Author's note: The following story is set in the universe of Forever Knight, created by James Parriot and Barney Cohen. I promise to put back the amazing characters they've created, Nicholas Knight and Lucien Lacroix, in more or less the same condition I found them. This barely qualifies as a "story", ie, something with a plot, though there it's not necessarily static. (At least I hope not.) This is more of a conversation piece, which germinated in my mind while contemplating the possible mindset of a pre-Christian vampire. I know that Lacroix was pagan as a mortal, but he has spent most of his "life" in the Christian milieu and though I wouldn't say it to the dear man's face, it must have had some kind on influence on him, if only to react against it. This piece is in the vein of Lacroix's statement that vampires are where history happens. The character, Michael, is from my story "Child Killer", but I don't think it necessary that you know that story to understand this one. Standard disclaimers. A Letter from Michael Nick sorted through the mail as the elevator carried him to his flat. A couple bills, a request for a donation to a homeless shelter, and what seemed to be a personal letter with no return address. The hand looked vaguely familiar. The postmark was from New Orleans. He didn't think he knew anyone in New Orleans that would be writing him. He tore open the envelope as he stepped out of the elevator, then threw it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he poured himself some dinner. Putting his glass down on the counter he picked up the letter and pulled it out of the envelope. It was on white unlined paper, written in black ink, and now seeing a whole page of it, he recognized it as Michael's handwriting. He walked over to the couch with the letter and his glass and sat down. He used the remote to open the shutters. Fat snowflakes whirled thick and fast past the window. He settled back on the couch. He had seen Michael last in September, when the two of them had killed a vampire who preyed on children. Michael had been badly hurt, his back broken in the fight, and had spent a few days recuperating at Nick's. Then he had taken off, leaving Nick a note saying he would write. Apparently he was following through. Nick began to read. ***** Dear Nick, I'm in New Orleans, a charming city, which I am finding quite amusing. I haven't killed anyone lately, which I'm sure will please you no end. Not that I've actually made a decision not to, mind you. But since what happened in Toronto the last time I was there, since I killed that man, I don't seem to have quite the hunting impulse that I had. Something seems calmer within me. Nothing like going berserk to purge any inner angst. I want to apologize for taking off without saying goodbye and thank you. You saved my life and I owe you. I don't know how I can pay you back, but maybe someday. I don't know. Seems pretty unlikely that you'd ever need something from me. I confess that I ran like a bunny. Knowing that Lacroix had even a hint that I was still alive and what's more, was within arm's reach, sent me into a complete panic. I know I'm probably over-reacting, but the fear goes to my core. He probably didn't recognize me. I'm not flattering myself when I say I am in much improved condition from when he saw me last. But it didn't help that hearing his voice over your message machine sent me into one of those fugue-states and brought up my encounter with Lacroix like it had happened yesterday. I'd managed to bury it pretty deep. It's from a time in my life I pretty much try to forget. I owe you something for my rudeness, though. And maybe it will help make it more managable for me if I write it down. So pardon me if I purge myself in this letter to you. You could stop reading now if you're not interested. Still reading? Okay, just remember, you can stop any time. I heard Lacroix's voice on the machine and this is what swept through me... The key rattled in the doorway, waking me from an uneasy sleep. The door opened, letting a spear of lamplight into the dark basement. My lady stepped in and I felt a sudden pang of hunger, though she didn't usually feed me at this time. Then I cringed back into the corner as a man with a black burning presence stepped into the room behind her. The uneasy dreams of this last sleep suddenly became solid, and the bars between me and the door were suddenly a source of security. "See here," said the lady, and though at the time she said this the words had been meaningless noises, now some high and far off part of me understands, and knows the language to be Latin. She gestured toward me through the bars of the cage. "This is your creature's handiwork. Apparently a sacrifice gone awry, somehow partaking of the blood before death. I found him in the forest terrorizing the local peasants." "It needs a good wash," replied Lacroix, wrinkling his nose. He was dressed as a nobleman of the time and place, that being France in 1440. My lady was small, no taller than his shoulder. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back and she too was dressed as a noble in a dark blue silk gown. "He needs more than a wash, Lucius," she retorted, her dark eyes flashing. "He has been reduced to a mad beast." "Why don't you put it out of our misery, then, Lady Rasena?" "I may have to. I will give him some time, though." "That brute? It's mindless, there is no sense in it." He smiled wickedly. "Your maternal nature is being stirred by its childish appearance." I crouched lower, frightened by the cruelty in his tone. "You know me well enough to know I haven't a maternal bone in my body and never did. And he has enough sense to survive five years uninstructed, abandoned, and enough to see you mean him no good. Besides, Lucius, this is your own grandchild, eh? I would think you would show a little more family feeling." "The boy is lost, mad. You do him no kindness, keeping him alive. If you haven't the stomach for it, I'll see to it." He stared at me in utter disgust, and if I hadn't been schooled to keep complete silence, I would have howled my fear. "You are impertinent, Lucius." Her dark eyes flashed. Lacroix's eyes narrowed, but he said calmly, "Forgive me, my lady. As you say, he _is_ my grandchild." "It is actually your _child_, Lucius, who is my true concern today. I want his madness stopped. If you do not, I will." "You overstep yourself, Lady Rasena." His voice was a low growl. "It is _he_ who has overstepped himself, Lucius. He has broken into my circles and has tainted them with his filth." "Your 'circles' are weak, then, to be so easily ... tainted." "Yes, Lucius, yes, they are weak. The poor wretches who seek them out are wounded to the core. They suffer from the lies that they are spoiled from birth with this bizarre concept of original sin. The women among them have been taught they are the vessels of all vileness and corruption. They come seeking the Lady for healing and find your creature's ... blasphemy instead." "Blasphemy? Why, my lady, what do you care what is done against the Christian god?" "You misunderstand me, and I believe deliberately, Lucius. I mean blasphemy against the Dark Goddess, whose child you are, whether you'll admit that in your Roman male pride." "Oh, please," he said, holding up his hand, turning his face from her with a look of exasperated boredom, "not the lecture about the Roman and Greek degradation of women and therefore the goddess force." "Like it or not, Lucius, your Empire and the Greeks before you set the stage for this Christian madness you see today, with your scorn for womankind and the Goddess she embodies. Even you, uninfluenced in your mortal life by the Christian teachings, are allowing them to twist your thinking. Why else have you adopted that ridiculous name 'Lacroix'?" "I have my own reasons for taking on the name," he replied stiffly. "I don't doubt you do, Lucius. But some part of you believes the lies told about us. And it's because even as a mortal man you were frightened by the Dark Goddess and believed the lies men told about Her nature and about the darkness that exists within us all, man and woman. In Etruria-" "In Etruria!" he spat. "That decadent and declining society of muttering old men, poking at a sheep's liver to discern the will of the gods." "Yes," she cried, "in Etruria, a thousand years before my people were reduced to 'muttering old men', when I was brought into the Dark One's priestesshood! We, our kind, were honored then, the people gave freely of their blood. They understood the true meaning of the darkness, the sweet blessings that it brings, as well as the pain and terror. She is not an easy Goddess, Lucius, but without Her we would not exist. I don't mean just our kind, but the mortals as well. You never knew that, Lucius, in your heart of hearts, and now these Christian lies are twisting your own ideas of yourself." "Not so, Lady, not so." His eyes were bright with fury. "No?" said she. "Then what of this, then?" And she pulled from inside her bodice a little crucifix, the sight of which caused me discomfort. It must have hurt Lacroix, for he stepped back, surprised, bringing a hand up before his face. "See, Lucius. You _have_ been poisoned. But I, I keep this here, nestled between my breasts and no harm comes to me. Because the beliefs of those who have twisted the words of gentle Yeshua do not touch my heart and mind, they cannot touch my body." She tucked the cross back between her breasts and Lacroix straightened. "How -- why do you carry it?" "Why? Because that is what a pious lady of these times would do. I hide myself as do you, by adopting the trappings of the people I dwell among. This," and here she patted her bosom, "this may not affect me, but a stake through the heart would destroy me as it would you." "The -- the sun? Can you abide its light?" "No, though perhaps longer than you, being your elder. You must understand, Lucius, that this shows the purity of our nature, not its corruption. We are the children of the Dark Mother, our very essence belongs to Her. We are pure. We cannot mix our essence with that of the Light, not because we are evil, but because we _are_ darkness." She shook her head then. "Ah, Lucius, you allow my weakness for talk to lead me from why I asked you to come see me." She laid her hand upon his arm and said gently, "It just amazes me when you, who should know better, fall victim to the modern madness." "I am no 'victim', my lady," he replied, his voice low and seemingly angry. But he put his hand over hers where it lay on his arm. "I have my own understanding of darkness and it is not yours. I have no faith in this goddess of yours, though I sacrificed a black dog to her when I was still a mortal. Our kind has no reason for being, we just are. We belong to no one but ourselves. We take what we want, who we want, because we can. We are a force of nature. Why is an earthquake, why is a volcano? Because they are. There is no purpose to them. To a mortal these forces seem evil, dark, a punishment, perhaps, from the hands of their