BAYOU

by

D.L. Witherspoon

(Posted 08-15-98)

Chapter One

The ramshackle hut was dark but the inhabitants didn't care. In fact the dark made it easier to face their fears and hide the evidence of what had gone on before... in the light.

"It's nearly time for you to go," she said, her high-pitched voice revealing her age but the words full of maturity. She felt the arms close around her tighter in defiance of her statement but she didn't protest. The safety she felt in his embrace weakened her will and she struggled to find the strength to let him go.

"Why do you always send me away?" he asked the small figure, wondering if this was what it would feel like to have a child of his own. To feel so much, so quickly for someone else.

"Because you don't belong here. I should be strong enough to handle this on my own. I shouldn't call to you."

"You shouldn't ask for help?" His finger brushed lightly across the bruise that mottled her cheek. "As if I am providing any," he added bitterly.

"Tell that to your shirt which has dried my tears and your heart which had absorbed my pain. You have helped me survive this with dignity. Remember that when you need to."

His heart skipped a beat. "Why will I need to remember that?"

She closed her eyes, knowing that he wouldn't understand but it wouldn't be fair not to warn him. "Tomorrow night will be our last time together... like this anyway."

"You're going to send me away for good?" He didn't like the sound of that. Not that he believed he was helping her, but at least he could pretend... at least he knew she wasn't alone.

"Tomorrow, they will kill me."

"No!" He crushed her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she didn't say anything, merely reveling in the comfort his presence provided. "Please," he pleaded. "Let me help you."

She placed a hand on his chest and felt the heartbeat she would continue to sense as she spent her final day on earth. Then she gently reached up and waved her hand across his eyes. "Forget," she said softly and sent him on his way.

Then blinking back tears, she faced her new companions-- the shadows.

*****

Detective Jim Ellison woke with a start. Not again, he thought as he pulled the damp sheets from his body. For the past four days he had awakened drenched in his own sweat, his body full of tension, and sporting a headache that refused to respond to the standard over-the-counter stuff. Worse than the headache was the feeling of helplessness that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest.

Helpless was not a word generally associated with Jim Ellison. He was over six feet tall and kept his body in perfectly fit condition. He was a former Army Ranger captain, had worked covert ops a time or two and was now a fairly successful Major Crimes detective for the Cascade, Washington Police Department. All the training, from Army to cop, had made him one lethal man who excelled in rescuing fair damsels, saving the day for various Cascade residents, and yes, on one occasion, he had even gotten a cat down from a tree. Some people wanted to call him a hero, but Jim figured he was just doing his job; after all, wasn't he the Sentinel of the Great City?

He smiled sadly as he remembered the day he had been given that title. On that day a cherished friend had died trying to mete out justice in the only way he knew. He had felt helpless on that day too, but he'd had a reason for the feeling and with the help of an even dearer friend, he had put the impotence aside and completed the task of dispensing justice. It was the least he could do for the man who had nurtured his Sentinel talents even before he was aware of them.

A Sentinel, according to his limited knowledge, was a person with genetically enhanced senses. In olden, more tribal days, these individuals had used the senses to watch out for their people, to make sure the bad guys were caught and put away. Just like modern-day cops, except there wasn't a rule book they had to follow and death was usually more immediate than a ten-year wait on death row, Jim thought with a dry chuckle, as he padded downstairs to the bathroom. Oh, to have been born a century earlier.

He stripped out of the T-shirt and boxers that smelled of sweat and fear, then stood beneath the shower and let the hot water sluice away the stains of another bad night. What's the matter with me, he thought, unused to the lack of control he was exhibiting. He knew he wasn't experiencing ordinary night terrors. Because of his work, he had suffered them before, knew the symptoms-- the covers clawed from the bed as if they were strangling vines, the eyes gummed shut from shed tears, the throat raw from screams that the unconscious couldn't hold back. But that wasn't the case this time. If not for the sweat stains, his bed would appear unslept in. His eyes were bloodshot but dry. And if he had emitted screams or mere groans, his roommate would have been at his side when he awakened.

Blair Sandburg was zealous when it came to the care of his friend, partner, and roommate. He believed Jim's welfare was his personal responsibility. Jim tolerated the attitude because it was one he shared in reverse. Blair was an anthropology grad student at Cascade's Rainier University. He was doing his dissertation on Sentinels and was the resident expert-- literally. Jim had asked him to move in because of that knowledge, but he'd made him feel welcome, let him know the loft was his home because now they were friends... No, more than that. They were brothers, connected at a level Jim hadn't realized was even possible to reach.

Blair had become his Guide, a companion to the Sentinel whose job was to watch the Sentinel's back and take care of him. The Guide was a necessary accessory for the Sentinel because he was prone to zoning, which meant if he focused too hard on one of his senses he could find himself losing contact with reality. The Guide then became either his anchor or his lifeline back to the real world. Because he needed his Guide especially when he was on the job, Jim had confessed his special talents to his captain, Simon Banks. It had helped that Simon was also a friend and together, they had gotten Blair the credentials to be a police observer and had integrated him so well into the department that now Jim and Blair were more likely to get puzzled stares when apart than together.

Just thinking about Blair caused Jim to focus his senses on his partner and he could tell he was nearing waking. He quickly finished his morning routine and left the bathroom, wanting to make it up to his room before Blair could begin with the questions his friend always seemed to have. However, he didn't make it.

"Morning, Jim," Blair called from the doorway of his downstairs bedroom. He'd heard the shower stop and knew his roommate would be passing by.

"Morning, Chief," Jim said obligingly as he checked the towel around his waist to keep from meeting Blair's searching eyes.

"It happened again, didn't it?" Blair accused softly and Jim reluctantly raised his head.

"Yeah."

"We need to find out what causing this," Blair replied, tousling his long dark curls in frustration. "Whether it's physical or mental, we have to make it stop. Although you appear to be sleeping soundly, you're not. You're exhausted and tense. That's not good, Jim."

"I know." As a former medic, Jim was aware there could be an underlying physical condition responsible for what he was going through, but he suspected the answer wasn't that simple. But before he got into that with Blair, there was something else he needed to ask. "What did you mean by 'you appear to be sleeping soundly'?"

Blair's eyes were the ones to break contact. "I watched you for a few minutes last night."

"You what?" Jim was uncomfortable with the thought, even though they had watched each other sleep before-- usually during and immediately following a hospital stay.

"You didn't even know I was there, did you?" Blair asked before Jim could tell him he was being overprotective.

A ridge formed along Jim's jawline, signaling tension as he realized what his partner was saying. As a Sentinel, he should have known Blair was there. "I didn't react?"

Blair shook his head. "You were so still, I almost woke you up just to make sure you were okay. But your breathing seemed even and I convinced myself you were just sleeping soundly because of the lack of sleep the nights before. But that wasn't it, was it?" His roommate was silent. "You still have a headache?"

Jim grimaced. "I've had it so long, I'm hardly aware of it."

Blair forced Jim's blue eyes to look into his. "How long are we going to dance around this, Jim?" In the past year or so, Jim's heightened five senses had increased by one. This particular sense allowed the dead to contact him. So far, the ghosts had all been brutally murdered as children and the Sentinel had been the conduit they used to deal with their killers. Whenever the ghosts made contact with Jim, he experienced severe headaches. The last time it had happened, he hadn't even been able to keep food on his stomach.

Jim shrugged, not wanting to consider the possibility that a ghost was contacting him in his sleep. He had sort of resigned himself to being a Sentinel; he had the gifts and they helped him with his job as a Major Crimes detective. Anyway, every time he tried to reject his destiny, something awful came up and he would need the enhancements. So he gave up trying to be normal. But this ghost shit was something else. Blair made the hypersenses seem like a mere genetic fluke. However, talking to ghosts couldn't be blamed on an aberrant allele. No. This was up there (or was it down there) with psychic hotlines and the yearly predictions in the National Enquirer. "If I am having spooky conversations while I sleep, I don't remember them, Chief."

"Yet, they haunt you all day." He had deliberately chosen the word and was prepared to see the walls his roommate quickly slammed into place.

"I have a job to go to. If you're coming in with me today, you better get a move on." With that, Jim stalked to his room.

The silence continued between them as they entered the Major Crimes bullpen at the downtown police headquarters. Captain Simon Banks watched them as they settled at Jim's desk and knew that whatever situation the two had been involved in most of the week, had not resolved itself. He hated prying into their business; he had been uncomfortable learning about Jim's status as a Sentinel and this latest psychic activity hadn't endeared itself to him either.

Before, when things like this happened, he would mumble something that was supposed to be understanding and send them away-- camping, fishing, someplace away from him while they figured out what was wrong and how to fix it. But now he was their Watcher. He looked out for the Sentinel and Guide, protecting them from minor enemies like bureaucracy with creative paperwork and from major ones with prompt backup. All in all, he considered his role minor in the Sentinel realm but it was a responsibility he never ignored.

With a sigh, he went to his door and called them into his office. "Same ol' crappy night?" he asked as they plopped into the chairs in front of his desk.

"Yes, sir," his detective replied sullenly.

"And you're sure a visit to the department shrink wouldn't help?" He trusted Jim and Blair to make that decision. They had visited the psychologist before when circumstances had bordered on the extreme and had found her helpful.

Blair shook his head. "Jim can't remember anything. I've even tried hypnosis and you know he's goes under better for me than anyone else."

"Well, something has to be done. You don't look like you can handle much more, Jim," Simon said with the honesty of a real friend.

"I won't screw up on the job, Simon."

"Hell, I know that, Jim. I'm not worrying about you and the job. I'm just worried about you. The last time something like this happened, I had to scoop both of you up at the airport and pour you into my car. I don't want that to happen again. You two got a plan?"

"I want to monitor his sleep tonight," Blair said.

"I thought you did that last night," Jim replied edgily.

Blair rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. Jim deserved to be crabby. "I want to get an idea of the timeframe. Does whatever it is occur as soon as you fall asleep or maybe at a particular hour during the night, that sort of thing."

Jim shook his head. "Not tonight. You have that date with Tiffany, remember?"

"I'll just have to cancel."

"No, Chief," Jim argued. He put up his hand for silence when Blair would have protested. "Listen to me, Blair, please. When we find out what all this is about, I'm pretty certain things are going to get... intense. There won't be time for Tiffanies, or smiles, or laughter. Enjoy yourself tonight. And remember it over the next few days, okay?"

"Jim, are you sure?" Blair asked as he stood at the door of the loft much later, his keys jangling nervously in one hand.

"Sandburg, if you don't leave now, Tiffany is going to think you're standing her up and from what you've told me, I don't think she's the type you want mad at you," Jim pointed out from his position on the sofa.

Blair grimaced. That Tiffany had one hell of a temper was commonly known around Rainier University. But there was something about her that had guys vying for a date with her. After several unsuccessful tries, he'd finally made it on the "good enough" list. Still... "Jim, this feels really, really, wrong."

"I've never had such a long warning or anticipation before, Chief. We can't be sure of what's going on. But it's been going on for several days now. Whatever it is, it probably won't come to a head tonight."

Blair nodded and reluctantly left, only later discovering how wrong his partner had been.

Chapter Two

He went to her side as he had every night, brushing his hand gently across her cheek which was mottled with even more bruises. The sight made him angry, but he knew how much she disliked the emotion so he calmed himself and pasted on a smile as her brown eyes opened.

She smiled and struggled to sit up, hampered by the chains that bound her wrists. He reached out and helped her, sitting down beside her on the rickety cot and allowing her to rest against him. To her, he was solid. He could touch her, hold her, and she could take his hand when the fear ran though her body. But that was the extent of his contact with her world. If he reached for the cold metal that kept her captive, his hands went through them. If he grabbed the necks of her tormentors, they felt nothing...

"This is a good night to die," she said softly.

"No," he objected, although he vaguely remembered her warning him. "No night is a good one to die. Not when one is so young." He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the shivering that was evident only to one as skilled as he. "Why won't you let me help you?" he asked again.

"You *are* helping. Don't you know why I am so calm, so at peace even when my death approaches? It's because you are here. You absorb my fear. You give me comfort. They touch me and leave me dirty. You wash me clean with your tears. Tonight..." She paused, the words difficult to say. She had lived with the thoughts, knew what was to happen, but now what had been imagined was about to become reality. "Tonight, one of them will violate me, spill my virginal blood upon the evil altar they have devised. But you will be there to make me whole again. Remember that, please?"

He nodded his head, not because he understood but because she seemed to need his acceptance. "I will remember," he lied.

"Then those who taste of my blood will kill me, expecting to receive my power... But the power will be yours alone. You will use it to make sure this never happens again, that no more human sacrifices occur, that these fiends will receive the justice they deserve."

His eyes filled with tears. "But I could do so much more. I could contact the authorities. I could save you myself."

She reached out for his hand and he placed it in hers. She inspected it closely, mesmerized by the long fingers, the sworls on each tip that in a language known only to a few, told of his purpose, of what he was and what he would be. "The word has been written. Who am I to change it? You were born for a reason, as was I. This is mine... But it is not written that you have to be at my side. You may go and the power will still be yours."

"I am not here because of the power."

"I know."

"I will stay."

And he did. He marched by her side as they came for her. He shielded her naked body as they exposed her to the crowd. He sang softly to her as they reveled around the rock altar and took her pain upon himself as one of the evil ones plunged into her, tearing flesh she should have had the chance to give willingly. Even though she felt no pain, she sobbed for what she was losing, for the degradation she was suffering. And he sobbed with her and told her it was okay to cry, even as the watchers cheered her tears.

When the first ritual was finished, while they celebrated the shedding of her blood with song and dance, he did what he could to soothe her. Using his shirt, he wiped their filth from her, nearly blinded by the tears that refused to stop falling from his eyes. He had hoped to be stronger, but when he looked inside himself he could find no more strength.

"This hurts you," she said softly and he nodded. "Then go. You have suffered enough. My pain plus yours may be too much to bear."

"No." His voice cracked and he had to pause, to check his emotions, before he continued. "I will not break. They," he swept his arms out to indicate the robed figures swirling around them, "will not break me nor you." He took a deep breath and searched his soul, finding one little spark of energy that he hadn't expended, the final reserve. He plucked it from its resting place and offered it to her. "Whatever strength I have is yours. Take it as the final ritual approaches. Use it and it will come back to me ten-fold with your power."

"Je t'aime."

"I love you too."

He kneeled at her head as the killers neared. He leaned over and kissed her forehead as the stone dagger was raised high in the air. As it made contact with the skin above her heart, she gasped out one final word, "Remember."

Then her world exploded and flung him back to his own.

*****

Blair tried but he couldn't enjoy himself.

He had barely missed being late picking Tiffany up at her apartment. Thankfully, Jim had prompted him to make reservations at the expensive restaurant he'd chosen so when they arrived, they were escorted directly to their table-- definitely a plus in Tiffany's book. So that's how Jim gets all the women, he thought, as he listened to Tiffany talk mainly about herself. Class. His partner had class. He was going to have to remember that.

Perhaps that had been his first mistake; to think about Jim. After that, his thoughts never left the man. The evening dragged on and Tiffany had gotten angrier and angrier as he fixated on Jim and what was troubling him. Even when she'd picked up her purse and stormed out of the restaurant, telling him to call her when hell froze over or he finished his dissertation (whichever came last), he hadn't been upset because something was telling him to get home to Jim. He looked at his watch and cursed as he saw how late it was. Good old Tiffany had waited until after dessert to throw her tantrum. Swell girl.

As he drove home, he prepared a cover story in case Jim called him on coming back early. Actually, the story wasn't far from the truth. Tiffany had turned out to be a self-centered bitch and although he could do worse, he could also do much better. Feeling more at ease than he had all evening, he was humming as he slipped his key into the lock. He stopped the sound when he noticed the lights were all on as well as the television. That was odd, not because he expected Jim to be in bed already but because Jim was always quick to turn out the lights when his roommate wasn't home. His Sentinel sight made them unnecessary and with the headache, the artificial lights probably caused him pain. Why hadn't Jim made himself comfortable?

He thought he knew the answer as he peeked over the back of the sofa and saw his roommate sprawled along its length. Jim had fallen asleep so quickly he hadn't managed to make the loft more "Sentinel friendly". He started to smile, then realized he was seeing what he had the night before. Jim was too still. Whatever plagued him was doing it again. He reached out to shake his partner awake. At first Jim didn't respond and then he saw a sight that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing; tears were leaking from Jim's closed eyes.

Knowing that whatever was going on he couldn't handle by himself, he ran to the phone.

*****

Simon hung up the receiver and reached for the clothes he always kept nearby. Thanks to his job, he was always prepared to go out at any time of the night. Briefly, he wished that it had been the job calling this time. But even as the phone was ringing, he knew who would be on the other end. Sandburg would say it was his Watcher alert kicking in, picking up some residual vibes from the Sentinel and Guide. But Simon liked to believe his precognition came from having worked with them for so long. Denial was an awesome river.

He shivered as he drove through the dark streets of Cascade. He had been with Jim the first time the detective had gone through one of the spectral episodes. They had been helping Narcotics with a drug bust and he had stayed with Jim as he used his senses to make sure all the drugs had been confiscated. That had been the moment forty-two ghosts had cried out for the Sentinel's help-- forty-two children who had been abused and killed by a serial murderer. The FBI had been real interested in the case and had sent a profiler, Dr. Tony Bozeman, to help out. By the end of the case, Bozeman had been convinced that Jim was some kind of extraordinary psychic.

Which had led to Jim's second ghostly visitation. Bozeman wanted his help after the discovery of skeletal remains of children in Baltimore. The captain had been reluctant to let his detective go on that one and his reservations had been right on the money; Jim had suffered horribly during that investigation and he had nearly damn well been a ghost himself when he got off the plane safe at home in Cascade. And now there was this.

Simon found a parking space and took the familiar elevator ride up to the loft. He used the key they had given him some time ago to let himself in. Blair stood across the room, hugging himself as he stared down at the sofa. "Sandburg?"

"Thank God, you're here, man!" he said with undisguised relief. "You have to wake him up. I don't think he's doing too good where he is."

Simon hurried over to the sofa and saw what Sandburg meant. Jim looked to be in deep pain and anguish. Using his considerably booming voice, he ordered his detective to wake up. When that didn't work, he took his massive hands and shook him. That had no effect either. "Have you tried smelling salts?" he asked, refusing to panic.

"On Jim?" Blair looked at him as if he were the unconscious one. "Way too big a risk, captain. One whiff could send him into a coma with those senses of his."

"And how would that be any different from this?" Simon questioned gruffly. "I think this is beyond our capabilities, Sandburg. We need professional help. Call 911."

Blair froze. "I don't think we want to do that, Simon. They're liable to run all sorts of neurological tests on him and that could just make things worse."

"So what do you suggest? We leave him here on the sofa and let him dehydrate or starve to death?" Simon asked dryly, although he knew the kid was doing his best to serve his Sentinel's interests.

Blair knew the captain was right; if Jim didn't come out of it soon, he would have to be hospitalized. "Let me try one more time, Simon, please?" Simon nodded and Blair leaned over Jim, carefully modulating his voice to what Jim liked to call "Guide mode." That was when he noticed Jim's chest was no longer rising and falling. Not the time to panic yet. The Sentinel had zoned like this before; he at times concentrated so much on one sense that he forgot to breathe. "Okay, Jim, you need to listen to me and come back. Follow the sound of my voice, man." No reaction. Blair placed his hand on the familiar broad chest in frustration and that was when he realized things had gone from bad to worse.

"We have to do something, Simon!" Blair yelled frantically. "I can't feel a heartbeat, damn it!"

"Goddamnit! I told you we should have called 911!" Simon was reaching for the phone in the kitchen when suddenly Jim sat up, flinging Blair nearly across the room. The phone was forgotten as he scrambled over to check on his young friend. "Blair, you better be okay," he threatened breathlessly.

"I'm fine, Simon," Blair mumbled, briefly confused as to the reason he was lying in the floor. Then he remembered. "Jim!" he yelled, allowing the captain to pull him to his feet.

The object of their concern sat slumped on the sofa but straightened partially as he heard the concern in their voices. "I need a piece of paper and a pencil, Chief."

Blair hurried to do what he'd been asked, then stood silently waiting for more orders. When none was forthcoming, he went into the kitchen and collapsed into one of the chairs at the table. He wasn't surprised to see his hands trembling since he'd barely made it to the chair before his legs gave out. He'd never been so frightened in all his life.

"You okay, Sandburg?" Simon asked, laying his hand on the younger man's shoulder. The observer had grown on him in the years he'd worked at the department. He was extremely intelligent and seemed to have unlimited energy which he shared with those around him. He willingly helped out all the officers in the Major Crimes Unit, but they, as well as the captain, knew that when the chips were down, Sandburg would be at Jim's side. They were a pair and everyone accepted that that was how it was to be.

"What's going on, captain?" he asked , lacking the energy to raise his head. "These encounters have left him in pain before, but never dead. What if..."

"Stop it, Blair," Simon said sharply, then his voice gentled. "That doesn't look like a dead man over there sketching away."

Blair's head turned quickly. "Sketching? Jim doesn't sketch, Simon. Anything beyond the basic outline of a crime scene is out of his league. He swears he flunked arts and crafts three years in a row at summer camp."

"But he's doing it," Simon said in a hushed voice and they walked over to their friend. Half a second later, Jim handed them the paper.

It was a sketch, no, a detailed drawing, of a young African-American girl. She was maybe twelve or thirteen with long braids, a nice smile, and very sad eyes. Knowing how things operated when Jim was in this mode, Blair knew past tense verbs were to be used in connection with the sweet, innocent child staring up at him from the paper. "Who was she, Jim?" he asked softly.

"Alicia Delacroix. Age twelve," Jim said, his voice emotionless.

"What... what happened to her?" Blair sat down beside him.

"She was grabbed on her way home from school. She was taken to a cabin where for four days, she was sexually molested and beaten. On the fifth day, she was raped and killed."

Oh shit. Blair was grateful when Simon took the picture out of his trembling hand. He had known it was going to be bad, but that did nothing to lessen the shock.

"When did this happen, Jim? When did she die?" Simon asked in preparation of making some calls. Before, Jim's "visitors" were all old cases. Someone was probably going to be sent to the archives.

Jim looked at his watch. "Less than an hour ago."

This time it was Simon's hand that trembled. "Jim, are you saying this murder just occurred? Why the hell hadn't we been notified this child was missing?" he yelled. The entire department was supposed to be on alert when a child disappeared.

"She wasn't from Cascade."

Blair opened his mouth to say that wasn't right. Previously, the ghosts had attached themselves to the Sentinel when he accidently wandered upon their burial ground. But he was saying Alicia wasn't even from Cascade, yet they hadn't left town for a while. How the hell had she found his partner? "Where was she from, Jim?"

"New Orleans."

"Louisiana?" Blair and Simon shared a glance. That was a hell of a long way from Washington. And that was something else too. "Jim, how did she contact you so quickly? You say she died only an hour ago, but you were out of it when I got home and that's been longer than an hour. She was in your head before she died?" Not a spectral contact then, but a psychic one.

Jim looked at them sadly. "I have been with her every night since she was abducted. I watched what they did to her. I dried her tears. I rocked her to sleep."

"Who are 'they'?" Simon asked.

"I... I don't know. They were always masked with long robes." He shook his head, trying to unjumble all the images. "I was there, but I wasn't there. I could see and feel what Lici was experiencing, but she was the only one I could touch. She was the only one I was real to." He dropped his head into his hands. "I wanted to help her so badly. But she wouldn't let me."

"What do you mean?" Blair inquired.

"Toward morning, as she would fall asleep in my arms, she would tell me to forget. I would wake up here, with no knowledge of her. There was just this vague feeling that something was wrong, somewhere. If I could have remembered, I could have contacted the NOPD, maybe given them some clue to her location. But she didn't want to be saved. She said it was her destiny that this happened to her... She was just twelve years old, Chief. How could those people, how could that man, do that to her? What kind of sickness has to live inside someone to be able..." He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the bathroom.

