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Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter Eight
by Lianne Burwell
December 2001
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Mac stared down at the body lying at his feet, his chest heaving, 
even though he wasn't drawing in any air. The last few minutes 
were still pretty hazy, tinted red with blood.

He easily remembered leaving the Agency on foot after the 
confrontation with Dobrinsky. He knew that under the 
circumstances, driving wasn't a good idea. Instead, he'd run. Run 
until he actually started to sweat. Run until he'd finally 
managed to leave the anger and fear behind, at least for the 
moment.

Then he'd slowed down and taken in his surroundings, only to find 
himself in one of the worst areas of town. The police weren't 
willing to go there, even in pairs. If they had to respond to a 
call -- not very often, if only because no one in the area would 
want to get involved with anything, especially the police -- they 
came as a squad.

Anyway, it definitely wasn't a place he wanted to be, so he'd 
headed for the quickest way out. That was when the moron on the 
ground had decided to try to hold him up with just a knife.

Suddenly the would-be mugger groaned, and shifted slightly. Mac 
shuddered and said a quiet thanks to God -- any god -- even 
though he'd been an atheist since being a child alone on the 
streets of Hong Kong. He'd killed before, but only in self-
defense or the line of duty, so to speak. The idea that he might 
have killed someone just out of anger was... terrifying.

The man had moved up to whimpering now, trying unsuccessfully to 
curl up into a ball. His clothes were stained, and even to Mac's 
untrained eye, one leg was obviously broken. He was bruised and 
battered, which went along with the scrapes on Mac's knuckles. 
The man needed a hospital, but if Mac called for an ambulance, 
he'd be asked questions he really didn't want to answer. As for 
taking him to a hospital himself, that was an even worse idea.

Fidgeting in place in indecision, he nearly jumped out of his 
skin when the cell phone he'd forgotten was still in his pocket 
rang. It sounded obscenely loud in the silent alleyway.

He fumbled and nearly dropped the tiny tech toy before finally 
managing to unfold it and bring it to his ear. "Ramsey," he said, 
his voice impressively steady, he thought.

"You really managed to do it this time, didn't you, Sport?"

Mac hissed, and spun around. He couldn't see anyone, but that 
didn't mean much. The Agency seemed to have eyes everywhere. 
"Dobrinsky?" This time his voice squeaked.

"Leave him. We'll take care of it. Go home, Ramsey."

The phone went dead before he could ask just what taking 'care of 
it' would entail. Maybe that was just as well, since he wasn't 
sure he wanted to know. It could mean dropping him at a hospital, 
sending an ambulance, or just slitting his throat. Knowing the 
Agency, all three were equally likely.

And home was sounding better all the time. If nothing else, the 
fight had drained away the last of his anger, leaving him just 
feeling tired. He wanted to go home and cuddle his lover.

As he headed away from the alley and the injured thug who was now 
moaning continuously, he swallowed hard. The taste in his mouth 
made his stomach clench, and he twisted just in time to try to 
empty his stomach against the side of a wall. Even in the dim 
light, there was no mistaking the dark smears in the tiny amount 
he did bring up.

Blood.

Suddenly, the memory of sinking his fangs into his attacker's 
throat was crystal clear. The taste of that blood, tainted by 
things he didn't even want to try to identify, was enough to make 
him heave again, even though nothing came up.

He was shaking again. In the time since Kata had sunk her fangs 
into *his* neck, the only person he'd fed directly from was Vic. 
Other than that, he'd stuck to the Agency-supplied baggies. Now, 
he felt no better than Kata. Was this what he was going to come 
to think of normal people as: prey and outlets for rage? And what 
would Vic think? In a weird way, it felt like he'd cheated on the 
man.

Suddenly, he wasn't so eager to head home, but where else could 
he go? He'd promised.

He leaned against the surprisingly cool bricks, uncertain of what 
to do again. If he went home, Vic would know something was up. 
The man was surprisingly perceptive, despite his deliberate red-
neck act. But if he didn't go home, he'd promised to call Vic, 
and Vic would know something wrong. Either way, he was screwed.

Before he could make a choice, the cell phone rang again.

"Ramsey," he said once he had it open again. This time he was a 
little more hesitant, not even sure that he wanted to be 
answering.

"Ah, good. You're still up," a lightly accented female voice 
said. Mac frowned, wondering who the hell it could be. The voice 
wasn't ringing any bells.

Before he could ask the obvious question, she continued. "I have 
that information you wanted, Mr. Ramsey. Well, some of it, at 
least."

