96th Police Precinct, Toronto, Ontario - 1995
It was a cold and unsettled, early autumn night in Toronto, primed for twisted undertakings and unsavoury crimes. Nicholas B. Knight, the fair, blue-eyed and scruffy chinned vampire detective entered the rustic stone precinct, bypassing an angry throng at the casino green countertops in reception. He moved past Captain Cohen's open office door into a log jam of metal desks in the wired, officer work area. Constables were busy calming civilians from pimps to preachers. When he reached his desk, he slid onto his chair and tried to look as if he'd been there awhile. Breathing a sigh of relief that his boss hadn't noticed his lateness, Nick shuffled through a heap of coloured papers to see if results had come in on his latest investigation.
"I don't know where he is. I'll call again. I tried this morning, a few times, no answer. He never lets me know about his personal time," Schanke, Nick's partner, could be heard from Cohen's office. "Nada, Zilch. You'd think being together for two years I'd know his habits—nope. I'm sure he just got waylaid with important stuff, we've been inundated with the Granger and Summer's cases, and word on Alex Macmillan is taking forever." He shuffled out backwards, shoulders shrugging. The door shut loudly, and he winced.
Spinning on his heels, the pleasantly paunched, family man with long, ash brown side-burns to mitigate a receding hairline saw Nick at the desk facing his own and shot him a look. "Nick, you're forty five minutes late!" said Schanke, pointing a finger. "You just about got into so much crap! Where've you been? I phoned and phoned. The boss was on the hunt for you. I distracted her with a crueller and a jumbo coffee. She said you must be filing your work at another precinct, cause she can never find it, specifically the Jacklin report. You finished it right?"
"Not yet," Nick said sheepishly, "and thanks for covering."
"It's why they invented partners," shrugged Schanke. "Where were you?"
"At home, I needed to unwind. Guess I had the stereo turned up too high. Believe me, that report's on the to-do list, along with the other dozen things that need finishing." Tense and overworked, he had stayed up way after dawn with Janette, pouring copious amounts of blood and wine. Then, drunk dancing with his lovely companion, he'd dropped his cell on the flagstone fireplace. It was currently in four bits. After more festivities, he'd snoozed through sunset. When Janette had left his bedside at nightfall, he'd barely noticed, not even when she'd whispered an endearment and given him a long, lingering kiss.
Nick had smiled then. And she'd likely interpreted it as an approval of their lovemaking. Actually, he'd been having wonderfully vivid, alcohol-induced dreams of another beautiful lady. Presently, he looked his partner in the eye—and kept it to himself. It was true that he couldn't talk about his life in detail. But this time, he just didn't want a cocky expression volleyed his way. "Sorry I'm late. Slept through my alarm."
"Really? And all my calls? Even on your cell? You sleep like a corpse."
"So, I've been told. My cell just broke. And, I haven't had time to get a new one."
"It's okay by me. I don't mind covering. But get on it before Cohen beheads you for being out of contact," said the other detective, sitting down in his chair. "Remember when that nun smashed into my car? You covered for me during that fiasco. Can you believe she refused to show me her insurance? Had to get her plate number before she sped off!"
"Right. Well, I'll get to the Jacklin paperwork first thing—and hopefully keep Cohen at bay," vowed Nick. He glanced once more at the papers on his desk then back at his partner. "By the way—any news on the MacMillan toxicology? I'd like to shut that one."
"Drug fuelled murder-suicide, I know. No, I haven't seen it. I was just about to phone Peter, but Cohen caught me first," Schanke said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.
"Dr. Xhan? Wasn't Natalie supposed to be back tonight?" Nick knew she wouldn't have taken this long to do the tests. He'd missed her while she was visiting her sister-in-law in Vancouver.
"She extended her holiday. Something about an old hotel with a chocolate buffet and a bubble bath….at least that's what Grace said last night when I popped by," Schanke snorted.
A chocolate buffet? Well, that certainly was Nat's style. She couldn't resist the stuff. Nick was happy to hear that she was having a restful vacation. Things these days were tense, especially, when it came to the two of them. Nick needed to hear her voice. She hadn't told him anything about her trip.
In fact, he hadn't heard from her since he'd royally messed up their last casual night together. He tried to convince himself it was easier with her gone. After Janette's visit, Nick was more comfortable than in the past few months. It was nice to be in the company of one's own kind. When things got too hairy, Nick could always rely on Janette. Being constantly around mortals, he struggled at times. She helped him regain some balance when hearts from all corners ticked too loudly.
Still he longed to be with Natalie—all strings attached. And yet, he continued to accept Janette's offers of blood and companionship. He wasn't sure if Nat had an inkling of what was going on. Janette was an expert at belittling the petite doctor, all the while hinting at the lengthy relationship between Nick and her. She protected her possessions like a lioness. Nick didn't have the heart to confess that he didn't want to belong to her anymore. Besides there were times when he needed her so badly.
