I Will Sin No More

Episode 0103

 

 

Anne considered herself a good Catholic. Her friends always said that she was kind and forgiving, and had more love to give than anyone else they knew. She was good with children; she had wanted to be a kindergarten teacher once upon a time. She went to church regularly, took communion, and admitted her sins in the confessional more often than most.

Granted, adultery was not the trademark of a good Catholic, but there were worse sins to be committed. And when you were stuck in a bad marriage with no hope of divorce, was it so horrible to seek out the one thing she was guaranteed never to find otherwise? Was love such a crime?

She sighed as she climbed into her car and sighed again as she put her ring back on.

When the killer struck, she struggled but to no avail. This was the end: she was about to die without confessing her most recent sins, without the forgiveness of the Church, without the sacred rites that would speed her soul to God. She tried to scream, but she had no breath. As the world went black, she felt the man pull her necklace – the cross pendant that her grandmother had given her at her First Communion – from her neck, breaking the chain. "You don’t deserve to wear this," said the man.

She heard nothing more.

 

 

The Raven was busy tonight, Nick noted as he scanned the crowd for Janette. He hadn’t seen her since the visit with Natalie, and he had to admit to being a little apprehensive. Had LaCroix told Janette what he’d nearly done?

A young punk growled at him, baring his fangs and turning his eyes to a glowing yellow-green. Nick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Had he ever been so young and territorial? He considered simply ignoring the young vampire – he couldn’t be more than fifty, for goodness sake! – and then changed his mind, leaning in towards him to make sure that the kid hear him over the loud music. "A word to the wise: immortality is no excuse not to floss."

The kid snarled again, but he ignored it, catching Janette’s eye and finding a path through the dancing mortals and immortals to her.

"So, Nicolas," she said, accepting a brief kiss as his hello.

"Myra looks like death warmed over," he told her.

"Well, you know Myra. Bingeing one minute, purging the next. I think she still has remnants of a conscience. No self-respect."

Nick smiled. Remnants of a conscience. That could equally apply to him – or to Natalie. She, too, was different. Some nights it was hard for him to remember that she was a vampire, too, and then she would say something or do something – some little, otherwise insignificant gesture or act – and it would remind him. Two nights earlier, it had been during the examination of one of the recently murdered women. She had noted some tear or stress to some bit of tissue that a mortal doctor wouldn’t have been able to notice without a microscope. It had aided in the investigation – proving that the woman had struggled slightly just before the killing blow, meaning that the killer had not waited to make sure she was actually dead before desecrating the body – but it had, once again, reminded him of Natalie’s secret, the secret that he still shared. He had known Natalie for two and a half years and yet some nights he still forgot that she was a child of LaCroix.

"I'm here on business," he told Janette. "Two women have been murdered this week, one decapitated, one disemboweled."

"And so you came to...me, hm?" she replied, not terribly amused. "Nicolas, you used to be so charming. You know I don't care about what happens to them. And neither should you. Or Natalie. She, at least, has the excuse of being young. Her mortal life still intrudes on her new one. Perhaps LaCroix and I are taking the wrong approach with notre petite soeur. Perhaps you should aid her, hm? It has been some time since you taught a young one; it may be that you have...matured enough to do well this time."

"I don’t think so."

"Is that a lack of confidence in your abilities, Nicolas," she asked, taking a sip from her glass, "or your continued distance from your own kind? You are still a vampire, mon amour, you are still what you are."

"Some people change."

"Ah, but you're not ‘people’, hm? You're never going to learn that, are you?" She dipped her finger into her glass and waved it in front of his face. He could see the droplet forming, and almost feel her anticipation that he might stop it from falling. "Just taste it. You can’t deny what you are, Nicolas. You need it. You cannot resist your natural urges forever–"

"Hey, Knight! Knight!"

The moment – and Nick’s wavering urge to give into the temptation – was broken by Don Schanke’s boisterous arrival in the club. Janette sighed, as if she knew that her efforts were officially for naught.

"If you hear anything," Nick said, trailing off as she smiled. "Bon appetit," he added, walking off to rescue Schanke from Alma. If ever there was a vampire who could destroy Schanke, garlic and all, it would be Alma. Luckily, a man he didn’t recognize – a vampire – did the rescuing for him, dragging the vampiress away from Schanke.

"I thought I told you to stay outside!" Nick told him, grabbing a hold of Schanke’s coat and pulling him towards the exit.

"What're you doing? I was just about to score!"

Yeah, right. "Outside. Come on."

"Outside, wait outside, so you can play with all that beautiful stuff in there by yourself," muttered Schanke as they crossed the street to the car. "I don’t get you, man. I just don’t get you."

"It's dangerous in there, Schanke."

"Dangerous?" He laughed. "I eat danger for breakfast. That is grade-A action in there. You're just selfish. Though I don’t know why you bother with the crazy ladies of the night in this part of town, Knight–"

Nick choked.

"–When you’ve practically got Natalie Lambert with a ring on her finger–"

He choked again. It was a new feeling. Vampires weren’t exactly predisposed to choking, though it was technically possible. It was just a very rare occurrence. "Schanke, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Natalie Lambert?"

"Oh, come off it, Knight, you know what I’m talking about. Look, Nick, ever since Natalie got sick a couple of years back-"

Sick. Nice euphemism for "became a vampire and began to shun the sunlight"...

"-She hasn’t so much as looked at a guy or gone out or done anything but work. Pretty much. Anyway, you’re the only guy she looks at. You know, really looks. I don’t know if it’s because maybe you’re her type or she really likes you or just because you guys have the same condition, or what, but..." Schanke trailed off, as if he wasn’t sure where exactly he was headed with his little talk. Nick hoped that that meant he’d drop the matter, but luck was not with him. "And I’ve seen you guys together. I know you like her."

"Of course I do," Nick told him. "She’s a very nice woman, and a very talented coroner."

Schanke snorted. "Nick, whatever it is, get over it. Ask the woman out. What’s the worst that could happen? Okay, so she might say no. But that’s probably your own damn fault. I don’t know what the heck it was you said to her during the type-O case, but you pissed her off. And I’ve known Natalie a bit longer than you have. She wouldn’t be so pissed if it didn’t involve someone she liked enough to at least consider a friend."

"Schanke-"

"Fine. Fine. I’ll let it go for now. But mark my words, wonderboy – the odds are on the two of you married in three years."

What?

