St Nicholas Day --a Josef story (PG-13)

[librarian_7]

A/N: Several months ago, our dear eris approached me with the kernel of an idea for a fic, and I gratefully accepted. The central concept here is from her, but the plot is mine…

Thanks for the inspiration, eris—I’m sure your story on this would have been very different, but I hope you’ll enjoy what I’ve done with it.

I also want to add a note to dedicate this story to one of my readers, who recently suffered a tragic loss. Stories can’t make up for a life-changing event, but perhaps this one can distract you for a few minutes, and I’ll hope for that, at least.

It is the custom in many countries to give gifts on December 6, St. Nicholas Day. Of course, you may know him better as Santa Claus…and this is a story about gifts.


St. Nicholas’ Day

The early December sky outside the panoramic windows was unusually bleak this afternoon, but that wasn’t why Louise was frowning. She had a more pressing concern than the weather. Her frown was for the twin monitors on the desk in front of her. As the secretary in charge of scheduling, it was a large part of her job to solve the ever-shifting puzzle of her boss’s commitments: appointments, conference calls, functions, and his rather erratic social life all played a part. It made her head hurt.

Not that she was complaining. Being a secretary to someone so powerful, so dynamic, was a great job. Better than she’d ever expected.

Today, she was following protocol in dealing with the day’s accumulation of information. First, the queue of emails from the boss. She had to smile at that. There were always emails from the boss. She had no idea how he’d lived before email became standard. Then outside emails, then internal ones. Not to mention the paper correspondence, telexes, and faxes. And the stack of newspapers and journals, which had already been organized in a neat pile by one of the lesser secretaries. On those, she mostly checked to see that they were in the order he preferred.

Louise sighed. Still, the job paid astronomically well. And all the hassles were worth it when her boss gave her that boyish grin and told her he had confidence in her. Of course, she was only one of the round-the-clock shifts of secretaries right outside Josef Kostan’s inner office. And if the desk had a few unusual features—three different silent alarm buttons, for example, and a handgun loaded with explosive silver rounds, for another. She frowned again, and made a note to schedule herself for some time on the Kostan Industries firing range. The boss expected certain standards, after all.

Anyway, it was not too shabby for an ex-freshie. Not that she’d ever freshied for Mr. Kostan. She’d never been in that league, although she had been affiliated with a good, high-class agency, and had attended several of Mr. Kostan’s special parties. Back then, she’d fantasized a few times about his bite, but she never allowed herself thoughts like that now. It just wouldn’t be professional.

And after all, he had tasted a little of her blood. Not directly, of course, nothing like that. It had been more like the last question of the job interview, the one that, as Mr. Kostan said, sealed the deal. He’d asked a lot of things, sometimes on subjects that made sense to her, sometimes reasoning she couldn’t follow. He’d asked about the one low grade on her secretarial school transcript, and her answer, that a regular client had had need of an emergency donation the night before the final, and she’d felt obligated to make sure he was properly fed even if it cost her the 4.0 GPA she’d worked so hard for, had apparently pleased her prospective employer. After that, he’d asked for a taste of blood, and taking her wrist in his cool hands, he’d used a pocket knife to open a small cut. He’d watched her eyes while he did it, and she’d been pleased she hadn’t flinched. It only hurt a little, after all.

Not much blood, not enough to fill a shot glass half-way. Just a good sip. He’d tasted it like a wine connoisseur, or possibly like someone doing an unorthodox method of crime lab analysis. And she’d got the job.

She stood as soon as she heard the door. Security notified her as soon as his car pulled into the basement parking garage. SOP. The standard operating procedure also included that he always—always—had a smile and a greeting for her.

Not today. Today, he was grappling with an awkwardly sized box, a polished wooden case a foot wide, four feet long, and about eight inches deep. It had a look of antiquity to it, the surface carved in a low, ornate relief, and no visible catches, only a keyhole set in the middle of the long side. Louise was dismayed to see how grim her employer’s expression was, how he handled the box with a mixture of reverence and distaste.

“Do you require any assistance, Mr. Kostan?” she asked.

His answer was abrupt. “No.” But he paused by her desk. “No calls, no visitors, Louise. Not until I signal.”

“Yes sir. But you should know—“

He stopped her with a shake of his head. “It can wait. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

And he disappeared into his office, leaving Louise to wonder if she’d somehow failed him.