Brain cells started firing, finally supplying a name. "Sofia," he 
said. It had been less than a week since he'd met her briefly, 
but it felt like a year. "What did you find out about my mother?"

"Can you come over? I really would prefer not to do this over the 
phone."

Mac looked at his watch, finally registering the time. "It's not 
that long till dawn," he said reluctantly.

"I can provide you with a safe place for the day."

He thought about it for a moment. It gave him an excuse not to go 
home until he figured out just what he was going to tell Vic. 
Besides, he really wanted to know what she'd found.

"All right. I'll be there as soon as I can find a cab."

>>>~~~<<<

Vic hung up the phone after he got tired of listening to the dial 
tone. He stood there, not really looking at anything. The 
apartment was eerily silent, almost depressingly so. He tried 
pointing out to himself that it was no different than before Mac 
had moved in with him after his Embrace -- Hell, even while they 
were engaged, LiAnn had insisted on separate apartments, saying 
she needed her space -- but it didn't help. Mac was so energetic 
that he seemed to fill the rooms, even asleep. Vic hoped that the 
Director never got around to retrofitting an apartment for Mac. 
Thankfully, she didn't seem to be in any rush.

Vic stuck one of his favorite CDs in the stereo to try to fill 
the void and heated a mug of bagged blood. He took it over to the 
living room and sat down on the couch. The new files that Careena 
had supplied him with were spread out all over the coffee table. 
Hopefully that it would provide some distraction, although it 
wasn't quite the same without someone to bounce ideas off of. 
He'd also had a few other ideas after getting home, and had made 
arrangements with Dobrinsky to implement them.

Despite his best efforts, his mind kept drifting back to the 
brief conversation with his partner. The mystery person Mac said 
was going to track down information on his mother had called and 
he was going to meet her. He had promised that he had a safe 
place to hole up for the day, since he wouldn't be home before 
dawn, then he'd hung up before Vic could ask any questions.

That worried Vic. In fact, the whole conversation had. He didn't 
like the fact that he didn't know where Mac was going or anything 
about this mystery woman his partner was meeting. A more 
suspicious man would have been paranoid about his lover meeting 
with a woman, but Vic wasn't that paranoid. Yet.

But Mac had been hiding something. He could tell. After more than 
three years working together, Vic knew that little note in Mac's 
voice that said he was covering his ass. He'd been telling the 
truth, but not everything.

And Mac had also hung up before Vic could pass on *his* bit of 
news. He picked up the cordless phone and hit redial again while 
flipping over the page. The phone rang four times, then picked 
up.

"Hi! I'm not here. Like, duh. Hopefully I'm out with some really 
hot hunk. So anyway, leave a message and I'll get back to you. Or 
not. Bye!"

Vic hit the disconnect button before the answering machine could 
start the annoying little tune it used instead of the basic beep. 
He'd already left a message. He'd also tried Jackie's cell phone 
and paged her twice. There was still no answer.

Come to think of it, Jackie's reports all week had been brief, 
uninformative and not in person. Just that she hadn't found 
anything definitive, but that she was following a lead.

Vic let his head fall back with a groan. Ella Fitzgerald's smoky 
voice filled the room, but it did nothing to sooth him. One 
partner missing in China, one incommunicado in Toronto and a 
third keeping secrets and meeting with mystery women. What the 
hell was he doing wrong?

>>>~~~<<<

If one more creep tried to pinch her, she was going to go 
completely postal, Jackie swore. It was so demeaning. What was 
she, a piece of meat?

On the other hand, there was a guy over at the bar in leather 
pants that hugged an ass that just begged to be groped. Any other 
time, she would have been over there, chatting him up. 
Unfortunately, tonight was *not* the time for that. Time was 
something that was in short supply.

A quick check of her pager told her that Vic had called. Again. 
Either something big was going down or he'd finally gotten tired 
of being blown off. One way or another, she needed something to 
tell him and soon. But the clubs and bars were about to close, 
and like every other night, she'd come up empty. No Sanji. No 
LiAnn. No nothing.

Crap.

The music's volume dipped and the lights started to blink, a 
clear signal that everyone should drink up and get the hell out. 
Since it was the middle of the week, the place was already half 
empty.

Jackie glanced at what was left in her own glass, then pushed it 
away. It was practically tasteless, like everything other than 
blood was to her. As well, there wasn't enough left to give her 
anything approaching a decent buzz, based on what she'd already 
drunk. Instead, she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. 
Maybe if she took her time, she'd get home close enough to dawn 
to justify not calling Vic until nightfall.

