A Sequel to "Little Girl Lost"

Fall From Grace

Part 1 of 2

A Bubblegum Crisis/ Forever Knight Crossover
By Shehulk (shehulk@neocomm.net)


        Water drips in monotonous concert, calling attention to the dampness
that pervades the alley and adds to the unreal feeling of the night. The
shadowed recess of a doorway conceals me from whoever or whatever might wander
through, but offers little protection from the icy wind that rips past. Wailing
in protest as it carries the bitter ripe stench of urine and exhaust, the
gusting force almost manages to overpower the fetid odor rising from the piles
of garbage that cover the ground. Forgotten newspapers and emptied cans tumble
across the cracked asphalt with sharp clatters and rustles of protest as the
wind batters them along without mercy, never allowing them to stop.

        Gloom seems to fill every corner and crevice, absorbing all light and
sound, turning this man-made hovel into a surreal plane, worthy of Hell itself.
Inky fingers of shade stretch upwards to join the churning mass of chaos
overhead, as if being called home to their master and the low groan of the wind
becomes their unholy chorus. The shrouded canopy leaves little hope that the
familiar star-filled sky remains. Perhaps it is somewhere beyond this barren
place, somewhere that still remembers the warm feel of the sun and the sweet
scented breezes that this corner of the world has long forgotten. Or perhaps it
has been devoured by the ominous demon that twists overhead, a terrible dragon
poised to strike. Such a perpetual cloak of night casts a sinister pall over a
place where nightmares rule and everything that was familiar becomes distorted
by this dismal void.

         Muffled by the shadows, the sound of the traffic doesn't quite reach
this crack in reality and the scream of an ambulance becomes the distant lament
of a fading life. Headlights from the passing cars streak across the opposite
wall, blinding me with their harsh kaleidoscope, yet revealing the graffiti in
front of me in dazzling flashes, the markers of long dead gangs that no one
remembers.  A promise of retribution that was never fulfilled and vows of
allegiance to ancient leaders that were broken by the more powerful force of
time. Specters seem to crawl from the past and stretching skyward, embracing
the malevolent beast that rumbles above with almost joyful whispers and sighs.
Underneath my feet, the faint drumbeat of a heart that does not exist causes
this night to fall into the realms of the phantasmal, or perhaps I am the
illusion and all that surrounds me has become reality.

        I shiver as water drips down my neck, slipping past the high collar of
my coat. The response is an automatic one, a leftover from before when the cold
could actually reach me. When it actually meant something to feel. The sky
above me breaks open again, adding to the scene before me and I raise my face
and let it wash away whatever lingering doubts which might have remained.

        A rat scuttles past, it's heartbeat almost as loud as the one in my
mind, beating in time to the gnawing hunger that hounds me. The rat stops
suddenly, staring at me in confusion and then hurrying away. I don't blame it,
human in appearance, but carrying the scent of a predator. Even I get confused
and the desire to run has almost overwhelmed me at times. The wild urge to run
and run, to flee from myself, to deny what I've become and pretend that
everything will be all right again. I long to wake from this nightmare and
laugh at myself for my fears. I want to meet the sun and know that all of this
was an illusion, but I know better. I have become the illusion and my reality
has become my personal version of Hell.

        A quick glance at my watch tells me that it's a few hours before dawn,
but I needn't have bothered. The feel of the coming sun prickles across my skin
like a thousand tiny insects and I am always aware of the arrival of that
glorious orb that now shuns me. 



        Footsteps echo closer and I hear the steady throb of a human heart
coming nearer. The traffic has died away and only the feeble lights from
distant street lamps struggle to pierce this murky passage. I have no trouble
sighting my prey as he enters the trap. He's young, but his face is lined with
the fatigue that comes from living on the streets and I wonder if there is
someone somewhere that will miss him after he is gone. Ragged jeans and a
filthy military style jacket do little to hide the gaunt angles of his frame.
Seeing nothing in front of him he comes closer and I alone can see the wild
gleam in his eyes and the flash of cyber implants near his temples: a cyber
junkie.

        He tosses something away as he approaches the feeble light, a purse,
counting out the credits he's taken and grinning to himself. That should make
this easier, but in truth, it wouldn't matter. He is my prey for tonight and
had he been anything from a police officer to a schoolteacher, he would still
feed this hunger that swells inside of me. I wonder if I should feel something
about that.