Not five minutes later, Louise was standing again, and not looking forward to doing her duty. One of Mr. Kostan’s exclusives was striding into the office, and Louise didn’t relish relaying the “do not disturb” order. She found all of Mr. K’s exclusives vaguely terrifying, and this one in particular…there were whispers going around she might be more than a freshie.

“Ms. Alexander, I’m sorry, but—“

Lucky nodded. “I know, Louise,” she said, unwrapping the sheer silk scarf she wore around her neck, the one that hid the vampire’s marks from curious eyes. “I was told, wait.” She didn’t mention that the mysterious call she’d had was not from Josef. And that she was worried herself.

Her unease was only magnified a few moments later when Louise rose again for another visitor to the office. This one was another face she recognized, a pert blonde who always seemed to have a sunny smile for everyone. Not an exclusive, but one of the larger circle of his “preferred providers.”

“Ms. Nicholls,” Louise said, “Mr. Kostan—“

“I know. I need to wait.”

Lucky turned at the sound of a familiar voice. “Danger,” she said, “you, too?”

The women exchanged a worried look. This was beginning to seem downright ominous. But there was nothing to do except wait.

&&

The office door snicked shut with an authoritative click. Josef was pleased to note that the windows were all properly covered, and there was very little ambient light left. He didn’t need a lot of light for this, and what he did need would easily be supplied by the small reading lamp on his desk. Muscle memory would take care of the rest.

He set the box down, positioning it precisely, and flipped on the light. Then he stepped back a little and prepared for the next part of the ritual. First, he shed his jacket, folding it over the desk chair he’d moved aside, and loosened the knot of his tie, pulling it free of his neck. Undoing his French cuffs, he laid the gold cufflinks on the desk, and pulled his shirt tails out of his pants.

Josef frowned to himself as he unbuttoned his shirt, thinking he was making his motions slow and deliberate out of fear of what came next, and he disliked the idea that he could be afraid of anything. He disliked it intensely.

That thought carried him through getting his shirt deposited on his jacket.

He took a wholly unnecessary breath, trying to center himself, and felt in his pocket for the key, finding the silk cord and tassel attached to it with his fingertips. He pulled it out by the cord, then set his mouth in a firm line and grasped the little silver over brass key, ignoring the faint sting of the silver on his fingers.

A turn of the key sprang the catch of the wooden case, and he lifted the lid of the box to reveal, nestled in the black velvet lining of the box, a sword. Even the scabbard was a work of art, chased silver, the patina of age making the swirling curlicues of the engraving stand out. As for the sword itself, it was a thing of deadly beauty, Josef well knew, with a blade almost three feet long, slightly curving double-edged steel. The elaborate basket hilt was a flowing, intricate cage of silver over hardened steel, the quillions and grip silver-plated as well. From a niche in the corner of the case’s interior, he extracted a small bag, and emptied the items into his hand. A small jar of silver polish, a rag blackened with age and use, a tiny flask of oil, a whetstone. Setting the supplies aside, he swallowed hard and grasped the sword and scabbard in both hands, to lift them free from their resting place, drawing the blade smoothly. After a year, even stored carefully in the dark, the silver cladding was tarnished, the quillions and hilt darkened, and Josef spent some time applying the polish and carefully cleaning the stains of time off again. He poured a few drops of oil on the whetstone, and honed the blade as well. He wanted it as sharp, and shining as brightly, as the first day he’d seen it.

December 6, St. Nicholas’ Day, was day for gifts, and in 1616 he’d had high hopes of a man’s treasure, that now he was nearing adulthood. There was a horse he’d had his eye on, this past year. But instead his father had brought in this case, this sword, the bright glory of it like a promise of honor and triumph to come. He would carry this sword in battle, and later, at court, and the glittering ladies there would crowd around him, eager to touch the weapon that had led armies to great victories.

The sting of silver against his unprotected skin was rapidly becoming painful, the blisters beginning to rise. Josef continued his careful polishing of the sword. He’d set the scabbard aside, and the cool length of the steel blade was easier against his hand.

Finally, though, the initial task was done, and carrying the sword lengthwise before him, he stepped around the desk into the larger open area of his office, away from the circle of light cast by the lamp.

He could sense a fine trembling in his shoulders, but dismissed it as the nervousness of a racehorse waiting in the gate. He stood very still for a few moments, blinking slowly in the darkness and seeing what he wanted to see, what he needed to remember.

