Intermezzo, part 3

"It's still going on," came the sardonic reply. "I may have to lock my own bedroom door to get some sleep."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch, MacLeod," Damien laughed, stretching in his computer chair. "Seriously, is Aidan available? I need to talk to her."

"She's in a conversation with Sol, Erin, and Adam at the moment. How important is this?"

"The tall one in the family, yeah. She's over here ignoring me with every evidence of dignity."

For the next minute or so, Damien listened to party noises in the background: music, conversation, laughter, and the start of a disagreement between two voices. At last, though, Aidan's light, cheerful tones came over the phone. "Damiano, what's this about Mandisa's there?"

"I'm going to put her on the extension, Aidan, hold on." Mandisa nodded and put her book down.

Damien muttered, "I knew I was getting rusty in something. Don't be surprised if we have to switch to Dutch."

Mandisa interrupted his grumbling to say, "Shahar, I was hunted eighty, a hundred miles outside of Addis Ababa by a man who was looking for me, I think. Another man attacked me in Alexandria, calling me by my old name. A third ambushed me before I could make it to Barcelona."

Aidan drew a hissing breath in through her teeth, then asked, "What information do you have on them? Did they give names? Lines? Anything?"

"No, they didn't. The one in Ethiopia gave no name at all; the one in Alexandria called himself Ahmed--"

"He was Caucasian. He should have," Mandisa chuckled quietly and started to relax as her teacher's mind turned to the problem. "In any case, the foolish bitch in Marseilles called herself Renee, but didn't give a last name or a teacher's name."

"Are you all right?" Aidan asked more gently, apparently hearing something worrisome in her old student's voice.

"She's worn to the bone, Aidan," Damien interrupted, glaring at Mandisa when she tried to object, "and short on food and sleep. They hounded her. Navarro had to call in some old favors to get her to me."

"Damien was set on someone else in our line in early October. Apparently by Vasili Kropotkin," the Irish immortal conceded quietly.

In Charleston, the burly redhead and the streamlined black woman glanced back and forth at each other. Damien growled into the phone, "Remember Stormy, Magistra?"

"How could I not? She tried to frighten grey into my hair, Damiano. What about her?"

"She's the private investigator who looked into Crystal for me. Aidan... Johannes Engeles was paying Crystal a monthly sum."

"And one of Enrique Alba's students was looking for me about the same time. Johannes and Enrique both? And we think that Jirina Petesceu was in Paris in November, pack hunting with someone."

"Kropotkin was friendly with Gwydion ap Ydris, too. Gwydion, Johannes, Enrique, and Jirina. Rhys-Tewdor's students," Damien murmured. "Fuck. Aidan, are you two shadow-boxing again?"

"Not that I knew. It's not as if those were the only challenges that we've dealt with of late, but still.... If it weren't that Jirina had been in Paris, I'd wonder if this were Johannes after you," she murmured. "Ah, Gods. All right. Are you going to stay in Charleston for a while, Mandisa?"

"I think so," the tall black woman answered her. "For a few months in any case. Stormy has a few things I can help her with, and Damiano has offered his guest room."

"Take him up on it. Get word to Var to watch his back. For that matter, has Var been having any unusual trouble? Where is he these days?"

Burly shoulders bunched in a shrug, and the worried, angry expression on his face matched his voice. "No more than usual, Magistra, which isn't much. Immortals don't seem to notice Charleston or Savannah."

"I'll keep that in mind for my next identity, then. Although it's damnably hot down there to carry concealed weapons.... So be it. Damiano, start spreading the word to your students to watch their heads. Give my name and number where it's needed. I'll start working from my end."

Mandisa sighed and said, "We knew that if we talked to you, the pieces would come together. But Shahar, why did you never kill him?"

"Because I could never prove enough, Disa, and Owain's too dangerous for me to challenge him lightly. This is... I don't know what he's doing. He hasn't challenged me. But if his students were going to start something like this on their own, I would think it would have happened decades ago."

"Shahar, maybe he can't find you to challenge you. It's taken me three months to get here, and Var never did find you. Damien simply knew where you were."

"And that was by accident," the redhead pointed out. "I didn't expect you to be at MacLeod's party, Aidan."

"Neither did I," Aidan murmured. "All right. Pass the word to anyone in our line, or for that matter, let's bump this up a step and pass the storm warnings to the entire line of Ramirez. Watch your heads, and call me with anything else you find out. I can't imagine what Owain would be doing, but it certainly looks like someone is trying to speed up the Gathering."

"You watch your head, too," Mandisa replied acerbically. "No one in Owain's line truly holds a grudge against me, or so I had thought. Rhys-Tewdor would cheerfully gut you if he could, I think, and Damien and Johannes together are sparks in a powder factory."

"Kyra's here, Damien, I'll pass word to her. And I'll call Terence Coventry tonight. Can one of you warn Navarro, as I don't have his number?"

"I'll handle that," Mandisa told her. "You knew I would. However, do you want his number for your records?"

"Why are you thanking her? She's going to be calling them on my phone bill," Damien grumbled. "He's at 58-2-555-4877. I'll start calling my students, as soon as Disa's off the phone. Who's going to call Rabi?"

"I'll handle that," Aidan told him. "I trained her. I'll pass the word to the rest of your brothers and sisters. Thank you for calling him, Mandisa; I appreciate it."

"I know," she sighed. "But he still disagrees and I'm not going to apologize for thinking a country was wrong. Navarro hasn't even lived in Spain in two centuries. I should apologize for supporting the United States during the Spanish-American war? Sweet Gods, why?"

"Would you?" Aidan asked wistfully. "I don't have so many students that I want to be reliving a quarrel with him every time we talk."

Damien laughed. "Disa, tell him if he doesn't drop this, we'll let Grace Chandel mediate. He'll agree. No one argues with that woman for long."

"All right. Pass the word. Tell everyone to call if they find out anything. Gods, I miss Darius. He would have been trying to defuse this from Paris, but I can't even figure out what to defuse!"

"Watch your head, teacher. Tell the MacLeods to watch theirs. And tell Ryan that if he gets tired of the lovebird routine in Seacouver, he can come stay with me for a while in Charleston. I'll teach him to hack the Pentagon, no problem."

Aidan groaned at the idea of the two redheaded immortals in close proximity for too long. "I knew there was a reason you and Amanda got along too well. I am not letting you corrupt him any farther. He's over eighteen, Damien, they'd lock him away this time. No."

"No," Damien laughed. "Two of us. Or have you gotten tired of supporting Matthew's beer habit?"

"It's Adam this decade, and I make him buy his own beer. And Mandisa, I don't want to hear it. I seem to remember once or twice when you threatened to take the same oath. Call me when you need to, old friends, students mine. I'll be here with Connor 'til the 3rd, and back in Seacouver after that."

"I don't know. I think Adam has to go back to Paris on business, at least for a while, but I don't know about Duncan. I'm getting off of this call before I admit anything else incriminating. Call me on the 4th, one of you, and give me the latest update."

"Magistra, I have some friends working on this for us, and your Gods only know what they'll manage to turn up or do. They're a bit... unprincipled. And erratic."

"It should," he muttered. "I'll introduce you to them some day. Frohike will love you. But I'll call when I have any more news. Tell Connor happy birthday again."

Aidan waited for the dial tone before she hung up the phone. Even after her hand was empty, though, she stood there studying the air, trying to wrap her mind around what they had told her, what she wasn't quite hearing. The Sight drew at her, spinning half-sensed images in the periphery of her vision, but never quite letting her get a clear look. Soon, she promised herself. Soon. After I get the visitors bedded down for the night, I think a cushion and a candle and I have an appointment to look at this.

That decided, she turned her mind back to the party and swiveled her body towards it as well... only to stop cold when she saw Connor blocking her path, shoulder against the doorframe. If she didn't look at his face, he was the image of lazy nonchalance. Unfortunately, Aidan could see his eyes, cold and dark within his stony expression. The same look he wore at a challenge, as she knew too well.

