Nick lay quietly and wondered whether to play dead. With his wounds he ought to be, and there was no point frightening his visitor. Had the R.U.F. soldiers returned? Probably not; he had heard no car. A child, perhaps. A vicar. Looking up with a sunny grin and half his chest missing would give any observer nightmares for life.
On the other hand in a few minutes it wouldn't matter either way. He heard nothing more after the initial click of stone on stone. Perhaps he had imagined it. Curiosity crept up on him. Was anyone there? Finally he couldn't resist any longer and turned his head, craning towards the sound.
Jacob the hotel desk clerk looked calmly down at him. Nick stared at him with a strong sense of anticlimax, even indignation. "How did you get here?" he heard himself ask.
"Do you really want to know?"
True, it wasn't important. Nick found he could shrug with one shoulder. He was unreasonably pleased when he managed it. With nourishment, he would probably have been partially mobile again in a few hours. Not that it mattered. In a few minutes Jacob was going to be very surprised to see him spontaneously combust.
Jacob looked Nick over quietly. The extent of the wounds did not seem to disturb him. Finally he raised his eyes to Nick's face.
""Do you want some help?" he asked.
"I'm past help, I'm afraid," said Nick. He glanced down towards his chest. No mortal could survive such injuries. "As you can see. But thanks for asking." Now why can't you let me get on with dying? he thought irritably. He had hoped to face death alone, in peace, not in conversation with a well-meaning stranger.
"Try me," offered the desk clerk. He remained where he was, watching Nick gravely.
Nick accepted the inevitable. A quiet, solitary death was not in the cards. Let the man try to help him, then, if it made him feel better. "All right," he said. "Please help me. Perhaps you could get me into the church." It was too late, he knew; the sun was just about to break the horizon. The other man could never drag him to shelter in time.
But instantly, it seemed, Jacob was at Nick's side. With surprising strength for a slightly-built man, he heaved Nick into a fireman's carry and seemed to all but fly to the church window. Nick felt a stray ray of sun on his legs, his shoes, and then Jacob threw him onto the cold stone church floor to safety. Nick nearly screamed as he landed. Sensation was returning.
"Sorry", Jacob said, clambering in the window after him. "There was no time to delay." He looked Nick over. Nick had time to wonder why his injuries didn't seem to shock the other man. He'd probably seen men hurt worse, but not likely still alive through it. Jacob was methodically rolling up his sleeve. Nick watched, his brain still too foggy to make sense of what he saw, trying simply to grasp the fact that he was still alive.
Then Jacob cut along the vein with a fingernail and began to press his bleeding wrist to Nick's mouth. "Drink", he said. "You are badly injured. Even you may not survive."
Nick gasped and wrenched his head aside. How had Jacob guessed? He tried to ignore the tantalizing thick sweet copper scent of Jacob's blood. "No!" he managed to say. "No human."
"Without blood, you will not recover before the bandits return," Jacob said. "And they will finish their work." He offered his wrist again.
Jacob's blood smelled heavenly. Nick closed his eyes and tried desperately to resist the scent and the longing it roused, his fangs tingling with his hunger. "I made a vow," he managed to say, and turned his head away. "No human."
"And what do you think I am?" asked the desk clerk.
Abruptly Nick felt the mental barriers drop that had masked from him the presence of another vampire, terrifyingly powerful, inconceivably old, and related. Of Nick's line. He stared up at the clerk, stunned. "You. You're the one I felt. My God."
"No, only your maker." Jacob's dark eyes were unreadable. He offered his wrist again and this time Nick could resist no longer. He lunged at it and drank.
The ancient blood flooded his veins. His entire body rejoiced, and he could not take his mouth from Jacob's wrist. This is what I need, his body insisted, and he hadn't the strength to stop. He felt Jacob rolling him to one side. Without interrupting Nick's feeding, Jacob slid in behind him and held him against his chest with his free arm, cushioning him from the cold stone.
For an eternity, it felt, Nick could not take his lips away. He could hear himself whimpering with pleasure like a nursing infant, and could not stop the sound or even summon the strength to be embarrassed. His whole body shuddered with relief as he drank; he could feel it absorbing nourishment, strength coming back to his arm, his legs, faster than human blood could have healed him, faster even than the blood of his own master LaCroix. Slow pain began to burn through his body as neurons reconnected and began to fire. Finally the pace of his suckling slowed and he did not resist when Jacob at last took his wrist away.
The clerk, the vampire, Nick corrected himself, was watching him with what looked like amusement as he rolled down his sleeve. He licked a trace of blood thoughtfully from the hand that had been wrapped around Nick's wounded chest. "I thought you wanted to die," he said. "You seemed quite content to watch the sunrise when I came."
Nick shrugged. "If I had to. But there are things I'd like to do first." He felt his chest with his good hand. It was mostly healed, but there was still a hollow where the wounds had been.
"It will take you a couple of days for that to heal fully. Longer to grow another arm. I'm sorry, there was no time to go back for yours."
Nick looked out the window. It was full daylight by now; his arm would be a smoking patch on the pavement outside.
"Thanks for the rescue, " he said. "It wouldn't have been only the arm." He lay relaxed on the floor. Despite his wounds, he felt amazingly well. Tired, but peaceful and optimistic. And beginning to be curious, now that he had the strength. He rolled his head and looked at Jacob. "Who are you?" he asked. When the other didn't answer immediately he added, "if you don't mind my asking." It was hard to keep in mind that Jacob, the slender, unimposing desk clerk, was old and powerful enough to snap him like a twig. He just didn't look the part.
"Your questions will wait. Sleep now. It will hasten your healing." Jacob looked around and found the shallow cavity before the altar. The lid still leaned against the pew by the near wall. "There." He picked Nick up and began to carry him over.
"It's a baptismal font," objected Nick. "I can't — "
"Did it hurt you before?"
"No, but — how did you know I spent the day there?" asked Nick, sidetracked.
Jacob glanced around the church. "Where else would you find shelter?" He lowered Nick into the font and went back for the lid. "Rest now," he said as he covered him.
"What about you?"
"I rarely sleep," Nick heard as the lid settled into place.
At least the water had drained out during the day. And Nick was exhausted. He was almost instantly unconscious.
***
Nick awoke just after dark to the sound of muffled voices speaking Krio outside the church. He lay still and listened. One was Jacob's, he recognized. The Krio phrasebooks he'd studied were not much use in deciphering the conversation, but some fragments filtered through. "Where …" from an unknown voice; then another, going on excitedly and unintelligibly for some time; then briefly, from Jacob, "… in the jungle. You don't want …"
Eventually the voices moved off, and Nick heard a car door slam and an engine catch and drive away. He recognized it — the Peugeot from the night before. His murderers, returning to the scene of their crime. He felt his eyes redden with a surge of blind rage and sat up, reaching to push the lid aside. They wouldn't escape him this time!
The lid was removed before he reached it, and Jacob stood above him, looking mildly into his face.
"Do you plan to kill them?" he asked.
Under his gaze Nick gradually calmed, and began to feel ashamed.
"They did do their best to kill me," he said.
Jacob offered him his hand, and Nick took it and climbed out of the font.
"They're going to kill other people, too," Nick said. He looked down at himself. The cavity in his chest had healed over without a trace, and his arm had already grown back. He had healed faster than he had hoped, except for a certain residual weakness, and hunger, as if he had used up his reserves. He brushed off the bloodstained remnants of his shirt and trousers. "Are my clothes still out there?"
Jacob shook his head. "That's what they came back for, to hide the evidence. Your body too. It crossed someone's mind that there might be trouble because you're a foreigner. I said I'd buried it out in the jungle for them." He reached behind him and pulled a shirt and pair of trousers from the front pew. "I saved these from your luggage before they came."
Nick began to pull on the fresh garments. They were mud-spattered, and he remembered the leader of the group tossing the contents of his bag on the ground the night before. It seemed a long time ago. At least they were dry, and wouldn't draw attention as the bloodstained rags would.
"They believed you? About burying me out in the jungle?" he asked as he buttoned the shirt.
"Everyone believes me," Jacob said simply. "I have no stake. I don't look like a threat. Why would I lie?"
Nick considered the man before him with something close to awe. Even mortals could usually detect an older vampire in their midst, responding to the power they radiated without knowing what it was they sensed. The automatic mortal response to LaCroix, for example, was mingled fear and attraction. LaCroix enjoyed it, and capitalized on it when it was convenient to him. But he probably could not avoid it. Mortals recognized him as something different, more powerful than they.
For Jacob to suppress any trace of his power in his dealings with mortals, any hint that he was not as they were, took more self-control than Nick had ever seen in a vampire. It must have taken him a long time to learn. A very long time. And why would he bother to learn it? Nick opened his mouth to speak.
Jacob held up a hand. "We have all night to talk. For now, you must feed. You aren't yet ready to travel." He sat down beside the font, feet dangling into the hole, and began to roll up his sleeve.
"Why not hunt?" Nick asked. "I mean rodents. I don't mean to be ungrateful," he added when Jacob looked up. Though in truth, he was a little uncomfortable at the level of intimacy Jacob so casually offered in giving him his blood. Nick had rarely shared blood with any vampire who wasn't a lover. It was one thing when he was desperately in need, as he had been in the morning. But to offer again now hinted at an attempt at seduction. Though Jacob's behaviour was otherwise anything but seductive. Nick wondered how to ask what it was the ancient vampire wanted. As he tried to find the words, Jacob ripped open a vein and held his wrist up to Nick.
"If I wanted to have sex with you I'd say so," he said. "You need this to heal." He motioned with his head and Nick found himself obeying, sitting beside Jacob and bringing the wrist to his lips.
