"Well, that was depressing," Etienne commented as he led the way out of the crowded theater.

"It was supposed to be a comedy," his mother Marguerite said apologetically. "It was advertised as a comedy."

"Well, it missed that boat by a mile at least." He clapped Bastien on the back. "Still, happy birthday, brother."

"Thank you."

Bastien sounded less than enthused, but Etienne couldn't blame him. After four hundred years, celebrating birthdays was probably a bit of a drag. Hell, after only three hundred, Etienne would gladly let his own pass without notice, but he knew he would be no more fortunate than Bastien at avoiding some sort of celebration. Their mother would insist on marking their births every single year, no matter how many accrued. Marguerite Argeneau loved her children. She was glad they had been born and believed life was to be celebrated. Etienne supposed he should be glad she bothered. It was good to have family.

"Oh, dear. It's raining," Marguerite said as they joined the milling throng under the building's awning. The theatergoers were obviously reluctant to brave the downpour.

"Hmm." Etienne glanced out into it. His gaze flickered with disinterest over the autos moving slowly by, but halted rather abruptly on a car parked across the street. Recognition struck him like a bolt of lightning. It looked very like the car with which Pudge had run him down. That incident had occurred a couple of weeks before the shooting, but Etienne had walked away from it. His body had repaired in a few moments the broken femur and fractured skull he'd suffered. Fortunately, no one had witnessed the attack or his spontaneous healing.

As he watched, Pudge's vehicle's engine started, the driving lights came on, and it pulled into traffic. Etienne had just relaxed when his mother asked, "Was that him?" He immediately tensed again.

His mother knew everything. She had been fretting over the situation since the shooting. After being asked several times what he intended to do about his assailant, Etienne had been forced to admit that he didn't know. He had tried to reassure his mother by promising he would be more careful and that it was all really amusing, but she hadn't taken the comment well at all. Now, here was Pudge making his life more difficult.

"No. I'm sure it wasn't," he reassured her, then attempted to head off another lecture. "You two wait here, and I'll bring the car around."

He left before they could debate the matter. The theater had no valet parking, but Etienne had been fortunate enough to find a spot a bare half a block away. He was grateful for that now, escaping as he was any chance of a lecture by rushing off through the rain. He nodded at the lot attendant as he passed the booth, then rushed to his car, pushing the button on his keychain to unlock the doors. He then pushed the second button to start the vehicle for him, a nifty little gadget he'd had installed just the week before in preparation for the coming winter. Winters in Canada could be bitterly cold, and there was nothing as nasty as getting into an icy vehicle.

He was only a few feet away when he started the car this night. He was reaching for the door handle when it revved to life, and that's what saved him. Had he been inside the vehicle, the explosion might very well have finished him. As it was, he was caught by the blast, a red hot wave that picked him up and threw him back several feet. Etienne smelled burnt flesh, pain radiated through him, then he felt and knew nothing.

"Hey, you're back!"

Rachel glanced up from her overdue paperwork and smiled at Fred and Dale, who wheeled in a covered gurney. It was her first day back since the night she'd been so sick she'd fainted on the job. She'd woken some time later to find Tony kneeling over her, weak, pale, and claiming he'd caught her flu bug because he didn't feel well, either.

Rachel didn't recall much about fainting. She had a vague dreamlike memory of Dale and Fred bringing someone in, but didn't recall anything more than that, and there had been no new bodies about when she regained consciousness. Positive that it had all been part of some fever-induced hallucination, Rachel had decided bed was the place for her and called in a replacement. She'd asked if Tony wanted a replacement as well, but he'd felt better after a couple of moments and insisted he would be fine.

Rachel had been sick as a dog for a week. She'd suffered some of the strangest dreams too, filled with handsome, silver-eyed corpses that sat up on gurneys and spoke to her. But those had stopped as she started to feel better, and for the first time since she'd got the job on the hospital morgue night shift, Rachel was glad to be coming to work.

Well, mostly glad. She was a morning person and genuinely hated working nights. She liked daylight. Working all night then sleeping all day was annoying and made her moody, and she couldn't seem to sleep in the evening. It was only after her shift, when Rachel dragged her exhausted self home, that she was able to sleep, and then it was interrupted slumber, up and down, waking then falling back to sleep.

"I hear you were pretty sick. This isn't much of a welcome back. Sorry," Dale said as Rachel grabbed a table and wheeled it over next to the stretcher.

