Chapter 12
He landed beside the building behind several tall, immaculately sculpted evergreen bushes. A quick scan of the area, with both his eyes and ears, confirmed that his arrival had not been witnessed. Turning his focus to the building, he hesitated for a moment in the semi-silence of the brisk, night air, the occasional car on the street, along with the low throb of a pulse or two coming from inside, disturbing the would-be serenity. Two days ago at this particular time he'd been confronting a serial killer. Now, after telling Tracy he'd had an errand to run, he was preparing to face another killer, one of his own kind. He suddenly felt strangely uneasy and uncertain over the prospect.
As his master had so sardonically suggested, Nick had done his job and easily located the home of Andrew Thomas Fisher, supposed 28-year-old computer programmer from Cincinnati, Ohio. The background information had been thorough. Aristotle certainly hadn't lost his touch.
Nick moved to the front of the condominium. It was opulent, located in one of the more affluent parts of the city. Oddly enough, before moving into the Raven, LaCroix had lived not far from these very apartments. As he walked up to the door of number two, Nick noted the ancient, Italian stucco style of the building and an ironic smirk lifted a corner of his mouth. How like Antonio to live in a place like this, he thought. The grin vanished quickly as he caught himself. Antonio? No.
He was letting his speculations interfere with his common sense. Antonio hadn't chosen this place. Nick was here to talk to Andrew Fisher and find out if his theory had any basis in fact. Still, the architecture of the condo certainly added to the impression of Tony's influence, but it could just as easily be a coincidence, and probably was. This whole thing had to be a crazy misinterpretation on Nick's part. It had to be.
Like LaCroix had said, 'Dead is dead, even for a vampire.' But Nick needed to reaffirm the certainty of that statement. The speculations that had been swirling around in his head the last couple of days had him doubting what logic and his experience told him to be true. When a vampire was killed in one of several specific ways, they died. Period. End of story. But what happened to their souls? His concern over the question had even gone so far as to cause him to distrust his own very personal dealings with death, or rather, 'near death'.
He'd realized years ago that he would not take his own life. His exposure to the field damper had reasserted that position, and his attitude had yet to change. He still found life, no matter how difficult it had become, preferable to death. But should his existence ever become burdensome, should the circumstance of the past year, or future years, push him too far, he was afforded a secret, melancholy comfort by the knowledge that death would always be there to release him if he so desired. Erica had found peace, hadn't she? Her spirit had walked the earth for only a short time, hadn't it?
Nick stood outside the entrance to Fisher's condo, poised at the door, unsure about his next move. What was he going to say to him? How was he going to approach the subject? He hadn't really thought about it until this very minute. Hi, Andrew. Remember me? I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to ask if you're possessed by the spirit of a dead vampire. An impatient quirk twisted Nick's mouth as he shook his head at the feeble attempt. Oh yeah, that sounded too good, very smooth.
Raising a hand to the door, he prepared to knock, although he knew the announcement wouldn't be necessary. He sensed the vampire's presence inside. The unusual, disturbing duality of the fledgling was easily gleaned, and as he picked up on it, he felt a foreboding frost trickle along his spine. The second, older presence was subtle and somehow distant, but it was there. Nick knew, just as he sensed Andrew, the other immortal could perceive him also. His assumption was promptly verified when, before he made contact with the wooden door, it opened, and he was greeted by the smiling face of Andrew Fisher.
The fledgling's cheerful eyes met Nick's as he spoke. "Nicholas...Knight. I didn't think it would be too long before you came looking for me. Come in, come in." Stepping back from the doorway, he gestured for Nick to enter the room with a sweep of his hand.
Somewhat surprised by the enthusiastic welcome, Nick hovered in the doorway a moment before walking past Andrew into a small foyer, which opened into an expansive living room. As Fisher closed the door, the detective took quick stock of the area. As he'd expected, the surroundings appeared more than comfortable. A thick, luxurious, deep gray carpet covered the floor. At the windows hung heavy embroidered curtains of black and gold that, when drawn, would effectively block the dangerous rays of the sun. The centerpiece of the room was a large, stone fireplace situated on the right wall as you entered from the front door. Its old-world mystique set the tone for the rest of the furnishings, which consisted mainly of richly carved woods and dark, brocade fabrics. Again, Tony's influence stared back at Nick through the decor of the room.
Focusing his attention on his host, Nick observed Fisher more closely. He was dressed in blue jeans, a brown, crew-neck sweater and tennis shoes, his hair neatly pulled back as it had been the first time they'd met. Nick couldn't help but think how the youthful vampire looked somehow out of place amongst the antique fixtures.
Meeting Fisher's eyes again, Nick noted what he thought was an amused gleam lurking in the gray depths. "Thank you, Andrew. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No, certainly not. I was just about to have some refreshment. Can I offer you a glass? I have some very fine stock. But then of course it would be. I, like most, get my supply from the Raven. LaCroix does an excellent job with his acquisitions."
