| Updated
2/6/04 for WIP Amnesty Day. I will get back to this, but not before
I've finished writing the for-sale novel that's eating my brain.
Sorry, folks. If you want to hop to the new section, click here. Stained
Glass
The shivers woke Xan up, actually. Not the soft noises Connor was making in the back of his throat, or the feel of a tightly clenched fist against his stomach, but the shudders that kept running the length of the Scot's fine-honed body. "Connor. Connor, wake up," Xan murmured, pitching the words so far down into his already deep register that they rumbled down through Connor's dream and woke him. "What's wrong?" Alex muttered sleepily, then sounded more awake as he asked quietly, "Another bad dream?" Connor sagged against both of them, deliberately releasing the tension that had roused all three of them. Usually husky tones sounded rougher than usual as he said slowly, "Bad enough... but not mine, I don't think." Xan sat up, reaching for the bottle of water he'd left on the nightstand on his side of the bed."Here." He passed it over and the three of them shared it out while they listened to the nearly inaudible jazz coming from the stereo. Alex settled back along Connor's side, wrapping an arm over his chest. He sounded completely coherent, however, when he commented, "Not yours. Something to come, or dreaming Edana's dreams again?" "If so," Xan pointed out, watching Connor from the corner of his eye, "that one must have been a bitch." Connor grumbled, "Do you suppose I could answer the question, either of you? Or were you planning on talking all night?" "Are you all right?" Xan asked him seriously."You were shaking like a leaf, Connor. Your heart's still pounding." "It's slowing back down." The Scot shrugged where he lay between them, but didn't argue when Xan somehow ended up draped over him as well, curled along his free side and with one thigh wrapped over Connor's leg. The Highlander lay there and watched the dim light slide through the windows and bounce off the pale gold walls. After the stark city-sparkled darkness of his bedroom in Manhattan, that constant light had taken some getting used to. It did make sunrise an even better alarm clock than usual, though. Alex gave him a few moments, then repeated, "Are you all right?" "Just trying to piece it together." Connor sounded distracted, not evasive, which got a chuckle from Alex and an exasperated sigh from Xan. "And?" the blond Greek finally asked, exerting just enough pressure with his arm to make it clear he'd pin Connor down to get his answers."What was it?" Connor said quietly, "Exhaustion. Beaten down, worn down, frozen solid, not enough food for weeks, and when the hell is winter ever going to end, tired." "Unless I missed something earlier," Xan murmured, "that isn't you." "No," Connor agreed, almost chuckling as he remembered the earlier pillow fight in the living room. They hadn't quite broken the bookshelf, by sheer accident. A failed leap over the couch (a cushion had skidded out from under Connor's feet) had ended up in a very silly looking tangle of laughing bodies on the floor and over said couch, however."That definitely wasn't me." "Wrist hurting?" Alex asked thoughtfully as he tried to figure out what had happened. Connor did chuckle at that."No, you lunatic. You were right; sex does help with the pain." "Endorphins," was the dismissive answer from Xan."You're dodging this, Connor. If it wasn't you... ?" "No, Xan, it wasn't." Xan reached up, unerring in the dim light, and ran his hand through Connor's hair."I like it longer, like this," he added, then shifted back to the subject."One of your premonitions, then, or was it Edana?" "It's...." Alex raised up just enough to see the alarm clock on his night table and frowned as he did the conversions."She's in Copenhagen with Duathor now, isn't she?" "Aye," Connor agreed, his good hand tracing an easy path along Xan's back. The other hand had truly begun to grow back -- finally -- but it had no strength and was still the wrong shape. He didn't use it to touch either of his lovers, not wanting to give them a reason to flinch away. He didn't like the feel of it himself, and wouldn't have blamed them if they had flinched... but Alex and Xan would have faulted themselves, and he knew it. So Connor made sure it didn't happen. "It's past nine in the morning, there," Alex finally decided."Admittedly it's Saturday, but Edana sleeping this late? Not even for jetlag, I don't think." "She could have been up writing," Xan suggested without conviction."When she gets on a roll, Marc has to chase her off the computer." "Connor." Alex waited a moment; when he didn't get a reply, he growled, "Connor." "What?" "Answer the question, or I swear I'll do something drastic like make you cook breakfast in the morning. You'll have to eat it, too," he added grimly."Edana? Or a vision?" "The problem with you," Connor began, only to have Xan interrupt him. "-- is that we know when you're stalling, because we use most of the same diversion tactics. Come on, Connor, just give us an answer, would you?" Connor sagged into the sheets, releasing more of the tension he'd been holding since he woke."Aidan, I think." "Right," Xan said calmly."Alexandrias, turn on the light, would you?" Lamplight poured over him, sliding over his naked back and tousled hair in shades and tones of gold, as Xan twisted around to pull an address book off the bedside table. Connor resisted the urge to tickle him again and pointed out, "She'll kill you if you call because I had a dream." "No, Connor," Xan said absently as he dialed a number, "she'll kill us when she eventually finds out that we didn't call her and you were having dreams." He slid the address book back into the drawer and ran a hand through his hair, raking it back from his eyes. "I'll be happy if she has the energy to try," Alex sighed. He didn't look up to see what Xan was doing. Connor propped himself up on one elbow, curious now."Then who are you calling?" "Reinforcements," Xan muttered."Come on, brother, answer the damn phone." "Put it on the speaker," Alex told him bluntly, "or I'll make you eat Connor's idea of breakfast." The sound of a phone being picked up cut off any other threats he might have made. "I did," Xan muttered just as a light, surprisingly pleasant man's tenor answered, "Farhad." "Morning, Salim," Xan replied."We need a favor, but it's one you'd have done anyway." "Good morning yourself, Xenokrates. Isn't it still late where you are, brother?" Whoever the man was, he sounded amused and curious, but not upset, Connor noticed. Good. "Late enough we were asleep, yeah," Xan agreed, sprawling back and ending up with his head propped on Connor's waist."Alex is here, too, and have you met Connor MacLeod, yet? Ramirez' last student?" "Not yet, no. My apologies, Connor -- I was out of touch in the pampas when everything went wrong up there. You're recovering well, I hope?" Humor sparked across Connor's smile and made it into his voice."We are going to get along. Nice of you to ask, instead of dancing around it. Well enough, and making these two pamper me, which is always fun. Salim, wasn't it?" He ran his fingers through Xan's hair without really thinking about it. "Salim Farhad, one of Ramirez' brothers. As I said, a pleasure. I look forward to meeting you in person one day; I took a page from Edana's book, I confess, and have a case of brandy with your name on it." Connor laughed, his usual raspy, staccato chuckle and felt Alex relax slightly against his back. Idiot, I told him I was all right. "Another Kurgan thank you? Nice to know the oversized bastard is good for something. Of course, you'll have to help me drink some of it." "Certainly," Salim answered, laughter threading through his own words."I had hoped to. Now, gentlemen, you did not call me at some early hour of the morning simply to introduce