"Yoohoo? Where're you now, Mars or Moosejaw?! I dream the coffee shop next door was 24 hours—a four-a. -double for my toil and trouble, but I don't do it on duty! Have you tried the mud in the break room? Your spoon will stand like a flagpole." Schanke declared.
"What?" Nick came back to the present. He had a habit of getting lost in his thoughts. It was a product of having too many memories. Blinking, he said, "What is it?"
"A body over at the Central City Community Centre. Someone called it in. Didn't you see Cohen storm out here to share the news? I told her you were thinking about the Jacklin particulars really hard. Man, she looked at you like you were a loony bin contender! Sometimes, even I wonder." Schanke got up, grabbing his blue pinstriped sportscoat. He didn't wait for Nick before heading for the exit. Nick followed quickly, slipping on his jet black duster.
Central City Community Centre, Toronto - 1995
There was a pack of patrol cars parked at the scene when Nick and Schanke arrived. Flashing lights made the building's concrete walls manic swirls of red and blue. A uniformed officer at the entrance recognized the pair immediately, nodded politely and shuffled over to allow them access. Pulling wide the twin doors, they could see a group of professionals milling about on the lobby's brown-specked linoleum.
Patchwork quilts of events and health information were tacked along scuffed, eggshell coloured walls. Following his partner inside, Nick smelled the tin tang of fresh blood. This crime was recent and gory. He was grateful for Janette's "help" last night. He knew internally that he could weather this one. Nick sucked in a great gulp of air and pressed forward.
"Hello detectives," said Dr. Peter Xhan, a soft-spoken man with neatly trimmed black hair and pin straight bangs covering his eyebrows, as he looked up from his crouched position over the body. The young male victim was clad in a white Atari t-shirt and red gym shorts. "Meet David Berton. We found his ID in the gym bag over there." He pointed to a crumpled, red striped backpack. "There's signs of a struggle, cuts and bruises. It was a violent attack. A lot of blood, but with the lacerations to his face, torso and thighs—"
"There should be more," Nick finished flatly.
"Um, yeah," said Xhan awkwardly, the green-as-a-new-tomato medical examiner was not quite comfortable yet in his long, white lab coat.
"It looks to me like whoever did this has serious rage issues." Schanke knelt down beside Xhan. "Witnesses?"
"No, an employee found the body. She's in the office back there." Xhan pointed behind and to the left.
Nick moved past the other detective and the ME. There was an energy around the scene that made the hairs on his arms stick up. It had the familiarity of a vampire with sharp hints of crazed anger.
Montreal, Quebec - 1954
Janette was perched on an arm of the high-backed chair that Lacroix was presently occupying in the living room of their rented townhome. The elder vampire smiled at her reassuringly, stroking her back with a firm hand while sipping his glass of blood laced wine. "N'inquiète pas ma fille bien-aimée (Don't worry, my beloved daughter). He'll sulk for a while and get over it. You know our boy."
Lacroix spoke as if his son couldn't hear him. Nicholas was slouched nearby across a chaise lounge. Although he could easily pick up the conversation, there was no sign that he was listening. He'd been despondent ever since being taken from California.
"Oui, mon maitre," (Yes, my master) Janette sighed, not having the courage to speak loudly, her voice subdued since betraying Nicholas's latest hiding spot. Back in Paris, he'd been on one of his silly quests for mortality, and Lacroix had found out. The elder had beaten him silly. Afterwards, Nicholas had told Janette that he needed to escape. She'd arranged passage on a ship to Halifax, Nova Scotia for him, and then a train to Toronto.
Lacroix glowered at his son. "Poor pitiful Nicholas, to have those who care and worry for your safety. You weren't yourself back in Paris, drinking away your woes, pursuing dangerous concoctions. Who knows what that herbalist had mixed up for you? Besides beheading, sharp stakes and fire, there are more subtle things that can kill you." He didn't elaborate, tipping his glass for another red mouthful. Swallowing slowly, he then continued, "What is it you're thinking over there?"
"That I betrayed you, surely," Janette piped up. Nervously, she wrung the waist ties of her lilac dress and fiddled with the tips of her white, lace gloves. "I did what I thought was best. We worried you'd harm yourself. Your increased efforts to regain your humanity, cause us nothing but concern."
Don Constantine, the infamous Toronto mob boss, had hidden Nicholas in his smuggled cargo all the way to Los Angeles. At first, Janette felt that Nicholas was right to run if he was so unhappy with their blood-bound trio. She'd seen him endure centuries of mental and physical abuse at the hands of Lacroix. She didn't understand why he insisted on defying the elder the way he did. The "lessons" would stop, as soon as Nicholas followed his master's wishes. Lacroix had convinced her later that their younger companion was misguidedly on a mission to end his undead existence, and that their presence was what he truly needed. She soon felt it best that Nicholas should come back to them—or to her at least.
"Being with family is always best," soothed Lacroix.