"Nothing for me, thanks." Although he knew the human blood would tempt him, Nick wasn't hungry, having passed up Nat's fresh protein drinks to feed on his usual sustenance before leaving the loft tonight.
"Can I take your coat?" Fisher offered.
"No." Nick shook his head. "I won't take too much of your time. I just have a question or two."
Andrew bowed his head in silent acceptance before walking to a wet bar located at the far end of the room. Moving behind the bar, he retrieved a bottle from the small refrigerator and popped the cork. The intoxicating aroma of the bottle's contents took little time to permeate the air. The muscles in Nick's back stiffened slightly as the blood-scent hit him, awakening the eternal thirst that was never really dormant, never very far from the surface. Silently cursing the saliva that had rapidly pooled in his mouth, he swallow hard as he watched Fisher pour a glass and return the container to the refrigerator before strolling back into the living room to settle in a high-back, oak chair positioned next to the fireplace.
After taking a long, slow drink, a contented smile softened Andrew's features as he looked back at his guest. "All right, Detective, I get the impression you're not here to discuss the wonders of the Nightcrawler. So, what can I do for you?"
Nick's eyebrows lifted as Fisher's knowledge of his occupation caught him off guard.
Andrew read the gesture perfectly and explained. "You're somewhat of an anomaly, Nicholas, and, therefore, well known in the community. Surely you're aware of it? Once I'd met you, the whispers I'd been privy to fell into place, and the subject of those whispers had a face."
A thoughtful frown creased Nick's brow, his eyes dropping to the floor. He knew his quest for mortality was no longer a well-kept secret, it hadn't been for several centuries, but he'd had no idea he and his search had become such common knowledge as to be community gossip for every new vampire that came into town. The realization did not sit easily, not in the least. He was certain the enforcers were aware of his attempts at salvation, but since he had yet to find success, they left him alone. At least that was the only reason he could fathom for their non-interference up to this point. But regardless of the unlikelihood of enforcer intervention, Nick still wasn't happy about being the object of community prattle.
He decided against pursuing the subject any further and steered the conversation toward the reason for his visit. Stepping a few feet farther into the room, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black coat, he allowed his curiosity full reign. "When you met me at the door a few moments ago, you said that you didn't think it would be too long before I came looking for you. What did you mean?"
Fisher flashed Nick a knowing grin before setting his glass on the end table next to his chair. "I read the recognition and confusion in your expression the other night at the Raven." Standing, he moved to the fireplace and stared intently into the amber flames, his smile becoming distant, almost solemn. "I've seen the look before. Only once before, but it's a singular expression one doesn't easily forget. The sensation you felt then, and are feeling now, has raised a question or two that you feel I can answer." He looked back at Nick, his left eyebrow raised in a subtle challenge. "I am right?"
"Yes." The word was little more than an astonished whisper as Nick took a few steps closer to his host. Like a moth drawn to the bright, clean light of a flame, unaware of the hazard it invited, he was transfixed by the answer, his curiosity stirred further by the matter-of-fact accuracy of the fledgling's response. He had to know more. "As with every vampire, there's more to you than meets the eye, but unlike any vampire I know, or have known, there's something else, something unique. A duality that I don't understand, have never experienced. Am I imagining it or is it a legitimate feeling? You talk as if I'm not the first to have recognized the sensation."
Andrew turned his sights back to the fire, the distant expression still shrouding his features. "No, you're not the first. Actually, I'm sure every vampire I meet can feel something, but almost none can relate that feeling to anything or anyone. You have a point of reference to compare the feeling. You've experienced the sensation before because you're familiar with the vampire from whom the feeling comes."
The hairs on the back of Nick's neck were jolted to attention as the prickling sensation skirted across the skin. His presumptions were creeping ever so slowly closer to fact. It seemed as though Fisher was well on his way to confirming his troubling suspicions, and the realization brought with it an increasing discomfort. A slender strand of dread cut through his heart as he pushed the younger vampire further. "The person? Not you? Someone else. You...but not you?"
"Well, that's one way of putting it, I guess." Turning back toward Nick, Andrew cast him a charmed smirk. "I'm here, but, as you seem to have already surmised, I'm not alone. I suppose you could call it me...but more than me. I share my existence with another of our kind."
The last words brought a soft gasp from Nick, a stunned numbness spreading through his body. He'd been right. There was no crazy misinterpretation, no overactive imagination. There was now only a confirmation.
He should have been prepared to hear it. After all, he wasn't learning anything he hadn't already guessed himself. So the statement really shouldn't have come as much of a surprise. But actually hearing the words had nonetheless knocked a bit of the wind out of his sails. Working to gather his composure, he reluctantly admitted to himself that one more suspicion had to be confirmed. A name, he needed to hear a name.
"Who?" His mouth had gone very dry. Nick heard the question, but wasn't sure if he'd been the one to ask it. The voice sounded so removed, so foreign, so strained.
