CHAPTER 6: An Old Resurgence

Alone in his room, LaCroix held Nick's old silver pocket watch loosely in his palm as he watched the candlelight flicker across its polished surface in the shadows. Sometimes it was nice just to be alone with ones memories and thoughts - and when a person was as old as he was, there were lots of memories and thoughts, so time could pass very quickly without much notice.

This time, however, he wasn't pulled from his solitary reverie of his own accord, but by a sudden, overwhelming sense of isolation and fear. His son's fear that almost drowned him in its abruptness and it was nothing short of pure dread.

Nicholas...something was wrong with his son...he could feel his son's distress...his anxiety...his confusion and above all, his fear. Because he had been feeding the younger vampire for most of the past month with his own blood, LaCroix's connection to his son was stronger than it had been in well over a century, so he could feel Nick's emotions as though they were his own. He usually tuned them out, but right now it would be impossible since his son was screaming in his mind.

At once, LaCroix pocketed the watch and flew out of the room, through the corridor and into his son's room. As he forced open the door the light from the sun instantly assaulted his senses, LaCroix hissed as he felt his skin start to burn. He shielded his eyes and moved into the shadows of the large room then he found Nick stood directly in front of the source of the light.

"Nicholas?!" he called but his son didn't answer. In fact he didn't even move a muscle. It was like he was frozen to the spot, holding the curtains open and forced to stand before the light as his skin smouldered and burned.

LaCroix suddenly heard a quiet chuckling, and he felt a subtle presence leave the room. What it meant he didn't know, and he didn't have the time to think on it. He approached Nick directly, ignoring the sunlight, he pulled the younger vampire away from the window and threw him into the shadows.

As he quickly dragged the curtains closed once more, he was able to look for the strange presence, but it was gone completely. It had felt old and cruel...perhaps this had been some kind of murder attempt. LaCroix desperately tried to find it, but all he could sense in the house was his son. He would need to look into it later.

Nick groaned as he tried to pry open his eyes. He felt as though he were slowly regaining control of his body again and it was not a pleasant experience. He held a hand to his face and tenderly touched the aching skin on his forehead; he was lucky to be alive, another few seconds and he probably would've gone up in flames.

"Nicholas?" LaCroix said quietly as he knelt down beside his son who didn't seem to have the energy left to even sit up. His skin was scorched and burned and in parts it was peeling away from his face and hands. LaCroix gently took Nick's wrist and moved it away from his son's face; he was only further aggravating the burns, but he was too out of it to notice.

LaCroix quickly tore into his own wrist and let the blood trickle into Nick's mouth, then with all the control of a dying animal, the younger vampire violently bit into his master's skin. He gripped LaCroix's wrist with such force that his nails drew more blood which fell onto his skin, working to heal the blistering burns.

While LaCroix stifled a wince at this, he held the younger vampire against him as Nick continued to drink from his wrist with increasing fervour. Had he been human, the old General was certain that his hand would've been sawn from his limb by his hungry child. He'd not seen his son so primal in many centuries, but he supposed that exposure to direct sunlight as the vampire had just experienced would have that effect.

With his other hand, LaCroix ran his fingers through his son's hair, careful not to touch the flaking skin of his forehead as he did so, in an attempt to calm him. The old vampire was relived to see that, slowly, the wounds on his son's skin were beginning to close up and fade away, but Nick didn't show any signs of letting his wrist go, or of loosening his tight grip. Instead he felt Nick's teeth contiune to bite into his wrist deeply enough as to reach the tendons.

"Nicholas, stop!" he repeated and tried to rouse his son, "Écoutez-moi!" he ordered. (Listen to me!)

Luckily, Nick was healing enough to be able to hear him through the blood lust and he loosened his grip, then very slowly he raised his head from LaCroix's wrist. He stared into his master's stern gaze and finally pushed the bleeding limb away. Nick felt better, a lot better, but he still doubted his ability to get up; he could still feel the burning from the sun and he probably would for a while.

"He was here..." Nick finally spoke as he looked down at the bloody mess he'd made of LaCroix's wrist; he grimaced as he saw bones.

"Who?" LaCroix asked, clearly not bothered about his open wound.

"My father...he was here..."

