"And, mes amis, whether you have chosen 'the road less taken' or one more commonly trod upon, your foot has been set... irrevocably... upon that path. The steps you take, whether chosen deliberately or without thought, cannot be retraced." Lacroix paused, then went on. "This is the Nightcrawler, your companion upon the road."
In his booth at CERK, Lacroix segued into music as he shut off his mike. Leaning back in his chair, he lifted his gaze, meeting Nicholas's through the glass. He motioned for him to enter.
"And what can I do for you today, Nicholas?" he inquired as his son slid into his booth. Mouth curving upward, he studied his wayward protege, ice blue eyes glinting as he noted the continued degradation his... diet wrought.
Nicholas studied him warily a moment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. "I ... need your help with ... a case."
"How ... novel," Lacroix responded, smiling. "Might I assume ... an intersection of our community and the mortal?"
"A couple of vampire kills have shown up on Nat's table." While his voice was flat, Nicholas stared at him intently.
Lacroix's smile, though it widened, became cooler. "And..?"
Nicholas shrugged minutely, continuing to study Lacroix's face.
"Nicholas, my leavings will appear on the good doctor's table when I place them there myself." Lacroix sat back, steepling his fingers, tapping them against his lower lip.
"That's not what-" Nicholas began in protest, but Lacroix cut him off.
"Get to the point, if you please."
"Something has to be done. Before the Enforcers become involved," Nicholas said, carefully. "I'd like some ... information."
Knowing he was not his son's preferred resource for local vampire doings, Lacroix lifted a brow, inquiringly. "Janette tends to have her fingers on the... pulse of the Community. Such as it is. What did she have to say?"
"She didn't know anything." The younger vampire's face took on a faintly petulant look. "I don't think she's taking the situation seriously." Nicholas looked directly into his maker's eyes.
Lacroix became still, his index fingers resting on his lower lip while he studied his son's face. He lowered his hands, smoothing the front of his black silk jacket, before he interlaced his fingers, resting them on his lean belly. "Tell me."
Lacroix smiled, almost reflexively, at the evident discomfort of his son, right thumb rubbing under his left ring finger, as he described the killings. "The kills are too clumsy. Throats torn. The first victim, a 23 year old white male, had his neck broken, but ... it could have been accidental. His body wasn't fully drained, and Natalie thinks his heart may have stopped beating before the vampire -- if that's who it is -- completed feeding. The neck of the second victim, a 40 year old Asian male, wasn't broken. And both bodies were hidden, but sloppily." Nicholas smiled faintly. "Somebody's not taking full advantage of ... what you consider to be our ... advantages."
"Which means what to you, Detective Knight?" Lacroix inquired, entertained by his progeny's cop-like recitation of the facts and pointedly ignoring the jibe.
"I thought you might be able to tell me," Nicholas said, looking his master squarely in the eyes.
Brows lifting, Lacroix replied, "I can only speculate, of course."
"Of course."
"It could be, perhaps, someone losing his grip, becoming careless in the kill, lackadaisical in his precautions. Or you have an inadequately tutored... and unsupervised youngster on your hands."
Nicholas nodded. "Those were my thoughts."
"You're not simply wishing confirmation of your own hypothesis," Lacroix observed.
Shifting his feet uncomfortably, Nicholas replied, voice low, "No."
Tilting his head slightly, Lacroix asked flatly, "You are requesting my assistance to ... what, exactly?"
With a deep breath, the younger vampire plunged in. "I've looked, Lacroix. I've been everywhere I can think of, and I've found nothing. These kills are too public, too clumsy. I need to stop them before Cohen makes connections and the press starts baying about a serial killer. I don't know how much longer Natalie can keep the details under wraps."
"You want help... looking." Lacroix lowered his gaze to the console. Hands flowing over the controls, he cued the next portion of his broadcast. "Before unwelcome visitors arrive."
"Will you help me?" Nicholas asked, as he asked all important questions of his master -- guilelessly.
Lacroix looked up at Nick from under his brows. "I'm done here in an hour. I'll meet you then. And then..." His smile did not touch his eyes. "Then we will go hunting."
