Feeling tired, Nicholas leaned against the wall as he rode the lift up to
the second floor of his property.  The night had been a long one---he had
just barely beat the sun home, but worth it as he and Schanke had managed to
collar a murderer that had evaded the police for weeks.  Now he could get
some well-deserved sleep!
 

After the lift came to a stop he pushed the door aside and stepped into his
home, intent on getting a quick drink before going upstairs to flop into
bed.  The weary detective was half way to his bedroom before he noticed the
broken crate and shattered glass lying on his floor.  The glass he
immediately recognized as being that from his skylight, but his mind barely
catalogued the bits of safety glass as he glanced over them, concentrating
instead on the large item sitting on his floor.
 

What the hell?  Leaping back down to the main level, he gave the unexpected
object a closer inspection.
 

"Parisian Antiquities?," he mumbled upon finding  the label, not recalling
having ordered anything from such an establishment.  Running his hand over
the splintered wood planks, Nicholas thoughtfully fingered the rough edges..
 

The glass was very likely caused by a particular ancient vampire of his
acquaintance, Nick realized.  However, the crate was too big to have come
through via anywhere but the lift.  And only Natalie, Schanke, and a handful
of trusted vampires he counted as friends knew his secuirty code, to be used
only when necessary.  Nick knew it hadn't been the mortals, since he had
just left them at the precinct.  That left a vampire.  LaCroix?  He had
never graced his sire with the security system's password, but he wouldn't
be surprised if the ancient hadn't obtained it anyway.  The knight cursed
under his breath.  He might enjoy solving mysteries on the job, but this was
his home!  Was it unreasonable to expect his privacy to be secure from
unannounced visitors?  (The toe of his boot kicked some of the glass,
sending it skittering across the loft.)  And that they should use the damn
door?!
 
 
 

Crossing over to his phone, he noticed the small notecard propped up against
it.  The writing was simple and to the point:
 

Call me.
     A.
 

Uh oh.  Now things were starting to make some sense.  Partially, anyway.
Picking up the phone, Nick dialed a number from memory, one that he had
often used in the past, confident that the owner would be home.  Aristotle
almost never left his beloved computers.
 

"Hello," a voice answered after the first ring.
 

"Aristotle?"
 

"Nicholas!  How are you doing?"
 

"Fine.  Listen, Aristotle, you wouldn't happen to know anything about a
large crate sitting in my living room, would you?"
 

"Yes I would, and I've been wanting to talk to you about that.  I'm afraid
that I can't keep acting  the mailing station for you.  You know how the
'postmaster general' feels about my extracurricular activties.  Might I
recommend UPS?"
 

Chuckling, Nicholas smiled into the phone with an expression fitting
somewhere between pained and relieved.  Actually, that had been his first
worry---that Aristotle had been delivering the package and been caught
red-handed by an enraged LaCroix."  Alright, my friend--I'll find other
avenues.  But back to this new accessory sitting on my floor.  Can you tell
me who sent it?  And more importantly, what was in it?"
 

There was a lengthy pause at the other end of the line.
 

"You mean you don't know?"
 

A bitter coldness decided to take up residence in the pit of Nicholas'
stomach.  "No."  The centuries-old knight swallowed, suddenly nervous, his
long list of acquired enemies--both mortal and immortal--springing to mind.
 

"I'm sorry, Nick,"  the Greek's contrite voice came back over the line
"Since it was addressed to you, I just assumed it was something that you had
ordered.  Do you want me to have it disposed of?"
 

"That  won't be necessary.  Whatever it was seems to have either been
removed, or done that chore itself."  He could almost taste the confusion in
his Aristotle's voice.  Or were those just his own feelings?
 

"Pardon?"
 

Nicholas quickly explained the odd appearance of the box:  how it appeared
to have both been broken into and out of.  He heard his friend take in a
deep breath.
 

"Nick...I don't like the sound of this.  I don't like it at all."

It wasn't hard to imagine what Aristotle was thinking:

Hunters.  Whether of the human or vampire variety didn't matter.

"That makes two of us," was Nick's hearfelt response.  He could hear
Aristotle's fingers rapidly striking the buttons on his computer's keyboard.
 

