Archive of Our Own

"A most interesting night, my dear."  His voice caressed the words, wrapping innuendo and implication through the tones and pauses of speech.  Had he wanted to read the latest set of tax laws, still people would have paused to listen without knowing why or thinking twice.

A soft sigh fell across the silence behind his endearment before a clear soprano voice replied tiredly, "Old friend, you do realize I'd only just gone to bed when you called?  Could we simply take it as given that, if necessary, I can wake up enough to dance around the subject with you for so long as it takes, and get on to whatever you called about?"

The answering cold silence was abruptly broken by an rumbling, masculine chuckle.  "Ah, I have missed you indeed.  Who else would dare?  Very well.  An immortal came hunting in the Raven last night...."

Aidan moaned in dismay and stretched back in her chair, arms up over her head.  Cramped hands flexed and clenched at nothing, then she curled back into the computer seat and rubbed her aching eyes hard enough to see stars.  Head tilted back, she called out, "Rich?"

Silence answered her and she belatedly remembered that the younger immortal had headed out on a date three hours ago.  Snarling in aggravation, Aidan nonetheless bookmarked where she had finished revising her manuscript, shut down the computer, and went upstairs to work out.  One more minute of comparing a monitor screen to those edited galleys and she would scream.

The woman who stripped out of jeans and sweater on the second floor stood 5' 8" in her bare feet, and had the muscled frame of a weight lifter or blacksmith.  Until she coiled it out of the way in a careless knot, dark brown hair snaked across and over the shortsword strapped to her back.  Rubbing absently at a strap mark from the halter, Aidan reached into a drawer and pulled out a dancer's body-suit.  Still naked despite the chilly air, she knelt next to the stereo which supplied sound to the first three floors and loaded four very different albums, wanting to be able to pick workout music when she settled her mood.

Satisfied both with her choices and that she would be able to remember the sequence, Aidan stepped into the body-suit and grabbed a ponytail holder as she headed up the spiral stairs in the kitchen.  The sword went with her automatically as she walked up to the third floor of her house.

The blade she slung on its usual hook across the room from the freight elevator, midway between the corner stairwell and the spiral staircase Rich had helped her install.  Rough finger-combing smoothed her hair into a braid which was quickly tied off.  She settled onto the wood floor to stretch, sensibly opting to do so near one of the radiators on the wall.  For long minutes, the immortal woman paid attention to nothing but her own body, slowly stretching stiff muscles, loosening a tense neck and knotted shoulders with careful stretches, yoga positions held, endured, released, and then repeated.

Finally warm and loose, Aidan stood and tried to decide what to do.  Yoga would work, but she didn't feel calm enough to be effective.  Katas could certainly burn the tension off, but she didn't need anything aggressive right now.  In this neighborhood, not even an immortal wanted to go run by herself after ten at night, which would at least have been mindless exertion.  Tai chi, while it was sufficiently non-aggressive, still required more concentration than she wanted to give anything.

Finally, snarling at herself, she pushed into motion, turning pirouette after pirouette down the length of the room.  When she came to the wall, she spun around and took off in running leaps down the room:  grand jetes as they were known in ballet, beautiful in the words of spectators.  Catty-corner from the stairs, she pushed off into turning leaps, arms extending out as she spun, contracting in for landings.  At the end of each run, a new movement came out:  dive rolls, waltz steps, cartwheels once, PK turns, ballet walk -- anything to keep going, to stretch and release tension.

Good mood restored at last by exertion, her feet were picking their way delicately, carefully, between sword blades while Mist and Stone played on the stereo.  Face intent, she saw nothing as she tried to remember the steps of the dance, arms only out for balance for now.  Stepping on one of these blades would be incredibly painful, even for the quick healing of an immortal.  As well, she'd have to get blood out of hardwood floors, a dismaying prospect in itself.  Pride, however, wouldn't allow her to try sword-dancing with practice blades.

The ring of the doorbell threw her out of that careful absorption with a jarring force, although her feet came down squarely on wood, not steel.  "Who in the nine circles of hell?"  Aidan's head whipped around to check the clock over the elevator.  "Eleven fifteen on a Sunday night?  Whoever you are, this had best be urgent in the extreme!"

Still muttering complaints, the long-haired immortal quickly restored the swords to the walls and slung her shortsword over the dance suit.  She ran the spiral stair to the second floor, spinning around the center pole and taking the steps two at a time.  A loose cowl-necked sweater slid on over the sword, baggy jeans were stepped into and buttoned as she went down the stairwell to the first floor.  The spiral stair didn't run that far down, deliberately.

At the first landing, she felt immortal presence wash over her.  Female, old... not Rich, definitely.  Not Cassandra, the only female immortal enemy she could think of, but Aidan had not survived twenty-six centuries by being careless.  A quick glance out a window showed her a dark green Jaguar parked next to her Range Rover, and the dark-haired woman pacing impatiently in front of the door was--

"Amanda!"  Aidan threw the door open.  "Sweet merciful Gods, just the woman I need to see!  What are you doing here?"

Amanda turned on one high-heel and quickly hugged her friend.  "Visiting, dear.  I didn't realize Duncan was already in Paris.  I don't suppose...."  The dark-haired thief donned her best wistful, resigned expression.

Laughter pealed out.  "Of course you're welcome!  Let's bring in your bags and we can sort out sleeping arrangements when we get upstairs."  Aidan let go of her and headed out to Amanda's car, heedless of bare feet.  "When did you get in?"

"Oh, late this afternoon.  Aidan, it's cold, it's damp.  Surely they had invented shoes when you were born?"  The younger immortal woman grabbed two of her bags out of the car and Aidan grabbed the remaining two.  Amanda locked the car up, then glanced around the secured parking area.  "I take it the security system works the way you wanted?"

"Your company did a wonderful job, you're just fishing for compliments.  And I was dancing, dear, I didn't expect guests.  I'm so glad you're here.  I couldn't seem to get out of a foul mood no matter what I did."  Aidan swept her guest inside and closed the door on the chilly damp of October in Seacouver.

"Well, you certainly laughed quickly enough when I got here.  Nice to know I'm properly appreciated...."  Amanda gave the other woman her best 'poor put-upon me' look as the freight elevator headed up and Aidan laughed again.

"Oh, try that again, 'Manda.  How many hearts did you break on the flight?  And where have you come in from?  You look rested and ready for mischief.  I do like your hair that shade."  Amanda had let her hair grow out a bit and dyed it to a becoming auburn shade; the creamy turtleneck sweater set it off beautifully.

"I was in San Francisco, and Singapore before that.  And thank you, I thought it would make a nice change.  You're a bit sweaty..." and Aidan chuckled at Amanda's feline fastidiousness, "why don't you go clean up while I make some coffee.  Do you still keep the beans in the freezer?"

"Of course.  You know where everything is -- give me fifteen minutes.  Hmm.  The armoire on the left is mostly empty, go ahead and start hanging clothes up."  Aidan slung her sword by the elevator, already intent on stalking the hot water of a shower.  As an afterthought, she called casually over one shoulder, "Oh, while I'm thinking about it, Rich Ryan is living on the fourth floor; don't be surprised if he shows up.  He may be in by midnight, or if the date goes well not at all.  I've no idea which."

Amanda threw her a surprised look.  "Richie is living here?  He and Duncan didn't have a fight, did they?"

"No, I needed some construction done and he's getting room and board in exchange.  Rich's running the dojo while Duncan's in Paris and working here on the weekends.  He's going to house-sit when I head to Paris in a few weeks."  Aidan stripped her clothes back off as quickly as she had pulled them on and stepped into the glass-bricked shower area.  Her voice rose with the steam.  "Cream's in the fridge, 'Manda, and I think there's still some biscotti left in the jar on the counter."

Amanda moved contentedly around the apartment while the coffee dripped into the pot.  Unpacking her bags into the armoire took ten quick minutes, then she dropped her cosmetics in the bathroom.  By the time Aidan reappeared, clean, flushed from the hot water, and combing out wet hair, the former thief had two mugs waiting on the table.

"So what have you been up to, Aidan?  I mean, Adam's in Paris, Duncan's in Paris, Joe's in Paris -- and you're here."  Amanda sipped coffee and looked around.  "Dear, for you this place is a mess."

"I know.  The manuscript galleys have to go out FedEx Wednesday afternoon at the latest and I'm going insane.  The last part is always the worst, I suppose because I'm ready to be done with this.  Do you think this is what pregnancy is like?"  Aidan dunked the biscotti in the coffee and took a bite, almost sagging against the chair back as tired muscles began to succumb to the hot water and late hour.

Amanda studied the house more carefully now, seeing dust here and there and laundry in hampers by the washer to be done.  Now that she thought about it, the refrigerator had been awfully empty, too.  "Aidan, when did you last take a break?  You know, sleep, eat, do something other than your manuscript?"  Her tone held that deceptive sweetness which meant she was ready to pounce.

