7/24/09: Edited for original upload errors caused by text editor.

Touched By An Angel was about angels helping people.

Forever Knight was about a vampire family--one of whom sought redemption.

I wrote the crossover, but don't own either property.

Chapter 14: Shattered Images

No wonder the others had been shocked by his choice! Andrew silently groaned as he found himself once again struggling with the demanding vessel he was now encased in. In his haste to get this ritual over with, he had forgotten that vampires were naturally possessive of their own blood. They reacted strongly to losing it either by fighting an enemy or seeking recompense from a partner/mate if they had the strength to do so. The Angel of Death called upon every wisp of will-power he possessed to keep from falling upon Aristotle's neck.

And yet...

The choice had not been solely his. The Father had whispered Aristotle's name to him at the crucial moment of decision. Not that he meant to doubt his Creator, but... why had Jehovah done so when he had been about to request Janette for this? Why endanger this assignment and His angel by having him take such a risk?

Father, help me---this is too much! I don't understand!

Just when he thought he couldn't hold out any more, he felt the ivory daggers in his wrist withdraw as Aristotle sank to his knees looking up with a blank expression at his blood-sharing partner. Nervously, Andrew waited as the Greek just stared straight ahead with wide eyes, mouth working slightly as he convulsively swallowed the remnants of the angel's vampiric blood already in his mouth.

Now the crowd began to stir. Already aroused by witnessing the bloodkiss, a swarm of eyes now turned golden quickly became flecked with scarlet as long seconds went by and Aristotle still knelt in a shell-shocked trance. This was not what they had expected to happen and the vampires started to get concerned; their accusatory eyes silently asked Andrew: Have you, Ancient amongst us notwithstanding, dared to give harm to our most treasured member outside the High Council? Memories of Divia were still fresh on their minds.

Uh...oh.

Andrew felt his heart actually beat twice as he stood there, watching the Toronto vampires---old and young alike---consider how they were going to tear him into pieces.

Father, help me!! He prayed in a rising panic. There was no other way he was going to get out of this other than with God's immediate intervention. Help me! Help me! Help!

"Oh.... oh....my."

Every head turned as Aristotle began to rapidly blink and swallow, their attention transferred to the Greek. Lacroix helped him get to his feet.

"Aristotle?"

"My...my... oh... my."

"Aristotle!" the city Elder urgently demanded an answer before a riot broke out; no one wished to incur the notice of the mortal authorities for a mere false alarm. "Has he harmed you?" Lacroix's mind quickly flashed to Divia and the madness her daughter had transferred to her victims through her blood. If they lost Aristotle...

"Harmed?" the Greek turned dazed eyes upon his host, breathing deeply as he separated his rampaging thoughts from the images he had gotten from Andrew, "Harmed? Um...no." Retrieving his spectacles from their pocket, Aristotle shakily replacing them on his nose before elaborating further. He cleared his throat and said in a stronger--though very quiet--voice. "No. No, not at all. It's just... unexpected. Very unexpected...yes."

Lacroix licked his lips. "What did you feel?"

Aristotle scowled at him, mildly offended, as he rebuked the city Elder. "Lacroix, you know I can't reveal things given in confidence. However..." and he gave Andrew a look of awe, "as to what you feared... I believe you may rest assured that this one will never seek to harm your son. In fact, I think Nicholas could not have a better friend just now." Seeing the Roman was going to protest that his son needed no better friend than his master, the older vampire forcibly added in a whisper: "Oh, swallow that pride for once. I meant what I said, Lucius. Let this 'Andrew' stay." He pulled himself from the Roman's grasp and gave Andrew a respectful bow before heading for the bar. "Now, if you'll excuse me... I need a drink---several in fact---and some time alone to think about...things."

Disappointed but not surprised that Aristotle refused to say more on the subject, Lacroix motioned for Miklos to get the philosophizing vampire whatever he wanted while he confronted Andrew again.

"Clever maneuver, monsieur," the General reluctantly allowed. "You have gained my respect for your talent for strategy if nothing else: your secret is now quite safe with the Bishop---where it would have been swiftly taken had you used the Queen." He ground his teeth a bit. "It seems that I am now bound to fulfill your request for access to my Knight."

