Darkness of the Soul - Part 3

     Vachon slipped into the Raven in pursuit of two things, a drink
to quench his thirst, and to check on Urs. He managed the drink
without any problem, but Urs had already left. He suspected she had
gone to visit that damned kitten. His place in her life was rapidly
being usurped by that little furball. He threw back his drink in a
single, practiced gulp, and signaled for another. At least, he
thought, she's found something to occupy her mind.
     Vachon was concerned over her behavior. It had been a bit on the
different side since her encounter with the split-personality
vampire. He thought it was turning out for the best, but he wasn't
sure. It was as if a different Urs was coming to life, and he wasn't
certain how to deal with her. He didn't know how he fit in. As much
as he and Urs differed, as much as he was watching Tracy with *very*
mixed feelings, he still cared. More, perhaps, than he liked to
admit, and if she suddenly wasn't there, it would leave an empty hole
in his life. When someone was in your life for decade after decade,
and then for centuries, the dependency on them seemed to grow
greater. He wondered briefly how the old ones like LaCroix, or even
Knight, dealt with loss. For all you learned to roll with the
punches, you needed a few stable people in your life, and if they
were suddenly gone--he shied around the word "dead"--then what did
you do?
     Not that Urs was thinking about walking into the sun--in fact
she was farther from it than she had ever been--but she was also
becoming somebody that Vachon didn't really know. And it made him a
little nervous, if he had to describe the feeling. It was a new
experience for him.
     He guessed he could go over to the Pet place and catch up with
her, but he wasn't sure he was ready to meet the furball, yet. Maybe
he'd let Urs introduce him when she got him home. On the other hand,
that might not be such a good idea. By then, the little monster would
have regained its strength and would be in full hiss mode. Damn! He
hated cats, and he didn't care what size they were.
     Vachon was so absorbed in his thoughts he missed the sudden
shift of color as Nick sat down next to him. He missed Nick's
thoughtful gaze, and he missed his signal for the bartender to bring
him a drink.
     Only when it was placed in front of Nick with a clink did Vachon
look up. He raised an eyebrow in greeting.
     Nick merely nodded as he drank deeply from the wine-cut blood.
Human blood. He couldn't seem to stay away from it.
     "What brings you here, Knight?" Vachon asked idly. "Kind of
late, ain't it?"
     Nick shifted around in his seat to look at Vachon. "Yeah, but I
had to wait until after shift. I had too much to do to get away, and
tonight, Tracy would have insisted on coming. In fact, I'm hoping
she's gone home, and isn't headed this way. I don't need the
complications."
     Vachon smiled slightly. "She usually goes to the church if she
wants to talk to me. She knows I'll show up there sooner or later.
She prefers it to the Raven. Too noisy."
     Both looked around at the Raven. Only a few vampires, and even
fewer humans, remained. All were quietly sitting at tables or booths.
Only one lone woman gyrated to the music on the floor. For the Raven,
it was dead quiet.
     "Yeah, I can understand that," Nick said, grinning.
     "So, what did you want to talk about?" Vachon asked, idly
curious. It was obvious that Knight had an agenda.
     "I want to talk to Urs, actually, but you'll do for a start."
     "Yeah, well, I haven't seen her tonight, either, so I doubt I
can help. Why do you want to talk to Urs?"
     "I want to know about this kitten she found . . ."
     "Oh, God, not you, too!" Vachon exclaimed. "That damned furball
is causing more trouble than he's worth."
     Nick grinned in amusement. "What's he done? I thought he was at
some vet somewhere, wrapped up in tape, after a close encounter with
a wall."
     "He's got Urs's attention, that's what he's done. She's gonna
adopt the little critter, and then I'm going to be stuck with
litter-box duty." Vachon took a drink and continued, "Not to mention,
cats do *not* get along with vampires. She's gonna have one angry,
nasty little companion. I cannot figure out what she's thinking!
     "Besides, why do you care? The police taking an interest in
animal violence these days?" Vachon asked.
     Nick shook his head. "No, not normally, but I think this one
witnessed a murder . . ."
     "And you're going to interrogate it?" Vachon asked
incredulously.
     "No. I just want to know where she found it, and if she saw or
heard anything else at the time," Nick finished, amused. Vachon was
obviously deeply depressed by his competition. "She didn't tell you,
by any chance, where she found it?"
     Vachon shook his head. "No. It was just one of those
conversations wedged into a couple of other conversations. She was
too busy thinking about what to name it to go into details, anyway."
     "Do you know where I might find her?" Nick asked.
     Vachon sighed. "Well, she's either visiting the furball at that
Pet-whatever place or she's home. Urs's got a little place not too
far from here." Vachon reached for a pen on the bar, scribbled the
address on the back of a coaster and handed it to Nick.
     "If you see her, don't mention I called him a furball, okay?"
     "Like she doesn't already know?" Nick asked.
     Vachon sighed. "Yeah, I know. They always know."
     "Thanks, anyway," Nick said laughing and, dropping change on the
bar for his drink, left.

