"I still say you shouldn't go out tonight, sweetie!" Naomi protested from where she sat - cross-legged - on the floor watching Blair fuss with his costume. "There's a bad moon on the rise, bad things - strange things - happen when there's a bad moon."

Her son rolled his eyes as he tugged at his hair, aiming for the wild werewolf look. "Mom, its Halloween, weird things are *supposed* to happen."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." The lovely redhead frowned. "I'm not sure what it is but there's a sensation in the air; a darkness. I can't quite put my finger on it . . . "

"Because there's nothing to put your finger *on*!" Blair countered emphatically. "Mom, Jim and I are going to the costume benefit at the museum, we'll be providing security. It'll be a room full of fat cats, politicians and cops, with a few mistresses and rent-a-dates thrown in for flavor. Hardly psycho central."

"With you," Herman Munster, also known as Jim Ellison, interjected dryly, "any place can be psycho central."

Blair groaned and shook his head. "Way to make Mom feel better Jim."

Ellison chuckled at the other man's exasperation then looked to the lovely redhead. "He's right Naomi.  We'll be fine. The museum just had a security system upgrade and everyone will be there. If anything does turn up, we'll handle it."

"See!" The curly-haired werewolf exclaimed, throwing his shaggy arms out in an emphatic gesture. "Go to your ceremony, Mom, Jim and I will be fine!"

"Famous last words." The Sentinel muttered under his breath into his ear.

"Shut up Jim."

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

"So," He rubbed his hands together briefly before opening the truck's door. "We got a positive ID on this cat burglar yet? And we're sure he's going to hit the museum tonight?"

"No, no ID, and yes, we are sure." Getting in next to him, Jim surveyed his reflection in the mirror and scowled. "I can't believe you got me to wear this damn thing."

"I can." His best friend countered smugly. "It was either Herman Munster or a Klingon from Star Trek - complete with the bumpy forehead."

He scowled again and started the truck. "Remind me again why I agreed to dress up in the first place?"

"Captain's orders; besides, Megan agreed to be Lilly Munster and you've *got* to be looking forward to *that*!"

"Shut up Sandburg."

A cheeky grin on his face, Blair settled back against the seat, giving Jim a few moments to stew before speaking again. "So, what do we know about this guy? Aside from the fact we know nothing about this guy."

"He's a magician." The Sentinel responded irritably. "No matter what the security, he can still get to his target and he loves rubies. Particularly rubies connected to some French countess in the middle ages."

"Yeah, I remember that from the files. The Comtesse Serenité Darkholme." The anthropologist chuckled. "I looked her up. Man, some pretty crazy stories about her going around."

"Like?" Jim prompted, hoping to hear something that would help the case.

"Said she was a vampire," at his friend's incredulous look, Blair laughed again. "I know, I know, it's nuts but that's what the stories say. She was reported to be a vampire. Apparently, she fell deathly ill one winter, so ill they were already planning her funeral, then suddenly mysteriously recovered late one night."

"People spontaneously recover all the time, what made you think she was a vampire?"

"Before she fell ill, the Comtesse would spend *hours* in her gardens in the afternoon - tending to her flowers but after her recovery she only went out after sundown." Thinking for a moment, Blair glanced out at the night sky. "She was very pale, unearthly so, didn't ever venture near sunlight to the point that she slept through the days and was up all night . . . some servants reported seeing her eyes glow when she was angry, fly at night, and drink blood. There's no way any of those last few can be verified of course. All we know for certain is that she recovered mysteriously then began sleeping the days and avoiding sunlight. Giving the society of her day, it's almost expected they call her a vampire."

"Spooky."

"Essentially. So, what does the museum have on display that connects to Countess Vlad?"

"A necklace oh-so-cheerfully called the Bloodstone. Silver chain with a large oval shaped ruby set in a silver filigree design." Jim picked up a file off the seat and held it out. "Ruby's supposed to be the colour of blood and its worth a small fortune."

Blair whistled when he saw the net worth of the necklace. "You call this small? No wonder this guy wants it! But it seems risky to make a grab for this thing when there's a huge benefit being held in the same building. Too many potential witnesses."

"Its how this guy works. Profilers figure he gets a thrill out of pulling the job off with a room full of people right next door." Jim's expression was one of grudging admiration. "He's good too. Some people have taken him to calling him the Darkholme Ghost. He haunts anything to do with the Countess and no one ever sees him."