me to Connor. What's this favor you wanted? And how badly is it going to rearrange my day?" "I suspect we're turning your weekend upside down, brother, and possibly worse. I am sorry," Alex told him. To Connor's surprise, he sounded sincerely apologetic."Hopefully you're mostly moved?" "I can afford to lose a day or two of unpacking, yes. What's wrong? And why me?" "Because you're next-closest and Duathor obviously can't handle this or it would be dealt with. How do you feel about pinning Edana down until she has hysterics and gets it over with?" The silence on the other end of the line made Connor raise an eyebrow at Alex. To his surprise, both of the Greeks were frowning and Alex finally sat up."Salim? You there?" "I'm here, yes." Now the light voice sounded angry."Hysterics. Precisely what, Alexandrias, is wrong, and how wrong, and for how long, and while you're at it, where are her lovers? Or do I need to have a long and pointed conversation with our teacher?" "Enough," Connor rasped."Everyone came out of this wounded, Salim, including her lovers. Your teacher and my clansman are licking their own wounds in their own holes, and Edana went off to do the same. But as usual, she's worrying more about someone else than herself. And she's too damned tired for that." "And you get the job," Xan told him, "because you love her enough to make damn sure she gets what she needs, no matter what. We're trusting you for that, Salim." "And because you're busy with Connor." The light voice had regained some of the control."She's with Duathor, hmm? Copenhagen, then. All right. What, precisely, is wrong, or do you know?" "Too much time taking care of everyone else and not enough time worrying about herself," Xan said bluntly. Alex snorted."Throw in exhaustion, depression--" "--and a stupid conviction that she's responsible for what they did to me, and for the whole damned line war, when you come down to it," Connor cut over Alex."She needs cosseting from someone she doesn't have to take care of and a chance to come completely unglued on someone who can hold things together for her for once. Can you do it?" "Of course. The sun rose this morning, did it not?" Salim snorted derisively."And it is certainly my turn. So. Brothers, I have Edana. I'll leave organizing relief for the rest of the war-wounded to you. By the bye, Connor MacLeod -- you know where they keep their phone numbers and addresses, yes?" "Aye. Why?" Connor asked suspiciously. "Because, if the two of them need more help than you can give, I'll expect you to call me for reinforcements. The Game spares none of us and our line does not like losing members." Salim laughed softly and added, "And I'll call in a while and check myself, I suspect. Sometimes," he murmured, "it is best not to trust Greeks who say they need no gifts." Alex shook his head when Salim hung up on them rather than saying goodbye."Nice to know he's still annoyed with us over the call in March." "He wasn't the only one," Connor commented mildly."A bit much, wasn't it?" "It made our point." Xan turned off the light and shifted back, ending up wrapped along and over Connor, his hand intertwined with Alex's on Connor's chest."Good. He didn't ask how we knew." Connor made a chuckling noise deep in his chest."Just as well. I might have told him, and then the man would be even more confused." Alex squirmed, settled himself more comfortably, and murmured, "Go back to sleep, Connor. No more of Edana's dreams, hmm?" "No," Connor muttered,
nose buried in the herb-scented curls of Alex's hair."She's awake now,
after all." ~*~*~*~*~ Sunlight poured in through the windows, sliding without check through the thin white curtains. An early morning breeze chased the light in, still cool but with the promise of a warmer day to come. Duathor glanced up from the strong, dark tea she favored with breakfast and considered her flat with a critical eye. Light colors filled the rooms, to catch and reflect the sunlight during the winter days when there was so little of it. She smiled as she glanced from the pale pine floors to the white radiators that provided heat, from the peach-shaded walls to the fawn fabric of the chairs. Such a contrast to the hammering heat of Egypt, the burning white of sunlight off sand.... Duathor shook those memories away with a swift clatter of beaded black braids, refusing to concern herself with another beach that came to mind as well -- the one in Savannah where she'd stalked and killed men only a month before. They had been part of the attack on the line of Ramirez; assassins had no call to complain to the Lords of Judgment if they found themselves assassinated. From the looks of her teacher, though, the war might be over, but the armistice had come at a cost, as always. Edana meshed all too well with the flat's color scheme: pale and faded in contrast to her usual vitality. Far too pale for a woman who'd just come from four weeks vacation in Greece and Italy. Two nights out of the last three she'd woken at some point and moved out to the couch, as well. This morning she'd slept far later than usual, and the restlessness of that sleep and the frightened, angry cast of face and shoulders when she finally woke told Duathor exactly why Edana kept going to the living room to sleep... or rather, to conceal the trouble she was having in sleeping. Obviously this was the latest 'parting gift' from Owain Rhys-Tewdor; just as clearly, no one else had dealt with it and Edana desired help. She usually had a more subtle hand with camouflage than to wrap up in a crimson blanket on a pale white couch, after all. All of which meant Duathor needed to try, at least. The phone rang while she was still considering how to handle her stubborn teacher and whether it could be done without unduly distressing her new brother. "Negra," she answered sharply, annoyed to have a call before ten on a Saturday; they'd talked until nearly four and Marco was still asleep in the guest bedroom. The caller's first words, however, made her smile. "Such a voice so early, Duathor. Don't use my name, thanks." She bit back her first comments as Salim went on, "Anyone would think you dislike mornings." "They'd even be right," she answered caustically, falling easily into their old patterns of roundabout conversation, evasion, and concealment. The two of them, along with their kinsman Nazif, had been a formidable spying team more than once."So, then, what can I do for you?" "For one," he said calmly, "yes or no, is your teacher there?" "Yes, of course." Duathor shifted toward the desk, digging among bills, correspondence, and a litter of paperback books for a pad and pen even as she wondered what he was up to now. Part of her mind worried at that, and the rest began assembling a cover story should one be necessary. "In the room, I take it?" Salim went on in that same level voice, although she heard soft whispers of fabric in the background that were beginning to stir her curiosity. "That would sum it up nicely," Duathor agreed pleasantly as she finally unearthed a mostly blank piece of paper and a blue pen that hadn't run completely out of ink. "Good. I understand she's having problems?" "You and your sources," Duathor said, startled and relieved all at the same time."I don't even want to know how you found that out." "No, you probably don't. I'll be there this evening to take her off your hands, if you'll kindly take your new brother for a few days. Or did you want to try and fix this yourself?" Salim let his sarcastic amusement at the idea leak into his voice. Duathor only shook her head. Some of the family handled soulsick immortals quite well; she didn't, and knew it."I'm not an idiot, no. Fair enough. I'll let you handle it then, thanks. Now, I had a trip to Tivoli Gardens in mind for today, since I've some houseguests, but I'll talk to you later." "Good, the fresh air always