"Now, the other issue of the evening: the fact that you’d hide a place like this from me – it hurts. It really hurts. I thought we were partners."

Nick sighed. "First, there’s nothing going on between Dr. Lambert and me. Second, there’s about a hundred reasons why I haven’t mentioned the Raven to you before." He took a breath – to calm himself. "Look, you're a married man, Schanke."

"Hey, listen. My father fooled around, his father fooled around. It's a family tradition."

Along with telling tall tales, Nick supposed. And after extolling the virtues of marrying Natalie Lambert. "Oh, yeah? You know, I don't think you've got it in you."

"Oh, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Is that right – you don't think I got it in me?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, I'm telling you, it's in the genes."

"Ha!" As annoying as Schanke could be, he did enjoy the bantering, Nick realized as they climbed into the car.

"You're looking at a killer ladies' man," Schanke told him just before the radio squawked again.

//81 Kilo, 81 Kilo, where the hell are you guys?//

Nick stared at the radio. How useful something like this would have been in Palestine all those centuries ago, and, at the same time, how annoying and inconvenient it could be! "What’s this?" he asked.

"That's why I came in to get you," Schanke told him in a dour tone.

Wonderful. Another woman, dead. "What is it this time?"

Schanke shook his head and answered with a single word: "Ugly."

 

 

Despite the minor hesitation outside the Raven, the Caddy ran smoothly the rest of the way to the crime scene. Nick could smell the dead blood before he even exited the car. Of all his preternatural abilities, his sense of smell was the one he most often disliked. Death had a scent all its own and it was one that he was all too familiar with.

"What the hell is this?" asked Schanke, staring at the corpse. Schanke was a modern man; intellectually, he most certainly knew about the torments that people had inflicted on other human beings throughout history, but Nick supposed that that knowledge wasn’t exactly preparation for seeing it in real life. "It's a crucifixion," he told Schanke, but did not mention that it wasn’t the first one he’d seen. Crucifixions hadn’t been too popular anymore in his day – burnings, beheadings, floggings and stonings had been more to the taste of medieval Europeans and of the men he had fought in the Crusades – but he had seen one in the Holy Land in the days before he feared the cross. "Get her covered up and get her out of here."

Schanke seemed to pick up on the discomfort in his voice for once. "You heard what the man said," he told the crime scene technicians. "Get her to the M.E., fast."

Nick turned away, unable to look at the corpse any longer. Schanke caught his arm, as if he were just another mortal sickened by the sight. "You okay?"

Nick nodded and hurried away from the immediate vicinity of the body.

"I got to admit," Schanke told him, trying to be reassuring, "that’s a first for me, too."

Nick ignored the comment, trying to regain control of the situation. He gestured to a man in a guard’s uniform nearby. "What’s his name?"

"Gregory something. That is a guilty man."

Nick grinned a little at Schanke’s pronouncement. "Yeah, but not about killing her. They were probably just having an affair," he said matter-of-factly.

"He and the victim? They said she was married!"

Nick resisted the urge to snort and, once again, to roll his eyes. "Come on, Schanke. I thought you were a man of the world," he said, thinking back to their earlier conversation. Lady-killer Schanke, surprised at the idea of a married woman having an affair?

A few moments later, the body was gone, leaving only a chalk outline and blood on the asphalt. "They say that death by crucifixion takes hours – days, even," said Schanke softly.

"She was dead before she got spiked," Nick told him, not even thinking about what he was saying.

"How do you know that?"

"There’s not enough blood."

 

 

Natalie Lambert was being perfectly cordial, as her duty required, Nick reflected, but there was still something cold in her countenance and in her voice, in the way she moved. It was a coldness and a kind of detachment that wasn’t obvious when other people were there; she had been more friendly just before Grace, her assistant, had left the room, and Nick couldn’t imagine Natalie acting like this with Schanke. Clearly, he, Nicholas B. Knight, was the problem. Maybe Schanke was right – maybe there was something more to the matter than just making her angry...

"I really hate to admit this," Natalie was saying, "but you were right. Coronary. She died from sheer, unmitigated terror. Here, come here, I want you to look at this," she added, holding up a slack, dead hand. "I’m off duty tomorrow night, and I have plans, so if you’ve got questions, now’s the time."

"Natalie, would you mind?" He felt awkward, saying her name. They had known each other almost two and a half years, so it was socially expected that they would call each other by their first names, especially in a more private setting like this. But after all that had happened with her and him and LaCroix those few weeks earlier, he sometimes felt as if any social intimacy they had developed was now completely lost. He had almost gotten to the point were he felt comfortable calling her ‘Nat’ before the incident. "You have plans?" he asked hesitantly. Maybe Schanke was wrong in his estimations of Natalie’s pursuits away from work.

"Oh," she said, tucking the hand back under the sheet. "And is it that surprising that I actually have a life outside the coroner’s office? Yes, I have plans."

"Guess I’m solo tomorrow, then," he said in what he hoped would be perceived as a friendly but joking tone. "Schanke’s got tomorrow off as well."

"You’ll survive," she said. Then, in her latex-covered hands, she took up something that he didn’t recognize at first. "So take a look. Beautiful isn't it?"

It took Nick a moment to recognize the feeling of unease that came over him and then he recognized the delicate object in Natalie’s hands as a fine cross necklace. "Yeah, depends on your point of view," he said, cringing and turning away a little.

"These things really make you uncomfortable, don't they?" she said.

"They make me feel weak," he admitted. "I'm afraid of them."

And then he took a doubletake. "Wait a minute." Of all the moments to forget what she was... "I can barely look at a cross, and you’re just holding one like it’s nothing?"

"Of course, crosses have no power – oh." She set the necklace down.

"Oh, what?"

"I never told you my theory about this, did I?" she said softly. It was a much kinder tone than he was accustomed to hearing from her over the last several weeks, a tone that he quite honestly missed. "Your...reactions to these sorts of things – holy objects and so forth – I have a theory about it. And I’ve proved it...kind of."

He tilted his head and she seemed to take it as a signal to continue. "Basically, it’s all psychosomatic."

"Psychosomatic?"

"It’s all in your head," she clarified. "You expect to have an adverse reaction, and this expectation is so deeply ingrained into your psyche that it actually has a physical affect on you."

"Natalie..."