Blair grabbed one of the pillows on the sofa and threw it against the wall. "Why, Simon? Why the hell does he have to go through this? For God's sake, he's accepted the responsibility of being a Sentinel. He puts his life on the line for people each and every day. He tracks killers and lunatics and dealers, not just because he's a cop or because he's a Sentinel, but because he truly cares what happens to those around him."

"I know, Blair," Simon agreed.

"Do you, Simon?" Blair questioned. "You send us out on these cases, you tell us to get the bad guys, and we do. But do you know how we do it? Do you know the risks he takes by using his senses even a little? He opens up his ears and he could be assaulted by an airplane thundering overhead or maybe a child has a whistle nearby. He focuses his sight and some reporter takes a flash photo or the sun hits a pane of glass the wrong way. He sniffs the wrong thing and he passes out. He eats the wrong thing and suddenly he doesn't know which way is up. His hand brushes what appears to be dust and he's flying higher than a kite. The senses make him a better detective and a greater target, Simon. But that doesn't matter to him. The only time he gets angry about being a Sentinel is when it interferes with his work. Like when he shot the security guard by mistake or went blind with the Golden."

"You accusing me of using him?" the captain asked, wondering if it was true. He'd gotten quite used to having a Sentinel on the payroll. Who would have thought he would get so comfortable with Jim's gifts. But he would find himself looking to his detective for all the hard answers. What did you hear, Jim? What can you see? What's written on the back of this? What can you tell me that forensics can't?

"You use him as much as he wants to be used, Simon." Blair shook his head. "He is what he is and we both love him for that, captain. But I don't think this is something he bargained for. The headaches, the ghosties snuggling up in his brain, their constant cries for vengeance... It eats away at him. I know it does. And now we have this new wrinkle... Man, can you imagine what he's been through? To stand around and watch a child being raped..."

"Jim hates being helpless," Simon murmured. "If someone wanted to find the greatest way to torture him, I would think that would be it."

"So two people have been tortured this week. One is dead, the other is alive with survivor's guilt, not to mention a big helping of plain ol' Jim guilt," Blair pointed out. He looked around solicitously as Jim wandered back into the room. "You gonna be okay, big guy?"

"I'm just really tired," Jim croaked. "Thankfully, I have an understanding captain who won't be too pissed if I report in late tomorrow," he added, looking at Simon.

"You have a captain that doesn't want to see you downtown at all," Simon clarified. "I'll call New Orleans, see what I can find out about the case, okay? If you remember any details after your nap, just let me know."

"Okay, Simon." Jim started on the first stair to his bedroom and wobbled precariously. In a flash, the other two were on either side of him, supporting him until he was safely in his bed and fast asleep. Really asleep this time, for when Blair smoothed the covers over him, he smiled. Then they tiptoed back down the stairs.

"You know," Simon began, "I was always taught God didn't give you more than you could bear. But I'm starting to wonder about that. Jim has strong shoulders, but..." He looked up at the bed next to the loft railing. "Anyway, let me get home and try to get a few hours of sleep in before heading to my office. You going to need anything? When do you have to be at the university?"

Blair shook his head. "I'm not going in today. I don't want him alone, not with the memories he has."

"If you need a break, give me a call. You know I'll come."

Blair smiled. "I know, Simon. And hey, about God screwing up with the payload? Maybe that's why He gives us friends... to help with it, you know?"

Simon patted his shoulder. "Jim's always the first one to admit who has the brains in the partnership. I'm starting to see why. Goodnight, Blair."

"Night.

Chapter Three

He couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him three goons in long robes and feathered masks were attacking a little girl. Immediately he surged forward and grabbed the first one he came to. But something was wrong. Instead of feeling something solid beneath his hands, flesh he could pummel and necks he could break, he felt nothing. In fact, his hands just sliced through them as if they weren't there.

That was when he realized he must be dreaming. The images weren't real. They were just there to torture him. He went limp, ceasing to struggle with the imagined demons. It wasn't as if he wasn't used to it. Hell, for a period of his life nightmares were more common than dreams. The things he'd done in the name of his country, the situations he had seen, the actions others had taken and forced him to watch... He thought he was beyond that now but apparently, that was never meant to be. With a groan of despair, he crouched down in a corner and dropped his head into his hands. The one good thing about nightmares was that morning had to come eventually.

The soft brush of lips on his forehead made him look up. The child stood before him, her tattered clothes held together with one hand while the other traced the tracks of tears on his face. "I'm sorry," she said gently.

He smiled wryly. "Now my dreams are apologizing. I must be in bad shape."

She smiled too. "Mais non. You have it backward. You are the dream."

He stared up at her, then reached out and gently held her wrist. "I can touch you," he said in amazement.

"Because you are my dream and I will it to be. But to the others, you do not exist."

"Why am I here? Why did you create me?"

She turned away and if it wasn't for his special senses, he would not have heard her. "I did not want to be alone."

*****

"Hi, captain. Running a little late this morning, huh?" Detective Henri Brown said as Simon made his way through the bullpen.

"Ellison got sick in the middle of the night."

No more explanation was needed. Everyone knew if something happened to Jim, Blair would call the captain and the captain would come running. There was great comfort in knowing how things operated. "It finally caught him, huh?"

Simon stopped in his tracks. No one in the office knew about Jim being a Sentinel or his being able to talk to ghosts. Well, at least no one admitted to knowing. "What are you talking about, Brown?"

The detective shrugged. "He's looked like something was coming down on him all week. What is it? The flu? Some nasty virus?"

"Some combination no doubt," Simon said, hiding his relief.

"He's not in the hospital, is he?"

Simon shook his head. "There was a time last night when we thought..."

"But you and Hair Boy got him through the crisis, huh?" Brown said with a smile. Ellison's partner never minded the nickname.

"Through this one," Simon said meaningfully and Brown realized Jim wasn't out of the woods.

"Hey, if they need something, captain, just let one of us know, okay? I'll pass on the word to the others."

Simon nodded and continued into his office. He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to get the New Orleans Police Department on the line. Five minutes later, she was transferring the call to him. "This is Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade, Washington Police Department. I'd like to talk to someone in charge of the disappearance of Alicia Delacroix. Thank you," he said politely as he heard the switchboard shuffle begin.

"Detective Joey Allen."

"Det. Allen, I'm Captain Banks, Cascade, Washington, P.D. Could you tell me a little about the Delacroix kidnaping?"

Joey choked on the chocolate milk he'd been drinking and looked around wildly for his partner. Mike Rankin was the primary on the case, not only because it was a high profile one but because he was the senior member of the partnership since Joey had been promoted to detective just two months ago. But Mike was nowhere to be found. Great. What a way to start the day. Joey caught the attention of Shelly Thomas, another detective and motioned for her to have his call traced. "Uh, we're not really calling it a kidnaping at this time, sir. Unless you have additional information you'd like to give us? By the way, could you give me your name again?"

Simon sighed and obeyed. Then he answered several questions about his interest in the case. He took it all in stride until he realized everything he had to say to the cop, the man made him repeat. Enough benefit of doubt. He voiced his suspicions. "You tracing this call, Allen?"

"Uh, what makes you think that, sir?" Joey replied, wondering what was taking the trace so long.

"Because I'm a cop and I know the sounds of a trace when I hear one," Simon replied testily. "If you wanted the phone number all you had to do was ask!"

"Please calm down, sir," Joey said soothingly. "This is just standard operating procedure."

"Not where I come from!" Simon said and angrily slammed the phone down. Well, hell, he swore to himself. Looked like they were going to have to do this the hard way.

*****

"Hi, Jim," Blair called as his roommate came groggily down the stairs just before noon.

Jim yawned. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in class?"

"Someone's covering for me," Blair replied as he worked on a paper that was due in two weeks. He'd learned that he had to take advantage of every free moment he had in order to get his schoolwork done. Being a Guide didn't lend itself well to scheduling.

"Stuck at home, babysitting me again, huh?"

"You had some heavy shit laid on you, man. I thought you shouldn't wake up alone," Blair admitted, knowing Jim would have done the same if their situations had been reversed. "You wanna talk or anything?"

"Maybe after a shower, okay?"

Blair nodded and didn't say anything. At least Jim had hinted at the possibility that he might actually discuss what had happened. The first time he had awakened, at about seven o'clock, he hadn't said a word to his roommate. He had merely gone into the bathroom, showered, then returned to bed. Now he was heading for shower number two, but talking. Definitely an improvement.

"The rape is doing a number on you, isn't it?" he asked as Jim padded by him on his return to his room.

Jim started to deny it, but knew holding it in was doing him no good. "The rape, the murder, the abuse... The images just keep swirling around in my head, Chief," he admitted as he got dressed. "You heard from Simon yet?"

"No. But you know he'll let us know when he has some information. Jim, I don't understand this connection you had to Alicia," he said, not letting him change the subject.

"She controlled it, Chief. I think she was an actual psychic or something like that."

"Why did she contact you?"

Jim came partially down the stairs, then sat. "I seem to have a ... reputation among the dead."

Blair ignored the ball forming in the pit of his stomach. "What kind of reputation?"

"As a champion of children's causes. Alicia spoke to the dead easily. They told her to contact me if she needed help."

"But you said she wouldn't let you help."

"She wouldn't let me remember so I could get help to her," he clarified. "But she swore to me I was helping her by just being there. I... I did what I could, Chief."

Blair came over to him. "Believe me, Jim, I know just how much your being there comforted her. I've been where she was, man, or at least close to it. Your presence is the second best thing to the cavalry charging over the hill."

Jim shook his head like he didn't understand. "She was so peaceful about the whole thing, especially in front of the others. They would undress her and fondle her and she would just lay there as if nothing they could do would really touch her. They would beat her and she wouldn't make a sound, just stare at them defiantly. When they would finally leave, she would crawl into my arms, and most of the time she wouldn't even cry... God help me, that first night I felt such a murderous rage, she shrank away from me. I never let her feel that again."

"No wonder you would be so tense in the mornings," Blair sympathized. "By the way, how is the headache this morning?"

"The same."

Blair didn't like that answer. "So you're still in contact with Alicia?"

"No. She pushed me away last night because she knew I would have died with her if she hadn't."

"How?"

"Because I physically took her pain, Chief. I don't know how, but I could absorb it into me and away from her. If she hadn't pushed me away, I would have felt the knife slice into my heart and the shock probably would have killed me."

"Then I thank Alicia wherever she is. Other people need you too, big guy," Blair asserted, almost angry at his friend for taking such a chance. "So why is it that you still have a headache?"

Jim closed his eyes and searched inside himself. "There are others."

"What do you mean there are others?" Blair squeaked.

Jim shrugged. "Anything around here to eat?" he asked, rising from the stair and heading toward the kitchen.

Blair wanted to reach out, grab him, and demand to know what the hell he meant by "others". But he'd been fortunate to get out of him what he had. Patience, Sandburg, he chided himself. The man's been through an ordeal. If he needs to tell you stuff in bite-sized pieces, let him. "Have a seat, Jim, and I'll fix something for you," he offered, somehow finding a smile to add to it.

Two hours later, someone knocked on the door and he hurried to open it.

"If I had a penny for every asshole in the world, I'm be a fucking millionaire," Simon griped as Blair let him into the loft.

"Bad day?" Blair hazarded with a grin. It was late afternoon, plenty of time for someone to have ticked the captain off.

Simon started to reply, then angled his head toward Jim's room. "Is he sleeping?"

"Nah. He's taking a shower-- his third today," he said meaningfully. "So who stepped on your tail?"

"The sons of bitches down in the New Orleans department. I call, I identify myself, and then I ask to speak to someone about the Alicia Delacroix disappearance. They wanted to know my connection to the case and why was I trying to get involved and didn't we have enough crime in Cascade to take care of... I understood that. Hell, I'm a cop too, right? But the next thing I know the idiots are trying to get a trace on the call. I told them all they had to do was ask... Well, at least I get a new phone out of it," Simon ended in a huff.

"How's that?"

"I cracked the one I had when I hung up on them." He smiled in satisfaction.

"So what happens now?" Jim said as he stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and apparently having overheard the entire conversation.

"We go to New Orleans."

Jim nodded in complete agreement and padded on to his room. "We?" Blair asked with a curious smile.

"You prepared to kick NOPD butt, Sandburg?" Blair shook his head. "Then I guess I'm going. A messenger should be by with the tickets soon. I'm going home to pack a bag and I'll swing by here to pick you up."

"Thanks, Simon. I have a feeling this isn't going to be a walk in the park."

"Don't worry about it, Sandburg. Your only concern on this trip is to take care of Jim. I'll handle the rest," Simon vowed. He angled his voice up toward the loft. "I'm going to need something to give to the NOPD. Got anything solid, Jim?" he asked.

"I can tell them what Alicia was wearing when she was taken. When they retrieve the... body... the medical examiner can confirm what was done to her."

"Can you locate the remains?"

"Yes."

"And where they were holding her?"

"When I see it."

Simon nodded, pleased with the answers. "Back in a couple of hours. Be ready."

"We will be, Simon," Blair said as he walked the captain to the door. He wondered if he should tell him about the "others", but he had no idea what Jim meant. Therefore, maybe he should keep his mouth shut for a while longer.

"Don't look so solemn, Sandburg. Jim's going to tell the NOPD what he knows. They'll find the girl's body and hopefully they can take it from there."

"From what you've said, are you sure the detective you talked to can find his ass with his hand?" Blair teased, trying to lighten the mood as well.

"Well, maybe if he uses both of them." His laughter rumbled down the hallway.

Chapter Four

"Who are you?" he asked the petite figure who had turned away from him.

"My name is Alicia Delacroix, Lici to my friends. I am twelve years old and I have been kidnaped."

He searched his pockets for his usual pad and pen... then remembered this was just a dream-- and it wasn't even his. "Why?"

"Because of who I am... or maybe it should be what I am."

"Your family has money?"

"Oui. My father comes from old money as does my mother. Theirs is a marriage of bloodlines and wealth."

"Has there been a ransom demand?"

"They already have what they want."

"Which is?"

"Me."

"Why?"

She shrugged and plopped down on the rusty cot that appeared to be her bed. "Because I have a power within me that they want."

He moved from the corner and sat on the cot as well, but far from her because he had seen what they had done to her and he didn't want her frightened of him. "They want you to use your power for them?"

"They want to take my power from me."

"How?" he asked as if he didn't have some idea.

She stretched out and laid her head in his lap. "Do not force me to say it yet."

His fingers traveled gently along one her braids. "I will not force you to do anything," he promised.

*****

Mike Rankin took in the hangdog expression his partner currently wore and wondered what the rookie had gotten into this time. They had been working together for a couple of months and while he could see glimmers of greatness ready to be brought out of him, more often he saw a gangly young man who tripped over his own two feet. Maybe that's why they had given Joey to him for safe handling. Mike was part of New Orleans the way Joey never could be. The dark detective had grown up in the French Quarter, had played trumpet on the street corner for coins as a kid, and had watched the goings on of Bourbon Street from its doorways.

"So I'm gone one day and you look like your girl ran off with the bartender from that honky tonk you so fond of. What's rattlin' y'cage, Joey?"

Joey Allen looked up into the warm brown face of his partner and blanched an even lighter shade of pale. "I think I managed to make an enemy for life and screw up our biggest case at the same time," he said miserably.

"The Delacroix case?" Mike asked anxiously and Joey nodded. Shit. The Delacroix case was a red ball because Edouard Delacroix was not only some high-falutin' mathematician at Loyola University in the Garden District of the city, but he was also a resident of that expensive area as well, living in a mansion which had been in his family for a century. His ancestor had been one of the free men of color inhabiting the city long before slavery was an issue in the new country. So New Orleans Society was watching the case very closely, which made the current administration edgy. And Loyola's faculty and staff were just waiting for the NOPD to fuck the case up so that there would be proof of how ineffectual the department was. Then the foreigners (most were from up North-- Chicago, New York, wherever) would vote in their candidates to the city offices and New Orleans would cease to be as it was. "Straighten up, Joey, and tell me what you've done," he ordered.

"There was this call transferred to me from a guy claiming to be from Washington--"

"D.C.?" Mike interrupted, dreading having the feds come into this.

"No, man. The state." Mike relaxed. "He wanted to know what information we had on the Delacroix kidnaping. That's the first thing that made me suspicious. We've been careful not to call it a kidnaping because we really don't know and we don't want the FBI in it right now."

"You get a name on this guy?"

"That was the second suspicious thing. He said he was a police captain and that he had some information for us."

"Why was that suspicious, Joey? Maybe he had a prisoner that knew something and was trying to make a deal," Mike pointed out in frustration. One personal leave day in six years and this had to happen.

"Then why didn't he just say so? He just danced around the subject until..."

Mike rubbed his temple. "Until what, Joey?"

"Until he figured out I was tracing the call. That's when he got pissed and hung up on me."

"Did you get it?" Mike asked quickly.

"Get what?"

"The fuckin' trace!"

"The trace to the Cascade, Washington Police Department where yes, there is a Captain Simon Banks, and no, he isn't known for his sense of humor? Yeah, I got the trace." Joey knew his partner was angry from the amount of profanity he used. He did his best to remove the street from his voice when he was in the office, saving the language for when he met with an informant or hung out with his friends.

"You try calling and apologizing?"

Joey nodded. "They said he wasn't in, but I'm thinking he won't talk to me."

"Gimme the number and let me try." He dialed the phone and waited. "I don't know what trailer park you grew up in, Joey. But you're going have to learn some manners if you're gonna work with me," Mike warned. "Yes, I would like to speak to Captain Simon Banks, please... Detective Michael Rankin from the New Orleans department... Thank you." He looked at his partner. "I'm being transferred to his office... Captain Banks isn't in? Well, could you... Thanks for shit," he said into the dead receiver.

"What happened?"

"His secretary said he wasn't in. Then she started laughing and said he'd be in touch. Some crazy folk up there in Washington." Mike sighed and moved around to his desk. "Well, the ball's in Banks' court now. We'll just have to see how it plays, Joey," he said wearily.

Joey nodded and accepted that he'd been forgiven. That was the nice thing about Mike; he always forgave him his mistakes, unless he dared to repeat them again. Now only if one Captain Simon Banks was just as forgiving...

*****

"You know, the next time I'm bitching about how cold it is in Cascade, I want you to remind me of this," Simon said as he and Blair followed Jim down the narrow streets of the French Quarter. It was a typical Southern summer day which meant hot and muggy. Simon had already shed his usual jacket and vest and now he rolled up his shirtsleeves. He was seriously debating the idea of dashing into one the numerous souvenir shops and picking up a T-shirt to slip into.

"Despite the temperature, it is a beautiful city, isn't it?" Blair asked as he stared at the lacy ironwork adorning most of the buildings.

"Yeah, but no one told me we were going to be touring the whole thing on foot," Simon continued to gripe. "Want to tell me one more time why we aren't at the air-conditioned police station making our report?"

Blair shook his head. Simon knew as much as he did. They had arrived in New Orleans last night. They had checked into the hotel and Jim's headache had been so bad, he had been forced to take one of the pills Tony Bozeman had prescribed the last time he'd had such an episode. Thankfully, the pill allowed him to sleep the whole night and he had awakened pain-free for the first time in a week. The three of them had had breakfast and Blair assumed, as Simon had, that the next stop would be the police station. But Jim had driven the rental car to the Quarter and for the past forty-five minutes, they had been in and out of dark, tiny stores that boasted of love potions and assorted voodoo paraphernalia. Simon had laughed in the first store and Blair had been mildly curious at the stuff that tourists would buy, driving the clerk crazy with questions.

The second store Jim had made them both promise to behave or he was going to leave them baking in the sun outside. Both men had complied. But it was the third store that was responsible for Simon's attitude. In the third store, a large, obviously bored woman was standing by the cash register that said Yes, We Take MasterCard, Visa, and Novus. I.D. Required. Jim looked at her and without a word, she took a key from her ample bosom and opened a back room. Before Blair and Simon could react, she and Jim were locked behind that door. Ten minutes later, he was out with a shopping bag and the woman was anxiously fingering what looked to be rosary beads and muttering in some language even the anthropologist couldn't identify.

Simon had demanded answers and Jim had given him none. Just when he was about to pull rank on him, Blair had pulled the captain aside and asked him gently to back off. He had had to explain that it wasn't just Alicia in contact with Jim, but others whom Jim wouldn't, or more than likely couldn't, identify and that their presence could be affecting the Sentinel's behavior. Hence, the Watcher's really bad mood.

"Why is he doing that?" Simon muttered, bringing Blair's thoughts back to the present.

"Doing what?" He looked at the man striding ahead of them, on some personal agenda that didn't include consulting his companions.

"Watch him. As we pass certain places, he cocks his head to one side like he's listening to something. But most of these buildings are boarded up."

"Then he's probably just greeting a ghost or two. You know, this city must be full of them. Everywhere you look around, you can just imagine the spirits, can't you? No wonder there are five or six ghost and supernatural tours offered. Wonder if the ghosts get a cut?" Blair asked excitedly. "Oh, and the vampires too. I guess with above ground burial, you don't have to worry about your comings and goings, huh?"

"Sandburg, shut up," Simon said, knowing the anthropologist was trying to get him to react. "I've read Anne Rice, you know."

Blair was mildly astonished. "I had no idea, Simon. You just don't seem like the type to fool with stuff like that."

"Oh, I don't?" Simon replied, then turned to glare at his shorter friend. "Then why the hell do you and Ellison come to me with your wild tales of Sentinels, spirit guides, and ghostly chats?"

"But that's different. That's real."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's why I need the fiction," Simon admitted gruffly. He focused on their troop leader for the day. "Jim doesn't have a drop of sweat on him."

"He automatically adjusts to temperatures," Blair said, glad to finally have an answer for the captain.

Simon tugged at his tie. "You certainly know enough about him."

"Yeah, enough to fill a book," Blair said teasingly.

"Or at least a dissertation," Simon pointed out. "Why haven't you finished it yet, Sandburg? Surely by now you know having the paper done won't affect the relationship you have with Jim. So get the degree. I'm sure Rainier can find a place for you."

"Yeah, but when you start paying people full-time money, they expect you to put in full-time hours, captain. That's something I can't promise. As Jim's Guide, I have to be able to drop everything when he needs me."

"What about a job at the department then?" Simon stuck his tie in the jacket draped over his arm.

"Seriously, Simon?" The captain nodded. "That would be ideal but..."

"But?"

"I honestly can't see it happening. Look how easily Finkelman pulled my observer status."

Simon frowned. He hadn't liked that one bit and if it hadn't been resolved while he was still in the hospital from being shot, he would have raised holy hell when he was discharged. "Have faith, Sandburg. Have faith."

"Sure, Simon. It's gotten me this far, hasn't it?"

"Even farther than you know, Sandburg. It's gotten you back to the car," Simon said with a grin as the man striding ahead of them turned into the parking lot where they had left the rental. The captain grimaced at the sweat stains beneath both pits and resisted the urge to sniff them. "Hey, Jim! Can we stop back by the hotel? I think I need to freshen up a bit."

*****

"So did I read the report right? You have something on the Delacroix case?"

Mike Rankin looked up to see Stanley Arcenaux, Chief of Police, standing over him. Behind him was Police Commissioner Lawrence Tizzoner. Both were looking at him expectantly. Shit. "Uh, we're working on having something, Chief. We're waiting on someone to get back to us on some information."

"The cop your partner had traced yesterday?"

Well, this just gets better and better. He glanced around the commissioner to see why his partner was being so quiet. Had Joey passed out? Seeing the empty desk, he remembered he had sent the younger detective down to the evidence room to clear up another case. "Det. Allen was just trying to be thorough, sir. Captain Banks, being a cop himself, understood and I'm sure he'll contact us the moment he's free."

"You know how important this case is, don't you, Mike?" The chief subtlely angled his head toward the commissioner.

"Yes, sir. I assure you we're doing everything possible to see that Miss Delacroix is returned safely to her family."