did do her good. Enjoy yourself, Duathor, and I'll be there this evening. No warnings, thank you." "Of course not," Duathor answered him crisply."Good morning to you, then." She turned to see Aidan raising an eyebrow questioningly."Is there a problem, Duathor? If we're in your way...." "A supplier advising me about some possible problems, Edana. They're dealt with," Duathor added dryly as she put the pen and paper back and rolled the top of the desk down into place with a satisfyingly decisive thunk. She prowled across to the stove to see if the heat from the tea kettle had softened the cheese yet, looking disturbingly like a cat contemplating a mouse hole."If it were a problem, I'd simply put you to work with me. Now that I think about it, though, the Tivoli Gardens do sound like a pleasant idea for a Saturday." Marc padded in from the bathroom. Dark, bare feet made no sound on the pine boards, and he yawned prodigiously as he considered the tea kettle over the burner, the wedge of cheese next to it, and settled for a handful of dark grapes. He was wearing a faded, much-washed pair of grey sweats and a new-looking purple t-shirt blazoned with a rendition of the Acropolis."Morning, Duathor; morning, Aidan; what gardens?" Aidan smiled at him."Tivoli, Marc. Gardens, pavilions, restaurants, music, and an amusement park. You'll like it, I think, and if not, well, the National Museum is a block away. Lovely exhibits, glorious structure." "If we're to see that today, Edana, we'll need to get moving. They're only open until four." Duathor added briskly, "Tomorrow, brother mine, I'm dragging you out for Danish coffee and smoerrebroed and a walking tour of some of the more interesting architectural sites. You do need to see the Palace Chapel and I'm fond of the ornamentation on the Krystalgade Synagogue, myself." Turning to Aidan she added bluntly, "And you need a day to sleep in and do nothing, Edana. I suspect Marco here can keep me out of trouble for a day." And I've no doubt Salim can keep you out of trouble. Not here, thank you, but that's not my problem. "He's only been in the Game a few years, Duathor," Aidan protested lightly."Isn't that cruel and unusual punishment to ask him to do that so soon?" "Nah," Marc grinned, clearly pleased that his new sister used the same nickname for him that his grandmother did."I can manage it, Teach, and you could use a day off, I'm with Duathor on that." "So let me see if I understand this," Aidan asked, her amusement almost ringing true to Duathor."I'm to go to an amusement park today, and sleep in tomorrow, because you two say so?" Marc shrugged elaborately, looking more awake by the moment."Hey, it's that or I pull out my phone book, Teach. I mean, if you just want me to call my brothers in Charleston for help, I can do that, too. What time is it there, anyway, Duathor?" The much smaller, much fiercer Egyptian woman grinned up at her tall brother."I like the way you think, Marco. Perhaps you don't have as much to learn as she thought." "Lovely," Aidan growled in mock protest."My own students are ganging up on me." "Basically?" Marc repeated, slouching confidently against the kitchen counter."Yes. I mean, like you keep telling me, when you're right, you're right." Duathor leaned in over the table and added fiercely, "And we're right, Edana." "What other teacher would put up with this?" Aidan sighed and leaned back in her chair."All right, you two, the Gardens it is, and we'll talk about tomorrow over dinner." "Nope. You're sleeping in tomorrow and wandering around in a t-shirt and those silly sweater-socks of yours--" "I like those socks," Aidan said futilely. "--and relaxing," Marc finished with a grin."I can keep her out of trouble for one day, right, sis?" "Absolutely," Duathor agreed without quite gloating. She twined a few black braids around one long, brown finger and asked smugly, "Give up, Edana?" "You're just going to keep this up if I don't, aren't you?" The slender Egyptian woman settled forward, dark hands outlined against her mug."Yes," Duathor told her."We win." "This time," Aidan finally conceded."Next time, though--" "We'll pick a better time for this," Marc said plaintively and rubbed sleepily at his mouth."I mean, before coffee, sis?" Duathor couldn't help laughing at him as she said, "The pot's right there, brother, or there's hot water for tea immediately." "It's not really the same," Marc told her as he walked over to the table to sit next to her, extending a handful of grapes to Aidan as a peace offering. "You've never had British-style tea," Duathor told him, still chuckling as she held out her cup for him to examine. Aidan laughed softly, mock-threatened Duathor with a grape, and then popped it into her mouth instead. Marc ignored that; he was still staring at what Duathor had been drinking."God, I've seen lighter coffee!" "Exactly my point." Duathor smirked at him, all white teeth and sharp feline smile, then took another sip of her black tea. Aidan simply said mildly, "So what time do the Gardens open? Since you're paying," she added just as Duathor took another sip and watched the lithe Egyptian woman flash a quick smile at her teacher's surrender.
Marc didn't even bother glaring at her; he was too busy glaring at the new boots he'd been breaking in."Thanks so much, Duathor." "We did try to tell you it was going to be a long day," Aidan pointed out cheerfully. She'd been humming the melody from the carousel ride half the way back, and Marc grinned as he remembered her perched on a wooden horse and arguing with Duathor about the finer points of couching a lance. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." Marc glanced up in time to see his teacher stumble, the easy rhythm of tennis shoes on stone breaking as he asked, "Teach?" "Duathor? Tell me you're expecting company, dear." Aidan kept her smile, but she shifted her hands from her coat pockets to the waistband of her jeans, moving them closer to her blades. Duathor glanced at her, then grinned suddenly."It is Saturday, isn't it? Yes, I was. Even a relative, Edana." "Really?" The edge in Aidan's voice brought Marc's head up as the Irish woman went on far too softly, "And you couldn't remember to mention it any time previously? Say, when I discussed visiting or any time today?" A man unfolded himself from the steps up to Duathor's shop and stood up... and up. He was not short. Or small. He carried a good bit of muscle across that tall frame, and Marc cut across Duathor's startled attempt at a reply to ask, "Teach? Do you know him?" Duathor shed her coat to carry it over her arm, a clear message to Marc that she wasn't worried by their visitor. As she did so, she asked, "Since when is family a problem, Edana? Have you grown paranoid at last for no reason? Marco, that's--" "Salim Farhad," the tall immortal introduced himself as he walked up to them. The light tenor voice went surprisingly well with the lightly tanned skin and the wavy chestnut hair. Marc actually had to look slightly up for once, which surprised him. "Salim!" Duathor hugged him with every appearance of happiness, heedless of the radical difference in their heights."It's so good to see you. This is my new brother, Marco." "A pleasure." Salim smiled at him, a flash of startlingly bright teeth, and then shifted to face Aidan, peacock blue silk flaring along his arms with the motion and the breeze."What, Flame, no hug for one of your favorite brothers?" Aidan stared at him, her fists planted firmly on her hips. Grey eyes narrowed in suspicion and growing annoyance as she answered, "You're supposed to be in London. You're supposed to be moving, and thus unpacking. What are you doing here?" He tilted his head to study her, silent in the late afternoon sunlight that lay like thick honey along the wide street."So it's like that, is it?" Salim murmured at last, and his initial