DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters
are the property of Twentieth Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Paramount Studios, Inc
and Viacom. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright
(c) 2004 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
The Lost Years: Bystanders
by Djinn
The cemetery loomed ahead of
her. Christine sighed, stuck her hand in
her jacket pocket, feeling for the stakes she'd put there earlier. Their smooth surface and sharp points were comfortably
reassuring. As she stepped off the
sidewalk and through the gates of the cemetery, she slid one of the stakes out
and flipped it absently in her hand. She
was not in the mood to patrol tonight, had a lot of studying to do. The final for the accelerated anatomy class was
next week, and then her last term would begin.
She smiled, already
anticipating being done with classes and moving on to her residency
program. Starfleet Medical had allowed
her to test out of a number of subjects and had waived the internship requirement
based on her previous degrees and practical experience on the
She smiled. She knew what Len thought she should do. He'd lectured her the other day on the
coldness of research compared to the good she could do in a hospital or on a
starship. She'd told him of Jim's idea
that she think about the
"Evening, ma'am,"
another fleeter said as he passed her, hurrying down the cemetery path.
A civilian in the line of
fire--just what she needed. She hastily
slid the stake up her sleeve and called down the path. "Ensign?"
He turned. She thought he looked a bit old to be an
ensign.
He smiled. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
She was still getting used to
her promotion to lieutenant. Being a
level higher on the chain was a bit of a shock.
The man walked back down the
path to her. His walk was a bit uncertain;
the smile he shot her was awkward. He
met her eyes, then immediately looked away.
She thought he looked like the kind of guy who was immediately
overlooked, who could disappear into a crowd and no one would remember him ever
being there. He looked at her again, his
smile wavering. She expected him to
blush at any moment.
"New around here?"
"Oh, yes,
ma'am." He smiled, pointed to a
small insignia on his uniform.
"OCS."
Officer Candidate School. That explained it. He was coming up the same way Janice
had. Jumping out of the enlisted ranks
through extreme competence, landing smack dab into a group of younger, and in
his case more aggressive, cadets. She
almost felt sorry for him, except she knew he had to be awfully good at
something to get into the program in the first place.
She pointed back down the
path. "Look Ensign"--she
glanced at his nametag--"Thompson.
It's a bad idea to cut through the cemetery. Disrespectful of the dead." She'd tell him it was dangerous too, but who
would believe her? Earth was a safe
place, if you didn't know how busy the undead were. Especially this late at night.
"You're cutting through
it."
"No, no, I'm not. I'm going to visit my grandmother's
grave." She hoped he wouldn't ask
why she was doing that at midnight.
He looked immediately
chagrined. "Oh, jeez. I'm sorry.
I didn't mean...you know, to--"
"It's okay,
Thompson. Just don't cut through the
cemeteries." Those were words to
live by and, if he wanted to survive, he'd stay out of them at night from here
on out.
She waited until he'd made it
to the gate before she turned and headed into the main part of the
cemetery. Her patrol took her past the
crypt that had reminded Spike of where he'd lived in Sunnydale. She got a pang as she thought of him, hoped
he was doing okay. She hadn't heard from
him, but then she hadn't expected to.
She made a sweep of the far
side of the cemetery. She didn't expect
to find anything tonight, but most vampires were creatures of limited
imagination when it came to picking a feeding ground. And there seemed to be so many fledglings
around. She'd expected their number to
drop when Anacost's followers had been destroyed, but
if anything, there seemed to more of them.
Whoever was making the
vampires wasn't coming back for them, because she was killing them off almost
as quickly as they were rising. She
sighed. It was a mystery now, but she'd
figure it out eventually. If it was a
master vampire, Tolvar would hear about it through his network, or Emma would find
something out from Silver. If it were
just a hungry garden-variety vampire, eventually he or she would make a
mistake, and Christine would be there to make him or her very, very sorry.
She just hated to think about
so many people dying in the meantime. It
was easy to lose sight of the fact that the newly-risen vampires that she
staked and beheaded with abandon had been human once. Not that it mattered. Once they were turned, they were hers to put
down. She could be sorry for them, but
she couldn't afford to feel any remorse.
They were vampires, she was the slayer.
Everyone knew the story. Everyone
undead anyway.
"No! Get away from me--" The last word turned into a scream then was
abruptly cut off.
Christine took off in the
direction of the crypt. Maybe this was
one human she could save. She put on a
burst of speed, rounded the corner and saw two vampires threatening a man on
the ground. A man in a Starfleet
uniform.
"Thompson?" she
yelled, irritated beyond belief. "I
told you not to cut through the damn cemetery."
"Well, these guys seemed
to be following you. And they didn't
look nice. But now they really don't
look nice."
Thompson tried to scoot away
from them crab-fashion, but one of the vampires reached down and pulled him
up.
"You can't leave,"
the vampire said. "You're
dinner."
Christine coughed
dramatically until the vampires looked over at her. She held up her stake. "Hate to spoil your dining plans, but
I'm not going to let you hurt him."
"You're too old to be a
slayer, lady." The vampire dropped
Thompson. "Don't you know better
than to play with sharp objects?"
"Gosh, you're
right. Here, you take it." She threw the stake at him. It landed hard, dead center, and bored in
deep but not as deep as Emma could get them to go. Christine made a sound of disappointment as
the vampire exploded into dust.
"Oh, jeez!" Thompson backed away fast from the settling
dust cloud.
The other vampire began to
advance on Christine.
"Just a hint: no
comments about my age." She met him
halfway, kicked him hard.
His eyes widened. He obviously hadn't expected her to be as
strong as she was. Who the hell was
making these vampires and then leaving them so ignorant? There shouldn't be a vampire in San Francisco
that didn't know that the local slayer was way past puberty. And they weren't completely in the dark, the
other vampire had known about slayers. She
supposed that they might be talking among themselves, sharing information, no
matter how limited. And information was
bound to get garbled with the group constantly changing as someone kept
increasing the ranks and she kept cutting them back.
It was almost indecently easy
to get past the vampire's defenses and stake him. She pulled the stake back out, was moving
over to Thompson before the vampire exploded into dust.
"Are you hurt?"
He looked at her in stunned
amazement. "How'd you do
that?"
She ignored his question,
moved closer to check his neck for bite wounds.
He pulled away at her touch as if embarrassed.
She reached for him again but
he scuttled away.
"I just want to see if
you're hurt." She'd saved plenty of
people who hadn't known they'd been bitten until they passed out from lack of
blood.
"I'm okay. Really."
He ran his hand around his neck, pulled it out. No blood.
The rest of his uniform was grass stained but not torn. He appeared to be scared silly but unharmed.
She stuck the stake back into
her pocket, took his arm and hauled him up, then walked him back to the main
gates. He was shaky at first, but by the
time she dumped him onto the sidewalk he seemed to have recovered.
"What were they?"
"Nothing."
He shot her a look. "They were vampires, weren't they? My uncle used to tell me stories about them. The undead, right?"
She rolled her eyes.
"No, really. That's what they were. And that was a stake you used on them. What about silver bullets, do you have silver
bullets? And a really old gun. Oh wait, silver was for werewolves,
right. It was fire and beheadings
and..." He saw the look on her face
and gulped. "I won't say
anything."
She'd played this game a few
times. "No, you won't. Because if you do, Starfleet will have you
into the psychologist's office faster than you can say 'straightjacket.' Talk about this to anyone and kiss any chance
for a commission goodbye."
His face fell. "But they were vampires, right?"
She pointed down the
street. "Go home. Don't come into this cemetery again. That's an order. You got it?" Her tone was far from friendly.
He nodded quickly, hurried
away.
She stood and watched him
till he was out of sight, then turned back and continued her patrol.
-----------------------------
Uhura dug into her salad,
waiting for the new captain of the Enterprise to get to the point. He'd been making small talk for the past few
minutes, but she suspected he had more on his mind than discovering how she was
finding shore duty.
She studied him as they
talked. He seemed steady. That was important. He had an open and willing smile, but he
didn't use it all the time. She liked
that too. He didn't have Kirk's
unqualified aura of command, but Decker felt solid, as if he was already
looking out for her and the rest of his new crew.
"The external refits
will be done in four months. Then we can
get up there and start on the internal ones.
I'm excited about this opportunity.
We're all going to get the chance to know this ship from the bare
floorboards up."
He smiled, his enthusiasm was
infectious, and Uhura couldn't resist it.
She grinned too.
He leaned back, seemed to be
studying her now. She smiled easily at
him and went back to her salad.
"You served on the
Enterprise a long time, didn't you, Commander?
Knew most of her crew?"
Her promotion to lieutenant
commander was still fresh enough for her to fill a thrill every time someone
addressed her by her new rank. "I'd
say so, sir."
"What do you know of
Lieutenant Christine Chapel?"
"What do you want to
know?" She'd learned caution in the
time since she'd first found out Christine was the slayer. She no longer took anything at face value
when someone showed an interest in her friend.
"Admiral Kirk is
recommending her as an addition to the sickbay roster. She's awfully new as a doctor, in my
opinion."
Uhura relaxed slightly. "She's new but she's not green. She's done more as head nurse on the
Enterprise than most doctors ever do on a smaller ship. She has a PhD in biochemistry and had all but
finished her M.D. when she shipped out on the Enterprise. Believe me, you won't regret having her on
your team." Uhura smiled. "But you should know, sir, that she's a
good friend of mine. I'm not exactly objective."
He smiled. "That's okay. I value personal loyalty. And from what I've seen of you, you don't let
your feelings get in the way of your judgment." He dipped a vegetable into a bowl of hot
sauce. "We can add her to the
roster, if she wants to be added."