Once again he was overwhelmed with the feeling of strength, of warmth and nourishment drawn into every cell of his body as he suckled the ancient blood. This evening he was not so famished, and he had time to wonder at how little he learned about Jacob himself from his blood. Jacob's shielding was once again nearly total. Nick could glean only a few images from what looked like the Waverley hotel in Freetown, recent things, and no more.
Jacob withdrew his arm when Nick's pace slackened. He pushed his sleeve back down and methodically buttoned the cuff. Nick watched him, full of questions.
"Who are you?" he asked at last.
Jacob finished buttoning his cuff and turned his head to Nick. "What do you want?"
Nick was caught off-guard. Jacob's silent gaze made him self-conscious, and he floundered for an answer. "I want — " He closed his mouth and started again. "I'm here for a friend of mine, who — she's close to a doctor who was kidnapped a week ago, and I'm here to see if I can find him. News of him. Um, help if I can …"
Jacob's dark impassive eyes stayed on him. He waited until Nick's faltering explanation seemed to have come to an end. "What do you really want?"
Nick's mouth opened but no sound came out. Something about Jacob made it impossible to lie to him now. "I — " he took a deep breath. Like a child at a birthday, he was afraid that speaking his wish would keep it from coming true. "I want - " to be a real boy, not a wooden puppet, he wanted to say. To have a heart, not a tin can. To live again. "To be alive," he managed at last. "To have a soul again."
"You never lost it," Jacob said simply.
"But I'm dead," Nick protested.
"You don't look it."
"I have no life myself", Nick said. "I steal life from others."
"Only plants create life from inanimate matter," said Jacob. "And not all of them. Even vegetarians kill to survive."
"But — " Nick abandoned the point. Jacob was being willfully obtuse. "Even if I seem to be alive, it doesn't mean I have a soul."
"Hm." Jacob seemed to give the point consideration. "Can you make choices?"
"Yes, but — "
"Can you distinguish between right and wrong?"
"Yes of course, but — "
"Then you have a soul." Jacob looked away as if the discussion was over, and began to stand.
Nick scrambled to his feet after him. "But wait — " Jacob seemed so sure. It was tempting to believe him. "But LaCroix — my master — he said my soul was dead — "
"And of course he'd know."
Good point, Nick thought. But what about the vision of his soul the guide had given him? Jacob began to move towards the door at the back of the church. "But I saw my soul," Nick said, following in his wake. "At the gateway between life and death. It was dead and covered with maggots."
"Did seeing that change your life?"
"Not — " Nick paused and thought. "In the long run, I guess it did," he said at last. "I think that was when I began to stop looking for a quick solution."
"Some people need to be hit with a sledgehammer", Jacob said. He reached the door of the church and set out for the road.
Nick followed after him. "But I can't touch holy water or crosses," he said.
"Have you tried lately?" Jacob jerked his head back towards the church. "What about the baptismal font?"
"It must have been deconsecrated," Nick said.
Jacob shook his head. "That church is still in use. Every Sunday."
"But — " Nick looked back at the church, astonished. "Then it should have killed me."
"So what does that tell you?"
"I don't understand," Nick said at last.
Jacob continued walking on a little ahead of Nick. After a moment he spoke without turning his head. "What have you done that should doom your soul?" When Nick didn't answer immediately, he spoke again. "Tell me."
Was the man a fool? But Nick felt compelled to say something. "I became a vampire," he answered. "Isn't that enough?"
"A bad decision, certainly," Jacob agreed. "But nothing is enough until no more choices can be made. What else is there?"
"You mean, what other crimes?" Jacob said nothing. "Everything?"
"The general outline."
Nick felt baffled. Jacob was a vampire; he had to know what Nick had done. He had to be guilty himself, come to that. "Don't you already know?"
"Pretend I don't."
Nick decided to humour him. "I killed a lot of people."
"Out of hunger?"
"Not always," Nick was compelled to admit. "Often hunger. But also anger, pride, lust. Greed. Despair. Even out of boredom, just to have something to do." As he spoke he felt the hot twist of shame inside him. The killings from hunger did not bother him nearly so much as the rest.
"These were bad things to do," Jacob agreed. "Is that all?"
Nick thought it over. "Pretty much. At least, the rest seems trivial by comparison."
"And have you repented your crimes?" Jacob asked.
"Yes," said Nick simply.
"Asked for forgiveness?"
Nick remembered the farmhouse in Brabant. "Yes."
"Amended your life?"
"As far as I can, yes."
"Continued to ask for help?"
Nick thought it over. He did pray now from time to time when he felt he needed it. Quite frequently to begin with, after that night in the farmhouse. And just recently in fact, when he thought he was about to die. He nodded. "I guess I have, yes."
"Then I don't see that there's anything missing."
Nick did not respond immediately. He had caught up with Jacob as they spoke and now walked beside him along the rutted dirt road. Mud from the recent rain clogged his shoes and spattered the hems of his trousers. The thick, humid darkness enveloped him like a warm bath. The heat and the mortal exertion of walking combined to raise his temperature. He could almost imagine he felt human. They continued in silence together while Nick considered Jacob's words.
"I haven't been absolved", he said quietly at last.
"Medieval Catholics. How could I forget." Jacob sighed. "Everything by the book. Do you want to be absolved?"
"Of course, but who could?" said Nick wearily.
Jacob bent down, muttering under his breath, to run his fingers through the grass, damp with dew, and straightened again. He looked Nick in the eyes and spoke. "Ego te absolvo in nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritus Sancti". With his wet forefinger, he reached up and made the sign of the cross over Nick's forehead.
The dew, like the water in the baptismal font, felt warm, slightly effervescent, on Nick's forehead. He felt a wave of weakness, then warmth and exhilaration, at Jacob's words and gesture. The sign of the cross on his forehead stung pleasantly, but did not hurt. He stared at the other vampire.
"But - who are you?" he asked again.
"Among other things, I'm a priest." Jacob turned away again. "Now shall we go? If you want to save your doctor we have a walk ahead of us. He's in a farm ten miles up the road."
Nick fell into step again beside him. "Can't we fly?"
"You haven't the energy right now. You aren't fully healed. If I hadn't come you would have died."
"I know. Thank you. If you hadn't dragged me out of the sun — "
"Even so you would have died, without my blood. You were very weak. The old rules for killing vampires didn't include cutting them nearly in half with AK-47s only because they hadn't been invented yet. Massive tissue loss and neural shock will kill a vampire without treatment. It will be some time before you're at full strength again."
"Perhaps you underestimate me," said Nick. "I've healed much faster than you said I would."
Jacob shook his head. "You've been deeply asleep for most of four days. I've fed you whenever you began to stir. We've had two or three long conversations, which you ended by falling asleep. You remember none of this?"
"None," said Nick, uncertainly. Hazy memories hovered at the edge of his mind, if waking, of a reassuring male voice, of feeding and sleeping again, comforted. They could have been dreams. It didn't matter now. "Four days?" Jacob nodded confirmation. "I had no idea."
Jacob did not seem to feel this needed a response, and Nick fell silent. He could still feel the cross marked in dew on his brow, faintly damp, enormously comforting. His heart felt lighter than it had for — nearly forever. How could a vampire be a priest? he wondered, but felt no doubt that it was true. It didn't seem the time to ask questions.
***
They had walked nearly a mile in the warm dark before Jacob spoke again. "Your doctor friend is partly right, you know."
Nick was confused. "I've never actually met Dr. Mackenzie, I don't - "
"Your lady doctor. The pregnant one."
Nick turned his head, startled. A vague memory crossed his mind, of the other vampire licking a trace of blood from his finger. Nick's blood. "How did you get so much out of one or two drops?" Nick asked. "I've never known anyone who could do that."
"We have had several conversations you don't remember," Jacob reminded him. "But you've never known anyone as old as I am, Nicholas."
Nick looked across at the older vampire. He appeared to be in his late twenties. He was slender, copper-coloured, black hair in tight curls, and nearly a head shorter than Nick. When Nick thought he was mortal he had taken him for a mixed-breed, legacy of the colonial era. That or perhaps North African, though he was rather short for a North African. Now he considered him more carefully. "Egyptian?" he guessed finally. Though the curly hair didn't fit.
Jacob was shaking his head. "Close. Fertile Crescent. We were just inventing agriculture. I lived outside what was eventually Ur."
Nick's eyes widened involuntarily. Before Ur. Before agriculture. Jacob was old. Older than any vampire Nick had heard of, by several thousand years. No wonder he seemed to be mortal. He'd had a long time to practice blending in.
"How did you - uh - " Nick paused.
"Become a vampire? It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you sometime." Not now, though. Nick took the hint and changed the subject.
"What is my lady doctor friend right about?"
"That it's partly a medical condition," Jacob said. "Some of the cures for vampirism are medical."
Nick's head jerked around to him in surprise. "Some of them? There's more than one cure?"
"I have encountered at least twenty so far. All of the successful ones I have seen combine spiritual and physical approaches. Usually they take several years of effort to be effective. No doubt more methods will be discovered, as medical science continues to advance." Jacob's voice was serene. He seemed to have no notion of the effect of his words on his hearer.
"But - " Nick didn't know where to begin. "Then why haven't I found any of them?"
"My dear young man," said Jacob, "you've only been looking for what? A century or so? Even so you've come close once or twice. I've seen the acupuncture treatment you tried work on others, when it's combined with prayer. Unfortunately the healer your master killed was the last living person who knew how it was done. But there are plenty of other ways."