"Good, Det. Rankin. We'll check in with you later then."

Mike nodded and gave a tight smile as they left. Fifteen years on the force, five years from being able to retire with full benefits and he gets handed this red ball. Apparently he had stepped on someone's grave and now they were pissing mad.

"Dare I assume from the look I got from the Chief and the Commissioner that they've been asking our case?" Joey asked as he laid down the file Mike had requested.

"Getting psychic on me, Joe?" Mike asked dryly. "They heard about the cop and the trace. We really need to get in contact with this Captain Banks. Maybe I can get somebody other than that crazy secretary..."

"Umm, I don't think we have to worry about her, Mike. And I think I know why she was laughing."

Mike followed his partner' panicked gaze and saw coming toward their desks a huge African-American man, followed by a slightly less huge White man, with a smaller man bouncing along after them. Definitely non-natives. "You think that's Banks?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Joey nodded. "If I had to put a face to the voice, that's the face I would give it." He straightened the files on his desk nervously as the tall White guy said something and all three broke into smiles.

"Detective Allen?" Simon boomed, enjoying the look of terror that crossed the pale features. "I'm Captain Banks. We spoke on the phone yesterday?"

Before Joey could soil himself, Mike stepped forward. "Good afternoon, Captain Banks. I'm Det. Allen's partner, Mike Rankin. I'm the primary on the Delacroix case. I was out yesterday."

"I see. Well, it seemed we were just confusing each other on the phone, so I thought it was wise to do this face-to-face," Simon explained, thinking that this may not go as badly as he thought. "Detectives Rankin and Allen, these are my men, Det. Jim Ellison and his partner Blair Sandburg."

Everyone shook hands. "Det. Allen said you had information on the disappearance of Alicia Delacroix? We're eager to hear what you have for us, sir," Mike said, showing Joey the way to handle those of greater rank and bulk.

Simon looked around the busy bullpen. "Is there somewhere we could talk more privately?"

Mike shrugged. "If you don't mind one of the interrogation rooms..."

"That will be fine."

Joey brought in extra chairs and everyone gathered around the table. Simon took out a card and scribbled two numbers on the back before sliding it to Mike. "One number is to Lt. Al Giardello of the Baltimore Homicide Division. The other is to the F.B.I. Both can confirm what we are about to tell you." He looked at Jim and the man nodded. "Ellison here has an affinity for child murders. In Cascade, he solved a case of one man killing forty-two children over a period of twelve years. In Baltimore, it was ten kids."

"That's impressive," Mike said. "Wanna share your secret?"

Jim shrugged. "The dead talk to me."

Chapter Five

"Who are they?" His mind flashed back to the feathered masks and the faces they covered.

"A cult, a coven, whatever you wish to call their evil little group. They worship a dark altar which requires human sacrifice."

"Do you know who they are individually?" he asked, a cop in this world as he was in his.

"Only that they are wealthy and powerful. That's how they have survived for over fifty years without notice."

"Fifty years?" He frowned. "And how often are these human sacrifices?"

"Once a year. I am to be number fifty. It is an honor in a strange way, I suppose."

"And who do they sacrifice?"

"Always young girls who have certain talents."

"Psychic gifts?"

She smiled. "I should have known you would understand."

"But I don't. How could a child go missing each year and no one notice?"

"They have money and the power they take from each girl feeds their own."

"This needs to stop!" She flinched and immediately he calmed down. "I'm sorry."

She inched back toward him. "That is why you are here. You will stop them."

He looked at his useless hands. "I can do nothing."

"For now. But there will be a later... and a reckoning."

*****

"We got a problem." The voice on the phone sounded frantic.

"What do you mean?" was the calm, assured reply.

"There are three men down at the station saying they have information about the Delacroix case."

"Local men?"

"Nah. Washington."

"D.C. or the state?"

"There's a state? Oh, right. Probably the state. They didn't flash any federal I.D. or anything, but they do have badges."

"It's probably nothing. What could they possibly know?"

"I was hoping you would have the answer to that. You were the one who said you thought she may have been talking to someone during the rituals. Maybe it was one of them. She was extremely talented."

"Which is why she was chosen. If she was in contact with one of the visitors, that would mean he's the one who has her power. Excellent. I thought it was lost to us. Now we have a chance to get it back."

"But that means..."

"Exactly."

"But they're cops!"

"Cops can't die? By accident, of course. Or maybe if they stumble into a bad situation? How utterly tragic."

Cold. "But we don't know which one it is."

"Then get rid of all three." The transmission was disconnected.

*****

Jim was surprised that he hadn't choked on the words. He had actually admitted he held conversations with the dead. Remarkable. These ghosts were definitely getting the better of him this time around. He looked to his companions to get their reactions. A light in Blair's eyes revealed how proud he was of his partner. And Simon just sat back as if the confession was nothing out of the ordinary.

Mike exchanged glances with Joey, wondering if the visitors were playing with them. He waited for one of them to smile, laugh, or say, "Gotcha". But none of that happened. "Uh, by this you mean you hold seances or something?"

"I mean the dead talk to me." Jim tapped the side of his head for emphasis. "They come in, look around, and sit for a spell. Then we talk."

Joey cleared his throat. "So, uh, what do you talk about?"

"Mainly death. Who did what when."

"I see," Mike said slowly. "And you've talked to Alicia Delacroix? You're telling us she's dead?"

Jim nodded. "She was murdered two nights ago."

"By who?"

"People in robes and masks with feathers."

"That's rather convenient, isn't it?" Mike asked tightly. "You come in here, declare you've talked to a missing girl who has been killed but you have no details?"

Jim saw Simon start to reply and raised his hand to halt him. "I have details. You just haven't asked the right questions."

"Listen, mister! I don't know who the hell you think you are or how stupid you think we are--"

"Can I answer that one?" Blair interjected.

"Just a minute, you--" Joey said in automatic defense of his partner.

"You want to stop right there, mister," Simon declared. "Do you think these men have nothing better to do than come down here and solve your case? They have a stack of files of their own that they're working on and I should know, because I'm the one who assigned them. But even knowing how many cases he has in Cascade, and how many more he'll have when he gets back, Det. Ellison volunteered to come down here and give you the information he has. If you don't want it, fine. We can be on the next plane to Cascade and you can add one more to your list of unsolved cases."

Jim fought a smirk coming to his face. Blair always talked about him being in protect mode, but Simon in the same "condition" was formidable as well. He'd known from the minute Simon said he was coming with them he had slipped into his Watcher routine, making sure his team had the room they needed to operate in their own weird way. Without the captain as a firewall, the secret of the Sentinel would have gone down in flames long ago.

"Look, sir, you have to understand--" Mike began, sorry for losing his temper. Growing up in the Quarter, he had seen a lot of unexplainable things and maybe Ellison fell into that realm. It was just that they were so desperate for "real" information.

"No. We don't have to understand anything," Simon interrupted. "We are here out of the goodness of our hearts. Unlike you, we aren't getting paid for working this case. Unlike you, we don't have anything riding on solving it. Our reputations will not suffer. We do not have distraught parents asking us questions, begging for information. A lost little girl is not on our consciences." So that part was a lie but they didn't have to know that, Simon reasoned.

"Does this look like a fabrication?" Blair asked as he reached into his backpack and pulled out the sketch Jim had drawn.

Joey paled and Mike shrugged. "So you've seen a picture of Alicia Delacroix and made a copy. So what?"

"So none of us has ever seen a picture of Alicia," Blair informed him. "I didn't know until I saw your reactions that this even remotely resembled her."

"But that's impossible," Joey said. "Who drew this?"

"I did," Jim said.

Joey opened the file Mike had brought into the interrogation room and pulled out a photo. "This is Alicia Delacroix."

Jim, who had "seen" Alicia didn't need to look at the photo, but Blair and Simon eagerly studied it. Jim's sketch was unbelievably too perfect, although she looked a bit older. "When was this picture taken?" Blair asked.

"Two years ago. She missed taking her school pictures this year," Joey explained.

"She was having her appendix out," Jim further clarified.

Mike looked at Joey and signaled defeat. "What can you tell us about the death of Alicia Delacroix, Det. Ellison?"

Jim sat there with a blank look in his eyes, his head slightly tilted. "What are you hearing, Jim?" Blair asked, recognizing the signs.

Suddenly Jim's eyes focused. "Get down, Chief!"

Blair dropped to the floor and Simon reached for his gun.

Chapter Six

"With you here, I do not worry for myself. But my poor papa... You will help him through this, yes?"

"How will I be able to help him?"

"Make him understand that this was necessary, that I am at peace with what happened, that it was my destiny to become the final sacrifice."

"How can I make him understand what I don't?" he questioned.

Her liquid brown eyes looked into, no, through him. "You understand," she said gently. "You know the meaning of duty, destiny, and sacrifice. You have lived it. You would have died for it if necessary."

"But you are a child," he protested.

"And children cannot understand and accept what is to be? Perhaps we understand best of all. We endure years of not being in control of our lives or having any say in what happens to us. We are picked up, buckled in, and driven to wherever our parents wish. We can be taken away from family and friends at the whim of whatever adult is given custody. Is that not the essence of destiny?"

He sighed and remembered his own childhood. She had a good point; children had no control over what became of them whatsoever. "And you are certain that this is where you are to be and where you are to end?"

"Yes. Some of us receive our destiny early in life. Others..." She looked at him with amusement in her eyes, "not so early."

He responded to her teasing tone with the like. "Is someone trying to say I'm old?" He reached out to tickle her, then remembered that she had been abused and stopped.

"It's okay," she said, reading his intention. "Your touch doesn't upset me. It heals me. I am whole thanks to these hands." She measured them against her own. "Yours are even bigger than my papa's. Make sure he knows how much I love him, how much I wish I could turn away from this simply because the desire to be with him is so great."

"What about your mother?" he asked softly, wondering if she had one. Or maybe hers had gone away like his.

She shrugged. "I love mama too, but in a different way. She gave me life, but Papa lives for me. I am his. Everyone knew from the day I was born that to mess with Alicia Delacroix was to make an enemy for life of Edouard Delacroix." She started to cry. "Poor Papa. He will be hurt by this. You must be gentle with him and understand. Promise me?"

He looked at the tiny hands in his and nodded. "I will."

*****

Edouard Delacroix was furious. Someone had called his house and told him that the cops had three suspects in his daughter's disappearance. He hadn't believed them because he knew the police would immediately contact him if it were true. That had been the deal; that if he finally left the station, they would inform him of every incident concerning Alicia's case. He knew he was getting in the way so he had conceded, trusting them to keep their word.

He called Det. Rankin to let him know he was getting strange phone calls at home. He had been informed that Rankin was in the interrogation room and couldn't be disturbed. Suddenly, his trust vanished. Rankin and Allen were holding out him, keeping him away from the men who had taken his daughter, perhaps hurt her. Non! They couldn't do that!

It took him ten minutes to get to the French Quarter station. They were the officers in charge of the case because Alicia had been taken in the Quarter as she headed to the streetcar that she rode home from her private school. He was beginning to agree with his colleagues that all New Orleans cops were incompetent. Although he had lived in the city all his life, he'd never had reason to know anything about the police. The Delacrois weren't troublemakers and if trouble came their way, they had their own way of dealing with it. Except that when Alicia disappeared and no ransom was requested, Helaire, his wife, had insisted the police be consulted and because his little girl meant the world to him, he had agreed. Maybe he had been wrong.

"I want to see Detectives Rankin and Allen, please," he said politely as he entered the familiar bullpen. His eyes rested briefly on the bench in the far corner where he had sat for days, helplessly waiting on his daughter's safe return.

Shelly Thomas looked around, then saw the notation on the board. "They're in interrogation at the moment, Mr. Delacroix," she said gently, seeing the anguish in the man's eyes. "You can wait over there for them if you want to." She pointed to the bench.

"Are they interrogating someone about my daughter?" he demanded to know.

Shelly had no idea. She had just come on shift, but then she remembered the trace Joey had requested yesterday. Maybe something had come from it. "I'm sure if the detectives have any definitive information on your daughter, sir, you will hear from them," she said diplomatically.

"Damn it! What are you people hiding?" Edouard yelled. "You got the bastards who took my daughter and you're keeping me away from them! Why? What did they do? Did they hurt my little girl?"

"Please, calm down, sir," Shelly said quickly, hearing something desperate in his voice. "I assure you the detectives will be out shortly and they will tell you all that they've learned."

"Like those three perverts put their hands on my daughter! That they hurt her? Maybe killed her?" A haze of red dropped before Edouard's eyes, a crimson curtain that blocked all rational thought. "Where are they! I want to see them! I want--" He suddenly remembered seeing other detectives come and go with their suspects during his long vigil. He knew where the interrogation room was... and he knew what had to be done!

Everyone had turned and stopped doing whatever it was they were doing as his voice grew louder. Taking advantage of one of the passing officer's brief shock, he whipped the man's pistol from his holster and raced toward the door of the interrogation room. Not even trying the doorknob, he kicked open the door and aimed the gun.

As Blair dropped to the floor and Simon drew his weapon, Jim stood and faced the door, effectively blocking the others from sight. While this was happening, Mike and Joey tried to figure out what the hell was going on with the visitors. Was Ellison having some kind of vision now? And why were Banks and Sandburg acting as if they saw it too?

Before they could form the words to the questions, the door was kicked open and Edouard Delacroix stood in the doorway with a gun, which he pointed directly at Ellison. "You took my daughter, ma 'tite fille!" he accused. "Die, fils de putain!" He pulled back on the trigger and waited for the satisfying explosion. But it never came. He clicked the trigger again and again, but the gun never fired.

"Arrete!" Jim said firmly, making sure he was between the enraged father and Simon. "Stop it, Edouard! What would Lici say of your behavior! This is not the kind of man you are."

"How would you know what kind of man I am, you son of a bitch! You... you... you..." He stuttered to a halt as he looked into Jim's eyes. "You're him, aren't you?" His hand shook as he lowered the gun.

Jim signaled for the officers behind Edouard not to approach. "Who am I, Edouard?"

"Ma 'tite bebe, she say when I see the blue-eyed man, she would be at peace." Jim stepped closer and took the gun. Edouard placed his hand on Jim's arm. "Ma bebe? She is at rest now, at peace in heaven?"

Jim nodded and Edouard collapsed into his arms. He handed Mike Rankin the gun as Simon came around the table to help him settle the man into a chair while Blair calmly shut the door in the faces of the rest of the department. Grief such as Edouard's should be private, he thought as he watched Jim soothed Alicia's father with various not-quite-French phrases. Where in the world had Jim picked up the Cajun/Creole dialect? Then again, maybe it wasn't Jim speaking...

When Edouard seemed to have pulled it together, Mike addressed a sneaking suspicion of his. Ellison supposedly had just flown into town but maybe... "You said your daughter spoke of the blue-eyed man. Is it possible she had contact with him before?"

"Just a damn minute!" Simon began.

"He is not her killer," Edouard said before the captain could continue. "She called him l'ange, her special angel. Is that what you are, sir? An angel?"

Jim smiled. "No, sir. I'm just a man who was blessed to know your daughter."

"You know who killed her?"

The smile faded. "Not yet. But soon."

Edouard accepted it for the promise it was. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Can you find my little girl and bring her home? Her ancestors await her."

"I was just about to do that, as soon as I convinced the detectives here that I am not crazy."

"You're like Lici, aren't you?"

"Not quite," Jim said, then shrugged. "Not always."

"Excuse me, Mr. Delacroix," Joey said, trying to figure out what was happening. "What do you mean, 'like Lici'? You never said anything about Alicia being special."

"Everything about Lici was special!" Edouard said defiantly. "She was gifted, however, able to see the future with frightening clarity. I should have known... I should have guessed when she foretold of your coming..." He sighed deeply, then looked at Jim with a pleading glance. "Can we go get her now?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Delacroix, but you won't be going anywhere for a while," Mike pointed out. "You pulled a firearm in a police station. For some reason, we have laws against that."

"I need to be with my daughter!"

"Edouard," Jim said softly. "Stay here. I'll get Lici."

"But my bebe needs me," the man said brokenly.

Jim's eyes mirrored Edouard Delacroix's sadness. "Not anymore, mon ami. Not anymore."

Chapter Seven

As a figment of a little girl's imagination, he thought his senses were a little too keen, especially as the wind changed direction and sent very strong odors flowing through the broken boards of the shack. "What is that smell?" he asked, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

She grinned. "You are smelling the rich diversity of the bayou. Full of life, full of death, and all that falls between the two. The bayou follows the cycle that we all do, but in a more concentrated form. Breathe deeply and you will understand."

He began what was almost second nature to him now. Carefully he separated each odor from the whole and discovered she spoke the truth. He smelled birth and life and death, intermingled as if no time passed between each interval. Piggybacking his hearing onto the smells, he found variety there too. The clicking, buzzing, and humming of insects too numerous to decipher individually, screeches and chattering of birds, eclectic movements of other animals, even the gentle plopping of the fish in the bayou which was sometimes masked by the deep roar of the ecosystem's greatest predator-- the alligator.

"I have been in the jungle and I love the mountains, but I have never sensed so much, so close together," he admitted, smiling at the noises and smells that now he could comprehend and enjoy.

"And the city? Tell me about your life there."

He shrugged. "Boring. I get up. I go to work. I come home and go to bed."

"Tell me about your family. Make me know those you love, so I may love them too."

"My life is very different from yours. You adore your father. I barely tolerate mine."

"But you love him as you do your brother." She lay her head back against his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he breathed. It was these little, barely noticeable sensations that she would miss the most.

He snorted and she felt his breath upon her head. "Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?"

"Because I like hearing your voice and I don't think you know any bedtime stories," she teased.

"Wrong, Little Miss Know-It-All," he said and wrapped his arms tighter around her. "Let's see. I think they all begin with 'Once upon a time', don't they? Okay. Once upon a time in the land of Cascade there was a man who was very sad and didn't know why..."

*****

"It didn't work."

"What happened?"

"I don't know the details but Delacroix was primed to kill them. He took a gun from an officer and burst into the interrogation room. But one of the men confronted him and he fell apart."

"Useless, pathetic fool." A sigh of disgust came through the phone. "Well, did you figure out which one it is?"

"One of the White men. Delacroix said something about Lici telling him about a blue-eyed man. But both of them have blue eyes."

"Then our plans do not change. Kill all three. We do not know what the others have been told."

"They have left to retrieve the body."

"Can we stop them?"

"Too risky. They are traveling with a full forensics team and a number of officers in case a large area needs to be searched."

"Damn. Then take care of it as soon as possible... And don't worry about being subtle."

****

"What do you make of this?" Joey asked his partner as they followed the three Cascade cops out of the parking lot and supposedly to Alicia Delacroix's burial place. Since they were heading across the Mississippi River, he assumed the body was in one of the bayous. How original.

"Make of this or make of him?" Mike inquired, leaning against the passenger's door.

"You taught me that if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably a duck," Joey replied. "Ellison should be our number one suspect. Apparently the little girl knew him before. He claims to know how and when she died. If he leads us to her body..."

Mike scratched distractedly over his ear, pleased to hear Joey had actually been listening to him as he dispensed advice but uncertain as to his own belief of that advice in this instance. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," he quoted softly.

Joey laughed uneasily. "I was expecting to hear you spout some old Cajun or Creole saying and instead you quote Shakespeare. You surprise me, both with the quote and your acceptance of Ellison."

"First, Joey, the truth is the truth, whether it's a cute little saying uttered by that Cajun cook on television or the immortal words of the bard himself. Second, I wouldn't exactly call it acceptance. Let's just say I'm keeping an open mind. Strange things can happen in N'awlins."

"You mean voodoo?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "I mean 'strange things'. Why is it that when something odd occurs in Vodou, people think black magic but when it happens in other religions, it's call a miracle?"

"Other religions don't use dolls, Mike."

"What is the crucifix or a statue of Mary?"

Joey turned on his turn signal to let the others know what the car ahead was doing. They were being trailed by the coroner's van and three Suburbans of officers, several of which would man the pirogues being towed behind. The flat-bottomed boats were the best vehicles for navigating the often shallow bayous. The commissioner had authorized the use of whatever was necessary, funds included. "You know if I learned one thing in that trailer park you're so fond of saying I grew up in, Mike, was that it's useless to argue religion or politics."

Mike laughed good-naturedly. "Okay, we'll drop it, Joey. And in regards to Ellison, I'm going to let you be the designated skeptic, okay? When you see me believing too much, take my keys and cut me off."

Joey reached out his hand. "You got a deal, partner."

"You know I can't think of a religion that has been more maligned than voodoo or more properly Vodou. Hollywood, man, has taken the practice which is a mixture of a West African belief and get this, good ol' acceptable Roman Catholicism and turned it into a zombie-making, blood-drinking, human-eating cartoon," Blair was saying as he steered the rental car toward Louisiana's swamp and bayou country in the southeastern part of the state.

Simon sat in the backseat of the rental and watched the byplay of the two men seated up front. It wasn't often that he got the chance to just sit back and observe the dynamics of his best, and yes --he would admit it in his own mind-- favorite detective team. He knew Sandburg talked a lot; anyone in the same room with the kid for even just a few minutes knew that. But he hadn't realized until now that Jim actually listened to every word he said. Every time Blair paused, Jim would have a question ready that related to whatever Blair had been running on about. Simon wondered if Jim did it deliberately, giving the kid adequate time to breathe before he started up again.

"So, are you saying there is no basis for Hollywood's version? That no one in the religion has ever messed around in the black arts?" Jim asked at the appropriate time.

"Of course not. In every religion, sect, whatever, there will be members who pervert rituals. Bokors often perform acts of evil sorcery which is sometimes called 'left-handed Vodou.' But the real priests, the houngans who are males and the mambos, the females, use magic only for healing and good fortune."

"You actually believe in this stuff, Sandburg?" Simon asked with a frown, not content to just listen anymore.

"It's not whether you or I believe, captain. It's whether those who practice it do. That's where the power lies."

"Is this whole discussion based on you believing that what's going here is related to voodoo?" Simon asked, not ashamed to admit he hadn't been listening to the grad student's every word.

"Well, there was an altar with blood-shedding and human sacrifice."

"Which you just said wasn't part of voodoo."

"Not the actual religion, no. But it could be some kind of cult based on it." Jim sort of grunted and Blair made a right turn onto a dirt road which eventually dead-ended. He looked to Jim for further direction.

"From here we walk." Simon sighed and got out to tell the others.

The captain was pleased to find the bayou was only a hundred yards further. According to the county map one of the officers had, the small stream was called Bayou Rien-- River of Nothing. "Your guy got somewhere in particular we should start looking," the head of the Recovery team asked Simon, "or should we just spread out in a standard pattern?"

Simon walked over to ask Jim but noticed the Sentinel seemed to be in a near-zoned state so he turned to his partner (and interpreter) instead. "Does Jim know where the body is?"

"He's searching for it now."

Simon looked back at the detective. "His eyes are closed."

Blair shrugged. "I guess he's not using his sight then."

The captain sighed and walked back to the team. "Give him a moment and I think we'll have your coordinates."

A minute later one of the officers shouted, "Hey! Someone stop him! There's gators in there!"

Simon swiveled and saw Jim heading for the bank of the bayou. "Sandburg!"

"It's okay, captain," Blair said hurriedly, then dropped his voice to a whisper as Simon joined him. "He has permission. Seems the alligators aren't too happy with all the recent disturbances. They want us to get what we came for and leave."

"They told him this?"

Blair shrugged. "Something told him."

"Well, shit on me and call me a sundae," Officer Alex Favre called. Seeing that crazy fellow just march out into that river, he'd snatched up his rifle and headed for the bank himself. He had expected to see the alligators crawling toward the water and had hoped to pick them off before they could get at the man. But that wasn't what he saw. "Them gators ain't moving a'tall," he said in awe as he watched the animals on the other side of the bayou stare sleepily at the water. "Gator hear sumthin' in the water, he s'posed to move." He looked at the others in confusion.