"I was taking one when you got here.  You know, dancing?"

"By yourself.  Working out, in other words.  I mean a break as in rest and relaxation?  And food."  Amanda watched narrow-eyed for the answer.

The older woman sat and thought about it, then replied tentatively,  "Yesterday?  I think?  It is Sunday, isn't it?"

The freight elevator started up and both of them felt another immortal come into range.  Rich swung the grate up and stepped out, pizza box in hands.  "Amanda!  When did you get in, beautiful?"  Setting the food down, he promptly hugged her.  "You look wonderful.  As always," he drawled teasingly, smiling at the always gorgeous immortal.  "But I'd have brought more pizza if I'd known you were in town."

"You're looking pretty good yourself, handsome.  How's the motorcycle racing going?"

Rich grabbed a beer out of the fridge, then spun a chair around and sat down, his arms folded across the back of it.  "It went great, I'll be back on the circuit in the spring.  Landed in the top three in fourteen of seventeen races."

"Well, I knew you had it in you, but it's so nice to be right.  So what kind of pizza?"

Rich dealt napkins all around and opened the box.  "One extra large, everything except anchovies, extra 'shrooms and garlic."

Aidan gave him a fond look.  "I thought I handled food."

"Yeah, well, you're up against deadline, I'm not.  Dig in.  Did I remember it right?"

Blissfully picking up a hot slice of pizza she replied, "Oh, yes.  Gods, what a lovely indulgence.  How much do I--"

Rich cut her off.  "Finish that sentence and I tell Mac you like teaching the six-year olds."

Aidan grinned at him and went to get herself a beer.  "Well enough, you two mother hens, I will eat and get some sleep."  Staring into the empty appliance, she continued, "I will even go to the store tomorrow.  Good Gods, Rich, why didn't you go on strike?  Amanda, want the last beer?"

He shrugged and swallowed the bite of pizza.  "Because I saw how many eighteen-hour days you had already put in.  I'd have gone shopping tomorrow and asked you to help out with the money if I really needed it.  But yeah, the place could use some supplies.  Give me part of the list tomorrow morning, I can get some of the household stuff before I open the dojo."

Aidan came back to the table with two beers and a jar of banana peppers to eat with the pizza.  "Here, Amanda.  Rich, pepper?"

The next ten minutes heard only requests for napkins or pizza, and an occasional 'Pass the peppers?'  After the pizza was dead, though, they all looked at each other and laughed.

"I think we were hungry," Aidan said, then yawned.

"Uh-huh.  Why don't you get some sleep?"  Rich yawned as well, belatedly covering his mouth with the back of one hand.  "We can do the list in the morning.  No big deal."

Amanda hastily said, "Rich can show me where blankets and sheets are.  I'll just stretch out on a couch.  Why don't you go on and go to sleep?"

Aidan tilted her head to one side, then said thoughtfully, "Maybe I should drink some more coffee and talk to you.  What's wrong."  It was not a question.  She considered the look on Amanda's face and shook her head.  "Talk, woman.  A straight answer, please."

"I've been hearing this... rumor that Rich is gunning for another immortal, and I don't want either of them getting killed.  That's all."

Aidan gave Rich a level, almost amused look, but the set of her mouth told him this explanation had better be very good.  "Are you?"

He laughed and said, "Let me guess.  Damien Appesard in Charleston, right?"

"Oh, no," Amanda moaned.  "That's exactly who I meant.  You're not really, are you?"

"Of course not, Amanda.  Hey, we met after a race, his Southern belle girlfriend and I took this instant dislike to each other... I mean she was the cattiest--   Well, never mind.  Nah, Damien and I just traded names, then decided neither of us had any interest in a fight.  Weren't in the mood.  But yeah, I've been hearing gossip that I challenged him and all this bullshit."  Rich rolled his eyes, exasperated but not upset.

Aidan, however, swore creatively and long.  Then she stopped cold and said in a peculiarly level voice, "And after that call from Lucien last week....  Let me think for a moment, you two."  Chair tilted back on two legs, she sipped cold coffee without noticing the temperature and murmured quietly in first Latin and then what Amanda could swear was old Anglo-Saxon.

The chair legs thumped against the floor as Aidan sat back down and looked at Rich.  "Feints and probes.  All right.  You said Damiano's current girlfriend was a Southern belle.  All cat claws and drawling velvet over steel, gloriously sweet smile and eyes like a bear trap?"

Rich nodded, mystified, running one hand through his short red-gold curls in an unconscious attempt to alleviate his building headache.  "Yeah, that's a real good description of Crystal.  You know her?"

Aidan sighed, rumpling her own damp hair to help it dry, and said, "Not her, precisely, no.  Pass me the phone, would you, Rich?"

"Huh?  Aidan, it's 12:30 on a Sunday.  Who are you calling?  Paris?"

"Gods, no.  Hold on, I have to think."  She wrote calculations in the air for a second, then dialed three numbers and waited.

Amanda threw a disbelieving look at her.  "Who are you calling?"

One finger in the air in the gesture for 'just a second,' Aidan spoke into the phone.  "Damiano, my apologies for the late call.  Do you have pen and paper by the phone?"

The irritated, growling bass voice answered, drawling words in a pronounced Southern accent.  "Who is this?  Do you know what time it is, damn it?"

"It's about 3:30 in the morning, your time, and this is Edana.  Wake up, Damiano, there's trouble.  I need you coherent, and I need it now."  Her voice bit at him through the phone line, sharp-edged and laced with annoyance.

Startled silence answered from the other end of the line, then, "Half a second, Magistra.  I have pen and paper.  What is it?"

"I know how you wake up.  Go make some coffee and call me back as soon as you get half a mug down.  A chess game is beginning, and you're the opening move -- on their part.  Here's my number," and Aidan reeled off the numbers.  "Ten minutes, discipuli discipulae meae."

"Tuus servus, Magistra."  He hung up and got out of bed, stretching brawny arms over his head.  He turned to the woman stretched under the covers and shook his head.  The phone hadn't even woken her.  Staggering through the shotgun Charleston house to the kitchen, Damien turned on the coffee pot to start the preset pot of espresso brewing.  From long habit, he pulled out a mug and filled it as soon as there was enough coffee to do so.  Once he was more coherent, the rumpled immortal blessed the person who had put the brew interrupt function onto coffee pots.  That high-caffeine first cup kicked his brain into gear every time.

Sipping the brew, green eyes more awake and alert now, Damiano walked back into the bedroom long enough to pick up the pad and went back into the kitchen where he dialed the number he had jotted down.

Back in Seacouver, Amanda commented, "I never knew that you trained Damien's teacher, Aidan."

Rich looked up, startled.  "She did?"

Aidan had gone to a drawer and was digging around for paper and pens.  Without turning she replied, "It never really came up.  I trained Aelfgyfu in the mid-700s; she found Damiano in the 900s and trained him in what's now Switzerland.  Aelf lost her head about six years after she started training him and Darius sent the man on to me in Rome for polishing.  I've always been amazed he made it this long.  Complete and utter hothead, the worst of both the Italian and the Gallic tempers, but vicious with a German backsword."

Rich stared as Aidan came back to the table, pad in hand.  "You mean he and I are line-kin?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact you are, and that may be what bothers me most of all about this.  Please make some more coffee while I wait for this phone call, and don't go anywhere.  Start thinking about exactly when you were in Charleston, and everything you did while you were there.  We'll get into who told you the gossip next.  Amanda, who told you Rich was after Damien?"

Amanda nodded, her normally sweet smile turning vicious as she realized where this was going.  "Someone is trying to set them at each other.  Any idea who?"

"No, but I will have."  The cold ferocity of Aidan's voice reassured her two friends more than it worried them.  "So, who did you hear it from, Amanda?"

"You will let me in on the fun, won't you, Aidan?  I'd hate to miss a party like this."

"I thought that I remembered you two had been an item," the Irish woman murmured.  "And if I can, Amanda, of course I will.  But you're assuming Damien will leave anything for either of us.  Where did you find out about the challenge?"

"Gina de Valicourt heard it from Vasili Kropotkin.  And Damien and I haven't been an item in three hundred years, but I like the overgrown ape."

"I'm fond of him myself," Aidan said in the same gentle, implacable voice.  "And Rich, as well.  I'll find out who this Vasili is, Amanda, trust me for that.  Now, did you hear it from anyone else?"  Quickly written notes listed names as well as who and when to call to verify.  But as soon as the phone rang, Aidan picked it up, saying "Logan."

"Magistra.  Good morning, or is it morning where you are?"  Damien very deliberately kept his voice quiet and level.  Edana ni Emer stood high on his list of immortals he never meant to cross.