Turning sharply on his heel, Lacroix stormed to the bar, the younger vampires quickly getting out of his way and planning where to spend this night and maybe the next day elsewhere. An irate Elder was not someone they wanted to be around.

Andrew felt his tension dissipate. Well, that had been a very stressful exercise in self control! But worth it, he saw, as the Night People seemed more at ease around him now that he had a known Ancient's approval---if not the city Elder's. He nodded his thanks as a deferential Feliks brought him a large crystal goblet of the House Special. Savoring the energizing food as it was transformed for him by the Holy Spirit, Andrew closed his eyes and humbly prayed:

Thank you, again, Father. As always, you're far wiser than your poor, worrywart of a servant.

(chuckle) Apology accepted, Andrew---as always. But now you have another one's to court and his will not be as easy to attain. Go to him, my angel, and do not be afraid. I will be with you.

Shocked and pleased that God was audibly speaking to his mind again, Andrew smiled. As the Father's words faded, he felt a presence at his elbow.

Janette.

"Lord Andrew," she took his hand. "I am to escort you to my brother's room."

The hallway was deserted as Janette walked with him towards the second-to-the-last door: an all-metal one. Her hand hesitated as she aligned the key with the lock. On the other side, the muffled sounds of loud piano music could be heard pounding against the barrier to the rest of the domicile level.

"Please understand, Lord," she pleaded with him, her eyes fixed on the key, "that he suffers terrible mood swings and sometimes does not speak words that make sense. Please...please have patience and do not hurt him when that happens?"

"My beautiful Lady DuCharme, your devotion to those in your care does you credit. Rest assured that I would sooner hurt myself than harm him."

Janette blinked in confusion. "You know him personally, then, m'sieur, as a friend?" She wondered why it was she had never seen this one in Nicola's blood---he surely would have made quite an impression on her brother---this Ancient so like unto himself.

"From a very long time ago," Andrew admitted, "He... I did not present myself very well at the time though. Now I wish to make amends."

When he did not elaborate any more, Janette slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

Instantly, the piano music stilled.

Across the room a red-eyed vampire sitting at the baby grand piano flew to the top of the instrument, clinging to the polished lid like a startled mountain lion. A slender chain of a shiny metal swayed from where it was attached to a room-circumventing bar to where it disappeared somewhere upon the room's occupant. Presumably it allowed its captive complete freedom around the room while giving extra assurance that he was denied freedom from the room. And a crowded room it was too, what with the piano, a bed, a small desk, a painting easel and art supply organizer, and a bookcase full of leather-bound novels.

The vampire hissed and bared his fangs at them.

"Get him, out, Janette!"

Andrew took an involuntary step back at the angry roar and maddened eyes, but Janette just walked in and secured the door behind them.

"Nicola," she scolded her disheveled-looking brother, daringly reaching up to try to finger comb the dark blonde mass of hair into some form of order, "do not be rude. There is no reason to fear him. Am I not here, mon amour?"

Nicholas responded by scooting over until he dropped down close to his sister, falling down to his knees and burying his face in her midriff as Janette rubbed his back.. Now Andrew could see that the other end of the chain was welded to a metal band around the vampire's waist, its presence nearly obscured by a long black vest over a grey poet's shirt.

"Lacroix is very angry, Janette," the captive declared in a scared tone. "He chained me again. I've made him angry!"

"Non, his anger is not at you, Nicholas. And the chain is just to keep you from wandering off again. Don't be afraid."

"No, I left and got hurt because of it. Lacroix too." Cobalt eyes looked worriedly up at his sister. "Said hurt you, Janette?"

Janette fought back the smile that wanted to erupt every time he gave her that 'bad puppy' expression. The lakeside incident had been a real scare and it was best he knew it. "Oui, we were frightened for you, Nicola. What if the Enforcers had found you? What if Kurkan had taken you away from us?"

"Kurkan..." de Brabant mused, sliding even further down to sit on the floor at her feet, worrying at a thumb with his fangs."...he must have heard them too."

"Heard what, Nicholas?" Andrew asked from where he had prudently elected to stay until Janette could sooth her sibling down.

The knight flinched at his voice, eyes darkening; but he answered in a hushed whisper just loud enough for them to hear: "The voices in the water."

