More Fiercely Bright (0/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby This story was started by my "promise" to Laura Waskey waaay back in War Five. Here you go, girlfriend, though it may not be quite what either of us expected (and I'm sorry it took so long!). The story is set mid-third season, just before "The Human Factor," though very little hinges on specific episodes. It's strictly PG-13. And, in case you like to be warned about these things, this is not Nick & Nat fiction. All poetry is by Edna St. Vincent Millay. This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. It is for entertainment purposes only, and no infringement is intended. Please do not reproduce for distribution on the internet or in print without my permission. Archiving is permitted if the story is archived with all parts and disclaimers intact. Many thanks to the best beta-readers (and friends) around. Kelly Gritten, Sharon Himmanen and Maureen Wynn were all invaluable and patient and honest. This was a tough one for a number of reasons, and their input was essential. Each part of the story will be posted to http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction as it's posted to the list, so if you miss a part please check there-- or let me know and I'd be happy to send it out to you. Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to jtkirby@mcs.com. *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (1/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby The brick wall felt icy cold against Nick's back. If was cold, Tracy must be freezing, he thought distractedly-- then paused as he heard a noise from inside the building. Tracy heard it too, and froze. Her eyes darted to Nick, and he gestured with his left hand. Tracy silently, quickly moved behind him, her gun drawn and ready. Nick wished that there was another way into this building so he could take care of this without endangering his partner. No such luck. The sound came again, softly. Nick held up his hand, counting down silently. Three. Two. One. Nick kicked in the door and they were inside, covering the room with their guns, Nick tense and ready to shield Tracy if necessary. The room was dark, and nearly empty. Nick and Tracy lowered their guns slowly as they realized the only occupant-- the only occupant-- was no immediate threat to anyone. *** Nick was relieved to spot Natalie in the doorway, scanning the room for him. He made his way over to her quickly. "Hi." "We've got to stop meeting like this." Her smile was perfunctory as she looked around the room, taking in every detail-- every detail she could see, anyway; there were more police officers and lab techs in the echoing room than the crime really warranted. Everyone wanted to be in on this one. Nick guided Natalie through the crowds, holding her elbow. He spoke in a low, quick voice. "He's in the far corner-- by Tracy." Tracy hadn't even noticed Nat's arrival. She was talking intensely with Reese and Allen from forensics. "The girl is over there." Nick nodded at the opposite side of the room, where a solitary figure sat stiffly on one end of a battered sofa. Her only company was a female officer who was more interested in craning her neck to see the body than in guarding her young charge. Nat let out a small sigh. "Oh, Nick. She's so And you have no idea who she is?" "We sent a picture downtown, but that will take a while. She hasn't said a word since we found her sitting next to the body." "You don't think she did it?" Nick grimaced. "We need her to to us, but I don't think so. It took a lot more strength to kill him than she has. Besides, he had plenty of other candidates who'd have been more than happy to kill him." They paused several feet away from the girl. She hadn't moved, and in spite of the people and noise surrounding her, she never looked around. "Has anyone else tried to talk to her?" asked Natalie in a low voice. Nick unsuccessfully tried to hide a grin, which he knew was completely inappropriate. "Tracy tried. The girl actually snarled at her." Nat quirked one eyebrow at him. "She ? Is she a vampire?" "Worse. A teenager." Natalie looked back over at the girl, taking in the unyielding posture and face hidden by masses of hair. "I'll give it a shot." She smacked Nick on the arm. " stay quiet." They approached the couch, and Nick waved the officer away. Natalie sat down beside the girl and, opening her bag, began to root through it without saying a word. This continued for several minutes before the girl shot a quick, unwilling look over her shoulder, looking away rapidly after she saw what Nat was doing. Natalie ignored her; she seemed to be finding the contents of her medical bag extraordinarily interesting. After a few minutes, the young woman turned around and watched Natalie with open curiosity. It was the first time Nick had gotten a clear look at her face. It was arresting, somehow, though Nick couldn't have said why. She had fair skin and the still-rounded face of a young girl; when she matured it would be sudden and astonishing. Her best features were her enormous brown eyes, shot through with flecks of gold. They looked calmly at Natalie and somehow seemed much older than the rest of her. "You a doctor?" "Mmm-hmm." Natalie still didn't look at the girl, but continued adjusting a stethoscope with unusual intensity. "I don't like doctors." Her voice was soft, but surprisingly clear and strong. "Not everyone likes doctors." Natalie finally lifted her head, and blue eyes met brown. "Nothing wrong with that." The brown eyes narrowed slightly, but didn't falter. After several moments, the girl looked away and Nick realized that Natalie and the girl had somehow come to an agreement, in that mysterious way that females do. "How do you feel?" asked Natalie. "How would you feel if you found your father dead on the floor?" Nick couldn't hide his reaction, but Natalie simply nodded, carefully keeping her face straight. "I wouldn't feel all that great." "There you go, then." Nick watched Natalie and the girl, his mind whirling. Steve Braun had a daughter. With everything that the Toronto PD knew about Braun, this had come up. He was startled out of his reverie when Natalie extended her hand to the girl. "I'm Natalie Lambert." Surprisingly, the young woman returned the handshake. "Emma Andreson." When Nick moved in surprise, Emma shrugged matter-of- factly without looking at him. "Yeah. Different last name." Natalie gestured at Nick. "This is Nick Knight. He's a detective, and he needs to talk to you about what happened here." "I figured that." Emma sighed, pushing back the sleeves of her flannel shirt. "Just don't make me talk to that " She pointed at Tracy, who was still over in the corner. Natalie glanced quickly toward Nick, then coughed, covering a laugh. "I think Nick can take care of it." "We'll go down to the station. It will be quieter," said Nick, eyeing the crowds in the room. The death of Braun, one of Toronto's most infamous drug dealers, brought out even the most reclusive cops. Braun's death was an event, and a welcome one-- probably to everyone but Braun's daughter. Emma looked at Natalie, and something about her expression tore at Nick's heart. "Can you come with me?" Her face was still unafraid, but there was a slight quiver in her voice. Natalie touched Emma's arm briefly. "I have some work to do here, but I'll try to come by the station as soon as I'm done." Emma nodded and rose, hefting a battered backpack onto her shoulder. "Let's get this over with, then." *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (2/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby "Why did you come to Toronto?" "To talk to my dad." Unlike most teenagers, Emma's posture never slouched. She was absolutely straight-backed, though she twirled a lock of hair throughout the interview. "Your dad is..." He knew, but he had to confirm it for the record. "The dead guy." Her voice trembled slightly. "Steve Braun. Not much of a daddy, but I needed cash." Nick stopped pacing the small interrogation room, and sat down opposite Emma. "Why don't you tell me about it?" Emma twirled the hair a little more quickly, eyeing him consideringly. Apparently he passed muster, because she tucked the hair behind one ear and began to talk. "He and my mom never married. She ditched him when she found out she was pregnant with me-- because of what he was into." "Into?" "Like you don't already know," said Emma, her voice bitter. "Drugs. Mom was trying to get out of the life, and didn't want that crap around. We left when I was a little kid." Nick realized what she was talking about. "Your mother..." "Yeah, she was a hooker." Emma looked up at him calmly. "One of his girls. She stopped way before I was born. Mom was a druggie, though," she added with some vehemence. "Hated the stuff." She looked off over Nick's shoulder, seeing something he could only imagine. "I hate it too," she said in a low voice. "Where is your mother now?" asked Nick, resting his arms on the table. Emma glanced back at him quickly. For the first time, Nick saw fear in her eyes. Suddenly, he realized what she was afraid of. "Emma..." She looked away, and he reached across the table and touched her hand. "You're not 18, are you? And your mother is dead." "I 18." Her voice was taut, and she yanked her hand away from his. "I'm not going to some foster home, or shelter." At least now he knew what she was so afraid of. Besides the fact that she might have seen her father murdered, Emma was terrified that she'd lose her independence. Her freedom. Not wanting to push the subject, Nick changed it. "Tell me about tonight." "Not much to tell." Emma shrugged and pushed back the sleeves of her shirt casually. "Called him from the road and arranged to meet him. Got there, he was dead. So much for Dad." Amazingly, her voice was nonchalant. Nick watched Emma for a moment, wondering