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Nicholas and LaCroix are part of Forever Knight---and thus, not mine.
<sigh>

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Not Beta'd.

       Several evenings after the art show, I decided to go for an outting
in one of the city's oceanside parks that ran parallel to a rare stretch of
open beach.
       I don't know about the Eastern U.S. coast, but if you have ever been
to our West Coast you'll know of wherefore I speak:  if the land has easy
access to the water, chances are high that it will be filled with enough
residential and commercial buildings to make actually spying the water from
the 'coastal highway' nigh unto impossible---common folk must pay parking
and use one of the state parks to enjoy the ocean sand.  And those that
strive to hog the view of what God created with their wall-to-wall
structures?  Why, they complain most bitterly if you trespass onto *their*
beach owned by *their* state---to which they pay taxes---so what are you
freeloading tourists doing here?  Of course, they also complain most
bitterly when Nature tries to correct their hubris by sending floods or
otherwise hurling their abodes into the water.  But that doesn't phase them.
They just cry out to the government (average-Joe taxpayer) to pay for the
replacement of their property.

       We humans are such spoiled children.

       Anyways, I went to the beach because there was this delightfully
consistent breeze blowing out to sea that was just right for flying the kite
that I had purchased that afternoon, and evening was the only time when the
parks were not filled to capacity with seabird and man.  In fact, this
evening was particularly choice as it was Christmas Eve---so the area was
completely deserted.  Nothing but sand, sea, my kite and me.
       Perfect.

       Within moments I had my aerial toy's wooden support structure
assembled and ready to go.  Normally, I stick with the stronger synthetic
materials and reliable Delta designs, but this particular kite had caught my
eye.
       It was an old-fashioned, Chinese one---hand made and painted in that
far country---right down to the sculptured line spool.  Garishly colored,
too.  But then, it was meant to depict someone's idea of the mythical
Phoenix bird, sporting a peacockish 3-D head and even tri-clawed stick legs.
Not your run-of-the-mill avian-imitating kite, this.  I loved the rustic
ethnicity of it.

       Cookie-cutter modern things are so boring.  Years past, most things
were made to be art and not just functional.  Only lately is beauty starting
to be brought back into utilitarian forms.

       Carefully holding the kite at arm's length, I let its gentle tug let
me know where it wanted to fly and gradually let out more line.  Within
minutes it was soaring high over head, bright colors severely muted in the
full moon's light whereas they would have practically glowed in the sun's,
but I didn't mind.  It was peaceful here---alone with my happily fluttering
companion which looked almost a living thing---reborn through the virtue of
moon's wind rather than fire's flame.  It certainly seemed pleased enough at
this rewritting of its reincarnation theme:  fire being a rather a fickle
creator.

       I must have been relaxing on the sand for about an hour.  Its hard to
tell time when you've just the caress of wind and the singing of waves to
judge its passing by.
       It definitely felt cooler though, and I was compelled to force my
eyes off my artificial companion in order to find the zipper of the jacket I
wore under my poncho.
       (Being raised in sun-baked climes does have its disadvantages when
visiting cooler parts of the world.  Not that I regretted the goosebumps
overmuch.  Usually they only appear when watching the Nightly News.)

       It was in struggling with that recalicant zipper that I discovered I
had acquired some additional company of the more sentient variety.
       What I mean was that from the corner of my eye there was this
dark-suited man standing some distance away.  I turned my head to look more
directly at him---and seeing himelf spotted---he started strolling in my
direction.

       "Oh...great.  And it was such a nice neighborhood too," I mumbled to
myself as I quickly looking away from his advancing figure.  Fumbling
one-handed for the hard lump of Pepper Spray that resided in my jacket
pocket I tried to release the small container of Personal Security from my
clothes---(I detest violence.  Especially violence against *me*!)---, but
succeeded only in releasing my tenuous hold on the kite spool.

       With a cry of dismay, I leapt after it, but the wind choose that
moment to get boisterous, the wooden line holder was the extra-light
variety, and the line was nearly played out anyway.  I watched helplessly as
the freed end of the string got further and further away from me and nearer
and nearer the water as I fought against soft sand and a softer lifestyle.
Gasping, I was already consigning myself to the loss of my newest
acquisition.

       "What the---?"

       There was a dark blur and a gust of wind that nearly bowled me over.
Righting myself, I looked just ahead...