Nicholas shot them both a searing look, rose and left the room. He had nothing to say to either. Seven hundred and twenty years hadn't changed anything. He was still a prisoner of Lacroix, a prisoner of the night. He would escape again. His mind was already formulating a plan, as he stepped out of their flat and onto a cobblestone sidewalk. He would go to Chicago and find something meaningful there. Nick hailed a cab. One came screeching to his feet. For now, he'd venture to his favourite hiding spot in Montreal.
Central City Community Centre, Toronto - 1995
Nick paused before the office at the community centre. There was a female constable with the woman who'd found the body. The officer tipped her hat in greeting as she exited, siding up to him. "We did a prelim. Entrance and fire exits are all secure, no sign of tampering."
"Thanks, I'll take a peek when I'm done."
The officer nodded. "Interesting woman," she said, pointing to the civilian, who sat silently inside in a corner. "She found the vic, but didn't hear anything beforehand? Can't imagine she couldn't hear the commotion, even with the door closed. I mean, detective, have you seen the guy?"
"Not pretty," agreed Nick.
The officer shrugged. "Says she didn't recognize him. Not the super chatty type. Hope you can get more."
"I'll give it my best shot," Nick told the officer, then entered the room. He looked into the red, tearful eyes of the young woman sobbing on an office chair. Beside her was a crowded desk of papers, pencils, calculators and cat photos. "Must've been awful to have been here alone." He took a seat beside her on a molded, orange plastic chair. "I'm detective Nick Knight. You?" he said offering his palm.
The young woman shrank back after grasping it. "Your hand is freezing," she exclaimed, then sniffled, wiping her nose with a wad of pink tissue and looking into the detective's eyes. They were so compelling, so blue. "Noelle Henriette," she blurted without thought.
Nick nodded. She's a beauty, he thought. Her hair fell in loose, auburn ringlets, and those doll-like lips were as perfect as if they'd been painted. Big, glassy storm grey irises showed a shaken soul. She reminded him of someone. He wanted to hold and protect her intensely, but he shook off the idea. He didn't even know this woman. She wasn't his Natalie. Regaining himself, he continued, "Why're you here at midnight, Ms. Henriette?"
That clear-as-sky gaze was unavoidable. Noelle couldn't help but get sucked in. "I-I was trying to catch up on paperwork. I keep the books and instruct yoga classes," she blurted. "I'm a night owl. Do my best thinking when its late. I came out for a drink from the watercooler and that's when I saw th-the body."
Nick noticed her English was tinged with an accent, French. "Did you hear anything or see anyone around?"
"No. I know that's weird, but no." Noelle rubbed her forehead, perplexed.
Nick nodded. "When does the centre close down?"
"Around ten. I-I locked the entrance hours ago. I know I did."
"Any cameras? Security footage we can take a look at?"
"This place is from the 60s and, if you haven't noticed, run-down as heck. We barely have enough money to stay open. There's no cameras anywhere that I know of."
"Did you set an alarm after you locked up?"
"No, the system isn't sectioned off like that. I was going to set it when I left."
"So, two people just happened to get through locked doors by themselves after hours?"
"I don't know how it happened," she said, shoulders raising, then tapped a finger on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I guess, it's possible they could've been, uh, in the men's shower when I did the last sweep. I called in there, but no one answered. It's always been…a worry of mine."
"Two people hanging around with you unaware, one of them a murderer?" said Nick, incredulous. "Don't you have a night custodian to help you check for stragglers?"
"No. Believe me, I've asked. My boss says he can't pay for it, only one part-time staffer who comes at five in the morning. I need this job and can't afford to make a fuss," she said, blushing.
"Well, budget or no budget, someone needs to talk to him about making this place safer. I'm sure he can find a way," Nick mentally placed that discussion on the top of his bloated to-do list. "You're extremely lucky you're in one piece. It's not a great idea to be here at this hour. Lots of unsavoury things come out at night, Ms. Henriette."
"I know I'm lucky, believe me." She rubbed her arms across her shoulders with a shiver.
"How's it going in here?" Schanke said, appearing in the doorframe.
"Fine," Nick answered, looking over his shoulder. "Ms. Henriette, this is detective Don Schanke. He's investigating this case with me. Schanke, this is Noelle." Nick turned back to the woman. "I don't think you should be going home by yourself. Is it alright if I have someone drive you?" he told her.
"Y-Yeah—I mean yes, thank you," replied Ms. Henriette.
"We'll be in touch," said Nick gently, as Schanke led her out of the room. He couldn't help but notice her grace. Yoga teacher, he reminded himself, graceful movements were her specialty.
Coroner's Building, Toronto - 1995
Schanke had sent Nick for the report on the community centre murder. Xhan had finally finished the examination and had passed on the results to his superior. Natalie had rung to say she was just checking them over. She trusted Peter with most things, but he was just out of internship.