if she was in shock, or if she was just incredibly cold-hearted-- no, not that. Not this one. Perhaps everything that had happened to her lately had just made her numb. Nick got the sense that Emma's mother hadn't died all that long ago. Then she'd made the trip to Toronto, finding a dead father-- watching him get killed, perhaps. Something about the way that Emma was looking around the interrogation room suddenly struck Nick as casual. She was trying, hard, not to look at him. "So your father was dead when you came in?' "On the floor." She couldn't look him in the eye, but seemed inordinately fascinated with the unevenly painted walls. "Blood all over." Nick could hear her heart racing, and he she'd seen who did it. "Emma, if you saw anything, you could be in danger." "I didn't see a " the girl snapped with a flash of temper. "Nothing at all." She stood, pushing back the chair with a loud screech. "Can I go now?" "And where do you think you will go?" Nick shook his head. "You were a witness to a murder tonight. Do you think you can just go out alone, and no one is going to track you down?" "I didn't see anything," muttered Emma with a little less conviction, her eyes downcast. Nick kept talking as if he hadn't heard her. "The word will be out on the street soon, if it isn't already. It's just a matter of time." "I won't go to a shelter." Emma sat back down and folded her arms with a mutinous look on her face. With a sudden realization that was like a kick in his stomach, Nick realized that she had the exact same expression in her eyes as Jenny Schanke got when she was absolutely, completely, not-gonna-do-it. Nick hadn't seen Jenny Schanke since... He rubbed his face with one hand, trying to push away the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. When he looked back at Emma, she was watching him intently and he wondered, uncomfortably, how much those eyes really saw. "We won't decide anything right now." Nick stood. "Have you had anything to eat lately?" Emma tried to hide her interest and failed miserably. "You have anything besides vending machines?" Nick smiled. "Let's see what we can find." *** "There's no way Emma could have killed him." Nick breathed out an unconscious sigh of relief and followed Natalie over to the examining table. "I didn't think so. Why?" "Where is she, by the way? Is she all right?" asked Nat as she slipped on her other glove. "Back at the station, looking at mug shots-- though she still won't admit she saw anything. She seems to be doing well." "Good. I tried to get over there and got caught up in " Natalie pulled back the sheet from the corpse on the table, pointing out the various wounds as she described them. As always, she ignored Nick's grimaces at the sights she was indicating. "He was beaten pretty badly with some kind of blunt object, but that didn't kill him." Nat lifted a lock of hair and pointed at a bullet hole neatly drilled through the side of the corpse's head. "That's what did him in. And unless Emma stood on a chair and somehow managed to test negative for powder burns, she didn't kill him. Angle's wrong." Natalie covered the body up and went back to her desk, sitting down in the chair with a sigh and pulling off the gloves. She rubbed her temples, and Nick realized how tired she looked. "Are you all right?" "I'm fine." Nat smiled at Nick, but something shadowy in her expression disturbed him. He walked over to the desk and leaned against it, looking at her closely. " you all right, Nat?" "Just tired." Natalie picked up a pencil, then tossed it down again and rested her forehead in one hand. "She's so Nick, and now she's got no one. To see your father being killed..." Her voice cracked. "Hey." Nick laid his hand on Natalie's shoulder, squeezing it softly. She wouldn't look at him. "You're pretty upset about this, aren't you?" She leaned her cheek against his hand for just a moment, and as always Nick relished the soft warmth of her skin. "I just... I feel for her. Maybe it's too close to home." Before Nick could ask her what she meant, she was shaking off his hand and on her way out of the lab, calling for Grace. He stared thoughtfully at the swinging door, then shook his head and rose. He'd have to ask Natalie what she meant by that remark. Later, when he had time. *** Reese looked out of his office window at Emma, who was sitting next to Nick's desk flipping through a magazine that the desk officer had found for her. She looked very small in the midst of the busy squad room, but her posture was still erect and she showed no fear or confusion. She was remarkably self-possessed for someone so young, thought Nick idly. With everything she'd been through, it was a wonder she wasn't crying hysterically or just plain catatonic. "She saw it, Nick. She saw someone shoot her father, and she's not talking." "What are we going to do with her?" asked Nick as they watched her. "I don't think it's a good idea to put her in a foster home, or a shelter." He didn't add that Emma would just run away from either of those options. Somehow, he felt protective of her-- he didn't want her in the system. He'd seen too many kids get lost in the system. "She wouldn't be safe there," said Reese with a wave of his hand. "She needs some protection until she tells us what happened." For one moment, Nick thought about putting her in a hotel-- then dismissed the idea as quickly as he'd dismissed the thought of having her stay with Tracy. And Nat was working. "She could stay at my place for a few nights," Nick said reluctantly. "I have a good security system, and we can post a guard." Reese ducked his head, but not before Nick caught a fleeting grin. "Detective Knight, baby sitter?" Reese chuckled. "Good idea. I'll check out the duty roster and figure out who we can spare to watch your place." "I should take her over now," added Nick thoughtfully. He'd just seen Emma stifle an enormous yawn-- she was probably exhausted. It had been one hell of a night, for Emma most of all. "You need some rest, too." Reese waved one hand. "Go. It's close to morning, anyway. I'll see you tonight." *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (3/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby LaCroix didn't like Nicholas feeling too comfortable in his life. The whole demon situation had actually worked very nicely towards unsettling his child. While LaCroix seriously doubted that there been any kind of demon involved, whatever had gone on in Nicholas' mind had served to make Nicholas doubt many, many things. A good conversation, well-timed, could further that doubt. LaCroix knew Nick wasn't home. It was early. He'd wait for his son; they hadn't talked in some time. A good talk was overdue. A smile on his lips, LaCroix walked out of the stairwell. And stopped short. He'd been preoccupied on the way up; he hadn't heard the mortal heartbeat. There was a young woman on the couch, a colorful blanket loosely draped over her shoulders. She was reading intently and hadn't noticed his entrance. LaCroix stepped into the shadows, as silently as only he could, and watched the girl. Who was she? LaCroix knew most of the mortals involved in Nicholas' life... knew them well, in fact. This girl was not part of his son's world. She was young-- no more than seventeen or eighteen, with dark, wavy hair that she pushed back absently when it got in the way of her reading. She was wearing what seemed to be the current uniform of people her age: a flannel shirt over a t-shirt and jeans. A well-worn pair of hiking boots sat neatly beside the coffee table. The sight of this girl in Nick's apartment was so incongruous that LaCroix was momentarily taken aback. "Hello." This mortal girl had known he was here. How? Her head turned and she looked him up and down, unafraid, with eyes that seemed to see right through him. Remarkable eyes. He stepped slowly out of the shadows. "Hello." The girl slipped a bit of paper into the book to mark her place, and laid it down on the couch. Her face was guarded, but not unfriendly. "You must be a friend of Nick's." "Yes." A sardonic smile curved LaCroix's mouth at the word "friend," and the girl's eyes narrowed. She pulled the blanket off her shoulders and stood. "Nick is not home right now," she said bluntly. "The cop downstairs probably told you that." One eyebrow lifted, and LaCroix's smile changed from sardonic to amused. The officer downstairs hadn't even seen him enter the building. This young mortal girl had little idea what she was dealing with. "Yes. I was going to wait for Nicholas here." She shrugged. "Suit yourself." She headed for the kitchen, which Nicholas-- or his Doctor-- had evidently stocked with some canned beverages. She popped open a can then looked guiltily back at him, possibly remembering something a parent had told her long ago about proper hostessing techniques. "Can I get you something to drink?" "No." LaCroix paused. "Thank you," he added. He watched as she wandered back over to the couch, then followed her to the seating area and chose a chair opposite her. Once she was wrapped in the blanket and thoroughly comfortable, she took another long drink, her eyes watching him over the top of the can. They seemed to take everything in, from his clothes to his face to the shoes he was wearing. She didn't seem to be at all uncomfortable with his silence, which was unusual. When she finally spoke, it was startling. "Why do you call him Nicholas? Everyone else calls him Nick." Her tone was conversational and her expression interested. Evidently if LaCroix was a friend of Nick's, he was a friend of hers. "Because that is his name." LaCroix crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. The young woman toyed with the flip-top on the can of soda, apparently taking this subject very seriously. "Mmm. It's his name. But does he want to be called Nick, or does he want to be called Nicholas?" LaCroix's