"Accurate." The other man grinned then looked over at his friend. "Is it just me or does this feel like a movie or something? The Saint or Entrapment or something like that."

Ellison chuckled. "You've been watching too much of the Movie Network again."

The answer he got to that comment was another grin accompanied by, "It's my Ellison survival guide. I've had to learn a few tricks from Mission Impossible & Die Hard to keep up with you!"

"Shut up Sandburg."

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

"Is it just me," Blair leaned on the bar and grinned at the woman tending it. "Or are these things totally dull."

"It isn't just you." She agreed with a wink. "What can I get you?"

He considered it for a moment then opened his mouth only to have a smooth voice interject: ordering an expensive wine for them both.

Turning, he found himself eye to eye with a woman who couldn't possibly be as beautiful as she looked. When his blue eyes he met hers, a brief wave of dizziness washed over him and he swayed before it passed. "Sorry," he smiled widely at her. "Must have low-blood sugar or something."

She smiled, a perfect white smile that - strangely - reminded him of a wolf, and reached out to push a bowl of Halloween candy toward him. "Fortunately, for you, it is the one night of the year sugar is in great supply."

His mysterious new acquaintance was quite obviously French as a strong accent colored her speech and Blair found it quite charming. His smile taking on a flirtatious note, he leaned against the bar. "Fortunate in more ways than one." He popped a candy into his mouth. "I'm Blair Sandburg."

"Wren." She responded, holding out a hand. "Wren Knight."

Taking it in his, he brushed a kiss across the back, smiling. "A pleasure, Wren."

-*-*-*-*-

On the other side of the room, Jim grinned wryly when he finally found his best friend flirting with a gorgeous brunette dressed in a catsuit. ‘Typical ' he thought to himself. ‘Leave Sandburg on his own for five minutes and he' ll end up at the side of the sexiest woman in the room. Law of science or somethin'.'

He was about to move on when he frowned deeply.

There was something . . . off about that woman.

Automatically, Jim turned up his senses and tried to hunt down the problem.

He didn't get far.

As if she sensed his intense concentration on her, the woman's gaze drifted in his direction until it connected with his.

Before the wave of dizziness completely overtook him, Jim could have sworn her eyes briefly tinged gold. He swayed and shook his head, reaching out to support himself on the wall.

"Jim?"

He looked over to see Megan standing at his side, her eyes filled with concern. "What is it?"

"Just feel dizzy all of a sudden." He replied as she laid a hand across his forehead. "I'm fine."

"You're sweating." She took his elbow, supporting him. "Come on, let's go outside. The others can cover the party. You need to get some air."

Despite feeling ill, he managed a teasing grin. "You trying to get me alone, Conner? Take advantage?"

"Yeah, sure," The costumed woman replied dryly. "I've been planning this for weeks." Sliding an arm around his waist, she pivoted them toward the patio doors.

She was helping him out of the ballroom when Jim glanced back in the direction of Blair and the mysterious woman.

They were gone.

"Megan . . . " He tried to pull away but the Australian held firm. "Sandburg. . . "

"Rafe'll get him." She assured, unaware of the instinctive fear that was welling up in the man next to her. The perfectly safe assignment wasn't so perfectly safe anymore.

There was a wolf in the fold.

He frowned, not knowing why the analogy fit so well, or why it had sprung to mind but it fit.

She was the wolf and Blair the unsuspecting lamb.

-*-*-*-*-

If he could have heard Jim's thoughts, Blair would have disagreed completely. But he also would have admitted his brain wasn't really performing many higher thought processes at that moment. He didn't need them to enjoy the sensations that came with having a beautiful woman in his arms. If he had been thinking straight, he would have wondered how they'd managed to leave the ballroom and how things had progressed so quickly from harmless flirting to well . . . to a heavy duty make out session in the hallway. He hadn't pulled something like this in years.

Sliding a hand into her long hair, he spun them around, pressing her back against the wall. She didn't protest the movement, her hands sliding around him and tugging him closer. Blair didn't notice the underlying strength of her movements.  He was spellbound. Entranced by the Frenchwoman's hypnotic and seductive aura. Even if he'd wanted to pull away, he was powerless to do so.

He was caught.