"No, it’s true. I don’t have anywhere near as strong a reaction to these sorts of things as Janette does, and something tells me that your reactions are even worse than hers," Natalie said. "Mortals have preconceived notions of what it means to be a vampire, among them being the adverse reactions to holy water, to crosses, to sunlight. Now, the sunlight issue – that has some scientific basis, but the holy water and crosses? Not in the least. There’s no real logic to fearing a cross. I’m not certain about garlic quite yet. But crosses? Absolutely no scientific basis for the phenomenon, except mass paranoia."

"Of course we react to it! It’s the symbol of the one true light and we’re creatures of the dark!" Nick cried, not realizing how it would sound until the words were spoken. This was a different world than he was accustomed to, and Natalie did not seem to have designs on any religion whatsoever.

"The fact that you’re so convinced of that," she said softly, "only lends credence to my idea. You see, I wasn’t raised in a particularly religious setting, and before I became a vampire I only had nominal thoughts about God and religion. Science was more comforting, more important to me. I touch a cross and it only feels warm under my fingers. I don’t believe that it has any power over me. The fact that it affects me at all is simply a remnant of my cultural conditioning. This culture – western culture, European culture, North American, whatever it is – says that vampires are affected by crosses. As a member of the culture, that information was there in the back of my brain, even if I wasn’t actively believing in the existence of vampire before I became one. Something in my subconscious says, ‘Okay, you’re a vampire, you have to behave these certain ways,’ and it results in a psychosomatic reaction to crosses. But like I said, it barely does anything to me. It doesn’t even hurt. Janette touches one and it burns a bit, but the mark is gone quickly. You touch one, and your hand goes up in flames. See where I’m headed with this?"

He nodded, reluctantly.

"We can work on this. It’s one of those situations of mind over matter, Nicholas. If you’re convinced enough that it won’t hurt you, then it won’t. Like those guys in India who walk over red-hot coals."

"It is the decree of God," he started, trying to counter her, but she spoke too quickly. "Nicholas, for once in your incredibly long life, trust science a few moments longer than you trust the Church? I get that this is a...difficult idea for you, but I wouldn’t even mention it if I didn’t think it had some truth to it. Think about it. Maybe it’s the next thing we should work on. Here." She handed the necklace, encased in a large plastic bag.

"You don’t want me to try to touch it, do you?"

Natalie sighed, as if exasperated by his behavior. "No. You need it for evidence."

"Why?"

"The other victims also wore crosses. I checked it out." The coldness had returned to her voice. Why was it that everything he did or said these days pissed her off? A curse. He had to be cursed. It was the only explanation. "And like you, Mr. Stubborn-Faith-Is-Keeping-Me-From-Becoming-Human-Again, they were all Catholic."

He could feel a headache coming on.

 

 

//"You've been following me."

"Yes. I couldn't help myself."

"I could feel someone...something..."

"Hmm. Were you frightened? Is that why you stopped to hide?"

"I am not hiding. I stopped to pray for a safe journey. I'm going to meet with the Dauphin in Vaucouleur."

"It's a shame. I don't think you'll ever arrive."

"I have no fear of you."

"You should."

"No. My grandmother used to tell me of the ancient creatures cursed to spend eternity in darkness. You are Nicholas of Brabant. The man of the night."

"You think I'm cursed? No...I will live forever."

"Oh, yes, very, because you are afraid of salvation. You who choose to live forever, live in constant fear of death. I do not. I will pray for you, Nicholas. I will pray for us both."

"Courage. What is your other name?"

"Joan."

The cross burned him...//

He had not dreamed of Joan, of little Jeanne d’Arc, in such a long time. What had brought this on? The talk of crosses? The talk of faith? Joan had had so much faith, unwavering, absolute faith in the Church, in God. She had been a role model, as they said in these more modern times.

He certainly had never been so perfectly faithful in his service to the Church. His faith had been strong – still was strong – but nowhere near hers.

Natalie’s faith was strong as well, but hers was in the service of science, of medicine. Was this the new religion, then? Is this what he should embrace next, as his ancestors had given up the old heathen rites and adopted Christianity centuries before his birth? Was science to be his new god, and Natalie the faithful acolyte who would convert him?

Did it really even matter anymore?

He turned over in his bed. His faith was wavering, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. All he knew was that Natalie had spoken the truth. Science would provide some of the answers, as it did in each of his investigations as a detective and as it had in the lives when he had been a doctor and then later an archaeologist. Perhaps science would not replace God entirely, but parallel Him...

The thought gave him some comfort.

He slept.

 

 

Though it was still early, Janette had all but concluded that the evening would be a fairly slow and dull one – save for Natalie’s little soiree – when she spotted Detective Schanke entering the Raven. Merde, she thought to herself. She knew little of the mortal, other than the fact that he was Nicolas’s partner with the police and that Natalie sometimes mentioned him in her tales of would-be adventure as an examiner of the dead, but he struck her as the sort of mortal who would be annoying and aggravating. He certainly had been the previous night when Nicolas had been by for that brief visit. She considered approaching him, perhaps convincing him to leave, but then remembered that Natalie had told her the mortal had a predilection for garlic in his food. That alone was likely to keep him somewhat safe.

She did not see Alma approaching him, as she was already walking towards the back room to check on Natalie and her friends.

 

 

"I think I hate men," Natalie announced to her companions, pouring another glass of bloodwine. She had lost count around the end of the third or fourth bottle and was finally feeling drunk. Drunk as a vampire was an interesting experience, she noted to herself. The room spun a little, but she didn’t feel nauseous; the scientist in her hypothesized that it had something to do with her stronger constitution as a vampire and her enhanced eyesight, but the lonely twenty-something part of her simply said ‘cool’ and let it go.

One of the other women, a young-looking blonde who had joined the party after the second bottle and had introduced herself as Urs, nodded. "Sometimes I think immortality would actually be worth it if men were immune to it."

Marguerite laughed. "Absolutely," she said, slurring the word slightly; she had started drinking with Nat and was the only vampiress present who had actually been invited to the little party and was still there. "At least mortal men age and grow and their interest wanes. And then they die. But our kind? Nuh-huh. You would think that after two hundred years of me saying that I’m not interested, he’d get a clue."

"Who’re you talking about?" Natalie asked, looking at Marguerite a little cross-eyed.

"Jake," Marguerite replied. "You haven’t met him. Takes the idea of obsession to a whole ‘nother level, Nattie. Thank god he seems to be taking the decade off from it. I’d stake him myself if I thought I could."

Nat giggled.