Nick was stunned. It had never occurred to him that there might be more than one cure. He had stopped really believing that there were any. Looking for a cure had become a hobby, something to do when he felt despair closing in; not something he ever expected to achieve a result. "Other vampires have been cured?" he said. Jacob nodded. "Why haven't I heard of them?"
"In a way, you have," said Jacob. "Have you never wondered why you meet comparatively few vampires much older than you are?"
Nick shrugged. "I assumed they died. Most of us don't make it out of our first century, after all. Sunlight, fire, stakes, lynch mobs. Other vampires. One way or another, most of us die."
"That's true. More than half of us die before we reach our first century. A third of the remainder do not reach the end of the second. Even older vampires grow careless. And many despair and walk into the sun. Even so, there should be more vampires."
"So the rest are cured," Nick said. Jacob nodded again. "But why hadn't I heard of this?" he asked again. It seemed very hard to believe.
"Eventually, all who truly seek a cure will find one," Jacob said. "But not that many want to be cured; certainly not many as young as you. And those who do seek a cure usually take care not to draw attention to themselves, for fear of the same kind of opposition you have had from your master, or worse. And then they tend to gradually lose touch with the vampire community in the course of their quest; the mortal world interests them more, and they have less and less contact with other vampires. So when they succeed in becoming mortal the change is not much noted. And then, of course, they die, and you don't meet them."
Nick mulled this over. "If you've found cures," he said at last, "then why aren't you mortal?"
Jacob didn't answer immediately. "There has always been some task I needed to complete first," he said at last. "Eventually I accepted that I could be more use in my present condition."
"But wouldn't you like to be human again?" Nick asked, adding when Jacob didn't immediately respond, "I'm sorry, that's a personal question."
Jacob shrugged. "Would I like to be human?" he repeated meditatively. "There was a time when I would have liked it very much; right after I changed. I would have liked to put the whole world back the way it was before the change, and make a different choice." Nick nodded; he remembered this keenly. "But it could not be done," Jacob continued, "and time went on, and everyone I knew and loved died, over the course of time, as I kept watch over them from far away. Of course I was exiled from their lives after my change."
Nick nodded, remembering Fleur, and his mother. He had never seen either of them alive again after his last visit to the castle. His nephew, André, had recoiled from him horrified when he saw what his Uncle Nicholas really was. After that Nicholas had known he could not stay in contact with his mortal past. And soon enough they were all dead in any case.
"And I'm not like you," Jacob continued. "Even in life, I was never passionate. Except once." He did not elaborate. "It's not my nature to form close personal attachments. I have made friends from time to time over the years, and mourned their deaths. But I have never felt a passionate desire for closeness. I have thought, from time to time, that it would be pleasant to have a mortal life, to form a family and raise children and age with the passing seasons as mortals do. But I have always had other tasks."
He looked at Nick. "The vampires who are driven to find a cure are usually those, like you, who retain a capacity and a desire for love; or those who develop it over time. I believe that most vampires eventually come to that state; those, at least, who live long enough to overcome their memories of their crimes and the necessary self-absorption of the vampire. You've come to it unusually young. But this makes finding a cure imperative for you. You will never be happy as you are."
Nick nodded. "I do know that," he said. He took a breath and asked the burning question. "Can you tell me where to find a cure?"
Jacob shook his head. "I've told you all I know," he said. "It's different for every vampire who seeks. Somehow the spirit must regenerate as well as the body. The cure will only work when the spirit is ready for it. Different spiritual paths are appropriate for each individual. Similarly, as the physical and spiritual cures must be integrated, a different physical cure will act in concert with a different spiritual path. I said I have encountered at least twenty cures; in truth, it's more like twenty different types of cure, but I have never seen exactly the same cure work twice. So I cannot tell you what will work for you. Only that you will find the cure that is destined for you."
The disappointment was crushing, even though Nick knew it was unreasonable. At least he now knew a cure was possible, no mere pipe dream. Still, he found, he had hoped so much that Jacob could tell him where to find one. Perhaps would pull a vial out of his back pocket and hand it over, saying "just take three tablets with holy water" … well. "So I should keep looking," he said when he could control his voice.
"Yes. Keep looking, and you will find a cure when you are destined to do so. Unless it pleases God to claim you as you are. But you need not fear death, more than any other man."
The serene faith in Jacob's voice soothed Nick and abruptly, he knew that it was all true. He could trust this vampire, this priest, to know what he was saying. He was filled with a sense of peace he had not felt in - perhaps he had never felt it before. He knew that he would keep looking, and he would eventually find a cure, or die trying. But death did not have to mean damnation, even for one like him. His sins were absolved. He was free of his past, and the future was open. For this knowledge alone, he thought, his trip to Africa was well worthwhile. His heart was light as a balloon in his chest. The whole world lay before him, fresh and new.
"In the meantime," he heard Jacob say, "I would concentrate on the task at hand."
Nick came back to earth with difficulty. "Which is - ?"
"Whatever it is. At the moment, it's rescuing your lady doctor's friend. Other tasks will arise when this one is done. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other and they'll come to you."
"Is that what you've done all these years?"
"One day at a time. Yes." Jacob bent down to remove a pebble from the tread of his sneakers. "Not at first, of course," he said as he straightened. "Not for the first couple of millennia. But one grows bored with living for pleasure, or for that matter, for destruction." He glanced at Nick. "As you know. Now shall we go?"
He nodded at the road ahead of them, and Nick realised he had been standing stock still for some minutes, while he contemplated Jacob's words, and his newfound sense of freedom. His exhilaration overcame him, and he swept Jacob a grand, mock-drunken bow, twirling an imaginary hat before him in one hand. "But after you, monsieur," he said. "I insist."
Jacob rolled his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head." He set out again into the warm dark, Nick beside him.
****
"So what brought you to Sierra Leone?" Nick asked some time later. It was a couple of hours past sunset, and the moon, almost new, had long since set. It was pitch dark under the trees, and quiet except for the strange night birds and small animals, who fell silent as they approached, their footsteps muffled in the soft, damp dirt by the side of the road. A fresh wind had begun to blow, and the night was almost cool. It was hard to imagine in the peace of the night that Sierra Leone was riven by war, poverty, and disease, home to terrorists, rebels, refugees, and omnipresent death. But Nick could not forget the scenes in Freetown and Masiaka; the burned-out buildings, the hopeless people in the Murray Town camp, the child terrorists, the youths who had killed him, not one over seventeen years of age, and all of them burnt-out husks, hardly human anymore. "Surely there are more pleasant places for you to work."
"People need help here," said Jacob shortly. "They need it other places too, but this is where I am."
"But why did you choose to come here?" said Nick again.
"I was helping a man in a refugee camp in Liberia locate his wife and sons," said Jacob. His voice was quiet and dispassionate. "The trail let to Freetown. While I was there I met a thirteen-year-old boy hiding in a basement. He had been with the rebels and had been forced to commit crimes for them. Hideous crimes. Once he fire-bombed a house with the family still inside, and guarded the door so no one could escape. He couldn't sleep now, he said, because in his dreams every night he heard the voice of a little girl he had trapped inside, crying for her mother as the flames roared around her.
" He had escaped from the rebels finally and had stopped taking the cocaine they'd forced on him to make his crimes easier to commit. But now he could not face other people. He felt that he did not deserve human contact, ever to see or speak to any other person again. He ventured out at night and ate offal from rubbish tips. During the day he stayed in the basement, isolated, full of self-hatred, alone.
"I knew immediately that I had been led here for a reason. Someone must try to help these damaged children regain their humanity. It is a task with which I have some experience. I've been here three years."
"How long will you stay?"
"Until I'm no longer needed here. Until some greater need leads me elsewhere. I don't know."
Nick thought this over as they walked down the road. "Perhaps this is something I should be doing too," he said. "After we find Dr. Mackenzie. I could - "
Jacob was shaking his head. "I don't think so," he said simply. "Not yet. You have just begun to make peace with yourself. It will take some time before you can pass it on to others."
Nick walked on beside him in silence, feeling unreasonably hurt. No doubt Jacob was right. Still -
But Jacob was speaking again. "In any case, I think your present task is elsewhere. What are your plans, after this?"
Nick brought his thoughts back with an effort. "I was planning to set up an addiction rehab centre and homeless outreach program in Vancouver."
"That is very necessary work, and well suited to you. Why Vancouver?"
"I like Canada. I've never been on the west coast for any length of time." Nick shrugged. "And I was hoping to mend my fences with Natalie - my lady doctor friend. Though it doesn't look as if that's on the cards."
"She's unwilling to renew your friendship?"
"I don't know." Nick remembered the conversations they'd had in the last ten days. "I think she's willing to be friends, yes."
"But that's not what you wanted."
"Well, yes, of course it - " Nick broke off. There was nothing like a near-death experience to clarify the mind. Friendship was not what he wanted, he suddenly knew. It was probably all he could have, but it wasn't what he wanted. Why lie? He'd done enough of that over the years, to everyone, to Natalie, to himself.
"No, it's not. It's not at all", he said.
He felt a sense of release with his words, as if a band around his heart had suddenly broken, allowing it to swell at last to its proper size. "But what I want is unreasonable," he went on. "I have no right to expect it."
"Because?" Jacob's neutral tone made it easier for Nick to open his thoughts.
"I broke her heart five years ago. She did everything she could for me, and I never really reciprocated. And in repayment for all her kindness to me, I nearly killed her, and then I left without a word, for five years." Nick swallowed. "I'm lucky she's willing to talk to me at all."
"But she is?"
Nick nodded. "But that's all. She's reserved. Friendly, pleasant, courteous. But distant. And she wasn't pleased when I told her I was thinking of moving to Vancouver." That had really stung.
"And you first spoke to her after your five year absence when?"