        I step out from the doorway and he jumps at my sudden appearance. The
knife that appears is not unexpected and I stare at him calmly, waiting for him
to realize what he's facing. Light floods the alley from a passing car and his
manner changes abruptly. A cocky grin spreads over his face and the tension
lessons.

        "Whoa mama!" He swings the knife in a small circle and steps closer.
"You shouldn't be out here tonight. There's some real dangerous bastards out
here." The smile turns hard and I see his grip on the knife tighten. "Like me!"

        I let him thrust me back into the doorway and try not to laugh as he
brings the knife to my throat. His intended course of action is grated into my
ear as he fumbles for the fastening of my coat, trying to tear it away. I reach
up and catch his knife arm easily, the bones snapping like dry twigs. My other
hand, wrapping around his throat and lifting him from the ground cuts off his
scream. Light reveals me to him again and this time he sees me as I truly am.

        I do not linger over my meal, the tingle of the approaching dawn
increasing insistently as I pull away and let the body fall. My tongue catches
a stray drop of blood as I turn and leap into the sky.



        Sylia tossed the newspaper onto her desk and shook her head, sending a
shower of raindrops to the pale carpet. She neatly hung her damp raincoat on
the stand in the corner and paused to stare down at the city below her. Storm
tossed clouds continued to release their fury in a vivid display, icy fingers
of energy reaching out as if trying to grab the helpless city. Sylia sighed
deeply and wondered briefly what it would feel like to be caught up in that
deadly grip.

        Sylia swung back and looked at her domain without seeing it. The
alterations here had been recent and reflected a change in her that wasn't
easily defined. The office was still cool and professional but now contained
startling flares of color. Creamy sofas and chairs where nothing more than a
backdrop for crimson pillows that caught the eye. The lingering scent of fresh
paint still hung in the air and neutral walls now highlighted abstract
paintings that would have been garish in any other setting. Bold splashes of
red streaked across ivory canvasses with an almost primal feel of abandonment. 

        Her normally cold reserve had been heated by an unforeseen occurrence;
she had died.

        Though "died" wasn't exactly a correct term. How do you define
something
as ephemeral as death when you can now be considered one of the undead? Or was
that an accurate description? Death had become the ultimate misnomer.

        A low beep interrupted her ruminations and Sylia sighed wearily as she
seated herself behind her desk. A touch of an unseen button and an image of the
private elevator appeared in the air before her. A young woman was slouched
against the back wall, a cigarette hanging insolently from her mouth as she
watched the floors move past. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail, which
was unusual for her and her familiar red jacket was slung over one shoulder
adding to the rebel-like pose. All told she appeared to be someone looking for
trouble and who would probably find it before the night was over.

        Sylia wondered if Priss realized what she was doing or if the charade
had become so ingrained that it was now second nature. The image disappeared
and she picked up the newspaper again as Priss strode into the office.

        Priss waved a hand in greeting and headed straight for the bar,
discreetly concealed within a small recess. Sylia heard the door of the
refrigerator being opened and the dull pop of a cork being pulled free. When
Priss returned she was carrying a wineglass and Sylia could smell the metallic
tang of blood from where she sat.

        Priss sprawled on the couch and shot a quick glance at Sylia. "You
rang?" Sylia stood and with deliberate motions, set an ashtray beside her.
Priss flushed a little and stubbed out her cigarette before the ash that had
collected could fall. "Jeez, you're getting touchy lately!"

        Sylia tossed the newspaper into her lap and shot Priss a pointed look.
"I have reason to be."

        Priss picked up the paper and scanned the article quickly. It was
obvious which one had put Sylia�s back up.

        'Vampire Killer Claims Fifth Victim!!' The article then went on to
gleefully report that another body had been found drained of blood.  It was the
fifth such murder in as many weeks and the public fear was growing
exponentially. Priss looked up at Sylia and shrugged, "So?"

        "So....Do you have anything you want to discuss, Priss?"

        Priss started as she realized what she was implying. Sylia arched one
eyebrow in silent question causing Priss to burst into laughter. "Oh this is
priceless! Come on, Sylia! Do you really think I would slaughter five people?"

        Sylia shook her head and sighed. "I don't know, Priss. That's why I
asked." She began to pace in front of the windows with deliberate, graceful
strides. Like a caged cat, bundled energy waiting to escape.

        Priss frowned at her agitation. "OK Sylia, what's going on? You
know one
of the victims?"

        "No. It's not the identities of the victims, it's the fact that there's
a vampire out there who's breaking the rules."

