HE COULD REMEMBER it like it was yesterday, the picture as clear and crisp in his mind as it was on the day it had happened, almost seventeen years in the past. He could feel the warm spring air on his face, the breeze lightly scented with the mouthwatering smell of baking bread, kissed with the faintest hint of the lavender that flourished in the many cottage gardens that lined the small streets of the village he lived in.

He'd been playing with the neighborhood children that morning, spending hours losing himself in foolish childhood games like La semaineand Rochambeau, tumbling and roughhousing on the small patch of land that they used for a playground near the village green. One by one, his playmates mothers had come to take them home for lunch, until he was left all alone, wondering where his own beloved maman might be; at six years old, he knew something wasn't right—not when she was usually the first one to show up to collect him.

Entering the cottage, the smell hit him first—it overrode everything else, stronger even than the Chanel No. 5 that his mother dabbed behind her ears when his papa came to call. It was one he didn't recognize—metallic and offensive, laced with an underlying smell that reminded him of the nearby cave he had explored with his best friend Jean-Luc. The walls had been wet and damp, coated with a strange, calcified substance that smelled like the overpriced water that the tourists often drank… like vitamin tablets, or minerals of some sort, making him wrinkle his nose. Even more disturbing than the smell were all the strangers present—men and women that he'd never seen before—ones that tried to grab him as he ran through the small living room, calling out for his mother.

He made it to her bedroom before they caught him, eyes wide as he stared at the red coated walls and the pale, lifeless body sprawled out across her sheets. Sheets that were normally fresh and crisp and white, smelling of the springtime air and the flowers that decorated the garden where she hung the laundry to dry—now red and dripping on the wooden floor that she kept polished to a mirror like shine.

"Mama?"

Strong arms locked around his middle, dragging him from the doorway where he'd frozen in shock, picking him up, despite his screams of protest, carrying him back outside. He fought like a wild thing—all thoughts of the manners and polite etiquette his mother insisted he show guests forgotten in the wake of what he'd seen in the brightly lit bedroom.

His mama… his beautiful, vibrant mama… her body broken and limp, brown eyes lifeless like those of a doll.

The woman set him down on the bench, her face full of sorrow as she held him in place. "I'm not letting you go until you calm down son—I'm sorry you had to see that."

He stared at her, not comprehending—she repeated it in French, asking his name.

"Bastien. Sebastien Nagant."

"I'm going to need you to be a big boy for me, alright Bastien? Your neighbors heard screams… they called us to come help."

'Mama… she is…"

"I'm so sorry… she's gone. It looks like a random attack… they grabbed her in the garden and drug her inside, son."

"But… it is sunlight out. The monsters… they cannot hunt during the day Madam." He was trying not to cry—to not give in to the aching pain that was tearing up his insides. He had to be strong—to be brave for his maman—the way she would want him to be.

"There are all kinds of monsters son, Strigoi aren't the only ones that kill." The woman sighed, her gray eyes searching his face. "If I let you go, do you promise not to go back in there? Will you let us do our jobs and collect the evidence we need to find out who did this?"

"Oui, Madam…" His small voice trailed off as he gazed at her, blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Petrov. Guardian Alberta Petrov… is there someone I can call to come help you Bastien? Do you have any aunts… grandparents, maybe?"

"Only my papa."

"That's good—what's his name? Do you know where we can reach him? A telephone number… or where he works?"

He shook his head. "Mama calls him 'ma flamme' when he comes to visit. I call him papa…."

Her face scrunched up in dismay. "You don't know his name… his real name? We need—" Another guardian interrupted her, murmuring softly and holding out the framed picture that sat beside his mother's bed. She took it, staring at it for a moment before returning her attention to her questions. "Who is this Bastien… is this your father?"

"Oui Madam Petrov… that is my papa."

"Christ…" She turned to the man beside her, her voice dropping to a whisper—unaware that he could hear every word she said, "That's Prince Serephin Ozera's oldest son… Severin. There's no way he's going to acknowledge this boy is his. Call HQ and tell them to start digging—find the closest non-Royal relatives they can, maybe we'll get lucky. God I hate this fucking shit—maybe it's time I transfer out."

"Nah—you'd be bored senseless teaching a bunch of novices Bertie." The guardian patted her arm, hurrying off to do as she'd asked.

"Bastien… you're going to have to come with us—just until we can track down someone to take care of you, alright?" She turned back to him, brushing his dark hair out of his face.