Amused eyes held the detective's, a hint of cynicism shadowing Fisher's expression. "I think you already know who, Nicholas." Without looking away, Andrew pulled a tooney from his pocket and began the coin's steady journey back and forth over the backs of the fingers of his right hand, the smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I share my consciousness with a very old friend of yours--one Antonio Caproni."
There. It had been said. It was official, so to speak. It was preposterous, unbelievable and extremely confusing, but it was true. Andrew was being honest with him. He knew it deep down in the pit of his stomach.
Nick groped for some semblance of satisfaction from the fact that he'd been right all along. At least he wasn't going crazy. However, the grain of contentment he gained from the knowledge did little to offset the more unsettling aspect of the discovery. Death did not necessarily guarantee an end for a vampire.
As the confirmation sank in, the disbelieving numbness started to fade. Nick's curiosity took control once again. In an effort to clear the remaining remnants of the fog that clouded his brain, he blinked and re-focused his eyes on Andrew. But even as he was accepting what he had just been told, his logical mind still refused to give in to the impossibility of the situation. "I watched Tony die over 400 years ago. And you're telling me that he's still alive...inside you?"
"Did you watch him die that night, Nicholas? Did you really?"
Nick listened to the incredible questions and his thoughts were once again propelled backward in time.
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ITALY 1520
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Nicholas took to the sky, the need to get as far away from Antonio as possible pushing him higher and higher into the cool, night air. But no matter how high or how fast he flew, he couldn't erase the image of the dead child from his mind. She had been so young and beautiful, so innocent, so pure. The sorrow welled up in his eyes as a hint of scarlet tinted the blue depths. Blinking, he pushed the unwanted display of feeling out of sight.
Raising his head a little more, he let the wind rush over his face, imagining that the force of the air would be enough to wipe the memory and the emotion from his head. But, of course, it was no use. The current did nothing more than cool his already cold skin. And the subtle, disgusting ache of curiosity that lingered in the shadows of the beast's thoughts only served to heighten the anger and sadness that held him captive.
He tried to rein in the whirlwind of emotion in order to think more clearly. But he just didn't seem to be able to calm the storm. All he could concentrate on was getting away, moving on. He would leave the villa tonight. But...what of the children in the city? Could he leave Antonio behind to prey on the young innocents of the town? His thoughts faltered. But could he, in all conscience, do anything else? He couldn't kill Tony for being a vampire. Because that was truly what this boiled down to in the end. Tony was a vampire doing what his kind had to do to survive. Did choice of prey make that much difference? They were creatures that killed in order to live. He couldn't condemn Tony for something that was a necessary part of his survival, for something that was necessary for his own survival.
No. He would simply leave. He really had no other alternative. He wouldn't stay and be witness to Antonio's obsession. And other than trying to talk the elder out of his choice of prey, which he had already concluded would be futile, Nicholas had no right to try to stop him. No. He would find a place to stay somewhere in the city until he made arrangements to leave. Perhaps he would travel back to France, or maybe England. He might even run into LaCroix some place along the way.
Turning, he headed back toward the city to Antonio's villa. He would quickly collect his things and be gone.
Entering the grand house the same way he'd left it less than an hour ago, Nicholas stood motionless in the silence of his bedroom. Reaching out with his senses, he scanned his surroundings. Antonio was still in the house, but no other presence, human or vampire, was evident.
A twinge of regret stopped Nicholas as he moved to begin gathering his things. Looking around the comfortable room, he considered the friendship he'd furthered in this place. The mornings spent in happy, thoughtful conversation. The evenings spent in anticipation and camaraderie. The sympathetic ear and wisdom that had helped to ease his pain. The kindness that had soothed his loneliness. Was he willing to toss it all aside because of his discovery? But could he forget what he'd seen and disregard his feelings?
Walking to the closet, he pulled out his case and began packing his few belongings.
Just as he closed the full satchel, he heard the knock on his door. He'd felt Antonio's approach even before he'd heard the rap. A wave of resignation washed over him. He was going to have to face Tony one more time before he left, if only to thank him for his hospitality. Now was as good a time as any, and, considering he was close to being ready to leave, it was the only time.
"Come in." The invitation was short and stiff as Nicholas tried to keep his still stormy emotions beneath the surface. He would go through the formalities as sedately as possible and be on his way.
The door opened slowly, a neglected hinge squeaking sharply with the movement. Nicholas turned to see Antonio hesitate in the doorway before taking one step into the room. The rigid stature of the Italian's shoulders communicated his unease, as did the rueful half-smile that pulled at his mouth. The smile, however, fell when his eyes encountered the suitcase lying on the bed. "You're leaving." The statement held only the smallest degree of astonishment. It was barely noticeable. He didn't seem too surprised by the observation, only doleful.