The long windows of the salle d’armes gathered in as much of the winter sunlight as they could, at this dying time of the year, but it was not enough to heat the room. Stripped to the waist, Josef recalled the heat of the summer just past, thought about what he’d come for, and knew he’d be warm soon enough.

His father was a noted swordsman, his skill with a blade legendary, and Josef knew he was lucky to have him as a teacher, but there was no mercy, no quarter given while lessons were in progress. Not that Josef ever asked. He’d be damned before he disappointed the older man. And under his father’s watchful eye, he began to run through the exercises, the moves of thrust and lunge, parry and slash, the curved sabre in his hand an extension of his arm.

It was precise as a dance, or the priestly rituals of mass. Every movement planned in advance, known so well he could have executed them in his dreams. And if his sword hand ached and burned as though the fires of hell were lit within it, that was not enough to distract him from his task. The discipline, his father said, would keep him alive to fight again.

“Change.” He could hear his father’s voice bark out. He wasn’t cold now. The movement had warmed him, made sweat run down his skin. He was glad to change hands, though, as the pain was beginning to unfocus him, and sweat—it must be sweat—was slicking the grip of his sword.

Besides, his father insisted that no hand be allowed to dominate. He had to do the exercises perfectly with either hand.

So he began again, the measured swings, the turns, the lethal accuracy his father demanded. And now his left hand, too, was pulsing and throbbing in agony, and he could feel the fat drops of sweat falling from his palm to the floor.

No matter. He pushed to the end of the exercise, never allowing a sound past his clenched teeth.
And with a final flourish of the blade, he finished, kneeling, the sword pointed to the sky, hilt pressed against his mouth in salute.

His father nodded to him. The exercise was satisfactory. And then Josef was claimed by a red haze of pain.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the dark space of his office, the sword still gripped in both hands. He lurched to his feet and turned to reach for the scabbard. Once the sword was put away, back in its box for another year, once his memories were back in their box, he could see to his ruined hands.

He staggered and would have fallen, but a strong arm slipped around his waist and caught him.

“Easy, buddy,” Mick said in his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Josef made no reply, but moved forward to complete his task. When the lid was shut, the sword locked away for another year, Mick helped Josef to a couch, where he sagged back, his hands palm up on his lap. Even in the near dark, Mick could see the deep burns, the raw spongy flesh revealed where the skin had melted away. Much more, and there would have been bone showing. His face as well showed the marks of contact with the silver sword, and Mick cringed inwardly, knowing the pain his friend must be feeling at this moment.

“You need blood, Joz’f,” he said.

“No argument there,” Josef replied weakly. He forced a semblance of a smile. “Don’t tell me you brought some of that nonfat soy vegan crap you drink.”

Mick smiled. If Josef was getting snarky, he was already healing. “Nope,” he said, moving to the office door. “I know you better than that. Only the best.”

When Mick slipped out of the office door, Lucky and Danger both came to their feet. Mick was interested to see that Lucky was looking pale and drawn, and he wondered what she was sensing.

“Can we go in and see Josef now?” Lucky asked.

Mick shoved a hand in his jacket pocket. “Why so worried, Lucky?”

She shook her head and frowned. “Like you’d be calling us to be here, if there weren’t something up. And if Josef needs two freshies…it’s got to be bad.”

He nodded, with a tilt of his head to acknowledge her deduction. “We need to get him blood, so he’ll heal.”

“What’s going on with him?”

Mick shrugged. “Does it matter? Right now, I need to get Danni in to him.”

Lucky, startled, threw a glance at Danger. “It’s my right to go in first,” she said, stubbornly.

He stepped closer, laid his hands on Lucky’s shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “You have to trust me. It’s better for Danni to go in first. Her blood will start the healing. And you can bring him home.”

“But—“

“Or we can stand out here and argue about it, while he’s in pain in there.” Mick hated to be so blunt with her, and he felt the answering surge in her heart rate, but it worked. She wrenched free of his grasp, turning away.

“Fine. Danger…”

The blonde nodded. “No worries, Lucky.” She gave Mick a bright smile. “Let’s go.”

Mick took Danger by the elbow. “It’s dark in there, let me guide you.” As they disappeared through Josef’s office door, Lucky heard him telling her, “Try not to look. Especially at his hands.”

