From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMSat Feb 15 20:44:21 1997 Date: Sat, 15 Feb 1997 16:13:31 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: A Dish Best Served Cold (1/8) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #7 Episode Title: "A Dish Best Served Cold" "Air" Date: February 13, 1997 Author: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Alpha Readers: blitherer2@aol.com, Julia Kocich , kieft bryan william , Patrick McLaughlin , Mel Moser Beta Readers: Sara Orel , Sandra Gray, Jean Simon, Sharon Bhandari Historical Verification Group: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Weapons Advisor: Tigon Diana Hooker Part 1 of 8 The Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season is a project whereby a group of Forever Knight fans are putting together a series of stories continuing from where Last Knight left off. Participation is open to all. For more information, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Comments should be sent to the author or to the FKV4S-L mailing list. This story will be available in its entirety as of 2/17/97 by writing to V4S07@fkfanfic.com, or from . This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann Lewis -------------------------- A DISH BEST SERVED COLD The Raven was silent. A tattered sign hung on the door, tersely stating, "Closed" to those who had drifted by in the months since it had appeared. The fickle mortals who had found the Raven to be to their liking had rapidly found another club to patronize. Inside, chains hung to the floor like cast-iron ghosts, swaying in random drafts like the dancers who had once wound through them. The silence pounded on the ears, jarringly out of place. Mortals had abandoned the club. Vampires, however, had not. The floor was pristine. There was no dust anywhere. The Raven was no longer a place to *go* to, but rather a place to be. A place to be safe, away from the sun and the mortal world, a place where blood was plentiful and companionship was assured. Most availed themselves of this elysium for a few days, a week at most, and moved on. Some, however, remained. Tabitha slid to the floor, giggling. She and Brian were raiding the cellar, finding the stock of wine that had been laid in from the almost mythical time when Janette had been the mistress of the Raven, protectress of the fledglings around her. They were generally forbidden to touch this part of the cellar, but everyone was gone that night, to Runnymeade Park to hear Sandler speak. Tabby couldn't care less what Sandler was blabbering about. For the first time in her short immortal life, she had a place to be, a place to belong, a place to hang out and have fun and all the blood she could drink. She and Brian and Terri had once been a pack. The Terrible T'rees, they'd called themselves, and laughed. But Terri had been killed by the monster that had ripped through the vampire community just before LaCroix had closed the Raven. Tabby's Master had died of the fever, and now Brian was all she had left. The wine in the blood was going straight to her head and she rose unsteadily to her feet. "Hey, where are you going?" Brian asked from where he sprawled on the concrete floor. "Not far," she purred. With the flamboyant, drunken grace of a stripper, she kicked off her shoes and started unbuttoning her shirt. That's when they both sensed the presence of a mortal. Tabby stopped in the middle of the row of buttons. Her eyes flashed to red immediately at the thought of fresh blood and she laughed throatily. "Hello?" a tremulous female voice called. "Is anyone there? Please, my car broke down and I need to use the phone, but I can't find one. Hello?" Brian tipped his head back and howled with laughter. "How nice, take-out food! Delivered fresh to our door." Tabby scrambled up the narrow stairs from the cellar behind him, following as he burst out onto the dance floor of the Raven. And died instantly from the slender stake shot into his heart. Tabby tripped over his body and sprawled on the ground. Dazed with shock and wine, she stared up at a dark-haired woman. It wasn't supposed to end like this, she thought wildly. They were immortal; they were gods. They were supposed to live forever! The woman held a two-shot crossbow in her hands, and her dark eyes were steady and calm -- as she fired the second shot point blank. Tabby's immortal body jerked in stunned denial of the rending. Before she could form a protest she was dead. The murderer slowly lowered the bow to her side, and neatly side-stepped the growing puddle of blood that spread from beneath the limp bodies. She made her way to the bar and to the telephone that sat behind it, easily in view. Lifting the receiver in a gloved hand, she dialed a number she had memorized. "Two murderers have been executed," she said into the phone, her voice even and tranquil. She then lay the handset beside the phone, keeping the connection open so they would have enough time to trace it, and left the Raven as silent as when she had entered it. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMSat Feb 15 20:44:28 1997 Date: Sat, 15 Feb 1997 16:13:35 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: A Dish Best Served Cold (2/8) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #7 Episode Title: "A Dish Best Served Cold" "Air" Date: February 13, 1997 Author: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Part 2 of 8 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann Lewis -------------------------- A DISH BEST SERVED COLD Nat paused before entering the Raven. It was hard to make herself go inside. The Raven was the scene of some of her most humiliating moments, ones that burned too brightly in her brain to be forgotten. The last time she had been there, she had been smacked in the face with her own arrogance and hubris, thinking that she could work miracles, thinking she could save Joey from his twilight world of eternal childhood. The time before... the time before she had been in a panic from the fear of death. She had begged Nick to bring her across to save her from the eternity of night that had awaited the human race. When he had refused, she had come to the Raven willing to sell her body for the price of immortality. Nat laughed without a trace of humor in the sound. Well, she had finally gotten a measure of what she wanted. Leave it to Nick to bungle the job. She had all the disadvantages of his existence, but not the advantages, unless you counted the few unnerving skills she might or might not have inherited from Nick. Being a vampire wasn't all that it was cracked up to be, she supposed. With a start, Nat realized she'd been standing by the door to the Raven brooding, without moving, for five solid minutes. Shaking her head sharply, she stepped inside through the main doors and moved down into the interior. Every other time she had been in the Raven, it had been dark and mysterious, an enchanted place where figures were shadows, seen, but not clearly. It had been as though people moved in a fog of darkness, of sound. Tonight, a bank of floodlights that had rarely seen electricity were lit, illuminating the scene with a glare the patrons of the club would have found distasteful. On the ground, just outside a narrow door that Nat knew