Outside, it was the same as it had been the last five nights: hot 
and humid, with the pavement sweating moisture even though it 
hadn't rained in weeks/ It was almost September, which meant that 
the weather should be breaking, but the forecasters were calling 
for the same thing for at least a couple more weeks. The farmers 
were in Ottawa, already begging for financial aid, and the 
experts were predicting high food prices come winter. At least 
Jackie didn't have to worry about that last one.

She glanced around, then headed north on foot instead of flagging 
down a taxi. Maybe it would giver her time to figure out what she 
was going to tell Vic that wouldn't make it sound like she'd been 
wasting her time or gone crazy.

She was so distracted by those thoughts that it actually took her 
a few blocks to realize that she was being followed.

She wasn't sure what had alerted her, just that suddenly the hair 
on the back of her neck was all standing up on end. She had to 
resist the urge to just spin around to see who it was. The 
streets were pretty quiet -- clubbing had become less popular 
with each murder -- but there were enough people around that her 
stalker could easily disappear into the crowd. Besides, she would 
look like an idiot, and she hated that.

Instead, she turned east at the next intersection, heading away 
from the stream of foolhardy youngsters and towards the quieter 
residential areas of town. Darkened restaurants and boutiques 
gave way to equally dark houses. Here and there, a single lit 
window suggested someone with a case of insomnia. Those few lit 
windows and the hazy light of the nearly full moon low on the 
horizon were the only illumination she had. If she'd been only 
human, she would have been nearly blind.

Instead, she walked as confidently as if it were high noon, the 
clicking of her spike heels on the pavement the only sound on the 
street. Well, almost the only sound. There was something behind 
her, but it wasn't human.

No traffic sounds and no more lit windows. If there was ever a 
time to stage a confrontation, this was it. Jackie's fangs fully 
extended and she let her fingernails stretch into talons, even 
though that meant she was going to have to redo her manicure. A 
minor annoyance.

As ready as she was ever going to be, Jackie spun around...

And started laughing.

"Hello, kitty, kitty," she said, crouching down and holding out 
her hand, reverting to her regular appearance. She was a little 
surprised when instead of hissing and running off like most cats 
would, this little black cat purred and brushed against her hand 
before sauntering away with that casual sway that only a cat had.

Still chucking to herself, Jackie stood up and continued on her 
way. She was being a real nervous Nelly if she was jumping over a 
little kitty cat. Maybe the job was getting to her.

Still, it had made a lot of noise for something that small.

Halfway down the street, she heard sounds from behind her again, 
only this time it definitely *wasn't* a cat.

She slowed down, listening carefully. The soft padding sound 
*could* have been made by a cat, but only if it was a jungle cat. 
Certainly, one a lot larger and heavier than the little kitty 
she'd just been petting. She stopped

The sound stopped completely. Silence. Jackie chewed on her lower 
lip, but didn't turn around. As long as she didn't turn around, 
she could tell herself that she was still being foolish. Of 
course, that head in the sand attitude was just as foolish.

In the end, it was the very female and very familiar laugh that 
finally made her turn around.

"LiAnn?"

>>>~~~<<<

Even though dawn was still a little more than an hour, Mac felt 
exhausted by the time the cab pulled to a stop in front Sofia's 
house. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was the fact that his body 
was still absorbing the blood taken from the creep who'd jumped 
him. He'd dry-heaved several times since then, but his body 
wasn't letting go of what he'd taken.

The front of the house was dark, but he rang the doorbell anyway. 
He assumed that the woman was still awake, since she was the one 
who had wanted him to come before morning.

After a moment, he heard soft footsteps in the hallway on the 
other side of the door. The door opened, and Sofia smiled up at 
him. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show," she said in 
that light, exotic accent of hers.

Mac shrugged, trying to fight the yawn trying to escape him. "I 
didn't have my car. It's difficult to get a cab at this hour of 
the morning."

Especially in the area of town he'd been in. He'd had to walk ten 
blocks just to reach a location where a cab company was willing 
to pick him up. That walk had given him plenty of time to realize 
just how much of a fool he was, running away like that instead of 
sticking with Vic. Vic was probably as worried -- not to mention 
as angry -- as he was. He had known LiAnn longer, but Vic had 
intended to marry her. If he'd thought about it, they could have 
been there for each other, dealing with this latest Agency-caused 
stress.

