Laundry Chute
 

The problem of the Vampire cannot  be stated simply. 
 Any rational person will agree that the notion that  
Vampires actually exist *has* to be pure superstition.
Blood-drinking supernatural beings do not and cannot exist.

Rowan Wilson - 'Vampires'

It started with a bust gone wrong.

Correction, a bust that was never meant to happen.

Jim had been on stakeout, alone, for once.  Blair was at home, wading through the usual morass of papers that came with his life at the university.

It was supposed to be a milk run.  A boring all night stakeout, nothing to talk about.  The dealers would be watched and trailed until they made the pick up, until the Cascade PD could bust the drug ring wide open.

Jim watched the building across the street, ignoring the cold that seeped into the truck.  He couldn't run the heater,  the noise of the engine would have alerted his quarry.

Besides, the fog on the windows would have obscured his vision anyway.

He started as a soft giggle reached his ears.  Close, nearby, but too soft for anyone but a Sentinel to hear.  Hands squeaked teasingly over the side of the vehicle, a face pressed briefly against the passenger side window.

Drawing his gun, Jim stepped quietly out of the truck.  A brief blur of black, faster than any human could have moved streaked across his vision and he tracked it, head cocked as his stretched his senses out, searching...searching...

Until a shot rang out, leaving him on his back on the cold pavement, gasping  at the fire in his shoulder, frantically 
searching for the dials he couldn't find.  He heard the squeal of tyres as the dealers got away, and stretched numb 
fingers to his cell phone, pressing the speed dial, calling for backup.

A whisper of wind in the still sky.

A flutter of black.

A white oval face.

A soft giggling, followed by a licking at his wound, a strong pulling sensation.  Jim tried to turn his head, move his 
hands to push at the form, but he was paralysed, drowsed by the sensation of the blood leaving his body.

Finally the figure sat back, licking unnaturally red lips as she stroked his face.  "It is done."

Dimly Jim tried to place her accent.  It was old, ancient beyond measure.  "Who...are you?" he slipped the words 
out of a dry throat.

"I am old,"  she laughed, musically.  "And soon you will be one of us. You are an ancient power, Sentinel.  
You will make us stronger.  You will make me stronger.  But not now.  Soon."

Soon.   It was a threat, a promise.  Then she was gone, as the wail of sirens broke the still air.  
Jim tried to raise his head, to follow her as she rose up into the sky.

But the effort was too much, he was so tired.....

There was something about them that made me uneasy,
some longing and at the same time, some deadly fear.
I felt in me a desire that they would kiss me with those red lips....

Bram Stoker - 'Dracula'

"This is all my fault."

Jim reached down and jammed his hand to stop the wheelchair from going any further.  "Sandburg," he and 
Simon growled in identical tones.

With a wry look on his face, the police Captain stepped back and made a gesture for Jim to continue.

"Sandburg, for the last time it wasn't your fault."

Blair moved around to stand in front of him.  "Jim.  I should have been there.  I could have -"

"Been shot as well?" Jim chipped in flippantly.

"Jim. You got shot because you focused too hard on that black thing you say you saw.  I should have been there,"  
Blair waved his hands wildly through the air.  "Hell, you probably saw a bat or something. I should have been there to
 pull you out of it, I should have -"

"Sandburg, will you just shut up for a minute?" Jim regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.  He took a 
deep breath and looked up into the wounded blue eyes of his partner.  "Sorry, Chief.  Let's just go home, hey?  
Before I become a permanent fixture here." Blair nodded and bounced back behind the chair.

Jim winced slightly as they rolled out into the muggy mid-morning sunlight.  Free of the hospital at last, he practically 
sprang out of the wheelchair.  "So, gentlemen," he began, turning to face the other two and rubbing his hands together.  "What shall we start with first?  Paraseiling? Hangliding?  A little dancing?"

"How about a straitjacket?" Simon asked, rolling his eyes in amusement.  "I think we'd better get him home,
 what do you say, Sandburg?"

"Sounds good to me." Blair said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Spoilsports."

Laundry Chute
 

The problem of the Vampire cannot  be stated simply. 
 Any rational person will agree that the notion that  
Vampires actually exist *has* to be pure superstition.
Blood-drinking supernatural beings do not and cannot exist.

Rowan Wilson - 'Vampires'

It started with a bust gone wrong.

Correction, a bust that was never meant to happen.

Jim had been on stakeout, alone, for once.  Blair was at home, wading through the usual morass of papers that came with his life at the university.

It was supposed to be a milk run.  A boring all night stakeout, nothing to talk about.  The dealers would be watched and trailed until they made the pick up, until the Cascade PD could bust the drug ring wide open.

Jim watched the building across the street, ignoring the cold that seeped into the truck.  He couldn't run the heater,  the noise of the engine would have alerted his quarry.

Besides, the fog on the windows would have obscured his vision anyway.

He started as a soft giggle reached his ears.  Close, nearby, but too soft for anyone but a Sentinel to hear.  Hands squeaked teasingly over the side of the vehicle, a face pressed briefly against the passenger side window.

Drawing his gun, Jim stepped quietly out of the truck.  A brief blur of black, faster than any human could have moved streaked across his vision and he tracked it, head cocked as his stretched his senses out, searching...searching...

Until a shot rang out, leaving him on his back on the cold pavement, gasping  at the fire in his shoulder, frantically 
searching for the dials he couldn't find.  He heard the squeal of tyres as the dealers got away, and stretched numb 
fingers to his cell phone, pressing the speed dial, calling for backup.

A whisper of wind in the still sky.

A flutter of black.

A white oval face.

A soft giggling, followed by a licking at his wound, a strong pulling sensation.  Jim tried to turn his head, move his 
hands to push at the form, but he was paralysed, drowsed by the sensation of the blood leaving his body.

Finally the figure sat back, licking unnaturally red lips as she stroked his face.  "It is done."

Dimly Jim tried to place her accent.  It was old, ancient beyond measure.  "Who...are you?" he slipped the words 
out of a dry throat.

"I am old,"  she laughed, musically.  "And soon you will be one of us. You are an ancient power, Sentinel.  
You will make us stronger.  You will make me stronger.  But not now.  Soon."

Soon.   It was a threat, a promise.  Then she was gone, as the wail of sirens broke the still air.  
Jim tried to raise his head, to follow her as she rose up into the sky.

But the effort was too much, he was so tired.....

There was something about them that made me uneasy,
some longing and at the same time, some deadly fear.
I felt in me a desire that they would kiss me with those red lips....

Bram Stoker - 'Dracula'

"This is all my fault."

Jim reached down and jammed his hand to stop the wheelchair from going any further.  "Sandburg," he and 
Simon growled in identical tones.

With a wry look on his face, the police Captain stepped back and made a gesture for Jim to continue.

"Sandburg, for the last time it wasn't your fault."

Blair moved around to stand in front of him.  "Jim.  I should have been there.  I could have -"

"Been shot as well?" Jim chipped in flippantly.

"Jim. You got shot because you focused too hard on that black thing you say you saw.  I should have been there,"  
Blair waved his hands wildly through the air.  "Hell, you probably saw a bat or something. I should have been there to
 pull you out of it, I should have -"

"Sandburg, will you just shut up for a minute?" Jim regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.  He took a 
deep breath and looked up into the wounded blue eyes of his partner.  "Sorry, Chief.  Let's just go home, hey?  
Before I become a permanent fixture here." Blair nodded and bounced back behind the chair.

Jim winced slightly as they rolled out into the muggy mid-morning sunlight.  Free of the hospital at last, he practically 
sprang out of the wheelchair.  "So, gentlemen," he began, turning to face the other two and rubbing his hands together.  "What shall we start with first?  Paraseiling? Hangliding?  A little dancing?"

"How about a straitjacket?" Simon asked, rolling his eyes in amusement.  "I think we'd better get him home,
 what do you say, Sandburg?"

"Sounds good to me." Blair said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Spoilsports."

Jim was getting dizzy watching his partner shuffle around the Loft. Blair moved around and around, grabbing 
extra cushions, a glass of water, making sure everything was perfect.  He called it caring for his wounded partners needs.

Jim called it annoying.  He pushed Blair's hands away as he tried to arrange a comforter over the reclining Sentinel.  "*Sandburg,* lay off, I'm fine."

"Come on man, you're not ok." Blair said frustratedly, fluffing up some more cushions. Jim irritably snatched them away, leaving him empty-handed. "They said you nearly bled to death.  You had half the guys at the precinct donating blood."  Blair pushed his hair back from his face and squatted by the couch.  "You scared me, man," he admitted frankl y.

"Chief....." Jim reached out and tousled his hair.  "I'm ok, aren't I?" He said softly. "I'm here, aren't I?" Blair nodded.
 The wounded detective smiled evilly and Blair raised an eyebrow. "Now, slave," Jim started. "If you hand me the remote, I won't be going anywhere for a long time and then you won't have to worry about a thing."

"James Ellison, you are so not funny." Blair teased, handing the requested item over.

"Aw, come on Chief," Jim said in a bad imitation of his partner's voice.  "You gotta relaaaaaax.  Lighten up a little, man."

"Couch potato."  Blair shot over his shoulder, heading for the kitchen.

Jim stretched out on the couch, a satisfied grin on his face. "Yep."

Blair started shuffling pots around. "Lasagne ok?"

"Oh, yeah."

"So what do you think it was?"  Blair asked, scooping up another forkful of lasagne. "I mean, that thing you saw?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know.  A bat or something.  I don't really want to talk about it."  He  pushed his plate away, half-full.  The food was tasteless, too bland.  He would have liked to have salted it, but Blair, the hippie-healthnut-freak would have nipped that from the outset.

"A bat?  In the warehouse district?" Blair shook his head. "Nah.  They tend to stay where there's fruit.  You should eat more of that lasagne.  Maybe it was a possum?"  There was no response and he grinned impishly.  "Or a flying rat?  Jim?"  He lowered his voice dramatically.  "Maybe it was a Vampyre."

Jim jerked his head up.  That one had been too close to home. Whatever it had been it was evil.  Pure Evil. With a capital 'E'. And he wanted to protect his partner from it.  "I said I don't want to talk about it.  Case closed, Sandburg.  End of discussion."

"Whoa."  Blair took a sip of his juice.  "Who pissed on your wheaties this morning, man?"

"Nurse Quinlan." Jim quipped back and they both laughed.  The detective looked out to where the sun was shining brightly through the balcony window, glinting off the clouds that promised later rain. Standing, he eased himself off the couch.  "Think I'll just take a nap, Chief.  I'm kinda tired."

"Right."  Blair kicked himself.  Jim was bound to be tired and cranky.  The Big Guy had just gotten out of hospital for crying out loud.  "Need a -"

Jim held up a hand.  "So help me Chief, if you're gonna ask me if I need help going up my own stairs - "

Blair waved his hands through the air, a look of mock innocence crossing his face.  "Who, me?"  He grinned suddenly.  "Just doing the mother hen payback." He ducked the cushion Jim threw at him.  "Just kidding, man.  Yeesh, lighten up a little will you?  Relaaaaaaax."