"It's morning, Damien.  My apologies for waking you, but I need to spike some plans.  When is your flight to Seacouver?"  Aidan's voice was equally composed.

"My....  How did you know about that?!"  Then he stopped and thought for a long minute and Aidan let him do so.  "You heard about Ryan, then?"

"What I heard was that rumor was flying he had challenged you.  I have his word that he didn't, and his oath is good.  Did you know that you two are line-kin?"

"We are?  How?"  Now Damien was interested and beginning to truly wake up.  He ran a hand through straight, dark red hair as he considered the maneuverings implied in Edana's words.

"Connor MacLeod trained with Ramirez; Duncan MacLeod trained with Connor; and Rich is his latest student, currently getting some polishing from me."  Aidan ran down the links of names casually.

"Damn, I wish I'd known.  Are you sure he didn't challenge me?"  Damien sat back, keeping his voice down.  Crystal was an absolute bitch when she didn't get enough sleep.  So far, though, her enthusiastic skill in bed or on a dance floor made up for it.

"Very sure, Damien.  And as I know you, my next question becomes, 'When is your flight?'"

"A week from Friday -- Ryan didn't strike me as the type to run.  I'll cancel it later this morning."  He took another swallow of the coffee, beginning to think.  "Magistra, I'll look into this from my end.  Will you please call if you find out anything?  And if you get the chance, please extend my apologies to Ryan."

"Certainly, Damiano.  Two more things, though, if you would."

"Of course.  What?"

"Tomorrow call me again at this number and leave word of the names, phone numbers, and lines of any and all who told you that Rich had challenged.  Don't show my phone number to anyone just now, please."

Damien nodded once, then answered, "Certainly.  If I get an answering machine, I'll just leave bare details. Your phone number will be destroyed as soon as I memorize it.  The other thing?"

"Are you still seeing the same woman you were with when Rich met you?"

Damien stiffened.  "Yes.  Why?"

"Hire a private investigator if you have to, but I think I'd like to see a background check on her.  Do you have funds or shall I wire you some?"

"I can have it done."  He nodded slowly, not happy at the thought, but remembering premonitions Edana had had in the time he knew her.  He'd always thought the Second Sight to be a myth until he met Aelf's teacher.  "I know the boy didn't get along with her, but...."

Aidan misunderstood his hesitation and assumed Damien was blaming Rich for her suspicions.  She quickly interrupted, "No, old friend, this isn't Rich's idea.  It's mine.  Someone who was there when you and Rich met knows enough to start rumors that you two are going to challenge.  Southern women make excellent operatives; she's the best starting point.  Please, call me when you have something.  And Damien?"

"Yes, Magistra?"  His voice held a grim determination which reassured her.

"Watch your head, student mine, and your back.  Someone tried to set you after a young immortal not five years in the Game.  The questions that come to mind include: who did it, why did they do it, and who are they sending against you?  Be very careful.  Were I you, I would think about sleeping alone for a few weeks or months while we sort this out."

"Understood.  And I will think about that very seriously indeed.  Tomorrow, my lady."  He hung up after she did and finished his coffee while he memorized Edana's current phone number.  After Damien had destroyed the note, he poured the rest of the coffee down the sink, reset the coffee pot, and went back to his bedroom.  Standing there he studied his bed-partner and began to frown.

Carefully tousled hair lay in ratted locks across the pillow which was nothing in and of itself.  But Damien remembered something George Orwell had once written:  'By age fifty, everyone has the face they deserve,' or something along those lines.

" 'There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face,' " he muttered to himself, for once unconvinced by one of Shakespeare's claims.  Looking at Crystal's sleeping face, he could see its habitual set... and that she took great care when awake to conceal her true nature.

Damien found himself suddenly both uneasy with her as a lover and angry with himself for missing these subtle signs for so long.  The faint lines between the eyebrows could be from concentration or worry, but taken with the equally faint grooves alongside the nose they spoke more of pettiness and temper.  She had the faint start of crow's feet, without any laugh lines around her mouth.  In sleep, her jaw set into a pronounced jut, and the relaxed mouth looked more prone to sneer than laugh.

All told, she looked nothing like the woman he thought he knew and in that moment Damien decided that a private investigator was a very good idea.  The immortal found himself grateful that she didn't have a key to his place, and that he had ignored her suggestions that she move in with him.

Complacency will get you killed, you triply-damned fool, Damien snarled at himself. Even if she isn't a spy, if she had nothing to do with this rumor....  There was a time I would have seen this.  Well, eventually, he finally admitted to himself.  I never do read women well.  I wonder who decided to capitalize on that this time?

As soon as Crystal headed off to work in the morning, the first job of the day would be changing all the locks -- just in case.  The next several nights would be spent sleeping alone.  After a few centuries, he'd seen almost everything; the Inquisition in particular had specialized in getting names and evidence through spouses or lovers, the tired immortal remembered.

In the back of his mind, tamped down almost before he noticed, a growing rage bubbled higher and higher.  Someone had tried to play him for a fool, to manipulate him on a chess board against those who should be and were his friends. In his first two centuries, before he had learned the skill of converting internal fury to internal energy and a coldly raging focus on essentials of survival, Damien's temper had become legendary among the immortals.  At the moment, his continued presence in the Game might well depend on keeping his paramour from knowing he'd been warned.  Come morning he would see her off as always, kiss her goodbye as always... but he would begin cooling the relationship.  Always and ever, his anger burned.

In Seacouver, Aidan set down the phone and sighed, suddenly tired.  Rich handed her the coffee mug and asked, "Did you just save my head, or did I miss something?"

"Honestly?  I think I just saved your head.  Damien's damnably good, Rich, and physically stronger than you or I'll ever be.  And he's got too many centuries of practice in dirty tricks for you to take him short of a really bad day on one side and the best of your life on the other.  However, while I'm thinking about it, Damien asked me to give you his formal apology for believing the rumor.  That's not a small thing from him."

Amanda nodded emphatically.  "No, it isn't.  He had a ticket then?"

"He'd have been here one week from Friday."  She gave Rich an ironic look.  "You did impress him by the way.  He let it ride this long because he didn't consider you the type to run."

Rich gave her that scamp's smile he did so well and said, "And here the counselors always said I'd never amount to anything."

Aidan sipped more coffee and smiled back.  "Well, I like what you've become, whatever your juvie counselor may have said.  But we need to go back to this list, I'm afraid.  Who did you meet in Charleston, who was there when you talked to Damien, the whole shebang from the start again."

Amanda took the pad out of the other woman's hands.  "Dear, I can handle this.  I'll even help Rich put together a shopping list.  But you look like a soufflé that Duncan took out of the oven too early."

"Oh my Gods, I can't possibly look as bad as that!" Aidan snapped in exasperation.

"No, you look like a raccoon; maybe it's the dark circles under the eyes?  Go to bed, Aidan.  Just once, let us help you.  You're as stubborn as Duncan!"  Amanda watched that shot strike home, pleased with its results.

"Ouch!  All right, then, I'll go sleep.  And thank you both."  Aidan stretched.  "But don't feel you have to sleep on the couch, Amanda.  It's cold this time of year, even with the fireplace.  I've got a king-size bed; come crawl in when you're ready."

"I warn you, I hog the blankets."  Amanda laughed as Aidan muttered something about of course, what else would an only vaguely repentant thief do?

Rich pushed his current instructor in the direction of the bed.  "Will you go?  You need to get some sleep.  Amanda and I can take care of this.  We'll leave your share of the shopping list on the table, too."

"Bossy, disrespectful student.  Hmmph."  Aidan chuckled as she stripped off and climbed into bed.  "Amanda, there're sword pegs on both sides of the bed.  I'll try not to wake you up in the morning."

Rich laughed and moved around her corner of the room, turning off lights.  "You want the curtains down on this side?"

"Mmm.  Please."  Aidan stretched under the covers, tucked her hand under the pillow to check for her knife, and fell soundly asleep before Rich could finish untying the drapery cords.  As the last of the tapestries dropped between the light and the interior of the bed, Amanda turned back to the pad and started another page.

"Right.  Groceries.  Well, since we just drank the last of it:  beer."

The young red-headed immortal came over and started investigating first the fridge and then the pantry, calling out items to Amanda to put on the list.  That task done, Rich checked around for more mundane items that needed to be restocked and got those put on the list as well, noticing belatedly that some more trash bags would be a good idea and SOS pads.

"So, did you really come to Seacouver to warn me, or was that sort of something you accomplished along the way?"  Rich didn't really mind either way -- Amanda would have called Joe and passed word if necessary -- but he was curious.