Janette gave a sound that was partway between an exasperated huff and an annoyed hiss. "How many times have Lacroix and I told you there is nothing in the lake?"

Her brother rolled away to sullenly huddle in a corner between a double-sized bed and a small writing desk, the chain partially wrapped around his upper torso. He hung unto the descending links with both hands.

"I heard them," he obstinately asserted. "Don't tell me I didn't, Janette—I heard them!"

Janette sighed. They had had this conversation too many times before and it always went nowhere. Better finish this up while her brother was still lucid enough to understand her instructions.

"Nicola..." she waited until his blue eyes looked up at her and ignoring his pouting face." This is Lord Andrew. He wishes to speak with you for awhile."

"Alone," Andrew qualified. It wouldn't do for Janette to be listening to their conversation.

Using the chain to haul himself up even faster, Nicholas flew back to Janette's side and embraced her in a tight hug.

"No! Don't leave! I don't want be alone with him! I don't like him! Please, Janette?"

"Nicholas, relax and let me go or I will call Lacroix and then he will punish you," she let her growing impatience come through her voice.

"No--I don't care!" he clung even tighter. "Don't leave, Nat! Please don't leave me again!"

Ignoring his slip---a sign his mind was starting to submerge back to wherever it went at these times---Janette tried one more tactic. She hated to do this to him, but... Sacred Mother Earth, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't stay.

"Nicola, if you don't let me go, mon coeur, Lacroix will punish me."

Nicholas inhaled sharply and flew backwards to the bed, once again wrapping himself in the chain, this time on purpose. Bloody tears ran down his face as he apologized to both Janette and a muddled memory.

"Can't, can't touch.., sorry...my fault...have to keep you safe. I can't let him find out I love you, Nat. I won't let him hurt you because of me... Not like the others... won't..."

Turning away to dab at her own eyes with a black silk handkerchief, Janette pointed to a wall intercom near the door.

"When you want to leave, just call us on that device. And please remember your promise?"

She hastily left, not daring to look back at her softly mumbling brother lest she break down altogether. The door locked shut with a soft click.

Abandoned to his own devices, Andrew looked over to where Nicholas was hunched on the bed in a tight ball, and sighed. For the second time in as many nights, this was not the reunion circumstances he had hoped for.

"De Brabant?"

One minute melted into another as Andrew stood by the doorway and waited for the vampire to acknowledge him in some fashion. When he didn't, the angel decided to make a quick inspection of the room in hopes of getting to know his assignment that much better, going first to the intercom to familiarize himself with the controls should he need to contact someone in a hurry. It was a simple ON/OFF/TALK/LISTEN affair, but with several background music options included: Ocean Waves, Mountain Stream, and Night Music. Curious, he pressed the last and was rewarded with the haunting sounds of bass flutes with cello and archaic rebec, as well as wolf and owl sound effects mixed in. All meant to soothe and relax the listener, no doubt. He switched it off and moved on to the steel bookcase.

Most of the novels it held appeared to be the original versions of classic literature or their early translations: a 1652 Latin translation of Homer's Iliad in a sealed container, Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass, Shakespeare's works, Herman Melville, Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, Nathaniel Hawthorne's A Scarlet Letter, Walden's Pond, The Poems of Robert Frost, various others from around the world---even two philosophies written in Cantonese. Taking up the hand-bound collection of Shakespeare's works, Andrew saw something fall from within the pages; his enhanced reflexes snatched it up well before it could hit the ground. It was a small note on brittle, yellowed parchment done in elaborate script:

'Nikolas,

My Thanks for thy insyghtful Commentary on

Hamlet's Character. Methinks the Play is betre for it.

Take care and Godspeed, Will '

He carefully slipped it back in its place. Several of the original novels also held personal notes.

So the knight was a seeker of the written arts? Not surprising, he supposed, since he had been nobility as a mortal and it had been the moneyed upper class that had sponsored artists of merit. Some had even considered it their Godly duty to do so.

The easel, unfortunately, was barren of a current work; however, there were several canvases stacked against the oil paint and accessories organizer. A casual flip through revealed several rather angry looking abstracts, and a very unsettling Impressionistic depiction of a dismal, fog-enshrouded carnival where all the players performed their roles with vacant expressions before an either sleeping or dead audience; Andrew wasn't sure which. Off to one side, a dark ringmaster looked on neither approving nor disapproving of the scene before him.