"That was an interesting conversation," he commented softly. "Very interesting. Storm warnings about what? Why are you going to tell your students and the line of Ramirez to watch their heads? And who was Damien set on? Time to 'fess up, sister. I think you've neglected to tell me some things."

"More that I hadn't put them together," she conceded immediately, making a mental note to remember that Connor spoke Arabic. "It took Damien's call to make me suspicious, and I still don't know quite what's going on. Are we down to immortals yet?"

"The only ones who've left are Rich and Ginger. The three Watchers are still here, and Kate's mortal husband. Nice surprise, by the way. I've not seen her in years. Come and talk, Aidan. I'll get you an anesthetic, but confession's good for the soul. Come get shriven."

She raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "My faith never did go in for confession, Connor, but I had intended to 'tell all' after I finished my calls. So be it. We'll let my other students wait an hour or so. Get me a glass of Scotch, brother, and let's do this."

Connor lightly clasped her arm just above the elbow. While it looked a friendly gesture, it was meant to hold her to her promise and they both knew it. "By all means. How much anesthetic do you need?"

"Oh, three or four fingers," she told him dryly. "I don't think Dhonnchaidh is going to be any happier with me than you are."

Kate Sutherland looked up when they came back in, gold-highlighted brown hair swinging around her face, mouth twitching with unspoken words as she took in the body language between them. What finally came out was, "What did you do this time, Aidan?"

"Kept my mouth shut, I think," came the almost amused reply. "Kate, may I safely assume the lodge is tyled?" Connor settled her apparently solicitously on the couch and moved to the bar to get the Scotch and several glasses.

Kate glanced at her husband, Nick, then nodded slowly. Nick Sutherland straightened from his relaxed slouch on the couch and ran a hand through sandy brown hair, rumpling it back out of his eyes in an old habit from nights of stakeouts and surveillance. Kate, on the other hand, leaned back into the couch and propped her feet up on coffee table, mobile face relaxing as she settled herself to listen and think. "From my end, certainly. I can't speak for the others...."

"I can," Aidan told her. "All right, ladies, gentlemen, pull up chairs and gather round. I have a problem and require assistance and advice."

Methos walked over to where Aidan sat and checked her forehead. "No, no fever. Are you feeling well? I could almost swear you just asked for help with something."

"Old friend, sit down and shut up for now," she said, her voice too level to suit him. "This is serious."

"Thank you for dropping the sarcasm. Quite possibly, yes. Joe, Erin, Sol.... This will need to be confidential. If that would be a problem, then I'll need to convince Connor to let this rest until you've gone home for the night."

Nick Sutherland sprawled back into his chair again. "Oh, a problem. Is that all? So much for a vacation. Connor, pass me some of that Scotch. Thanks for not worrying about me, Aidan. How bad is this going to get?"

Connor interrupted her coldly. "I'm line of Ramirez last I looked, Aidan. I'm involved."

Erin's red hair caught the lamplight as she turned to consider Adam's lover. She still didn't know if the young-looking Irish woman was immortal, but from the conversation, it seemed likely. On the other hand, Nick Sutherland is as mortal as I am. I'm a Watcher until May, damn it. Come on, Adam, give me a clue here! Do I stay, do I go? What's going on? But her old friend never turned from the refrigerator, seemingly engrossed in the beer options. Finally Erin nodded slowly. "Somehow, I think this might be something I'm better off not knowing. If you need to tell me later... tell me later."

Joe glanced between her and Duncan, obviously torn. The Scot told him, "Go on, Joe. Like the lady said, if you need to know, I'll tell you." A wry grin twisted his lips for a moment, mischief in his eyes, as he commented, "Wouldn't be the first time, after all."

That drew a laugh and the bluesman said, "No problem, MacLeod. Sol, come on. Let them sort things out and agree on the official version."

Sol accepted Connor's arm to pull himself up from the chair. "Well enough. Good night, all. Connor, happy birthday again." Walking slowly toward the door, he paused next to Aidan and stroked a lock of hair back behind her ear, smoothing the mass into place as she leaned her head against his hand for a moment. "Be well, my dear."

Rachel stood and said firmly, "I think I'll head home as well. Good night, everyone."

The leave-taking took a few minutes, but finally all the immortals and Nick had settled back into their places, most of them with a drink. Nick glanced over at Aidan and grinned. "Sol acts like you're his granddaughter. You're how old?"

"Two thousand and some." She studied her whiskey for a moment, a fond smile on her face. "I enjoy having a grandfather. It's soothing. And it lets me pamper him outrageously, too."

"In the right light, the right clothes and makeup, you might look twenty-six, twenty-eight. And you've got almost that many centuries under your belt?"

Aidan met Kate's eyes, both of them amused, before she shrugged as if it were of no real consequence. "Nick, if I'm not careful, I get carded," she complained mildly. "And that's about right, yes."

Methos fell across the couch in a boneless sprawl that nevertheless did not spill so much as a drop of the wine he'd finally settled on, and asked mildly, "Damien called? Who did he start a war with this time? That lovely little blonde of his would just shoot him, I think."

"Damien called because Mandisa's in town. She was hounded from Ethiopia to Barcelona -- three separate challenges. No last names, no lines. This started in September. At approximately the same time, Vasili Kropotkin and his student, Stanislaus Pushkarev, started spreading rumors that Rich had challenged Damien."

"That was about my reaction," Aidan told him grimly. "Amanda came through Seacouver in early October to warn us about it and see what was going on. She hadn't known I trained Damien. We... talked; Damien accepted my word that it was a blatant lie, and started looking into the matter from his end. Amanda had heard it from Gina de Valicourt, and Robert told me that he would 'take care of the matter.' He did. Vasili didn't last the month. Stanislaus is still hiding, for a little while."

"You haven't talked to Alex Raven lately, have you? Stanislaus ran into her last month," Kyra told her. "He was a little offensive about a woman's ability to use a sword. He's not a problem anymore."

Duncan's mouth twitched. "I imagine he isn't. Aidan, why didn't you or Rich mention this to anyone?"

"Because, Duncan, either of those two redheaded, hot-tempered immortals could easily have annoyed Kropotkin to the point that he simply wanted to be rid of them. Vasili changed names more than I do; they might not have known whom they had rankled. And... I could never prove anything."

"Dhonnchaidh, you were in Paris! Rich was in the States; Damien was in the States. Robert said it would be dealt with. What was I to do? Tell you that someone had tried to get Rich or Damien killed? That was Rich's to tell you, not mine. It wasn't my head being threatened."

"Gods, Connor, if it had been the only challenge in those months it would assuredly have been mentioned. And yes, it was odd that someone set them at each other... until I found out it was Kropotkin! He'd have sent word to the winner to make clear the kinship and thus twist the knife that last tiniest bit."

"Oh, Mothers. Let's see. Ned White was in August. Those two idiots chased me in Paris in November. Benny Carbassa came through Seacouver in September looking for a financial backer but I sent him on his merry way." Duncan groaned, anger easing at the image of that confrontation. "Grace stopped by looking for Duncan. Kit O'Brady came through hoping for a poker game."

Aidan paused to tally up a roster, then said, "Actually, counting the two in Paris, I've seen eight immortals. But Rich took both of the challenges that came up in Seacouver, and neither of them could I link to Kropotkin. One of Mako's old students came looking for Rich, and there was a Pakistani woman who said she'd been trained by Kiem Sun looking for you, Dhonnchaidh. Something about threatening her teacher?"

Duncan shrugged. "I suggested he'd be better off on Holy Ground... and without armies."

"Armies, hmm?" Connor asked his kinsmen. "Thinks that with enough mortals he can win the Game?"

"Enough drugged mortals, yeah," Duncan commented. "But the drug he's been working on kills them. Causes internal hemorrhage of the brain, and they die in agony. I was a little upset with his testing methods."

Duncan shrugged, dismissing that subject for now, and pointed out, "Connor, I've taken five challenges since I went back to Paris. And I don't usually call you to tell you about it. I come by the trait honestly, clansman," he pointed out at Connor's frown. "How many have you taken since September?"