He grinned. "I probably
should find that out, shouldn't I?"
Uhura nodded. "That's the preferred way."
He laughed. "We shouldn't just make her decisions
for her?"
Uhura shook her head quickly,
then worried that she was giving the wrong impression. "She has other offers already, sir. I know the immunology department head is
interested in her for a research position."
Decker looked more interested. "I like that. Means she's well thought of. Can't ask for a better rec."
"No, sir."
"I know you were being
courted by several other commanders.
Why'd you decide to stay on the Enterprise?"
She smiled. "It is the flagship."
"You don't strike me as
a person impressed by that sort of thing."
She thought about her
decision. "I think it's what you
said, sir. The opportunity to get in on
the ground level. I've actually had a
hand in the design of the communications section and systems. I'm getting the chance to sit down with the
engineers and go over my pet peeves and give them my wish list. It's exciting when they come back and ask for
further details or want my opinion on what they've got. They're listening to me. I'm making a difference."
"Hell of a
feeling," he said with a nod.
"I feel the same way. In
fact, I've been walking on air since they announced my selection."
She liked that he wasn't
afraid to show his excitement. Some new
captains would think they should be blase about such an honor.
"Are you
nervous?" It was a personal
question, and if he didn't have that disarming openness she doubted that she'd
have been brave enough to ask him.
"Me? Nervous?" He laughed.
"As hell, commander. As
hell."
She laughed. "Don't be. You'll be great."
He seemed genuinely pleased
that she thought so. "But are you a
good judge of character?"
She thought of the strong
group of friends she had, how she could count on all of them. "The best, sir." She smiled again.
"Well, we'll find out,
won't we?" He pretended to
shudder. "The first time I
completely screw up." He laughed
easily, openly.
She laughed too. Starfleet had made a great choice. She thought she would enjoy working for this
man.
-----------------------------
"So where do you want to
go to dinner?" Christine asked as they cut through the cemetery.
"I was thinking
Venice," Kirk said with a laugh, waiting for the playful punch he knew
she'd give him.
She didn't disappoint
him. "Cut that out."
"Okay, then maybe
Rio?"
She shook her head sternly.
"Well, we've already
done New Orleans, Chris."
"I think New Orleans did
us." She smiled.
Before he could answer, the
air in front of him began to shimmer, then whirl. Chris pulled him back a few paces as the dark
slayer he hadn't seen since that terrible night of Gotterdammerung stepped
out. Kirk thought she looked about ten
years older.
"Slayer," she said
to Christine, who only rolled her eyes.
"LaVelle." Christine gestured to Kirk. "You remember Admiral Kirk."
The dark slayer tensed when
she saw Kirk. "I thought you'd
recovered."
He frowned. "From Anacost? I did."
LaVelle turned to
Christine. "Marion said you were
involved with a vampire."
"I was. It didn't work
out."
"You slayed
him?"
"No, he moved away."
Kirk couldn't help
himself. He chuckled. Christine smiled but the other slayer glared
at him. LaVelle walked over to him,
leaned in close. She sniffed twice, then
pulled away as if disgusted.
"I can still smell Anacost's blood in you."
Christine was suddenly in
front of him, pushing LaVelle away from him.
"Knock it off," she said to the other slayer.
"What is it with you and
vampires?"
"He's not a
vampire."
"Well, he almost
was."
Kirk stepped between them
before the conversation degenerated further.
"Ladies. Aren't we all on
the same side?"
LaVelle stepped back with a
sour look for both of them.
"Sometimes, I wonder."
"Are you here for a
reason," Christine asked, "or did you just miss criticizing my choice
in men?"
Kirk shot Chris a look as he
moved back to her side. Antagonizing the
other slayer wasn't the answer, although he couldn't help but feel pleased at
how she had phrased the question.
"Marion said there was
evil coming. And that I needed to find
you."
"Marion's gotten vaguer
since Gotterdammerung."
LaVelle glared.
"Oh, fine. Silver's been asking about Kirsu."
LaVelle's lip twitched at the name of the head watcher. "Why?"
"I don't know. But he had a team on Vega Hydra. Trying to figure out what really
happened. He asked me where all the
slayers came from."
"Did you tell him about
Kirsu?"
"Yeah. And gave him directions. He'll be by any day now." Christine rolled her eyes. "No, I didn't tell him anything."
"I don't like
this."
"Me either. But I thought you should know he's been
nosing around. Keep your head down right
now."
LaVelle frowned. It seemed to be a fairly constant expression
with her. She caught Kirk studying her
and the frown grew deeper. She took a
step toward him and Chris moved quicker, blocking her again.
"What is your problem
with him?"
"He bothers me."
Kirk decided he wasn't fond
of being discussed in the third person.
"Why?"
LaVelle shook her head. "You stink of magic."
Kirk smiled tightly. "I thought you said I stank of vampire
blood. Can't do both, can I?"
LaVelle conceded with a
shrug, but he noticed a small smile beginning.
"You realize," she said, "that I could crush you like a
bug?"
He gave her the mocking smile
he loved to combine with a huge bluff.
"Depends on how much of that stinky magic I really have, now
doesn't it?"
Christine sighed. "This is getting us nowhere. If I find anything else out, I'll let you
know."
"You do that." LaVelle did not take her eyes off Kirk.
He was getting tired of their
little stare down, but he refused to blink.
"Oh, for god's
sake." Christine pushed them both hard,
causing them to stagger back. And blink. "There, you both lose."
LaVelle touched a ring on her
left hand. Behind her, the portal reformed. "Don't bring him with you, if you come
to Kirsu." She jumped into the
portal and it closed behind her.
Kirk smiled at
Christine. "I love getting together
with your old friends."
She shook her head. "You two are like oil and water."
"Oh and you and she are
like water and water?" He shook his
head. "She has a chip on her
shoulder a parsec wide."
Christine nodded
thoughtfully. "Yes, she does. But it's not her fault. She didn't get to hide like I did. She's been fighting her whole life. And now she's in charge. You of all people should know how wearing
that can be."
He looked away. She was right. On the other hand, LaVelle had appeared to
enjoy their little pissing contest as much as he had. He grinned.
"There's no redeeming
you." She took his hand, pulling
him out of cemetery.
"Who wants to be
redeemed?" He grinned at her. "Now, what do you think? Dinner in Venice or Rio?"
"Down the street at the
diner." Her tone was very stern.
"You"--he tapped
her on the nose--"are no fun."
"And that is just the
way we want to keep it."
He felt her hand tighten on
his, as if to take any sting out of he words.
He nodded, as if conceding defeat.
"All right, the diner down the street it is."
As they walked, he held up
his free hand, sniffed it.
"What are you
doing?"
"Seeing if I really
stink of magic."
Chris laughed. "If she thinks it's bad now, she should
have been in New Orleans with us."
Her grin was pure evil.
He laughed, tucking her hand
in under his arm and enjoying the feeling of her walking close to him. "Two slayers? I don't think so. I'm adventurous, but I'm not suicidal."
----------------------------
Christine turned around, sure
that someone was watching her. The area
between her shoulder blades kept itching and she reached up again to try to scratch
the spot.
"What is wrong with you,
Christine?" Drake looked over at
her as they made another pass through the cemetery.
"Nothing." Christine tried to roll out the tension she
felt in her neck. "I thought you
said something was going to rise?"
"Something
is." Drake did not sound
pleased. "My source said it would
be near the crypt."
"We've been through this
section twice. There aren't any new
graves, Emma."
"Well, then, my source
must have been wrong."
From the sound of Drake's
voice, Christine figured that the last thing she'd want to be was that source.
They walked through the
deserted cemetery another time, ending up near the front gates.
"I don't like
this." Drake set down her bag, scanned
the area around them silently.
Christine waited. She felt the itch again. "Someone's out there," she
whispered.
"I think so too. But who?"
Something moved in the
bushes.
Christine pulled out her
stake. "I don't know. Let's go find out." She charged off into the bushes, heard Drake
yell at her to stop, then her watcher followed her in.
There was nothing in the
bushes.
"Dammit,
Christine. That was utter
foolishness." Drake bent down. "Hello.
What's this?" She pushed
back through the bushes into the light.
It was a pendant on a chain. There was a symbol etched into the silver. Drake seemed to blanch as she looked at it.
"Emma?"
Her watcher stuck the chain
in her pocket. "I'll have to
research this. I think I've seen it
before. May be a cult emblem. Would explain all the new
vampires." She looked around
nervously.
"What's wrong,
Emma?"
"I'm sure it's nothing,
Christine." Drake gathered up her
things. "You'll finish up
here?" She walked away quickly.
Christine pursed her lips
thoughtfully. Something was wrong. She somehow knew that her watcher had just
lied to her.
Was it to protect
Christine? Or to protect the
Watchers? Christine sighed. Just when she was ready to trust Emma...
"Hi."
Christine whirled, nearly
staking Ensign Thompson as he bounded up to her.
His eyes widened and he
jumped back. "Oh. Right.
I wasn't supposed to come in here.
But I saw you and figured it would be okay if you were here." He smiled nervously.
She sighed loudly. "Look, Ensign--"
"--Bob. My name is Bob."
"Bob." She realized she still had her stake out and
shoved it into her pocket. "Why are
you here?"
She sat down on a nearby
bench, scanning the area. The itch
between her shoulder blades had stopped.
She relaxed.
"I owe you a big thank
you. I've been waiting every night since
you saved my life for a chance to say it properly. I knew if I waited long enough, I'd find you
again." He grinned, it was almost
an engaging expression. "Just sit
right there, okay? Don't move."
"Thompson,
wait..."
But he was already running
down the path, his ungainly gait carrying him to the right as he ran. Christine shook her head. She waited.
