None So Blind

None So Blind - Forever Knight Fan Fiction by Diane Trap

*****************
"Hey, Nick! You ever see one of these?"
Schanke handed him a softcover book with the cover folded back. Nick looked down at the open page.
"What is this?" he asked in distaste, closing his eyes against the rhythmic pattern of red and blue dots.
"It's a book of those 3-D things. I'm giving it to Jenny for her birthday--she loves 'em." Grinning, Schanke sat down at his desk. "Can't you see it?"
It was a quiet night at the station, no phones ringing, only a few people moving about. A high winter wind rattled the station house's windows. Nick risked a second peek at the design. "See what?"
"You're looking at it wrong," Schanke told him. "Hold it in front of your nose and focus on one point of the picture."
Nick did. Up close, the dots didn't make him so dizzy.
"Now pull the book slowly away from your face, and voila!"
At half an arm's length away, the dots began to spin again. Nick shook his head to clear it. "Voila *what*?"
"Leaping lizards!" Schanke exclaimed. "Gila monsters in three dimensions!"
Nick tried it again, but its only effect on him was to send a queasy wave rolling through his stomach. "You're serious about this, Skank?"
Schanke's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Don't tell me the great detective Nick Knight--"
"Gentlemen?"
Nick put the picture down, glad of the interruption. Captain Cohen was coming toward them, with Natalie, all bundled up in her Easter-egg-blue down coat with the fuzzy white scarf, just a step behind her.
Nat picked up the book. "I love these things! Is this yours, Nick?"
"Weather reports say a real blizzard's coming in," the Captain told them. "The order's come down to send all non-essential personnel home--Myers and Brankowski drew the short straw to stay, so that means you. Good thing the bad guys don't come out in this weather."
Nat had the book about twelve centimeters in front of her. A silly grin spread over her face. "This is great!"
"It's Schanke's," Nick said hastily.
"Nick can't see it," Schanke added.
"My daughter likes those things, but *she's* six," Cohen said. "You two had better head out if you don't want to get stuck here."
Schanke was on his feet in an instant. "Snow day with Jenny! Soap operas and Myra's special cocoa with that little drop of ouzo!" He reached for his coat. "Try the next one, Nat, it's really good."
Natalie looked at the next page, laughed, and passed the book to Captain Cohen. Nick watched in amazement as the Captain put it to her nose, brought it away from her face, and actually smiled before she gave it back to Nat. "I'll see you folks tomorrow. Drive safe."
She walked away. Natalie held out the book. "Nick?"
He tried, he really did, holding the book to his face and bringing it away just as Schanke had said, staring until he felt like his chair was rocking beneath him.
"You mean you really can't see it, Nick?" Natalie asked.
He looked up. There was a big, broad smile on her face. Schanke caught her eye and they both laughed. Nick glanced down at the the red and green blotches marching across the page. The word *HUMAN* rang through his head like the devil had shouted it in his ear. He shivered.
"Sure I can," he said.
"Yeah, right," Schanke retorted, pulling a pair of moose-head earmuffs over his ears.
"You just need practice," Nat said, with galling kindness.
Schanke topped the earmuffs with a red-and-white striped stocking cap. "Well, I'm outta here, folks. Keep the book, Nick--Jenny's birthday isn't for another week." He chuckled as he left them, shaking his head.
Nick closed the book. There was another one of those awful things on the cover.
"Want to get snowed in at my place?" Natalie suggested. "See some videos? Roast some marshmallows? I'll make s'mores."
They had roasted marshmallows once before; Nick had gagged on the sweet, sticky stuff and burnt his lip on the toasting stick. He didn't even want to guess what "s'mores" might be. He looked up at Natalie and even the sight of her sweet face couldn't banish the sound of the word HUMAN again, whispered this time.
3-D pictures. Daughters. Cocoa. S'mores. Human things. Nick swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and got to his feet. "Uh, no, thanks." He tapped the book. "I think I'll go home and 'practice' this."
Natalie's eyes widened; her face fell.
"I want to check on Janette," Nick added quickly. "She doesn't like storms."
*That* certainly wasn't the right thing to say. "Sure," Natalie snapped, and slung her handbag over her shoulder. She started to go.
"Call me!" Nick called after her. "Let me know you've gotten home all right!"
"Maybe!"
Nick flinched at the look Natalie threw him just before she slammed the door behind her. *Damn.*
****************
Janette wasn't the one who didn't like storms; as long as she was inside, warm, and dry, she was perfectly willing to let the weather do as it pleased. She barely glanced up from her copy of _Vogue_ when Nick came into the Raven, Schanke's book tucked under his arm.
"We're closed," she said briefly, and turned a page. She was sitting on one bar stool, her feet propped up on another. She was wearing a black crushed velvet catsuit with bits of fur at the collar and cuffs; she looked like Santa's wicked elf, the one in charge of putting coal in bad children's stockings.
From the far side of the bar, Miklos looked up from his sweeping. "Can I get you something, Nick?"
"No, thanks." Nick shook snow out of his hair and blew on his fingers. He could have wished for a better moment to discover a leak in the Caddy's ragtop than on his drive over here.
