Prologue

For those of you who came in late (Waitaminit! You yell. How can I have come in late?? This is the Prologue! Patience, Gentle Readers. All will be explained.) please read the following explanations. Those of you who have managed to discern exactly what I'm going to say, may now skip to the story contained in Chapters 1-15. There will not be a pop quiz at the end, but we will expect you to be able to discuss the plot next Monday....

Early in the 1990's, the production team of Bedard & Lalonde worked on a Canadian television series built around a present-day vampire. No, not FOREVER KNIGHT. This is earlier. DRACULA:THE SERIES, ran for 22 half-hour episodes in 1991, telling the story of Count Dracula and his conflict with Gustav von Helsing, grandson of his original nemesis. Count Dracula was played by Geordie Johnson (Jerry Tate in the FK episode "My Boyfriend is a Vampire") as an entrepeneur named Alexander Lucard, eager to control the world's wealth and create new vampire converts. Lucard's occasional sidekick and enemy in the series was Gustav's son Klaus, who was played by... Geraint wyn Davies (who went on to be Forever Knight's Nick only a year later).

Of such coincidences are truly twisted fanfic born.

But enough trivialities. Don't touch that dial--- Go directly to the story. Do not pass the Raven, do not collect any Ribena....

In a lush penthouse suite somewhere in Toronto, a man is singing in the shower.

He is alone, happily getting ready for an evening out. A visitor to Canada, he's enjoying his stay in this very expensive hotel, and looking forward to his plans for... well, that would be telling.

If any members of the Metro Police Department were present (and there's no reason why they should be, it's not as if this man were known to Interpol or anything, although he richly deserves to be on several Wanted posters) they would recognize the singer in question as homicide detective Nick Knight. The handsome blond now soaping up his hair and using the nozzle of the showerhead as a microphone is obviously the same man who makes regular spectacular arrests at the 96th, and is currently partnered with Detective Tracy Vetter (Commissioner's daughter, aspiring police chief, and occasional klutz).

In fact, this is completely and totally not the case, although Nick Knight's acquaintances could be forgiven the obvious mistake. Klaus von Helsing (for such is the name of our Frank Sinatra impersonator) looks remarkably like Detective Knight. He even sounds like him. This is not due to any diabolical plan or cunning stratagem plotted by God, Fate, Count Dracula, or even the late-night DJ known to Toronto as the Nightcrawler. It is simply a cosmic coincidence.

Nick Knight and Klaus also have one other very important thing in common. They are both vampires. (Blood-sucking creatures of the night! Parasitic predators who long to sink their teeth into the nearest willing female neck! Charismatic chameleons who look really nice in tuxedos! You get the idea.) Nick is somewhat less, well, sanguine, about his condition than Klaus is. He'd really rather be mortal, and be able to date his coroner friend Natalie Lambert without worrying about accidentally killing her with an excess of, ummmmm, enthusiasm. Klaus, on the other hand, will throw a temper tantrum if anyone even dares suggest the possibility of becoming mortal (as his human father Gustav does, any time he can manage to corner him).

The fact that each of these two nosferatus is completely oblivious of the other's existence (even with the small size of the vampire world population, and admitting the fact that Nick knows practically everyone, everywhere, and *even* allowing for Nick's master and creator LaCroix being an old acquaintance of Klaus's master Count Vladimir Dracula) is solely and completely due to the fact that Klaus is much, much younger than the former Chevalier d'Brabant. He's only been undead for about sixteen years, and was only alive about twenty-two when he became a vampire. He looks about thirty-five, the age Nicholas was when he was brought across, but that's skillful dressing and acting on his part. Nick is 800 years old, but the world is a big place; and he hasn't been to Europe in the last 30 years.

So it isn't, really, all that big a coincidence that neither of them knows about the other. Yet.

There is one other major difference between the two men besides their age and attitudes that we should mention at this time. Klaus is certifiably, bonafide, utterly, beyond a doubt, loony toons. Mad. Insane. Cuckoo. He is logical and practical one moment, and then he's giving into truly silly impulses the next. The sort of man who will shape an elaborate, stunningly complex plot guaranteed to secure him financial security for a hundred years, only to have it sabotaged by his own need to gloat over his victims, or stick a whoopee cushion on the chair of a departing CEO. Despite this, many women find him charming. Animals and small children take one look at him and run in the other direction.

Nick's a bit neurotic, but most of his neurons usually manage to fire in sync. Women also find him charming. And he doesn't hang out with children or animals much (except for Natalie's cat Sidney, who thinks he's very strange).

The following story is what happens when two sets of doppelgangers (for there is another set in this story, which we'll get to in a moment), two master vampires, one mortal coroner, one vampire hunter/deserted father, and one confused homicide detective all meet up in the same city at the same time while Jerry Tate ("The Jerry Show") is doing an episode called "Separated at Birth!"

Or, "My Evil Twin is a Vampire!"

Stay tuned.

The Nightcrawler is expounding on the concept of identity. It is one of his favorite subjects. The lights of the Raven are pulsing steadily, with a slow, soft melancholy rock ballad threading through the background.

The Raven is not a safe place; it is a bar where anyone walking through the door should be issued a warning booklet of Dos and Don'ts, of what to drink and who not to annoy. Despite this (or because of it?) it attracts a diverse and large clientele of slumming professionals, would-be artistic types, and punk-neo-Goth tough guys. Were we to enter tonight, we (being merely mortal) would be unable to tell the difference between the vampires and the humans; but you can be certain that each of us would be marked as a light midnight snack by those nocturnal predators present.

It is early, yet. But Toronto's favorite late-night radio host already has a visitor.

"It is said that each person is unique. But it is also said that everyone has a double.... Which side of the argument is correct?... Discuss amongst yourselves. Then call us here at the Raven, and perhaps I'll deign to listen to your opinion. Or perhaps not... This is the Nightcrawler, my children, and you are listening to CERK, Toronto." The blond vampire, perhaps the oldest in Toronto (perhaps the oldest in Canada, or North America) switched off the microphone and smiled at the suited, handsome man leaning against the wall of the control booth, arms stiffly crossed over his chest. "It's good of you to stop by, Alexander."

"How kind of you to say so, LaCroix. Although I admit I would have forgone the pleasure, had I known what your topic of discussion would be this evening." Alexander Lucard-- once known as Vladimir, Count Dracula, but in this century and this city, he is Alexander Lucard-- raised one eyebrow coolly, studying the older vampire with a certain amount of irritation. "I do not find the subject matter edifying in the least."

"No? Forgive me, but I find your recent discovery most entertaining." LaCroix gave a low chuckle, sipping at his blood-wine, icy eyes twinkling with amused malice. "You take such pleasure in your prestige as a corporate financier. So much pride in maintaining your relative anonymity. To find that you have a double who is a well-known syndicated talk show host must be ... quite frustrating."

"It's ridiculous," the younger vampire snarled. "Of all the people in the world who could look like me, that it should be that crass, sensationalistic, arrogant buffoon---" Lucard clenched his teeth, and visibly forced himself to control his temper. "I've spent too long building my financial empire to risk it by killing someone who is only an annoyance. However, if I thought I could get away with it...."

He let the sentence trail off, and closed his eyes with weariness. "You have no idea how tiring it is, to sit in those meetings with the Kopviz syndication people and hear the jokes about the resemblance between myself and Jerry Tate. I am a respected businessman. One of the most powerful men in Europe. I have a personal tailor, a net worth in the billions, and the capability to buy and sell a thousand men like him. But because of his notoriety, killing the little insect directly is out of the question. It's maddening, Lucien. Truly maddening."

"I sympathize. Really, I do." Idly, LaCroix studied the crowd outside the control booth. "I myself am dealing with someone I don't dare kill directly. A medical examiner who knows too much. Unfortunately, certain people would connect her... disappearance... with me, and the consequences would be unpleasant." He paused, seeming to consider what he just said, several levels of truth and lies going through his head at once. "Alexander. Do you know, I believe we can help each other...."

Meanwhile, somewhere close by...

In the arena of world communications, Kopviz Interstellar Link is not a big player. KIL has connections through Canada and the Pacific, a few choice syndicated shows, and one gleaming prize of an anchorman. Mid-range value at most. Alexander Lucard wants the chain for two reasons: it is convenient for his business operations through Alaska and Hawaii, and by now he fully intends to fire Jerry Tate at the first available opportunity. An everyday business deal, the kind he does over lunch and martinis and forgets about by midnight. Nothing more than that.

Klaus Von Helsing wants KIL for only one reason: to irritate Alexander Lucard.

Most of the things he does lately are calculated to annoy his creator and former master. After all, Lucard would have left him confined in his family crypt for eons if Klaus hadn't been accidentally released. There are his own ambitions for world domination to be taken into account, too. He can't very well control the world financial market if Alexander Lucard is still standing. So following Alexander to Toronto was a foregone conclusion. Paying an unscrupulous private detective to bug the vampire's briefcase, limousine, and penthouse suite was merely routine. And trailing Lucard when he visited an acquaintance downtown was just good business sense.

What the younger vampire had not expected when he'd bugged Lucard's briefcase, was obtaining murder evidence. Or rather, evidence of a budding conspiracy to committ one or two.

"Decisions, decisions," Klaus murmured to himself, as he eavesdropped on the conversation between LaCroix and Lucard from his limo parked across the street. Should he turn them in now, before anything happened? Or wait until events developed?

Jerry Tate is part of the KIL package, and his loss would sharply reduce the market value of the syndication deal. Lucien LaCroix, though Klaus knows him only by reputation, is supposedly no one to trifle with. And a direct confrontation with Alexander _could_ get messy....

On the other hand, murder carries a heavier sentence than attempted murder, and he found Jerry Tate almost as irritating as Lucard himself. "Hmmm..." An idea was occuring in Klaus's warped brain. It was too vague to grasp, as yet, but soon, soon, he'd have a plan. He always had a plan. It was one of the things he liked best about himself.

Time to wait and see. Watch and wait. Klaus smiled unpleasantly and giggled as he adjusted the sound on the tape recorder. The chauffeur looked back at him uneasily, then paled at his client's glare and hastily averted his eyes. The sound of a grown man giggling can be very frightening when accompanied by the correct kind of glare, and Klaus von Helsing has perfected the technique through *years* of practice.

"Knight, Vetter," Captain Reese smiled hesitantly, and tapped a folder in his hand, "I've got a new case here which ought to go to somebody else, but I'm going to ask you two to take it on as a personal favor to me."

Exchanging bemused glances, the homicide partners shrugged as one and turned back to their superior officer, no premonitions of disaster hitting either of them (proving once again that vampires are not psychic). Reese looked vaguely apologetic as he handed the folder to the younger detective. "Why's that, Captain?" Tracy asked, opening the folder.

"And why do you look so nervous?" Nick added, beginning to eye Reese warily. Just then Tracy made a choking sound, and violently threw the folder at her partner's head. Nick caught it, shooting Tracy an amazed glare, and opened it. "What the... Oh, no. No way," Knight exclaimed as he read the report, Vetter shaking her head vigorously all the while. "Not a chance. Uh-unh. Not us. Nope. Nooo. Get someone else to do it."

"He asked for you specifically," Reese pleaded. "Said he'd feel safer if he knew you two were on the case. Look, there's some bigshot financier in town who's closing a deal with him, and the guy might be making contributions to the city and government while he's here. We've got to show him what Toronto's Finest are capable of, and protect his investment."

"WHO would invest in Jerry Tate?" Tracy spluttered.

"Alexander Lucard," Nick said on a falling note, eyes closing in resignation as he read the preliminary report. "Captain... you're going to owe us big for this."

"We're not doing it!"

"Get your coat, Tracy."

"I don't want to be anywhere near that slimy, handsy, grabby---"

"We'll discuss it in the car," Nick said, picking up his keys.

Tracy rolled her eyes in frustration and put on her coat as she followed her partner out the door. "Okay. We're doing this. But you have to be the one to interview Jerry. I mean it, Nick...."

The television station was in chaos. Crew people running everywhere, men in suits tearing their few remaining scalp hairs out by the roots, three sets of twins having hysterics on stage. Jerry Tate, talk-show host, celebrity, and rotten example of manhood, was holding a bag of ice on a long burn along his right arm as a not-unattractive EMT smeared cream on the injury. "Who's in charge now that Charly's in the mental hospital?" Tracy wondered, stepping back against the wall to give several equipment-bearing young men the room to carry a lighting fixture into the studio.

"Good question. Didn't the report mention someone named Chambers was the new producer?" Nick snagged a passing technician, who pointed them in the direction of the stage, where a middle-aged man in a Jays baseball cap was rubbing tiredly at his eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Mr. Chambers? I'm Detective Knight, this is Detective Vetter, Metro Homicide. Someone called us about an attempted murder?" The producer smiled in apparent relief, but didn't get a chance to respond.

"THERE you are. What in God's name took you so long?" Jerry Tate tried to stand up, but was firmly pushed back in his seat by the EMT. "Tracy, darling, I'm so glad you're here."

Nick swallowed the chuckle that threatened to erupt at Tracy's sickly, patently false smile. It might be amusing to watch the once-star-struck Tracy try to avoid eye contact with Jerry Tate, but his partner would sock him in the stomach if he showed any sign of how funny he found it. "Mr. Chambers, can you tell us what happened?" "Someone tried to drop that light---" The producer pointed to a broken lamp in the middle of the set surrounded by scorch marks, "on Jerry in the middle of the rehearsal. Three people saw someone up on the catwalk running away, but we couldn't catch the guy. Luckily, his aim wasn't very good, it just grazed Jer's arm."