Simon just took off his glasses and pinched his nose. "I just want to know if the two of you are going to pay for my therapy when all this is over."

"Sure, Simon. Maybe the doctor will even have group rates," Blair teased. He watched his partner wade out into the bayou until it was nearly up to his chin, then he lowered himself below the surface. Seconds later, he stood with a dripping mud-covered bundle and everyone knew the search for Alicia Delacroix was over.

Chapter Eight

"Children like you," she said.

He laughed derisively. "Children fear me. I'm big. I'm mean. I'm a cop."

She shook her head. "It is respect they show, not fear. When they have caused trouble, they may run from you. But when there is danger, they run *to* you."

He looked at her in puzzlement. "Where are you getting this stuff from? Definitely not from my head. Except for less than a handful maybe, I don't even know any children."

"But yet you protect them."

"I try to protect everyone."

"Do you cry for everyone?"

He wanted to walk away but it was her dream and he was under her control. "Where are you getting this information from?" he asked again.

"From the other side, from children you have helped."

He nodded as he started to understand. "You're talking about the Forty-Two and maybe the kids in Baltimore. I didn't cry for them. I was crying because their presence caused me pain, physical pain."

"What about the little boy in Turkey?"

He blanched and shut his eyes. Damn. That was a memory he had completely blocked. The drug bust had gone all wrong, the local authorities they had been working with going into the town with guns blazing without regard to the innocents. The boy had walked up to him with his arms raised as if he wanted to be picked up. Then he had crumpled to the unpaved street, his blood mingling with the dirt. "I felt him die in that miserable street, probably where he'd just been playing ball with his friends. He deserved better. I thought we were there to make it better." A sob caught in his throat.

Her hand fell on his arm. "He remembers it differently. He doesn't remember dying in the street. He only remembers being in your arms and knowing that despite his mother being a junkie and his father long dead over a drug deal, someone actually cared that he was dying, that someone would actually miss him."

He jerked away from her, his emotions too raw for her to witness. "Why are you doing this? Why are you making me remember?"

"Because you have denied your own worth too long." She tugged on his hand until he turned to face her. "You are important. Your survival matters."

"I cannot save the world."

"No one has asked you to. You save the lives you can. You protect those you can. That is your duty. That is your essence. And who knows? Perhaps one of those you save, one of those you protect, may be in the position to actually save the world one day. One drop of rain cannot fill an ocean. But without that first drop the ocean would not be."

He looked into the wise brown eyes. "The children like me?"

"The children love you."

*****

"Oh, man, she was beautiful," Blair whispered as the coroner pulled back the sheet wrapped around Alicia Delacroix. For some reason, being in the water hadn't affected the body yet. Instead of a water-swollen, mottled, perhaps insect-infested face, Alicia was as natural-looking as the drawing Jim had made.

Speaking of... Blair glanced around for his partner and saw him back at the bank of the bayou, kneeling with his head in his hands. Pushing past the men who encircled Alicia's body, he hurried to Jim's side. "Jim?" he asked softly, not wanting to intrude on his friend's grief but not wanting him to suffer alone either. He noted the wet clothes and wondered if he should get him a blanket or something. The sun was hot but with the Sentinel's sensitivity, a chill was possible.

"It hurts, Chief."

Blair strained to hear the scratchy voice. "What hurts, Jim?" Had he injured himself in the murky waters? Or maybe he was getting a chill.

"My head."

Shit. "Do you know why it hurts? Is someone trying to contact you?"

Before Jim could answer, Simon joined them, followed closely by another man. "Jim, this is Dr. Lazare. He's with the Recovery team and he wants to examine you."

"Not now, Simon," Blair responded, frustrated with the interruption.

"Your friend needs several inoculations," Lazare said. "The waters of the bayou are often contaminated."

"He has all his shots," Blair said, wanting them all to go away. Well... maybe not Simon. "Whatever you can be inoculated against, he has been. Does it every year."

"Why?" the doctor asked in confusion.

"He's a cautious man. Now, could you give us some space?"

Lazare refused to budge. "He looks like he's in pain."

"What's going on, Sandburg?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Simon. Please..." Simon nodded and dragged the doctor back a few yards. "What is it, Jim? Do you know why your head hurts?"

"The others."

"What about the others?"

"They want to go home too."

Blair motioned Simon forward. "The others are in the river?" A nod. "Who are the others, Jim?"

"Other... young... girls. Sacrificed. Like Lici."

"What is he talking about?" Mike asked, he and Joey having joined them.

Blair shot him a look that made him shut up. "The same people who killed Alicia, killed the others?"

"The same but not the same."

"How many others are there, Jim?" Simon asked, kneeling down to join his men.

"Forty-nine."

There was the sound of a variety of gasps. "Joey," Mike whispered. "Go tell the coroner we have forty-nine more bodies to recover. See if he has the materials he's going to need."

"When were they killed, Jim?" Simon asked carefully.

"One a year."

"You're saying this has been going on for fifty years? And no one has stopped it?" Simon glared at Mike as if he was personally responsible.

"Who, damn it?" Mike shouted. "Who the hell is doing this, Ellison!"

Jim flinched at the loud sound. The movement had Blair on his feet and in Mike's face. "You will keep your voice down or I will bodily toss you the hell out of here," he whispered harshly. "In fact, why don't you just keep your mouth closed, period."

"Sandburg, Jim's trying to say something." Simon stood and moved aside, letting Blair next to Jim and putting himself next to Mike. "Listen to me, Rankin, and listen good. That guy you were just talking to is a pacifist to his heart. Won't even carry a gun. But nobody messes with his partner. I know you probably wanted to laugh when he said he'd toss you out of here, but the truth of the matter is, that he would and could if he thinks you're a danger to Jim. When it comes to one protecting the other, it's best if you stay out of their way."

"But I'm not a danger to Ellison," Mike protested.

"The man is in a delicate state right now. He can't take any extremes which also means raised voices. So I suggest if you have something you want to say, you whisper it to me, and I'll pass it along. Understand?"

"Yeah, but..." He paused as Joey jogged to his side. "Whisper whatever you got to say, Joey," Mike warned.

"The coroner says he's prepared and Hobbs wants to know if the Recovery team is needed this time."

Simon kneeled between his men and told them what information was needed. Jim said something back, part of which Simon understood and part of which he looked to Blair to clarify. Then he went back to the detectives.

"Put the men and boats in the water. Then you will understand."

It only took a few minutes for the experienced team to get in position. Then Jim slowly extended his hands over the sluggish stream. "Yemanja, Baron Samedi!"

"He calls to the spirit of waters and the guardian of the grave," Mike translated.

"Christ Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, God!"

"He's going for the big guns now," Joey added as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Let the evil ones' sins be revealed!"

A mist began to rise from the rivulet and as the cloud rose so did the bodies that had been hidden deep within the bayou. First, there were pieces of cloth stained dark with the mud and muck of the bottom of the waters. Then came the skeletal remains, some still tenuously connected, others mere bones littering the surface of the murky flow. Oddly white, considering the time spent submerged, the osseous scraps which signified human life had once been present, bobbed gently into view.

Blair stumbled backward as he watched the display, jumping slightly when he backed into a solid mass which turned out to be Simon. The captain automatically put his hands out to brace Blair but his entire focus was on what was happening. It was both horrifying and awe-inspiring, repulsive and captivating, unbelievable yet undeniably true. Those who witnessed it found it difficult to describe although the event would be forever etched into their memories. For several brief, yet protracted moments the only movement in the entire area was that of the bodies coming to the surface. No one breathed. No one twitched. No one said a word as the watery graveyard was exposed.

The silence was at long last broken as Jim turned to Blair, oblivious to the tears coursing down his face. "Take them home," he said. Then his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed and he collapsed.

Chapter Nine

"Evil exists in many forms."

"I know."

"But it is at its worst when it takes the form of a human. We give it a cunning it did not have when it was a mere void, an intelligence it could not achieve in an animal."

He nodded in agreement. He had seen this to be true. An animal may viciously attack, claw, and devour. But it did not stand gloating over its victim, prolonging death as much as possible, throwing salt into wounds, or bleeding it slowly so that the prey would know it was dying and see its death deliberately reflected in the predator's eyes. No, that kind of toying, that kind of torture was reserved for those who were supposed to be greater, higher.

"This kind of evil often attracts the like and therefore multiplies until it infects a group, a group which must be fed. So I and others like me are sacrificed and the evil is appeased for another year. But each year, it is hungrier than the year before and there will come a time when it will devour itself."

"So I should be patient. That's not exactly my area of expertise," he admitted with a slight smile of deprecation.

"Then you should know the time approaches. It will not feed on me for you shall have my power. It will be weakened and angry. It will come for you. You must be ready. You must protect yourself. Carry with you at all times your shield and staff."

"My what? My badge and gun?"

"Non! Your shield and staff are written upon your heart. You know who they are. Keep them near. For their sakes and yours."

*****

"I don't think you want to hear this."

"I don't have time for games. What is happening?"

"Someone reported in from the site."

"They have the child's body?"

"Yes, but..." The hesitation lasted a long time.

"You can be replaced," came the calm warning.

"I think I want to be."

"Tell me!"

"They are recovering the others as well."

"What! What others?"

"Oh, just every body our people have dumped in that bayou since 1948."

"No! That is impossible!"

"I told you you didn't want to hear this."

"Shut up and let me think. Who is this man? What kind of power does he have? Or did she have this kind of power and we were unaware?"

"I think he must have his own and it is being amplified by hers."

"I have heard of such things but have never seen it done directly. Could you imagine what we could do if we managed to harness it ourselves? Find out which one it is, for he shall not die. Not until he has been prepared for our use."

*****

"La Societe de Sang."

"Jim?" Blair looked down at the man lying limply on the stretcher from the back of the coroner's van. "You waking up, partner?"

Jim jerked to full consciousness, his eyes opening, then closing quickly to block the strong light. "Where am I?"

"Still at the bayou. They wanted to transport you to the hospital, but since the doctor said you had merely passed out from exhaustion, I figured you wanted to stay here."

"Good call, Chief. How is it coming?"

"They are almost through. Only a few bones remain." He held up a towel to mute the light. "Open your eyes slowly. Now, dial down the intensity. Better?"

"Better." Always at my side. Protecting me. Defending me. My shield. He moved to sit up and Blair helped him balance.

"How's the headache?"

"Still there, but tolerable. Where's Simon?" Jim asked quickly.

"Supervising, of course," Blair answered, pointing toward the bayou.

Extending my reach. Removing obstacles from my path. Holding me up if necessary. My staff. "Call him, please."

"Sure. Captain Banks!" he yelled formally, his back to Jim so the Sentinel wouldn't get the full volume of his voice.

Simon grinned when he saw Jim sitting up. "So Sleeping Beauty awakens. Nice swan dive, Jim."

"Thanks, Simon. I try my best to be entertaining." He shook his head when Blair offered him a bottle of water.

"You want heatstroke on top of that headache, big guy?" He held out the bottle stubbornly until his partner took it.

"How are you feeling, Jim?" Simon asked, all teasing aside.

"I'm doing okay."

"Think you could handle identifying the remains?" Simon had watched him do it with uncanny accuracy before.

Jim closed his eyes, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, captain, but I can't tell you who they are because they themselves don't know."

"I know some of them have been in there a long time," Simon began.

"It's not that. They weren't just killed by these people. They had their essences sucked right out of them at the time of death. Instead of their souls floating around in my head, I only have the shell of who they were. They want to go home, but they can't remember where that is or who they were. Shells, captain, just empty shells," he said sadly.

Simon looked at him sympathetically. "It's okay, Jim. Cops have been identifying bodies for years without your kind of 'help'. They'll get home eventually."

"Well, tell them when they're going through the missing persons files to look for females, age twelve or so, may have a history of some kind of psychic behavior, and are virgins."

"That's rather personal, isn't it," Simon said, laughing uneasily.

Jim looked away. "Their virginal blood is part of the ritual."

Simon silently cursed himself for forgetting what Jim had experienced during his dreams. "I'm sorry, Jim. I forgot."

"I wish I could," his detective replied softly.

Simon figured he'd put his foot in his mouth enough. "You ready to head back to the city?"

"For more questioning, huh?" Jim remarked dryly. "Sure, unless you have something better I could do. A root canal, maybe? Or a rectal exam, perhaps?"

"Gee, and here I was about to suggest a stop by Mardi Gras World," Blair teased, laughing because that suggestion was almost as repulsive to Jim as the others. "But before we get to the fun, do you remember what you said when you woke up, Jim? You said something in French."

Jim frowned, then the memory returned. "La Societe de Sang."

"Yes, that was it. Who or what is the Society of Blood, Jim?"

"The ones responsible."

"For the killings?" the captain asked quickly. "I thought you... I mean, Alicia, didn't know who was behind this?" Simon was trying to figure out how all this worked. Apparently Jim's ability to be contacted wasn't a fluke that would just go away. Therefore, as his friend, captain, and Watcher, he was going to have to learn to cope with another one of the man's 'talents'.

"One of the others remembered it."

"Remembered what?" Mike Rankin asked as he ambled toward them. "We think we've retrieved all the evidence. As soon as we get loaded up, we'll be heading back."

"Jim knows who did this," Blair said eagerly.

"Who?"

"La Societe de Sang."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, right. Everything but the Second Coming have been blamed on them for as long as I can remember. No one ever listens."

"Maybe someone should," Jim said quietly.

Chapter Ten

He touched the bruise on her cheek and felt her stiffen. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said quickly, pulling his offending hand away. Perhaps it was merely empathetic pain, but now he felt an ache in his jaw as well.

Her brown eyes opened wide with wonder. "Where you touched doesn't hurt anymore." She sat up and put herself beneath his hand. Her lips brushed his palm and she felt the bleeding stop and the pain dissolve. "What is happening?"

"I am removing your pain," he said as if he had done it before, as if it wasn't just as a big a shock to him. "Lie down and let me help you." He carefully unzipped the tattered dress and peeled back the fabric that had been shredded by the whip. The flesh below was an angry red against the cafe au lait of her skin. Some of the lash marks were mere welts, while others were open and lightly bleeding. He never hesitated as he placed one palm and then the other against the wounds. Immediately new skin closed over the open lacerations and red marks faded as swellings turned to smooth, even flesh. He sensed the edemas transferred to his back, felt a trail of fire sear through his body as the pain exchanged one host for the other, but he never flinched, never gave any indication that he was in discomfort and the child relaxed in blissful ignorance.

As his touch healed, he began to hum. It wasn't a child's song or a lullaby; he knew none. It was a tune he thought he had forgotten, one he had deliberately shut out of his mind... He and a group of guys at the base has gone to see the matinee showing of "Good Morning Vietnam". They often did that with a movie they actually wanted to see; that way when they took their lady friends to a nighttime showing, they could concentrate on other things. Robin Williams' performance had been riveting as a deejay who thought of the war as one big joke until he actually got caught up in the violence and devastation. He knew what that moment felt like, when the realization hit that war was about more than strategies and weapontry but also about destruction and death. Even the small wars, the policing actions and peacekeeping maneuvers were never as simple as the people back home thought.

Anyway, he had bought the soundtrack and played it often enough to memorize several of the songs. One of them was really simple. It was brief and hell, Louis Armstrong was better known for his horn-blowing than he was for his singing. But the words painted a picture, one that was chock full of hope. Maybe that was why, less than a year later, he had sung it that night in the jungle as his last man lay dying in his arms.

I see trees of green, red roses too,

I see them bloom for me and you,

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white,

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,

Are also on the faces of people going by,

I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do,

They're really saying, "I love you."

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll ever know

And I think to myself what a wonderful world

Yeah, I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

That had been the last time he had even thought about the song, much less sung it. That particular night, Jim Ellison had given up on hope and had remained a stranger to it until a certain young anthropologist had bounced his way into his life. Still, the song had not returned to his memory. He wondered if the tape was somewhere in the jumbled remains of his military life that he had stored away or had he loaned it to one of his buddies before boarding the helicopter that day...

He found himself singing the words to her, but they sounded as false to him now as they had in the jungle. Lies, he thought to himself. No one witnessing what he had, who felt the suffering of this child, could ever think of this as a wonderful world. It was a miserable joke, a perversion of whatever its creator had intended... for surely no god, no supreme being could have designed such a place and the travesties that had gone on in this room. Not, at least, the same being who had created little girls with bright smiles and innocent trust in their eyes.

She shifted restlessly and he knew she was sensing his anger. With effort, he reined in his emotions and sang a little louder, trying to convince himself that this was only an aberration, that Louis Armstrong's version of the world was the norm, was what ninety-nine point nine percent of the children on the planet experienced. True, he had seen many in dire conditions, but he had seen through the eyes of a man who knew it could be better. Maybe they knew it could be worse.

*****

"We know which one it is. He revealed himself at the bayou."

"I assume you have a plan in mind?"

Gee, it's not like I don't have other things to do. "I'm working on it."

"You will bring him to me?"

That could be interesting... Nah. Unfortunately, my existence is completely wrapped in yours. "He will probably come to you. Which might be a bad thing. If he is as powerful as we think and he meets you before we can tether him, you may be exposed... or worse." And then I will be exposed.

"In my condition I cannot fight him alone. If we meet I will make sure we are all together. You and the others must come to me. See to it immediately."

"You still want me to kill his companions?"

"Mais oui. If they are bonded, their deaths will weaken him, and then his defeat will be imminent."

*****

"Mike?"

"Yeah, Joey?" he replied tiredly as his partner drove back into the city.

"About my being the designated skeptic... After what I've seen, I think I'm going to have to resign."

Mike sighed. "I can't blame you. I'm thinking about heading to church on Sunday myself. Suddenly, I can't remember the last time I went to mass."

"You're Catholic?" Joey asked in surprise.

"Apparently it has been too long," Mike replied with a crooked smile. "Most of us natives are. What did you think I was? No, don't answer that."

"What's this thing you and Ellison were getting into? Something about a society of blood?"

"It's nothing, man." Mike stared out the window, remembering. "The children around here have had nightmares about La Societe de Sang for as long as I can remember. We would tease each other about it when we were kids, tell stories out on the streets at night when we didn't feel like amusing the tourists. And parents still use it to keep the little ones in line, like the boogeyman or something. 'The Society is going to get you if you don't behave.' Or 'keep acting up and I'm going to give you to the Society.' What's the term for stuff like that today? Urban legend, that's it. Nonsense stuff that's been around a long time."

"Since 1948 perhaps?" Joey asked judiciously, knowing Mike wasn't going to appreciate the probing. But so far Ellison seemed to know what he was talking about. And he had caused those bodies to rise.

"All I know, partner, is that if the Society does exist, I have some apologies to make to my mama and others, not to mention a shitload of cases to put down. Take a right up here at the next intersection."

"Where are we headed?"

"Sandburg said Ellison needed to eat or he might take another header, so I thought I'd take them to T'Dette's."

"That's your aunt's restaurant in the Quarter, right?"

"Aunt, cousin, something like that," Mike said with a shrug. "In these parts, we just call 'em kinfolk. Anyway, Ellison doesn't need any loud noises and I know she'll let us have a room in the back. Take a left and find a couple of parking spaces."

"It's going to be loud up front," Mike warned the Cascade trio. "That's where T'Dette puts all the tourists. But the locals section is pretty tame and then there's a private room above the kitchen. It'll be fine, you'll see."

Blair made sure Jim had all his senses turned to their lowest point as they entered the restaurant where jazz blasted from a corner jukebox and tourists lined the walls. Mike led them through that area and into another where the music was more muted and he seemed to know everyone sitting at the tables.

A huge woman approached, grinning down at her nephew/cousin although he was a respectable six feet himself. "Michael Thomas, 'bout time you showed up here. I got the room upstairs all ready for you and your friends. Deenie's gonna wait on you. If she be dawdling', you just give me a yell." She turned to his companions. "Hey, y'all. I'm Odette Fourtier, but my friends and relatives call me T'Dette. That's short for petite Odette, by the way. They ain't much for havin' a sense of humor, you understand? Since I'm declaring' you friends and maybe some of you relatives," she added, eyeing the tall, dark form of Simon, "y'all just call me T'Dette. We don't go into formalities 'round here. Ain't got no menus or nothin'. I cook and everybody seem to eat it. You don' like it, I cook somethin' else. Git on upstairs and stop wastin' my time."

Mike led them up a narrow stairway and to a room that had a table set for five. "You called ahead?" Blair asked.

"Nah," Mike said with a shake of his head. "T'Dette just always seems to know when I'm coming."

"Strange things happen in N'awlins," Joey said wisely, winking at his partner.

"And they get stranger all the time," Mike agreed, tilting his head toward Jim. "How you doing, detective? It's not too loud for you, is it?"

"I'm fine. This your neighborhood?"

"My old hangout. Guess you can say I haven't strayed too far from home over the years. What about yourself? You an actual Washington native?"

Jim nodded. "I had some straying years, saw some sights I guess every man should see--"

"Yeah, that's what's Bourbon Street is for," Mike said with a grin. "You don't see it there, it ain't worth seeing."

Simon laughed. "I've heard that. I'm going to have to check out that rumor before we leave," he said.

"Guess we'll have to lock the kid in his room that night," Jim replied, earning a dirty look from Blair.

"I'm sure I've seen worse, Jim. I haven't exactly been a homebody myself."

"If you think you've seen worse, maybe they better lock you in your room, man," Mike said knowingly. "I don't allow Joey down there without a guard." He also received a dirty look.

"Well, since I'm being insulted anyway, I think now is the best time for me to go see T'Dette about Jim's food."

Mike looked at him in amazement. "If you're up to questioning T'Dette about her cooking, maybe you are Bourbon Street material."

"It's just that Jim has allergies and--"

"And you can ask me anything you want, baby," T'Dette said as she sailed into the room. For a large woman, she moved as easily as a ballerina. "You and your friend just come with me."

"Uh, I don't think Jim should be in a kitchen around all those spices. We'd never get him to stop sneezing," Blair warned.

"Oh, he ain't comin' to the kitchen with us. Grandmere wants to see him. She live the next house over."

"Your grandmother wants to see me?" Jim asked, nonplused.

"Well, she ain't exactly my grandma. That's just what everyone calls her 'cause she so old."

"Somewhere around the century mark," Mike said. "But she say a woman's got a right to lie about her age so she stopped counting at a young ninety-two. Why she wanna see Ellison?"

T'Dette regarded her relative with a frown. "Grandmere's business is her own, Michael Thomas. You know better than to question your elders."

"I didn't mean anything by it, T'Dette. I just wanted to make sure the ol' girl wasn't confused."

"Her eyesight may be fading and she got hearin' aids in both ears, but she still got her mind. You come 'round here more often, you might know that. Come on, my friends. We got better things to do than satisfy Michael Thomas' curiosities." She shooed Blair and Jim out ahead of her and led them to the alley behind the restaurant. "Philip Marie!"

A little girl scooted around the corner. "You call me, Mama?"

"Is there another Philip Marie 'round here I don't know about?" The child shook her head. "Then I guess it was you I was callin'. Take Mr. Jim here across the street to Grandmere's. And you," she said, grabbing Blair's arm, "come with me and tell me what our boy cain't git into."

Jim was still smiling at Blair's expression as T'Dette yanked him back into the restaurant when he felt a small hand rest in his. He looked down at the little girl. "Your name is Philip Marie?"

"Yessir. Most folk call me Flip, but Mama say she and all the other mamas give their babies two name and it's a shame nobody uses them, so she does." Flip stopped at the edge of the street and cautiously looked both ways. Then she nodded solemnly and led Jim across the narrow lane.

"How old are you, Flip?"

"Seven. Not quite old 'nough for the Society to git me, but I hear tell they ain't gonna be doin' that no more 'cause of you."

Jim stopped and kneeled before the child. "You heard what?"

"That you done brought back all the kids the Society took and they ain't gonna be able to take no more. We all thank you for that, Mr. Jim. I didn't cotton to bein' Society food," little Flip said, her eyes wide and serious.