Andrew felt himself grow more depressed just looking at them. He hastily set the pieces back against the organizer and went over to the desk to see what was there. There had to be something with which he could connect with the tortured soul on the bed.

A small notebook lay on top. Feeling a little self-conscience about snooping, yet knowing that he had to understand the problem before he could be part of the solution, Andrew picked it up.

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked the knight flashing the notebook in front of his face.

Nicholas still ignored him.

"Oh well, just remember that I did ask first."

The middle page was poetry. He read it aloud.

The icy winds seep through my door,

They seek to freeze my soul,

Another treasured moment past

Has turned to burnt-out coal.

Another memory is gone,

Another 'membrance fades,

How can I keep up this facade

When Time each moment raids?

Whom will I be when all is waste?

Where will my soul belong?

An Emptiness spreads out before

Where once I saw the dawn.

"Cheery little bugger aren't you," Andrew sighed as the following few pages revealed more of the same ilk. He flipped to the front page.

Ahhh...this was promising: musical scores. Lots of music scores painstakingly written out by hand, a few as yet unfinished-- and all done with a modern ball-point pen. Feeling a nudge from the Holy Spirit, Andrew picked out several pages titled: "Sunlight Mixed With Fire" with accompanying lyrics, and took it over to the piano. Seating himself on the bench, he found he could both read and play the complicated work with natural ease.

Her heart is filled with patience,

Pure faith that does not tire

Her breath is woven round me:

My sunlight mixed with fire.

It burns, yet I endure it,

For, truth, how could I do not?

My heart is freed within me:

Her sunshine loosed the knot.

Ablaze with Heaven's glory,

My fiery, golden, dove,

Has lit the Dark within me,

And taught it how to love.

It was beautiful; poignant and sweet. A pity he only made it partway before the score were snatched from the piano. Turning partially around, he saw Nicholas clutching the notebook to his chest as he glowered at the offender.

The animal growl was low and threatening. "Don't."

Don't? Don't play? Don't touch? Don't sing?

"Why not?" Andrew asked, genuinely curious. "It's a lovely piece. God fills the Earth with beauty for us to cherish it---not hide it away under a bushel."

The amber eyes winced, reverting back to their stormy blue. Reverently replacing the notebook back on the desk top, de Brabant silently leapt back on the bed, legs bent and kept close to his torso with one arm, the other looping around the vertical section of chain before his face, grimly holding on. The silent treatment resumed, but at least now the knight seemed aware of his presence, eyes warily watching his every movement.

Projecting an aura of harmlessness, Andrew crossed to the bed and sat down on the far edge. It didn't seem to matter: the knight scooted back against the headboard, putting as much distance as he could between them without leaving the bed altogether. The hand clutching the chain tightened to where Andrew fancied he could hear bones cracking; and the angel sensed that any move on his part would send the other flying straight up to the ceiling, he was so tense.

"I'm sorry to see that your not feeling well, Nicholas," Andrew began, "if I may call you by your christian name?"

A small, noncommittal shrug tried unsuccessfully to hide a shudder. The blue eyes lowered, shadowed with shame.

Andrew kicked himself for using that term. De Brabant no longer considered himself a Christian, though he had performed more 'christian' acts' during these latter years than most humans had done in their entire lives.

"Nicholas," he tried again, "do you remember me at all?'

Swishing his tongue inside his mouth at the memory of the cruel fingers trying to get in---protectively moving his arm so that it guarded his mouth as he did so--de Brabant murmured, "Kurkan. You...stopped Kurkan's hurting me."

"Yes. I stopped Kurkan," Andrew agreed, elated to at last have gotten an intelligent response. "But do you remember me from before that?"

A negation move of the head.

"Are you sure? I was dressed a bit differently then," he supplied. "It was rather long ago...in Paris."

"Paris? Janette loves Paris." A spark of memory lit the pale face. "Ale..." the eyes dared to look up again, but the word was hardly more than a hesitant whisper.

"Yes," Andrew encouraged. "We met outside the inn. You went inside to drink."