"I'll start researching who sent it right away."
 

"And what was in it," Nick pressed.
 

"Of course, of course."  Aristotle sounded distracted, half of his attention
already fixed on digging up the requested information.  "I *can* tell you
right off that my scans detected only a metal form.  Unfortunately, the
shape was too indistinct to say of what exactly."  Aristotle's next words
were heavy with worry.  Neither needed to look at a clock to realize that if
this was an act by Hunters, the loft's owner was trapped in his home by the
rising sun.  "Nicholas, I am so sorry for my rash actions on this.  I should
have verified that the delivery was something you were expecting.  Please be
careful, my friend."
 

"I know, Aristotle, I know," Nicholas reassured him.  "And I will be."
 

Setting the phone back down, Nicholas stretched out his senses.  As far as
he could determine, he was alone in the building save for the odd mouse.
Could this all be just some elaborate joke of LaCroix's?  He had been
avoiding the vampire, and LaCroix did not take kindly to being ignored.
Still, it just didn't smack of something his sire would pull.  Hopefully,
Aristotle would soon have some answers for him, but one thing was  certain:
 

He wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

LaCroix's amber-lit eyes never left the strange creature as they both
silently watched each other.  He recongized it as the same mish-mashed
monster from Nicholas' nightmares.  A bit more haggard looking, though.  The
Roman had not survived two millenium by underestimating an opponent:  he
would study this beast first before attacking it.

 It was breathing heavily; long, thin tongue lolling out, chocolate-brown
feathers dull against slick lion-gold fur.  A tad on the thin side and
definitely not in the best of form.  Still the beast exuding a sense of
power.

Following the animal when it had fled his son's loft, he'd chased it through
the pre-dawn sky until the invading sunlight had forced him into taking the
drastic action of tackling it and holding on until they crashed into an old,
abandoned building.  Fortunately, there had been no mortals about to witness
their descent.  From there things had turned decidely...unusual.  Or, make
that even more than they had started out as, the Roman wryly thought to
himself; it wasn't everday he executed a dogfight with a Middle-Eastern
myth.  But that was a minor thing in comparison to another problem.  No,
LaCroix was far more concerned about his current environment:  not sunlight
streaming through broken windows, but the fact that he now found himself
standing amidst mist-shrouded oak trees.  The fog was light, and the trees
were colored the right shades for this part of the year---if rather
transparent in form; however, neither element should have been located where
the insides of an empty warehouse logically would be.  That was rather
unsettling to the former Roman general.  Despite being considered by mortals
to be 'supernatural' himself, LaCroix had never put much stock in magic and
other such 'mumbo jumbo'.  For him, the world had always been a
straightforward place of survival and need, where neither angel nor demon
took residence.  Charms and spells had been his son's hobby.
How...annoying.. to discover that Nicholas had had the right of it.
 

"I take it," LaCroix began in a droll voice, not really expecting an answer
from what he considered a mere---if unforseen---animal, "that you are the
same griffin from the 13th century?  Or do I have the... pleasure of meeting
another of your kind?"
 

A soft hooting sound was his only reply as the living myth regarded him.
But the eyes... the eyes held a spark of intelligence.  He tried again,
hoping that he would not have to kill the creature outright.  His curiousity
was aroused, and he wanted to know all about this being---especially since
it seemed to have taken an interest in his son.  Was it a friend or enemy to
his offspring?
 

"I don't know what you were doing in Nicholas' abode, but I warn you that I
will not tolerate any harm to come to him either directly, or indirectly."
An evil smile twisted his lips upwards.  "Nicholas is under *my* authority.
If you wish to associate with him, you must go through me."  His golden eyes
stared grimly into the griffin's face.
 

[Not The Food]
 

Startled, LaCroix stepped back a half step as
the..words?...images?...entered his mind.  Had he heard that, or not?  Was
the creature capable of speech?
 

But the griffin merely stared back at him, mouth---or rather,
beak---unmoving.
 

LaCroix eyed it warily as he picked up a metal crowbar abandoned by some
worker--or looter, it didn't matter to him which.  "And what, exactly, is
your 'Food'?" he asked, on the off chance that the thought had, indeed, been
sent by the griffin.
 