"What do you mean, your father?" LaCroix frowned, clearly not liking the idea of Nick regarding anyone else as a father other than him.

"...My mortal father..." Nick muttered with a nod. "...I heard his voice..."

"In a dream?"

"No," Nick insisted, "It was real, he was here...outside..."

"There is no one here."

"But there was!"

"Perhaps," LaCroix sighed, "Perhaps there was something here, but I very much doubt that it was your mortal father."

"You felt it too?"

"I sensed something, yes," LaCroix answered with reluctance. But Nick looked relieved that he hadn't been imaging it all.

"It was outside...I tried, I couldn't stop myself," Nick said, "I swear it wasn't a dream," he added with confidence.

"I know," LaCroix nodded. It was easier than arguing the point, since he was sure he'd sensed something too, but he couldn't do anything about it yet.

Meanwhile, the nagging pain he felt in his wrist was not going away; he'd let Nick have too much of his blood for it to heal without help. So he used his other fingers to wipe away a trickle of blood left on Nick's mouth to start the process; it was after all his blood.

"I...erm..." Nick said quietly as he once more took in the almost shredded mess, revealing bone and tendon and muscle.

"Really, Nicholas, I've had far worse from you," LaCroix gave a rueful smile, and Nick was quickly silenced. When he saw that the wound was showing little sign of closing up, Nick drew blood from his own wrist, held it over his master's, and watched the blood mix as the wound began healing itself.

"LaCroix, what was it?" Nick asked, genuinely scared as he moved his wrist and licked the blood to heal the wound.

"I don't know," he answered, "Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't benign."

"That's for sure."

"Are you sure you didn't see anything?"

"I just heard a voice, and I couldn't stop myself from opening the curtains...he said he wanted me to 'free myself'," Nick said, "Could it really have been..."

"Ghosts do not exist," LaCroix interrupted him. He felt that this could be Nick's imagination, it could all be in his mind...possibly.

"Then what was it?" Nick asked, but he didn't get an answer because LaCroix had none to give. Instead of answering, LaCroix stretched out his fingers on his right hand, testing the newly healed skin before he pulled Nick to his feet.

Nick stood with LaCroix's help and on weak legs, he walked back over to the edge of the bed and sat down. He looked down at the skin on his hands and was relieved to see that it was mostly helped; there was some small red patches left and it was still tender to the touch. Despite taking so much of his master's blood, Nick felt his heavy eyes start to close and he fought against them. He didn't want to sleep, of he did he'd dream and then he'd wake up to hear the voice again, and he couldn't expect LaCroix to watch him 24/7 like he was a child.

"Go to sleep, Nicholas," LaCroix told him, looking directly at his son.

Nick wasn't happy about how tired he kept feeling lately, but it wasn't as though he could do anything about it. "No," he replied, "I can't, I need to find out what..."

"You're tired, go to sleep," LaCroix ordered hypnotically and though Nick initially resisted, he succumbed to the suggestion.

Vampires didn't tend to use their hypnotic suggestion on other vampires because it didn't last long, and as a general rule, it went against the few laws that they had, but because LaCroix was so old he could have much more of an effect; especially when he connection to his child was so strong, Nick didn't have a change really. It wouldn't last the whole day, of course, but by the time it wore off, hopefully Nick would be sleeping due to his body's will, rather than LaCroix's.

During which it would give him time to think. Nick hadn't given him much to go on; a strong, evil presence, a disembodied voice that could mimic whomever it chose, and a very, very strong will power which it could force on others. His son was by no means weak-willed, and for such a young vampire in comparison to LaCroix, Nicholas was extremely powerful, so it was no mean feat to literally hypnotise him to commit suicide.

Granted that Nick was in a fragile state right now, and using the voice of his mortal father would play on his 'emotions,' but it still shouldn't have been so easy. To hypnotise his son, with whom he had a strong blood connection, to sleep for a few hours was one thing, but to force him to stand in sunlight was completely ridiculous. It would take an immense power to do that and it worried LaCroix - gods help him, but it did. He had a hard enough time protecting Nicholas from himself as it was, but now what was he supposed to do?

He walked pensively around the room, lighting the candles that lay on every surface as he did so, them he quickly went to his own room, bringing his book, a bottle of blood and a wine glass. Then, LaCroix lit the modest-sized fireplace on the far wall and sat on one of the two arm chairs in front of it; he couldn't risk leaving Nick and having the same thing happen again. It wasn't worth the risk.