"Well, I came to warn you, and to visit Duncan, and see how Aidan was doing.  I didn't know he had already headed for Paris."  Amanda shrugged, lips pouting in her best moue of innocent disappointment.  "Aidan didn't mind an unexpected houseguest, although if I had realized she was so busy, I'd have stayed at one of the hotels instead."

"Yeah, well, they want her galley proofs revised and back by Thursday, so she's a bit frazzled right now.  I haven't even gotten her to go dancing in a week, which is like Mac not practicing katas every morning."  The youngest immortal rolled his eyes in disgust, then went back to splitting out the grocery list between non-perishables and food.  Aidan did a better job of shopping with half her attention than he did while trying his hardest so he'd let her have the foodstuffs, but beer and trash bags he could handle.

"Speaking of Mac, are you two okay?  I mean, Aidan said you're living here but running the dojo?"  Amanda peered up at him through dark eyelashes, all big-eyed worry.

"Nah, we're fine, Amanda.  Aidan needed extra hands to finish some work here, like the spiral staircase and all the work I'm doing on the fourth floor.  She's giving me room and board, plus all the sparring sessions I want, and I work twenty hours or so a week on this place.  But between this and what Mac's paying me for managing the dojo this fall, I'm actually putting some money back.  Kind of cool actually having savings for once.  It's really nice knowing I wouldn't have to depend on Mac if something went wrong, you know?"

Amanda smiled at him.  "Oh, a back-up stash is always reassuring.  Definitely.  You put in the spiral staircase?"

"Yeah, nice, huh?"  He patted the wood railing proprietarily, then looked around.  "And helped her put in the fireplace one weekend, and finished two of the brick columns.  We've been building an apartment and storage areas on the fourth floor for weeks now.  She gave me the plans, and I've been doing most of it.  I knew how to do electrical systems, but she's been showing me plumbing while we work on the upstairs kitchen.  But what have you doing lately?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that.  Made some money in Monte Carlo, brokered a few little baubles in Singapore -- you know, this and that.  Visited the Valicourts for a while."  Amanda shrugged.  "Stayed busy, basically.  Speaking of which, let's get this done.  In Charleston, who did you visit?"

The last bag of groceries landed on the table and Aidan shook her head, amused.  Feeding Rich was like having two students at once; the boy ate everything in sight, then looked around again.  She hummed quietly to herself as she began to put everything away.  The curtains were still down on the four-poster bed, so Amanda was probably still sleeping.  It had been close to dawn when the other woman had finally come to bed, and Aidan had simply gotten up after Amanda had finally slept.

Now the Irish woman threw split peas, a ham bone, and various other ingredients into a stock pot.  Turning it on, she left the soup on the counter to cook, and began to pull together water bottle and keys to go run.  A few minutes quick work left a note on the table to tell Amanda where Aidan was going and that she should get breakfast if she was hungry.

Amanda waited until she couldn't feel another immortal anywhere around, then got up.  Time to grab a quick shower and go practice.  Duncan wasn't using that 'abandoned' warehouse of his since he was in Paris.  Given that she needed a place to plan a robbery, that worked out beautifully.

One way or another, she was going to get that jewelry back.  She could break into the museum, take the jewelry, and have all the fun of outwitting the security system and the police without getting in trouble with Duncan.  This most certainly was not theft.  Amanda simply intended to retrieve her property.

Aidan glanced at the morning paper while breakfast cooked and let out a yelp that dragged Amanda out of the canopy bed.  "Where in the names of all the small Gods did they get that?!?"

The younger woman stumbled to the table and looked at the picture of a traveling exhibit.  "Oh, that.  Western Europe, dear.  Where's the coffee?"  Amanda sagged into a chair rubbing her eyes.  "What time is it?"

Coffee appeared before blurred eyes and Amanda gratefully wrapped both hands around the mug.  After half the contents had gone down her throat without scalding, she realized Aidan had simply handed over her own mug.  A bemused voice answered, "It's 7:15, 'Manda, I shouldn't have woken you up.  Sorry about that."

"Oh..." and she yawned delicately, the back of one hand covering her mouth, "... that's all right.  Why so surprised?"  Amanda rumpled her hair down from early morning spikes into a slightly more controlled style as Aidan poured more coffee for both of them, having pulled out a new mug for herself.  "Pass the cream."

"Oh, I knew the exhibit was coming.  But I haven't seen that sword and shield in..."  Aidan counted in the air and continued, "... seven centuries.  Damn, I wonder if they'd sell them to me?"  She handed over the carton of half and half, most of her attention still on the photograph.

That question brought a startled glance from Amanda who was waking up quickly.  "Dear, why do you want to buy a French broadsword from the 13th century?"

"And the shield.  Because that was Methos' device.  Did I never tell you about the time he was accidentally knighted?"  Aidan began slicing apples for breakfast, piling them on a plate as she went.

"Accidentally?  No, you didn't.  Do I hear good gossip?"  Amanda deftly snagged a few pieces of apple while dodging Aidan's knife.

"We ended up on the Second Crusade, with every intent of 'dying' and getting out of Europe for awhile.  I had some people to check on south of Istanbul and I think he was dodging some immortals.  Anyway, it was a perfect cover for the both of us.  I was there because the queen took her 'Amazons' -- Eleanor of Aquitaine, Gods, now there was a queen for you.  Anyway, we fought a little too well, perhaps, and Methos did it a little too conspicuously.  Or maybe that was deliberate; he may have planned it.  I'm not always sure with him."

Amanda swallowed the last bit of apple and said, "Well, you're ahead of the rest of us.  We're almost never sure with him.  What are you doing up so early, and what's for breakfast?"

 "Finishing this manuscript, as I only have one more chapter and the index.  I should be done before lunch, and after I hand it off to FedEx,  I'm going to sleep for a few hours and clean up for that I gave oath to Mike that I would come play a set or three at the bar tonight to celebrate.  As for breakfast, the casserole will be out of the oven in another fifteen minutes, 'Manda; I'm surprised the sausage cooking didn't wake you up."

Amanda laughed and the two of them briefly discussed going to the exhibit later in the week, and Amanda's plans for the day.  "Shopping of course, and I need to spend part of the day learning about some really fascinating new security systems we're thinking about using."

Aidan shook her head, a rueful smile crossing her face at the idea that Amanda owned part interest in a security company.  "Well, plan on hitting Joe's sometime tonight.  Tell you what, not tomorrow -- I plan to sleep tomorrow -- but the day after do you want to go dancing?"

"That sounds wonderful, dear.  There's a new club, I understand.  However, once you're finished with that manuscript, I'm buying you dinner.  So will an early dinner get you to the bar on time?  Say, five or so?"  Amanda waved a finger at her.  "I'm not taking no for an answer.  Consider it a thank you for letting me barge in on you like this."

"All right, and yes, five is fine."  Aidan finished a last bite of the casserole and dropped her dishes in the washer.  "I'm going to go downstairs and finish up this chapter.  4:30 or so all right to be ready?"

"Of course.  Do you have to take anything for the set?"  Amanda stretched, then poured herself a third cup of coffee.

"Just my harp, and I'll tune it this afternoon after I get up."

"Well, go finish everything, dear.  I'm going to shower and head out.  I'll see you at 4:30."

Mike scanned the bar, a rare smile cracking his usual dead-pan exterior.  It was a good crowd for a Wednesday night, and the band was having a wonderful time.  The Billy Joel set had everyone up and partying as  Aidan's clear voice carried over the noise, singing about Catholic girls starting much too late.  The drummer was nearly dancing on his stool while he played and the bassist was grinning like a fiend, sharing a microphone with the guitar player on the choruses.  They wound that song down, and Aidan cheerfully waved the band off the stage.

"They need a break, folks, and some beer -- oops, so sorry, it's sure I am that I meant water."  Joel, the keyboard player, flipped her a mocking salute on the way to the bar.  "Regardless, you're stuck with me for a couple Irish songs, and then it's a sure thing that I need a beer.  And most assuredly, I did not mean water."

Aidan cradled her harp in her lap and launched into an old favorite of hers by the Irish harper Carolan, winding the crowd down a bit for the band's break.  She and the band hadn't had time to practice much before the bar started filling up, so the guys had cheerfully given her a list of songs by Billy Joel, Styx, The Who, and various other artists which they knew well.  The crowd found the discussions in the middle of the set on, "Which song next, Aidan?" to be almost as entertaining as the music.

Now she played by herself and studied the crowd to gauge their mood for the next set.  An anomaly to the left of the stage caught her eye and Aidan frowned minutely to see a very drunk man and his sober, frightened lady holding some kind of disagreement.  He waved toward the band a few times, and she was obviously trying to calm him down.

For her last song of the set, Aidan settled on an adaptation of Clannad's 'Coinleach Glas an Fhomair' with a vague hope that the soothing melody might calm him.  The drunk lowered his voice, after a few comments from the people around him, but the argument continued.  Aidan caught Mike's eye where he stood behind the bar; he waved a thank you when one quick jerk of her chin indicated to him that she would handle it.