eyes widened. The question was impertinent, but from the quizzical look in her eyes and her earnest tone he realized she did not mean it to be so. By his own choice, LaCroix had not had much experience with young mortals. They bored him, mostly; they had served mainly as especially pure and delicious meals over the years. And in this age, young mortals were generally tiresome and unsophisticated. This one seemed... He gave her question the serious answer it evidently merited. "I have never asked him. I call him Nicholas because prefer it." "There you go, then. You should ask him. Names are very important." She set down her soda on the floor and, scrambling out of the quilt again, extended her hand with a friendly smile that lit up her face. "I'm Emma Andreson." LaCroix shook the small, warm hand slowly. "Lucien LaCroix." "Lucien." Emma's tongue had some trouble with the unfamiliar word. "Sorry." She said the name again, then once more, finally getting it right. "There!" She smiled, proud of herself. "It's nice to meet you." "So, Emma," his voice lingered on her name. "Why are you here? Why is there an officer outside the door?" A shadow crossed her face, and she slowly sat back down on the couch. "They think I saw someone kill my father." "Did you?" "No." This statement was patently false; with eyes like that Emma couldn't lie. With eyes like that, one could see all the way down into her soul if one tried. For a split second, LaCroix wondered what he would see if he try. "So you could be in danger... because think you saw something." Deliberately, he kept his tone neutral. "I guess." She shrugged, then leaned over and deposited the empty beverage can on the table, careful to put it on top of a magazine. "Nick thinks I'll be safer here." His son, ever the knight in shining armor; trying to protect everything and everyone around him. LaCroix expected to feel his usual derision at the thought, but instead felt a new emotion-- understanding. Nick's protection of this young woman made sense. "Safer here than where?" LaCroix leaned back in his chair, watching the emotions play across Emma's face. Emma considered her reply for a long moment, one finger playing idly with a loose thread on the quilt. Her voice was soft when she replied. "Than a shelter, or some foster home. Nick knows I'd just run away, anyway," she added with a flash of humor. "I guess he figured I might not run away if he brought me back here." "And you aren't running." "No." She looked around. "He has a nice place. He wants to put me up for a couple of days, that's his choice." The two were quiet. Emma pulled part of the quilt back over her legs and yawned, seemingly indifferent to his presence. LaCroix couldn't help but compare her again to other young mortals he'd entertained in his lifetime-- most seemed to need to fill quiet with chatter, which usually hastened their inevitable deaths. Emma was perfectly content to sit in silence. Oddly, LaCroix was not. "What are you reading?" he asked. The spine of the book was hidden in the folds of the quilt. "Sonnets. Edna St. Vincent Millay sonnets." "Those must be Nicholas'," said LaCroix dismissively. Emma heard the tone in his voice, and her eyebrows lifted. "You don't like her writing?" "I prefer the classics." Emma looked back down at the book in her hands. "Have you ever read her? Really read her?" she asked evenly. When LaCroix was quiet, she nodded. "I didn't think so." She flipped open the book in her hands and ruffled through the pages, searching for something. When she stopped, she looked up at LaCroix with a smile. "Here. I really like this one. Not in a silver casket cool with pearls Or rich with red corundum or with blue, Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls Have given their loves, I give my love to you; Not in a lovers'-knot, not in a ring Worked in such fashion, and the legend plain-- Semper fidelis, where a secret spring Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain..." Her voice stumbled over some of the unusual words, and she had obviously never been schooled in dramatic reading-- but the earnest intensity of her face, and her obvious affection for the writer, somehow made up for the awkward interpretation. "Love in the open hand, no thing but that Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt, As one should bring you cowslips in a hat Swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt, I bring you, calling out as children do: 'Look what I have!-- And these are all for you.' " Emma's eyes were shining when she looked up from the book. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to write like that? To use such beautiful words and images?" "Beautiful." Emma did not notice that LaCroix was looking at her face as he said the word. *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (4/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby Nick made it home not long before sunrise. Braun's death had sent Toronto's entire drug culture into chaos. There had been two gang hits that night alone. This state of affairs had made it nearly impossible for Nick to get any information on who had ordered Braun's hit-- everyone was too busy protecting whatever territory they had left. "Hello, Nick." The officer at the door pushed away from the wall. Nick was relieved to see that he was alert and awake-- night guard duty seemed to invite long naps from some mortals. "Morning, Phil. Quiet night?" "Yeah. Not a soul in sight." Phil checked his watch then glanced out at the sky, which had gotten several shades lighter since Nick had left his car. "Randall should be here in a couple of hours. Time for me to go home." "Thanks. Say hello to Janet for me." "Will do. When she heard where I'd be tonight, she told me to ask you to save her a dance at the Policeman's Ball this year." Phil grinned and slipped on his jacket. Nick laughed. "Tell her I'd be happy to. She does a mean rhumba." Nick took the stairs. The loft was quiet and dark. As Nick approached the couch, he saw Emma curled up on it, sound asleep. She was almost entirely covered by a quilt that Natalie had left here a while back. Only the top half of her face and a tousled bunch of hair poked out the top. As quietly as he was able, Nick slipped off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair as he headed for the refrigerator. Grabbing a bottle, he regarded it thoughtfully for a moment before going to the cabinet and taking out a glass. He only half-filled it, for he wasn't all that hungry. He just wanted the taste, the smell, after the long night he'd had. Drinking in the dark, Nick was surprised when a small face popped up over the back of the sofa. Emma stifled a yawn with one hand. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily. "Very, very late," replied Nick, walking to the sink and flicking on the small light over it-- enough light that Emma could see, but not enough to hurt her eyes. "Or very early." Emma swung around and stood up, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders as she walked toward him. One piece of hair was sticking straight up in the air, and she had what Natalie called "pillow face." She was obviously not fully awake, and looked about ten years old. Nick stifled a grin. Maneuvering around Nick, one long tail of the quilt dragging on the floor behind her, she took a glass out of the cupboard that Nick had left open and filled it with tap water. Nick watched as she drank half the glass in big, greedy gulps, then smiled at him over the rim of the glass. "I was thirsty, I guess." She set the glass down carefully by the sink. "I guess." Emma's gaze took in his glass, which still had a good inch of red fluid remaining in it. "Red wine," Nick explained, a familiar flash of regret passing over him at the falsehood. Though he'd been covering up his lifestyle, covering up who and what he , for 800 years, he still hated it. Part of the reason he sought out Nat's company was that she was mortal, and she knew what he was. He didn't always tell her everything, but his essential truth had already been told. For some reason, lying to Emma felt like lying to Natalie. Wrong. Emma had turned around, and Nick got the distinct impression from the set of her shoulders that she hadn't liked his answer. Reflexively, Nick glanced at the windows as his body reminded him that the sun was seconds away from rising-- yes, the shutters were drawn. "You should get some sleep, Emma," he said as he unobtrusively picked up the remote control and stowed it in a drawer, underneath some kitchen towels that he'd bought during a brief foray into domesticity. He'd been lucky yesterday-- Emma had slept much of the day-- but he didn't want her getting curious today and making it impossible for him to come downstairs in his own home. "Were you up late?" "Not very. I watched videos and read." Emma settled back down on the couch, smacking the pillow once or twice to get it into the right shape. "Oh-- a friend of yours came by to see you." Nick felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Phil had said that "not a soul" came by. "A friend?" "Lucien LaCroix." Apparently satisfied with the formation of her pillow, Emma laid down and pulled the quilt over her. "I tried to convert him to Edna St. Vincent Millay, but I don't know if he bought it." For a split second, Nick imagined this girl talking about poetry with LaCroix. Shaking off the surreal image, he set down his glass. LaCroix. Emma continued, unaware of Nick's unease. "He seems nice. How do you know him?" "Old friend," replied Nick in a voice that sounded oddly unfamiliar. "Very old friend." Emma made one last arrangement to the quilt, then yawned hugely. "Good night, Nick." Her voice was tired, and Nick realized again how much she'd been through over the past few days. "Emma, why don't you go upstairs and take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." They'd had this argument last night, and Nick knew he wouldn't win tonight, either-- but he had to try. "No thanks. I told you, the couch is fine. I can sleep anywhere." Nat would him when she found out he had his young house guest sleeping on the sofa. Undecided, Nick stood behind the couch for a moment before shaking his head and turning towards the stairs. "Good night, Emma." Nick was halfway up the stairs-- taking them one by one, like a good mortal-- when Emma's voice stopped him. "I told him he should call you Nick." "Pardon?" Nick turned around. He couldn't see Emma's face, but he could hear that her breathing and heartbeat had slowed. She must be near sleep. "I told him that he shouldn't call you Nicholas if you want to be called Nick. 