And waited.
And waited. She was just about to leave when he came
around the corner, carrying two cups carefully and very slowly. When he got to her, he handed her one of the
cups.
She looked down. "Hot chocolate?"
He nodded. "It's the best for a cold night. Warm you right up."
"It's not that cold,
Ensign." She saw his look. "I mean Bob."
"Seems cold to
me." He shrugged. "Oh well, hot chocolate is good any
time." He took a sip, then
grimaced. "Hot," he said. He took a smaller sip. When he looked up at her, he had a dollop of
frothy chocolate on his nose.
"You've
got..." She gestured at his nose.
"What?" He reached up, laughed nervously as he wiped
his nose off with the back of his hand.
"Oh, thanks."
Christine blew on the
steaming liquid. It did smell good. How long had it been since she'd had hot
chocolate? She took a tentative
sip.
"You like it?"
She nodded. "Now we're even."
He shook his head. "Oh no.
This in no way makes up for my life and you saving it." He moved jerkily and some of the hot liquid
spilled out on his uniform. "Oh,
jeez. I forgot to get napkins." He fished into his jacket pocket, pulled out
some kind of rag, began to mop at his uniform.
Christine watched him,
thinking that she should be at home studying.
Or killing something.
He looked up, grinned
nervously, then looked away. "I'm
sorry."
She frowned. "For what?"
He shrugged. "You probably have a lot of other places
you could be right now. More interesting
people you could be with."
She thought of Jim, decided
not to tell poor Bob that he was right.
"It's okay. I'm out here
anyway." She smiled gently at
him.
He nodded, didn't meet her
eyes.
"Don't you have anyone
else you could be with?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"Not getting along with
the classmates?"
He made a disparaging
sound. "They're all so young. And they talk so fast." He sighed.
"I don't make friends all that easy, I guess."
She didn't know what to say,
so she settled for nodding.
Thompson turned to her. "Those were vampires that attacked me,
right?"
She sighed.
"Okay, you can't tell
me. I understand. But what you did. I mean, wap, you
threw your stake and BAM"--his yell made Christine jump--"that
vampire just exploded. It was so
amazing."
"Bob, I don't think the
people in the next city heard you."
He looked aghast. "Oh,
oh jeez. I'm sorry. Because it's a secret, isn't it? That there are vampires and things?"
Christine took a long swallow
of her chocolate. The man was wearing
her out.
"And then when you
kicked that guy," Thompson continued in a quieter voice. "And then he tried to slug you, but you
ducked and slammed that stake into his chest." He looked thoughtful. "Do they always go up in that big dust
explosion?"
She finished her drink and
handed the cup to him. "Bob, thank
you. But I have to go."
He got up, spilling more
chocolate on himself. "Okay. Maybe I'll see you around."
Christine repressed a
shudder. "You can't wait for me
here. It's dangerous. Don't you understand that?"
"I don't feel afraid
when I'm with you." He smiled, and
this time the expression was rather sweet.
Christine analyzed
Thompson. He could have been
attractive. His dark hair was thick, his
eyes a clear blue. But he so rarely made
sustained eye contact that he probably never gave anyone a chance to admire the
color. He stood up and she realized he
was taller than she was, but his terrible posture made it impossible to
tell. He began to walk off, waving
awkwardly as he did. "Okay, see you
around."
She nodded, lips pressed
tightly together so that she wouldn't laugh at him when he bore too far right
and nearly tripped over a headstone.
She looked past him and saw
Kirk watching her with a grin from the front gate. As Thompson passed him, he shot Kirk a
startled look.
"Ensign," Kirk
said.
"Admiral, sir. It's an honor." Thompson looked like he was going to press a
handshake on Kirk but then realized he still held the cups.
"Carry on, ensign,"
Kirk said as he walked past Thompson and up the path to her. "You have an admirer?" he asked
quietly.
"God, I hope not."
He laughed at the expression
on her face. "Now, now. I thought a woman could never have too many
suitors?"
"He's not my
suitor. He's just lonely. And incredibly gawky. I bet he's never been with a woman."
"Let's not have you be
his first."
She looked at him
startled. He was smiling, but there was
something darker in his eyes.
"Jealous?"
His eyes narrowed. "Not at all. You're a free agent." He didn't smile this time.
Their eyes locked and she
found herself unable to look away.
"You're just looking out for Spock's interests, right?"
His friend's name broke the
spell. "Of course." Kirk sighed and looked away.
She frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"Don't laugh. I was on my way home and I thought you were
in danger. I ended up here."
"You thought I was in
danger?" She laughed, remembering Thompson's
clumsiness. "Maybe from being
burned by hot chocolate, but other than that..."
He shrugged. "Probably some other slayer who needed
me then."
She laughed. "Must be." She touched his hand. "I like that you were worried about
me."
"I like worrying about
you." He looked away, sighed. "I didn't really have any right to barge
in, though. If you do find someone, it
won't be any of my business."
"It's not like I'm
looking."
"I know. But that's
usually when someone comes along."
He touched her cheek, then pulled his hand back. "I better go."
"Yeah. Me too."
"Studying to do?"
he asked.
"Always."
"Not for much longer
though." He grinned. "We have to celebrate."
"Definitely." She took his hand, comforted by the warmth of
his touch, the slight pressure as he squeezed gently.
"Good night."
She nodded, watched him walk
away. Then she shook her head, forcing
her thoughts back to the anatomy final she had the next morning.
------------------------------
Kirk carried his tray through
the cafeteria intent on getting back to his office. He nodded to an Academy classmate he hadn't
seen in years when suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck went into high
alert. As the other man walked off, Kirk
looked around casually, trying to determine what was bothering him. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
He was almost out the door
when a shiver ran down his spine and he stopped walking, turning to scan the
far side of the room.
Lori sat grinning in the
corner booth. She gestured to the seat
across from her.
He shook his head slightly.
She stood up and walked over
to him. "Jim. I need to talk to you. Please?"
"Lori, now isn't the
time."
Her eyes narrowed, and he
realized that there was nothing coy in her expression. She gestured to the booth, her eyes boring
into his as if trying to send him some secret message.
"Please?" She pulled him gently, pasting a smile on her
face as she turned.
As soon as he began to follow
her, she dropped his hand. He waited for
her to sit down, then slid into the seat across from her. "Well?"
"Hold on." She stared at him, her eyes darkening from
honey brown to deep brown to black. She
slowly moved her hand, as if pulling shut a sliding door. Murmuring something that sounded like Latin,
she closed her eyes and shuddered slightly, then took a deep breath.
He felt as if he was in a
negative pressure room, his ears tried to adjust as the air became suddenly heavy
and close. "What did you do?"
She opened her eyes. They were brown again. "Gave us a safe place to talk."
"Why?"
"Because he won't expect
me to do it here."
"He? He who?"
She seemed to struggle, then
spit out one word. "Nogura."
"What about
Nogura."
She was clutching at her
throat. "Don't say his name again
while we're in here." She breathed
deeply, almost hyperventilating.
"Lori?" He started to get up but she waved him back
down.
Her breathing finally
slowed. And she closed her eyes as if in
relief. "I have to talk around it,
Jim."
"Why? Is someone listening in?" He looked around the room.
Her hand on his arm brought
his attention back to her.
"No. And that's the
problem. I can say anything I want as
long as it's within earshot of him. And
he hears very well over very long distances.
I just hope he's not listening right now, or this much silence from us is
bound to get his attention. We'll have
to hurry."
She hunched her shoulders,
moaned slightly as she rolled her head around.
"Feels so good. Real
privacy." She let her shoulders drop. "Can't stay long though." She leaned forward. "I need to talk to the Slayer. Can you arrange it?"
"I suppose so. What's going on, Lori?"
"I thought you were just
another of the mundanes, one more admiral for me to
seduce for him. Until I saw you with
her. And I realized that you're
different."
He nodded. "I help her sometimes."
Lori smirked. "Yes, I'm sure you do. Slayers have the most amazing energy, don't
they?"
He wasn't sure what she
meant, was almost certain he didn't want to know.
Lori ran her finger over his
arm, never touching the skin but following the curve of his elbow. He shuddered, saw her eyes dilate, then she
shivered too.
"You're brimming with energy,
too. Do you even know how to use
it?" She seemed to be sniffing the
air, as if she was some kind of animal catching a scent on the wind. "Wasted on you, all these
years." She threw her head
back. "He has no idea what you
are. We have to keep it that way."
"Nog...that
person you mentioned."
She nodded. "Can you set up a meeting with the Slayer? It has to look accidental."
"I think so." He frowned.
"What do I tell her this is about?"
Lori smiled. "Everything that matters."
"That's a bit
vague."
"Slayer heaven. And my hell."
He frowned. Slayer heaven? Kirsu?
Lori suddenly stiffened, "Careful,"
she warned him. "He's
coming." She leaned in, touched his
hand. "Try to look uncomfortable. He doesn't expect me to succeed with
you. But he knows I'll keep
trying." She whispered something Kirk
couldn't catch, brought her hand down in a sharp cutting motion.
Kirk felt his ears pop hard,
as if the pressure had changed much too fast.
He resisted the urge to shake his head.
She wanted him to look uncomfortable?
Between the pain in his ears and the way his skin crawled where she was
touching his hand, he didn't have to try very hard.
He saw Nogura walk into the
cafeteria. The admiral stopped at
several tables before he got to theirs.
Kirk pulled his hand away
abruptly and stood up, giving Lori a tight smile. "I've got to be getting back. It was nice seeing you again." He made sure his tone did not agree with his
words.