led to the cellar, were two bodies. Male and female, early to mid twenties. Severe trauma to internal organs from a cause that she could not see at a distance, resulting in massive bloodloss, something she could see from where she stood by the door. Nat catalogued that at a glance, but as she moved closer, she picked up something strange. The scent of blood usually sickened her now, and this did, but even in her nauseous state she recognized something different about it. Nick and Adam were already there, taking notes on what they could see without moving the bodies. There were very few people around, and in the brilliant light she couldn't avoid Nick's eyes. She turned away instead, and knelt down beside the two bodies, the blood/not-quite-blood smell almost making her gag. A darkly glistening spike barely protruded from the back of the body on the top, and with her hands protected by latex gloves, Nat turned her over. The two of them had been staked, shot through the heart with what looked like a short, heavy-duty arrow which had lodged itself in the chest cavity. Nat resisted an inane urge to giggle. "I shot him, said the sparrow, I shot him with my bow and arrow," she muttered under her breath. Adam moved across the room to talk with the sergeant first on the scene. Nick crouched over the bodies on the opposite side from Nat. "This time, Cock Robin and his Robinness were killed by a bolt, actually. Not an arrow. >From a crossbow. Not a very powerful one at that, since the bolts are still lodged in the bodies. Probably a fairly light bow, thirty to thirty-five pound draw. Powerful enough to kill them, though." Their heads nearly meeting over the corpses, Nat asked as quietly as she could, "They're not human, are they, Nick?" Nick shook his head. "No. They're not." Nat flicked her eyes up from the wounds to their faces. She so rarely looked at faces, but now she felt compelled to. Her first reaction was of absurd shock. "They're so young." They looked like teenagers playing hooky from their parents. Then she looked up into the face of the man across from her. No, not a man, and sure as hell not young, she thought to herself. "They are young. Probably not much older than they look." "Great." Louder, she said, "Cause of death is pretty obvious, severe trauma to the heart from looks like an arrow. Do we have IDs?" she asked, rather rhetorically. Adam shook his head, having crossed the room back to his partner's side. "Not yet. We've tried to get in touch with the owner of this property, Lucien LaCroix," Adam checked his notebook, "but he wasn't in when we called. Hey, Nick. You seemed to get along with him pretty well after that hit and run. And come to think of it, you dealt with him before, when that Egyptian national was killed and left here, right?" "Yeah. He was brought in for questioning and released." "Maybe you could get in touch with him again," Adam said thoughtfully, leaning on the bar. "After all, you know him better than I do, and I doubt he'd want to see me twice in one month. And there are some similarities in the two cases. Bodies left here, a female voice calling in the report --" "Hamid Kharam was killed elsewhere and dumped here," Nick argued. "And he was torn to pieces before being beheaded, not shot like these two." "OK, OK." Adam held up his hands, one still holding the notebook. "Sheesh, it was just an idea. I still think you should be the one to get in touch with LaCroix." "Gladly," Nick said bitterly as Nat directed the loading of the two bodies onto gurneys. "Oh, Adam. You might want to check out the bolts. See if you can find out where they came from." "Yeah, I know. But I've got a feeling that there are a hell of a lot of archery stores in the metro area. It's going to be like finding a needle in a haystack." Nick shook his head. "Not these. These are wood." Adam blinked in polite confusion. "They don't make bolts out of wood very often any more." Adam flipped his notebook shut with a gesture that seemed to come from watching a dozen TV cops. "Gotcha." He turned to confer with another officer on the scene. After a few moments, their business concluded, the few beat cops left in the club departed, leaving the two investigating detectives and the medical staff. Nick was standing alone in the spotlight dance floor of the Raven when he sensed a gaze settling on him. In the shadows behind the lights he saw a silhouette of a man. Silently, he crossed the floor, slipping into the blackness outside of the law enforcers' realm. "OK, Knight, anything else?" Adam turned to where his partner had been standing a few moments ago. "Hey, Knight, you here? Great. I need one of those arrows... *bolts* to pin that guy down." Shaking his head, Adam called a distracted "See ya later," to Natalie as she left with her burden, and went his own way. The shadow stood leaning against the back wall, arms crossed over a powerful chest. Dark eyes gleamed, picking up stray bits of light, while dark hair hung loose around his strong-featured face. "Good evening, Detective," a faintly accented voice said. "Fancy seeing you here." Nick nodded in slow acknowledgment. "Miklos." Janette's former bartender was as impassive as ever, watchful and silent. Janette had once told Nick of the time when a vampire hunter had entered the Raven and began prodding the staff. Miklos had gone to rescue one of the waiters. The hunter had held a cross to Miklos' head. Not by a flicker of pain had Miklos given away his agony, and he had managed to retreat before the welts could rise on his skin. Nick and Miklos didn't speak again until they had reached the office that had once been Janette's. It had been stripped of most of its personality, little more than four walls, a desk and a chair. The room was more than dim; light was nearly nonexistent, but Nick did not need bright light to see the other vampire clearly. Miklos dropped into the chair. "I assume that you have been assigned to investigate the murders here." "Yes, I... yes." Nick looked away from the level, dark stare. "I didn't know you were back in town." Steepling his hands, Miklos leaned his elbows on the desk. "That's hardly a surprise, since it took you several months to realize Janette was gone," he said, his voice ironic. "I left a few weeks after LaCroix took over. He had no understanding of what Janette wanted to do here. He made the Raven a plaything." There was repressed anger in the other vampire's voice, fury held under complete control. "And when he abandoned it, you came back." Miklos leaned back, shrugged. "Someone had to. Detective, you of all people know how uncertain and destructive this past year has been. There needs to be a place for our kind to come, a place to be safe, shelter from the cold, if you will. That is what Janette wanted to provide. That is what I am trying to rebuild here. Shelter from the bitter storm." --<--<--@ ~*~ @-->-->-- Outside of New Orleans, November, 1823 "Argh!" Janette exclaimed in disgust as she struggled for control of her frightened horse. The animal, already skittish from being forced to travel at night, shied as a bolt of lightning arced down from the angry heavens and threw a tree across the river into brilliant flame despite the torrents of rain streaming down. "This is enough! I will not travel under such conditions. I am finding a place to wait out this storm, and the day, if it comes to that!" "But Janette, we are but a few hours from the city," LaCroix argued. "~La belle nouveau Orleans.