The immortal finished the second song, seeing a much-wanted beer waiting on the bar for her, and sighed regretfully. No rest for the wicked.  "All right, gentle beings, I have need of a cold beer and fifteen minutes or so to let my throat recover and then we'll be back.  Assuming, of course, that any of you still have energy to dance."  She laughed at the protesting noises that drew and stepped down from the stage, deliberately choosing a path which led past the drunk.

"Damn you, you were flirting with him.  I can't take you anywhere, can I?  We're going home, Carol!"

Aidan sighed softly.  Domestic disputes weren't something she could interfere in, not at this level.  It would be another matter entirely if he took it to physical violence, or verbal abuse against the other patrons, but she knew full well the police would frown on her interfering in this.  Frustration tainted her night as she paused, ostensibly to re-tie a bootlace but actually to consider her options. Twenty-six centuries I've seen, and men still think women are property.  Idiots.  I suppose I could throw him out for drunk and disorderly....

"I wasn't flirting with him, Ed.  And I'm not going anywhere with you.  You're drunk."  Her voice was timid, despite the strong words, but it was enough to catch Aidan's attention.  Unfortunately, it also triggered her husband's alcohol-enhanced temper.

"You'll do what I tell you to do!"  At 6' 3", Ed had the muscles of a construction worker and he used them to haul Carol up and slam her against the side of the booth, short ash-blond hair swinging around her chin from the change in momentum.  Her yelp of pain and surprise drew the attention of every patron within twenty feet and changed Aidan's plans immediately.

The immortal woman smiled, a sharp, feral baring of teeth, and ducked under the arm of one of the bar customers to come up in front of Ed.  Her hand darted out and struck just above his elbow, catching a nerve cluster and numbing his grip instantly.  As Carol fell, her support released, Aidan caught her with the other hand.  Using main force of her own, the immortal woman pivoted, taking the shocked blond with her, and handed Carol off to one of the bikers standing nearby.

"Jimmy, get her to the bar and keep her there.  I'll only be a minute."  Aidan spun back, one arm coming up to block a half-sensed blow.  "I don't think so."

Ed stared at her, still trying to shake feeling back into his hand and trying to understand what had stopped his punch.  "Keep your hands off my wife!"

Aidan stepped back a pace, leaving him still standing between two tables.  The crowd around them was hastily moving out of the way, heading for safety.  Behind the bar, Mike called, "Do I call, Aidan?"

"Mike -- yes.  As for you, Ed, I don't care if she's your mother's maiden aunt.  Assault and battery is illegal in all 50 states."  Aidan watched him, eyes narrowed as she tried to keep this calm.  Damn, of all the nights for  Amanda to have other plans after dinner.  She could sweet-talk this ass into behaving, calm him, and flirt with him 'til the last moment before the police arrived.

"My mother doesn't have an aunt," Ed growled.  "Carol's my wife; she was flirting with your drummer; and she's going home with me."

Aidan rolled her eyes in disgust.  "Sweet Gods, man, you're not lord of creation.  I clearly heard her say she wasn't going with you.  You've already committed assault and battery, did you want to add kidnapping to it?  That is the usual term for removing someone to another location by force, wife or no."  She smiled viciously at him as his hand came up again.  "And if you try again to hit me, you'll regret it for a very short time indeed.  I tell you once, I do not wish to fight you."

"Bitch, get out of my way," and he charged.

Aidan shrugged and did what he'd asked.  Ed fell over the foot she left behind and hit the ground with a sound that drew sympathetic noises from a few people in the crowd.  The immortal bent over and hauled him back to his feet, pressing him up against a support column.  Before he had his breath back, Aidan trapped both his arms in hammerlocks.

"Jimmy?  How badly is she hurt?"  Her voice was oddly level for someone constantly adjusting her grip to contain someone six inches taller and easily a hundred pounds heavier.

"Gonna need stitches, Aidan.  And a new shirt," he added as an afterthought.  "Head wound, bleeding like a mother.  Mike's getting some ice for it, and the cops are on the way."

"Wonderful.  All right, gentle beings, I need to borrow a pair of handcuffs from someone, please."  The bikers gave her disbelieving looks.  "Well, it's that or duct tape.  I'm not leaving a violent drunk loose in here."

 "Duct tape."  Jimmy growled it from his stool at the bar; his hands were moving over Carol's head as carefully as he would have examined a damaged Harley.  The gentleness of his motions stood in sharp contrast to the annoyance on his face.

"Well, someone get some out of their trunk.  I'm not letting him go until he's immobile and I want to look at her wounds."  She watched Ed carefully, sensing coming mischief in his sudden stillness.

Two of the larger patrons stepped up and gleefully offered, "We could hold him for you."

"Dave, Dan, you'd have to testify when the cops get here if you did that.  Just get me the tape, please."  Aidan hastily scooted one leg out of the way to avoid a raking back-kick from Ed and yanked sharply upward on his arms.  The pain drew a sharp cry from him, abruptly cut off as he tried to control himself.

"Damn you, this is illegal!"

"No, actually it isn't, " Aidan said grimly.  "I haven't caused you damage, merely restrained you from injuring others.  You are publicly intoxicated -- you've most likely been drinking your wife's drinks, as Mike and the waitress are pretty good about not serving drunks.  You are also disorderly, threatening the other patrons, and have committed assault and battery.  I'm going to use some duct tape to secure you without hurting you, because my other option is to knock you out entirely.  After that, you are going to sit here and be quiet, or I'm going to see what other charges I can file with the police."

"Damn you!" He thrashed around again and Aidan yanked up on his arms until he was up on his toes trying to avoid the pain.  For the next minute or so, she listened to a constant stream of very unimaginative profanity, consisting primary of 'bitch, damn, fuck,' and 'get you for this'.  It was a relief when one of the women brought over a roll of duct tape.

Aidan calmly twisted his arms into position and held still as Dan wound duct tape around his wrists, just loosely enough not to cut off the blood flow, but so many layers that Ed would never get free by himself.  Aidan reached down to the bound wrists and pressed up to get the drunk moving, using his ear to guide him to a chair.  Once he reluctantly sat down, she borrowed the duct tape again and secured him to the chair by the ankles and his belt.  "Dan, Dave, if he tries to go anywhere, yell for me.  Don't touch him, just yell."  Halfway to the bar to check on Carol, Aidan turned and added, "And don't gag him.  Resist the temptation, gentlemen; I'm told that patience is a virtue."

"Were we practicing virtue tonight?  It wasn't on my To Do list," Dave said indignantly to her retreating back.

When the police arrived a few minutes later, the band was playing an instrumental set because their lead singer was tending the woman's injuries to the accompaniment of an occasional comment from the thin, greying young man sitting next to them at the bar.  The cops listened patiently to Aidan's version of the story, then went to take a deposition from Ed.  On their way back, fifteen minutes later, several of the people in the bar gave their opinion on what had happened.  The older officer asked quietly, "Mrs. Butler.  Are you prepared to press charges on your husband?"

Carol sat there holding the ice-pack to the back of her head, blood still staining her blouse.  She hadn't looked up once, to Aidan's dismay.  "I....  No, I don't...."

The immortal woman began unbuttoning the sleeve of the other woman's shirt, suspecting the worst.

"No!"  The blond woman snatched her arm free.  "Don't touch me."

"Carol.  Listen to me.  Please."

"No," she interrupted shakily.  "He's not like this usually.  Ed won't hurt me again.  He didn't mean to."

"They never do," Aidan muttered.

"No," she said firmly, wrapping stubbornness around herself like protective armor.  "It was all a misunderstanding, officer."

The two policemen held their impartial expressions through the next round of denials, busying themselves with the breathalyzer test on her husband.  State law required that the courts press charges if she wouldn't and finally, frustrated, the cops called an ambulance to take her to the emergency room for stitches and, not coincidentally, evidence.

The grey-haired young man who'd been smoking next to Aidan never looked up from his coffee and clipboard as he commented, "You'll want x-rays, too."

"Excuse me?" the younger cop asked.

"X-rays.  Base of skull and upper and lower arms both.  She also needs to be checked for concussion."  Now he did glance up, his eyes very blue behind the glasses in a startling contrast to the sallow circles around them.  "She's got to have handprint bruises on her forearms and as thin as she is, the bones probably have greenstick fractures."

Mike shook his head and said, "Here, Don.  I won't bother betting you on that one."  He passed the man a beer and a steak platter and mentioned casually to the cops, "I'd listen to the man.  He's used to be an EMT."

Aidan sat at the bar as the cops walked Ed out.  The ambulance had left with Carol five minutes before and she had no heart just yet to sing another set.  Mike hadn't asked and the band had switched to jazz, playing pieces which didn't need a vocalist.