"You're welcome, Flip," Jim replied and slowly got back to his feet.

He was led into a small wooden house. One woman sat sewing, two others were saying something about cooking dinner, and still another was on the phone. However, Jim's eyes quickly found Grandmere. The old lady sat in a yellow chair similar to the one he had back at the loft and in her hands was the remote control to the 27-inch color television that dominated the room. There was no doubt who ruled this roost.

"Hey, Grandmere!" Flip yelled. "Mr. Jim is here to see you!"

Bright, dark eyes looked up at him. "Thank you, baby. You wait on the outside for him, 'kay? Me and him needs to talk. And the rest of y'all can go too," she said, waving her hands which were bent with rheumatism at her "ladies-in-waiting".

Jim noted that no one spoke back or complained. The phone conversation was ended and the sewing was carefully bundled up and carried away. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked politely but loudly as she stared at him when they were alone. For some reason her eyes made him nervous. She was old; if she stopped counting at ninety-two, that had to be decades ago. Yet, her eyes showed no cloudiness or yellowing. Her light brown skin was thin and clung to the bones beneath. Her hair was snowy white, plaited into a long braid that hung down her back.

"Gimme your hand," Grandmere demanded. Jim did as she asked. The old lady traced his fingertips, then smiled as if she was satisfied with what she had seen or felt. "I'm old. I don't remember names so I'm gonna call you boy or son 'cause mostly everybody on this planet is a newborn compared to me. You can call me Grandmere. I 'spect right now you wonderin' why you is here so I'll save you a question or two. In 1948, my grandchild went missin'. Today, she done come home. I been waitin' a long time for that."

"If you think one of the..." he searched for the right euphemism.

"Bodies, bones, pieces," Grandmere said for him. "Call 'em what they are, son. Just 'cause I'm old don't mean talkin' 'bout death is goin' to gimme ideas. I know she was dead from the beginnin'. Y'see, if the Society had been operatin' when I was a chile, they would've took me too."

"You mean...?"

Grandmere nodded. "They is a lot of us here. Inbreedin' keeps it in the family, y'know."

Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably. "If you think one of the remains that were recovered is your granddaughter, I think you should contact the local police and let them know."

"The family's down there right now makin' a report," she informed him. "Givin' them a list of the other girls as well."

"You know the others too?" Jim asked in amazement.

Grandmere smiled, then adjusted her teeth when they started to slip. "Knew you'd be 'round 'ventually and would want them girls home quick like before they started to get on your nerves."

"I appreciate the thought, Grandmere."

"But they already on your nerves, ain't they? You carry a heavy burden, boy. But you'll handle it. Just remember, you ain't alone. Even when you think you is, there's somebody lookin' out for you. Come closer." She tugged on him until she could plant a kiss in the center of his forehead. She gasped and sat back in the seat.

He heard her heart racing. "Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked in concern.

She patted his hand and passed on a warning. "They're after you, son. Not 'cause you can stop them but 'cause you got somethin' they want."

"Lici's power," he said knowingly.

"Not just hers, but yours too. I gave you my blessin'. Let that help you, but you gots to be careful. They all 'round you."

"I'll watch my back, Grandmere," Jim promised.

Her bony fingers dug into his arm. "It ain't your back they're aimin' for, baby. It's your heart."

Chapter Eleven

"I don't understand."

She looked down to where he was touching the area where the leg irons cut into her ankles. "Understand what?" She gave a hiss of relief as the pain faded.

"How you are 'dreaming' me."

"I'm not." He turned his head sharply, confusion in the deep blue of his eyes. "In the beginning, I thought that was what was happening. But you are more than a dream. Surely you know that."

"I know much less than anyone thinks," he said ruefully. "All I know is that I am here and although I can see and hear, only you are real to me."

"You know who you are. You know your memories."

"So do you."

She shook her head. "No, not all of them. Just some of the stronger ones. Like your relationship with your family and the men who died in Peru... Dark feelings... painful ones." She placed her hand on his head. "But in the past few years there has come a light."

He wished that particular "light" was around now. Maybe he could make sense of what was going on. "But you summon me and I come. You dismiss me and I go. You are in control of my existence here."

"Then why do you remain while I sleep? I have powers, yes, but so do you. I think maybe they have combined to cause this to occur. Perhaps I needed you so badly that you answered my plea."

"If that were true, then I would use my power to remember and get you out of here before it's too late."

She rested her forehead against his. "It's already too late."

*****

"Sandburg, this is entirely unnecessary," Jim said as they stepped into the elevator at their hotel. "The night's still young. We should be down at the station, debriefing with Rankin and Allen, not going up to our room. But no, you tell them that I've had enough and because they see you as my keeper, they ignore me and do as you say. Tell him, Simon. Tell him we need to get through this so we can get back to Cascade's crime."

"Sorry, Jim," Simon said. His friend had been putting on a good front, but he had noticed as Blair had that Jim had eaten very little. Always a sign of stress in the Sentinel. "I think a good night's sleep is the best thing for all of us. It's been a long, draining day. We aren't used to the heat and the NOPD isn't used to forty-nine bodies floating to the surface of one of their bayous. We can all use a little down time for readjustment."

Jim sighed and leaned back against the wall of the car. It would be futile to argue with both of them. He would show lately achieved maturity and give in gracefully. They were worried about him. He couldn't yell at them for that, could he? Besides, maybe he did need to rest and maybe come to terms with what had occurred that afternoon. He had taken what Alicia had given him and what... raised the dead? Not in the biblical sense, but miraculous in its own way.

"For someone who thinks the night is young, you're asleep on your feet," Simon said, jostling his friend as the elevator doors opened onto their floor. "Put him to bed, Sandburg. And don't let him give you any grief."

"Yes, sir, captain, sir," Blair said with a mock salute. "You heard the man, Jim. I have been given a great power." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"Simon, I'm going to remember this when we get back to Cascade," Jim warned as Simon started down the corridor while he and Blair headed the other way. Since the reservations had been last minute, they hadn't been able to get rooms any closer than on the same floor. For safety's sake Jim and Blair always shared a hotel room; one or the other usually needed protecting and/or comforting and Jim just slept better when he could hear Blair's heartbeat. It was a Sentinel/Guide thing that he never examined too closely.

"Threatening a commanding officer? You've been out of the military too long," Simon commented softly, knowing the Sentinel would hear him. "Maybe I should have you drop and give me ten."

"Only if you'll get on the floor with me," Jim called aloud, laughing as he heard Simon's distinct reply.

"I don't think I want to know what that was about," Blair said drolly, only having heard Jim's side of the conversation. "Listen, man, I know you probably aren't ready to talk about what happened, but we really need to go over what we're going to say or at least what we're going to admit to tomorrow."

Jim smiled. His shield was always worrying about how to protect him. Suddenly, he paused in mid-stride. Your shield and staff are written upon your heart. Keep them near... It ain't your back they're aimin' for, baby. It's your heart.

"Jim?" Blair had kept walking and only now realized Jim wasn't with him. He turned to go back.

"Stay where you are, Chief. Simon!" he called to where the captain had already slid his keycard into the slot on the door. "Don't move!"

Because they were conditioned to obeying the Sentinel, both men completely froze, giving Jim enough time to evaluate their situation with his gifts. Sight gave him nothing, so he shut his eyes and allowed his other senses to roam. Smell picked up something. Explosives. He swiveled his head following the scent. When he opened his eyes, he was staring in Simon's direction.

"Simon, back away from the door slowly, then come this way," he called calmly. The Watcher followed orders, not sure of the threat but completely trusting his Sentinel. The Sentinel for his part, watched with relief as the Watcher got farther away from the danger, but still focused his hearing on the door.

Although his head had been splitting when they arrived last night, Jim had forced himself to listen to the electronic lock on the room door so that he would be aware if someone tried to tamper with it. The action of cataloging locks was now as instinctive to the Sentinel as checking the entrances and exits to a given room was to the detective. So it was that he knew the red light went to green when the keycard was inserted and if the card wasn't removed within ten seconds, the sensor would change back to red, and to open the door the process would have to be started over again. Standard security precautions. He also knew that a soft click preceded the change back to red and he now detected the sound behind the Watcher.

"Simon, run!"

Jim felt the explosion in gradual degrees instead of one concussive shock. As he tumbled to the carpeted floor, he made a mental note to share that information with his Guide when they got home. Then esoteric stuff like that flew out of his mind as the main force of the explosion struck. "Sandburg!" he shouted as the debris began settling.

"I'm fine, Jim."

"Simon!"

"I'm right here. Damn, that was close!" The captain sat up and looked down the hall. He couldn't even see where his room was supposed to be. Just then the sprinkler system kicked in and doors opened all along the corridor, spilling panicked people of all ages, sizes, and races. Training took over and they set about restoring order, guiding people to the stairwells and around various sizable obstructions.

"Simon, come help me."

He turned to where Jim was standing at the doorway across from his room... or what was left of it. Simon managed to peek inside as he joined Jim and saw more nighttime New Orleans than he saw room. He shivered and focused on his friend. "What's going on?"

"This door is jammed and there are three people trapped on the other side. Help me kick it in." With the two of them working together, the door had no chance and the three guests were handed off to Blair who escorted them to the stairs. Jim cocked his head to one side and concentrated. "There's no one else on the floor, Simon. Let's get out of here. Emergency personnel should be here by the time we climb down seventeen floors." Simon shook his head sadly. "I know it's bad, captain."

"It could have been worse. No one was killed. But's that not what I'm shaking my head about."

"All clear, Chief," Jim called as Blair jogged toward them. "Guess it's time for us to head downstairs. Oh yeah, Simon was just going to tell me what's really tragic about all this."

"I just want to know why I bother to go out of town with the two of you. It always ends up like this."

"Seems to me we were nowhere around when you took Daryl to Peru," Blair pointed out, pissed that the captain sounded like he was blaming them, and even more than pissed that he was laying something else on Jim's shoulders. As if he didn't know the Sentinel was already feeling guilty. "But we were sure as hell there to save you both."

"So you're saying it's not just the two of you, but me too? Damn. I guess that explains why I went to the bank and ended up getting shot in a hold up." He sighed as they plodded down the emergency stairs. Guess that means I truly belong. "I apologize for what I said. I guess it isn't everyday I just miss getting blown up."

"And why weren't you blown up?" Blair asked pointedly.

"I said I was sorry, Sandburg." Damn kid could make a saint feel guilty. "Thanks, Jim. I really didn't feel like dying tonight."

"Don't thank me," Jim said as he pulled up the rear. "It's because of me someone tried to kill you-- for the second time today."

"The second?" Simon and Blair chorused.

Jim nodded. "Someone deliberately inflamed Edouard Delacroix and sent him after us."

"Someone like who?" Simon asked.

"The Society."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," the captain said, grimacing when he saw they had only reached the tenth floor. The desk job was getting to him. Good thing Jim hadn't challenged him on those push ups. "Well, at least this is something normal, having people after us. Real, live, breathing humans..."

"Who have been murdering kids and drinking their blood since 1948," Blair added.

Simon glared at the figure on the stairs ahead of him. "Did someone ask you anything, Sandburg? Did you hear me say, 'What's your opinion, Sandburg', or 'You got a comment, Sandburg?' No. I didn't say anything like that."

"Just trying to be helpful, captain."

"Sure you are," Simon grumbled.

"Someone is coming up," Jim warned. He listened to the voices several floors below. "It's Rankin and Allen with the bomb squad."

"Well, why don't we just stop here and wait on them?" Simon suggested reasonably.

Jim, having heard his captain's ragged respiration, rolled his eyes. Simon was definitely heading to the gym with him as soon as they got back to Cascade. "They are going to suggest protective custody."

"Yeah. And our response is going to be?" Simon waited for them to decide. Despite what Blair had said, this was standard policework and he had learned to let his team take the lead in such instances.

Jim paced the small landing. "We're safer on our own. The Society has been operating for years without opposition which means they must have friends in high and important places. We're already at a disadvantage because this is not our playing field. Let's not give them another edge by becoming sitting ducks."

"Then we will just have to refuse the NOPD's generous invitation," Simon said.

"And what invitation is that?" Mike Rankin asked as his party reached them.

"The offer of a safe house for the night."

"So the bomb was directed at the three of you," Mike said, glancing at his partner. "We heard the call just as we were getting out of the car at the station. As soon as they named your hotel, we figured this had something to do with... this case."

Jim folded his arms and looked at him frostily. "Spit it out, Rankin. You're going to have to say it eventually."

The man closed his eyes and muttered a few choice words before replying. "Okay, fine. When I heard a bomb had gone off in your hotel, I immediately knew the... the Society was involved. La Societe de Sang exists, damn it, and they've been killing little girls for years. The police thought that they were a joke. I thought they were a joke. We were all wrong and many have suffered because of it. There. I've admitted it. Is that enough for you, Det. Ellison?"

Jim raised a disdainful eyebrow. "It's a start."

Chapter Twelve

"Why is it that I arrive now only after they have gone?" he asked as he soothed away her latest abuse. "Do they attack earlier, I go to bed later, or is this deliberate?"

She shrugged. "You come when you come."

"No, I come when you call me," he corrected. "If I was here when they... when they did this to you, I could ease the pain immediately. But you delay. Why?" She dropped her head and turned away. "You feel ashamed because of what they do to you?" he guessed. "The only shame belongs to them, chere."

"You did not see the look in your eyes the first night I brought you here," she said softly, a sob just below the words.

He felt sick and angry at himself. That night had shocked him so, he didn't remember what he had felt or expressed. But he knew without a doubt that whatever had shown on his face had not been directed at her. "If you saw disgust, it was not toward you. If you saw anger, I felt none for you. The sight sickened me, but you didn't. I would never think less of you because of what you have suffered. Please don't hide from me, Lici. I need to be there for you. I need to help you. Don't let some misunderstanding keep us apart when we need to be together."

"Nous avons besoin l'un de l'autre."

"That's right. We need each other, Alicia. Don't let my stupidity mess that up."

Her dark eyes turned to face him, luminous as they reflected the light of the full moon angled just outside the window. "Mais non. Not your stupidity, but your compassion. It was the pain I didn't want you to go through again. Do you know that every time the whip fell, you shuddered? That every time one of them laid their hand on me, you flinched? You wrapped yourself into a ball in the corner and you felt everything that was happening to me. I will not allow that to happen again."

His frustration grew. "You are not supposed to protect me." She had suffered needlessly to ease his pain. What kind of man was so weak as to let a child suffer because he revealed too much of himself. "I'm sorry. I let you down. You conjure up some great protector and you end up protecting me... Why do you even bother to call me at all?" he said dejectedly.

"We are a matched pair of martyrs, n'est-ce pas?" She sighed and lay her head against his chest. "Morning is coming. Time for you to go back to living and me to go back to waiting."

"For them?" And your private hell?

"No. For you." And a glimpse of heaven.

*****

"What the hell did you do?"

"I arranged for one of them to be killed."

"You blew up a hotel! I told you I was working on something."

"I grew impatient."

"Great. You grew impatient. Now the ATF has been called in. We can't jerk them around like we do the locals. And all three men are still alive. The others are worried. Some are thinking about throwing themselves on the mercy of the court."

"And making me the fallguy, no doubt. I need to meet with them. Have you at least managed to arrange that?"

"Oh, they are eager to meet. Tomorrow, at the sacred site."

"That could be awkward."

"It's the only place they feel safe." From you.

"The usual time?"

"Yes."

"You will be there, of course?"

"Of course."

"And you'll take care of this other matter?"

"I'll do my best."

*****

Simon Banks lay in the double bed and wondered what the hell was going on. They had checked into this hotel out near the airport instead of downtown New Orleans. Jim had demanded one room, insisting that they all had to be together. Simon had agreed because he saw the logic in it and because he realized Jim was in no mood to argue. Besides, he had no problem with the arrangement as long as it was Jim sharing the bed with Sandburg and not him; the kid probably kicked in his sleep. So he had gone to sleep in his own bed and everyone else was tucked in too, at least they had been when he drifted off. But apparently Jim had awakened and was now... doing what?

"Sandburg, you awake?" he whispered.

"Uh huh."

"What's going on?"

"I have no idea." Neither of them being in possession of Sentinel sight, they could only see that Jim was moving about the dark room, talking to himself-- or maybe not; with Jim, who could tell? "He was sleeping normally for a while, then he suddenly jerked awake," he said, keeping his voice low. "Scared me to death. That's why I know he's not Jim anymore. My heart was racing and he never said a word to me."

"What do you mean he's not Jim anymore?" Simon sat completely up in his bed and turned to glare at Blair, which meant nothing in the dark. "What have you been hiding from me?"

Blair watched Jim for a second, noticing he wasn't paying any attention to their conversation. "In Baltimore, Jim was sort of... possessed. Not in a bad way. It was just that the little boy took over Jim-- really, really briefly, Simon. But Jim's eyes turned brown, just like the murdered kid's. He was inside Jim."

"Shit, Blair!"His voice didn't get any louder but the vehemence was evident. "You're saying these 'things', have the ability to take over my detective. On a need-to-know basis, I think I needed to know!"

"It happened once, maybe twice."

"That's the way it always starts with him, Sandburg." He quieted, knowing his whining about being left out of the loop was doing no good at the moment. But as soon as they got back to Cascade, they were going to have a long talk about keeping secrets from their Watcher. "So you don't think this is him?"

"Look at how he moves, Simon. I think he's a woman. Watch the sway of his hips, the way his hands are moving."

Simon rolled his eyes. Only Sandburg would notice in a dark room that a decidedly non-female form in boxers was moving like a female. "Alicia Delacroix?" he guessed.

"Someone older. Alicia hadn't 'bloomed' that much."

The expert speaks. "One of the others, perhaps? They were generally the same age, but some girls mature faster than others."

"I'm guessing he's someone older. This is New Orleans; he has his choice of ghosts, you know."

"If I curl up into a fetal position and pull the covers over my head, what would it take for you not to tell the guys back in Cascade?" Simon asked fatalistically.

Blair grinned. Nice to know they could still joke under the circumstances. "You don't have enough collateral for that, Simon. Shhh. He's moving this way."

Jim sat on the bed, then lay down and pulled the sheet up. "Think he'll remember any of this in the morning?" Simon asked as he prepared to go back to sleep.

"He remembers it now," Jim replied, laughing silently as both men jumped. "I'll explain in the morning, gentlemen. Now, I seem to recall someone saying something about us needing our rest. Whoever it was, was right. Nighty-night. Don't let the bedbugs bite," he recited with a chuckle.

"It's not the damn bugs I'm worried about," Simon muttered, adjusting his pillow for what he suspected would be a long, restless night.

*****

"So I take it this means you're not going home tonight?" Joey Allen asked as he looked at the stack of files on his partner's desk.

"These are all the cases that I know of in which the Society was mentioned," Mike explained, throwing a distracted hand toward the stack.

"Are you planning on being obsessive about this, Mike?" Joey asked he picked up one of the files. 1978. Swell. He had been four.

Mike sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I've always prided myself on being a good cop. No matter whatever cops got caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jars and D.A. stings, no matter what the local or national press said about the NOPD, I knew I wasn't involved. I knew I was clean. But if the Society exists, then I've been involved in a cover up since I joined the force. I was used, Joey, as sure as those ladies on Bourbon Street. But, hell, at least they know what they're getting into. Me? I feel like a virgin who just had her cherry plucked."

"You said 'if the Society exists.' You still having doubts?"

He shook his head. "How can I? Someone tried to kill those cops from Washington and there can be only one reason for that. No, Joey. The 'if' is just out of habit. I know that there is a Society of Blood. I know they have been perpetuating crimes in my city right under my nose. And I know I'm either going to bring them down or die trying."

Joey looked at his partner, saw the determination in his eyes, and realized that the Society had made an enemy for life and if for some reason Ellison failed to eradicate them, or they got rid of Ellison and his associates, they still wouldn't be safe. Mike would get them. And he wouldn't do it alone. "Mind if I take the later cases? Makes me squeamish to work the ones that happened before I was born," he commented as he slipped his jacket onto the back of his chair.

"What'cha doing, Joey? This is my obsession, not yours."

"Partners, Mike. Just following your lead like you taught me."

Mike caught his wrist as he reached for a bunch of the folders. "This could destroy us," he warned. "I'm really close to my twenty years but you're just starting out. My advice to you is to stay away from it, okay?"

Joey nodded. "Okay, Mike. Message received. Now let me have that file you're reading. At least I was a teen in the eighties."

Chapter Thirteen

"Tell me about Blair."

"Why? You *know* all my strong emotions."

"That's why I know how much you care for him, but that does not tell me about the man."

"What do you want to know?" he asked grudgingly, not because he hoarded his memories of Blair but because he was getting anxious about Alicia's situation. The child had lost considerable weight in the few days she'd been held captive. Thanks to his healing abilities none of her wounds were infected, but the nearly tropical bayou teemed with assorted bacteria, viruses, and parasites. From Alicia's slightly elevated temperature and a minor hitch in her breathing, he feared one of the microbes had made its way into her system. Even if he managed to convince her to let him contact the authorities, she could die before she was found.

"What does he look like?" An image formed in their shared thoughts and she gasped. "An angel."

He nodded. The long dark curls did remind him of Raphael's creations. "My take on him may be a bit biased," he reminded her. "But I think there are several ladies out there who would agree at my depiction of Blair."

"He is very beautiful."

"On the inside too," he volunteered. "A soul that rivals his corporeal beauty. That's his main attraction in my book."

"Not that he helps you?"

"Now that he has shown me the way, anyone could help me with my gifts if that's what you're referring to. But they couldn't be my Guide because Blair takes care of the total me, my soul-- what little I had left until he arrived-- included. I had holes inside and he patched them up." He sighed, trying to put his past into words. "I had these tiny cracks in me, like a piece of fine china that had been mishandled but was on display anyway. Up on the shelf, I looked fine but if I was touched, I would shatter. That's why I warned people off, my wife included. But Blair Sandburg just waltzed in and reached up for me, ignoring the warning signs. I thought I would be a goner, that as soon as his fingers closed around me, there would be so many pieces of me laying around that even a dustbuster would be hard pressed to suck up all my fragments."

"But you're here and whole."

"That's because his touch was so gentle. Things shifted but they stayed together long enough for him to apply his special 'glue'. You say I'm whole; I say I'm getting there. Maybe. Anyway, I don't fear shattering anymore. And if a piece does break off now and again, I know that Blair will be there to put it back in place."

"He is a part of you."

"He is the best part of me." He felt a tear fall on his hand. "I have made you sad?"

"Non. I share in your happiness. There was a time I wished for a friend like that, a brother or sister who was that much a part of me. But I realized that it wouldn't be fair to get so close to a person, only to have to leave them."

"What isn't fair is that you've had the burden of knowing your fate and not being able to change it. You shunned friendship and sacrificed other pleasures because you could 'see'. How can you continue to call this a gift and not a curse?"

"If you could have 'seen' the accident in Peru, you would have changed it?"

"Of course."

"But what if you had also foreseen your future with Blair, a future that would not have occurred without the incident in Peru. The helicopter crash in one hand; your Guide in the other. What would be your choice, Sentinel?" His jaw clamped shut, the muscles in the arms surrounding her cording as they grew taut. "Sometimes not having a choice is a good thing, mon ami. Sometimes we must give ourselves up to fate for our own good."

"And it is for your good that you must die?"

"It is for everyone's good."

*****

"And that's the whole story," Jim said and took the last bite of his Egg McMuffin.

"So you're saying Alicia sent this woman's spirit to you?" Blair asked for clarification as he opened his orange juice. It if wasn't for the coffee and the juice, he guessed he would have starved. Apparently the day began with grease in the South-- fried eggs, fried sausage, fried bacon... It was a wonder every cardiologist in the country hadn't migrated south yet.