Schanke had shouldered the brunt of Nick's major mood swings over Natalie of late, as he fluctuated from elation, then caution, to outright avoidance of her. However, this time it seemed Natalie was dodging the brooding blond. She never phoned Schanke, like she had tonight, not when Nick was at the precinct. But this guy wasn't about to let her tip-toe around while Nick conversely sulked and pined. Schanke pushed his prince-of-pain partner to pick up the report. Let them deal with it, he thought.
Three days had passed since the murder. Nick had heard Natalie was back. He wanted to see her so much but hadn't gotten up the courage to phone. She was upset, he knew; she hadn't contacted him at all either. He was feeling a little guilty about Janette, but at the same time peeved with Natalie. Why had she left without a word, when they needed so badly to work things out?
It was frustrating being around the object of his desire and not being able to touch her, love her—sample her blood. Nick rubbed his mouth unconsciously with the back of his hand. Something dark stirred for a minute, but he pushed it down. Too soon, he wasn't going to have those feelings so soon after Janette had calmed him. If he let them, thoughts of passion with Natalie would tease and sharpen the predator.
Not now, not here. He had to concentrate on this new case. It didn't help that the only witness to the crime looked like her. Nick sighed and pushed opened the entrance of the morgue. It was time to see Natalie. His heart gave an extra beat in anticipation. Every reason for avoiding this place dissolved with the first trace of cloves and cinnamon, her natural scent. He'd missed it so much. His excellent hearing picked up her discussion with Grace down the hall.
"Sarah and I took a ferry to Victoria. We stayed at this swanky waterfront hotel and strolled along the harbour at sunrise…then loaded our shopping bags downtown till our arms were two feet longer—I'm telling you it was the best holiday in forever!" Nick heard Natalie declare.
"That's because you haven't had one for forever!" Grace laughed.
"You're right," grinned Natalie, giving her assistant a one-arm hug. "Thanks for suggesting it. I hadn't realized how badly I needed to get away."
"Did you use your last birthday gift, that slinky negligée—I mean did anyone special get to appreciate it?" Grace inquired.
"I did. I met an interesting fellow," Natalie giggled. "He was even from Toronto! There was some big aerospace convention at the hotel."
"Well, well," Grace said with a mischievous grin. "Hope you got his number!"
"Actually, I did. I—" Natalie was cut off by the sound of the double doors squeaking open. Nick stood there looking as perfect as if he'd marched out of an old movie with his well-defined features, straight Patrician nose, angular jawline dusted with light, day old stubble and fair, short wavy hair that fell just past his ears. His brilliant blue eyes locked on her. Her stomach clenched a little. Was it excitement or dread?
Grace noticed the uncomfortable tone that Nick's presence had brought into the room. She dismissed herself quickly, saying, "We'll talk later."
"Welcome back," Nick began with a cautious smile. "I'm here for the report on David Berton." Always good to begin with business, he thought.
"Uh—yeah, thanks, he's here," Natalie said, indicating the corpse on her stainless examining table. "C.O.D. is definitely exsanguination. In addition to making a general mess of him, the perp pierced a femoral artery. And from the pictures I've seen of the crime scene—there's not enough blood to account for the loss."
"I noticed that too," said Nick.
"Hit a main artery and it's like a piñata."
"No comment."
"Check this out." She pulled the sheet covering the body gently past the vic's gym shorts. "Look at the left inner thigh. The marks on his face and torso are ragged slashes 10 to 15 centimetres long, a frontal attack, but here there's a neat cut of about three centimetres," she pointed. "The killer took his time on this. And—there's bruising around his ribcage to suggest he was alive and held down to do it."
"It's a cover job, Nat. Some vampire fed there then cut it to make it look slashed like the rest," said Nick.
"I've never heard of a vampire that drained from the thigh. That's pretty intimate," said Natalie.
"Yes, but if you're trying to fool a "wise to the ways of the night" coroner or a vampire detective, maybe going for the neck is a bit obvious," he explained.
"Does the community know about me?" Natalie shuttered at the thought. She kept Nick's secret and covered up vampire killings so that he was not at risk. But she never thought that many others might know. Did he tell them about her?
"I don't talk about us, it's safer that way," Nick said, reading the panicked look on her face, then added, "but Janette knows you, of course, from your visits to the Raven. My master knows as well, and he's not as motivated to keep our relationship a secret."
Natalie sighed unhappily, then pounced on the last bit, "Ah, relationship? What'd you mean by that?"
Nick's eyes widened. He wasn't prepared for this wicked turn in the discussion. "I-I worried about you," he blurted, then remembered how she'd gone on her spur-of-the-moment holiday before he could explain his latest slip up, and irritation ignited. "You left without so much as a goodbye, Nat! I had no idea you'd run off to Vancouver! Had to hear it from Schanke!" he exclaimed.
Natalie's anger flared poker-hot. How dare he get mad! "You don't get it, do you?!" she shot back loudly, then muttered, "When do you ever." A break from drama was what the doctor had ordered for herself. She wouldn't spell out her feelings for him anymore. Weren't they obvious? Of course, they were—but he was hot and cold like a flipping faucet. How many mixed messages can I take? she steamed silently.