"What is it?" she asked curiously.

"Crispy critter." Fred tugged the sheet free to reveal the charred remains of a burn victim.

"House fire?" Rachel asked with a grimace.

"Car explosion. He was caught in the blast," Dale answered.

"Yeah." Fred stared at the body, then shook his head. "Strange thing was, we thought there was a heartbeat. We got him in the ambulance, no beat. Then, halfway here, there's another beat. Then no beat again. The guy couldn't decide if he was dead or not, I guess. The doc pronounced him dead when we got here."

Rachel glanced curiously at the corpse, then took the clipboard Dale held out.

"Where's Tony?" the EMT asked as he watched her sign the necessary papers.

"He's off. Sick."

"Caught your flu bug, did he?" Fred chuckled.

"Not from me. From his nurse friend." Rachel watched them shift the body to the steel table, then she returned the clipboard.

"So, I hear we're not going to have your smiling face around here at night anymore," Dale said. "Congratulations."

"Congratulations?" Rachel stared at him blankly.

"On getting the assistant coroner job. Tony told us about it last time we were here."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "What?"

Fred and Dale exchanged glances, but it was Fred who finally said, "Er... Tony said Bob was going to tell you as soon as you got back to work. Bob told you, right?"

Rachel just stared. Bob was Robert Clayton, the coroner. He worked the day shift but often dropped in to give instructions and get reports at the beginning of the night. He hadn't done so tonight. "Jenny told me he called in sick today too. I guess it's his turn to have the flu," she said.

"Oh, shoot, we ruined the surprise."

Rachel continued to stare, but she found herself grinning. She had gotten the assistant coroner's job. She would be off the night shift soon. She'd got it! "Guys!" Rachel began excitedly, then hesitated and asked, "This isn't a joke, right? You aren't pulling my leg?"

Both men shook their heads but looked apologetic. "Nope. You got the job. Just try to act surprised when Bob tells you. I don't want to get Tony in trouble."

Dale grunted as she launched herself at his chest. Catching him in a hug, she squeezed as tight as she could and laughed happily. "I got the job! Thank you, thank you, for telling me. Man! This is great news. No more nights. No more trying to sleep through buddy next door mowing his lawn. No more not being able to go out with friends 'cause I have to work. This is brilliant!"

"I take it you're happy, then?" Fred laughed as she released Dale and turned to hug him.

"Oh, you'll never know," Rachel said blissfully. "I absolutely, positively hate the night shift."

"Well, we'll miss your smiling face," Dale said. "But we're glad you're happy."

"Yup. Just remember to act surprised when Bob tells you," Fred said, patting her shoulder. He glanced at Dale. "We should get back to work."

Rachel stood, smiling as they left, then turned to the gurney and surveyed her guest. She would have to remove his belongings if there was anything left intact, then strip him, tag him, and move him to one of the freezer drawers. She couldn't do it by herself; she'd need help moving the body.

A glance at her watch showed it was nearly midnight. Beth should be arriving soon, a part-timer who filled in when someone was ill. The woman was really getting the hours lately. Normally Beth was the most dependable of workers too, arriving early and willing to work late, but today she'd had car trouble and called in to warn Rachel she'd be late. The woman was waiting for a friend to pick her up and drive her.

She'd be in within the half hour. Once here, Beth could help strip the body, but in the meantime, Rachel herself could remove his possessions and tag him. She glanced down at the unfortunate fellow, then stilled. He didn't seem to be in quite as bad a shape as he had first appeared. In fact, he seemed a lot better. When she had first glanced at him, he had seemed almost completely charred, with very little flesh. Now, a lot of the charred color seemed gone. In fact, Rachel realized, it was flaking off, and a lot of it now lay on the metal tabletop. Reaching out, she brushed at the skin on his face, fascinated to see the blackened flesh crumble, revealing healthier skin beneath. She'd never seen anything like it. He was shedding dead flesh like a snake.

Rachel straightened and stared, her heartbeat accelerating. How was this happening? Or was what she thought happening at all? Perhaps that wasn't charred flesh brushing away; perhaps something had been blown onto him by the blast. Perhaps he hadn't been badly burned at all, he just looked as if he had. Rachel knew it was silly; Dale and Fred were excellent EMTs. Still, she found herself looking for a pulse in his wrist. When more of the charring crumbled beneath her fingers, she feared it might interfere with getting a pulse, and she bent to press her ear to his chest instead. At first she felt foolish looking for life in a dead man, but then a thump sounded. Rachel straightened with amazement, then lowered her ear again. Silence followed for an extremely long time, then another thump.