       And there he was:  string clapsed tightly in one hand, the other
futiley trying  to keep his shoulder-length blonde hair from flying into his
mouth as he grinned boyishly at my panting form.

       Nicholas.

       The distraught vampire I had comforted and whose father had tried to
make me forget the encounter.

       "I believe this belongs to milady falconer,"  his pleasant baritone
sang quietly as he bowed half-gallantly, half playfully while proferring the
string as I reached to reclaim it.

       "More of a Myth Keeper---seeing as its a Phoenix and not a raptor at
the end of this leash," I replied, catching my breath,  "and a pretty poor
one at that.  Thank you."

       He nodded his acceptance of my gratitude, turning again to watch the
kite sweep and soar back into its chosen plane, twin tail 'feathers' wafting
freely in the air.  "Oh, I don't know---it seems fairly happy in your
company---perhaps its just the mischevious sort?"  Blue eyes twinkled with a
mischief all their own.  "Immortal myths are like that.  They like to tease
mortals."

       I got the impression he was referring to more than just Chinese
kites.

       "Then I shall defer to your expertise on such matters," I smiled,
wondering what he wanted.

       Quickly the mirth was clouded over by wary suspicion.

       "What makes you think I'm an expert?"

       "Well," I replied with forced airyness, "you already knew that the
supernatural has a playful side.  That's more than I'd known before I met
you."
        True enough.  At our first encounter there had been only pain and
reconcilation.  No humor.

        He seemed to accept that, for the boyish smile returned.  He stuck
out one hand.  "Where are my manners?  I'm Nick Knight."

       I laughed.  "An apt name for a kite rescuer I suppose, though 'Nick'
sounds so...blah.  You should call yourself Nicholas.  It has a more musical
sound."  I shook his hand while he pondered my critique of his name.
       "You can continue calling me Myth Keeper if you like."  I returned my
attention to the Phoenix flying above us, tugging on the line a little.  If
he was here to kill me or something...well, there was not much I could do
about it.  Unless Pepper Spray worked on vampires.  "What brings you out
here on Christmas Eve, Mr. Knight.  Surely you have family waiting for you?
A father, perhaps?"

       He gave me another appraising look, but I kept my face innocent
looking.  I've had lots of practice at that, what with living so long with
people who despised what I loved.

       "Uh...I was just returning from collecting my artwork from a
friend.."----he casually stuck a thumb back in the direction he had run
from---"when I saw you.  If you'll pardon me for saying so, its not really
safe for a woman to be out here alone at night."

       I glanced back and thought I saw a dark pile by the sidewalk.
Presumabley the artwork he had abandoned in order to help me.  "Oh, yes...I
walked by the artshow a few days ago.  So...what medium do you work
with...paint, sculpture...?"  I asked, ignoring his warning advice.  If
anyone knew of the dangers in the night, it was me.

       I'd seen his father in full glare---for gosh sake.  Not that he knew
I remembered...I think.

       "Paint."

       I grimaced.  "Give me the surety of pencil and paper.  Never could
get into paint myself---takes too much patience---and if its watercolor,
very unfogiving of an erroneous brush stroke.  Working with clay, however,
was an excellent method for getting out frustrations.  Smelly, but
satifying."  I smiled ruefully, "At least it was until the teacher took your
stuff out of the firing kiln and you discovered that that air bubble you'd
missed had made your piece explode---therebye ruining it and your
'understanding' peer's neighboring works.  Still, I enjoy seeing other's
talent..."

       His face lit up again.  "Would you like to see..?" he began in a
hopeful voice.

      "Bring 'em on, McKnight," I quipped, slowly reeling in the kite.

      Nothing pleases---and terrifies---an artist more than sharing his/her
work with others, and it seemed vampire artists were no different.  By the
time I had my Phoenix bird down, Nicholas had returned with a large, leather
portfolio and two canvases protected by a cloth cover, both of which he
anxiously clutched to himself.

      We walked over to one of the cleaner park benches to sit down.

      Opening the portfolio, he handed me a stack of plastic-sleeved prints
to look through, offering either commentary or just a word for each scene,
anxiously watching my face for a reaction.  I tried not to laugh at his
nervousness---I was all too understanding of it.