gods. But they just are, Lady, just as we are. As the wolves are among the sheep, so are we among the mortals." "Ah, but a wolf serves a purpose, culling the herds." "It may serve that purpose, but it was not created to do so. That is not why it exists. It just does. That the herd is culled, improved, because the wolf preys upon it, is not why the wolf is." "Well, Lucius," said she, removing her hand from his arm and stepping back, "we will have to agree to disagree. This still does not solve the problem." "I see no problem." "Because you are choosing to be blind. You have a clever mind, Lucius. Use it. Our kind has survived Etruria, Greece, Rome and it will survive the present. If youngsters such as your son don't bring the mob down on us all." "Yes, well, he is stirring things up a bit." "Indeed. And he is extending his grip beyond the simple people, to those of consequence. You've heard Gilles de Rais, ex-Marshall of France, once follower of Jeanne d' Arc has been summoned before the Bishop of Nante on charges of sorcery? He has been accused of sacrificing over 140 children to this Devil, to this son of yours." Lacroix smiled easily, one eyebrow arched. "Actually, you must admit he's rather clever, eh? Why work for your supper, when with a little twisted religious cant, a few seeming miracles, and a promise of immortality in this world rather than the next, these fools practically fling their children at him. And, my lady, he has to my knowledge never brought any of his followers over. This may be because he believes this gift is reserved for the select few. But this belief has so far prevented him from creating an army of devil-worshipping vampires." She made a face of distaste at the idea. "This belief of his is fortunate. Believe me, just this one mistake," and here she motioned toward me, "made quite a bit of trouble. It doesn't take much to work mortals up into a witch or vampire hunting frenzy these days. Those woods he made his haunt will probably have an evil reputation for centuries." "Yes." Here Lacroix paused a moment as though to carefully choose his words. "Lady, I don't doubt that you believe this ... boy to be one of my son's get. But how can you be so sure?" "Eh, Lucius," she said with a small smile, "let me give you my evidence in that logical manner so favored by your people. In the woods where I found this boy is a place where your son's followers would regularly meet and where he would come at times to show himself to them and renew their 'faith'. This little one made frequent visits to that place, though he would never go to earth there. Close by this place was a shallow grave containing the jumbled bones of four children. There are actually a number of such graves. But to this one spot he would aways go. There he would sit and weep. Once he even dug down into the grave and pulled forth a skull. This he held tenderly in his arms, rocking it as though it were a baby and weeping. Several times he kissed its cheeks and brow. Then he gently placed it back in the grave and covered it carefully, as though tucking a beloved in bed." "A tragic tale," drawled Lacroix. "But you see my point?" she asked sharply. "If, as you say, your son has no vampires among his followers, he is the only one who could have brought the child over. Those graves are those of the children his worshipers fling at him in the hope of buying eternal life. The boy is tied to that site by powerful memories, and through that site to your son." "I concede your point," he said. "I never thought it impossible. Accidents can happen to the best of us. And he is, sad to say, not one of the best of us." "Lucius, I tell you, it must stop. The people, the church, those in authority are becoming alarmed. I fear it may be too late, that this has gotten out of our hands. I fear some, grasping for power, will seize this situation and use it to their own ends." "You fear for those desperate, mother-hungry mortals that gather in your 'sacred' circles," he sneered. "Of course I fear for them," she snapped. "But consider this; Her immortal children will burn as fiercely as Her mortal ones." There was a silence, then Lacroix said in a low voice, "I cannot stop him. He is mad, and I cannot reach him through the madness." My lady considered this in silence, then said gently, "I am sorry, Lucius. It must be very unpleasant for you. Some of us do not make the transition well. It is sometimes hard for a father to tell beforehand if a child shall prove strong enough." There was another silence, then Lacroix went on, his voice tight, as though something were forcing him to speak. "I ... I fear he was mad before I brought him over." "What do you mean? How could you-" Lacroix interrupted her, blurting out, "He was a theologian, a supposed learned man, a pompous, prating fool, full of pious self-importance. He spouted nonsense about sin and salvation, so sure of his own. So ... so, I offered him immortality. Now, not in some chancy afterlife, to see if he would take it. And he did, Lady, he did. Weeping, groveling at my feet, offering me his precious, 'saved', immortal soul. It was quite entertaining, really And I was, I confess, curious to see what would become of his philosophies after he had come over. When I took him, though, as his blood mixed with mine, I saw the certainty there in his mind, that he was one of the chosen, an actual saint, a channel for his god's words and will. 