                                 ###

     Urs snuggled up in her chair and watched Snarl with an intensity
that would have unnerved him had he been awake. She watched the
expanding and contracting of his tiny rib cage as he breathed in and
out. She was fascinated by the way his claws occasionally extended
and contracted, and the way his tiny eyes narrowed into slits in his
sleep.
     She reached out a hand to touch him, but pulled back, not
wanting to disturb his concentrated sleep. He was a small, dark ball
with his middle taped up, and one front leg splinted and stretched
out awkwardly. Tape covered stitches on his head as well. He was not
happy about that, and had several times clawed at it. Urs had firmly
but carefully restrained him.
     Urs smiled and leaned closer over his basket. She couldn't
believe that they had let her bring him home, but the doctor felt
that he could heal as well at home as in the clinic.
     "Snarl," she whispered, a large smile lighting her face. Vachon
would be an ass about the name, but she couldn't help it. His rather
frustrated suggestion just seemed so right for her little fighter.
     Snarl moved his leg slightly, and Urs stopped breathing for a
moment, until Snarl relaxed back into his rhythmic breathing.
     She felt absolutely ecstatic, for Snarl, far from being
completely terrified, seemed to have recognized her as his savior.
While he was reserved, as every cat ought to be, he was warming up by
the minute. Especially when she'd provided him with warm milk. That
seemed to be the deciding factor. This was going to work.
     Urs left his basket and did a Snoopy dance around her living
room. She hadn't felt this excited about anything in decades. Life
just seemed so full of possibilities. And Javier, well, he'd just
have to adjust to the new man in her life. She knew he was sweating
the whole idea of a cat invading his territory, the silly idiot.
Whoever said men were not just as territorial as animals were
completely wrong. And vampires were absolutely the worst. Vachon was
a perfect example. He hovered when he thought she might be in
trouble, and he hovered when he thought she was getting out of line.
He might act casual, but he wasn't.
     And he wasn't the only one. Look at LaCroix. He was totally
obsessed with Nick Knight after centuries and centuries. Vampires
were obsessively territorial! Maybe it had something to do with
living so long, and they became stuck in a rut. Well, Javier was just
going to have to adjust.
     Her doorbell rang just as Urs felt the presence of a vampire
standing on the other side. It wasn't Jav, because he would just walk
in, and it wasn't Screed, but it was a signature that seemed somehow
familiar. She opened the door and stared in amazement.
     "May I come in?" Nick asked quietly.
     Urs nodded dumbly. Of all the people she ever expected *not* to
see at her door, it was Nick Knight. As far as she knew, he spent his
time with mortals, working or not. When he showed up at the Raven, it
was typically looking for information, not company. Not only that,
she wasn't sure if she wanted to be this close to the boss's pet
obsession. She didn't know how Nick managed to live with the
intimidation, but obviously he did. She suspected that he was
probably as strong-willed as LaCroix. But not knowing him, beyond her
brief encounter when Jacqueline killed herself, she could only guess.
     Urs stepped back and let Nick in. He walked in quietly and
looked around, assessing her home, learning about Urs from what she
kept near her.
     He noticed without lingering her predilection for impressionist
and post-impressionist painting, as well as her enjoyment of fine
furniture. There wasn't much, but what there was, was elegant and
comfortable. And then Nick zeroed in on the basket sitting next to a
wing-back chair. In it lay a small kitten, witness to the murder of
Liz Margulies, Nick presumed. He knelt down by the kitten and watched
it for a moment.
     Urs hovered a bit uncomfortably. "Uh, would you like something
to drink?"
     Nick looked up and smiled. "No, but thank you."
     Urs shifted her gaze away for a moment, then met his rather
direct regard.
     Nick stopped her unasked question with an answer. "You're
wondering why I'm here. I'm here because of your kitten." He looked
down at the kitten, who slept on undisturbed by his visit.
     "Snarl?" Urs said, uncomprehending. She sat down with a slight
thud in her wing-back chair.
     "Snarl . . . ?" Nick asked in confusion.
     "Uh . . . oh, that's what I named him. Snarl. Javier suggested
it, in a fit of jealousy, but I thought it was cute, so . . ." Urs
shrugged, a little embarrassed. "I named him Snarl."
     Nick laughed, and getting up from the floor, took a seat
opposite Urs.
     "Well, he's quite a fighter, anyway."
     "Yes," Urs said softly, "but I don't see why that would bring
you here."
     "There was a murder two nights ago, off Bloor Street. A woman's
body was found in a dumpster. She'd been strangled. In the alleyway
leading down to the dumpster, we found a shoe and fresh blood smeared
down the wall. It was obviously where she was killed. The killer took
the body and hid it in the dumpster. The blood," Nick concluded, "was
animal blood.
     "I had no idea why there was blood there, because the woman was
strangled to death. And I admit, I hadn't thought much about it until
Tracy told me that a 'friend' of hers had a friend who'd found a
kitten who'd been used as, the way Tracy described it, a bean-bag."
     Urs stared at Nick, transfixed by his short, but succinct
narrative.
     "Would that by any chance be where you found Snarl?" Nick asked.
     After a moment, Urs nodded. "Yes. That's exactly where I found
him. And now that you mention it, I remember seeing a shoe there. I
believe it was red--an Italian import, with a three inch heel."
     Nick smiled. A vampire could remember precisely things they had
seen in passing. And Urs had described accurately the shoe left in
the alley.
     "You didn't hear or see anything else, did you?"
     Urs thought for a moment, and as she opened her mouth, Snarl
moved and made a sound suspiciously like a tiny snore. Urs and Nick
stared intently for a moment, but Snarl did nothing more.
     They looked at each other and smiled in shared amusement. Urs
suddenly felt a lot of liking for Nick. He liked cats, and he liked
Snarl. She wondered if Snarl would like Nick. It might be interesting
to find out.
     "No," Urs said. "I didn't see anything else. But it was just
about ten. I was supposed to be to work at ten. It was delivery
night. There were shipments both coming and going. I had just enough
time to fly there, when I found Snarl. He was in the alley I was
going to use for a take-off. I took him to the vet instead. I was
late. Really late."
     Urs looked at Nick candidly. "LaCroix was mad."
     Nick nodded, feeling sympathy. He'd been the object of LaCroix's
anger numberless times.
     "Thanks," Nick said. "That might help us narrow things down a
bit. The woman who was killed appears to have had a lot of enemies."
     "Still," Urs said softly, "it's an awful way to die."
     Nick met her eyes with total comprehension. "Yes," he agreed,
"it is."
     "I'm sorry I can't help you any more than that, but I'd been in
a painting class, and was cutting things a little close. And as it
was, I was sidetracked just walking down to the alley. I remember
thinking it was a beautiful night, and then this guy accosted me, so
I told him to go take a dip in the lake." Urs giggled a little at
that, and Nick, after a surprised moment, joined in.
     "I'll bet he got quite a shock when he hit the water," Nick
laughed.
     "Oh, I know. It just seems so much more fitting than . . . Well,
you know. And I've never really taken killing very lightly," Urs
finished, more seriously. "It's just not right."
     The atmosphere in the room changed abruptly, as Nick looked at
her as if seeing her for the first time.
     "You really believe that?" Nick asked slowly.
     Urs nodded.
     After a moment, Nick added carefully, "So do I." He didn't
elaborate, but Urs could see volumes of pain fill his eyes and spill
across his face at the words. She was astonished at how expressive
his face was, and his eyes . . . 
     Urs cleared her throat after a moment, cutting the sudden
tension that had sprung up as they'd stared at each other.
     "But aren't you . . . ? I mean haven't you been around for . . .?"
     "Centuries," Nick finished grimly. "Yes, I have. I had to learn
through bitter experience how precious every life is, every soul,
whether they've lived ill or well. I cannot judge who should live or
who should die, and the lives I've taken weigh rather heavily on me."
     Urs looked at him for a long moment, and he met her gaze
unflinchingly. "Is that why you want to be mortal again? That is, you
do want to be mortal, don't you?"
     Nick stared for timeless moments at Urs. He couldn't remember a