He'd expressed real interest on Valentine's Day, hugging, kissing and asking her out. They'd gone to dinner, but she'd had some sort of booze black-out and couldn't remember a thing. That morning Nick had been all smiles, lavishing her with attention, then the day after, he'd avoided her as mightily as a salami sandwich. On the night they'd last been together, he'd started something good, then pushed her away again. She was tired of it.
"Natalie—"
"Take this and go, please!" she growled, practically hitting him in the stomach with the victim's file, as she whipped it his way.
Without super fast reflexes Nick wouldn't have caught it. He stared at her a beat, knowing she wanted an apology and to hear that he wanted her. He did, so badly, but couldn't act on it. There needed to be distance between them until he figured out a way. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you. That night before you left—it was a mistake. I-I don't want to ruin our friendship." He sighed deeply, sparing a last look before stalking off. Natalie was stewing at him, hands crossed. Best to skedaddle lest the heat of her glare combust him like the daylight.
Montréal, Québec – 1954
"Bonsoir Nicholas. Vous êtes de retour." (Goodnight, Nicholas. You're back.) The head curator, Pascal Beauchemin, of the McCord museum smiled warmly, extending a welcoming hand. He's upset again, noted the short, bespectacled man in a stiffly starched shirt and polka dot bowtie of his blond acquaintance, as they shook. The curator knew his melancholy acquaintance to be cheered only by a hearty discussion of the museum's many artifacts. Beauchemin was astonished by Nicholas's knowledge of the pieces. He became the listener many times, while his friend recounted extraordinary tidbits, especially on anything to do with European culture in the Middle Ages.
"What troubles you?" the curator inquired.
"Family problems," Nicholas grunted. "I need to be away from them."
"Sorry to hear that," replied Beauchemin.
"I want to go to Chicago and see the university museum we discussed."
The curator nodded. "Time away sounds like a fantastic idea. I'll give you the name of my colleague there. He would surely enjoy your extensive archaeological background. He's a specialist on British Medieval and Modern age history, you know. Just don't get him started on the Hundred Years war! That's a long-winded conversation! By the way—where did you study?" he inquired, whilst fumbling in his breast pocket for a pad and pen, then scribbling down a number.
"I'd enjoy chatting with him as well," Nicholas replied brusquely, ignoring the question. When Beauchemin offered him the paper, he took it quickly, gently slipping it in a pant pocket like a valued treasure.
"Delightful, I'll be sure to let him know you're coming," Beauchemin beamed and clapped his junior on the shoulder. "There's something in the back that's sure to interest you," he teased.
Nicholas's eyes lit up. "I'm curious already."
The curator smiled again. "I've known you only a short while, but I've already figured out how to raise your spirits! History is a grand diversion from life's daily trials. Follow me. Let's bury ourselves in it!" he chuckled, leading Nicholas through a snug corridor and into a grand room, blue as a robin's egg, with a lacelike ceiling of iron and glass. In the centre, a towering totem pole stood regally.
"It's from the Westcoast, the Queen Charlotte islands specifically," the old man clucked excitedly.
Nick whistled his approval of the hulking wooden object, meticulously carved and painted with blacks, reds, and whites. Many animals were represented along its length, but the highlight was a huge bird at the top with its expansive wings spread wide. It stood proud, a formidable foe.
"The Thunderbird, a supernatural creation of aboriginal origin that could make the skies explode with thunder and bring down lightning bolts upon its enemies," explained Beauchemin, taking in Nicholas's awe with pleasure. "For his reverent position as head totem, he agreed to be the protector of his people."
Nick nodded soberly; his excitement abruptly deflated. The Protector of his people. He scowled, as his thoughts returned to his family. He tired of the tyrannical protector that roosted over his life. It seemed as though he had no choice in anything. Exercising his independence for more than short permitted periods was forbidden, lest Lacroix furiously tighten the hold he had over Nicholas for centuries.
I am the bird…in a gilded cage, Nicholas supposed. His thoughts drifted to Chicago and the note in his pocket, but they were quickly interrupted by a chilling voice.
"Nicholas!" boomed Lacroix, hurriedly striding his way. "Could you not hear me calling? Come at once!" The tall, former Roman general still sported the severe, platinum crew cut of his fighting days. Paler than even most undead with ice chip, grey eyes, he glared, as he clutched Nicholas's arm, and, ignoring Beauchemin's questioning look, dragged his reluctant son out of the museum.
Nicholas's heart sank. Now nothing in Montreal was his. Lacroix had found his prized hideout.
The Raven Nightclub, Toronto - 1995
Nick entered Toronto's trendiest night spot. The music assaulted his sensitive hearing, and the lights were particularly blinding. He put on sunglasses, but a bouncer motioned to take them off. Squinting without them, Nick searched the club for Janette. At the same time, he tried his best to block his psychic link to his family, not wanting Lacroix to come out and greet him.