Lori looked irritated. Kirk had a hard time determining if that
emotion was real or feigned, but he thought it was for Nogura's
benefit.
"Sir." He nodded pleasantly to his boss.
"See you at staff
meeting, Jim."
"Yes, sir." He hurried away, not slowing until he hit his
corridor. As he got to his office, he
heard the door across the hall open up.
"Jim?" Richter leaned out. "Can you come in here?"
Kirk saw the older admiral
seem to lose his balance and hurried to his side. "Carl?"
"Don't feel so good,
Jim." Richter staggered to his
chair, sat down hard. "I have to
talk to someone about this. I can't talk
to Admiral Blowhard, he's already told me to quit asking questions and just
follow my orders."
"What's going on?"
Richter handed him a
padd. "We're supposed to be on a
diplomatic mission. But my science team
keeps making these damn sweeps everywhere we go. And Jim, we go everywhere, our diplomatic
access makes sure of that."
"Spying?"
Richter seemed to be
struggling for breath. "I don't
think so. It's like we're looking inside
subspace itself for something."
"For what?"
"I don't know. The science department, they're new, most of
them. I think they're Nogura's men. I
heard one of them say they'd find a portal sooner or later." Richter rubbed his head. "I just don't know what he meant. A portal to what? Or where?" He rubbed his head harder. "Damned headache."
"Let's get you checked
out at Medical, Carl. You don't look
good."
Richter seemed to be getting
paler by the minute. He shook his head,
pushed the padd at Kirk. "Keep that
safe, first. I put some other things on
it. Things I took from the science
files. They looked odd, not sure why,
they just don't seem right to me. You
look at them. Tell me if I'm crazy?"
"Carl, later, we've got
to get you to--"
"--No, now, Jim. Get it out of here. Put it somewhere they won't find it."
Kirk decided arguing would do
his friend more harm than the short wait while he put the padd in his
office. He was about to lock it in his
desk, when he saw the carrying tube holding his sword hanging on the coat rack.
He walked over, dropped the padd into the tube.
He sealed the container. Then, feeling slightly foolish but also
driven to do it, he held his hands over the sealed end of the tube, closed his
eyes, concentrated, and whispered, "Protect."
He felt a small buzz seem to
go through his hands and into the tube.
He let go of it, hurried across the hall to get Richter.
"Come on, let's go, my
friend." He hefted the other
admiral out of the chair, supported him as they walked down the hall.
Richter sighed. "I don't trust him, Jim," he
whispered, as he seemed to put all his concentration into walking. Or her.
Not one bit."
"Walk, don't waste your
breath," Kirk said. But he knew
exactly who his friend meant. And he
agreed completely.
The trip to Medical seemed
very long. As Kirk helped Richter
through the door, he called to the attendant on duty, "My friend needs
help."
The attendant settled Richter
in a wheelchair and said to Kirk, "That's fine, sir. I'll take it from here." When Kirk didn't move, he said, "No
reason for you to stay, sir." He
smiled; it seemed a kind, open smile.
Kirk left. As he walked back to his office, he felt the
hairs on his neck once again standing up.
"Lori?" he called as he walked into his office.
She was standing at his
window. He had the idea that she'd just
moved to that spot. Glancing at his desk,
he saw that several things were not where he'd left them. He did not look over at the coat rack, or at
the carrying tube he somehow knew she had overlooked.
"Something wrong with
Carl? Captain Sorrel saw you helping him
down the corridor."
"He's not feeling
well. I took him to Medical."
"Oh." She walked away, no expression in her
face. It was as if their little talk at
lunch had never happened.
He sat down at his desk,
ignored her as the door opened and she stepped out.
"See you at staff
meeting."
"Sure," he said
distractedly, as he reached for a padd.
He didn't breathe until the door
closed behind her. He leaned back in his
chair and stared at the carrying tube, which seemed to shimmer slightly as he
looked at it.
What the hell was going on
around here?
---------------------------
"So, how are classes
going?" Drake asked as she swung a quarterstaff at Christine's knees.
Christine jumped over the
staff easily, bringing her own around to connect hard with her watcher's
shoulder, knocking the other woman backwards a few steps before she recovered.
"Classes are fine,"
she answered.
Drake frowned. "And patrol the past few nights? You haven't given me much of a
report." She blocked Christine's
staff as it hit her low, then brought her weapon up and to the other side as
Christine came at her hard, alternating hits and gaining the advantage.
"Patrol was
fine." Christine kept her face
expressionless as she pressed the attack.
Drake finally pushed
Christine off her, then backed up a few steps and set her staff upright,
leaning on it slightly. Christine eased
off, relaxing her hold on the staff but not setting it down. She waited.
"What's wrong with
you?"
Christine shrugged. "I'm fine."
"Right." Drake turned and put the quarterstaff away. "If I've done something to irritate you,
you better tell me what it is, Christine.
Because I'm in the dark here."
Christine laughed, knew the
sound wasn't a happy one. "Like I'm
in the dark about that pendant you found."
Drake's look became
guarded. "It was a cult symbol,
just as I thought. Very old."
Christine tossed her staff at
Drake hard, turned on her heel. "If
you're going to lie to me, Emma, I'm not going to stick around." She grabbed up her pack and headed for the
door.
"Christine, wait."
She didn't slow down.
"This doesn't concern
you, I swear it."
Christine turned around. "Doesn't concern me? Whoever left that there was in the cemetery,
probably that night. How does that not
concern me?"
Drake's face tightened up
again, and Christine realized she was going to lie.
"Emma, just don't. If you have to make something up, just don't
say anything." She turned again.
"It's David."
Christine stopped. "What?"
"The watcher I told you
about? The one who was turned?"
Christine turned and stared
at Drake. "I remember who David
is. He's here?"
"So it would
appear." Drake sat down on the
bench, rubbed her eyes hard. "He
used to leave a necklace like that behind when he killed one of us. It was his calling card."
"You weren't going to
tell me?" Christine stalked over to
her. "My god, Emma, you left me
alone out there with him. A vampire that
gutted you like a fish is running around this city, and you didn't even bother
to tell me he might be in the neighborhood much less hiding in the damn bushes?"
Drake closed her eyes. "You were never in any danger."
Christine laughed, then saw
the look her watcher turned on her.
Frightened. Emma was
frightened. Christine dropped her pack,
sat down on the bench.
"Tell me, Emma. Trust me."
"He would never have
hurt you, Christine."
"But you said he was
hunting us?"
"Watchers. I meant he hunts watchers. He's never hurt a slayer. In fact, if the stories are true, he's
protects them."
Christine frowned. "Why?" The idea of a vampire--one without a soul or
a handy chip to make him behave--protecting a slayer seemed ludicrous to her.
"He blames us. For what happened to Laura. He was obsessed with that, pathological in
his grief. Sure that he should have done
more to keep her safe. Just as sure that
we should have let her go, ignored that she was called, because she was so
unsuited. He was turned in that frame of
mind and he didn't lose his hatred and guilt. He wants to kill us all, end the
watchers' hold on slayers." She
shook her head. "They say a demon
takes over, but I don't believe it. When
I saw David after he'd been turned, that was no demon facing me. It was David."
Christine thought of
Drusilla. Spike had said she'd been mad
when Angelus turned her and she'd stayed mad.
She'd certainly been insane when Christine had met up with her. It was increasingly unclear to Christine if
there was any demon at all in the vampires, or just the blackness that lived in
the hearts and minds of most people, the blackness that was normally pushed
down, kept away.
"So he's out there? Looking for you?"
Drake's expression
tightened. "He's obviously found
me. Now he's playing with me. He'll take his time before he forces a
confrontation."
"He's done this
before?"
Emma nodded. "Oh, yes. It's what made him such a good assassin. He can wait forever. And he could be anywhere. He can fade into a crowd like a cat."
Christine nodded. She'd seen vampires with that kind of
preternatural grace. "What does he
look like?"
Drake laughed. "Like the boy next door, like anyone,
everyone. He's a master of disguise,
Christine. He won't be found until he's
ready." Drake let out a long
shuddering breath.
"He's got you
spooked. You're already acting like he's
won."
Drake ran her hand down her
body, following the route of the scar she'd shown Christine. She seemed unaware that she was doing it.
"Emma?"
Her watcher seemed to shake
herself out of the fog she was in.
"I'm all right, Christine.
It's just a shock. We hurt him so
badly; I thought we'd bought more time."
She took a deep breath.
"Come upstairs and I'll make tea." Her voice was hearty, but there was no
invitation in her eyes, just a kind of dark brooding.
Christine shook her
head. "I have studying to
do." She wished there was something
she could do for the other woman.
"Unless you want me to stay here with you."
"Oh, no, dear. He can't come in here, after all. And I won't be inviting him in."
"Good."
Drake pulled herself up, smiled
gamely. "You run along, dear."
Christine felt as if she was
six years old. Or would have if Emma's
tone had been at all convincing.
"I won't let him hurt
you."
Drake turned to look at
her. "You'll stay out of this,
Christine. Do you hear me?" Her tone was harsher than Christine expected.
"But--"
"--No! You stay out.
His quarrel isn't with you."
"He's a vampire. And I slay vampires. Remember?"
Drake took her hand, held it
tightly, almost too tightly.
"No. This is my
problem. Mine and Kevin's and the rest
of the watcher's. You keep clear of
this." She practically pushed
Christine up the stairs and out the door.
"Now, go study."
When Christine hesitated, she
said heatedly. "Christine, just
once, do what I say." Then she
closed the door, rather hard.
Christine sighed, looked
around the street. It was dark; David
could be out there, watching the house.
She wouldn't let him hurt
Emma. But how to stop him? She mused on ways to smoke him out of hiding
as she walked.