~ Are you sure you wish to halt our journey, to spend the day in some hovel?" "You may do whatever you like," Janette snapped. "I intend to stop at the first habitation I see. I have mud smeared all over my clothes and I am soaked to the bone." "You hardly feel the cold, ~ma petite,~" LaCroix said with a certain amusement. "I hate it, regardless," she said, disdainful as a cat of the water. "Well, in that case, ~apres vous.~ Unless Nicholas wishes to comment, that is." Nicholas shrugged, shaking water off his heavy great coat. "Whatever Janette wishes. Although," he said with a gleam of humor in his eye, "it would seem the deluge is already here." "Ah," Janette said with extreme satisfaction less than a quarter-hour later, "look. No hovel, LaCroix. Indeed, a home fit for a prince." Lit by intermittent flares from the storm, the plantation house sat on a slight rise. On the small side, it was a graceful example of the Georgian style of architecture. "Indeed. Well, ~mes enfants~, shall we knock on the door?" It was early in the evening still by their standards, near the mortal dinner hour, and Nicholas' pounding was answered almost immediately. A small man wearing the livery of the house answered, his black face etched with innate dignity. "We're sorry to disturb you, but my companions and I have been caught out in the rain." A vicious rumble of thunder underscored Nicholas' words. "We beg for rooms for the night, to be on our way when the storm breaks." "But of course, you must come in." A woman wearing entirely too many layers of silk swept into the foyer of the house. Her lined face was powdered and a false beauty mark sat like a small beetle near her heavily rouged lips. "Come, Henley, let these poor travelers in. We must give them shelter from the bitter storm." --<--<--@ ~*~ @-->-->-- "But that shelter is being threatened now," Miklos said. His rough, angular face was harsh with fury as he pounded one hand on the desk. "How did this killer know how to find us? How did she know how to kill us?" "A stake is a fairly well-known method of killing vampires," Nick said dryly. "You're assuming that the killer is the woman who called in the deaths, and that she's mortal." "Of course the killer is mortal. No vampire would be so untidy as to leave corpses for humans to find -- for fear that the Enforcers will find *them.* As for the killer being the woman who called your detectives... I hope that it is the same one. If she isn't, that would mean yet another person knows about the Raven." "We'll find her," Nick said. He began to pull on gloves in his role of mortal needing protection from the winter weather, preparing to leave. "Wait." Miklos came out from behind the desk and grabbed Nick's arm, demanding his attention. "You must stop this woman." "I said I would," Nick repeated impatiently. "The department will put all of the effort we can into solving this murder, but -- " "No, damn you. Listen to me. This woman endangers the entire community. She knows too much. She has to be stopped." Nick shook his head slowly. "This case cannot and will not get any special treatment. For God's sake, Miklos, there are worse murderers than this one out on the streets -- " "These are your people, and your kind!" Miklos said fiercely. "LaCroix didn't realize it until they were dying all around him. When will you?" After a very long moment, Nick said, "No. Not my kind. Not any more. I'll hunt your murderer, Miklos, just like I hunt for others. No different." Miklos' brief flare of anger subsided. His face was calm again, remote. "Except for one thing," he said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "In this case, you believe that the victims deserve the crime. A part of you thinks that this murderer has the right of it. Tell me, Nick, what justice is in that?" (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMSat Feb 15 20:44:36 1997 Date: Sat, 15 Feb 1997 16:13:41 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: A Dish Best Served Cold (3/8) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #7 Episode Title: "A Dish Best Served Cold" "Air" Date: February 13, 1997 Author: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Part 3 of 8 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann Lewis -------------------------- A DISH BEST SERVED COLD Just before dawn, Miklos stood on the roof of the Raven, staring out over the city. In the east, the faintest shift of grey shaded the sky, harbinger of the ball of fire that was deadly to his kind. The fulcrum balance between the night life and the virtuous morning people was met, and the world was as silent as it ever was. Hands deep in pockets, heart deep in thought, Miklos waited. "'Speak to the children of Israel, saying, Appoint out for you cities of refuge, whereof I spake unto you by the hand of Moses: That the slayer that killeth any person unawares and unwittingly may flee thither: and they shall be your refuge from the avenger of blood.'" LaCroix's voice came from the shadows, coolly cynical. Miklos barely moved. "So you came. I thought you wouldn't bother." "Why did you call me, then? You didn't bother to ask my permission to use the Raven as a petitioner's hall, a repository for foundlings and orphans. Why now?" "You knew, regardless." Miklos turned to him and shrugged his powerful shoulders. "This involves the mortal world. To them, you are still the owner of this property, still the one to whom they will turn for their questions. As far as they know, I do not exist." "Practical expediency. Something to be commended." LaCroix remained some distance away, looking at the other vampire thoughtfully. "What a pity that you do not have that status in our world. The constant worry for other's welfare must wear on you, give the sense that your life -- eternal though it might be -- is not your own." Miklos ignored the contemptuous tone of LaCroix's voice and concentrated on the words. "How is it different than bringing a mortal across? You are hardly the sole master of your own fate. How much of your life has been bound up in your son's struggles?" "My life is hardly 'bound up' in anything." An edge of ice crept into LaCroix's voice. "If I stay with Nicholas it is because I wish it. I do not let him dictate my fate." Miklos spread his hands wide, indicating the building, the city, the world. "And I wish to stay here, at the Raven," he said simply. In control again, LaCroix mocked, "Messiahs went out of style centuries ago. Or do you fancy yourself more a Moses leading the Israelites to the Promised Land?" LaCroix paused, waited for his goading words to have an effect, but there was no answer. "You cannot save them all, Miklos. You will only destroy yourself if you try." "As you nearly destroyed yourself?" Miklos lashed back. "It was all a game to you, wasn't it? Roman orgies for the post-modern world, Gothic in neon colors. Then they started dying, and you couldn't stop them. And then you finally realized what they were: yours. Your people, your children, your family. You only saw that when you could not hold on to them." A hiss of breath was Miklos' only