when I was in the coma, Nat. I spent the whole month with him. He kept me from going nuts, from actually willing myself to die. He's saved my life twice now." Natalie arched an eyebrow at the drawing. "If I see him, I'll have to thank him." She looked over Nick's shoulder. "Who's that?" "Someone else I saw." The hand holding the pastel flashed up and down the length of the paper. "Robert," he declared, tearing it free from the pad and handing it to her. "Janette's Robert." He had already begun a third portrait, but this time, the face blooming under his skillful fingers was one that Natalie knew perfectly. "Richard," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "You saw Richard." Nick spared her a glance. "Yeah," he smiled, still drawing. He removed the picture of Richard Lambert and began on another, similar one. Natalie stared over his shoulder, disbelieving. "You... you saw him?" Nick's hand stilled for a brief instant. "Yeah," he said again, more quietly. @}----- ... a tall and wiry fellow with iron-grey hair, bright blue eyes and a very familiar smile. This one stuck out his hand. "Nathan Lambert." Nick gulped, and grasped the hand firmly. "Sir. Glad to meet you." "Yes, I'm glad to finally meet you, too." He eyed Nick shrewdly. @}----- "Daddy..." Natalie bit her lip and looked away. Her father had died when she was a young child, and Nick had never, seen any of her old family photos. There was no way he could have known how to draw her father... unless Nick had actually seen him. She took the completed sketch carefully as her husband began his final drawing, the portrait of Julia. It was lovely, as were they all, and wonderfully life-like. But they were only sketches. If she could convince Nick to finish them, she'd like to get the drawings of Richard and her father framed... "All done, Nat," said Nick gently, enfolding her in a soft hug. "Would you like some tea?" "Thanks," she managed. "That... that'd be great." Nick brewed her a cup of cocoa spice tea, grabbed another bottle for himself, and they settled back on the couch. Natalie wrapped her hands around the warm mug and let the fragrant steam envelope her. "So," she said, her voice a little hoarse, "you met my dad." Nick nodded over his glass. "Did you like him?" "Yes, Natalie, I did." Nick remembered something and smiled. "I beat him at darts." An unexpected laugh jerked from Natalie's throat. "Oh, God, I'd forgotten all about that. He used to be at darts." She chuckled and wiped away some tears that were a mixture of sadness and humor. "So... did he like you?" Nick closed his eyes. "He said to me, 'You and she are meant for each other. I know all about you, about what you are, and I say, who gives a damn? You're good for her.'" He took a thoughtful sip. "And he called me 'son,' so yes, I think he approved." Natalie set down her tea cup and leaned into her husband, inexplicably exhausted. "Were you in Heaven, Nick?" she whispered, feeling small. "No. I was just visiting... someplace... where the dead go. They're happy, Nat. They're all happy. Your father, Robert, Richard--vampirism notwithstanding." Nick wrapped an arm around his wife and kissed her forehead. But he was thinking. "Vampirism... notwithstanding." End Part Sixteen April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (17/30) Date: Mon, 29 Dec 2003 15:12:58 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Yes, I'm still alive. Finals are over and the holidays are under control, so here's some more story for y'all to chew on. Disclaimers in the long ago first post. Art Imitating Death (17/30) Drowsily, Kai opened one eye. "Something, Tracy?" "Just thinking about the case." Kai groaned in the back of his throat and buried his nose in the juncture of her shoulder and neck. "Well, stop it," he admonished, playfully nipping her. "Are you still having trouble with the pup?" "Taylor? I've been avoiding him. I'll deal with him some other time." "Why don't you just tell him off?" "I already did once. If I do it again, Reese'll get really--" "Not about that." "Then what--oh." Embarrassed, Tracy turned away from her master. "I don't even want to think about that right now. Lemme get through with the case first." Kai shrugged and folded his hands behind his head. In an ideal situation, he would have kept Tracy secluded from any contact with mortals for at least a year, preferably more, save of course if the mortals had been prey. As things stood... As a vampire, her talents were progressing remarkably, as many of his Family and colleagues had remarked. But socially, she was a bit stunted. "Well. Y'know what I'd do, to let him down gently?" Tracy rolled over. "What's that?" "Give Julian a good long snog right where the rookie can see you." Tracy hid under her pillow. Kai grinned wickedly, but he couldn't relax enough to fall back to sleep. Some time later, he felt Tracy shift. "Where are you going, Trace?" "I'm getting in the shower." "Why?" Tracy wondered if that was a rhetorical question. "I have work tonight." "I thought you didn't want to confront the pup just yet." "I don't! But I can't just call in sick because a rookie is crushing on me." She grinned slightly. "If only it were that simple." Sitting up, Kai stroked her shoulders with his palms. "I wish I could do more