Beside her, Don commented, "You can't always win, you know."

She glanced up quickly, then said grimly, "We can but try.  I've seen this again and again and still I don't understand it.  Her arms were a mass of bruises.  You know it, and I do, and the gardai, and still she thinks that if she only does exactly what he wants that it will all be perfect."

"If she thinks he beat her up because of something she did, then she can believe she has some control over him," he replied.  "Maybe one day she'll leave him."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No."  He met her eyes levelly.  "And neither do you.  You did your best.  You gave her a choice; she made it.  Get back to your life and let her get back to hers."

All of her attention was focused on the conversation, on fighting down memories of too many battered women, of disastrous marriages, of sacked and destroyed towns and the remnants of people foraging among the broken buildings, of a lover speaking haltingly in the dark of early morning about her husband breaking first her arm and then her art....  When a strong hand touched her shoulder, it took Aidan completely by surprise.

Letting out a slow careful breath, she kept her hands in plain sight wrapped around her own drink, then turned to see who was behind her.  The Irish immortal saw a very large, very calm police officer who was born to fill the description 'darkness at noon' and Mike's concerned face behind him.  Still without making any sudden motions, she asked, "Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

"Are you Aidan Logan, ma'am?"

His voice was tenor, she noticed with a small part of her attention.  A surprise, that.  With that chest she had expected a nice deep baritone, maybe bass.  "I am.  Is there some problem?"

A shorter, white police officer said, "We need to ask you some questions, Ms. Logan.  Can you please tell us where you've been for the last few hours?"

Aidan stared up at them in surprise.  "I beg your pardon?  I've been here since... at least quarter of seven, more like six-fifteen.  We had the stage set up and the sound board adjusted by quarter of eight, so I had to have been here an hour.  And I've been here ever since.  Two of your cohorts who left not five minutes ago can vouch for my presence for the last forty-five minutes or so, gentlemen, as can the bartender, and three waitress.  There might still be half a dozen patrons here who remember my arrival.  May I ask what I'm suspected of?"

The taller policeman, Officer Davis according to his nametag, pulled up a chair and sat down.  "You're not being charged with anything, Ms. Logan."

Aidan studied him through a forced calm.  "Do I hear the word 'yet'?"  Oh, this could be entertaining indeed.  Explaining a concealed gladius is a sadly neglected art of late....

"Ms. Logan."  Officer Flynn sat down on the other side of her.  "Do you drive a '97 Range Rover, dark green, four-door, Washington license plate 387-XRB?"

Now her eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her tone of voice calm.  "Yes, I do."  She sat back to wait out their questions.

"Do you know its current location?"

Aidan gave the man her full attention, letting her steady gaze and quiet voice lend authority to her words.  "To the best of my knowledge -- and the car keys are in my pocket -- it's in the parking lot, officer."

The two officers pulled out pads and pens.  "Ms. Logan," Officer Davis said patiently, "can you please tell me your whereabouts this evening, and any people who can substantiate those whereabouts?"

Aidan took a deep breath, reminding herself that she had an alibi for the entire evening and had not actually done anything.  It looked to be a very long night after all.  In the back of her mind, with what attention she could spare away from the police, more than two millennia of profanity and curses streamed out toward one target.

"AMANDA!"

The raging bellow echoed off the walls and Rich turned around from the refrigerator and froze.  His occasional teacher strode out of the elevator in a temper such as he had never seen on her.  The grey eyes, usually laughing, always friendly, had become frozen ice.  The thin-lipped fury on her face made it all too clear that yes, Methos really had trained her.  In the abstract, Rich found it fascinating how closely Aidan's body language and facial expressions matched the old man's when she was well and truly pissed.  In this specific case, he made rapid decisions on which way to duck.

Amanda had been perched on the counter, apparently telling some story from the frozen position of her hands.  Now she hastily said, "Well, you're home late.  How was the set?"

The next stream of words meant nothing to Rich or Amanda, but the tone and the cadence made it fairly likely that they weren't flattering.

Amanda, no fool, offered a few placating words.  "Aidan, sweetie, whatever's wrong, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding, Amanda?" Aidan snarled.  "Oh, most true, I'm sure you never intended that my car be implicated in a robbery, or that the police should have considered taking me down to the station to be held for questioning.  Fair questions indeed the sword and daggers in my coat would have raised after the theft of another sword!  Misunderstanding, ma belle?  Mais oui, indiscrete jeune salope!"

Rich hastily said, "Whoa, Aidan, whoa, what's this about your car?"

"Someone," and sarcasm made it very clear who Aidan blamed, "broke into my Range Rover while I was at Joe's. Someone borrowed it and parked it outside the museum -- where the security cameras could see the license plate?  Someone broke into the museum and made off with over three hundred thousand dollars worth of jewelry which has been on display there for two years now, and almost as much in jeweled daggers and a Crusader's broadsword and shield from the Second Crusade."  With each word, the Irish immortal's voice grew softer and more deadly.  "A shield and sword which I had mentioned only this morning I might try to buy."

Amanda's eyes had widened when Aidan mentioned her vehicle.  The comment about the security cameras brought no outward reaction, but inwardly she cursed her luck. How did I miss seeing them?  Simple, I didn't think the museum director was this smart.  Oh, damn it!

"I have just spent an hour explaining to two very large and damnably intelligent officers that no, I have not been anywhere near the museum; no, I do not know why my car would have been used for the robbery; and no, I don't know why the thief would have brought it back."  She spat those last three words as if they were venom enough to slow even another immortal.

"Fortunately for me, I have an airtight alibi from 4:05, when I paid FedEx to deliver my manuscript.  Since I used a credit card, I have a receipt which shows the time and date.  The maitre d' at the restaurant remembered me, as well, when the officers called, and the time I arrived at the restaurant doesn't contain enough leeway for me to have stopped along the way.  And for the rest of the evening I'm clear, surrounded by more witnesses than can be counted. My car, however, Amanda, has been impounded until the Crime Lab is through with it, which may be tomorrow or may be next week or next month!  Regardless, I will never get all the fingerprint powder out; it's designed to stick to everything.

"Now then:  where is the jewelry?  And the sword and shield?  And the daggers?"

Rich held both hands up to indicate he was staying out of this one and backed toward the kitchen counter.  No way was he getting in between these two.  Mac could say he was young and foolish, reckless and arrogant with immortality, but no way was he this stupid.

Amanda began to work her way out of trouble, although she wasn't entirely sure why Aidan was so angry.  The other woman had been thief and assassin in her time; what was one little robbery?  "Aidan, sweetie, do you really believe that I would be dumb enough to steal your car?  I mean, I'm sorry the police impounded it... how did you get home?"

Cold steel eyes met innocent brown.  "No, Amanda, we're not switching topics.  And no, actually, I don't think you'd be stupid enough to use my Range Rover -- not on purpose.  But you know, there were two others in the parking lot the exact same color."

Amanda poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Aidan.  "Dear, I'm a lot of things, but I'm not suicidal.  I know perfectly well that you're better with a sword than I am."

"And I'll keep my hands free, thank you."  Aidan put the glass on the counter.  "Start at the beginning, Amanda.  Did you come here to visit, to steal the jewelry, or both?"

"I didn't steal the jewelry!" Amanda immediately claimed.

Rich pushed up and perched on the kitchen counter to watch, but his face showed nothing except a keen interest in the proceedings.

"Amanda."  Aidan paused, studying Amanda intently.  "If you didn't take the jewelry, you'd have made your denial in the first moment I brought it up.  There is nothing so irate as a thief blamed for the one crime he or she didn't commit.  So.  Regardless of the wording, what did you have to do with the jewelry leaving the museum tonight?"

The younger immortal woman noticed that her friend's voice had calmed down considerably.  "Of course I came to visit, Aidan."  When the Irish woman's eyes narrowed, Amanda hastily added, "And all right, I might have had something to do with it.  But honestly, I thought I had gotten one of the other Range Rovers."

"One of the other...."  Aidan fell silent and backed up to the table.  "You came here to steal the jewelry.  You said you had gone straight.  Did you deliberately come to town when Duncan was in Paris?"

"I did not steal any jewelry," Amanda denied fiercely, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at her friend.  "I just recovered my belongings."

Rich choked on his beer and Aidan sat down, her face in her hands.  "Oh, merciful Goddess.  I'm too tired for this.  You broke into a museum and it's not theft?"

"Well, maybe.  I suppose technically I stole the sword and shield.  But if you're going to give them back to Methos, it's not really theft.  I'm just recovering lost items."  Amanda watched from under thick eyelashes to see how this was going over and decided it was working beautifully.  "Truly, Aidan, the jewelry was all mine; I just wanted it back.  So I retrieved a few things for Methos while I was at it.  You did say they were his, after all."