clue that the words had struck cleanly. It was more than most people got from LaCroix. "First they died, and I could not save them. Then they died merely because they were near me. Torn to shreds while I watched, helpless to do anything. Tell me, Miklos, do you really want that responsibility?" More quietly, Miklos continued, "I must do this." "At what cost? Before Miklos could answer, both he and LaCroix sensed the approach of another vampire. A slim young girl stood on the roof with them, hesitant to move closer. Miklos raised a hand to urge her near. "Come, Fantine. What do you need?" Fantine slid a frightened look at LaCroix, but readily crossed to Miklos' side. "I -- nothing. It's foolish." Miklos took her small hand in both of his. "Not foolish at all. Tell me." "And the sun is rising, my dear," LaCroix said, ironic shell firmly in place. "Sooner rather than later might be best." "Are we going to be safe here?" she asked baldly. "Any of us? I mean, Tabby and Brian, they didn't even care about anything Sandler was saying, and they still died. I'm scared. I'm scared to die." "You won't." Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her head on his chest like a child. Staring at LaCroix, he quietly vowed, "Not if I have anything to do with it." **** Adam pulled his coat collar around his ears and shivered. Freezing rain was trying to slide down his backbone, his shoes were soggy from tramping in and out of puddles, and his eyes kept trying to rest themselves by crossing. Working the night shift wasn't all fun and games.. Having to do some footwork by day was worse. But since Knight had that damned allergy, the job of tracking down the bolt had fallen, by default, to Adam. Adam paused outside of the third store on his list. A weathered board announced it as being "The Wild West." A rusting wagon sat out in a small yard in front of the store, and looked like it had been sitting there since wagons were a common form of transportation. Adam shook his head, tucked his notebook back into his pocket, and entered. "Yaaaahaaaa!" he exclaimed, startled and frightened, as a grizzly bear met him just inside the door, one claw viciously raised to shred him. After a moment, Adam recovered from the slight defensive crouch he had pulled into, realizing that the bear was immobile and moth-eaten. It had been stuffed and set so that it was the first thing visitors saw when they entered the store. "Heh, heh, heh. Isn't he grand? I got that one back in '74, in the Rockies. A .45, right between the eyes. 'Course, you can't see the hole now. Jimmy, the guy who stuffed him for me, sewed it up." A man with a physique to match the bear fondly patted the hideous thing on the shoulder. Adam barely controlled a grimace of distaste, quickly turning away from the dead animal. A glitter of glass eyes from the wall caught his attention, and he stared at a buck with a magnificent rack of antlers. The expression on what passed for the buck's face was neither majestic nor calm, the way deer always were in the pictures. Instead, Adam could have sworn that the animal was going to spend eternity looking slightly puzzled. Below the various trophies scattered on the walls hung hunting equipment. Knives long and vicious enough to disembowel an elephant hung between bows and arrows. *Bolts,* Adam corrected himself yet again. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at the proprietor. "I'm Detective Sakai. I've got a few questions for you, Mr. Harrison." The burly man began backing away, hands raised as if Adam had told him to put them up. "I don't want any cops in here. I don't have any guns in this store, I don't sell any guns, I won't sell any guns. Anything that Gary Davis told you is a lie, I don't sell guns." Harrison's words became hurried and his sentences merged in his agitation. Adam merely raised an eyebrow and pulled the plastic-encased bolt from his jacket. "I just wanted to know if you could tell me where this came from." Harrison puffed out a breath and lowered his hands. "Oh. Well. Um, yeah, I see. You've got here a crossbow bolt. Ah, covered in blood, I see." He took the bag in his hands to examine the bolt more closely, and immediately realized something. "Hey, wait, this is made out of wood!" "So I'm told," Adam said impatiently. "What can you tell me about it?" The man brushed the grey-tinged stubble on his cheek with thoughtful fingers. "Hmmm. Now, usually, wooden bolts are hard to find. Wood is too expensive, and metal is more practical. Light and sleek. Slices right through the air, and cuts through skin easily. That mountain lion up there, I got him with a crossbow, about a hundred and twenty pounds of pull, and a bolt like this one." He handed Adam a normal crossbow bolt for comparison. Adam averted his eyes from the lion and studied the bolt for a moment, then looked back at Harrison. "You said 'usually'." "Yup. You see, a couple of months ago a girl walks into my shop. She wants to learn how to shoot. I started to set her up with a compound bow, but that didn't suit. She needed a crossbow, she said. And she had a lot of specifications for it. She wanted the poundage reduced so there wasn't as much power, but she wanted a footclaw so she could reload fast. Now, what could she possibly be hunting that she needed such a low pull but a quick reload?" Eyes glazing over fast, Adam nodded. "Yeah, and then what?" "Well, I put her in touch with some friends of mine. One of them made the bow special for her, I think. I told her to pick out what kind of bolts she wanted to use. But she wouldn't take any of them. She said they were no good, that she needed wooden ones. She wouldn't listen when I said they didn't work as well," Harrison said, disgusted. "So, anyway, I got some buddies and had them make some bolts for her. Cost her an arm and a leg, but she didn't care. The odd thing," the man said reflectively, "is she insisted that they be made of hawthorn. Now, hawthorn is a good wood for bows, but it's a bit too flexible to use in arrows. Bolts, it doesn't matter so much since they are thicker, but still. She had to have hawthorn." Adam took the bloodstained bolt back from Harrison. "Do you have this woman's address?" "Nope. She wouldn't tell me her address or her number. She took the names and addresses of several of my suppliers and I never heard from her again." "What's her name?" "He thought for a moment. "Mara. Yeah, it was Mara. About 5'5", dark hair, dark eyes. Really built too, you know?" Adam pressed the man for more information, but came up empty. "Thank you, Mr. Harrison," he said, resigned. "I might have some more questions for you later, or I might need you to come to the precinct." Harrison gulped visibly. "Precinct? Um, did that girl do something?" Adam grinned faintly. "You could say that. She might be a murderer." Harrison stared at the bolt in Adam's hand. "You mean... that's human blood on that thing?" "Yes, it is." Adam was flabbergasted when, a moment later, the big game hunter passed out on his own shop floor. **** "Good evening, gentles all. It's eleven o'clock; have you called your mother recently? Does that little white lie that you told your wife about working late at the office wake you up at night? Such petty, little things, yet they loom so large in our memory. Perceived as failures, failures to do or be what we should. Yet which of us would go back to change them? Be honest and tell true. Would any of us really give up what we have now for freedom from what is merely an annoyance? "The subconscious is a lovely thing. How it alters and distorts, changes to your whims and fears. It can make you an unworthy hero, or an undeserving fool. 