Nick stood, frozen momentarily, as the relief he felt at gaining Lacroix's assistance clashed with the uneasiness that smile and those words created. Relief won out, and he was back in motion, gliding forward to rest both hands on the radio console, leaning toward Lacroix. "All right. An hour from now. Here?"
Lacroix glanced up at him and replied a bit impatiently, "I'll come to you."
Nicholas, having gained what he wanted, departed with admirable alacrity. Watching his retreat through the outer door, Lacroix leaned back in his chair. Memory clouded the clear ice of his eyes...
"...and where is your master, boy?"
Age, power, greater than his own pressed against his senses, surprising from a woman so small. Though, after Divia, it was clear strength was not simply linked with size in their kind. With some difficulty, Lucius kept his fists unclenched and attempted to answer the woman civilly. "My master's business is my master's business. Lady."
His master's business was with Dis, god of the dead -- should such a being exist -- but that was none of this woman's concern. He was finding it had been a mistake, returning to Rome. Pompeii... of course Pompeii was 20 years gone, though he had wandered over its shroud, ash gritting under his sandals, a few short weeks ago. And then, without true thought, he had continued on to Rome, to stand outside his father's home at midnight. That man though, like Divia, rotted in his grave, though Lucius's daughter was only newly come to her tomb. His father had escaped him years ago. He felt grief for only the one.
For a week now, he'd skulked aimlessly in the forested hills south of Rome. He moved constantly, unable to rest, the memories of that Egyptian tomb coiling through his mind unceasingly. When he succumbed to sleep, his dreams would drive him to wakefulness, the scent of his daughter's blood choking him. His current daylight sanctuary was a tiny, windowless hut which its previous owner, a charcoal burner, would no longer be needing. Though cluttered with the stacks of oak branches used in its previous occupant's trade, it was secure enough against the sunlight. Though it offered no protection from his own kind's strolling in, seeking shelter from the encroaching day, unwelcome, uninvited.
The woman, a Syrian, short, dark and lithe, like her two male companions -- progeny, most probably -- carried herself with an arrogant grace. Lucius glanced at the men quickly, assessing them. Though lesser than she, he sensed that they too were far older than he was. The woman slid toward him a step, and though he swiftly returned his wary gaze to her, he did not step back.
She smiled contemptuously. "Your manners need a little tending to, young one," she drawled, tossing the dark, curling mass of her hair behind her shoulders. "It must be some of that Roman pride, left over from your mortal days. Maybe you were someone, Roman. Were you? Someone important?" She laughed, eyes bright. Perhaps it amused her to taunt one whose empire had swallowed her own people. "But you're not anymore. You're a child, an infant, a boy." And the word she used was "puer," the same word used to mean slave. He clamped his jaw shut hard, staring over their heads, the two men standing to either side of her silently grinning.
Then she laughed again. "But you are a pretty boy. I wouldn't mind tending to your manners... or you... at all." Silent speech must have passed between her and her minions, for, suddenly, the two of them moved together. And though Lucius attempted to dodge, he found himself gripped by the arms and then a brutal hand was in his hair, pulling his head back.
The Syrian woman transformed into a golden eyed beast and, with a hiss, lunged for him, one hand jamming under his chin to further expose his throat. Lucius growled, twisting against the hands holding him, all of them staggering as his struggles threw them about. Then her fangs were in his flesh.
He bit back a cry at the bright pain, then his outrage brought his own beast to the fore. His furious snarls tangled with the growled profanity of the men fighting to keep him within their grasps. Lucius felt her, an alien, violating presence in his mind, a flashing series of images, of places and people he'd never seen before, but in that instant knew intimately. Her lust, a woman's hot, hungry melting, swept through him. And as he knew her, she tasted him...
She sprang away then, her teeth tearing free of him. He and the men clutching him stumbled back, hitting the wall behind them. She lifted one trembling hand, clawed finger pointing in accusation.
"You dared!" she shrieked, his blood spilling from her fanged mouth to streak her chin and spatter her bosom. "Your own mother! Daughter!" The vampires holding him froze a moment, staring at the Fury-like creature their mistress had become. Lucius took this chance to twist out of their grasp and bolt for the door. The Syrian leapt onto his back, howling, raking her nails down the sides of his face and over his neck and shoulders. Knocked to his hands and knees, he lunged forward, his fingers closing on one of the many sticks in the pile of kindling by the door.
