Disclaimer and Notes: If the Panzer/Davis characters were holiday presents, I'd never have any reason to return them. Since they're not, I'll just say that the standard disclaimer applies.Any others you don't recognize are Stonyland residents, and I might be inclined to claim them on alternate Thursdays. This story is a plot bunny that refused to explode, even when I brought out a commando force to intimidate it....

Set after Amanda's Gift, but it stands alone.

See end of story for full notes and thanks. Comments and constructive criticism welcome at dayea@rainewynd.com.

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Down Came a Blackbird

Part Two

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New York – Two months later

Whistling, Nick checked over the list of items Connor had requested he retrieve from the warehouse where they stored the items they couldn't fit into the shop. The list wasn't a large one, but from the looks of it, Nick could see that they'd have to either hire some help or spend two days to get it transferred to the shop. He had a sneaking suspicion that it would be the latter rather than the former. Connor would call it a form of exercise; Nick called it being cheap and unwilling to expose their business to outsiders. As a result of that belief, he spent some time estimating the total weight of everything. Immersed in his duties, Nick jumped and dropped his clipboard when his cell phone rang.

Swearing, he glanced at the caller ID display on his phone. Seeing a cryptic "Information Blocked" message, he frowned, then pressed the talk button, and put the phone to his ear. "Wolfe," he answered, using his last name out of years of habit as an officer of the law.

"You never call, you never write, you just drop off the face of the earth, and you expect me to pay you when you haven't even been in Paris since May?" a slightly German-accented male voice complained, his manner at once brisk and deceptively easy-going. "I put you in charge of my European operations, and you take off without telling me. Next thing I know, I got Amanda telling me some guy named Lyle is running my business, and you're in New York."

Recognizing the voice, Nick muttered a silent oath. Dealing with his old friend and sometime employer was always a minefield of things that hadn't been said and things that could be misconstrued. Picking up his clipboard from the floor, Nick began to pace off his frustration. If it weren't for the fact that Bert had saved Nick's life and later, helped him find a purpose in life when he quit the police force in disgust, Nick knew he wouldn't have called Bert a friend. "Bert, I talked to you five months ago, remember? You were looking for a sword for some woman."

Silence met his remark. Nick could almost see the considering frown on his friend's face. "Did you find it for me?"

As the item in question had been the sword that Nick now carried, Nick chuckled ironically. "I live to disappoint you," he told his friend.

"Yeah, well," Bert replied easily, "you gotta quit that; you do it too well. Listen, you in need of some money?"

"Maybe," Nick hedged. Bert ran a private security firm that operated globally. Working for him meant anything from skip tracing to bounty hunting to covert operations too hot for a government to handle. "What have you got?"

"Something weird. A friend of mine in the business called in a favor, and since you're in the States, I thought you could check it out for me." Bert spoke as if he was asking Nick to go to a basketball game with him, and Nick's instincts went on alert. The more offhand Bert got, the likelier it was that whatever he wanted would be risky, possibly borderline illegal, and highly dangerous.

"Which, the favor or the friend?"

"The favor. I already checked out the friend."

"Depends on what it is," Nick said cautiously. "I can't just leave my job."

"Tell 'em you've got a family emergency."

Nick rolled his eyes. "My parents are dead, and I haven't seen my brother since he went into the Air Force. You know that."

"Yeah, but they don't," Bert reminded him cheerfully. His smug tone irked Nick, but Nick ignored it, aware that some of Bert's arrogance was calculated to provoke a reaction. "What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm working for an antiques dealer." Suspecting the conversation was going to take a while, Nick found the nearest chair, which happened to be a Victorian piece, and sat down.

There was a pause while Bert assessed this information. "Pay well?" he queried, sounding intrigued.

"Get to the point, Bert," Nick said impatiently. "What or who are you looking for, and why do you think it's going to mean a trip for me?"

"Do you know a Matthew Salisbury?"

"No." Forgetting that Bert couldn't see him, Nick shook his head as he answered without hesitation.

"You wanna think about that any?" Bert asked dryly. "Either way, you need to find him."

"What's so important about him?"

"My friend believes Salisbury stole something from her. She'd like it back, but she'll settle for the chance to meet him in person and talk things over."

Nick chuckled, remembering something Bert had said. "I thought you were getting out of the 'woman scorned' business."

Bert's voice was dry as he answered, "Only when it comes to ex-wives."

"What, you got more than one? As if the ambassador of Romania's not enough?" Nick teased him.

"You let me worry about that," Bert told him firmly, closing the subject. "Just let me know where he is and how to get a hold of him, and I can close this debt. I'll even throw in expenses if it means you get this guy." Business concluded, Bert asked, "So when are you coming back to Paris? Your girlfriend's been missing you, though if you ask her, she'll deny it."

Some part of Nick wanted to leap for joy at the thought of Amanda missing him, but the rest of him — still too hurt over the numerous things she hadn't told him when he was around to hear them — didn't believe she was. Besides, there was one small problem with Bert's words. "She's not my girlfriend," Nick said flatly for the umpteenth time as he rose to his feet in an unconscious defensive gesture. "Never has been, never will be."

"Hey, well, could've fooled me. You know what they say about protesting too much," Bert said carelessly. "Listen, get back to me about Matthew Salisbury, and I'll be seeing you." With that, Bert disconnected the call.

For a moment, Nick stood there, staring at his phone. Never a man to wait calmly and not act when a friend needed help, Nick wrestled with the temptation to drop everything and do as his friend had requested. He'd always been the one to demand answers, to charge in when others might use more caution, to be proactive rather than defensive. That had killed him, more than the shot Amanda had fired; she'd only ended what had already been a lingering death. He took a deep breath, and felt the sword he wore in a cross-body sheath across his back shift with the movement. The now-familiar weight reminded him that he had obligations, a life that he was building here. The time that he could just leave and follow Bert's often inevitably Pandora-box requests wasn't now – and Nick had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure that he was ready to do so.

Immortality still felt like a nightmare without end, especially since another immortal had hunted Nick before Connor had come to his rescue, and Connor had defeated two challengers in the six months that Nick had been with him. Moreover, Nick was still struggling to define what being immortal meant to him, what he could do with his life now. Staying in New York with Connor gave him a measure of normalcy: with no immortals other than Connor around, Nick could almost pretend that there weren't any others. Leaving that security behind meant risking that he'd be discovered and possibly challenged, and having to start all over again. He'd done that twice in as many years now, and he was tired of it.

Still, Nick couldn't ignore the request Bert had made of him. He did owe Bert a few favors, especially since he'd left Paris without a thought to anything else but getting as far away from Amanda as he could, and as a result, had left Bert's European operations in the lurch. Later, Nick promised himself, he'd ask Connor if he knew Matthew Salisbury, and proceed from there. In the meantime, he had inventory to check.

******

As was their usual custom, Nick helped Rachel and Connor close up the antique store, then the three of them shared dinner before Rachel went home. The still-attractive fifty-something blonde had been adopted by Connor shortly after World War II and now served as his assistant. It had been something of a shock for Nick to meet her; he hadn't expected the Highlander to have a family, given what Nick had known about Connor at the time. It hadn't been long before Rachel had become a close friend. Now he teased her easily about a customer who'd come into the shop just before closing time and who had been clearly more interested in her than any merchandise.

"He was a dirty old man, and I've plenty of adventure in my life, thank you," Rachel retorted in response to Nick's teasing as she handed a bowl of mashed potatoes to him. She slanted a look at Connor. "And no, you're not going to start in about me spending my life with an old man."

Connor looked at her guilelessly. "I was only going to suggest, lass, that you find yourself a younger one."

Nick laughed at the indignant expression on Rachel's face as she exclaimed, "Younger! That would be anything under what? Four centuries?" She turned her gaze on Nick. "Or maybe someone closer to Nick's age? Either way, I'm not looking for anyone, and I trust you'll both stay out of it."

Nick held his hands up in surrender. "I was only teasing, Rachel."

"Any problems at the warehouse, Nick?" Rachel asked, changing the subject. "You came back late and then we were busy, and I don't think either of us got to ask you if you found everything."

"No," he replied. "No problems. We'll need to hire movers, though, or spend a day moving everything ourselves. The Russian egg's not a problem — it's the lightest of everything you had on the list — but that Colonial sideboard is solid oak. Where'd you find that, Connor?"

Connor took a sip of water before answering. "Estate sale about eight years ago. It had been in the family since it was made."

Rachel glanced at him, catching something in his tone. "You knew who made it."

Connor nodded, but said nothing more. Neither of his companions were surprised, too accustomed to his habits to question them, but it took Nick a bit more effort to control his urge to find out the story behind that sideboard.

"Speaking of people you know," the ex-cop began, "do you know a Matthew Salisbury?"

"Where did you hear that name and who wants to know?" Connor asked thoughtfully.

"Bert Myers," Nick answered, knowing that Connor would recognize the name since he'd previously told him who Bert was. "He called me when I was at the warehouse and asked if I'd find Matthew Salisbury for him. Said a friend of his asked him for a favor and wanted to know where this Salisbury guy was and claimed Salisbury was a thief, but only wanted a chance to talk to him."

"Did Bert say who it was that was asking?" Connor questioned.

Nick frowned. "No, he didn't give me a chance to ask. With him, everything's on a need to know basis."

"He sounds like he's a spy," Rachel commented. "Or an agent for a —" She stopped speaking as she looked at the man seated across the table from her, who looked grim and worried.

"—Headhunter," Nick finished as he too stared at Connor, dinner forgotten. Like Rachel, Nick had learned to read the older man's body language, though not to the degree that she had after having spent three-fourths of her life with Connor. "You really think that's the case?"

"How well do you know Bert?" Connor returned.

"I'd trust him with my life," Nick responded without hesitation. "But not with someone else's. He worked undercover as a double agent with the NSA; the man's a devious, calculating son-of-a-bitch, but he's saved my life a couple of times."

Connor half-chuckled, sudden amusement lighting his eyes briefly as he remembered someone he'd known who was like that. Then his humor faded. "Does Bert know about immortals?"