As she got closer to the
cemetery, she found herself more skittish than normal. Any stray sound caused her to turn quickly,
sure that she would find the vampire.
She passed the cemetery gates
and looked in, then stopped as she saw someone with black hair sitting on the
bench. The man was asking to be
killed.
Christine stomped down the
path.
Thompson turned and gave her
his slightly tremulous smile. "Hi. I was hoping you'd show up."
"What are you doing
here?"
He smiled again. "Waiting for you?"
She sighed loudly. "How many times do I have to tell you
that it's dangerous out here?"
He reached down his jacket
sleeve, pulled a stake out halfway, then pushed it back in. "I'm ready for trouble." He moved his arm and the stake fell out,
clattering on the path.
"Oh, yeah. You're ready all right."
"You don't look so
good." He studied her. "Why don't you sit down?"
She didn't want to sit. She wanted to walk, or even run. She felt a pent up energy that was screaming
to get out. Wharton was out in the night
somewhere. She didn't have time to
waste.
"I don't even know your
name."
"And that's how I'd like
to keep it."
"Oh. Okay."
His smiled faded, and everything about him seemed to sink inward. "Sorry I bothered you." He stood, picked up the stake and walked
away, into the depths of the cemetery.
She sighed again. Just her luck he'd get killed by Wharton and
she'd have that on her conscience the rest of her life. "Bob.
I'm sorry." She ran after
him. "Come back."
He turned around. "You know, I don't need you to be mean
to me. I get that every day in class and
at lunch and at drill." He wrapped
his arms around his body. "I hate
it here."
She gently steered him back
toward the gates. "I know it's
hard. But you'll get used to it."
"You did?"
She shook her head. "I'm medical. Didn't have to go through the Academy."
"You're
lucky." He studied her. "So, you're a doctor?"
She smiled. "I was a nurse. But I'll be a doctor very soon."
His smile was openly
admiring. "So you save people all
the time. By day, as a healer, and by
night, in the cemetery with those pointy wooden things I'm not supposed to talk
about." He frowned. "That doesn't give you much time for
life, does it? For play?"
She shook her head. "I'm a little old for play. And I know where I want to be. It's hard work going to school, but I'll get
there."
"You must have studying
to do. Why do you come out here at
night? Are you moonlighting?"
She laughed.
"They pay you well,
right? For putting your life on the
line?"
She laughed even harder. "It's a hobby." She stopped when they reached the gates. "Bob, I want you to listen to me carefully,
all right? There is a very
dangerous"--she leaned in--"vampire in the city." At his look, she nodded solemnly. "Yes, you were right."
"Are you going to fight
him?"
She didn't answer.
"I don't want you to get
hurt, uh..." he trailed off, clearly searching for what to call her.
"My name's
Christine."
He smiled gratefully. "That's a pretty name."
"Thanks. Now, go home.
All right?" She shook her
head. "And get yourself a cross to
go with that stake. It's a lot easier to
use."
He nodded. "I knew I forgot something." He gave her a long intense look. "I don't want anything to happen to
you."
"Go home, Bob."
He nodded. Turned and walked away.
She waited until he was a
safe distance from the cemetery before heading back in for a quick sweep. Wharton had been here once, he might show up
again. And this time she'd be ready.
--------------------
Kirk eyed the seedy lodging
with distaste. The small motel--rat trap
was more like it--was situated about three blocks from the main part of
town. Judging from the couples that were
coming in and going out, sex was a popular pastime here in one of San Francisco's
seediest parts.
He'd never known San
Francisco had such seedy parts until he'd started to hang around with
Chris. He might have been happier not
knowing, living his life like the rest of the residents who went blithely about
their business, sure that they lived in a civilized--and therefore safe--world.
He took a deep breath. This had to be the place. Tolvar had been quite clear about the
directions. He'd said that this was
where Kirk could find the best possible person to teach him about the power he
had inside him. Power he had no idea how
to use, even though he was trying to--trying to wing it. Tolvar had guessed that Kirk had been
experimenting. But he hadn't
specifically mentioned Kirk's attempt to protect the carrying tube the other
day, and Kirk didn't fill him in. The
less people who knew about what was inside the tube, the better. Better for him, but more importantly better
for Carl.
His friend still hadn't been
released. In fact, the infirmary had
transferred him to another part of Starfleet Medical. Kirk had gone to see him in the private room
that Nogura had insisted he have. Lori
had been there when he'd arrived. She'd
looked up from where she was sitting with a padd, the bulky chair pulled up
close to Carl's bed. She smiled, got up
to leave them alone, and Kirk had the irrational thought that she was there
more in a jailor capacity than as devoted colleague.
"Lori," he said,
his nod tight.
"Jim. I'll be right outside." She brushed against him.
A wave of revulsion ran over
him. He tried to hide it, nodded
cordially when all he wanted to do was knock her away from him.
"Jim?" Richter's voice was broken.
Kirk turned, ignoring Lori as
he walked over to his friend. "I'm
here, Carl," he said, as he took Richter's hand in his. He schooled his expression into something
normal, didn't want Carl to see how shocked he was at the way his friend had
wasted away in the few days since he'd last seen him.
He turned to Lori, but she
was gone. He eyed her chair, decided he
didn't want to sit in it, had no rational reason to distrust it, but everything
in him told him to keep away from it.
"Jim, did
you--" Richter was overcome with a
fit of coughing.
"Shhh. Lie still." Kirk leaned in. "It's safe, Carl. I've kept it safe." He'd kept it safe but he kept forgetting to
look at it. He might have overdone that
protection spell--he seemed to forget about the case the minute he walked into
his office.
Richter seemed to relax. "Good.
So tired, Jim."
"Sleep, old
friend." Kirk let go of his hand, silently
watched him as he fell asleep.
Kirk suddenly felt that he
needed to protect Richter. He'd done it
for the carrying case, why not his friend?
He put his hands on either side of Richter's face, closed his eyes and concentrated. Then he whispered, "Protect."
This time the energy going
out of his hand was much more focused.
It trailed out his fingers and got no farther, buzzing around him, like
mosquitoes trying to get through a forcefield. He closed his eyes and concentrated harder,
building the power into something more forceful than a bug. He pictured a photon torpedo and filled it with
his energy, with protection and safety and health. In his mind, he sealed it then visualized a
torpedo launch bay and a big red launch button.
He hit the button as he said, "Protect."
The power flew out of him,
hit whatever kind of barrier that was covering Carl and came ricocheting back
at him. The impact left Kirk gasping; he
pulled his hands away, put them to his own head, trying to shake the pain away.
The door opened and Lori came
barreling in. "Is everything all
right?"
He forced himself to ignore
the pain in his head, dropped his hands and met her gaze unflinchingly. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Her eyes narrowed; her
nostrils flared. A long silence
stretched between them.
"He's not getting
better," he finally said.
"No."
He wanted to ask her if that
was her fault. He might not know much
about magic, but he knew that Richter was surrounded with strong magic--and she
was the strongest magician he knew.
Granted, he didn't know any
others. He turned away from her to look
at Richter. His friend looked
worse. He touched his face, felt a
lingering trace of something. Something
dark and evil and twisted.
Was it possible to poison
someone with magic?
He had turned on his heel then
and left the room without another word to Lori, had headed straight to the piers,
searching for the Andorian who Chris seemed to trust, who her watcher had told
him would be able to suggest a teacher.
And Tolvar had sent him
here. To this disgusting no-tell
motel. To find someone named Weasel. Kirk opened the door.
A tall, thin man looked up
from a padd. His hair was shaved close
to his head, the color ranged from dark red to white. His arms were covered with tattoos of symbols
that Kirk didn't recognize--the colors were faded, as if the tattoos were very
old. He had stubble on his face, and his
clothes looked like it had been some months since they'd seen the inside of a
refresher. Kirk inhaled gingerly but the
room didn't smell sour or rank. In fact,
it smelled a lot like the Enterprise had:
slightly stuffy, but clean.
"You forget something,
Mac?" He put down the padd. "Like your better half?"
Kirk could see the man had
been working on a crossword puzzle.
"I'm looking for Weasel."
"Yeah? Well, imagine that." The man looked down at his padd. "What's a four letter word for oaf? Ends with 't'"
"Lout," Kirk
answered quickly.
"Yeah. That's it." The man bent back down to the puzzle. "So what do you want Weasel for?"
"That's between Weasel
and me."
The man looked up, his eyes
were deep gray, seemed to penetrate straight to Kirk's core. Then he looked away. "Lots of power you got there, Mac. Too bad you don't have a clue how to use
it."
"You're Weasel
then?" When the man just stared at
him, Kirk said, "Tolvar told me you could train me."
"You're a little old to
begin an apprenticeship." Weasel
smiled; it did nothing to make him look friendlier. "Tolvar, huh?"
Kirk nodded.
"Give me your
hand."
Kirk just stared at him.
"I don't want to go
steady, Mac. I need to read you."
Kirk held his hand out. He felt a shock as Weasel took it. Power, he realized. Weasel was filled with enormous power. He felt something inside him resisting the
power.
Weasel looked up at him in
surprise. "Shields down." At Kirk's look of confusion, he said,
"You're blocking me. You shouldn't
be able to do that; I'm one hell of a powerful sorcerer. This intrigues me, which is good for the odds
that I'll say yes to teaching you. Now,
drop your damn shields."
Kirk tried to relax, could
tell by Weasel's expression that he wasn't succeeding. He remembered how a meld felt, tried to
relinquish control the same way so that Weasel could read him.
"Good. Hold that thought." Weasel's eyes became unfocused for a moment,
then he dropped Kirk's hand.
"Impressive. And scary that
you're trying to use this with no training.