Janette was close by, sitting at the bar, gorgeous as ever. Part of him genuinely loved those rich ebony curls, exotic cerulean eyes and light as the moon skin, but it wasn't the same as the intense need he had for Natalie. Natalie. Well, that was going nowhere. It was probably for the best. Holding the picture of her fuming in his mind's eye would help him keep his distance. Nick thought of this and immediately knew it wasn't possible. Even if she flayed him, he couldn't stay away. Exhaling loudly, he pushed down all thoughts of her and sat next to Janette.
"Nicholas! Tu es de retour (You're back)! So glad you're here. I knew you couldn't stay away. Still, I'm surprised to see you this soon. Here for an encore?" teased Janette, then reached over the countertop and grabbed a glass of blood wine, raising it to her lips for a long sip.
Nick tried not to look but could smell it. The aroma was heavenly when mixed with her scent of leather and lust. When she put the glass down, he leaned for a kiss, telling himself he was just glad to see her; but in actuality kissing human blood off another seemed less of a sin than actually drinking it himself. When the first drop hit his mouth, the beast delighted inside.
Janette was surprised to see his eyes turn slightly golden green. She felt his immediate hunger, and whispered, "Nicholas, your human face is slipping. Come with me to the back."
Nick shook his head. "I have a case." It was a tempting offer, but he wouldn't go. Inhaling deeply for a moment with his eyes shut, he regained his composure. He could handle his human problems—on his own—for now.
"When don't you? It's a real kill buzz when you talk of work, mon cher."
"Buzz kill."
"Whatever mortals call it."
"Janette, I came for information. I'm on duty."
"And, I'm not. Really Nicholas." She tugged at the collar of his jacket. "Why follow their rules to the letter?"
"I came to ask if you'd heard of a rogue in town. Bloodthirsty, and not afraid to hide it."
"That could describe so many people. Perhaps, one I was with just last night," Janette poked. "Did I ever mention how irritating it is that you switch from hot and bothered to cold and boring in an eye blink?" she said, irritation rising in a flush of red on her cheeks.
"Sorry." He took her hands in his and gave them a placatory squeeze. "Yesterday, I needed you and you came. I'm thankful."
She nodded, calming. "Better. At least you acknowledge your needs. I'll always be there when you call. Tell me about this case."
"It was a vampire kill, I'm sure of it. Left the body in a public building, out in the open for any mortal to stumble upon."
"Seriously? I haven't heard of anyone new. And, no one around here would dare."
"It was nasty, way over the top. I felt strange, insane energy at the scene," said Nick.
Janette tisked. "Definitely sounds crazy. I mean, the imbecile didn't dispose of the body with all the risks. You need to find this one. I don't think I need to remind you of Montreal. We can't afford to have the Enforcers come knocking, not when secrets abound." She gave him a knowing look.
"Yeah," Nick said quietly.
Montreal, Quebec - 1954
Nicholas was shoved into the backseat of a silver, purring Rolls Royce in front of the museum. Lacroix jumped in the rear with him and slammed the door loudly. Janette was at the wheel. She gave Nicholas a quick disapproving look before pulling on the gearshift and rolling smoothly into traffic.
"While you were out cavorting with that dust rat of a mortal. We heard news of an unstable vampire, a berserk one, in town. Three kills in three nights. Messy and left in the open. The police are out in droves to find the mad murderer. No one is safe. And now the Montreal community has the nerve to close its doors to us! The Enforcers are coming, we need to leave—now!" steamed Lacroix.
Nicholas shifted uncomfortably at the news, the humiliation of being yarded out of the McCord building like a pesky pet dampened by alarm. "Does the community think it's us? We did nothing."
Lacroix scoffed. "They're frightened. No one cares for the zealous scrutiny of the Enforcers. Then, there is the insufferable leader of this city. He thinks the rumours about you are true."
"Rumours? What rumours?" Nicholas was shocked. What do others know about me?
"Oh, Nicholas," groaned Janette from the front seat. "You need to cavort more with your own kind. It has long been the gossip of many vampires that you drink animal blood, even though you're not of that rat-sucking lower species, the Carouche. It seems to have spread here as well."
"Yes, well, that's no secret," he said. He was proud of his decades on steer blood. It repulsed Lacroix and that pleased Nicholas to no end.
"The community thinks you've gone over the edge, odd in the head like the slum-dwelling Carouche—or worse, primal from denying yourself what we of higher class crave above all else—human blood. They think you are the crazy one, insane and killing at random with no regard for discretion." Lacroix was livid. The hearsay about his son's mental state was an egregious affront.
Nicholas was silent. Me, the murderer? Sure, he'd committed countless murders over the centuries, but he had killed no one for hunger in decades. Animal blood satisfied his needs—most of the time.