Frustratingly, his thoughts turned constantly to a strange incident that for some reason he couldn't force from his mind at the moment. It was one of many questionable advantages of being so old was that he'd seen, and heard so much. He hadn't wanted to tell Nick about it just yet, but the clearer the memory became, the more difficult it became to ignore it.

It was the only other time he'd ever even had an inkling about such a power as this, and it had been a very, very long time ago...

England, 1071...

"Damn Frenchmen!" murmered a group of intoxicated men. A dozen of them, all battle toughened warriors sat by the roaring fire of a crowded tavern in mid winter. All ready to stir up trouble with the opposing group of French fighters on the other side of the mis-matched, ill-fitted room.

"Think they own the place!" spat another man.

"I believe we do," chuckled one of the French men with a heavy accent, and of course a tavern brawl - an age old scene, erupted, throwing the whole building into glorious chaos.

The thousand year old LaCroix observed the scene with a look of amusement from his seat at the edge of the room; even after all this time he still found the acts of human folly to be most entertaining.

"Aren't they ludicrous?" he heard a voice ask him and so he turned to face the speaker who he could already sense was a vampire, a vampire much older than him. Which would explain why the man was able to mask his presence.

"Indeed," LaCroix nodded as the other vampire sat beside him. He looked to be around 30 years of age and was dressed in the finest fabrics of the day of an English Lord, perhaps he was one of the few to escape the chaotic transition caused by the French victory years earlier, and just happened to be a vampire. It would be easy to decieve and hypnotise the French into leaving him alone.

"I am called Geoffrey," the man said, "I own the estate north of here."

"LaCroix," he introduced himself and shook the man's hand.

"It has been a long time since I saw one of our kind here, usually the young ones stay away."

"Why is that?" LaCroix asked.

"Have you not heard the stories? They say a pious Frenchman took residence in the east manor and hunts down demons like us."

"That is not the first time I have heard such tales, but mortals cannot touch us, or the children so long as we are wise."

"Children don't often consult wisdom," Geoffrey answered, "I heard that three young ones travelled to test this French 'slayer' and never returned. It is rather strange though, I myself have felt unusual sensations from the manor, and even I keep my distance."

LaCroix raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and a while later, after growing tired of the brawl he left the tavern followed by Geoffrey. "It was pleasant to observe sport with you, perhaps we should do so again and for an interesting wager, although I am disinclined to back the French. Though I may be two and a half thousand years old I did prefer this country run by Anglo-Saxons; perhaps I involve myself in mortal society too much," the vampire said.

"Hmm," LaCroix hummed, "I care for neither."

"Did you fight?"

"I did not," the Roman scoffed, "I fight for no man but myself."

"A pity, you could've been a great asset to us," added the patriotic Geoffrey.

"As you say," LaCroix sighed and made to leave on his way.

"Good day, my friend," Geoffrey called after him with a chuckle.

One night later, LaCroix sat in the same tavern observing another, more brutal brawl between the new French nobility and the defeated Anglo-Saxon peasantry. He'd been expecting the older vampire to join him, but when the night passed without a sign of him, LaCroix grew curious. So, a few hours before dawn he flew to the estate belonging to Geoffrey and at once he sensed something.

He entered the house and he could immediately smell the blood, lots of blood; the first of it was human. Intrigued, LaCroix sought out the source and found the servants and residents of the estate all dead, drained of their blood and mangled beyond recognition. When he moved further into the manor he found a stairway leading under the so he followed it and he found Geoffrey, the Lord of the manor, one of the few remaining of the old Anglo-Saxon nobility, dead. Only not dead as a mortal would expect; he'd not been stabbed or shot with an arrow or beaten to death.

...He'd been burned in the sunlight in his own cellar.

The stone room was constructed almost like a chapel, but it appeared to be in use as a storage room for food and wine, and probably used by the vampire during the day. However, there were several small windows at the top of the walls that corresponded with the outside and someone had opened them. Now they let in the moonlight, but yesterday morning it would've been deadly sunlight.

Geoffrey's remains were lying directly where the light would've been strongest as though he'd walked into it himself. LaCroix could hardly imagine this vampire committing suicide. It was very strange.