"How many suicides, Connor?" Kate chuckled. "That's about what challenging you is."

"Three. Most immortals don't come to New York to fight. It's not healthy. What about you, Kate?"

"An infant in challenged me in East St. Louis. Plenty of attitude, not a lot of skill. And I finally got Bartholomew."

"Hey, we agreed in Fiji that we weren't mentioning that name," Nick pointed out. "You remember? 'No Bartholomew, no tan lines?' That was the deal."

Kyra poured more merlot in Kate and Nick's glasses. "To the death of he who shall not be named. About time, Kate."

Glasses clinked over at the couch and without looking up from his empty wine glass, Methos pointed out, "Connor, you don't always tell everyone everything either."

"Slan Quince, the Kurgan, that little redhead in Helsinki?" Duncan reminded his teacher. "He's right, kinsman. Let's get back to the subject. Was there any reason not to think the threat ended, Aidan?"

She sighed. "Not that I could find. And believe me, I looked. Someone set two members of my line after each other... but I couldn't find anything past Kropotkin."

Methos never looked up from the label he was peeling off a beer bottle. "Not exactly, Edana. What were you doing in the late 1600s?"

She paused, thinking about that, then said slowly, "I lost touch with you in 1638, and went back to North America. I worked my way down through the Appalachians and across the Mississippi, and followed the mountains south into what's now Central America. I spent a few decades traveling there and then back up into the western half of North America. I seem to remember I was over in the Sierra Madres and Rockies for a while, accumulated some gemstones and some very interesting herbal recipes. I also gained, and almost immediately lost, a student. Why?"

"Because in 1668 the East India Company gained control of Bombay," he told her. "Vasili Kropotkin and Gwydion ap Ydris invested in that together. And in the Royal African Company a few years later."

"Did they?" the Irish woman murmured. "Damien told me just now that Vasili and Gwydion were friends, but I hadn't known that they were business partners as well."

"Interesting. But get to the point, sister," Connor told her bluntly. "Who was looking for you in October?"

"LaCroix called me," she told him. "A young immortal named Rafferty Conlan, only thirty-four--"

"The latter," Aidan clarified. "He's probably been in the Game for less than a decade. He came to the Raven looking for me, at the request of his teacher's teacher."

"Enrique Alba of Cadiz." She paused for a moment and then said quietly, "And Owain Rhys-Tewdor trained Enrique."

"Owain also trained Gwydion and that little bitch Jirina," Kyra pointed out coldly, and it was obvious that her mind had never been too far off the problem despite the toast.

"Do you people always remember these little details?" Nick Sutherland asked, scribbling notes on Rachel's canasta score pad.

"It keeps us alive," Kate told him absently. "Jirina doesn't have an 'e' in it, Nick. And Enrique studied with Owain, not Rafferty. Didn't Owain train Lim Mahn, too?"

"Over in Hong Kong these days. He's an... expeditor. He finds things for people, for a cost. Quick, tricky... very, very fast, and fights two-handed, I hear. Unscrupulous, but we did say he'd been trained by Owain."

"Jirina Petesceu is one of the ones that we think chased you in Paris, Aidan," Duncan reminded her when Kate fell silent. "Amanda confirmed that she always used that signal."

Kyra asked thoughtfully, "You said Mandisa was chased by unknown immortals?" At Aidan's nod, the slender blonde continued, "I was hounded in November. I finally had him arrested by consular security for loitering. A tall Swede who gave his name as Erik Olafson."

"It's Washington," she shrugged. "You can find private places to fight, but it's difficult. You have to leave the immediate metro area and head into the outskirts. Most immortals come through, do their business, and leave. I've probably seen four of us since September, counting this idiot."

The female immortals traded looks, then nodded. "We'll look into this tomorrow," Kate offered. "I haven't had any real trouble, other than the brave young gentleman in Illinois, but I'm not out of your line, either."

Nick grinned. "Ask anyone from Missouri, Connor. East St. Louis is in Illinois, and they're grateful for it."

"Anyone else?" Duncan asked bluntly, dragging the discussion back to its purpose. "As long as we're clearing the air?"

At the same time that Duncan gave his kinsman a kicked puppy look, and said, "Clansman, I'm hurt. And you didn't ask me to be best man?"

They traded grins, then Connor said, "I found out because 'she' hired a private investigator to shadow me. He wasn't very good."

Nick grinned at the feral smile on Connor's face. "They should have hired me. I'd have taken their money, given them a very good report, and sent a copy to you for your records." Kate leaned in and kissed him, murmuring something that gave a wicked twist to his grin.

"You might have at that," Connor agreed. "The address for my wife was a dead drop. No leads. The three 'suicides' have already been mentioned. So. Anyone else having problems? Adam?"

"Not a thing," Methos commented, "but then, everyone seems to go for the two trouble-magnets first."

"Shield man again, and me not even male," Aidan lamented. "The shame of it all, being mistaken for a man again. I'll never hold up my head in a temple again."

"Given the condition of the roofs in most of those temples, Edana, ducking would be a better idea. Falling rubble does hurt," Kate interrupted her. "I know you've been making jokes on battlefields for centuries and it's a habit now, but let's be serious, shall we? Kyra's had a stalker; you have; Connor has; Duncan has. Damien and Rich have had some very personal trouble, and so has Mandisa. Some of this would be normal for the Game, but it sounds as though the line of Ramirez is having a lot of problems lately. How much of this traces back to Rhys-Tewdor?"

Aidan sighed and straightened her shoulders, then reported as concisely as she would have on a battlefield. "To answer your question, Kate, Damien said that he'd traced one of his problems back to Johannes Engeles. There is a possible link between Johannes and the rumors about Damien and Rich. He thought Johannes might be behind some of the trouble the rest of us were having. Adam, this sounds like...."

Kyra spoke up when her teacher hesitated. "It sounds like we could have a line war, Edana. You were Ramirez' oldest student, and you're the one Owain loathes. Has anyone sent you a challenge? Either Engeles or Rhys-Tewdor?" The three youngest in the room, Nick Sutherland, Connor, and Duncan, all looked puzzled. The two MacLeods were racking their minds for the reference, aware that this was important.

"No one, Kyra," Aidan said honestly. "And it's not like the invitations are easily missed."

"Explain these invitations," Connor snapped. "You said this involves our line, sister. I want to know what's going on."

Kate and Kyra both turned to look at him in surprise, then Kyra nodded. "There are times I forget you're only a few hundred years old, Connor."

Beside her, Nick set his glass down and also leaned in. "Whoa, whoa. Someone explain this 'line war' thing to me, because I've never heard that one before." Connor and Duncan both sat a little straighter, listening for an explanation of the mine field they were apparently walking in.

"They're supposed to be archaic," Kate told him irritably. "The last time someone held a line war, Nick, Jerusalem had a king."

"Something like," Kyra agreed. "I remember hearing about that one. Steshka of Kiev and three of her students challenged Marcus Constantine and three of his. I seem to remember he turned up with Ceirdwyn, Alex Raven, and Sudala. Needless to say, Marcus won."

"Ramirez had less than a year with me," Connor pointed out calmly, "and this is the first time the subject has come up while I've been talking to someone old enough to know what it is. So what's a line war?"

"It's... a way to speed up the Gathering, I suppose," Aidan sighed. " 'Line war' is a title with delusions of grandeur. Every now and then, you would have lines that loathed each other so much that they had to try and wipe the other out. So Rebecca, and Graham, and a few of the older immortals tried to put some basic rules around it, to keep it from getting out of hand. Mostly, it worked."

"Be honest, Edana," Kyra snapped. "The rules were made to keep it from happening too often. And it still happened more than anyone wanted to admit, sometimes very informally."

Kate glanced at Adam and when he stayed silent, she took up the explanation. "It's fairly simple, unfortunately. The challenger sends an... invitation to the challenged, usually a very vivid one. I seem to remember the one for Constantine was left on his wife's pillow, tied with one of her hair ribbons that she had 'lost' a week or so earlier."

"And they wanted Marcus to know. To make the point of what would happen if he didn't fight," Connor agreed equally coldly.

"Or if he simply didn't show up," Kate agreed. "Yes. So. The note specified when, and how many people. Marcus pinned it back up in the market square with a location to fight in. In those days, you usually agreed on a date a year down the road or so, just to give people time to get the sides together. Four on each side was a large 'war.' Usually it was three on each side, although with modern travel and communications, you could damn near call down the Gathering with one of these things."

Adam casually mentioned, "Marcus told me about that one. Now, back to the rules. The challenged picks the terrain, and who fights against who. Steshka decided what order her students were fighting in, but Marcus got to choose who opposed them. He fought her as the last battle."

"It is, Highlander, and it isn't," his male lover said bluntly. "It's one on one, all right. Unless someone from the side that was challenged loses. If one of Constantine's students had died, he'd have had the right to challenge the victor as soon as they stood up from the Quickening."

"I take it the 'war' isn't over until the last pair fights?" Connor asked, passing the bottle of whiskey around.

"The war is over when the challenged party dies, brother," Aidan told him gently. "Using the same example, if Marcus had died--"

She paused, then nodded once, acknowledging that this was probably directed against her. "If I die avenging one of my own, then the war is over. If I don't, I fight the last battle against whomever is left."

"Whoever Rhys-Tewdor leaves for last, you mean. Probably himself," Connor disagreed.

"No, brother. I fight last. If it comes down to two left on his side, himself and one other, I choose who fights who, out of the two on his side, myself, and whoever hasn't fought yet on my side. That's the rule. One person, one fight... except for the challenged, who may or may not try to avenge their own losses."

"If you don't have to fight Owain... what happens if he dies?" Duncan asked. "Does it stop then?"

"I suppose it would," she said thoughtfully. "I'm not sure it's ever happened. Usually the challenger goes out last, so that he can fight the person challenged."

"Why not start there?" Nick asked, feeling both guilty and grateful that Kate was apparently not going to have to fight in this thing.

"It would make sense," Aidan agreed quietly. "Except that the immortals willing to come to such a thing would likely start a more informal war against any survivors if it weren't settled already."

"So, if this were a line war, you'd have received a challenge by now, with a date and a dance card to fill," Connor said caustically. "What about attacking you on the way there?"

"There's a week's truce before and after between the two lines," Kate told him. "No sense going to the trouble, and in those days travel was a real pain in the ass, and then not holding the fight."

Duncan traded a look with his cousin, and then asked, "Is this only against people directly from your line, Aidan, or anyone from your line?"

"You trained Kyra, so she can go to this thing if she wants. Ceirdwyn took Alex, so I'm assuming Kyra's students can go. But what about Ramirez if he were alive? Or other students Ramirez trained? Does it have to start directly with you, or does it go back, and over, and down?"

"Oh. Anyone from my line, Dhonnachaidh. My teacher, his students, their students, what have you. I don't have to be in direct line with them, no."

Kyra glanced up and mentioned, "And it's voluntary. It almost has to be. Oh, I suppose you could blackmail people into fighting, but you'd never be sure they wouldn't go over to the other side. Think of this as a small-scale feud with some rules."

"It's been so long since this has happened," Connor snorted, "that who'd know if the rules were broken?"

"There are more old immortals out there than you think," Kate said gravely, exchanging glances with Kyra and Aidan. The three of them were some of the oldest women still in the Game, she knew, none of them less than two thousand. "Someone just might."

"Anything else?" Nick asked his wife quietly. One of these days I'm going to find out something about immortality that's going to be a pleasant surprise. Right. And Chicago will elect an honest politician.

"Minor things. It's traditional that the challenged fight the challenger, although it's not a rule. Probably should have been, mind," Methos said. "Let's see. Truce before and after: check. Challenger sets time, number, and order of his attackers: check. Challenged sets place, choice of opponents, and gets to avenge his or her own: check." His light, caustic tone kept the MacLeods from interrupting. "Challenged must fight last, whether the last battle or because they died attempting vengeance: check. Yes, I think that's all."

"You missed something," Kate pointed out calmly. "The fighters must be from the lines involved. No friends. No enemies. Teachers and students. And they have to give their first name and their line before they fight."

Aidan said tiredly, "No, he missed two things. The fights don't have to be to the death."

Nick glanced at Connor. "I happen to agree with that question. All that time and effort," and now he was looking at his wife again, "and they don't have to kill each other after all? Has it ever happened?"

"Not that I know of," Kate told him, pushing her hair back with one hand and picking up her Scotch with the other. "But Rebecca insisted on putting that in the rules. She said it should be an option, just in case someone came for loyalty and lost."

"I'd forgotten that one," Methos admitted. "I don't remember ever hearing of it happening, either."

Aidan explained, "Well, let's face it, Adam, you'd have to actually like someone on the other side to let them live. You'd also have to trust them not to come after your head a few years later. The only person out of Owain's line worth the time to bury him is Farrell Jameson, and I don't think he'll come to fight me."

Connor turned to study her. "Farrell Jameson of New Zealand? Owain trained him?"

"Mmm-hmm. I tried my best to get him to stay away from Owain, but he insisted he was indebted. Why do I get along so well with the honorable ones?"

"Any rules on weapons?" Nick asked, trying yet again to pull the discussion back on track.

"Same as for any other fight, really," Kyra answered. "Nothing projectile or missile; no poison. That's about it."

"You think a line war is coming, don't you?" Connor asked his sister. "And soon."

"I think it's a very definite possibility. Perhaps Rhys-Tewdor doesn't know where I am," she told him quietly. "If I could keep you out of this, brother, I would. But... I can't."

"If he's going to declare a line war, why go to this trouble?" Nick asked. "I mean, why bother all of these people? Some of you are some nasty fighters, I suspect."

Adam pointed out calmly, "And by the time you've watched some of your own people drop, you may be furious and out of control, or your own morale may be slipping. And if he is declaring a line war, Owain needs an incentive for his own people to come. Powerful, demoralized immortals could be a very palatable offer."

Nick studied the cold, rational expression that Adam was hiding behind and nodded slowly. "Okay. I can see that. But keep in mind, this is assuming he's behind all of this. You're not sure. But if the grudge between you two is that bad, wouldn't he want to kill you personally?"

Old memories flashed across Duncan's mind, images of running from Martin Hyde, when all the time Martin wanted Connor. Regretfully, he stopped playing with her hair. "Because he can't find her himself," he told the mortal. "So he'll hunt her students, and her friends, and her line-brothers until someone, somewhere, finds her and asks for help. He's shaking the tree to see what falls out."

"No point," Connor cut in. "She can't hide all of us. Why don't we challenge Rhys-Tewdor first?"

Aidan pointed out gently, "Because I can't prove he's involved. Damien could challenge Johannes to a line war and I would go and fight with him... and probably still end up against Owain," she sighed.

"Wait," Connor said, seeing a possible loophole. "Does he have to challenge the oldest member of the line?"

Kyra laughed, a harsh unpleasant chuckle devoid of joy. "He'd have to know who it was, Connor. Ramirez is dead, remember? Who knows who his oldest student is? Who even knows if Ramirez' teacher is dead? And who'd tell Owain if they knew?" she added sweetly.

Aidan pointed out, "But I have no absolute evidence of even Jirina's involvement."

"Do you need it?" Methos asked casually, studying the shelves. "I think we're rapidly getting to the 'kill or be killed' point, here."

"Are we?" Nick Sutherland countered. "Speaking as an uninvolved spectator, I don't know that you are. Okay, this Conlan was looking for Aidan for Rhys-Tewdor. That part is definitely established, if your source is good."

"He challenged a pre-immortal, until my source explained the errors in that plan. But he was under orders not to challenge anyone," she said, sliding off the couch to sit on the floor next to the coffee table. "Where are you going with this, Nick?"

"Just... hear me out. All right. Damien and Rich had problems with Vasili Kropotkin, and they both have short tempers."

"Yes," she said, beginning to see where he was going. "Duncan... did you all actually see Jirina?"

"No, just a female immortal using her recognition symbols." The tall Scot nodded. "You're saying we don't know who's doing this."

Aidan sighed. "Damien said that there is a definite link between his last lover and Johannes' bank account. And Owain is looking for me. Other than that... nothing is sure. Lovely."

Kyra and Kate glanced at each other and shrugged. "So we look into it," the lanky blonde told her former teacher. "Should be interesting. I'll call in some favors."

The Irish woman chuckled. "All right, then. Let's attack the problem, beat it into the ground--"

Connor smiled nastily. "And then hurt it a bit more for good measure. Damien's the computer expert. Is he investigating it from his end?"

Aidan thought back over the conversation, then remembered his parting comments. "He said some erratic and unprincipled friends were helping out on this, and that he'd tell me more as he found it out."

"Damien called someone erratic?" Methos asked in astonishment. "This from the man who changed sides three times in the Seven Years War?"

"That was the word he used," Aidan admitted. "And he distinctly said 'unprincipled.' "

All the immortals exchanged looks, slow, nasty smiles spreading across many of the faces.

Nick, who hadn't met Damien, asked, "So what does that mean? Coming from Damien," he specified.

"It means there may not be a problem left," Kyra chuckled. "Damien used to sleep with Amanda. He also helped Cory Raines with a few jobs here and there."

Nick Sutherland considered what he knew of Amanda, what he knew of Cory Raines, and what those facts said about Damien. A feral smile of his own tugged at the corners of his mouth. "And he's calling someone else unprincipled? You know, Kate, we may have to ask for the synopsis later. Maybe they know some tricks we can use."

Erin Shea had admired all the artwork, studied all the antiques, and had even noted down the titles of a few books she wanted to borrow. A stray spider web on one wall had been dusted away, and the dishes were done. Diversions concluded and chores done, she turned on Joe and in a very matter of fact voice pointed out, "I've been extremely patient, Joe."

Sol sat peaceably in his chair and waited. Erin glanced over at him. "All right, Sol. What has she told the 'old man' who knows nothing?"

"Officially, my dear? Nothing. Now, if this conversation is 'off the record,' so to speak, then there is a great deal more."

Erin glared at him, then sat down abruptly. "If you could bottle that harmless routine, Sol, you'd be monstrously rich. All right, off the record it is."

Instead of discussing the Irish woman, Sol asked, "Were you aware that vampires are quite real?"

"There were three at Connor's party, my dear. Very interesting gentlemen. Quite... ruthless, the oldest was. Very human, the younger two. But they fit in smoothly among the other guests."

A swarm of questions flashed through Erin's mind immediately -- How old do they look? Were they immediately noticeable as vampires? Do holy symbols really work? Do the eyes glow? Can they change shape? Can they fly? Do they have preferences on blood type? Are they allergic to sunlight, or is it anathema? -- and she batted them down deliberately. "Sol, you're trying to distract me."

"Of course, my dear. I was rather hoping it would work." He smiled at her until Erin had to give up and smile back.

"They will tell us what they tell us... and we will find out what we can by other means," Sol told her placidly. "So. In the morning I will call Mordecai and ask him to give me a list of the students of Ramirez, and their students, and their students as far down as he can find."

A guileless shrug and he told her, "Indulging an old man's curiosity, my dear. They will retire me from the Watchers soon. Only the fact that some of my children and grandchildren are Watchers, and that Connor is very difficult to follow, has kept me on so long. But first I will get all the information I can, for my grandsons and for me."

Erin pushed down the twinge that came from the thought of the Watchers bereft of Sol's cheerful, gentle wisdom, and stuck to the subject. "Why all the students?"

"Because, my dear, we all heard Connor say he was involved because he was 'line of Ramirez.' So we will look into that, hmm? And perhaps we are investigating for no reason, and this will be pure research. And perhaps it is not, and we will be able to anticipate some problem. But there is most assuredly a problem, or Aidan would not be asking for help."

" 'Manda came through in October, and no surprise, a museum lost a few items...."

Erin dropped out of the conversation for a few minutes, slowly fitting together details and trying to remember exact wordings. But careful contemplation of Aidan's immortality as if it were a logic puzzle brought her to a conclusion. "Joe," she finally said, interrupting the masculine discussion of the women at the various parties, "Aidan is an immortal, isn't she?"

"You said you never asked. Fine, but has she ever told you, or let it slip? Because it would take an immortal to tell the two MacLeods that something was immortal business and take over the party. And she knows about Watchers, about the three of us and Adam. If it's an immortal problem, and she's involved, Adam needs to know, but we don't... at least from their point of view," she added wryly.

Joe looked at Erin more closely and sighed in mingled regret, and exasperation, and relief, too. He'd already decided that he wasn't going to answer questions... but logic he could confirm. Helluva thing. I thought it was bad enough being pulled between Mac and the Watchers. Pulled between those three and Erin, though, has been worse. Sorry, guys, and he mentally saluted his three immortal friends, but this one I can't dodge. "Yeah, she's immortal, Erin." That said, he braced himself for Erin's temper.

Instead his redheaded lover glanced at him, more tolerant than he had figured he had an right to expect. "So you can confirm, will not deny, and I'm going to have to figure things out for myself?" She laid a finger across Joe's lips when he started to say something, whether protest or apology. "It's all right, Joe. You got caught between them and me. And I'm sorry for that, too. Right. I'll ask you questions occasionally as I come up with supporting logic. Headquarters doesn't know about Aidan, do they?"

Joe shook his head and saw Sol lean forward to answer that one. All yours, old buddy.

"No," Sol told her. "They do not. I was never certain when she first visited Connor. And then, for many years, she visited only rarely, and never when I could be sure of seeing her. I did not know whether she was aging or not." The elderly man shrugged and took a sip of his tea. "Then when I did see her again, and was quite sure she must be immortal, she was traveling with Duncan and Adam, and Joseph, here. And so I bowed to my old friend's wisdom and thought he must surely be Watching her. But I have not told Headquarters, either."

"Erin...." Joe shook his head, pushing up off the chair and walking to Sol's counter to pour himself a shot of whiskey. "The Tribunal was gonna shoot me for associating with Immortals." One hand went up, forestalling her comments. "I know, I know, I took the oath. And I held to it, too. Mac would have taken me with him when he broke out, but I wouldn't let him. But damn it, Erin, they were gonna kill the immortals, too, starting with Mac."

Erin tried to interrupt, but he kept right on going, words he'd wanted to say for ages boiling out of him to a sympathetic audience. "Duncan MacLeod never swore a Watcher's oath. I don't care what that idiot Shapiro thought, or what the current Tribunal thinks, we are fair game for immortals. Always have been. We don't have some God-given right to study their lives without their permission, to follow them around. We do it because we don't think they should vanish like they'd never been, and since public exposure would endanger them, we do everything secretly. But the fact is, we're deliberately invading the privacy of people who kill to stay alive, and who have every reason to fear being burned at the stake."

Erin moved to stand behind him, one hand rubbing at Joe's shoulders. "Joe... it's always been like this."

"Hey, go farther back. Don't start with Jacob Galati and Mac. Start with Darius. And Thackeray, and all the others the Hunters killed... or tried to. A Hunter tried to kill Carl Robinson, a few months after Horton ran the first time. The Tribunal wasn't going to kill me for breaking my oath and talking to Mac, Erin. They were gonna put a bullet in my head because Watcher deaths had gone through the ceiling after I started talking to Mac."

"They what?!?" Erin stared at him. "That is sure as hell not the version that got around, Joe! Come sit down and talk to us where we can see you."

"Of course it isn't what they told anyone, same way they don't like to admit that Jacob Galati killed half of the Watcher Regional Directors because James Horton killed his wife, Irena. Or that Jack Shapiro took Jacob's head, and was going to kill Mac, too. The truth, darlin', is that I didn't start talking to Mac until after Horton's people killed Thackeray. None of the Watchers who were killed had anything to do with Mac or his friends. Hell, I'd lay good money that a lot of them were Hunters. But the Tribunal decided that since the increase in deaths mostly matched my blowing our cover...." The angry, sardonic expression on his face told Erin volumes.

"They were going to make you a scapegoat," she whispered, shocked despite herself at the betrayal. "For Horton? Because he was your brother-in-law?"

"Because Jack Shapiro had lost his son to death and held immortals accountable," Sol suggested more gently. "A man is not rational when his child's body is brought to him, my dear." Hard-won knowledge shone in his eyes, and the other Watchers remembered that Solomon Goldberg had been a young man in Europe when the Nazis were in power. "It was not right. But it was understandable. And after young Galati killed so many of Shapiro's friends and associates, it is not surprising that Jack Shapiro wished to destroy the immortal who had forced him to face his own mortality."

An uneasy silence spread among them before Erin finally asked slowly, "Joe? What does all this have to do with Aidan?"

"I want there to be one immortal who knows about the Watchers that the Watchers don't necessarily know about. Just one. But I'm pickin' one who has friends, and skills, and money, and a ruthless streak. What's the old saying? Who guards the guardians? Well, I want to know who Watches the Watchers, 'cause after that fuck-up I think someone damn well should."

"Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodies?" Erin murmured absently, as she contemplated Joe's suggestion. "Juvenal, I think. Joe... let's think about this? Then talk about it? Maybe we should find a way to get me assigned as Aidan's Watcher if they ever find out about her."

"You, my dear, are going into academia, remember?" Sol pointed out. "Not that I do not find your idea very interesting, Joseph, but I agree. We must think on this. Then we must act," he added before Joe could erupt. "I am not patronizing you, old friend, or placating you. I, too, think it is necessary. But it will require careful planning, and I wish to get some sleep before calling Mordecai."

"That," Erin said firmly, drawing Joe with her out of the living room, "is a wonderful idea. A bed is definitely on my list of things to do. Good night, Sol."

The elderly man controlled his smile until they were out of the room. "Ah, Joseph, I think perhaps you two are good for each other." He moved slowly around the living room, checking the locks and turning out the lights.

"And we will find a way over the next weeks to make this work. For he is right. The Tribunal has gotten too powerful, and far too blind. They do not see what the field does to us, and what the advantages would be in talking with those immortals who could be trusted. They see only tradition, and the lure for young agents of doing undercover work. I am amazed," he murmured to himself, "that more of us have not gotten arrested for stalking and peeping in windows as young Mr. Wolfe threatened to do. Hmmph. I do wonder if perhaps Erin could talk the researchers into supporting us...."

It was a long time before plans quit moving through his mind and allowed him to sleep.

The wiry, golden-skinned man growled an obscenity in Thai, repeated it in Malay for good measure, and grabbed the annoying phone off the headboard. "Jarunsuk."

The deep, Southern-accented man's voice coupled with the friendly insult told the immortal immediately who had called. "Hothead. How are you? Do you know what time it is here?"

"I'm a programmer. Time is that thing everyone else pays attention to.... Oh, fuck. Sorry, Jarunsuk, I didn't look."

The Thai immortal shrugged, accepted that he was awake for the day at one in the morning, which was, granted, only a few hours early for him, and sat up. "Spilled milk. What's so urgent?"

"--this one should be challenged for something other than first blood. I remember the man you mean. Tall bald bastard, wields a longsword. With his height, you'd think he'd try bastard sword. What about him?"

"This sounds interesting." Jarunsuk pulled a pad off the night table, uncapped the pen, and said, "Shoot."

"F&J Importers, which doesn't seem to be on the Australian Exchange: no surprise, there. But he owns a significant part of the stock in Bryce Pharmaceutical Research, which is based out of--"

"Damien, that's traded on NASDAQ. They're located in Phoenix, Arizona, and Chicago, Illinois with corporate headquarters in Richmond, California." Jarunsuk couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Because I've been researching them for a week. That stock is about to move, coz, you might want to get in on it." He paused. "How significant a part?"

"Right up there with the shooting of Kennedy," Jarunsuk agreed. "Under his own name? I didn't run into that during the stockholder reports, and he should have been listed separately."

"Look under Jan Urquhart, Ian McDermod, Giannes Zographos, Evan Pentreath, and Jehan Chirac. They each own four percent, but they're all Johannes."

"Huh. He's smart enough to dodge the forms for the SEC, then. I'll look into the rumors on Bryce, too. Are you still in Charleston, nephew?"

"Look, I don't mind cousin. But I don't care if you and Magistra are line-sibs, which, by the way, no one has ever explained? You're five hundred years younger than I am and I'm not calling you 'uncle.' "

"Needing explanations? Getting to be an old man," Jarunsuk teased. "Can't even show proper respect for the financial wunderkind of the family."

"You're investing how much of my money for me? For a nice commission, as I remember. And yeah, I'm still in Charleston."

"Knowing you, maybe a tenth of your assets. You need to move out on the West Coast. You could make a fortune as a freelance programmer. Everyone is desperate. And with the stricter regulations on the banks after the Savings and Loan debacle, financial programmers in particular are commanding some very nice fees. Your computer skills and my financial knowledge could do very well together."

"I'll keep that in mind. I do need to move sometime in the next year or three, but I'll have to talk to Stormy about it. Hmm. Maybe a side venture in independent auditing? She minored in Economics...."

"Ah, the current lady? Better than the last one I hope?" Jarunsuk shook his head, aware that his impetuous kinsman wouldn't see it. Damien's bad luck with lovers was legendary throughout the extended lines of Ramirez and Methos. After the time one of Jirina's escapades nearly lost him a hand, and turning up broke in Kingston once because of a sweet young thing who was neither.... "Wasn't it Haresh Clay who got you out of trouble that time in Jamaica?"

"No, it was Carter. I always got along better with him. And this one even has Magistra's approval. Did you want her phone number to check?" came the sarcastic offer. The responding silence from San Francisco went on so long that Damien frowned. "Cousin? You there?"

"What, it's that unlikely?" The burly redhead drew a deep breath to be offended.

Those slow, careful words shocked him into an answer. "No. I saw her two weeks ago in New York. Who the hell told you she was dead?"

"A... reliable source. I'll find out what's going on. This should actually be fairly entertaining. He's going to feel like a very relieved idiot. Maybe I should set up cameras."

"We do have a few," Jarunsuk pointed out acerbically. "Now, why would you think this was a set up?"

"Because someone tried to get me to challenge one of Duncan MacLeod's students... without letting me know he was line of Ramirez."

"Good thing I'm not line of Ramirez, then," came the calm reply. "I'll call you tonight with some information, Damien. Watch your head."

Damien stared at the list of people still to call and scratched down the question he was going to ask Aidan when they talked on the 4th. Who trained Jarunsuk? And for that matter... who trained Magistra?

In San Francisco, Jarunsuk hung up the phone, threw back the sheet, and went to stretch out and run before logging onto the brokerage system and investigating the two companies. Sometime today he'd have to start tracking down Methos, too, and tell him about Edana. But first came Damien's hunt.

Frohike stretched until every joint above the knees had popped, and his knees were thinking about it too. For almost a week, the Gunmen had been working until they had to sleep, sacking out for a little while, and then getting back up and going back to the terminals. The results had that inspired, surreal quality that always seemed to erupt after days on end of seeing 4 AM through three pots of coffee.

Interpol had received both sets of books for F&J Importers, and some very interesting ledger entries for Petesceu Ltd. in Riga, Latvia, also. The attached email, which had been routed through three different servers, all of them stripping off addresses as they went, mentioned almost as an aside that it might be worth looking at White Dove Warehouses in Marseilles.

Stankov, Drakokhrust, and Aksakov had received letters posted from various corners of the globe warning them in carefully worded messages that Jirina Petesceu was skimming the take on the shipments into China she was 'facilitating.' Enough details were there to make it believable that it had come from someone involved with the deal, but the letters were non-committal enough that the Mafiosi should have a hell of a time figuring out who. Byers had been very smug about the innocuous phrasing.

Colonel Sung Hsueh-Liang of the Taiwanese Army's Internal Affairs had received a warning to check his sources for information about new supplies of oil coming into China. An attachment to the email held details of times, dates, and durations of phone calls between General Lee Moy and Lim Mahn of Hong Kong. Mahn was on the payroll of three different companies in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Formosa as a commission agent seeking out new products and customers. Interestingly enough, two of the companies were in fairly direct competition with each other.

The Charleston, SC police got an email detailing bank transactions between a Swiss account and an account in the Cayman Islands. The Cayman account had promptly transferred half the money to a Fort Lauderdale account. Said account, interestingly enough, belonged to one of the assassins found dead in Sylvana Storm's living room. The DEA had been copied on the email, in hopes they'd presume it was drug money and try to investigate all the way back to the originating bank in Zurich.

Australian Customs and the US Internal Revenue Service both received an email citing a URL where they could find file copies of the two sets of books from F&J Importers. No explanation, no comments, just a company name and two electronic ledgers. That upload had been done under more satellite transfers and switches than Langly had arranged for anything in years. No way was he messing with the IRS, though!

They had just been starting to close it down and type a summary for Damien, when inspiration struck Byers at two in the morning.

While Frohike and Langly were holding a friendly row over different encryption options, Byers had been investigating to see if there was any way to somehow add some crowning touch to Urquhart's misery. He had been getting ready to settle for the fact that, starting Monday morning, the head of Cook Trading was receiving an automatic blind carbon of all emails sent by Jan Urquhart and John FitzAlan.

Except... F&J is in the process of buying out a bulk freight consolidation company in San Pedro. And an international transaction for any company publicly listed on a US stock exchange has to be registered with the US Securities and Exchange Commission or it can't go through....

Langly turned, a dangerous mischief in his eyes. "Johnny, are you talking about the SEC's EDGAR filing system?"

"Yeah. Because, F&J wants to buy this company south of L.A., and if their EDGAR filings were to disappear so that the transaction wasn't registered with the SEC...."

"Well, they had to file paper copies, too, but the SEC will have to look for them. It'll slow down the buy-out, possibly prompt a drop in stock prices for the US company, and the international tax lawyers will start looking at it more closely. It's sort of like alerting the IRS, only a bit worse, because it will cause questions over just when, exactly, the LA branch goes from being a US company to an Australian-owned subsidiary, and what taxes go to whom. It would make their lives very difficult," Byers added with his usual apparent diffidence.

Frohike yawned, then nodded once and pulled up an email account. "My contact retired three years ago, but what the hell, I'll try to track him down. He'd love this...."

Rich watched the flight to Paris taxi towards the runway, one arm around Aidan's shoulders. "Ready to go? Our flight's gonna start boarding in about twenty minutes."

Aidan chuckled. "That's not enough time to get coffee, and barely time to make it to the concourse. Did I say thank you for digging that dress out of storage for me?"

"Yeah, you did." He let go and they headed for their own flight to Seattle. "I don't get it. The three of you are an item, but they're going to Paris and you're headed to Seacouver. Why?"

"Well," she teased him, "for one thing, I borrowed this student who's heading back to the race circuit in March, and I thought he might like some of my time." That drew a flashing grin. "For another," she continued, "I have a contract to fulfill, which means my historical novel on Charlemagne needs to get underway."

"No, but my income tax deductions this year are going to be very interesting. And extensive." She laughed again at the look on Rich's face. "I didn't make money by wasting it, Rich. And for a third, Duncan will be back in February, and Adam will probably be with him. He claims that he intends to have business interests in Seacouver. The mind simply boggles. Now, then, were you serious about wanting to set up an apartment in the basement?"

"Yeah, well, it's like this. The front door of your house is out of range from the kitchen, right?"

Aidan stared at him from level grey eyes. "Rich. You mean that from my bed I can't feel one of us coming in the door in the wee hours of the morning." She left him on the hook for a few seconds, trying to come up with a way out of that, then reached over and tickled him as they walked, carry-on bags rolling behind. Rich danced out of the way, pacing her just out of arm's reach until the crowds forced them back together.

"Wretch." Aidan grinned at him, looking no older than he did for a moment, with her hair in a casual pony tail down her back and over the ski jacket. "Did you think I never needed to sneak around on Adam or Ramirez? No, you won't disturb me coming and going from the basement. Is that all you were worried about?"

"You keep thinking you're going to get a student soon," he shrugged. "I mean, you saw snow on the doorstep at Joe's in that... whatever it was last night. Do you always fade out like that?"

"Almost never," she sighed. "But the really bad ones do that, and they always make me dive for food afterwards. The things are exhausting. Trying to pull coherency from a powerful vision is like trying control a stallion from the ground instead of his back. My arms ache afterwards from where I've been trying to physically confine it for long enough to See everything, and my legs and feet hurt from straining to stay in contact with something, anything, to brace myself. I end up feeling as if I've been working in the fields all day, pulling at something or swinging a hoe. And sometimes I've a miserable headache on top of it."

Rich glanced at her, light glinting across the freckles on his face. "That doesn't sound like a gift. Sounds like it sucks royally. Do these visions ever happen around other...? I mean, that sounds like a quick way to...." His index finger traced the collar of his indigo sweater.

"It would be," she agreed. "Fortunately, it's never happened. I have to be a bit... distracted, I suppose, to See things. Others of us rarely relax me so."

"And sometimes I enjoy being able to See things, and sometimes I hate it. Of late, I've not been unhappy. At least I'm seeing something pleasant this time. I have to admit, I rather like training students."

"Yeah, I got that impression," he chortled. "Connor said you were making calls all over the globe the other night. How many students have you trained?"

"Well, if you don't count Alexandrias and Xenokrates, and truly, I can't; Adam did most of the work on them. Of course, I can't count you, either, or Darius' student, Nolan...." She thought about it as they walked. "All told, Rich? Twenty-five. Nine of them are dead, now."

"No, frequently it was two," she chuckled. "Kyra was my first student and I was almost three hundred. Sometimes I was too disgusted with them, or had other commitments, and foisted them off on brothers or friends. Other times it seemed as if I finished with one and not ten years later picked up another. Actually, that did happen once, Damiano and Ishtvan it was. And you're the first student I've really taught in about one hundred and fifty years."

"Really, Rich." She ruffled his hair, smiling at him. "The last three I trained are all dead. Neither Esperanza nor Running Wolf made it through their first decade. Holly had gotten past her first century, and I had finally quit worrying, when I heard through Darius that she had lost a challenge in London. I was fretting over what I was doing wrong. No, Rich, I very badly needed a good swift kick, and some days you are unquestionably that."

"Oh, yes. Definitely. All right, if we're going to set up the basement for you, we'll need to do some plumbing work, and ducting. Do you want it to stay open except for support beams, or are we getting into drywall, too? And who's paying for supplies, by the way?" she jibed as they turned into the concourse terminal, headed home again.

1 - For the non-Christians, thirty pieces of silver is the amount Judas accepted to betray Christ to the Romans.

2 - For the curious who've been keeping track? Yes, Holly Curtis is the immortal whose sword Rebecca sent to Aidan in 1949. Yes, she was Aidan's last student. And who was she sleeping with? Brownie points to you if you can figure it out. There are enough clues. Truly.

3 - Methos, crucifixion, and 'just say no' -- right. This info is per the novel Zealot, which I use solely for background info. (Sorry, I'm not killing Marcus Constantine. I can't buy the way they had him lose his head. Email me if you just have to know the story there.) In Caligula's day Methos was a slave in Rome, and was acting as political advisor to his senator. Unfortunately, the senator's wife propositioned him. Equally unfortunately, she hadn't just been beaten with an ugly stick, she had flogged herself with it. He said no; she cried rape; he got crucified. End of story. (Well, Marcus Constantine got him down.... Somebody had to.)

5 - Ummm. About the tent story? It wasn't a Highland Games. And no names are given to protect the guilty. But oh, yes. It's true. You have no idea how distracting a conversation like that can be at 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning....

6 - Whinge: a fine Irish verb meaning whining and wussing and being a general sulky nuisance.

7 - The attack on Stormy took place in Explanations. If BDSM bothers you, just page down. I won't be offended. In some ways, I think the whole sub-story with Damien & Stormy may be the best part of that one.

8 - Okay, for those of you who read the whole thing with Frohike, Langly, and Byers and said, 'Who? What?' Earl Warren was in charge of the commission that investigated JFK's assassination. The multi-volume report which essentially said he was killed by one man (pardon the author while she laughs herself sick. Okay, I feel better now.) is referred to as the Warren Report. And Frohike, Langly, and Byers are collectively known as the Lone Gunmen, of X-Files fame. Thanks, guys, someone had to keep Krycek away from my hard drive!

9 - Yes, Gina and Robert are on good terms with Cory Raines (the laughing bank robber from the episode "Money No Object"). No, I have no idea if this is relevant to the ongoing series. They haven't told me in English and I don't speak Italian. Spaking of which, cara mia is Italian for 'my dear.'

10 - As a matter of record, Damien's recipe for coffee does work. Go *very* easy on the cardamom. A bare shake for a full pot of coffee, less than 1/8 tsp. cinnamon, and a shake of the nutmeg a bit heavier than the cardamom, but not by much. Cardamom has been used in coffee by the Arabs since they found out that roasted coffee beans brewed well. Coffee shops are not a modern invention. And Var's profanity of Sangre de Christo translates as 'Christ's blood!'

11 - Terrence Coventry is from the episode "Dramatic License," also known as the romance novel episode. See the later reference to Duncan being in said novel. I decided Aidan had trained Terrence before I ever got the new Watcher Chronicles. The same applies Kyra, who is in fact from the fourth century BC and originated in Sparta. She died during an athletic competition, possibly at the instigation of a rival. Kyra is from the sixth season episode "Patient Number Seven," which is definitely worth watching when it comes out on SciFi channel. As for dharma? Karma may be the ledger on which your life is weighed when the time comes for your next incarnation to be decided, but dharma is your life's purpose in the world/other people's lives. Sorry, that's off the top of my head; if I have it wrong, please contact me and let me know!

12 - Hmmm. One of my beta readers said she wanted to know about the press-gangs in Calcutta. My oops; I keep forgetting that history majors accumulate odd tidbits of information and then assume everyone knows them. The 'black hole of Calcutta' was actually a small cell in which 64 Europeans were imprisoned during the Seven Year War; only 21 people emerged alive. However, it is in my memory from one lecture or another that Calcutta as a whole kept that name because people went in and were never seen again. The press gangs, informal recruiters, or shanghai experts, were thick on the docks there in the Crown Jewel of the British Empire (India, not Calcutta in specific). I do know such events are the reason the city of Shanghai lends its name as a verb meaning 'to enroll a sailor for unscrupulous means by force.'

13 - Aidan's sweatshirt? Public Television is selling it. 'Si hoc legere scis, nimium educationes habes' -- literally, 'If this you know to read, an excess of education you have.' The Thracian gold exhibition just went through my hometown and I can't recommend it highly enough. It's absolutely amazing what kind of work was being done when the ROG was still mortal! As for the Age & Treachery shirts? I had that Christmas present planned before I ever heard about the presentation at Access Con to Peter Wingfield. My friends and I tend to get them at appropriate birthdays.... I'm dreading 40.

14 - Amanda... retrieved, yeah, that's the word, the sword and shield in When First We Practice.

15 - Yes, the historical data on the Crusade, Eleanor's Amazons, the infant mortality, a noble woman's proper behavior, and the Black Plague are as accurate as I can make them.

16 - Flicking a thumbnail between your teeth is a gesture which roughly means, 'You're not even worth the trouble of eating. Too stringy.' Consider it a cannibal's insult and let's leave it at that. (I got that information from Robert Heinlein's Podkayne of Mars. Argue with him. I'll pay good money to watch.) Or to a Brit or an Italian, it means you're prone to premature ejaculation....

17 - The Thinker and the MJ tape. In X-Files canon, the Thinker was a demi-god of Hackdom, and he hacked the Department of Defense, gaining access to the MJ tape, which was a detailed account of every government cover up of UFOs and extraterrestrial life. The Thinker was assassinated shortly after he got the information, but the tape didn't die with him. And yes, the drug in the episode "Unusual Suspects" was in fact ergotominehistamine.

18 - Matthew McCormick, by the way, is an immortal FBI agent from the fifth season episode, "Manhunt." Should I be worried that he's looking into Stormy? Yeah, probably.

19 - Grace Chandel dates back to the first season episode "Saving Grace." One of the truly likeable immortals.

20 - Benny Carbazza, Willie Kingsley, Kit O'Brady, Michelle Webster, Annie Devlin, and Ceirdwyn are from, respectively: "Vendetta" - Benny, "Diplomatic Immunity" - Willie, "Double Eagle" - Kit, "Rite of Passage" - Michelle, "An Eye For an Eye" - Annie, and "Take Back the Night" - Ceirdwyn. And yes, per canon (i.e., the new Watcher Chronicles) Hugh O'Niall trained Annie Devlin. He also trained Liam O'Rourke.... And as one of my readers pointed out? Ireland does in fact *have* a female Taoiseach; Aidan, however, is from Northern Ireland and was referring to it.

21 - The Irish words? (Yes, I finally got a dictionary.) Fimineach is in fact hypocrite. Muirnin is darling, sweetheart, or beloved. If the vocative in Irish is significantly different from the nominative, and someone can correct my Irish, I will be happy to update the pages.

23 - The stalkings and set-ups run through most of the line war stories, which start with Prelude to the Storm and will run through Sirocco.

24 - Kate and Nick Sutherland are from the sixth season episode "Two of Hearts." Great, great episode. Bartholomew died in that same episode. He was an old enemy of Kate's.

25 - 'Tyled' -- yes, that is spelled correctly. In various secret societies, during the meetings someone guards the door to prevent unwanted/unwarranted intrusion. Such a person is called a 'tyler' and the usual question during the ceremonies is, "Is the lodge tyled?" meaning "Are we secure?"

26 - Yes, those are the rules for line wars. A more coherent chart can be found here.

27 - Kiem Sun is from the first season episode "The Road Not Taken" and Mako was Rich's first head in "Under Color of Authority."

28 - Lucien LaCroix, mentioned here in passing, is from the show Forever Knight and I have no copy rights to him. See the earlier disclaimer about not making money off this.

29 - Apologies to anyone I've offended in Chicago, but Nick lives there. I don't.

30 - Martin Hyde hounded Duncan looking for Connor in the episode "Prodigal Son."

31 - In my stories, one of the Watcher researchers named Mordecai is the unofficial expert on Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez of Spain and Egypt, as well as all his students.

32 - The whole mess with Galati and Joe's near death are found in "Judgment Day" and "One Minute To Midnight." I've always wondered why they never showed any of the fall-out from that. But Joe's right: the deaths of Darius, Thackeray, and Fitz' other friend (whose name I can't recall) all pre-date Joe talking to Duncan. And I've always assumed that the Watcher who tried to kill Carl Robinson in "Run For Your Life" was one of Horton's Hunters. Makes you wonder how many of the others died trying to commit murder. Or who was simply careless around the wrong immortal, as happened in the episode "Methos."

34 - Methos did tell some of his students that Aidan was dead; he thought the Kurgan took her head in 1638. He hasn't remembered to inform all of them that the reports of her death were greatly exaggerated, not to mention incorrect.

35 - Kudos and beer go to the Lone Gunmen. The plot was trying to accelerate too quickly for me to get Aidan's new student to her. They spiked everyone's plans very, very efficiently. Thanks, guys!

36 - Aidan has the Sight, the an-da-shalla, the gift of Seeing things not normally visible or things in times past or present. Usually, she hates it. It's rarely applicable, doesn't tell her things she really wanted to know, and doesn't always come true. See Quarrels of All Kinds for an example of a time when it was less than explicit.

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