You're lucky you haven't hurt anyone."
"So you'll train
me?"
"I didn't say that,
Mac."
Kirk felt a rush of
frustration. The next time he saw
Tolvar, they were going to have words.
"I have a name."
"No. You don't.
You're Mac and I'm Weasel, and that will be safer for both of us." He handed Kirk a keycard. "I work nights. You, I imagine, work days. Early morning is the only time we can do this
if you're so dead set on learning?"
"I am."
Weasel shrugged. "I used the term 'dead set' on
purpose." He smiled mockingly. "Though maybe I should have said 'undead
set'? Fits you better."
Kirk didn't look away, felt
it was important that he not let Weasel see that his comment bothered him. "A little vampire blood never hurt
anyone. I'm still human."
"Yeah, you still
are." Weasel nodded slowly. "Okay then. It's your funeral, Mac. I get off at five am. Can you be here then?"
Kirk nodded. He'd begun to wake up at four every morning
anyway, his thoughts spinning so badly that he couldn't get back to sleep.
He gestured at the key
card. "Then I'll see you in room
thirty-eight."
"Thirty-eight,"
Kirk said, wondering if there was some magical significance to the number.
"But not tomorrow. I have something else to do. The next day, you can come the next
day."
Kirk nodded, wondering if the
man really had something to do or if it was just his way of keeping control.
"Now get out of
here. You're scaring off my
regulars." Weasel turned back to
his puzzle.
Kirk turned and hurried out
of the office. He headed back to his
part of town, back to the safe part. He
saw the officer's club and decided to go in, suddenly desperately in need of a
taste of his old, sane world.
-------------------------------
Christine saw Kirk in the
distance, walking a bit carefully as if he'd been in a fight. She hurried to catch up with him. "Jim?"
He turned and smiled
brightly. "Chris. I was just thinking about you."
She caught a whiff of scotch--single
malt no doubt. "And drinking
too. Aren't I the lucky girl?" She took his arm, steering him in the
direction of his apartment.
"I'm not drunk."
"Did I say you
were?" she said, trying to assess just how much he'd had to drink. His speech wasn't slurred and he wasn't
unsteady as much as held too tight. As
if he'd gone somewhere to relax with a few drinks and came out even more stressed. "What happened?"
"Why does something have
to have happened? Can't I just go out
and enjoy a drink?"
"Or five?" She checked to see if he understood that she
was teasing.
He did. "Four and a half." He grinned at her. "Actually only two. But I was well on my way to a good drunk until
I thought better of it."
She turned him into his building. The doorman nodded at them both, murmured
good evening, and hit the button to open the door for them.
Once they were in the
elevator, she said softly, "And again I ask. What happened?"
He sighed. "I signed up for sorcerer classes. Guy named Weasel. Real prince."
She laughed. "You're going to learn magic from
someone named Weasel?"
"You don't have room to criticize;
you slept with a guy named Spike."
"Well, there's a reason
he's called that."
"And I'm sure Mister
Weasel has his name for a very good reason." He frowned.
"He never asked me for payment."
She smiled as they walked
down the hall and into his apartment.
"Give him time." She moved
to his bar, picked up the scotch.
"Mind if I have some? It's
been a long night."
"Help
yourself." His voice was right
behind her. "You know you don't
have to ask."
She turned. He was standing very close. "Jim?"
He moved around her, poured
himself a glass of tonic water.
"Spike. And
Spock." He chuckled. "Funny that the names are so
alike."
"But the men are so
different. It was easy to keep them
straight."
From the look in his eyes,
she thought he was going to say something kind of dirty, but then all the life
seemed to go out of him and he turned away.
"Jim, what's
wrong?"
He shook his head, walked
over to the couch and sank down onto it.
She followed him, was going to sit across from him but he motioned to
the place next to him. When she
hesitated, he dropped his hand and looked away.
Smiling softly, she sat down in the place he'd indicated.
"Tell me?" She leaned up against him, knowing it was
unfair to use the connection he seemed to be craving to force the truth but
willing to do it. If only to get to the
bottom of whatever was wrong. "Is
it the Weasel thing? Because as names
go, it's not that bad. I mean he could
have been stinkball or spells-go-wrong."
He laughed, turning to look
at her and finally dropping his arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm in over my head, Chris."
"How so?" She took a sip of her scotch, then put the
glass on the table and let her head rest on his chest. Gods, she was tired. She'd been spending too much time in
cemeteries looking for Emma's boogeyman.
Too much time with nothing at all to show for it.
He put his drink down on the
side table and wrapped his other arm around her, rubbing her upper back gently,
the touch creating a sensation of total comfort. "Bad night, you said?"
"Yes, I did. Now, answer my question. How are you in over your head?"
"Something is going on
at Command. Something magical--black
magic, if there is such a thing."
"There's dark
magic. Never doubt that, Jim." She frowned.
"Why do you think it's magic being used at Command?"
"Remember I told you
that Carl was ill?"
She nodded.
"I saw him today. He looks like he's dying. Lori was with him. It was endearing until it seemed like she was
keeping him there somehow. She left me
alone with him and I tried to help him--magically, I mean, as much as I could
anyway--but ran up against something that wouldn't let me in. Something magical, with one hell of a
recoil." He rubbed at his
temples. "The doctors don't seem
willing to talk to me about him. Friends
don't rate as high as next of kin, I guess."
She frowned. "Do you want me to see what I can find
out?"
"Would you?" He let go of her and reached for his drink.
"I'll go tomorrow. After my final."
"That's right. Last one, Chris." He smiled, then his eyes
narrowed. "Why are you sitting here
trying to make me feel better? You have
studying to do, don't you?"
She nodded, then looked up at
him. He was watching her, a tender look
on his face.
"I like it here,"
she whispered.
He smiled. "And I like having you here. But I don't want to have to listen to how it
was my fault you didn't ace this exam."
He pushed her off the couch.
"Besides, I'll see you tomorrow night, right? Celebration dinner in Shanghai?"
She nodded. It was awfully nice that he had such cushy
transporter privileges.
"Go on," he
said. "I'll be fine."
"I'll see you
tomorrow." She turned and headed
for the door, turning around just before she got there to say, "If there is
something going on at Command. We'll
figure it out."
He nodded, took another drink
of his scotch. She could tell he wasn't
convinced.
"Jim, I mean it."
"Uh huh. And how close are you to finding that watcher
turned vampire?"
"You don't normally get
mean when you drink."
He motioned her out. "I'm sorry. Just go, go study." When she didn't move, he stood up and walked
over to her.
She stared up at him,
deliberately made her lower lip tremble as if she was going to cry.
"Chris?" he said in
a worried tone, then his face lightened.
"Faker. You are a great
actress." He touched her lips,
which were both trembling now from trying not to laugh. "Pretty lips," he said so softly
she barely made out the words.
He slid his finger across her
lower lip then pulled away slowly.
"Go." His eyes were
soft, calm.
She gave him a quick kiss on
the cheek and left before she could say anything else that would get her into
trouble.
----------------------
"How long will you be
gone?" Uhura sipped at her water as
she watched McCoy pack.
"A few weeks this time. Then I may sign on for longer tours." He held up one of his t-shirts. "How many of these do you think I
need?"
"They don't have
refreshers on this world you're going to?"
"We'll be lucky if they
have potable water." He shook his
head, his expression grim. "Four
decades of war, Nyota. Forty years of non-stop conflict. They finally made peace and when the dust
settled, they realized that there was nothing left of their
infrastructure. People sick and dying
and no hospital system left to support them, just a handful of doctors trying
to do their best with little in the way of medicine or supplies. They need our help. They need my help."
"Len, I applaud what
you're doing. I didn't mean to be
flip." She looked down. "It's just that I'm going to miss
you. I've gotten spoiled having you
within reach."
He walked over and kissed
her. "Just consider it practice for
when you're back on the Enterprise and I'm down here."
She smiled sadly. "I don't have to do this. It's not too late to ask for planet duty."
"Yes, you do have to do
this. The same way I have to take part
in this relief mission. When M'Benga told me they were in desperate need of volunteers
for the medical section, I jumped at the chance to make a difference
again."
She hugged him close. "You make a difference to me."
"Oh, darlin',
I know that. But you aren't here all the
time. A man can only sit daydreaming in
the sun for so long. Even if the locale
is as glorious as Savannah.
"You're pulling
away."
His hold on her tightened. "No, I'm not. I love you.
I plan to keep on loving you. You've
become a large part of my world. And
that's why I have to make sure that when you leave, I'm not stuck with a Nyota-sized hole in my life. I need to know that I'll be busy, not just
sitting here missing you."
She looked up at him, touched
at his words. "You're so
sweet."
He gave her a pleased
grin. "That was good, wasn't
it?"
She nodded.
"I do love you."
She kissed him. "I know you do." She let him go. "Finish up and I'll walk with you to the
transporter station."
She sat down on the window
seat, only partially paying attention to Len.
She had several meetings scheduled the next day with the engineers who
were refitting the Enterprise. She
couldn't wait to see the latest configuration of the comm station. It would be her design. Something she could look at every time she
sat at her station and know that she had a hand in making it work and work well.
She wondered when Decker
planned to approach Christine. Hoped he
wasn't going to take too much longer. Christine
was in demand other places, and Uhura wasn't sure which offer she would choose
at this point. "What do you think
Christine should do when she gets done with her residency?"
McCoy didn't hesitate. "Nothing better than being on a
ship. Lots of variety. You know you make a difference. And you never have to attend long, boring
meetings."
She laughed.
"Why? You think she is going to choose
research? Or accept a position at Starfleet
Medical?"