for you," he mourned quietly. "I wish I had taken you away and hidden you from mortal temptations... from mortals' desires... things would have been so much easier for you." "If I liked easy, I would have become a cop." Tracy playfully ruffled her master's hair. "Stop angsting. It's not attractive." Abruptly, Kai pulled her into a fierce embrace. He said nothing aloud, but what Tracy felt through their bond brought tears to her eyes. She pushed him away, dashing her hand across her face. "I'll see you when I get off work," she promised. Kai watched her go. He drew his sheet-covered legs to his chest, thinking. *** The enosh who was called 'Scott' perched on the edge of a flat-roofed building, his fingers curved into the roof's concrete barrier. His sharp green eyes darted across the cityscape; his nostrils flared, testing the air. He was a long man, and spare, strands of his black hair catching in the early evening winds as he scanned the rooftops. His face was angular and lean and his expression was hard, but it was difficult to say what age he was. His clothes were black and his boots, as he lowered himself to a standing position, were silent on the gravel. There was nothing for him to see here. Scott backed up a few paces, and took off at a run towards the edge of the roof. He jumped onto the barrier and vaulted the thirty-foot drop to the next roof and landed on the tips of his fingers and toes. All without making a sound. He did this countless times, here and there varying by sliding down a fire ladder, darting across a street, and scurrying up another ladder, until he was almost ten miles away from his starting point. Scott scrambled up a ladder and stood in the middle of a roof. He flipped a bit of wiry hair out of his eyes and tested the wind for the scent of his prey. He caught it, just as a strong wind kicked up and blew it away, but he caught it. A young one, less than one hundred, blood scented with raw sugar, gorse bushes and the dull scent of sage leaves, as well as some chemical scent that Scott had never smelled, but that instinctively made his lips curl in a snarl. He had to find this one, and stop it. Young or not, it was dangerous. Scott wrestled with the winds and determined where his prey was, and began to run the roofs again. *** For the first time in days, LaCroix had managed to fall asleep, despite the vague worries about his young son, his wife, his winery... But it was not a restful sleep. His mind was ravaged by ghostly dreams, bathed in red. He was running... being chased. He was being tracked. He could feel a hot, oily substance rising in his throat, like he was about to vomit, and he stopped to catch his breath, resting his small, claw-like--small?--hands on his knees. He started to run again, hungry and terrified as he hadn't been since he was a small boy, cowering in fear of his domineering father's heavy hand. He dreamt he was being attacked. *** Scott bared his pitiful human teeth in a snarl, and flexed his fingers itchingly. The vampire was moving in a crouching, shambling dance, more like a monkey than a human thing. The chemo-metallic scent of the beast, like and yet so unlike the vampire's normal ammonia-and-iron smell, stopped up his nostrils. He launched himself at the vampire, his boots scraping against the concrete. His palms made contact with the vampire's icy skin and burned like fury, and the prey howled and struggled in his grip. The vampire was deceptively frail and small, but Scott took no notice, bearing him to the ground under his weight. He tried to move his hands to the vampire's head, to subdue him. He never did figure out how... but his grip . There was a tearing sound, like the ripping of wet sacking, and damp dripped slick and warm down Scott's chest, but mercifully, blackness shrouded his mind before the full force of the pain kicked in. *** With a silent scream, LaCroix vaulted out of bed. The blankets tangled around his body and slammed him, panting and sweating, to the floor. He lay there for a few minutes, coming down from the high of nightmare-terror. If he had believed in a god, he would have been praying in earnest. At that moment, LaCroix felt a powerful need for his wife. He settled for the telephone. "Miranda." "Wha--Lucien, do you know what time it is? Are you all right?" "I'm fine," he said impatiently, "I overslept. Miranda, is Daniel there?" "No, you know no one's seen him for days. Why, is there a problem?" "Well, if you would stop blocking me, you would know!" He ran a hand through his short white hair. "He's hurt, Miranda, badly." "Do you want me to look for him?" "No, no. Just... stay there in case he turns up. I need to find him. I know he's hurt but I don't know he is. He might still be in the theatre somewhere." "I'll call if I find him." *** Tracy watched the easy camaraderie between her partner and his wife and was swept up by a wave of profound envy. They were so comfortable together, even when they were at work. She tore her eyes away from Nick and Natalie--and from Ian Taylor, who was doing his best not to be noticed and failing miserably--and tried to concentrate on what Julian was saying about their latest victim. But it was... hard. His voice echoed in her ears, reverberating like stones in a steel drum, rich and