The next cushion hit him square in the face.

Shali Bahn: Literally the calm before the storm.
The clarity of vision, both internal and external, 
that precedes the dark tumult of death

Michael Jan Friedman - 'Legacy'

Night fell, and James Ellison stirred, eyes moving rapidly under closed lids as he dreamed...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was on a high plain.  Ahead of him, a temple glimmered in white, polished stone.  The pristine steps rising up in front of his feet.  Placing his foot on the first step, the Sentinel turned at a low snarl.

The panther was pacing behind him, tail lashing agitatedly in circles.  Jim looked from the cat, to the temple towering above.

An intoxicating scent caught his nose, a siren call, his mind.

Turning his back on the panther, he continued to climb..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Blair scooped the last of the lasagne into a tupperware container and sealed it.  Slipping it into the fridge, he reached out and turned the kitchen light off.  Moving easily through the dark lounge, he tiptoed up the stairs and peeked in at Jim.  Sleeping soundly.

Puttering back into his own room, the anthropologist started hauling out notes for tomorrow's classes.
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was high now, the clouds drifting like cotton past his feet.  The steps began to darken under his feet, from white to pink to red to black.  The dark liquid coating the steps pulled at his feet and he still continued to climb, that sweet song twining around his mind, luring him further.

The steps finally evened out, and he stopped in front of an altar.  The siren song stopped, and a woman turned, black hair highlighting a white face and dark eyes.  She held a chalice in her hands, offering it to him.

Taking the chalice from the cold hands and holding it to his lips to drink,  Jim saw it was brimming with blood

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Sentinel's eyes snapped open, easily piercing the darkness of his room.

Hunger

He sat up, senses scanning the area.  He picked up a steady heartbeat in the room below him.  Jim licked his lips.

Food

Blair jerked in alarm as lighting shattered the sky.  Whoa.  Getting jumpy.  Looks like the rain finally hit, though

The door to his room flew open, banging against his nightstand. Blair peered into the darkness of the room outside the warm glow of his lamp.  "Jim?" he called nervously, sliding his legs off the bed and sidling to the back door.  "Jim?"

"Blair......"

Jim's voice.  Something was wrong.  Blair moved towards the doorway and the dark lounge beyond.  "Jim?  Are you ok?"

He jumped as the Sentinel slid noiselessly into the room.  "Chief?"

"Jim!  Oh man, you had me going for a while there.  Hate to tell you, but it ain't Samhain yet." Blair joked nervously.  Something about the way his partner moved was wrong "What's up?"

"Hungry..."  There was a demanding, pleading tone to the other man's voice.

"Yeah? Well, um, there's some of that lasagne left. I told you eat more at dinner, but did you listen? Nooo...."  Blair cautiously circled the larger man to head for the door.

"Food."   Jim shot out a hand, blocking the door.

Blair viewed the outstretched arm.  "Uh, Jim.  You're blocking my way," he said pointedly.

Jim extended his other hand, softly brushing the curls away from the nape of Blair's neck.  "Hungry..." he breathed, moving closer, using his thumb to tilt the anthropologist's head to the side.

Blair froze as his partner's breath ghosted hot across the juncture of his shoulder and neck. "Uhhh, I think you need you lie down, Jim.  You're acting a little fruity here..." He put a hand on his partner's chest, intending to push him away when Ellison suddenly snapped his head around, needle sharp fangs protruding from a face dominated by viciously glowing blue eyes.

"FUCK!" Blair broke free and frantically backpedalled away.  "Jim?  Jim?  Oh man, I'm hoping this is a bad dream, 'cos if it's a practical joke it is so not funny, man."  He kept the bed between Jim and himself as the Sentinel moved further into the room.

"Blair..."  Jim pleaded, moving closer.  "So hungry..."

"Yeah?  Well Jim, last time I looked, I was not on the menu." He vaulted the bed and ran for the door, skidding short when Jim easily blocked the way.

Man is he fast.  Blair moved away towards the other door as Jim stalked him.  Suddenly the Sentinel pounced, dragging his partner to the bed and pinning him down as his mouth moved towards Blair's neck.

"Jim." Heart pounding, Blair struggled to keep his voice low, soothing.  "Jim.  It's me, Blair, your Guide."  His fingers crept across the bed to the night stand, searching for a leather bound book he knew was there.

Jim eased back, a puzzled expression on his face as his eyes faded to their normal colour.  "Chief?"

"Yeah."  Blair stroked a hand across his partner's face.  "Shh.  Jim, I want you to get off me. Now."  The Sentinel suddenly froze, sniffing the air hungrily.  Suddenly he grabbed Blair's wrist,  licking it with his tongue.

Feeling the pulse beating underneath.

With a feral snarl he switched, baring his teeth and lunging at the imprisoned limb.

"Jim!  No!"  Blair's questing fingers found the item he was searching for.  With a yell of victory, he slammed the bible into the side of his partner's head, totally unprepared for the reaction.

Jim howled in agony and sprang off him, one hand clutching the side of his head.  With a blur of wind, he disappeared out the door.

Blair shakily sat up, breathing heavily. What the hell was THAT?

But he knew.

Jim was a Vampyre.

Clenching the bible in his hand, Blair moved cautiously into the lounge.  A sudden banging ahead and to his right made him whirl, raising the book threateningly.  The balcony doors were wide open, rain sheeting through to stain the rug in dark colours.  Stepping carefully over the toppled potplant, he cautiously made his way to the doors  creaking slightly in the wind.

Nerves wound tight, a sudden snarl of thunder made Blair leap back.  The anthropologist's foot skidded in a wet patch, and he careened wildly backwards, smacking his head on the coffee table.

Lights out.

Now, I don't wanna hear anything about 'I don't 
believe in Vampyres.' I don't fucking believe in 
Vampyres. But I do believe in my own two eyes, 
and what I saw is fucking Vampyres.

Now, are we all agreed that what we're dealing 
with is Vampyres?

Quentin Tarantino - 'From Dusk 'till Dawn'

Blair woke up the next morning in his own bed.  Just a dream.  Oh man.  I have got to stop eating Italian before I got to bed.  He sat up and rubbed the back of his head, long fingers discovering a bump underneath the unruly curls.

From when I hit the floor  Memory came flooding back and he gasped.  Running into the bathroom, he pulled off his shirt, frantically searching for teeth marks.  He found none, and breathed a sigh of relief.  With a nervous look upwards, Blair carefully took the stairs to the upper bedroom, wincing each time they creaked under his feet.  Part of his mind was screaming that it was a really bad idea, but he had to know

"Jim?"

The lump under the blankets groaned and stirred.  "Chief?" Jim asked blearily.  "What's up?"

Blair sighed in relief.  "Uh, I just wanted to say thanks," he fudged.

"For what?"  Jim pushed the blankets down, face puffy with sleep.

"Putting me in bed last night man.  I had the wildest dream.  Guess I was sleepwalking and banged my head on something."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jim bleared.

"Last night."  Blair moved closer. "You look like hell, Jim.  You ok?"  He opened the blind to get a better view. Jim hissed and threw a hand up to shield his face from the weak sunlight.

But not before Blair saw the tiny cross burned into the short hair.

The Guide stumbled back a step, heart speeding up when he saw the skin on the back of Jim's upflung hand begin to redden, as if sunburned.  "Oh my god.  It was real."

He backed down the stairs. "Oh man. Oh man.  Oh man," he chanted.  His foot slipped and he twisted, landing on his backside half on and half off a step.

"Chief?" Jim called weakly.  A shapeless form appeared at the top of the stairs.  The detective had thrown his blanket over his head, shielding him from the sunlight.

"Don't come near me, man."  Blair scooted down another step, arms thrown up defensively.  "Don't you come anywhere *near* me."

Jim collapsed at the top of the staircase.  Agonised, desperate blue eyes pleaded with the Guide.

"Help me."

The eyes closed and he slumped onto the floor.

Blair sat there for a moment, nervously biting the nails on one hand.  Should he or shouldn't he?

Loyalty won out and he dragged the unconscious figure into the bedroom, to the side of the bed, covering him with more blankets and closing all the blinds in the loft until not a skerrick of light shone through.

Blair stood in the darkness and closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing.  Vampyre or no, Jim was still his friend, his brother, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And the Sentinel needed the help of his Guide.

Coming to a decision, Blair grabbed his car keys and headed for the nearest library.

Night fell and Blair waited in his room.  He had dragged his dresser across the doors and huddled in front of it, one hand clutching a heavy Celtic cross he had begged off a friend.

He stiffened as he heard movements in the lounge the other side of the doors.  Jim tried to turn the handle, but found the door blocked.  "Chief?" he called worriedly.

"Yeah, Jim." Blair was amazed by how steady his own voice was. "I'm in here.  And I'm staying in here.  And you're staying out there." He put a hand on the bible at his side.

"Sandburg."  The dresser jerked as Jim tried to force the door open. "Sandburg, what the hell have you blocked the door for?"

"Protection.  I'm not going out, and you're not coming in."

He heard his partner sigh in bafflement.  "Chief?"  His voice was soothing. "Chief?  Come on, let's just talk about this ok?  Tell me what's wrong."

Blair snorted. "Yeah. right.  No way, Jim.  I have *no* desire to join the ranks of the undead."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sandburg?" Jim demanded irritably.

"Check a mirror Jim.  Get a good look at the hair above your left ear."  Blair laughed, a little hysterically.  "If you can even see your reflection."

"Chief -"

"DO IT!  Please." He heard shuffling sounds, then the bathroom light being turned on.

"Oh God."  There was a soft thump as the Sentinel's legs gave way underneath him.

"Jim?"  There was a long silence and something inside Blair snapped.  Slinging the cross around his neck, over his shirt and tucking the bible under his arm, Blair carefully pushed the dresser out of the way and ventured into the lounge.

He stopped by the bathroom and peeked in, ready to bolt.  Jim was curled up on the floor  by the bathtub, rocking himself.

"Jim?"  Blair knelt by his friend.  The cross swung free and Jim jerked back with a hiss, fear on his pale features.

"My God, Blair," he whispered.  "What's happening to me?"

I so desperately want to have someone who 
would understand me, who can feel my pain 
and hold me in strong arms of comfort.
And yet, I want to be alone.  Vampires absorb life.  
They find it, capture it and then suck it dry.  It's 
a fact of life.  It can't be helped, and I am no different.

'Ethereal Darkness'

"You have to leave."  The flat statement caught Blair by surprise.

"What?  I mean, why?"

Jim laughed, a cold humourless sound.  "Pardon me, Sandburg, but you were the one that pointed it out." His fingers ghosted over the mark on his skull.  "You can't stay here.  What if I-" he broke off and rubbed a hand across his mouth. It came away stained red. Dark red, old blood.  "My God," he hissed.  Even old, dead, the smell of it drew him in.  Rich, intoxicating....  He shook his head and met the worried gaze of his partner.  "What have I done?"

Jim reached out to his Guide, needing contact, comfort, and Blair reflexively skittered back. The blue eyes tightened in fear, sorrow.  "I hurt you," he said softly in realisation.

Blair quickly shook his head.  "No.  I'm fine."