humor had faded away to reveal the underlying concern. He held both hands out to Aidan and said quietly, "They understated things, I think. Edana. Come here." She hesitated for a long moment, long enough for Marc to start wondering if Salim really was a friend or if he was going to have to duck into the chapel across the street. Then Aidan walked into this new relative's embrace the way Connor had sagged into Xan and Alex's arms back in Seacouver and 'brother' or not, Marc wondered for a moment if he'd finally met her other teacher. Salim wrapped long arms around her and inclined his head to croon to her in some language Marc didn't speak. The story of my life in this family, he groused to himself, but part of his mind was calculating what do if Aidan reverted to her earlier, surprising anger. Instead she wrapped both arms tightly around Salim, finally unclenching her fists to do so. After a long moment, and a deep breath, she tried to straighten up and away. Rather than let her go, however, Salim simply tightened his grip."Not yet. This time, sister, I'm taking care of you. After you agree to that, I'll let go. Otherwise," he offered, simultaneously unyielding and amused, "we can stand here and make a spectacle of you all day. Duathor won't mind in the slightest; I'm sure her neighbors are used to odd behavior. Say yes, Edana." "Bully." Aidan's voice was a bit muffled by fabric, but clear enough anyway. "That wasn't yes." He looked down at her, studying her cleavage as he added, "And I like the shirt. Pink suits you." "Watermelon, not pink, and quit staring, it's a Wonderbra, you rude, degenerate Mede. And what do you mean, 'this time?' " He chuckled."It's my turn. And yes, I noticed, and I'm Persian, thank you. But that wasn't yes, either." "Damn it, Salim--" "Give up, woman. Say yes." He caught her arm when she tried to hit him, then twisted to avoid a kick, tsking at her as he did."Edana. Don't make me cheat." "This is blackmail, brother!" Aidan sounded torn between outrage, frustration, and... giggles? Only the amusement kept Marc from doing something rash. As it was, he started to move toward them. Duathor shook her head, beaded braids swinging with the speed of her movement, and caught him by the arm."Not a chance, brother mine. For the next few days I'm going to show you the sights of Copenhagen, and our uncle here is going to have some long talks with Edana." She grinned wickedly at the entwined pair in front of her."No wonder you got the job, Salim. I can't quite do that." "You could," Salim disagreed in that same pleasant tenor, "but you'd have to cheat to hold her. Fortunately," and he twisted again, dodging the half-hearted attempt to stomp on his leather-clad foot, "I'm stronger than she is. And I have longer arms. Flame's daughter, say yes, or I'm going to let you run out of air. Silence is consent in most legal systems and you're keeping me from meeting your newest student properly." "Damn it--" "And," he added placidly, "you're beginning to repeat yourself. You must be exhausted." He carefully released her braid, trapped under one hand, without losing his grip on her forearm."Last chance, Edana, then you get to 'faint' and be carried inside." "All right, you outsized, overgrown, incommodious, overbearing... Persian!" Aidan finished at last, having run out of insults or breath, Marc wasn't sure which."Yes. I think." "Too late," Salim commented, smiling down at her."I heard it." Marc stepped sideways, shifting free of Duathor with a shrugging, twisting motion that Duncan had spent a week etching into his muscles. He kept his voice so level that it came out flat as he warned, "That's nice, 'uncle. ' But she's not going anywhere she doesn't want to. You can't kill me before I can make a lot more noise than you'd like." Salim loosened his grip on Aidan. She stepped back without trying to punch him and turned to Marc."Marc, it's--" "--not your problem at the moment," Salim cut over her, but he nodded to Marc, an appraising expression on his face."And all of this can be better discussed inside." "Really." Marc settled his hands more comfortably into his pockets, missing his gun as much as he'd hated carrying it during the line war."Aidan?" "It's all right," she repeated more gently, but the tone took an effort that Marc could see and he frowned, eyebrows drawing down and his shoulders hunching with tension. "You sure? Duathor?" Marc considered Duathor thoughtfully as he waited for an answer from one of the women. Damien and Mandisa both trusted Duathor; Var had said he trusted her, but Marc hadn't been sure what the rueful undertone in his Spanish brother's voice meant and now he wished devoutly that he'd asked. "Yes, I am, brother," Duathor promised."I've known him more than six centuries now; it's all right, Marco. Come inside and we'll talk about this more privately." His decision came from several years with his own sisters, Josie and Lissa."This from the woman who fed me sandwiches with more unknown ingredients than known? What the hell, sis, you'll at least make it a good story." He let Salim walk into the shop first, however. Not behind him.
Salim only shook his head, smiling with a faint, secretive pleasure, and settled himself at the kitchen table."Of course. Extra sugar, please." "It's a good thing your teeth can't rot," Duathor snapped."And what happened to 'not a word?' " "I'll be right back," Marc interrupted, indicating the door to the bathroom. Of course, the other door in the bathroom led to the back of the house, but he was hoping Duathor would assume he hadn't thought of that. Duathor raised an eyebrow, then flashed him a quick, feline smile."Truly. I'd as soon you stayed here till we discuss this." Marc leaned hipshot against the doorframe and told her, "Sis, you're paranoid." "And you, brother mine, are far more devious than that obliging gaze of yours reveals." Duathor shook her head."I don't think so. I haven't the faintest idea what you could do, mind, but you can tell me about it later, and we'll critique it as an ops exercise so Edana doesn't think you're going completely without training while she's busy. Gather the coats and hang them up, please." With a sharp motion of an equally sharp chin she indicated the coat pegs by the stairs. "Thanks so much, Duathor. My bladder hates you." There was just enough truth in that to make his voice sound convincing, but Marc moved to do what his fine-boned sister had said. If Aidan's temper went, well, she'd make do with something. Probably her tea. And if he lost his own temper, well, he'd rather not have a weapon at hand. He might use it, after all. Among these three he suspected he'd lose. "The sooner we deal with this, the sooner you're free, Marco." Duathor waved him back to his seat as she set hot water to boil and spooned tea and mint into a tea strainer."Now, then, let's try a more thorough introduction. Marcus Scipio, my newest brother, meet Salim Farhad, one of my younger uncles." "When have I ever tried to get you to call me uncle?" Salim asked, one elegant eyebrow raised in ironic amusement. He turned to Marc as he went on, "As I said outside, I'm Salim, brother to Ramirez and to Edana here. I trained with her teacher at about the same time that she was training Mandisa and Ramirez was training Nazif. Ramirez always said you got the best of that bargain," he added, glancing at Aidan. "Ramirez was right, too." Aidan propped her head on her hand, sable hair swinging forward over her shoulder as she did. Grey eyes regarded Salim levelly, and Marc watched the set of her mouth for hints as to how she felt. He found nothing helpful before she said, "Salim is a friend, Marc, as well as one of my brothers." Now those grey eyes had turned to him and Marc had to frown."Teach, even I know you're not one for lying to students. You're not Chris." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the tile-inlaid tabletop in a way that would have his grandmother cuffing his ear for ill manners as he went on, "But I have to wonder if you'd lie to me to try and keep me safe. Because my first thought here is, I'm not crazy enough to go after you on Duathor's home ground... but I don't know about him," and a quick motion of his chin indicated Salim. Aidan took a moment to consider what he'd said; the approving look in her eyes told Marc that she thought he was at least being reasonable."I see your problem, Marc." Her lips tilted into a wry smile."Which makes it difficult to reassure you on this one, unfortunately." Salim snorted derisively and slouched back into his chair in a way that reminded Marc of Adam. Well, if Adam ever wore decent clothes. The tall Persian had cocked his head to stare down at Aidan, even slouched as he was."Now I know you need a vacation, Edana. Marc, it's remarkably simple. Which of your sibs and relatives do you trust? Run down the list until you get to one I've met and then call them for verification. I'll sit and wait while you do so." Duathor shook her head, apparently resigned to seeing her evening plans shamble their way into fiasco."My poor phone bill." She pulled honey out of her cupboard and set it next to the assembled mugs glazed in shades of amber and orange."Ah, well, it's been bad for months on end now, what else is new? Call whomever you like, Marco." Marc turned the plan over and over, but couldn't see any way Salim could have rigged it."All right," he finally said slowly."Ones I trust, hmm?" He chuckled, a surprisingly humorless sound from him, and said softly, "There are days, 'uncle,' when I don't trust anyone carrying a sword. Including myself. And I'm supposed to find someone I trust who'll tell me to trust a man who just blackmailed my teacher?" Salim leaned back in his chair and told Marc in a grave tone, "You will find, Marc, that you have to trust someone, or something." "Really." Marc simply watched the newcomer, his face frozen into an expressionless mask that belied the anger roiling up into his eyes."What do you believe in?" "Fire, always burning, changing, reshaping. The Darkness that pours in when that Light is extinguished." Salim cupped his hands on the table, palms up to cradle something intangible, before he added more softly, "And the desire in men to gather around that Light and nourish their souls with the sight of something so exquisite. That's why the druids named her Edana, you know. Things and people change around her, refined down to something more... elemental, more truly themselves." "What," Marc asked blankly, "are you talking about?" He hadn't moved, though. Salim's convictions held him in place, even if Marc didn't understand them on a conscious level. "Edana and Aidan both mean 'fire;' did you not know?" Salim frowned then, his hands relaxing to rest on the table. "No. I didn't." Marc tilted his head, studying the motionless man across from him. Like every relative Marc had met so far, his hands were strong, covered with muscles and callused along the palms and fingertips. A trail of fine red-brown hairs traced up from wrist to shirt cuffs, and he wore a simple steel watch, but no other jewelry. Duathor broke Marc's contemplation by placing a mug of tea in front of him: hot and smelling strongly of bitter caffeine and soothing mint. The porcelain rested between his own hands, warm enough to feel good against his bones. Almost as good as having an extended family had felt, even an hour ago. He finally turned to consider the two women who were waiting for him to make a decision. Duathor lounged in her chair like a cat claiming some pillow it wasn't supposed to be on. Her braids slid across her fine-boned shoulders as she sipped from her tea and set it back down. Aidan, like him, had wrapped her hands around her mug as if she were chilled, but other than matching Marc's positioning, she made no attempt to distract him. Their stillness and their mutual, silent refusal to push him into a choice drove home again just how different Aidan's line was from Owain's. Chris would have been-- That thought brought Marc's head up, close-trimmed black curls barely swaying with the movement, and he smiled. Duathor spoke carefully, her own palms flat against the tile mosaic that made up the surface of her table. Marco had been studying all their hands as if they told him something more about this than she saw. Later, she would ask what. Now, though, she was slowly beginning to realize that, like Mandisa, this quiet brother of hers possessed depths -- and a temper -- that she didn't want to see unleashed on something minor."Marco, that is a truly awful expression on your face. I find myself unpleasantly reminded of Ishtvan in one of his worst moods. What have you just thought of?" "My first name," Marc said, watching Salim intently, and some wicked, potentially dangerous amusement gleamed in the bright amber eyes. His mobile lips retained much of that appallingly pleased smile as he asked, "By any chance do you know Farrell Jameson, 'uncle?' " Next to him, Aidan laughed, weakly at first but quickly giving way to chortles that made her bury her face in her arms. Salim stared at her, but answered, "I would love to know what exactly is so funny about that, but yes, I do. I met him in... 1943, I think it was. In Australia." "He'll do nicely then." Marc stood up, walked over to the coat pegs, and pulled Aidan's cell phone out. Punching in the operator and country codes he could almost do in his sleep after four weeks in Europe; he hit the speed dial for the rest of Damien's phone number and waited, hoping desperately that they hadn't done something like go out to run errands. It was still late morning there, after all. Behind him, he heard Salim murmur something about, "One of our relatives, I thought I said?" which only made Aidan laugh even harder. "Appesard residence," came the drawled answer and Marc sighed in relief as he heard the familiar, female voice. "Stormy, it's Marc. Just this once, can we pretend I went through all the courtesies and I'll come up with an extra joke for the next call?" Aidan's laughter, which had begun to taper off, started up again at that comment. Salim looked completely confused by her giggles and Marc's comment. "Sugar, you're supposed to be on vacation. What's wrong?" The slow speech slid into a harsher, more clipped voice, the one Stormy didn't even seem to know she had. Marc suspected she'd inherited it from her father and hoped to confirm that one day. "Maybe nothing, I don't know yet. Is Farrell there, Stormy?" She paused so briefly Marc almost didn't notice it, then said firmly, "Well, you sure as hell didn't call from Denmark to wait while I put my brain through calisthenics. Just a sec, Marc, he and Damien are in the garage male-bonding by tuning up my car." Marc could hear doors opening and closing as she spoke, and could just imagine how fast the little blonde was moving; he'd seen her in a hurry. He paced back to the table, settling back into his chair next to Aidan without seeing Duathor's startled, raised eyebrow. In the background he heard her say firmly, "I don't want to hear a single word about 'Can it wait?', gentlemen. Farrell, get out from under there, clean a hand and ear, and take this phone right now, thank you very much." Almost immediately, Marc heard Farrell's familiar, still New Zealand-accented voice."I have to admit, I'm curious as to who can turn Stormy into a drill sergeant." "Farrell--" Marc froze, barely noticing as Aidan settled a hand on his forearm, but that comfort seeped in; his spiraling anger and fear began to slow."It's Marc. I need a favor." "Easy, Marc. Start by doing me a favor," was the immediate reply."Take a nice deep breath for me, all right?" Farrell waited until he had exhaled, then said immediately, "Now of course