"I'm not sure what this community will do. They may decide to dispense some justice themselves. You are at risk. We leave tonight!" said Lacroix with determination. He wouldn't let anyone take his prize.
Nicholas nodded. He'd follow until he could find a way to escape on his own. This berserk vampire business could be a fortunate distraction. He tilted his chin up with a swell of hope and stared at the road ahead, thinking of the piece of paper hidden in his pocket.
Fernridge Apartments, Toronto - 1995
Nick stood beside a sliced-up body of a beefy Caucasian male, who was clad in nothing but a navy tank top and white boxer briefs, his jeans strewn a metre away. The corpse was flanked by two giant, steel commercial dryers in the windowless basement laundry of the Fernridge complex. Nick watched as Schanke leaned down to look at the disaster of a man, Daniel Longpré, sprawled on the floor, wondering how he could be so close to the carnage and not smell the blood. From Nick's vantage point, it screamed a banshee song of enticement. Or, was it the coroner examining the corpse's fingernails? At any rate, he had to clamp his teeth together to keep his fangs from dropping, hiding his eyes that held more golden green than blue, until they returned to normal.
He hadn't spoken to Natalie since last night at the morgue. She seemed focused on her work tonight and had not so much as glanced Nick's way the whole time they'd been here. Instead, Natalie busily placed a bag over the victim's left hand to preserve any skin samples under the fingernails. Nick had never seen her look so lovely. What was she wearing? A fire engine, red dress wrapped her little figure tightly under an open, baggy tan overcoat. Definitely not work clothes.
"Hi, Nat," Nick ventured, approaching. He tried his best boyish grin. "You look beautiful."
"Yeah," Schanke chimed in, coming up beside them. "What's the occasion? Oh my gosh, is this," he pointed to the body with mock surprise, "your millionth customer?"
"Ha, ha, right. Thanks, you two." She checked if Nick was paying attention and added, "It's date night. I was supposed to be at the theatre, but Peter called in sick. I'm only here to get a feel of the scene. It looks to be the same M.O. as Central City, but I can't say for sure until I examine him."
"Nat," Nick began, before grabbing her hand and gently pulling her away. "We have to talk."
She studied his face. Were his eyes a little off tonight—slightly predatory? Is he eating properly these days? Natalie wondered, having not restocked the pea green protein shakes she'd created as a blood substitute in ages. Not that he drank them much anyway. Well, no matter. He's on his own for now. She was on a strict no Nick policy and wouldn't give in. Grace had convinced her that she deserved more than someone who'd be with her one minute and run away the next. Natalie tugged her dress hem to smooth the wrinkles. It was time to go.
Steven Williams, the aircraft mechanic she'd met on vacation, had made quick dinner arrangements when their theatre plans had fallen through. She'd promised not to be too long. It was her second shift with Peter calling in sick, one this afternoon and now this. "I've gotta go," she told him and turned away.
"Nat," Nick said. Her lovely long dress flared as she whirled back. God, she's stunning, he thought, having never seen her wear that shade. Her lips were painted a glossy crimson to match. It reminded him of Janette's lips last night. He wanted to taste Natalie's, for he knew hers would be even sweeter. His heart gave a heavy beat, as he felt the inklings of the creature inside. It was coiled tightly around his soul, that shadowy part of himself that he tried to lock away. Scrabbling to come out, searing his belly, igniting his need—it wasn't pleased with the three bottles of steer blood he'd consumed before coming.
It wanted more.
It wanted her.
Natalie noticed Nick shaking with tension. His eyes were closed, head turned from her. He'd reacted strongly at gory crime scenes before, Nat knew. "Is it too much?" she asked, coming over and placing a hand on his shoulder.
Her touch burned with its warmth, while her heart fluttered with concern, teasing him horribly. Nick rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, feeling his vampire nature rise. What would she look like in that bloody red dress with his enhanced sight? Other pounding rhythms pressed upon him. Soon, he'd hear the entire apartment block. He had to leave now. Brushing her hand away, Nick replied, "Let me go!" in a gruffer tone than he'd meant to.
Natalie watched him speed so fast up the stairs that he nearly blurred. She sighed. This is the crux of our problem. He barely lets me in when he is having a hard time. Climbing the stairs herself, she hoped Steven was a little more open. This date might have been more appealing if she wasn't so concerned about Nick.
Montreal, Quebec - 1954
Janette had driven them swiftly to their flat on St. Onge. There wasn't much to pack, as they'd only arrived three weeks ago from California. The trio speedily put their things in order. Lacroix summoned their one, freshly hired hand to load the car with more bags. "Marie-Helène!" he called from the door.
There was no answer.
Lacroix huffed and stormed outside. "Marie-Helène what's keeping you. We need to—" he began but stopped cold with the discovery of her motionless body dripping over the driveway. The trunk of the car yawned wide and suitcases were strewn over the hedges. Hovering above her stood Michel Galois licking his fingers. Lacroix had last seen this one well over a thousand years ago and knew he was now the head of the Montreal community.