Nick was remembering that conversation with Natalie, and took a moment to bring his thoughts back to the present. "Oh. About two weeks ago. Nearly."
"So you first got in touch with her two weeks ago, after five years without any contact, and after two weeks she's still a bit reserved."
Nick shot him a glance. He opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again. "Perhaps I expected a bit too much," he conceded after a moment.
"Really."
"Look, there are complications," Nick said defensively. "Like this Dr. Mackenzie. The father of her unborn child. Whom she's offered to marry."
"A sensible woman. The child needs a father." Jacob looked over at Nick. "I can see that in the circumstances there is some need for haste. You had best move fairly quickly."
"And do what?"
"If you want to keep her you will have to get in first with a better offer," said Jacob bluntly. "She may turn you down, of course. But you will get nowhere if you don't ask."
"Ask?" Nick had a strong sense that the conversation had galloped out of his control.
Jacob said nothing.
""Anyway," Nick added, "this guy sounds like a saint. From what Natalie says about him he walks on water. What better offer could I possibly give her?"
"That's for you to discover. But I ask you this, Nicholas. You've known a lot of women in your time." Jacob's tone was matter-of-fact.
Nick would have blushed if he could. He nodded.
"How many of them really wanted a saint?"
"That's different," Nick objected. "They - "
Jacob touched his forearm for silence. Nick heard it too: the faint whine of an elderly truck engine in the distance. With one accord they stepped off the shoulder and sheltered in the undergrowth by the side of the road. They said nothing more until the rusted-out Range Rover had passed their position. They watched its single functioning tail-light without moving until it turned off half a mile up the road and vanished from view.
"That's the turnoff to Perkins' farm," Jacob said quietly. " The R.U.F. are using it as their local headquarters. The doctors are being held there."
Nick looked at him. "Could I have saved myself some trouble by asking for help days ago?"
"No matter," said Jacob. "I believe we are still in time. I have visited twice while you slept. The doctors were still alive last night at least."
"Are they being held for ransom?" Nick asked. "There were no ransom demands before I left Freetown."
The other shook his head. ""No one outside the camp knows they're alive. They've been containing a cholera outbreak, and were too useful to kill. But there were far fewer sick last night, and it is my guess that they have almost succeeded."
"Which makes them dispensable," Nick said.
"And too dangerous either to keep or to release," Jacob agreed.
The two continued to follow in the path of the vanished tail-light. "I assume you have a plan," said Nicholas.
"Of course," said Jacob. "I suggest we remove the doctors from the camp and return them to Freetown."
"Simple," Nicholas approved. "Neat. But there may be some technical difficulties. What do we do? Just charge in and demand their return?"
"That is the most direct approach, certainly," Jacob said. "Of course the guards would immediately shoot the doctors and then do their best to kill us. But if that's what you want to do …"
"Just joking." Nick held up his hands. "What do you suggest?"
They had reached the turnoff and began to go up the rutted drive. Only a thin sliver of the moon shone in the sky, too little to light the way for any but vampire eyes. In the distance a flicker of firelight lit the side of a farmhouse in silhouette.
"The camp," Jacob said, jerking his head towards it. He stopped and turned to Nick. "We need to separate the doctors from the main camp without arousing suspicion. And we need a way to transport them to Freetown."
Nick nodded. "Can't we borrow one of their trucks?"
"They only have two," Jacob said. "Both are guarded. It would attract too much attention to try to take one. And neither vehicle is in good enough condition to survive the journey in any case. You saw one just now."
"We can't fly them back."
"It's too far," Jacob agreed. "Especially in your condition. Not that flying with a mortal is ever wise. I think we need to retrieve your jeep."
"They don't have it here?"
Jacob shook his head. "The boys who killed you never told Perkins about it. They took it joyriding and abandoned it when it ran out of gas. It's on a dirt track near the river about half a mile from here." He gestured south-west, past the camp towards Masiaka. "Of course we'll have to find gas somewhere."
"Do you know if they looked in the compartment under the rear deck?" Nick asked. Jacob shrugged. "Because I arranged for the rental agency to store an extra jerrycan of fuel under there," Nick continued. "Whoever goes for the jeep could refuel it."
"Assuming the rental agency bothered to do it," said Jacob. "You're a surprisingly trusting soul, Nicholas."
Nick shrugged. "If they didn't, I'll have to find gas somewhere else." Though he wasn't sure where, in these parts. "I guess I should go for the jeep."
Jacob nodded. "You couldn't enter the camp without causing a sensation. And if a white man is seen within a mile of this place Perkins will have the doctors killed immediately."
The sky in the east had been lightening and now began to show a tinge of pink. "We'd better get undercover," said Jacob. "There's a shed just up the road here where we can spend the day."
He led the way to a low, plastic-roofed shed with a curtained door. Nick entered first and stopped short. "What is that smell?"
"Goats," said Jacob.
"What did they die of?"
"Don't breathe if it bothers you," said Jacob unfeelingly. "You'd better hang your shirt over that window."
Jacob stretched out on a bench on the other side of the shed. Nick stripped off the shirt and tucked it into the cracks between the boards over the window so that it hung down over the glass. He nearly suggested they find other accommodations, but he could tell that the sun was nearly up. He sighed and sat down on the floor under the window, back against the wall, his feet stretched out before him in the damp, fetid straw. It was going to be a long day.
***
He fell asleep almost immediately, and awakened to a sound on the road an hour before sunset. He had curled up in the straw as he slept, and sat up, brushing bits of vegetable matter from his clothes. Jacob was standing to one side of the door opening, lifting the curtain by one corner to look outside without exposing himself to sunlight. "A truck from Yele just passed us", he said. "We have to get the doctors out as soon as the sun sets."
"Why?" Nick asked. "I mean, good idea, but - "
Jacob glanced at him. "There's an R.U.F. command base at Yele. Whatever that truck is doing here, it won't be good news. Things could go bad very quickly."
Nick digested this. "Maybe I should fly for the truck," he said. "At sunset."
Jacob nodded. "Be sure to hunt when you get there," he said. "To recoup your strength. There was a small herd of kudu near the river the night before last. I expect they're still there."
If Jacob thought the situation was urgent enough for Nick to fly, he must be worried. "What will you do?" Nick asked.
"I'll go into the camp, take the doctors out, and return with them to this shed," said Jacob. "Meet us here. Don't attempt to go into the camp yourself."
"Are you sure I - " Nick began, irritated. Was he such a liability?
"You can't go into the camp without endangering them," said Jacob simply.
It made sense, though Nick didn't want to admit it. "I wish there were something we could do now," he muttered. Now that he knew there was a need for urgency, he found the enforced inactivity before sunset hard to tolerate. He began pacing along the back wall of the shed, where the roof was high enough to allow him to stand upright.
"Conserve your energy," Jacob advised. "You'll need all of it later."
Nick nodded unwillingly. He settled back down against the wall, arms on his knees. "How are you going to get the doctors out?" he asked curiously.
"Whatever way seems best," said Jacob. "I'll impersonate an officer, probably. I'll have orders to move the doctors out of the camp and execute them. "
"They'll believe that?"
"Of course. They've been expecting the order for days, I should think. If they didn't get it just now."
Nick caught himself starting to rise and pace again. It was infuriating to be trapped in a shed, so close to his destination, while Natalie's friend was, perhaps, being shot in the head only half a mile away.
Jacob shot him a glance. "Don't think about it," he said. "Pray, if it makes you feel better. Then just do your best, and the results will be whatever they are."
Nick subsided. "I know." Hard though it was to accept it. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Might as well try to get a little more rest. Lord, please protect Dr. Mackenzie and what is her name, Eckhardt, he thought. The act reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask and he opened his eyes again. "Jacob? How did you become a priest?"
Jacob released the curtain and came back into the center of the shed. He lay down again on the bench. "I always was a priest," he said. "Even before I crossed over. I performed sacrifices, at least. That's what counted."
"But - " Nick sought for words. "Obviously not a Christian priest." Since Ur was at least 4000 years too early.
"Doesn't matter," said Jacob. "Same deity."
Nick thought he understood. "So you're Jewish? Um, Hebrew?"
"No, Abraham was well after my time too. Same general line, though. " He closed his eyes. "I'm going to catch a quick nap before things get lively."
Nick followed suit, closing his eyes, and trying to get comfortable again against the plywood wall. Did absolution count if the priest wasn't Christian, he wondered. His childhood catechism said, emphatically not. But he still felt light-headed and at peace. The cross of - was it holy water? Had Jacob blessed it? Did he have that power? - still tingled faintly and warmly on his forehead. He certainly felt absolved. If he had any lingering doubts, he decided, he would go to a priest when he got back home. For now, he'd done his best.
Wherever home was, he thought sleepily as he drifted off. He'd thought he'd be in Vancouver. But that was up to Nat.
He awoke again at sunset. Jacob was shaking his shoulder. He was instantly alert, and followed Jacob out of the hut, tucking his shirt, which had pulled free as he slept, back into his trousers as he went. Once outside Jacob pointed towards a plane tree outlined against the sky, just south of the remaining sun-glow on the horizon. "The jeep isn't far past that tree", he said. " If there's no fuel meet me back here on foot; we'll have to hide the prisoners somewhere until we find gas. I'll expect you back in four hours."
It was only later that Nick realised how oddly natural it had seemed to take Jacob's orders. Now he simply said "Good luck with the doctors."
Jacob nodded and set off down the road towards the farmhouse. Behind him, Nick rose silently into the night sky.