A strangled sound was coming out from behind Aidan's hands, and her shoulders were shaking.

With calculated hesitation, Amanda added, "I only took the daggers to throw them off the sword and shield.  And really, Aidan, it was a mistake with the Range Rover, but I needed something with enough space to carry that damn war shield."

Aidan leaned back, composed again.  The half-smile on her face didn't quite reach her eyes.  "So it's my fault you stole my car to do this?  And the daggers may be laid at my door, too, so to speak?"

"No, no, that's not what I said."  Damn, I could just seduce Duncan and he'd get over it.  She's going to stay mad.  Well, I guess I could try part of the truth.  "No, but I have practice with a Range Rover and I'm used to the way they corner."

Rich said casually, "Aidan, are you still pissed at her, or do you want your wine?"

"Tell me Duncan wasn't the idiot who taught you to step into the middle of a catfight?"  Her light voice made Rich pause to gauge how mad she really was.

"Nah.  That's the result of dying too young.  I still think I'm immortal," the redhead offered, deadpan.

Grey eyes widened, then rage thawed and cracked under the onslaught of laughter.  Aidan giggled and reached for her wine.  After drinking it much more quickly than the bouquet deserved, she looked over at Amanda and said, "First things first.  Where did you stash everything, so that I can hide the lot for you?"

"Really?"  Amanda's eyes widened in unfeigned surprise.

"Oh, come, we're not all bastions of law and order.  Give over, woman, and I'll hide the thrice-blessed things.  I should even be able to cope with the shield."

"Oh, wonderful!  Wait.  You'll hide them?  Don't you mean 'we'?"

Aidan met the suspicious stare calmly and answered, "No, I meant what I said.  I'll do it.  You know perfectly well I'll give them back when things calm down.  But I'm not showing you my hiding place, either."

"Don't you trust me?"

Rich snorted and said, "Amanda, come on, you're lucky your head's still on your shoulders."

"If you had told me from the start what was going on, I'd have been more prepared for the police," Aidan said calmly.  "Do you realize I nearly got taken down to the precinct house wearing a shortsword under my shirt?  No, Amanda, I trust you to do what you think is best -- for yourself.  If it happens to be best for me as well, then that's my luck, but not your planning."

"That's a cold-blooded thing to say," Amanda replied indignantly.

Aidan just tilted her head and looked at the other woman out of sardonic, laughing eyes.

"Well, it is, Aidan."

"Amanda, don't be ridiculous.  Your weapons have ever been wit and word, although you can use a sword quite well when you need to.  Fortunately for you, I like people who fight that way.  But what I said is truth."  She paused for a moment, then chuckled.  "I notice you have yet to deny it."

Amanda shrugged, smiled ruefully and said, "Can't blame a girl for trying."

"Just show me where they are so I can hide them, all right?  Rich, is there more wine?"

Amanda sighed as she finished packing her last suitcase.  "All right, dear, now that the coast is clear, why don't you let me have the sword and shield at least?  I can't get them to France until you do."

Aidan raised an eyebrow, a small smile crossing her lips from some unspoken thought.  "But I don't want them in France, 'Manda."

"I thought you wanted to give them to Methos as a Christmas present?"

"And so?"

"So Methos is in France, sweetie."  Amanda gave her a puzzled look, one hand checking for her plane ticket by feel.

"He won't be there for Christmas," came the calm reply.  "We're all going to be at Connor's for the party."

Amanda paused as her inquisitive streak came to the fore.  "By the way, I've always wondered -- why did the least social immortal I can think of off-hand start holding a Christmas party every year?"

"He's not even close to the least social immortal I can think of," Aidan pointed out, openly grinning.  "What about Samael al-Jafar?"

"Who?"

"I rest my case."

Amanda pouted prettily.  "You're dodging the subject, dear.  What in the world is Connor doing holding yearly parties?  The man invites dozens of immortals!  And personally enforces a truce from sunrise the day before until sunset the day after!  I don't understand why he changed from his reclusive self, that's all."

Aidan sighed and sprawled out on the couch, glancing around to see if there was anything the other woman had forgotten to pack.  "Sunda Kastagir."

Amanda blinked.  "Is this a change of subject again?"

"No.  He holds the parties for Kastagir."  With one hand Aidan began lazily unbraiding her hair to brush it out.  "They ran into each other again in '85, shortly before Connor met the Kurgan for the last time.  Kastagir thought the Gathering was getting too close, and, being Kastagir, he had the perfect solution."  The Irish woman smiled fondly at the thought of her old friend.  "He thought we should say the hell with it and throw a party."

Amanda laughed delightedly.  "Oh, he would!  Where is that reprobate?  I haven't seen him at any of...."

Aidan met her gaze levelly.  "He's out of the Game, Amanda."

"Oh."  The immortal thief fell silent for a second, then commented with forced cheer, "Well, I still don't understand how I'm supposed to get Methos' Christmas present anywhere if you don't tell me where it is."

Aidan said placidly, "The sword and shield will be available to you after I leave.  Rich will know where they are.  And he has no clue where they're currently hidden, so don't try cozening it out of him."

"Of course not," Amanda said indignantly.  "You're both expecting me to do that, what would be the point?  Oh, did the car wash get all the powder out of your Range Rover for you?  I got them to vacuum it three times."

That drew a chuckle.  "Yes, they did, thank you.  I may yet forgive you for this.  Maybe.  So where are you headed next?"

"Oh, Australia is nice this time of year," Amanda said cheerfully.  "Maybe I'll go catch some performances at the Sydney Opera House, or do a little scuba diving.  You know, enjoy myself."

"You always enjoy yourself, 'Manda.  But why don't you try to restrict your thefts to kisses?  Your next unwitting accomplice may not be so... agreeable."

"Agreeable?"  Amanda sniffed at the thought.  "You've yelled at me and held it over my head for the last week."

"So I have," Aidan remarked pleasantly.  "And I'll continue to bring it up at inconvenient moments for years to come, too, in the vague hope that next time you'll give me some advance warning."

Amanda rolled her eyes, but said nothing.  A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the jazz playing on the stereo.  Finally the immortal thief sighed and said, "Thank you for letting me stay with you, Aidan, but...."

"... you really have to go.  I know.  You'll be late for your flight," Aidan answered.  "It's all right.  Come on, I'll help you with your bags."

"How soon are you headed to Paris?"

"Three more days.  I'm stopping in New York to see Connor, and I'll be in London overnight as well.  I haven't hit the British Museum in ages."

"Neither have I," Amanda murmured thoughtfully, tapping one forefinger against her lips.

"No, 'Manda."  Aidan's voice was implacable.  "Don't even think it."

"Oh, of course not, I don't want any Egyptian antiquities.  They're too difficult to dispose of anymore.  Not like last century," she added regretfully.  "All right, I'll be back through in November, and I'll get with Rich about the shield and sword then.  Hmmph.  It would be easier if I could do it now," Amanda wheedled.

"Absolutely not.  Read my lips.  No. Nyet.  Non.  Iie.  Not just no, but Gods, no.  On a cold day in the Nine Hells.  Do you see the devil running around selling bobsleds?"

Amanda blinked at that part of the tirade.  "Bobsleds?"

"Well, what else is He to do when Hell freezes over?  Shovel snow?" came the acerbic reply.  "And I am not showing you my hiding place.  Forget it."

"Oh, all right.  I had to try at least."  The two women exchanged glances and started laughing.

They both stood up and carried Amanda's suitcases downstairs and out.  "Will you be at Connor's party?"  Aidan slung the last bag in Amanda's rented car.

"Of course.  I wouldn't miss it."

The Irish woman leaned over and hugged her friend, then kissed her gently on one cheek.  "Have a good trip, 'Manda.  I'll see you in December."

Amanda hugged her back, then said in a put-upon voice, "Why does Duncan have to live in this dreadful place where it rains all the time?"

Her only reply was a shrug, and the comment, "Probably because no one looks twice at someone in a long coat here.  It's why I'm always cautious about living in hot climes now.  The swords get difficult to conceal."

"You're being practical," Amanda pouted.  "It's definitely time for me to leave."  The immortal thief waved to her friend as she left, though.

Aidan watched her leave and sighed deeply, standing barefoot in the rain again as the gate closed automatically behind Amanda's car.  "Thank you, Goddess.  I love the woman, but she stirs up more trouble!"  She leaned against the parking lot fence, face turned up to the falling rain, letting it sluice down her face.  The first leisure she'd had in days sank into her soul as the water sank into her hair and clothes.  But the police had finally agreed she could leave town, since she wasn't a suspect in the theft.  Now it was just a matter of packing and waiting.