I'll help if I can. What is it?" "I need you to tell me about Salim Farhad." Now that Farrell had reminded him of how much it helped, Marc continued to control his breathing, forcing it slower and deeper as he waited for the answer. Comprehension spun through him: no wonder Duncan's reaction to stress was to take a long breath and let it out again before he moved or spoke. Marc slapped the thought down and away almost immediately; this wasn't the time to consider that. He did wrap his free hand back around the mug, though. Warmth was good for shock, he thought he remembered that. Even across the long-distance call Farrell's voice sounded startled."Salim? Salim from Australia?" "Yeah, I think so," Marc answered dubiously, eyes half-closed to disguise just how closely he was watching Aidan and Salim."That's what he said, anyway." Farrell, thank God, understood that unconvinced answer."A bit taller than you or I, Marc, with skin the color of coffee with too much cream in it? And red-brown hair? And a very odd sense of humor?" "That's the one, yeah. What can you tell me about him?" "I only met him for a few days." Farrell paused then asked slowly, "What do you need to know, Marc? Whether he can fight? You're not thinking of challenging him, I hope?" "God, no. I need...." Marc paused, trying to think of what he wanted to ask, then said softly, "I'm lost right now, Farrell. Do I trust him or not?" "You're Aidan's student," was the immediate, certain answer over the clatter of metal tools on concrete."If for no other reason than that, I'd say you can trust him. They trust each other. She risked a painful death during World War II just to save his ass, and he knew she would, because he'd have done the same thing for her. If he knows you're her student, he'd take care of you just for that. Does that help?" That answer unstrung half the tension that had accumulated in Marc's back. A small voice in the back of his mind growled, though, a muted rumbling meant he'd have some thinking to do after this. Marc had expected that, though."Do you trust him, Farrell?" Marc hadn't expected the rumbling chuckle that received."With my life? Sure. Over a backgammon board or poker table? Hell, no, although he's not as bad as his mad cousin, Nazif. Is everything all right, Marc?" The slender young immortal considered that, weighing his teacher's light touch on his arm with her strain over the last few days and the vacation he and Duathor had been trying to get her to take. Duathor had been pleased to see Salim there; had, at least by omission, helped him 'force' Aidan to accept whatever caretaking he intended.... Aidan could, Marc decided now, have done anything he'd threatened, from noise to truly vicious fighting. She might not have won, but the attention it would have drawn -- no, if he could think of it, she had. She'd been shaping the way he thought for three months, now, after all. Taken all together, it meant that, no matter what, she did trust Salim. "Marc?" Farrell's worried voice was beginning to take on a sharper edge, and that pulled Marc's attention back to the phone in his hand."Marc? Talk to me, damn it, before I decide I need to spend money on a plane ticket." "Sorry, Farrell, just thinking too hard. No," he decided then."Save your money, huh? You'll need it for a wedding present for those two anyway." "Are you sure?" Farrell asked him, his voice gone harsh with a mixture of anger and worry."If you have listeners over there, just tell me to put Ish on the phone and I'll buy a ticket." "No, Farrell, honest, it's okay." Marc meant to laugh, but it came out as a frustrated snort."I'm getting paranoid in my old age, that's all." "We've all had reason," Farrell conceded, sounding a bit more relaxed."Damn it, Damien, you can have the phone when I'm done. He's fine," the New Zealander snapped, voice fading slightly as he spoke away from the mouthpiece."Great, your brother the volcano is blowing up over here. Look, Marc, I've got my mobile; call me back if you need to, all right?" "No problem, Farrell. I think I'd better deal with this, though. Put Damien on so I can get it over with, would you?" Marc shook his head, already bracing himself for Damien's temper, as he let go of his tea mug and leaned back in the chair. "What the hell is going on?" his redheaded brother growled sooner than he'd expected."Marc? Why in hell are you calling when you and Magistra are on vacation, damn it?" Marc couldn't help it; he chuckled."I needed some information, bro, that's all. How're the wedding plans going?" "Fuck that," Damien replied inelegantly."Why are you asking about Salim and Farrell's talking about plane tickets?" "Farrell worries too much. I needed to know about him, that's all. But if you're eloping, I want to know; I've got money on it," Marc added."Look, Damien, can I please call you back later when I'm not blowing Teach's cell phone bill to hell and gone? Everything is fine, okay? I just needed to talk to Farrell to be sure about it." "You call me back tonight, you hear me?" Damien decided at last."I want to hear all about this later." "Damien, I'm five hours ahead of you--" The protest did him no good. Damien cut over it, saying firmly, "Marc. Call me. That's not an option, little brother, that's an order." "Vaffanculo," Marc finally muttered."All right," he said more loudly."I'll call." "Good," Damien said more calmly. Marc had no illusions that he'd been given a reprieve, though. As if to underscore that, Damien added, "Oh, and Stormy said to remind you that you owe her two jokes. I don't even want to hear 'em though. Talk to you soon, Marc." Marc hit the 'end' button rather than be told to do something else he really didn't want to do and turned to face Aidan. He studied her, taking in the faint beginnings of circles under those normally clear grey eyes and the tired defensiveness that had settled into her shoulders."Salim's right, Teach," Marc admitted."Someone needs to take care of you. Because obviously I'm not pulling it off." Salim gave him a surprisingly sympathetic smile for a man who'd just been investigated across an international call."She is stubborn, isn't she? There are reasons I got this job." "Job?" Aidan flared, turning to glare at him."What does that mean?" "It means that I got your location from Xan and Alex. I was wondering if you were taking proper care of yourself. I thought you had more sense than this," Salim added grimly. He turned back to Marc and inquired, "Has she been sleeping at all?" "Well, yeah." Marc considered that snap answer cautiously, then corrected himself."No, on second thought, I don't think she has, or not well. She's been up too early too often. Fuck, I should have seen that myself." Duathor cut in on that line of thinking immediately, her voice as fierce as the glare from her black eyes."Stop that. You're the student; you're supposed to be doing what she tells you, not worrying about whether your teacher is coping. You're on vacation, brother. Act like it." She leaned in to stare at Aidan, dark brown eyes snapping with a temper she hadn't quite released... yet."And you, Edana ni Emer, are going to go with Salim and actually talk to the man, do you hear me? I'm tired of seeing you yawning in the morning and irritable all day with words you won't say and can't silence. I'm not as old as you, but I am more than capable of keeping myself and my brother out of trouble for a few days. If you keep this up much longer," she added with a purring, vicious precision of target, "you may not be." "That was a low blow," Aidan said softly, her free hand tight with a barely controlled anger. Marc reached over and covered her fist with his own hand. The gentleness in his eyes matched the concern in his touch."Teach, come on. I didn't fight in New Mexico and after four weeks of lazing around Greece and running around Italy, I'm still stressed enough