***
Nick found the jeep without difficulty, abandoned on a sandy knoll beside the river. First he checked the compartment under the truck bed, and sent a silent and heartfelt thank-you to the rental agency when he found a sealed gallon of gas there as ordered. He refueled and checked the jeep for damage. It was filthy; it must have been driven through every mud patch in a ten mile square. The upholstery, such as it was, had been slashed and dirt ground into the cushions, apparently deliberately. The paint was scuffed in several places, the windshield was cracked, and the right door was dented badly enough that it barely closed. The keys were gone, of course; he would have to hotwire it. So was his wallet, which he'd left in the glove compartment, the satellite phone, and everything else that wasn't nailed down except, mercifully, the steering wheel.
The tires were still inflated, however, and when he connected the ignition wires the jeep started up with a reassuring rumble. He breathed a sigh of relief. As long as it ran nothing else mattered too much. He disconnected the wires again, suddenly ravenous. Jacob was right; he needed to restore his strength. He leaned against the warm metal of the door and listened for feeding animals, motionless against the night sky. In a little while he heard, above the gentle rippling of the water against the sandy banks of the river, a quiet, rhythmic lapping, upstream from his position. He turned his head silently and saw another deer of the same kind he had fed on - how long ago now? Nearly a week. This one was larger. A male. It had stilled at his motion, and he waited until it had calmed and begun to drink again before he struck.
He felt sated long before the deer's heart had even begun to slow, and released the animal with a pat. It looked at him uncertainly and then moved a little downstream from him and began again to drink, apparently unthreatened by his presence. Odd. Even odder that he had been satisfied with so little blood. Perhaps his stomach was still healing. Though he had drunk deep from Jacob.
He walked back to the jeep, vaulting into the driver's seat. It started up again and he forced it into gear. The joyriders hadn't done anything for the clutch. He ran it through the gears; third was hard to get into, fourth had dropped out entirely. Fifth seemed to be fine. It only had to last as far as Freetown, he reassured himself. Ninety miles. He slid his foot off the clutch and the jeep lurched into motion along the track.
***
He stalled several times before he got used to the damaged gears, and had to stop twice to physically manhandle the jeep out of mud-wallows in the road. It was nearly four hours later when he arrived back at the hut. At first he thought he was alone, until he saw the motionless figure standing in the well of shadow by the door. He climbed out of the jeep and whispered. "Jacob?"
The other nodded and came away from the door. "They're asleep", he said in a low voice. "What kept you?"
"Bad roads. Transmission problems."
Jacob looked the battered jeep over, frowning. "Will it make it to Freetown?"
"I think so. If we find more fuel."
"There's a depot outside Masiaka." Jacob looked at the sky. "We've got about five hours. It should be enough, if we don't break down. I'll get the doctors."
"Any problems getting them out?" Nick whispered as Jacob turned away. "Should we worry about pursuit?"
Jacob shook his head. "Perkins thinks they've been shot and buried by now. If we get them into Freetown by morning they'll be as safe as anyone is around here." He moved away pushed through the curtain into the hut.
Nick could hear murmurs and rustling from inside. In a moment two strangers appeared, looking around them with the glazed, owl-eyed stare of those awakened from a sound slumber. Marcus nodded to him and said simply "Thank you," as he came level with Nick. He was clearly operating on the thin edge of nervous fatigue, but nothing would make him less than courteous. Anneliese gripped Nick's hands in speechless gratitude. He could see the tracks of dried tears marked in the grime on her cheeks. He patted her back when she released him and helped her up onto the back bench seat after Marcus.
Jacob closed the door after them and clambered in himself on the driver's side. "I know the back routes", he said to Nick's surprised look. "We'll get there faster."
Nick nodded and climbed over the passenger door, a little peeved. Whose rescue was this? Of course it didn't matter, as long as Marcus was rescued, he knew, a little annoyed at his feelings. But he would have liked to feel necessary to the enterprise. He leaned over and hotwired the jeep one-handed when he saw Jacob feeling around for the key.
Jacob looked over at him and grinned. "Couldn't do it without you, Knight," he said softly, and Nick felt at once reassured and embarrassed to be so transparent. The jeep lurched into motion down the drive and he looked over his shoulder to check on the passengers.
They had belted themselves in and were leaning against each other, for warmth, perhaps, or in fear. The man, Marcus, was looking away from him, back towards the camp, and Nick had the chance to look him over more closely. Even in his present unkempt and exhausted state, Nick could tell that he was unusually good-looking, powerfully and elegantly built, with the jawline and cheekbones of that wretched Scottish actor. Bond, James Bond indeed. This was information he really didn't need. He turned back and stonily contemplated the road.
Marcus leaned forward as they turned onto the main road. "Whom do I have to thank?" he asked Jacob quietly. "You've risked your lives for us."
"I'm the clerk at the Waverley", Jacob said. "I just came along for the ride. This man - " he jerked his head at Nick - "mounted the whole mission. Thank him."
"And you are - " Marcus turned to Nick.
"Nick Knight," Nicholas said uncomfortably. "I'm with the de Brabant Foundation."
"Oh yes." Marcus looked at him curiously. "I'm sure I've heard your name."
Nick felt unreasonably cheered. So Nat had talked about him? Probably hadn't said anything good, of course. "I've been with the Foundation for years," he said. "My name might have appeared in a report."
Marcus nodded and settled back, his eyes still thoughtfully on Nick. "How're you doing?" Nick asked, to change the subject. "I'm sorry there's no food."
"We need water more," said Anneliese, drawing Nick's gaze from Marcus.
Jacob answered. "We'll get some when we refuel. About half an hour from here." He seemed certain that both gas and water were to be found, and Nick saw their passengers relax. "You might as well try to get some rest", Jacob continued. "The roads are pretty dry, but it will still take about four hours back to Freetown."
"It's only ninety miles," objected Anneliese.
"By the main routes," said Jacob. "We won't be following them."
She nodded and settled back in her seat. In the mirror Nick could see them adjusting their positions, trying to become comfortable on the hard bench as the jeep bounced over rocks and potholes. The rustling as they shifted from one pose to another gradually died down, and when Nick looked back a few minutes later he saw that they had fallen asleep again, Marcus against the side of the jeep, Anneliese leaning on his shoulder.
"They must have been exhausted," he said in a low voice to Jacob.
Jacob checked the mirror. "It's probably the first time in days they've let their guard down," he said. Nick saw that he was smiling.
Jacob turned off the main road less than a mile later, and thereafter they followed a bewildering series of ranch trails, cattle paths, and twisting logging trails through the patches of woods between the farms. Gradually the signs of habitation grew more frequent, and just as the needle began to hover on empty Jacob pulled up beside a decrepit barn next to the river. "There's a fuel tank in there", he said, jerking his head towards the barn. "We'll have to fill up by jerry can, there's no hose."
Nick nodded and jumped out, gathering the jerry can from the back of the truck. "What about water?" he asked.
Jacob nodded to the other side of the building. "There's a rain barrel back there, and the farmer leaves plastic bottles out for the men to use as they work. I'll fill a couple while you're refueling the jeep."
As Nick began up the path to the barn he heard a soft thump on the grass beside the jeep. He turned and saw Marcus coming to join him. "Come to give you a hand," the other man said softly, keeping his voice low enough that it would not disturb Anneliese, who was still sleeping in the back. Nick nodded and they walked up together.
When they were a little farther away from the jeep Marcus spoke again. "I've remembered where I heard your name," he said. "We have a friend in common."
Nick considered his options. His first impulse was to take shelter in his habitual mantle of secrecy and evade questions. But the last week had stripped his defenses from him. He had nearly died. He had been, perhaps, absolved of his crimes. It was time to turn the page. And he just didn't want to lie anymore. The weight of his secrets had nearly suffocated him. He would not pull that cloak back on. His decision felt sudden, but he knew it had been building for some time.
"Yes," he said. "Natalie Lambert."
Marcus nodded. "You knew her in Toronto."
"I was in love with her in Toronto." Nick felt as if a cork had come out of a bottle, and all his hidden thoughts spilled forth at once. It was so clear in retrospect. All that wondering how he really felt, all the convincing himself he had to protect her from himself; all that doubt and uncertainty - all of it a cover for his own fear. His heart felt weightless. He treasured the sensation. In eight hundred years, he had never, until he met Jacob, felt so buoyant. He could not predict what would happen next. He had had no idea that surrendering the illusion of control would feel so good.
"She never knew that," said Marcus.
"I never told her." Except once, and then wiped her memory. I was a fool. "There were reasons we couldn't be together. It seemed pointless." Nick thought. "And I was a coward," he added. This truth telling was addictive once he started. No wonder LaCroix had always warned against it.
"Do you love her now?" Marcus clearly wasn't one to beat around the bush.
They had arrived at a rusted gas tank, and Nick opened the jerry can and began to fill it from the stopcock at one end. The smell of gas wafted up from the can, and he turned his head slightly upwind to avoid it. "Yes," he said. Simple, now that the question was asked. Yes, I love her now. She has only changed for the better. And she was wonderful before.
"So what are you doing here?"
Nick shrugged. "You're what she wants." It hurt to admit it. But after everything he'd put her through in Toronto, he had to accept it. He deserved to lose her, and he had. "So I said I'd do what I could to find out what had happened to you."
"And be the hero if I needed rescuing."
Nick closed his eyes. He wished people would stop saying that. "I don't know," he said. "One step more or less led to another. All I originally meant to do was get someone else to look into it for me. But then I started to think I could be more helpful if I came out myself."
"Well, I'm glad you did." Marcus fell silent. The jerry can was nearly full, and Nick capped it and handed it to the other man. An empty can lay at the foot of the tank, and Nick began to fill that as well.
"I can fill this one while you take that down to the jeep," he prompted when Marcus didn't move. If they didn't alternate filling and refueling they'd be there all night. But the other man stayed where he was, watching Nick.