        "The council's in an snit, huh?" Sylia turned and the wry twist of her
smile answered Priss more eloquently than words. "So what's 'your' problem? Why
doesn't the council just track the rogue down and deal with it themselves?"

        "I'm afraid that in order to gain a more secure position on the council
I had to make certain promises." A long pause and she continued. "Promises that
involve the Knight Sabers."  Sylia looked at Priss and waited for her to react.
She wasn't disappointed.

        "What?! Sylia, tell me that you�re not saying what I think you're
saying."

        Sylia shrugged and Priss vaulted off the couch to stand in front of her
leader. "You couldn't have! Damn it Sylia! Since when are the Knight Sabers
vampire police?"


        Nene shuffled through the papers on her desk and wondered how there
could possibly be more paper work running a bar than there was working at ADP.
The muffled sounds of people could be heard from downstairs and Nene glanced at
the clock by the door. Almost closing time. The sun would be coming up soon and
that would once again signal the end of another 'day' of business.

        A wall of glass gave her full view of the crowd below and she stretched
as she moved to study the patrons who remained. Nene rolled her shoulders and
tried to ease some of the stiffness. It wasn't fair, she thought, rubbing her
neck. I'm immortal! I shouldn't get backaches.

        Nene felt the person behind the door before the soft knock was issued.
"Come in." Michala stepped into the room and joined her at the window.

        "Thought you might be thirsty."

Nene accepted the glass with quiet thanks and sipped. The coppery scent of
blood filled her senses and she felt her eyes darken in response. "Everything
alright downstairs?"

        Michala nodded and pointed to a man sitting alone at the end of the
bar.
"He's been asking after you again." The faint Irish lilt in Michala's voice
caused Nene to smile. "He's a persistent one, I'll give him that."

        With a shake of her head Nene turned away and perched on the edge
of her
desk. "He's suicidal, you mean. If Tracy catches him, she'll flay him alive."
As she spoke a blonde woman stalked across the bar and confronted the man. Nene
grinned as Vachon lifted his hands as if to surrender but Tracy was having none
of it. She gripped him by the neck of his leather jacket and dragged him from
the Raven.

"I'm beginning to think that he does this on purpose." Nene shook her head
again and drained her glass.

        "Well, I'd better start to close up." Michala hesitated. "Nene..." She
paused, concern flickering across her face.

        "What's wrong, Michala?"

        "Have you heard about the killings?"

        Nene grimaced. "It would be hard not to. The news coverage has been
ridiculous. Why do you ask?"

        Michala shifted nervously. "There's just been some worry, that's all."
She stopped, but looked like she wanted to say more.

        "Worry about what? From who?"

        Wishing that she hadn't said anything, Michala plunged ahead.
"There are
several rumors....about Sylia."

        Nene shoved a hand through her hair in an impatient gesture. "Look
Mike,
just spit it out, okay?"

        "She's only a fledgling but she has the strength and presence of an
older vampire. Some of the others are wondering if...." The look on Nene's face
brought her to a halt. "Never mind." She started for the door. "It's nothing,
really. They're way off, I'm sure. Just forget I said anything." The door
closed behind her before Nene could reply.

        "Great. Just great." The sharp sound of breaking glass filled the room.
Nene absently opened her hand and let the shards fall to the carpet. 


        Linna strode into the office as Priss threw up her hands and turned
away
from Sylia.

        "This is ridiculous! It's bad enough that we pick up after the ADP, but
now we're going to become vampire hunters?" Priss spotted Linna and rolled her
eyes. "You try and reason with her, she's not listening to me."

        Linna laughed. "Vampire hunters? Does anyone see a conflict of interest
here?" She helped herself to Priss' glass, ignoring her protest. "What's going
on? Are you irritating Priss again? Can I help this time?" She sipped from the
glass, grinned at Sylia and waited for Priss to erupt. She didn't have to wait
long.

        "Damn it Linna! This isn't funny. She's rented us out to the council as
enforcers!"

        The humor faded from Linna's face. "Enforcers? Sylia what....?"

        Sylia�s sigh was deep and tinged with irritation. "Let me explain..."



        Lucian LaCroix laid the folded newspaper aside and smiled slowly.
"Interesting."



        Sylia felt the insistent approach of dawn. "It's getting late, so to
speak. We'll finish this tomorrow night. Priss, see what you can find out on
the street. I'll have Nene access the police reports." Priss nodded and reached
for her jacket.