Neatly wrapped up in a web of pleasure and passion.

Come into my parlor . . .

He didn't react when the woman in his arms spun them again so that it was his back pressed against the wall and if he noticed the migration of her lips from his, he didn't acknowledge it.

The only thing he was aware of were the two twin pricks of infinitesimal pain before sheer, carnal pleasure swept over him in a tidal wave.

Then things were black.

-*-*-*-*-

Without waiting to convince Megan he was indeed fine, Jim stormed back through the ballroom, intent on finding out where Blair was and if he was all right. The other officers of Major Crime quickly realized something was wrong and the conspicuous absence told them all who was in the thick of it. As usual.

"Kid must have a battalion of guardian angels." Brown noted wryly to Rafe as the two men hurried after Ellison and Megan.

"Just one?" The other man countered with a raised eyebrow.

The taller detective considered that. "Point taken." He conceded with a nod.

-*-*-*-*-

Blair was nowhere to be found in the museum and, to the curator's consternation, neither was the Bloodstone.

The Ghost had been and gone.

The resulting ruckus had half of the police department swarming the ornate building, and the surrounding streets, like ants whose hill's been overturned. One could hardly move without stumbling over a uniform. It seemed there wasn't an inch of ground left uncovered.

Yet still no sign of Blair. And no sign of the necklace.

None whatsoever.

Briefly the curator and the chief of police floated the theory that Sandburg had been the thief all along but a glare from Jim accompanied by Simon's vehement protests to the contrary soon quelled it. Blair Sandburg was many things but a thief was not one of them.

With it decided that Blair wasn't the thief, conversation turned to where he was. If he'd interrupted the thief and had been subdued, it seemed logical that he would have been found somewhere in the museum or on its grounds - which he hadn't. Thus, it was determined that he was either a hostage, or . . . worse.

A search for the thief, the necklace, and the missing man was launched.

----

A curse of frustration blistered across Jim's lips and he slammed a palm against the steering wheel.

"Easy, Jim." Megan soothed from the passenger's seat. "Destroyin' the truck isn't gonna help us find Sandy."

He shot a glare at her then sighed, his expression turning weary. More weary than she had ever seen him. "I should never have let him out of my sight." He smiled bitterly. "Naomi was right."

"Naomi?"

"She warned Blair not to go out tonight. Said ‘it was a bad moon'." He snorted. "Both of us told her it would be fine. That it was just a light security detail. Nothing to be really worried about."

"You were right." She assured. "With the information we have on the Ghost, there was absolutely no indication that he or she had an inclination toward violence. There was no way of knowing."

Jim held her gaze for a long moment then exhaled heavily. "I...I just want to find him. At this point, I don't care about the Bloodstone or the Ghost. I just want to find Blair."

"We all do." Megan agreed, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "We're gonna find him Jim. You know that. Sandy has a way of turning up, there's no reason to believe why he won't now."

The detective covered her hand with his own, their gazes meeting.

The quiet intensity of the moment was broken by the trilling of Jim's cellphone.

"Ellison."

"Jim, it's Naomi."

"Naomi?" At that, Megan looked over at him, a questioning look in her eyes. Holding up a hand to forestall any comments, Jim continued. "What is it?"

"It's . . . " She inhaled slowly. "Blair. I came home and he was . . . " A pause. "He was on the couch asleep. I didn't see you so I . . . He wouldn't wake up and he was so pale."

"Where are you?" Even as he was asking the question, Jim was turning the key in the ignition and checking to see if anyone was behind the truck.

"Cascade General."

"We're on our way."

-----

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Blair licked his dry lips then coughed. "Dancing with this . . . " He coughed again and reached for the ice chips next to the bed. "Totally hot Frenchwoman."

"Saw you with her." Jim affirmed with a chuckle. "What was her name?"

"Said it was Wren Knight."

Megan scribbled the name down in her notebook and left the room.

"What happened, Chief?" Jim prompted, sitting down next to the bed.

The curly-haired man shook his head, hand moving to the small bandage on his throat. "I don't remember."  As hard as he thought, as much as he tried to remember, the memories of what had happened would not surface. The evening after meeting the mysterious Ms. Knight was growing fuzzy and ethereal. It was as if he'd woken from a dream and the longer he was awake the less clear the night became. "It's weird, Jim. I cannot remember *anything* after leaving the room with her. It's all gone. Like I was drunk but I'm sure I never drank enough to black out."