"What has Nicolas done this time, petite?" asked Janette, taking a seat next to Natalie. She took the glass from Natalie’s hand, sniffed at it, and then took a sip.

"Nick? What? I’m not talking about Nick. Why would I be talking about Nick?" asked Natalie, attempting to snatch the glass back from Janette, but failing miserably. The older vampire took pity on her and set it back down on the table in front of her, within easy reach.

"You are talking about the evils of men, are you not? And in particular our kind of men," said Janette with almost maternal authority – appropriate, given that she was the eldest among them. "And our Nicolas is the only man close enough to you to incite such anger and frustration."

Natalie blinked at her, as if uncertain just how Janette had been able to figure things out, and then gave into the drunkenness again with a giggle. "Nicolas," she said, continuing to laugh. "Nicolas. Neeeee-ko-laaaaa. Such a funny name. Nicky with long hair and a cape and a sword and a horse–" She continued to giggle, and Janette began to wonder just how much Natalie had actually drunk.

"Nick the Knight on a horse..." said Marguerite, giving into her own drunken giggles.

"And a sword," repeated Natalie. "Can’t forget the sword. Knights always have to have swords. Like Excalibur."

"Who’s Excalibur?" asked Urs, looking puzzled in such a way that Janette realized she was much drunker than she had seemed only a few moments earlier.

They dissolved into giggling again. Janette briefly considered removing the alcohol from the table, but decided against it. LaCroix would have her hide if she did. The whole purpose of this little soiree was to introduce Natalie to alcohol as a vampire, to show her what drunkenness was like and to learn what it took to get her there. That, and to get her to unwind – as mortals said – with her friends. LaCroix had been...somewhat displeased to see how attached she still was to her mortal life. It was time, he had told his elder daughter, to see to it that she made attachments to the Community instead.

"Does Nick still have his sword?" Natalie suddenly asked.

Janette was taken off guard by the question and took a moment to answer. "Very likely," she said. "He is rather attached to such mortal things."

"A knight in shining armor with a sword on a white horse..." Natalie trailed off, staring into space with a dreamy look on her face.

"I thought you were mad at him," said Marguerite, finishing her glass.

"Of course I am," Natalie replied. "But he’s so damn cute, you know? Cute. That’s such a funny word." She giggled. "Knights don’t get called cute. They’re handsome. Intriguing. Attractive." She paused, looking puzzled. "What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Nicky the Cutie pissed me off. End of story."

Janette raised an eyebrow.

"Nicky the Cutie?" said Urs. "Natalie, you’re so wasted."

"Wasn’t that sort of the point?" asked Marguerite.

"You know what I haven’t done in a while?" Natalie suddenly said. "Let’s play cards."

"Cards?" said Marguerite.

"Yeah. Let’s play poker. Everyone thinks that’s such a man’s game, but we used to play it all the time when I was in medical school. Women have much better poker faces. Let’s play poker."

"I haven’t got much money," said Urs, frowning at her glass.

"Then we don’t play for money. We used to play for Hershey’s Kisses or mints or M&M’s or whatever we had at hand," Natalie told her. "Or we’d play for nothing at all. Just play the game."

"Do you miss chocolate?" Marguerite suddenly asked. "Mortal women die for it, but I only had a bit of it once, when I was mortal, and it was terribly bitter."

Natalie suddenly looked melancholy. "They do stuff to it these days. Makes it sweet. Very yummy."

"Yummy?"

Natalie nodded. "Uh-huh. I’m working on it. One day we’ll all eat chocolate and pizza and Cadbury creme eggs and go sunbathing."

"Now I know you’re drunk," said Urs, giggling.

"Nah, Natalie’s a mad scientist," Marguerite told her. "She’ll figure it all out someday."

"It’s my hair, isn’t it," Natalie said, frowning. "My evil Bride-of-Frankenstein, Albert-Einstein-with-a-perm hair. Frizzy Nattie. No wonder everything’s screwed up."

"Nat," said Marguerite, "it’s not the end of the world. Nicky’ll come around. He’s dense, but he’s not stupid."

Janette held in the urge to snort.

 

 

This mortal is way too easy to control, Alma was telling herself. If she wasn’t so certain that he really was under her spell, she’d have thought there was something fishy about the situation. "In my next life," she said out loud, looking into the man’s painfully shallow eyes, "I'm gonna be a dancing doctor. I think doctors are too formal." The man was breathing hard as she continued talking, dragging him with her.

The man had lost the ability to speak by this point, but that was fine with her. She wasn’t one of those liberal vamps who liked to have their food talk back at them. "Take slow, easy breaths, cutie," she whispered. "We don’t want your blood to boil. Spoils the taste–"

"Alma!"

It was Janette, the one who had set herself up as queen bee of the Community a while back, and while not a real enemy of Alma’s, not exactly her best friend either. "Damn," Alma swore softly and then took a good look at what she had just walked into. Damn. She’d forgotten that the backroom was off-limits tonight.

The ladies at the table turned slowly – drunkenly was more like it, she told herself – to see what had disturbed their little party. "Schanke!" cried the young one. Alma thought for a moment and then recalled the girl’s name – Natalie, the latest heir to the LaCroixian line of insanity. The girl stood up and staggered over to Alma and her intended victim. "Schanke, what’re you doing here?"

Dammit.

"Natalie?" asked the mortal, shaking off the hypnosis. "Natalie, what are you doing here? Nick said this place is dangerous!"

Natalie and her companions – Janette excluded – began to giggle at his pronouncement.

"Nick?" said Natalie in surprise. "Did Nick send you here?" She swayed a little. "He should know better than to send you into the lion’s den. Somebody might eat you up."

The mortal frowned, still confused and growing even more confused by the moment. Alma sighed and turned to leave. Dinner was not going as intended. As she made for the door, Janette grabbed her by the arm. "We will have a little talk about this, Alma," Janette hissed. Alma bared her fangs at the older vampire, but Janette simply tightened her grasp. "We will talk. Now go!"

 

 

Donald G. Schanke had seen a number of weird things in his life, but a drunken Natalie Lambert – at the Raven, of all places! – took the cake. "Natalie, are you okay?" he asked, shaking his head a final time to rid himself of the foggy feeling that had taken him for a few minutes. That Alma girl was weird.

"Of course I’m okay!" she told him, but the swaying told him that she was definitely over the legal limit. He hadn’t seen someone so drunk since the last party he’d had to break up over at the university. She was going to have the mother of all hangovers. "Why are you here? You’re not a creature of the night. You’re too tan."

