Urs stopped outside the door, wiping the tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand. She'd tried to stop crying, even succeeding a few times. Then the Raven's subdued atmosphere would strike her full force, forcing another sob, another round of intense grief. While most of the community turned to each other, LaCroix had withdrawn into his own quarters. He'd even allowed CERK to play reruns of his radio programs for the past week. The few times he'd ventured into the public part of his club to take care of this or that necessary business, he'd been sullen, speaking to no one except to give orders. He grieved, Urs knew, in his own way, unable to share this with anyone else. She knocked softly. "LaCroix? It's Urs. Nick asked me to give you something." Urs wondered if LaCroix heard. The answering silence began to unnerve her. Normally she'd repeat herself. With LaCroix, however, she hesitated. He might not respond kindly to repetition. He'd never been anything but gentle with her, in bed or as an employer, though she'd witnessed his temper directed at others. She'd known such hostility as a mortal, experiences she did not like to remember. The seconds turned into more than a minute before the door opened. "Please, enter, my dear." Smiling meekly, Urs obeyed. LaCroix held a nearly empty wine goblet. Several bottles sat in various spots around the main room of his apartment. That and the fact he almost had color to his skin showed he'd been drinking the blood wine heavily, perhaps gorging. "Are you still feeling a bit...." "No, not at all," LaCroix interjected. He put his glass on the mantle. "I'm merely enjoying the current uneventfulness, so to speak. Now that a sweeter vintage has arrived, another sort of sustenance is more in order." "Nick wanted me to bring you this," Urs said quickly. She held out a small jewelry box. "He dropped by during his lunch break to help Vachon and me sort through Screed's stuff." "Why, may I ask?" "Screed actually had some decent clothes and blankets and things Nick said the homeless shelters might want," Urs explained. "Of course," LaCroix said, not hiding his irritation. "Anyway, we'd found this, and Nick said it might be yours. I tried to get him to bring it himself. You know how he is." "All too well, I fear." Instead of taking the box, LaCroix reached out and stroked a finger beneath Urs' right eye. "You've been crying, my dear." "Wot's this?" "Oh, I'm sorry," Urs mumbled. "I didn't think there'd be anyone in the barn." Screed laughed. "Oh, h'ain't no prob-blemish, dearie. Ol' Screed wuz jest nibblin' h'on some grain-fattened squeakers." When he held up a limp rat reeking of blood, Urs stifled a scream and involuntarily jumped back. She'd been told Screed fed on rats, but had never seen him in action. Screed's smile turned to a concerned, soft expression. He tossed the rat carcass into a corner pile of soiled hay. "Me turn fer apple-ciders. Dinna mean wot ta shock ya wit ya bein' a new-born type o' filly." Squinting, he stepped forward. "Them tears? Oi dinna make ya cry, did Oi? Wots Bour-in-me-bonnet been sayin' bout me? Oi may be a carouche type, but Oi...." "No," Urs said, shaking her head. She smiled. She found it hard not to smile at Screed's eager please like me' fidgeting. "Well, Bourbon did call you a barbarian, but I thought he might just be jealous." "Jealous?" Screed said proudly, grinning widely. "O' me gent-til-o-tea nature, loikly. Uhr, then why the tears?" Urs sighed, shrugging. "This is not what I wanted. Not at all. I guess .. I guess I'm unhappy tonight, that's all." "Would a tumble h'in the aystack da ya some good, then?" "What?!?" "Dinna think so," Screed said with no small amount of disappointment in his voice. "Vachonetti tol' me no touchin' ya less ya offered-h'up the invite. But there's gotta be sum'thin' round ere wot ta put some perk h'in yar steppin' igh though ya dunna wots yar missing." The carouche's expression went from an exaggerated moment of deep thought to one of comical realization. "Yar-eek-ka-me-gal!" he exclaimed, rushing over to a duffel bag half hidden in the hay. "I wuz gonna save this for ya, but now seems h'az though ya need a nice-cup- o'-tea." He held out a wooden cigar box. Urs took it though it wasn't exactly clean. The inside was lined with worn red velvet from which protruded the mechanism to a music box. "Ol' Screed will finish h'it h'up fer ya soon h'az we get settled long enuff h'in one place. Slap some colored paint h'on h'it." "No," Urs said softly. "Ya don't loik h'it?" "Oh, no, that's not what I meant at all," Urs said quickly. "I ... love it, Screed! No man has ever given me a gift out of friendship before. Out of lust, yes, but not friendship. I don't want you to paint it. It is lovely as it is!" She wound the mechanism. Brahm's Lullaby began to play. When Screed leaned over to peer into the box, Urs kissed him gently on the forehead. "Thank you." "I can't blame you," LaCroix said, studying Urs' tear on his finger. "We've suffered great losses." Urs