to worry Damien and Farrell with my paranoia. You're entitled to be upset and pissed off and scared out of your wits, even if it is over. And you're sure as hell entitled to go get some help, okay? Get the hell out of here, go off with your brother or whatever he is, and come back in a few days when you're bounced it all off someone who wasn't there." "Was that intended as an insult?" Salim asked lightly, still slouched but looking more relaxed than before, somehow. Something in the set of his shoulders, Marc suspected."Sheer curiosity, you understand." Marc smiled at him pleasantly, sure that the clasp of his hand over Aidan's made his loyalties perfectly clear."I don't like people who blackmail my teacher, 'uncle. ' Even if it is for her own good." One eyebrow lifted and he copied Connor's best sardonic humor to add, "But I'll let you try to make a better impression when you bring her back." That drew a long, appraising look and then a slowly spreading smile."I'll see what I can do, nephew. I will say that you make a memorable impression yourself, though." "Keep that in mind," Marc told him before he turned back to Aidan."Now, will you please let him take care of you? He thinks he can; Duathor thinks he can. So do Xan and Alex if they told him where to find you, and the uncles took good care of Connor. So go on, okay?" "I'm supposed to be teaching you, Marc, not constantly abandoning you," Aidan complained. Her voice was quiet though, and she was studying the table, forefinger tracing patterns among the tiles as if they held the answers in some language she couldn't quite read well enough to suit her. "Yeah, well, why don't you teach me how to accept help when I need it? Terrence said I needed work on that part," Marc commented with a quick grip of her other hand. He considered that and then said thoughtfully, "And all told? I think you'd better talk to someone soon." "Why?" Aidan's chin came up and she frowned at his tone."What does that mean?" "It means Terrence said he was going to get someone to talk to you, just as soon as he finds the right folks." Marc shrugged at her flash of irritation; he wasn't about to tell her that it had been his comment that set that off."Sorry, but I think the only reason you've had this long is because the people he wanted to call were out of touch." Or dead, he remembered, but Marc didn't want to mention that part either. Not right now, certainly. Salim chuckled, taking up his part in distracting her."I've always wanted to be the lesser of a few evils. And you did say yes," he mentioned casually. "Under duress," Aidan growled, but it sounded half-hearted at best and she pushed her tea mug away as she gave in to the inevitable. "Edana, enough of this. Your student is in good hands, and like it or not -- and I'm sure you don't -- so are you. Come along, dear. We have reservations, and the restaurant is said to be particularly good." "Considering that I'm not packed--" Aidan began, only to be cut off by his smile."Salim!" Her words slid off into a quick, flowing language Marc didn't know. The irritation and anger in her voice, however, he did recognize. Duathor settled her sharp chin on her hands to listen in admiration while Salim patiently waited for Aidan to draw a breath so he could interrupt. "You may not be hungry," he finally said, "but after flying up here, breaking in, and getting you packed, I am. And Duathor is always hungry," Salim added as he stood up, and held a hand out to Aidan."You're coming with me, sister. So come along and let your students make dinner." Marc watched in surprise as that actually got Aidan moving."All right," she complained as she scooped both of their coats off the pegs."Just this once." Marc tossed her cell phone to her; she nodded and dropped it back into her coat pocket while Salim strode to the hallway door and retrieved one of her suitcases. Aidan looked torn between laughter and anger, as she had for most of the time since her Persian brother had shown up. "This once," Salim told her as he turned back, "will do quite nicely. We'll argue it out again the next time, too, I'm sure," he added, amused, and escorted her out the door as Aidan tried to decide whether or not to let him have the last word. As far as Marc could see, he did.
"Warm enough?" he asked quietly, and the words slid into the silence between them without disturbing the peace they'd built over the long evening. "It's fine, Salim." She slouched to settle more closely against him."I'm from Ireland, remember? Not Persia." "The nights got cold enough in the hills," he reminded his too-thin sister mildly, but he also let the music wash over them rather than slide into an argument that they didn't quite want to start yet. The full weight of her head lay against his arm and Aidan's silence had lasted long enough that Salim was debating waking her to walk back to the hotel when she finally asked, "When did I become what you believe in?" Salim smiled at that."You are and you aren't, Edana. I believe in Flame, sister mine. I also believe those priests of yours named you more truly than you or they expected." More seriously he added, "And I've not seen you so close to guttering out in decades. You cannot care for the others if you're in dire need of fuel and care yourself, you know." "What are you doing up here?" She kept the words light and made no move to see his face, but Salim wasn't fool enough to think she wasn't listening to him and weighing both words and tone. "The twins called. They were worried enough to request that I come and find you." "Connor." When she left it at that one troubled word, Salim commented, "He seems rather... milder than I'd expected of the man who defeated the Kurgan." "You talked to him?" "Briefly. He seems pleasant enough. More to the point, Xan and Alex sounded none too worried for him. Why are you?" Aidan only sighed and asked, "Shall we head back?" "Would you rather sit a while yet?" Salim hadn't bothered moving yet and Aidan shifted against him, folding her arms across her chest in search of protection from the chill or from him."If you don't mind? Yes, please." He snorted."I wouldn't have offered if I minded, sister. And you are sounding far too meek and agreeable, you know. It makes me wonder if I shouldn't check you for a fever." "Why? I won't have one." She sighed and tucked herself more carefully against him before saying tiredly, "It's not that I don't want to talk about it, Salim, I just... can't. Not yet. I'm sorry, brother." He shrugged."The night's young. So is the weekend, for that matter." The lightest of kisses stirred the hairs along the crown of her head as Salim promised, "It will be well, sister. Don't worry so." "You're not pushing this," she said wonderingly, sounding far too young and weary for Salim's peace of mind."I don't understand." "What good would it do to press you?" Salim asked gently."You're neither ready nor able to speak of it. Until you are, well, the company is good, and the music. Enjoy the moment, remember?" Aidan said ruefully."I know." "So we sit and enjoy," Salim said mildly."It would be a shame to miss the fireworks, after all." He smiled when he heard a quick not-quite laugh."Yes, it is Saturday, and yes, I do still like fireworks." After a few minutes he mentioned, "And Flame? If some fool wants to challenge, I'll take it, not you." "Salim--" "I'm not the one who's exhausted. Nor the one who's taken, what, five quickenings these last twelve months?" "Has it really been... ?" Aidan hesitated, then named them off slowly."Stengel. Mairi and Stephanie. White. Johannes. Oh, Mother. You're right." "I wish I weren't," Salim murmured, although part of his mind was marking a name he hadn't heard. She took Johannes rather than Owain? What happened? "That's too many quickenings, sister. You need a change, a chance to rest and let someone else take everything for a