vampire ever asking him why he wanted to be mortal. In fact, he
couldn't remember when he hadn't been met with derision if the
subject had come up, but there was none in Urs's eyes, only
compassion.
     "Yes," he said in a low voice, "but not only for that. I want to
regain my soul. I want . . . redemption."
     "Forgiveness . . . from God?" Urs asked finally, dropping the
words into the thick silence between them.
     Nick nodded, his gaze on the floor.
     Urs stood and crossed the room to kneel at his side. She took
his hand and looked up into his face. "It's not a shameful thing to
want, Nick. You were a Catholic, weren't you?"
     Nick barely moved his head, his heart swimming with such
powerful emotions that he could barely respond to the kindness Urs
offered.
     Urs smiled and rubbed his hand as she spoke. "I was raised in a
rather religious environment, too. But it didn't take, at least not
specifically. I believe in God, but I'm not sure that any religion
has the exclusive truth about Him. But that's beside the point. I
still believe in a lot of those fundamental truths. What you learn as
a child--it shapes you. It stays with you." Urs laughed a little
shakily and conceded, "In fact, it stays whether you want it or not,
sometimes."
     Nick's grip tightened convulsively over her hand at her
comprehension. "You are the sum of your experiences," he said slowly.
     Urs nodded her head, staring intently at Nick's hand, taking in
the fineness and nobility of shape. She noticed without realizing how
carefully manicured they were. Somewhere in her, something seemed to
burgeon to life with a fierce intensity.
     Oblivious, Nick spoke over her head. "LaCroix has struggled to
extinguish my moral beliefs ever since he brought me across . . . but
I can't let them go. They are the only anchor in my life. I tried, at
first. I was disillusioned, angry, and weary of all I had seen, when
I met LaCroix. I wanted to abandon God because I thought he'd
abandoned me. I found so much of the world hypocritical. I was ripe
for LaCroix's seduction. But no matter how hard I tried to leave my
beliefs behind, I . . . I couldn't."
     He stared at Urs, met her bright blue gaze with a rueful look.
"I tried killing only the guilty, but that, too, was a lie. Who am I
to judge who is guilty? We are the guilty--they are innocent. So I
stopped killing over a hundred years ago.
     "I've been searching for a way back for over two-hundred years.
I don't know that there is a way back to mortality. I hope so, but if
not, I hope at least that there is redemption for a repentant
vampire."
     Nick closed his eyes, closed them against the pain, against the
sheer audacity of his goal, against finding condemnation in Urs's
eyes.
     Urs stared up into his face and wondered how he survived with
such a complicated heart. The burden and weight he carried seemed to
make her own feel like a mere wisp.
     "How do you go on, from day to day, with such a burden?" she
asked before she realized she was asking. Nick looked at her,
startled, and she rushed on to explain.
     "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, but I was thinking about my
life, and how hard I've struggled to keep going. I didn't have a
choice in becoming a vampire, really. When I met Vachon, I wanted to
die. I felt I couldn't bear my life for one more second. When I
realized what he was, I asked him to kill me. But Javier, well, he
couldn't. So he brought me across. I couldn't kill myself before, and
I found I couldn't kill myself after, so I just kept going on--feeling so empty, but I kept going. And the burden has felt so heavy.
     "It was only after Jacqueline . . ."
     " . . . after she told you why you behaved that way," Nick
injected softly.
     "Yes," Urs agreed, nodding her head. "It was then that I began
to understand. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have
control--I have hope. And that was why I asked. I'm sorry."
     "No. It's okay," Nick said. "Like you, I just do. There's
nothing else to do. And I work. I find useful occupations. I try to
help, to give. And that is what makes each day bearable--that and the
incredible people I meet on the way."
     Nick stared into space for a moment, thinking of Natalie and
what selfless love she gave to him, while on his part, he could do
nothing to return it.
     Urs stared up into his face and wondered what he was thinking
about that gave him such pain. Impulsively she reached up and stroked
his face with her other hand. "You need to laugh more, have a little
more joy along the way."
     Nick was startled at her touch and flinched a bit. "What do you
mean?" he asked defensively.
     "I mean," Urs said calmly, "you should bear that big old heavy
burden a little more cheerfully. You're not supposed to go around
wearing a heavy face all the time. Think of the positive stuff, and
if you don't mind the cliche, be happy."
     Nick stared at her, a stoniness appearing in his eyes. "That's a
little difficult when you've taken as many lives as I have."
     "But not impossible. You start with a few minutes at a time.
That's what I'm doing." Urs laughed at Nick's uncomprehending look.
"You know, like when we were laughing over the way Snarl was snoring.
Things like that. For just that moment, you weren't weighed down,
were you?"
     Nick slowly shook his head. "No. I guess not. But it's always
there."
     "Of course it is," Urs said impatiently, amazed at how thick men
could be. "But it's how you let it be there that counts."
     He stared puzzledly at her, and Urs could tell he didn't get it.
He had held his pain to him so closely for so long, he couldn't let
it go. He looked so much like a little, confused boy for a moment
that Urs couldn't help herself, and she stroked his face once more
and smoothed his hair back from his face.
     "Just let it slip away . . ." Urs suddenly found coherent
thought leaving her as she stared into his fathomless blue eyes, that
were such deep wells of pain. An unexpected desire welled up inside
her, and she swallowed.
     Nick gazed at her, feeling need ignite out of nowhere--need for
acceptance, need for love, so much need. He looked down at the small,
but strong hand in his for a moment and then looked up to find her
staring at him in just that way.
     His gaze drifted to her lips, full, red and soft. He looked back
into her eyes, but she was looking at his lips, then she met his
gaze, and suddenly there was no space at all between them as she
reached up and kissed him.
     And then she wasn't, leaving Nick feeling oddly bereft. Nick
stared down into her eyes only inches from his, caught up in the
emotions suddenly churning inside him.
     Urs slowly slid her hands up his arms, sending his thoughts into
chaos.
     "I . . . can't . . ." He trailed off, as she kissed him again,
pushing him back into the chair. And then his arms were around her of
their own volition, and he met her kiss with sudden passion as he
pulled her into his arms.
     Urs moved into his lap and slid her arms around his neck as the
kiss grew and all her senses went into overload.
     He kissed her desperately, fiercely, and he trailed his lips
across her face as if memorizing its contours by feel alone. She
kissed his neck and grazed it with her fangs, and felt him shudder.
His hands slid up to capture her face for a brief moment as his lips
met hers once more, and then he feathered kisses down her neck while
his hands found the buttons of her blouse.
     One by one, he undid them, with gentle finesse she was hardly
aware of, as his lips followed his hands in a downward path. Urs
buried her face in his hair and breathed in his fragrance, enraptured,
and giddy. He smelled so wonderful. Better than Vachon. Better than
anyone. She bit his ear lightly, letting a droplet of blood fall on
her tongue. She savored it, and the strength that seemed to flow out
of him.
     Nick, his lips on the gentle swell of her breast, stilled for a
moment and looked up into her golden, laughing eyes.
     His own golden eyes glittered with passion and desire as he
stared at her, but sanity whispered to him that this was his last
chance to turn back.
     "Love me, Nick," Urs whispered, her hands closing tightly on his
shoulders. "Love me, just for the moment, and let me love you . . ."
     He stared at her, breathing hard, and knew the moment was past
to choose as she pulled him up out of the chair. He followed in a
smooth motion, and pulled her fiercely into his arms even as she was
still moving backwards. They slammed into the wall as their lips met
in desperate need and want, kiss after ever deeper kiss, and then
slowly they slid down the wall. And as they did, Nick slid his lips
across her cheek and down her neck, causing Urs to shudder at the
sheer sensuality of it, and then he plunged his fangs into her smooth
white neck.
     Only seconds later, he quivered in complete bliss as he felt
Urs's fangs penetrate his own neck . . . 
     Behind them, Snarl slept on unaware of the storm breaking.