"Yes." Nicholas lifted the case and set it on the floor. Looking back at his host, he bowed his head. "I think it's for the best."
"Mmmm." Nodding thoughtfully, Antonio focused his eyes on the satchel. "I thought you would see it that way." He raised his attention back to his guest and flashed an uninspired smile before the frown moved back into place. "It saddens me to find that my behavior has been such a disappointment to you. So much so as to drive you away. But, Nicholas...I find it even more disheartening to realize that you must be such a disappointment to yourself. I see no difference in what we are, or what we do. How do you make the distinction?"
"There is a fine line, Tony. One that I choose not to cross."
"There is no such line, Nicholas." Antonio scoffed at the answer. "There are no lines, no boundaries, for a vampire. And we are the same. You're a self-denying fool if you believe differently."
The harsh words cut deeply and stoked a white anger in Nicholas. Taking a resolute step forward, a staunch refusal on his lips, he froze, the beating of a mortal heart stifling his retort.
Acknowledging the abrupt pause, a puzzled frown shaded Antonio's face. "What is it?" But before he had finished the question, a light of understanding replaced his dark expression as it became apparent that he too sensed the intruder.
At that same moment, Nicholas' eyes were drawn to a sudden movement behind his host. The glint of the moon off a silver cross registered first, and he hissed at the sharp pain caused by the sight of the religious symbol. A fraction of a second later, he spied the crossbow pointed at Antonio. Responding by instinct alone, he pushed the elder vampire out of the way just as he heard the trigger release a deadly bolt. In the next instant, the sharpened wood ripped through Nicholas' shoulder, the excruciating pain dropping him to his knees.
Momentarily paralyzed by the attack, he watched through amber eyes as Antonio scrambled back to his feet. Yellowed-eyed and fangs bared, the Italian hissed his discomfort at the still visible cross. He was forced to keep his distance as the trespasser quickly reloaded his weapon. Raising the crossbow again, the interloper took aim at Tony's chest and released another bolt. With unnatural speed, the vampire dodged the small stake, and in no more than a flash of saving himself, stood directly in front of the mortal with his back to his injured friend. Nicholas heard the predatory growl issue from the elder immortal as Antonio knocked both the cross and crossbow from the stunned mortal's grasp. Gripping the man by the throat, Tony lifted him in the air over his head as he spat his contempt. "You absurd, insignificant creature. We reign supreme. Your arrogance will cost you your pitiful life."
Antonio languidly lowered his victim down to within reach of his fangs. Nicholas looked on in awe as an easy smile crossed the intruder's face. The man hovered at the jaws of death, yet still seemed confident in his task. A strangled pledge left him as he reached inside his coat. "No, demon. Your insolence has cost you yours. I send you back to the hell from whence you came."
For a mortal, the move was extremely swift and strong, Tony's body stiffening with the power of the sudden blow. Nicholas' breath caught in his throat as he helplessly witnessed the attack. For several drawn-out seconds, the Italian stood unmoving, as if rooted in place by the surprise of the unforeseen assault. The mortal, still dangling in Tony's grip, had a sick, wide-eyed wonder on his face as he stared at the result of his deed.
The charged, eerie stillness was suddenly shattered when Nicholas heard a thunderous growl of pain and anger issue from Antonio as he swiftly and forcefully hurled the mortal against the far wall, the broken body falling in a fleshy heap on the floor.
Grabbing his chest, Tony turned to face his guest. The stake had found its mark, buried deep in the vampire's heart. The agony in Caproni's eyes was mixed with a shred of bewilderment as he fell to the floor.
Forgetting his own injury, Nicholas pulled himself to his feet and staggered to his friend's side. On his knees again, he lifted the Italian's upper body from the floor and held him in comforting arms.
The elder looked up into his companion's face and forced a stilted whisper. "Well, my young friend, it would seem the job has been done for you."
Grasping the Italian's meaning, Nicholas' eyes widened in shock. "No, Tony. I would not have destroyed you. I'm leaving. Remember?"
A gurgling cough forestalled the response at first, but as the bout subsided, Antonio offered a frail smile. "Ah, but it did cross your mind, didn't it, young Nicholas? And I'm afraid your still all-too-human heart would have brought you back here in the end, a guardian angel of the helpless innocent." Tony's chuckle lapsed into another round of coughing.
After it had quieted, Nicholas sadly replied. "No. I would have left you alone."
"I wonder?" The weakening vampire paused for a moment, another spasm of pain wracking his body. When it had passed, he locked his dying eyes with Nicholas' and another short laugh escaped him. "The demon/archangel Nicholas." His voice was barbed with sarcasm. "How contrary. How ridiculous. How...sad. You--" His labored breathing forced him to pause. "You'd better come...to terms with what you truly are, my friend. You have been given...the precious gift of eternal life. You should...appreciate and revel in it."
Gazing down at the fatal injury to Tony's heart, Nicholas couldn't help but disagree, the sorrow tightening his chest. "Maybe not so eternal, my friend. Even vampires die."