"Okay. We'd like to interview the witnesses," Nick said, scanning the milling crowd. He frowned. "How many sets of twins do you have here?"

"Fifteen. It's for the next show, 'Separated at Birth!'. And they're not all twins; some of them just bear an amazing resemblance to each other. Like Jerry and Alexander."

"Alexander?" Tracy asked in confusion.

"Lucard," said a voice behind the detectives. Turning, Nick got the familiar feeling that went with confronting another of his kind. No heartbeat, menacing sense of presence, chill in the air---must be a vampire.

Only this vampire is an almost exact double of Jerry Tate. The blue eyes, blond hair, high cheekbones and arrogance are identical. He is a shade paler, and much better dressed. His voice bears a trace of Slavic accent; no other differences are immediately apparent. He is unfamiliar to Nick, but if he had to guess, Knight would put his age at about half his own.

Tracy gasped, then twisted around to look at Jerry Tate, still sitting on the edge of the set. Meanwhile, Alexander Lucard was staring at Nick with what appeared to be an expression of incredulity, quickly disguised behind an urbane facade. [For now, Gentle Readers, we will leave the thoughts behind that facade alone; we will probably become more familiar with them than we would wish fairly soon.]

"Ohmigosh," the younger detective said, looking back and forth between the two identical men. "That's... really creepy."

"Do you think so? Personally, I find it marginally amusing," Lucard said in a low confiding voice, smiling at Vetter. His eyes flicked to Nick's, then away.

"Mr. Lucard here was our inspiration for the show," Jerry said jovially. "You have no idea what a kick it is to find out you have a twin who's one of the richest men on the planet."

The billionaire's covert expression of distaste earned a snicker from Tracy, which she quickly covered by coughing loudly. "Did you witness the attack, Mr. Lucard?"

"No, I didn't, Detective---?"

"Vetter," Nick cut in, narrowing his eyes threateningly at Lucard. "And I'm Nick Knight. Where were you when the attack occurred, if I may ask?"

"You may." Lucard showed his teeth to the other vampire in what was _not_ a smile, then turned the genuine article in Tracy's direction. "Somewhere between the editing room and the newsroom, I believe. One of the AD's has been kind enough to give me a tour of the facilities."

"Really." Nick's voice was disbelieving.

"Really." The two men glared at each other. Tracy picked up on the hostility and attempted to defuse it.

"Uhh, Nick, shouldn't we be interviewing the witnesses?"

"Right. Right." Nick smiled blindingly at Lucard, who returned the favor with equal insincerity. "You'll be around if we have to ask you any more questions?"

"Of course. I'm in Toronto for the rest of the week. KIL Communications is currently up for bid, and I like to see what I'm buying before I sign on the dotted line. I'll certainly make myself available to you, Detective Vetter." Lucard smiled charmingly at Tracy, who blushed and nodded like a doll with a spring in her neck.

"Uhhh, thanks," she managed, before Nick dragged her away to interview crew members and separated twins.

Interviewing witnesses is always time-consuming and frustrating, as any officer of the law can tell you. The stories you hear often bear little relation to reality, but you don't dare blow off any detail given. How much more frustrating is it then, to try to interview crime scene witnesses who are hysterical and constantly changing their story; or who want to check what they saw against what their twin thinks they saw; or who ask you if you've ever been on "COPS"?

"Are *all* Jerry's guests total flakes?"

Tracy Vetter grimaced at her partner's frustrated expression, and flipped her notebook shut. "Kinda looks that way, doesn't it?" She sighed, glancing back over to where Alexander Lucard sat in the studio audience. It still seemed almost unbelievable that someone as tacky as Jerry could have an exact double who was so... classy.

Nick was still talking. "A dark figure, possibly a man, with a," he checked his notes, "quote, 'definite air of menace', unquote, crossed the catwalk, picked up that lamp, threw it down toward the stage, then exited in the other direction and disappeared. Great. Some witnesses!"

"Uh-hmmmm." Jerry Tate had proven to be a womanizer and a shallow boor, and after Tracy and Nick had arrested Charly, his former producer, for committing a string of jealousy-motivated murders, the talk-show host had actually had the nerve to proposition her. The urge to say "as if!" had been very, very strong, but Tracy had settled for telling him she had a boyfriend (okay, Vachon wasn't a boyfriend, he was a friend. A vampire friend. So what? It still put him several yards in front of Jerry Tate in the Singles Stakes).

Funny how Mr. Lucard was so like him, and yet so very different.

"Tracy, will you quit drooling over the billionaire."

"What?"

Nick's annoyed expression was verging on the genuinely perturbed. "You've been looking over at him once every thirty seconds for the last hour. Didn't you learn your lesson with Jerry?"

"He's nothing like Jerry. And what is it with you and Mr. Lucard? You acted like you knew each other." The best defense is a good offense, Tracy could hear her father saying in the back of her mind.

"I've never met him before." Nick was clenching his jaw, always a bad sign. Tracy was sure that her partner was the kind of guy who ground his teeth in his sleep. He probably had ridges on his bicuspids from all that stress.

"But you don't like him."

"I'm not the issue here! You are! Don't you have any sense of self-preservation?" Knight was glaring *and* clenching his jaw now, and adding the kind of look he usually gave witnesses under interrogation who were claiming to be home watching TV on the night of the 18th, instead of carving up their boyfriends with butcher knives.

"You are NOT my father, my older brother, my boyfriend, or my boss! And where does my sense of self-preservation enter into this discussion?"

Timing is everything. Whatever answer Nick could have made to his partner's extremely reasonable question was permanently shelved by the reverberating conversation broadcast over the station's PA system two seconds later.

"Mwah mwah, Mwah mwah MWAHMWAHmwah," rumbled over the intercom.

"What the...?" Nick and Tracy looked up and around, like the rest of the people present in the auditorium, even though all of them knew that no one was above them, it was just the PA system. Sort of like penguins after the Air Force jet has already buzzed them.

"You have no idea how frustrating it is." Alexander Lucard's ringing tones, rich with irony and depression, came through loud and clear. "Of all the people in the world who could look like me, that it should be that crass, sensationalistic, arrogant buffoon---" Nick slowly turned, his gaze going to the financier sitting like a statue in the audience, his steepled fingers rigid with shock. After the garbled mush of the preceding voice, Lucard's statement was hideously audible. More jibberish answered his taped sentiments. "mwah, mwah mwah... MWAH" and after a pause, "I've spent too long building my financial empire to risk it by killing someone who is only an annoyance. However, if I thought I could get away with it..." More gargling, and then Lucard's voice saying, "...the capability to buy and sell a thousand men like him. But because of his notoriety, killing the little insect directly is out of the question....". Lucard's eyes slowly closed, then opened again, seeming darker than before.

On stage, Jerry Tate's face was aghast. "You think I'm an insect?"

Alexander Lucard stood, adjusting the lapels of his Armani, smiling coolly at the approaching homicide detectives. He waited until they were only a few feet away, then declaimed, "Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?" At Tracy's gaze of incomprehension, he commented, "Henry II. 'A Lion in Winter.' Act IV."

"'Beckett.' Act V." Nick corrected him, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed as he studied Lucard.

An expression of nausea replaced the confidence that had been on the other man's face a second before. "What?"

"It's from 'Beckett'. Not 'A Lion in Winter'. Same playwright, though." Nick was smiling. It was not a nice smile. Not at all.

"Are you sure?" Lucard abruptly sat down, staring at Nick the whole time. "Pardon me... I just had the most awful feeling of deja vu..." Not only does he *look* terrifyingly like Klaus, now he's pulling the same game of quotation one-upmanship! Lucard thought, swallowing hard. Noooo. It can't be a coincindence; appearance is one thing, but this reaction is another! They're in it together, both of them are trying to frame me! He didn't usually think in exclamation points, but recent events had left the financier off-balance and more than a little paranoid.

Detective Knight was still speaking. "And you may be right, that wanting Jerry Tate dead doesn't mean you did it, but I'd say it looks downright suspi---"

>>BANG!<<

Tracy hit the floor, as did Nick, Lucard, and everyone else who could, to the accompaniment of screams, shouts, glass breaking, and someone yelling "911!"

>>BANG!<<

"Metro Homicide! Drop your weapon!" Nick was up and running toward the back of the auditorium, without asking her to cover him, Tracy thought in exasperation, gun out, voice deep and macho, like it was every time he pulled this stunt. The shots were coming from the back of the balcony above the auditorium, where it was too dark to see the shooter.

>>BANG!<< zzzing! >>BANG!<<

"OW!" Jerry Tate clutched at his arm - the unburned, unbruised one - in disbelief, and stared down at shirt and the little hole that was oozing blood. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he toppled to the floor as the various sets of twins had hysterics for the second time in three hours.

Tracy was following her partner---maybe not the smartest thing in the world to do, but she didn't have any better ideas---when she met him coming back in. "Damnit, damnit, damnit, BLOODY HELL, damnit," he was swearing, and then he added something in French that Tracy didn't think was anatomically possible.

"I didn't know you knew French," she commented dryly, holstering her weapon as they went back down to the milling frenzy.

Nick blinked and looked abashed, reminding Tracy briefly of Vachon.

"Well now you see, detective, that I couldn't possibly have done this," Lucard said as they approached him.

"Anyone with as much money as you have could have hired someone." Knight said stubbornly. "At the very least, someone wants to frame you. Someone who overheard your conversation with---?"

"An old, old, friend," Lucard responded, his eyes gleaming wickedly at Nick. By now Tracy was sure of it, they DID know each other. There were too many cross-currents going on for them not to. Lucard's attitude wasn't doing much to calm her less-than-cool partner, either.

Nick was almost snarling in frustration. "Fine. An old friend. You can tell us all about it down at the precinct."

Up above the stage, Klaus stifled a giggle by pushing a fist into his mouth as far as it would go.

Wasn't *this* an interesting development?

Now, how could he turn it to his advantage...

Some days are better than others, and some days don't make it onto the map. Natalie Lambert's day started with a cancelled dinner date --- one of her old friends couldn't get a babysitter --- then got steadily worse. It was a dark, depressing evening anyway; it was raining when she got up, and the weather hadn't eased any by midnight, when she had to run some reports over to the 96th on the other side of town. Contrary to popular belief, the Coroner's office was _not_ the center of exciting activity. On the way into the station, her umbrella got blown inside out, her new coat got soaked, and she walked into the main lobby looking like a drowned cat.

And now she had this vampire staring at her.

[A few notes, re: Natalie Lambert.

Despite being bright, kind, funny, pretty, and possessed of an original fashion sense, Dr. Lambert's social life for the last few years has revolved almost exclusively around dead (and formerly dead) people. Part of this is job-related, of course; part of it is Nick's fault, but not in the way that you probably think. Many of Metro's police force would love to ask out the attractive ME for coffee, doughnuts, and maybe the Policeman's Ball. However, it is generally rumored around the locker room that Nick Knight and Natalie Lambert are an item, albeit an unstable, unsteady item, and Detective Knight has a certain reputation --- a pretty accurate one, actually --- as a man with a quick temper.

So Natalie's nights are more often spent in the company of her cat and a good book than they are tripping the light fantastic, since Nick has this weird hang-up about dating mortals. Aside from the occasional foray to the Raven for one reason or the other, Metro's favorite coroner can't remember the last time she had a date.

The other outcome of this situation is that Dr. Lambert has become very, very good at spotting vampires at fifty paces.

End of our notes.]

The bizarre thing about the vampire standing in the middle of the 96th entrance area --- aside from his staring at her--- was that he looked exactly like Jerry Tate. Well, he was better-dressed. Maybe a little taller. Definitely cuter, but then, Natalie hadn't met a vampire yet who didn't project more charisma than Pierce Brosnan. Being eyed hungrily by vampires had ceased to be immediately unnerving for her years ago, and combined with the really rotten night she was having, it was just enough to push Natalie's already uncertain temper over the edge.

"Do you have some problem?" she asked, flipping wet hair out of her face and spraying water around her as she dumped an armful of file folders onto the reception counter. "Or haven't you ever seen a monsoon victim before?"

To her satisfaction, he blinked at her, slightly disconcerted, before suavely responding, "No, I was just wondering where we'd met. Paris, perhaps? Or was it Hong Kong?" The lamest and oldest of pick-up lines almost sounded sincere when accompanied by a disingenuous smile. Almost.

Natalie traded can-you-believe-this-guy? looks with Norma the desk clerk before turning back to squelch the would-be ladykiller (in more senses than one, Nat couldn't help mentally adding). Norma looked slightly envious, but the medical examiner knew better than to expect that he had anything more on his mind than lunch. "I've never been to either place, and if I had, I doubt I would have talked to anyone who was staring at me as rudely as you were."

"What a shame. Surely someone as lovely as yourself has better things to do than deliver paperwork in a downpour." He leaned in toward her, eyes narrowing in what most would interpret as romantic interest, and what Natalie was pretty sure was the look of a man sizing up the meat on the main dish. "Paris can be beautiful this time of year, but I think... Rio. Yes, definitely. Wouldn't you rather be on the beach, beneath the stars, sipping an exotic drink while listening to calypso... the sand between your toes, the warm night air---"

"That sounds lovely. And what city will you be visiting?" Natalie interrupted, annoyed both with the blatant come-on and her own reaction to it. God, I need a vacation. And it's been way too long since I've had to shoot someone down---this creep is almost starting to sound good.

"Mr. Lucard," Nick's voice cutting into the conversation was a definite relief. For about ten seconds. He'd grasped Lucard's arm and pulled the other vampire around to face him, his eyes taking on the glare they usually had right before they turned yellow and his fangs came out. "The lady doesn't want to be bothered."