Long habits of practicality drove her inside at last.  Time to pack, to clean the house, and to stock the kitchen for Rich before she left.  Somewhere in there, a joint account needed to be set up as well so that the young redhead would have funds to run the house.  Most of the bills were automatically withdrawn from her checking account but not all.  On top of that, a couple of 'Candace Ryan's' investments needed maintenance soon, to keep that fall-back identity current and believable.

And wasn't Rich amused when he saw the passport for my next identity!  I'm still not sure he believed me that I'd picked the name before I met him.  I should take him to Toronto this spring when I deal with the Great Lakes shipping venture 'Candace' is investing in.  Aidan sighed without noticing it.  At least I'll be too busy to miss Duncan and Methos.  Five more days until I see them.  I can do this.

The tall, whippet-thin black woman casually glanced around as she stood in the hotel alcove.  No one was watching, so she dropped coins into the pay phone in a steady stream.  That done, Mandisa began the slow process of connecting to an overseas operator.  Fifteen minutes of patience and three different languages later, her call went through.

"Rodriguez."

"Navarro, my brother, there's trouble."  Mandisa used rapid-fire Dutch to keep the operator from listening in and sighed in relief when the man on the other end of the line paused, then replied in the same tongue.

"Mandisa?  What's happened?"

"I don't know, but someone set an youngster on me outside Adis Abeba.  Another man challenged me in Al-Iskandriyah, but I got away.  This one was older, Navarro.  It's not the time of the Gathering yet -- what's going on?"  Mandisa's voice was grim but controlled.  Hysterics were for women, not warriors.

"Have you changed identities since?"  Navarro stared at the screen of his computer as he talked, but his eyes were looking at something else entirely.

"Of course."

Her voice implied he'd been a fool to ever think otherwise, but the Spaniard pushed that aside without a second thought.  Mandisa had always been a guided missile, moving straight toward her chosen targets without distraction.  "These were ambushes, then, sister?  Planned attacks looking for you?"

"Eighty miles into the bush outside Adis Abeba?"  The sardonic voice was as dry as a desert sandstorm.

"Agreed," he answered promptly.  "And the other?"

"He called me by name, brother.  Not the new identity I had assumed in Al-Iskandriyah, but the one I was using in Ethiopia.  He knew who I was, meant to challenge me, not some chance-met immortal."

Navarro nodded thoughtfully, forgetting she couldn't see.  "Have you contacted our teacher yet?"

Mandisa sighed in relief and leaned against the wall of the phone alcove.  Her backpack lay underfoot and her walking staff with it.  "No.  I thought it would be best to call her next, but if you're suggesting it as well I know the course is wise.  Where is Shahar these days?"

"Then you don't know either?"  Navarro paused and then said grimly, "Time we began coordinating this, Mandisa.  Where are you?"

"Your favorite North African city," she replied.  "Brother, what should I do?"

"Damiano is in America," he answered.  "That would be a good place to start.  Can you get to my native city?"

Mandisa translated that to Barcelona and nodded.  "Of course.  What then?"

"Contact Alberto Caldez, the goldsmith.  He'll have tickets for you.  What's your current name?"

"Zarifa Nasser.  Where will I be going?"

"Not over the phone, I don't think.  Place names are too easily recognized," he answered.  "I'll mail my old friend instructions for you.  And I'll track down our teacher, sister.  Shahar is out there somewhere, I have little doubt.  With any luck she'll know what to make of this."

Mandisa sighed in relief.  "Thank you, Var."

"Are you all right, Mandisa?"

"Just... worn.  Wary.  I'm seeing things in the shadows, perhaps, but they've caught up to me once already.  I don't dare go to ground in hallowed lands; they might be there when I got out."

Navarro shook his head at that.  This was truly serious if it had spooked Mandisa, the most practical of all his line-brothers and -sisters.  "Get moving, sister.  I'll have the information for you when you get there.  Watch your head."

"And you, brother."  She hung up and picked up her pack, already weighing in her mind various options to get to Barcelona.

In Caracas, Navarro placed the phone gently back on the hook and frowned in concentration.  Mandisa had always been his favorite sister and he her favorite brother.  There was no question in his mind of not helping her with this.  The only question was how to do it.

Damiano would help, little doubt of that!  Their Swiss brother lived for a good fight.  The question became, who knew where their teacher was?  The Celt wandered constantly, moving at least once a decade, changing her name almost as often.  In years past, Var would simply have contacted Brother Darius or Sean Burns in France, or the healer, Adrianna, in Turkey.  No longer, though.  Those healers of body and soul were dead, and long-spun links of immortal contacts had died with them.

"So.  Who can I find?  That is the place to start."  Quick motions unlocked a hidden compartment of his desk and Navarro began to study his book of immortal phone numbers and addresses.  "I wonder if Haresh Clay might know?"  He dialed the first number as his hunt began for the Irish immortal who had trained Mandisa and him both.

Somewhere there was a plot moving, or an old vengeance rising to the surface at last.  Someone would know what, and who, and how.  Sooner or later some detail would appear, Navarro had no doubt.  He had only to start looking.
 

1  Mist & Stone by Maggie Sansone is some of the best hammer dulcimer I've heard in ages.

2  For those who've never seen one, a 'shotgun house' is a Deep South architectural type with one long hallway and all the room doors in line with each other.  Yup, it's a long, skinny house.  High ceilings and transom windows (the ones that open at the top) run throughout.  The whole point is to have the best air circulation possible, no great surprise in Southern heat and humidity.  And the origin of the name that I heard was that you could fire a shotgun from the front door down the hallway to the open back door and not hit anything.

3  My conscience reminded me not everyone deals well with Latin.  Discipulus discuplae meae translates to (male) student of my (female) student.  Tuus servus is your servant.  Magistra is teacher (female) or professor or mistress.  Not mistress in the sense of a sexual relationship, but in a sense of hierarchy. 

4  Damien's point of origin was in the Carolingian duchy of Bavaria, near the meeting of the current borders of Germany, Austria, and Switzerland.  In the 900s, that area was still occupied by some of the Gauls carving out the Carolingian empire, by some Germanic tribes including the Thuringians (a German ethnic group famous for their short-tempers, obnoxious behavior and assassins!), and by descendants of Roman soldiers.

5  The Orwell quote was one of the last entries in his diary, but I don't have the exact wording.  (Sorry, it's from memory.)  Shakespeare's quote is from MacBeth, I, iv, where King Duncan contemplates unanticipated treachery.

6  Eleanor of Aquitaine went on the Second Crusade with her then-husband, Louis VII of France.  And while she did in fact take some of her court ladies, garbed and (at least in contrast with the behavior of the day) acting like Amazons, I don't know that they actually fought.  Sorry, I'm taking liberties with history.  They may well have, mind you.  I do know that during later Crusades, the women in Germany fought tourneys in full armor while the men were gone.  The tourneys, and the festivals around them, had become too necessary to the local economies to be held off until the men came home again....

7  In my stories, one of Amanda's investments is part-ownership of a security company called Cutting Edge.  That it gives her access to the latest technologies is, of course, purely coincidental.  Did I mention some lovely beachfront property in Wyoming?

8  The Billy Joel song was "Only the Good Die Young;" Carolan's "Ramble to Cashel" is the opening track on Celtic Odyssey; "Coinleach Glas An Fhomair" is on both Magical Ring and Past Present by Clannad and makes me think I understand Gaelic, some days.

9  Aidan's lover with the abusive husband and broken arm can be found in the story "Hold On."

10  Me?  Put real life friends in stories?  Of course not!  (Thanks, guys.  All guilty parties know who you are, and I'm sure I owe you steaks and beer.)

11 'Gardai' is Gaelic for police.

12 Aidan's French can be loosely translated to "Hell, yes, you indiscreet little bitch!'  Leave it to Amanda to drive Aidan to mundane profanity.  By the way, for those interested, I found an incredible language resource, the Canadian Forces Languages page.  The alternate French dictionary is fascinating, and thoroughly obscene.  I spent time there I should have spent on this story.  Sorry!

13 A friend of mine in the Arkansas Crime Lab once mentioned that of course fingerprint powder sticks to everything!  That is sort of the point, after all.

14 Personally, I think Sunda Kastagir would love the idea that Connor throws him a party every year.  What can I say, after you've survived the Kurgan, I suspect you quit sweating the small stuff.

15 Why does Duncan live in Paris in winter and Seacouver in summer?  The weather seemed a reasonable explanation to me.  Besides, it's amazing how much heat metal conducts into your body in 90+ degrees and 50+ humidity.  It would take an immortal to survive the heat stroke.

16 Dar-el-Beida in Morocco is better known to most film-goers as Casablanca; Adis Abeba is the Ethiopian spelling of Addis Ababa, their capital; and Al-Iskandriyah is, no surprise, the Egyptian spelling of the city English-speakers usually refer to as Alexandria.