The sound of a telephone ringing startled Nicholas from his half-slumber.
Despite himself, he had begun to fall asleep on his couch.  The voice on the
other end also sounded tired, and no wonder---the clock was showing past
10am.
 

"Nicholas?  I've got something for you," Aristotle began.  "The shipment
came directly from Parisian Antiquities, in Brampton, via truck.  Despite
the name, its actually a wholesale procurer of rare articles from around the
world.  Their records show that they had an order placed by a 'N. de
Brabant' to be delivered here.  Are you sure you didn't contract for
something?  I know how you love ancient artifacts."
 

Nick rubbed the side of his face, feeling a tad irritable from lack of sleep
and worry.  "I realize you think my diet has addled my brains, Aristotle,"
he snapped into the phone, "but I assure you that my memory is working
fine."
 

"Well...if you say so."  The bespeckled vampire sounded chastised.
 

Nicholas immediately rebuked himself for being so testy.  Poor Aristotle
likely had not even stopped for a catnap;  he didn't deserve to have his
face bitten off.  "Sorry, Aristotle. I do appreciate your help on this."
 

"I'm just sorry that I'm part of the *cause* of the problem.  Ready for the
list of contents?"
 

Nick glanced at the crate, still as it was when he had returned home from
work.  "Past ready."
 

"Contents read:  one bronze and gold cast statue of--"
 

Within the ex-crusader's chest, his heart thumped out of rhythm.
 

"--a Griffin.  Date and craftsman unknown."
 

Silently, Nicholas stared glassy-eyed at the empty box.  It was impossible.
It couldn't be.  He had killed the thing---watched it disintergrate into the
ground!  It *couldn't* be back.  Couldn't.
                 couldn't...
                                  couldn't..
 

"Nicholas?  Nicholas---are you still there?!"
 

"What..?" Nick murmured as he at last registered the frantic voice coming
from the phone in his hand.
 

"Good grief---Nicholas!---thank heavens, I was afraid something had
happened.  Don't ever do that to me again.  My heart hasn't felt such a
workout since my 300th year!"
 

Cobalt eyes darted fearfully around the room, lingering especially on those
darkened nooks and crannies that suddenly abounded in his home.  "Sorry,"
Nick answered, not totally listening to his friend.  "Look, Aristotle, thank
you for researching that for me.  Will you do me another favor?  I need
to--" he stopped.  What good would it do him to run?  It had never worked
with LaCroix, and he doubted he'd be more successful with this even older
nemesis.  "Too damn old and powerful..." he muttered aloud without realizing
it.
 

"Excuse me?  Nicholas, if you are in some sort of trouble with your sire
or..."  he let the rest of the sentence dangle, knowing that the knight
would understand to what he was referring.  "I can help."
 

Nick smiled dolefully into the phone.  He seriously doubted that, but the
offer was appreciated.  Not many vampires would even contemplate helping him
against LaCroix or the Enforcers.
 

"It's neither of those.  However, I'm afraid this is beyond even your
expertise in making me disappear, my friend.  But if you would, contact
Feliks and have him transfer all of my assets to the name of one Natalie
Lambert of Toronto?  She works as a coroner."
 

"Damn it, Nick---will you let me help?!  This is not the Age of Chivalry
anymore!  You, Sir Knight, don't have to fight your dragons alone, and it
won't kill you, you know, to let an old friend work off his debt a little.
Give me the details and let me see what I can come up with before you pull
up the tent stakes and do something irreversible with them."
 

"Dragons?" Nicholas chuckled aloud to cover his surprise.  He'd never heard
the Greek get so heated before.  Not for his sake, anyway.  The closest he'd
ever come to raising his voice before was when Nick had pleaded with him to
break the rules and help a mortal.  Could the computer wizard really be that
concerned for him?  Nick felt torn.  The thought of facing the griffin again
terrified him, yet taking flight did not seem to be a real solution.  Too,
he didn't want to leave Toronto yet.  Maybe he *should* ask for some outside
help?  But he also did not want to put anyone in danger.  But then, how much
danger could it be for his friend to just stay in his place and work from a
computer?
 

"Well...okay, and, believe it or not, you're not *that* far off with the
dragon crack..."
 

Nick related his story, from his first encounter with the griffin in Brabant
which had seemed but a bad dream, to the Duke's party in one of the German
duchies and the nightmare in the maze.
 

"A griffin?" came the incredulous gasp from the phone.  "Nicholas, if I
didn't hear the fear in your voice and know for a fact that you are a
terrible liar, I'd swear you were pulling my leg."
 

"Thank you.  I think."
 

There was the sound of fingers rapidly striking keys as he heard Aristotle
mumble something to himself, then stifle a yawn.
 

"This is going to take a lot more research than just tracing a shipment,
though.  Hopefully, I'll have something by tonight."
 

"Aristotle, you need to slee---"
 

"So, I'll catch up on my beauty rest tommorrow.  It can wait---and don't you
say it!"
 