"Ça fait longtemps, Lacroix (It's been a long time). My thoughts return to emperor Postumus, as his right hand man. And you, in your second incarnation as a Roman general, so intent on returning Gaul to Rome. I was happy to cut that bastard's throat when he ran like a coward from battle, as happy as if it had been yours." He regarded the heap at his feet coldly. "She was a fiery mortal, great fun to dispatch. Even better to taste." Ruby rivulets still dribbled from his chin.
The Gaul stood a head taller than Lacroix, smiling with all the warmth of an alley cat reasserting its top tier position. Uneven bristles of a gingery, short cropped cut and a scar from cheek to chin lent the image that he was wild and scrappy. "Your son has brought the Enforcers attention upon Montreal," growled Galois. "They'll delve into our private lives and spread chaos through my city! I'm here to take away their reason to come and destroy the mad one before he exposes us all!"
"I remember you," Lacroix spat. "As the traitorous soldier who killed his commander! You will not harm my son!" He hissed, baring his fangs, then launching himself at the lanky figure. They met together with a thud, snapping and snarling. Their silhouettes smudged indistinctly with the speed at which they fought, tearing each other's clothing, skin then muscle.
Janette heard the conflict from an upstairs bedroom and knew this visitor would be the first of many unless the insane one was caught. The Montreal leader would inflict many torturous injuries upon Lacroix to get to Nicholas. She had to assist him, if not her knight would be caught and surely killed.
"Run, Nicholas!" Janette said desperately to him, "I need to help."
"No," he argued. "You and Lacroix don't need to fight my battles for me. I can do this on my own!"
"Don't be foolhardy. Galois is ancient. He will kill you if you try! Go now!" She kissed him quickly and ran out.
Nicholas scowled. Here it is, my opportunity for freedom. Yet his stomach soured at leaving his kin in this predicament. Perhaps if he left, Galois and his brood would chase him and leave them alone. He hoped the Enforcers would find the rogue vampire in the meantime. Nicholas fastened his favourite sable cloak about his neck and left the flat by way of the backdoor, taking to the air once outside.
Fernridge Apartments, Toronto - 1995
Nick burst out of the complex and down the sloping front walkway to the visitor parking lot. The chilly air did him good, calming the edginess. In his car, he leaned against the steering wheel. Why do I have so little control with Natalie these days? Nick frowned, turning his key in the ignition. The radio came on with the rough roar of the Caddy, Lacroix's silky tones permeating the cabin.
"Denial, denial. Not many know of it anymore. This society tells us to acquire everything we desire. Our importance is based upon how much we own. Money, fame…even people as a commodity. We can never acquire enough. What then, of the odd ones who do not subscribe to this. They try not to give in to their heart's desires. Are they wiser than us all, living a peaceful life without the pressure to have it all, or are they longing madly in secret for that which others possess?"
Nicholas hated the nights when the monologues seem to be directed at him, not needing a reminder of the pressure he faced on his quest for mortality and love. He growled.
A figure caught his eye. Standing in a dense patch of evergreens by the apartment building was a petite woman. "Natalie. Why can't she leave me be? Doesn't she sense the danger?" he muttered. "She doesn't care," he reminded himself of her courageous character. Nick opened the car door. It gave a great groan of age.
Natalie noticed and ran. What was that about? thought listening to make sure no one else was close by, he lifted off the ground. Her staccato heartbeat tapped crisply in his ears, leading him without trouble to her despite a maze of brush and pines. When he appeared in front, she screamed.
"Natalie? What's wrong?" he asked.
Noelle Henriette stopped dead in her tracks, dropping her CD Walkman which hit a large stone with a crack. "W-Who's there?" she said shakily, taking off her headphones and floundering in the dark.
"It's Detective Knight," he answered.
The woman sighed in relief, scooping up her cracked device, then pulled back her hood and let him lead the way to an illuminated back porch. He took in her thick, red leggings and floppy long jacket. Strips of reflective tape around her ankles caught a beam of light and glittered phosphorescent.
"Ms. Henriette," Nick said, embarrassed that he'd scared the dickens out of her on a jog. "What're you doing here?"
"I live here with my boyfriend, Dan," Noelle said, leaning over and placing her hands on her thighs to catch her breath.
"Why'd you run?" asked Nick.
"I-I thought you were a stalker! You certainly don't drive a regular police car."
"Dan's your boyfriend? Would that be Dan Longpré?"
Noelle's eyes were wide as she asked, "How do you know him?"
"Ms. Henriette, I'm sorry to tell you this—but your neighbour found him on the laundry room floor. Unfortunately," Nick paused. This is the worst part of my job. There's no good way to say it, he thought. "Dan's dead," he told her as gently as possible.
"No," cried the woman in disbelief, shaking her head. Tears spilled out uncontrollably, as Nick caught Noelle before she collapsed in the dirt. She trembled, hugging him tightly and sobbing for a long while before he took her back to the front entrance.