The Tides of Change

AN: Xander will make his first appearance in Chapter Three. : )


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Chapter Two
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Lacroix allowed a small smile of near contentment to curve his lips upward as he finished the last swallow of the special reserve he had opened upon reaching home. His impromptu visit with his son had gone amazingly well; though, they had both avoided -- religiously, one might say -- the hot topics that lay between them.

Now, all he needed to do was figure out how to renew the assault to bring his wayward son back into the fold -- without disturbing the peace. It wasn't something he'd ever really tried before, having always been of the opinion that the direct approach was best. It wasn't exactly a hard concept to grasp, after all; accept what you are, or you'll never be happy. It sounded ridiculously common sense to him.

It was frustrating at the best of times, and downright infuriating at the worst, that his favorite offspring couldn't see that. It had moved him in the past to take risks that he could see now were mistakes. He had pushed too hard. His smile turned rueful as he admitted that even he, despite the nearly 2,000 years he'd lived, could still learn -- still *needed* to learn.

He *wasn't* as comfortable admitting, however; that it was his 800 year old son that had done the teaching.

"Well," he said softly, "no matter. The lesson is learned."

"And what lesson would that be, General?"

Lacroix whipped around, eyes golden and fangs extended. "Who the hell are you?" he asked with an enraged snarl, even as his greater concern was how this person had managed to, not only get *in* to his private apartments, but to also get within a few feet of him -- all without his being aware of it.

"I supposed that's an apt question," the woman smiled calmly.

The utter lack of fear in the mortal standing before him, shocked Lacroix so deeply he shifted back, his eyes returning to their normal blue, fangs receding up into his gumline. "Do you plan on answering it?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

Her grin widened. "Oh, yes," she replied, "when I'm ready."

**When she's *ready*?!** he thought incredulously. **Of all the--!** He darted forward, moving faster than the mortal eye could follow, but even so, she wasn't there when he reached for her. He blinked, feeling shock numb his system. "What the hell?"

"Again, General, an apt phrase."

Lacroix spun around again, only to find the woman standing in his previous position. The utter non-reality of the situation rendered him temporarily speechless.

"You're fast, General, but not quite fast enough."

His eyes narrowed as he struggled to keep his anger under control.

"You see, I came prepared, having met another of your kind before." The woman paused, her delighted grin turning rueful. "She, on the other hand, *did* take me by surprise. If I didn't heal so well, I'd be sporting a twin set of scars, I'm sure."

"She?" Lacroix asked, instantly more wary of his intruder. He hadn't been concerned until now, but his opinion was rapidly changing. She wasn't mortal, despite what most of his senses told him, including the fact that he could clearly hear her heart beating. Well, at least she wasn't an *ordinary* mortal. Now that he'd managed to reign in his temper -- somewhat -- he also realized that she didn't smell quite right. There was definitely something different about her.

"My name is Caldrona," she replied, answering his first question instead of his last. "Though that won't mean a thing to you."

Lacroix' eyebrow raised sharply in sardonic agreement. "Quite," he replied, non-committal. "Perhaps we should begin somewhere else, then. Like *what* you are?"

"I'm a demon."

Lacroix scoffed immediately. "Demon's do not exist," he replied automatically, his mind ruthlessly shoving aside the so-called proof he had seen with his own eyes. He still wasn't one hundred percent certain what had really happened to Nicholas that day, and until he was, he would not believe.

Caldrona laughed, but didn't reply to that assertion, saying instead, "A vengeance demon, to be more precise."

"Vengeance?" Lacroix echoed, his heart beating once hard against his ribs. If there was any truth in what she claimed, he had certainly made enough enemies that might want vengeance. The thought didn't sit well. His eyes narrowed once again as he thoughtfully inspected the woman -- the so-called demon -- standing across the room from him.

Suddenly she . . . changed, and Lacroix had less doubts as to the woman's claim of being a demon. She certainly *looked* the part, her face deformed, and lined with prominently displayed, oversized veins. He took an involuntary step backward.

"Normally," she began quietly, completely ignoring his slight reaction, "vengeance demons answer our . . . clients wishes immediately, usually never even meeting the one affected by them."

Lacroix' eyes widened, his mind working furiously to find a way out of this ridiculous situation. He already knew he couldn't attack her, draining her of her life's blood. He wasn't quick enough -- which was a thought stopping thought all by itself. He frowned, suddenly wondering just what she would taste like.