                                 ###

     The sun was just setting when Urs woke, feeling an odd languor.
The weight of an arm across the smooth flesh of her naked breast
brought the day's activities back to mind. A smile touched her face
and she slowly turned her head to find Nick's face nestled in the
curve of her neck. His gentle breath breezed across her skin, sending
tingles up her spine.
     Nick's face was smooth and at rest in his sleep, belying the
passions that warred beneath the surface. She let her hand drift
along his arm that covered and protected her, and reflected on this
strange turn of events.
     Not even in her inventive mind would she have imagined a
passionate episode with Nick Knight. The boss's troubled and
troubling son. Mr. Mortal Wannabe. She shook her head slightly at the
confused images that brought to mind. This whole thing was insane, it
was crazy, it was . . . wrong. And it was right. She felt as if she'd
just become ensnared in a spider's web, and wasn't sure that even if
she could find a way out, she wanted it.
     He was passionate, he was emotions incarnate, he was sweet, he
was cruel, he was noble and base. An incredibly sensitive soul lurked
there, hiding behind the vampire, struggling to figure out what was
right and wrong. He was still a medieval knight, and she knew
instinctively he would make sweeping decisions for her without a
second thought about whether that was what she wanted. Well, that
wasn't much different than Jav, now was it? Or, come to think of it,
a lot of men she'd met.
     He walked a very fine line between mortals and vampires. He was
truly a divided soul, like herself, but for different causes.
     She could be in love with him, very easily. And he loved someone
else. Two someone elses, if she wanted to be specific.
     She looked down at the soft sweep his lashes made against his
face. Yes, she could . . . she did love him. Just like that. His
whole life was in his blood, and he'd held nothing back from her.
There was something about his fractured nobility that melted her
defenses in a way no one had in a long, long time.
     She lifted the hand that lay against her breast and examined his
hand minutely. She sniffed him, and smiled at the silliness of it.
But he smelled . . . absolutely delicious. She pressed a kiss into
the palm of his hand and then placed it back where she'd found it.
Urs knew she would have to enjoy the moment, because when he woke,
Nick might very well walk out and never come back. Not because he
didn't like her, but because he did--and because he was honorable.
     He loved Natalie Lambert. Images of her were everywhere. He
practically worshipped her, and yet she was mortal--and unobtainable
by Nick's standards. It was there in every layer of his blood and
mind. He would not bring her across. He would not. Urs thought about
that, and wished Jav had upheld the same kind of standard on a night
in New Orleans long ago. But that was spilt milk, and she brushed it
away.
     Urs snuggled a little closer to Nick, trying to impart her love
and warmth to him, even in his sleep. He would need it, for he
couldn't be close to Natalie Lambert, and his other love was gone,
abandoning him. When he was in need and desperate, he had turned to
Janette. Urs closed her eyes to bring the image clearer. She had
known Janette only superficially, but had been awed by her elegance
and sophistication, her calm acceptance of life. Seeing her through
Nick's eyes made her realize that perhaps Janette hadn't been so calm
after all. She loved Nick, she didn't love Nick, in a centuries old
on-again, off-again relationship.
     No wonder Nick was so emotionally needy. Just like Urs. She slid
her hand delicately up his arm to his bare shoulder, and then gently
touched his hair. He was so beautiful. And she wanted to make his
menage a trois a foursome.
     "Please," Urs breathed, "don't walk away. Find a place for me in
your life, too."
     Nick stirred, and after a moment, he blinked and then opened his
eyes fully to look into Urs's face.
     "Hi," she said softly.
     Nick's face was for a moment a mass of confusion, and then his
memories sorted themselves out.
     "Urs," he said quietly. His hand caressed her breast briefly and
then lifted to her face. Urs leaned her face into his palm.
     And then he kissed her gently, before laying back and rolling
over to take in his surroundings.
     The door to her bedroom was held open by a trail of clothes.
Shirts, jeans, trousers, and assorted underwear littered the floor.
His face went faintly pink--about as red as a vampire could go.
     "Ummm . . ." he started.
     Urs laughed, and whispered in his ear, "Don't be."
     Nick looked at her and almost smiled, then it vanished. "I'm
sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have let this happen."
     Urs decided to take the bull by the horns. "Because of Natalie?"
     Nick nodded slowly.
     "It was bound to happen with someone, though, sooner or later,"
Urs said in a low voice, her hand sliding over his.
     Nick glanced at her, then away. "No . . ." he whispered.
     "Yes," Urs finished. "You're pretty open, Nick, and it was all
there for me to read. Without Janette here, it was bound to happen."
     Nick didn't say anything, but sat up and covered his face with
his hands.
     "I don't mean to hurt you," Urs whispered, sitting up and
running her hand slowly up and down his back, in love with the sheer
smoothness of his skin over powerful muscle. "It's just that I looked
into your eyes last night, and something happened. I don't know what,
exactly, but I felt like we fit . . ." She trailed off at his
unresponsiveness. He might be naked, but his defensive system was
working just fine.
     Urs moved her hand away and bit her lip, waiting. After a
moment, Nick looked up and turned his head, meeting her gaze. "It's
not your fault, Urs. It's mine. I've never been one to think, I
just . . . act on what I feel. It's not a very good trait." His hand
covered hers.
     "You are beautiful, Urs, and you're kind. You're the nicest
thing that's happened to me in a long time." Nick reached over and
kissed her again, lingeringly. Then he sat back.
     "But?" Urs asked, knowing it was there.
     "I don't want to hurt you, and this would only end up hurting
you. Then I'd have Vachon calling me out in a duel or something."
     Urs laughed at that. "He's not *that* protective."
     "Oh, I think he would be. He'd consider it a way to even the
score."
     Urs looked askance.
     "Tracy," Nick said briefly. "I make him toe the line with
Tracy."
     "Oh," Urs said softly, then, "so I won't see you again?"
     Nick sighed. "I think it's better that way."
     "I don't."
     Nick just shook his head.
     "Nick, just think about it, okay? Just let me be a friend, let
me be there when you need help," Urs pleaded.
     Nick took her hand in his, and looked searchingly into her eyes.
"But then I'd be using you, like all those other men have. I don't
want to do that."
     Urs had no reply. Obviously, she had been as open as Nick in the
passion of the moment.
     "You deserve better," Nick whispered against her hair. He slid
out of bed, and walked across the room, gathering his clothes. Urs
watched him, loving his easy grace, and beautiful body. A scar on his
hip from his mortal life drew her eyes. He'd been mortal in a bloody,
bitter time, and the scars he bore outwardly were only the barest
indication of all the scars he wore inwardly.
     He dressed quickly, and then came back where Urs sat motionless,
wondering if she would ever learn how to choose someone. She didn't
know how. All she ever picked were users and abusers, until now.
Until Nick. She just knew he was a good choice for her. He might hurt
her, but it wouldn't be intentional.
     She looked up into his eyes, trying to hold back the tears. He
leaned over and took her face in his hands. "Thank you," he said.
     "What's the rush?" Urs choked out.
     Nick stroked her face. "I have to change before work. They're
detectives--they'd notice if I showed up wearing what I wore
yesterday.
     "Thank you, Urs," Nick said kissing her softly, and then he
left.
     Only then did Urs realize that another night had begun. She
wiped the tears from her eyes, and got up. Nick was right, you just
kept going.
     Besides, she had a kitten to feed. 