"Ale...straw..." the knight blinked in confusion, his words as easily meant for the furniture's edification as the waiting angel's. "Janette doesn't like ale. Or straw. No ale or straw at The Raven." His eyes focused on the slender chain that acted as his second shadow. "Chains in Raven. Chains.....no wood." The cobalt eyes became dilated at they moved on to something only they could see. "Chains and metal and...water. They won't let me go."

Andrew noticed that the restrictive chain and band---so deceptively slender---were actually composed of a titanium alloy. So, too, were the ceiling bar and its anchors. Remembering what Janette had commented on before about Houdini, he noticed that the torso collar looked brand new and was fitted with a hi-tech electronic lock as opposed to regular keyed one. No more escape attempts for their wayward family member that way, Andrew mused. And, now that he thought about it, not by a window either. For the first time Andrew realized that---save for the bedding and plastic support frames on the canvases---the room was done entirely in metals of various strengths. Nothing with sharp edges, no outlets save the door. Not so much as a splinter of wood or a ventilation shaft. The room had been carefully designed to thwart any attempts at suicide or escape by a despondent vampire.

It was downright claustrophobic.

He shook himself from the uncomfortable feeling and asked, "Who won't let you go?"

"Everyone."

Looking into the lost eyes, Andrew swallowed hard. "And where would you go, if you could?"

"To the water... We met at the stone circle, but she went to the water. The harp drew me there. She was going to cut me open in the morgue on our wedding bed--- I loved her then, you see? The fluorescent lighting and the singing of the choir as musicians played, but the cooler had blood bags in it, so I drained her instead. She told me the soothsayer said I'd live long, but eternally alone and we'd be together always. They said I killed her, but I didn't. I think it was Uncle. Lacroix knew I drained her. He laughed at me. He looked so sad, you know? There in the loft as earth grew damp from her blood in the shadow of the stone circle... I can hear the lake."

"Nicholas?" Andrew asked, trying to draw him back to reality---or at least some semblance of it.

Unheeding of the angel's questioning voice, Nicholas kept mindlessly holding the chain as he continued mouthing some mish mashed historical litany only he could understand.

"Chevalier, look at me," Andrew implored.

Adam suddenly appeared with his hand on top of the knight's golden hair, making a startled Andrew almost fall to the floor.

Nicholas didn't even flinch.

"Sorry about that," Adam apologized. "I should have knocked first."

"It's okay," Andrew said as he righted himself. "Frankly, I'm glad of your company--this place is creeping me out."

"It does have that mental institution feel, doesn't it?" Adam agreed, after taking a second to gaze around. "As to the inmate..." the Angel of Death fondly tousled the hair "he can't hear you right now, Andrew. Currently, his mind is not even aware we are here."

Andrew nodded in agreement. "He's holding up someplace in that head of his. This is more than just grief, Adam. It's just a feeling I have that something more is wrong, but it's a strong one. What else is going on here?"

"It's the demons."

The angels could have sworn a dark cloud had descended upon them at the voicing of the word. Andrew looked around the room in dread, half expecting to see dark shapes fly out of the corners to attack them.

"Not here..." his friend qualified then added cryptically, "Unfortunately."

"Adam, how could demons not being here possibly be considered 'unfortunate'?"

"Unfortunate because if they were in the room, we could call the Warriors to protect him. But... they are in here." Adam explained his hand still on the knight's head. He moved the desk chair over to the bedside and sat down.

"In his head," Andrew asked, eyes widening. "You mean he's possessed?"

'No--not possessed. Not yet, thank Jehovah. But he is under intense attack--through his blood." The Angel of Death closed his eyes and began to relay to his friend what had happened just a few years ago in Toronto.

"Several years ago, J'ranor succeeded in getting around the Warrior's watchful eyes---albeit, not as he himself had planned." Sad eyes met Andrew's as Adam made himself more comfortable in the chair.

"You know that Divia was beheaded by Lacroix and entombed in Egypt?"

Andrew nodded.

"Well... she didn't actually die back then as we all had thought...

As Andrew listened, Adam recounted how they'd learned that Divia had stayed alive in that sarcophagus for 2,000 years when some foolish men broke into the tomb seeking ancient treasure and released a monster instead.