"Amanda told him since he saw one of us go over a roof and walk away, but he not only didn't believe her, he didn't believe me when I corroborated her story, and thought that we were playing a grand joke on him. I honestly don't think he accepted it as truth." Nick shrugged. "Considering he knows Amanda to be one of the best liars he's ever met, he wouldn't believe a word she said anyway."

Rachel snorted. "Smart man," she remarked. "But if he saw someone—"

"It doesn't mean that he'll believe as you did," Connor reminded her gently. "Amanda give him any proof other than her word?"

"No," Nick said, shaking his head. "Bert was in the hospital, recovering from a gunshot wound. I asked him later about it, and he told me I was delusional, that I'd spent too much time around Amanda. I don't think he sees it as truth."

Connor picked up his fork again as he mulled over the information. In silence, the trio finished their meal. It was only when they started to clear the table when he spoke. "Call Bert and ask him who the job's for."

"I doubt if he'll tell me, but I'll try." So saying, Nick picked up his cell phone.

To Nick's surprise, Bert was all too happy to give him the information, even apologizing for forgetting to tell him earlier since Bert had promised the client that someone from Myers Security would be meeting her that evening. Considering Bert's habits, Nick doubted that his friend had actually forgotten; it was more likely that Bert had gone ahead and set up the meeting, hoping that Nick would be able to deliver by the meeting time. Nick relayed that to Connor, who, judging from his expression, clearly shared Nick's reservations about the meeting.

"Look," Nick began, "I know you're taking Rachel home and you'd want to be my backup at this meeting, but it's on the other side of the city. There's no sense in running around all of New York just for this. For all we know, it's just a coincidence."

Connor didn't share his opinion, and both Rachel and Nick could see that in Connor's expression. "For the love of –" Rachel said exasperatedly. "If you're worried, Connor, you can reimburse me for the cab. Nick's more than capable of taking care of himself by now; he's a grown man, a former police officer, and he's been your student for six months now. When are you going to trust that he can handle whatever comes next? He survived being around Amanda!"

"Mostly," Connor replied, though a trace of humor lit his eyes. Abruptly, he exhaled heavily and his eyes turned dark with grim seriousness. "Someone's in the city. I'm going with you."

Nick nodded. He didn't sense the other immortal that Connor implied was in town, but knew he didn't have Connor's range. "I can take care of myself—" he started to argue, only to be silenced with a look.

"Don't argue with him, Nick," Rachel warned, glancing at her adoptive father. "I know that look all too well. He's got his mind set, and there's no changing it." Gently, she asked, "You wouldn't go without backup when you were a police officer, would you?"

"Sometimes," Nick admitted. He grinned, showing a trace of the cockiness that had helped him rise through the ranks of the police force. "Sometimes I couldn't help it, and sometimes I thought I was immortal." His last comment earned him a snort from his companions. He exhaled and looked at Connor. "You know, I used to think I was paranoid, but then I met you."

"Heh."

******

The place Bert had specified turned out to be an Italian restaurant next to a pool hall. As Nick and Connor stepped out of Connor's convertible, Nick felt the signature of another immortal. A glance at Connor confirmed that he'd felt it as well. That signature grew stronger as they stepped into the restaurant. Keeping calm, Nick went to the hostess and asked for Kat von Merenburg. They were led to a table near the center of the restaurant where a stunningly beautiful woman sat. She had long black hair and a diamond-shaped face highlighted by a strong, aquiline nose, a small mouth, and large, semi-prominent eyes. Nick breathed carefully as the impression of the stranger's immortality settled. As he did so, he noted that she wore a purple ballerina-style top and an amethyst-and-diamond necklace.

In an accent Nick recognized as Russian only because it sounded like an informant he'd sometimes used, the stranger thanked the hostess, and then turned to Nick, who stood warily at the table. He didn't dare sit until he was sure that this was going to be a peaceful meeting. In his experience, female immortals were trouble, and he wasn't going to start assuming otherwise. Connor had no hesitations, however, and slid into the seat to stare deliberately at the woman.

"Kat von Merenburg?" Nick asked.

"That's Countess Katarina von Merenburg to you," she said haughtily. "Daughter of the Countess Natalia von Merenburg of Russia."

"It's whatever we see fit to call you," Connor replied. "The days when you could have peasants flogged are long past, woman. Catch up with the times, why don't you?"

She glared at him. "You're not the man I came to meet, Highlander," she said frostily. "I'm here to meet Nick Wolfe."

Nick's lips twitched at both her snobbery and Connor's reply, but he resisted the temptation to laugh. "I'm Nick Wolfe," he answered. "No title, I'm afraid, just a simple American man with a few questions. Maybe even a few answers for you." He kept his manner friendly, though he suspected he already knew what Katarina sought.

Connor smiled at her, too. "And it's a city. You meet all sorts of people in them." The smile vanished and his eyes turned cold. "Or do you think you give orders here, woman?"

Anger flared in her dark brown eyes, but she raised her head a fraction and turned to Nick. "Bert said you knew where to find Matthew Salisbury, that you'd help me recover what he stole from me." Her voice was calculatingly coaxing.

"Matthew? A thief?" Connor snorted. "Not in this lifetime or any other." He appraised her, his gaze insulting. "Or are you saying he took your virtue, such as it was?"

She flushed, the blood turning the pale skin of her face and neck scarlet. "That's none of your business," she retorted. Again turning to Nick, she stated, "Just tell me where to find Matthew Salisbury, and we'll have no quarrel."

"Lady, I don't want to fight you, but I don't know where to find Matthew Salisbury." He was beginning to not like her, and his gut was telling him that she wasn't the kind of woman he wanted to like.

Connor laughed. "He doesn't even know who he is, woman." He leaned back in his chair, arrogantly assured of his position. "I do, however. So, is there a finder's commission?"

"Stay out of this," Katarina snapped. "You weren't the man I hired."

"Oh, so you'll ask me and waste your time and money?" Nick asked, taking the seat beside Connor. Patience had never been his biggest virtue, and he had even less of it for idiocy. "You know, I thought royalty had brains, but maybe all that inbreeding has taken its toll." He glanced at the man seated beside him. "Wouldn't you agree, Connor?"

A wicked smile appeared on his face. "It would explain a few things." He gave Katarina the same insultingly appraising look. "So what do you want with Matthew?"

"That's between him and me. If you will not help me, you will fight me. There can only be one of us, and I don't think a commoner needs to be that one."

"Isn't that what you are now?" Connor asked pointedly.

Katarina glared at him. "I was born to rule, unlike some people." She turned to Nick. "So. Are you going to help me or not? Or does the Highlander do all of your thinking for you?"

Nick narrowed his eyes. "No, but I already told you, I don't want to fight you. It's not my fault I don't have the information. You're ignoring the source right here." He gestured to Connor.

"Fine, then," she said haughtily. "You have failed me, therefore, you must fight me. You have been challenged." She paused. "Or do you need permission before you go anywhere with a woman?"

Nick looked at her classically sculpted features, and knew that Katarina meant every word. He couldn't let the insult slide. "No."

"Last I looked," Connor drawled, "Nick's a grown man. He fights or walks as he sees fit." He sent her an amused smile. "So who pulls your strings, then, that you have to ask about his?"

She didn't answer, and Nick knew Connor had scored a hit. Nearly purring her words, she asked, "Or is it that you're too much of a coward to fight? Pity, a wolf that's afraid to defend himself."

"Lady, you can insult me all you want, but if you're headhunting friends, that's got to stop." His voice hardened and he stood. "Let's go." He didn't need to look at Connor to know that he'd be waiting when he got back.

Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction at Nick's response. She stood, revealing that she'd worn a multi-colored ankle-length skirt, and that she was shorter than Nick by at least five inches. In silence, they walked out of the restaurant and then around to the semi-dark alley in back. Once there, Katarina pulled off her skirt with a rip of Velcro and drew out a broadsword from the folds of the garment, leaving her attired in a bodysuit.

Nick seized the moment and attacked. She tossed her skirt at him, hoping to distract him. Stepping aside, he avoided the trap, instantly grateful that Connor had spent some time training him on just that. Then Nick attacked again. Katarina parried his blade and riposted, but he countered the attack. For the next several minutes, they fought, with each trying to gain an upper hand. His longer reach – a combination of his height and the hand-and-a-half broadsword he used – helped offset her attempts to get in close and strike, though he had to body slam her a few times to keep her from scoring. It rapidly became clear that Katarina had been trained well from the movements she made. She'd made several cuts, nothing serious, but Nick knew he couldn't afford to have that many more. Still, he waited until he could see her start to tire from the effort of having to compensate for her shorter reach, and then he pressed his advantage.

Capturing her blade, he pushed it aside, and then feinted to her thigh, as if he intended to cripple her. She took the bait, but he was already elsewhere. It took only a flick of his wrist to send his sword towards Katarina's neck. Belatedly, she tried to block his parry, snarling a curse in Russian, but it was too late – Nick was already committed to the stroke. Even knowing that had been the point of the battle, Nick watched Katarina's head fall from her body with slowly dawning shock.

My first Quickening, he realized. Oh my God.

He couldn't take his eyes off the body in front of him. He'd killed before – both in the line of duty and out of vengeance, but suddenly it felt like he'd not only crossed some invisible line, he'd crossed a six-lane interstate highway. There was no going back to the side of the road where he could claim that he was still innocent of this kind of killing. He could feel himself going into shock, and his eyes focused on the unearthly cloud that was materializing from Katarina's corpse as he tried to get his breathing under control.

The mist of Katarina's Quickening rose to greet him just as he heard a metal door slam open against the wall. Nick whipped his gaze around to see a young woman silhouetted in the doorway, a streak of blonde framing her face. She stepped away from the door, letting the door slam shut behind her, curiosity clearly driving her actions as she stepped forward.

"Stay back!" Nick yelled at her as she neared him, but then the Quickening hit, consuming him with Katarina's power. He couldn't spare a thought for the stranger, not when the images of a life not his own, the emotions of an embittered lesser royal, and the sheer electricity of the Quickening energy battered him and demanded that he surrender to the assault. Screaming his denial of Katarina's final wishes, Nick fought the silent, insidious war for his personality, his memories, and the very essence of his character. He dropped to his knees as he tried to defy the Quickening's natural levitation, and his body shook with the effort. In the struggle for dominance, Nick closed his eyes, never seeing the bolt of Quickening lightning that struck the young woman, driving her back to the shadows of the doorway from where she'd come. He never heard her faint cry of, "Angels," the second before she lost consciousness, too caught up in his own silent battle.