"I guess you could say she's been soliciting the other side on our behalf." Jim reached in the bag for the remaining hashbrown and found only an empty container. Using his Sentinel sight, he spied the crumbs hanging on Simon's chin. No wonder the captain had been suspiciously quiet as he told his tale. "The Society scares her, so she sent Felicity to bind us in a protective circle."

"You mean you," Simon said, glancing in the mirror before changing lanes. Their exit was approaching.

"I mean us, captain. Whose room went boom? Yours."

"But I figured they just got the rooms confused because I made both reservations," Simon said with a frown. "Why in the hell would they want to get rid of me? I'm just as lost as anyone."

"They know what Brooks Quinlan knew, sir," Jim said softly.

Brooks Quinlan had wanted to destroy Jim because the detective had killed his criminal son. He had tried everything from torture to frame ups to decimate the cop, to crush him without killing him because dying was much too easy. But everything he inflicted upon Jim, Jim had endured because Blair and Simon were always there. So Quinlan had decided to kill Blair and Simon to get back at Jim. That had been his last decision.

"You're both important to the Sentinel, and to me. Without you, I'm handicapped," he admitted reluctantly. "How the hell I went from needing no one to needing two people, I don't know."

"Well, I don't think this is the time to be questioning it," Blair said sensibly, not wanting the older men to become uncomfortable with each other with danger looming nearby. They had both been raised to believe men didn't need anybody-- other than the occasional woman and a son to carry on their name. "So this binding spell was done with the herbs you bought yesterday morning?"

Jim nodded. "I went along with it just because of Alicia, but I didn't even consider allowing her to do the spell until Simon's room exploded."

"And you just let her take over your body?"

"Alicia sent her, Chief. I knew it was safe."

Blair picked up the notebook he'd been scribbling in. "What about the headache this time? I noticed it didn't affect your stomach like it has in the past."

"There was no headache, Chief. I don't know why."

"I think I do." Jim turned his head toward the backseat. "You didn't fight Felicity because Alicia sent her. You allowed her access and didn't trigger any defenses. Maybe it's not the ghosts causing the pain, but you, Jim," Blair explained excitedly.

"So if I just give in and let them have their way with me, I won't have any pain?" Jim asked, condensing his partner's words. "I'm sorry, Chief. That's like rolling over and letting someone rape me. No way. I may get raped anyway, but damn it, someone's going to have bruises somewhere."

Blair reached out to squeeze his partner's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jim. It was just a theory."

"I'm sorry too, Chief, but that's one theory that's going to go untested." A shudder went through him as he remembered Alicia up on that altar. Rape was an invasion on the most personal level. She had taken it because she believed she was supposed to. He would never believe that deeply.

"I hear you loud and clear, Jim."

"Well, since that's cleared up, maybe the two of you would like to help me find a parking space," Simon groused in order to keep Jim from remembering too long. "Even with a visitor's permit, there's not a lot of spaces."

Ten minutes later, as they stood at the front desk waiting patiently for their visitor's I.D.'s they noticed a certain silence had fallen in their general vicinity. The desk sergeant nervously handed them the clip-on badges and buzzed them in through the security gate. The main bullpen then fell into a strange hush. Blair got mad on his partner's behalf.

"Are you a betting man, Jim?" he asked in a loud whisper.

Simon groaned as he heard the tone of Blair's voice. The man was up to no good. And apparently his partner was going to abet him. "I've been known to take a chance or two," Jim said in the same mock whisper. "What you got?"

"Well, I was wondering if our presence was stimulating this reaction because of the bayou incident. Or is it because we almost blew up last night? Or is it because we dare named the Society of Blood as the culprits?"

Jim scratched his head dumbly. "Gee, Chief, that's a tough call. What do you think, captain?"

Don't drag me into this... Oh, what the hell. "I think all the attention is because," Simon crooked his finger so that both men leaned toward him, "we're so darn cute."

"I'm flattered," Jim replied. "But I hope they know we don't do pin-ups."

"I don't know about that, guys," Blair said quickly. "Depends on where they put the staple." They looked at each other and laughed as they headed toward the detective area.

One look at Rankin and Allen and it was obvious neither had gone home. "Something happen since we last saw you?" Simon asked anxiously, all kidding aside now.

"Other than the fact that I now completely believe in the existence of the Society and have pledged on the body of every one of those little girls that I will get the people responsible? Nah," Mike said irritatedly.

"Good. Because we have enough to deal with," Simon declared. "What are all these files on your desk?"

"Cases that the Society may have been involved in. I thought there could be a clue or two in them somewhere to the identities of these people, where they meet, something," Mike explained tiredly.

Simon nodded. "Good idea. While you and Allen go home and get yourselves together, we'll go through them. Find yourself a chair, Sandburg."

"Just a minute, captain," Mike protested.

"Rankin, how many fingers am I holding up?" He held up his right index.

"Umm, eight?" Mike guessed. "Maybe a few hours rest is called for. Come on, partner. Our relief shift is here."

"'Bout time," Joey murmured and grabbed his jacket. Then with bloodshot eyes he looked at the three of them. "Thanks, guys. I couldn't get him to leave and I couldn't leave without him."

Blair smiled. "I know the feeling, man. A nap and a shower, in any order, will do wonders. Believe me."

"You sound as if you're an expert," Joey said with admiration.

"Goes with the territory, Joey." He looked at his two companions who had already settled into the chairs vacated by the detectives and were methodically going through the files. "Cops all over, good cops anyway, are just the same. You'll get used to it. I have." With that he snagged a chair from someone else's desk and chose a stack of files for himself.

Chapter Fourteen

"Alicia, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

"Hit me."

"Why?"

"No questions, please. Just do it." She tapped him gently on the arm. He frowned. "No, hit me like you mean it. Hit me as if I was the one who whipped you or touched you in the wrong places or kidnapped you... or the one who slapped you and caused that bruise on your cheek."

"Arrete! Stop it, Jim! Don't do this!"

"Don't do what, Alicia? Allow you to be angry? Give you a safe outlet for your anger?"

"I am not angry," she whispered harshly.

"Of course you're not. Saints don't get angry. They have no emotions at all."

"I am not a saint."

"Then let it out, Lici. It's inside you and it needs to be released. If you fight them, they'll only hurt you worse. But if you fight me, I won't fight back. Please. Lici, just try. I'm big enough to take it."

She kicked him on the shin then stepped back, ashamed at herself. He smiled. She balled up her fist and slugged him in the chest. That felt so good she did it again. And finally, the dam burst. All her pent up anger, frustrations, fears, just poured out of her and into her extremities. She kicked him, shoved him, beat him, and cursed him until her emotions were spent and she started to collapse to the floor. He reached out and caught her up in his arms, wishing he could carry her out of the cabin and to safety. But the chains held her fast and he was helpless against them, so he settled on the bed and gently rocked her as she sobbed.

Finally, he thought, as she drifted off to sleep. Finally, he had found a way to help her.

*****

"Hello, detectives."

Blair and Simon looked up to see Edouard Delacroix standing next to the desks they had shanghaied. "Mr. Delacroix," Simon said, extending his hand. "I'd just like to say again how sorry we are about your loss."

"Non. It was you and l'ange who brought her back to me. Do you know when she will be released? I have to make the arrangements."

"I'm sure Detectives Allen and Rankin can get that information for you when they return."

Edouard looked around anxiously. "What happened last night was all over the news. They said none of you were harmed, but where is the other? Nothing has happened to him?"

"I'm fine, Edouard," Jim said, coming in with three coffees. An old file, covered with dust, had sent him into a sneezing frenzy and he'd gone out into the hall to recover. As soon as he stopped sneezing, he'd smelled the coffee and figured all three of them could use the caffeine. "What are you doing here?"

"Paying a ridiculously large fine for yesterday's occurrence. The judge was a low-born man and could not understand my grief."

Jim ignored the arrogance in the statement. "And how is your grief today? And your wife's?"

Edouard shrugged. "Once I saw my Lici in the coroner's office, something in my heart closed down. I do not feel any longer. As for my wife, I fear she feels too much. I worry for her. She has locked herself in her rooms and refuses to let me comfort her. At least she talks to her friends on the phone."

Jim turned his head toward the hallway and a second later, Mike and Joey appeared. "Perhaps you can get answers to your questions now," Simon said.

"Thank you, yes," Edouard said politely and stepped over to the pair.

"I get the feeling race doesn't mean a thing here," Simon said. "It's all money."

"No," Blair said. "It's family. Definitely a city where who-you-are matters more than anything else. Even if you're rich, you have to have a pedigree to be accepted by society here."

"Got to have your papers like a pet poodle, huh?" Simon commented.

"Wonder if that's required by the Society of Blood as well?" Blair questioned eagerly. "Maybe you have to 'belong' before you can join? That would explain how they've gotten away with what they have for so long."

"Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'dog-eat-dog' world, doesn't it?" Simon said dryly.

"Find anything interesting?" Mike asked as he and Joey approached. The few hours of rest had made him a new man.

Jim shrugged. "There are several pieces of evidence we'd like access to," he requested politely. He didn't like being on someone else's turf, having to ask permission for each and every little thing, but he knew how to play the game.

"You didn't have to wait for us, man," Mike said. "The commissioner and the captain have basically given you the key to the department. There's a memo on the main board which basically gives you guys the authority to do whatever you want. Just ask and ye shall receive."

"Well, that's sporting of you," Simon said, suspicious of the "open door" policy. Not something that would have happened in Cascade. Not under his command anyway.

"This case hit everyone hard, Captain Banks," Joey explained. "The death of children is just as ugly to the guy on the street as it is to the man in the Governor's Mansion."

"Even if it involves the Society?" Blair asked meaningfully.

"Especially if it involves the Society," Mike said dryly. "The NOPD has had a lot of bad press lately, most of it warranted unfortunately. Seems our men in blue have been selling themselves to the highest bidder. So we don't want the national press and the feds coming down here wondering who we've sold ourselves to this time. So our fear is your gain."

"Fair enough," Jim said. "You got that list, Sandburg?"

"Right here, Jim." He tore a sheet of paper out of a notebook and both disappeared as Mike pointed them in the direction of the evidence room. "Are they going to need lab space, captain?"

Simon barely heard the question. He was still pondering the fact that Blair had a list of what evidence Jim needed. Considering the fact that he had sat with them all morning and had never heard anything about evidence said between the two of them, how had Sandburg known that Jim wanted any evidence at all? He suddenly wondered if straightjackets were one-size-fits-all. "Uh, just a private room will be okay."

"I wonder what they think they can find that our forensics staff couldn't?" Joey asked idly.

"Since Sandburg is not a cop but a consultant to their department, he's probably a forensics expert or something. Right, Captain Banks?" Mike inquired. The faxes on the trio had come in late last night. Ellison and Sandburg's closure rate was phenomenal.

"Jim and Blair have a unique approach to forensics," he said obliquely. "So, do you have any news about the explosion last night?"

While Simon was being handed the reports on the bombing, Blair and Jim set up once again in the interrogation room. "Okay, Jim, in ten of these crimes, soil samples were found that were inconsistent with the crime scenes. We need to see if the samples came from the same area."

Jim nodded. "That would give us a connection between the crimes. If I figure out where they were holding Alicia, link that to the samples, then we would have hard evidence of a Society connection." He eyed the row of plastic bags. "Where do we start? And if you say with taste, I'm going to tell Simon what happened to the cigars he thought he had brought with him." Blair looked at him wide-eyed. "Don't give me that innocent look. Think I can't detect Simon's choice of tobacco and its smell on you?"

Blair muttered something about living with a bloodhound, then crossed his arms defiantly. "It's not only a filthy habit but it's also bad for his health. The Guide is supposed to look out for the Watcher as well as the Sentinel."

"Uh huh. And that's why the Sentinel has to look out for the Guide's butt too. Try asking him to leave them behind next time."

Blair rolled his eyes, knowing how much good that would do. "Why don't we let that damn sense of smell of yours do something important? Let's see what we can find out about this soil."

By the time Joey Allen came to check on them a couple of hours later, they had gone through the soil samples and were working on traces of feathers that had been discovered on or around several bodies. "So if they sacrificed the young virgins for their power, why did they kill these people?" he asked. Most of the victims were known prostitutes, both male and female.

Jim shrugged. "For practice and for play. Maybe there's something sexual in killing a prostitute. Hell, for all we know, it could be better than Viagra."

"Could be the reason for the feathers then?" Joey guessed.

"No, the feathers belong on the masks they use."

"Well, that's going to be a dead end. Those masks are standard Mardi Gras fare and the tourists love them. Can find them all over the city any time of the year."

"Mardi Gras must be a policeman's nightmare," Blair said, having attended one memorable Mardi Gras. For someone who reveled in spontaneity, the annual celebration had been a bit much even for him. Of course, he had come to that conclusion several weeks after the fact. That was how long it had taken him to recover from the experience.

"It's bad enough we have all those people," Joey agreed. "But then these people are masked so identification is a bitch."

Jim lost the rest of Joey's words as an image formed in his mind. Something about a particular mask...

She had been stripped bare and laid upon the altar, her arms chained above her head, her legs spread-eagled in preparation. The stench of raw, unfettered sex hung heavy in the humid, stagnant air, a massive orgy having just ended before the sacrifice du jour had been brought forth. A pounding percussion beat thrummed in the background and he searched the compound looking for the musician, but the music seemed to be coming from all around.

Small fires were lit around the altar and in this light a man danced, his oiled skin reflecting the golden flames. He was naked except for the elaborate mask covering his face and it was obvious the musky scent of sex called to him. In order to enhance the featured attraction, he apparently had been denied during the earlier festivities or else the music gave him astonishing recuperative abilities or maybe, Jim burned with a fury as he considered this, maybe the man was thinking of the little girl that lay stretched before him as he grew erect.

The dancer paused before one of his cohorts. With her breasts jutting out enticingly beneath the flowing robe, her sex was as obvious as his although a mask of long, tapered white feathers covered her features. He bowed his head before her as in obeisance and she favored him with several strokes of her fingers. Then she led him to the altar. Alicia had looked at the pair and for once she wasn't able to hide the fear. "Non, si'l vous plait! I beg of you, Mama, please!"

"Jim!" Blair shook the figure frozen before him. What the hell had caused Jim to zone? "Go get Captain Banks, Joey!" he commanded, not only wanting Simon but also wanting to get the cop out of the room.

He looked at what was crushed in Jim's hand. One of the feathers. "Jim, come on, man. It's time to come back from wherever that thing has taken you. You know the way, Jim. Just follow my voice." Jim shuddered beneath his hand. "That's it, man. Come on back."

"I'm here, Sandburg," Jim said shakily. "For better or worse, I'm here."

"What happened, man? You zone on the feather?" He led Jim to a chair as he talked, noting his partner was paler than he should have been. "I should have been watching closer but Joey started talking about Mardi Gras and I started remembering--"

"I started remembering too," Jim said and from the ridge that formed along his jaw, Blair realized the memories weren't good ones.

"What is it, Jim? What do you remember?"

Jim stared off into space unblinkingly. "I remembered who killed Alicia."

Chapter Fifteen

"Do you like yourself?"

Not a question he was used to being asked. "Most of the time."

"Most?"

He looked at her arm spread limply across his. Hell, with his tan he was darker than she was. "According to my friends I do guilt really well. That sort of accounts for my occasional bouts of self-loathing."

"Guilt is a useless emotion."

"So I've been told."

She shifted uneasily. "But sometimes it can't be helped. And at other times, maybe it is deserved."

"That's a fact," he agreed, wondering what was her point. "You feeling guilty about something?"

She leaned back against him. "My use of you. You have your own destiny to fulfill, with pains and sorrows of your own. You don't need mine."

"I don't want to get into this argument again," he said with gentle force and she quieted... much too easily. "You and I both know any guilt of that nature goes into the useless category. But I sense this is about more than just our relationship. Perhaps there is some guilt that you think is deserved?"

She paused, gnawing on her bottom lip, not used to having someone to talk to, to unburden her soul to. "You believe the sins of the father can be revisited upon the son?"

"Yes." Hadn't he almost ended up like his father? Angry, divorced, alone. If it hadn't been for Blair...

"Then is it not the child's duty to repent for the sins of the parent?"

He thought back through the actions of his life. Had he been unwittingly repenting for the sins of his father? Had he become a cop because his father always took and never gave back? Did he risk his life for strangers because William Ellison had never given a damn about anyone but himself? "I don't know," he finally replied. "I want to say no, that we are not responsible for the actions of another and therefore should not have to answer for his or her transgressions. But how can I tell you that when I find *myself* atoning for offenses that are not my own?"

She turned her head upward and kissed him on the chin. "It is nice to be understood."

*****

"The matter can be resolved to our satisfaction as long as we keep our heads."

"I agree and so do the others. We will meet tonight and determine our course of action as a whole. I think I should warn you that many disapprove of you having something done on your own."

"While we waited for a committee to decide our action, these men were uncovering our secrets. Besides, when did this become a democracy?"

"You are our head as always."

"I share the power with you."

"Yes, you do. But our power has been weakened by the loss of the sacrifice."

"But her power continues and now we know where it resides. Tell them not to fear or give up. We shall get it back. After all, he is one and we are many."

And that is the arrogance that scares us all. "Will there be a problem getting out of the house tonight? Because of the circumstances, you are under more scrutiny than we are."

"Deception is easy when one lives with a fool."

"Very well. Until tonight?"

"Until tonight."

*****

"Captain, I think Ellison is having another experience!" Joey whispered urgently in Simon's ear. "Sandburg sent me out to get you."

"Damn," Simon muttered, moving quickly out of his chair and toward the interrogation room. His glare at the trailing detectives left them standing outside the door as he slammed it shut. He glanced quickly at his two men, noting that Jim seemed a little shaken but okay. "What happened?" he barked nervously.

"Jim--" Blair began.

"Not here," Jim interrupted quickly. "We need to get out of here, Simon," he implored, nodding toward the large mirror at the end of the room. At the moment no one was on the other side listening in, but Simon's hurried entry could alert someone that something major was happening.

Simon gave a jerking nod. He opened the door and ushered them through it, saying something about low blood sugar and the need for food. Before Mike and Joey could react, the three men were gone.

"Low blood sugar?" Joey questioned disbelievingly.

"Yeah, right," was Mike's assenting reply.

Instead of heading toward the car, Simon led his men down the street and around a corner. He finally stopped at a gate leading to a private courtyard. Surprising Jim and Blair, he pulled out a ring of keys and opened the gate. Although Jim trusted his captain, he hesitated before going in.

"It's okay, Jim. Last night as we were leaving, T'Dette handed me these keys, whispered an address, and said if we ever needed a secure meeting place to come here," he explained. "For some reason, I didn't bother to ask her how she knew we would need a place like this. I guess I'm learning, huh?"

"More than you ever wanted to," Jim muttered, knowing Simon had gotten a lot more than he bargained for when he got entangled with the Sentinel and Guide.

"I'm surviving it better than you," Simon observed dryly. He looked around the small garden approvingly. Lush evergreen plants vied for attention with flowers of assorted sizes and colors. Dark green wrought iron patio furniture completed the setting. There were three doors leading into the building behind, but a quick shake of Jim's head told him no one was nearby. "What happened in the interrogation room? Someone come for a visit or did you zone?"

"Neither," Jim said, his jaw quivering angrily as the memories returned in full color. "I remembered more, Simon. I know who killed Alicia."

Simon pushed his glasses up in order to see his detective more clearly. "You were able to recognize one of the members of the Society? I thought they were all masked?" he asked, puzzled but hopeful as well. Maybe this whole "adventure" was about over.

"Even if Daryl were masked, you could recognize your son, couldn't you, sir?"

"I suppose." Maybe not in a full mask, the boy was at the age where he changed daily, but the feathered ones he'd seen in New Orleans mainly covered only the eyes.

"And, Chief, you could recognize me, couldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," Blair said easily. "Oops, I think that's supposed to be your line. But yeah, I'd know you anywhere, big guy. What's your point?"

"Alicia was able to recognize her killer. A family member."

"Not Edouard?" Blair questioned hesitantly. The man had seemed so sincere when he had collapsed in the interrogation room.

"No. Helaire."

"Her mother?" Blair's mouth dropped open and Simon stiffly eased into one of the wrought iron chairs as if he were an old man and getting older by the minute. "Alicia's mom is a member of the Society?" Blair asked bewilderedly.

"She's the leader, the what did you call it, yes, the mambo; High Priestess of the Society of Blood," Jim said with a sneer.

"Jim, are you sure of this?" Simon asked quietly.

"Alicia begged her mother not to order her raped. I guess with Helaire herself holding the stone dagger that ripped into her heart, Lici sort of figured it was useless to beg her for her life," Jim said, only those who knew him well noticing the faint trembling in his voice.

"How could she do such a thing?" Simon asked. Just the thought of even causing a scratch on Daryl made him ill. "She was the murderer? She actually killed her own child?" Jim nodded.

"But that means she's the one who had her kidnapped, and tortured, and she watched her daughter being raped..." Blair mumbled in confusion.

The woman's eyes met her daughter's without a flinch. Without a word, she cupped the man's buttocks and urged him toward the child and Alicia shut her eyes and turned away. He told her to keep them closed and to focus only on his voice. Her hands kept a tight grip on his as he sang her that song again, the one she now called the "hope" song. He kept his voice true, faltering only once when she cried out involuntarily as her rapist tore into her flesh. He looked up then and that was when he saw it, the smile gracing Helaire Delacroix's face.

"She not only watched, but she smiled, Chief. She stood right there and smiled in pure satisfaction." His knuckles cracked against the brick wall surrounding the courtyard.

"This is all well and good," Simon said, as he came to terms with the evil he continued to see during his tenure as a cop. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, it did. "But what are we going to do about it?"

"You mean other than my original thought of going to her home and strangling the bitch?" Jim asked menacingly.

Simon nodded. "Yeah, other than that, Jim. We're going to need concrete evidence like the hows and whys, the other members who can provide less mystical eyewitness accounts, not to mention the murder weapon itself."

"I read a news account that said Helaire Delacroix was from a well-known family herself. Maybe a research of her background could provide some clues. Wasn't there a public library near our first hotel, next to the government buildings?" Blair asked.

"Not a bad idea, Chief, but I was thinking of something more direct-- like staking out her house and seeing what these senses of mine can pick up. Edouard said she was in phone contact with her friends. Maybe she's talking to the other Society members," Jim guessed.

Simon sighed. Jim's suggestion smacked of something illegal but since nothing of an electronic nature would be used to tap into Helaire's private conversations... "Both ideas have merit. Sandburg, you go to the library. I'll ride shotgun with your partner and make sure he doesn't lose himself in his work."

"I don't like the idea of us separating," Jim said hesitantly.

"I thought your friend had us bound in some kind of protective circle," Simon reminded him.

"As if you believe," Blair said with a snort.

"Weren't you the one who said it didn't matter whether we believed, Sandburg, as long as those who actually practiced the belief did? Well, our enemies are with the Society. I think that probably qualifies them as believers," Simon pointed out.

"Your circular logic skills are improving, sir," Blair said approvingly.

"Yeah, I had a real good teacher." He shot a smile in Blair's direction before turning to his detective. "What do you say, Jim?"

Jim reached around his neck and pulled a small cord over his head. Attached to the cord was a small fabric pouch. With a few soft words, he transferred the amulet to his partner.

"This is a gris-gris, right, Jim?" Blair said excitedly and, noticing Simon's confusion, continued. "It's a sort of charm bag, Simon, to ward off bad luck and spirits. Man, I hadn't even noticed you were wearing one of these."

"Felicity made it last night," Jim admitted. "I want you to wear it outside your shirt. With those long locks of yours and that backpack, no one will think twice about some funky necklace. And those that do think twice, maybe it will be a warning."

"You think of all the angles, don't you, Jim?"

Jim thought back to all the times he'd nearly lost his partner to various enemies, criminals, psychopaths. Sometimes his forethought had saved him; other times it had been pure luck. "Yeah, Chief. When it comes to you, I have to."

"I'll be careful, Jim," Blair vowed.