'Were it not better to forget, than remember and regret?' How you suffer for a sin that no one else remembers. I would ease that burden for you. Cast it off, be free from guilt. I have. I am the Nightcrawler, and this is your Emancipation Day." Mara Gallen snapped off the radio. She usually enjoyed the Nightcrawler's monologues. It seemed to her he spoke wisdom that most of the world had yet to understand. But tonight his husky, haunting voice made her uneasy, nervous, restless. It stirred things in her brain that she would rather lay still and silent. It was late, she needed to sleep. But sleep brought dreams, nightmares. She resisted for as long as she could. Finally, however, she sank into unconsciousness curled on her couch. *The house where she grew up. Her room. Her dolls. Childhood pleasures long forgotten.* *A nightmare, monsters under her bed. "Mommy, Daddy, help me!"* *No one coming to her room. Sliding out of bed, padding with bare feet down the hall. Voices in the living room, her parents, familiar and loving. Safe.* *Monsters. Two monsters with long vicious teeth. Blood, more than any eight-year-old could imagine. And death. Her mother lying like a disjointed doll, one hand flung in her daughter's direction. Her father a limp mass that barely looked human. And one of the monsters, looking right at her, eyes glowing, fangs gleaming, reaching for her...* Mara woke with a scream. She clawed at her own throat with her hands, feeling as though she was being smothered. After a moment, she calmed enough to recognize her own house, the room, the fact that she was twenty-six rather than eight. She pulled herself to her feet and went to the bathroom to take a shower, to wash away the memory of the night her parents were murdered. Her face was pale in the fluorescent light, stark against her dark eyes and hair. Slowly, the hot water pouring down on her washed away the memory of blood. When she had finished drying herself and dressed, she was far more calm. There wasn't anything she could do for her parents. They were long dead. But she could stop their murderers from killing again. It had been a hopeless task until, during the panic over the asteroid that was threatening the planet, she had been attacked by a vampire, reckless with the belief that no one would ever call him to account for his crimes. Just as no one had been called to account for her parents' deaths. He had nearly killed her before she had been rescued by a police officer named Detective Knight. It had taken her more than a year, but she tracked the killers to one place, a nightclub called the Raven. Her parents had left her wealthy enough that she did not have to work for a living, and she devoted every waking moment to her crusade. She would never find the two vampires who had killed her parents, but she could stop any others from destroying other lives. During that year, she read everything she could get her hands on about vampires, and how to kill them. Everything she read merely made her memory of the night her parents died stronger and stronger, until it was a glittering beacon on which she based her life. Last night was her first success. But it would not be her last. She had also discovered, by calling the precinct and pretending to be a reporter, that the name of the senior detective on the case of the murders was Nick Knight. That was when she knew that the fates were on her side. Her knight in shining armor, the one who could fight these monsters and win. She employed her research skills to find out about him, and was immediately entranced. Laughing to herself, she dressed for the night. She and Knight were very similar. Both of them stopped killers. But she was merely an amateur at this. He was the master, the expert, the bright light of goodness that bathed her life. So long as there were men like Knight in the world, she could believe that good would win over evil. And since she was on the side of the angels, that meant she would win. At that moment, her police scanner squawked and spat out, "81 Kilo, calling 81 Kilo. Possible homicide, repeat, possible homicide..." Mara took down the address and left her house. She wanted to see Knight again, to remind herself what her ideal and goals should be. And then... she would prove herself worthy of such a goal once again. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMSat Feb 15 20:44:42 1997 Date: Sat, 15 Feb 1997 16:13:48 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: A Dish Best Served Cold (4/8) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #7 Episode Title: "A Dish Best Served Cold" "Air" Date: February 13, 1997 Author: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Part 4 of 8 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann Lewis -------------------------- A DISH BEST SERVED COLD "I am the Nightcrawler, and this is your Emancipation Day." Nick shut off the radio in the car. He didn't want to hear LaCroix speak again about guilt and foolishness. He knew LaCroix's opinions on the topic, too well. He had no need to hear them again. "Explain it to me. Why do you listen to that guy if he pisses you off?" Adam was frowning over the notes he had jotted down about crossbows, bolts, and manufacturers of said bows and bolts, reading them in the intermittent light coming from the streetlights above. He ended his question with a tremendous yawn. "Sometimes you have to swallow the bitter with the better," Nick said quietly. "You should always do something you don't like. It keeps you honest." Adam arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. "Speaking of bitter and better, pull over, will you?" Adam said, looking up from his notebook in time to see a coffee house. "I desperately need something tall, dark and caffeine-laden if I am going to get through the night. Do you want anything? Never mind," Adam answered himself before Nick could say a word, "you can't. Your allergies." Nick sat in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and waiting for Adam to get back. LaCroix was wrong. People did not forget crimes wrought against them. And sometimes, they attempted to exact their vengeance -- even long after the grievance was past.... --<--<--@ ~*~ @-->-->-- Janette rose from the settee rather abruptly and crossed the small gaudy parlor to stand behind Nicholas. She leaned over his shoulder where he sat and nuzzled his ear. "That girl plays the pianoforte as though she were wearing wool mits on her paws," she breathed quietly. Nicholas grabbed her hand and nipped lightly at the flesh just above her sheer silk glove. "I know. It's painful in the extreme, isn't it? Pray that she does not break into song." Janette laughed and brushed his ear with her lips again. There were six in the wretchedly overdecorated parlor. M. Toussant sat next to the seat that Janette had only recently vacated. His presence -- and his groping hands -- were what had moved