Close to the animal, a patch of mist separated to form a transparent ghost
of his son.
 

"Nicholas?" The ancient raised an elegant eyebrow.  "Nicholas is mine."
 

Flaming eyes of fiery orange glinted in moonlight that should not be there.
 

[Hunger/Need/Regain]
 

Regain?  LaCroix's eyes narrowed.  This was getting more interesting by the
second.  A mix-and-match myth that could communicate only through imagery
and some sort of emotional telepathy.  Had Nicholas stolen something from
this creature?  Yet Nicholas' blood memory of his mortal nightmares clearly
showed that it was the *griffin* that had done the taking.
 

"You intrigue me, griffin.  Perhaps I will not destroy you offhand if you
can explain why you are here."
 

Immediately, the griffin's wings spread out and the eagle-shaped head turned
to gaze upon something to the side.  LaCroix watched as---if on
command---another bit of the mist swirled into the ghostly image of Nicholas
in old-fashioned garments, fighting with an equally transparent griffin.
After a bit, the vampire subjugated itself to the animal, only to execute a
fatal attack, but then the vampire collapsed as a shroud of white merged
into him.  Finished, the images evaporated, becoming part of the surrounding
mist once more.
 

At first, LaCroix didn't know what to make of it.  He knew of Nicholas'
dream of meeting a griffin when he was a young child of the de Brabant
family.  But never had his son spoken of having had a different encounter
with the myth-shaped incubus.  Yet, the phantom image had been wearing
clothing from several centuries back.
 

Then it struck him--- the party at the Duke's.  He remembered that event for
several reasons.  Nicholas had always been such a slave to current
styles---(something that his  sibling, Janette, had fostered no doubt), and
a lover of parties; however, that night he had been reluctant to leave their
abode.  LaCroix had insisted, so a rebellious Nicholas had subtley protested
by attending the affair in out-of-fashion clothing, probably hoping that he
would send him back home.  It had also been during that night that his son
had started acting out of sorts on a regular basis--treating mortals as more
than simple prey and shying away from his sire.  Then, too, there was the
Duke's griffin-inspired legend that he had related to his child.  Nicholas
had been upset as he had listened to the tale; however, he had not connected
his protoge's reaction with a real event.  Could these events be related?
 

Feeling somewhat exasperated with his son's unreasonable penchant for
secrecy, LaCroix pondered the question.  It seemed that Nicholas had not
only met the griffin a second time, but had kept that knowledge from him.
But why?  Yes, he would have shown his displeasure at another 'dream', but
that was hardly enough for his son to begin putting a wedge between them.
He was the boy's father, for gods' sake!
 

"What does Nicholas have of yours that you wish back?" LaCroix asked,
seeking more information.
 

[Hoard!]
 

Mist swirled around him, thickening, agitated.  Was that voices he was
hearing?  Sweet laughter mixed with terrified screams, feelings of hope, of
love, of fear?  A cacophany of intense emotions brushed against him for but
a tiny moment.  Then the mist dissipated back to its former consistency.
 

Taken aback, LaCroix considered what he had felt---then let out an evil
chuckle that turned into a snarl of rage.
 

"My, my... So,the legend was  true?  You do collect souls---or would
emotions be a better word?  And, I take it, because of your fixating on *my*
child, my Nicholas has been unduly tormented as no vampire should have to
be!"  He glared at the mythical beast; amber-eyes tinged with scarlet, voice
harsh and deepened to a full vampiric timber.  "*You* released into him
these mortal yearnings!  *You* caused my best child to turn against what he
is!"  So help him, he would separate this zoological abomination into its
composite parts and then throw them to the wolves!
 

The griffin reared up on both legs to meet the attack, but it was much
weaker than before; The Food had wrested so much of its strength away.
Four-hundred years had not been near enough time to recoup what it had lost.
It needed its hoard back!  But the physical world had changed significantly
since it had been caught off guard by its prey.  There was no longer the
castle and its maze:  the land was covered in limestone and tar instead of
soil.  Before, there had always been changes as it slept between meals, but
nothing compared to this--this maelstorm of activity!  Unfortunately, there
was so much it did not understand about this time and this place.  So much
confusion when everything before had been so simple.  Having to assimulate
and deal with it all was sapping precious energy it could not afford to
lose.
 