"I hurt you." Jim insisted quietly.  "Take off your shirt.  I need...I need to see."

Blair paused, then peeled off his shirt, tucking the cross beneath his singlet, eyes downcast.  He swore he could feel Jim's gaze over his body, Sentinel eyes hunting for injuries.

Jim gasped softly at the deep bruises on Blair's shoulders.  Bruises the size of his hands. He reached out, hand falling short.    "God, Chief...."  He stood and left the bathroom.

Blair quickly pulled his shirt back on and followed. "Jim...."  he stopped short.  Jim was in the kitchen, holding a sharp carving knife.  "Jim!"

The Sentinel looked up at him, tears damp on his cheeks.  "I can't do this.  I hurt you.  I can't live by killing.  I've protected people all my life.  It was what I was born to do - you said so yourself.  How can I live by killing?"  He raised the knife and dragged it across his wrist.

"No!  Jim!"  Blair lunged across the lounge as a bright plume of blood sprayed up into the air.  Skidding into the kitchen, he pulled a draw open, items spilling to the floor in a crazy dance around him as he knelt by Ellison, a cloth in his hands.  "Jim.  Jim, let me see, we have to get it wrapped up."  He tugged at the limb cradled to his partner's chest.

Jim started to laugh, a crazy, damned sound.

The cloth dropped from Blair's hand when he saw the wrist.  The skin was perfect, whole.  "Oh man," he breathed, slumping against the counter.

Oh you, you're looking so confused
Just what did you lost?
Oh.  It's ok.
It's just your mind.

Jarvis Cocker - 'Bar Italia'

"Hey hairboy."  Brown greeted him as he entered Major Crimes.  "How's Jim?"

"Fine."  Blair mumbled, swaying slightly and bumping into a desk. Keeping a suicide watch on a Vampyre was not one of his favourite ways to lose sleep.  It seemed an effort just keep his eyes open. Balance, he could work on later.

Brown reached out and steadied him.  "You ok?" He asked, concerned.

Blair forced a smile onto his face and flapped a hand. "Rough night," he managed.

"Jim, right?  Lemme guess - patient from hell?"  Brown grinned and handed the anthropologist a cup of coffee.

"You don't know the half of it."  Blair murmured darkly, gratefully sipping the hot drink.  "Simon in?"

"Yeah.  In his office."  The detective  gestured.  "I'd watch it though," he warned as Blair headed for the glass door. "He's in a bad mood.  Ate three uniforms for breakfast."

"Thanks for the warning."  Blair chuckled back.  Opening the door partway, he knocked on the glass.

"Yes!"  Simon barked angrily.  Looking up, he apologised.  "Sandburg.  Sorry." He waved to the seat opposite his desk.  "How's Jim?"

Blair shook his head at the sea ting.  "Ah, actually...That's what I'm here to talk about,"

"Well?  Is he ok?  The hospital said he'd be all right.  Sandburg?"

"Um, he...ah...Simon, I don't really know how to say this...." Blair  hedged.

The older man lost his patience.  "Sandburg, I have had the worst day of my professional life.  It ranks right up there with being shot.  It you don't start talking straight, I suggest you leave my office."

"Simon, I know what I'm about to say sounds insane, but at least hear me out before you toss away the key." Blair pleaded.

Simon looked at the styrofoam cup being crushed to death in a white knuckled grip. Something had the kid wired.  "All right," he relented. "Spit it out, Sandburg."

Blair took a deep breath.  "Jim's been turned onto a Vampyre." He surged ahead, expecting the flood of disbelief, determined to at least to finish his explanation before the police Captain kicked his ass around his ears and out into the street. "I mean,  he tried to jump me in the Loft.  At first I thought he was taking the Sentinel / Guide relationship bit waaaay to seriously, but then I saw the fangs and his eyes man, they were seriously spooky, so I hit him with the bible I had for that comparative religion class I'm subbing for and he - Simon?  Simon?"

The police Captain sat there immobile, cigar hanging from a slack jaw.  Worriedly, Blair waved a hand in front of his face.  "Oh man, I finally gave you that stroke, didn't I?  Simon?  Come on man, yell at me, revoke my Observer status, anything. Simon?"

Finally Simon blinked and looked up into Blair's worried blue eyes.  "I believe you," he said softly.

Blair looked at him guardedly.  "What?  Oh, I get it, you're humouring me until they come with the white coats, aren't you?" He swung the chair at the desk around and sat backwards on it. "I swear Simon, I wish I was nuts.  This is for real."

"I know."  Simon began dragging memory from the dark corners of his brain.

He was twelve years old, on the way back from some game or another.  It was dark - he remembered that much, an early winters bite to the air.

The rush of air behind him had made him whirl, eyes peering into the empty street, darkness punctured by a few street lights.    Unconsciously he'd picked up the pace a little, thoughts of home suddenly very appealing.

Mocking laughter ghosted in his ear, then something had slammed him in the back, effortlessly pushing him over to sprawl face down on the pavement.

"Little Dark Man..." Someone was stroking his back.  Simon had turned over  to find a beautiful woman staring at him, onyx eyes out of a face as white and smooth as silk. Hypnotised, he'd sat as still as a statue as she nuzzled his neck, then kissed him on the lips.  "Little Dark Man. I'll come for you when you're grown."

Then she was gone, shooting straight up into the night sky.

Simon had sat there for a long moment, staring upwards, until something had broken the paralysis and he had run all the way home.

He's never told anyone about it.

Until now.

Blair's eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head.  "Wow." He blew out a forceful breath. "Man, this is so..wow." His shoulders slumped in relief, now he had someone to confide in.  "I have no idea what to do, Simon," he confessed quietly.  "I mean, I thought the whole Shaman / Guide thing was deedle deedle twilight zone, but this..."

"Is there anything we can do?" Simon asked, feeling incredibly stupid and helpless.

Blair threw his hands up in the air in a helpless gesture.  "I don't even know where to start.  There are that many Vampyre folklores floating around.  There're even a few that say a Vampyre can be saved."

"How?" Simon demanded.

"I don't know.  There's one that says you're only half a Vampyre until your first kill.  If the head Vampyre is offed, all half Vampyres are freed. There's another one that says you don't become a full Vampyre until the first new moon after your conversion - some say full moon - and if the Vampyre that created you is destroyed, you are freed." He slumped his head on his hands.  "I have no idea which ones are true and which ones are BS. And if I get it wrong..."

"There has to be someone we can ask.  I thought you Uni kids were all into his sort of stuff."

Blair shook his head, hair sliding over the back of the chair.  "They're all on an Anne Rice kick.  No one really knows -" he shot his head up and smacked himself in the forehead with a fist.  "Idiot.  Lennix!"

"Who?"

"Lennix, man.  He runs Oxide."  Simon gave him a blank look.  "Oxide.  You know, the nightclub?  It's like mega Gothic.  He really gets into this sorta stuff.  If anyone knows, it's Lennix."  He gave a half chuckle.  "I'll have to go at night, though.  The guy won't even be seen during the day..." he trailed off, a horrified look on his face.

Simon met his gaze.  "You don't think - "

"I don't know what to think anymore."  Blair confessed quietly.  "Even if he is...This could be the only chance Jim has.  I have to go."

Simon leaned forward.  "We have to go."

 "It's about friendship"

Blair Sandburg - 'Flight'

"Maybe you should stay in a hotel room." Simon offered as he pulled up outside the apartment block.

Blair shook his head.  "Thanks, Simon, but Jim needs me."

"Are you sure?  I mean, what if he -"

"He won't hurt me, Simon."  There was complete faith in the anthropologist's eyes.  "Not now, not ever.  Jim's in control now.  He won't hurt me."

Simon tapped the wheel with his fingers. The kid's loyalty was touching, but what if Jim wasn't in control?  "Sandburg -"

"Whoops, gotta go."  Blair opened the door and whisked out.  "See you tonight," he called, disappearing into 852.

Simon debated following him, then shook his head.  He's safe....in daylight  Shivering, the Captain turned the heater on full blast as he drove away.

Blair paused at the bottom of the stairs in the Loft.  He listened for a moment, then ventured up partway, peering over and under the metal bars around the upper bedroom.  Jim was an inanimate lump on the bed, covered by every blanket and cover they had.  Just as Blair left him that morning.  And every other morning since this whole insanity began.

Satisfied, the anthropologist went into his own room and brought out his backpack.  Moving into the lounge and seating himself at the table, he opened it and pulled out a few items he'd 'borrowed' from the university medical labs.  Needles.  Plastic tubing.  Empty blood packs.  Pulling up his sleeve, Blair fastened a tie around his arm to bring the vein up.

/...I can't live by killing.../

Hissing slightly as the needle entered his arm, Blair released the tie, feeling a little sick as his blood flowed into the bag.  He was revolted by the very idea, but Jim's refusal to hunt even strays had left Vampyre pale and gaunt, movements stiff as he circled the Loft, his self imposed prison.  The only other option was to raid a blood bank, and Blair had balked at that. Giving his own blood was one thing, but taking it from those who might actually need it...

Like Jim a traitorous part of his mind whispered.

The bag was full and he was starting to feel a little dizzy.  With more hisses of pain, Blair pulled the needle out and sealed the bag, slapping a bandaid over the puncture in his arm.   With a sigh, he rested his head on folded hands.

How long can you do this? His mind whispered. How long can you feed him, pretend nothing's wrong?  The Jim you know is dead.  What is left is undead.  Evil.  You have to destroy him.

No. Blair closed his eyes.  Somewhere between thoughts, he fell asleep.

It was approaching dusk when he woke again.  Stiffly, Blair levered his head off  the table.  Swaying slightly, he moved to the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

At least I can drink the last of it without Jim bitching at me. The sudden thought made him laugh, hysterically, until he slid down the cupboards to sit on the kitchen floor, pressing the cool glass against his forehead.  Wearily he tugged his watch out of his pocket.

"Showtime."  Slipping the bag into his pocket and hiding the needle and tubing under his bed, Blair scribbled a hasty note for Jim and headed downstairs to meet Simon.

/You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you

Help me - I broke apart my insides
Help me - I got no soul to sell
Help me - The only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself/

"Cheerful music," Simon commented dryly as they moved their way through the pale, dark-haired figures populating the nightclub.

"Nine Inch Nails, man. The song's 'Closer'"  Blair said absently.  He patted the older man on the chest and gestured towards a wrought iron staircase.  "Yeah, Lennix is usually up there."

A wildly gyrating figure in heavy eye makeup bumped into Simon.   Turning, she bared her teeth and hissed at him before moving away.

Simon nervously fingered the gold cross around his neck.  "Are you sure these things work?" he asked.

Blair looked up at him with haunted eyes. "Jim has a cross burned into his skull.  That's all the proof I need." He looked away.

Feeling out of his depth, Simon put a hand on the other man's shoulder.  "Come on, Sandburg."

Listen to them - the children of the night.
What music they make!

Bram Stoker - 'Dracula'

Angele dove higher into the clouds, revelling in the feel of the moisture against her skin.  This was what she enjoyed about Immortality - the multitude of sensations, the pure joy of sensual material whispering against skin, the music of a thousand sounds of the city below, pumping life.