Chapter 7

     Nick entered the precinct, his hair still wet. He glanced at the
clock, already knowing he was late.
     Tracy looked up briefly as he sat down in his chair. "Guess what
we got from Vice?"
     "What?" Nick asked, not even attempting to guess. He was still
trying to come to terms with his encounter with Urs. He was having a
hard time putting two and two together, let alone coming up with any
kind of solution.
     Tracy looked up again and raised her eyebrows. She took in his
appearance. "Get up a little late, Nick?"
     Nick ran his hand through his hair, a little disoriented. "I
didn't sleep well, and I never heard the alarm." That was true,
anyway. He hadn't been home to *hear* the alarm.
     "Sorry," Tracy said, "I know how that goes."
     Nick didn't think she did, in this case, but wasn't about to
elaborate on his suddenly complicated life.
     "What did you get from Vice?" Nick asked, deciding to get back
on track. He put Urs mentally on hold, and filed it away.
     "I passed along copies of the notebooks we found at Liz's place
to Jake Hall in Vice. He's their code-cracker, and he came up with
some the answers to Liz's notations."
     Nick leaned forward with a stirring of interest. "What'd he
say?"
     "Jake says it's her rating system--he actually found the code.
She had it written down in between some stuff on one of the pages.
     "There were four categories. The first had three ratings: gs,
bs, and ps, for, get this, good source, bad source, and possible
source. The second had only two: em for easy money, and dm, for
difficult money. The third category was t and nt for threat and no
threat. Liz categorized her victims and went after those that were
easy targets."
     "What was the fourth category?" Nick asked.
     "What, oh, that was the amount of money she was getting from
them. The rest of it was her contact number and where they met. This
woman had absolutely no fear," Tracy went on, a little amazed. "She
was crazy."
     Nick leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. "Maybe
we should talk to her blackmail victims--especially any that she
considered threats. Maybe one of her riskier victims decided to get
rid of her."
     Tracy smiled brightly. "I figured you'd see it that way, so I've
tracked down those marked as 'threats' and where they are tonight.
John Kelsey is at home, Charles Grafton is out of town, Eric Milner
is at the symphony and won't be home until late, and finally Bryce
Collier is working late at the Gazette."
     Nick looked up sharply. "Bryce Collier, who threatened Liz, was
in her book?"
     Tracy nodded triumphantly. "Yup. But he's the only one. And he's
also listed as a threat. But she was still extracting $1,200 a month
from him. That's either supremely stupid or gutsy. I'm not sure
which."
     Nick stood up. "I think we should pay Bryce Collier a visit
first."
     "Me, too," Tracy said, and they headed out the door.

                                 ###

     Nick pulled the Caddy up in front of the Toronto Gazette and
parked. Tracy looked out her window to notice the fire hydrant a mere
two meters away. That was his third fire hydrant this week. She
decided he had to have a magnetic attraction for them. Smiling, she
got out and followed Nick into the Gazette's tall, modern structure.
     The night receptionist directed them towards Bryce Collier's
office on the fourteenth floor. The elevator let them out onto a
plushly carpeted floor in a broad hallway that led directly to
Collier's private office.
     Nick knocked gently on the door.
     "Yeah?" was the only answer.
     Nick glanced at Tracy and opened the door. Collier didn't look
up immediately. His brow was furrowed as he read and marked the paper
in front of him.
     Nick cleared his throat, and Collier looked up. He put the paper
down. "I thought you were Mick," he said. "Sorry. What can I do for
you?"
     Nick flashed his badge briefly and introduced them. "I'm
Detective Knight, and this is Detective Vetter, Mr. Collier. We'd
like to ask you a few questions."
     Collier leaned back in his chair. "What about?"
     "We're investigating the murder of Liz Margulies, Mr. Collier."
     A dark look crossed Collier's face, and a harsh bark of laughter
escaped him. "Liz Margulies, huh? Well, I can't say I'm sorry. She
was a bitch, and I hated her guts."
     Nick lifted an eyebrow at Collier's gruff honesty. "Could you
tell us your whereabouts on Tuesday night between 7 p.m. and 1:30
a.m.?"
     Collier smiled darkly. "Well, as much as I would like to have
killed her, I didn't, Detective. I was right here in a board of
directors meeting on Tuesday, until about 10:30. Then I spent some
time with my editor going over a couple of articles we were planning
to publish. I left about 1:00 and got home about 1:20--and it takes
twenty minutes to get there. My wife can confirm my arrival time."
     Nick nodded at the information. He hesitated a moment, glancing
at Tracy. "We have found evidence that Liz Margulies was blackmailing
you, Mr. Collier, and Carol Weitz has indicated that you threatened
her. Would you tell us what that was about?"
     Collier's face grew darker still, anger settling into the harsh
lines of his brows. "That bitch," he breathed heavily. "What'd she
do, document it?"
     "Not specifically, Mr. Collier," Tracy said, "but she did leave
a book containing a list of her victims."
     "Hell!" Bryce swore, pounding the desk. "You'd think that her
being dead would be good news, but not if I have to have this spread
all over town."
     "That depends entirely upon you, Mr. Collier," Nick said. "We
can do this the easy way, or we can take it downtown to the
precinct."
     Collier stared out the window for a long moment, then looked
back at Nick. "Can you guarantee this won't get out?"
     "That depends on what she was blackmailing you for," Tracy said.
     Collier drummed his fingers on the desk, a sharp staccato of
anxiety. He took a deep breath, and indicated the door. 
     "Close that," he commanded.
     Tracy closed the door quietly.
     "I met Liz at a fund-raiser function about two years ago. Troy
Wilson introduced me to her. Troy's the head of the Toronto
Charitable Foundation. She was a fascinating woman, had a really
*interesting* personality. She was exciting. She did crazy stuff, you
know. And one thing led to another. She arranged for Troy and me to
have a weekend with these four women, in exchange for a major
contribution."
     A faint look of distaste crossed Tracy's face at the thought,
but she said nothing.
     "We had a good time. I'd never done anything like that, with two
and three and, well, four at a time. And I can't say I'd mind if
people found out about that, but it was what happened after. The
women packed it up and left, and it was just Troy and me. I don't
know what happened, maybe it was all the booze and drugs, maybe it
was just a latent desire to try it all, but we . . . well we had sex.
Just that once. Then it was over. But that damn woman had hidden
cameras. She had us with the women, and she had me with Troy on film.
I don't want anyone thinking I'm gay--because I'm not, dammit. It
just happened, and it's never happened since. That's why I was paying
her, to keep her ugly lips shut. It could ruin me, and it sure as
hell would ruin my wife. I do love her, you know, and some things she
would accept, but that isn't one of them." Collier looked up almost
pleadingly at Nick.
     "I don't think this needs to come to light, Mr. Collier," Nick
said quietly. "If we have more questions, we'll contact you. We may
need to verify your whereabouts for Tuesday, though. Could you give
us a list of those you met with that night?"
     Collier nodded. "Sure. I'll have my secretary make up a list
tomorrow and send it down."
     Nick handed him his card. "Just have her send it to this
address."
     Just then the door opened and a tall, heavily built man stepped
in. "Oh, sorry, Bryce," he apologized. "I didn't know anyone else was
here."
     "It's okay, Mick," Bryce said wearily, "it's just the police.
They're just leaving. It turns out that Liz Margulies is dead, and
I'm a suspect."
     Tracy was astonished at Collier's honesty, and it made her
revise her opinion slightly (but not a lot) upwards.
     "This is Mick Quinn," Collier said. "He's my financial advisor.
Come to think of it, I met him through Troy, too."
     Mick merely smiled faintly.
     Nick and Tracy nodded, and headed for the door. "If we need
anything else, we'll be in contact, Mr. Collier," Tracy said, as they
left. Nick followed her out, frowning. When Collier had mentioned why
they were there, Quinn's heart rate had gone through the roof. It
hadn't shown on his face, but he'd been very nervous, indeed. Nick
wondered what he had to be scared about, and what his involvement
might be. He put it on his mental list as they headed for the
elevator.