"Say what?" Nick snickered in good-natured amusement at the aggrieved voice.
He could well picture the other wagging his finger at the phone in mock
threat.  Unlike many of the fledglings made by these latest generations,
Aristotle's master had brought him across at a time when intellligence meant
more in the choosing than good looks.  It had been a private jest between
them:  Beauty vs Brains.  "Your golden locks might attract an unfair
majority of the ladies, Sir Nicholas," Aristotle had once challenged him,
"but wait and see if in the end *my* head, though lacking your bounty, will
not prove an even bigger asset"  And he had been right, Nick mused.
Aristotle's expertise was always in demand by their kind.  From forging
simple identity cards, to complicated paper trails that would make the
intelligence agencies of the world green with envy, the vampire was a valued
member of the Community.  Whereas, he, Nick thought with a trace of
melancholy, would likely have been staked by the Enforcers long ago if it
wasn't for being the son of LaCroix.  The Community in general had little
use or tolerance for one who wanted to give up his heritage.  Fortunately,
some of the best---such as Aristotle, Merlin, and Feliks---accepted him as
he was.
 

"I'll call you when I have something."
 

"Thank you."
 

Blinking back a tear, Nicholas set the phone back into its cradle.  How did
such a loathsome being such as himself ever garner such good friends as
these?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Fourteen past the hour.
 

Stretching his muscles, Nicholas strode into the kitchen for another bottle
of steer's blood.  Within minutes the empty, green vessel joined its
brethren in the recycle bin.  The approach of twilight had increased an
appetite already fueled by rampant anxiety.  A this rate his stock would be
gone by the weekend, and Natalie would undoubtedly make his life miserable
when she found out how much he'd been consuming.
 

Assuming he still had a life for her to make miserable after tonight.
 

He'd called Captain Cohen at the precinct earlier, informing her that he
would not be coming in to work.  Thankfully, he and Schanke were pretty
caught up in their cases, so she had okayed him some time off without making
a fuss.  Schanke, too---for once!---had minded his own business after Nick
had called him at home to let him know he'd not be in.  Usually Don would
pester him six ways from Sunday if he called out.  Or try to foister some of
Myra's 'cure-all' home cooking on him.  Nick grinned a trifle woefully.  If
only some chicken soup *could* cure him of his troubles.
 

Returning to the couch to await Aristotle's call, Nicholas snatched up his
remote to roll up the security blinds on his windows---and felt a cold chill
on his skin.  Jumping back to his feet, he saw that a grey mist was
cascading down from the still-broken skylight.  With vampiric speed, he
rushed to the side of his fireplace and picked up a weapon:  an antique
staff of twisted hardwood he had acquired while living in Ireland.  His
heart beat twice in succession as he aimed the long stake in the direction
where a dark blur could be seen forming as the fog rapidly invaded his loft.
 

Biting back the urge to speak to the creature he knew was lurking there,
Nicholas instead let his Beast surface.  Golden eyed with fangs fully
descended, he waited for the griffin to make the first move.  It obliged by
effortlessly leaping across half the distance that had separated
them---eyeing, but not noticable disturbed by---the pointed stick aimed at
its breast.
 

[Return Mine!]
 

Nick replied by tightening his grip on the wood and giving a slight shake of
his head, prepared to defend himself as best he could.  Even if, at best,
victory equated into only four more centuries of being free of this thing.
 

Unfortunately, he was so concentrated on the foe before him, that he
completely missed the presence that snuck up behind his back.  A honeyed
voice spoke into his ear:
 

"Nicholas..."
 

"What?!" Nick started at the unexpected voice of the ancient.
 

It was a small distraction, but enough for the griffin's beak to latch onto
the staff.  With a loud cracking sound, the sturdy antique was splintered
into two halves.  Still holding what was left of his end, Nick tried to
block the griffin's advance while he pleaded for assistance.  Now that his
sire could see that his nightmare was real, he would surely aid him in
destroying it.
 

"LaCroix---help me!"
 

"Of course, Nicholas.  That *is* why I am here,"  LaCroix smiled pleasantly
as he grabbed Nick from behind, trapping his son's arms with his own.
 

"Damn it, LaCroix---what are you doi--!" his captive began angrily
protesting, his face conveying his shock at this betrayal.  Forgetting why
the griffin was here.  Forgetting in his confusion that he should be keeping
his mouth shut.  He felt the weight on his shoulders as talons seized hold
of him.  "NOOO!"
 

The griffin took full advantage of his lapse by rearing up and avidly
lapping at his face like a dog happy for his master's return.
 

But this was no pet; nor did the knight have any illusions that he was its
master.
 