But no, he hadn't. Instead he'd fallen back on old, bad habits, 
and had run away instead. He'd done it many times in the past. 
With his father, he'd eventually gone home, wherever home might 
be at that moment. His dad had rarely noticed he'd been gone, and 
never worried. With the Tangs, when he ran away, underlings had 
been sent to find him, bringing him back to stand in front of the 
Old Man like a naughty little boy to answer for his foolishness.

Vic, on the other hand, was trusting him to come home, and that 
gave Mac a warm and fuzzy feeling inside, silly as that was. He 
supposed that was how you were supposed to feel when you were in 
love. He'd certainly never felt that way with LiAnn, no matter 
how much he'd wanted to be in love with her. Suddenly, he wanted 
to turn around, leave the house, and head home. He wanted to go 
home to Vic. He even wanted to tell the man everything that had 
happened after he ran out on the man, although he was a little 
nervous about the possible consequences. Obviously love played 
havoc with your common sense.

But he didn't do it. Much as he wanted to, he wanted to find out 
what Sofia had found out about his mother more, so he followed 
her into the house and to the kitchen he'd been in before. It 
seemed the only room in the house that was lit, a cheery oasis of 
light in the dark of the night.

"Tea?" she asked, gesturing to a pot steeping on the counter. It 
smelled wonderful, but Mac was too tired to play human, 
especially with someone who knew exactly what he was, so he waved 
off the offer. She gestured for him to sit down while she served 
up a cup for herself.

Mac was starting to feel itchy by the time she joined him at the 
kitchen table. More and more he was regretting not having gone 
home. With dawn coming fast, this was going to be the first day 
he hadn't slept with Vic since his Embrace, and it felt weird.

"So what have you found out about my mother that you couldn't 
tell me over the phone?" he asked.

"Before I say anything, have you figured out anything more about 
the draba?"

The question, coming out of left field as it was, threw Mac off. 
His hand came up to touch the pendant hanging around his neck. 
"Not really," he said cautiously. "Why?"

"Your mother's name was Maria Dzabo. She was, indeed, Gypsy, but 
she was disowned by her family for marrying a Gajo. Apparently 
her parents intended for her to marry the son of a friend, but 
she met your father and ran off with him after only knowing him 
for a week. Terribly romantic, isn't it?" she said with a sly 
smile.

"If you say so," Mac said with a shrug, although privately he 
agreed with her. "So I have family out there that I haven't met?"

She hesitated. "In a manner of speaking, I guess. They disowned 
her, struck her name from all family records. As far as they are 
concerned, she never existed."

"So they don't even know that she's dead," Mac said sadly. "So 
what does that have to do with my pendant?"

Sofia didn't say anything. Instead, she headed over to the 
kitchen counter and picked up something there. Returning to the 
table, she placed it in front of Mac, then sat down and picked up 
her mug again.

Mac picked up the picture and stared at it. The woman pictured 
was younger than himself, but her face was very familiar. A slim 
face, dominated by a pair of large, warm eyes -- the picture was 
black and white, but he knew that they were brown -- and a bright 
smile. Her face was surrounded by a cloud of dark curls. She wore 
no makeup, but she didn't need to.

And the only jewelry she wore was a pendant hanging from a chain 
around her neck. The same pendant that Mac had clutched in his 
hand at that very moment.

>>>~~~<<<

"Hello, Jackie."

Jackie nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the other 
woman's voice. On the one hand, it was the same voice that she 
remembered, usually sniping at her for some slight, imagined or 
real. On the other hand, she couldn't ever remember hearing LiAnn 
speak quite that way. The husky tone of her voice sent shivers up 
and down Jackie's spine.

And what the woman was wearing! Or maybe she should say what 
LiAnn *wasn't* wearing. After a year of being told that she 
dressed like a slut -- and what was wrong with that? -- she was 
shocked to see the normally prim and proper LiAnn wearing...

Well, actually it wasn't so much what she was wearing as what she 
*wasn't* wearing. LiAnn was wearing a pair of leather shorts and 
something that seemed to be made up entirely of thin leather 
straps that just covered enough of her breasts to avoid a charge 
of public indecency, but just barely. Her hair was slicked back 
tight to her head, gleaming in the moonlight. The makeup she wore 
would put a Goth girl to shame. She looked hotter than hell, and 
that was worrying.

"See something you like?" LiAnn almost purred, striking a pose 
that somehow made her legs seem even longer and her tiny breasts 
more prominent. Jackie's mouth went dry and she felt a surge of 
heat between her legs. She'd always considered LiAnn attractive 
in a prim Victorian sort of way, but she'd never had this urge to 
fall on her back in a bed with her legs open for the woman 
before. Hell, if she had to she would even pass on the bed

"How long have you been back in town?" she asked casually, trying 
to cover up her reaction.