Lucky waited until the door closed, and rounded on Louise. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “You must know something.”

“Ms. Alexander—“

“Oh, stuff it with the formality. Look, you were a freshie—you know what it means. You know how it feels.”

“All right, then, Lucky. All I know, is that when he came in, he said no calls, no visitors.” Louise sat back in her desk chair, and folded her arms.

“You let Mick St. John in.”

Louise sighed. “He got here first. And—like you—he’s one of the ones I don’t normally stop. Orders from Mr. Kostan.”

Lucky put her hands up over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about him.”

Louise stood and came to give Lucky a hug. “I know, Lucky,” she said softly. “I am, too.”

Inside the office, Danni stumbled over her own feet in the darkness, and was glad of Mick’s hand at her elbow. She could see the glimmer of Josef’s white chest, and started that direction.

“Wait. Go around behind the couch, and offer your wrist from there.”

“Mick--?”

“I’ll be with you. I won’t let him take too much.” He paused. “Danni, this may hurt. I’m not sure…if Josef can be gentle right now.”

He was not. He nuzzled the wrist offered him, and Danni thought his mouth was oddly wet against her skin. She gasped when he bit down, and sagged back against Mick’s chest. But the pain of the bite was replaced soon enough with the hard rough pulls at her vein. This was more what she knew. She could handle this.

Josef was barely aware of his surroundings. All he could feel was the heat of the blood in his mouth, and almost immediately, the deep itch of flesh knitting together, the skin regenerating, the lightning flash of new nerves firing. He gulped the healing blood, thinking he could drain this chalice, empty it, before he was done, and the thought disturbed him. He raised a clumsy, stiff hand and knocked the source of blood away from his mouth.

“Not…too much….from her,” he rasped.

Mick spared a hand from supporting Danger to touch Josef on the shoulder. “Hang tight, buddy. I’ll be right back.”

Danger was cradling her wrist with her other hand, and leaned heavily against Mick. “Mick, I—I think I need to lie down.”

Mick considered asking her if she could walk, then just swept an arm under her knees and picked her up.

In the outer office, Lucky and Louise were still standing close together when Mick reappeared, carrying Danger. He deposited her on the couch, the one that he recalled Josef had chosen to be uncomfortable for visitors. She smiled up at him drowsily. “Is Josef going to be all right?” she asked.

“Sure. You helped him a lot, Danni.” He looked around. “Louise, you got a first aid kit?”

“Of course.” She was already bustling toward her desk. “Should I call the company nurse? She’s very discreet.”

“I think a bandage and a ride home would be sufficient.”

Meanwhile, Lucky was headed for the office door, and she looked back over her shoulder. “Louise, give her some orange juice.”

Mick moved to block her. “And where are you going?”

She replied with a look of supercilious exasperation that would have done Josef credit. “Where do you think?” The “moron” at the end was implied.

Lucky could see just enough of the inside of the office to realize the furniture had been rearranged to give more open floor space. And she could see Josef, a shadowy, half-naked figure seated in an oddly exhausted slump on the couch. “Oh, Josef, what have you been doing to yourself?” she murmured as she went to him.

He raised his face to her, and she could see red marks of freshly healed wounds around his mouth. “Lucky?” he said, in tired tones. “I’m glad you’re here, doll.”

She slipped onto his lap, curling against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, although she noticed he wasn’t using his hands at all. She tilted her head, offering her throat to him.

Josef hesitated before biting, letting the warm fragrance of his freshie wash over him, listening to the beating of her human heart. Lost in the moment, he didn’t realize the other presence before him at first.

“You going to be all right, Joz’f?” Mick asked.

“I’ll be kicking your ass at poker tomorrow night.” If his voice was a little off, still, the words were reassuring. He tried tentatively to caress Lucky’s arm. His hands were still stiff, still hurting, but another good drink, and he’d be all right.

“I still don’t understand why you do this every year,” Mick said, putting his hands on his hips.

Josef shrugged, and Lucky pushed at his shoulder.

“If you’d let a few people know,” she said, “we could have a pile of thermoses with fresh blood for you, Josef.”

“Maybe next year, babe.” He smiled at her. “For now, you’ll do.” Josef looked back up at Mick. He’d come to celebrate an ancient gift, and he’d been given more than he anticipated, in the form of the devotion of his freshies, and the concern of his friend. What his father would have made of all this, he had no idea. But for now, he’d paid his tribute to the past, and the present was his to enjoy. For another year.