"I can't imagine what you might need on a night like this," Janette added.
"Do I have to need anything to come see you?" Nick gave her his most winsome smile, and crossed the floor to give her a kiss on the cheek.
"What else brings you here?" She looked at him severely. "Your lips are chapped."
Nick's smile wavered. He pulled a stool up beside her, leaving the book on the bar, and sat down. "Spring fashions?"
Janette sniffed. "Such as they are."
Miklos started sweeping again. Nick fidgeted, but Janette only turned another page. At her elbow was an Irish coffee cup, decorated with a slice of lemon and a cinnamon stick.
Nick pointed. "What's that?"
"Something Alma invented. Mulled blood."
"Mulled...?"
Janette looked over her magazine. "Would you like one?"
"Mulled...?"
Janette held Nick's gaze for a long moment. Her eyes began to sparkle, and then she laughed, and laughed, setting down her magazine and holding on to the bar for support. "The look on your face, Nicola!"
The tension began to ease from Nick's shoulders. His winsome smile grew into a genuine grin. "Mulled *blood*?"
"Oh, it's terrible!" Janette gasped and put her hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles. "And she was so proud of it--!"
Her laughter warmed him, from his frozen toes to a place inside him he hadn't realized was cold. He started to laugh himself, stopped with a start when he realized he was out of practice at it, and laughed again.
"Miklos!" Janette waved her assistant over. "We need something to drink."
Nick sobered as Miklos propped his broom against the wall and walked behind the bar. Janette drank human blood, and happy as he was that she had welcomed him at last, he wasn't ready to join her--
"Bring us *Nicola's* bottle," Janette ordered Miklos, her eyebrows raised in wicked curves. A corner of Miklos' mouth twitched; he reached into a cooler and pulled out a clear wine bottle filled with something red.
"This is very special," he said to Nick as pulled the cork. He filled a glass and set it in front of him. "It is a gift, for you."
Nick took the glass, sniffing at it cautiously. It wasn't human...he took a sip. "It's--"
"It's pig!" Janette announced triumphantly.
Nick started, his mouth full, and swallowed with an effort. "Pig?"
"Pig! I've tasted it--it's much better than cow, is it not?"
It was much better than cow, so much better Nick wasn't sure he ought to be drinking it. He took another swallow.
"I wouldn't have thought of it myself. One of the staff brought it in, just for you." Janette leaned forward and half-sang, "A person with a crush on you!"
"On me?" Nick put the glass on the bar. "A crush on me? Who?"
"I am sworn to secrecy."
Nick looked at Miklos, but the bartender shrugged and turned away. Nick turned back to Janette and demanded, "Who?"
Janette shook her head and made a little gesture in front of her lips like she was turning a key in a lock.
"Janette--"
"No!"
"Janette..." Nick raised his hands and wiggled his fingers.
Her eyes widened. "Nicola..."
He reached forward.
"Nicola, no!"
He danced his fingers up and down her ribs, pushing away her hands as she fought him off. She twisted her body, giggling hysterically; Nick shouted with laughter. "Tell!"
"No!" She shrieked and arched backward. Her elbow hit Schanke's book and knocked it to the floor. "Nicola! I'll never tell!"
She wouldn't; after eight hundred years Nick knew that well enough. He put his hands on the bar, trapping her in the circle of arms. Her bosom heaved as she gasped for breath; her hair had fallen out of its pins; her blue eyes shone. A smile quivered on her lips. Nick leaned in...and backed away, letting her go.
He bent down to pick up the book. Janette sat up. Her head down, she began to pull out her hairpins, letting her dark curls cover her face. She combed her fingers through her hair and looked up.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice neutral, the expression in her eyes carefully guarded.
"Something of Schanke's." Nick shrugged and handed it to her. "The pictures are supposed to come out in three dimensions if you look at them right."
She looked at the picture on the cover. Her lip curled. "Really?"
"You have to hold it to your nose and then bring it away from you." Nick picked up his glass and swallowed the pig's blood in one gulp. "Focus on one part of the picture first."
Janette opened the book's covers and squinted at the caption on the first page. "'Hundreds of Gilas.'"
She held the book up, moved it away, held it up and moved it away. Nick reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. She wouldn't look at him; he could feel her hurt. He was hurting, too, with the bone-deep ache of someone who'd been caught too long between a rock and a hard place. He looked into the depths of his glass. He didn't belong anywhere.
"Gilas," Janette repeated carefully. "I couldn't see them," Nick admitted. "Nat and Schanke could."
Janette pressed her lips together; she closed the book, set it in her lap, and folded her hands on top of it. Nick looked back into his glass. He could lie to himself, but he couldn't lie to her; Janette would know that he had come here because he hadn't felt accepted by his human friends, and she would know that he had backed away just now because he hadn't been able to accept her. He deserved to be tossed out into the snow, and he hoped she'd belt him one when she did it.
"Do you remember," Janette said, "That art dealer in Los Angeles? Back in the seventies?"
Nick nodded cautiously.
"He wanted 'op art.'" She told the story like she was reciting it in a pageant. "You found an optometry textbook and painted all the astigmatism tests on enormous canvases."