                                 ###

     Urs stared moodily at her drink, lost in thought. Depression
blanketed her as she remembered another conversation with Nick.

     *"I could have saved her," Nick said in despair.
     "Nothing could have saved her. She was like me. Nothing could
	have saved her except death. She's lucky," Urs said softly,
	understanding completely.*

     He'd been filled with despair at his failure, and Urs had been
filled with pain of understanding at Ellen's suicide--or rather
attempted suicide. A fall was not enough to kill a vampire, but it
did stop them for a while.
     Nick had been waiting when Ellen woke up in the morgue, that Urs
knew from Vachon. He had taken her somewhere where she could get help
and integrate all the lost people inside of her back together, and
eventually understand what and who she was.
     Urs idly ran her finger around the lip of her glass as she
seriously contemplated finding help. She'd made a serious detour on
the way to becoming whole herself. She'd detoured right into Nick,
and he'd walked away--as she'd feared.
     He'd walked away and Urs had realized that maybe Nick was just
another manifestation of her need for love. But she could honestly
say that he was the first to walk away because it was better for both
of them. At least, he thought it was better.
     Urs wasn't so sure. She felt an ache deep inside to be with him.
And oddly enough, she wanted to make him happy. It was weird in a
way, because she usually wanted to please men so that she would feel
accepted, but with Nick, she just wanted to ease his pain. He was
full of so much pain--even more than she was. She understood the
pain, even if she didn't understand his convoluted thinking that had
brought him to the abyss, and she wanted to help. The trouble was, he
didn't want her help.
     Vachon slid onto the barstool next to her and cocked his head to
the side to examine Urs closely.
     She didn't meet his eyes.
     "Urs," he said softly, "what's going on?"
     Urs shrugged. "Nothing."
     "That's not exactly true," Vachon whispered in her ear.
     Urs slowly looked up to meet his eyes. "Well, then, it's nothing
I want to talk about."
     Vachon's brow puckered slightly at the rebuff, but he said
nothing, as he watched her.
     "Oh, go away, Vachon," Urs said irritably.
     "Did the kitten die?" he asked, trying to figure it out. She was
sending frustration and pain out in dark clouds around her for the
first time in months, and he didn't want her backsliding into
despair.
     "No," Urs said into her glass. "He's fine."
     "But you're not."
     "Thanks for the update, Javier," Urs muttered.
     "How can I help if you don't tell me what's going on?" Vachon
asked, feeling helpless. He could never figure out what to say when a
woman was like this.
     "I don't want your help, Jav," Urs said, looking at him. "I
understand the problem, and I just need to figure out what, if
anything, I should do about it, okay?"
     Vachon scratched his head in frustration.
     Urs took pity on him, her anger suddenly dissipating. She
covered his hand with hers. "Jav, it's okay. It's just that I met
somebody yesterday, and I find that old habits are not that easy to
break. That's all."
     Vachon's face cleared. "Urs, you know if you need
anything . . ."
     "I know, Jav," Urs said softly, "but not right now, okay?"
     Urs looked at her watch. "I've got to get back to work. I'll
talk to you later." She slid off her stool and threaded her way
through the crowds to disappear into the back of the Raven.
     Vachon chewed his lip thoughtfully. Mentally, he put two and two
together and came up with something he didn't like. Knight had been
looking for Urs last night. He wondered if he'd found her. Urs didn't
have a thing for Knight, did she? The thought made him wince. That
would just make life complete, now wouldn't it? Tracy and him, and
Knight and Urs. He couldn't see it, though. Knight was in love with
the Doc. But that didn't mean that Urs couldn't decide to want
Knight.
     Vachon shook his head, and ordered a drink. He'd just have to
wait until Urs told him. He could wait. She wasn't one to keep things
to herself for long.