"I like doing things a little differently."

"Just my luck," Lacroix replied sourly, thinking that perhaps it was indeed his luck. If whatever was going to happen had done so without this visit, then he'd very possibly have been too late to do anything about it. "Have you perhaps considered that the person you're here to seek vengeance for might not be *worthy* of it?" he asked, all the while clamping down on his urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, of the whole situation, in fact.

While he had no doubt that he was facing a formidable opponent, the very idea of second hand vengeance just seemed so . . . wrong. If one was to take vengeance for some slight, real or imagined, how could it be savored if someone *else* accomplished it for you? Curious as to Caldrona's opinion on that, he asked.

Her grin grew. "I like the way you think," she replied.

Lacroix nodded his head in acceptance. Of course she did. It was a logical progression.

"In this case, however; the . . . personal touch is not possible."

"Why?" he asked, as much because he was truly curious as because he needed to delay longer.

"She's dead."

His cold heart beat once more as dread raced through him. **Divia,** was his instant thought.

"She too, believed in the personal touch, but, as loony as she was, she realized -- or at least admitted to the possibility -- that she might not succeed. I'm her back up plan -- so to speak."

Swallowing around the unaccustomed lump in his throat, Lacroix spoke tauntingly. "Back up plan?" he asked, his lips curving into a sneer. "That must be so . . . demeaning."

Caldrona's eyes narrowed angrily, the expression passing across her face so quickly that Lacroix almost missed it. Then, she laughed. "That was good, General. But I must say, not good enough."

Lacroix had, had enough. "Out!" he demanded, only just keeping himself from shouting. "I'm through with your games." He couldn't remember the last time anyone other than Nicholas had so incited his fury. *No one* talked to him that way. *No one* laughed at him. "Get out!" he repeated, his voice slightly louder.

Caldrona merely crossed the room slowly, dropping elegantly onto his sofa, utterly ignoring both his growing rage *and* his demands.

"So, then, you're not even curious about who wants vengeance, or what I'm going to do to you?"

"What you're going to *try* to do, you mean," Lacroix spat out, before he regained control and schooled his features into an expressionless mask, and his voice into his Nightcrawler facade. "If *she* didn't succeed, ended up dead, in fact, what makes you think you'll do any better?" he asked, his tones soft and velvety. He felt a wave of satisfaction as the woman in front of him shivered slightly, but didn't allow it to show in his expression. He waited.

That infuriating, overly self-confident grin was back, and Lacroix would have given just about anything to be able to wipe it from her face. He did briefly consider trying a second attack, but decided against it. Despite his long standing arguments with Nicholas, he really wasn't one to beat up against brick wall.

"I don't believe in trying, General. I do."

He clamped his jaw together, giving himself time to think before answering. He *had* to start acting instead of merely *reacting* to this . . . this, woman. "If you actually plan on telling me what it is you plan on *trying*," he said facetiously, "go ahead; do so," he continued with outward calm, "otherwise, leave me be. As to *who*, I have already figured *that* out."

"Good," she replied instantly, rising gracefully to her feet, "that will save long explanations. You, General, known now as Lucien Lacroix, owner of the Raven, are hereby judged. You are summarily banned from everyone and everything you know."

At that, Lacroix laughed, the utter release of every tension he'd felt draining from his body. "And just *how* do you plan on enforcing *that* ludicrous bann?" he asked, ridicule almost dripping from his words.

"Easily," she replied, waving a well manicured hand in front of him. "Good bye."

Lacroix opened his mouth, fully intending to cut the arrogant little priss down to size, when the world began to spin wildly around him. He gasped, reaching out a hand to steady himself. It was a useless gesture. Nothing was close enough to grab hold of.

As he fell to his knees everything around him went black. He could see *nothing*. He could hear *nothing*. It took him a moment longer, but he realized he couldn't *feel* anything either. Every single one of his senses was useless. He couldn't even smell anything -- himself included.

He screamed in silent rage as terror like he'd never know coursed through him. Was *this* her revenge? Was he stuck forever in this vast void of utter nothingness? His mind gibbered at him, and he knew that if he were to remain here any length of time, he would go insane.

It was then, thankfully, that true darkness claimed him and he knew no more.