"And you made him pay through the nose," Nick said.
She looked at him, her mouth twisted ruefully. "And you gave the money away." She shook her head in exasperation. "*Nicola.*"
****************
She smiled and patted the stool next to her. Nick took a deep breath and sat down.
Janette ruffled the corners of the book. "Do you really think these work?"
"Schanke said they did."
"I would not take Schanke's word for anything." With a sigh Janette opened the book and leafed through the pages. "'Hundreds of Gilas'--'Dozens of Donkeys'--'Zillions of Zebras.' Oh, for heaven's sake, Nicola, *why* would you want to be human again?"
Nick sat up. "Because--"
Janette held up the book and shook her head, clucking her tongue. Nick grinned, then chuckled. "Okay. I'm not crazy about lawn flamingoes either. Or Hawaiian shirts. Or moose earmuffs--"
"Moose *earmuffs*?"
Before Nick could answer the front door opened, banging against the wall, driven by a gust of wind. A dark figure emerged from a swirl of snow; Janette started up, motioning Miklos back to the shadows.
"You weren't out in this weather!" she exclaimed.
LaCroix took off his black fedora and brushed snow from the brim with three short, sharp blows with the back of his leather-gloved hand. He untied the black scarf that was wrapped around the lower part of his face.
"Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men," Nick muttered, and reached for his glass. They had been snowed in together before, more than once in their long history; with LaCroix, cabin fever was a fatal disease expressed in symptoms of torture and killing. When you had lived through a blizzard with LaCroix you knew you had stared into the eyes of death and worse.
"I have a radio show," LaCroix said. "A responsibility that does not end because the rest of the city decides to hide from the weather."
"Some things are beyond control," Nick replied. "Even your control."
LaCroix exhaled, slowly, his nostrils flaring. "It's so quiet in here, Janette. Where are your customers? I miss the sound of money ringing into your till."
Janette handed Nick Schanke's book and slid off the stool. "I can afford a quiet night," she answered flatly. "Would you like something?"
"What a lucky girl you are," LaCroix murmured. He drew nearer to the bar; Janette automatically went behind it. "And what is our Nicholas having?"
LaCroix reached for the bottle, sniffed at it. His eyebrows rose. He put the bottle down. "I am surprised at you, Nicholas--or is one to believe that the snow lays down crime like the dirt?"
Jibes about his choice of career Nick could take. He would have cut out his tongue before admitting to drinking pig. Cow sounded much more noble.
"And what have you there?" LaCroix reached for the book and flipped through the pages.
"They're...puzzles," Janette said. She had poured herself a large helping of her usual vintage; she drank half and topped up the glass.
LaCroix was reading something. Nick leaned over to take a look. He hadn't realized the book came with instructions.
LaCroix held the book to his nose. Nick looked over his shoulder to exchange a glance with Janette. She looked away. The corners of her mouth trembled.
"They're quite fascinating," she said.
LaCroix moved the book slowly away from his face. He put it down with a frown, muttering, "Gilas." He demanded of Nick, "And these are supposed to appear in three dimensions?"
Nick took a swallow of pig's blood. "Can't you see it?"
LaCroix turned a page, tried again. His brow creased; he blinked and rubbed his eyes.
"It's amazing." Janette was moving about behind the bar, rearranging glasses, wiping clean ashtrays. "I can't imagine how they're done."
"Computers," Nick told her. He didn't dare look at her, let alone catch her eye.
"Really?"
LaCroix glared at them both. He turned another page, and then another.
"The one on page fifteen is quite easy," Janette offered. "Dozens of Donkeys, wasn't it, Nicola?"
"Zillions of Zebras," he corrected her.
LaCroix turned more pages, the movement of his hands elaborately casual. Nick thought he might really be turning to page fifteen, but he couldn't bear to look to be sure.
A tiny squeak of laughter escaped Janette. She tried to turn it into a cough, but LaCroix had heard her; he froze, and closed the book. He gave them both a glare that by rights should have turned them to ash faster than a rising sun.
He ripped the book into halves, the halves into quarters, the quarters into shreds, and the shreds into confetti that he scattered across the floor.
"I would have thought you were too old to play with such toys, children," he hissed through his teeth. He flung his scarf around his neck and was gone, the door slammed behind him with a force that shook the building.
Janette came out from behind the bar, keeping a grip on it like someone who had just discovered how drunk she really was. "We will pay for that, I suppose," she said, and started to giggle. She staggered to Nick's side and clutched his arm, laying her head on his shoulder as she laughed.
Nick looked down at the scraps of paper scattered over the floor. "That was Schanke's book--"
"Buy him another," Janette gasped. "Buy him a dozen--dozens--dozens of donkeys! It was worth it!"
Nick put his arm around her as she laughed herself into hiccups. It had been centuries, he thought, since he had heard her laugh like that.
Miklos heaved a heavy sigh and picked up his broom.
***************
Many thanks to those people on FORKNI-L who discussed pig's blood, and my apologies for not knowing your names.
Just for the record, I can't make those stupid 3-D pictures work either.
All comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading!
------Diane Trap
trap@rhett.libs.uga.edu


Diane Trap

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