The door banged behind her. "Get away from him! He's a vampire!"

Rachel straightened and whirled gaping in surprise at the man standing in the open doorway. He looked quite mad. It wasn't just the army fatigues he wore under the huge trench coat he opened, or the fact that he had a rifle swinging from a strap over his shoulder and dangling under one arm, or the ax that hung from the other. All of it, plus his wild eyes and his very expression, screamed escapee from the booby hatch.

Rachel eyed him warily and raised one hand. "Now, look, friend," she began in reasonable tones. It was as far as she got. The man charged forward and shoved her aside.

"Didn't you hear me? Get away, lady, get away! He's a vampire. A monster. A beast of the night. Demon spawn. A hell-breathing bloodsucker. I have to dispatch him."

Rachel grabbed the gurney to keep from stumbling, her eyes wide as the man unstrapped his ax and hefted it over his shoulder with both hands. She couldn't believe it. The fool really intended on cutting the head off her corpse. If he was a corpse, she reminded herself. She had heard a heartbeat. Her gaze shot to the man on the table to see that even more of the charring had flaked onto the table. Rachel could make out his features more clearly and he appeared familiar to her.

Without stopping to consider the action, Rachel threw herself between them and shouted "No!" even as the crazy man brought the ax down. She realized her mistake at once. It really would have been smarter to have pushed the man off balance or something. His swing barely slowed, and Rachel's breath left her in a stunned "Unh" as the ax struck. It happened so fast, she hardly felt any pain.

Her attacker cried out in shocked horror and pulled his ax free, but it was too late. Rachel knew as she sagged back against the table, it had been a killing blow. She would bleed to death very quickly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." The man shook his head in horror, then stumbled forward.

Despite herself, Rachel instinctively flinched away from his reaching hands. Regret and sadness covered his face.

"Let me help you. I want to help you. I really never meant to hurt you. Why didn't you stay out of the way? It's him I..."

The man's voice died abruptly as a familiar squeak reached Rachel's ears. She recognized the sound of the door to the hall opening, and guessed by the gasp that sounded--not to mention her attacker's expression--that she was right. The squeak sounded again and was followed by the tap of rushing footsteps in the hall.

"I am sorry," her attacker said as he turned a tortured expression back to her. "I really am. I never meant to hurt you. Help is on the way, but I have to go. Hang in there," he ordered as he stumbled away. "Whatever you do, don't die. I couldn't live with that."

Rachel stared after him, wanting to cry out, but she didn't have the strength. A moan from behind made her instinctively try to turn. She managed, but that was where her strength gave out. She found herself slumping over the explosion victim's face.

Blood, sweet and warm. Etienne sighed as he swallowed. It eased the agony cramping his body. He needed the nourishing fluid trickling into his mouth, and even his guilt at this woman taking the blow meant for him didn't stop his enjoyment of it. He needed her blood desperately and was grateful.

"Etienne!"

He recognized his mother's voice but couldn't seem to see where it was coming from. Then the warm body lying across him was suddenly lifted away, and he opened his eyes in protest to see his mother bending over him.

"Are you all right, son?" Worry crowded her face as she felt his cheek. "Give me one of those bags of blood, Bastien," she ordered. She turned back to Etienne. "Bastien insisted on stopping at the office on the way to pick some up. Thank God he did." She punctured the bag with one long fingernail, then held it over his open mouth. She did this with three bags before he felt strong enough to sit up.

Grimacing at the sight of his charred flesh peeling away and shedding all around him, Etienne swung his legs off the table and sat up of his own volition. He hadn't lost any blood in the explosion, but his body had used a lot to repair his flesh. A couple more bags and he would be fine. He accepted the next bag his mother handed him and chugged it. As she opened the last for him, Etienne spotted the woman Bastien knelt beside.

"Is she going to be all right?"

His older brother frowned and shook his head. "She's dying."

"She can't die. She saved my life." Etienne ignored the blood his mother held out and forced himself off the table.

"Sit down. You aren't strong enough yet," Marguerite said, her voice sharp.