meaningless. She'd been aware of his feelings for months, had danced with him and even kissed him and still been able to keep her head, so why in hell was he affecting her like this now? Maybe it had something to do with Kai's snogging comment... "Sorry? What was that?" The veil behind Julian's cynical brown eyes slipped, but was back in place almost before Tracy had seen anything in them. "I said, he's getting bolder, but he's also getting more careless. He attacked two people in a relatively open place, but they're both still more or less intact, so I think we'll be able to get some good dental impressions and will you kindly tell me what the hell is so interesting about that calf-eyed puppy?!" Tracy jerked her gaze away from her two partners and back to the coroner. "It's his case, too, Julian," she hissed. "He's my partner and they're my eyes and I can look at whomever I damn well please!" Julian blinked sheepishly. "And the more we keep an eye on Taylor, the less chance he has of bringing suspicions to Captain Reese." "'Suspicions'?" "Reese wants dirt on Nick." Julian growled a string of curses under his breath. "And all you've done is watch him? Kid needs to be taken care of." "That's reckless and you know it," she hissed back. "There's no reason to let stupid jealousy get in the way of your good judgment." "Stupid--! And who said I was jealous of that jellyfish in the first place?" Tracy just rolled her eyes and stood up. "I'm not interested in Taylor," she said bluntly. Julian's face lit up. "But you're not too high on my list right now, either." His expression dimmed rather quickly. End Part Seventeen April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? New Yahoo! Photos - easier uploading and sharing. http://photos.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (18/30) Date: Mon, 29 Dec 2003 15:14:12 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (18/30) "Well," Natalie drawled, "that was a lover's spat if ever I saw one." Nick chuckled; Ian squirmed badly. "Just tell me we were never that bad." Natalie shook her head, grinning. "I think all our disagreements were confined either to the precinct or to my old apartment." "And usually ended with you hitting me," Nick added ruefully. "Hey, Taylor, have you...?" But for once, Ian was not snooping around Nick's ankles; he was poking gingerly at one of the corpses. "Natalie? Does this belong to her?" Ian pulled his hand away, grimacing, and Natalie lifted a thick chunk of skin from the corpse's shoulder. "I won't know til we get it back to the lab, but good eye, Ian." The rookie beamed. A tiny nerve in Nick's brain jumped, an action akin to the twitching of a dog's ear. He didn't have to look far to find the source of the disturbance. he sent, knowing that Natalie had felt the twitch through him. Nick sent that very question to his master. He slipped away from the crime scene--keeping an eye open for the rookie--and found LaCroix standing quietly in a small copse of trees. The ancient spoke without greeting. "Have either of you seen or heard from Daniel?" They shook their heads. "No one has seen hide or hair of the boy in a week and a half. All Alexei can sense from him is a constant stream of bland placidity, and you know as well as I do, Nicholas, that that is Daniel." Nick thought uneasily. It was just that amount of time since the 'Bigfoot Killer' had appeared. "What are you sensing from him?" asked Tracy. LaCroix fixed on her with an odd expression. "Intense pain," he said after a moment. "Terror. I know he's alive, but I cannot find him! I need the two of you to keep an eye--and an ear--open for him." When they had promised, and LaCroix had left, Nick scratched unconsciously at the scar on his scalp. Then he grimaced in disgust and tried to swallow. "Nick?" "Nothing, Trace. Just a foul taste in my mouth." *** In the break room of the city morgue, two solitary figures bent over a series of spiral-bound notebooks. "The problem isn't sterility," Julian was telling his colleague, pointing to a list of statistics. "And it's not viability either. The main issue has to do with the composition of the sperm in the male. The acrosomes, the cap on the anterior end of the sperm, are missing key enzymes that are required for penetration and fertilization of the egg. So Nick's not shooting blanks, exactly--all the necessary DNA and chromosomes are present--it's more like you're wearing a bullet-proof vest." Natalie blushed a bit and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "Very funny. So what do we do? Do we... give Nick the necessary enzymes? Do we give me something?" "We don't give either of you anything." Julian flipped slowly through the pages of one notebook. "So much of our biology is still not understood. From my experience--not personal experience, alas--but from professional observation, it seems to me that vampires who successfully manage to sire children have something special going on with their lovers. Not just love, but incredible fidelity and trust. I believe that it is that combination of strong emotion, coupled with the physical and mental stimulation of the sex act, that leads to conception." He grinned widely. "It's all about finding the right woman. Or man." "So we do nothing?" "Well, nothing