He rolled, pinning the woman for a moment beneath him as he thrust back with the wood in his hand. She screamed as it plunged deep under her ribs, and he heard the other vampires in the room gasp, the shock of her injury passing through their bond. Her grip on him loosened and he moved with all the speed he could muster, literally flying through the door to freedom. Expecting pursuit, he was startled to glance behind him and see none. Perhaps the sky, graying with dawn, deterred them, the woman, injured, choosing not to follow herself nor to send her sons into the growing light. He fled, putting as much distance between them as he could, until the danger of the Sun's first rays drove him to earth.
He found Nicholas sitting in the metal box of his vehicle, parked outside CERK. Sighing over his son's willingness to waste eternity waiting, Lacroix placed one hand on the cloth roof of the car and bent to look through the open window. Nicholas's stare moved from the windshield to Lacroix, his elbow resting on the door, that hand at his mouth, the thumb running over his lower lip. Then his gaze fell to his own hands, as he reached with one for the steering wheel and the other for the ignition key.
"Get in," said Nicholas, as he eased across the seat to unlock the door.
Lacroix's lip curled faintly. "Put back the top first." He stood then, waiting for Nicholas to comply. He felt no obligation to endure the... atmosphere in the car's interior. Stale aftershave and mortal male sweat, a hint of garlic; the effluvium of his son's human... partner. He felt Nicholas's deliberation. As the roof of the car folded back, Lacroix slid into the passenger seat, and Nicholas pulled silently away from the curb.
The car picked up speed and Lacroix found himself smiling. The wind of their passing skimmed through the bristled hair on his head, an interesting tingling sensation. He'd always liked speed; from the fast horses of his youth, to the joy flying under his own power gave him. He turned to look at his companion, who glanced over at him, his golden locks fluttering about his head. Nicholas's brows rose, perhaps at the pleasure in his expression, and then, chuckling, he turned his eyes to the front again. The car leapt forward as he trod on the accelerator. Lacroix watched his face a moment more, then chuckling himself, turned to witness the city rushing by. Nicholas, too, had always appreciated speed.
"Where to, Lacroix?"
The elder raised his hand, waving it vaguely in the direction of the rougher part of the city, toward the docks. "There."
Nicholas cast Lacroix a dubious look.
"Indulge me." He smiled benignly at his son, who returned a wary look, perhaps wondering if he had been swept up in some Lacroixian amusement. The master vampire settled back in his seat, the jittering of Nicholas's mind vibrating against his own. He pushed it aside, letting his thoughts drift, using his internal senses to seek, to hunt...
...to destroy. Lucius had no choice. Not with his secret known. Not if he were to survive. And that, more than anything else, was what he intended to do. No god, no daemon, no evil spirit and no blood-drinker was going to take his life from him. Driven from the hut, he had managed to find an abandoned fox den just before dawn. He'd crouched there during the long day, the deadly rays of the sun heating the earth above him. Vulpine musk sharp in his nose, his mind cleared, became focused. Divia... was gone. Weeks gone. That pain -- that shame -- coiled and twisted in his heart like a viper. But... his life was his own now, no other's. And at dusk, he set out to ensure that it would stay that way.
Burdened as he was, he took great care to land silently, a goodly distance from the hut in the forest. He laid the unconscious soldier gently on the ground, along with his gear. He crouched, checking the man's breathing and pulse. Both were adequate, despite the ugly, spreading bruise on his temple. Lucius quelled his rising hunger, turning away from the blood-scent, the siren song of the beating heart. He slid away, through the trees, toward the charcoal-burner's hut.
He held himself within himself, a skill Divia had taught him, preventing others of their kind from detecting him with their inward senses. He took care to move silently, for this ability did nothing to keep him from being heard with physical ears. His feet skimming above the dry leaves and branches which littered the forest floor, he kept a screen of trees between himself and the sight of the hut. His own senses acutely alert, he discovered a certain pleasure within himself; an enjoyment of his own supple strength, his powers, the keen joy found in hunting deadly prey.