The blood.

She had enjoyed them all.  The bitter tang of the heroin addict, the sweet kiss of a virgin, the heady aroma and sensations emanating from the prostitute on the street.  She had sampled them all in her long life.  Kings, peasants.  Roman emperors and their lowly slaves.  A little from each, not enough to kill, to convert, but enough to satiate her hunger.

Sweet and heady as they were, none had matched the power that had thrummed from the Sentinel as she had made him her own.

Tongue running over tingling lips at the memory. Angele laughed, dropping a thousand feet in free fall before levelling out and swirling over the city.

Cascade.  Home of such life!

She had called and the Sentinel had come. Bound by her will, blood of her blood, he had come to her at the time of his first change. He was wild, untamed, like all on their first time.  The breaking of the new beauty from the old chrysalis, pure animal mind destroying rational thought.  Together they had hunted, twin panthers stalking their prey.  They had feasted together, until she had touched the brand marring that beautiful face, a hated symbol of faith.

Angele frowned at the memory.  James had jerked away at her touch, her control over him fading as the stronger bond between Sentinel and Guide had taken over.  He had fled her, returning to the Guide's side.

Clapping her hands, she laughed again.  The Guide would remain near the Sentinel.  It was always so. And soon James would give in to his urges and bring his Guide to her, a sacrifice to lay at her feet.  The bond between them would be strong, and bound by her blood, unbreakable.

Already she could feel the Guide's blood pouring hot down her throat,  taste it on her lips. Suddenly hungry, she glided to a stop in a deserted street.

Deserted, except for a homeless woman and her child.

Angele's eyes gleamed.  "Dinner is served."

Two big men wearing nothing but black masks and G-strings blocked Simon and Blair's way.  "Sorry sir, " one said in a pleasant tone.   "You can't go in there."

Simon was torn between feeling sorry for the man and laughing in his face for the getup he was in. Blair, however, seemed unperturbed.  "Come on man, I just want to talk to Lennix," he wheedled.

"I'm sorry sir -"

"I can't go in there.  Look, can you at least tell him who it is?  Tell him it's Blair, Blair Sandburg."

"Blair."  The door swung open.  "Come in."  The two bouncers moved aside to let them pass.

A neat man in his early thirties was waiting for them.  He smiled as they entered. "Blair."

"Lennix."  Seeing the man's gaze transfer to Simon, Blair hastily made the introductions.  "Uh, Lennix, this is Captain Simon Banks. Cascade PD."

"Nice to meet you."  Simon said grudgingly.  The guy had a handshake like a dead fish.

"It is good to see you have met your goal, Blair."  Lennix remarked, moving to sit behind a polished obsidian desk.

"Pardon?" Said Blair blankly.

"Your destiny.  I am pleased to see you have met it.  Your Aura has changed." Lennix may as well have been discussing the weather as he gestured to a few chairs on the other side of the desk.

"Uh, thanks."  Blair took the proffered seat.  "Lennix, I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Vampyres."

Lennix sat bolt upright.  "So you finally found out, " he said wryly.  "I knew it would only be a matter of time.  One cannot fool a power as ancient as yours for long."

Simon leaned back in his chair, one hand going to the cross around his neck.  Blair, on the other hand, seemed more weary than anything else.  "I don't care about you, Lennix.  I need help.  A...friend of mine's been turned into a Vampyre."

"Ah." Lennix rose from his seat an started pacing the office.  "What is his name?"

"Ellison.  James Ellison."

"Is he a Sentinel?"  The question left Blair opened mouthed.

"What?" he finally managed to stammer out.

Lennix paused in front of him.  "You are a Guide," he said matter-of-factly. "Is James a Sentinel?"

Blair hesitated, then nodded.

"There is only one among us who would dare to take a Sentinel." Lennix said softly.  "Angele."

"Who?" From the corner of his eye, Blair saw Simon blanch at the mention of the name. He moved slightly closer to the older man, putting a hand on his arm in support.

"Angele is an ancient, even among our kind.  She is said to have walked with the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Maya. Even then, she was old beyond measure."  Lennix moved to stare out of the window.  "Beware of her, Blair.  She has immeasurable power."

"What kind of power?"

"The power over minds.  The power to control men, turn friend against friend."  The Vampyre turned to face them and Blair was transfixed by those eyes.  "You will need to tread softly Guide, if you are to save your Sentinel."

"If I am to save my Sentinel?"  Blair fell on the words.

"You mean there is a way to bring Jim back?" Simon added.

"If Angele is destroyed before the new moon, James will be free." Lennix acknowledged.  "Once the moon is born however, he will become one of us.  Forever."

"How do we kill her?"

Lennix waved a hand.  "The usual ways.  A stake through the heart, exposure to sunlight." He paused and held a hand up in warning. "But she will not be so easy to destroy."

"How do we find her?" Blair asked stubbornly.

Lennix smiled.  "You are indeed a Guide worthy of a Sentinel."  His gaze flickered over to Simon.  "And a great friend.  James will find her.  Born of her blood, they are connected.  He will follow wherever she goes."

Blair winced in the confines of the elevator of 852 Prospect.  "Man, Simon, you reek.  You been overdoing the Italian food again?"

The Captain looked faintly embarrassed.  "Garlic,"  he mumbled.

Blair's grin faded, and he put a hand on the other man's shoulder.  "Good thought, but I don't know if it'll work.  He didn't mind that lasagne when we got back from the hospital."  He saw Simon shiver.  "You ok?"

Simon shook his head.  "I don't know Sandburg.  This is way beyond me," he said as they exited the elevator and walked the short way down the hall. "What if we can't kill...Angele?  What if Jim's stuck like that forever?  You said yourself, he won't hunt."

Blair scratched his arm.  "We'll manage,"  he said stubbornly, reaching for the door handle.

A hard look crossed the Captain's face and he yanked Blair's sleeve up, staring in shock at the bruises and punctures marring the skin. "Jesus, Sandburg,"  he whispered. "You've been feeding him? Are you NUTS?" He didn't which was worse.  The thought that Sandburg had done it, or the fact that Jim had taken it.

Blair pulled his arm back and slid the sleeve over it again, guessing the older man's thoughts. "He doesn't know it's mine.  I've been taking sample bags from the U, doing it in daylight."  He looked up, suddenly fierce. "God help me Simon, if you tell him -"

Simon shook his head.  "Are you kidding? He'll kill me first."  The attempt at levity fell flat.

Blair put a hand on the door again.  "Are you ready?"

Simon grinned ruefully.  "No, but let's get over with anyway."

Blair nodded and unlocked the door.  The loft beyond was dark, light only by a faint gleam ghosting through the balcony doors.

Simon put a hand on the light switch, but Blair covered it with his own. The anthropologist shook his head, the movement barely discernible in the dim starlight.  "Jim can't stand bright lights," he whispered.

Fishing a box of matches from his pocket, Blair moved around the lounge, lighting candles, the soft flickers throwing dark shadows up on the walls

Simon shivered despite himself  Jesus, how does the kid stand it?  The loft looked eerie, lit only by the soft candles flickering through the lounge.

"Jim," Blair called softly, busying himself at the counter with a mug and a bag filled with a dark liquid.

Simon started as the Vampyre materialised out of the gloom.  "Jesus, Jim," he said softly.  Ellison's face was shrunken, bones protruding sharply through paper thin skin. The pale skin only served to heighten the unnatural glow of the ice blue eyes.

Those eyes...

Simon nearly cried at the look in his friend's eyes.  Revulsion and self hatred were there, only to be swiftly over taken by hunger as Jim's nose twitched, eyes locking on the mug in Sandburg's hand.

Blair moved forward and put the mug on the coffee table.  "Here," he said softly, backing away.   Jim nodded and strode across the lounge, eagerly wrapping his hands around the mug and draining its contents.  The other two watched the Sentinel's eyes glowed brightly as he drank, the flesh of his face filling out slightly as he put the empty mug down.

"I got more today."  With a warning look to Simon, Blair pulled the blood pack from his jacket, the dark red liquid sloshing inside.

Jim's eyes fastened hungrily on the bag, but he shook his head.  "Later," he said softly, voice rough.  "We might need it for later."

Blair grinned and put the bag on the table.  "Jim, man, if this works, there won't be a later.  Ever.  We found a way to get you back to normal."

Jim paused in the act of reaching for the bag and looked up, eyes hopeful and almost like his old self. "How?"

It was Simon who answered.  "We're going after Angele."

Angele was aware of their plans.  James' thoughts spiralled through the blood link and into her mind.

She had miscalculated.  The bond between the Sentinel and his clever, clever Guide was too strong, even for her power. It was no matter.  She had created James, she could destroy him with a kiss.

As for the others....

The feasting would be grand.

I will find you as the sky is about to break.
That moment when the sun and rain
Do battle
When the clouds can't settle on a colour.
Where shadows terrorise us
Insanity rates soar
And humans become aware of their
Insignificance.

Sean Hughes - 'Entitled'

Simon drove.

He didn't trust the others - Jim was in full stalking panther mode, and Blair was too hyped, a livewire of nervous energy bouncing around his companion in the back of the truck.

"Wow.  I mean, I've known Lennix for years and I never even knew.  Kinda makes you wonder how many others are out there...."

In a way, Simon welcome the endless prattle.  It filled the horrible anticipating void that permeated the truck.  Jim was sprawled in the back seat, silent for most of the long drive through the night, head out the window, constantly testing the air. Occasionally he'd mutter directions, the rough voice easily cutting through the endless stream of words.

"...Can you believe it?  Lennix said he knew Angele walked among the Maya.  If he knew that, how old can he be?  What has he seen?  I gotta go back there with a tape recorder..."

And a cross, added Simon silently.

"... and find out.  I mean, he has to know other Sentinels if he recognised me as a Guide and.."

"Stop."  Blair shut up and Simon hit the brakes at Jim's command. The Sentinel got out of the vehicle and sniffed the cold air, once.  Turning, he ducked his head back into the truck and spoke to his companions.  "We walk from here."  The were in a deserted district, near the ocean, faint lights gleaming back from the boats out in port.  Normal people living normal lives.

Blair got out of the truck first, mouth running overdrive, brain disengaged. "Whew it's cold.   Alright, everyone ready?  Got your stakes?  Maybe we should have brought Holy water.  I mean, we can't wear crosses around.."  He made a mute gesture to his partner, who snorted. "So ...no, no bad idea.  Might have splashback and then...hey  I wonder.  Jim man, when we get you back to normal, will that cross fade?   Doesn't really matter, that many people have those designs shaved into their hair.  Actually, in some cultures..."

"Sandburg,"  Simon had a ridiculous urge to laugh.  The whole thing seemed so surreal.  A hippie anthropologist, a half-vampyre with enhanced senses and a police Captain, who, truth be told was this far way from screaming in terror  versus probably the most powerful Vampyre ever.

They didn't put this in the job description.  He stole a hand around to touch his gun.   It probably wouldn't work, but its presence made him feel better.

