Nissa 2: Giving Thanks

Mom was wearing mitten-style potholders, opening the oven door to baste the turkey, and making the house smell heavenly; Daddy was standing behind her, drinking out of one of the dark-glass bottles and sniffing the air wistfully; the big-screen TV was displaying the Macy's parade, and the radio was playing Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant"... it was Thanksgiving, and it was perfect.

Nissa padded through the house silently, resplendent in flowered flannel nightgown and bunny slippers. She slipped into the kitchen and dipped two fingers into the bowl of leftover stuffing, came up with a handful and shoved it into her mouth; she wiped her hand on a dishtowel and went over to hug her daddy, who freed one hand from the bottle to stroke her hair.

"Don't spoil your appetite," warned Mom without bothering to turn, and Nissa mouthed an automatic agreement: "Okay, Mom," even as she ducked behind her mother's back to snag another gob of stuffing.

Her Thanksgiving essay was hung on the refrigerator, elaborately marked with a gold star and a big "A+" on top... her parents had been so proud. Nissa, however, had been annoyed. She'd gone all the way back to ancient America to research that report, and what she'd learned about the true origins of the holiday had been completely useless -- there was no way she could use any of it; so she'd had to spend hours at the library and on the Internet researching the "official" history in order to come up with a paper that her teacher would believe, and accept.

One thing she'd learned: the history she'd been taught in school bore little or no relation to what had really happened. Something she would be sure to remember, in the future.

Daddy yawned; his hand stilled in her hair. "I'm going to lie down for awhile," he said, almost apologetically.

"You do that," said Mom, "you had a long night. And I want you awake and at the table for dinner," and Nissa, glancing up, caught the small grimace that crossed his face. Sooner or later, it would occur to him to wonder why his daughter never questioned the fact that he never ate... but Daddy had so far been complacently content, and Nissa didn't feel like rocking the boat.

In her more mischievous moments, she imagined that she'd save the revelation of her knowledge for the 'right time' - - like when she wanted something expensive, or her first bra, or her first date, or a new car. Now that would be the time to mention that she knew her daddy was a vampire...

"And you," Mom said, turning to her, "do you think you could keep yourself out from underfoot for a little while?"

"Sure, Mom," said Nissa, and escaped to her room.

She'd been thinking, for awhile, about what might be an appropriate journey for this holiday. Originally, she'd planned to try going back to colonial days, but she'd already done that, and it was far overrated... She'd considered going to the Macy's Parade, too, but she'd already done that in real-time two years ago, with Mom and Daddy. No, she wanted to do something new; to go somewhere she hadn't gone before.

On the little TV on her nightstand, the announcer was talking about the snowstorm that had blanketed the Northeast. It never snowed in Phoenix, Nissa thought wistfully. And snow was so much fun...

She closed her eyes, and thought about snow, and when she felt the air grow chill around her, she knew that she'd Arrived. Somewhere. Somewhen.

Opening her eyes, she found herself on an empty nighttime street, white flakes drifting down... she shivered, and cursed under her breath. She'd been doing this long enough to know better; she should have donned a coat, or at least a sweater. Instead, here she was in her nightgown and slippers in the middle of the street. Not a good move: not only was she cold, she was noticeable.

She knew that she should go back, don proper apparel before proceeding; but instead, Nissa moved down the street, enjoying the feel of the wafting snowflakes despite the cold.

At the intersection, she looked up and gasped: so this was where she'd gone! The dome of the Capitol sparkled in the background, instantly recognizable. So now she knew where she was -- when was another matter. And when was always the hardest thing to discern: "Excuse me, can you tell me what year this is?" wasn't a question likely to receive a satisfactory answer, not in any century.

Well, she wasn't completely clueless -- it was wintertime, and it was nighttime, and sometime within the same decade she'd left, for things looked pretty much the same. And there were no people around, which meant that there was a good chance that it was a holiday night...

"Hey!" came the sound of a man's voice, and she turned, for it held overtones of friendly concern. "Are you lost? Here, put this on," and Nissa watched the man struggle out of his coat, tug a sweatshirt over his head, then slide quickly back into the overcoat. "What are you doing out here all alone, in the middle of the night, in your pajamas?"