He stopped at the edge of the clearing around the tiny cabin. Sounds of amorous play informed him they dawdled still inside. Relief mingled with a growing anticipation. He hadn't been sure they would be, though he had made all due speed, leaving the fox's den as soon the light had faded to tolerable. He had flown back to Rome, finding the auxilia barracks where he'd left them twenty years ago. It had been no great feat to make his way within, find the man he was looking for, the equipment he needed and to leave without detection. A mortal's toiling journey of a day's span passed in a rush of speed and buffeting wind. Sol had removed his unwelcome presence from the sky not much more than an hour before. And his prey had not yet stirred from their haven.
Lucius crouched, running his plan through his mind once more. It didn't take long; it was a simple one. Gut tight, his lips parted as he drew in a slow breath, pale eyes widening. Whether he hated the woman and her creatures or not -- and he did, for the offense of laying their plebeian hands upon him -- they had to die. Once what he had done to Divia were known... he'd be a dead man. A cold smile curled his lips. And this... was not acceptable. He turned, and slipped back through the trees to where he had left his tools.
The legionary was stirring, groaning softly, as he returned. Lucius placed a large, cool palm over the man's mouth, then scooped him up, cradling him against his chest. Now he could take him, to best use the time the mortal's blood would be fresh within his own veins. Tilting the limp man's head back, he allowed his feeding teeth to slide down. Lucius bent, striking quickly, his fangs sinking into the firm flesh. The blood burst into his mouth; hot, savory. The scent of sun-heated fennel... the cry of a seagull... silken skin beneath his fingers... Lucius fought back a snarling moan, forcing himself to focus on his task, refusing to become lost in the blood-ecstasy.
He stood, the cooling corpse tumbling to the earth, and scooped up the composite bow and the bundle of brutally barbed war arrows. With his blood Lucius had consumed the mortal's skills. With the abilities of one of the best archers in the auxiliary unit humming for their brief time in his veins, he sped back toward the hut. The bitch and her whelps would emerge. Soon. They'd be hungry. And, he had no doubt, hunting for him.
Eager now, he had no desire to wait, and his mind, working with its deadly efficiency even now, quickly produced a number of ruses to lure them out. But they weren't needed. He had set himself, motionless, by a tree facing the single door, arrow nocked on the string. He was contemplating the notion of a fire arrow when they emerged, chattering amongst themselves. He stepped forward, pulling the string of the bow to his ear, calling the old one's name and releasing the arrow all in one fluid movement. She, turning to him, caught it perfectly between her breasts, the slender shaft piercing her heart. She howled, raging, the beast taking her as it received its death wound. Wrapping her fists around the arrow, she attempted to pull it from her flesh, but the arrow head tore and clawed, and would not release its grip. She crumbled, blood erupting from her mouth with her second, gurgling scream. One son echoed her cry as, whirling to flee, the next arrow took him in the back. The third to fall tumbled ten feet from the air, brought down in mid-flight.
Lucius dropped the bow, and stepped toward his writhing foes. He required no aid from the dead archer in dispatching the vanquished. He drew the sword sheathed at his side. He knew all he needed to know about taking heads.
"Lacroix..?"
"There, Nicholas," Lacroix bit out, ignoring the questioning tone of the other's voice and pointing to one of the warehouses. Nicholas slowed, peering toward the building.
"I've already been through here, Lacroix," he said. "The whole area. I didn't find a thing."
Lacroix lifted a scornful brow. "Considering your diet and your... doctor's experiments, that doesn't mean much, Nicholas. Pull over."
Sighing with frustration, the younger vampire parked the car. Lacroix lifted himself out, not bothering with the door. He stood on the sidewalk, head tilted slightly as though listening, while Nicholas got out of the car. He came around beside Lacroix, silently listening for a moment.
Lacroix glanced over at him, eyes widening slightly, a small, expectant smile enlivening his features. "Do you sense it, Nicholas?"
"Sense what?" Sight unhindered by the dark, his eyes flitted about the scene, his brow furrowing as he strained to hear something, anything.
Lacroix snorted. "Make an effort, Nicholas. Don't use just your ears."
Sinking deeper into his mental senses, Nicholas "listened."
Lacroix watched him, lips parted slightly, the sensation of Nicholas reaching and extending himself a welcome one. He felt his mind touch him... and linger. His protege flicked a glance at him, then taking a deep breath, stretched...