Creature of the night...? "What, is this like a special club? All these folks have the sun disease, like you and Nick?"

Natalie’s friends giggled as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. The dark-haired woman – the only one of the lot who wasn’t visibly drunk – stepped up to him and sighed. "Mr. Schanke," she said with a faint accent, "I think it is time for you to leave."

He frowned. "Is Natalie okay? I mean, Nick Knight – you know him, don’t you? – he told me this wasn’t exactly a nice place, if you know what I mean. I just...I’m just worried about Natalie being here and all. Nick would be too, if he knew she was here."

Natalie snorted. "You can go and tell mon beau Nicolas to stop checking up on me; I’m a big girl now. I don’t need Mr. Blond-Hair-Blue-Eyes keeping guard over me," she announced in a tone strangely reminiscent of when his daughter Jenny had suddenly declared herself capable of tying her own shoelaces. (Jenny had been less than successful despite this.) "Besides," Natalie continued, gesturing to the dark-haired woman, "Janette will protect me. They go waaaay back, Schanke. You can go tell Nicolas de Brabant..."

Who the hell was Nicolas de Brabant?

"...You can tell Monsieur de Brabant that I’m just fine." That final statement was somewhat negated by continued swaying and the necessity of grabbing a hold of his arms to keep upright. Schanke upgraded his estimation of the situation. He’d never seen a woman this drunk. Ever. And he certainly hadn’t expected it of straight-laced Natalie Lambert.

"You’re sure she’ll be okay here?" Schanke asked of the sober woman, Janette.

"Absolutely, Mr. Schanke," Janette assured him. "Natalie and I are...like sisters. I would not let her come to harm, I promise you."

"Whoever this Nicolas de Brabant character is, he better treat her okay," he told Janette, "or there’s a posse of overprotective police officers who’ll come down like the invasion of Normandy on him. We’re not too kind with bad boyfriends."

Janette smiled; it was an odd, secretive smile, like she knew something that he didn’t, but wasn’t about to let him in on it. "Of course. As I said, Mr. Schanke," she told him, "I won’t let her come to any harm. Now, I think it is time for you to go."

Her eyes were boring into him. "Time to go."

"Yes, time to go. I think you have had enough excitement for tonight."

"Enough excitement..."

In the background, he heard giggling.

 

 

The next thing Don Schanke was certain of was sitting in his car and starting the engine. Man, that had been a weird place. Why on earth did Nick go there so often? Maybe he’d been wrong about Nick and Natalie; maybe he had a thing with that Janette woman. Maybe Nick was just denser than your average male.

Poor Natalie. Getting drunk at the Raven of all places, and apparently dating a guy who fit Nick’s profile to a T, even with his name. Nicolas...that was the French version of Nicholas, wasn’t it? So Nat was going out with a blue-eyed, blond Quebecois.

Maybe.

God, this was confusing.

 

 

This was proving to be a difficult night. He’d started out by trying to build up a bit of resistance to the cross Natalie had found on the last victim, and to his amazement, he’d been able to hold it without bursting into flames. His hand still burned a bit, but the improvement was impressive. Natalie’s theory had merit, he mused, but he wasn’t sure if it was going to be enough to keep him going through an entire day in a church.

And then there was Father Rochefort. Nick sighed. In his many incarnations of an officer of the law – going back to his days as a knight – the inviolability of the confessional was something that had always irked him. As a mortal he hadn’t thought much about it, accepting it as part of God’s plan as sent down through the ages by the Church, but the last century or so, it had really started to bother him. In his previous incarnation as a police officer in Chicago, there had also been a case where he had been certain that a priest had had some kind of information but had refused to say anything on the same grounds. He knew about guilt, the way it weighted you down forever, and he couldn’t understand how a priest, who burdened himself with absolving the rest of the congregation of their guilt and putting it upon his own shoulders, could keep such a secret to his grave.

And here they were, repeating history.

//"You’re a dirty little girl, aren’t you? You have spat in God’s face. You’ll pay for that. I hold the key of perdition and of death–"//

Nick shut off the tape player. He’d heard voices like this before. Whoever this man was, he was the one who killed the previous woman, and certainly had designs on this new one, Magda. "All right. One more time. You recognize the voice, don't you?"

"I honestly don't know," replied the young priest.

"Don't lie to me, Father. It doesn't become you." Captain Stonetree gave him a warning look at that, but Nick ignored it. "Why are you protecting the killer?" he continued.

"I'm not protecting him. I'm protecting something more important – the rules and beliefs of my religion."

"What about the victims of God's unofficial avenging angel?"

"Nick, that's enough," said Stonetree angrily. "I'm sorry, Father. Are there no circumstances under which you could speak?"

Father Rochefort shook his head.

"Okay, you were in the alley because you wanted to warn Magda...weren't you? Well, isn't that breaking your vow? Come on, Father! All I want is a name here!"

"I’m sorry! Things said in confessional are for God's ears only."

"Right. Well, I'll tell you what, Father. Next woman that's murdered, you come along with me when I tell the family. Even better, tell the family yourself–"

"All right, that's it!" said Stonetree. "Knight, you're outta here."

"Fine." He moved to leave, but the priest grabbed his arm before he made it to the door. "Detective, faith is the cornerstone of the Church," Rochefort told him. "The Church grants people salvation and everlasting life. I believe in it. Is there nothing you believe in that strongly?"

Faith –

//"Nicholas."

"Well, you’re a very different person from the last time we met. A heroine now."

"A heretic, they say."

"Well, they do have a point. After all, why would God reveal his plans through a farmer’s daughter?"

"Why did he send his son to us as a carpenter?"

Ah, the child had teeth! And wit! "And so you’ll die a martyr...and I’m sure that will please you very much."

"What would please me very much is to be back in Domremy with my family."

And so she was human after all. "So you are afraid of dying. Life isn’t so everlasting now. But I can give it to you. A life that never ends. A power beyond your imagination..."

"Don’t."

"Why throw your life away for the Church? For some pious old men who would lie to you? How can you do that?"

"If my death is necessary to keep the Church strong, so be it. I will live on in the hereafter."

"How can you be so sure your God will be waiting for you on the other side?"

"Faith. Pure, simple faith." He flinched at the sudden appearance of her simple wooden cross. "Take this to remember me by. To remind you that the faith you have lost is always there to regain..."//

Oh, yes. He knew a little something about faith.