Fighting for his last breaths, Antonio objected to the finality of the statement. "Ah...but do they? Do...they really? This...is not...the...end for me...Nicholas. I'm...not ready to...die." A weak, pale hand grasped the lapel of Nicholas' coat in what seemed a last ditch effort to thwart the claws of death that were, with ever increasing urgency, dragging Tony down. "I... will...see you...again."
With that, a final gasp signified the end of Antonio Caproni's existence.
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Or so it had seemed at the time.
Nick hadn't taken the last words of his friend to heart. He had listened to a creature unwilling to let go of life, a being who, at his death, was drawing comfort from an unattainable fantasy. Nick hadn't believed for one instant that Antonio's words were based in reality. He'd watched the Italian's body turn to ash in the morning sun and had thought that would be the end to another short chapter in his existence. He'd thought.
As the memory consumed him, Nick's absorbed gaze had fallen to the fire that burned brightly in the hearth. Coming back to himself, he blinked, breaking the mesmerizing draw of the animated flames. The movement of Fisher's hand caught his attention as he raised his eyes, the steady, methodical rotation of the coin across the long, pale fingers acting as a grim reminder of the improbable edification that had just been bestowed upon him.
Inching his sights higher still, he confronted the contented pewter stare of the fledgling. Amusement still tarried in the gray eyes, but a determination had also taken up residence. As if he were resolved to make his guest understand completely what had taken place. Sliding the coin back in his pocket, Andrew took a step toward Nick, his tone tinged with the same determination that shone in his eyes. "His body died that day, Nicholas. The flesh in which he'd been born, first as a mortal and then as a vampire, was destroyed, but not his essence, his being."
"His soul?" Again, Nick's voice didn't seem to be his own when he spoke.
"If you like." With a casual shrug, Fisher turned to retrieve his glass from the end table. "Although I was never one to believe in a vampire's retention of the soul after being brought across." He took a drink of the blood before continuing, his smoky eyes once again locked on Nick. "But if you don't believe in the loss of the soul, then you have to concede that it is changed, darkened, forever. The soul is altered. The body is altered. We are moved to a different plane of consciousness. Mortality can never be reclaimed. It dies, forever, as we are reborn into darkness. And through that rebirth, we gain tremendous strength. Strength of body, strength of mind, and strength of will."
"A will so strong that it allows for its survival even after physical death?" The incredulity still colored Nick's response.
"Is it really so hard to believe?" Andrew drained his glass. He looked up from the goblet, the hint of an impatient pout turning his mouth. "The will and the hunger live on, Nicholas. The need to sate the thirst drives us even after death. The hunger is our soul. It keeps us truly eternal. If one reservoir for our existence is destroyed, we find another."
"No." Nick emphatically shook his head. "I've seen several vampires die over my lifetime. I don't believe they're all out there somewhere living on through other bodies." Pausing, he took another step closer to Fisher in his need to convince both himself and the younger vampire that what he was saying was the truth. "They died. In every sense of the word, they died."
"Just like Antonio died?" The slow retort teetered on the edge of a familiar mockery.
Nick had moved far enough into the room that he'd come up against the back of a chair situated opposite from the one which Andrew had occupied moments ago. Placing his hands on it, he leaned forward slightly, again shaking his head. "Impossible. There's no history, not even a legend. If we were capable of what you're saying, there would be stories. We've existed for thousands of years. Knowledge of this would be out there by now."
"Would it?" With an unaffected ease that irritated Nick, Fisher stepped back over to the end table before turning to face his guest again. "We are relatively few, Nicholas. Our lives span centuries, millennia. Death among us is fairly rare, or at least, few and far between. And who's to say how long it takes for the transference, as I like to call it, to occur. Antonio's body was destroyed over 400 years ago. No. I don't think this ability necessarily has to be common knowledge."
The detective's head swam as he wrestled with the plausibility of the explanation. How often had his experience been repeated through the years? What was the likelihood of one vampire running into another who carried the soul of an old acquaintance? Not great, he guessed. And how vocal had vampires with Fisher's experience been over the centuries? Again, Nick supposed little had been said about the event because even LaCroix had never mentioned it, and Fisher couldn't be the first to have had this happen to him, surely. The obscurity of the occurrence could be possible. Hadn't Antonio, over 400 years ago, told him he would see Nick again, even as he lay dying? Had the Italian known?
As he contemplated the prospect, another question begged to be asked. "How?" A simple, one-syllable word that would, more then likely, open Nick's world up to one more belief-shattering jolt. "How can it happen?"
With another shrug, Andrew stared down into his empty cup. "I really can't say. I wish I could. I only know that as a mortal I had dreams...disturbing, haunting dreams. Dreams of a life long ago. A life of total freedom filled with a passion, a hunger, that was, completely and without reservation, indulged. Dreams of sweet, soothing blood." He raised his attention back to Nick, the wonder of the memory gleaming in his eyes. "Dreams of a vampire."