her to cross to Nicholas. LaCroix sat near the pianoforte, his serene expression giving no notice of how the dreadfully executed music must have grated on him. At that moment, a jarring chord announced the end of the torture piece. Nicholas clapped politely while Janette remained pointedly silent. Mme Toussant clapped enthusiastically enough for both of them, causing all sorts of flesh not bound by her corset to jiggle. "Oh, Ami, Ami, play again!" she cried enthusiastically, slanting glances at both Nicholas and LaCroix. She was excruciatingly unsubtle about her hopes for her daughter's future. As Nicholas seemed busy with Janette, Mme Toussant turned her formidable attentions to LaCroix. "But Monsieur! You have not seen our gardens? Come, come, Ami, show M. LaCroix the lilies by the pond." Mme Toussant fairly pushed the pair out of the door, to Nicholas' great amusement. Quietly to Janette, he said, "The rain has let up; should we not be on our way before sunrise?" "Mmmm," Janette said, trailing one hand down Nicholas' arm. "We would only reach the city by dawn, and we will be hungry long before then. It is a pity that we could not fly all the way there." "We would have been exhausted and ravenous by the time we reached the place," Nicholas pointed out. "We shall be just as hungry here, if we do not find a way to feed. Surely somewhere out in the countryside there are some animals to feed on." "There are some animals to feed on here," Janette said with a sidelong smile. Even from a distance, they could hear Ami's chattering voice from the garden. "Is this not beautiful, Monsieur? I love these flowers. I have begged Mama for a gown exactly this color. Ah, ~Sacre Mere~, you cannot see the color in the darkness! Come again in the morning, and I will show you. I swear that it makes my skin glow like silk!" The young coquette clung to LaCroix's arm, batting her eyes at him like a lovesick cow. There was purity in them, the purity of a soul that had never been touched with thought or worry. Nothing went on behind those vapid dark eyes other than clothing, jewels and the endless search for more of both. LaCroix tucked her arm through his with the gesture of a gentleman well-pleased by a lady. "Tell me, my dear," he said conversationally, "when you look at the stars, what do you see? An eternity of possibilities to explore? Or diamonds to hang around your sweet white throat? Ah, do not answer. I know what you would say." LaCroix stopped and threaded his fingers through the girl's dark hair in a travesty of tenderness. "Such sweetness, such uncomplicated loveliness. You are a mockery of womanhood, a shell without a brain, heart or spirit. Without any one of those, life is not worth living. Without all three, you are doomed...." Ami dropped silently to the ground, blood trickling down her neck to stain her white silk gown dark in the moonlight. LaCroix turned golden-green eyes to the avid ones of Ami's mother, staring shamelessly out the window at her daughter and suitor. Gasping, she backed into the room, away from the horrific scene outside. "Mon... mon... MONSTER!" Her shriek rattled the chandelier. It ended on a choked moan. Janette tore the flesh of her throat open. Arms windmilling, Mme Toussant sank slowly to the floor as Janette fed from her. M. Toussant, gibbering incoherently, grabbed the fireplace poker. He frantically attempted to run Janette through with it. Snarling, Nicholas tore the slight stick of metal from his grasp. He yanked the portly man from the ground. Shaking him as though he were nothing but a puppy in a bear's grasp, Nicholas hauled him down again. Delerious with fury, he sank his teeth into the man's throat. In the space of two minutes, three corpses remained of the six who had gathered in the parlor. Janette rose from the floor, swaying slightly as she drew her hand across her mouth to rid it of M. Toussant's blood. "Nicholas, look," she said, nodding to the door. A tiny blond girl stood, clutching her doll to her chest. She didn't move, didn't speak, merely stared at the wreck of her family. Blinking with shock, her eyes passed over the bodies, one by one, until they met Nicholas' eyes, and held. LaCroix entered the room, and started to move past Nicholas. Nicholas stopped him. "No, let her be." "She saw us," LaCroix insisted, bloodlust still raging in him. "She's a child. She doesn't know what she saw. No one will believe her, regardless. She'll be told it was a nightmare, that she was dreaming." Nicholas let go of LaCroix's coat to cross to the little girl. "What's your name?" The child's mouth worked before she managed to whisper, "Celestine." "Celestine." Nicholas' voice became deep and compelling. "You did not see any of this. You do not know what happened to your family. You know nothing. You did not see us here. Sleep now," he said, and the girl immediately sank to the ground. Nicholas gathered her into his arms and took her back upstairs. When he returned, it was to find Janette and LaCroix ready to leave. "What about the servants?" Nicholas asked, weary. "They will chalk it up to voodoo," LaCroix said. "They are too terrified to speak against us, for fear we shall come back and eat their souls." There was a wealth of condescension in LaCroix's voice. "No doubt the good Toussant family will, so far as the world is concerned, have expired from yellow fever. Now, shall we be off? Now that have we fed, we have just enough time to make New Orleans by dawn, if we hurry." --<--<--@ ~*~ @-->-->-- "81 Kilo, calling 81 Kilo. Possible homicide, repeat, possible homicide..." "Hey, Knight, going to answer that?" Adam, coffee in hand, sat down in the car as the dispatcher rattled off an address. "What? Yeah. Roger, this is 81 Kilo. On our way." **** Two bodies draped with fabric lay on the tables in the morgue. Nat found herself forced to be very careful with them. It seemed that vampires had a tendency to disintegrate rather quickly. She faked autopsies on both of them, ones that would not be examined too closely since since the cause of death was fairly obvious. Now she was busily engaged in taking samples as quickly as she could, for her own research. How much use the samples would be, she didn't know, tainted by decomposition as they were. But she had to try. "Knock, knock." Westwood's voice came from the door. He held up a bag with lovely greasy spots on it. "Two jelly donuts, and but one mouth. Want to share?" Nat flipped down the corner of the sheet that had left the woman's hand uncovered and crossed immediately to the door. "Yes, sure. Come on in." Ignoring her not-very subtle attempts to herd him in the direction of her desk, Westwood sauntered over to the tables where the two victims lay. "These are the ones killed in the Raven, right?" "Yes. Thomas, I'm not getting any donuts over here. You don't want to see what sugar deprivation does to me." Never mind the fact she didn't know if she could manage to force one down just now. Westwood didn't move. "I've only heard bits and pieces about this one. Is it true a woman called from the Raven to say two murderers had been killed?" He didn't bother to wait for Nat's acknowledgement. "Why would she call them murderers?" Nat sighed in feigned boredom and real frustration. "I don't know, Thomas. Maybe she thought they ran