 

 

The box was still closed before him. He hadn’t looked at it in some time, certain that it would only remind him of his eternal damnation. But something had changed. He was able to touch the little gilt cross that Natalie had given him for evidence, but this – this had been the personal possession of a saint. He swallowed, gathering up a bit of courage, and then opened the box.

For a moment, his eyes shut to stop the bit of pain that normally accompanied just looking at a cross or holy relic, but when he opened them again the pain was all but gone. Determinedly, he reached out his hand, shaking a little – not in pain, but with fear. Gently he brushed a finger against the old wood, marveling at the smoothness of it, imagining the young girl holding it in her hands as she prayed.

It didn’t burn.

"Merci, Joan," he whispered.

The next step: getting into the church before daylight grew too strong.

 

 

"That woman doesn't know when she's got a good thing going," Schanke said, annoyed. Nick hadn’t been actively listening to the conversation, so he only knew that the mortal had been calling his wife. "I mean, how many guys call up from work just to say ‘Hi’?"

"At six in the morning? There's an old Italian saying, Schanke," Nick told him. "When a man sends his wife flowers for no reason, there's usually a reason."

"Well there's another old Italian saying. Ged outta my face."

Nick laughed softly and changed the subject. "You stay at the front, the other three guys – one at each side."

"This is a big place. You want me to call for a couple more guys?"

"No. If he shows, I don’t want him to get suspicious."

Schanke nodded, seeing the logic in that. "Where are you gonna be?"

Nick glanced at the church a little nervously. "Inside."

As he crossed the street, he looked up at the heavens, the brightest light he had been comfortable in for centuries. "Here goes nothing," he whispered, but who he was saying it to – himself, Joan, Natalie – he wasn’t certain.

 

 

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

It was not the first time that a penitent worshipper had popped into the confessional, but it was the first time that Nick recognized the voice.

Schanke.

He was torn between ordering the mortal to return outside – who was covering his side of the church if he was inside? – and just going along with it. Ultimately, the curiosity won out.

"How long has it been since your last confession, my son?" he asked, employing an Irish brogue.

"About two years. I know I haven't been a good Christian, Father, I'm probably a – a lousy Christian by your standards, but last night I did something, I don't know, Father, I just don't know."

Nick smiled. He had some idea where this was going, but no details. Janette had called and left a brief message about keeping Schanke away from the Raven in the future. If he was lucky, this was going to be what Schanke was going to confess. "You can speak freely, my son."

"Oh, I've been married now for ten years, and in all that time I've been good. I'm not the type of guy to, uh...to, uh..."

"Fool around?"

"Exactly." There went Lady-Killer Schanke. Nick held in his laughter. "Took the words right out of my mouth. I mean, I was raised a good Catholic, Father, I'm Polish-Italian – you can't get much more Catholic than that." Schanke sighed. "Anyway, I went to this club that my partner hangs out at a lot."

Club. The Raven. "Why did ye go there?"

"Oh, this partner of mine...I gotta admit I've been giving him a tough time, but he's a real piece of work, y'know. He always makes me wait outside this place, never lets me go in, so the other night I went in there lookin' for him, and you would not believe this place, Father, I mean,.. You could just use your imagination. So I went back last night...alone."

"With lust in your heart?" Oh, this was going to be good.

"Why did I do it?! I mean, what was I tryin' to prove? But the weirdest thing was who I saw there. See, my partner’s on the outs with his girl – well, if the two of them got their heads screwed on right, she’d be his girl, you know what I mean?"

What on earth...?

"Anyway, the two of them are so damn stubborn, and I don’t know what he did, but a couple of weeks ago they got into some big fight and she’s still mad at him like you can’t believe. Oh, she’s civil and everything – I guess you’d have to since they work together, all three of us do – but she’s cold. I mean, really giving him the cold shoulder."

Natalie? "Go on, my son."

"Anyway, she was at this club and totally drunk. I swear I have never seen a woman that out of it, and she’s such a...a nice girl, you know? The kind that might have a little wine now and then, and champagne at weddings, but that’s it. And she was completely out-of-her-head drunk. Anyway, she started talking about this other guy, and it sounded like she’s got a new boyfriend to me."

What?

"And the crazy thing about it is that it sounded like the guy’s probably a dead ringer for my partner. The guy practically has the same first name – Nick Knight, Nicolas de Brabant. All you got to do is change the last name and get rid of the French accent and he’d be a clone."

What on Earth? Why would Natalie have been talking about him as Nicolas de Brabant?

"I mean, to me this is just so obviously a rebound thing. Why would she be going out with his twin if she wasn’t still in love with him, you know?"

Huh?

"The thing that’s bothering me is whether or not I should tell my partner about this, you know? I mean, if I tell him, either he’s gonna go crazy or he’s going to disappear. And if I don’t tell him, he’s going to be oblivious until the girl and this other guy send out wedding announcements. What should I do?"

Nick blinked. "Well..." he started, slightly dazed. "Have ye considered leaving the matter in God’s hands?"

"You mean not telling him."

"Perhaps. What God wants to have be on Earth, so will it be. We must trust in God’s will, in the fates that he has chosen for each of us."

"So whatever happens, happens for a reason."

"Ye could say that, yes. Perhaps things are not as they seem. Ye cannot know what the girl meant; ye said she was drunk, and our words are often crossed when there has been too much drink."

"I guess you’re right."

"’Tis a noble endeavor, to ask for help regarding your friends, my son, but I sense you have something to properly confess. Am I right?" Please have done something worth confessing. Please.

"Well..."

"Ye may speak freely, my son. Ye may trust in me and in our Lord."

"Well, at the club? There was this...woman."

"Then ye did go there with lust in your heart?"

Schanke sighed. "Yes. I didn’t think anything would happen, though. The people there...some of them are downright scary, but they’re all young and thin and everything, you know? So not me. But yeah. There was this blonde. Her name was...Alma or Yvette, I don't know what her name was."

"It's Alma."

"Yeah, right, Alma. And anyway, she was comin’ on to me like I was Mel Gibson to the tenth, like I was some sort of Greek–" Suddenly Schanke leaned towards the grate and really looked.

Damn!

"–God!"

The next thing Nick knew, Schanke had flung open the priest’s door to the confessional, exposing the ruse. Nick grinned at him. "Number one: I thought I told ye to stay away from there. Number two: you're supposed to cover this place from the outside."