For the next few minutes he searched for a sign of what might've done this, but perhaps Geoffrey had done the deed himself and then killed himself...but it seemed awfully out of character for the proud vampire he'd met just yesterday. All LaCroix could sense was a vague and weakening presence of pure evil as he looked down once more at the vampires' corpse.

It was none of his business and it would mean more trouble for him if he stayed, so LaCroix flew off quickly before the dawn could take him. His subsequent travels took him to Paris and after what - or rather 'who' he found there, made sure that he had neither the time or the inclinations to think about that strange night in England again...

Present...

Now that he thought about it though, the more similar those presences had felt; vampires had outstanding memories for such things. But why, if it was the same thing - whatever that was, would it go after Nicholas? Why would it attempt to murder his son? Had it followed LaCroix and was trying to get to him via Nick? Or had Nick irritated some old evil and it had followed him instead? It just didn't make any sense whatsoever, and that irritated LaCroix to no end.

As the day passed he didn't set a foot out of Nick's room, he sat and concentrated his senses on the whole street but he felt nothing unusual all day. Neither did he sense the indescribable feeling of darkness that he had felt before. So what was he supposed to do? Should he tell Nick about what little he'd seen before?

It was around sunset when Nick finally started to show signs of awakening. LaCroix could feel his son both through their connection and because his senses were spread out all across such a vast area, he knew that Nick was slowly beginning to feel the returning discomfort the daylight had done to him. He could feel his son's still tingling skin a though it had been his own that had been burned. It was really not a good idea to keep up an intense connection for a long period of time but LaCroix liked the idea of keeping their connection so strong; he liked the idea of having his son as part of his senses and he was sure that Nick appreciated the security of being connected to one as old as he.

LaCroix could feel Nick continue to stir and the younger vampire groaned as he woke, sighing as the light from the burning candles filtered through his eyelids. He had no idea how long he'd been sleeping for, but he could tell that the candles had been burning for a considerable length of time: the smell and the atmosphere both clearly demonstrated that. It wasn't unpleasant by any means once his eyes quickly adjusted; in fact it was very nostalgic. It reminded him of when he was a child and he often illuminated a whole room to stay awake at night to read and to dream up far away places, much to the chagrin of the servants when they saw the amount he candles he wasted.

It also reminded him of when he was older and he stayed awake at nights to think. On those nights he'd ponder the estate, of how he would keep the family well kept and how best to deal with certain issues. After his father's death when he was a child his mother had been fraught with worry for him because as the only male in the family he'd inherited his father's position.

Nick smiled ruefully at how simple candlelight could bring back so many memories in such clarity, it was rather unnerving.

He glanced across the room and saw LaCroix leaning back in one of the armchairs before the burning fire, a book in hand and a wine glass on the coffee table next to him.

"How do you feel, Nicholas?" he heard LaCroix ask with turning to look at him; the man was still reading his book with an air of almost nonchalant contentedness.

"Fantastic," Nick relied with sarcasm.

"Good," LaCroix replied with equal humour as he closed his book and placed it on the table then picked up his half empty wine glass and bottle. He filled the glass from the bottle and walked across to Nick then offered it to him. Nick took it without a word and drained it within seconds. "Nothing has entered or left the house all day," LaCroix said when he was done.

"Except this morning," Nick frowned.

"Correct," LaCroix nodded.

"And you're sure you've never seen anything like this before?"

"Once perhaps," the older vampire told him, "I saw work that could be attributed to something very much like this around a thousand years ago. I don't know of many lorded vampires perfectly contended one night who then commit a mass murder and then kill themselves by sunlight the next."

"Was it the same?"

"I couldn't say for sure; I only saw the aftermath, but I did sense something alike in both instances," LaCroix answered. "I don't believe that this is your imagination at work this time, Nicholas."

"I'm glad to hear it," Nick sighed.

"Perhaps you shouldn't be."

"...Why would something like this come after me?" Nick asked quietly but LaCroix didn't answer straight away. Instead he removed the empty glass from his son's hand and refilled it again, he took a drink himself before giving it back to Nick.

"I don't know, Nicholas," he admitted; the fact that he didn't know irked him to no end. "But I know of someone that might."