Jim, on the other hand, relished the flow of words.  'When' we get you back to normal.  Not 'If.'  He could do this.   With his Guide at his side, he could do this and go back to living  (well, for them anyway) normal lives.

First things first.  Jim closed his eyes and stretched his senses out.  Hearing, touch, taste, smell....mind.  He moved in a slow circle, then stalked down an alley.  "This way."

The Sentinel hunted down the small street, hearing the footsteps of the others close behind.  His Captain.  His Guide.

His Tribe.

He had to protect them against....

Suddenly he stopped.  She was nearby.  He could feel her presence, her mind.  Love. Hate. Age. Power.  All in a dizzying swirl he knew. Jim turned, eyes gleaming.  "She's here."

Blair put a nervous hand on the stake in the inside pocket of his jacket.  "Angele?  Where?"

"Here.  Somewhere." Jim effortlessly climbed a drainage pipe and disappeared onto a nearby roof.

"Well that was nice and cryptic, huh?" Blair remarked.

Simon was getting more and more nervous.  "This is insane. I don't even know why I'm here."

"Simon -" Blair put a hand on the older man's arm.  He was shocked to see something he had never seen before in the big Captain's dark eyes.

Fear.

Banks shook the hand off.  "I'm sorry, Sandburg," he said softly.  "I can't do this."  He turned to walk away, hating himself.

"Little Dark Man..." Simon froze at the sound of that voice, soft, velvet, throaty.  A voice that had haunted his wildest dreams and darkest nightmares since he was twelve.

He turned. "Angele."

"My little Dark Man, all grown up." She caressed his face, gently.  "I told you I would return."

There was a flurry of activity beside them, and Angele slammed Blair down the alley before he could get the stake out from under his coat.  She froze him with a glance as he tried to struggle to his feet.  "And the Guide as well."  She laughed up into the sky. "You have done well, James.  Very well,"  she purred, pulling Simon closer.  The police Captain was frozen as she bared sharp white fangs, moving for his neck.

There was a whirl and Simon was yanked away to sprawl on the mud. "You're not taking him." Jim dropped down in front of her, lithe as a panther, protecting his Captain.

"And how will you stop me, pray tell?" Angele purred, moving closer.  Focusing her mind.

"I will kill you if I have to." His eyes gleamed ferally in the dark.

Oh, he was strong, this one.  A will to match his body.  Angele drew in her power, pulling in tendrils and sending them forward.  "Kill me?" She said softly, watching him stiffen against her control.  "You cannot kill me.  I  am your mother, your creator."

"My destroyer," he gasped out as her hands touched his shoulders.

"That as well," she acknowledged, leaning her head to drink at his neck.  "I am your beginning and end, James Ellison.  You cannot fight me. I am the one who gave you life, the one who will give you death.  I am your grim reaper, your goddess of life." Her fangs broke the skin above the straining muscle.

Jim closed his eyes as the life pulsed out of him.  He had no strength to fight.  My creator, my goddess, my death. He surrendered.

Suddenly he heard a gasp. Opening his eyes, he saw  Angele draw away, hands clutching at her chest.

At the stake through her heart.

"You're not my mother," muttered Blair Sandburg.

Angele looked up at the Sentinel, black eyes filled with pleading.  "James..." she gasped, hands tugging at his shoulders.  "James..."

Jim followed her down to the ground, holding her arms.  "Angele," he murmured before the darkness took him.

Blair limped over to where Simon was sprawled in the mud.  "Simon?" He worriedly patted a cheek.  "Simon?  Yo, Simon, anyone there?"

"Captain Banks to you," came the mumbled reply.  Simon rolled over, then sat up, clutching his head.  "Jim?" He asked.

Blair staggered over and slumped on the pavement next to his partner. "I think he's gonna be ok."

A dawn was breaking, the new light showing the changes in Jim's face, the normal teeth in the slightly open mouth. 
Blair looked up , a smile of gladness breaking across his face.  "Yeah.  he's gonna be just fine."

A gentle breeze sprang up, whirling a small pile of ashes up into the sky and across the city.

Jim was getting dizzy watching his partner shuffle around the Loft. Blair moved around and around, grabbing 
extra cushions, a glass of water, making sure everything was perfect.  He called it caring for his wounded partners needs.

Jim called it annoying.  He pushed Blair's hands away as he tried to arrange a comforter over the reclining Sentinel.  "*Sandburg,* lay off, I'm fine."

"Come on man, you're not ok." Blair said frustratedly, fluffing up some more cushions. Jim irritably snatched them away, leaving him empty-handed. "They said you nearly bled to death.  You had half the guys at the precinct donating blood."  Blair pushed his hair back from his face and squatted by the couch.  "You scared me, man," he admitted frankl y.

"Chief....." Jim reached out and tousled his hair.  "I'm ok, aren't I?" He said softly. "I'm here, aren't I?" Blair nodded.
 The wounded detective smiled evilly and Blair raised an eyebrow. "Now, slave," Jim started. "If you hand me the remote, I won't be going anywhere for a long time and then you won't have to worry about a thing."

"James Ellison, you are so not funny." Blair teased, handing the requested item over.

"Aw, come on Chief," Jim said in a bad imitation of his partner's voice.  "You gotta relaaaaaax.  Lighten up a little, man."

"Couch potato."  Blair shot over his shoulder, heading for the kitchen.

Jim stretched out on the couch, a satisfied grin on his face. "Yep."

Blair started shuffling pots around. "Lasagne ok?"

"Oh, yeah."

"So what do you think it was?"  Blair asked, scooping up another forkful of lasagne. "I mean, that thing you saw?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know.  A bat or something.  I don't really want to talk about it."  He  pushed his plate away, half-full.  The food was tasteless, too bland.  He would have liked to have salted it, but Blair, the hippie-healthnut-freak would have nipped that from the outset.

"A bat?  In the warehouse district?" Blair shook his head. "Nah.  They tend to stay where there's fruit.  You should eat more of that lasagne.  Maybe it was a possum?"  There was no response and he grinned impishly.  "Or a flying rat?  Jim?"  He lowered his voice dramatically.  "Maybe it was a Vampyre."

Jim jerked his head up.  That one had been too close to home. Whatever it had been it was evil.  Pure Evil. With a capital 'E'. And he wanted to protect his partner from it.  "I said I don't want to talk about it.  Case closed, Sandburg.  End of discussion."

"Whoa."  Blair took a sip of his juice.  "Who pissed on your wheaties this morning, man?"

"Nurse Quinlan." Jim quipped back and they both laughed.  The detective looked out to where the sun was shining brightly through the balcony window, glinting off the clouds that promised later rain. Standing, he eased himself off the couch.  "Think I'll just take a nap, Chief.  I'm kinda tired."

"Right."  Blair kicked himself.  Jim was bound to be tired and cranky.  The Big Guy had just gotten out of hospital for crying out loud.  "Need a -"

Jim held up a hand.  "So help me Chief, if you're gonna ask me if I need help going up my own stairs - "

Blair waved his hands through the air, a look of mock innocence crossing his face.  "Who, me?"  He grinned suddenly.  "Just doing the mother hen payback." He ducked the cushion Jim threw at him.  "Just kidding, man.  Yeesh, lighten up a little will you?  Relaaaaaaax."

The next cushion hit him square in the face.

Shali Bahn: Literally the calm before the storm.
The clarity of vision, both internal and external, 
that precedes the dark tumult of death

Michael Jan Friedman - 'Legacy'

Night fell, and James Ellison stirred, eyes moving rapidly under closed lids as he dreamed...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was on a high plain.  Ahead of him, a temple glimmered in white, polished stone.  The pristine steps rising up in front of his feet.  Placing his foot on the first step, the Sentinel turned at a low snarl.

The panther was pacing behind him, tail lashing agitatedly in circles.  Jim looked from the cat, to the temple towering above.

An intoxicating scent caught his nose, a siren call, his mind.

Turning his back on the panther, he continued to climb..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Blair scooped the last of the lasagne into a tupperware container and sealed it.  Slipping it into the fridge, he reached out and turned the kitchen light off.  Moving easily through the dark lounge, he tiptoed up the stairs and peeked in at Jim.  Sleeping soundly.

Puttering back into his own room, the anthropologist started hauling out notes for tomorrow's classes.
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was high now, the clouds drifting like cotton past his feet.  The steps began to darken under his feet, from white to pink to red to black.  The dark liquid coating the steps pulled at his feet and he still continued to climb, that sweet song twining around his mind, luring him further.

The steps finally evened out, and he stopped in front of an altar.  The siren song stopped, and a woman turned, black hair highlighting a white face and dark eyes.  She held a chalice in her hands, offering it to him.

Taking the chalice from the cold hands and holding it to his lips to drink,  Jim saw it was brimming with blood

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Sentinel's eyes snapped open, easily piercing the darkness of his room.

Hunger

He sat up, senses scanning the area.  He picked up a steady heartbeat in the room below him.  Jim licked his lips.

Food

Blair jerked in alarm as lighting shattered the sky.  Whoa.  Getting jumpy.  Looks like the rain finally hit, though

The door to his room flew open, banging against his nightstand. Blair peered into the darkness of the room outside the warm glow of his lamp.  "Jim?" he called nervously, sliding his legs off the bed and sidling to the back door.  "Jim?"

"Blair......"

Jim's voice.  Something was wrong.  Blair moved towards the doorway and the dark lounge beyond.  "Jim?  Are you ok?"

He jumped as the Sentinel slid noiselessly into the room.  "Chief?"

"Jim!  Oh man, you had me going for a while there.  Hate to tell you, but it ain't Samhain yet." Blair joked nervously.  Something about the way his partner moved was wrong "What's up?"

"Hungry..."  There was a demanding, pleading tone to the other man's voice.

"Yeah? Well, um, there's some of that lasagne left. I told you eat more at dinner, but did you listen? Nooo...."  Blair cautiously circled the larger man to head for the door.

"Food."   Jim shot out a hand, blocking the door.

Blair viewed the outstretched arm.  "Uh, Jim.  You're blocking my way," he said pointedly.

Jim extended his other hand, softly brushing the curls away from the nape of Blair's neck.  "Hungry..." he breathed, moving closer, using his thumb to tilt the anthropologist's head to the side.

Blair froze as his partner's breath ghosted hot across the juncture of his shoulder and neck. "Uhhh, I think you need you lie down, Jim.  You're acting a little fruity here..." He put a hand on his partner's chest, intending to push him away when Ellison suddenly snapped his head around, needle sharp fangs protruding from a face dominated by viciously glowing blue eyes.

"FUCK!" Blair broke free and frantically backpedalled away.  "Jim?  Jim?  Oh man, I'm hoping this is a bad dream, 'cos if it's a practical joke it is so not funny, man."  He kept the bed between Jim and himself as the Sentinel moved further into the room.

"Blair..."  Jim pleaded, moving closer.  "So hungry..."

"Yeah?  Well Jim, last time I looked, I was not on the menu." He vaulted the bed and ran for the door, skidding short when Jim easily blocked the way.

Man is he fast.  Blair moved away towards the other door as Jim stalked him.  Suddenly the Sentinel pounced, dragging his partner to the bed and pinning him down as his mouth moved towards Blair's neck.