'S kinda rude." Nick stood on the stairs for a long time, until well after Emma's breathing was deep and regular. *** Nick had to shove a pile of reports aside to get to his ringing telephone. One of these nights he'd have to sit in his chair and do his paperwork-- he'd been avoiding it lately, for some reason. If he didn't catch up, either Reese would hunt him down or the surface of his desk would be lost forever. The phone rang again, and Nick grabbed it. "Knight." "It's me." "I was just about to call you." Nick could hear the smile in Natalie's voice. "You were? About what?" "You're off tonight, right?" "Mmm hmm." He heard rustling in the background. "I'm planted on my sofa catching up on paperwork and watching bad television." "How exciting." Nick couldn't help but smile. He could just see her-- oversized sweats, socks, hair back in one of those fabric scrunchy things, and some horrible crime-of-the-week movie on the television. "Has to be done. What can I do for you, Detective Knight?" Nick hesitated. This wasn't Nat's problem, but... "Could Emma stay the night with you? There's a guard posted at the loft, but I'd be more comfortable--" "Has something happened?" Nat's voice was sharp, and Nick winced. She'd heard the tension in his voice. He certainly couldn't tell her that LaCroix had discovered their young friend. "No. Nothing at all. I just think it would be better for her to stay someone, instead of alone. She was by herself last night. Maybe she'll open up to you." "Ah. Natalie Lambert, psychologist?" She laughed, and Nick smiled in response. "OK. Do I need to go pick her up, or can you have someone drop her off over here?" "I'll send a car for her. Thanks, Nat." "Any time." Emma taken care of-- at least for tonight-- Nick went in search of Tracy. She was by the water cooler with Reese. That man spent entirely too much time drinking water, Nick thought vaguely as he approached. Tracy nodded as he approached. "Hi. How's Emma?" "She's fine." Nick looked at Reese. "I'm going to have her stay with Natalie tonight, I think. Maybe Nat can get her to talk about what happened." Reese crumpled an empty paper cup in his hand and sighed deeply. His face was troubled and worn. He took so much of what happened in his precinct personally, and Nick could see it wearing him down. "Good. We need to find out who did this, and fast. One of Tracy's sources tells her that there's a hunt on for the girl." "She saw what happened." Nick glanced at Tracy. Tracy nodded, her face sober. "She saw it, and know she saw it." Tracy and Nick followed Reese as he headed into his office. Reese tossed the crumpled paper cup into the trash with a grimace, then picked up the phone and began to dial. His fingers punched the numbers with unnecessary force. "I'm doubling the guard on her," he said, glancing up at the partners standing in front of his desk. "I don't want to take any chances." *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction I do feel a bit like I'm sending this into a great void, since there are so many people who are not getting list mail. I will be posting story parts to the Web site listed in my .sig at pretty much the same time they're posted here, so if you aren't sure how much of the story has been posted you can check there. Or feel free to contact me directly. :) More Fiercely Bright (5/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby Nick couldn't quite get used to this "new" Raven. It was different, but still enough the same that he kept expecting to find Janette near the bar. She'd be leaning against it, one finger tracing the ridge of a nearly empty wine glass; she'd look up as he walked toward her... But Janette was gone. In her place were a dozen women, the sum of whom still didn't make up for the loss of the one. Nick scanned the room, looking for LaCroix. One benefit of LaCroix's ownership of the club was that he was much easier to find than he had been before. Tonight, though, he wasn't here, and Nick couldn't feel him anywhere nearby. Not that his link to LaCroix had ever been all that solid-- from his direction, anyway-- but tonight it was clear that LaCroix wasn't at the Raven. Nick spotted Urs at the end of the bar, leaning against a stool with a discontented look on her face. She was dressed in a revealing black leather outfit, and loosely holding a goblet that had undoubtedly once been full of blood, but something about her face always seemed too soft and innocent for this place. She smiled when she spotted him. "Hallo, Nick." "Urs." Nick made his way around a gyrating male couple and stood next to her. Urs filled her glass halfway with a bottle from the bar and held it out to him invitingly. "No, thanks. Have you seen LaCroix recently?" "Haven't seen him all night." Urs touched her hair quickly, apparently checking to see if it was still in the proper order. "Actually..." She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. "I haven't seen him for a night or two. Been making himself scarce." She gestured with the goblet towards the broadcast booth. "They've been airing tapes of his program, even." Nick drummed his fingers on the bar thoughtfully. It wasn't like LaCroix to be away from his property so much. Historically, he'd been a terrible business owner-- good business but the night-to- night activities had always bored him. This time, with the Raven, LaCroix had apparently thrown himself into the venture. He was rarely absent, conducting most of his affairs from its dark rooms. Nick had seen him doing computer work here, and making endless phone calls to his lawyers and accountants overseas. The Raven was currently his business office, however unusual an office it might be. Odd that he should be gone, now. Nick hoped fervently it didn't have anything to do with Emma Andreson. *** "Hi, Emma." Natalie let Emma into the apartment ahead of her, then smiled at the uniformed officer outside as she shut and locked the door. "Make yourself at home." A chill ran up her spine as she slipped the chain onto the door, and she felt for a moment like her home had become a prison. Turning around, Natalie felt a distant memory tug at her as she looked at Emma standing in the middle of her living room. The young woman was looking around her with tired eyes, holding on to her backpack like it was the last familiar thing on this earth. Nat suddenly saw herself at about that age, heading bravely into the unknown and clinging to Richard's hand with that same lost, determined look. Pity was the last emotion that Emma wanted-- or deserved-- so Natalie put on a bright smile. "You have a nice place," said Emma in an unexpectedly soft voice. "Thanks! It's a bit of a mess right now." Nat peered around a corner. "Do you see a grey cat lurking around here somewhere?" Emma glanced around. "No. You have a cat?" "Sidney. Apparently he doesn't want to be found." Nat hoped he wasn't preparing to dive-bomb her guest. "Can I lend you a pair of sweats?" Nat felt Emma's immediate discomfort. "No, thank you," Emma said firmly. "I'm fine." She probably didn't have many other clothes, Natalie realized. She was in basically the same outfit she'd been in at the crime scene, except with a different flannel shirt. She was so proud, though, that she didn't want to accept Nat's offer. Just like Natalie herself would be. Smiling, she went into her bedroom. Pulling open the bottom drawer of her bureau, she rummaged through and found an old sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants that had shrunk too much for her, but probably wouldn't be too baggy for Emma. Grabbing them, she went back into the living room and set them on the arm of the couch. "Here-- these will probably be a little big, but at least they'll be comfortable." She didn't wait for a response, but turned around and went back into her bedroom. Emerging several minutes later, Natalie was happy to see that Emma had given in and changed. The sweatshirt-- an old University of Chicago shirt that Nick had given her, long ago-- hung on Emma, making her look much younger than she actually was. Nat swallowed, hard, to get past the lump that suddenly blocked her throat. "Would you like to do laundry? Are you hungry?" Emma was busily pulling the sleeves of the sweatshirt down over her hands, and looked up with a grin when she'd succeeded. The sweats had apparently had the desired effect-- Emma seemed not only physically more comfortable, but emotionally more relaxed as well. "Yeah. To both. I don't think Nick has a washer in his place." "He probably has his towels dry-cleaned." Natalie rolled her eyes. "C'mon." Emma threw everything in her backpack into Nat's little stackable washer. Nat kept her face carefully neutral as she saw how little the girl had-- a few shirts, some plain t-shirts, and well-worn undergarments. Emma avoided looking at Nat. "Mom always said to do separate loads for darks and lights, but we can wash all these together. Doesn't matter." Now didn't seem the time to argue laundry technique, so Natalie dumped in the soap and set the machine going. The two women headed back to the kitchen, where Natalie opened her cupboard doors