Nick stood both entranced and alarmed by what he was hearing, the words 'as a mortal' sticking in his mind.
A faint smile lightened Fisher's face when he continued. "And as the images became more frequent, I was compelled by a force I didn't understand to seek out creatures I didn't know existed. Once I'd found them, I was obliged to become one of them. I know now that Antonio's need to feel, in total, the experiences of his nature drove me to find my master. Only through another vampire could he be whole again. It was because of his influence that I became a vampire." The subtle smile grew into a bright grin. "I suppose you could say I have two masters."
Looking back into the fire, Nick struggled against what he was learning. This wasn't right. This wasn't possible. Yet he couldn't just dismiss it as a simple folly. He knew better. But the need to refute the disturbing descriptions kept pushing at him. "No."
Fisher raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "You deny what you feel, what you know deep inside you to be true?"
"I don't deny that what you tell me of yourself is true. It would be stupid to try. As you said, I can feel the truth of it. But, I do deny that this is a part of a vampire's nature. You have a narrow view, Andrew, a single experience. What happened to you is an exception, not a rule."
"Think what you will, Nicholas. You have no way of disproving what I believe. But...you do have proof," he pointed to himself, "that what I've told you does happen. How can you know for certain that it's as rare as you think? Why would you want to believe that it's an infrequent phenomenon? Don't you draw an exhilarating consolation from the knowledge that you are truly eternal, that even if this shell you reside in now is destroyed, you will find fulfillment in another?"
Consolation? How could he draw consolation from something that smashed his centuries-old belief and stole his ace in the hole? Something that informed him he would walk in darkness for eternity with no possibility of release, driven by a thirst he would never quench.
One thing in particular scared the hell out of him--Fisher's description of being pushed toward vampirism by Antonio's presence. Even after death, Tony's hunger had coerced a mortal into becoming a vampire. Even after death, a vampire could infect a mortal with his darkness. Far from comforting, Nick found this specific revelation appalling to the point of feeling a physical sickness churn in his stomach.
The rending of the velvet fabric beneath his hands captured Nick's troubled attention, the unconscious pressure with which he gripped the chair causing his fingertips to pop through the cloth. The odd tearing sound registered on his ears, and his eyes fell to the chair. The thick fabric had easily given way under his vampiric strength. Eight neat holes now marred the material as his fingers poked through the openings and pressed deeply into the cushion that lay underneath. It was when he heard the wooden frame of the chair start to crack in response to the pressure that he suddenly dropped his hands from the piece of furniture.
Looking up, he watched a touch of marvel, followed by a disapproving scowl, move across Fisher's face upon witnessing his guest's handiwork. After a second or two, Andrew's eyes left the chair to focus on the detective's face, the frown growing deeper. "What a pity, Nicholas. It would appear that you don't relish the revelation I've shared with you. As a matter of fact, it seems as though my confidence has had quite the opposite effect. Quite." He sat his empty glass on the end table. "But...how silly of me to forget. You're a vampire who doesn't want to be a vampire. Appreciating your nature, and the wonders it allows, isn't something you do, is it?" Sighing, he took his seat once again. With elbows resting on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers in front of him. His voice held a trace of condescension while he gazed down at the floor. "You have the fortune of age, Nicholas. How can you regret the strength you command? I dream of the day when I have gathered such power. Antonio has relayed to me the heady taste of the potent force that comes to a vampire with the passage of time. I look forward to experiencing that might."
An excited spark fired in Fisher's eyes, and as Nick watched the intensity of the anticipation grow, he was again faced with the considerable degree of Tony's influence over the fledgling. He wondered just how far the influence went. He thought of Antonio's preferred prey, and Tracy's missing children sprang to mind, his suspicion in that matter coming to the fore.
Nick stepped around the damaged chair and stood a few feet from Fisher, tension and concern tainting his expression. "Has Antonio relayed other tastes to you as well, Andrew?" Nick's voice challenged his host with his need to know more.
Fisher's eyes remained fixed on some unseen point on the floor. He sat hauntingly still, an unreadable mask guarding his features. The silence stretched for several, long seconds, the crackle of the wood in the fireplace seemingly magnified by the vivid quiet. For a moment, Nick wasn't sure if Andrew had heard his question. But he knew better. And when his patience had reached its end, he saw the preternatural stillness dissolve, a slow smile curving Fisher's lips. The gray eyes lifted to consider Nick once more, a sincere confusion peeking through the amusement. "Blood and power. Those are my tastes, Nicholas. What else is there?"
"What kind of blood?"
"Human, of course. There is no other kind." Fisher faltered, his uncertainty growing. "What are you getting at, Detective?"
"Children, Andrew. I'm getting at children. I want to know if you've acquired Antonio's taste for the blood of children." Nick's eyes narrowed as he searched the fledgling's face for a reaction.
