The Tides of Change

AN: Lacroix' viewpoint on depression is not necessarily that of the author.

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Part Six
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Lacroix paced restlessly. Three days! It had been three whole days, and he was no closer to *any* of his goals. Three days in which he'd found no clues on how to get home, nor of the boy, Xander. Three days of seeing . . . *things* that did *not* exist. It was beyond infuriating. In fact, *he* was beyond infuriated -- way beyond. He had long since moved into the realm oprespression, which was never a good thing. Depression was being upset about things you couldn't change, and he'd never seen the purpose in it. His cold heart had been rarely touched by that insidious emotion, and then when it had, it had only been briefly. He dropped onto the stone bench, letting his head fall back against the wall.

Here he was, stuck in a world -- alternate dimension? -- in which none of the rules he was used to living by, applied. He could move about freely -- far more freely than he could at home. It seemed the mortals here had a built in denial ability that went beyond incredible and well into ridiculous. He could take, and drain, a mortal in full view of a dozen others, and not only would no one interfere, no one would believe it less than 20 seconds later. All that freedom, and did he enjoy it? No; all he wanted to do was go home.

"Damn you to Memnock's hell, Divia!" Lacroix shouted into the silent room.

In his entire two millenia of existence, he'd never believed it possible to miss anyone *this* much. More to the point, he'd never believed *he* would ever miss anyone this much. Poets had written odes to this very thing, songwriters epic songs, but it had all seemed remote. It didn't anymore. He felt as if a part of his very being had been torn from him, leaving a gaping hole inside of him that he had not the first clue how to repair. Even the loss of his beloved Fleur hadn't hit him as hard, and he was still feeling *that* 800 years after the fact.

He closed his eyes, shuddering. He couldn't even *sense* whether Nicholas still lived. For all he knew, that blasted Natalie may have tried another of her morally challenged experiments and inadvertently killed him. While he knew it wasn't likely -- Nicholas, like all vampires, was difficult to kill -- Lacroix simply loathed not *knowing*. He had followed Nicholas, chastising him, taunting him, loving him, for nearly all of the younger vampire's existence. Finding himself utterly cut off like this was gnawing at Lacroix. It felt as if Nicholas had died, and it made Lacroix' cold, slow-beating heart *ache*.

And *that* brought him to his *other* dilemma. Lacroix lurched up off the stone bench, anger once again surging through him. Immediately collecting himself and smoothing down the wrinkles in his silk shirt, he wished he could sooth the unrest inside him so easily. It usually was. He usually refused to allow things he could not change to affect him for long. He didn't count trying to draw Nicholas back into the fold. He still believed it was only a matter of time.

He winced. Time, yes, that precious commodity that he'd thought he had plenty of. Now, hy noy not. He may never find his way back to where he belonged. It was, truth be told, a terrifying thought. A deep, calming breath later, pushing aside thoughts of home, a disgruntled Lacroix headed *slowly* toward the door. Tonight was the night. He *knew* it. Tonight, he would find Xander.

Over the past three days, Lacroix had caught the boy's scent numerous times, but never caught even one solitary sight of the boy himself. In fact, several places carried heavy traces of the mortal boy's scent: an apartment building, a 'magic' shop, and a well-kept house, but no matter how long he stayed at those places, he never seemed to be there at the same time as Xander. Of course, of the boy's friends, he'd seen plenty. If he didn't know better, he'd think the boy remembered what had happened and was avoiding being out at night.

That, of course, was just plain ridiculous. They boy had gone under quite easily, and *no one* resisted Lacroix -- even that doctor person, *Natalie*, a resistor, had succumbed to him. Being an 'ancient' had its advantages, after all. He ignored the little voice that oh-so-helpfully reminded him that he'd drugged the doctor, not being certain beforehand that he *could* hypnotise her.

As soon as he was clear of the mansion, Lacroix took to the air. He would feed, then seek out the boy. Perhaps tonight, however; he would take a different approach. Following the boy's scent had gained him nothing but bored frustration. Unless, of course, he counted the amazement he felt at watching Xander's circle of friends. They were *children*, nothing but children, and they'd survived -- to all appearances -- for years, fighting in this predator rich environment. He didn't understand how. Although, he thought, the one young blonde certainly seemed strong -- and fast -- for a mortal, and he fully intended to discover the reasons.

**Yes,** he thought, **follow the friends.** They, he was certain, would lead him to Xander . . . eventually.

He chuckled to himself as he lit down in the park. Several mortals were still out and about, and he really didn't understand that. Several of them would probably die tonight -- one by his hands certainly. In his three day search he'd seen enough to know that most of the gr in in Sunnydale's numerous cemeteries were recent. The obituaries themselves were filled with frequent deaths due to 'animal attacks' -- all after dark -- and it made no sense to him that the local mortals ignored this. He wasn't about to warn them of their danger, however; it made it all the easier for him.