bit her lip. If only the others could sense the pain in his voice. They'd see a different side of LaCroix, something beside the overbearing former Roman general who rubbed his age and experience into the younger vampires. She held out the box again. This time LaCroix took it. "My sword pin!" he said with surprise. "I'd assumed it'd fallen from my clothing during my move into The Raven. The carouche had it?" "He must have really liked it," Urs commented. "Except for his rings, he normally pawned any jewelry he found." "Found?" LaCroix growled softly. "He no doubt took it. I mistakenly hired him to assist in moving my belongings. It never entered my mind anyone would dare steal from me." Urs' mouth dropped opened. "Screed is ... was no saint, but ... but...." "He was a lower form of our kind. He was a carouche," LaCroix spat, saying the last word as though profane. "He is partially to blame...." "He is NOT to blame in any way!" Urs screamed. She realized her mistake immediately. No one talked back to LaCroix except Nick. Even then, there were rumors of the resulting violence. Still, the harm had already been done. Instead of being afraid, Urs found fulfillment in her anger. "I don't pretend to understand medically what happened, I just know Screed did nothing wrong! What if this AIDs cure had been tried on humans and one of us fed on that person and the plague set loose that way? It could have happened! Screed was doing what we all do whether we like it or not - he was feeding! How was he ... how was he to know it'd kill him? How was he to know? Can you and all your centuries of existence, all your wisdom, tell me that? Remember, Nick nearly died! Even you were sick and that you can't deny no matter how old and powerful you are!" "Oh, God," Urs muttered, staring down at the sleeping Screed. Vachon took her into his arms, pulling her close. He smelled of stale blood and of Screed. "I know," he said softly. Without looking back at the carouche, Urs whispered, "He would be more comfortable if he were in clean clothes and a dry blanket." "He's got one clean shirt. Well, stained but clean. Everything else needs to be washed," Vachon explained. "I've seen sick but...." "Let me stay with him a while," Urs offered. "You have time to do laundry before morning." "I can't leave him," Vachon protested. "What if...." "Then I'll be here for him, Javier. Please, you need a break," she said. "Besides, I would like time with him too. A few private moments. I'll clean him up." Vachon squeezed her again before letting go. "You're right. I think I'll just run over to Tracy's. I can start the laundry, then come back." As soon as Vachon left, Urs drew a fresh bucket of water from Screed's tap into the building's plumbing. He moaned slightly when she removed his shirt, not opening his eyes until she wiped his face with a damp cloth. "Ey, there, babycakes," he said with the familiar wide grin, though his voice was hoarse and weak. "Sssshhhhh," Urs said soothingly. "Vachon will be back in a little while." Screed managed a week raspberry. "Rather 'ave a feisty wench h'at me side roight now, ay wood. Kin't think o' a better last view o' this exit-h'it wot ta 'ave.... Don't put them baby bluez h'on me wit' tha' kind o' teary-eyez 'appenin'. Ol' Screed's seen more than most, naht az much h'az udders. Ain't a bad sort o' un-loif. Do me a favor, though, wot say?" "Of course," Urs managed to say. "Sing me a lully-beddy-bye 'til the V-Man gets back. Ya sing loik the h'angels must," he said. "H'alwayz treated me loik the gent Oi h'am. Oi'd loik ta ear somethin' calmin', know wot Oi mean." Urs nodded. She had doubts she could manage, but the words came out clear and in perfect, soothing, pitch. "Lullaby and goodnight with roses bedight, with down over spread is baby's wee bed. Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumbers be blest; Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumbers be blest...." "Old and powerful?" LaCroix repeated back to Urs. For a moment, she was sure he'd lash out both verbally and physically. Instead, he smiled. "My dear, you seem to have more fight in you than even I imagined. Rather like my Janette. You do have a feisty side." "Screed used to tell me that," she said softly, almost inaudible, even for vampire ears. LaCroix snapped the lid of the jewelry box shut before setting it next to his wine glass. "Are you sure you do not want a glass? It is an excellent vintage, and I would enjoy the company." From the tone, Urs could tell the invitation was really an order. Looking into his eyes, she took a risk she'd never dared previously. "I don't think so. I'm really not in the mood." Chuckling softly, LaCroix retrieved a clean glass, filled it half way with blood wine, then held it out to her. "I meant merely to talk." "Talk? what about?" The laugh dissolved into a sigh. "Tell me about this Screed if you must. He must have truly been remarkable for a mere carouche." Urs accepted the glass, taking a small sip. "Screed was a remarkable man." |