Lucard's "oh?" was overlaid with Natalie's "I can speak for myself, Nick," and Tracy Vetter's whispered "Nick! Will you quit manhandling him?" as Knight's partner joined the small group at the reception area. The female detective plastered on a professional smile and added, "Interrogation Room number three is empty, so we can discuss the... recent developments in there. If you'll step this way?" Knight lingered at the reception counter for a few seconds as Tracy ushered Lucard down the hallway.

"Why was he talking to you?" Nick demanded, dissolving whatever gratitude Natalie felt at being rescued from the situation.

"Oh, I don't know, Nick, maybe he was just looking for someone to cut up some corpses for him!" the coroner hissed, slamming some files around before she got control of herself. "Why is he here, anyway? Usually your 'friends' make it a point to avoid the police station."

"He is NOT my friend," Knight responded hotly. At Natalie's raised eyebrows, he shrugged uncomfortably. "More of an acquaintance of an acquaintance of an acquaintance," he mumbled. Taking a deep breath, he added, "He's being held for questioning in the attempted shooting of Jerry Tate."

The M.E. stopped cold, working out the implications of that, then couldn't help but giggle. "You're kidding me, right? I mean, c'mon, Nick--" One thing Natalie had learned about vampire murders and murderers was that most of them preferred the 'hands-on' approach. The idea that any of Nick's brethren would use a gun and be clumsy enough to get caught was one that her brain simply refused to take seriously.

"Knight? Would you mind joining us?" Tracy's strident question cut across the usual station noise, and by the tone, Commissioner's Daughter Vetter was about to pitch a fit if her partner didn't get his butt into the interrogation room. Pronto.

"Oooo, she's using your last name. You're in for it now," Natalie laughed, her bad mood washed away by the innate ridiculousness of the latest case and Nick's earlier possessiveness. Who the hell was he, to ask why strange vampires were talking to her? She had the silliest impulse to tell him that she and Lucard were secretly planning on running away to Switzerland, to start a clinic for reformed vampires together, and use the proceeds to open similar outlets all over the world. But as Nick stomped off to join his partner, her levity drained away, leaving a sense of frustration. Damnit. Rio really did sound good. Why hadn't he ever asked her if she'd like to take a trip somewhere fun? Why hadn't...

With the ease of long practice, Dr. Lambert slammed the lid on such speculations and went in search of Captain Reese, despite the angry rumblings from her subdued subconscious.

But the seeds of some new ideas were already germinating in the dark...

"Freeze!"

Shades in place, leather jacket zipped up, hair styled with cool gel--- Klaus could get into this cop mode. The gun pointed at the mirror was a .357 Magnum; after he took out Knight, he'd have a real policeman's gun, but everything else was perfect. Lip curling just a little bit, he snarled, "Metro Homicide! Put down the weapon!" Pausing, he frowned consideringly, then punched the "play" button on the nearby tape-recorder.

"Freeze! Metro Homicide! Put down your weapon!" barked Detective Knight on the tape. Klaus snapped his fingers, mumbling "your weapon, *your* weapon" then went through the motions again. Nodding in satisfaction, he threw the sunglasses down on the hotel room bureau as he reached for the ringing cellular phone.

"Von Helsing. What do you have to report?"

"Mr. Lucard just left the 96th. They're on their way back to the hotel."

"Good. Stay with them. Keep me informed of Lucard's movements." Disconnecting, Klaus smiled at his reflection, pointing the gun at the mirror one last time. "Nicholas Knight, you are about to be eliminated." Blowing imaginary smoke off the weapon's barrel, he chuckled, then punched in a new number on the cellular. "Detective Knight, please," he requested, making his voice old and shaky, with the trace of an Austrian accent.

"Knight here," said his double upon answering the phone. Klaus punched another button on the tape recorder, and started fabricating.

"I believe you are the person to talk to about the shooting at the television station this afternoon, involving Jerry Tate --- and Alexander Lucard?"

"Yes, that's right." How eager he sounded! A man after Klaus's own heart. "Do you have some information for us?"

"You understand, I'm uneasy about coming forward." Klaus made faces at himself in the mirror, first threatening, then reassuring, seguing from anger to contempt to disbelief---every expression he'd had a chance to observe on the homicide detective. Pity the range was so limited. "I want to meet you at a safe place..."

"Where?"

"King's Cross Cemetery. Near the old Vandeville crypt? As soon as possible? I realize how melodramatic this must sound, but I'll feel safer once I know the police have the evidence I've gathered."

"Of course. Mr...?"

"Von Helsing. Gustav von Helsing."

A pause, and then, in a slightly higher voice, "Von Helsing?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

"No, no. No problem. It just reminded me of ... someone I'd heard of. I'll meet you at King's Cross in an hour. Thank you for coming forward, Mr. von Helsing."

"Thank you, Detective Knight. I feel much more reassured, now that I've spoken with you. Good-bye." Klaus hung up the phone, howling with laughter as lay down on the bed and kicked his heels. Sighing and hiccuping a little as he calmed down, he muttered, "I kill myself." He punched in another number off-handedly, then added aloud, "Almost literally, sometimes."

"Gustav von Helsing here," answered a suspicious voice on the other end.

"Mr. von Helsing. This is Detective Nick Knight. I'm afraid what I have to tell you will be shocking. Incredible, even. But I'm hoping you'll take me seriously." All traces of amusement were gone now, and he'd assumed the calm, authoritative voice of Nick Knight without a hitch. This was going to be a piece of cake. Nobody would suspect.

"What is this about, Detective? Which part of the police force are you with?"

Klaus grimaced, cursing silently. Should've remembered to say that part first. Oh, well. "Toronto Metro Homicide. We have reason to believe your son is involved in a string of murders on the south side of town. They're very --- disturbing."

"Oh, no. Oh, Klaus, what have you done now?" the old man breathed. Klaus stuck out his tongue at the receiver. Moralistic old fool. Always trying to ruin his fun, make him mortal again. Well, that would work to his advantage this time.

"Sir, I'm calling you because I believe you can deal with your son as no one else can." The vampire paused for dramatic emphasis, then said, "Your son is --- not normal. If you could convince him to turn himself in, I believe we could reduce the sentence. If not... I should tell you that we're going to arrest him within an hour at King's Cross Cemetery. We think he's hiding there, in the Vandeville crypt."

"Thank you, Detective Knight. I promise my son shall be... dealt with..." The man on the other end of the phone paused, "by me. Incidentally, how did you get this number?"

Klaus's eyes widened, then he raised his eyebrows as he lied. "Police privilege. Reverse directory. Interpol tip-off. It's hush-hush, you know." Actually, it was one of the million things he kept track of as a matter of course, so as to better avoid his obsessed parent. The last thing he needed was to be re-mortalized without any notice.

"Oh, of course," responded the elder von Helsing abstractedly. "Thank you again, Detective Knight." He hung up, while his estranged son smiled beatifically and laid back on the bed, content.

Klaus giggled suddenly, unable to stop himself. Perfect. He paused, considering his course of action. Yes, he'd definitely have to watch the proceedings. From a discreet distance, of course. No sense letting Knight know he was around.

Just in case events needed a little... push.

Nick squinted around the entrance of the old Vandeville crypt, replaying the telephone conversation in his mind. Had von Helsing said *near* the crypt, or *in* the crypt? There didn't appear to be anyone around, and he could almost make out something inside the mausoleum. It was bad enough that he was meeting a known vampire hunter about Lucard's involvement in the Tate case; now said hunter had failed to show up, and Nick was getting uneasy. Cemeteries were never his favorite places anyway.

He checked his watch again, frowning. Well, one quick check inside, and then he was gone, informant or no informant.

Like many a young, bikini-clad bimbo in a horror film, Nick obviously wasn't listening to the background music. If he had been, he would have heard it build, and build, and practically scream "No, Nick, no! Don't go in the crypt!"

What he *did* hear was the >clank< of the gate behind him as Gustav von Helsing shut the door, having emerged from his hiding place above the crypt. "I'm doing this for your own good, Klaus," the old man said sorrowfully. Nick whirled to see a sad-eyed old man locking the iron bars, and placing a large crucifix on the door. "The police will believe you couldn't lock yourself in here, so they'll stop looking for their murder suspect... and this way, you'll be safe until I can find a cure."

"What??" Nick whooooooshed over to the door and tried to open it, getting an electrical shock when he tried. "OW! What did you do to this? Let me out of here, von Helsing!"

"No. Not until I find a cure. The door is charged from the force of the cross. Only one who is truly pure of heart can remove it."

Nick smiled, trying to calm down and make the man see reason. "Look, actually, I want to be cured. That's fine. Just let me out of here. And why do you keep calling me Klaus?" "What should I call you? Dracula? Alexander Lucard?" Von Helsing shook his head ruefully. "Do you really think I'd believe your repentant act, my son? You've tried that ruse before." He patted the bars. "No, once I put this stone door back in place, you'll be safe in here until I find the cure. I promise, Klaus."

"No, WAIT----" Thud. Nick stared at the stone wall on the other side of the bars. "My name isn't Klaus!!" He tried to grab the gate again, got another shock for his pains, and backed away from the door, shaking his hands to get rid of the pins-and-needles feeling, his lips a thin line of anger.

Who the hell was this Klaus guy, anyway?

"Nice going, Dad," Klaus commented. "Very nice." He watched his father hail a taxi and drive away. If the elder von Helsing had any brains---and he did, despite his obsessive-compulsive behavior---he'd be on a plane to Vienna within the hour. And no one in the city would be left to know that there were two Nick Knights running around. Or, well, not anymore. He giggled, approaching the aqua Cadillac that Knight had driven to the cemetery. Too bad he hadn't gotten Knight's gun, but he'd make do with his Magnum.

Hmmm. Now, if he were Knight, where would he keep his extra set of keys?

Late in the shift, Tracy looked up from her computer to catch her partner almost bouncing into the squadroom, and smiling like he'd won the lottery as he dropped into the chair across from her. "What put you in such a good mood? Did the tip pay off?"

"Yes... and no." Klaus's grin widened. "Let's just say that I expect good things to come from it." His expression altered as he suddenly became all concentration. "Lucard's probably still looking for a way to eliminate Jerry. We should probably put him under police protection for a while."

Vetter sighed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms as she studied her partner. "The TV station already sprang for bodyguards, so he should be safe for now. What *I* don't understand is why you're so certain that Alexander Lucard had something to do with it."

Tracy thought Nick looked taken aback, but he glibly responded, "I should think that would be obvious. The tape at the station---"

"We went over this with Mr. Lucard!" Tracy's lips thinned in annoyance as she went on. "Someone is trying to frame him, Nick. Everything points to it; the broadcasting of the tape, the timing of the shots---"

"He's just trying to throw us off the scent, that's all," the other detective said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "What we have to do is find the shooter, and the rest of that tape." Klaus grinned as he ostensibly studied the file in front of him, silently chortling over his success in replacing Knight. His juvenile partner didn't suspect anything was wrong, and now Klaus was in the perfect position to complete his preparations for humiliating Alexander.

"I still think there's something you're not telling me." Tracy glared at her partner, who was humming under his breath as he thumbed through the file. "Where do you know Mr. Lucard from?"

"Um?" Klaus stopped humming, and glared back at her. "I never said I knew him. I don't know him." He irritably slapped the folder shut. "Don't ask me that. Why are you asking me that?"

"Because you're acting weird, Nick. Weirder than usual. You haven't even acknowledged the possibility that anyone else could want to kill Jerry Tate!" Tracy's voice rose as her partner's eyes narrowed and became cold. "I'm serious. We have to at least _consider_ that someone else might have done this."

"Why?" Knight was staring at her in fascination.

Tracy blinked, caught off-guard by the stupidity of the question. "Why? Because that's our job, Nick. What do you mean, why? I can't believe---"

Nick's phone rang and Klaus answered it while tapping a pencil on the desk and glaring at Tracy, who was still glowering at him. "Knight here."

"Nick? It's Natalie. I have the results from the O'Brian autopsy here, and there's a few other things I have to go over with you. Can you come down here before the end of your shift?"

Klaus stopped tapping the pencil for a moment, his mind shifting into overdrive as he tried to grasp the implications of the call. "It can't wait? We're sort of in the middle of something here---" Who was Natalie? Well, an M.E., obviously. But his quick survey of Knight's life hadn't included any personal details; and he was on a first-name basis with this woman. Were they friends, as well as co-workers? This could get sticky... The pencil started tapping again, only faster.

"No, it *can't* wait." Whoever this Natalie was, she didn't sound like the type to take no for an answer. Well, he'd just have to wing it.

"Allright, I'll be there before my shift ends."

"Thanks. Oh, and Nick---"

"Yup?"

"I have a new protein shake for you to try. I think I got the flavoring right this time, too."

"Protein shake?" Klaus frowned at the phone, carefully controlling his confusion so his partner wouldn't pick up on it. Natalie seemed to take it as a protest.

"Don't be like that until you've tried it. It tastes like blood to *me*, so hopefully you'll be able to stomach it." Klaus dropped his pencil in shock as Natalie-the-M.E. kept talking. "If I'm right and your need for blood is partly psychological, maybe this will help."

"Really?" Von Helsing responded weakly. "That's... great. Uh, gotta go, Natalie. I'll see you soon." He hung up the phone very gingerly, as if it were a bomb about to explode, then just stared at it for a few moments. "Tracy?"

"What?" Vetter was still annoyed with him, but right now that was the least of his problems.

