As the sun sets on the final evening and final fifth of this story, events begin to accelerate with increasing rapidity. For those of you who have lost track, the status of our main characters were as follows:
Alexander Lucard is in custody on suspicion of attempted murder;
LaCroix has found Nick, but is unable to free him;
Both LaCroix and Lucard are aware that Klaus is impersonating Nick;
Tracy knows that someone is impersonating Nick - but she figured it out for all the wrong reasons;
Klaus has managed to alienate Lucard, LaCroix, Nick, Tracy, and Captain Reese, half the Scene-of-Crime team, and charm the heck out of Natalie;
and Natalie, unfortunately, has been charmed and disarmed by Klaus without being even slightly aware he isn't Nick.
It is dusk now, and Tracy is trying to convince Captain Reese that her partner has been replaced by an impostor. She is not having much luck.
"I'm telling you, it all makes sense," Vetter said earnestly, trying for the third time to get the facts across to her bull-headed superior. Some latent sense of self-preservation kept her from bringing vampires into the conversation. She was having enough difficulty getting Reese to buy the idea that Knight's recent manic, irrational behavior was due to his abduction and replacement with an exact double, without dragging the supernatural into it.
"You've been watching too much daytime TV, Tracy. That kind of stuff only happens on soap operas. It's a lot more likely that your partner has finally had that big nervous breakdown we've all been waiting for. I'm calling in a shrink to talk to him tomorrow; until then, work around it! I don't have time for your fairy tales!" And with that, Reese slammed the door to his office shut, closed the blinds, and took the phone off the hook, just in case Tracy took it into her head to call him.
The homicide detective was gloomily studying her recalcitrant phone when a call came in on another line. Sighing, she hit the button for the line and said, "Vetter here."
"Detective Vetter, this is a friend of your partner Nick Knight," a cultured, vaguely familiar voice said. "I think you should know that the man who has been claiming to be Nicholas for the last two days is actually a fraud."
"I know! I just can't get anyone to believe me!" Tracy stopped, scowled, and said, "Who is this? And how did *you* figure it out?"
"Let us say that I believe I know where your partner really is. Unfortunately, I am not in the position to free him - I have certain obligations that keep me from the place - however," and there was a stagy, annoying pause, that nearly had Tracy screaming in frustration, "I understand that the imposter arranged for him to be locked in the Vandeville crypt in King's Cross Cemetery. He's been there almost two days--"
"Ohmigod! He'll be dying of thirst, or suffocating, or starving! I have to go!" Tracy hung up without getting the caller's name, grabbed her gun, her jacket, her badge, and her cellular phone, and ran for the exit. Halfway to the cemetery she got a brilliant idea; and we should be glad she did, since that is what saved her life.
Klaus had bought out the CN Tower restaurant; what he hoped to have happen that evening didn't exactly include plans for an audience, so except for a few waiters, the maitre'd, the cooking staff, and the band, the place was deserted. A large amount of money and the discreet application of the "whammy" had ensured total privacy, a wonderful menu, and constant music. The band will wake up tomorrow morning with blisters and sore lips from having played for five hours straight; but it will almost be worth it, since each will find approximately a thousand dollars in cash in their tuxedos.
Speaking of which.
Bad movies have made it impossible to take the idea of a vampire in a tux seriously. There is something bizarre about an overdressed man in an opera cape, fangs bared, eyes glowing, that goes beyond the deserved surprised such a picture conjures. It is far too familiar to be scary. George Hamilton, Leslie Nielson, and Bela Lugosi have a lot to answer for.
Nevertheless, it is Klaus' preferred attire. And he looks good in it; tonight, recognizing the importance of the occasion, he has got himself up in his best black-and-white tux, and the black cape with the scarlet lining. The menu is varied and expensive, as befits Natalie's final mortal meal, and the playlist was specifically selected by him with romance in mind. Everything should go perfectly.
Except that with Klaus, perfect can occasionally get pretty strange.
"This is... breathtaking," Natalie said as she walked into the restaurant. The view was gorgeous, as usual, but the entire rotunda of the CN tower was also decorated in red roses and glittering silver streamers, in telling contrast to the white ones which decorated the Azure restaurant two years ago. The M.E. could hardly believe this was happening. For something like four years, she and Nick had been keeping each other at arm's length, afraid to get too close; and now, out of the blue, he was treating her to the night of her dreams. Maybe it was jealousy? Or maybe the protein drink? Whatever it was, Natalie had decided she didn't care, as long as Nick kept looking at her like that.