                                 ###

     Nick and Tracy returned to the precinct after interviewing John
Kelsey and Eric Milner. John Kelsey, it turned out, had committed
sexual assault years before and never been caught. How Liz Margulies
had found out was a mystery, but Kelsey couldn't afford the blemish
on his career, so he'd paid her.
     His crimes were too long ago to press charges, but Nick had
instinctively disliked Kelsey. If you did it once, you were more than
likely a repeat offender. He wondered what Kelsey had been doing
since that time to indulge his appetites, and decided he didn't want
to know right now. He had enough to deal with. But he knew what his
own past was like, and what it had taken to change--and most people
didn't want to change that badly.
     Tracy had been quite vocal after they left Kelsey's.
     "Honestly," she said, "isn't there anybody involved in this that
isn't a complete low-life?"
     Unfortunately, low-life or not, he'd been at his mother's
birthday bash on Tuesday night. As host, his alibi was iron-clad.
     Eric Milner had been the surprise, though. Eric was gay, but as
a child psychologist, he felt he would be ostracized and unable to
help children if people knew, so he kept it very, very quiet. He
admitted to being angry at Liz, and threatening her in the beginning.
After all, who wouldn't be angry if they were being blackmailed? But
he hadn't killed her. He couldn't. Life was too precious to him.
Besides which, he'd been working the night clinic Tuesday until 11:00
p.m.
     Eric quietly pointed out that he'd had only one partner for
almost fifteen years. His fidelity and faithfulness were far greater
than most married men.
     Liz, Nick thought, was truly cruel to take advantage of even
those who weren't necessarily evil, or indulging in sexual excesses.
And Nick wasn't one to judge Eric. His own life was full of far worse
deeds.
     Even Tracy doubted Eric was a real possibility. "I just can't
see him killing anybody, Nick," Tracy said softly. "He's just too
nice--even if he did threaten Liz. If I was angry, I might just make
that kind of phone call, too."
     Nick agreed. While Eric could have done it, it seemed unlikely,
given the time frame and his personality.
     They decided to sift through all the personal and financial
records and see if there was anything there. Somebody had killed Liz
Margulies, and given her track record, it hadn't been a random
killing.
     Tracy munched her way through a cinnamon bun and drank two cups
of coffee to keep going. There was nothing more boring that looking
at financial records--and Caring Hands had tons of records.
     Nick was staring at Liz's personal accounts when he suddenly sat
up.
     Tracy looked up. "What?"
     Nick stared at the paper for a moment, and then waved it at
Tracy. "Liz Margulies changed financial advisors eight months ago."
     Tracy raised an eyebrow. "And?"
     "Her advisor used to be Michael Quinn."
     Tracy's forehead puckered for a moment. "Wait, didn't we meet
him in Collier's office?"
     Nick nodded. "Yeah, and I got the impression he was nervous when
he realized who we were."
     "A lot of people get nervous around the police, Nick," Tracy
pointed out.
     "I know, that's why I didn't pay any attention, but . . . I
think this is a pretty interesting coincidence. He's Collier's and
Wilson's advisor. I wonder what happened eight months ago that would
make her change that?" Nick said thoughtfully.
     Tracy's eyes brightened. "I'm just about to that. Let's see if
anything shows up in the Caring Hands Records."
     "Not to mention Liz's personal accounts."
     Both started searching. Tracy found it first. "Nick," she said
excitedly, "there's a discrepancy in the accounts. I'm not sure, we'd
need an accountant, but maybe somebody was cooking the books."
     Nick came around and looked over her shoulder. She was right,
there was a possible problem. "We'll have to get accounting on it
right away," he said. "Good work."
     "Yeah, but what's the connection?" Tracy wondered.
     "I don't know. Just keep looking," Nick said as he sat back
down. About twenty minutes later, a smile crossed his face.
     "Tracy," he said, "Liz was paying out most of the money she was
extorting to someone else."
     Tracy looked up. "You're kidding?"
     Nick laughed. "No, I'm not. She kept a record of it--I just
found it--in the back of her journal. She'd been bringing in a lot of
money for about five years--and then nine months ago, it drops to
nothing. There's just a notation here on payments out."
     "You mean, somebody was blackmailing Liz?" Tracy was
incredulous. Then she started to laugh. "This is perfect justice. The
blackmailer is blackmailed. I can't believe it."
     Nick grinned. "Yeah, she found out what it was like to be on the
receiving end."
     "So, how do you think this ties into Quinn? Do you think he
caught on and was the blackmailer?" Tracy asked.
     Nick leaned his head in his fist. "I think it's a good
possibility. I think we ought to check out Mr. Quinn's records, don't
you?"
     Tracy nodded, excited at the break. She started the proceedings
quickly, accessing information through the departmental databases.
Nick came around and perched on her desk as they worked their way
from one form to another and finally accessed Quinn's records.
     "Well," Tracy said finally, "I don't see anything that
immediately sets off any bells. There's no huge jump in his account
balances. In fact, they drop."
     "No," Nick said thoughtfully, "but look at his spending pattern.
It changes right there. He seems to be buying some big-ticket items."
     "Yeah," Tracy said doubtfully, "but he just might be going into
debt on his credit cards."
     "I'd like to drop by and see Mr. Quinn. I have a feeling . . ."
     Tracy looked up at Nick. "It's a little thin, Nick."
     Nick smiled at her, "I know. Let's see if we can't get somebody
to chase his records during the day, and see if there is a pattern of
cash purchases with no record of where that cash came from."
     Tracy nodded. "Okay, it sounds good to me."
     Nick looked at the clock. "Can you put in the request? The sun's
coming up and I've got to go."
     "Sure, Nick," Tracy said cheerfully. She could do that. After
all, Nick had found their first real possibility for motive.
     "Thanks," Nick said, putting on his sunglasses. "See you
tonight." And he headed out.