"What do you think of Natalie?"

Tracy gave him another sanity-questioning look. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly reasonable one," Klaus replied defensively. He *had* to know a bit more about this woman before he walked into her morgue. What was Knight into? Protein shakes? Blood taste? Had he confided that he was a vampire to this woman? Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought it would be.

Tracy sighed and turned back to her computer, entering data without looking at her partner. "I like her. She's smart. Nice. A terrific M.E. Why she puts up with you though, I don't know."

"Puts up with me?" Klaus repeated in an offended tone.

"You have to admit, partner, you're kind of... eccentric." Tracy smiled, her mood lightening as she needled Klaus. "And moody. Not to mention intense. Did I mention you always think you're the only one allowed to be right?"

"Forget I asked," Klaus responded dryly. Great. Knight was a jerk. Whoever Natalie was, she couldn't be very interesting if she was hanging out with *him*. And if she knew too much about vampires--

He bounced up from the chair, humming under his breath as he headed for the door. It had been too long since he'd had a good excuse to indulge himself, and this just might be it. "I'll be at the morgue for the rest of the shift. See you tomorrow, Tracy. Oh, and Tracy?" Vetter glanced up from her computer inquiringly, and Klaus smiled wickedly at her. "I'm still right about Lucard. I'll prove it to you, just wait."

Tracy watched her partner bound out of the station and wondered if switching to decaff this week had been a wise decision. It was beginning to look like she'd need the extra jolt just to cope with Nick's new hyper side. "Great. Why did he have to become manic during this case?"

Love at first sight doesn't really happen, of course. The gut-level, heart-pounding attraction individuals sometimes feel upon first meeting someone they think they love is a complex reaction of pheromones, early conditioning, pre-programmed genetic imperatives, and bad media cliches. Even when the victim of the infatuation is a vampire. So, Dear Reader, when I tell you that Klaus von Helsing fell in love with Natalie Lambert at first sight, you will understand that it was *not* love. No. We know better than that, even if Klaus doesn't.

But is it just a vampire's attraction to a potential victim? Perhaps not. Natalie is mortal, and Klaus is a vampire, so that is undoubtedly part of the equation. But there are other forces at work here: madness, self-destruction, loneliness, ego, challenge, competition, and a mutual affinity for cartoons. None of these impulses should be underestimated.

Klaus had been teetering between a combination of curiousity and annoyance as he headed over to the Toronto Morgue. Driving Knight's car was a lot of fun, and he'd enjoyed drag-racing away from a couple lights, but he couldn't entirely forget the strange phone conversation he'd had with Dr. Lambert before he left. Would he give himself away? Would she so annoy him with her talk of pursuing mortality that he'd have to kill her? And if so, would that complicate his plans for framing Lucard? Questions, questions. Klaus hated uncertainty, and even more, he hated not having enough information. Overall, he was leaning toward breaking the medical examiner's neck as soon as they met.

"Pull up a slab," Natalie said as he walked in, not looking up from her dissection of a bludgeoning victim. "I have to finish taking care of Wile E. Coyote here."

Klaus blinked in surprise, staring at the petite brunette casually sewing up the top of a man's brain. Whatever preconceptions he'd had about someone who hung out with Nicholas Knight and played with blood-flavored shakes went out the window. "Wile E. Coyote?" He glanced at the man on the table, then grinned. "He does kind of look like someone dropped an Acme anvil on him."

"Just about. Only in his case, it was a gargoyle."

"You're kidding. Really?" Klaus was enchanted. Natalie Lambert looked like a cartoon herself, one of those anime girls with the huge eyes and little mouths, and her honey-brown hair was going every which way, and she smelled nice, kind of like orchids and cherries dipped in formaldehyde. Much better than he'd been anticipating. "How's the gargoyle?"

"Decapitated. Very sad," Natalie grinned, and closed the top of Wile E.'s head. "The notes from the O'Brian case are over on the counter. And the shake is in the fridge." At Klaus's involuntary expression of revulsion, she scolded "Don't be like that. Try it first before you make any judgements. How else are you going to become human again?"

"Yes, Mommy," Klaus teased, bouncing over to the refrigerator. Natalie stuck her tongue out at him, and the vampire got a little thrill up his spine. What was someone so yummy doing hanging out with a loser like Knight?

"How's the Jerry Tate case going?" Dr. Lambert was shedding her labcoat and heading over to her desk, watching him to make sure he drank the shake. Klaus sniffed the container warily. It _did_ smell like blood. He looked over to where Dr. Lambert--Natalie--was sitting, thought the things I do to impress women! and took a sip. He gagged at the taste but manfully chugged it, remembering the tequila shots he'd done when he was a mortal. "And how's the shake?"

"Too salty," he rasped, making little hacking sounds.

Natalie was smiling, though. "But you managed to finish it! I don't think you've ever done that in one sitting before!"

Mentally sneering at that wimp Knight (whose previous experience with the M.E.'s concoctions made him warier than Klaus), von Helsing shrugged modestly and said, "Well, it's not bad. I think you're getting closer."

"I hope so," Natalie said with an undertone of wistfulness.

She looked tired, Klaus thought, and wondered again about Nick's relationship to Dr. Lambert. Why was she helping Knight become mortal? And how much could he get away with here? Maybe he could get more information out of her about Knight. Setting the glass down on the counter, he crossed the room to the seated coroner and tentatively trailed his hand over her shoulders. "You seem tense." Very carefully he started to knead her neck, putting juuuust enough pressure on the muscles to loosen them, but not enough to hurt. Instead of pulling away, Natalie's head dropped forward and she let out a little whimper of relief.

"Oh, God that feels good," she muttered softly. "You were... mmm... going to tell me about the... ow! right--- there, yeah... Tate case."

"Not much to tell. Lucard's guilty, we just have to prove it," Klaus said cautiously, staring down at the M.E.'s neck. It was very pretty neck....

"Funny. He didn't seem like the type to shoot a mortal," Natalie murmured. The vampire's fingers froze in shock for a second at that information, then resumed their gentle massage as she kept talking. "Bite them, yes. But shoot them? Especially Jerry Tate. Why? It's so dumb, Nick..."

Klaus leaned forward to whisper in her ear, the scent of her blood so close to the surface that he had to fight the urge to bite her right then and there. "His ego can't stand having Jerry Tate for a twin. The almighty Dracula can not possibly have a double who is so undeniably crass."

"He's Dracula?" Natalie's head came up like a shot, nearly hitting Klaus in the chin, and she turned around in her chair, leaning back a bit when she saw how close von Helsing was standing. "*Count* Dracula? I was propositioned by Count Dracula?!"

"He propositioned you? That swine," Klaus snarled, ready to kill the other vampire for even thinking about it. Alexander and Natalie? What a disgusting concept. She was much too good for him. Too cute. Too---sane, yes, that, definitely. And she had a good sense of humor. Dracula wouldn't know a Loony Toon if one whacked him with a sledgehammer.

Natalie was giggling at his expression. "Nick, get serious. I'm sure he hits on almost every mortal he meets, especially considering I looked like a drowned rat at the time." She frowned suddenly, her jaw hardening as she studied Klaus. "Besides, it's not like anyone else is offering me trips to Rio de Janeiro."

"You wouldn't!" Klaus was aghast.

"It could be fun," the coroner mused, an evil glint in her eyes. "I mean, as long as he respected some ground rules---"

Von Helsing was just about to start ranting at her about the control freak tendencies and boring conservatism of his former master, when he realized she wasn't serious. "Don't joke about stuff like that, Natalie. He might kidnap you, or hold you captive, or... or... bring you across, or something!" Klaus took a moment to catch his breath, and tried to think of a sufficiently Knight-like utterance to divert her attention with, when something else she'd said clicked in his brain. "You want to go to Rio? *I'll* take you to Rio, if that's what you want!"

"Nick---" Natalie looked weary again, and slightly remorseful. "I didn't mean---"

"No," Klaus interrupted, taking both her hands in his, slowly caressing them. "You deserve it, if that's what you want." Quite against his will, he found himself being utterly sincere. "You've done so much for N- me; always looking for a cure, and helping me with cases, and...." Might as well go for broke "...I'd really like to take you there. I'd like to be --- somewhere else, outside of Toronto, with you. Alone."

"Oh," the M.E. responded weakly. She was staring up at Klaus with those big eyes, and von Helsing started leaning toward her, able to smell her blood, wondering what her lips would taste like, and he really, really, really didn't mean for it to happen, but an instant later he was kissing her. With feeling. A *lot* of feeling.

Natalie broke the kiss with a gasp, gulping for air. "Sorry about that," Klaus apologized, mentally kicking himself for forgetting that mortals needed to breathe.

"Don't be," Natalie responded, then pulled him into another passionate kiss.

Several blissful moments later, Klaus could hear coughing behind him, and Natalie broke away again, her cheeks violently red as she smiled weakly at the person who'd interrupted them. "Tracy! Hi!"

Von Helsing turned and glared at his so-called partner. "Don't you know anything about timing?" he asked.

"Not as much as you do, apparently," Vetter responded with raised eyebrows and a small smirk.

"Nick was just---uh---" The ME stuttered, one hand fanning her burning cheeks.

"Making dinner arrangements for my night off," Klaus said smoothly, one hand still possessively holding Natalie's. "Right?" he asked, putting as much pleading as he was capable of in his expression.

"But what about---" Natalie made a small, futile gesture toward her neck, then relented at the continued silent entreaty from von Helsing. "Okay, how about the CN tower?" she challenged.

"Perfect. I have to work tomorrow night, but I'm free the evening after that?" Klaus crossed his fingers, hoping he wouldn't have to wait any longer than that to get Natalie alone again.

"We'll talk first," Natalie said in a determined voice. "About.. you know... things." She glared at the all-too-present Tracy Vetter, who seemed highly entertained by the conversation.

"Of course."

"And you'll eat something at the restaurant. Something on the menu," the M.E. added significantly.

"I'll eat whatever you order for me."

"And... uh..." Natalie swallowed, staring at the vampire dazedly. "I forget what else. Are you sure about this, Nick?" She couldn't seem to believe they were going out on a simple date. Knight really *was* hopeless, Klaus thought smugly.

"I'll pick you up at eight, is that enough time for you to get ready?"

"Sure." The coroner nodded, appearing happy but stunned.

Klaus took advantage of her confusion to kiss her again real fast. Then he spun around, startling Tracy into stumbling backwards, grabbed the file Natalie had prepared for him, and began singing "Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa, I adore you---" as he galloped out the exit.

Behind him he left two very disoriented women, one of whom said to the other, "Men. Just when I think I have them figured out... not that I'm complaining, you understand..."

And what, you may ask, has Count Dracula been up to since we saw him last?

Not as much as you'd think. Alexander Lucard is a businessman, first and foremost, in much the same way that Al Capone and Michael Corleone were businessmen. The former scourge of Transylvania has been busy doing damage control since his little "consultation" with the Toronto P.D., and taking steps to secure his position as KIL Communications' main bidder. But the unforeseen strangeness that has complicated his life has also convinced him that he must try to ascertain who, exactly, is playing havoc with his visit to Canada.

Which is why he called his good friend, his trusted friend, his *kind* friend Lucien LaCroix, and arranged for a meeting to ask him for an explanation of recent events. Or at the very least, a reality check.

"LaCroix," Lucard demanded once the older vampire was inside the graveyard where they were meeting (a pity it isn't the one where Nick is held captive; but then there would be no parts 10-15 in this story, would there?-- Editor), "you have a lot of explaining to do."

"*Do* I?" The Nightcrawler is not used to being addressed this way by anyone outside his immediate family, and he doesn't tolerate it from them, either. "What seems to need explaining, Alexander? Aside from the risk you are running by speaking to me so rudely?"

"Why aren't you acting as we planned?" Lucard paced over some of the older graves in the St. Lawrence cemetery ---just down the avenue from Klaus's henchmen in an unmarked van, where various tape machines were whirring and clicking and recording--- snapping his fingers in frustration as he glared at the older vampire. Both of them felt relatively safe in this deserted part of town, and the concept of directional mikes never enters either of their heads, although it really should. But even hundred and thousand-year-old vampires have their weak spots, and for both of these two, too much reliance on their vampiric nature had blinded them to some of the technological possibilities available on the market for professional eavesdroppers. "Why is Jerry Tate still alive? Why are you trying to frame me for his murder? And *what* was going through your mind when you planted a Klaus impersonator in the police department?" Briefly, his eyes glowed gold in frustration, and then he had himself under control.

"You're babbling, Alexander." LaCroix's voice was compassionate. "So I will humor you. For now." A long pause, during which LaCroix scanned their surroundings with distaste, wiped off a gravestone, then perched on it. "Mr. Tate is still alive because my plans for his demise are proceeding cautiously. But they will soon bear fruit. Try to remain patient." Another pause, as LaCroix inspected a sentimental verse on the marker opposite, grimacing in annoyance. "I am not 'trying' to frame you for anything. I do not 'try' to do things. I do them." Lucard frowned, attempting to remember what play LaCroix was quoting, but the older vampire was still talking. "As for this Klaus person, I know nothing of him. My only contact with the police department is through the beat patrolmen with whom I have certain arrangements regarding my club, and my son, who has decided to take his hobby of self-flagellation to new heights. Is there anything else?"

"Your son?" Lucard was still confused, but doing his best to hide it. The Roman might be lying, but it seemed unlikely, and if he was to be honest with himself, he was only hoping that the solution to his problems would be as simple as some practical joke being played by LaCroix. An uglier (and much more plausible) possibility was beginning to suggest itself.