"You son of a b-"

Nick made a gesture, reminding Schanke of just where they were. "Twenty Hail Mary's. Promise you'll never go in there again."

Schanke scowled at him.

"And we’ll talk about it later. Natalie won’t be too happy that ye’ve been spreading such tales of her off-duty activities. Nor will this Nicolas de Brabant fellow. And ye forgot the bit about Janette rescuing ye from this Alma woman, hm?"

Schanke slammed the door shut.

 

 

Schanke’s had been the last confession of the day – something for which Nick was very thankful. As night fell, he staggered out of the confessional, feeling weak. He had surprised himself, being able to survive the entire day in the church, but now he was tired – and hungry.

And spotted by Father Rochefort. Wonderful.

"Detective Knight! Who gave you permission to violate the sanctity of the confessional?" The priest was irate.

"We're trying to catch a killer here. The Lord helps those who...et cetera, et cetera. Anyway, I thought you were supposed to stay away from here."

Rochefort was not pleased with the answer. He grabbed Nick by the arm and began to drag him in the direction of the altar. "I don’t expect you to understand, but you have no right to trample over–"

"Let go of me!" He broke free of the priest’s grip and fell into one of the nearby folding chairs, turning his face away from the altar. Natalie’s theory was all well and good, but changing the habit of centuries took more concentration than he was prepared to exert anymore.

"We both want to stop this poor man before he kills again," Father Rochefort told him.

"Poor man. Yeah. The guy just mutilated three of your parishioners."

"He can be forgiven. We all can be forgiven. Detective, even you can have life everlasting."

Been there, done that. He looked up at the priest, his vision beginning to blur.

"Now, let’s break a little bread, start over as friends. How do you feel about...bratwurst and sauerkraut?"

 

 

As a priest, Pierre Rochefort was prepared to handle all manner of crises in the hopes of helping his parishioners.

A police officer fainting in front of him was one scenario seminary had not prepared him for.

"Oh, my."

 

 

Schanke saw Magda, the woman who on the short list for being the next target, walking by a moment before someone knocked him unconscious.

The next thing he knew, one of the other officers was trying to wake him up and there was a strong scent of sauerkraut in the air.

 

 

When he had seen the crucifixion, Nick thought that was going to be his one blast from the past for the century. Seeing the young woman, Magda, tied up and about to be burned at the stake was not something he was prepared for –

"Burn in hell, whore!" shouted a young man, pouring gasoline around her. It was a surprisingly easy thing to tackle the man and knock him out, but what concerned Nick more was the fire. The man had managed to set the tinder aflame before Nick had gotten to him –

//"What is your other name?"

"Joan."//

//"Hold up my cross. It will give me courage!"//

//"Faith. Pure, simple faith..."//

//Remember that the faith you have lost is always there to regain..."//

Magda’s scream brought him out of the daze.

//"Faith. Pure, simple faith."//

Joan. Natalie. Faith.

With a warrior cry, he leapt over the flames. It wasn’t flying, and it wasn’t simply jumping. It was something else. Something...or someone...had aided him in that moment. What, or who, he did not know...

"It’s all right," he told Magda. "I’ll get you out of here. Just hold on." He wrapped his coat around her head to protect her and once again he leapt over the flames, feeling the same...guidance as he had had moments before. "Are you okay?" he asked her when they had landed.

"Yeah," Magda gasped. "How did you – how did you do that?"

He grinned. "A little bit of adrenaline." That was what they always said when mortals did strange and amazing things. "And a lot of faith."

Behind them, the cross was consumed by flames.

 

 

"You actually feel sorry for this guy?" Nick asked. Magda and Father Rochefort had given their statements and were now ready to leave the station. He watched Magda play with her cross necklace, pouring the chain from one hand to the other. The ceiling lights made the gold shine.

"She who forgives little, loves little," Magda told him.

He nodded. The sentiment struck a cord with him. "Yeah, you’re right."

She addressed the priest for a moment and then made to leave. She stopped and then turned back to Nick. "Thanks," she said sincerely."

"You’re welcome," he replied, and let her kiss him. It was a friendly, thankful kiss, the like of which he hadn’t received in a very long time. Had it been Lily, in Berlin? Or had there been one since? He shook his head as she held out her cross to him. "Really, I couldn’t..."

"Please?" she pleaded and after a moment he relented, letting her pool the cross and chain into his open hand.

"Thank you," he said, closing his fist. The cross was warm against his skin, but not burning.

As Magda left, he turned to Father Rochefort, who had just finished speaking to Captain Stonetree. "I’m sorry. I was out of line. I–"

"No, don’t apologize," replied the priest. "If I could have helped..."

They stopped and looked at each other. "Listen," said Nick, "I know you couldn’t betray your faith, all right? I can finally understand that now."

"You should come in sometime," Father Rochefort told him. "Confession is good for your soul."

Nick wondered what the priest would make of a confession from an eight-hundred-year-old vampire. He hadn’t been to confession since he was mortal. "I think my partner does enough confessing for both of us," he said, thinking back on Schanke’s confession.

Speak of the devil... As the priest passed him by, he could see Schanke come in, accompanied by a clearly sober Natalie. Of course. Vampire constitution. No real hangovers. One way or another, he was going to find out what was going on the night before at the Raven.

 

 

"Natalie, please-" said Schanke, lightly fingering the bandage on his forehead.

"Don’t be a baby," she replied, examining it.

"It really hurts, Natalie."

"Don’t be a baby. Just let me look.

"Ouch!"

"Oh, that’s not so – eeh, ring around the collar."

"What are you? A hygienist? Jeez," he complained, looking up as Nick approached them. "Man-o-man-o-man, my head is pounding."

"I think it’s your conscience, Schanke."

"Oh, sure. And which one of us was pretending to be a priest?"

Natalie looked at him in surprise at that but Nick shook his head at her.

Schanke looked at them, squinting his eyes. "Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but, Natalie, please get over it and give the guy a chance? And please, please, please get me the recipe for whatever wonder drug you cooked up ‘cause you should be hung over like a dog right now. And Nick? Don’t you dare repeat a word of what I told you, understood? What’s said in the confessional stays there."

Nick blinked innocently.

Schanke sighed. "I give up," he said and walked off.

"What was that about?" asked Natalie softly.

"I spent the day in the church, most of it in the confessional."

"Really?" she said in surprise. He opened his hand, showing her the cross. "You can hold it."