       Many were abstract or nearly so.  A few Impressionistic.  A variety
of categories I guess.
      (Hey, I may have enjoyed art and history classes in school; however,
*art history* was a bore I have no desire to repeat.)
      Most I did not really care for, but there were some realistic and
mildly impressionistic ones that made me smile:  night landscape scenes from
famous parts of the world.  Apparently, he had been eating up the frequent
flyer miles in recent months.
      Next were portraits.  A balding man with glasses hunched over a
keyboard, a raven-haired goddess of a woman who he informed me was "My
sister, Janette.",a lovely brunette with wavy hair---I caught his wince at
that one and figured it was of the mysterious 'Natalie' he had pined
for---,and then came the uh...'man' that had accosted me that night in
Phoenix.  I think my heartrate must have sped up a little, because
Nicholas' expression became pained.

       "I'm sorry, I forgot that one...  I mean..."

       "Hey---don't sweat it.  I remembered everything a few days ago,
anyway."

        "How?"

         "The seascape you did.  It was really beautiful, by the way.  You
should do more like it"

         "Oh."  He sighed, running a hand through his hair.  "I'm sorry" he
repeated.  "If I had known you were here..."hurriedly, he flipped to the
next print, avoiding my eyes.

       Had I gotten *him* in trouble somehow?  Or was his anxiety purely on
my account?  Since he didn't look ready to elaborate on any details, I
transferred my attention back to next---and last---picture.

      It was a self portrait with a very realistic solar eclipse in the
background.

       Studying the face carefully---when he wanted to, he really could do
good work---I noted the slight sadness around the eyes and mouth, but not
the crippling despair I had seen before.  It was nice to know that he was
gradually lifting out of his despair.  He was very handsome when he smiled.

       "I like this one," I declared aloud, gently tapping the plastic,
"you've really captured yourself here."

       "You can see it then...the darkness in me."  His voice was a pained
whisper and I saw that a heaping spoonful of that anguish was returning as
he contemplated his portrait.  "I keep trying to conquer it---but it always
is there... waiting."  He blinked rapidly as if fighting back tears.

       Oh, God, I thought.  Deja Vu City next stop.  I really didn't want to
go there.  I mean, that other guy might be waiting at the depot, and I
didn't think he'd like seeing me all that much after having made me
'forget'---expressed gratitude or no.

       Clearing my throat I shook my head---whatever the father thought, it
was the son who was in need.  "Well of course there's darkness,
Nicholas---everybody has darkness in them.  Its what's *behind* the darkness
that's important."

       "Not if the darkness has condemned the sinner to Hell."

       Now that had me kind of mad.

       How could this gallant, 'gentle'being believe he was going to Hell
even if he was a vampire?  It was ludicrous.

       "I don't think Satan would tolerate a Kite Savior in his kingdom," I
replied in my best droll manner, trying to lighten him up.  "It would ruin
an image he's been trying to cultivate for eons."  That got a bit of a smile
to return to my companion's mouth if only for an instant.

       "But what if the 'kite savior' had murdered thousands before that
kite---hypothetically speaking.  Even if Satan didn't refuse to take him in,
God certainly wouldn't allow his sort in Heaven.  He would be lost in Limbo
forever."

      "What kind of medieval upbringing did you have anyway?"  For some
reason he seemed to find my admonishment funny, for I saw a flash of mirth
pass over him.  Did I really want to know?

       Returning to the portrait, I pointed to the eclipse.
       "Do you understand, Nicholas, what makes an eclipse?"

       "Of course," he retorted, just a little indignant.  "Do you think I
was born during the Dark Ages?"

       Maybe, I thought to myself.  I gave him the lifted eybrow.

       "That---like the Battle of Hastings---happened way before my time."
he huffed.

       Okaaay...  "But you know what causes a solar eclipse?

       "The moon is directly between the Earth and the sun, blocking almost
all the sun's light.  Just like my darkness is blocking what remains of my
soul."

       "From a human's perspective---and, I suppose a vampire's---I'd agree.
But, Nicholas, the universe isn't like a painting.  Reality has *three*
dimensions---not two."

       "And your point is?"

       "My point is that there is another point of view.  In this case
God's."  I saw I had his complete attention now and plowed on, wishing I'd
taken those Philosophy and Speech classes in Junior College.
       "God sees all, correct?"  I waited for his nod.  "Then God is seeing
the eclipse from its other sides---which includes the bright, uncluttered
angle.  *We* on Earth may be hindered by that  huge piece of space rock we
call the moon---but God has no trouble at all seeing the Light in your
soul."

       I could almost see the gears in his mind working.

       "But...I've killed.

       "And your point is?" I gleefully threw his words back at him.

