Her father, Police Commissioner Vetter, had always been a difficult man to buy for: if he wanted something, he simply bought it, without regard to impending birthdays or holidays.

The one time Tracy, as an adult, had hinted at a gift for herself - just before returning for her sophmore year at university - she had been disappointed by the result. His reason for giving her a check instead of a present had been a practical one: "I'm sure there's something you must need," he had told her.

And when she mentioned the item she had previously hinted at - a porcelain, carousel horse, which had reminded her of the ones her father had taken her to ride when she had been small - he had remained oblivious.

"You didn't look like you had any intention of buying it, so I didn't think you really wanted it."

Duh. Thanks, Dad.

Tracy again looked over the cards. There were so many. The sentimental ones--the devoted daughter ones--just did not feel right to her at the moment. To now give him a "Daddy, thank you for always being there and making all the right decisions for me" card just seemed like a setback in her struggle to gain some long-overdue independence from him. And so she found herself in front of the humour section; a card chosen from this bunch would definitely put him off, but she enjoyed reading them and she needed a lift right now.

The first card she selected reminded her of Natalie, and she wished the two of them would become better friends. They'd had some really nice, friendly moments, though those had been few and far between. Usually it was just pleasant business and a wall whenever Tracy tried to get beyond that. It could not have anything to do with Nick's former partner; she had never even met the man. Then, for a moment, she wondered if Natalie could possibly be jealous; she knew Nat was close to Nick--they constantly seemed off-again/not-quite-on-again--and she did vehemently defend Nick on the odd occasions Tracy had mentioned some insecurity about her partner. But Nick was ten years older than herself and she was the rookie of the pair. Of course, she was not blind; she knew that Nick was attractive--just the sort of guy her father wished she would bring home--but he was not her type: those silk shirts, that car, the blond hair, and the emotional distance he seemed to keep from everyone--herself, the Captain, even Natalie. Ridiculous. Natalie had to know that there was nothing between her and Nick, that they were just partners. They never even talked about non-work stuff, nor did they ever spend any time together when they were off-duty. So, why the distance? She wondered if she would ever know.

Tracy looked down at the card she held, the one she thought perfect for the M.E.: it was a typical office with the workers in their suits, asleep in front of their computers. The caption read, "Want to see the dead come to life? Just hang around the office at quitting time!"

Well, Tracy thought it was funny.

She put the card back and picked up another--this one for Nick: underneath a drawing of a Johann Sebastian Bach bust was the word "Front"--the card was sealed shut, but on the reverse was another drawing of the bust, this time of the back of his head, with the word "Bach." She laughed, picturing Nick in front ofa toy piano, like Schroeder from the Peanuts cartoons, and wondered if her partner would get the pun.

As Tracy returned the card to the rack, her hand brushed across a beautifully-lettered white card. The front said, "I miss your angelic smile, your sensuous lips, your sparkling eyes...." An image of Vachon popped into her mind, causing her to smile, andthen cry.

She missed him. She wished that he had not had to leave.... But ... he had not left, had he?

As the tears came, so did the previously-hidden memories: Vachon stark mad, out of his mind, helpless, confused, pleading for her to end the pain, and then the bloody stake in her hand which he had impaled himself upon. His once-forgotten last request now echoed through her head: "Wish me luck?"

And just before sunrise, as she was packing away the last of Vachon's precious-few possessions, a stranger appeared. But he was not a stranger; he was Lucien LaCroix, the owner of the Raven where that unsolved, decapitation murder had taken place. Vachon had said this man was not a vampire, but the moment Tracy saw LaCroix's tall, dark figure in the doorway, she suddenly knew differently. Vachon had lied to her ... again.

The vampire's voice was soft and almost sad as he spoke, but, even so, it sent chills deep into the marrow of her bones. "Detective Vetter, is it not? Perhaps you will allow me to help you with your burden?"

"I ... I buried him ... beside his friend," she stammered through her tears--too tired and upset to know why she had explained that, or even if her words had been coherent, to this imposing man.

"A thoughtful gesture--though, obviously an arduous and painful one. You will let me help you, now, won't you, Detective? I'm sure it's what he would have wanted."

As the vampire's eyes began to glow with a yellow fire, Tracy's fears slipped away and she nodded her assent. His fingers were like ice on the warm skin of her temple but she did not flinch at the contact, having grown accustomed to Vachon's cool touch over the previous months. As the pain ebbed from her, Tracy wondered why she had submitted to this man Vachon, in his own way, had sought to protect her from; had it been LaCroix's patrician manner, his worldly self-confidence, or only her subconscious desire to be released from the heartache by which she was trying so hard not to be overwhelmed? Whatever the reason, he had succeeded where Vachon had failed by making her forget. She wondered, in the last moments before she lost sight of the painful memories, if Vachon had ever really wanted her to forget; had he simply not tried hard enough the night they first met? Was she betraying him now by giving in to LaCroix?

As she pondered these newly-remembered thoughts, wiping the tears from her damp cheeks with the back of her free hand, she opened the card to finish reading the caption: "... your willingness to have sex at the drop of a hat." And then she laughed out loud at the irony. If only it had been that simple. If only she had been able to breach that 500-year generation gap, to have told him how she felt, how she still felt, how much she missed him, and how much she wished that he could have been exactly who he was, except alive--really alive.

A gentle tap on her shoulder pulled Tracy back from her reverie. It was her partner-in-crime-solving, Detective Nick Knight, staring at her with a rather bemused look on his face, undoubtedly wondering why she was crying and  laughing.

"Tracy? Did you forget...."

And, with those simple words, she did.

Again.

"Wh-What?" She blinked thoughtlessly at her partner, as if seeing him for the first time.

"I've been waiting for you in the car," Nick explained. "You said you were just going to be a few minutes. Did you find a card for your father?"

"Ah, sorry. Um, no, I didn't. But ... that's okay," she said shaking her head slightly. "I'll come back later." Tracy absently placed the pretty white card back in the rack, and then headed for the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned to look at her partner and found him reading the front of the card she had just replaced.

"Nick?"

"Yeah. Coming," he replied, tapping the card once against his fingertips before returning it to its place among the others. A sad smile touched his features as he followed his young partner out of the shop.