"Jim." Heart pounding, Blair struggled to keep his voice low, soothing.  "Jim.  It's me, Blair, your Guide."  His fingers crept across the bed to the night stand, searching for a leather bound book he knew was there.

Jim eased back, a puzzled expression on his face as his eyes faded to their normal colour.  "Chief?"

"Yeah."  Blair stroked a hand across his partner's face.  "Shh.  Jim, I want you to get off me. Now."  The Sentinel suddenly froze, sniffing the air hungrily.  Suddenly he grabbed Blair's wrist,  licking it with his tongue.

Feeling the pulse beating underneath.

With a feral snarl he switched, baring his teeth and lunging at the imprisoned limb.

"Jim!  No!"  Blair's questing fingers found the item he was searching for.  With a yell of victory, he slammed the bible into the side of his partner's head, totally unprepared for the reaction.

Jim howled in agony and sprang off him, one hand clutching the side of his head.  With a blur of wind, he disappeared out the door.

Blair shakily sat up, breathing heavily. What the hell was THAT?

But he knew.

Jim was a Vampyre.

Clenching the bible in his hand, Blair moved cautiously into the lounge.  A sudden banging ahead and to his right made him whirl, raising the book threateningly.  The balcony doors were wide open, rain sheeting through to stain the rug in dark colours.  Stepping carefully over the toppled potplant, he cautiously made his way to the doors  creaking slightly in the wind.

Nerves wound tight, a sudden snarl of thunder made Blair leap back.  The anthropologist's foot skidded in a wet patch, and he careened wildly backwards, smacking his head on the coffee table.

Lights out.

Now, I don't wanna hear anything about 'I don't 
believe in Vampyres.' I don't fucking believe in 
Vampyres. But I do believe in my own two eyes, 
and what I saw is fucking Vampyres.

Now, are we all agreed that what we're dealing 
with is Vampyres?

Quentin Tarantino - 'From Dusk 'till Dawn'

Blair woke up the next morning in his own bed.  Just a dream.  Oh man.  I have got to stop eating Italian before I got to bed.  He sat up and rubbed the back of his head, long fingers discovering a bump underneath the unruly curls.

From when I hit the floor  Memory came flooding back and he gasped.  Running into the bathroom, he pulled off his shirt, frantically searching for teeth marks.  He found none, and breathed a sigh of relief.  With a nervous look upwards, Blair carefully took the stairs to the upper bedroom, wincing each time they creaked under his feet.  Part of his mind was screaming that it was a really bad idea, but he had to know

"Jim?"

The lump under the blankets groaned and stirred.  "Chief?" Jim asked blearily.  "What's up?"

Blair sighed in relief.  "Uh, I just wanted to say thanks," he fudged.

"For what?"  Jim pushed the blankets down, face puffy with sleep.

"Putting me in bed last night man.  I had the wildest dream.  Guess I was sleepwalking and banged my head on something."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jim bleared.

"Last night."  Blair moved closer. "You look like hell, Jim.  You ok?"  He opened the blind to get a better view. Jim hissed and threw a hand up to shield his face from the weak sunlight.

But not before Blair saw the tiny cross burned into the short hair.

The Guide stumbled back a step, heart speeding up when he saw the skin on the back of Jim's upflung hand begin to redden, as if sunburned.  "Oh my god.  It was real."

He backed down the stairs. "Oh man. Oh man.  Oh man," he chanted.  His foot slipped and he twisted, landing on his backside half on and half off a step.

"Chief?" Jim called weakly.  A shapeless form appeared at the top of the stairs.  The detective had thrown his blanket over his head, shielding him from the sunlight.

"Don't come near me, man."  Blair scooted down another step, arms thrown up defensively.  "Don't you come anywhere *near* me."

Jim collapsed at the top of the staircase.  Agonised, desperate blue eyes pleaded with the Guide.

"Help me."

The eyes closed and he slumped onto the floor.

Blair sat there for a moment, nervously biting the nails on one hand.  Should he or shouldn't he?

Loyalty won out and he dragged the unconscious figure into the bedroom, to the side of the bed, covering him with more blankets and closing all the blinds in the loft until not a skerrick of light shone through.

Blair stood in the darkness and closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing.  Vampyre or no, Jim was still his friend, his brother, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And the Sentinel needed the help of his Guide.

Coming to a decision, Blair grabbed his car keys and headed for the nearest library.

Night fell and Blair waited in his room.  He had dragged his dresser across the doors and huddled in front of it, one hand clutching a heavy Celtic cross he had begged off a friend.

He stiffened as he heard movements in the lounge the other side of the doors.  Jim tried to turn the handle, but found the door blocked.  "Chief?" he called worriedly.

"Yeah, Jim." Blair was amazed by how steady his own voice was. "I'm in here.  And I'm staying in here.  And you're staying out there." He put a hand on the bible at his side.

"Sandburg."  The dresser jerked as Jim tried to force the door open. "Sandburg, what the hell have you blocked the door for?"

"Protection.  I'm not going out, and you're not coming in."

He heard his partner sigh in bafflement.  "Chief?"  His voice was soothing. "Chief?  Come on, let's just talk about this ok?  Tell me what's wrong."

Blair snorted. "Yeah. right.  No way, Jim.  I have *no* desire to join the ranks of the undead."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sandburg?" Jim demanded irritably.

"Check a mirror Jim.  Get a good look at the hair above your left ear."  Blair laughed, a little hysterically.  "If you can even see your reflection."

"Chief -"

"DO IT!  Please." He heard shuffling sounds, then the bathroom light being turned on.

"Oh God."  There was a soft thump as the Sentinel's legs gave way underneath him.

"Jim?"  There was a long silence and something inside Blair snapped.  Slinging the cross around his neck, over his shirt and tucking the bible under his arm, Blair carefully pushed the dresser out of the way and ventured into the lounge.

He stopped by the bathroom and peeked in, ready to bolt.  Jim was curled up on the floor  by the bathtub, rocking himself.

"Jim?"  Blair knelt by his friend.  The cross swung free and Jim jerked back with a hiss, fear on his pale features.

"My God, Blair," he whispered.  "What's happening to me?"

I so desperately want to have someone who 
would understand me, who can feel my pain 
and hold me in strong arms of comfort.
And yet, I want to be alone.  Vampires absorb life.  
They find it, capture it and then suck it dry.  It's 
a fact of life.  It can't be helped, and I am no different.

'Ethereal Darkness'

"You have to leave."  The flat statement caught Blair by surprise.

"What?  I mean, why?"

Jim laughed, a cold humourless sound.  "Pardon me, Sandburg, but you were the one that pointed it out." His fingers ghosted over the mark on his skull.  "You can't stay here.  What if I-" he broke off and rubbed a hand across his mouth. It came away stained red. Dark red, old blood.  "My God," he hissed.  Even old, dead, the smell of it drew him in.  Rich, intoxicating....  He shook his head and met the worried gaze of his partner.  "What have I done?"

Jim reached out to his Guide, needing contact, comfort, and Blair reflexively skittered back. The blue eyes tightened in fear, sorrow.  "I hurt you," he said softly in realisation.

Blair quickly shook his head.  "No.  I'm fine."

"I hurt you." Jim insisted quietly.  "Take off your shirt.  I need...I need to see."

Blair paused, then peeled off his shirt, tucking the cross beneath his singlet, eyes downcast.  He swore he could feel Jim's gaze over his body, Sentinel eyes hunting for injuries.

Jim gasped softly at the deep bruises on Blair's shoulders.  Bruises the size of his hands. He reached out, hand falling short.    "God, Chief...."  He stood and left the bathroom.

Blair quickly pulled his shirt back on and followed. "Jim...."  he stopped short.  Jim was in the kitchen, holding a sharp carving knife.  "Jim!"

The Sentinel looked up at him, tears damp on his cheeks.  "I can't do this.  I hurt you.  I can't live by killing.  I've protected people all my life.  It was what I was born to do - you said so yourself.  How can I live by killing?"  He raised the knife and dragged it across his wrist.

"No!  Jim!"  Blair lunged across the lounge as a bright plume of blood sprayed up into the air.  Skidding into the kitchen, he pulled a draw open, items spilling to the floor in a crazy dance around him as he knelt by Ellison, a cloth in his hands.  "Jim.  Jim, let me see, we have to get it wrapped up."  He tugged at the limb cradled to his partner's chest.

Jim started to laugh, a crazy, damned sound.

The cloth dropped from Blair's hand when he saw the wrist.  The skin was perfect, whole.  "Oh man," he breathed, slumping against the counter.

Oh you, you're looking so confused
Just what did you lost?
Oh.  It's ok.
It's just your mind.

Jarvis Cocker - 'Bar Italia'

"Hey hairboy."  Brown greeted him as he entered Major Crimes.  "How's Jim?"

"Fine."  Blair mumbled, swaying slightly and bumping into a desk. Keeping a suicide watch on a Vampyre was not one of his favourite ways to lose sleep.  It seemed an effort just keep his eyes open. Balance, he could work on later.

Brown reached out and steadied him.  "You ok?" He asked, concerned.

Blair forced a smile onto his face and flapped a hand. "Rough night," he managed.

"Jim, right?  Lemme guess - patient from hell?"  Brown grinned and handed the anthropologist a cup of coffee.

"You don't know the half of it."  Blair murmured darkly, gratefully sipping the hot drink.  "Simon in?"

"Yeah.  In his office."  The detective  gestured.  "I'd watch it though," he warned as Blair headed for the glass door. "He's in a bad mood.  Ate three uniforms for breakfast."

"Thanks for the warning."  Blair chuckled back.  Opening the door partway, he knocked on the glass.

"Yes!"  Simon barked angrily.  Looking up, he apologised.  "Sandburg.  Sorry." He waved to the seat opposite his desk.  "How's Jim?"

Blair shook his head at the sea ting.  "Ah, actually...That's what I'm here to talk about,"

"Well?  Is he ok?  The hospital said he'd be all right.  Sandburg?"

"Um, he...ah...Simon, I don't really know how to say this...." Blair  hedged.

The older man lost his patience.  "Sandburg, I have had the worst day of my professional life.  It ranks right up there with being shot.  It you don't start talking straight, I suggest you leave my office."

"Simon, I know what I'm about to say sounds insane, but at least hear me out before you toss away the key." Blair pleaded.

Simon looked at the styrofoam cup being crushed to death in a white knuckled grip. Something had the kid wired.  "All right," he relented. "Spit it out, Sandburg."

Blair took a deep breath.  "Jim's been turned onto a Vampyre." He surged ahead, expecting the flood of disbelief, determined to at least to finish his explanation before the police Captain kicked his ass around his ears and out into the street. "I mean,  he tried to jump me in the Loft.  At first I thought he was taking the Sentinel / Guide relationship bit waaaay to seriously, but then I saw the fangs and his eyes man, they were seriously spooky, so I hit him with the bible I had for that comparative religion class I'm subbing for and he - Simon?  Simon?"