        "Linna, you'll help coordinate things from here."

        Linna rolled up the map of Tokyo that they had been using, marking the
locations of the victims. Beginning the painfully slow process of trying to
discover a pattern. She picked up her purse, shaking her head. "I can't
tomorrow night. I've got a date."

        A small frown crossed Sylia�s features. "I think this might be a little
more important, don't you?"

Irritation flared. "No. As a matter of fact I don't."

        "Linna we need to focus this right now. I'm sure your friend will
understand."

        "Why should he? Why should I?" Linna's harsh demand caught Sylia by
surprise.

        "Is there a problem?" Her voice was cold.

        "Maybe I don't feel like playing gopher for you anymore." Held in check
too long, unsaid words tumbled from her lips like water bursting through a dam.
"We aren't doing what the Knight Sabers were meant for. We haven't had a job
since we came over. All we do lately is run errands for you and I am tired of
it."

        "Linna.." Priss' voice was cajoling.

        Linna shook her head sharply. "No Priss. This is has gone on long
enough. Don't you see? There's no purpose for me anymore. You don't see it
because you're still useful, so is Nene, but me....." She sighed, her eyes
pleading with Priss to understand. "I feel useless."

        "That's silly, Linna." Sylia�s comment was derisive, causing Linna to
turn on her once more.

        "This wasn't what I signed on for. You went out of your way to gain
power for yourself among the city's vampires. You now spend most of your time
with them....not us. It's as if we don't exist to you anymore." Linna's
breathing was ragged; her eyes red from unshed tears. "Need some information?
Call Nene! Want some wayward vampire leaned on? Call Priss. But where do I come
in at? You've stopped accepting jobs from 'humans'! I've become the dead weight
of your new little empire. A inconvenient fourth for your little games." Her
fists clenched tightly around her purse. "We were a family, damn it! You've
broken that apart with your game playing and political maneuvering!" She
whirled and headed for the door.

        As she reached the door Linna paused. "The Knight Sabers were supposed
to help people and I wanted to do that. Because I believed in what we were
fighting for." Linna had been speaking to the closed door, but now she swung
around, glaring at Sylia. "You've corrupted the whole purpose and become so
remote that no one can reach out to you anymore. You've destroyed.....my
family."

        The echoes of her final, desperate words filled the room long after she
was gone. Priss stared at the door for a moment and then turned to find Sylia
calmly sitting at her desk sorting through her paperwork.

        "Well?" Priss' voice was impatient.

        "Well what?" Sylia seemed puzzled by the other girl's reaction. "I'll
see you tomorrow."

        Priss was shocked. "You�re just going to let her go?"

        Sylia shook her head dismissively. "She's made her choice, Priss. What
would you have me do?"

        The sudden crack of Priss' hands slapping onto Sylia�s desk rang
through
the room like a shot. Sylia didn't jump at the sound, but slowly raised her
eyes. Her voice was deceptively soft. "Yes?"
                     
        Priss saw nothing in her eyes but an odd sense of boredom. Linna had
been right, Sylia had become a stranger. "You ice-hearted bitch." One eyebrow
arched at that, but Sylia remained silent. The windows shook as Priss slammed
the door.



        LaCroix watched her as she paced the room. The restrained violence in
her gait amused him. "I see you're still letting these petty emotions effect
your new life." He waited for the explosion that was sure to follow.

        "Yes! I suppose I am. Sorry if it's disturbing you." She motioned
toward
the door as she went into the kitchen. "You know the way out." 

        LaCroix laughed and followed her. A cabinet door slammed and she turned
with two glasses in her hands. A faint frown crossed his features. "Perhaps
I've already dined."

        The snort that emerged in response to his comment was hardly ladylike,
he supposed but then he was learning that she wasn't quite as she pretended.
"Yeah. Right." She opened the refrigerator and removed a wine bottle. "And I
suppose you only came by for a friendly chat." He accepted the glass with a
small shrug.

        "I will admit to a small measure of curiosity." He laid the
newspaper on
the counter. She didn't bother to look at it. He tapped a long finger against
the paper. "Been trying to work off some of those emotional tensions?"

        She drained her glass and tossed the paper into the trash. The look she
sent him would have warmed his heart, had that been possible. "I'm still
hungry," she eyed him knowingly. "I suppose you want to tag along?"

        LaCroix smiled slowly. "I do love to watch you work."


End Part 1