"There," he breathed, his eyes lifting to the third floor of the building before them. His maker smiled at the sharpening of his expression, at his hunter's intensity.
"I'll go around the back," Nicholas said softly, "drive him towards you. You-"
"I know the routine, Nicholas. I taught it to you, if you will recall."
Nicholas's response was distracted, unapologetic, his mind already focused on the task at hand. "Fine. Meet you in the middle." Brows lifting, Lacroix watched him disappear, vampire quick, around the corner of the building.
Lacroix prowled through the building, having found entrance by way of an open window. The third floor was a maze of storage areas, full of crates. Judging from the dust and staleness of the air, whatever was stored here was not greatly in demand. He gave up the pretense of mortal movement, gliding, his feet skimming a scant inch above the floor. Utterly silent, his presence wrapped in a mental shroud, he tracked carefully the shifts of the other two vampires, the stranger and his son, on the third floor. Nicholas, unlike his master, opted for making his presence known. With all apparent randomness, he moved through the rooms and halls, sometimes toward the third vampire, sometimes away. His wanderings had the effect, though, of herding their prey, slowly, inevitably, toward Lacroix.
Then the other stepped into a room which Lacroix knew had only the one door and no windows.
"Trapped, Nicholas," Lacroix sent through their bond, slipping quickly down a hall toward the entrance of the room. He felt Nicholas's sudden shift in direction as he arrowed toward him and their cornered quarry. That one sensed it as well, and with a sudden awareness of the situation, darted back for the door. Lacroix loomed suddenly before her, blocking her escape.
The young vampire, a woman seemingly in her early twenties, gasped in shock and fell back a step. Then Nicholas was at Lacroix's side, coiled, intent on finishing the chase. The woman panicked. Growling savagely, she sprang toward them. Nicholas snarled with a deep authority, sounding for all the world like the master vampire he could be, if he applied himself. Then he surged forward and Lacroix watched as there was a brief struggle. Very brief. The woman found herself wrapped in Nicholas's arms, writhing and snapping ineffectually at the air.
Lacroix, who had not moved other than to raise a mildly interested brow, said softly, "Be still." He also swept away his mental cloak, unwrapping his presence. That, more than his words, froze the woman in her place, her eyes wide and staring. Nicholas glanced at him, then raised his brows and shook his head slightly, as if to recollect himself.
Lacroix said, "Release her, Nicholas. I think we can count on our young friend to be sensible."
Nicholas did so, gripping her upper arms a moment to steady her. Then he slid away to stand facing her, a pace or so from Lacroix. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, eyes slightly narrowed. Folding his hands before him with a cool smile, Lacroix observed as she quickly regained her physical and mental balance. Her eyes flitted from him to Nicholas, stony faced and still, beside him. She folded her arms over her chest, gripping her elbows hard.
The silence grew, stretched, as the two older vampires studied her. An attractive woman, Lacroix decided, with enough character to her face to make it likely that she were more than an accidental creation. He could sense she was quite young, however, having no more than a year as a vampire, perhaps less. And she had clearly been living on the fringes for some time. That jaw length hair would no doubt be a sleek sable helmet... were it washed. And the clothing, black slacks and a dark blue silk blouse, were stylish and well made. But they could also do with a cleaning. Wide cheek bones flared under eyes as dark as he'd ever seen. With too square a chin and a mouth tad too wide, she escaped the doll-like beauty favored in these times. He sensed that Nicholas, too, with growing interest, was taking a second look...
"Are you..." the woman ventured at last, their stillness and silence tightening her anxiety to the breaking point, "...Enforcers?" Even rough with tension, her voice carried the easy cadences of Old Virginia.
Lacroix kept his council, curious as to what Nicholas's answer might be. The younger vampire paused a moment, then realized that Lacroix had no intention of speaking.
"No. I'm Nick Knight. Homicide detective with the Toronto PD."
The woman's jaw dropped, then a tentative smile twitched her lips. "You're joking. Right..?" She looked from one vampire to the other, and saw they were quite serious.
Nicholas went on. "I'm investigating two murders. Vampire kills. I'd like to know what you know about that."
She shifted her gaze to Lacroix. Almost pleading, she asked, "He is joking, right? Or are you a police officer, too?"
"No," Lacroix replied smoothly. "Though I too have a question."