"I don't know. Decker is thinking about her for
sickbay."
"Well, tell the damn
fool not to take too long. Once
Christine's made her mind up, there's no changing it."
Uhura nodded, knew they were
both thinking about Spock.
"I wonder how he
is," McCoy said softy.
Emotionless, she wanted to
say. That was what Christine had said he
would become. But Uhura couldn't believe
the Spock she knew could leave behind all his emotions. She'd seen them come to the surface too many
times, knew he had a depth of feeling that most people didn't realize. To purge them, wouldn't he have to destroy
everything that made him special?
"Christine all right
about that?" McCoy closed up his
bag.
"She doesn't talk about
him much anymore."
"Why not? Spike coming around again?"
Uhura shook her head.
"Pity. I liked the kid."
"The kid is over 400
years old."
McCoy laughed. "I know.
Vampires...who can figure out that lifestyle?"
"She's hanging around
Jim a lot."
He turned to her as he swung
his bag over his shoulder. "Do you
mean...?"
"You are such an old
biddy, Len." She walked with him to
the door. "Would it be a bad thing
if it did mean that?"
"I'm not
sure." McCoy locked up his place
and waved at his neighbor as they set off down the street. "They've both been to some dark places
lately. That can bond people."
She waited.
"It can also make them
fall back into those places faster."
"She seems to be
happier. Not so dark." It was true, not just something she was
saying to mollify Len. Christine did
seem much happier lately. Uhura thought
it was as much due to Christine's new watcher and their therapy sessions as the
fun her friend seemed to be having with Kirk.
"But what about
Spock? I can't see Jim
poaching." He shook his head.
"Maybe you'd have a
better feeling for that if you'd talk to him instead of just talking about
him..." She saw his face and
stopped talking.
A moment later, she couldn't
stand it and tried again. "He was
your best friend, Len. He and
Spock. Spock is gone, out of reach. But Jim is still accessible, if you'd just
reach out."
"No sense in reaching
out if no one is reaching back."
She shot him an annoyed look
but he didn't waver. Knowing she was
fighting a losing battle, she changed the subject. "Call me while you're gone?"
He stopped just short of the
transporter station. "Of course,
I'm gonna call you.
You'll get sick of how often I call you."
She nodded, kissed him, it
was a sweet kiss. "I'll miss
you."
"And I'll miss you. Every single day." He pulled away, looked at the station. "I guess it's time."
She nodded and followed him
into the station, surprised at how bereft she felt at the idea of him leaving
for just a few weeks. How much worse was
it going to be when he was gone longer or when she shipped out for good?
--------------------------
"Will Decker came to see
me today." Christine busied herself
with her chopsticks, not wanting to see Kirk's face. Afraid to see his expression.
"He wants
you." His voice was glum, but
matter of fact, as if he'd never doubted that Decker would follow-up on his
recommendation.
She sneaked a glance at
him. His face was tight, nearly as
expressionless as Spock's on a bad day.
"Yes, he wants me for a position in sickbay."
"You should accept his
offer." He took a deep breath, then
dug into this food. He didn't look up at
her for a long time.
She sighed. Why couldn't she have waited to tell him
this? They were in Shanghai, for cripe's sake. She
had to tell him now?
"I'm sorry,
Chris." He put his hand down,
reached across the table.
She reached back, felt his
fingers clasp hers tightly. "I
could have found a better way to say that."
"And I could have found
a better way to hear it. It's good
news. Another thing to
celebrate." He lifted his beer. "To you.
To success and a new life."
She clinked her glass softly against
his.
He smiled, but the expression
didn't quite make it to his eyes. He
looked so sad, even as he tried to be happy for her. Tried to be supportive.
"I haven't decided yet
what I'm going to do."
He just nodded.
"I don't really even
know this Decker."
She could see that he wasn't
going to let her get out of it that easily.
"Will's a good man. I
recommended him for that posting."
"He told me that."
Kirk sighed.
"Jim, I'm sorry. I--"
"Chris. Please.
There's nothing for you to be sorry about. If you want to be on the Enterprise, then
accept. It will be great for your
career." He smiled ruefully. "When I told Decker about you months
ago, I had no idea what it would mean for me if he took you away." He looked away, then back at her. "You realize you're my closest friend
now?"
"I feel sorry for you
then." Her attempt at humor fell
flat. She squeezed his hand. Too hard.
Saw him wince. "Sorry."
They sat in an odd
silence. One that seemed to hover on the
edge of disaster...or of discovery.
"You're my closest
friend too." She saw his look and
tried again. "You and Uhura and
Emma." She made a face at the idea
of her watcher being her friend, but it was true. "But you and I have come the farthest,
don't you think? We never really had
much to do with each other, except as far as ship's business went. But now...now I think about you. All the time." It was a dangerous admission. Did he understand what she was saying?
He seemed to, his hand
tightened in hers. "I think about
you too." He took another sip of
beer, then pulled his hand away gently.
"I shouldn't though."
She waited for him to
continue but he didn't, just stared at her, his expression half wistful, half
resigned.
Then he seemed to shake off
whatever he was feeling. "I have my
first class with Weasel this morning at oh-dark-hundred."
"Are you a morning
person?"
"I seem to wake up early
these days. Can't get back to
sleep."
"That's stress,
Jim."
He laughed. "What have I got to be stressed
about? Cushy desk job, nice standard of
living. Women at my beck and call." He shot her a look at the last part. It was full of things unsaid.
Again the silence stretched
between them.
Desperate to break it, Christine
said, "I told Emma who you were going to be training with. She said not to sign anything in blood."
Again the joke fell
flat. Although Emma really had said
that.
"Sometimes, I wish I
didn't know what lurked under the bed."
He looked away. "Sometimes,
I wish it could all go back the way it was, that we were never called to Alpha Nu-M."
She nodded, felt a sting at
his words. Sometimes he must wish he'd
never met her, not as the slayer anyway.
"I'm sorry."
He nodded, put down his
chopsticks. "I'm not very
hungry."
"Me neither." She tried to swallow the last bite she'd
taken, found it had stuck in her throat.
She chased it down with beer.
"Jim, please don't shut down on me."
"I may have to,
Chris. This is hurting. And that's...unexpected." He looked away for a moment. "It shouldn't hurt. You're Spock's girl."
"I'm not his girl
anymore. And you know it. We both know it."
"I'm not sure he knows
it." He finished his beer in one
long draught. "You ready?"
She nodded miserably. Her celebration was ruined, and she had only
herself to blame. "I'm sorry."
"Quit saying that,
Chris."
She followed him out of the
restaurant, wondering if she had ruined more than just her little party.
------------------------
Waking in pitch blackness,
Kirk turned to look at the chrono. Four
o'clock. Of course. At least this time, he had somewhere to be in
an hour. He pushed himself out of bed, making
some coffee and eating breakfast before heading for the shower.
The hot water felt good, and
he tried to lose himself in its soothing sensation. Tried not to think about how he had ruined
Chris's celebration dinner by sulking.
He should have been more supportive.
He should have hidden his own disappointment.
He shouldn't have been
thinking about pulling her into his arms and kissing her until she promised not
to go...not to leave him.
He closed his eyes and let
the water run over his head, washing away the shampoo but not doing anything
for the morose thoughts that plagued him.
He wanted her. He couldn't have her. Maybe her leaving was the best thing? Maybe in the long run, it would hurt less?
He got dressed quickly,
heading out the door. The sun wasn't up,
wouldn't be up for some time, and he touched the stake he'd jammed into his
jacket pocket, the stake he now carried with him everywhere he could.
He hadn't been lying to Chris
when he'd said that sometimes he wished he'd never found about this seamy
underbelly of life. He'd been happier
not knowing.
Although that was probably unfair. He'd been happier on the Enterprise--it was
unfair to blame Chris and the underworld she'd brought to him for the pain he
felt at losing his ship. That was just
the normal progression of a Starfleet career.
She and her demons and vampires hadn't had anything to do with that.
But it would be easier to
blame her, than to accept that he had brought himself to this dismal state of
affairs. Easier to say his life had
become hell, not that he'd chosen it for himself.
He turned off the main drag,
heading for the motel. It wasn't a long
walk, but it was a dangerous one. He saw
several men eying him from an alley, knew somehow that they were vampires. One of them started to walk toward him and he
drew his stake. The other vampire pulled
his buddy back.
"Magic," Kirk
thought he heard him whisper.
The two vampires faded into
the shadows.
Kirk jammed the stake back
into his pocket as he walked a little faster, adrenaline already flowing. He'd been looking forward to a fight. Needed it.
He pulled out his key
card. Thirty-eight. The number of his destiny. He walked past the entrance to the room,
opened it and was met with a surge of energy as he tried to walk over the
threshold.
Weasel came up behind
him. "It's called a Caverimics shield. Go ahead and try to break through it."
Kirk pushed at the energy,
and it surged back at him in equal measure.
He touched it lightly, and it flitted back at him. "I take it I don't want to punch
it?"
"Not unless you're into
pain."
Kirk nodded. "How do you get past it?"
"Consider that an extra
credit problem, Mac." Weasel
muttered a few words and the buzz of energy faded. "Easy for me, since I created it. It's supposed to be impermeable to the
average person. But you aren't the
average person."
"So in time, I'll be
able to get past it?"
"If you're any good, you
will be." Weasel motioned him into
the room. "If you're not any good,
I won't be training you." He closed
the door, turned on the light.
"This part, Mac, it's not training; it's testing. To see if you're worthy of my time."
"Worthy of a guy named
Weasel?"
"You think it's a stupid
name? One that doesn't command
respect? Well, good." He moved past the bed, opened the closet and
said a few words in what Kirk thought was Greek. The closet disappeared, was replaced by a set
of stairs leading underground.