The police Captain sat there immobile, cigar hanging from a slack jaw.  Worriedly, Blair waved a hand in front of his face.  "Oh man, I finally gave you that stroke, didn't I?  Simon?  Come on man, yell at me, revoke my Observer status, anything. Simon?"

Finally Simon blinked and looked up into Blair's worried blue eyes.  "I believe you," he said softly.

Blair looked at him guardedly.  "What?  Oh, I get it, you're humouring me until they come with the white coats, aren't you?" He swung the chair at the desk around and sat backwards on it. "I swear Simon, I wish I was nuts.  This is for real."

"I know."  Simon began dragging memory from the dark corners of his brain.

He was twelve years old, on the way back from some game or another.  It was dark - he remembered that much, an early winters bite to the air.

The rush of air behind him had made him whirl, eyes peering into the empty street, darkness punctured by a few street lights.    Unconsciously he'd picked up the pace a little, thoughts of home suddenly very appealing.

Mocking laughter ghosted in his ear, then something had slammed him in the back, effortlessly pushing him over to sprawl face down on the pavement.

"Little Dark Man..." Someone was stroking his back.  Simon had turned over  to find a beautiful woman staring at him, onyx eyes out of a face as white and smooth as silk. Hypnotised, he'd sat as still as a statue as she nuzzled his neck, then kissed him on the lips.  "Little Dark Man. I'll come for you when you're grown."

Then she was gone, shooting straight up into the night sky.

Simon had sat there for a long moment, staring upwards, until something had broken the paralysis and he had run all the way home.

He's never told anyone about it.

Until now.

Blair's eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head.  "Wow." He blew out a forceful breath. "Man, this is so..wow." His shoulders slumped in relief, now he had someone to confide in.  "I have no idea what to do, Simon," he confessed quietly.  "I mean, I thought the whole Shaman / Guide thing was deedle deedle twilight zone, but this..."

"Is there anything we can do?" Simon asked, feeling incredibly stupid and helpless.

Blair threw his hands up in the air in a helpless gesture.  "I don't even know where to start.  There are that many Vampyre folklores floating around.  There're even a few that say a Vampyre can be saved."

"How?" Simon demanded.

"I don't know.  There's one that says you're only half a Vampyre until your first kill.  If the head Vampyre is offed, all half Vampyres are freed. There's another one that says you don't become a full Vampyre until the first new moon after your conversion - some say full moon - and if the Vampyre that created you is destroyed, you are freed." He slumped his head on his hands.  "I have no idea which ones are true and which ones are BS. And if I get it wrong..."

"There has to be someone we can ask.  I thought you Uni kids were all into his sort of stuff."

Blair shook his head, hair sliding over the back of the chair.  "They're all on an Anne Rice kick.  No one really knows -" he shot his head up and smacked himself in the forehead with a fist.  "Idiot.  Lennix!"

"Who?"

"Lennix, man.  He runs Oxide."  Simon gave him a blank look.  "Oxide.  You know, the nightclub?  It's like mega Gothic.  He really gets into this sorta stuff.  If anyone knows, it's Lennix."  He gave a half chuckle.  "I'll have to go at night, though.  The guy won't even be seen during the day..." he trailed off, a horrified look on his face.

Simon met his gaze.  "You don't think - "

"I don't know what to think anymore."  Blair confessed quietly.  "Even if he is...This could be the only chance Jim has.  I have to go."

Simon leaned forward.  "We have to go."

 "It's about friendship"

Blair Sandburg - 'Flight'

"Maybe you should stay in a hotel room." Simon offered as he pulled up outside the apartment block.

Blair shook his head.  "Thanks, Simon, but Jim needs me."

"Are you sure?  I mean, what if he -"

"He won't hurt me, Simon."  There was complete faith in the anthropologist's eyes.  "Not now, not ever.  Jim's in control now.  He won't hurt me."

Simon tapped the wheel with his fingers. The kid's loyalty was touching, but what if Jim wasn't in control?  "Sandburg -"

"Whoops, gotta go."  Blair opened the door and whisked out.  "See you tonight," he called, disappearing into 852.

Simon debated following him, then shook his head.  He's safe....in daylight  Shivering, the Captain turned the heater on full blast as he drove away.

Blair paused at the bottom of the stairs in the Loft.  He listened for a moment, then ventured up partway, peering over and under the metal bars around the upper bedroom.  Jim was an inanimate lump on the bed, covered by every blanket and cover they had.  Just as Blair left him that morning.  And every other morning since this whole insanity began.

Satisfied, the anthropologist went into his own room and brought out his backpack.  Moving into the lounge and seating himself at the table, he opened it and pulled out a few items he'd 'borrowed' from the university medical labs.  Needles.  Plastic tubing.  Empty blood packs.  Pulling up his sleeve, Blair fastened a tie around his arm to bring the vein up.

/...I can't live by killing.../

Hissing slightly as the needle entered his arm, Blair released the tie, feeling a little sick as his blood flowed into the bag.  He was revolted by the very idea, but Jim's refusal to hunt even strays had left Vampyre pale and gaunt, movements stiff as he circled the Loft, his self imposed prison.  The only other option was to raid a blood bank, and Blair had balked at that. Giving his own blood was one thing, but taking it from those who might actually need it...

Like Jim a traitorous part of his mind whispered.

The bag was full and he was starting to feel a little dizzy.  With more hisses of pain, Blair pulled the needle out and sealed the bag, slapping a bandaid over the puncture in his arm.   With a sigh, he rested his head on folded hands.

How long can you do this? His mind whispered. How long can you feed him, pretend nothing's wrong?  The Jim you know is dead.  What is left is undead.  Evil.  You have to destroy him.

No. Blair closed his eyes.  Somewhere between thoughts, he fell asleep.

It was approaching dusk when he woke again.  Stiffly, Blair levered his head off  the table.  Swaying slightly, he moved to the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

At least I can drink the last of it without Jim bitching at me. The sudden thought made him laugh, hysterically, until he slid down the cupboards to sit on the kitchen floor, pressing the cool glass against his forehead.  Wearily he tugged his watch out of his pocket.

"Showtime."  Slipping the bag into his pocket and hiding the needle and tubing under his bed, Blair scribbled a hasty note for Jim and headed downstairs to meet Simon.

/You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you

Help me - I broke apart my insides
Help me - I got no soul to sell
Help me - The only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself/

"Cheerful music," Simon commented dryly as they moved their way through the pale, dark-haired figures populating the nightclub.

"Nine Inch Nails, man. The song's 'Closer'"  Blair said absently.  He patted the older man on the chest and gestured towards a wrought iron staircase.  "Yeah, Lennix is usually up there."

A wildly gyrating figure in heavy eye makeup bumped into Simon.   Turning, she bared her teeth and hissed at him before moving away.

Simon nervously fingered the gold cross around his neck.  "Are you sure these things work?" he asked.

Blair looked up at him with haunted eyes. "Jim has a cross burned into his skull.  That's all the proof I need." He looked away.

Feeling out of his depth, Simon put a hand on the other man's shoulder.  "Come on, Sandburg."

Listen to them - the children of the night.
What music they make!

Bram Stoker - 'Dracula'

Angele dove higher into the clouds, revelling in the feel of the moisture against her skin.  This was what she enjoyed about Immortality - the multitude of sensations, the pure joy of sensual material whispering against skin, the music of a thousand sounds of the city below, pumping life.

The blood.

She had enjoyed them all.  The bitter tang of the heroin addict, the sweet kiss of a virgin, the heady aroma and sensations emanating from the prostitute on the street.  She had sampled them all in her long life.  Kings, peasants.  Roman emperors and their lowly slaves.  A little from each, not enough to kill, to convert, but enough to satiate her hunger.

Sweet and heady as they were, none had matched the power that had thrummed from the Sentinel as she had made him her own.

Tongue running over tingling lips at the memory. Angele laughed, dropping a thousand feet in free fall before levelling out and swirling over the city.

Cascade.  Home of such life!

She had called and the Sentinel had come. Bound by her will, blood of her blood, he had come to her at the time of his first change. He was wild, untamed, like all on their first time.  The breaking of the new beauty from the old chrysalis, pure animal mind destroying rational thought.  Together they had hunted, twin panthers stalking their prey.  They had feasted together, until she had touched the brand marring that beautiful face, a hated symbol of faith.

Angele frowned at the memory.  James had jerked away at her touch, her control over him fading as the stronger bond between Sentinel and Guide had taken over.  He had fled her, returning to the Guide's side.

Clapping her hands, she laughed again.  The Guide would remain near the Sentinel.  It was always so. And soon James would give in to his urges and bring his Guide to her, a sacrifice to lay at her feet.  The bond between them would be strong, and bound by her blood, unbreakable.

Already she could feel the Guide's blood pouring hot down her throat,  taste it on her lips. Suddenly hungry, she glided to a stop in a deserted street.

Deserted, except for a homeless woman and her child.

Angele's eyes gleamed.  "Dinner is served."

Two big men wearing nothing but black masks and G-strings blocked Simon and Blair's way.  "Sorry sir, " one said in a pleasant tone.   "You can't go in there."

Simon was torn between feeling sorry for the man and laughing in his face for the getup he was in. Blair, however, seemed unperturbed.  "Come on man, I just want to talk to Lennix," he wheedled.

"I'm sorry sir -"

"I can't go in there.  Look, can you at least tell him who it is?  Tell him it's Blair, Blair Sandburg."

"Blair."  The door swung open.  "Come in."  The two bouncers moved aside to let them pass.

A neat man in his early thirties was waiting for them.  He smiled as they entered. "Blair."

"Lennix."  Seeing the man's gaze transfer to Simon, Blair hastily made the introductions.  "Uh, Lennix, this is Captain Simon Banks. Cascade PD."

"Nice to meet you."  Simon said grudgingly.  The guy had a handshake like a dead fish.

"It is good to see you have met your goal, Blair."  Lennix remarked, moving to sit behind a polished obsidian desk.

"Pardon?" Said Blair blankly.

"Your destiny.  I am pleased to see you have met it.  Your Aura has changed." Lennix may as well have been discussing the weather as he gestured to a few chairs on the other side of the desk.

"Uh, thanks."  Blair took the proffered seat.  "Lennix, I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Vampyres."

Lennix sat bolt upright.  "So you finally found out, " he said wryly.  "I knew it would only be a matter of time.  One cannot fool a power as ancient as yours for long."

Simon leaned back in his chair, one hand going to the cross around his neck.  Blair, on the other hand, seemed more weary than anything else.  "I don't care about you, Lennix.  I need help.  A...friend of mine's been turned into a Vampyre."

"Ah." Lennix rose from his seat an started pacing the office.  "What is his name?"

"Ellison.  James Ellison."

"Is he a Sentinel?"  The question left Blair opened mouthed.

"What?" he finally managed to stammer out.

Lennix paused in front of him.  "You are a Guide," he said matter-of-factly. "Is James a Sentinel?"

Blair hesitated, then nodded.

"There is only one among us who would dare to take a Sentinel." Lennix said softly.  "Angele."

"Who?" From the corner of his eye, Blair saw Simon blanch at the mention of the name. He moved slightly closer to the older man, putting a hand on his arm in support.