Fisher's grin disappeared, the inquiry seemingly coming as truly unexpected. Straightening in the chair, he leaned forward, his brows knitted together in a frown. "Children? What do you mean...children? What are you accusing me of, Detective?"
"Oh come on, Fisher. If Antonio is as much a part of you as you say he is, then you know of his taste for young blood." Stalking a couple of steps forward, Nick stood towering over his seated host, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his long coat, a menacing glare shooting from his eyes. His voice was as threatening as his expression when he continued. "Are you accommodating that preference, Andrew? Are you quenching that insatiable thirst? Are you feeding off the blood of children?"
"I don't-- No! No, of course not." Nick was forced to take a step backward as Fisher flew from the chair with the denial. Grabbing the goblet from the end table, the fledgling marched to the bar. Nick watched him refill the glass and noted the unsteady hand that poured the blood. He also registered the fear and confusion that distorted Fisher's otherwise flawless features. The reaction certainly wasn't that of an innocent. The easy aloofness had abruptly vanished.
"No? Do you expect me to believe that?"
After taking a long drink, Fisher refilled the glass before he spoke. "I...I don't care what you believe. Anyway, it's none of your business. What are you, an enforcer or something?" The bottle was returned to the refrigerator.
Nick's blue gaze captured the flustered gray of Andrew's, mistrust and irritation seeping through in his voice. "Your reaction doesn't give me much confidence in your words. And no, as you well know, I'm not an enforcer. Why so jumpy?"
With apparent difficulty, Andrew broke the eye contact and took another gulp of the blood. As he lowered the glass from his lips, the uncertain confusion became more evident in his stilted manner. Slowly, he moved from behind the bar and walked back to stand in front of the fireplace, his sights once again caught by the dancing flames in the hearth. "I... I know of Antonio's preference for young blood. As you say, how could I not?" A resolved calm all at once descended upon Fisher. It was as if he had, in that very instance, decided to make a cleansing confession, to unburden his mind. "The dreams I mentioned earlier were, and are, filled with lusty remembrances of such satisfying conquests. Conquests that Antonio has an intense desire to continue. Through me. Bottled blood isn't enough to completely appease him." His eyes darted from the fire to settle on Nick, a pleading will to be believed reflected in the dusky orbs. "But I've resisted. I've resisted." Pausing, he dropped his eyes back to the fire. "That is, I think I've resisted."
"You think?" Nick frowned at the doubt. "What do you mean, you think? How could you not know for certain?"
Fisher shook his head. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can't be sure. I'm missing time. Whole nights go unaccounted for. Some mornings I wake up totally fulfilled and content, but unable to remember what I've done the night before to feel such satisfaction. I'm able to remember the night up to a certain point and then everything goes blank. In the beginning, not long after I was brought across, it happened only very rarely. But through the years, the instances have slowly become more and more frequent. It's like my consciousness is taken from me, like Caproni takes me over so completely that I no longer exist. When it happens, I don't know what I do. I don't know what Caproni does."
Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This whole situation was becoming more unnerving than he'd ever imagined it could. All of his ludicrous speculations were being borne out, and with more accuracy than he would have liked. But, on top of that, he was discovering things even more disturbing than his original guesses. Fisher was now telling him that Caproni could indeed be indulging his twisted obsession, but without the young vampire's knowledge. Incredibly, Tony was apparently capable of somehow usurping Andrew's will and taking him over, leaving the other immortal with no command of his own body and no memory of his actions.
Impossible. It all sounded so absurdly impossible.
But when Nick opened his eyes again and looked back into the mystified face of Andrew Fisher, he knew that he was hearing the truth, or at least what Fisher believed to be the truth.
Sympathy for the fledgling bubbled up inside Nick as he saw the dismay reflected in Andrew's features. Stepping closer to Fisher, Nick placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I believe you, Andrew. As crazy as it sounds, I believe you."
"Thank you." Fisher's voice was thick with relief.
"He's taking children, Andrew. I'm almost sure of it. You've got to resist him. You've got to fight him." The urgency in Nick's voice was unmistakable.
Sighing heavily, Fisher looked down into the dark liquid in his glass. "I try, but he's so much more powerful than I am. I don't belong to myself anymore. I belong to him."
Nick abruptly snatched his hand from Andrew's shoulder, as if burned by the touch of a cross, the last word sending a chilling bolt of shock through him. It wasn't the word itself that took him by surprise, but the sickeningly familiar tone in which it was said. He could have sworn he heard the hint of an Italian accent flavoring Fisher's voice. And as he studied Andrew's face, he was amazed to see that the apprehension and fear were gone. As suddenly as they had appeared, the uncertainty and dread were replaced with a cool, easy arrogance. An arrogance that Nick had witnessed many years ago. An arrogance worthy of Antonio Caproni. The features did not belong to Antonio, but the air of casual indifference was without doubt Tony's. Nick was looking at a shell of Andrew Fisher. A shell now filled to overflowing with the essence of Antonio Caproni.