"Are you sure she wants me?" he asked quietly at last.
Nick was taken aback and did not answer for a moment. "It certainly looked like it," he said finally. "I was there when she saw your clinic blown up on the national news. She was devastated."
"We're close friends," Marcus said. "I'd feel the same about her. She wishes me well. But wanting me safe isn't the same as wanting me."
Nick looked at Marcus. "But - you had a relationship," he said. "And I know it was important to her. And - " he stopped. If Marcus didn't know, it wasn't Nick's business to tell him.
"And she's pregnant?" Marcus said. "I know. I got her letter." He touched the breast pocket of his shirt. "She's offering to marry me. And if that's what she wants of course I'll do it." He held out a hand for the second jerry-can, now full, and Nick handed it to him dumbly. Marcus was full of surprises. An honest man who knew his own mind. No wonder Nat thought so well of him.
Marcus turned down the path to the jeep and Nick followed him with the other can. "The thing is," Marcus said. Nick lengthened his stride until he was walking beside the other man. "The thing is," he repeated, "I don't know that it is what she wants. It may just be what she thinks is best."
Nick looked at him. He had had the same thought, but it wasn't his decision to make. Nat had a right to her own life. And a right to decide for herself what was best, come to that.
"So that's why I want to know if you love her," Marcus continued simply. "I know you were important to her. And I wouldn't want her to walk away from something she really wanted out of a misplaced sense of duty to me."
"I don't think - " Nick began. "It's not - " He inhaled and started again. "The question is whether she loves me," he said, realising as he spoke that it was true. 'Not whether I want her. Of course I do. But I've given her no reason to trust me. She told me she doesn't even want me to live in Vancouver. After all the pain she went through last time I don't blame her."
Marcus nodded. "Did you ever find a cure for your condition?" he asked.
Nick's head jerked towards him in surprise. They had arrived at the truck, and Nick uncapped the can he carried and began to pour it into the fuel tank. "She told me you had some medical problem that kept you apart," Marcus explained, catching his look. "Is that taken care of now?"
Nick looked away from him, mildly embarrassed. He had the distinct impression from Marcus' gentlemanly euphemisms that the other man thought the problem was 'erectile dysfunction' or something equally difficult to talk about. "I've still got it," he said. "But it's under control. I don't think it would be a major problem now."
Let Marcus think he kept his Viagra prescription updated. He remembered the kudu, still drinking quietly from the stream where he'd left it. He'd had only a couple of mouthfuls, and that more than an hour ago; but he still felt no hunger. Natalie would be in no danger from him. No matter what they were doing.
If only she still wanted him. "Not that it matters," he added. "She doesn't have any interest in me now."
"That's not what it sounds like," said Marcus. "If she felt nothing, she wouldn't care where you lived."
Nick finished decanting the second can into the jeep and they turned back up towards the barn for the next two gallons. He thought over Marcus' words. "You could be right," he answered. "But that doesn't mean she's going to change her mind. And then, I mean, she's carrying your child."
"Yes." Marcus fell silent as they continued up the path. Nick had begun refilling the first can before he spoke again. "My life is here," he said slowly. "Here, or in other countries where I'm needed. I know this is my calling. I've tried to do other things, and this is all that feels right."
His voice was matter-of-fact, but certain. "Nat knows that," he continued. "It's why we parted company. She respects my feelings, but she doesn't share them. And if we married, I would want to be out in the field, here or elsewhere, at least half of every year."
He stopped, and seemed to be thinking through his next words. "Under the circumstances, I suppose half a husband is better than none," he said. "But you came all the way out to Sierra Leone, and you didn't do it for me. You risked your life." He handed Nick the second can and put the cap on the first one, now refilled, and looked at him directly. "Tell me, Mr. Knight," he said. "Could you make her a better offer?"
"Yes," Nick was surprised to hear himself respond immediately. But he was quite sure. "If she were willing. I don't think she is."
The trickle of gasoline struck the bottom of the empty can and echoed in the silence following his words. At last Marcus looked at Nick again. "Does she know she has a choice?" he asked.
Nick shook his head.
"I only saw her again for the first time two weeks ago," he said. "And she wasn't too welcoming. It wasn't the moment." He considered. "And I didn't realise until recently what I wanted."
Marcus nodded. "She probably doesn't know yet what she wants herself," he said. "She's only been thinking of what she should do, not what she'd like." Nick nodded. "And then she'd need time to make up her mind. Nat doesn't like to be rushed."
"No."
They stood in silence again, both thinking about Natalie, as the next can filled. Nick closed the stopcock and put on the cap when it was done, and they turned and started down towards the jeep again.
"I have a lot of work to finish here before I can leave," said Marcus conversationally. "I'll need to train a replacement for one thing. If I could stay here for a few months at least, to tie up the loose ends, it would be best."
"But Nat shouldn't have to go through the pregnancy alone," Nick said.
"No."
Nick looked at him. "How many months do you think you'll need?"
Marcus considered. "Six."
Nick began decanting the gas into the jeep. "I need to do some work in Vancouver in any event. I'm setting up an addiction treatment and outreach centre on Hastings. It'll take a few months for me to finish that and hire enough staff to keep it going."
The two men looked at each other. "I know Nat had a bad time in Toronto," said Marcus after a moment. "I wouldn't want her to suffer any more now."
"She won't," said Nick. "Not by me."
Marcus held his eye for a moment, and finally nodded, satisfied. He turned back towards the barn. "All the best with the addiction treatment centre," he said.
"And with your work here," said Nick, following him with the cans. "Are you going to rebuild the clinic?"
"If we can find the funds," said Marcus. "It's desperately needed."
"The deBrabant Foundation had approved a funding application from your organization just before I left," said Nick. "You should hear about it within the week."
Marcus smiled. "That's good news." He looked around him. "We'd better get a move on. People may be looking for us."
"And waiting for us." Nick handed him a can. "Another eight refills should do it."
***
Both doctors fell asleep on the drive through the mountains to Freetown. Jacob's route was bewildering, through a twisting, convoluted web of ravines, passes and what Nick would have sworn were mountain goat trails. Twice Nick saw vehicles travelling on the main roads beneath them, but they saw no one on their own route, and Nick was glad Jacob was at the wheel.
"Are we being pursued?" he asked the second time he saw headlights in the distance, coming from Masiaka. He kept his voice low to avoid disturbing the doctors. Though if the rough roads and hairpin turns didn't awaken them, he doubted anything would.
Jacob shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "We should be okay. The real risk is of a chance encounter with an R.U.F. squad. But few people use these trails."
"I'm not surprised," Nick said, as Jacob downshifted deftly, rounding a switchback two inches from a cliff edge. "Has anyone survived them?"
"I've never lost a passenger," said Jacob cheerfully. "Night vision helps."
Nick relaxed in his seat as well as he could. "Jacob," he said after a moment. "I had the strangest experience tonight."
"I saw you talking to the doctor," said Jacob. "Was the conversation so surprising?"
"No - well, yes, but - I hadn't thought about it," said Nick. "I'm glad we had the chance to talk, certainly. But - " he trailed off, not sure where to begin.
"Have you decided what to do next?" asked Jacob. They came to another cliff edge and Nick could see a few lights in the distance. Freetown.
"Yes, I have," said Nick. "I'm going to go back to Vancouver and set up an addiction treatment centre. And see if I can persuade my friend Natalie to marry me."
"Good." Jacob sounded satisfied.
"Really?" Nick was still worrying at the question in a corner of his mind. "It's what I want, I know. But it seems self-indulgent."
"How can you help others to preserve what's most important in their lives if you have not experienced it yourself?" asked Jacob reasonably. "More than anything, right now, you need a normal life. As much as you can have one. Love someone, raise a family, help others to be in a position to do the same. You've been alone far too long. You need the understanding this will bring you."
"I suppose." Nick mulled this over. "Though that does sound like a convenient rationalization."
"Okay then, try this one." Jacob glanced at Nick, and turned his gaze back to the road. "Love is never a bad thing. Follow it when you find it. Not just the passion. The daily experience. You want to find your soul. That's the first place to look. Especially for you, since love has always been your strength."
"Okay". That was more satisfying. "But what if I can't persuade her?" Nick added.
"Then you'll have done your best. And you will probably remain friends, which will enrich your spirit almost as much." Jacob flicked another glance at him. "The key is to try."
Nick nodded. "There was another thing," he said after a moment. "I fed, as you told me, when I found the jeep."
"But you only needed a small amount," Jacob said. "And you're still not hungry."
Nick turned to him. "You know about this."
"My gift to you," the older vampire said. "As we get older, we need less blood. I rarely feed more than once a week now, and then very little. Feeding on my blood as much as you did in the last week has drastically altered your metabolism also. You will never again need to drain any victim larger than a rabbit. I suggest that you be sure to feed once a day, but you will not need much." He looked at Nick. "It will make life among humans much easier, until you find your cure."
"You knew this would happen," Nick said. The other nodded. "It will make all the difference," Nick said then.
"I thought you might find it helpful," said Jacob. "Though there wasn't much choice. You would have died if I had not allowed you to feed from me. Think of it as a side benefit."
"Thank you anyway." The words were wholly inadequate, but Nick could think of nothing more to say.
The rest of the journey was passed in silence. It seemed only a short time later that the jeep pulled up outside the hospital. The eastern sky was growing grey, but it was still an hour until dawn. Marcus and Anneliese began to stir as the jeep halted, blinking sleepily. Nick climbed out and walked around to help them down from their seats.
"Is Willem here?" asked Anneliese anxiously, craning to see over his shoulder
as she accepted his hand down. "He'll have been so worried."