and glared at the nearly bare shelves. "I'm not exactly well-stocked. There's an all-night Chinese place around the corner..." Emma slipped in front of her and, wiggling her hands out of the sweatshirt, began to pull cans and boxes off the shelf. "Nope. You've got stuff here." She made a face at a box of macaroni and cheese. "Don't cook much, do you?" "Not really." Natalie watched as Emma began to root through her fridge. "Do you?" "Mmm hmm." Emma pulled out an onion and tossed it onto the counter. "That one's not rotten yet. I used to cook a lot for Mom-- she was sick all the time, and we couldn't afford to go out. Can you cut up the onion?" "Sure." Natalie pulled out the cutting board and began to chop while Emma started opening the various cans she'd selected. In a few minutes Emma had thrown some kind of red sauce together, and had started boiling water for pasta. Natalie, aware that she was only in the way, backed up and deferred to the obvious expert. The young woman was evidently in her element. Not only was she doing something she enjoyed, but she was making herself useful. Later, stuffed with pasta and bread, Natalie waved Emma back to the couch as she tried to pick up the plates. "You cooked, I clean," Nat said firmly, gathering together the plates and napkins. "Relax. You're my remember?" Emma gave up. "I'll go put my stuff in the dryer." (Continuous to part 6) *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (6/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby (continuous from part 5) When Natalie emerged from the kitchen (since discovering that pots and pans could be washed in a dishwasher, Natalie's life had become much simpler), Emma was standing by the mantel holding a framed picture in her hands. "Nice family," she said remotely, and Natalie heard a familiar echo in her voice. "Who's this? He's cute." "That's my brother and his family. And yes, he was." Natalie looked over Emma's shoulder at the picture of her, Richard, Sarah, and Amy, taken years before at a picnic by an obliging bystander. Amy had grown up so much since that picture, but it was still her favorite-- Richard's open smile, one arm loosely around her and the other around Sarah. Natalie fought back the sadness that came to her every time she saw Richard's face. It certainly got easier over time, but it never truly left. She didn't look closely at this picture very often. Emma's head had turned sharply, and her forehead furrowed. "Was?" "My brother is dead," said Natalie with only the barest tremor in her voice. "He died several years ago." Emma's eyes widened slightly, but she only nodded and Natalie suddenly realized what the two of them had in common. What made her reach out to this young woman. Loss. From the moment Nat had seen Emma sitting stiffly on the couch, a few feet away from her father's body, she'd sensed it. The young woman's self-possession was much like Nat's had been at her age, and it was there for the same reason. Survival. Natalie had long since accepted the things she'd done to survive. She accepted the choices she had made and the roads she'd been forced to take. But when she looked at Emma's face, those choices suddenly didn't seem fair. This girl-- this -- shouldn't have to be strong. She shouldn't have to take care of herself at such a young age. She shouldn't have to be alone. Emma put the picture carefully back on the mantel, then touched another frame with one finger. "You and Nick?" Natalie flushed, and she shook off her sadness as best she could. "That was at the Policeman's Ball fundraiser last year." It was the only decent picture she had of her with Nick, and it was the only picture she'd ever seen of him where he looked truly happy. There was no sadness in his eyes; no regret or fear anywhere in his expression. She kept the picture in view as much for his expression as for the fact that it was of her and Nick. "Nick looks cute in a tux." "He does, doesn't he?" Natalie grinned at Emma, who smiled back with a touch of sparkle in her eyes. "Good dress on you, too." Nat turned away, embarrassed. "It was a little fancier than I usually wear." She'd been talked into that dress by an over-eager saleslady, and had regretted it for half of the evening... until she'd realized that the men at the ball, including Nick, appreciated the way the forest-green crepe clung to every curve of her body. Nat wasn't often someone that men stared at, and though it had made her uncomfortable she'd enjoyed it at the same time. "Well, it looks nice on you." Emma followed Natalie back to the couch, and as if by unspoken agreement they settled on opposite ends. Out of nowhere, Sidney appeared, padding delicately across the back of the sofa. "Hello, cat of mine," Nat greeted him, shaking her head as he ignored her completely and looked Emma up and down. "He's checking you out." Emma extended one hand slowly. "You must be Sidney." The cat lowered his head and sniffed Emma's hand deliberately, then leapt onto her lap and curled up into a ball, purring vociferously. Nat and Emma burst into laughter. "He doesn't play hard to get, does he?" "He's a sweetie." Emma bent her head and rubbed her cheek on Sidney's head, her eyes half-closed just like the cat's were. "Mom and I had a cat for a while. I had to give him to a neighbor when I left." "That must have been hard." Natalie kept her voice nonchalant. Emma lifted her cheek from the fur and shrugged slightly. "I guess." "But not as hard as everything you've gone through lately, I imagine." "No." They were silent for a moment, the quiet broken only by Sidney's loud purrs. "What will you do now?" Emma stroked Sidney's back. She seemed lost in thought. "I don't know," she said finally, and for the first time Natalie heard uncertainty in her voice. "I just don't know." Natalie knew that now was the time she should ask Emma what she'd seen on the night her father died. Nick needed to know. But she couldn't ask. Not right now. Natalie pushed herself off the couch. "More soda?" she asked. "Thanks." Emma stood, dislodging an unhappy Sidney. "At least you keep diet pop around," she said with a faint smile. "Couldn't live without it." Natalie bent down to pick up the empty glasses. Out of nowhere, Natalie felt a strange prickle run down her spine. Both women's heads turned suddenly to the window, as if they'd heard the same signal. Natalie's eyes narrowed, and unconsciously she moved between Emma and the window. "There's something outside," said Emma evenly. "I live on the third floor," said Nat in what she hoped was a calm, reassuring voice. "There's nothing out there." "Then why did you look at the window at the same time I did?" Slowly, cautiously, Natalie went to the window and looked out. Nothing but darkness, just as it should be. She let out a breath she hadn't even known she was holding in. "Nothing. We're fine." With a decisive movement she shut the drapes and turned to Emma with a smile that was mostly sincere. "It's probably time for both of us to get some sleep." Quietly, efficiently, they made up the couch for Emma-- though Natalie tried to convince her to take the bed, the girl set her chin stubbornly and insisted that she'd slept on enough sofas that this one wouldn't bother her. "Did you sleep on a sofa at Nick's?" challenged Natalie, certain he wouldn't have let her. "Yes, I did." Recognizing Emma's obstinate expression as one that she herself wore all too often, Natalie gave up and fluffed the pillow one last time. She knew when she was beaten. Nat left Emma to get ready for bed, going off to do her own pre-sleep ritual. She poked her head back out into the living room before she got into bed. Emma was on the couch, covered by a small mountain of blankets. "Goodnight, Emma." "Night, Natalie." She giggled slightly. "Sidney's on my feet." "He thinks that's his job-- portable foot warmer." "Well, he's doing a good job." Smiling, Natalie turned and crawled into bed, leaving the door open between them. As she drifted off into sleep, she realized how nice it was to have Emma in the apartment with her. How good it was not to be alone. *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (7/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby "Do I have to stay here all night?" Emma drummed her fingers on the edge of Nick's desk, the picture of boredom. "What am I supposed to do? Why can't I just stay at your place, or at Natalie's?" Nick avoided the last question. He didn't want Emma left alone. For some reason, Nick had a feeling that LaCroix had taken an interest in the young woman. He didn't have any real basis for this feeling, but after 800 years Nick knew when to go with his instincts. This was one of those times. "For starters, you can look through this." Nick set a hefty book in Emma's lap. "More mug shots." Emma grimaced, smacking the book lightly. "I looked at of these the other night." "You missed this one." Emma muttered something that even Nick's ears missed, and he grinned as he sat back down at his desk. She stared mutinously at the book while Nick picked up a manila folder. "What's that?" "A case file that I need to do paperwork on. And you're stalling." Emma stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm just kidding," she added hastily. Nick was about to look away, but something caught at his memory. "New sweatshirt?" "Nat gave it to me." Emma glanced down at the burgundy sweatshirt. "It's comfy." Nick cleared his throat and pointed at the mug shot book. "Slave driver," Emma mumbled, opening the book. Her half-hearted inspection of the pages was interrupted moments later, and she looked up with relief as Natalie breezed in. "Your friendly neighborhood coroner, making a house call!" Natalie dropped a stack of reports on Nick's desk. "Hello, Emma." "What are these?" Nick's tone of voice indicated that he was not especially happy to see more paperwork deposited on his