"Angele is an ancient, even among our kind.  She is said to have walked with the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Maya. Even then, she was old beyond measure."  Lennix moved to stare out of the window.  "Beware of her, Blair.  She has immeasurable power."

"What kind of power?"

"The power over minds.  The power to control men, turn friend against friend."  The Vampyre turned to face them and Blair was transfixed by those eyes.  "You will need to tread softly Guide, if you are to save your Sentinel."

"If I am to save my Sentinel?"  Blair fell on the words.

"You mean there is a way to bring Jim back?" Simon added.

"If Angele is destroyed before the new moon, James will be free." Lennix acknowledged.  "Once the moon is born however, he will become one of us.  Forever."

"How do we kill her?"

Lennix waved a hand.  "The usual ways.  A stake through the heart, exposure to sunlight." He paused and held a hand up in warning. "But she will not be so easy to destroy."

"How do we find her?" Blair asked stubbornly.

Lennix smiled.  "You are indeed a Guide worthy of a Sentinel."  His gaze flickered over to Simon.  "And a great friend.  James will find her.  Born of her blood, they are connected.  He will follow wherever she goes."

Blair winced in the confines of the elevator of 852 Prospect.  "Man, Simon, you reek.  You been overdoing the Italian food again?"

The Captain looked faintly embarrassed.  "Garlic,"  he mumbled.

Blair's grin faded, and he put a hand on the other man's shoulder.  "Good thought, but I don't know if it'll work.  He didn't mind that lasagne when we got back from the hospital."  He saw Simon shiver.  "You ok?"

Simon shook his head.  "I don't know Sandburg.  This is way beyond me," he said as they exited the elevator and walked the short way down the hall. "What if we can't kill...Angele?  What if Jim's stuck like that forever?  You said yourself, he won't hunt."

Blair scratched his arm.  "We'll manage,"  he said stubbornly, reaching for the door handle.

A hard look crossed the Captain's face and he yanked Blair's sleeve up, staring in shock at the bruises and punctures marring the skin. "Jesus, Sandburg,"  he whispered. "You've been feeding him? Are you NUTS?" He didn't which was worse.  The thought that Sandburg had done it, or the fact that Jim had taken it.

Blair pulled his arm back and slid the sleeve over it again, guessing the older man's thoughts. "He doesn't know it's mine.  I've been taking sample bags from the U, doing it in daylight."  He looked up, suddenly fierce. "God help me Simon, if you tell him -"

Simon shook his head.  "Are you kidding? He'll kill me first."  The attempt at levity fell flat.

Blair put a hand on the door again.  "Are you ready?"

Simon grinned ruefully.  "No, but let's get over with anyway."

Blair nodded and unlocked the door.  The loft beyond was dark, light only by a faint gleam ghosting through the balcony doors.

Simon put a hand on the light switch, but Blair covered it with his own. The anthropologist shook his head, the movement barely discernible in the dim starlight.  "Jim can't stand bright lights," he whispered.

Fishing a box of matches from his pocket, Blair moved around the lounge, lighting candles, the soft flickers throwing dark shadows up on the walls

Simon shivered despite himself  Jesus, how does the kid stand it?  The loft looked eerie, lit only by the soft candles flickering through the lounge.

"Jim," Blair called softly, busying himself at the counter with a mug and a bag filled with a dark liquid.

Simon started as the Vampyre materialised out of the gloom.  "Jesus, Jim," he said softly.  Ellison's face was shrunken, bones protruding sharply through paper thin skin. The pale skin only served to heighten the unnatural glow of the ice blue eyes.

Those eyes...

Simon nearly cried at the look in his friend's eyes.  Revulsion and self hatred were there, only to be swiftly over taken by hunger as Jim's nose twitched, eyes locking on the mug in Sandburg's hand.

Blair moved forward and put the mug on the coffee table.  "Here," he said softly, backing away.   Jim nodded and strode across the lounge, eagerly wrapping his hands around the mug and draining its contents.  The other two watched the Sentinel's eyes glowed brightly as he drank, the flesh of his face filling out slightly as he put the empty mug down.

"I got more today."  With a warning look to Simon, Blair pulled the blood pack from his jacket, the dark red liquid sloshing inside.

Jim's eyes fastened hungrily on the bag, but he shook his head.  "Later," he said softly, voice rough.  "We might need it for later."

Blair grinned and put the bag on the table.  "Jim, man, if this works, there won't be a later.  Ever.  We found a way to get you back to normal."

Jim paused in the act of reaching for the bag and looked up, eyes hopeful and almost like his old self. "How?"

It was Simon who answered.  "We're going after Angele."

Angele was aware of their plans.  James' thoughts spiralled through the blood link and into her mind.

She had miscalculated.  The bond between the Sentinel and his clever, clever Guide was too strong, even for her power. It was no matter.  She had created James, she could destroy him with a kiss.

As for the others....

The feasting would be grand.

I will find you as the sky is about to break.
That moment when the sun and rain
Do battle
When the clouds can't settle on a colour.
Where shadows terrorise us
Insanity rates soar
And humans become aware of their
Insignificance.

Sean Hughes - 'Entitled'

Simon drove.

He didn't trust the others - Jim was in full stalking panther mode, and Blair was too hyped, a livewire of nervous energy bouncing around his companion in the back of the truck.

"Wow.  I mean, I've known Lennix for years and I never even knew.  Kinda makes you wonder how many others are out there...."

In a way, Simon welcome the endless prattle.  It filled the horrible anticipating void that permeated the truck.  Jim was sprawled in the back seat, silent for most of the long drive through the night, head out the window, constantly testing the air. Occasionally he'd mutter directions, the rough voice easily cutting through the endless stream of words.

"...Can you believe it?  Lennix said he knew Angele walked among the Maya.  If he knew that, how old can he be?  What has he seen?  I gotta go back there with a tape recorder..."

And a cross, added Simon silently.

"... and find out.  I mean, he has to know other Sentinels if he recognised me as a Guide and.."

"Stop."  Blair shut up and Simon hit the brakes at Jim's command. The Sentinel got out of the vehicle and sniffed the cold air, once.  Turning, he ducked his head back into the truck and spoke to his companions.  "We walk from here."  The were in a deserted district, near the ocean, faint lights gleaming back from the boats out in port.  Normal people living normal lives.

Blair got out of the truck first, mouth running overdrive, brain disengaged. "Whew it's cold.   Alright, everyone ready?  Got your stakes?  Maybe we should have brought Holy water.  I mean, we can't wear crosses around.."  He made a mute gesture to his partner, who snorted. "So ...no, no bad idea.  Might have splashback and then...hey  I wonder.  Jim man, when we get you back to normal, will that cross fade?   Doesn't really matter, that many people have those designs shaved into their hair.  Actually, in some cultures..."

"Sandburg,"  Simon had a ridiculous urge to laugh.  The whole thing seemed so surreal.  A hippie anthropologist, a half-vampyre with enhanced senses and a police Captain, who, truth be told was this far way from screaming in terror  versus probably the most powerful Vampyre ever.

They didn't put this in the job description.  He stole a hand around to touch his gun.   It probably wouldn't work, but its presence made him feel better.

Jim, on the other hand, relished the flow of words.  'When' we get you back to normal.  Not 'If.'  He could do this.   With his Guide at his side, he could do this and go back to living  (well, for them anyway) normal lives.

First things first.  Jim closed his eyes and stretched his senses out.  Hearing, touch, taste, smell....mind.  He moved in a slow circle, then stalked down an alley.  "This way."

The Sentinel hunted down the small street, hearing the footsteps of the others close behind.  His Captain.  His Guide.

His Tribe.

He had to protect them against....

Suddenly he stopped.  She was nearby.  He could feel her presence, her mind.  Love. Hate. Age. Power.  All in a dizzying swirl he knew. Jim turned, eyes gleaming.  "She's here."

Blair put a nervous hand on the stake in the inside pocket of his jacket.  "Angele?  Where?"

"Here.  Somewhere." Jim effortlessly climbed a drainage pipe and disappeared onto a nearby roof.

"Well that was nice and cryptic, huh?" Blair remarked.

Simon was getting more and more nervous.  "This is insane. I don't even know why I'm here."

"Simon -" Blair put a hand on the older man's arm.  He was shocked to see something he had never seen before in the big Captain's dark eyes.

Fear.

Banks shook the hand off.  "I'm sorry, Sandburg," he said softly.  "I can't do this."  He turned to walk away, hating himself.

"Little Dark Man..." Simon froze at the sound of that voice, soft, velvet, throaty.  A voice that had haunted his wildest dreams and darkest nightmares since he was twelve.

He turned. "Angele."

"My little Dark Man, all grown up." She caressed his face, gently.  "I told you I would return."

There was a flurry of activity beside them, and Angele slammed Blair down the alley before he could get the stake out from under his coat.  She froze him with a glance as he tried to struggle to his feet.  "And the Guide as well."  She laughed up into the sky. "You have done well, James.  Very well,"  she purred, pulling Simon closer.  The police Captain was frozen as she bared sharp white fangs, moving for his neck.

There was a whirl and Simon was yanked away to sprawl on the mud. "You're not taking him." Jim dropped down in front of her, lithe as a panther, protecting his Captain.

"And how will you stop me, pray tell?" Angele purred, moving closer.  Focusing her mind.

"I will kill you if I have to." His eyes gleamed ferally in the dark.

Oh, he was strong, this one.  A will to match his body.  Angele drew in her power, pulling in tendrils and sending them forward.  "Kill me?" She said softly, watching him stiffen against her control.  "You cannot kill me.  I  am your mother, your creator."

"My destroyer," he gasped out as her hands touched his shoulders.

"That as well," she acknowledged, leaning her head to drink at his neck.  "I am your beginning and end, James Ellison.  You cannot fight me. I am the one who gave you life, the one who will give you death.  I am your grim reaper, your goddess of life." Her fangs broke the skin above the straining muscle.

Jim closed his eyes as the life pulsed out of him.  He had no strength to fight.  My creator, my goddess, my death. He surrendered.

Suddenly he heard a gasp. Opening his eyes, he saw  Angele draw away, hands clutching at her chest.

At the stake through her heart.

"You're not my mother," muttered Blair Sandburg.

Angele looked up at the Sentinel, black eyes filled with pleading.  "James..." she gasped, hands tugging at his shoulders.  "James..."

Jim followed her down to the ground, holding her arms.  "Angele," he murmured before the darkness took him.

Blair limped over to where Simon was sprawled in the mud.  "Simon?" He worriedly patted a cheek.  "Simon?  Yo, Simon, anyone there?"

"Captain Banks to you," came the mumbled reply.  Simon rolled over, then sat up, clutching his head.  "Jim?" He asked.

Blair staggered over and slumped on the pavement next to his partner. "I think he's gonna be ok."

A dawn was breaking, the new light showing the changes in Jim's face, the normal teeth in the slightly open mouth. 
Blair looked up , a smile of gladness breaking across his face.  "Yeah.  he's gonna be just fine."

A gentle breeze sprang up, whirling a small pile of ashes up into the sky and across the city.

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010