"Nicholas. My son." LaCroix spoke as if to a somewhat dim child. "I've spoken of him often. The one who wishes to become mortal? You may have encountered him... he is calling himself Nicholas Knight."

Alexander sat down on the nearest gravestone, a rather ornate cherub cuddling a sheep, completely stunned at the coincidence. "We've met. He's a dead ringer for *my* fledgling, Klaus von Helsing. I assumed that you were responsible---"

"Von Helsing?" There was an edge of discomfort to LaCroix's voice. "Is he related to---"

"Yes. Klaus is the original von Helsing's great-grandson. His father is one of my more stubborn detractors back in the Old Country." Lucard's brow creased in thought. "There must be some connection you've missed, LaCroix---your son taunted me in exactly the same way Klaus does. And he seems determined to hang me for the recent attempts on that cockroach Tate's life, even though he must know I'm not responsible."

"Nicholas is bit of a fanatic, I'm afraid. Any scent of wrongdoing sends him scurrying for handcuffs and legal writs. But if Klaus is the child you have described with such frustration, my son would have nothing to do with him. He has his faults, but consorting with madmen is not one of them." A note of casual interest crept into the Nightcrawler's voice as he added, "Enough of this. My plans are taking shape. How are *your* arrangements for Natalie Lambert's demise developing?"

Lucard stood and began to pace again. "I'm considering my options. Tell me, LaCroix, why are you so interested in seeing her dead?" LaCroix made a sound of annoyed surprise, but the financier continued to talk over the other's interruption. "I found her quite charming when we met at the police station. And discreet. She could have exposed me, or caused me difficulties, but she did not. Her choice of companions, of course, left something to be desired---" The vampire stopped in his tracks, a slow smile forming as he began to understand. "She's helping your son become mortal again, isn't she? That's why you want her dead. Not because she knows too much; but because of what she might do. And Nicholas would happily throttle you if you tried to kill her directly."

"He can be rather unreasonable when it comes to his pets."

"Why not simply bring her across?"

"What? And have her at Nicholas's side forever? Always telling him he's right to keep trying for mortality, always defending him, always taking his side against *me*?" LaCroix was incensed. "You know how difficult new children can be when they first come across. She's a resistor, a moralizing scientist, and a pain in the neck. The *last* thing I want is for her to become immortal!"

"And besides that, Nicholas would never forgive you." Lucard was definitely amused, as well as intrigued. Anyone who could get under LaCroix's skin so thoroughly was worth a second look... Not that the first look was so unpleasant.

"That is beside the point," the older vampire stated irritably. "Which is that we have a deal, Alexander. See that you remember it." He stood and abruptly departed into the night sky, leaving Lucard enlightened on several minor points, but still in the dark on the rather major ones. Frowning, he walked out of the cemetery and slowly made his way back to his hotel.

A few hours later, after he listened to the end of this conversation on tape, Klaus smiled, humming "Hotel California" under his breath as he punched a number into his phone. After all, I have to make this look legitimate for 'Detective Knight'... if anyone checks, the phone records will back me up. The answering machine at the precinct kicked in after three rings. "'Ello, Detective Knight?" A French accent this time, reminiscent of Inspector Clouseau. "I have a teep for yooou..."

It was getting close to 4 a.m. when Klaus finally got his warrant to search Alexander Lucard's penthouse suite. Part of the problem had been getting the wording on the warrant just right, to include not only illegal listening devices, tape recorders, and microphones, but "evidence pertaining to the shooting of Jerry Tate", a list which included the gun used to shoot the talk-show host, computer records of Lucard's Toronto money transactions, e-mail, as well as his phone records and appointment book. The logic Klaus used to justify this with Captain Reese and the judge was that if someone was trying to frame Lucard, they'd obviously leave evidence behind, and that evidence would lead them to the real killer. Reese couldn't put his finger on exactly why that sounded so fishy, except that it did. Or maybe it was the way Knight had explained it, with that strange half-smile that kept slipping out at odd moments.

"Well, you've got your warrant." Reese handed the paper to Knight, who skimmed it and then chortled. The captain exchanged a dubious look with Knight's partner, who seemed more tired than usual. "Just try not to upset the guy, okay? Lucard's got a lot of clout, and more trouble on this case we do not need. Understood?"

"Perfectly, Captain," Knight responded with an innocent expression that didn't quite disguise his cheerfulness. "It'll be completely by the book. By the numbers. Straight up. No problem!"

"Great," Reese said, watching Knight drag his partner out of the precinct, "That'll be a switch." Had Nick always been this upbeat about search-and-seizure, or was he working on one of his intermittent hunches? Whatever it was, the captain wished he'd get over it. Just watching the guy zip around like that was making him tired.

As was mentioned in Part 9 (and you surely can't have forgotten it so soon) Lucard was by now fairly certain about the identity of the person responsible for his latest embarrassment with the Toronto Police Department. However, that fact in no way prepared him for the sight of Klaus standing in the penthouse suite doorway an hour before dawn, ordering around uniformed officers with snappy phrases like "search everything" and "leave no stone unturned" and "remember to wear those plastic gloves." A few of the officers were muttering under their breaths in annoyance.

"Klaus!?" The name slipped out before Dracula could call it back, but no one aside from his erstwhile protege seemed to notice it. It was definitely von Helsing. Aside from the fact that he could now sense the vampire in the leather jacket through the connection between vampire parent and child (a connection which had been missing when he met Nicholas Knight), Knight had a much older and wearier air about him than that of Lucard's frenetic offspring, whose antics had made Alexander's life so difficult in Vienna. Where was Knight? What was going on?

"You'll have to excuse us, Mr. Lucard," Klaus responded suavely as he unscrewed the mouthpiece to the phone receiver and made a show of checking it for listening devices. "But we've decided that the best way to catch our killer is through you. And unfortunately, *some* people at headquarters need to be convinced of your innocence. The warrant's in order, I showed it to your valet and the hotel management." He replaced the mouthpiece and then put the phone back with a resounding clack. Steely-eyed, he surveyed the efforts of the other officers, and noticing that Tracy was in the adjoining room, he turned back to Lucard, whispering in what was evidently meant to be a convincing tone, "Relax. I've got it covered. There's no way they'll convict you."

"What have you done with Knight?" Lucard snarled in a barely audible whisper. "And who do you think you're kidding, Klaus? I *knew* it was you---"

"Then why didn't you stop me?" Klaus whispered back with a little giggle, abandoning his pose of camaraderie. "Oh, that's right. You couldn't. Can't give the whole vampire thing away to the cops, can we? Darn!" He backed up a step, and resumed his persona as 'Detective Knight'. "Have you found anything yet, gentlemen?"

"We've got a copy of the e-mail messages, sir. One of these looks incriminating," one of the uniforms responded. "Something about arrangements for a demise---"

Von Helsing's eyes widened in mock alarm, then he stalked over to the beat cop, taking the printout from her with an intense "hmmmm". He glanced over the page, then looked slyly at Lucard. "Mr. Lucard, who else has access to your laptop?"

"No one," Dracula responded coldly. "But I'm certain that if there is something incriminating, that *someone* hacked into my files and placed it there---"

"Any ideas who that someone would be?" Klaus asked, fighting to keep a straight face. Dracula's nostrils flared, and von Helsing saw his former master's eyes glow yellow for a split second before he regained his self-control. "Anyone at all?"

"I have many business enemies, Detective 'Knight'. Including one of my former associates, Klaus von Helsing---"

"Yes, yes, yes." Klaus waved an impatient hand at him, the one with the printout in it, almost smacking the nearby policewoman in the eye. "But your having too many enemies is almost as useful to us as having *no* enemies, if you see what I mean." He crossed his arms, looking pensive. "You see, in the police business, we have to look for motive. Who benefits? Who gets paid? Who gets paid off? Who gets lucky? Who---" Klaus shook his head and got back on track. "My point is, is that these baseless accusations have to have some substance to them. Evidence. Like the evidence we're finding here: not that of someone being framed, but of someone guilty of heinous, awful, dreadful crimes."

"Nick, there's a gun here in the bedroom dressing table that matches the caliber Natalie said was used on Jerry Tate," Tracy said as she entered the room. "Mr. Lucard, do you own a gun?"

"No." Lucard glared murderously at Klaus, who contrived to look thoughtful.

"Who else has access to this suite?" Vetter asked, all business, her former fascination with Lucard dissolving in the face of more complications to the case.

"My valet. My secretary. The maid. The hotel manager. And any *odd* cat burglars who might be hanging around," Lucard said caustically.

"We'll question them, of course," the faux Detective Knight commented, "but are you sure you're not keeping something back, Mr. Lucard? Is there something you're not telling us? Like, oh, say... the identity of the person you had that incriminating conversation with last night? And again tonight?"

"What?" Lucard roared, clenching his hands as he started toward Klaus.

"Oh, didn't I mention that? Well, we got an anonymous tip---you have no idea how useful those are---from someone who sent us a tape of you discussing Jerry Tate's death. *Again*. It's very interesting listening---"

"Klaussss---"

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Klaus frowned deeply, since it was the only thing that was keeping him from snickering out loud. "Are you feeling well, Mr. Lucard?"

"Detective Knight, we just pulled up a copy of Mr. Lucard's financial records on the computer? It looks like he transferred a large sum of money to numbered Cayman Islands bank account. Made a pretty good effort to hide it, too," commented one of the computer cops.

"When I get through with you---" Lucard's voice was a chilly monotone.

"That almost sounds like a threat." Klaus's eyes were slitted, and his lip was curled in what was supposed to be a threatening sneer, but to Lucard it looked like he was two inches from cackling out loud. "Why do you want to see Natalie Lambert dead?"

Dracula's jaw snapped shut to prevent him from leaping for Klaus's throat. "I beg your pardon?" he stalled, confused by the change in the interrogation.

"It's on the tape. You were thinking about killing her." Von Helsing circled Lucard, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, then leaned in close to whisper too low for the surrounding mortals to hear, "Don't even think about going near her. I was having fun at your expense before this, but now it's serious." He backed away from the other vampire and gloated, "You're going down, Lucard. I think we have enough evidence here to lock you away for a long, long time."

"I want my lawyer." There was no reasoning with Klaus in this mood; Lucard had seen it before. All one could do was wait for von Helsing to make the inevitable mistake.

"Nick, I really don't think---" Tracy looked more than worried at this new development; she seemed genuinely upset.

"Then you really shouldn't speak," Klaus sniped back, taking a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. Several of the other officers stared in shock as Tracy silently fumed. "Alexander Lucard, I am charging you with conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, got it? You have the right to an attorney, though it's not going to do you any good. If you can not afford an attorney--- yeah, right!--- one will be appointed for you by the Crown. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" As he'd run this speech by Lucard, he'd forced the other vampire's arms behind his back and handcuffed them together. Lucard looked murderous. Tracy gave up hope of talking any sense into her partner until she had the Captain there to back her up.

"You are going to pay for this, 'Detective'," Dracula warned him.

"I'm trembling," Klaus sneered, dragging Lucard out of the hotel suite by his elbow. Tracy trailed after them, her expression troubled, biting her lip and trying to figure out why, aside from circumstantial evidence, Nick seemed so convinced that Lucard was guilty. And if she committed assault and battery against her partner, would justifiable annoyance be a good defense?

When the trio reached the lobby, Klaus frog-marched Lucard past the front desk, giving the high sign to a couple passing bell-boys and saying, "We got him. There shouldn't be any more trouble. No need to thank us. Just doing our job." Tracy rolled her eyes and followed her partner out to the car. When they got to the Caddy, von Helsing fumbled with the keys while Vetter tried to apologize to the suspect.

"I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this?" she asked tentatively.

"An extremely illogical one. And it is also unbelievable. So I think I'll wait for my lawyer before I try to tell it." Lucard's expression softened as he looked at Tracy. "But it is most kind of you to still extend the courtesy of reasonable doubt to me."

"Get in the car, you." Klaus took a lot of enjoyment in pushing Lucard's head down so he didn't hit in on the roof of the Caddy. He slammed the back door hard, whirled in a circle, then yanked open his own door in almost one motion. Tracy hurried to get in on the other side of the car, since her partner didn't seem inclined to wait for her.

Nick's favorite radio station, CERK, was on when he turned the ignition key. The Nightcrawler was orating about equal value, or equal payment, or something---Tracy didn't get to hear what, because her partner groaned, "Bor-ring!" and changed the station. James Brown's "I Feel Good" blared into the Caddy as Knight peeled away from the curb, singing along with the radio and grinning like a maniac, Alexander Lucard glowering at him in the rear-view mirror as Tracy Vetter pondered the possible side effects of Prozac on manic-depressive homicide detectives.

Not that LaCroix would ever admit it, but his recent consultation with Alexander Lucard had left him worried. Nicholas had occasionally trod too close to the line which separated criminal justice from foolhardy vigilantism in his police work, but his latest actions were just the sort to attract the attention of Enforcers, or the vengeance of Count Dracula. Usually he would have allowed Nicholas to reap the rewards of his stubborness, but LaCroix's arrangement with Lucard was on the verge of being nullified through his son's ill-considered actions.

So it was with a certain weary impatience that he awaited Nicholas in the latter's dreary little apartment, to have a father-son talk about Not Annoying Father's Friends. They'd had many such talks in the past, covering topics including Nick's filial duties to LaCroix, the proper way a vampire should act, and what was expected of him: they were fairly predictable confrontations. LaCroix would demand. Nicholas would respond with anger and denial of the demands. LaCroix would then use logic and guilt to undermine his son's point of view. Nicholas would begin to whine about becoming mortal and not having to put up with LaCroix anymore. LaCroix would be forced to threaten and cajole. Nicholas would sulk. LaCroix would strategically retreat into a position of calm reason. Nicholas would finally give up, just to make his father leave him alone.