"Oh, not too long." LiAnn stalked forward, her hips swaying in as 
feline a way as the cat she'd apparently been a moment earlier. 
And how the hell had she managed that? "Long enough to know that 
you're playing with fire," she added, circling around Jackie, 
trailing a single long fingernail along Jackie's shoulders. "But 
then, you like playing with fire, don't you?" she said from 
behind Jackie, then blew a soft puff of air across her ear.

Jackie actually whimpered at that and was lost.

>>>~~~<<<

Khalil left Club Z, oblivious to the laughing club-goers around 
him. He also ignored the fact that lank locks of hair were 
hanging down in front of his eyes. He couldn't remember the last 
time he'd showered, and he didn't care. All he cared about was 
finding the woman who haunted his dreams and his every waking 
moment, and yet remained so completely elusive.

His friends were ignoring him. They had tried to tell him to get 
over it, and he had slammed the door in their faces. They said 
they were tired of him talking about her, so he stopped talking 
to them. Instead, he devoted himself completely to his search, 
ignoring everything else, including the classes that had once 
seemed so important.

And yet, despite all his efforts -- growing more and more 
desperate as time went by -- she still remained out of reach. He 
had questioned every bartender in town until they had started 
pretending not to see him. The club-goers giggle when he asked 
them if they'd seen her, and the answer was always no. He was 
beginning to despair.

A familiar sound broke through the cloud of gloom that seemed to 
have taken permanent residence above his head. When he looked to 
the side, he was unsurprised to see the raven there, hopping 
along the roof of a car. The raven had become one of the few 
constants in his life the last week, other than his hunt. Every 
night it showed up to mock him, either on the street or outside 
his bedroom window.

And yet, he found himself anticipating its arrival, more and more 
each night. The raven was the only thing, the only one, who 
hadn't abandoned him.

The bird moved from car to car, flapping its wings just enough to 
make the jump between vehicles. It kept pace with Khalil that 
way. Or maybe it was Khalil keeping pace with the bird. He wasn't 
sure anymore.

Suddenly the bird took flight, heading into one of the dark 
alleys between the neon-lit buildings. Puzzled, Khalil followed, 
pulled by the unexpected change in behavior.

The river of people following the sidewalk parted without comment 
before him. He stopped in front of one girl, curious, but even 
though her path swerved to avoid walking into him, she showed no 
sign of even being aware of him.

He hesitated briefly at the mouth of the alley, unsure and not 
quite willing to take that final step into the darkness.

"Khalil."

The voice was soft and smooth, and he couldn't see where it came 
from. Then his eyes widened. Only one woman had ever said his 
name in that soft but confident purr. He pushed forward and was 
rewarded with the sight he'd been working towards for the last 
week. "You!" he breathed, more prayer than statement.

"Did you miss me?" she asked teasingly, stepping backwards, 
deeper into the shadows. Her hips swayed, like a serpent 
preparing to strike. Mesmerized, he followed.

"How could I not?" he said, reaching for her. She seemed to 
hover, just out of reach. "I've been searching for you ever since 
that night. Every night I dream of you. Every day I yearn for 
you." Relief gave wings to his words, and he almost wished he had 
pen and paper in hand to write them down.

"And now, here I am," she said, finally stopping. Her smile 
flashed bright in the darkness of the alley.

Khalil took her in his arms, holding her tight against him. Every 
curve of her body fit against him as perfectly as he remembered. 
It was as if they were made for each other. Her skin was smooth 
and cool against his cheek. Her perfume made him think of dark 
jungles and exotic temples. "Don't leave me again," he begged 
shamelessly. Tears prickled in his eyes.

"I promise," she purred in his ear. "We will be together, until 
death do us part."

Khalil turned his head, searching for her mouth. Her lips were as 
sweet as he remembered.

His knees were weak by the time she started to nibble her way 
along his jaw to his throat. An alleyway seemed like the wrong 
place to be doing this, but he couldn't seemed to find his voice 
to suggest that they go someplace more private, less... sordid.

She nibbled lightly at the sensitive skin below his ear, and he 
gasped as sparks shot through him. He could feel her smile 
against his throat as her hand slipped inside his pants. Her 
other hand tilted his head back for better access.

Then he found his voice again, but all he could do was scream.

END CHAPTER EIGHT