"Come into my
parlor," Kirk muttered as he followed Weasel down.
"You have any idea what
it's like to be a master sorcerer, Mac?
Every young buck with an ounce of magic wants to take you on. You go through life with a name like
"The Great Xalliostro" and you're sure to
be challenged--most often to the death.
It gets old."
"Old facing death?"
Weasel snapped his fingers,
and torches flared down the stairs and along the corridor that led off from
them. "Old getting rid of the
bodies. I'm a very good sorcerer, my
friend. I don't lose."
He opened a door with another
set of murmured words. Torches were
already burning in the large, sparsely furnished room. "Welcome to my workroom."
Kirk looked at the herbs and
potions carefully lined up on the worktable, at the old-fashioned books that
lined the wall--and the more modern terminal at a small desk, padds surrounding
it. He saw a large wand with a huge
sparkling blue stone. It looked like the
transmuter that Sylvia and Korob
had used to make their illusions come to life.
Had there been any magic behind their parlor tricks? Or only technology amplifying simple will? Sylvia had told Kirk that he was
different. Had she meant because of the
magic inside him?
"Pick it up if you
want. Just don't break it."
"It's your source of
power?"
"No, it's just
pretty. That's a real sapphire in
it. You have any idea what it costs to
facet one that big?"
"No, I don't. But I'm sure you'll tell me." Kirk picked it up.
Weasel lit a long rod of
incense and the essence of patchouli and some deeper, more heady scent began to
fill the room. "The wand is a way
to focus power, but it's not the source of my power. That comes from in here." He tapped his head, then moved his hand down
to lay on his chest. "And in
here."
"I don't hold with
mumbo-jumbo." It seemed a stupid
thing to say but Kirk didn't try to take it back.
"Hey, neither do I. Who needs to make things all complicated? If you ask me, the ritual is just there to
make it look harder to outsiders. Or to
give the insiders something to share. But
you don't need it." He took the
wand from Kirk. "Hold your hands
out."
Kirk did as he said.
Weasel suddenly began
incanting in a strange language, his voice going up and down in a series of
tones that seemed designed to appear random when they were anything but. He made a low bow in four directions, then
held his hands up high, as if drawing down energy before snapping the wand at Kirk. An apple appeared in Kirk's hand. Weasel set the wand down on the table. "Pretty impressive, wasn't that? Lots more than if I'd just done
this--" He snapped his fingers and
said, "Apple," and an apple appeared in Kirk's other hand.
"More impressive,
yes. But..."
"But?"
"But a waste of
energy."
Weasel smiled. "Right.
First test passed. No
disappointment at loss of mumbo-jumbo."
He pretended to check something off a list. "Now let's see what you've got, shall
we?"
He led Kirk to the side of
the room. "Sit down." He began to rummage through a box next to the
door, pulled something out and tossed it to Kirk.
Kirk caught it. It seemed to be a plain rubber ball.
"Hmmm."
"Hmmm?" Kirk
said. "Is that a good hmmm or a bad
one?"
"Just hmmm. It's a plain ball. You'd be surprised how many people try to act
as if they feel something from it though."
Kirk tossed the ball to him,
and Weasel put it back in the box. Then
he turned away, seemed to be doing something but with his back to Kirk, the
result was impossible to see. Then he
turned and tossed another ball at Kirk.
This one glowed the way Alma had when she was on the verge of anger.
Kirk tried to catch it, felt
it make contact with his hands, then it exploded into a shower of sparks that
fell harmlessly against him, not burning him.
"Well, fire likes
you. Not surprising, I guess. I did some checking. Tolvar said you were involved with a fire
demon?"
Kirk nodded tightly.
"Don't like to talk
about her, eh? Fine by me." Weasel held his hands out, said, "Let's
try water," as a ball of water seemed to form in his hands. He tossed it to Kirk.
The ball broke up into a
thousand drops, all of them hitting Kirk's hands and beading off, leaving him
dry.
"That's damned
odd." Weasel walked over, checked
Kirk's clothes. "Dry. That makes no sense if you gravitate toward
fire. You ever had your chart
cast?"
Kirk shot him a look. "My what what?"
"Have Tolvar do it the
next time you see him. Tell him I need
it."
"My chart?"
"Your natal chart,
yeah. Tell him I want the full
read. He doesn't need to dumb it down
for the tourists." At Kirk's blank
look he shook his head. "Your
horoscope, Mac. I want that chart."
"Okay." Kirk tried not to roll his eyes. If you asked him, astrology seemed to fit
into the mumbo-jumbo category. Of
course, Weasel wasn't asking him, he was telling him. "I'll get the chart."
Weasel took Kirk's hand, laid
it on his arm. "Tell me what you
feel as I work on this one."
Kirk waited, then felt something
forming, an energy that somehow reminded him of his boyhood on the farm, rich
deep soil being turned by his uncle's hoe, the smell of growing things, alive,
fecund. Earth.
He didn't realize he'd said
it out loud until Weasel said, "Right, earth." Weasel shook his hands out. "I didn't even get to the manifesting
part and you knew. You're a very
interesting man, Mac."
"I guess that leaves
air?" Kirk was glad he'd paid
attention to Alma when she'd talked about the elements.
"Let's do something different." Weasel moved his hands around Kirk's
hand. "Close your eyes and think of
air. How would you build it if you had
to?"
Kirk closed his eyes,
imagining the wind on the coast, the feel of it blowing through his hair,
whipping up the waves and the sand and the flames of his bonfire.
"Just air, Mac. Leave the others out of it."
Kirk thought he heard some
kind of admiration in Weasel's voice.
The man must not have expected him to try to work with all of them. Kirk wasn't even sure why he had visualized
that. Except that it was hard to
visualize air except by seeing its impact on other things.
"Try to focus on the
air. You can use the others, but don't
give them the same weight. See the
effect on them if you will, but let air be primary." Weasel's voice was
calm. "And save the whys for
later."
Kirk considered the wind
again, felt it blow against him. He
thought of the sound of the breeze blowing through the dead corn in the autumn
fields, or how it whipped through the palm trees in the California deserts when
the Mexican monsoons roared up the interior.
The corn sounded like waves crashing, the palm trees like spears
rattling.
"Yesssss,"
Weasel said. "Keep going."
He saw himself leaping off
the side of El Capitan, a wing harness secured on his back. He fell until he caught an updraft, then he
flew, safe and free and alive. He heard
hawks cry as they soared above him, saw a falcon diving down, down, down.
"Yes. More."
He heard the roar of
decompression, thought of the airlocks, the hiss as oxygen flooded the
compartment. The way the shuttles shook
as they went from vacuum to atmosphere, the sound as the door opened and the
pressure stabilized.
"Open your
eyes--slowly." Weasel's voice was
very soft.
Kirk did, tried not to react to
the orb that hovered above their clasped hands.
It was clear and inside air swirled and rushed and created eddies,
wonderful, controlled shifts and bends.
"I made that?"
"Yes. You did." Weasel let go of his hands and the ball
started to shiver.
"Hold it."
The ball shivered more, the
air rushing around, the movements no longer calm, not longer so pretty.
"Focus on it."
But the orb
disintegrated. Wind whipped Kirk, then
all was quiet. "Sorry."
Weasel shrugged. "You got too excited. It's to be expected. First time and all." He nodded, smiled and for the first time it
seemed an open expression. A welcoming
one.
"You'll teach me
then?"
Weasel smiled. "Oh, yes. I'll teach you."
"And the payment?"
"I haven't decided
yet."
"I need to know up
front. And I won't sign in
blood." Emma's warning had sounded
more dire to him than he'd wanted to let on to Chris.
"It won't be that bad,
Mac. I don't need credits, or anything
really. But I might someday need a ship,
or your help. Promise me that you'll
help me if and when the time comes."
"If I can, I'll help
you."
"That's not quite what I
asked."
"If I'm under orders to
be somewhere else, somewhere halfway across the galaxy, I won't be able to help
you no matter how much I might want to. If
it's in my power to help you--and not evil--I will. That's the best I can do."
Weasel finally nodded. "It'll do." He began to rummage in the chest again. "And we don't need prying eyes, or any other
senses, knowing you are doing this. So the
first thing I'm going to teach you is to shield completely--not that you aren't
damned good at it already."
Kirk smiled.
"Oh, don't get
cocky. You've been lucky so far, using
the magic by instinct instead of training.
And I can't promise that I can teach you as much now as I could if you
were young. Some magics,
once they become ingrained in instinct, become out of reach."
"I don't
understand."
"Picture you're an
archery fanatic," Weasel said.
"Been shooting bows and arrows all your life. And you're quite good at it. But your form is all wrong. How hard would it be to correct that? The better you are, the more resistant you'll
be to change. Magic is like that. You've woven protection spells and never even
realized you were doing it. I'm not sure
I can undo what you know, enough to teach you how to do it right. I can enhance some things though. And it will be a challenge to see how far we
can go with this." He smiled
again. "Tolvar knows I love a
challenge."
"Sitting at the desk of
this fleabag motel isn't your idea of a challenge?"
"Hey, I own this
fleabag. It provides very good
cover. And anyone can come here--even an
admiral in Starfleet--and not raise a lot of comment."
"So you do know who I
am."
Weasel shrugged.
Kirk smiled. "So about these shields?"
Weasel first began to show
him exactly how he was already protecting himself, then moved on to building up
that protection, making it more intentional, less instinctive.
As Kirk worked, he realized
he was enjoying himself. Truly enjoying
himself. And other than when he was with
Chris, he couldn't say that about most of his life.
Maybe things were looking up?
FIN