"What an awful dream," Nick said to himself as he tried to shake off the disturbing images. "It almost felt real." If he closed his eyes he could still picture the plane crash Schanke and Cohen had been in, could still see Natalie lying on the floor of his loft, on the brink of death, with two bloody fang-marks on her neck. "What a horrible, horrible dream!" Nick made a mental note not to close his eyes again for awhile. But the feelings were so strong: such a sense of remorse, of loss, of regret, of repentance. In an effort to shake off the disturbing feelings, Nick shook his head briskly. He then made another mental note not to shake his head again for a long while, as the throbbing pain increased to a loud booming.

Nick put his hands over his ears. The booming was almost deafening. It continued. "This is the worst hang-over I have ever had — and that is saying something," Nick consoled himself.

Finally it dawned on Nick that the booming wasn't coming from inside his head; it was coming from inside the loft's elevator. There was someone at the door. Nick slowly got to his feet, struggled to keep from over-balancing, and then made his way to the door — clutching, for support, at every single piece of furniture he passed along the way.

Finally, Nick placed his hand on the handle of the elevator door and tried to slide it open. His head was still pounding both on the inside from the hang-over and on the outside from the continued knocking of the person inside the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. Calm your liver!" Nick concentrated and managed to slide the heavy door part way open.

Much to Nick's utter amazement, there stood his master, LaCroix. "But, you're dead. I ... I staked you. Look...." Nick pointed at the scorch marks that still remained on the steel elevator-door.

"Yes, yes, Nicholas. We have been over this before. 'I'm too old and powerful... blah blah blah.' Now. Are you packed? It's time to go."

"To go?" Nick stared blankly at LaCroix. He really had no clue what his master was talking about.

"Yes, Nicholas. We talked about this last night. We are leaving." LaCroix looked down at Nick to find the blank stare still present.

"Leaving?"

"Yes, Nicholas. Leaving." LaCroix's patience was growing thin. Would he were a less annoying son, the elder vampire thought to himself.

"I don't understand. I ... I can't go," Nick protested. "What about my job? What about Natalie?"

"Oh, Nicholas. I didn't hit you that hard with that golf club you call a shillelagh."

"You ... you hit me?" Nick looked truly disappointed that his best friend would have struck him.

"Yes, Nicholas. Right after you drained the good doctor."

Nick flashed back to the night before — of kissing Natalie's wrist, of biting into her sweet flesh, of all those lovely images that flooded through his mind of all the other beautiful women throughout history whom he had sipped from and drained. "Oh my god. I didn't?"

"Yes, you most certainly did."

"But ... where is she now? Is she dead?" The panic was clear in Nick's voice.

"Janette is dealing with the matter," was LaCroix's simple reply.

"Janette? What has she done with Natalie? Is Nat okay?"

"Janette is dealing with the matter," LaCroix repeated firmly.

Nick wondered if Janette would bring Natalie across just to spite him, or if she would allow Natalie to die ... just to spite him.

"Nicholas. We must go — now."

"We? Is Janette coming with us?" There was hope that he might still learn the fate of his dearest mortal love.

"Alas, no. She is essentially master-less since you brought her back across. She does as she pleases and that does not include traveling with us at the moment. I do so miss having her about. Always nice to have a daughter around, you know. Which reminds me. I have a surprise for you." LaCroix smiled as sweetly and sincerely as ever a man can having had two-thousand years to perfect the expression of each and every emotion possible.

"For me? What is it?" Nick quickly forgot about Natalie at the prospect of a surprise. He loved surprises. Especially nice ones — which this must be, judging by the look on LaCroix's face, Nick mused to himself.

LaCroix pushed the sliding door fully open to reveal the other occupant of the elevator. "A new sister."

"Tracy?"

She sauntered over to Nick — "Hey, bro!" — and slugged him hard in the arm.

"Hey, what did ya do that for?" Nick rubbed his left arm where he could already feel a swollen lump developing. She hits pretty hard for a girl.

"That's for not telling me you were a vampire."

"Owww" — Nick rubbed the second bruise Tracy had just made on his pale flesh — "What's that for?"

"For wanting to make me forget I loved Vachon." Tracy then hauled off and slugged him one in the stomach.

"Ouuuffff!" Nick made little gasping noises for a minute before finally catching his breath and saying, "Stop that!"

"And that is for leaving me to die in that hospital bed!"

"LaCroix! Make her stop," Nick whined.

"Now, now, children. Nicholas, it's time for you to get your things."

"Where are we going anyway?" the two new siblings piped up in unison.

"I've heard of a town with the most delicious sounding name. I thought that we might stay there for awhile while Tracy tries to get a feel for her new abilities."

"Ooo, what's it called?" the pair sounded off again.

"Black Harbour."