desk. " asked for them," Natalie reminded him. She and Emma smiled at each other. "I'm just playing delivery person." She glanced over her shoulder. "I also need to talk to Reese about the Payne case." "I'll come with you." Nick closed the folder he'd been working on with obvious relief, and followed Natalie to Reese's office after reminding Emma to keep looking at the mug shots. "Hello, Natalie." Tracy was sitting in a chair in Reese's office, but neither seemed annoyed at being interrupted by Natalie and Nick. "What's going on?" "Needed to talk to the Captain about the Payne case." Natalie handed a file to Reese, who looked it over. "I also wanted to say hello to Emma," admitted Natalie sheepishly. "She's a good kid." Reese handed the file to Tracy. "She seems nice, but she just doesn't like me." Tracy's voice was petulant, and Nick raised his eyebrows slightly. Natalie avoided the statement. "She's had a rough time." "Yes, but she likes you. She likes Nick, too. She's a nice kid, but she sees me and turns the other way." Tracy glanced through the information then gave the file back to Natalie. "I don't usually have any trouble with kids." Tracy leaned against the desk, disgruntled. "First of all," said Natalie mildly, "She's not a kid. She's been through more in just a few years than most people go through in a lifetime. Maybe that's part of the problem." Tracy looked at her uncomprehendingly. Natalie sighed, and she explained as if she were talking to a schoolgirl. "Her mother's dead. She probably saw her father get blown away. She has no home and no family." "But why..." "She's lost and you haven't." Natalie's voice was sharp, and she held onto the file with suddenly shaking hands. "Maybe she knows that." Tracy was silent, thinking. Nick glanced back at Natalie... And was totally taken aback by the naked pain and loss in her eyes. *** Mom had always done her best. Emma still didn't know how she'd swung the several years of Catholic school that she'd gotten over the years. They'd read together; Mom had tried really hard to show her how much more there was in the world than the life they lived together. But despite all of Mom's efforts, Emma was still a street kid. Not a gang kid, despite a few close calls, but a street kid, capable of taking pretty good care of herself. That had come in handy when Mom died. It came in handy now. Emma didn't like relying on all these cops for protection. She was in danger, sure, but she wasn't a kid any more. And no matter how nice they all seemed, they were still cops. And she was Emma glanced around the station impatiently. Nick never ate. Asking him for some decent food would be a waste of time. The other night, his idea of food had been a bag of stale chips from the vending machine-- thanks, Nick, I'm really stuffed now. She didn't want to ask Tracy. Reese was busy in some meeting. Time to find some food. First, money. Emma looked over her shoulder casually. Nick and Tracy were in with Reese and a bunch of other cops, all looking really intense. Reese was rubbing his eyes as he talked. Emma turned back around. Natalie had gone back to her office. No one else in the station seemed to be paying any attention to her. With quick, smooth movements, Emma slid open Nick's desk drawer and pulled out a handful of change, then sat back down beside his desk and, hiding her hand behind the raised mug shot book, counted the change. These Canadian one and two dollar coins were just too but there were enough of them to probably buy her a decent meal at the Greek place she'd noticed down the street. Emma's mouth watered at the thought of a good gyro. She and Mom had lived over a Greek restaurant for a while-- yum. Emma slipped the coins into her back pocket, then walked casually out of the station with not one person trying to stop her. She'd be right back, after all. *** No one at the precinct wondered where Emma was. Nick thought she must be in the rest room. By the time Nick started to worry, at least half an hour had gone by. *** Garlic was a thing, reflected Emma as she walked briskly back from the diner. Of course, so was sugarless peppermint gum. She popped a stick in her mouth, carefully throwing the wrapper in a nearby trash can. Toronto was such a nice, clean city. Not like so many she'd lived in. No wonder Nick liked it so much. She grinned, picking up her pace a bit. Nick was gonna kill her. She'd get a big speech about going out on her own, with her father's killers still on the loose. Talk, talk, talk. She could walk a block to get some food in the middle of busy, populated Toronto. And besides, they didn't what, if anything, she'd seen when her father was killed, and Emma wasn't about to tell. Keeping her mouth shut seemed to be the best idea. As she spotted the station, taking a deep breath in anticipation of The Lecture, a hand grabbed the back of her neck like she was a stray puppy and hauled her into an alley. She got one good backward scratch at him (ow her nails were breaking bending back oh it ) before the side of her face slammed against the brick wall. For a while, there was nothing but darkness. *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (8/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby When Emma woke, she was crumpled on the ground next to the wall. Her face felt damp and sticky. She was probably covered with her own blood, she thought incoherently. A little voice in the back of her mind remarked that she'd probably swallowed her gum. As if that was her biggest problem right now. Staying perfectly still, Emma cracked open one eye. There was a man standing about a food away, back turned, talking fast and low on a cell phone. "Got her. She's out cold." This wasn't the man who'd killed her father. This one was short and fat, Emma thought wildly, but there wasn't much question about who he was talking to, and that wasn't funny. Not at all. Emma couldn't help it-- an involuntary sob escaped her lips, and she clamped them together quickly as Barrel Butt began to turn around. And out of nowhere, a man (a thing he was flying men don't fly except in cartoons) with glowing eyes (how can his eyes glow like they're on fire) had picked up the man with one hand, crushed the cell phone with the other, and thrown him across the alley like garbage. garbage. He landed with a sickening thud. *** LaCroix turned from the man, who was crumpled by the wall, and was about to go to Emma when she raised her head off the ground. Her cheek was scraped and bloody, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on him. "How did you know I was here?" Without waiting for his response, she awkwardly got up from the ground, wavering slightly for a moment. She put one hand to her head, then brushed off her jeans, never taking her eyes off LaCroix. Her expression was wary. "How did you " LaCroix was silent. "Are you me?" Her voice echoed off the buildings that lined the dark alley. "Or is it just some weird coincidence that you just to be here when someone comes after me?" She walked a few steps closer to him, putting her hands on her hips. "And what was that glowing eye stuff? How'd you do " Emma was a foot shorter than him. She was two thousand years younger than him. She'd just been flung to the pavement by a man who had every intention of killing her for what she'd witnessed. Her face was scraped and bloody, and her clothes torn. She had just seen him toss a man against a wall with as much effort as it cost her to open a can of soda. Yet she stood there and challenged him, her chin firm and her eyes narrow. He took a step toward her, but she didn't move. Unaccountably he was reminded of Janette; of that essential dignity that remained even when she had been nothing but a common whore. Emma wiped her sleeve along her chin, smearing her blood. "And you threw that guy against a wall. You don't look strong." LaCroix remained silent, watching her. "What you?" she asked, and her voice was solemn. Certainly, she hadn't drawn the exact conclusion about him. But her knowledge, even the knowledge full of half-truths and suppositions, was dangerous and served no purpose. He took another step toward her, eyes fixed on hers. He could hear her heartbeat, fast and light. "You saw nothing." Emma put her hand to her head again, breaking their gaze. When she drew her hand down, she stared at it for a moment. It was covered with her own blood, and that seemed to fascinate her. Then, abruptly, she looked up from her hand. At him. "I don't think so." Emma was backed up against the wall. Completely at his mercy, and he could hear her blood. Smell her blood. Her blood, surely, would be as sweet and rich and warm as she was. In her blood he would know her soul... He wanted to her. What she was, what made her, what she felt-- everything. But she repeated herself. "No." She put one small, blood-stained hand against his chest and pushed. Not hard, but she pushed, and he let himself be moved back. She slipped out from between him and the wall, still not taking those eyes off his face. "Please leave me alone." Emma pressed her lips together and he could see her swallow, hard. She was not begging. LaCroix found his voice. "Where are you going?" She shook her head, and he could have sworn that a smile quirked her lips. "I think I'll be safer with the cops than I am with you." Emma turned and walked away. She seemed very small and vulnerable to LaCroix. At the same time she was not in the least a pathetic figure. *** Once the initial uproar over Emma's appearance had died down, the girl sat quietly while Nick called Natalie and asked her to come over. Emma refused to talk about what happened, no matter how Nick or Reese cajoled her. She wouldn't even promise not to go off on her own again. "I was hungry," was all that she would say. Natalie arrived so quickly that Nick wondered how many traffic laws she'd broken. Her face went absolutely white