"She fed from them. It was pretty messy." Closing his eyes, Adam swallowed. "J'ranor had one of his generals attempt to meld with her as soon as her hunger was satiated on a nearby village. For the most part the demon was successful. Divia was so filled with desire for revenge upon Lucius that she actually allowed the half-possession—obviously, the time spent trapped alone in the crypt drove her insane. A blessing in disguise otherwise her possession would have been complete and J'ranor would have already won his campaign for Divia was evil enough to have met the requirement.

Anyway, in a matter of hours, she was on her way to Toronto. But she didn't want to just murder her father--oh, no--" Adam grimaced, "He had to suffer as she had: experience the loss of everything he held dear before he died... So started the killing spree which kept us AoD's pretty busy. Since the Warriors could not defend one vampire against another, they were on their own."

"Why was I not called?" Andrew asked, feeling a little put out that he hadn't been. Did the Father think he couldn't handle escorting vampires?

Adam seemed to read his mind, "No, Andrew---it wasn't that He purposely left you out. You were busy on another assignment. This happened in the fall of 1996."

Oh. Yes, he had been pretty busy working with Tess and Monica that year, Andrew remembered. It had almost seemed at the time that evil had been working overtime trying to influence humans to be their worst.

"Most of her victims died straight out from their wounds, but even those that did not suffered horrible visions of evil from the infected blood of her bite. Javier Vachon, a former conquistador, was one who chose suicide rather than live with the evil within him. He was a friend of Nick's whose daughter, Urs, Nicholas had begun a tenuous relationship with. Divia practically tore her throat out and left the body in de Brabant's home for him to find as a calling card. He was her last target before she planned to hit Lacroix: A final blow before the coupe de grace. Divia attacked de Brabant in his loft home, mercilessly knocking him around before she nearly drained him. Probably hoped that the 'favorite' would suffer as Vachon had before actually dying, letting Lacroix experience his agony through their master/fledgling bond before death finally took him."

"But he didn't die." Andrew mused. "Don't get me wrong, but...why not?"

"No, he survived." Adam nodded, giving the knight a warm smile. Of all the Night People, de Brabant was a favorite. "Grace of God for a repentant sinner, perhaps? Since Nicholas, here, has been living mostly on steer blood and given up murdering people for his meals, Divia's demon-spawned disease didn't affect him like it had the others who had been drinking only human. He was able to physically recover enough to stake Divia just as she was about to drain Lucius. But the 'infection' was still there in a weakened form, festering...throwing him off kilter and warping his judgment. Shortly after, his mortal friend and confidant had her own setback: someone she knew committed suicide. At the same time, his new partner took a bullet from an escaped convict because she didn't know that the gun aimed at Nick couldn't really hurt him—she thought she was protecting her partner. The bullet passed straight through him and into her. She died from it.

Neither de Brabant nor Natalie Lambert were thinking straight when she pressured him into trying a rather dubious 'vampire cure', insisting and finally convincing him that he had the faith to succeed. He was to take just a sip of blood from her as they made love. But Nicholas had been living on a starvation diet for over a century---especially during the past six years as Lambert believed it was the drinking of blood that kept him as a vampire. The taste of someone who loved him so deeply was like thrusting a chocolate éclair in front of a chocoholic who had been confined to a diet of mush for years."

"He drained her." Andrew felt sick, his own sense of guilt rising up again. Hadn't he 'drained' de Brabant of his will to remain human?

Adam nodded. "He couldn't help it. Everything combined was just too much for his willpower to subdue the Vampire's need. It was over before he even realized she was dying. Lacroix came in then and told him they should just start their lives over again somewhere else. Nicholas countered with a request that the Ancient stake him."

"Suicide?"

"Yes. Nicholas had been courting the idea for years, he just could never quite bring himself to do it, and so in his grief he finally asked Lacroix to do it for him. Lucius responded by knocking him unconscious with the would-be stake and confining him in an Australian Outback homestead for awhile. When Janette came back to Toronto to reopen The Raven, Lacroix returned so that Nicholas would have the support of his family and friends nearby."

"And J'ranor?"