All quite normal, in a dysfunctional-family sort of way.

Imagine LaCroix's surprise, then, when the vampire who next descended through the skylight into Nicholas' apartment proved not to be his son at all, but an imposter wearing similar clothing and acting as if he owned the place.

[A quick digression here, Dear Reader, from the von Helsing Vampire Hunter Files.

As was mentioned before, there is an invisible, tangible connection between vampire children and their creators that exists as long as both of them still live. It is easily detectable, unbreakable, and unmistakable; which is why Lucard and LaCroix are having such an easy time identifying which Nick is which, while the mortals around them are completely fooled. Not that Klaus is that convincing. But if you had no idea there were two Knights around, you'd be unable to realize that one was an imposter.

Another thing you may have been wondering about: how does Alexander Lucard manage to run his business empire, when vampires awaken around sunset and the Stock Exchange closes at 5 P.M.? Suffice it to say, that Alexander has cornered (indeed, is hoarding) all the stores of a remarkable Sunblock 2000, which allows him to operate in the open during the daylight hours of overcast Bavarian days. It has the side effect of negating most vampiric powers during the day, but is invaluable to a man in his position. Klaus, being Klaus, stole his supply from Lucard, so now both of them are the only two vampires on the planet able to walk in the sunshine (so to speak).

We provide these facts simply to satisfy your curiosity on these points; and to explain what happens next.]

LaCroix is quick on the uptake, and perfectly capable of adding two and two to get a reasonable approximation of four. Knowing that Lucard had a son who greatly resembled his own and was also barking mad (also, as in addition to, not as in, Nick is barking mad---Editor), the older vampire drew the sensible conclusion from the facts presented.

"What have you done with my son?" he snarled, grasping Klaus by the scruff of his neck and slamming him against the far wall.

"You must be LaCroix," Klaus said in a strangled voice. "I've heard so much about you from Alexander---"

"Where. Is. Nicholas!" LaCroix punctuated the demand with a little shake, and was then rather surprised when Klaus brought up both his legs and kicked him in the chest, simultaneously working himself free from the older vampire's grasp and slamming the other into the floor. Klaus and Lucard regularly spar with one another, usually when both are dressed for the opera, and Klaus is unhampered by the filial connection through which LaCroix intimidates Nick into letting him win their confrontations. (Plus, of course, Klaus is a lunatic; and fears for his own survival never deter him from taking risks that can cripple his opponents even as they endanger his own life).

"Your precious Nicholas is perfectly fine. At least, he was the last time I saw him," Klaus commented with a degree of insult, rising up in the air to hover some twelve feet above the sprawled LaCroix. "And I don't appreciate your attitude. You'd think I killed him or maimed him or something---"

Unwilling to concede the psychological advantage of Klaus' hovering over him, LaCroix rose to meet him, hands clenched and eyes gleaming in rage. It was true that he can still detect Nicholas's presence through their bond; but it was weaker than it should be, now that he troubled to notice it. Meanwhile, Klaus lectured him.

"Nicholas may be restrained for a short while, but I assure you that he will come to absolutely no harm. You should thank me, LaCroix. I'm doing you a favor."

This assertion is ridiculous enough that it stopped LaCroix's advance while he weighed his options: he could torture the information he needed out of the younger vampire; he could simply follow the connection to Nicholas, and try to free him from whatever trap Klaus has set; or he could listen to what von Helsing has to say, and then follow one of the other two options. "A favor. Now, what would have motivated you to do *me* a favor?"

"I'll admit, it was serendipitous," von Helsing responded, warily gliding out of reach as he spoke. "I was simply trying to frame Alexander, and temporarily sabotage his KIL Communications bid. But when I saw your son, and realized he was with the police, the opportunity was too tempting to pass up." LaCroix's nostrils flared as he made a grab for Klaus, which the other eluded by dropping downward and swooping towards the second-floor balcony. "Then, of course, I met Doctor Lambert. Lovely girl. But definitely a danger to us; and we can't trust Alexander where a beautiful woman is concerned, can we?"

"So you're going to kill her for me," LaCroix said, eyes narrowing in suspicion, "because...?"

"Because *I* believe, even if Alexander doesn't, that you'll kill Jerry Tate. He really is a pathetic excuse for a human being, isn't he? I'll be quite happy when he's dead. Meanwhile, I'll have KIL Communications, Alexander will be humiliated, and I'll have Natalie Lambert for dinner." Klaus giggled, avoiding another attempt by LaCroix to corral him by shooting upward, then bouncing off the ceiling. "It's wonderful. But, well, you know your son. Such a stuffed shirt about rules and things. He'd never have framed Lucard as well as I did. And he's going to be very unhappy when he finds out what I'm going to do to Natalie. So I put him in a nice quiet crypt, and there he'll stay until everything's settled." Another clutch at his ankle was circumvented by kicking LaCroix in the jaw, sending the older vampire reeling into the wall. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some arrangements to make for Natalie's demise tonight. I always like to plan these things in advance."

"I have no intention of standing still for this!" Klaus might do what he is planning, or he might not; either way, LaCroix was not about to let this child manipulate him---and he rather resented being kicked into the wall. "I don't trust you, von Helsing, and I have no reason to believe you'll keep your word. You *will* tell me where my son is. NOW." He grasped Klaus by the lapels, pushing the other vampire back against the window, both of them snarling and hissing. The venetian blinds were closed, but Klaus had not yet activated the exterior shutters when LaCroix first attacked him.

Which is why he was able to stretch out his arm, open the blinds, and let in the sunlight that sent LaCroix lurching backward into the shadows, while he fell eight or nine feet to the sunlit floor. Both vampires were panting with exertion now; but LaCroix was the only one sporting a sunburn, since Klaus had applied a coat of Sunblock 2000 before he went to the precinct that evening. Von Helsing was the first to recover himself, and realize that he was completely safe from the older vampire as long as he stayed in the sunlight. [Well, this is an exaggeration---but take Klaus's ego into account, Dear Reader. Fine gradations of danger are completely beyond him. --- Ed. Who apologizes for the interruption]

Klaus giggled, struggling to his feet, then brushed off his jacket, while LaCroix clenched his burnt hands and winced in pain, blinking sun-bedazzled eyes. The older vampire glowered in fury at the younger, wishing he'd accepted Lucard's offer of a box of Sunblock as a Halloween present last year, even though he hadn't seen the point at the time. With Klaus snorting in laughter, sticking out his tongue at him and saying, "Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah, you can't catch me," from the refuge of the sunlight, he was bitterly regretting exchanging it for a copy of Machiavelli's "The Prince."

"You'll let yourself out, won't you? The elevator does go to the basement. I've got to be leaving if I'm going to make sure Alexander doesn't cause any trouble until after tonight." Von Helsing smirked. "Or, well, I guess you can stay here. Whichever's best for you! It's been a pleasure, LaCroix. And don't think I don't mean that," Klaus confided sincerely. Then, with one last chuckle, he climbed out the window onto the fire escape, and clambered down the stairs.

Consider, if you will, the sufferings of a prisoner. Stone walls may not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage---but if you are a vampire, and these are coupled with a sacred cross and some holy water, you can pretty much count on spending the next few millennia exactly where you are. We will ignore, for the moment, the exact progression of deterioration which a creature of the night suffers when denied sustenance. The end result is not pretty, however long it takes.

After forty hours without food, Nick was beginning to wish he'd cheated a bit more on his diet, and had an extra bottle or two of cow before he'd left his apartment. Or possibly a few sips from his secret stash behind the fireplace. As it was, he could feel his grip on the situation at hand beginning to slide as ravening hunger gave way to overwhelming lassitude. Maybe he would just take a nap on top of the sepulchre; okay, it was not the most comfortable of beds, but it was nice and dark in the mausoleum, and he'd already been over and over the details of his capture a thousand times. Screaming for help hadn't gotten him anywhere. Even mentally yelling for LaCroix had availed him nothing. "He's probably laughing at me," Knight complained bitterly aloud to the ceiling, blinking in fuzzy martyrdom at the cobwebs. He'd eaten the spiders twelve hours before, having finally gotten desperate enough to stoop to Renfield-like snack foods. "The smug bastard. Prob'ly set this whole thing up... just to teach me a lesson."

Of course, that still didn't explain the old guy calling him Klaus. Unless it just seemed like a nice nickname to him; well, you *could* shorten Nicholas to Klaus, instead of Nick, if you were from Germany or somewhere, which the vampire hunter might have been, you never knew, he had an accent.... Nick yanked his drifting thoughts back on course, nursing his sense of grievance and promising himself the execution of untold punishments, or at least some serious humiliation, for LaCroix, or von Helsing, or whoever the hell was responsible for this.

We will leave him here for now, Gentle Reader. Self-pity is rarely entertaining, unless you happen to be the one entertaining it---

A sentiment which LaCroix would agree with vehemently. Why pity yourself, when you can make someone else the object of universal pity and horror? Such as, say, Klaus. It was unfortunate that he would have to wait until sundown to make the squirrelly little slime pay; but in the meantime, Nicholas still had to be found. Tempting as the prospect of allowing Klaus to completely wreck his son's career as a police officer was, LaCroix was unwilling to endure the price of giving von Helsing the upper hand, or risk the possibility that he would not kill Natalie Lambert, and would instead take the unthinkable step of bringing her across. To prevent such an occurrence, the Nightcrawler could grit his formidable teeth and bear the continued ridiculousness of having a child in law enforcement.

Having used Nicholas' phone to telephone for a limo, and appropriated several large, thick coats, a hat, scarf, gloves and sunglasses (not to mention the aforementioned secret fireplace stash---after all, Nicholas might need it) LaCroix played "Hot, Cold" through the streets of Toronto until he located the cemetery where Nick was imprisoned. Cursing fluently in seven languages, he ran to the mausoleum and forced the door open---

Only to reel back from his goal in anger and repulsion.

[More Notes from the von Helsing Files.

The cross of St. Maretha (not to be confused with the cross of St. Selima, or the cross of St. Marcus, or, well, any other cross you've heard of) was first used in the seventh century by Irish monks intent on driving out lamias laired on the coast of Galloway. It is also extremely effective on the lamias' more earth-bound cousins, the vampires. St. Maretha was the patron saint of night people, often praying through the night only to collapse snoring at her pew when sunrise broke. It was thought that her cross repelled other night creatures so well because of her affinity for the nocturnal hours, and the power of her snoring.

The myth about only one pure of heart being able to handle it is actually only pure fiction; but we have to allow the monks some amount of self-advertisement. ---Editor]

The Cross of St. Maretha is also quite tacky. The sheer gaudy ugliness of the thing would have driven LaCroix several steps backward without it also being a holy relic.

"Nicholas!" LaCroix crouched in the inadequate shade of the mausoleum, peering through his Ray-Bans into the crypt. "Come out of there at once! I have protective clothing for you here, if you can make it past this damnable cross." His son's silliness about mortality notwithstanding, LaCroix actually had hopes that Nick's recent experiments had granted him a measure of immunity to the bright, garish crucifix.

Alas, it was not to be.

"I can't come out. You did this to me, you get me out."

"Don't be asinine. I had nothing to do with this."

"Well, then why did he call me Klaus?" Nicholas is never logical at the best of times, but his father was made keenly aware that the situation didn't even approach that when Knight went on. "It's not because he thought I was Santa Claus.... and he called me his son. He said it was for my own good. I think he thought I was you. No, he thought you were him. Damn. That's not what I wanted to say. I'm sooooo sleepy, LaCroix..."

"Nicholas!"

Nick failed to respond, and LaCroix gave up in frustration. Someone else, someone mortal, was going to have to remove the cross. Standing out in bright sunlight arguing with his delusional offspring was only giving him a headache. On the way back to the Raven, the vampire considered his options.

Natalie Lambert was the obvious choice; but the idea of killing her and blaming it on Klaus had been at the forefront of his mind since the giggling maniac left his son's apartment. And Nick would be too guilt-ridden to be bearable company for *decades* if he accidentally drained Dr. Lambert when she released him. No, someone else---someone expendable, since Nick would undoubtedly attack whoever removed the cross and let him out, simply out of desperation and hunger---was going to have to do it.

It was with a certain sense of relief that he decided to place a call to Tracy Vetter as soon as the sun had set.

Blondes, and boss's daughters, get a bad rap about their abilities. Tracy Vetter was---and is---a very bright young lady, with a somewhat grating personality and manner. That she is so often discounted is attributable as much to stereotypes as her own perky, chirpy, happy outlook. But she is far from stupid; and her partner's sudden change in personality, as well as his irrational persecution of Alexander Lucard, worried her and aroused her detective instincts.

And then she saw her partner fly away.

Well, not her partner, obviously. An imposter. Someone *pretending* to be Nick; a _vampire_, for God's sake, had switched places with her poor, irritating, depressive of a co-worker, and was now wreaking havoc on both Knight's career and the criminal justice system. It was completely unjust. Horrifyingly awful. But absolutely convincing---it explained everything.

So why was it so hard for Natalie to believe her?