at the sight of Emma's injuries. She covered her mouth with one hand, and visibly fought for composure before approaching Emma. Emma sat patiently while Natalie cleaned the cuts and examined the bruises. "You'll be fine." Nat's voice was relieved, but Nick could hear the anger she was holding back. "Someone should probably look at you to make sure you don't have a concussion." "I feel just fine." "What happened?" asked Natalie, and Nick drew a breath at the pleading tone of her voice. "Who did this?" Emma remained silent, though she didn't resist when Natalie rested one hand on her hair. Natalie shook her head, acknowledging the futility of more questions, then stood up. "I don't think this will scar, and some ice on this bruise will help keep the swelling down." "I'll get her some." Reese put one large hand on Emma's shoulder and smiled at her, concern still visible in his eyes. "Let's go make up an ice pack." Nick and Natalie watched the pair head towards the break room. "What the hell is going on here, Nick?" Natalie was furious. Her eyes could have drilled holes through granite, and her hands were shaking. "How did she get away from whoever did that to her? There's more to this than her seeing her father killed, isn't there?" She twisted her hands together, and Nick could see how tightly they were clenched. "I don't know what you mean." Nick turned away, unable to meet her eyes. He didn't that LaCroix was involved-- but he could feel it, smell it. "Of course you know what I mean, Nick." Natalie's voice was rough and quiet behind him; the noise of the precinct threatened to drown it out entirely. "Someday maybe you'll me when something is wrong. Someday maybe you'll be honest with me. Or maybe, someday, I'll just stop hoping." Nick heard her turn and walk away, but didn't try to stop her. She was right. He was lying to her. Though Emma hadn't told him what happened, he knew LaCroix had been involved somehow. And he couldn't tell Nat the truth; LaCroix was his problem. Not hers. *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (9/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby Natalie put off going to work for as long as she could, but by the fifth phone call from Grace she had to admit defeat. "You have to go in, don't you?" Emma smiled. "Yes." Nat eyed her cards dubiously. "Probably a good idea for me to leave now, anyway." Emma laid her cards down with a flourish. "Too late. Gin." Nat groaned theatrically as Emma giggled. "You owe me..." Emma leaned over and checked a scrap of paper on the coffee table. "About ten thousand bucks." Natalie gathered the cards up carefully. "Rematch. I'll beat you eventually." "I don't think so," Emma called after her as she headed into her bedroom to change. "Unless you have sixty or seventy spare years..." A few minutes later, Nat emerged in her "I don't want to deal with nylons" outfit-- navy pants and a gray silk shirt. Emma was curled up on the couch, still munching on the popcorn that Natalie had made earlier. Sidney was curled up near Emma. Her heart twisting, Nat thought how at home both of them looked there. "You look comfortable," Natalie commented as she fastened a barrette in her hair. "You look very professional." Emma didn't sound all that enthusiastic. "Do you ever wear " Natalie shook her head, then scooped up her purse and day planner. "Yes. Are you my personal shopper now? I have lots of color in my wardrobe." She paused near the couch. "Help yourself to anything." "Thanks, Nat." "No problem." "No." Emma's face was earnest. "I mean thanks for everything you've done." Nat looked down at Emma, the cuts and bruises along one side not detracting from the sweetness of the serious face. Impulsively, Natalie brushed a bit of hair back from Emma's face, her hand lingering for a moment. "Any time." Embarrassed by her display of emotion, Nat adjusted her purse on her shoulder and started for the door, half-turning a few steps away. "Sidney, keep an eye on Emma." Nat's voice was mock-stern, and Emma rolled her eyes. "I'll be I've got the mighty morphin' cop guards outside." Nat thought about asking her what meant, but decided it was probably something she'd never understand. "Just don't get it into your head to take off again." "And leave Sidney all by himself? I don't think so." Emma leaned over and rubbed Sidney's head. "I'm not going anywhere." The phone started ringing, and Nat jumped, startled. "Go," said Emma, waving her hands. "I'll get it and let them know you're on your way. Goodnight, Nat. See you later." "Night, Emma." *** While Nick was glad that Emma was with Natalie tonight-- those two seemed to get along well, and Emma was less likely to run off again-- secretly, Nick missed her. He suspected that Reese felt the same way. The captain had a soft spot for young people, and more than once Nick caught him staring at the chair where Emma had sat the night before. Nick was helping Tracy with some paperwork-- forms seemed to get more complicated every year-- when Nick's phone rang. For some reason, he didn't want to answer it. Tracy laughed, leaning across the desk to grab the ringing phone. "What, you're afraid of your phone now?" She turned her face to the receiver. "Detective Vetter." Her smile disappeared, and she leaned back across the desk to hand the receiver to Nick. "It's Natalie. She's upset." "Nat?" The voice on the other end of the line was strained. "I can't reach Emma." "Aren't you with her?" "No." He could hear Grace in the background, urging Natalie to calm down. "I had to come in to work. I just tried to call her, and no one is answering the phone." Tracy was watching, her eyes large and worried. Nick tried to make his voice reassuring. "There are guards. She's..." "Don't tell me she's fine," snapped Natalie, and he heard an edge of hysteria in her voice. Nick's fists clenched involuntarily, protectively. "My machine's not picking up, Nick. Something's " "I'll try to raise the officers on the radio. If I can't, I'll get there as fast as I can." "Thank you." Nick struggled to find comforting words, but the prickling along the back of his neck had gotten stronger. Something was wrong. "I'll try to reach the guys on the radio." Tracy was already on her way to the radio room. "You go. I'll send backup." *** The Caddy left behind, Nick made it to Natalie's in only a few minutes. The only signs that Emma had ever been there were a half-played game of solitaire on the coffee table, an overturned chair, Emma's backpack still beside the couch and the front door hanging open. And two slaughtered police officers in the stairwell. Nick leaned on the wall outside the stairwell, fighting the anger that threatened to overwhelm him. Such a Phil would never go home to his smiling, dark-eyed wife again. There would be no dancing with Janet at the Policeman's Ball this year. He pulled out his cell phone to make the first of two calls. He dreaded both of them. He dreaded the one to Natalie most of all. *** There was nothing quite like a crime scene involving a dead cop... Two dead cops. There was a curious silence, but at the same time a high level of energy, of anger, of determination. Things got done twice as fast as they did on a normal crime scene, but with none of the visible camaraderie that usually pervaded even the most violent of scenes. A dead cop... It was personal. And two dead cops meant Two dead cops and a missing witness. A missing Natalie had insisted on coming to the scene, even though she'd known both the dead officers. When he saw her face, Nick had to push back the urge to hold her and tell her how relieved he was that she hadn't been in her apartment. For if she had been-- well, Nat wouldn't be here now. But this wasn't the time or place for gratitude. Not while Emma was still missing. As Natalie snapped on gloves to do an initial exam of the bodies, she looked at Nick with a devastating mix of anger and pain in her eyes. "Find her, Nick. Please." He could deny her nothing. Especially when he was as worried-- scared-- as she was. *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction I'm sending the last three parts in one swell foop, since they really should be read together. Thanks to everyone for their feedback and encouragement, and happy holidays!! More Fiercely Bright (10/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby Her eyes flew open. She was in a dimly lit room-- oh, God, they'd brought her back to where her father had died. There was someone standing over her. What it with these people? Did they have to knock her out every time they saw her? But as Emma lay still on the floor, she knew. They weren't going to keep on knocking her out. This was it. Amazing how much could run through your mind when you were faced with death, wasn't it? That life-flashing-before-you thing must be true. Her mother's face. Her father's face as he heard the sound at the door, then shoved her behind the sofa before someone could see her there. The argument, the violence that led to his death. The face of the man who had killed him, looking at her now. Damn, damn, She didn't want to die. She was seventeen. Didn't that count? She stood up slowly. She wasn't going to die lying on the ground. Not her style. *** He was too late. The girl was gone from Natalie Lambert's apartment before he got there; the smell of blood was sharp and fresh. It was not Emma's blood. On instinct, LaCroix had come here-- to the place where Emma's father had been killed, according to the news reports. He was right. She was inside, with someone else. There was one guard outside; LaCroix crushed his windpipe with a sharp grasp of his hand then smashed through the door with vampire speed... Just a split second too late. LaCroix heard the sound of the gun firing as he broke through the door, wood splintering around him unnoticed. But the sound he heard as he entered the room, faster than mortals