Over and above the Quickening, Nick felt another immortal approach, but he could only scream his denial, helpless to do anything but take in the power that had been unleashed. When the lightning faded, it took Nick several moments before he could reorient himself, caught up in the euphoria of the win. He might've spent several minutes longer in that state of bliss had he not felt a sword blade against his all-too-vulnerable neck. He couldn't help the nearly reflexive jerk of shock, and felt blood drip down his shirt.

"I see the cat has run out of lives," a man's voice observed as its owner pressed his weight against Nick's back, keeping him in a kneeling position. "You will too someday. Not today. But I will have my revenge on Matthew Salisbury. When you see him, tell him he owes me for sparing your life. Maybe when I take his head, I can take the Highlander's."

The distinctive wave of yet another immortal's approach hit Nick, and he tasted Connor's signature on it, giving him hope. Apparently, the stranger felt it too, for Nick felt the blade press a little harder into his skin. Then the stranger laughed. "Time for me to act like a tree and leave," he tossed out, then pulled his blade off Nick's neck and ran away. Nick's last image of the stranger was of a tall man of medium build, wearing a black stadium coat and black sneakers.

Footsteps pounded on pavement, headed in his direction. Nick relaxed marginally, recognizing the man who came running to meet him, sword already in hand. Guessing Connor had been at the back door to the restaurant, Nick spared a moment to wonder what had held Connor up, then wondered if the Quickening had shielded the unknown immortal from being sensed until the last minute.

Without saying a word, Connor took in the scene. Nick wished he were closer so he could get a clue as to what Connor was thinking, but knew better than to ask. Instead, he told his teacher, "He's gone. I'm not sure which direction, but I'm pretty sure it was away from here."

Connor narrowed his gaze and walked closer to where Nick now paced restlessly with one hand pressed against the back of his neck. Sheathing his sword, Connor reached to pull Nick's hand away, stopping Nick's pacing for a moment. "You have a thin scar there," he informed his student, "but it's healed."

"I thought we didn't scar," Nick said, surprised.

"The neck area is one of the exceptions." He surveyed Nick's ripped and bloodied clothing, and caught the way Nick couldn't stand still. "Let's go."

"What about the other guy?"

"Later," Connor said sharply. "I'll handle it. Now is the time to go." His tone brooked no argument.

"You're just going to let him go? He tried to kill me." Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You're in no shape to stand, let alone fight," Connor observed harshly. "Argue with me in an hour and tell me I'm wrong, Nick. He left you alive for a reason, and I've no desire to see you dead yet."

Nick stared into his mentor's eyes, seeing a look that meant Connor was serious. Though he felt like he could run a marathon without breaking a sweat, Nick suspected that he was riding the high that the Quickening had given him. Like all highs, he'd come down from it soon enough. From the expression on his mentor's face, Nick realized that Connor knew that to be true, and feared that if Nick went after the other immortal, it would happen in the middle of the fight, leaving him vulnerable. Though he wanted to argue the point further, he trusted Connor's judgment, and so he nodded acceptance of the other man's decision.

Two minutes after they left, a heavy-set, bearded man stepped out of the pool hall next to the restaurant. "Risa?" he called. "Damn fool retard," he muttered, half-under his breath as he squinted into the shadows cast by the lights at either end of the alley. The smell of recent death wrinkled his nose, but he gave it little thought, assuming it was just some dog that had been hit by a passing car and crawled into the alley to die. If it wasn't, he wasn't going to investigate; there were gangs in the neighborhood, and it didn't pay to be too curious.

Still bitching, he opened the door wider. "Has to go check out every fucking noise like a two-year-old. I swear she does it just to avoid me. If she'd just give out a little bit, she wouldn't have to run so far." In a louder voice, he called, "Risa Halverson! You better get your ass back up front or you're fired!" Though the threat was an empty one, he couldn't stop repeating it; sometimes, he actually believed he meant it. He stepped out further. He had just enough time to wonder if he should've worn his glasses before he nearly tripped over the unconscious woman. "Shit," he swore. "Risa!"

She stirred weakly. "I saw lightning, and angels," she murmured wonderingly. Then she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Swearing again, the man picked her up and carried her into the pool hall, shouting for someone to call 911.

******

"I don't need protecting," Connor admonished quietly thirty minutes later as he handed Nick a shot of whiskey.

"You were there – you heard her. She was headhunting, Connor. She was after this Matthew Salisbury, and I don't think she would've stopped until she found him. I think she and that other guy were working together, and she wasn't expecting another immortal to show up. I got the impression she preferred mortals, as long as they were other royalty." He snorted, not understanding the snobbery any better than when he'd first encountered it. Taking the drink Connor offered him, Nick downed it quickly, and then felt it burn through him, dulling the edges of his oversensitive nerve endings, and forcing him to breathe deeply. "Thanks for backing me up."

Connor laughed shortly. "You would do the same." He looked at Nick, and in his eyes, Nick could see the apology for the innocence he'd lost when he'd taken his first Quickening.

Nothing Connor could have said could have prepared Nick for that first burn of power. It had burned through him as surely as any electrical current, searing him with images from another life, the tangible impression of a personality that had been ruthless, and determined, and bitter about not attaining her goal. Connor had warned him that he had to fight to hold onto who he was and not let the Quickening take hold of him lest it change him irrevocably, but Nick hadn't known that it would take all the concentration he had to remain grounded. Nor had he expected the restless surge of adrenaline that remained with him now, making him pace the living room.

He'd killed before, but it hadn't left him feeling horny, energized, euphoric, and oddly aware of everything around him on top of the usual regret for taking another life. In the first few minutes after the Quickening, he hadn't even felt guilt for his actions – just the satisfaction of knowing he'd won. If the strange immortal hadn't shown up just as he was starting to recover, Nick wasn't sure how long he would've stayed in that trance-like state. If Connor hadn't arrived – Nick didn't want to think about where he'd be now.

Taking a deep breath, Nick looked at his teacher. "Now I understand why some go headhunting for the sake of headhunting."

Connor nodded. "Best if you go and burn off some of that energy," he advised. "You'll sleep better if you do."

"Got any suggestions?"

"Sex, drinking, exercise, or all three," Connor offered, rising to his feet. "I strongly recommend, though, you don't get into trouble."

Nick flushed, hearing the warning in Connor's tone. "You said you were handling the guy who put a sword to my neck. I believe you. I just don't have to like sitting around waiting for someone else to take care of –"

"Would you rather rush in blindly?" Connor countered. "Whoever's out there isn't after you, but he'll take your head and anyone else's who gets in the way."

"Then why am I a pawn? I don't even know Matthew Salisbury!"

Connor stared wordlessly at his student. "Matthew Salisbury is Matthew McCormick," he said finally. "He was born Matthew of Salisbury."

Still unable to stand still, Nick paused long enough in his pacing to look at Connor in surprise. "Salisbury? He's English? Just how long has he been in the South? He sounded like he was born on a plantation!"

Connor shrugged. "I met him when the colonies revolted. He sounded English then, so I put him in the brig with all the other English."

That information halted Nick's pacing. "You picked up another immortal and imprisoned him, and he owed you a favor? How does that work? I'd have told you to go to hell."

"Oh, he did," Connor said altogether too cheerfully. "But I also let him escape with his head intact."

"I see," Nick said, then started pacing again as he shook his head. "No wonder he acted like you aren't really friends." He paused. "You planning on telling him what happened?" Then he answered his own question as he saw Connor's mouth curve in the slightest smile. "Of course you are. One more favor to owe you." He shook his head. "You know payback's gonna be a bitch."

Connor chuckled. From his body language, Nick got the impression that the other man was looking forward to the challenge. "Aren't you the one who told me not go borrowing trouble?"

A quick smile was Nick's only reply. Then Connor said, "Come on. If you're going out drinking, someone has to watch your back."

"I couldn't stay in and save a few bucks?" Nick protested.

"You're not drinking all my Scotch," was the dry response.

"Hey, I bought the last case!" Nick retorted, but followed Connor up the stairs anyway.

******

Washington, D.C. – The following day

Metal clanged against metal as Craig parried Matthew's blade, then tried to execute a complex move Matthew had taught him earlier in the week. Matthew stopped his attack, and Craig found himself suddenly having to defend from an off-balance position. Desperately, Craig tried an underhand parry, and ended up collapsing to the floor when gravity forced him there. Two months of Matthew's meticulous cross training had resulted in the filling out of Craig's tank-like frame with solid muscle and very little fat. He wasn't quite quick on his feet yet, but he was getting there.

"You can't parry well if you're off-balance," Matthew reminded his student as he helped him stand. "You also telegraphed your move. I told you not to bite your lip when you're trying to concentrate, or hesitate before you make a move."

"Look, I don't know this yet, okay?" Craig snapped irritably. "Sword fighting's for the movies."

"You know it," Matthew returned. "You just don't believe that you do. Now, attack me again, and this time, extend, advance, deceive, counter parry my counter parry, and attack, and don't bite your bottom lip. Take it slow, but make it count."

"I don't know why I'm doing this," Craig said mulishly. They'd been working on his sword skills for the last four hours, and he was getting tired. Matthew estimated he had another half-hour at best before Craig got too cranky to listen to anything he said. It occurred to Matthew that Craig was moodier than usual, and he wondered why. "It's not like there's any big threat. You talked that one immortal out of a challenge, and that was because we were at the grocery store and you didn't feel like fighting."

"And what would you do in that situation?" Matthew asked.

The ringing of the phone on the wall nearest the door of the workout room, however, halted Craig's reply. Matthew let it ring, waiting for Craig's answer. When it was clear that Craig wasn't going to reply, Matthew walked across the room to answer the phone. A glance at the caller ID told him that the incoming call was registered to Nash Antiques, and he caught the line just before it rolled over to voicemail. "Good evening," he greeted.

"You might want to check your shutters," Connor said cryptically. "I heard there's a storm headed your way."

"Oh, so I should change my locks," Matthew returned, tensing as he read the implication in Connor's words. Automatically, Matthew lowered his voice, making sure it didn't carry over to where Craig stood.

Connor chuckled. "Oh, I don't think that's necessary. I've never been a thief. And I'd have said you should watch out for brunettes, myself, but that's not really a problem at the moment."

Matthew snorted, remembering a lynch mob that had wanted Connor's head for thievery. Conveniently, Matthew ignored the fact that it had been Amanda's fault that the Highlander had gotten into that situation – or the fact that Matthew had taken great pleasure in seeing Connor behind bars until he'd deemed it prudent to let him go. After he'd made sure that Connor knew he owed him a favor, of course, though it irked Matthew that he still ended up owing the Highlander anyway. "Odd, but I don't remember it that way."

Connor only chuckled; clearly amused by Matthew's attempt to get a rise out of him. "Remember what you like, chevalier," he said, using the French word for 'knight'. "But you owe Nick one, and the hunt is still on. Watch your head, McCormick." With that, Connor hung up the phone.

Too many years of habit had Matthew automatically shutting off the phone and replacing it in its wall cradle. There was only one thing Matthew could think of that he'd owe Connor's student for, and given the reference Connor had made to "knight", Matthew suspected whomever Nick had beheaded had been someone who'd been after Matthew of Salisbury by name. Moreover, it sounded like that Nick had eliminated one threat, but not a second one.

"Who was that?" Craig asked.

Matthew considered the phone call, and the phrasing, and then smiled. "That was a visitor on his way."

"A visitor?" Craig asked. "Anyone I know?"

"Yes," Matthew agreed. "Why don't you go take a shower and think about what I asked you, then we'll discuss it over dinner?"

Too glad to escape more training, Craig started for the door. Just as his hand reached the doorknob, he stopped and turned. "There's only two people other than my sister that you and I both know," he declared. "That wouldn't have been Connor, was it? 'Cause if it was, he's not the kind of guy who calls you up just to chat." Craig frowned. "Hell, he's not even the kind of guy for small talk, you know?"

Matthew half-chuckled. "No, he's not." He paused, silently debating just how much to tell Craig. "Nick took the head of someone who was after me."

"But you're not in New York. That doesn't make sense. How would they find you there if you don't live there?"

Matthew shrugged. "Perhaps they thought Connor might help them."

Craig snorted, disbelief clearly written on his face. "Yeah, right. As if he didn't hand me off to someone else just as soon as he could. Makes me wonder how the hell he got Nick as a student." He made a sound of disgust. "Probably owed somebody something he couldn't pay on. I think I'll stop owing anyone any favors." So saying, Craig opened the door just as the phone rang again.

Snatching it out of the cradle, Craig answered it. Though his expression still held irritation, none of it showed in his voice as he professionally greeted, "Good evening, McCormick residence, Craig speaking, may I help you?" He paused to listen to the caller for a minute, and then in a puzzled voice confirmed, "Yes, this is Craig Halverson."

Matthew watched his student's face pale at something the caller said. Though concerned, he knew better than to waste time asking questions that Craig couldn't answer while on the line.

Craig swallowed. "No, no insurance. Damn it, just do whatever it fucking takes, okay? Yes, I'll take care of it, and I'll be there. Thank you." He replaced the receiver in the cradle and stared numbly at the wall.

"Craig?" Matthew asked cautiously. "What's wrong?"

Bleakly, Craig looked at him. "Risa's in the hospital. They think she got electrocuted."

The implication of that, so close to Connor's call, sent a cold ball of fear and anger straight into Matthew's stomach. If Risa had been hurt by someone hunting him, and it wasn't just a random accident caused by Risa's penchant for child-like behavior, Matthew was determined that someone was going to pay dearly for that. Biting back the curse that sprang to his lips, he focused on Craig. "Go upstairs and pack an overnight bag," Matthew ordered. "Be back downstairs in ten minutes and don't forget your sword. We'll get the next train to New York."

"But you're supposed to be at work tomorrow," Craig protested. "You had that meeting with your boss about your annual review—"

"You let me worry about that," Matthew said. "Your sister needs you."

"Yes, but I could just ride up by myself."

"Not this time," Matthew countered. "Whoever was hunting me has friends, and I wouldn't put it past them to use you as bait for me."

Craig swallowed hard. "People really do that?" he asked weakly. "That isn't just movie stuff?"

"I wish it were," came the reply. "Don't worry. I won't let them get to you. Go on, pack, and we'll get going."

The younger man took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and nodded. "I won't be long," he promised as he walked out of the room.

******

Risa looked so still as she lay in the hospital bed. The tubes snaking into her body and the machines to which they were attached, along with the burn marks that marred her skin, made her look like something less human, and Craig fought the instinctive recoil that made him want to run screaming in the opposite direction. He knew that the doctor had told him that Risa had apparently been electrocuted, and that the damage she'd suffered was consistent with either a lightning strike or an accident with a power line. He sat down on the chair next to the bed and reached for the hand not hooked up to an IV. A memory flashed through him: Risa, at eight, insisting that she'd live forever, and Craig felt tears well in his eyes. He blinked past them, telling himself she wasn't dead yet, that Matthew had told him that sensing pre-immortals wasn't something all immortals could do, but Craig couldn't shake the dread that coursed through him. For a long moment, he tried to feel something other than the dull ache of something missing…something that had been her. Immortal presence washed over him, making him blink with the rush, but he didn't turn, didn't let go. At the moment, he didn't care who it was; he just wanted to know one thing.

"She's not going to recover, is she?"

"I'm not a doctor, Craig," Matthew answered quietly.

"But you know what happened to her. You promised you'd find out." Pleadingly, he looked at the FBI agent.

Matthew stared at his student. "This isn't the place to discuss this, Craig."

"Then where? I can't leave her! What if she wakes up again?"

"I left my cell phone number with the nurse's desk," Matthew told him. "They'll call us with any changes. Come. You'll do her no good by sitting here and waiting, especially if you're not going to say anything to her as the doctor suggested." He smiled compassionately at the younger man.

Still, Craig hesitated a moment longer. "I wish I knew what to say," he admitted helplessly. "I never had to say anything before; she was always the talkative one." Then he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "All right," he acquiesced. Reluctantly, Craig stood. Leaning over the side of the bed, he pressed a kiss to his sister's forehead. "I'll be back," he promised her in an awful imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger, then stepped away.

A few minutes' walk took them to the parking garage where Matthew had left his rental. Craig got into the late-model four-door sedan and waited, figuring that the older man would use the relative privacy of the vehicle to tell him what he wanted to know. He was surprised when Matthew started up the car and started driving. Noticing they weren't headed in the direction of their hotel, Craig asked, "Where are we going?"

"To get answers."

******

"Are you sure you don't want me running a trace on that guy who got away?" Nick asked Connor as they walked out of the antique shop's warehouse. Both men were covered in sweat; they'd been working on sword training, and the warehouse with its open spaces was the perfect place to do it. It had been the first suggestion Connor had made when Nick had woken up that morning, having slept twelve hours straight once the Quickening's effects had worn off. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate you keeping an eye on me while I crashed, but I really think you ought to have gone after him while you could still feel him in the city."

"How are you going to trace him?" Connor questioned logically. "You don't know where to begin."

"You know who it is." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the faint scar there, and tried to stifle a yawn.

Connor slanted a look at his student, a wry smile lighting his expression as the two men reached Connor's car. "I don't know everyone, Nick."

"No," Nick countered, "but you know this one." Copying Connor's action, Nick laid his sword in the back seat. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be going down to D.C. tomorrow and you wouldn't have insisted on this training tonight."

Connor smiled. "I know what I need to know. He threatened my student."

That stopped Nick, and he was just about to comment when Connor ordered suddenly, "Get in the car."

"Why?" Nick reflexively started to ask, then looked at his teacher over the convertible's top. Whatever he found in Connor's expression silenced him immediately, and the usually argumentative young immortal did as he was asked. Connor followed a heartbeat later, starting up the convertible and pulling away from the warehouse.

"Who is it?" Nick inquired worriedly after a few miles.

"Trouble," Connor answered shortly and then said nothing more.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the antique store. A dark blue rental sedan was parked in the otherwise empty gravel lot behind the store. Connor pulled up beside it and shut off the convertible's engine. As he did so, Nick felt the presence of another immortal in the area. Warily, he stepped out of the vehicle, pulling his sword out of the back seat as he did so.

To Nick's surprise, Connor took his katana out of the back seat, but did not approach the back door with caution as Nick expected. Instead, he pushed the door open – Nick spared a moment to think about how could that have happened, when they always locked it when they left – and walked inside. If Nick hadn't been following Connor, he knew he would've missed the swift movement that brought Connor's blade up to meet an unfamiliar broadsword, only heard the clang of metal stopping metal.

"You're trespassing on private property, lawman," Connor stated, his voice coldly amused.

"Really," Matthew drawled, his accent somehow emphasizing the dryness of his tone and underscoring the anger in his eyes. "You or your student is currently wanted for leaving the scene of a crime and you'd better hope to God it doesn't go to contributory negligence or manslaughter. Why don't you come in so we can talk?" He stepped back and gestured with his sword hand.

Connor narrowed his eyes, but put down his sword. "It is my place after all," he pointed out mockingly.

They boarded the elevator to the living quarters, Matthew in the lead, Connor in the middle, Nick trailing. Though he'd sensed another immortal other than Matthew, Nick was surprised to see Craig standing warily at the top of the stairs, sword in hand. The younger immortal greeted them formally, taking the swords from each of them in turn, his tone crisply professional as though he'd detached himself from his emotions, then stepped aside so that they could move into the living room. Nick heard the clink of the swords as they were deposited in the umbrella stand at the foot of the stairs as Craig brought up the rear of their little procession. As if this was an everyday occurrence, Connor sat down in the center of the half-round sofa, his posture apparently relaxed. Not certain of what was going on, Nick took his cue from Connor and sat to Connor's left. Craig milled restlessly, clearly not comfortable about something, but not willing to sit. Matthew stood in the center, in front of the coffee table, his eyes focused on Connor.

"Good to see you, Craig," Connor remarked, as though he'd come for a visit.

"I wish I could say the same," Craig replied, bitterness lacing his words. "Matthew said you had answers."

"Answers to what?" Nick interjected. "What's this about charging us with anything?"

"I would've expected more from the both of you," Matthew remarked, his entire body conveying cold rage. "You, Connor, are old enough to know better, and you, Nick, are former officer of the law, or so I'm told. You should've cleared the scene."

Nick glanced at Connor. "What scene?" Nick stalled, not liking the flash of anger he read in his mentor's eyes.

Matthew chuckled humorlessly. "Very sloppy, leaving evidence behind, injured witnesses."

"Who's hurt?" Connor asked steadily, his eyes never leaving the older immortal.

"My sister," Craig answered. "The doctors tell me she was electrocuted. Her boss found her outside the pool hall where she works."

"Which was where?" Nick asked.

"Six Pockets," Craig replied. "Next to Angelini's in Little Italy."

"I imagine," Matthew remarked too calmly, "if one went looking, they'd find a headless corpse not too far away. Perhaps in the back alley?"

Suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place. Nick started to speak, only to be silenced by a look from Connor. "Not if someone knows his job," Connor said.

That took Matthew by surprise. "Explain," he snapped, all traces of Southern patience gone.

"Don't tell me you haven't come across a Watcher or two over the years," Nick interjected. "They all can't be that good."

The look of puzzlement on Matthew's face betrayed the fact that yes, they'd been very good.

"They're a group of mortals," Nick explained. "They claim to record the history of immortals; they're not supposed to interfere."

"Spies," Connor added succinctly, "but they have their uses, such as keeping the police out of immortal business." He let that information sink in before adding, "They have had their share of Hunters as well, and my kinsman paid dearly to keep them from exposing all of us." In a dangerous tone, he continued, "Katarina was not working alone, Matthew of Salisbury, and Nick almost lost his head for it to the immortal she was with. You'll excuse us if neither of us felt like staying to find out if their Watchers played by the rules."

Nick watched as Matthew absorbed the information before sitting down on the sofa an arm's length away from where he sat.

"This other immortal still has his head," Matthew deduced. "I didn't think you were coming to see the cherry trees in bloom, Connor, but I was hoping you weren't coming to headhunt."

"You'd do the same if someone threatened your student," Connor returned evenly and waited to nod to him until Matthew's eyes admitted the fact.

"I'm surprised you didn't go after him immediately."

"It was Nick's first."

Nick suddenly found himself the target of an altogether too-understanding gaze. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he shifted position in response.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said gently. "When the Quickening started, did you see a young woman in the area?"

The last piece of the puzzle snapped into the frame, and Nick swallowed. "She came out of a doorway across the alley. I shouted for her to stay back, but she kept coming forward, and then I couldn't think about her anymore. I didn't see her when we left; I assumed she got out of the way." Absently, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to stop when his fingers grazed the thin scar there. Awkwardly, he dropped his hand. "I wasn't thinking too clearly then."

"Why not?" Craig demanded, suddenly in front of Nick.

Nick met the younger immortal's angry eyes. "Because I'd just taken my first Quickening, and it was all I could do to think of myself. I'm sure Matthew's warned you about that already."

"My sister's in the hospital because of you."

"She saw lightning and wanted to come closer?" Nick asked incredulously. "What kind of fool does that?"

Craig held his gaze a moment longer, then dropped it and stepped back. He glanced at Matthew, then, biting his lip, admitted, "Risa's mildly retarded. She hit her head on a trampoline when we were kids." He took a deep breath. "She doesn't always remember not to go places or touch things she shouldn't."

"If you were watching, you should've made sure she wasn't around," Matthew chided Connor.

"I would have," came the mild retort, "if I hadn't run into a group of gang members who insisted on getting in my way. When I saw the woman on the ground, I assumed she was just a new Watcher, not prepared for the sight of someone's head coming off."

"You didn't think she was hit by the Quickening?" Matthew grilled him.

Connor shook his head. "I saw a sword at my student's neck," he said simply.

Matthew looked at Nick. "Katarina almost took your head?" He sounded surprised.

"No, her friend almost did." He paused, green eyes darkening towards brown as he considered Matthew's phrasing. "You knew her?"

"If you mean Katarina von Merenburg, yes, I knew her. She was a child when I last saw her." He seemed puzzled. "She was hunting me?"

"Claimed you stole something from her."

Matthew shook his head, clearly bewildered. "She was twelve when I last saw her. I'd thought she'd be immortal, but I didn't stay to find out; I had been in the city to check on some property I owned and needed to get back home. I knew Jaime would keep an eye on her for me."

"Jaime?" Connor prompted.

"Jaime Silva y de Gregorio," Matthew clarified. "It was after the war, and the branch of the Romanov family that had adopted Katarina was living in London. Jaime was working as the majordomo of the von Merenburg house. He'd studied under one of my students who'd found him in the Philippines thirty years earlier; I spent most of my time trying to convince him that he didn't have to spend the rest of his life being a butler, but Jaime was content, so I let him be. I told him to look after Katarina and teach her when the time came." Matthew rolled his shoulders in a gesture that conveyed his confusion. "I have no idea why she'd want me dead."

"Well, she did, and unless you have a good way of communicating with the dead, we won't ever know," Nick commented.

"Can we back up a bit? 'Cause I don't get it," Craig interjected. "How's this all connected to my sister?"

Connor looked expectantly at Matthew, who glared back, clearly not liking being forced into stating the facts. "When Nick took the Quickening from Katarina, your sister got a bolt of it. If a mortal gets too close, they will be electrocuted. Get close enough, and it will kill them instantly."

"I never wanted to get close," Nick put in. "Looked dangerous enough from a distance."

"But Risa will get better, right?" Craig asked anxiously.

Nick glanced at the two older immortals and saw their grim expressions. "I can't speak for them; I'm just an ex-cop. Ever been a doctor, Connor, Matthew?"

"Not recently," Matthew admitted, glancing at Connor, who shook his head. "Must admit, I haven't been a doctor since they started reattaching limbs instead of hacking them off."

Craig stared at Matthew. "So what now? You're just going to go after this other immortal, and then what? Killing him isn't going to help my sister."

That question brought the combined attention of the three older immortals on Craig. Defensively, he said, "Look, if you think killing him is going to solve something, I know I'm not gonna stop you because you're all older and better than me. I just want my sister to be well again, and I don't really care about anything else. There's gotta be something you guys know that will fix her and get her well."

"Not for this," Matthew said gently.

"Then why go after this guy at all?"

"Because he tried to kill me," Nick responded, "in order to get to Matthew." He looked at Connor and Matthew. "This is one time I'll turn the job of going after that bastard over to someone else. I want him, but I'd rather not take another Quickening. The first one was bad enough."

"So call the cops on him or something," Craig said crossly. He'd started pacing again, hugging his stomach.

"You think the cops can handle someone like him?" Nick shot back. "They have no clue what they're dealing with."

"He's immortal, not some space alien."

Connor chuckled and looked pointedly at Matthew.

"I'd rather not involve the police," Matthew stated. One arm reached out and stilled Craig's restless movement. "Craig, being immortal doesn't mean having all the answers, or having all the expertise. It's not that I don't want to help, or that any of us don't want to help. It's simply that none of us can help. I don't believe I've ever heard of an immortal who specialized in electrical damage to mortals. If I did, I'd be asking for help right now. As it is, few enough of us go into any type of medicine. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do for Risa except wait."

Craig's sullen expression spoke volumes about what he thought of that. Shrugging off the hand that gripped his arm, he turned his back on the others and stalked to the windows, out of hearing range.

Matthew swore, and started after Craig. Connor's words stopped him. "Leave him be, Matthew. He's not listening to anyone right now," Connor reminded him quietly. "His sister's all he's thinking of." His tone said clearly that Matthew should remember what that kind of grief and focus felt like.

"What happens if she dies?" Nick wondered, keeping his voice low. "Didn't Craig say Risa was his twin sister? Won't she be immortal?"

"I don't know," Matthew returned.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Nick retorted impatiently. "I can't believe there haven't been twins who were immortal."

"There have been," Connor said. "Take the head of one and the other dies."

"Not always," Matthew countered. "At least," he amended, "that's what I heard. The only ones I knew personally died just off of holy ground."

"Have you met Risa?" Nick asked.

"Yes, but figuring out whether someone will be immortal isn't something I do well. In Risa's case, I couldn't tell." He paused. "I'm not certain it would be a good thing, either."

Nick snorted. "That would be an understatement. It's enough of a night—" He caught Connor's narrowed gaze, saw the mild rebuke in his mentor's eyes, and broke off before he could continue with his bitterness. Connor had once offered him the choice to get out of the Game if he really wanted; Nick just had a difficult time accepting that this was his life now.

Sighing deeply, Nick started again. "I meant, if Risa's mildly retarded, and she turns out to be one of us, that wouldn't be good. She'd be at a disadvantage right from the start, and I can't see Craig not wanting to spend most of his time protecting her. You'll excuse me if I happen to believe that sucks worse than finding out about the Game." He glanced at the other two immortals and saw confirmation of his assessment of Risa's situation in their expressions. "Since we can't do anything about that, let's get this bastard who tried to kill me."

Connor smiled wolfishly. "Ready to meet a Watcher, Matthew?"

******

Matthew wasn't sure what he expected to see when he and Connor went downstairs and across the street to a small bookstore with the name of Shakespeare and Company. It certainly wasn't a petite woman with shoulder-length flame-red hair, a heart-shaped face, and a full figure that threatened to burst out of the skin-tight leather-and-denim outfit she wore. Complimentary jewelry and impossibly high heels finished her outfit. At first glance, she seemed to be completely absorbed in reading a thick paperback thriller as she leaned on the counter beside the register, so much so that the jingling of the bell hanging over the front door didn't seem to faze her. The register counter had been placed on a platform and set in the corner of the store near the front entrance, giving the woman a clear view of almost anyone in the store.

Almost absently, she advanced the register tape a few inches and tore off a section, marking her place in her book. Lifting her gold-green eyes to stare directly at Connor, she spoke. Her words came in rapid-fire French. "I told you, I will get into trouble if they know I am giving you information. I want to stay here, and I am already in trouble for not being discreet enough."

"Monique," Connor said soothingly, "I just wanted you to meet someone."

That narrowed her eyes, then she took a second look at the man standing beside Connor and blanched. "You are not friends," she accused.

Matthew slid a look at Connor. "No," he acknowledged cheerfully, answering her in French. "But I trust him with my life."

Connor chuckled. "Monique Le Due, may I present Matthew McCormick. Matthew, this is Monique Le Due, my current Watcher, and I suspect, Nick's as well."

"You only wish I was yours," Monique snapped, "instead of that old fool, Prakash, who cannot follow you to save his life, and must always ask me to find out what you're doing. As if I would always tell him; he should know how to do his job by now." Ignoring Connor, she stepped down from behind the register and moved to stand in front of Matthew. Even with the heels, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. Despite the form-fitting denim and leather skirt she wore, she curtsied in a fashion that was more of a quick ankle-crossing, up-and-down body movement than a true curtsey, then tilted her head up to meet Matthew's amused eyes. "I have read of you."

"I have not," Matthew returned evenly. He smiled then, and gestured to one of the nearby big, ratty, overstuffed chairs that surrounded a low table scattered with books that needed reshelving. "Shall we get acquainted?"

She hesitated, clearly not fooled by his charm, then nodded. Once they were seated, she began, "The Watchers have been around since Gilgamesh. We are the recorders of the history of immortals. We are sworn to observe, record, and never interfere. We take that oath, and do our best to uphold it. There was a time when talking about the Watchers to an immortal would be a treasonable offense; that time is passing, but we do not reveal ourselves lightly."

"I take it the records you keep are not shared with immortals, either," Matthew deduced.

"No. That might commence the Gathering, and we have no desire to see you all dead." Her tone implied that desire was akin to wanting the world to end by nuclear war.

"What if I were to subpoena the records?"

"You would find nothing that gave you anything of value." Her tone left no doubt in Matthew's mind that would be the case—certainly by the time he actually received the papers.

"Then perhaps you might be inclined to share unofficially. I would hate to have to arrest such a lovely, articulate woman as yourself."

"I might." She paused, and then leveled a look at Connor. "If you're not listening."

Connor didn't move from the relaxed position lounging hipshot against the counter; he appeared immovable.

"You heard the lady," Matthew reminded him with a complete lack of sympathy for the Highlander's curiosity. "Or is your French that rusty?"

Connor shot him a look that clearly said otherwise, but rose to his feet and moved to another part of the bookstore.

Once he was out of hearing range, Monique began to speak. "The immortal you seek was Katarina's teacher. He is a bastard, a charmer, and a thief, and Katarina killed for him, but he never let her take the Quickenings. I heard they were staying in a hotel outside the city. Katarina is arrogant; she will never change her name, and throws a tantrum everywhere she goes if they do not spell her name exactly."

Matthew recognized what Monique was doing – giving him just enough information that he would have to research the rest. What she'd given him didn't exactly break her Oath, but it treaded a very fine line. He tried to charm her into telling him more, but she held firm.

Frustrated, Matthew left the bookstore with Connor. "You talk to her often?" Matthew asked him, dropping back into English.

Connor smiled. "No. This was the second time I've spoken to her, but I thought you could charm her."

Matthew glared at the younger man, then shook his head. "I need to make some calls based on what she gave me," he told Connor.

Connor nodded briefly, acknowledging the statement, and the two men walked in silence back to the antique store.

******

"Look, Bert, I'm telling you, the woman you sent me to meet tried to kill me," Nick was arguing as Connor and Matthew returned. He faced the elevator doors, the cordless phone in one hand, the other holding a gun pointed at the doors. He eased off the safety once he recognized the two immortals and started pacing. "Yes, damn it, I want to know who she was and where she was staying. You think I left you a message just because I wanted to chat?"

Sotto voce, Matthew asked Connor as they stepped off the elevator, "You did tell him a bullet wouldn't slow us down much?"

Connor's reply to that question was a narrow-eyed glare followed by the casual comment, "It depends on where the bullet hits, doesn't it?"

Not wanting to give the Highlander the satisfaction of a reply, Matthew left Connor to do whatever he felt was necessary, avoided Nick, and searched for Craig. He found him in the store, drifting through the various pieces on display.

Craig turned at his arrival, his sword at the ready. He relaxed when he recognized Matthew.

"Nick wanted me upstairs with him," he said almost defiantly. "Then he got a phone call and I couldn't stand to listen anymore."

"You left him without letting him know where you were going."

"He was on the phone! Besides, he could still feel me, right?"

"Unless he's one of the few immortals who can tell someone by their signature, there's no way he could tell if it was you or some other immortal," Matthew informed him.

He paused to let that sink into Craig's brain, but Craig remained defiant.

"I'm just glad that nothing happened," Matthew continued. "Now, I need to make some phone calls to find where this other immortal is. I may have to leave, and it would ease my mind if you were with either Connor or Nick, preferably where they can protect you if it comes to that. If you'd rather be with your sister, I'm sure one of them would be willing to accompany you."

"Baby-sit me, you mean," Craig said sourly, turning away to stare into the display case next to the register.

"Craig." Matthew's voice commanded attention.

Startled, for he had never heard a Southern voice sound like the crack of a whip, Craig turned sharply. "What?" he demanded crossly, clearly caught between being embarrassed at being startled and annoyance.

"Whatever happens, I can't fix your sister so she's well again. That's beyond any capability I have at this moment. If you have a problem with Nick, I suggest you take it up with him, but I will not leave you alone when another immortal is out there looking for any edge that will grant him my head. I lost a student once because I went to face a challenger; I will not risk losing another one, not when I have people who are willing to take on the responsibility for you." Matthew paused as he stared at Craig. "I understand Nick's not one of your favorite people in the world right now, but I'd recommend not losing your head to save your face."

With that, Matthew left the room. Craig stared at the space where he'd been, still angered by Matthew's presumptuous manner. Then the words Matthew had spoken registered. Swearing, Craig went upstairs to apologize.

******

Matthew wasn't above using his federal connections to find what he sought. In this case, he knew it would be quicker for him to have someone else run the search to match Katarina's name with a hotel room. He also needed to find somewhere out of prying eyes to fight. Nick helped as well, putting pressure on his friend Bert Myers to come up with additional data. Three hours later, Matthew and Nick's efforts were rewarded.

"I see you got the message I left," Jaime said once the concierge had connected Matthew with Jaime's room. "I do so love friendships. Imagine my delight when I ran into Carl Robinson and he said you'd met the Highlander at last. It made tracking you down so much easier."

Matthew swore silently. The fact that Matthew knew both Highlanders was something he'd never mentioned to Carl; he'd never had any reason to do so. While Connor had never claimed New York as his territory, it was common knowledge that he lived there and was generally the only immortal in the city. For a moment, Matthew wished Jaime had picked the younger Highlander, Duncan, who lived on the other side of the country. If he had, then perhaps Risa wouldn't have gotten hurt.

Even as those thoughts flashed through Matthew's mind, he was responding to Jaime's words. "So you've found me. There's an abandoned warehouse three streets northwest of your location; the sign on it reads 'Haywood Eastern.' Meet me there at 6:30 a.m."

Hanging up his cell phone, he turned to head out to the hotel where Jaime was staying. His path was blocked by Connor, who'd graciously allowed Matthew the use of the guest room while he and Nick kept Craig occupied in the living room.

"Going somewhere?"

Matthew looked at the Highlander. "Jaime is my problem. I'm the one he's after." In a flat, humorless voice, Matthew added, "I know you want to go after him for what he did to Nick; I'm not denying that you have an obligation there or that I wouldn't feel the same if it was my student. I do recall, though, that Nick said he didn't care which of us took care of Jaime. Do you really want to debate this? It's almost midnight, and I'd rather skip the whole review of right of challenge protocol."

Connor returned the stare, his arms loosely crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. For a moment, Matthew was convinced that the younger immortal would force the issue, demand that he take Jaime in retaliation for almost killing Nick. Then Connor smiled coldly.

"No," he replied. "But when you leave to meet Jaime, you're not going alone."

Matthew returned the smile. "I didn't think I would be."

******

Morning proved rainy, with the promise of a winter storm. The warehouse had been, as Nick had promised based on the data he'd been able to gather, abandoned. From the looks of it, it hadn't been standing empty for long, the lock too new-looking, the signs identifying the employee parking still in place. Matthew picked the lock on one of the dock bay doors and entered the building, Connor a step behind him. Inside, they found that the previous tenants had been ruthlessly efficient on tearing out the interior; nothing remained except shells of offices lining the far wall and the overhead ceiling lights. What was more important to Matthew, though, was that the majority of the floor was bare, giving him the combat room he needed. The worrisome part was that the roof was leaking; pools of water were forming on the concrete floor, but it was too late to do much about it.

Nick had taken Craig to the hospital to visit Risa. Though Craig was still not happy with the turn of events, he'd accepted that Nick hadn't been able to stop what happened, and had apologized for his anger. He'd also agreed to stay within sight of the ex-cop, and not leave the hospital until Nick had received word of the outcome of the morning challenge. The seriousness of what was to come had made for a mostly silent parting.

Now Matthew pushed the thoughts of his student and of Connor's out of his mind. He'd already taken off his coat and left it in Connor's car. Having arrived early, Matthew took advantage of the time to stretch his muscles and prepare his mind. His broadsword was a familiar friend, and a reassuring one at that.

Fifteen minutes later, Jaime arrived. He was the same height as Matthew was, with skin the color of milk chocolate cream, dark black hair and a surprisingly broad, husky, muscular build. Even dressed in a pair of black jeans and a white oxford as Jaime was, it was easy to imagine him as some tribal warrior, one who would've been chosen to be the strongest in any competition. He carried what was either an extra-long machete or perhaps a short sword. His first glance took in Connor, who lounged against one wall, then Matthew, who stood in the middle of the floor, waiting and ready.

Suddenly, Jaime grinned. Strolling forward, he stopped just out of Matthew's striking range. "I have been dreaming of this morning for years," he remarked as he began circling, watching for Matthew's first attack and waiting for an opening to strike. "It's nothing personal, you understand," Jaime declared. "You were the one who said I should be somebody. I got to thinking about that. Why not be the One? I take your head, and then I'll be strong enough to take the Highlander." That earned him a glare from Connor, but Jaime took no notice as he continued speaking. "It's all a matter of mathematical calculation, you see. I ran across another one of us who decreed that I was statistically beneath him and therefore not worth taking. You'll understand when I tell you that really pissed me off." His free hand underscored his words.

"What about Katarina?"

"She was a pawn," Jaime said. "I told her you had proof that she was a blood descendant of the Romanovs, and she believed me. I taught her, why shouldn't she?" Jaime shrugged, then used the movement to attack. He moved more rapidly than Matthew had anticipated, forcing him to resort to sheer blocking skill as the sword struck multiple times. At last, Matthew made Jaime retreat, but still the younger immortal's cocky smile never wavered. "I was so hoping that you'd take her head. She hated commoners, but she hated you most of all."

"Why?" Matthew knew Jaime was trying to bait him, trying to make him lose his composure, and for the moment, Matthew was content to let him think it was working. Doing so let Matthew figure out Jaime's weak points, test his defenses, while getting the answers he wanted. It also gave him a chance to reevaluate strategy. He knew one of the strengths of Jaime's teacher had been her ability to pick up new fighting forms. If she had taught Jaime the same, he couldn't expect that Jaime's style would be consistently anything but unpredictable. Silently, Matthew cursed the fact he hadn't remembered that earlier. Still, he wasn't without his own resources.

Jaime smiled. "Because I told her you were the reason she was immortal, and had to leave her family." He smiled. "I blamed you for everything that went wrong." Jaime feinted with his sword, then struck with his left foot. The fast-moving kick was meant for Matthew's head, to knock him unconscious or at least crack his jawbone. Matthew had stepped to one side in the process of defending against the feint. The movement saved him from unconsciousness, but it didn't prevent his collarbone from cracking with the impact of the hit.

Bracing himself against the pain, praying that immortal healing during battle would be faster than usual, Matthew put seven hundred years' worth of fighting experience into his next action. Suspecting that Jaime was counting on the kick to give him an edge, Matthew didn't grant it to him. Instead, he attacked, using pommel and hilt strikes to counter Jaime's faster movements, throwing in punches where he could. The floor was almost covered in water now, making traction difficult.

For someone of his size, Jaime was quick, easily getting within Matthew's range. He used his long machete as if it was an extension of his hand, and his hands and feet were weapons onto themselves. Having seen that the kick didn't work according to his plan, he adjusted accordingly, and tried every trick he had in his pocket. The battle quickly became a messy, blood-drawing combination of hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting. By the time Matthew's collarbone had healed, Jaime had succeeded in breaking Matthew's left arm, which Matthew had been using as his sword arm, and had, with the help of the slick floor, managed to bring Matthew to his knees.

Jaime smiled in satisfaction and prepared for a final blow. In that moment, Matthew tossed his sword to his right hand and brought his blade across Jaime's belly while leaning back. Instinctively, Jaime doubled over. Matthew wasted no time in bringing his sword back across the other immortal's body in a backhand swing, cutting Jaime's head off almost from underneath. Jaime's head dropped into Matthew's lap, then as Matthew straightened, rolled to the floor.

The Quickening was intense; Jaime had managed to take a number of heads, and doing so had multiplied his power beyond what Matthew had been expecting. He screamed out his name as the power tried to sear Jaime's personality onto his, denying its intentions. As the lightning danced around and through him, Matthew breathed deep, remembering who he was and all he had been. With almost an angry hiss, the new Quickening surrendered to his will and became a part of him.

Matthew wasn't aware he'd even closed his eyes until he felt/heard Connor draw near. Snapping them open, he tilted his gaze upward until Connor crouched down beside him.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

"He broke my kneecaps with that last kick of his," Matthew said as a new wave of pain chose that moment to remind him of that particular event. Gritting his teeth, he added, "Help me put them back in alignment and then we'll see."

Connor nodded. "Here or outside?"

"I'm wet anyway. Do it now."

Unceremoniously, Connor pushed Matthew onto his back. Both men clearly heard the snap of bone as Connor pulled Matthew's knees, then Matthew's left arm, into alignment. Then immortal healing took over, knitting bone, muscle, and ligaments together in what seemed like an agonizingly painful process, though it only took minutes. In the silence of two men who didn't need words to know they would be there for each other when it mattered, Connor braced him. The contact reassured Matthew, grounded him as little else at that moment would. There were few men – mortal and immortal – who Matthew trusted to shield and support him like this, and it never ceased to amuse him that one of those few was someone who didn't fit a simple definition of either "friend" or "enemy". The description no longer mattered, especially in times like this one, where just having someone to lean on while his body healed itself made the waiting more bearable and the victory that much sweeter.

At last, Matthew felt healed enough to stand.

By unspoken agreement, Matthew and Connor cleared the scene of any incriminating evidence, then left.

******

The rain had turned to sleet by the time Matthew changed clothes and got to the hospital. Connor had waited for Matthew, as neither had wanted to alarm the younger immortals by showing up alone. As they drew near Risa's room, they felt the hum of immortality, and saw Nick waiting outside the room. Matthew's steps slowed as he approached Nick and read the grim expression on his face.

"How are they?" he asked.

"Craig is with her," Nick said quietly. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and looked as though he resented feeling helpless. "I'd rather he was still mad at me – he's too calm about everything. I think he's in shock but won't admit it; the doctor was extremely blunt about what Risa's chances were when we talked to him this morning. Risa's still in a coma, breathing on her own, but she hasn't woken up yet." He paused, and then glanced at Matthew and Connor. "Jaime?"

"Not a problem anymore," Matthew answered.

"Glad to hear it." Unconsciously, Nick rubbed his neck. "Bastard deserved it." He gestured towards the room. "So what do we do next? He's not going to leave his sister any time soon."

Suddenly, they heard Craig cry out and the sound of alarms come from Risa's room. Craig had been sitting quietly, holding his sister's hand when she suddenly took a little gasping breath and the line monitoring her heart beat suddenly went flat. Alarms began screeching, and nurses and doctors came running through the door. They hastily tried to push Craig out of the room, but, unwilling to abandon his sister, he stepped to the side, mostly hidden by the curtain surrounding the bed, and away from the chaos. Half afraid of what the outcome would be, he looked on as the doctors and nurses worked on his sister, sticking her with needles and pounding on her chest. A few minutes later, a cart was wheeled into the room, and as a nurse bared her chest, the doctor spread gel on some paddles. The paddles were placed on his sister's chest, and at a shout of, "Clear!", an electrical shock was applied to her chest. As her body arched from the electrical shock, a bolt of what appeared to be lightning left her body and headed straight for Craig. He gasped as the force of his sister's Quickening hit him, and the room erupted into even further chaos.

At that instant, the sensation of new immortality surged through all three of the immortals waiting in the hall, and then, incredibly, died. Lightning flashed into the corridor as the sound of equipment shattering and alarms going off resounded through the hall. Craig was pushed into the hallway as he was finally noticed by the doctors and nurses. Connor, who'd been nearest the door, caught him as he stumbled, then helped him lean against the wall of the corridor.

"I felt her," Craig said brokenly. "For one minute, she was there, and alive, and then she wasn't, and then this—light—" He broke off, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking silently. "She's gone, oh God she's gone, I can't believe she's gone, and she's inside me, and she, oh God, she—"

Nick closed his eyes, unable to bear the implication in Craig's words. Taking a deep breath, he walked away, one hand clenching and unclenching in apparent frustration at the injustice that had occurred.

Matthew looked at Connor, confused. All the evidence pointed to a Quickening, but it didn't make sense. He'd often wondered, though, what happened to pre-immortals who never died violent deaths. From the look on Connor's face, he didn't understand it either, and Matthew took a half step towards the room, only to be repelled at the threshold. The doctors and nurses inside were still frantically trying to revive Risa, but within half an hour, it was done. Risa was gone.

Deeply shaken, Matthew turned to his student. "Come on, Craig," he urged quietly. "Let's go somewhere else."

Numbly, Craig nodded, tears drying on his cheeks as he tried to put on a stoic face, and stood upright just as a nurse bustled into the hallway, clipboard in hand. Neatly, Connor cut her off before she could reach Craig. Her words of protest died unspoken as she took in Connor's forbidding expression. Matthew had time to see Connor snag the clipboard out of her unresisting arms before Matthew wrapped a protective arm around Craig and guided him down the hallway opposite the direction in which Nick had gone. There would be time enough for paperwork and other administrative details related to Risa's death, and Matthew trusted that Connor would handle as much as he could until then. Right now, all that mattered was getting Craig some privacy to grieve.

******

The mall was crowded with shoppers, yet Craig didn't hear any of the noise they made. He was only aware of his sister beside him, her hand grasping his. She felt alive. She felt real. He could smell the strawberry shampoo she used, hear the jingle of the bell earrings she wore, and it dawned on him that this was just like the last time he'd seen her, right down to the clothes they'd worn as they'd shopped for mid-January bargains.

She turned her head and smiled at him as if he'd won a prize, then looked at the display of a store they were passing. Everything seemed to be floating past him except for the space he and Risa occupied, and he didn't even feel like he was walking so much as drifting forward. He shrugged off the odd feeling and concentrated on the pleasure of seeing his sister again. Wanting to stop, needing to hold her close so he could be sure this wasn't a dream, he tugged on her hand, but she just shook her head and moved into the shop.

Unable to do anything but follow lest his arm be yanked from its socket (and he didn't want to think about how immortal healing worked on that kind of injury), Craig quickly discovered the reason for Risa's interest. She grabbed a thick cable sweater from a display table in the center of the shop floor near the front entrance and held it up against his chest.

"You shouldn't be cold in this," she declared.

"I'm not worried about cold," he protested.

"But you're always cold now." She frowned and clasped the sweater to her breasts. "You never smile."

Now he knew this wasn't real; there was only one way she'd know he hadn't had much cause to smile. "You're dead."

"Not in dreams," she reminded him. "You told me that when Mom and Dad died. We can pretend forever here."

"But I don't want to pretend," he argued. "I want this to be real."

She ducked her head and looked at him through the curtain of her hair with a sad but amused expression on her face. "I love you, but you want everything." Her tone held affectionate exasperation as she put the sweater back on the table. "You got me." She held out her arms and hugged him. He went to hug her back, but she passed right through him, as unsubstantial as any ghost, and when he turned to find her, she was gone.

The dream faded as Craig awoke, his sister's name on his lips, and tears on his cheeks. Risa had never been that wise, never been that coherent when she'd been alive…and he knew that in his dreams she was that way. The realization only increased the tears even as he felt an odd sense of peace with the knowledge that now he would never entirely lose her. When his crying was spent, Craig rose, aware he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and quietly made his way downstairs.

******

"Oh, there you are," Matthew remarked as he walked out onto the back porch a few hours later. Though it was now officially spring, there was still a chill in the early morning air, making Matthew glad he'd worn a sweater. "I was wondering where you'd gone."

He looked at his student, who was seated in the wide wooden swing that hung from the back porch roof, one hiking boot-clad foot propped against the porch rail, keeping the swing angled. It had been a month since Risa's death. During that time, Craig had said little about her. Worried, Matthew had begun to wonder if taking a Quickening that way had damaged Craig beyond repair, but he caught enough glimpses of the young man he'd come to know before Risa's death to realize that Craig was just grieving at his own pace. The hospital had waived all expenses related to Risa's care, not wanting a lawsuit over what the administrators were calling a freak power surge, but that hadn't mattered much to either Craig or Matthew.

Craig's sword lay beside his body on the seat. Seeing Matthew, Craig moved the weapon to make room, but Matthew shook his head, refusing the offer, and chose instead to lean against the railing so he could face his student. Shrugging, Craig moved the sword back to its original position.

"I promised her that when the snow thawed, we'd come out here and swing," Craig commented after several minutes of silence. "She loved swings." He chuckled, clearly remembering. "I used to have this picture of her in her senior prom dress, sitting on the swings at the elementary school up the street from where we lived. There she was in this white satin and lace frilly thing, one of the few dresses I'd ever seen her in all our lives, looking like she was a bride or something, and sitting on this rusted out swing with the happiest smile on her face as she looked up at her date." He was quiet a moment. "Steve was my best friend, and he loved Risa."

"What happened?" Matthew asked gently.

"He was in love with me too." Now Craig shrugged awkwardly. "I was okay with that. Love is blind, right? I just didn't feel the same way. I mean, it was one thing to kiss a guy on a dare, but go all the way? I guess I could if it was somebody I loved more than anything, but that somebody wasn't Steve. I told him that, and after a while, he couldn't handle it anymore." Craig snorted. "Wonder what he'd do if I told him I had a part of my sister inside me?"

"Craig," the older immortal began helplessly.

Then Craig's cynicism faded. "I wouldn't tell anyone," he said quietly. "Besides, even if she'd lived, what kind of life would she have? I mean, I still have the scar on my leg from when I fell off my skateboard when I was twelve, trying to mimic something I'd seen on TV. That would mean she probably would still be retarded, and still have whatever damage the Quickening did to her. Doesn't sound like much of a life to me. Least this way I didn't have to kill her myself."

"You've thought this through."

Craig lifted his shoulders slightly. "After the funeral, Nick told me something that stuck in my head. He said I had a choice to make. I could live the rest of my life as best as I can, knowing that if my sister had lived, I would've continued to shield her, to protect her, to lie to her about the things I knew she wouldn't understand. Or I could die, and no one would know the man I could be because my sister died." Craig chuckled softly. "I told him he should talk, Mr. I-Hate-Being-Immortal."

Matthew couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at his lips at that. Smoothly, he prompted, "So what did he say to that?"

"He said that there were parts he could do without, but he was finding that it wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought. He said he was beginning to understand that you have to play the hand you're dealt, and it's not always the best one in the pack. You have to live with that hand until you get a better deal." Craig breathed deeply and exhaled. "Personally, I'd much rather be alive than be dead. I know Risa would've wanted me alive." He met his teacher's eyes. "I know the doctor ruled her death a result of complications from a lightning strike, but...I didn't understand how that could happen. She looked like she was going to recover." He was quiet a moment, looking off into the backyard. "I looked it up on the Internet last night. If she'd recovered, she would've been pretty messed up, and she was already messed up as it was. She would've needed someone to protect her, and...." Now he swallowed and exhaled heavily. "I would've done it, but I'd be living my life for her. I didn't want that before."

Anxiously he looked at Matthew. "It's not wrong to think that, is it?"

"No, Craig. It's not wrong. Nick is missing the point, which is Connor's problem. I'd rather you didn't, however. It's immortal life, Craig. If you aren't going to live, there's very little point in it." Matthew smiled at him then. "And Risa was very, very alive. I doubt she'd have wanted any less for you, you know."

More seriously he added, "Whether this is a curse or a gift is up to you. 'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.' You're going to have to decide what you think about it. I'll help you as much as I can, but it's ultimately up to you."

Craig nodded. "I figured that. That's why I kinda shut you out for a few weeks; I had to think about what I wanted." He said nothing for a long moment as he stared out at the back yard, and then sighed. "I'm not Nick. I know that much." He chuckled suddenly and glanced up at Matthew. "For one thing, I dress better than he does."

That comment made Matthew smile.

"Besides," Craig continued, "the way I figure it, you're giving me the chance of a lifetime – to learn all the stuff I couldn't afford to go to college to learn, and then some, and while it would've been nice to share some of it with Risa, there's no way I would've or could've ever told her everything." He took a deep breath. "I'll miss her the rest of my life, just like I miss our parents, but...how many people can say that they know their sister died loving them, and that they got a piece of her inside them for always?" Not waiting for Matthew's reply, Craig rushed on. "I got that, and I can't stop going on just because I wanted Risa to be alive. Nobody in the world can change that." His hand brushed the sword on the swing and he closed his eyes briefly as if to blink away tears. "If I look at her…at her Quickening as a gift, then I gotta treasure it, take the best of it, make it work for me. She loved life and everything in it. That's not a bad gift to get."

Relief swelled through Matthew at Craig's words. "Sounds as though you've thought this through," he remarked.

Craig slanted a wry look over at his teacher. "I was paying attention when you showed me how to analyze a situation and prepare a strategy for dealing with it," he reminded him. "You thought I was just in a hurry to go shopping, didn't you?"

"Actually," Matthew admitted candidly, "yes."

Craig laughed, the sound free of grief. "Well," he admitted freely, "I was, but then you started talking, and I wasn't in a hurry anymore."

For a long minute, Matthew stared at Craig. Then he began chuckling ruefully. "I'd been wondering about that," he remarked. "First time I ever had to remind you that you wouldn't have enough time to get new clothes before the stores closed." Silently reassured by the younger man's words, Matthew began to gently tease his student as the chill in the morning air dissipated. Though he knew it would be a long time before Craig was fully at peace with his sister's death, Matthew recognized the morning's conversation as the start of that healing. If Craig could deal with this, then life had enormous possibilities for him, and Matthew wanted to make sure that Craig got the chance to enjoy them.

For now, though, the older immortal simply enjoyed the simple pleasure of baiting his student as the sun came peeking out of the clouds with the promise of a warm spring day.

*** Finis ***
©3.2.01 Raine Wynd

Notes and Miscellany

Thank you to my betas and information sources:

• James McDonald, who let me bounce this idea off him for four months during lunch
• Rhiannon Shaw, who got this plot bunny hopping my way and helped keep it going, and who first gave me a Matthew Muse
• Misha , whose numerous suggestions and superfast betaing helped me stay motivated to finish it
• and last but not least, Tansy, whose medical insight as well as NYC info was invaluable.
• the Eyrie for the Amtrak information, inspiration, and encouragement
• to Dana Woods, for the NYC phone company information
• Parda and Celedon, for helping me with the layout of Connor's loft
• and to all my friends, for being there when I needed you.

Notes:

1. Risa is based on a nickname for "Clarisa" I once heard someone use, hence the pronunciation of Risa to rhyme with "Lisa."

2. I did a lot more research for this one than I normally do for my fiction. This plot bunny was furthered when I came across this link, http://www.gen.umn.edu/faculty_staff/jensen/1135/example_student_projects/Sum2000/Twins/twins.html, in which the following tidbit was mentioned:

Two eggs are released by the ovaries and each egg is fertilized by a different father. These fraternal twins, known as "twins of two", are genetically half-siblings and share 25% of their DNA. Since I'm a half-sibling myself, I wondered just what would happen if one twin was fully immortal and the other wasn't?

3. Christmas during the Middle Ages info: http://www.godecookery.com/mtales/mtales09.htm

4. I found a Russian royal genealogy at http://www.royalrussia.org; I take full blame for any leaps of fiction I've created based upon that information.

5. The immortal that decreed Jaime's head not worthy of taking is Stephan Collier from the Highlander the Raven episode "Immunity."

6. Characters of mine who wandered into this story from elsewhere: Nina the magician is Nina Williams, from Never Swear on the Lady's Honor; this is an AU for her. Monique Le Due is Nick's Watcher in the Code of Silence trilogy, which begins with A Kind of Madness.

7. Carl Robinson is Matthew McCormick's former student, from the HL:TS episodes "Manhunt" and "Glory Days".

8. I'm not a martial arts expert by any means, but Jaime insisted he knew how to fight. I based his fighting style loosely on arnis, a Filipino martial art.

9. Go to http://ecnalubma.freeyellow.com/Lightening.html for what really happens to a body when struck by lightning. Nasty stuff. By the way, in case you wondered where in the United States lightning strikes the most: Tampa, Florida, holds that particular distinction.

10. The quote Matthew uses is from Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2, line 250. Thanks to Rhi for suggesting it, and to the Hamlet Navigators at clicknotes.com for helping me identify the exact placement.

11. Inspiration for this story's title came from the following lyrics, sung by Lila McCann in the song "Down Came a Blackbird":
"Down came a blackbird
Set on a fence
Talking in riddles
and making absolutely perfect sense"

As always, feedback is much appreciated.