"I swear, Nat, I saw him fly away as soon as our shift was over," Tracy said earnestly. She'd rung Natalie's doorbell only twenty minutes after the coroner reached her home, and Natalie was somewhat perturbed that she had to listen to the younger woman rant on and on. The M.E. had planned on a good eight hours worth of sleep before her date with Nick that night, and she really didn't want to deal with Detective Vetter's revelations. Especially considering it should have been Nick's job to cope with his partner's new knowledge, not hers. She was not in the mood to explain Knight's rationale in 'protecting' Tracy by lying to her, since it never made much sense to her in the first place.

"Uh-hunh. Sure you did. Did he sprinkle pixie dust on himself, and think a happy thought, too?"

"That's Peter Pan, Nat. Not vampires."

"How can you tell the difference?" Natalie could have taped her mouth shut after she ironically asked this, because Tracy proceeded to tell her all about Vachon, and vampires, and how dangerous they were, and why Natalie must not, under any circumstances, keep her date with the Anti-Nick that night.

Dr. Lambert toyed with the idea of telling Tracy the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, right then, but the idea of dealing with the snit-fit Nick would throw later made her restrain herself. She was looking forward to her anticipated date far too much to risk ruining the good mood he'd been in for the last two days. Instead, she opened her eyes very wide and said, "You know, I think you've convinced me. I understand now."

"Really?" Intelligent as she is, Tracy is no wizard at spotting sarcasm.

"Yup. I know you wouldn't lie to me, and you must believe this if you're over here telling me all this stuff. Don't worry about me. I'll just break that date with the Nick Clone as soon as the sun's up. Then you can go arrest him, and make him tell you where the real Nick is." Natalie smiled bravely, calmly; and then added, "Thank you, Tracy. And be careful!"

"Oh, I always am. Now, if only the Captain were going to be so easy to convince," Tracy sighed as she walked out the door.

As the sun sets on the final evening and final fifth of this story, events begin to accelerate with increasing rapidity. For those of you who have lost track, the status of our main characters were as follows:

Alexander Lucard is in custody on suspicion of attempted murder;
LaCroix has found Nick, but is unable to free him;
Both LaCroix and Lucard are aware that Klaus is impersonating Nick;
Tracy knows that someone is impersonating Nick---but she figured it out for all the wrong reasons;
Klaus has managed to alienate Lucard, LaCroix, Nick, Tracy, and Captain Reese, half the Scene-of-Crime team, and charm the heck out of Natalie;
and Natalie, unfortunately, has been charmed and disarmed by Klaus without being even slightly aware he isn't Nick.

It is dusk now, and Tracy is trying to convince Captain Reese that her partner has been replaced by an imposter. She is not having much luck.

"I'm telling you, it all makes sense," Vetter said earnestly, trying for the third time to get the facts across to her bull-headed superior. Some latent sense of self-preservation kept her from bringing vampires into the conversation. She was having enough difficulty getting Reese to buy the idea that Knight's recent manic, irrational behavior was due to his abduction and replacement with an exact double, without dragging the supernatural into it.

"You've been watching too much daytime TV, Tracy. That kind of stuff only happens on soap operas. It's a lot more likely that your partner has finally had that big nervous breakdown we've all been waiting for. I'm calling in a shrink to talk to him tomorrow; until then, work around it! I don't have time for your fairy tales!" And with that, Reese slammed the door to his office shut, closed the blinds, and took the phone off the hook, just in case Tracy took it into her head to call him.

The homicide detective was gloomily studying her recalcitrant phone when a call came in on another line. Sighing, she hit the button for the line and said, "Vetter here."

"Detective Vetter, this is a friend of your partner Nick Knight," a cultured, vaguely familiar voice said. "I think you should know that the man who has been claiming to be Nicholas for the last two days is actually a fraud."

"I know! I just can't get anyone to believe me!" Tracy stopped, scowled, and said, "Who is this? And how did *you* figure it out?"

"Let us say that I believe I know where your partner really is. Unfortunately, I am not in the position to free him---I have certain obligations that keep me from the place---however," and there was a stagy, annoying pause, that nearly had Tracy screaming in frustration, "I understand that the imposter arranged for him to be locked in the Vandeville crypt in King's Cross Cemetery. He's been there almost two days---"

"Ohmigod! He'll be dying of thirst, or suffocating, or starving! I have to go!" Tracy hung up without getting the caller's name, grabbed her gun, her jacket, her badge, and her cellular phone, and ran for the exit. Halfway to the cemetery she got a brilliant idea; and we should be glad she did, since that is what saved her life.

Klaus had bought out the CN Tower restaurant; what he hoped to have happen that evening didn't exactly include plans for an audience, so except for a few waiters, the maitre'd, the cooking staff, and the band, the place was deserted. A large amount of money and the discreet application of the "whammy" had ensured total privacy, a wonderful menu, and constant music. The band will wake up tomorrow morning with blisters and sore lips from having played for five hours straight; but it will almost be worth it, since each will find approximately a thousand dollars in cash in their tuxedos.

Speaking of which.

Bad movies have made it impossible to take the idea of a vampire in a tux seriously. There is something bizarre about an overdressed man in an opera cape, fangs bared, eyes glowing, that goes beyond the deserved surprised such a picture conjures. It is far too familiar to be scary. George Hamilton, Leslie Nielson, and Bela Lugosi have a lot to answer for.

Nevertheless, it is Klaus' preferred attire. And he looks good in it; tonight, recognizing the importance of the occasion, he has got himself up in his best black-and-white tux, and the black cape with the scarlet lining. The menu is varied and expensive, as befits Natalie's final mortal meal, and the playlist was specifically selected by him with romance in mind. Everything should go perfectly.

Except that with Klaus, perfect can occasionally get pretty strange.

"This is... breathtaking," Natalie said as she walked into the restaurant. The view was gorgeous, as usual, but the entire rotunda of the CN tower was also decorated in red roses and glittering silver streamers, in telling contrast to the white ones which decorated the Azure restaurant two years ago. The M.E. could hardly believe this was happening. For something like four years, she and Nick had been keeping each other at arm's length, afraid to get too close; and now, out of the blue, he was treating her to the night of her dreams. Maybe it was jealousy? Or maybe the protein drink? Whatever it was, Natalie had decided she didn't care, as long as Nick kept looking at her like that.

"You look exquisite," Klaus responded, taking her hands and leading her out to the dance floor. "The dress is as beautiful on you as I imagined."

"I shouldn't have let you buy it for me." She smoothed the skirt of the gold-and-red silk dress self-consciously. "But I had to at least try it on, and then when I did---"

"You couldn't resist."

Natalie grinned, warming to Klaus' happy, satisfied smile. "No, I couldn't."

"I sincerely hope that this trend continues. There are many more things that I want you to find irresistible tonight." Von Helsing pulled her close, and gestured to the band. 'La Habanera', the tango suite from "Carmen", filled the air, and Klaus suddenly whirled Natalie around in the opening steps of the exotic dance. The M.E. wasn't very confident about her ability to keep up with this new, energized version of her favorite patient, but she decided that there was going to be a lot of fun that evening in trying.

Tracy grimaced at the stone door of the Vandeville crypt, and shuddered in her jacket upon hearing something that sounded like a wolf howling in the distance. King's Cross Cemetery was dark, forbidding, and cold, and she wouldn't have even been there if she wasn't so worried about Nick. And tonight was the full moon. Great. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah. It's a dog. Big deal, Trace." Javier Vachon shrugged easily, and eyed the door of the mausoleum. [It is inexcusable to introduce a pivotal supporting character this late in a story. No real dramatist would allow it. We are, unfortunately, constrained by the facts; so we can only ask, Gentle Reader, that you forgive us the stylistic faux pas. --- Editor]

"I can see why you wanted my help. Not something you could move easily by yourself, even with a crowbar."

"Hey, I think of muscle, I think of you." Vetter punched him affectionately on the shoulder, then helped him brace the lever against the door. "One, two, THREE!" Vachon applied pressure on Tracy's "THREE", pushing against the crowbar.

The stone door swung open easily, as if someone had recently greased the hinges, and Tracy could see an ornate, baroque cross hung upon a iron gate. "Oh, wow. That looks really old---"

"Mind getting it out of sight, Detective?" Vachon asked, clenching his eyes shut and staggering a bit at the emanations from the cross.

"Ooops. Sorry. I wonder why someone left it here?" The homicide detective had no sooner removed it from its perch on the gate than her question was answered. Nick Knight threw himself at the entrance in desperation, completely dislodging the gate from its place in the doorway, and knocking Tracy to the ground as he did so. The starving vampire crouched outside the mausoleum for a moment, whimpering in pain and hunger, then turned toward the closest available source of protein, his eyes glowing feverishly, fangs extended---

Only to be pulled up short by a hand on the scruff of his neck. "Knight, you have really got to stop being such a dramatic idiot," Vachon said, not unkindly, holding out an opened bottle of the Raven Special. Nick didn't even bother answering, simply took the bottle and inhaled its contents in three gulps. The younger vampire held out another of the bottles which he'd foreseen would be necessary, and the homicide detective managed to get a fairly good grip on it before a furious Tracy found her footing and attacked Vachon.

"You creep! You liar! You rotten, stinking---you knew my partner was a vampire! And you didn't tell me!" Tracy pummeled her supernatural friend with her fists, shrieking at the top of her lungs, then abruptly paused as her eyes widened and she spun to confront Nick.

"You pig! You condescending, smug, arrogant S.O.B.!" She directed a few well-placed kicks at the kneeling Knight, who had the presence of mind to roll out of the way and hide behind a tombstone. "I was actually worried about you, you jerk! I thought you'd be dead or something when I let you out of there! How could you be such a liar! You----" As we mentioned, Tracy is no one's fool. The implications of Vachon's behavior immediately clarified several things about her partner that she'd previously put down to inherent emotional instability. They also made her utterly enraged.

"Uh, Trace," Vachon tentatively said, keeping several feet between himself and the spluttering mortal. "We have bigger problems, remember? Don't you think we ought to clue your partner in, and deal with them first? You can yell at us later. Okay?"

Glaring at Vachon and breathing heavily, Tracy muttered, "Okay. Okay. Yes. Right." She turned to shoot a disgusted look at her partner, who was now on his third bottle of blood and looking buzzed. "But boy, when this is all over, Nick... You're gonna be doing *all* of our paperwork for a while, I can tell you that right now...."

That Natalie was having a very good time was not in doubt. Anyone plied with caviar, champagne, filet of sole, and chocolate-covered strawberries is unlikely to complain about their meal; and what was more, in between courses, Nick would lead her out onto the dance floor and hold her close while whispering outrageous compliments. As far as romance went, there was nothing more to be desired. The problem was that she was seriously beginning to doubt her sanity; or at the very least, Nick's.

"I can't believe you hypnotized the entire orchestra. That's just not like you, you're usually so cautious about the vampire stuff---and you know I don't like it, usually.. Why did you go out on this kind of limb tonight?"

"Because now I am certain we will spend eternity together," Klaus responded meaningfully, letting his hands roam across her back perhaps more than was called for. "And I felt the significance of the occasion justified for it."

Natalie's heart began to beat wildly, distracting Klaus from her next question. "Significance? What significance would that be?"

"Hmmmmmm?"

"Nick, c'mon, keep your hands around my waist. I'm serious. Is there some bit of information that you wanted to share with me?"

"Only that I will never leave you," Klaus promised fervently, "and you are the only woman I've ever loved." Which declaration inspired a long, impassioned, intricate kiss that would have completely undermined the resolve and concentration of a lesser woman; but Dr. Lambert is made of sterner stuff than those who don't use Eau de Formaldehyde as their usual cologne.

"The only one you've ever loved, hunh?"

"I swear it," the vampire avowed, nibbling at her fingertips, barely restraining himself from actually breaking the skin.

"What about... Marion Blackwing?"

"Who?" Von Helsing attempted to look completely infatuated, instead of infatuated and confused. Why was Natalie giving him such a hard time?

"The faith healer, remember? And how about---Denise Ford? The psychic?"

"I don't remember her."

"That's funny, considering she died in your arms."

"Well, lots of women have done that." Klaus winced when Natalie punched him, then added, "Besides, I never loved her like I love you." How many women _had_ Knight been involved with?!? "Let's dance. Maestro! Our song!"

The orchestra went into an upbeat version of Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing", and Klaus swept Natalie into a pas de deux resembling the Lambada, only not as refined. It was almost enough to allay Natalie's fears; but somehow, some way, she felt there was something missing. Nick was just too... too... nonchalant. Usually, he'd have been wallowing in the guilt of his murdered innocents by now; instead, he was demonstrating that he could care less about them. For Nick Knight, Guilt King of the Prom, to so lightly set aside his reservations and fears, there had to be a good reason.

Or, maybe it was just a side effect of the drink.

As she observed Nick go into John Travolta's moves from "Saturday Night Fever", swiveling his hips and pointing at the ceiling, the coroner decided to try getting through to the old Nick one last time. Just to be sure he was okay.

Letting him twirl her until she was dizzy, and then dip her nearly to the floor, Natalie asked, "Okay, I believe you. I'm the only woman you've ever loved. But even ignoring Emily Weiss, Allyce Hunter, and all those other women you're always telling me about, I still don't think you can just dismiss Janette that easily."

"Why not?" Klaus asked, pulling her back up to stand next to him. "It's not like we were married, or anything. Besides, I didn't know her for that long. She meant nothing to me."

Oops!

Natalie stepped backward, staring at him in shock. "Nick, you've known her 800 years. Your entire life. What are you talking about, you didn't know her that long?"

"Oh, that Janette. I thought you meant the other one---" Klaus smiled desperately, his face lit up in little-boy chagrin. "Well, you know. Easy come, easy go---"

"Who are you?" The M.E. said, brushing aside his attempts to cover his mistake. "You're not Nick." Her eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion. "I should have known you weren't him! Nick hates opera cloaks! He'd never have worn one on this date! What have you done with him?!?"