"Going for a walk," Nissa answered. "I like the night- time," and enjoyed the man's bemused expression.

She slid into the sweatshirt, which was 'way too big for her, and waited for the inevitable slew of questions -- but instead the man just shrugged, and said, "I like the night- time too; but I wear a coat when I go out walking."

Nissa laughed. "I forgot," she said truthfully. "I wanted to go and play in the snow, and I didn't think first."

The man knelt in front of her, studying her with interest. "Haven't your parents ever told you not to talk to strangers?" he asked her.

"Yep," she said securely, "but you're not that strange," which provoked a wry laugh.

"Actually, I am kind of strange," he replied, with a hint of melancholy in his voice that she didn't understand, "but it's okay," and he reached into his pocket and produced a wallet, opened it and displayed the badge and i.d. card within.

Nissa took it from his hand and studied it closely. She knew a fake i.d. when she saw one, and this wasn't one. Not that she'd been worried. She'd encountered strange men before, in her travels through time and space and unreality, and things far stranger than ordinary perverts, and she'd learned to trust her ability to escape from danger. As well, she'd learned to trust her instincts -- and they told her that she was utterly safe with this man.

She closed the wallet and handed it back to him with a small nod, and he nodded back and took it. "So your parents don't mind that you go wandering the streets at night?"

"They don't know," she said, "they think I'm sitting in my room, waiting for the turkey to be ready." Instantly, she regretted the slip -- then wondered: Is it Thanksgiving here, too?

Apparently, it was. The man's lips twitched slightly. "Lucky you," he remarked. "I don't have anyone to cook me a turkey."

"Not anyone?" Nissa wondered at that. He was a good- looking man -- Jenny would have been batting her eyelashes at him and drooling -- and surely there was some woman, somewhere, who would have been perfectly happy to invite this man over for dinner, and more.

He shrugged. "My partner invited me to dinner, but I... I dunno. This is a family time..."

"Family," said Nissa, thinking of her own odd clan, "is a relative concept." She raised her eyebrow at him. "No pun intended."

This elicited another startled, pleased laugh. "Speaking of which," said the man, finally getting around to the inevitable question, "don't you think we should be seeing about getting you home to yours?"

"Oh, I'll get home in time for dinner," said Nissa, grinning. "Right now, I just want to play in the snow," and she headed off, walking past him, knowing that he would follow.

He fell into step beside her, adjusting his long-legged stride to match hers. "I don't suppose it's occurred to you that it isn't really safe for a young girl to be wandering around D.C. at night," he mentioned.

"S'okay," answered Nissa, wondering how long she could keep this up: eventually, inevitably, he would insist on calling the police, or taking her home, and she'd have to make a speedy getaway. For now, though, she liked the company. "I'm perfectly safe."

"No one is that safe," said the man grimly, and looking up at him, she saw shadows cross her face, echoes of bitterness and sadness that made her want to hug him, the same way she hugged her daddy when he got that faraway, unhappy look on his face.

Then something past him caught her attention, a gleam in the shadows, and she stopped dead in her tracks to look.

It looked back at her, and she knew that look: the hot yellow eyes, the preternatural stillness -- she didn't recognize the face, but she knew what type of face it was.

"You're right," she said to her new friend, letting the childlike tone slide away from her voice, taking on a sound of mature authority. "It's not safe here. Let's go," and she started moving faster, toward the brighter streets ahead.

His arms scooped her up, and he carried her, moving faster than her legs would have taken her; she noted that he didn't bother to question her instinct toward flight, merely obeyed it, as if he was used to unexpected danger. Which considering his line of work, was probably true... But it was following them, and the gun her new friend carried wouldn't do any good; she scrambled around in his arms to gaze back, over his shoulder, toward the figure that moved swiftly through the shadows.

She focused her attention on the predator, reached inward and focused her will, gathering the essence of everything that was inhuman and unnatural within her, and projecting it as fiercely as she could. "Go away!" she shouted. "Leave us alone!"