Strolling through the swiftly darkening park, Lacroix scouted which mortal would be his tonight. Even now, he was selective. His eyes brushed over the petite dark-haired young woman. Not only was she within a group, but his mind shied from picking her. He didn't like to admit it, but he knew it was because of Fleur. He was loathe to cut short the already minute lifespan of anyone who remotely reminded him of his precious flower. A moment later, however; his gaze settled on a lithe, blonde woman. Young, she appeared to be healthy, and in the prime of her life. He grinned, sliding back into the cover of the trees, awaiting his moment.

Alone, his target sat on one of the park's benches, reading beneath the strategically placed street-light. She was prime, but her proximity to another group held Lacroix back; long conditioning making him hesitant to reveal himself too rashly. The last time he'd hunted regularly, he had usually done so as part of a group -- the old adage about safety in numbers applying as well to vampire's as it did to mortals. Hunting alone was dangerous -- even for one such as himself.

He grinned as the second group left the area, laughing loudly. He remained hidden until he could barely hear their raucous noise before stepping out from the trees and strolling toward the young woman he'd selected.

"Good evening," he greeted her, smiling benignly.

The woman jumped, letting out a short scream as her head jerked up in surprise. "Oh! You startled me."

"My apologies," he replied graciously. "That was not my intent. I simply noticed you reading, and wondered what had captured your attention so fully that you hadn't noticed the sun setting."

Blushing, the woman ducked her head. "Oh, I noticed," she said quietly. "I just didn't care."

Cocking his head inquisitively, Lacroix gestured to the space beside her. "May I?" he asked.

"Uh, sure," the woman replied uncertainly, "I don't exactly own it."

Lacroix almost laughed. It hadn't exactly been the gracious response he'd hoped for -- but it would do. He nimbly sat himself next to her. "My name is Lucien," he said, holding out his hand, palm up, "and you would be?"

"Oh, I'm, K-Karen," she replied awkwardly, staring at his hand a moment before responding with her own.

She tried to shake his hand, but lacroix' carefully firm grip prevented it. Bending over their linked hands, he lightly brushed his lips across her fingers. He smirked as she shivered beneath his touch. He erased the expression completely before once again raising his head. Before he could say anything further, she jerked her hand from his and jumped up.

"I'm s-sorry," she mumbled, "I have to go now." Quickly gathering her things, Karen whirled away, striding away as quickly as she could without actually running.

"Again," Lacroix said, rising and easily matching her pace, "my apologies. I've disturbed you, and that, also, was not my intent."

Stumbling to a halt, Karen turned to stare at him. "What *do* you want?" she asked warily.

"Nothing too shocking, I assure you," he replied. "I was wondering if you'd care to join me for dinner."

Eyes widening in rampant disbelief, Karen shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I don't know you, sorry."

Purposely leg oug out a disappointed sigh, Lacroix nodded once. "Your loss," he replied, as graciously as if he'd been saying it was his.

Karen's confused and wary expression changed to an angry frown.

Lacroix grinned, allowing his fangs to descend. "I guess I'll just have to dine alone, then," he continued before she could retort, grabbing her arm and spinning her around until her back was pressed up against him. He ignored her scream, as well as the book and purse that fell from her hands as she wildly fought his hold.

Inhaling deeply as he tilted her head to the side, Lacroix wished he had time to savor her properly.

"No, please," Karen whimpered, suddenly going limp.

Disappointed, Lacroix hastily readjusted his grip even as he sank his fangs into her neck. No sooner had he done so, than the supposedly fainted woman in his arms screamed, instantly renewing her struggles. He grinned around his hold. **Too late, my little hellion,** he thought with glee, glad she hadn't been some wilting damsel afterall. Her hot blood, full of life -- her life -- pulsed into his mouth. He swallowed it greedily, savoring every taste, every image it contained of the woman he held.

Her screams, however; would have to stop. Out in the open like this, they set off every alarm bell within the ancient vampire. He reached up and firmly clamped one hand over her mouth.

"Hey! Pick on someone your own size!" shouted a feminine voice just as Karen's heart began to slow, her struggles ceasing altogether.

Lacroix jerked around, never letting go of his prize. Glaring in the direction of the rude woman who'd dare interrupt his meal, Lacroix' heart double-beat within his chest as he recognized the petite blonde. Xander's friend. Half way across the clearing, she was closing fast -- faster than he'd ever seen a mortal move.

Not stopping his feeding, Lacroix quickly weighed his options in those few seconds the blonde took to cross half the distance between them. **She already knows,** was his first and foremost thought. If she had been an ordinary mortal, Lacroix would simply have stayed and killed her, thereby assuring her silence. As it stood -- although he was certain he could beat her easily -- he still wanted to find out *how* she managed to do what she did. That, of course, ruled out killing her, which severely limited his options. Well, that, and the fact that he wanted to follow her in order to find Xander.