[redwinter101]

Lovely, Lucky - such an unusual premise and beautifully drawn, as always.

Red

[francis]

I have an odd reaction to this story. I feel sad for Josef and almost angry that he's doing this to himself. Why doesn't he do the ritual with gloves on? Why celebrate the past while hurting yourself? If it was Mick I would say he just can't accept that he's a vampire now and can't touch silver. But Josef?

It's Josef's way of doing things to have no compromise, to go the long mile. He honors his father and his past by not letting pain get in the way of precision. But this is rather - masochistic. He could have the concern of his friends without this. Well, Mick doesn't judge him, and I won't either, but I'm not happy about him just now.

This is a very well written story that is great as food for thoughts.

[wpgrace]

Oh Joz'f can be so complicated! And I LOVE the reference to the couch... and always always always the friendship. LOVE that friendship...

[AggieVamp]

ohh...what a neat look into Josef's early life. And I really could 'see' the sword in all it's glory. And though it is very painful to Josef, I like how he does this annual ritual. And now that he's let Mick in on the ritual - hopefully next year it will be a little easier on him (though I don't know if he'd want it any 'easier').

Great story (as ususal!) and of course Lucky was involved!

Karen

[Phoenix]

Awww, Lucky. That was intense. Thank you.

[eris]

Had to read it again, Lucky. Every bit as good as the sneak peek.

I have an odd reaction to this story. I feel sad for Josef and almost angry that he's doing this to himself. Why doesn't he do the ritual with gloves on? Why celebrate the past while hurting yourself? If it was Mick I would say he just can't accept that he's a vampire now and can't touch silver. But Josef?

There's something about a sword francis, it's different. It's a matter of honor and you don't handle honor with gloves on. The pain is secondary, and in truth part of the ritual and sensory memory of learning the drills. Blood is part of the process.

[darkstarrising]

Lucky,

What an amazing story you've given us, weaving elements from Josef's past with his present. His father, his human life were precious to Josef, the sword, the last connection to them both.

Yet the present offers something precious as well, the love and devotion of friends who will do what they can even if they don't understand the ritual.

Beautifully done.

[tucutecats]

awsome and well written as usual. you are a great story teller . i love it that mick and lucky are always there for him.

[fairytoes]

Wow, what a brilliant story. Thank you.
All the pain, it must be sheer torture for Josef, and still he honors his father, his human life like this -- every year.

[RangerCM]

Well, you managed what I thought was impossible..... the depth of the emotion and intensity of this managed to supersede my thoughts of Josef stripped to the waist!

Beautiful.

[AussieJo]

Lucky, I loved this.
And as Red commented, so beautifully drawn.
I think I can see Josef's justifications for going through the pain.
First of all, it was a gift from a father to a son, a gift full of meaning at the time.
Honour and chivalry, rites of passage, all of that.
Secondly, it's something that probably is the only material proof that he was human, and he did have family that loved him.
When you've been a vampire for 400 years, or more, I'd imagine your humanity would be a pretty fuzzy memory.
Using Mick as a comparison, his memories are still sharp, because he is still within his human lifespan.
Anyway, back to Josef.
Thirdly, there may well be an element of masochism in his actions.
A penance for his life of privilege, his every whim and desire granted.
We all are witness via media, of how that can skew people's brains.
A great read. And food for thought!

[LadyAilith]

Hauntingly beautiful, Lucky. Thanks so much for the lovely gift!


LadyAilith

[MoonShadow]

Lucky,

Your writing is as complex and multi layered as Josef. I'm having difficulty finding the words to express my thoughts right now, forgive me. You never cease to amaze me with the beauty and skill with which you write.

It feels trivial in comparison to your gift, but you have my thanks, what a lovely gift.

MoonShadow

[allegrita]

Lucky, I'm typing this on my phone and will therefore keep it brief, but I have to let you know how much this story affected me. The rituals of swordsmanship, coupled with the complex relationship between a nobleman and his son...there are deep reasons for Josef to put himself through this torment each year. Maybe it would be hard for someone who didn't live that life to understand why he does it...but the really wonderful thing is, it doesn't matter that Mick and Lucky and the rest don't understand. They love him and support him because they know it's important to him. Isn't that the true meaning of friendship? That's the best gift of all.