The predator stopped -- and so did her new friend. He turned, setting her down and moving to shield her behind himself, drawing his weapon... and she stepped around him and planted herself squarely in front of him, between the man and the predator that stalked them. "Take a good look at me," she said strongly, "look at me, look at who I am. Touch either of us, and you'll never be safe. My family will hunt you down..."

And Nissa felt the predator 'look' at her, with its enhanced senses -- heard the subliminal sound of flight, as it took off.

She relaxed. "Put that thing away," she said, glancing back and up at the wary man behind her. "It's gone, now."

He didn't holster the gun; his eyes flickered toward her. "What was it?" he asked. With surprise, Nissa realized that he'd never doubted her, not for an instant: he'd known that they were being hunted, had believed her without question.

"It was a vampire," she said, just to see what he'd say.

The man made an odd sound; not quite disbelief, more like disgust. "A vampire," he repeated. "Yeah, right." But there was something wrong with his voice: no, not disbelief, not at all.

"My daddy's a vampire," Nissa told him, again to see what he'd say.

"And your mommy's an elven changeling," the man said, in a polite tone.

"No, my mom's a forensic pathologist," she informed him.

That made him smile. "So's my partner," he said.

"Yeah, right," Nissa scoffed.

Her new friend laughed aloud. "I guess I deserved that," he said ruefully.

"You did," she agreed. "Come on."

"Where?" he wanted to know.

"I came all the way here to play in the snow," Nissa reminded him, "and now I want to build a snowman. And you're going to help me, or else."

"Or else what? You're going to turn into a vampire and bite me?" he challenged.

"Nope," she said. "I just won't give you back your sweatshirt," and trotted off.

They built a snowman. It was a fine snowman, almost as tall as he was; and when they were finishing up the head, using pennies for eyes, a woman came to stand beside them and watch.

The man seemed to know her; he greeted her by tossing a handful of snow in her direction, and she replied by packing a snowball and hitting him squarely in the shoulder.

When things escalated to a full-fledged snowball fight, Nissa left them there: the man looked much happier than he had when she'd first met him, now that his friend was here -- and as for the aforementioned friend, Nissa had the feeling that she wouldn't be quite so easily swayed; only a matter of time before the woman insisted on taking her to her parents. So she ducked behind a bush and closed her eyes: warmth surrounded her, and the smell of turkey, and she knew she was home.

Too late, she remembered that she was still wearing the man's sweatshirt; she pulled it off and gazed at it -- "Oxford", it said -- folded it neatly and placed it on the top shelf of her closet, beside the box where she kept the dragon's tooth, and the magic ring, and all the other souvenirs she'd garnered from her travels.

Good thing Mom respects my privacy, she thought, as she changed into dry clothes.

Nissa emerged from her room into the middle of a standoff: her mom and her daddy were on one side of the living room, looking defensive, and on the other end of the room was LaCroix, as haughty and imposing as ever.

Okay, how do I handle this? she thought, and instantly had her answer. "Grandpa!" she shouted, raced across the room and leapt into his arms.

He caught her, the air of superiority dissolving into a fond smile. "Hello, child," he said, tousling her hair. His hand came away wet; he glanced at the evaporating snow crystals clinging to his fingertips and frowned at her slightly... Nissa met his gaze levelly, knowing that he would not probe. Not now, when the situation at hand demanded all his attention.

She twisted her head around to look at her parents. "I asked Grandpa if he could come over for Thanksgiving dinner," she said, in her best innocent-childlike voice. "It's okay, isn't it?"

Mom and Daddy looked at each other for a long, long moment. "I guess so," said Mom at last, very cautiously.

"Great!" Nissa exclaimed. "Grandpa, I wanna show you my Thanksgiving essay... I got an A-plus!"

"Naturally," LaCroix said, as he allowed her to drag him to the kitchen and the refrigerator. "I would expect no less from my... grandchild."

Her parents were looking at her very strangely... She had the feeling that she was going to have a lot of explaining to do, later.

But that was all right. After all, she had so much to be thankful for.

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