"I'm fine." Etienne knelt beside the girl, ignoring his mother's muttered, "Sure you're fine. And 'Pokey isn't a real threat, this is all in fun.' Everything's all fun and games until someone gets an ax in the chest."

"Pudge, not Pokey," Etienne corrected, reaching out to check the dying girl's pulse. He recognized her from his last trip to the morgue. She was beautiful and just as pale now as she had been on his last visit--but that time her pallor had been caused by illness. This time she was suffering from blood loss. Etienne was very aware that some of her blood had gone down his throat. The woman had saved his life. He had been weak, but he had seen her leap between him and the ax Pudge wielded.

"I tried to stop the bleeding, but I'm afraid it's too late," Bastien said quietly. "Nothing can save her."

"One thing can," Etienne countered. He tried to roll up his sleeve. The brittle cloth broke away in his fingers, so he just ripped it off.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't turn her," his mother said.

"She saved my life," Etienne repeated.

"We have rules about these things. You can't turn people willy-nilly, and you can't do it without permission."

"I'm allowed to turn a life partner."

"Life partner!" His mother sounded excited rather than upset. Bastien looked worried.

"You don't even know this woman, Etienne," his brother pointed out. "What if you don't like her?"

"Then I won't have a life partner."

"You would give up a life partner for this woman?" Bastien asked.

Etienne paused, then simply nodded. "Without her, I wouldn't have life." He bent his head and bit himself on the wrist. Red liquid bubbled to the surface, and a moment later he took his teeth away and pressed his bleeding flesh to the dying girl's mouth.

"There, all we can do now is wait." Marguerite straightened and turned to her son. "Now we have to tend to you."

"I'm fine," Etienne muttered. His gaze fixed on the woman in his bed. They had taken her from the hospital and brought her here to his home. His mother and Bastien had stripped her, strapped her to the bed, and fit an IV into her arm to feed her the blood she would need to facilitate the changes. Etienne didn't know what to expect. He'd never witnessed a turning. He wasn't too sure it was going well. The woman had been silent and still after he poured his own blood down her throat, but in the car on the way home, she'd started moaning and thrashing about. Etienne still wasn't sure he hadn't been too late, but he was a little more hopeful.

"You're not fine. You're still shedding burnt skin and you're terribly pale. You need rest and blood."

"I can have blood here."

"You need to lie down," his mother insisted. "You're swaying on your feet."

"I'll see to him," Bastien announced and took Etienne's arm.

Etienne considered arguing, but he didn't really have the energy, so he let his brother lead him without protest.

"Which room?" Bastien asked, pausing in the hall outside. "Have you finished furnishing the spare rooms yet?"

"No." Etienne grimaced. "But my coffin is in my office."

"Good Lord! Do you still have that thing?" Bastien shuddered in disgust. "I got rid of mine the moment they were no longer necessary. I don't know how you stand having it."

"It helps me think," Etienne said. "I come up with some of my best ideas in there."

"Hmmm." Bastien led him along the hall, downstairs and to the back of the house. The stairway to the basement was situated in the back corner of the kitchen. His brother urged him down it, holding his arm as his swaying increased. Soon he had Etienne in the coffin in the corner of his office. "I'll be right back," he announced.

Etienne murmured a weary response and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and growing achey. He needed more blood and knew Bastien was fetching him some.

Despite the growing pain of his body attacking itself in search of more blood, Etienne fell asleep. He woke up several moments later to feel a poke in his arm. Opening his eyes, he found Bastien leaning over him, inserting an IV in the vein below his elbow.

"Do I look like Lissianna to you?" he asked irritably.

He tried to move his arm away, but Bastien was stronger.

"No, you don't look like Lissianna. Her face isn't peeling off," his brother responded dryly. "I would have brought you ten nubile virgins to feast on, but I couldn't find any. Virgins are in short supply nowadays, you know."

Etienne gave a weary laugh and relaxed.

"More seriously," Bastien said as he worked, "you need a lot of blood, a lot of rest. It's easier this way. I'll change the bag while you sleep. You'll be back to normal by morning."

Etienne nodded. "Do you think the girl will live?"

Bastien was silent for a moment, then sighed. "We'll have to wait and see. I'll wake you if... anything happens," he finished.

Etienne closed his eyes unhappily. "If she dies, you mean. And if she does, it will be all my fault. I should have done something about Pudge."