over her cat." Meditatively, Westwood stared down at the two shrouded corpses. "And the arrows to the heart..." "Bolts," Nat corrected automatically, remembering what Nick had said in the Raven. "Bolts," Westwood said amiably. "Amazing, isn't it? Wooden stakes to the heart, right? That's how you kill a vampire." "Well, you know what the great thing is about most vampire methods of disposal? They have a tendency to kill real live humans, too. Thomas," Nat said, exasperated when Westwood kept staring down at the bodies. "Maybe she was like those kids in the States, you know, the ones who took that role playing game too seriously? The Raven played up that image. Maybe she lost touch of the difference between fantasy and reality. And the only way to stop the game was to kill the players." "There seem to be a lot of people lately making themselves judge, jury and executioner," Westwood mused. Nat crossed to his side. "You know, Adam told me that according to what he found out, the weapons she used must have been pretty hard to come by. She's been planning this for a long time. Lashing out against something that she maybe didn't really understand. That's a hell of a way to live." Westwood didn't say anything for a long moment. Turning slightly, he tucked a loose hair from Nat's untidy bun behind an ear. "Want a donut?" he asked lightly. "Oh, God, you'll never know --" Nat's fervent plea was cut off by the ring of the phone. "Yeah, Coroner's Office, you drop 'um, we stuff 'um? Um-huh. Um-huh. Right. I'm on my way." She rang off and grabbed her purse. "Homicide across town, apparently a domestic dispute. I have to get going." "Hey, you need some company?" Westwood asked. "Sure," Nat said. She waited until they were outside and almost to her car before she relieved him of the paper bag he still held. "I love spending my time with strawberry and blackberry jelly donuts. See you later." She neatly pulled out of the coroner's office lot, leaving Westwood behind. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMSat Feb 15 20:44:50 1997 Date: Sat, 15 Feb 1997 16:13:54 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: A Dish Best Served Cold (5/8) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #7 Episode Title: "A Dish Best Served Cold" "Air" Date: February 13, 1997 Author: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Part 5 of 8 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann Lewis -------------------------- A DISH BEST SERVED COLD "Jesus," Nat muttered under her breath. The woman had simply, brutally, been beaten to death. Nick came up behind her, and Nat began ticking off the injuries out loud. "Massive lacerations to the back, probably from a belt. Three ribs broken, collarbone, and I think the upper humerus, although there isn't much funny about it. I'd say she died of massive internal hemorrhaging. Did she have a husband, boyfriend?" "Boyfriend," Nick confirmed. "Neighbors say they heard them fighting, heard her scream, and him take off about an hour ago. Tires squealing, the whole bit. We've got an APB out on the guy and the car. Chances are he won't get out of the Toronto area." "Good," Nat said viciously. She sighed and stood back so that the body could be carefully lifted and returned to the coroner's office. Stripping off her gloves, she said, "So it's an open and shut case, right?" Nick nodded, following her out of the small house onto the postage stamp-sized lawn. "Pretty much." "What about the Raven murders?" Nick looked around, but there was no one in earshot. Various people were milling around the property, but Nick and Nat stood alone, off to the side near the street, private. They kept by a fence sheltering the property from the street. He could feel people all around them, though, mortals, and so kept his voice low. "You know all I do. Two vampires were killed, apparently by someone who knew exactly what they were." "And how does that make you feel, Nick? How does it make you feel to be the one being hunted for a change, to be the victim?" Nat's voice was strained; with worry or fear, Nick didn't know. Nick flinched at her automatic assumption that he identified with the victims. "I am not like them! I have nothing to do with the Community. As far as they are concerned, I'm as close to human as a vampire can come." "What about as far as you are concerned? Are you human, Nick? Are you even close?" "You're the doctor. You tell me." Nat was silent. "I'm a vampire, Nat," Nick said tiredly. "One without much hope at the present. And I'm being torn two ways. What loyalties do I have? To the mortal world, who have been preyed on by vampires for untold centuries? How many more humans have died at vampires' hands than the reverse? And yet... I am a vampire. How can I stand to watch my own kind be killed?" **** *I'm as close to human as a vampire can come.* *I'm being torn two ways.* *I am a vampire.* *I AM A VAMPIRE!* Sobbing with shock and grief, Mara ran as fast as she could from the murder site. How could he? How *could* he? How dare he pretend to be shining and pure and good, and be one of those disgusting monsters? Even worse, how could he manage to fool everyone around him into thinking that he was to be trusted? God only knew how many of his brethren he had concealed, protected. It was not to be borne. Knight would have to pay for betraying her ideals. And his kind with him, for all the murders they had committed. And most of all, for killing her parents, her family, her childhood, and her innocence. **** She always cut it too close. Fantine knew that, knew what her new nature could and could not stand. But as the clouds and dawning light danced together in the sky, she could not tear herself away. The colors called to her, colors she would later reproduce, recreate on her canvas. Violent yellows and red, pink and cream, peach and lavender, the colors were beyond anything she could imagine. What her mortal senses had only dimly perceived, her vampire ones revealed as wonders, a single star peering from the clouds, a snowflake, one individual among millions, a trick of light on a face, a moment of fragile beauty. The heat of the growing light burned into her hands and face and reminded her that for the gifts she had been given with immortality, there was a price. She gathered her cloak around her and began making her way from the river where she had been watching the sunrise back to the Raven. She could feel the burns raising on her skin, and knew that Miklos would scold her for risking herself. Having someone worry over her was another gift. She had never been a part of anything, never belonged anywhere. Now, somehow, she was a part of something, something that at once made her something greater than she had been before and a part of an even more powerful whole. Fantine reached the street that the Raven stood on just as the burning was becoming intolerable. Sobbing with relief, she dashed for the door that led directly to the protected cellar. And cringed back, shocked with pain and agony, from the large crucifix the woman held before her. "Please," Fantine cried out, "let me pass! I must go inside." The woman smiled -- strangely, as though she were experiencing an agony akin to Fantine's, and yet still found something to be joyful about in it. "You are a