The woman's eyes had narrowed with a certain pained confusion.
"Do you have a reason... beyond basic common sense... to fear the Enforcers?" Lacroix's brows rose, his pale gaze meeting hers with a frightening mildness.
Nicholas said quietly, "Vampire kills... unconcealed vampire kills might do it."
Softly, never taking his eyes from her, the elder vampire demurred. "I don't believe the young lady knew her kills had been discovered, Nicholas." He cocked his head slightly. "Did you, my dear."
Mutely, she shook her head, eyes fixed on Lacroix's face.
"So, Nicholas, you seem to have your ... 'killer.' Now what are you going to do? Read her her rights and take her downtown?"
Nicholas shook his head, without an answer, replying only, "It has to stop."
"I- I was hungry," she whispered, pulling both men's eyes back to her.
"We don't have to kill to eat," Nicholas said gently. "Not these days. Not in any time or place that you've been... alive."
She looked at him, a confusion in her dark eyes. "I don't know what you mean, Mister... Detective..? ...Knight."
"You're new to town, clearly," Nicholas explained, his patience increasing in leaps and bounds in the face of those large, frightened eyes. "If you don't know where the Raven is, any one of us can direct you there."
"The Raven?" Her confusion was growing. She rubbed her upper arms as though she were chilled. "I don't know what you mean."
Lacroix's brows rose. Poorly raised, indeed. Or... "Where is your master, child?"
Grief flashed across her features, deep pain washing away all traces of fear. "Dead. I think... he must be dead."
"You must know," Nick said softly.
With eyes closed she took a deep breath. "Yes," she whispered. "He's dead. I didn't see... I couldn't find... any... his body. But, but I felt it." Her eyes opened, opaque with memory. "Trapped... outside at dawn..."
"Once alone, why did you not seek out companions?" Lacroix's voice, bland with apparent indifference, pulled her from her internal torment. She gazed at him with gratitude for a moment, until the words actually sank in. Fear flared again in her eyes. Her mouth opened but no words emerged. Lacroix knew they had reached the crux of the matter.
"Oh, God..." she breathed. Nicholas inhaled, about to speak, but a minuscule twitch of Lacroix's hand stilled him. There followed a long silence. She understood through his implacable, near-white stare that Lacroix's question would be answered.
Her hands, fisted, pressed just under her heart, as though to ease a great pain. "Because... because I killed him."
From the corner of his eye, Lacroix saw the slight stiffening of his son's body. At the same time he sensed an icy chill wash from Nicholas's mind through his own.
"Why?" Nicholas forced from between tightened lips.
She stared at him, blood tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over to streak her cheeks. "I didn't mean to," she replied, struggling with a trembling voice. "I was... stupid. We were out, flying over the mountains. The Blue Ridge in the moonlight, you see... We stayed out too long. When he saw we couldn't reach any shelter we knew, he began to search for a place in the woods. It was... wilderness, where we were. And he found a- a hole in the ground. An animal's den. Just big enough for me. And I wouldn't go in. The raw earth... like a grave. He argued with me, until he realized he had run out of time and he left me to find his own shelter. I started to follow him, but... then the sun came up... the light touched me... and I was in that hole without a second thought. He-" She stopped and Lacroix caught a whiff of her blood as her nails dug into her palms. Voice harsh, she forced out, "He should have let me burn."
Lacroix forbore to comment, though Nicholas must needs offer a gentle, comforting, "You mustn't blame yourself. It was an accident. A horrible accident."
"Yes," Lacroix echoed coolly. "Horrible. And you feared retribution for your part in it."
"We were together... six months and he told me some things. Like about the Enforcers and the Code. About what our... families mean. And what would happen if we broke the Code..." She trailed off, her terrified gaze darting from one of them to the other.
Lacroix looked from her to his son and smiled. "Well, Nicholas, our mystery is solved; an inadequately tutored orphan who feared approaching our community. She was unaware of the presence of... sanctuaries such as our Raven. And would have been chary of finding a meal there even if she were." He spread his hands, smile deepening. "And now, Nicholas. What are you going to do with her?"
Troubled, Nicholas's brow furrowed as he studied her. She was still far too new a vampire to trust on her own. And the Community was not always a kindly place for fledglings, particularly for those on their own. Her life probably wasn't actually in danger, but...