The detective sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Did she ever get close enough to you in the bar to slip you something?"

Blair shook his head. "She was close man, but her hands never went near my drink." He sighed heavily. "I don't know what happened, Jim. I just *can't* remember!" The frustration in his voice was evident and his entire body radiated his irritation at his inability to recall what had happened. He was well aware the clues they were searching for lay in the memories he couldn't find and, unconsciously, he touched the bandage on his neck.

Seeing the action, Jim smiled faintly. "Doctor says you've got a case of mild anaemia but other than that you're fine, just looks like you cut yourself on a barbecue fork...or bit by a vampire."

His friend snorted. "So what, you think the Comtesse Darkholme came back to claim her necklace and grabbed a bite to eat while she was there?"

For a second they both paused - wondering - then both snickered.

Naw...couldn't be.

"Any sign of the necklace or the Ghost?" Blair asked finally.

"None..." Jim hesitated then added. "But at least now we know our prime suspect is a woman not a man."

"You think this Wren Knight is our Ghost?"

"Most likely." The other man agreed. "Convincing us that she was a man was a smart tactic, had us running around looking for the wrong gender suspect."

"And now we have a description of her...that'll be a help."

"It will. It's gone out to Interpol, the Mounties, the FBI, Securite, Scotland Yard. Everyone wants a look at this woman."

"Well they've got plenty to look at." Blair grinned. "Lady is a knock out." In the age old way men had, they shared a look then he sighed. "I just wish I could remember if we..." He waggled his eyebrows. "Totally not fair man...Totally not fair."

"Just your luck."

-*-*-*-*-

Toronto, Canada

When the alert landed on his desk, the blond detective barely held in a chuckle. The Darkholme Ghost had struck again - this time in Cascade, Washington State - and this time, the police had a lead suspect: one Wren Knight.

"Knight, huh?" Natalie Lambert grinned over his shoulder. "Friend of yours?"

Nick Knight looked up at his mortal friend. "More like family."

Her eyes gleamed with interest and she took the paper from him, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot, then added. "*Family* as in..." Though she didn't finish her sentence, he knew what she was asking and nodded. "I get a full explanation later." She told him quietly, seeing Tracy Vetter - his partner - approaching.

"I expected as much." He chuckled.

"Hey guys, what's that?"

"Alert from the U.S., the Darkholme Ghost struck in Washington State. They think this is her." Natalie passed it over and watched the blonde woman read it.

"Wren Knight is the alias she used?" Tracy's grin echoed Natalie's. "Relative of yours, Nick?"

Confusion ruled on her face when the duo standing in front of her started to laugh.

"C'mon, Nat, I'll buy you a cup of coffee." Offering an arm to his friend, Nick glanced over at his partner. "Trace, y'mind making sure that gets copied and put up on the board? Oh, and make sure the captain sees it will you?" Patting her on the shoulder as they passed, he barely hid his grin. "Thanks."

"Sure...No problem." She replied dryly, watching them leave before dropping her gaze to the sketch on the paper before her. "Wren Knight? Could..." Looking in the direction they'd gone, she puzzled over it for a moment then shook her head. "Naw...Nick, related to a professional thief?" The very thought made her laugh. "Not a chance."

Dropping the paper on her desk, she went to get a cup of coffee, still chuckling over the very idea.

-*-*-*-*-

Montreal, Quebec

Reclining in a chair, Comtesse Serenity Darkholme sipped at her bloodwine and looked at the necklace dangling from her other hand with an amused glint in her eyes. "Welcome home, my darling." She told the necklace with a soft tone. "It has been far too long."

The vampiress set her drink aside and carefully fastened the gem's clasp around her neck, letting it fall against her cool skin, displayed by the fashionable designer gown she wore. With one hand touching the gem, she picked up the wineglass once more and stared out into the night.

Her thoughts on the man who she'd so recently met.

"Merci, Blair Sandburg," She lifted her glass in a toast. "To a magnificently entertaining evening and the idea that - perhaps - we will meet once more." Then, with a smile that revealed fangs and eyes that glowed a golden amber, the Comtesse drank.

Finis

 

I own Serenity but any and all other characters and concepts herein are not mine. I'm just borrowing.

 

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