"What if… no one comes? Will you bring me back here?" His mind was racing—maybe Jean-Luc's mother would take him in, if he promised not to eat too much or disturb her when her gentlemen friends visited.

"No… no. If that happens… we'll take you to your Academy. Which one are you enrolled in?"

He stared at her, confused. "Academy? What is an Academy Madam?"

"Your school son… which school do you go to?"

"The one here in the village—where all my friends go. Mademoiselle Sansonette is my teacher—I am the smartest one in class."

She closed her eyes, frowning. "Ah—your mother didn't enroll you. Great. Well… I'll explain it all if it comes to that, okay? For now, what's say you and I get out of here—let's pack a small bag of your things… we'll have the rest boxed up and stored for you, alright?"

He let her pack his bag, giving no input as to what she selected—how was he to decide what to take out of all his cherished things? The large train set his papa had brought him certainly couldn't go—and neither could his toy soldiers or collection of model planes. He fell into a grim, confused silence—a shadow of the cheerful, energetic boy he'd been just a short while before, answering politely when the kind woman spoke to him, but other than that, not daring to speak.

He held his tears until he was loaded in the car, brushing them away as he stared out the window, watching as the village that had always been his home faded away—the rolling, green countryside slowly replaced by busy streets and tall buildings made of steel and glass. In other circumstances, the place she took him would have been fascinating—full of men and women dressed the way she was, in black and white clothing, bustling about at a frantic pace—but as it was… he felt nothing other than the emptiness of loss. She steered him to a small cubicle that held a desk and a couple of chairs, ruffling his hair as she sank down beside him, gazing worriedly into his eyes.

"Are you hungry, Bastien? I'm sure I could find something—"

"Petrov—we got a call about a suspected nest. Martin needs you in the conference room. Now."

Her eyes darted to the man who had interrupted, her look of concern fading as irritation took its place. "I'm a little busy at the moment. Maybe Teresa—"

"If you wanted to play babysitter you should have stayed on the commune—we don't have time for pandering to kids around here. That's not what we're here for." The man gave her a pointed look that reinforced his words.

Her eyes narrowed, lips thinning; she nodded, shoulders tense. "I'll be there in a minute—let me get him settled."

"Hurry—you shouldn't have brought him here in the first place."

"Bastien… I have to go—but I promise you, someone will be here soon to collect you, alright? I'm sorry… I wanted to …" She shook her head, eyes dropping from his, her sandy blonde hair falling forward to hide her face. "I'm sorry. Just sit tight okay?"

As she stood his small hand shot out, grabbing onto hers and giving it a squeeze. "Madam Petrov… thank you…. Will I see you again?"

"Sure you will—the world is a big place, but it's not that big, son. Maybe when you're all grown up, if you become a Guardian we'll work on the same team." She leaned forward, pressing her lips against his forehead, her large gray eyes filled with tears as she pulled away. "You're a good boy… a brave one. They'll find you a safe place. Being at an Academy isn't that bad… I promise."

He watched her walk away, wondering what she meant—not understanding what she meant about Academies or working on Guardian teams, his small voice calling after her as she disappeared from view, "God bless you and keep you safe on your journey!"

It was what his maman had always called out to him as he ran out the door to play—something he would never again hear her sweet voice saying.

ALL THOSE MEMORIES danced through his mind as he stood in the corridor, staring at the name plaque on the closed wooden door in front of him; he was no longer a confused, frightened child, but a fully grown man—a guardian, the top novice in his graduating class. Raising his hand, he knocked on the door, pushing it open when he heard her familiar voice calling for him to enter.

"Guardian Sebastien Nagant-Ozera reporting for duty, Madam Petrov," he murmured as she looked up—her gray eyes wide with shock at the sound of his name. "It is my honor to be serving here at Saint Vladimir's with you—I hope to repay you for the kindness you showed me on the day that we met. The memory of it… of you… they gave me the strength to become the man I am today."

A/N This one doesn't really tie in with any of my stories or drabbles—it started out as a background piece for one of my original rp characters, but Alberta… sort of showed up and took over, changing it into a glimpse at her life before she started working at the Academy. I set out to try to write what poor little Bastien felt on the day he found his mother, but Albert wouldn't go away—she wanted me to talk about how she struggled to juggle being a good guardian with the hidden maternal streak that all dhampir females feel from time to time in their lives. I really love Alberta and will probably be writing more about her—there's so much room to explore her character, past, present and future. ;o)