But neither would it give up the prey.
 
 
 
 
 

After awakening from its healing slumber, sheer need had pressed it here, to
the environment of its target.  Instead of feasting selectively on one rich
source at a time, it had been forced to feed on a large quantity of poor
ones.  Tremendous amounts of power had had to be released in finding, and
then creating the means to get inside the 'Nicholas' aerie.
 

For this current prey was unlike any of its sustenance from before.  It had
morphed itself, leaving behind its human form and attaining the status of an
immortal.
 

Vampires.
 

The griffin considered the relatively new word in its memory.  Before his
Food had turned into one, it had never before encountered the species.
However, after awakening, it had made a point of learning all it could of
them---observing them closely----and it had been an interesting study at
that.  Exciting to know that the creatures were hardier than its normal
human prey; gratifying to discover that they also had weaknesses that were
exploitable.  Now that it knew the Food's strengths and weaknesses the prey
would not catch it by surprise again.

Oh, the hunting of its chosen had not been easy, for these immortals were
harder to influence and track than humans, their auras more elusive.  But at
last it had located an immortal with the knowledge of one who would know his
prey.  One who his prey would not be suspicous of, and would have access to
its lair.  For there it was that The Food would not be expecting to be
trapped.  Because it needed to surpise the prey, to make it release the
psychic energy of the stolen hoard before it knew to defend itself.  So that
it could grow strong again.  And once strong again, it could take The Food
'Nicholas de Brabant' and secure the source once and for all.
 

Vampires, the griffin licked the inside of its beak in distasteful memory of
the ones it had fed on to get all of this information.  It was no wonder
that it had never encountered their race before.  So base in their desires.
One might as well feed from a worm, for all the tasty energy they emitted.
Ah...but the Nicholas was different!  Even before that one stole the hoard
from it---an event that was unique to its memory---it had been rich in
energy.  More hidden than before it had morphed from human, true, but still
a rich source worthy of the hunt.  And now that source was immortal.  Oh,
yes, it was well worth all the hardships getting to it.
 

A feast to feed on forever!
 

But now this other immortal had come and complicated matters.  It also meant
to possess The Food---considered it already his.  The griffin knew
differently.  It had found The Food early, fed from and put its mark upon it
long before this bi-pedaled interloper had come upon it.  The 'Nicholas'
Food was its alone.  Oh, it was weakened---but it would still fight for what
belonged to it!  And win!
 
 
 
 
 

LaCroix, meanwhile, had been doing his own thinking.
 

This *thing* had infected his son.  But would killing it free Nicholas?  He
rather doubted it.  In fact, one thing was certain---Nicholas as he was now
would be adamantly opposed to being freed from the griffin's 'treasure hoard
of humanity'.  As with a drug addict, he would need the help of a loving and
dedicated parent to become whole again---even if he had to be dragged to
that wholeness kicking and screaming.
 

And never let it be said that Lucien LaCroix was not dedicated to his
family, the ancient smiled to himself.
 

If the griffin had its 'hoard' returned, then Nicholas would be free of his
guilt and other, overly human emotions.  He could be returned to that
magnificient state that he had achieved before he'd fallen away in his
sickness.  Maybe even better---if the griffin also took that last remnant of
humanity that had always plagued his favorite child.
 

Yes...   And then, together, father and son would put this... interloper
back into the same 'extinct' category as the dinosaurs.
 

"On second thought," LaCroix pointedly let go of the crowbar, voice dripping
with amiable sincerity, "perhaps we can work things out to our mutual
satisfaction.  You want your hoard returned; I want my son back,
unencumbered by human frailties.  Let's discuss our options, shall we?"
 

Confusion shaded the griffin's eyes for a moment.  Then its mouth twitched
upwards in the ghastly parody of a grin.  This one held a greed to rival its
own.  Greed could be manipulated.  It nodded once, falling back down onto
all four of its appendages.
 

The two ancient beings smiled maliciously at each other, both fully centered
on their mutual avarice for a certain blond-haired knight---and how they
would gain sole possession of him.

================
End of Part 2

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