"I... don't know," he confessed.
Lacroix pursed his lips, frowning thoughtfully. "The neatest, most efficient solution is a stake." The woman stared at him open mouthed, aghast.
"Dammit, Lacroix," Nicholas growled, shooting a glance at the young woman.
The elder vampire raised his brows in mock astonishment. "It is certainly the simplest solution, Nicholas. And the quicker, the better, don't you agree? Before... others take note and take interest."
"No," Nicholas insisted, raising his hands in a gesture somewhere between placation and restraint. "There has to be something else."
"You could let me go," the woman suggested softly, without much hope. Both male vampires shook their heads.
"No. I won't have you hunting innocent mortals," Nicholas declared flatly.
"And leaving a series of messes behind yourself that will have a less amiable clean up crew mucking about this city," Lacroix finished. His expression became pensive. "Perhaps..." he began, then stopped.
"Perhaps what?" Nicholas prodded.
"Perhaps with the... proper patronage, our young friend could make her debut amongst us with a minimum of difficulty."
"What do you mean?" his son asked a bit warily. The woman looked on with anxious interest.
Lacroix rested one hand lightly on his chest. "Were it known that the young lady is under my protection, it is highly unlikely she would be molested in any way."
Uncertainty flashed across Nicholas's mobile features, no doubt attempting to puzzle out if this youngster had become a pawn in their ongoing contest. He searched his maker's eyes, wondering at his intent. "Lacroix..?
"I expect, of course, proper compensation," Lacroix replied with his most benign smile. "I'm sure she and I can arrive at an agreeable arrangement."
"Dammit, Lacroix, you-"
"So you are offering to take her under your own wing, Nicholas. How generous of your time and energy." Lacroix grinned sardonically.
"No," Nicholas said quickly, casting an uncomfortable glance at the woman. "That- that wouldn't work."
"Which leaves her what, Nicholas? My offer or..?"
"I accept," the woman blurted, breaking in on their rather focused discussion. "The- his offer, I mean."
Nicholas whirled on her. "You have no idea what you're agreeing to."
"I think I do. And you have no idea what it means to hang twisting in the wind, completely alone, completely helpless, not knowing what you need to survive. Do you?" She glared at Nicholas defiantly, actually placing her fists on her hips.
Lacroix's brows lifted, rather taken with the spark she displayed and curious as to what Nicholas's response would be.
Sliding a sideways glance at Lacroix, Nicholas was silent a moment. "No," he finally answered, voice low. He met her uneasy gaze. "I was taught what I needed to know to survive. And I was always safe... from outsiders." He turned back to the elder vampire, staring into his face, eyes dark. "Lacroix..." he said, nearly inaudible.
His expression unreadable, Lacroix replied, voice equally soft. "It is her choice, Nicholas."
"Choices..." his son sighed. Then Nicholas swept from the room, the speed of his departure winning a startled blink from the fledgling.
"Yes," Lacroix murmured. "Choices. We make them. And then we abide by them."
Through the cracked door of the hut, Lucius watched the Sun consume the dead. Flesh steamed, melted, then burst into flame. When even the bones crumbled to dust, swirling away on a playful breeze, he sealed the door. Day rested heavily upon him, dragging at his limbs, dulling his mind. He curled into one corner of the room, pulling a mass of hides, pungent with goat-reek, over him.
Safe. However temporary the condition, he was, for the moment, safe. Though his root problem remained. He could rule his tongue; no one, mortal or blood-drinker, could make him speak against himself. His blood, though... Could he rule his blood in the same manner, learn to hold what he willed from it? If he could not, then discourse with his kind became too risky. He remembered the rush of images he had received from the Syrian at her brief bite. He had come to know her as well as she had pilfered his blood... and his secret. He could take no lovers... make no children... unless that secret could be concealed.
He would discover how. He would not waste himself skulking on the outskirts of society. His place was in the center. Nothing would keep him from his proper place. Lucius smiled under the musty skins, his icy eyes hooding as sleep took him. He was his own master. He would be ruled by his own will. Even to his too, too honest blood.
FIN
June 1998
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This page was created Tuesday, December 29th, 1998
Most recent revision Tuesday, December 29th, 1998