"He was sleeping in his office when I left," said Nick. "He'll be better when he sees you." She nodded and ran past him towards the hospital as soon as he released her hand. Assuming he didn't have a heart attack when we were cut off in mid-conversation last week, he added to himself. Phone. His eyes widened as he remembered. "Oh no. I was supposed to call Nat on Monday. That's four days ago."
"Tell her the truth," advised Jacob. "She can hardly blame you."
"No, but she'll have worried and blamed herself," Nick said, distracted. "I have to find a phone."
"There's one in the director's office," said Marcus' voice behind him. "I'll show you the way."
Nick turned to him, startled. He'd forgotten the other man was there. "I expect you'll want to talk to her yourself," he said, recovering.
"You first," said Marcus. "The rescuing hero gets dibs." He sniffed himself. "And I desperately need a wash anyway. I'll show you the office and grab the first shower." He looked Nick over. "You probably want a change of clothes yourself. Can I loan you anything?"
Nick looked at his own creased and mud-stained garments. "Everything, thanks," he said. He had no money, ID or travel documents either, he realised. But one thing at a time. He could start calling bankers and consulates tomorrow. Tonight, Natalie. He turned to Marcus. "Where's this phone?"
Halfway into the hospital, Nick remembered Jacob and turned to say goodbye. But the other man had slipped away. Nick hesitated, then turned back towards the entrance. He could go to hotel tomorrow to make his farewells.
***
The vampire Nick knew as Jacob stood unnoticed in the shadow of a burnt-out building across from the hospital, watching the two men as they walked in the door. They seemed on good terms. It was a good sign.
He saw Nicholas hesitate and look back for him, and drew unobtrusively farther into the shadows. He'd done what he could for him. If Nick needed him again, he could be found, but he doubted his younger brother would require more help. He was ready, now, to face the world on his own.
It was time now to return to the care of others. The children of Sierra Leone were this year's task. Next year, perhaps, Afghanistan. Tonight - there was a camp in Masiaka that needed his attention. All over the world, he had younger brothers, human and vampire, to teach and to protect. To treat better than he had treated his own.
He knew he was long forgiven, but still he missed him. His beloved brother, Abel. Someday he would see him again.
But for now, there was still work to do. He checked for observers and rose silently into the night sky.
***
VANCOUVER
The worst of it was, she couldn't even pace. She was supposed to be off her feet. How many times had she told her own patients that? Stay off your feet to protect the baby, it's only for a few weeks, for a couple of months, for - she'd dismissed their complaints. In future she'd have more sympathy. It felt like a jail sentence.
And even worse now. She couldn't distract herself by cleaning, yoga, going out for a walk. Nothing. She was stuck here on this couch, flipping from CNN to the National News to the local broadcast, not sure if she hoped for news from Sierra Leone, or hoped there would be none.
Friends had visited for a little while every day, to drop off food and videos. She was grateful. Deeply. But that still left her 23 hours a day to be alone in, to fret, to stew, to imagine the worst. What could have happened to him? To them, she corrected herself again.
She hadn't heard from him in nearly a week. He was supposed to call on Monday. It was Friday now. How many times had he forgotten to call? In Toronto, she'd lost count. She had so hated sitting by the phone. She'd avoided her apartment more and more in that last year, so she wouldn't hear the phone not ring. But now she couldn't leave the apartment to get away from it.
She never thought she'd feel nostalgic for the days when she knew he'd simply forgotten. But this time she knew it was different. He'd said he would call on Monday and she knew he would have if he could. He would have done it if something hadn't happened. Something pretty bad.
Maybe he just can't get to a phone, she told herself for the hundredth time. Maybe his satellite phone is broken. Whenever she'd tried it since they'd last spoken she'd got a recorded message which her French was just good enough to let her know meant "the cellular user you have called is not available now, please try later." It could be something trivial. The M.S.F. headquarters in Freetown, when she'd finally got through, had told her they'd lost contact as well, but if the phone had gotten damaged somehow there was nowhere he could get it repaired. It was probably nothing. But she knew in her bones it wasn't.
She should never have let Nick go. She should never have let him talk her into it. Marcus was probably dead already, and now Nick had gotten himself pointlessly killed trying to find him. Just because she was anxious and he felt sorry for her.
She could feel herself sliding into another guilt spiral and pulled up with an effort. There was no point to this. Sooner or later, surely, she would hear something. The Freetown M.S.F. headquarters had her phone number and had promised to call when they had news. Though the poor man at the other end of the phone had sounded as if he was in an even worse state than she was herself. In the meantime -
In the meantime, if only she could DO something. But all she could do was lie on this wretched couch. And worry.
She flicked the television on again and muted it while she surfed. Ricki Lake. Maury Povich. Jenny Jones. People's Court. The Cooking Channel, her favourite mindless escape, turned her stomach these days. Voyager. Janeway still had the Bun of Steel, she couldn't watch. Teletubbies, the best so far. A Murder She Wrote rerun. Good enough. She turned up the sound.
"So you knowingly sent her to her death, Mr. Barker. It may not be murder in a court of law, but - "
"No, I swear, I never meant - "
Oh, God. She shut off the television and picked up the Anthony Trollope novel again. She'd got about 3 pages into it in the last two weeks. You could tell the girl was never going to say yes, even though she loved the guy. Stupid woman. She wanted to jump into the novel and shake her. Is dignity worth that much? It was too frustrating to read on. After one paragraph she set it down.
And found herself glaring at the phone. Ring, damn you, she thought savagely. Ring! Don't you dare be dead you vampire bastard! Pick up the god damned phone! I'll never forgive you if you're dead. Pick up the -
The phone rang. She stared at it.
It rang again. It could be anybody. One of her friends. Her doctor. Anybody. It had been doing this all week, tormenting her with false hopes. She didn't want to answer and be disappointed again. She sat and looked at it. On the third ring she took a breath and picked it up.
"Nat?" the line crackled. "It's Nick. Sorry I couldn't call before."
"Nick! Oh thank God. Nick. You're safe. You're safe?" she heard herself babbling and shut up abruptly.
"I'm fine, Marcus is fine, he's taking a shower, believe me he needed it, he'll call you in a bit. How are you?"
"Me? Oh I'm fine. I'm confined to bed rest for awhile but everything's okay. But what happened? Are you hurt?" Nat felt light-headed with relief. The cold weight bearing down on her heart for the last week melted and slid away, and she sagged bonelessly against the back of the couch. "I'm so glad to hear from you," she said. "I was so worried."
"I was injured but I've recovered." Nick sounded tired, but contented. "I'll tell you all about it later, I just wanted to let you know as soon as I could that we're okay."
"Where was Marcus?" Nat wanted the whole story at once.
"He was in an R.U.F. camp fighting a cholera epidemic. He'll tell you more, I'm sure. Look, Nat, I should get off the phone myself, I need to find somewhere to sleep." It was near dawn in Sierra Leone, Nat realised. "But I'm planning to come to Vancouver as soon as I can, probably early next week. If it's all right with you?"
He sounded tentative suddenly and she remembered everything she'd said two weeks ago, about not wanting him to live in the same city. It seemed like another lifetime. She hurried to reassure him.
"Of course it's okay with me. I'm really sorry I said all that about - "
"Don't worry," Nick said. "You had a right. And I'd rather know how you feel, always, than have you hide it. Honestly."
"Well, okay," Nat said. "But I didn't mean it. At least, I did, but I was mad, and I've gotten over it now."
"That's a relief," Nick said. "Because I do have a few months work I need to do to set up the centre in Vancouver, if that's okay. And I was hoping to see you while I'm in town. Catch another Jackie Chan film perhaps."
Nat smiled. "Not Jackie Chan this time. I want to see Iron Monkey", she said. "Only I can't leave the apartment. So I have to wait for the video."
"I'll rent it and bring it around as soon as it's out, if you're still housebound by then," said Nick. His voice had relaxed and he sounded cheerful. "I have some things to clear up here, I need a new passport and some money - "
"What happened?"
"Everything was stolen. It's okay, it will just take me a few days to replace things," Nick assured her. "I'm hoping to come directly to Vancouver after that. I should be there sometime next week. Will you be free to see me some evening?"
"I'll be lying on the couch for the foreseeable future, so yeah, come by anytime," said Nat. "Come straight from the airport if you like."
"I'll do that." She could hear him smiling. "I'd better go. See you next week."
"See you. And thanks, Nick," Nat said. "Thanks so much. I don't have the words to say."
"No thanks required, Nat." Nick's voice was sober. "In fact I can't thank you enough for sending me. I'll tell you all about it when I come."
Nat held the phone after he rang off until the dial tone cut in and jogged her into replacing it on the stand. She settled slowly back onto her pillows. Thank you, she thought. Whoever you are. If I'd driven him to his death twice I don't think I could have lived with myself. And Marcus too. Thanks for rescuing him.
I wonder if they liked each other, she thought drowsily, curling up on her side and adjusting the pillow under her head. Probably did. They're both good guys. Nick will tell me all about it, anyway.
The tension that had held her for the last week evaporated from her limbs. Ten minutes later the phone rang, and rang again, but she was deeply asleep.
***
He was leaning with his shoulders against the wall on the other side of the hallway when she opened the door. Not as immaculately dressed as usual. Jeans, white t-shirt, a soiled green windbreaker. A black nylon gym bag sat beside him on the hall carpet, his only luggage.
He looked gorgeous in the unfamiliar clothes. He should wear t-shirts all the time, thought Nat. Except he'd be mobbed in the street by excited teenagers.
"I had to borrow some clothes," he said, catching her glance at the jeans. "One of the doctors in Freetown was more or less my size."