"Obviously, that bastard means to strike while Nicholas's mind is in disarray. He only needs a vampire's wholehearted agreement to be able to use them, Andrew; complete agreement by a sane vampire. That's the deal. And he did partially have Nicholas once, if only for a day."

Rubbing his eyes, Andrew moaned tiredly. "What deal? Several times now I've heard hints that the Night People are treated differently than humans. Why is that, Adam?"

His friend's expression became apologetic. "I'm sorry, Andrew. But that's 'need to know' information. The Father will tell you when or if he wants to."

Pushing himself back unto his feet, Adam stretched. "Besides, don't you think its time you helped Nick?"

"Goodness, Adam---what do you think I've been trying to do all this time," Andrew grumbled. "My patient isn't exactly working with all his hard drive formatted." Sadly, he added, "And he doesn't trust me even when he's lucid enough to listen. Somewhere in there--if he truly remembers me at all--I think he's royally ticked at my person."

Adam squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of understanding. "He's wandering lost, Andrew. You've gotta go find him before you can make amends."

"All well and good, but do you have any ideas on just how to go about it?"

"Sure do." Adam gave a sly grin. "Bite him."

"Huh?" Andrew wondered if Nicholas wasn't the only insane one in the room. Or maybe there were three...

"Bite him. Taste his blood like Aristotle did yours. By the way, I hope none of the vampires require his services for a bit---Aristotle's really shaken up. What kind of wild memories did you play for him?"

Andrew blushed at the joke, lightly smacked his grinning friend on the arm.

"Hey--haven't you got other vampirized Angels of Death's to go bug?"

"Nope, just you-- but I do have to go. Have fun!"

"Wait!" Andrew took a breath. "Adam," Andrew countered, "based on what little tidbits you've given so far, if madness somehow saved us from Divia then should I be trying to 'find' Nicholas at all?"

Adam just lifted an eyebrow and stared at him, making Andrew sigh as he accepted the inevitable. The Father just wasn't going to let him out of this one.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it."

Adam gave a little farewell wave before winking out.

Some minutes later...

"Have fun," Andrew muttered under his breath, as he moved into a sitting position behind de Brabant. The knight was still holding the chain with a death grip, so he had been forced to choose the more 'personal' option over the more formal wrist.

At least his 'partner' smelled clean.

Butterflies of nervousness gripped Andrew's stomach. Did he really have enough experience to try this? What if he did it wrong? What if the wound didn't close afterwards and Nicholas bled to death?

Don't be silly, Andrew, how could he possibly bleed to death from a bite? You don't wear wooden fang dentures.

Realizing that he was just procrastinating, Andrew willed his fangs to drop and tentatively touched them to the Belgian knight's neck. He'd just scrape the skin enough to get a small taste and...

Instantly, both Vampires rose to the fore as Nicholas's growled its outrage at the intrusion and Andrew's answered with its dominance. Arms encircling the struggling knight, he reared his head back and sank his fangs deep into the cool skin.

Cold blood flooded his mouth: salty and metallic tasting liquid. Andrew had expected that the taste would nauseate him since the Father wouldn't be changing it this time: it would be 100% pure Sir Nicholas de Brabant, and not of the Holy Spirit.

Surprise for him---it was delicious! (Well, the Vampire in him thought so anyway.) Not as divine as God's to be sure, but wonderful nonetheless as the various passions in the blood became his own. Unthinkingly, he swallowed several more, lost in the sensations. Then the taste started to change. Barely perceptible, but there, a tinge of something off. Of... not right.

Andrew felt as if he was falling into Darkness.

Review Answers:

Wanderer D: Better go make yourself some more sandwiches as you can see I've just dished out another cliffhanger. At least these last two were not sleep inducing like the preceding couple.

Louie Pastiche:

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a master. I loved the stories and the last English rendition of Sherlock Holmes... though I confess I always cared more for Dr. Watson than Holmes. I admired his dogged loyalty to the man even at Sherlock's worst.

It was not Andrew's strategy, but his Father's. Andrew was all set to give Janette the double dipping hickey.

Yeah, that post and Aristotle's rebuking Lacroix were fun to write.

Hang on to your hats for the next post as will contain a lot of scene switches in rapid succession as Andrew goes hunting for de Brabant.