**It's your lucky night, little girl,** Lacroix thought just as the now furious blonde came within 15 feet of him.

Grinning, and giving the approaching blonde woman an acknowledging nod, Lacroix took to the air, completely uncaring that the woman whose life's blood now flowed within him fell bonelessly to the ground.

" *Xander*! That vampire just flew away! *Flew!*"

**Xander!** Lacroix smirked. Altering his flight path and quickly landing, he hid himself in the trees just beyond their hearing. Not his, of course.

"Willow? You saw that, right? I'm not going crazy. That vampire *did* fly. Willow?"

"Ummm, yeah, Buffy, he flew."

There was a long silence, and Lacroix frowned, wishing he could see what was happening.

"Xander? Are you okay," Buffy asked, concern heavy in her voice.

Lacroix was instantly alert. Was the boy hurt?

"Xander?" came another female voice; Willow, Lacroix assumed.

He inched forward, wondering what the two women were so worried about. If they'd let something happen to the boy. . . .

"It's him," Xander whispered hoarsely, his voice so quiet Lacroix had to strain to hear.

"Him who?" Buffy asked. "Oh! *Him!* The *big* him!"

"Oh, Xander," Willow sighed, "you never do *anything* small do you?"

**They knew!** Lacroix thought incredulously. **How?!** was the thought that followed closely on its heels.

"Huh?" Xander asked intelligently, and Lacroix had to laugh as he was jerked from his thoughts.

"You not only get bit by a vampire--" Willow began, only to have Xander interrupt.

"Hey! I'm *so* not the only person in this group to get bit! In fact, Tara's the only one present and accounted for that *hasn't* been. And can we say, *so* not giving points for the fact that it was *Harmony* that bit you."

"Hey! Just saying," Willow continued, her tone now indignant, "at least *our* vamps had proper ridges and *didn't* . . . um . . . fly."

Xander sighed, and Lacroix could virtually hear the physical slump that usually accompanied such a sound. "Good point."

"I didn't know vamps could fly," a third female said quietly.

"Neither did I," Xander replied. "When did they start flying? Did I miss the memo?"

**Memo?!**

"No memo, Xander," Buffy replied, a laugh in her voice. "Spike never mentioned *anything* about vamps that could fly."

"Hate to say this, Buff, but Spike wasn't exactly on our side voluntarily."

"Well, no, but--"

"No, buts, Buffy. I *so* can not believe you're still defending him after what he did! He was evil -- pure and simple."

"I really think he loved her," the third female replied.

**Tara?** Lacroix wondered.

"Doesn't matter," Xander snapped. "Whether he did or didn't -- still don't think he was capable of it -- does *not* change the fact that he was evil. He may have helped us. He may even have been 'in love' with Buffy, but he was still a demon. He was still *evil*."

Both Tara and Willow began objections, but Buffy's quiet words cut them off.

"He's right, guys."

"Which means?" Willow asked.

"It *means*," Buffy replied, "that we *might* not be dealing with a 'new' kind of vampire, just one we haven't heard of before. Spike wasn't exactly one to volunteer information."

"What about Giles?" Tara asked.

"Didn't -- doesn't -- know everything. I'll call him, though."

"Good enough," Xander said brightly. "I don't know about all of you, but I'm suddenly *really* not comfortable out here. Are we done for the night?"

"Yeah, I think we are. No other fledges due to rise tonight."

"What about . . . um . . . Xander's vamp?"

"He's *so* not my vamp, Wills. Not claiming him, no way, no how!" Xander exclaimed hotly.

"I just meant--"

"No worries there," Buffy interrupted. "He's probably long gone -- for tonight anyway. I scared him off."

**Why that *arrogant* little . . . *child*,** Lacroix thought angrily. **Scared me away, indeed!**

"Your days are numbered, little girl," Lacroix muttered softly, promising himself a blonde snack in the near future.

Caught up in his thoughts of mayhem, he missed the first sounds of them leaving, but quickly followed as they left the park. **This is better,** he thought, **far enough away they won't see me, but I can see them.**

'You know, Xander," Buffy said, slinging an arm across the boy's shoulders, "I realize you're 'demon magnet' and all, but--"

" *Don't* say that!" Xander demanded instantly, jumping out of the girl's friendly embrace. "Bad, bad things happen when that gets said."

"Oh, Xander," Buffy laughed. "It's not like I said--"

Xander's scream, a full octave above what Lacroix would have expected, cut off whatever Buffy had been going to say. "See!" he exclaimed, jerking his foot and wildly striking the hand that held his ankle -- the hand that extended up out of the ground!

Lacroix froze for an instant, debating whether or not it was worth the risk of coming to the boy's rescue. He darted forward just as the boy's friends leapt in to help. It was then that all hell broke loose.

Lacroix' forward motion was stopped instantly as hands grabbed at him, his momentum flinging him to the ground -- hands like the one that held Xander. These, however; were attached to large, ugly, *strong* . . . *things*. Reluctantly turning his attention to his own dilemma, Lacroix' last sight of the mortal group was of them surrounded and fighting for their lives.