vampire. A monster." She shoved the carved wood of the cross in her hand against Fantine's skin as the vampire tried to push it away. Fantine cried out and backed away, away from the cross -- but also away from the door to the Raven. "You can't stand the caress of the sun. This symbol of divine suffering makes you ill to your soul. If you have one." Shaking, Fantine turned her hands over before her face. Lesions had already formed on the skin, blistering that would have meant death to a mortal. She knew that if she were in the dark, were succored on the blood that awaited within, she would be all right. But she began to realize that the few feet that separated her from that haven was a chasm she would never cross alive. Hunger and pain made her feeble, and she knew that she could not fight her way past the mortal. "Please. Oh, please," she begged, sobbing. "I've never harmed you, I've never harmed anyone." Weakening, she sank to her knees before the dark-haired avenger who was intent on taking her life. "Why do you do this to me?" she cried out. From her supplicant position, she stared up at her would-be murderer. The sun burst from behind a building, glorious rays bathing the world with gold. "Because you deserve to die," the woman said, and brought the narrow end of the crucifix down into Fantine's heart. Hesitantly, Mara bent over the remains. For a moment, she almost expected them to revive, as though she were living in a bad horror movie. But the sun was too bright, too brilliant for this to be a shadowy film where inhuman hunters stalked the night. This was real, true, out in the sun and out of the shadows. With a decisive jerk, she pulled the crucifix up and turned to go. Mara waited while the sun did its work. In a startlingly -- frighteningly -- short period of time, the body was gone. In the merciless light of the sun, the vampire's remains were nothing more than a pile of clothing. She could have waited while the sun burned this monster to death, but she wanted the creature to die by her own hand -- literally. In the shadows of the door Fantine had died trying to attain, a pair of eyes gleamed malevolently at her. Mara backed up several steps before she stopped, reminding herself that she was completely safe. She stood in the sunlight, she held a cross in her hands, and she had just killed one of them. Refusing to flee, she stood her ground, staring him down. As a child, she had been helpless against the monsters who had killed her parents. Now the wheel of time and fortune had turned, and she was the one killing them. Revenge was sweet. The other vampire merely stood still in the safe darkness of the doorway, watching her, preternaturally still and silent. She could not read his face from where she was, but slowly, his very stillness began to frighten her. Without a word she turned on her heel and fled the scene. **** "Right. Sure. Uh-huh. My luck." Adam slammed the door to his car and muttered to himself. After the boyfriend of the Thompson murder last night was hauled in, he and Nick had spent the rest of the evening doing paperwork. He and Adam split the list of Harrison's suppliers between them and worked through them, calling to find out if any of them had built a double-shot crossbow and/or hawthorn bolts for it. So far, they had basically run up against a lot of survivalist types who didn't particularly care for police calling them, but there was enough information for both of them to track down a few leads. That's when Nick said that he hadn't gotten around to speaking with LaCroix yet. Adam shook his head. He was getting the impression that Nick and LaCroix knew each other from before the murder several months before in the Raven. He wondered what relationship they *did* have, then decided that he really didn't want to go there. So, here he was, the sun well set and himself pulling up in front of the small hole-and-corner radio station that LaCroix broadcasted from. Slamming the car door shut, he got out and shivered in the frigid air, stamping his feet to keep them from freezing on him. Inside the building was no warmer than the outside. Adam shuddered in the dark corridor and watched his breath stream out in a misty cloud. How could anyone stand this? "Hello?" he called tentatively, sure at this point that there was no one in the building. The building manager's car hadn't been outside, at least. "Mr. LaCroix? Hello?" "Good evening. Forgive me for being rude, but what are you doing here? I don't recall inviting any guests for tonight's broadcast." Adam pulled his badge out of his pocket and flashed it at the tall man who had apparently materialized out of the shadows. "I'm Detective Sakai, Mr. LaCroix, and I have some questions for you." "Indeed." LaCroix led the way into the broadcasting booth and sat down. "I take it I am not under suspicion... this time?" "There's been a murder at the Raven," Adam began. "Ah, another one," LaCroix murmured. "Two actually." Adam frowned and plowed on. "You used to live at the Raven, didn't you?" "Yes. After the headless body was left there, however, I changed my habitation." LaCroix's voice was dry, noncommittal, and told Adam precisely nothing. "You didn't know that there had been murders there night before last?" "Of course I did. The papers reveled in playing with the new toy someone threw to them. I think the latest rumor is about Satanic rituals being performed there." "But you didn't know about the murders until you heard it in the paper?" "No, I didn't," LaCroix said with great and awful patience. Adam blinked and continued, "Why didn't you know? You own the Raven." "The Raven has been essentially abandoned since the murder of that Egyptian man. I have not lived there, *no one* has visited there. Why would I have been aware sooner of any nefarious deeds on the property, simply because the deed happens to be in my name? No pun intended," he added smoothly. "None taken. Did you ever think of anyone who would want to frame you for the murder that took place there last spring?" Adam scribbled in his notebook. "No, I didn't." "Doesn't this murder seem similar to you? Down to the female voice alerting the police that a murder had been committed?" "Why do you ask me? I am merely a civilian, a suspect, if you wish to be blunt. I really have little knowledge and less interest in what you are doing." LaCroix turned away, signaling the end of the conversation. Adam realized that somewhere along the way, he had lost control of the situation. "Don't you care that someone has been using your property to commit crimes? Don't you want to see this murderer caught?" LaCroix turned back, and Adam had to consciously resist shrinking back from the look of fury on the other man's face. "Yes, I want to see this killer caught," he said. In his voice was a barely restrained fury. "Whoever she is, she has invaded what is mine and sullied it. She is a threat to me and mine, of course I want her caught." LaCroix regained control of himself visibly. "I have no information that can be of use to you, Detective. All I have is a burning desire to see justice done." Discomforted, Adam rose. "Yes. I mean, thank you for your help, Mr. LaCroix." "Anytime," LaCroix murmured quietly, and watched as Adam left. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual