Disclaimer and Notes: Panzer/Davis owns the Highlander characters. Written for the “Where You Live” revolution of the Lyric Wheel. This wasn't what I wanted to write by a long shot; I never wanted to write a fic involving Cassandra, but here it is. Thanks to Human Typhoon for the lyrics.
Comments welcome: dayea@rainewynd.com
The Witch's Call
By Raine Wynd
Seattle
“You're a fine one to talk, Joe. How convenient for you to remember the Oath now. You socialized with your Immortal.” The words spewed out like unexpectedly bitter coffee.
Joe stared at the twenty-something half-Vietnamese woman, fighting the urge to step back and wash out the taste of her hate even as he readied himself to shoot her. “This isn't about me. This was never about me. You know that well, Sue.” He didn't dare look at anything else, though he could see out of the corner of his eye the blue streaks of lightning emanating from the slowly reviving immortal manacled and chained to the wall of the otherwise simply decorated living room. “You're interfering with the Game.”
“Oh, come on, Joe,” Sue pleaded, deliberately deepening her slight accent until she sounded like a voice from the prisoners of war camps Joe had heard about from fellow 'Nam vets. “You no fun. You no wanna play. Besides, there are no rules here. It's my house. Don't you tell me you didn't wish you could kill Cassandra for what she did to the great MacLeod, seducing him as a child, using her Voice on him, manipulating him into trying to kill for her?”
“No.” Joe didn't hesitate with his reply. “You think killing all the immortals, following Horton's footsteps is the answer?”
She smiled mockingly. “What is it that the immortals say, 'There can only be one?'” Not waiting for Joe's response, she continued, “I'm surprised you didn't listen to your brother-in-law. He knew what these monsters are capable of, and if they can get to the one who everyone says is the best of them all, what's to stop them from turning us all into mindless sheep?”
Sue stepped over to the still-unconscious Cassandra, picking up the immortal's own sword along the way. “She —” and here Sue used Cassandra's sword to point at her —“would charm us all to her will. She's a witch, a seducer of children, and incapable of forgiving what was done to her millennia ago. Would you have her win the Prize? She could, you know. She's managed to hide from the world this long, and isn't it true that the meek will inherit the earth — only because they're too scared to face it? The rest of us will die fighting for their safety, guarding the secrets they will only learn of when it's too late.
“And they will blame us for keeping them in the dark, under the ice, protected from the truth. I don't want that legacy, do you, Joe? All these years of recording history, and for what? To die knowing monsters will outlive us still?
“And they are monsters, Joe. Have you not watched the lightning, the way it loves them and moves across their skin and into their flesh, burning its cold flames into them until they cannot help but scream even when it lifts them above the ground?” Casually, Sue struck a match, and tossed it into the line of gasoline she'd drawn across the floor. Startled by the action, Joe flinched, then swore as he realized Sue had anticipated being blocked.
“You were supposed to Watch Cassandra, not torture her.” Not for the first time that morning, Joe cursed his position. He was too late to do anything, unable to move past where he stood for the neatly laid line of flames that separated him from Sue and Cassandra. The air was beginning to get thick with smoke, and he coughed.
“And you were not supposed to break your Oath, Joe,” Sue retorted. “You killed those Watchers as surely as you pulled the trigger — and I was there. I was in the galley, unable to do anything but Watch while my friends died around me. I hate you for what you represent: the kinder, gentler, friendlier Watchers who use the Chronicles for their own purposes. Don't talk to me about my obligations; I know where my responsibilities lie, and that's in ridding the world of monsters.
“Welcome to the slaughterhouse, Joe. You're just in time for the main event. Would you like to see me cut off her head? Unless the answer's yes, then just get out of my way. I'm giving her what she wants— freedom from the burden of living with so much pain, so many rotten thoughts. I'm getting rid of her so the world will never have to hear her Voice again.”
Sue freed Cassandra from the manacles, leaving her suspended on the chains. Sue then poised one foot over the remote release for the chains as she held the sword one handed just under where Cassandra's neck would fall. “Say goodbye, Joe.”
“Goodbye, Sue.” The shot that rang out didn't come from the pistol that Joe held, but through the stained glass windows. There was no way to prevent the natural jerk of Sue's arm muscles as she died, but Sue slipped on the remote as she fell to the floor, causing the sword to slip and cut lower.
Cassandra screamed as the pain woke her. Joe couldn't reach the remote; it was melting in the rapidly spreading flames, and the heat and the smoke were starting to get to him. He could only turn and run and hope that Methos was coming in to finish the rescue. He couldn't be sure of it, though, and standing out on the sidewalk and looking up the hill to the burning mansion, he swore as he tried to figure out where Methos was. Sirens started to wail as the house began to burn, and Joe couldn't watch any more. Time had run out.
Still, he knew he had to know, for the record, for the Watchers, to find out the fate of Cassandra. He'd come this far to hunt down a Hunter; he had an obligation to see it through.
“Joe? Wake up. We're here.”
Startled into consciousness, Joe jumped. “What? Where?” He couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to remember every detail of what he just dreamed, the sense of foreboding that clung to him like a spiderweb. A voice seemed to whisper in his ear, the words blurring the way his consciousness of the outside world would blur when he'd lose himself in his music.
Methos grinned. “The house you wanted to see? Remember? You said you wanted to see if this city had, what was it, oh yes, 'one damned handicapped accessible house that wasn't on a hill.'”
“Oh, yeah.” Shaking his head, Joe promised himself that was the last time he'd let Methos convince him to try some new concoction to stave off a chest cold. He couldn't remember when he'd last had such odd, vivid dreams outside of some of the war-related nightmares he sometimes still got. He got out of the SUV and stepped around the hood just in time to see Methos get the “look” that meant another immortal was near.
“What's up?” Fear and adrenaline shot through him.
Methos didn't answer him. “Stay right there,” he ordered.
Joe raised an eyebrow but didn't otherwise comment. He drew out the gun he'd taken to keeping with him at all times and looked for better cover than the SUV. The old maple tree next to the carport wasn't much, but it would serve as cover, unless…. Joe looked up and saw movement in through the windows of what he assumed was a bedroom. He swore, realizing that the angle of the windows meant whoever stood there could see anyone parking in the carport. The day was bright and clear, a rarity with the late arrival of spring to Seattle, where the infamous rain and cold had lingered into late April. Not wanting to present himself as clear target, Joe moved.
He had just maneuvered himself around to the driver's side of the SUV when Methos returned. “Get back in the car. You don't want this house.”
“Why not?”
“Too many steps. No ramp, unless you want to build one.”
Joe wasn't fooled. He could hear the edge in his friend's voice. “That's not all.”
“Trust me, Joe. This isn't your problem.”
“Cassandra's in there, isn't she?”
“How- You knew who'd be in there, didn't you?”
“No,” Joe shot back, annoyed by the nonverbal accusation he'd planned to take Methos to somewhere where Cassandra would be. He knew their history, knew that putting them in the same room together was not even the last thing on his agenda; it wasn't even on the list. “Call it a hunch, okay?”
Methos stared at him a long moment. Then he nodded his acceptance. “I'll handle this. You stay out of the way.”
“No, I think you're going to need help,” Joe argued, as he remembered bits of his dream. “Shoot the Hunter first, or she's going to torch the house.”
That earned him an odd, searching gaze. “Getting psychic on me, Joe?”
“Maybe,” Joe said. “But if we don't do something, it might be too late.”
“I'm not a hero. If you want a white knight, go ask MacLeod.”
“But he's not here,” Joe pointed out with maddening logic, suddenly enjoying the feeling of knowing something Methos didn't. “If you aren't going to do something, I will.” He had no great love for Cassandra, but he didn't want to leave her in the dubious mercy of a Hunter, either. He started for the steps leading towards the front door, sharply aware of his limitations as he moved far too slowly to suit his own sense of urgency. He coughed, hating how this latest cold had lingered like the winter weather, and he heard Methos swear. He didn't understand the words as much as the tone and hid a smile.
“All right,” Methos acquiesced. “Since you seem intent on pushing yourself.”
Fifteen tense minutes later, the Hunter was dead, Cassandra was rescued, and the house was still standing. It hadn't happened quite like the dream, but having Methos being pointman instead of Joe had made the difference. For one thing, Methos hadn't wasted time trying to argue Sue out of killing Cassandra; he'd just shot her once he'd ascertained her purpose.
At Joe's insistence, Methos drove them to a coffeehouse in a neighborhood known for its diversity where they could talk in neutral territory, and where no one would blink twice at seeing someone in leather and chains. Without a key, Methos hadn't been able to unlock the cuffs, only cut the chains that had bound the other immortal to the wall.
It took the fifteen minutes' drive for Cassandra to wake from the dead and finish healing. Cassandra stared at her unlikely rescuers, dismissing Methos for the moment while she examined Joe.
“Thank you,” she said finally, “for listening.” She took a deep breath. “That woman – she hated you. I didn't think you'd hear me, but I had to try.”
Now it was Joe's turn to stare at her as the moment turned into a Dali painting. He didn't want to believe she'd used her legendary magic on him, but he didn't know how else to explain how he'd known she was in the house in need of rescuing. “Yeah, well,” he said gruffly, uncomfortable with having Cassandra's gratitude for reasons he couldn't name, “I guess I can mark that place off my list of houses I want to live in. I don't suppose you'd know anywhere else in Seattle that's good?”
Cassandra laughed, a surprising sound when she'd been so intensely focused. “I can think of a few places, but you're probably better off talking to a realtor. I have—” she smiled wryly “—appalling taste in housing. I much prefer my cottage in Scotland, but I've been trying to get out more.” She paused, then looked at Methos. A long, wordless moment passed, then Cassandra took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, and spoke in a language long dead. “Thank you,” she said simply.
Methos inclined his head. “You're welcome,” he answered in English.
Joe watched the by-play, interested. Something told him that while Methos and Cassandra would never be friends, they'd stopped being enemies, and he wondered just how much today had gone towards resolving that enmity. It was a question to be examined later, he decided.
Cassandra stood. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take care of these.” She waved off Joe, who started to protest. “Don't worry, there's a locksmith up the block who's discreet. Besides, it's Capitol Hill; I doubt anyone will say anything in this neighborhood.” So saying, she left.
Silence reigned for a few minutes after her departure, broken only by the distinct sound of an espresso machine in use and the barista's conversation with his customer. Thoughts swirled around in Joe's head, things he wanted to analyze, but he pushed the need aside in favor of studying his friend, who lounged in the metal-and-vinyl stool as if contemplating the leaf pattern drawn in the foam of his coffee was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Just what was in that cold remedy you gave me, Adam?” Joe said, half-serious. “'Cause I think I'm hallucinating. This has been an unreal morning.”
“Every morning since I met MacLeod has been,” Methos muttered. In a louder voice, he said, “There wasn't anything in that medicine you can't find at a health food store.” He looked pointedly at Joe. “So, why don't you call that realtor again and tell her she's the one smoking something? Her idea of 'accessibility' needs redefinition.”
Joe nodded, accepting the brush-off for what it was, and turned the conversation back to their original mission.
**** Finis****
© May 3, 2002 Raine Wynd
End Notes: Lots of lyrics used, far too many to list. Seattle has lots of hills and names its neighborhoods. Capitol Hill is Seattle's gay and lesbian district; it's not unusual to see people dressed in all sorts of ways. As for the house - it's loosely based on the one I'm currently living in.
"Under The Ice" by Blind Guardian
Run
'Til you find the answer
Time out
For our poor Cassandra
She's fairly safe inside the fire
Inside the fire
Awakes desire
Cruelly admired
They'll torture her soul
And they'll torment her heart
But won't change her mind
Would you like to see me
How I'll cut off
Her head life's a game
A lesson to learn
Don't be shy just blame me
Well, there is no
Need to feel ashamed
Remember the oath
Remember the oath
Wake up
It's time to cross the border
Is it true what they say
About the part you've played?
Enjoy your stay here
Welcome to the slaughterhouse
Release from rotten thoughts
No more pain
And no more gods
Under the ice you will believe
Under the ice you will be free
Released from rotten thoughts
No more pain
And no more gods
Please understand
It's not in our hands
Barren the land
It's all dead and gone
And still the tyrant's face is red
So witness my glory, my triumph, my fame
It's the sweetest taste
King of terror just stop whining
Hold your breath it won't take long
Realize this is your judgement day
In between the killing carry on
There are no rules here
Welcome to the slaughterhouse
Release from rotten thoughts
No more pain
And no more gods
Under the ice you will believe
Under the ice you will be free
Released from rotten thoughts
No more pain
And no more gods
Try to understand
You're the artificial enemy
An illusion we all need
For our sake
For our sake
We're not allowed to see beyond that's your skill
Will we ever learn the lesson "We can't fly with broken wings"
Break the chains
Time to change
I'm afraid to say but you won't play a part
It's been nice we now get to the climax
Your destination's unknown
Just get out of my way
Don't mind the blood here
Welcome to the slaughterhouse
Release from rotten thoughts
No more pain
And no more gods
Under the ice you will believe
Under the ice you will be free
Released from rotten thoughts
No more pain
And no more gods
Under the ice you will be free
Released from rotten thoughts
No more pain
And no more gods
And no more gods
(No more gods)
I'm afraid to say but you won't play a part