As he watched his partner go one way while he and Simon went the other, Jim felt a ghostly hand reach out and squeeze his shoulder. With a nod of thanks, he let Blair go do his specialty while he did his.

Chapter Sixteen

Each night he tried to figure out how it worked. But if he ever had, apparently he forgot when he awoke. Because that was how he went back and forth. Fall asleep in Cascade, wake up in Louisiana. Fall asleep in the bayou, wake up in the loft. It was crazy. He knew that and on occasion he worried about himself. But mainly the one he worried about was the one with the answers. And she wasn't sharing.

Usually when he arrived, materialized, coalesced, or whatever the hell he did to end up in the tiny shack, there was only one heartbeat present. But tonight there were several, not in the shack but in the area surrounding it. "What's going on?" he asked quickly, heading toward the hole in the wall that supposedly was a window. As soon as he focused, he wished he could take the question back. From the grunts and groans, laughter and moans, it was obvious what was occurring.

"They are preparing," she said flatly.

"For?"

"Me."

He bowed his head, his fingernails boring holes into his palms as he fought for control. He had failed. The realization was something he felt in every inch of his body. He would probably continue to beg her to let him help, probably up to the moment she died. But the end would always be the same. Could he do this? Every time some unknown innocent died under his watch, he felt his soul bleeding. How would he survive when the innocent was known... and loved? But that would be his burden to bear, not hers.

The fingers uncurling, he pasted on a smile and went to her.

*****

"Where are your handsome friends?" Shelly Thomas asked her fellow detectives as she settled behind her desk. The break room, her first stop when she came on duty, had been buzzing about the visitors. Their impromptu scene was related to her word for word. And, in the female contingency's opinion, the captain hadn't been far from the truth; they were darn cute.

"Happily married for all of what, five months, Detective Thomas?" Mike asked dryly.

"Just because there's a ring on my finger doesn't mean I suddenly went blind. Besides, I'm only window-shopping. I'm not planning on buying or even sampling the wares," she protested.

"I've been told ladies window-shop when they're bored."

Shelly gave Mike a dark look. "I'm not in need of your marriage counseling skills today, Mike. I just asked a simple question."

"They went to get something to eat," Joey answered, trying to soothe the tension between the two. As if there wasn't enough to be tense about. Something had happened in that interrogation room and although he had been there, he had no idea of what it was. Their guests had left nearly three hours ago and hadn't returned or even called in.

"The desk sergeant said they seemed to be moving in a hurry." The good thing about cops and gossip-- they never forgot the details.

"Low blood sugar," Joey mumbled.

"What?"

"He said one of them had low blood sugar, hence the rush for food. A sleepless night plus irregular meals. It happens," Mike pointed out, his irritation obvious. Where the hell were they? There had already been an attempt, no, according to Ellison, two attempts on their lives.

"Probably Sandburg," Shelly said distractedly as she visualized the long dark curls. "He looks like he's high-maintenance. Speaking of Mr. Cute and Cuddly..."

Mike and Joey turned to see Blair heading toward them. As he came closer, they could tell he was brimming with excitement, a curious vibration seemingly running through him from head to toe. "Hi guys," he said with a quick grin. "Jim and Captain Banks haven't gotten back yet?"

"You separated?" Mike asked angrily. "Whose bright idea was that?"

"Ours. You got a problem with it?" Jim asked as he and Simon entered the squad room.

"You're targets for some very powerful people."

"We know that. But we can't let that hamper our investigation, can we?" Simon intervened. "Sandburg, I don't even have to ask how your assignment went. You're bouncing."

"Am not," Blair said out of habit.

"Are too. You examine his shoes like I asked you to, Jim?"

"Yes, sir. Not a spring in sight. It's, uh, natural, sir," he replied with a wry grin. Everything was finally coming together. Maybe, just maybe, he was close to getting retribution for Alicia. How had she put it? There would be a reckoning.

"Well, whatever it is, it needs to be turned off and the only way to do that is to debrief him. You gentlemen ready for dinner?" Simon asked.

"I thought when you left you were going to get something to eat?" Shelly asked suspiciously.

"That was three hours ago," Simon said and patted Blair on the shoulder. "He's still a growing boy."

Shelly smirked in her co-workers direction. She had apparently pegged the weak link correctly. Mike ignored her and started clearing his desk, locking up a few of the papers he'd been going through. The visitors were obviously having a trust issue with the department and he didn't blame them. Besides, it had been a while since his last meal. "You wanna go back to T'Dette's?"

"We were thinking more along the lines of the Garden District," Jim said as they exited the station.

Mike shrugged. If the detective got stuck in one of the noisy touristy places, he wasn't to blame. "One car or two?"

"One." They led the NOPD officers to a dark blue Cherokee Grand Laredo.

"You got a new rental," Joey said, eyeing the sports utility vehicle appreciatively. He had always wanted a Jeep.

"It's functional and blends," Jim said offhandedly. The four-wheel drive would probably come in handy later in the night.

Simon and Jim got in up front and Blair found himself stuck in the middle of the backseat. At least it was bigger than the frontseat of Jim's Ford truck back home. And definitely more comfortable. Why, it even had shock absorbers!

"Say one thing about my truck and you're walking back to Cascade," Jim threatened, easily reading his partner's mind. "Now, tell us what you found."

He started to reach for his backpack but figured he had all the pertinent details memorized. "Helaire Battiste was born in 1958 to Jeannette and Harold Battiste. Harold marrying Jeannette was scandalous because not only couldn't Jeannette's heritage match his but there were rumors she was a Voodoo priestess. And I do mean voodoo. There were certain horror stories Harold had immediately squashed following his marriage. However, when their daughter was born ten years later, no one had anything bad to say about Jeannette."

"So Jeannette and Harold married in '48. The same year as the first sacrifice," Simon said, catching on quickly.

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?" Mike said, tired of being in the dark. Apparently, this quick social history of New Orleans' leading families was heading somewhere, but where?

Blair ignored him. "Jeannette died in 1982. Six months later, Helaire married Edouard Delacroix. Four years after that Alicia was born."

"Damn," Jim swore from the passenger's seat. "She was not only atoning for the sins of her mother, but her grandmother as well."

"Someone either tell us what's going on or take out your guns and shoot us," Mike declared angrily.

"La Societe de Sang was founded by Jeannette Battiste. When she died, it was taken over by her daughter Helaire, soon to be Helaire Delacroix," Blair explained before violence could erupt.

Mike shook his head. "No. No way I'm going to believe that Helaire Delacroix is responsible for her daughter's death. She was the one who insisted her husband report the girl's disappearance. She was a total wreck when we interviewed her."

"Not a total wreck, Mike," Joey said hesitantly, remembering the visit to the house. "I mean in front of her husband, she was crying and all, but when we went upstairs to Alicia's room to see if anything was missing, like maybe she had run away, the woman was... cool. I thought maybe that was her way of coping, of not breaking down in front of a perfect stranger."

"Why didn't you tell me this?" Mike demanded. "I would have--"

"Found nothing," Jim supplied. "The Society has been covering up its actions for fifty years. If Helaire wanted you to believe she was the heartbroken mother, then that's exactly what you would have seen."

"But she can't blind you?"

"She couldn't blind her own daughter."

Mike stirred uneasily. He'd forgotten Ellison's unique approach to the investigation. "No disrespect, man, but we can't exactly go to the commissioner with your kind of evidence."

"That's why we're working on more tangible proof. That's why we have Sandburg's research and our eventual stake out at the Delacroix house."

"Dinner in the Garden District, huh?" Dinner would probably consist of something in a small white bag and plenty cups of coffee downed in the Jeep. "If she's a smart as you say she is, why do you think you're going to get something on her?"

"She made plans for a meet tonight."

"Alicia tell you that?"

"No," Jim said with a grin. "A little birdie."

"You people travel with your own equipment?" Mike asked, knowing they hadn't requested any surveillance equipment from the department. Sure they had carte blanche, but a tap required a court order. He eyed Sandburg's pack suspiciously.

"We like being prepared," Jim said curtly.

"You guys aren't like any cops I know," Joey said softly.

Simon laughed. "I've been telling them that for years."

Chapter Seventeen

"Jim, we need to talk."

"We haven't been?" he asked flippantly as he walked away from the bed. He knew she wanted to talk about her death and he wasn't ready to face that yet-- not without scaring her with his anger anyway.

"I have certain abilities."

"That is why they want you."

"You are not curious why they choose little girls?"

Of course she was willing to tell her secrets when he had decided not to listen. She *was *a witch-- but just the irritating type, like Sandburg. He walked back toward her and sat down on the dirt floor. "Enlighten me."

She smiled. Her mother had been right for once; men were easy to manipulate. Too bad she wouldn't live long enough to try with someone else. "My talents are undefined. I can reasonably see what my future holds but if I had lived--"

"You're not dead yet," he denoted bitterly.

"If I was going to live for several more years," she amended, "I probably would have found other things I could do. Both males and females of our kind are born with these powers but they don't manifest fully until we mature. Until then, there is an energy in us that builds as we age and that energy will fuel our gifts for as long as we live. This group chooses girls because we mature faster, which means that our energy hits its peak earlier, while we are young enough that we are no danger to them. It is the energy, moreso than the power, that they feed upon. Whatever talents they themselves have are enhanced, strengthened until the next sacrifice."

"I understand."

"Do you? Because you yourself have talents. You are the Sentinel."

"I am the Sentinel," he concurred.

"I will give you my power, my energy. Your talents will be enhanced, strengthened."

"In order to make them pay."

She thought about what she had learned about him and wisely kept the rest of it to herself. "So you freely accept what I am giving you?"

"Yes."

She leaned over the bed and placed her forehead against his. "We are bound while I live. When I die, all that is within me to give, you will receive. This is a vow that is irrevocable. Upon all that is sacred, this is my decree." She tried to move back before she drowned him in her tears, but he moved with her and she ended up burying her head against his neck.

As she opened tear-filled eyes and stared at the shifting shadows on the walls, she wondered if he would ever forgive her for her betrayal.

*****

Blair dumped the contents of the tray in the trashcan, careful not to get in Jim's line of sight. Instead of eating in the car, they had found a takeout place with patio seating a block away from the Delacroix mansion. While Simon distracted the others with food and talk, Jim and Blair had set up surveillance. With Blair's help the Sentinel had focused his hearing enough to hear Edouard's voice and capture the tones of the woman he was speaking with. Helaire. And of course, his eyes were fixated on the garage.

Blair cringed whenever he thought of Helaire. He knew every woman in the world wasn't meant to be a mother. He was aware that some women were jealous of their daughters and that others sold their daughters for money, drugs... But what was Helaire's motivation? Power? Surely Alicia wasn't the only child psychic in the area. Why soil your own house? Why destroy your natural successor? Was it mere jealousy then?

"Don't try." He looked up to find blue eyes sadly regarding his own. "Don't try to understand her, Chief. You can't."

"What will happen tonight?" he asked, not questioning how his partner knew what he was thinking. That was the way it was between them sometimes. In times of stress they often read each other's thoughts. It made for handy teamwork when danger loomed.

"I don't know. Insight, premonitions, those talents belong to Alicia, Grandmere, even T'Dette. I'm just a mere Sentinel. You're the Shaman, Chief. What do you feel is going to happen?"

Blair closed his eyes and sought the spiritual side of his personality that he was usually content to ignore-- no, ignore was the wrong word-- disregard unless it dealt directly with the Sentinel, which this did. In an ideal situation, he would have dragged out his incense, meditated with candles and soft music. But hey, he was flexible. If his Sentinel needed the information on the fly... "Darkness awaits. No big surprise there. Treachery from a woman..." He opened his eyes and grinned. "Maybe it's an old recording," he said with a shrug.

"And maybe we've been doing this too long," Jim replied before focusing intently on the mansion. "Get ready to roll, Chief."

They piled into the car, Jim behind the wheel, Blair riding shotgun, and Joey getting stuck in the middle of the backseat. Jim started the Jeep and they all watched as the garage door opened and Helaire's Mercedes backed out. When Jim didn't immediately follow, all eyes fell on him. Then they realized the garage door that had been heading downward was going up again.

"What's going on?" Simon asked.

Jim tapped the steering wheel angrily. "Edouard is going to tail her himself. Complicate my life, why don't you, Edouard?"

"Does he suspect she's..." Blair inquired.

His partner shook his head. "He's worried about her. Thinks she's going to do something rash. He wants to save her." He could hear Alicia's father muttering to himself as he followed his wife's car. The Jeep pulled in a safe distance behind both.

"You got something to latch onto?" Blair questioned as the traffic thickened.

"Edouard is listening to an opera CD."

"Working and getting a lesson in culture," Blair teased. "You are a Renaissance man, aren't you, big guy?"

"Sandburg, this case is going to be over soon. We're going to be at home and I'm going to get bored. Next thing you know, I'm going to remember this trip. And I'm going to get even." Although the cars disappeared as he got caught by a traffic light, he easily tracked the CD.

"Simon, you heard that, didn't you? Anything happen to me, it's premeditated."

"Sandburg, I'm doing some premeditating of my own," came the reply.

"Oooh, the two big cops ganging up on the poor pitiful observer," Blair whined dramatically.

"Jim," the captain said.

"Twenty to life," the detective reminded him.

"Even with my sterling background?"

"Good point."

"What's next for you two? An HBO Special? Guest hosting Saturday Night Live?" Blair said, rolling his eyes at their pathetic attempt at humor.

"Sandburg, shut up!" the older men chorused.

Peace reigned for twenty minutes as they headed into southern Louisiana just like yesterday. Then Blair noticed Jim wasn't frowning anymore. "The opera CD finished?"

Jim nodded. "He went classical this time. Vivaldi's The Four Seasons. One of my favorites."

"Jim, you continually surprise me."

"Why, Chief? I'm not a complete rube, you know."

"I know that. You just play one on TV." He grinned at his partner.

Jim shared the smile. "I took a music appreciation class in high school. To tick off my dad." Simon laughed approvingly. William Ellison wasn't high on his "like" list. "You know it's a good thing we didn't grow up together, Simon. I fear you could have caused some serious damage in your day," Jim said, glancing into the rearview mirror at his friend.

"I never would have made it to your father's list of approved friends."

"I can't even make the list now," Blair griped. "But that's not going to stop us from having another dinner. I'm going to call Steven when we get home and see what we can arrange," he added, mentioning Jim's brother. Steven wasn't quite the lost cause William Ellison was, but Jim's family was still too splintered. In order to mend fences and ease conflict within the Sentinel, Blair had talked Jim into inviting his father over to the loft for dinner and Simon had been ordered to come too. However, thanks to a couple of misunderstandings, things hadn't ended as well as Blair had hoped.

"Gee, you think we can get Dad to believe Steven lives with us too?" Jim teased. "I mean he already thinks you and Simon are an item." William had jumped to the wrong conclusion when he learned Blair lived with his son. Jim and Simon, in their anger, had done nothing but made the situation worse.

"Keep this up and he's going to believe I'm the slut of Cascade."

"I could have sworn you already had that title, Sandburg," Simon rejoined.

Blair looked at the two men sharing the backseat with his captain. "Uh, you guys are ignoring all of this, right?" he asked belatedly. They had been so blatantly open with the southern detectives that it hadn't occurred to them to restrain themselves from their usual banter.

Mike nodded. "You're just working through the tension. We understand."

Joey turned his head toward his partner. "We do?" he mouthed silently.

Before Blair could further explain, the cars ahead turned off onto a small narrow road and Jim cut his headlights as he followed. Blair stretched his arm across the back of the bucket seats and grabbed Jim's shoulder, making sure the Sentinel was grounded as his sight pierced the darkness. "Shit," Jim cursed softly.

"Talk to me, big guy."

"Helaire has spotted Edouard. The idiot didn't turn off his lights. I knew he was going to be trouble."

"Is she going to stop and confront him?"

"No. She's on her cell phone, warning the others that he's behind her. She says she can handle him. I don't like the sound of that, Chief," Jim said. "I sort of promised Lici I'd look out for Edouard."

"And what promises did you make about Helaire?" Simon asked.

"Not a one." Jim pulled off the road and settled the Jeep between two trees. "The meeting point is just ahead."

"How many, Jim?" Blair rubbed the tense shoulder beneath his hand.

"Twelve, including Helaire and Edouard. But there's another car coming." Headlights flared in the darkness. "Two more."

"Thirteen hostiles and five of us. I don't like the odds, Jim," Simon calculated.

"Don't worry, captain. I'm not planning to storm the... Damn it! No way, you bitch!" The Jeep's door flew open.

Mike and Joey blinked in the sudden brightness afforded by the interior lights and by the time their eyes adjusted, the vehicle was dark again and they were alone.

Chapter Eighteen

"You don't like being a Sentinel?"

He looked down at the dark head as she bent over his hands. For some reason, they fascinated her. "In the beginning, maybe. I didn't like change and being a Sentinel meant changes."

"How? You were a soldier. You are a cop. Isn't a Sentinel both?"

"Yes, but... I had to take on a partner for one thing. My Guide."

"Who turned out to be your best friend, your brother of the heart."

"But I didn't know that was the way it was going to be. I was used to working alone."

"You were used to *being* alone."

"That too. I also had to learn how to control the senses. It's not easy."

"Nothing worthwhile is. But now you like being a Sentinel?"

His nose wrinkled in thought. "I don't dislike being a Sentinel. I've gotten used to what I can do. But there are still too many changes."

"Such as?"

"Such as you. You are a new experience for me."

"I make you nervous," she said matter-of-factly.

"You scare the hell out of me," he replied honestly. "The only reason I haven't fallen apart is that I don't remember you when I awake."

"You don't fall apart," she chastised. "The ghosts were a new experience also and you survived them quite nicely."

"Sure. If that's the version you heard, fine. What is so fascinating about my hands?" he finally asked, the curiosity too much for him.

"Your life is written upon them."

He paled and jerked his hands away from her. "Forget I asked."

"You cannot hide from your future."

"But I can walk into it blindfolded," he countered.

She laughed and reached for his hand again, knowing he wouldn't deny her. Her fingers brushed upon their larger counterparts. "Don't worry. I can only read some of it. Enough to envy you. You have good friends, Jim Ellison."

He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. "In both worlds, Alicia Delacroix. In both worlds."

*****

"You shouldn't have come, Edouard," Helaire Delacroix said as her husband stepped out of his car.

"I was... worried about you, Helaire. You've been so distraught. I didn't trust you not to do anything foolish." Belatedly he looked around, noticing they were in a clearing in the middle of nowhere and that they weren't alone. Several people stood around them, normally clothed but wearing masks. "What the hell is going on? Who are these people, Helaire?"

"Go home, Edouard," she replied.

His eyes narrowed in recognition. "These are your mother's followers, aren't they? I thought that sick little cult disbanded after her death. Why are they here? Why are you?" he demanded angrily.

Helaire suddenly changed. A slump came to her proud shoulders and a tremor marred her powerful voice. "They're going to help me bring our Lici back," she said, letting the light of a small fire reflect in the tears in her eyes.

"Non, my love. Don't do this to yourself. Lici's gone. There's nothing anyone can do to bring her back. Certainly not these charlatans. Let's go home, Helaire."

"Please," she begged, her manicured nails digging into his arm. "We have to try. You loved Alicia, Eddie, I know you did. If there's a chance we can get her back, we should try."

Edouard sighed. Anything to get out of this godforsaken swamp and back to civilization. "What did they tell you they could do?"

"It's an ancient ritual," she said, draping her arm around his neck. "It requires the blood of a relative. I'm willing to give up everything to have our daughter back, Eddie. Are you?"

Despite the warm humidity that still weighted the air, he felt a shiver crawl along the length of his spine. "This is insane," he said, willing old superstitions back to his childhood ignorance where they belonged. "Get in the car, Helaire. I'll have someone come for yours in the morning."

"No!" Her arm tightened around his neck and a fingernail pricked his skin, allowing the powder beneath the nail to enter his body. She stroked his throat, spreading the drug, until she felt him relaxing. "You are a weak, pathetic fool, Edouard Delacroix, but perhaps your blood can bind me to my people once more and we can deal with the enemy who threatens to destroy us."

"Too damn late for that, Helaire." Helaire and her minions gasped as Jim walked into the light. "Step away from her, Edouard."

Helaire recovered quickly, ordering her husband to stay where he was. She looked closely at the man who had dared to interrupt her. Even in the faint firelight, the blue of his eyes was distinguishable. "I take it you're l'ange, the pet angel Eddie has been babbling about?"

Jim smiled. "Believe me, Helaire. I'm no angel."

"Then what are you?"

"The man who knows who you are." He noted that the other Society members were making no predatory moves against him. Maybe the control she had over them was waning without the annual sacrifice.

"And just who am I?"

"The drinker of blood. The rapist of children. The killer of her daughter. Yeah, Helaire. I think I have a pretty good idea of the bitch behind the mask," Jim said dryly.

"No," Edouard cried out as Jim recited the charges, the shock of the words freeing him from the mild sedative/hallucinogen she'd given him. "Non. She's not... She couldn't... You have been mislead."

Jim's eyes bore into Edouard's, forcing him to see the truth. "No, you are the one who was mislead, my friend. Your mother-in-law founded La Societe de Sang. Your wife took over it after Jeannette's death. Together, they are responsible for hundreds of deaths, including the murder of fifty young girls. Including Alicia. Less than fifty yards from this clearing is the shack she was held in, chained to iron hoops embedded in the ground. Next to that shack is the stone slab where she was raped. That rock was the site of her death as well!"

"But she is her maman."

"And that is the only reason she is still alive. Walk away from her, Edouard."

"No!" Her hand whipped forward to reveal the stone dagger which she poised over her husband's heart. "Leave now, angel. Ascend into heaven, disappear in a puff of smoke, catch a Greyhound bus for all I care. Just leave here or he dies!"

Jim shook his head. "I'm not going to allow you to hurt him."

"Allow me? Do you know to whom you are speaking? Do you know the power I control?" Her eyes glittered evilly. "I will hurt Edouard and whoever else who gets in my way."

"I don't think so, ma'am," Simon said politely as he came out from behind a tree, his weapon aimed, Blair slightly behind him. "Drop the knife, please."

She laughed. "One little gun can't kill us all."

"But three little guns can do quite a bit of damage," Mike said as he and Joey joined the party.

Jim smiled, but didn't take his eyes off Helaire. "My good friends from the NOPD. Tell me, is there anyone here you recognize?"

A man behind her sighed and stepped forward. "It's time to give it up, Helaire. No one here wants to be responsible for the death of one cop, much less five of them. Even with the power of a sacrifice, that would be foolishness of the highest order. And we've all been subjected to enough of that."

"Well said, Commissioner Tizzoner," Mike congratulated and the man reached up and removed his mask. "Doesn't mean you won't be prosecuted for murder, rape, and whatever other various charges I can come up with."

"We were doomed from the very moment Alicia was chosen," another man said, before taking off his mask. "It felt wrong."

"And the other murders didn't, chief?" Joey asked in disbelief. A soon as he'd seen the Police Commissioner he knew the Chief of Police wouldn't be far behind, but that did nothing to lessen the sense of disappointment.

"The gig is up, people!" Mike called out angrily. These were people he had trusted, had emulated, had defended when others had their doubts. "Everyone, take off those masks and place your hands on top of your heads! Y'all under arrest. Y'all have the right to remain silent--"

"You seem to be forgetting one thing, detective," Helaire interrupted. "I still have a hostage."

"Now you do," Jim began. He looked at the dagger and the mambo screamed as the knife glowed a dangerous red. She dropped the weapon and grabbed her burning hand. "And now you don't. Walk away from her, Edouard."

"She killed ma bebe!" Edouard yelled and bent down to pick up the dagger. "She must pay!" He raised the weapon high to plunge into her breast.

"And she will, Edouard," Jim promised, not wanting to hurt Alicia's father but knowing he would if he had to. "But we can't answer wrong with wrong. Alicia would not want that. She's expecting you to be with her one day. But you won't be. Not if you have Helaire's blood on your hands."