"You can't blame yourself, Etienne. It's hard to know how to deal with such a fellow. I haven't come up with any ideas myself, and I've been pondering the problem since the shooting. We definitely have to deal with him, though." He straightened and frowned. "I'll call Lucern and see if he has any ideas. We'll brainstorm later, when you're feeling better. You just rest for now."

It was morning when Etienne awoke. He was back to his old self and feeling a hundred percent again. Lying in the still darkness, he could sense the presence of his mother and brother in his home. He could also sense her presence. She lived.

Easing out of his coffin, he removed the IV from his arm, collected the IV stand, and carried it upstairs with him. He stashed it in the kitchen closet where he kept it for emergencies or visits from his sister, then continued through the dark silent house and upstairs.

He found his mother and brother in his bedroom, watching over the woman.

She was writhing and moaning on the bed. Her hair was a damp tangle around her flushed, feverish face. Etienne frowned. "What's wrong with her?" he asked anxiously.

"She's turning," his mother said simply.

Marguerite's calm attitude soothed him somewhat; then Etienne noted the empty bags of blood stacked on the bedside table. There had to be a dozen. Even as he noted this, his mother stood and began to remove yet another empty bag from the IV stand. As if they had done this several times, which they obviously had, Bastien also stood and moved to the small bar fridge Etienne had placed in a corner of the room. He returned with fresh blood.

"Why is she taking so much?" Etienne asked.

"There was a lot of damage, son. She lost a lot of blood from the wound, and there are also thirty years of living to be repaired."

Etienne relaxed a little more. "How long does this go on?"

Marguerite shrugged. "It depends."

"On what?"

"On what damage needs repairing."

Etienne scowled. "She looked healthy enough, maybe a tad anemic, but--"

"She could have had anything in her system, son," Marguerite said gently. "Cancer, leukemia, anything. You can't always tell from outside appearances."

Reassured, Etienne settled himself on a corner of the bed.

"You look better," Bastien commented. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Etienne peered down at his hands. Every trace of black was gone; fresh, healthy pink skin covered his hands and arms. He knew the rest of him would be the same. He'd have to vacuum out the coffin later, though, as he'd left most of the damaged skin inside. "Were you able to get hold of Lucern?"

Bastien nodded. "He's coming over tonight, so we can brainstorm. In the meantime, there's a lot of damage control to do."

Etienne's eyebrows flew up. "What happened?"

"She made the news. Apparently, someone witnessed Pudge in the coroner's office and went for help. That help must have arrived after we left with the two of you, because the news report states they suspect this 'camouflaged, armed man' kidnapped her. They've put out a sketch and description of Pudge. They don't know who he is, but they're looking for him."

"That could work in our favor," Etienne said.

"Yes. If we can get her to go along with a kidnapping story, it could solve the problem of Pudge for you."

Etienne nodded, then glanced to his mother. She was nodding off in her seat. It was well into morning, past the time that they would usually have gone to bed. "I can watch over her now. You two should get some rest."

"Yes." Bastien stood, then moved to urge his reluctant mother to her feet. "We'll come back tonight," he said as he ushered her to the door.

Marguerite turned sleepy eyes back to Etienne. "She shouldn't need much more blood. Perhaps a bag or two. The fever should end soon. I think she's very close to being done. Her wound is pretty much healed. She will probably wake up this evening sometime."

"Yes, Mother." Etienne followed them to the door.

"And you should be able to remove the straps soon. You don't want the poor girl waking up to find herself a prisoner."

"Yes. Of course."

"Etienne," Marguerite added in a solemn voice that signaled what she was about to say was important. "You've never witnessed a turning before, so I should warn you--Rachel's thinking processes won't be very clear for a little while after she first wakes up."

"What do you mean?" Etienne asked.

"Turnees are often confused and closed-minded upon awaking. They have trouble accepting the evidence before them as to their new state and they fight it--and their mind is often in such an uproar that their reasoning skills fly out the window. She may come up with all sorts of excuses for what's going on here, a lot of them outlandish. Just be patient with her until her mind clears and she's able to accept it. Try not to agitate her too much."

Etienne nodded slowly, digesting his mother's words. "Okay. I'll do my best."

"I know you will, son." His mother patted his cheek affectionately, then followed Bastien to the door. "We'll come back early to help," were her last words as the door closed behind her.

Etienne smiled to himself. Family was good, he thought as he turned back to his patient.

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