"You were right. Listen," he said a little shyly, "I know things have been bad between us lately, but would you mind coming over? I know it’s nearly sunrise, so you’ll have to stay the day, but there’s something I’d like to show you."

She looked at him, a serious expression on her face. After a moment, it softened a little. "All right," she said. "Let me get my coat."

 

 

They just barely made it to his loft before the sunlight became intolerable. It was the first time Natalie had been there since the incident with LaCroix, so a part of her was surprised to see it clean and repaired. She would never have known about the fire and the death if she hadn’t been there to witness it. "You’ve cleaned up the place nicely," she told him.

"Thanks," he replied. She was a little surprised by how nervous he seemed to be. "What did you want to show me?" she asked.

He guided her to the couch, sitting down beside her. He reached for a small box on the coffee table and handed it to her. "I want you to have this."

"What is it?" she asked, surprised.

"Open it."

She did as asked and was surprised to see an old, wooden cross inside. It was very simple, but something about it struck her as being very special. "It’s a cross," she said in surprise.

"It helped me prepare for spending the day in the church. But I couldn’t have even tried without your help. I’m sorry that I questioned your theories the other day. When you get to be as old as I am, you start to think you’ve seen it all, that you know everything you need to know. You start to forget that there are other possibilities. My...faith has blinded me in that regard for some time, but you got me thinking about things again. The person who gave this cross to me," he told her, gesturing to it, "also made me think about my life in a new way, centuries ago. I had embraced my nature, as LaCroix had wanted me to, but she showed me that there was another way. That evil, that killing did not need to be the guiding force in my life. She showed me the way."

"Nicholas..." Natalie breathed. Who was this person he spoke of so highly? She reached into the box and lifted the cross, feeling its age with her fingertips. "Who was it? Who gave you this cross?"

He ducked his head shyly. "Joan of Arc."

She stared at him. "Joan of Arc? Really? This belonged to Joan of Arc?"

He nodded.

"Wow. You’re sure you want me to have it?"

Another nod.

"Well...then, thank you."

If he’d been mortal, he probably would have blushed, she surmised. He spoke: "Would you like something to drink?"

"If it’s not cow..." she said hesitantly. She didn’t want to offend him...

"No, of course not. I, uh, I keep some bottles of other vintages on hand for...guests." He disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with two glasses and a tall wine bottle with a fancy-looking label. She set the cross back in its box and put the box back on the table. "Janette sent this over a few weeks back," he explained. "An official welcome, I suppose."

Natalie nodded. It looked like one of the bottles they’d had at her little party the night before. "It’s a good vintage," she said.

He looked surprised. "I didn’t realize you...I mean, I was under the impression you only drank uncut..."

She smiled. "Not as of yesterday night."

A look of sudden understanding appeared on his face. "What?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Things make a lot more sense now." He uncorked the bottle and began pouring.

"What things? Nicholas, what’s going on?"

He smiled at her, handing her a glass. His eyes stayed on her as she took a first, appreciative sip. Then he spoke. "While I was in the confessional – sitting in the priest’s seat, you realize – a few parishioners came in to confess. I pretended to be asleep for most of them, but the last one...was Schanke."

"Really," she said, amused. "What did he have to say?"

"I promised..."

"Nicholas! Come on, it’s not as if you were a real priest. I swear, I won’t tell anyone."

He sighed and then chuckled. "Were you at the Raven last night?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember running into Schanke there?"

She pursed her lips and tried to think back. Like with mortal drunkenness, she didn’t have a perfect memory of the night, but after a moment she remembered. "Yes, yes, I remember. Alma was about to have him for dinner. They crashed our party and Janette...sort of rescued him and whammied him just enough to get him back to his car without incident. Did he say something about seeing me there?"

"He’d never seen anyone so drunk before, and thought you were too nice a girl to ever get drunk in the first place."

Natalie laughed. "Oh, god." She hid her face behind a hand. "Oh, god."

"And there was something about you dating a Frenchman named Nicolas de Brabant?"

Natalie stared at him in horror. "Oh, god, no. I swear I didn’t say that. I don’t remember everything I said, I’m sure I didn’t say that." She ran her finger over the rim of the glass. "I’m sure I didn’t."

"Technically, even if you did, it would exclude me since I’m Belgian, not French, but..." He trailed off, looking at her with a serious expression. "You do realize that Schanke’s greatest goal in life right now is for the two of us to get married, don’t you?"

Natalie exhaled, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, good grief." She looked back at him, afraid she had inadvertently offended him. "Nicholas, not that you aren’t...I mean...if things were different..." She sighed. She had thought about the situation during the day and despite her own, personal feelings about the...situation, she knew there was only one logical answer. "Look, I like you and, yes, if things were different, then...then I wouldn’t say no to the possibility. But...I’m happy with my life. I don’t particularly want to become mortal again. You do. And if we succeed in bringing you back across...Well, I have enough sense to know that vampires and mortals don’t exactly mix well romantically. So clearly there’s a conflict of interest in that regard. So, despite any...possible...attraction, I don’t think it would work out. Or be in either of our best interests."

It was difficult to read his expression, but she guessed from it that he had had similar thoughts. "Can we be friends?" he asked. "Before...I thought we were really becoming friends. I...I miss it."

She smiled. "Of course. Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so harsh to you lately. I think we’ve worked past that. We can be friends again."

He breathed out, as if he had been holding in all his nervousness and worry, and smiled. "Okay. Good."

There was an awkward moment and then Nat reached for the box and withdrew the cross again. "Tell me about her. Tell me about Joan of Arc."

Nick smiled. "I wanted to bring her over, to save her life, but she wouldn’t let me. She had this incredible strength, this courage. Utter lack of fear..."

 

 

Across town, Lucien LaCroix finished a glass of bloodwine and set the glass down, smiling. His link with Natalie was strong still, despite how little contact he had had with her since her creation. And though Nicholas usually blocked him from his thoughts and emotions, something had taken the boy by surprise and he’d forgotten. Something had changed this morning between them. He wasn’t entirely sure what had occurred, but Natalie was no longer angry at Nicholas and while on the surface their thoughts seemed to be purely hopes of friendship, there was something deeper and stronger beneath it all. And these deeper feelings were present in both of them.

LaCroix nodded. Things were progressing just as he had hoped, just as he had planned. Time would prove him correct.

And they all had plenty of time.

 

[Fin]

[To be continued in Episode 0104]