                                 ###

     Nick arrived at the loft as the sky turned a golden rose color.
He'd gotten caught up in the hunt, and lost track of time--something
he rarely did, considering what a sunburn would do to him.
     But Nick knew without a doubt that Quinn was the killer.
Centuries of instinct were screaming it at him. A smile lit his face
at the thought. At least that was one item on its way to being
solved.
     And then he remembered Urs. He headed for the cold blood waiting
in the fridge. He needed the boost. He hadn't screwed up this badly
in quite some time. He hesitated, his hand hovering between the cow
and human blood, and finally he took the bottle of cow blood out and
poured a drink.
     It tasted awful. He shuddered as he drank it down. With a
grimace, he put the glass down and walked restlessly around the loft.
He'd gone to Urs's place just to find out if she'd seen anything--and
he'd ended up . . . He'd ended up in her bed. It didn't matter if Urs
had made the first move, he should've known better.
     He was glad that Natalie wasn't currently monitoring his blood,
because this would have sent all the numbers into overload. Nick sat
down on the sofa and stared into the darkened fireplace.
     The problem wasn't just his recent lack of control, or even the
need for human blood that so often overwhelmed him of late. The
problem was that no matter how much he fought it, the vampire was
stronger, and Nick had never been one to think things through
logically--until after the fact.
     He wanted the blood.
     He *needed* the blood.
     And he'd wanted Urs. He'd wanted her, and he'd taken her, just
as she'd wanted and taken him.
     "Oh, God . . ." Nick murmured in anguish.
     The very fact that he had drunk cow blood tonight was an
indication of how much Urs had helped him. He hadn't drunk cow for
almost three weeks, now. It simply had not been enough.
     Tonight it was, because he'd taken vampire blood. He'd taken
enough to restore the balance. Nick ran his hands through his hair
and stared at the floor.
     He felt calmer, more alert and satisfied than he had in a long
time.
     That very fact made him angry and depressed. He didn't want this
anymore. He didn't want the blood, and the fiery, bloody passion that
came with vampiric sex. It was all blood and death.
     And yet . . . the sheer knowledge and intimacy of it was far
beyond anything a human could experience, because everything about a
person was in their blood.
     And Urs's blood had been . . . Nick shied away from the thought.
     He stood up abruptly and paced the room for several minutes, as
if he could escape his thoughts. Nick finally sat down on the bottom
step of the stairs.
     He thought about Natalie. He closed his eyes in the grief of his
betrayal of her--not only for what she was trying to do for him, but
for Natalie, who loved him.
     He wondered briefly, for about the billionth time, what her
blood would be like, and licked his lips. A tiny glitter of gold
swirled in the depths of his eyes, and then he banished the thought.
There was no point going there. Natalie was life, and he would not
bring her into death.
     But what was he to do about this?
     He knew what he'd told Urs was the best thing. Let it go. Walk
away, and don't look back. Nick knew he'd hurt her. He didn't want
to, but he had. But this way, the hurt was temporary. If he saw her
again, it would only be worse.
     "Just let it go," Nick murmured and decided that his head hurt
from thinking too much. It was time to go to bed, and let the
deathless sleep of a vampire carry him into nothingness for a few
hours.
     But even as he walked up the stairs, he couldn't forget the
curve of her cheek, or the look in her eyes. Or the desire . . . 





Chapter 8

     Natalie Lambert yawned as she walked out of the Coroner's
building into the first golden gleam of sunlight. It had been a long,
hard night, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and crash.
     She'd spent hours at a crime scene under the Queen Street
jurisdiction, and had returned to find her office overflowing with
more work than she could get through.
     Of more particular interest right now, though, was the fact that
she hadn't heard from Nick at all during the shift. That in itself
was unusual, because Nick always made an effort to see or at least
talk to her. And when she didn't hear from him, it made alarms go off
inside her head. And they were shrieking right now.
     The last time this had happened, she'd found him lying on the
couch, drunk or high, on a diet of six bottles of blood. That had
been only a month ago.
     Once he sobered up, she had finally gotten the story out of him.
He'd been involved in a shoot-out responding to a robbery call as the
nearest available officer, and the bloody aftermath had sent him into
overload. He'd gone home and drunk himself into oblivion.
     She wondered what it was this time, and then she wondered how
many more times it would be before he was gone. Things were going
from bad to worse, and Natalie didn't know how to stop it.
     "Remind me," Natalie muttered softly as she got in her car,
"never to fall in love with a vampire again. It's just too damn
hard."
     The drive seemed endless, and it was made longer by the fact
that she hit every single red light. But finally, she pulled into
Gateway Lane and headed for the elevator. She punched in the security
code and rode up in a state of anxiety, wondering what she'd find.
     The elevator opened to a quiet, darkened room. Natalie peered
around, and then turned on the lights. Nothing was out of place, but
Nick wasn't in sight, either. His words echoed in her head: *It's
either that or go down to the Raven . . .* Natalie wondered if Nick
had given in and gone there. There was only one way to find out.
Natalie hesitated for a moment, and then took the stairs to the
second floor.
     She found Nick lying in bed, already asleep. She tiptoed softly
towards the bed, and sat on the edge. She didn't know why she
tiptoed, because Nick slept like the dead.
     His face was calm in repose, and his features at peace. He
looked a lot younger, as if all his burdens had fallen away. In fact,
Natalie realized, looking closer, he looked better than he'd looked
in a long time. His face was pinker, and he just looked--healthier.
     Natalie wondered what he'd been up to that had made the
difference. Obviously something had happened, something he didn't
want to tell her about. Something that had made him not call during
the shift. Perhaps he had been to the Raven, after all.
     "Oh, Nick," she sighed softly, and took his hand in hers.
     Surprisingly, Nick twitched at the contact and then his eyes
opened. He blinked and sat up.
     "Nat?" he asked in surprise.
     "Hi, Nick," Natalie said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,
but I was concerned. I didn't hear from you tonight, and I just came
by to check on you. You know me." Natalie made a supreme effort to
sound cheerful.
     Nick smiled, and caressed her cheek briefly with his hand. "I'm
sorry, things were hectic tonight. Tracy and I crammed in three
interviews and then we spent a lot of time looking at records. We
think we found a motive and a suspect in the Margulies case. Anyway,
I got so caught up in it, I almost got a sunburn."
     Natalie listened while she ran a practiced eye over him. "So,
you think you know who did it?" she asked.
     "Yeah," Nick said as he scratched his hair. Then he yawned.
"Sorry, Nat."
     "It's okay. I really didn't mean to wake you. I'm pretty beat
myself. I spent hours on a murder scene and didn't get back to the
office until about four, anyway."
     They smiled in understanding. Sometimes the job was hard.
     Natalie looked at him once more. "You're looking a lot better,
Nick," she said softly.
     Nick avoided Natalie's eyes.
     Natalie knew something definitely was up.
     "Want to talk about it?"
     Nick shook his head. "No."
     Silence stretched between them for a moment, and then Nick gazed
at Natalie. He took her hand in his.
     "I screwed up again, Natalie. I always seem to do that."
     "Everybody screws up, Nick," Natalie said. "Why do you think you
should be any different?"
     "Because," Nick said fiercely, "it puts me farther from
mortality than ever."
     "You don't know that, Nick," Natalie whispered.
     Nick looked away, bitterness hardening the lines of his face.
     "I do know it, Nat. You know it, too. You said it. I look
better. Well, I look better because I've been feeding like a
vampire."
     Natalie stopped breathing for a moment.
     Nick heard the change in her heart rate and breathing, and
looked at her. "No, not that. I didn't go out and kill anybody."
     "Then, what?"
     Nick stared at his hands. He wondered why it was that he always
ended up hurting Natalie. Telling her the truth would hurt her, and
yet he didn't know that a lie would do either of them any good. But
not telling all the truth might be best.
     "I shared vampire blood," he said in a low voice.
     Natalie frowned, trying to understand what he wasn't saying.
     "And?"
     "And it didn't stop there."