extreme. Otherwise, Natalie, you know what needs to be done." "Julian..." she growled. "No, Natalie, there's nothing else you need to do. Honestly, there's nothing else you do. Vampiric conception is dependant on finding a suitable mate and being in top physical condition, and except for a little fatigue brought on by work and by not sleeping well, Nick's very quickly reaching peak performance. Eventually, when his body is ready to take the punishment, his brain will produce hormones, which in turn will cause floods of the needed enzymes to be produced, and you may end up getting more pregnant than you bargained for." Suspicious, Natalie raised an eyebrow. "How much more pregnant?" "Vampires of our bloodline seem to have a biological stop-gap on procreation; I've never met a vampire who's sired more than three children. The trick is how those three come out. My brother and sister and I were all born singly, but my brother's wife gave birth to one child and then to twins. And you know Leif and Tam Rimer? They're two out of a set of triplets; they also have a sister. So, it's a bit of a gamble, I grant you, but then, what pregnancy isn't?" He began collecting his notebooks. "Julian." "Yes?" "You told Nick every male in his Family is fertile." "Well, every one that I tested. Alain and Étienne won't let me touch them with an eleven-foot pole." "That includes LaCroix?" "Yes... Why?" Natalie shook her head, chuckling under her breath. "God help Miranda... does LaCroix know?" "Ah, now that's none of my business," said Julian, shaking his head. "It's up to her whether or not to tell the General, but she knows all about the risk." "She knows?" "Of course. She certainly ought to--she lived with Kai for twenty years and she was his closest... shit." Julian clapped his mouth shut, his face burning as bright a red as was vampirically possible. Natalie all but pounced on him. "Kai's had children?" Julian had been holding his breath; now, he exhaled slowly, letting the blood drain from his face. "Yes," he admitted. "Two that I know of. Sons. The first, he had to put up for adoption back in the nineteen sixties, when the boy's mother was murdered by Nielsen Sperling. Lost track of him almost immediately, hasn't seen him since. The second boy hadn't even been born yet; he died with his mother, Miranda's mother. If there's another child out there, he's never told me about it. He doesn't trust me that much." Julian met Natalie's eyes squarely. "No one does anymore." His expression dared her to look away. "Did you convince Nick to stop coming to me because you suddenly stopped trusting my judgment? Or are you just jealous that you're not the sole physician in Nick's life anymore?" If Natalie didn't let LaCroix speak to her like that, she certainly wasn't going to take such crap from a cocky seventy-year-old American. "Nick and I decided that you don't work in his best interests," she told him coldly. Julian blinked slowly, like a lizard. "Fine," he said calmly. "Well, that's honest enough." He cleared the table of notebooks with one swipe of his arm. Then he pulled several thick manila folders from his briefcase and piled them in front of her. "I made copies of my fertility notes for you. I thought you might find them interesting." "All your notes?" "Most of them." His lips twisted in a sorry imitation of a grin. "You don't trust me, remember?" End Part Eighteen April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? New Yahoo! Photos - easier uploading and sharing. http://photos.yahoo.com/ Subject: Art Imitating Death (19/30) Date: Mon, 29 Dec 2003 15:15:05 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Art Imitating Death (19/30) Laden with papers, Natalie walked back into her morgue to find a dark shape leaning over a corpse on the dissecting table. Thinking it was LaCroix, her heart skipped a beat just on principle. Then the figure lifted its head, the shadow that had seemed to hang over the form dispelled, and Natalie was looking into the angular face of Étienne Le Mort. "You need to come with me," he said without preamble. "One of the enosh is badly injured." "Me? What about--?" " Dr. Lambert," he cut her off, his voice crashing over her. Natalie grabbed her black doctor's bag, checked its contents, and followed Étienne outside. He neither picked her up and flew off nor did he hustle her into an unmarked car. Instead, he walked her across the street into a waiting limousine. The chauffer tossed off his cigarette and tipped his hat to Natalie as she got in. "Is this yours?" she asked when they were settled and driving. Étienne cocked an eyebrow. "Yes, of course." "You keep a chauffer? And a limo? All the time?" He shrugged. "I don't like driving automobiles, certainly not the way Nicolas does. And I am guilty of enjoying the finer things in life. Besides, I own a bloody theatre; I'm allowed to be a little eccentric." But the joke fell flat, and Natalie could see that he was, if not exactly worried, definitely concerned. "This enosh... Scott... he's horribly torn up." "But why come to me? Or do you not trust Julian anymore either?" Étienne made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. "Whether I trust him or not is not the issue. Scott refused to allow me to alert Julian to his injury. Refused very vio