The dagger wavered as Jim's words warred with Edouard's need for revenge. With a scream born of rage that had been thwarted, he spiked the dagger to the ground. "Not even you are worth eternal banishment from my daughter," he said, spitting on her before going to Jim's side. "She's all yours, detective."

"Helaire Battiste Delacroix, you are under arrest for sexual abuse, sexual battery, kidnaping, murder..." Jim paused, shaking his head. "Damn. This can get monotonous, can't it? Tell you what? You know your crimes better than I do, so you just fill in the rest of spaces silently, all right? Now, put your hands on your head and one of my friends here will frisk you for whatever else you might be hiding."

"Frisk this!" There was a flash, then a puff of smoke. "I will not forget nor forgive the betrayals that have occurred this night!"

The smoke cleared and she was gone.

Chapter Nineteen

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Her voice startled him because he thought she was asleep. Her breathing had been steady, her pulse calm and even. "You can tell me anything."

"I have a wish list."

"Things you wish for?"

"Things I wish I'd had a chance to do."

She could probably feel the increase in his heartbeat but there was nothing he could do about that. Talk of her impending death always upset him. "Tell them to me," he said softly.

"Well, I wish I could have gone to my senior prom."

He frowned. She would have to go that far back. With effort, he traversed several black voids and swept away a pile of cobwebs to find that memory. Ah, there it was. What a godawful pale blue tux.

"She's pretty."

The girl he was with. He couldn't even remember her name. "Her father was a business associate of my dad's. It was sort of arranged. Neither of us were happy about it. Next request, please."

"Graduation."

Just a step from the prom. The platform set up in the middle of the stadium. An actual rain-free day in Cascade. Black, silk-like gowns with the matching mortar boards tilted and angled in all directions. The valedictorian rambling about being sad leaving the school years and possibly Cascade behind. Sad wasn't exactly the word he would have used. How about happy, excited, relieved... His name being called, a football teammate shouting out something almost vulgar. The absence of a flashbulb going off. The old man couldn't make it that night. But it wasn't like he was the val or anything, right?

A hand patted his sympathetically. "How about travel?"

He closed the lid on those years and skirted the voids once again. "Sure, sweetheart. Where would you like to go?" She shrugged. "How about Rome?" His first leave. If he'd known the city was so pretty, he may have listened better in history class. "Or maybe Paris?" He showed her the tourist attractions he had visited, leaving out the hotel room where he'd spent most of his time with a very creative young woman.

"Wedding?"

Not a bad memory. Sure, they had ended up divorced but it had been disgustingly amicable. He just hadn't been able to give Carolyn what she needed. She was happy now and that was what really mattered.

"You're happy too."

"I am," he agreed. "Anything else on this list of yours?"

"Can you tell me about being a mama?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry, sweetheart, you'll have to think of your own mother for that one."

He felt the small body tense and then just as suddenly, she relaxed. "You're lying."

"I beg your pardon?" A vision of him wiping Blair's face with a cool cloth. Another with him shoving his roommate's arm into a jacket. Still another as he sat beside a hospital bed and waited for blue eyes to open. "I'm not his mama."

"You love him. You take care of him. You worry about him. What does a good mother do that you don't?"

"I don't know." He had nothing to compare his actions to. His mom hadn't stayed around long enough for him to take notes.

"I think you make a good mother. Thank you for helping me with my list."

"Did we complete it?"

"There was just one thing left. I had hoped to see Simba's Pride, the sequel to The Lion King but the video isn't out yet."

"The sequel to The Lion King? Is that one of those Disney movies?"

"You've never seen The Lion King? Well, it's all about..." In an animated voice, she began the tale and for the first time since he'd met her, she sounded like the kid she was.

It was enough to make a grown man cry.

*****

"Jim! You alright, man? How are your eyes?" Blair asked quickly, knowing the flash of light could have blinded the Sentinel.

"They're fine, Chief. Just give me a minute to adjust..." His voice trailed off as he attempted to find Helaire through the smoke. "What the hell?"

As usual, he upped his sight from normal to enhanced but this time it went one step further and suddenly instead of the people, plants, and animals surrounding him, he registered their heat signatures. Objects became glowing forms, their movements traced as fading lights. He was seeing in the infrared spectrum? Holy... Your talents will be enhanced, strengthened. Was this what Alicia had meant? He stumbled backward, his mind confused by the images and slow to interpret them. He tried to adjust his sight back to normal, but the imaginary dial broke off in his hand.

"Jim? What is it?" Blair questioned urgently. "Talk to me, man!"

"I--" He scanned the area, trying to equate the blurred, colorful images to what he knew. That blob had to be a tree. And that was probably a man. And that... Colors streaked in a pattern through what he'd figured out to be the thick overgrowth of the swampy bayou. Helaire! "I have to go after her." He started off in her direction, then noticed the glowing form at his side.

"You stay here, Chief."

"Jim, you need--"

"Yes, I need your help, Chief. That's why I want you to stay here, safe and sound. Because when I get back, I'm afraid it's going to take all your skills to help me with this one."

Blair looked at him worriedly, noticing how his eyes failed to focus properly. "What exactly is 'this one'?"

"I'll explain later. Helaire is getting away." He took a step and Blair's hand held him back. "Chief, please."

Blair pulled off the gris-gris amulet Jim had given him earlier and transferred it back to the owner. Then he placed his hand over his partner's heart for just a second. "Go get her, Sentinel."

Jim nodded and jogged to where he saw the colors he attributed to Helaire's movements. Shifting into the stealth mode which he'd used during jungle maneuvers, he slipped through the flora, bypassed the fauna, and tracked the murderess as she fled. As the colors intensified, he realized his prey was just up ahead. He could hear her muttering to herself as she tried to decide which way to go.

"Try directly to jail, bypassing Go and forfeiting the two hundred bucks," he said acerbically, standing directly behind her.

"How?" she asked breathlessly as she jerked around.

"What? You missed the sign around my neck earlier?" He grinned and traced letters on his chest as he spoke. "Will Hunt Murderers For Food. The pay ain't half bad and it can be quite entertaining."

"You have the heart and mind of a predator," she said as she subtly backed away.

"Thanks for the compliment." The streaking of the light told him she was moving. "You have no where to go, Helaire. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. But the outcome will be the same," he warned.

"I always like it hard," she said silkenly. With that, she flung something in his direction.

He watched the powder float toward him, each individual grain warmed by her hand and therefore visible to him. He stepped out of its way. "I think I can accommodate you, Helaire. You want hard, you got it."

He followed her easily and was just considering how much force he should use to bring her down, when he heard her trip, curse, then splash. "Helaire!" he yelled, avoiding the cypress root that had been her undoing. The part where her foot had peeled back the bark glowed a different color.

He heard the water, more than saw it. The shifting colors of the moving bayou and the life that darted over and beneath its surface was too much to look at. "Damn it! Where are you, Helaire!" He listened for her heartbeat. Finally he found it, muffled by the water around it. Closing his eyes, he waded into the bayou, keeping his hands stretched in front of him as he sought the heat of her body. Instead, he felt the vibration of something else entering the water. Shit. He didn't have to open his eyes to know what had happened. Guess this gator didn't get the memo. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

His hands touched something in front of him. Helaire. Maybe he could get both of them out of the water before... The vibrations grew stronger. With one hand he hoisted Helaire out of the water and with the other he reached around behind him and drew his gun from the holster in the small of his back. Thankfully the water had remained shallow and hadn't reached his waist.

Backing away carefully, he risked opening his eyes and was horrified by the blur of color heading toward him. He fired again and again until the clip was empty, yet the thing continued coming. He looked at the useless weapon in his hand in confusion, the barrel red from the repeated firing. What was wrong? Was his sight so screwed up that he had missed the alligator altogether? Or maybe the gun had misfired. He hadn't used it since before leaving Cascade, hadn't even drawn it since showing it to airport security. He frowned at the realization. He hadn't pulled it when Edouard had pointed a gun in the interrogation room. Nor when Simon's room exploded and they knew someone was after them. Nor even when he confronted Helaire and her followers. Why then was he relying on it now? He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to greater powers.

Jim continued his backward movement and dragged himself and Helaire to firmer ground, ignoring the roar of the coming beast. Its mouth opened wide as it lurched for what appeared to be the beginning of a two-course dinner. Then it met a resistance so strong that the animal was flung back across the stream, flipping tail over snout, and landing hard on its back not far from its original starting point. After struggling to flip itself over to its feet, the alligator humbly moved to another part of the bayou. Apparently this territory was taken.

Jim noticed none of this however, for as his feet touched solid ground he realized Helaire wasn't breathing. Hurriedly, he began CPR, not quitting until she coughed and threw up the foul water that had overloaded her system. "That's it, Helaire," he said, holding her on her side so that the water could pour out. "Just keep on breathing."

When she was finished, he moved her gently to her back and probed for other injuries she may have sustained when she fell. Her eyes opened slowly, confusion muddying the black depths as she recognized who was tending to her so tenderly. At that moment, she truly believed he was an angel and she crossed herself as exhaustion called her back to the realm of unconsciousness.

With a smile of satisfaction, he flung her over his shoulder and began the journey back to the clearing. "Sorry, Jeannette," he mumbled softly as he wended through the brush. "You and Hell can't have Helaire until I get through with her." And that was going to take a very long time.

Chapter Twenty

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are the Sentinel."

"My name is Jim Ellison."

"Does your name change who you are?"

He was too old to play word games with children. "I'm a cop, Alicia. I can help you."

"They told me the Sentinel would help me."

"Who, Alicia? Who told you to come to me?"

"Those on the other side."

He wiped his hand across his face. Ghosts again. Now they were giving out his business cards. How sweet of them. "You're going to cooperate so I can help, right?"

"You're already helping," she said. She looked up from his lap and straight into his eyes. She smiled, liking what she found there. "You are here."

He sighed, having no idea what kind of logic would appeal to a child. There had been workshops offered at the Police Academy and announced on the bulletin board at the station, but he had merely rolled his eyes and ignored the classes. He worked Major Crimes not juvenile. If he ended up with a child as a witness, someone with Social Services would team up with him, help him get through the interview. The only children he had ever worked with directly... had been dead ones.

"I know," she said, alerting him to the fact she could read his mind. "That makes me happy too."

"Why?" he asked somewhat harshly.

"Because if you and I become friends, I won't have to give you up when I die. You'll let me come visit, won't you?"

God, what innocence, he thought as he looked into the clear brown eyes. And what trust. It would take a far stronger man than he to deny her anything. "Yes, Alicia Delacroix. You can visit me anytime."

*****

"Jim!"

He deposited his burden onto the ground before the congregating blurs. "She's alive despite an unplanned dip into the bayou. You better have her checked out at a hospital though," Jim said. He closed his eyes as the blurs melded and shifted and basically caused his skin to crawl. Apparently someone had called for back up because there were more bodies than there should have been and several odd sets of stationary lights which he assumed were police vehicles.

"How are you, Jim?" Simon asked gruffly.

"I need Sandburg."

Blair and Simon exchanged glances. "I'm right here, Jim. I'm going to take your arm and guide you out of the way so we can have some privacy, okay?" Docilely, Jim followed Blair's lead and let his partner urge him to a seat on the ground. "Tell me what's wrong," Blair demanded softly.

Jim described what he was seeing, heard the Guide's heartbeat race as he listened, then even out as his quick mind sifted through solutions to his Sentinel's problem. "I'm sure you've tried the basics, just trying to see regularly or turning down the dial."

"The dial doesn't go that high, Chief. And yeah, I've really tried to convince my sight to return to the normal spectrum," Jim said in frustration.

"It's okay, Jim, we can handle this," Blair said with more assurance than he was feeling. "I think we're going to have to go high-tech on this one."

"How high?"

"Jim, buddy, I'm not sure if you can do this, but I want you to picture a... television remote control." He smiled at his partner's laugh. If there was one item in the loft that Jim knew by feel alone, without having to be tested on it at all, it was the clicker. He was, in his own words, a master surfer.

"Gee, Blair, I don't know if I can do that," Jim teased, feeling better now that his partner was in on the problem."What kind are we talking about? Does it control the cable box and VCR too?"

"Let's stick with the basics for a start, Jim," he said, his mind figuring the set up one step ahead of his mouth. "You have two sets of up and down buttons. One set controls the volume; the other the channels. Got it?"

"Got it." He could actually feel the arrow shaped buttons beneath his fingers.

"Good. We work with the channel button first. Jim, this infrared sight is another frequency, another channel. You need to press the button and change to your old frequency-- your favorite channel. Click the down button, Jim."

Both men held their breath as Jim opened his eyes. "Back to good the good old white spectrum, Chief," he said with a relieved grin. "But it's still enhanced. Back to the dial?"

Blair shook his head. ""Switch your thumb to the volume controls. Now click back until you reach the level you desire."

Jim did as instructed, pleased with the results. "Thank you, Chief," he said clasping his partner's shoulder, which appeared as mere fabric.

"All part of the service, Jim. My receptionist will mail you the bill."

Jim stood and reached down to give his partner a hand. He looked around at all the lights of the police cruisers, the men and women now unmasked and on their way to be booked for the crimes they had committed. Their leader was being strapped to a gurney and Jim extended his hearing until he heard her even, regular breaths. Good. He wanted her alive.

He turned his attention to the man who sat alone on the hood of his car, head bowed. "Edouard," he called softly as he approached. "Who can I call for you? You don't need to be alone."

"But that is what I am now, isn't it?" the man said, holding out his hands with palms up and empty.

"I'm sorry," Jim apologized.

"For what, mon ami?"

"Before you met me, you had a wife and a daughter."

"And now I have the truth." He wondered if his sister would come stay with him. Her husband was an artist. Probably could use a decent roof over their heads. "In time, it will all balance out. Excuse me. I have a call to make." He slid off the hood and reached inside the car for his cell phone.

"He going to be alright?" Simon asked as he came up behind his friend.

"Yeah, eventually," Jim replied.

"And what about you?"

Jim turned, finding himself favored by two sets of concerned eyes. A shield and staff. A Guide and Watcher."Yeah, Simon. As far as I'm concerned, things couldn't be better."

*****

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the priest said as the small white casket was laid inside the Delacroix Family tomb. More words were spoken, then the marble opening was replaced and sealed.

I see trees of green, red roses too... Jim placed the single rose at the base of the marble gravesite and traced the name of the latest Delacroix resident. "Tu me manques," he said softly.

I miss you, too.

"You okay, Jim?"

Blair had been by his side the whole time, hovering almost, but Jim understood his worry and remembering the conversation he'd had with Alicia, he figured that in real friendships, everyone was a mother at some time. "I'm fine, partner. Just a little sad."

"Dinner at T'Dette's should brighten you up a bit." T'Dette was throwing them a going away dinner. They were scheduled on the red-eye flight back to Cascade at midnight.

"I have a stop to make first."

Jim stood outside Helaire's cell, waiting for the woman to acknowledge his presence. Of course she was going to play it cool, but he wasn't a man who could be fooled. There. That jump in her pulse told him everything he needed to know. "Hello, Helaire. Enjoying the accommodations? Don't worry. You get transferred out tomorrow to a state facility. Should be more spacious than this dinky local jail, don't you think?" A slight hitch in her breath. That was good. ""Just come from your daughter's funeral. Beautiful service. Edouard was surrounded by tons of sympathetic friends. I know he was worried that his social status had been tainted by his association with you but they seem to be a forgiving bunch. Forgetting too. No one even mentioned your name. Oh, well. Guess they're waiting to see who the new Mrs. Delacroix will be. If the women fluttering around him were any indication, there are plenty of applicants."

"Did you come all the way down here just to taunt me, detective? Is that the way you get off? You like your women behind bars?" Helaire asked, sitting up on her cot. Apparently ignoring him wasn't going to work.

"Yeah, when they're murdering bitches like you," he answered easily. "But I actually came here with a purpose. I have news for you. Lots of it, in fact. Let's see, I have: good news, bad news, really bad news, and news that will make you shudder as you continue to think about it." He ticked off the items on his fingers. "The good news is that two of your cohorts, the police commissioner and the chief of police committed suicide. Sat right across a desk from each other, put a gun in their mouths, and ended it all. Very dramatic."

"You're right. That is good news."

"The bad news, however, is that they left very detailed accounts of the activities the Society has been engaged in over the past several decades. You were mentioned prominently and considering these can be considered deathbed confessions, they will pull heavy weight in court. So basically, they screwed you before they died. Was it as good for you?" He laughed as he watched the muscles in her neck tighten.

"Thank you for the report, detective. You can go now."

"But I haven't finished, Helaire. The really bad news is that those accounts, plus the confessions of the remaining members of your little coven, will be enough to put you on death row. Since I'm sure several of your fellow inmates will just love the fact you not only killed your daughter but smiled as you ordered her raped, I'll do you a favor and make sure your reputation precedes you. I'll also let it be known that I'll be highly displeased if you were to die while waiting for your execution. I'd just hate it if my fun ended prematurely."

"So I take it you'll be in the room watching them stick the needle in my arm?" she asked flatly, knowing lethal injection was Louisiana's method of capital punishment.

"Nah. You see, that's the news that's going to make you shudder. Lethal injection is such a passive way of dying. So calm, so peaceful. Nothing you deserve at all. So I think I'm going to come up with something else, something more fitting for a woman like you. I have friends in high and low places, Helaire. My options will be limitless."

"How anyone could have thought you an angel, I'll never know!" she yelled, slinging her pillow at the bars that separated them.

"Lucifer was an angel, you know," he said with a smile, then glanced at his watch. "Oops. Late for dinner. See you, Helaire. In about ten years or so."

He left, whistling.

Epilogue

Joey looked at the dwindling stack of files on his partner's desk and smiled in satisfaction. "I've never seen a group turn on itself like the Society," he said with a shake of his head. They were clearing up cases they hadn't even attributed to the Society.

"Go to bed with snakes, you wake up bit," Mike asserted dryly, not caring how disloyal the Society was being. Just as long as they were all put away. But apparently Helaire Delacroix had been an exceptionally vicious and reckless priestess and everyone had long figured her actions would be the undoing of the Society. Yet, they had either been in the cult before her reign or joined shortly after which meant there was no way out. Until now. And everything they had held against her, even before she took over, was being told to all who would listen.

"I still would like to know what Ellison said to Helaire before he left. Her lawyer says she's thinking about pleading guilty just to get it over with."

"As Grandmere would say, he put the fear of God into her. SOP for angels, isn't it?"

Standard operating procedure for... "You don't really think he was an angel, do you?" Joey asked hesitantly.

Mike shrugged. "An angel is just a messenger from God. Nobody ever said they had to wear a halo and a long white gown."

Joey regarded his partner with a serious stare, then laughed nervously. "You know, I can never tell when you're pulling my leg, Mike."

"Well, ask him yourself when he comes back. T'Dette says they will return and you know T'Dette. Comings and goings are her specialty."

Joey thought back to the three men who had swept into town, turned it on its ear, and left him with the knowledge that work and friendship went hand in hand. It would be nice to meet up with them again but... They wouldn't journey from Washington all the way to Louisiana for just any old case, would they? Just how bad would the situation be when they returned?

The detective shuddered and said a prayer.

*****

"Sandburg, is that you sniffing?" Simon asked, trying to see around Jim.

"I have to sneeze, man," Blair said defensively as he reached out for the popcorn bowl that sat possessively in his roommate's lap.

"Yeah, right," Simon snorted.

"I seem to recall someone taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes when Mustafa was killed," Jim remarked, wishing he was in his favorite chair instead of on the sofa squeezed between his best friends. But the two had carried on so much-- arguing over the popcorn and when to hit the rewind button because one of them burped in the middle of a scene- that he had left his comfortable chair, grabbed the remote and the bowl of popcorn, and made them move to either side of the sofa. A mother's job was never done.

"The social relevancy of this movie is amazing," Blair said as the credits rolled by. "I see how it easily reaches both young and old. The circle of life concept is so simple, yet profound. How does the song go... till we find our place on the path unwinding... That's deep, man." He turned his head, brushing his hand surreptitiously across his face.

"We need more beer," Simon said quickly, hopping up and heading to the refrigerator. "Damn it. We're out. That store around the corner still open?"

"Yeah, man. Why don't we get us some--"

"You two aren't in any condition to go anywhere," Jim inserted, knowing exactly what each man had consumed. Who would have thought the evening would have turned out how it did. He'd stopped by the video store on his way home, had unthinkingly tossed the tape on the table while he went upstairs to get comfortable. Blair had seen the tape, gotten concerned, and called Simon over. The next thing he knew it was Movie Night at the Loft. "I'll go restock. Think you two can behave yourselves while I'm gone?"

"We'll be good," Blair promised. Jim nodded and waited for Simon's vow.

"Geez, Jim, I'm your captain. Doesn't that count for anything?" the taller man argued. He got the evil blue eye in response. "Fine. I, Simon Banks, do hereby swear to be on my best behavior while Jim Ellison is at the store. Good enough?"

"It'll do," Jim said, grabbing his wallet and strolling out the door.

Blair eyed Simon warily. "What is it, Sandburg? You heard my promise to Jim." He had plans for the observer after Jim's return, however.

"It's not that, man. It's just that I received this letter and..."

In a heartbeat, the teasing glint in Simon's eye was gone. "What is it? Some kind of threat?"

"No, nothing like that." Blair scrambled over to his backpack and withdrew the envelope. "It came to my campus box so Jim hasn't seen it. I'm not sure if he ever will."

"What is this about, Sandburg?" Simon asked gently.

"Jim told you about... about his enhanced vision, right?"

"Uh huh. Something about Alicia's powers augmenting his for like a year, right?"

Blair stared at the letter in his hand. "Not quite, Simon." He made up his mind and handed the envelope to his captain and friend.

Simon noted there was no return address. "With your track record, you should have had this letter checked out before you opened it," he said.

"Just read it, Simon."

"Dear Guide." Simon looked up, frowning. "Somebody knows about you?"

"Keep reading, sir."

"Dear Guide: We never got a chance to meet but I know how wonderful you are because the Sentinel told me so. I need to make a confession and I thought you were the one who really needed to know because he trusts you and you are the only one who can make him understand how important this is, how important he is. By now, you may have noticed some changes in what he can do. He hates changes and I'm sorry if he has been difficult because of them. These changes have occurred because of what I gave him and what he freely accepted. But he accepted it thinking that it was a temporary boost which would make it easier to destroy those who destroyed me. That is a lie. My energy source is a legacy, a gift given in love, and therefore is permanent. If I had told him, he may have rejected it and that would have been a terrible loss. I beg his forgiveness and I leave the choice to tell him to you. Guide him well, love him well, and know that you all have friends no matter where you are. Sincerely, Alicia Delacroix."

"What are you going to do?" Simon asked, minutes later.

"Stall as long as possible."

Simon nodded. "Sounds reasonable. He's not going to be happy, you know."

"I know. And he's really not going to be happy when he realizes the extra testing we're going to have to do. We know how his sight was enhanced, but what about his other senses? What kind of boost will they be getting?"

"I have no idea, Sandburg, but I do know the two of you will handle whatever comes your way."

"The three of us, Simon," Blair corrected.

What the hell."The three of us, Blair. Better put that letter up before he gets back. I'll start rewinding the tape."

"Run it back to where Timon is in the hula skirt. Great song."

"You're a sick man, Sandburg."

"Yeah, I know." Laughing, they sat down on the sofa and watched the ending again.

Jim knew they were asleep even before he quietly let himself back into the loft. He hadn't, however, anticipated that they had fallen asleep curled up together like tuckered out pups. Removing the popcorn bowl from a precarious perch on Simon's knee, he threw a couple afghans on them, cut off the television and the lights, and finally got to sit in his chair. He stayed there for the rest of the night-- soothed by their snores and warmed by their company.

For the first time in weeks, the Sentinel was at peace.

THE END

Comments? D.L. Witherspoon