"What happened to your things?" Nat said. "I'm sorry, do come in." She stood aside as he picked up the bag and went into the apartment.
She'd made some effort to clean up before he got there, but the main room still bore evidence that she was living there most of the time. The pillows and blanket spread on the couch made her usual station obvious, and he set his bag down by the rocking and sat down. Nat crossed to the couch and started folding up the blanket. Somehow she'd missed it in her earlier housekeeping.
"Don't," Nick said. "Honest, don't tidy up for me. In fact, why don't you just sit down and I'll get you some tea."
"You've been travelling for 36 hours without a break, Nick. Catch your breath."
"Fine, if you'll sit down," he said. "I thought you told me you were supposed to stay off your feet."
"I'm allowed 5 minutes up an hour. This is my five minutes," Nat said.
Nick looked at her. "You made that up."
"Well, okay, I made it up." She grinned over her shoulder. "I'm just so sick of lying down all the time."
"It won't be forever," Nick said.
"No, it will just feel like it."
Nick's lips twitched. "Tell you what," he offered. "If you'll sit down again, I'll tell you all about my trip to Sierra Leone. And I'll make you a cup of tea, too."
Nat glanced at him suspiciously. "I recognize that tone of voice, you know," she said. "My patients use it on their three-year-olds."
"Only when they're being difficult," Nick said soothingly. He stood up and took the blanket from her, and began to fold it.
Nat accepted defeat and sat down. Nick set the folded blanket beside her and returned to the chair.
She'd been fussing, she now realised, because she was afraid to look at him. Now she had no excuse not to. He looked tired. He looked - beautiful. He looked alive, and well, and unscarred by whatever had happened in Sierra Leone. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been so worried that something desperately bad had happened to him, because of her.
When she opened her eyes again he was looking at her with a hint of a smile. She felt warm and suddenly self-conscious. "How's Marcus?" she asked.
"Well, when I left him," Nick said. "You've heard from him."
Nat nodded. "He wants to stay on in Sierra Leone for a few months. While he was out of action some American company started manufacturing the sleeping sickness drug, can you believe it? It turns out it can also be used as an ointment to suppress unwanted facial hair. (Author's note: this is actually true, I didn't make it up.) So suddenly there will be lots available, and he wants to set up a distribution network, and rebuild his clinic. And train a replacement. It all makes sense. I'll be fine here on my own. And he'll do his best to make it back before the birth."
"And you're getting married?" asked Nick. He suddenly seemed very interested in a Greek terracotta goddess figurine on the bookshelf beside him, and was idly turning it over in his fingers as he spoke.
"I don't know," Nat said. "We'll talk about it when he gets here. He said he's happy to if I want to, but it wouldn't be ideal for me. He'd only be here for half the year, at most. He wants me to consider my options before I agree to anything precipitate. " She paused. "He didn't seem very eager."
"From what I saw in Sierra Leone, Nat, he thinks of you very highly, and is very fond of you." Nick set down the statuette and looked at her. "I don't think you should doubt his feelings for you. I think he honestly wants you to have what's best for you, and he isn't sure it's him. So he wants you to take your time with the decision."
"I guess." Nat sat back against the cushions. "I'm not sure what he thinks my options are, though."
"Maybe that's why he wants you to take your time. So that your options will become clearer to you." Nick stood up. "Can I get you tea?"
"No, don't be silly, I can - " Nat began to struggle up from the couch.
Nick waved her down. "While I'm here, you don't have to make your own tea." When she started to protest, he added, "and I'm sure your doctor would approve."
Nat subsided wearily. "Okay, fine. Thanks. But I warn you, Nick, I'm not in the best of tempers lately. My friends come over to help out and they can't stand to be here for more than an hour. I lost my patience somewhere about six weeks ago."
"I've been reading up on pregnancy mood swings." Nick was in the kitchen now, filling the kettle. "It's nothing I can't handle. I'll help out as long as you'll let me."
"Fine. Then while you're up you could get me a couple of digestive biscuits too? And you were going to tell me what happened to your clothes?"
"They were stolen, along with the phone, my wallet, my luggage, and the jeep I'd rented, by the same teenagers who nearly cut me in half with a submachine gun and left me for dead outside a church near Masiaka," said Nick. "Do you want milk in this?"
"They did what?"
Nick came back and set down a mug of tea with milk and honey and a plate with three digestive biscuits on the table beside her. He leaned back in the loveseat and stretched out his legs.
"Stole everything I owned and left me for dead. Nearly succeeded, too. I was rescued by the hotel clerk just before sunup." He held the plate of cookies out to her, but she was staring at him and ignored it.
"You nearly died." He could see tears springing to her eyes, and his heart twisted painfully with hope. It was too soon, far too soon, to press her. But he had no doubt, now, that she felt for him. Whether she would ever admit it, he couldn't say. But at least he knew it was there.
"I didn't, though." He set the plate back down. "Don't worry. Good things came of it."
"I would never have forgiven myself. I - " she looked away from him. "I should never have let you go. This was all my fault."
"Nat." He touched her shoulder and she looked up to him again. She brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "It was my fault. I was an overconfident idiot. I thought I could just wander into a situation I knew nothing about, solve it single-handed and be back in time for tea. I deserved to get shot. I may have a few unusual powers, but they don't make me superhuman. I'm lucky learning that didn't kill me."
"And I learned something else." Nat wiped at her eyes again, and Nick pulled a kleenex from the box beside him and offered it to her. "I learned that we all need our friends."
Nat looked at him dumbly, and sniffed. She wiped her nose with the kleenex. "Your friends nearly got you killed."
"My friends saved my life." Nick settled a cushion beside her on the arm of the couch. "Why don't you lean back the way your doctor ordered, and I'll tell you the whole story."
"Are you planning to nag me the whole time you're here?" Nat nevertheless lay back against the cushion and accepted a cookie. "So tell me the story."
"Highlights or all the details?"
"The whole thing. Start with the highlights." She smiled and his heart beat once.
Nick leaned back again, his eyes on her face. "The interesting part starts when I woke up in a baptismal font."
"Get out of here."
"No, really..."
***
EPILOGUE
Nicholas moved into Natalie's den to take care of her during the three months she had to stay off her feet to avoid a miscarriage. Even after she could move around again, it seemed to be more convenient for him to stay there. He bought her garlic pizza and stayed out on the balcony while she ate it; watched weepy movies with her; and rubbed her back and aching feet every night until she melted into sleep. By the time Marcus visited Vancouver again, in the ninth month of Natalie's pregnancy, Nat knew that dear as he was, she didn't want to marry him, although she had not yet allowed herself to know why. He and Nick assisted at the birth of a healthy baby boy, whom the mother named Malcolm Andrew, after Marcus' father and Nicholas' nephew.
Six weeks after the birth Marcus went back to Sierra Leone, satisfied that Malcolm and Natalie were in good hands. By then Nicholas had become adept in diaper changing and baby-walking at three a.m. so that Natalie could get a little sleep before the next feeding. Natalie had always meant to ask him to move out of her den once she was on her feet again, but somehow she never got around to it. And his love for little Malcolm was so clear she hadn't the heart to throw him out, she told herself.
Malcolm was nearly a year old before Natalie began to be aware of her own feelings for Nick. She became awkward and self-conscious around him, watched him when she thought he wasn't looking but stopped looking at him when he spoke, and was irritated to find that she was taking renewed care of her appearance. At least she made sure to change her strained sweet-potato stained sweatshirt for a clean one before he awoke in the early evenings. She became touchy and easily upset. But strangely, she still did not ask him to move.
Nick observed her new behaviour thoughtfully for a month. Then he took her to bed.
They were both astonished. Only the demands of work and of care for a distractingly adorable child persuaded them to get out of bed again.
After nearly a year of continuing and frequent mutual astonishment whenever they had the chance, Nick talked Natalie into marriage. A postcard from Afghanistan inscribed simply "Congratulations - J" arrived the day before the wedding. Nick saved it for years.
Marcus flew in for the wedding, with gifts for the happy couple and his son. He visited religiously one month in every six, from every corner of the globe, with stories and souvenirs from his travels for Malcolm. When Nick and Natalie bought a house on their marriage, one room was set aside as "Marcus' room", for him to use whenever he was in town. The rest of the time they used it to store Malcolm's growing collection of baroque string instruments. Malcolm grew up to be an internationally known baroque musician, specializing in viola da gamba.
In later years Nick resorted to minor cosmetic alterations. His hair grew white, and age spots appeared on his hands, not always in the same place. LaCroix mocked his efforts on his infrequent visits, but put no obstacles in his way, for Natalie had stuck firmly to her refusal to look for a cure for her husband.
In all her long and happy life with Nicholas, Natalie never once opened her old notebooks or mentioned the subject of a cure. Nick was disappointed, but respected her choice. It was the only thing that marred his happiness with her. But he had learned long ago, from Jacob, that he could not control the future. He could do the right thing in the present, and let the result be what it would. When he was meant to find a cure, he would. In the meantime, he had a family to love, and work to do. He could hardly ask for more. Somehow, he knew, it would all work out as it was meant to.
When Malcolm was thirty-five, he brought home a warm and delightful woman and announced his intention to marry her. At dinner that evening she talked about her work. She was a medical researcher, who specialized in questions of longevity. As she spoke Nat caught Nick's eye and they clasped hands under the table. "She's the one you were meant to meet, Nick," Nat said later as they cleared the dishes away. "I'm sure she can help you. After all these years. She's why you're here."
Nick kissed her temple, beside her greying hair. "Hardly. I think she can help me, yes. But Nat, you're why I'm here."