       He looked at me like I had lost my mind.

       "I've taken innocent human lives!"

       Closing the portfolio, I rested on elbow on it.  "So do lions,
tigers, and bears."

       It was clear by his expression that I'd lost him.

       "Look, Nick.  I'm no Bible thumper, but I seem to recall something
about the lion lying down with the lamb.  I also seem to recall that the
lion wasn't planning on *eating* the lamb for lunch."

       "But vampires are evil.."

       "I'm sure some ancient Africans felt the same way about lions.  Yet
apparently they are going to be allowed in Heaven.---or at least the New
Earth.  Or whatever...I forget.

       "I'm a predator!"

       "Oh, Snarks---what *isn't*?!  Shark's feed on big fish, big fish feed
on little fish, little fish feed on plants---and there are even *plants*
that feed on animals!  Everything that is alive eats something, Nick.  The
something that is eaten becomes part of the eater.  Now I'm sure that God
didn't intend for it to be this way when he made Creation---Satan came in
and scewed the works---but that's the way it is now.  And if He can deal
with the changed game by making the prey defenses against the predator
instead of just wiping all predators from the planet---what's your problem?
I mean, if He doesn't blame the predator for being subject to its
instincts---why should you?"

       "You're telling me its okay to kill?"

       "I'm telling you to stop busting yourself up for things that you
didn't have control or the maturity over then.  Now, I can't help but notice
that you have *some* control at this point because I find myself still
alive.  Good for you---you've found Satan's schemes wanting and want to
return to God's original plan of non-violence amonst his creations.  I did
the same thing when I went vegan.  You do it by not killing your food
source."  I paused.  "You don't kill your food source, do you?'

       "Not anymore."

       "Good enough for me," I grinned.  "And if God is as merciful as he's
cracked up to be, he should be able and willing to do me better in the
forgiveness department."  I handed him back the portfolio and stood up.
       "Now if you will excuse me, milord Knight,"----retrieving the Phoenix
from its nesting spot on the ground, I headed back towards the water----"I
and this bird have a breeze a-waiting for us."

        "Wait!"

        Turning my head, I saw Nicholas striding after me.

        "Forgot to wipe my memory?"

        He looked so hurt and ashamed that I wished I had kept my big mouth
shut.

         "No.  I'll have to let father decide on that."

        "Hey---I'm not slamming you.  If its necessary..."

        "Maybe...  But I'll let LaCroix decide just the same."

        "Okay."
         Personally, I'd rather Nicholas did it then the other, but he
seemed so reluctant I wasn't going to press.   I started walking again, but
a strong hand on my arm stopped me.

        "At least let me help you get your grand bird back up, milady.  It
is the least I can do---seeing as I am the Savior of the Kites and all."  He
grinned that charming smile of his as he took the kite from my hand and
began backing away while I let out line, his eyes looking this way and that
down the park as if afraid he might bump into someone.

         Like there was anyone but the two of us on what must have just
turned into Christmas morning.

         I expected him to walk a few yards out and then let go of of the
kite.

         Definitely wasn't expecting him to rise up with it!

        In awe I watched as Nicholas lifted my kite up to where the best
wind was, and released it.  Then, chin in hand, he flew around it as if
judging whether he liked it in that spot, flashed me a cheeky grin, and
saluted military style.  Nonplussed, I saluted him back.  Then---with a
burst of speed---he flew down to his artwork, scooped it up like an osprey
nabbing a fish, and was gone from sight before you could say:  "Who was that
fanged man?"

         Wow.
         Maybe I should have taken his dad up on that offer of eternity?

        Nah.
        There were enough predators on the world.  Besides, if Nicholas and
LaCroix were any indication, vampires sorely needed plenty of humans around
for perspective when they got down in the dumps.

        Even humans like me.
----------------------------------------

      Epilogue:

         There was a package waiting for me when I finally returned to my
hotel:  a plain, brown shipping tube.
         A quick inspection revealed neither return address nor addressee,
but the hotel clerk---who was still there for some reason despite the
hour--- was adamant that it was meant for me, so I took it up to my room and
opened it.

          Curled inside was the night seascape along with a handwritten note
done in elegant script.

                   ~In case of future memory lapses, admire painting.~

         Mischievous Immortals, indeed.

         And devious, too!

        Maybe Life was worth sticking around for after all.

          ~~~~~~o~~~~~~~

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmentry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did He who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmentry?
                               --William Blake

=====================
The End