"You look exquisite," Klaus responded, taking her hands and leading her out to the dance floor. "The dress is as beautiful on you as I imagined."
"I shouldn't have let you buy it for me." She smoothed the skirt of the gold-and-red silk dress self-consciously. "But I had to at least try it on, and then when I did--"
"You couldn't resist."
Natalie grinned, warming to Klaus' happy, satisfied smile. "No, I couldn't."
"I sincerely hope that this trend continues. There are many more things that I want you to find irresistible tonight." Von Helsing pulled her close, and gestured to the band. 'La Habanera', the tango suite from "Carmen", filled the air, and Klaus suddenly whirled Natalie around in the opening steps of the exotic dance. The M.E. wasn't very confident about her ability to keep up with this new, energized version of her favorite patient, but she decided that there was going to be a lot of fun that evening in trying.
Tracy grimaced at the stone door of the Vandeville crypt, and shuddered in her jacket upon hearing something that sounded like a wolf howling in the distance. King's Cross Cemetery was dark, forbidding, and cold, and she wouldn't have even been there if she wasn't so worried about Nick. And tonight was the full moon. Great. "Did you hear that?"
"Yeah. It's a dog. Big deal, Trace." Javier Vachon shrugged easily, and eyed the door of the mausoleum. [It is inexcusable to introduce a pivotal supporting character this late in a story. No real dramatist would allow it. We are, unfortunately, constrained by the facts; so we can only ask, Gentle Reader, that you forgive us the stylistic faux pas. - Editor]
"I can see why you wanted my help. Not something you could move easily by yourself, even with a crowbar."
"Hey, I think of muscle, I think of you." Vetter punched him affectionately on the shoulder, then helped him brace the lever against the door. "One, two, THREE!" Vachon applied pressure on Tracy's "THREE", pushing against the crowbar.
The stone door swung open easily, as if someone had recently greased the hinges, and Tracy could see an ornate, baroque cross hung upon a iron gate. "Oh, wow. That looks really old--"
"Mind getting it out of sight, Detective?" Vachon asked, clenching his eyes shut and staggering a bit at the emanations from the cross.
"Ooops. Sorry. I wonder why someone left it here?" The homicide detective had no sooner removed it from its perch on the gate than her question was answered. Nick Knight threw himself at the entrance in desperation, completely dislodging the gate from its place in the doorway, and knocking Tracy to the ground as he did so. The starving vampire crouched outside the mausoleum for a moment, whimpering in pain and hunger, then turned toward the closest available source of protein, his eyes glowing feverishly, fangs extended--
Only to be pulled up short by a hand on the scruff of his neck. "Knight, you have really got to stop being such a dramatic idiot," Vachon said, not unkindly, holding out an opened bottle of the Raven Special. Nick didn't even bother answering, simply took the bottle and inhaled its contents in three gulps. The younger vampire held out another of the bottles which he'd foreseen would be necessary, and the homicide detective managed to get a fairly good grip on it before a furious Tracy found her footing and attacked Vachon.
"You creep! You liar! You rotten, stinking-- you knew my partner was a vampire! And you didn't tell me!" Tracy pummeled her supernatural friend with her fists, shrieking at the top of her lungs, then abruptly paused as her eyes widened and she spun to confront Nick.
"You pig! You condescending, smug, arrogant SOB!" She directed a few well-placed kicks at the kneeling Knight, who had the presence of mind to roll out of the way and hide behind a tombstone. "I was actually worried about you, you jerk! I thought you'd be dead or something when I let you out of there! How could you be such a liar! You----" As we mentioned, Tracy is no one's fool. The implications of Vachon's behavior immediately clarified several things about her partner that she'd previously put down to inherent emotional instability. They also made her utterly enraged.
"Uh, Trace," Vachon tentatively said, keeping several feet between himself and the spluttering mortal. "We have bigger problems, remember? Don't you think we ought to clue your partner in, and deal with them first? You can yell at us later. Okay?"
Glaring at Vachon and breathing heavily, Tracy muttered, "Okay. Okay. Yes. Right." She turned to shoot a disgusted look at her partner, who was now on his third bottle of blood and looking buzzed. "But boy, when this is all over, Nick - you're gonna be doing *all* of our paperwork for a while, I can tell you that right now...."