Nicholas determinedly snapped his mouth shut against the thin tongue prying
at his lips as it begged entry, but a ringed hand forced his clenched jaws
to open again anyway, keeping them apart as a slick tongue explored his own,
his teeth, palate---like some kind of demon rapist.  Sickened, Nick
helplessly groaned at the dual violation being visited upon his mouth and
very being as the Something he had gained in the maze was gradually sucked
out again.  Bitter tears cascading down his face.  How could LaCroix do this
to him?!  Unbidden, memories of Sir Henry's abuse flooded into his mind.
Nights spent huddled in one of the castle's storage rooms as he hid from his
father's ire while his mother tried to reason with her lord and husband.  He
was that frightened little boy again.  Cold, beaten and helpless.
Whimpering, he prayed for the onslaught to end.
 

Feeling his son's body trembling against him, LaCroix suppressed a desire to
haul the griffin off his Nicholas and comfort his child.  Instead, he merely
removed his hand from Nick's jaw and thrust it against his assaulter's neck
to indicate that that was enough.  The griffin glared angrily at him, but
removed its tongue and backed away with obvious reluctance.  LaCroix noted
that it already looked much improved---its feathers glossy and ribs no
longer showing---and he felt a pang of unease.  Perhaps he should have
considered this venture more thoroughly?  Just how fast could the creature
regain its full strength?  What *was* its full strength?
 

The ancient vampire ruthlessly squashed the worries.  No matter---he was
LaCroix, former General in the Roman army, now one of the undead for nearly
two-thousand years.  He could handle the beast.  Besides, there was too much
at risk to stop now.  Nicholas just had to understand that this painful
procedure were necessary for his healing---and cooperate!---, that was all.
 

"Now, now, my beautiful one," he crooned to his son, both arms once again
holding the knight fast, "don't take it so hard----this is all for your own
good."
 

"Good?" Nick managed to croak out in stunned disbelief.
 

"Yes, mon fils.  You've been holding something that does not belong to you,
and it has been making you ill.  Now you have the opportunity to be rid of
the poison and be well again."
 

"I..."  Nick shook his head, still feeling stuck in a bewildering dream
between what had occured nearly 800 years ago and what was happening now.
He was slipping into shock, he realized.  Shutting himself away from a
reality he didn't want to have to face.  "I can't."
 

"Of course you can," LaCroix gently corrected him, using the same tone he
had once used on his more skittish mounts.  "You don't really want to be
plagued by these noisome frailities anymore, do you?  Give them up, mon
fils, let them go and you will feel yourself again.  You'll be free.  No
more fear.  No more guilt.  Wouldn't you like that, Nicholas?  Just let our
friend have what is his."
 

"Free?" the dark blue eyes focused upon the waiting griffin, losing their
'little boy lost' glaze as they connected with the fiery eagle's impatient
stare.  Nick tore his eyes away from what he saw there.  No.  No,
LaCroix---why won't you help?---it wants to enslave me.  You must help me
fight it!  He tried to pull out of the other's hold, but LaCroix held him
too tight.  He kept trying anyway.
 

"Nicholas, Nicholas...always you must take the hard way," the elder mused
aloud in a weary manner.  "Very well.  If you will not do this simply, then
I will give you an incentive. I managed to contact one Grace Balthazar.."
He paused, face fixed with an oily smile, as his son twisted his head to
look him in the eye; silently questioning:  What are you plotting this time?
 

"A very accomodating woman.  You have no idea how pleased she was to learn
that you had invited Dr. Lambert to your home for a late dinner tonight, 8pm
sharp, to be exact."  He indulged in a smug snicker as Nicholas twisted the
other way to view his clock, gasping as he saw the neon-lit numerals.  It
read 7:35.  "Ah...you see the problem then?  Give in now and have just
enough time to pack and vacate the premises with me... Or, continue with
your stubborness and view the delightful outcome.  Either way, it will
certainly should be entertaining.  My, my...rather an interesting
cliff-hanger for a Nightcrawler tale it would make, don't you think?  Shall
we let the lovely coroner ponder the significance of an empty loft?  Wait,
and greet the renowned---but not yet moved on---Nicholas de Brabant in all
his former glory?  Or shall we *really* procrastinate the issue and
introduce her to yet another twist in Mother Nature's repretoire?  I'm sure
our friend here would be happy to meet her."
 

"LaCroix---LaCroix, listen to me," Nick struggled to keep from panicking.
Damn his sire and his machinations!  Didn't he see?  "The griffin has no
intention of letting me go with you or anyone else.  It's tricked you!"
>From the frown on the Roman's face, Nick knew he had made an error.  His
sire *never* admitted to making mistakes.  And then he heard it.  Ice blue
eyes flicked towards the lift, as did pointed griffin ears, indicating that
his 'house guests' heard it as well.  The lift machinery had engaged, and
encased within it, a mortal heartbeat.
 

"No..."
 

"Yesss.." the ancient gleefully corrected him, throwing back his head to let
loose a short laugh of delight. "It seems the good doctor is not one for
observing strict punctuality.  What bad manners."  He clucked his tongue in
mock disapproval.
===================
End Part 3
 

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