could see, was far more horrible than even the sight that met his eyes. It was the sound of the bullet ripping through Emma's body. Through her heart. Everything happened so quickly-- her head flew back, mouth open, a surprised "Oh!" emerging as she crumpled to the floor. LaCroix snarled at the man holding the gun, who dropped it at the sight of the man-- thing-- with the glowing eyes and fangs flying at him. With one arm, LaCroix flung the man against the wall and was ready to rip his throat out when he heard a cough behind him. A cough choked with liquid. With blood. LaCroix picked the man up by his hair and tossed him across the room. He struck the wall, hard, and fell to the floor. Almost before the man hit the ground, LaCroix was by Emma, carefully cradling her in his arms. She was dying. It was a miracle that she was not already dead, if there were such things as miracles. LaCroix shifted, trying to make her more comfortable. Emma's eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow, gasping. He could hear her body breaking down, the heart slowing, faltering. When her eyes fluttered, LaCroix pushed back the vampire. As they opened, she saw only him. Only LaCroix. "Don't kill him," Emma said urgently. Her breathing was ragged. Something had changed; something more than just the scent of blood and death that surrounded her. "For Nick." She coughed, her body heaving weakly, and her lips and chin turned red with her own blood. She was too weak even to lift her hand and wipe it away. "" Her eyes met his, deadly serious, looking for reassurance. LaCroix nodded slowly, not fully understanding why he couldn't deny her what she asked. "I promise. I will turn him over to Nicholas." Emma half-smiled at his words. One hand moved to gently touch the arm that circled her, and LaCroix could see how much that simple effort cost her. "Thank you." Suddenly, LaCroix knew what was different about her. In the space of a few moments, her face had lost all resemblance to the child she had been and had become the face of a woman. A breathtakingly beautiful face, even with the blood staining it. The skin was as pale and luminous as a vampire's. Her eyes, which had been too magnificent for the child, now completed the face of the woman. She would never get the chance to be a mortal woman. The world would never see her as he was seeing her now-- and that would be the greatest injustice of all. Unless... Her eyes widened, and he realized that she had seen his fangs drop. "No." "You are going to " hissed LaCroix, pulling her closer to him. The rich scent of her blood-- already so much spilled, already so much wasted on the cold cement that could never appreciate its beauty-- called to him. "Let me help you live." As he listened to her labored breathing, it was all he could do to not take her then and there. To bring her across and teach her how to live an immortal life as fearlessly as she'd lived her mortal one. Her blood... Her blood would give him everything. He would be filled with her essence, hidden so carefully from the world. He would know her like no other ever had, or ever would. But this one, of all of them, deserved to make the choice herself. She blinked slowly, then smiled at him with an absolutely pure tenderness that struck at his heart. "So I die," she whispered, and her voice was so faint that mortal ears would not have heard it. "There you go, then." Her eyes shut, as if in slow motion. And though LaCroix moved to her neck with vampire speed, he knew before his fangs could pierce her skin that it was useless. She was gone. Even if he wanted to go against Emma's wish, LaCroix could not bring this child-woman across now. His arms tightened around her, and he sat immobile for what might have been a minute or a thousand years, eyes shut. Concentrating only on the feeling of the small, light, still body in his arms, growing gradually colder in the night. When he opened his eyes, LaCroix realized that his hands were covered with blood. Her blood. Slowly, he lifted one finger to his mouth. The blood was no longer fresh, but it still tasted of her. Of what she had been. LaCroix shuddered, and his eyes shut in a mixture of sorrow and hunger and desire. *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (11/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby Nick barely noted the body crumpled on the ground. He barely thought about the acrid scent of gunpowder that still lingered in the air. Everything in him focused on the gruesome tableau in the middle of the room. Emma's upper body was cradled in LaCroix's arms, and his head was bent over her. It was a hideously familiar posture-- Nick had seen it often, associated with his father's kills. The vampire in him surged and he snarled, poised to strike. LaCroix's voice stopped him. "I did not kill her, Nicholas." Nick stopped, his fangs retracting. Although LaCroix wasn't meeting Nick's eyes, he heard the truth in LaCroix's voice-- and something else, too. LaCroix nodded towards the far corner of the room. "That one is still alive. I believe he is the 'drug lord' you have been looking for. He killed her father." LaCroix's eyes met Nick's, and for one split second Nick saw such overwhelming emotion that Nick involuntarily took a step back. Then, just as quickly, the emotion was gone. "I leave him to your justice." LaCroix touched Emma's hair, brushing a strand back from her forehead. "She asked me to." Nick fought back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "Sometimes, LaCroix..." Nick paused, struggling for calm. "Sometimes it does matter how. And when." The absolute tenderness in LaCroix's hand as he touched Emma's forehead was something that Nick had seen only once before. And he knew, somehow, that he might never see again. *** The waiting was always the worst. Everyone was gone. They'd taken the bodies to the morgue, gathered all their evidence, and left Natalie alone in the silence of her empty apartment. She'd cleaned up-- righted the toppled chair, gotten rid of as much of the fingerprint dust as she could. She attempted to comfort Sidney, who would have none of it and stayed firmly in his hiding place in the closet, glaring at her as if she were responsible for everything that had happened. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Natalie paced the floor. Why didn't Nick her? The rational voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Nick was certainly busy doing a thousand official things, and he would call her as soon as he could. The irrational voice snarled that she didn't On her thousandth trip around the living room, she snagged her foot on something and nearly fell, catching herself on the arm of the sofa. Glancing down in annoyance, she saw Emma's backpack. Natalie leaned down and picked it up. It was so light. So small, to hold everything someone owned in this world. She sank down on the couch with the backpack in her lap, unconsciously stroking the fabric of the bag as she waited. She was still sitting on the couch when Nick walked in. When Natalie saw Nick's face, she knew. "Oh, no. No." The backpack fell to the floor, and her hands covered her face to hide the tears. Nick was beside Nat in a second, his arms around her and his face against her hair. He murmured wordlessly as she sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably. "No." *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction More Fiercely Bright (12/12) a Forever Knight Story by Jill Kirby Epilogue "Gentle listeners..." LaCroix stopped, and was silent for a long time; long enough that even his vampire heart might have had enough time to beat. When he spoke again, his voice was unusually rough. "For Emma." The studio was quiet, with only the hiss of the tape deck indicating that there was anyone, or anything, there. LaCroix opened a book and began to read. "When you are dead, and your disturbing eyes No more as now their stormy lashes lift To lance me through-- as in the morning skies One moment, plainly visible in a rift Of cloud, two splendid planets may appear And purely blaze, and are at once withdrawn, What time the watcher in desire and fear Leans from his chilly window in the dawn-- Shall I be free, shall I be once again As others are, and count your loss no care?" Nick continued to stroke Natalie's hair. She had long since fallen asleep in his arms, worn out from crying. He hadn't seen her this broken since Cynthia died. When Nick told her about finding Emma and LaCroix, she'd understood perfectly. Unlike Nick, she hadn't questioned LaCroix's innocence in the events. Nick still wondered at what he'd seen in LaCroix's eyes. Natalie understood. She had listened to Nick's stumbling explanation, not even asking why he hadn't told her about LaCroix before this. Natalie shifted slightly, letting out a sigh. Nick touched her cheek with one hand. Mortals were so precious, and they could be gone so quickly. Eight hundred years of losing people he cared about still hadn't made it any easier. Nick lifted his head as a breeze came through the open window. Impossibly, it smelled like sunlight and fresh-cut grass. For a moment, he felt like Emma was beside them, watching. But of course, she wasn't. In her sleep, Natalie smiled. "Oh, never more, till my dissolving brain Be powerless to evoke you out of air Remembered morning stars, more fiercely bright Than all the Alphas of the actual night!" LaCroix put down the slim book and shut his eyes. His fingers rested on his lips ever so gently, as if remembering something that had touched them once. Touched them not long ago. "This is the Nightcrawler..." The "On the Air" sign turned off, abruptly. The End *** Jill Kirby - jtkirby@mcs.com - http://www.mcs.net/~jtkirby/ Constructive criticism, praise, expensive gifts or flames to the address above. If you're missing a part, let me know, or go to: http://members.aol.com/msjill/Fiction