A twinkle of amusement flashed in Fisher's eyes as he took another drink. When he lowered the glass, he frowned down into it. "Tolerable. Nothing more than tolerable."
"Antonio." Nick felt the muscles throughout his entire body tighten as he spoke the confirmation.
The newcomer's gaze left the goblet to concentrate on his companion. Smiling, he nodded. "Yes. It's good to see you, old friend. I told you we'd meet again, didn't I?"
"But...how?" The disbelief brought on by the circumstance filtered through as Nick asked the simple question.
Caproni shrugged. "I'm not sure that I could explain it. Or that the explanation would make much sense. Besides, the 'how' is not important."
"Maybe not. But the 'what' is very important. You're indulging an old obsession aren't you, Tony?"
A soft chuckle left Antonio as he locked eyes with Nick. "The demon/archangel Nicholas, champion of the weak. I was right about you. A pity."
"Yes, you were right about me. But I don't find it something to be pitied." Antonio's description of him annoyed Nick greatly, but, in essence, it was accurate, although he thought 'archangel' was a bit of a stretch. As he continued, Nick's low, steady tone echoed with a threatening force that helped to declare his conviction. "I will see an end to the child disappearances, Tony. You are feeding on the children?"
"I am a vampire, Nicholas." Caproni took another drink. "But who's to say?" He raised the goblet slightly in an indication. "It has been a long time. Tastes can change."
"Not yours."
"Yes, well, some habits are hard to break. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I'm warning you, Antonio. If you don't put a stop to this, I will."
Caproni raised his eyebrows in feigned alarm. "Will you destroy Andrew as well? You will have to, you know. And in the end, it won't matter in the least. You will have killed him for nothing. For I will find refuge in another. We are eternal. I am eternal. You will never stop me, Nicholas."
The laughter started as a low chuckle deep in Antonio's throat. But as the seconds ticked by, Nick listened to the sound grow into a jeering, heart-felt thunder, the pure glee on Tony's face churning the detective's stomach. The laughter continued, and Nick's anger grew more intense with each passing moment until he felt something snap. Pulling his hands from the pockets of his coat, he grabbed Antonio by the shirt, his eyes red with fury. But still the hideous laughter continued. "You bastard."
Nick began to shake the cackling vampire, his seething anger driving him forward. He snarled through extended fangs as he berated Antonio once again. "You sick bastard."
All at once, like someone slamming a door, the laughter stopped. Nick froze. He looked on in silent amazement as Fisher's eyes dropped shut, and a blank, emotionless mask fell over his face. Then, as if waking from a nightmare, Andrew's eyes sprang open and darted around the room in what seemed to be an effort to get his bearings, the fear and confusion once again very evident in his movements. It was suddenly very clear to Nick that he was no longer dealing with Antonio. Fisher's essence had resurfaced.
"Knight?" The fledgling's distressed eyes dropped to the powerful hands that gripped his clothing.
Following Andrew's gaze, Nick realized he still had a tight hold on his host's shirt. A twinge of embarrassment pricked him as he released Fisher.
"He was here, wasn't he?" Brushing a shaky hand across his forehead, Andrew wiped away tiny beads of red sweat.
"Yes." The slow, quiet answer reminded Nick of a death knell. And in a way, that's what Antonio's appearance had signaled. Death. Death of a sacred belief. Death of a silent solace. The further death of a wavering hope.
As he went on, Nick's voice became filled with an almost pleading desperation in an attempt to try and fight the growing hopelessness. "You've got to keep fighting him, Andrew. Isn't there any way you can keep him at bay?"
"No! There isn't. I've tried. I've been trying since the day I realized what was happening. He's too strong."
"You can't give up." Andrew's defeat was contagious, and Nick felt it start to creep into his heart even as he tried to be encouraging.
"Yes, I can. It's no use. And I'm so tired. Tired of the struggle." Fisher held Nick's gaze with his own. "Do you know what it's like, Knight? Do you know what it's like to fight against something you have no chance of defeating? It can't be done forever."
Pulling his eyes away from Andrew, Nick allowed them to fall to the floor. There he spied the glass that Fisher had been drinking from only a few moments ago. In his earlier fury, he hadn't noticed when it had fallen to the ground. Now it lay on its side, the contents a dull, scarlet wound against the pristine gray of the carpet. Unconsciously, he nodded his head. Yes, he knew what it was like. The fragrance of the spilled human blood called to him. He knew all too well.
Without saying a word, Nick turned on his heel and walked to the door. Facing his host again, he spoke. "I have no wish to harm you, Andrew. I know Antonio's actions have nothing to do with your desires. But, if the children continue to disappear, I will put a stop to it. I must put a stop to it."
With that, Nick left the frightened fledgling staring after him.
End Chapter 12