'Well,' I thought, 'this will soon bring him to his senses'." My lady looked at him, shaking her head in amazement. "I know," sighed Lacroix. "But I thought I could hold him, re-shape him." "So, from being a vehicle of his god, he became one of the damned." "Oh, yes," said Lacroix, throwing his hands up with frustration. "And not just damned, but spectacularly damned. Now he became a channel for his devil's words and will, an anti- saint. My voice is just one of the many in his head, and ironically, as I counsel prudence, I have become his enemy, the voice of an angel set to turn him from his path." "So, now," said my lady, in growing fury, "because he believed even in mortal life that the circles of the Goddess belonged to his devil, he forms circles of his own, mocking not only this Christian god, but my own Lady. And, Lucius," said she, stalking with great agitation about the room, "not only does he create his own filthy circles, but he tries to insinuate himself into those that I have formed for Her service. "Some," she said sadly, stopping and looking to the ground, "some have fallen to him. Those full of self-loathing and guilt are easy prey." Lacroix smiled, and she glanced up in time to see. The look in her eye took the smile from his face, and she went on. "Some of them though, have showed him the error of his presumption. The Dark Goddess, even invoked into a weak mortal woman, is enough to put the holy terror into one such as him." Lacroix sneered, "He is but a child." "Yes!" she cried, "_your_ child! You, in irritation, in a fit of pique, gave the divine gift of immortality to a sanctimonious prig, an _insane_ sanctimonious prig! You are skirting the edges of blasphemy!" "_Your_ sanctimonious piety is beginning to irritate me, Lady." "Lucius, I've had enough. That misbegotten creature of yours must be stopped. If you won't, I will. And then, look to your back, my boy. Such inconsidered 'begettings' are dangerous to our kind. Our Lady's children, both mortal and immortal, must survive. They will be needed in the future." "Don't threaten me, Lady." "Threats seem to be the only way to get through to you, you thickheaded Roman!" She struggled to get a grip on her temper. Quietly she said, "Please, Lucius, you are precious to me. All of our kind are. But this boy of yours, he is past saving, even more so than this poor little wretch. And he is a danger to us all. Send him all the way into the Darkness, Lucius. Let him go home." Lacroix sighed, rubbing his brow. "You are right, Lady Rasena. He has become a danger to us, and in his madness, I cannot control him. But I am under no illusions. He isn't going 'home'. He goes to nothing, to dissolution, to the true death." "Lucius," said my lady, sadness in her voice, "you are a strong man. Not a good one, but a strong one and your Roman sense of family serves us well. I only hope it brings you no more grief than this." "Grief? It would take more than destroying a tediously wayward child to bring me grief. Bringing him over was not one of my more considered decisions. I confess to a certain ... regret." "Lucius, your pride is appalling. And quite appealing." She offered him her hand. He took it, bowing over it, then turned it so he could kiss her on the wrist. She stroked his hair and as he rose, she said, "Come, dear one. Let me show you the more gentle side of the Dark One." "Not too gentle, I trust," he said, lifting her fingers to lips curved in a roguish smile. She laughed, low and dark. "Oh, She's never _too_ gentle, Lucius." They left the room, which relieved me greatly, as I was desperately sleepy, but would not let my self go until that frightening man left. Much later, they came back in again, waking me from a restless sleep. In my dreams, I could still feel his presence in the house. They looked at me a time, then he said, "By rights, I should take him." "By rights, yes. But why not release him to me? You're busy with that new one of yours, Nicolas. And this one would be a handful. He can't even speak. You couldn't take him into a city. He'd run amok. And I know you just adore country living." She stroked his cheek, smiling. He growled deep in his throat and turned his head to kiss her palm. "Very well," he said. "I release him to you. I don't think anything can be done with him anyway." "I have time, my dear, and the inclination. I'll polish him up, then let him go." She looked at me, her dark eyes so sharp that they frightened me. "I have a feeling there's a gem somewhere under there." "Well, you're going to have to dig deep, I'm afraid, just to reach his skin." He reached out, pushing her hair away from her neck. Then he bent down to kiss her throat. "Come, let's go back upstairs." She smiled that secret smile one sees on ancient Etruscan statues, close mouthed and heavy lidded, and let him lead her away. I never saw Lacroix again. So, Nick, you still with me? Anyway, reading this over again, I see I'm probably freaking out for no reason. It's most likely he couldn't care less whether I'm alive or dead. But my fear of him was formed very early in my life. I had been a vampire for no more than five years at that point. I was really no more than a mindless animal, and all I understood was that he meant me harm, that he hated, and was disgusted, that I existed. Quite a dysfunctional family, eh? By the way, Nick, may I call you uncle? (Just kidding.) Give my best wishes to Natalie. Michael ***** Nick put the letter down on the table and stared at it a moment. Then he looked out the window at the swirling snow. He started to laugh, because he couldn't think of what else to do.
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