By this time, Tracy and Vachon had been able to fill Nick in on the imposter's activities, beginning with arresting Lucard and ending with his proposed date with Natalie. Nick was having a little trouble following the explanation, possibly because he was on his fourth bottle of blood after a long period of abstinence, and he was now in that state characterized as "feeling no pain"; possibly because his partner was talking nineteen to the dozen, waving her arms around and letting her voice get squeaky with intensity. "But it's okay about Nat, because I told her you weren't you, that the guy was a vampire, and she agreed to break the date---"

"My evil twin is a vampire?!" Nick choked on his drink, frothing a little at the mouth as the horrifying implications set in. "But Natalie knows *I'm* a vampire. She'll have thought that I was me, I mean he was I, and that you were just confused--- where was he going to take her? Tell me!"

"Uhhh, the CN Tower---" Tracy's partner whoooooooshed into the sky, weaving a little bit it's true, but still rocketing off too fast for the eye to follow. "Whoa. I guess Nat's in trouble. C'mon, Vachon, we have to go help save her!"

"We? Whaddaya mean, _we_?" Vachon looked at Tracy cockeyed. "You know, I never get in trouble except when I'm hanging out with you---"

"Let it go, Vachon. You follow Nick, I'll drive---"

"There *is* a faster way." The younger vampire grabbed Tracy in a close embrace, and she would have enjoyed it a lot, that is, if the ground hadn't gone away just then.

"Mooooommmmeeeeeeeeee----"

Klaus was still trying to lie his way out of his mistake, but Natalie wasn't having any. "Just tell me what you did with him. And who *are* you, anyway? Why did you do this? Did LaCroix put you up to this?"

"Hardly," Klaus said, insulted, then grimaced as he realized he'd admitted to her accusations. "Damn." Considering the furious coroner's lovely face, he shrugged and decided to go for broke. "I did all this because I *am* in love with you, my darling. I had to be alone with you, to convince you of my regard---"

"Save it." Natalie turned and began to stalk toward the exit. "One lying vampire in my life is enough---" With vampiric speed, Klaus was suddenly kneeling in front of her, his hands clasped in supplication.

"Then if there can be only one, why can't it be *me*? Oh, please, oh please, oh please Nat, I have so many plans for us! The dreams! The riches! The eternity of darkness!"

"WHAT? Are you crazy, Nick? I mean---oh, get off the floor, you look ridiculous. Look, what's your name?" Natalie was finding it more and more difficult to stay angry with her suitor; he was just as cute as Nick, twice as considerate, and wasn't afraid to make a fool of himself to get her attention. But she wasn't about to let on that he was getting to her.

"Klaus von Helsing, at your service, m'lady. Prince of the Night, Vampire Extraordinaire, financier of note---" von Helsing was flourishing his cape around, smiling winningly, and looking dashing until he was interrupted.

"---and an incredible bore, too, Dr. Lambert." The civilized voice which cut in on Klaus's self-aggrandizement was amused and weary at the same time. Klaus interposed himself between Natalie and the newcomer, but not before the M.E. spotted Alexander Lucard standing on the balustrade of the balcony, clad in a tuxedo that exactly matched von Helsing's.

"I'll protect you, my love!"

"Oh, do shut up, Klaus. Dr. Lambert is far too sensible to believe anything you say." Lucard lazily dropped down from his perch and strolled across the ballroom until he was only a few feet away from the couple. "I trust you're well, Doctor?"

"Peachy." Natalie's lips were pressed together in a thin line of annoyance. "You know this guy, Mr. Lucard?"

"May I introduce my son, Klaus. I see that you've already perceived that he is not your good friend Detective Knight; but the resemblance is uncanny, isn't it?" Lucard stared coldly at his child, his eyes lit with satisfaction and rage. "He has been at some pains to embarass me here in Toronto, and he couldn't overlook the opportunity to use the chance likeness. I apologize for his behavior toward you, however; his audacity is inexcusable---"

"Don't listen to him! He's come here to kill you!" Klaus yelled, still blocking most of Natalie's view of the other vampire, his arms outstretched as if preparing to take a bullet for her. "He and LaCroix arranged it between the two of them; LaCroix was supposed to kill Jerry Tate, and Lucard is going to kill you!" So saying, he snarled at his master, then dissolved into self-congratulatory giggles of hysteria.

Natalie rolled her eyes and hit him on the side of the head, which helped Klaus regain his feeble self-control. The mortal sighed and turned back to Lucard. "Is any of that true?"

"I could deny it, but I wouldn't want to insult your intelligence."

"No, of course not. Why should you insult me, when you're going to kill me in two minutes?"

"I didn't say that," Lucard responded, his eyes assessing her as he smiled coolly. "It's true, LaCroix and I did discuss a trade of---services, shall we say? But unfortunately, he failed to live up to his end of the bargain, and now Jerry Tate is quite dead without his assistance."

"You killed him!" Klaus shrieked, then clutched Natalie's shoulders and whispered, "You see? You're not safe here! You have to let me bring you across, before he tries to kill you!"

Lucard and Natalie traded disbelieving glances, then the coroner tactfully said, "That's terribly sweet of you, Klaus, but I don't think it's a really good idea---"

"I think it's a HORRIBLE idea," said the Nightcrawler, alighting on the balcony in time to overhear the discussion. "And this isn't at all what I was hoping to find when I arrived. Why isn't she dead yet?" he asked Lucard, striding forward angrily, his dark trenchcoat and turtleneck an odd contrast to the evening wear of the other vampires. "I go to all the trouble of arranging for Jerry's ex-lover's escape from a mental hospital, ensuring that she would kill her former cockroach of a bedmate, and you, Lucard, have the temerity to consider reneging on our agreement?" LaCroix's nostrils flared, his eyebrows rose, and the eyes below the scary eyebrows began to glow. "I thought you were a man of honor."

"Don't question my integrity, LaCroix. Coming from you, that accusation in laughable," Dracula responded with a snarl. "Do you expect me to believe that the fortunate happenstance that allowed Tate's lover to escape---and thus incidentally clear me of suspicion---was all *your* doing? Please. How stupid do you think I am?"

"Much stupider than I previously imagined, obviously--- stop right there, von Helsing!" While LaCroix and Lucard were busy arguing, Klaus was trying to drag Natalie behind the potted palms, his hand over her mouth, telling her that she'd like being a vampire, really she would. Natalie bit his hand when LaCroix boomed out his command to stop, and Klaus let go of her long enough for her to get free and head back toward the dance floor.

"All of you. Just STAY AWAY FROM ME. I have had it! Go bother someone else!"

A crash of glass, and Nick Knight dropped down in front of Natalie, facing the trio of vampires who were threatening her. He was still quite punchy from his recent blood binge, and taking on three other vampires seemed like a good idea. "It's all right, Nat. I'm here, no one's going to hurt you---"

"Oh, that's very reassuring," Natalie snapped. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Some old Austrian guy locked me in a crypt--- YOU!" Nick had spotted Klaus, and the immediate jealousy/territorial/male stupidity hormone kicked into overdrive. "This is all your fault! You stay away from my Natalie!"

"Gee, Nick, I didn't know you cared." This snippy remark was completely overlooked in the ensuing scuffle between Nick and Klaus, which involved both of them rolling, kicking, biting, throwing, flying, punching and screaming abuse at each other. Natalie stood on the sidelines, amazed at how little she felt like a woman in a romance novel and how much she felt like a pre-school teacher on a playground.

During the fight, Vachon and Tracy landed on the balcony and took in the situation. Vachon was uneasy, to say the least; as vampires go, he is relatively low-key and non-aggressive, and the number of heavy hitters and known psychopaths in the room was making him nervous. "Trace, this was a very bad idea---"

"Mr. Lucard?" Tracy asked weakly, stumbling forward in shock. Air-sickness combined with surprise to reproduce a sensation closely akin to nausea. She glanced sideways, and spotted LaCroix glaring and glowing-eyed on the other side of the room, cheering Nick on, and waiting to get in his shot at Klaus. Her partner was recreating the WWF Championships in the middle of the ballroom with his exact double, Natalie was fuming angrily, and here was the billionaire she'd been fantasizing about in a tuxedo and opera cloak, obviously not a disinterested onlooker. Vetter gulped and tugged on the M.E.'s sleeve. "Hi. We're here to rescue you."

"Fabulous." Natalie looked back in the direction Tracy came from, and waved to Vachon. "I was just getting ready to leave."

"Nooo!" Klaus disentangled himself from Nick long enough to slide across the floor to the coroner, clutching her around the knees. "Don't go! I'm sorry! I'll never lie to you again, really! I swear!"

"Klaus, stop trying to look up her dress," Lucard said, yanking von Helsing away from the coroner.

"Will someone please kill the mortal? Is that so much to ask?" LaCroix said wearily, then added, "Or do I have to do it myself?"

"If you lay a finger on her---"

"I'll hunt you down, LaCroix---" Both Nick and Klaus were advancing on the Nightcrawler, who groaned in agonized surrender. Keeping his plans a secret from Nicholas was now impossible, and his frustration level had risen to the point where he honestly didn't care. Let Nick hate him. Anything, so long as he didn't have to stick around.

"Enough! I don't care what else you do, kill each other, kill Lucard, kill yourselves; I am leaving, and I want Natalie Lambert dead by sunrise! Lucard, I expect you to keep your word. Or I'll know the reason why!" So saying, LaCroix took off in a huff, unable to endure another moment of twin Nicholas' fighting over the despicable mortal.

"I thought he'd never leave. Natalie---" Klaus was back to pleading words and longing glances.

"Get away from her, you. Nat---" Nick stepped forward, his arms out to hold her.

"BOTH OF YOU. BE! QUIET! NOW!" An awestruck silence filled the ballroom at Dr. Lambert's enraged shout. It was broken by the orchestra starting up a jazzy "Someone To Watch Over Me."

"THAT GOES FOR YOU GUYS, TOO!" The band fell silent, influenced as much by fear of Natalie as by Klaus's lingering "whammy". "Thank you. You," Natalie pointed at Klaus, "are a lying, scummy, no-good, blood-sucking fraud. I never want to see you again. But I'll settle for your absence for the rest of the night."

"B-b-but---"

"Jump off this balcony. I mean it. Jump, Klaus, or you can forget about taking me to the midnight showing of that Boris Karloff festival. _Forever_."

"Nat!"

"Jump!"

"I'd do it, man," Vachon whispered to Klaus. "She's *peeved*. Send her flowers later."

"You think?"

"Definitely."

Klaus sighed, looked pitifully at Natalie, blew a raspberry at Nick, and said, "Next time, Dracula. And there _will_ be a next time," and jumped off the edge of the CN Tower. Natalie crossed to the balustrade to make sure he wasn't hanging around, and nodded in satisfaction when she saw his form retreating into the horizon.

"Good. One down. Nick?"

"Yes, Nat?"

"You're an unromantic slob. I had more fun tonight with Klaus than I've had with you in the last year."

"You don't mean that---"

"Oh, don't I just?" The M.E.'s patience was clearly exhausted. "Tell me something. Why haven't you taken me out to dinner lately? Dancing? A lousy movie, for godssake? Hunh? Why?"

Nick struggled to understand why Natalie was so upset; but the beating he'd taken from Klaus wasn't helping him think any more clearly through his blood buzz, and his incredible angst emerged to hamper him once more. "You know how I feel about you---"

"Answer the question, smart guy."

"It isn't safe."

"Try again. Nothing's safe, I think this evening demonstrates that."

"I was going to wait until I was mortal to ask you out."

"Oh, and if that never happens?"

"Welll----"

"Ha! You know what, Nick? You can take a flying leap off that balcony, too. In fact," Natalie picked up a broken table leg leftover from Knight's fight with LaCroix, lit it off the candles, and smiled grimly. "I think you'd better start running. Now."

"You're upset---"

"You bet your shield I am. If you're not out of my sight in the next five seconds, I'm going to show you the meaning of 'upset.' Not to mention give you a whole new appreciation of the phrase, 'flaming pain.' ONE."

"Natalie---"

"TWO." She started toward him, her eyes glowing maniacally, makeshift torch at the ready.

"Can't we talk about this?"

"THREE."

Nick ducked a feint at his head and grabbed for the torch, but in his weakened and inebriated state miscalculated and ignited his sleeve.

"FOUR," Natalie yelled.

"Yeeee-OWWW!" he grabbed for the ice water, doused himself, then desperately said, "Nat, please. I can't leave you here with HIM." Nick pointed unsteadily at Lucard, who was watching the proceedings with a highly entertained expression.

"I've got Vachon and Tracy to protect me. Not to mention my handy-dandy torch. And frankly, I don't think you'd be much help. FIVE!" She lunged at Nick, who tripped, stumbled, and smacked into the balustrade. Seeing Natalie bending over him with her stake/torch descending toward his chest, Nick's survival instincts sent him hurtling over the railing, down toward the street below. A small SMACK! could be heard from the balcony.

"Well. That takes care of him." The coroner sighed, then turned to Vachon and Tracy. "You guys can split now."

"Natalie! He'll kill you!" Tracy protested, at the same time that Vachon breathed a sigh of relief. "We can't leave you here!"

"Here, home, wherever---Tracy, if it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen." Natalie smiled wearily. "And no offense, Vachon, but am I wrong in guessing that Count Dracula here can take you three falls out of five?"

"Nope. Thanks, Doc. Trace, we're outta here." The homicide