while." "Your wife...." The Irishwoman hesitated before going on, "You've had enough to deal with." "Why? Unlike you, Flame, I dealt with it." The harsh pleasure in his voice pulled her head up off his arm to twist and stare at him."What did you do, Salim?" He raised one eyebrow at her, head cocked at the same mocking tilt that they'd both learned from Methos."Why, I handled the both of them. I divorced Maria, swiftly enough to leave little doubt in the community as to why, and then gave my partner the choice of buying me out at a fair price... or watching me destroy five years of work." He smiled viciously."Jose found a way to pay." "I'm sorry," Aidan said simply."She was a fool." Salim shook his head, pushing his mood away."It's over and done, Edana. And I may have gone too far, I freely admit. But at least I can say it's over and mean it, sister. You have yet to even get angry, much less grieve, and it's choking you." "Get angry at who?" she snarled then, turning on him."It was my fault, Salim. All of it!" So it begins. Fine. She never does plan well when she's angry, but let's not frighten the tourists.... He goaded her in Arabic, snapping, "So you punish yourself by not sleeping and make damned sure your newest student is within phone's reach of an old immortal who'll train him if some kind person obliges you by killing you? Damn you, Flame, what precisely do you think is your fault? That every member of our line who went to that fight lived?" Her head snapped back as if he'd slapped her, eyes gone wide in the dark. Salim didn't give her any chance to rest."They survived, sister. All of them. Our teacher, our brothers, the students you trained, the student Ramirez trained, and his student as well -- every last one of them survived. Whatever else you're blaming yourself for, you can't say you've no skill at teaching, woman. In all your life, most of your students still live. For that matter, damn near all of them still like you, despite the fact that you drove them as hard as you were driven, and with that same damned velvet fist that Ramirez used." "Rabi is dead, Salim, cut down in an alley because Owain didn't want her to fight for me!" The pain in Aidan's voice was outmatched by her self-loathing, and Salim shook her, hard. "Yes, she's dead," he grated out, his hands so tight on her upper arms that on a mortal he'd have left bruises for weeks, "but do you do her any good like this? Hell, she'd be the first one lecturing you on your duties and responsibilities, and those don't include dying, Flame." "Is there some problem?" a brisk, authoritative voice cut in. It took a moment for the Danish words to sink in, but when they did, Aidan and Salim both looked over to see a pleasant-faced, carefully balanced policewoman watching them. Salim took a moment to consider the situation, and decided that his greater height and musculature -- and his firm grip on Aidan's arms -- probably weren't helping the looks of this."A family disagreement," he said honestly as he released his sister and sat back on the bench. "He thinks I'm being an idiot and I don't agree," Aidan added bluntly, carefully not rubbing at the still healing muscles."But it's all right. I'm sorry if we've disturbed anyone." The officer studied them both from calm, light eyes, before nodding."A bit. Not much yet. And it's not a bad idea to clear the air in a family, but it's best if you don't shake each other about," she said pointedly to Salim."You might try talking to the clergy if you can't settle it yourselves." Another moment's consideration brought the question, "Neither of you is drunk, are you?" "No," Aidan said simply, not trying to move away from Salim."Just... upset." "That can be contagious," the woman said simply."I'd rather you two didn't spread it. If you can be reasonable, you're welcome to stay for the fireworks. If not, I'd suggest you move along and settle your problem somewhere else. Without physical damage, either." Aidan glanced at Salim, then smiled suddenly."You'd hate it if we missed the fireworks. We'll stay, thank you, and settle this later and elsewhere. Agreed, brother?" "Certainly." Salim nodded to the policewoman."If that suits you, officer?" "That will do," she agreed, then flashed them a quick smile of her own."And I had a few loud fights with my older brother at your age, too," she mentioned wryly."Try and patch it up, hmm?" She turned and strode away at the steady, ground-eating pace all police seemed to use. Only after she was well away did Salim dare glance at Aidan... who was already giggling from mingled hysteria and humor. She finally choked out, "What happened to 'enjoy the moment,' Salim?" He shrugged, his own grin as wide as hers."I enjoy a good argument too?" "Devious bastard," Aidan growled, but her smile told him her mood was improving."I suppose it could be worse," she admitted."I could be dealing with you and Nazif both." Salim shrugged."Come tomorrow, sister, you are." That widened her eyes."What?" Salim leaned back into the bench and said calmly, "If we're not arguing, come here. I'll think you're sulking, otherwise." Only after she had fitted herself back along his side, muttering obscene things in Gaelic that Salim largely ignored, did he mention mildly, "It probably does mean something that you've just run through the extent of my knowledge of Irish." "Only that you haven't studied it," Aidan muttered even as she squirmed around to end up cradled against his chest, with her feet up on the bench and her head tucked onto his shoulder. Salim settled his arms more comfortably around her, one hand reaching up to stroke her hair lightly."No, that you always end up using those words around me, and then explaining them when you calm down." "What did I do to warrant being doubly graced with your presences?" Aidan asked instead. "Frightened the twins," Salim said simply."Did you think that wars stopped as cleanly as the treaties claimed? That the effects ended simply because the killing did? You taught me better than that yourself, Edana -- centuries ago. How bad was it?" "It was--" She froze, looking for the words, and Salim suggested, "Start at the beginning. Who fought first?" The laugh that tore out of her throat hurt him to hear, but she cut it off, finally, and said, "It didn't start there, Salim. Oh, Gods, but it didn't start there." "It's Saturday night," he said, holding his voice level even as he pulled her more firmly against him and tucked his head over hers to comfort them both."There'll be fireworks tomorrow, too. Would a dim booth and a steady flow of beer help this? Or shall we go back to the hotel, soak in hot water and sleep, and discuss this tomorrow when Nazif is here and you're not fretting in the back of your mind about who's watching for challengers?" He considered the tension in her body and said softly, "You've got to sleep, Flame. You know that." "I know," Aidan confessed."I just don't know if I can." "Simple enough," he promised."If the walk back to the hotel and a hot soak don't do it, I acquired some excellent brandy this afternoon while I was packing you up." Aidan huffed a soft breath against his chest, closer to real laughter than he'd hoped."You stole Duathor's brandy?" "Of course," he answered with a grin."Why not? I'd have drunk it if we'd stayed there, after all." More seriously, Salim told her, "Let me worry about our safety, Flame. Duathor will safeguard your young Marc, and you know it." "She's one of the most ruthless students I ever trained," the Irishwoman admitted ruefully."And I'll replace her brandy later," Aidan decided, tacitly yielding his point."Your plan sounds wonderfully decadent, Salim." "Good." He waited until she was standing to tell her, "You're overdue to let someone take care of you, you know." Aidan smiled up at him."I know, I know. And it's your turn." He shrugged."Well, I do owe you for that rescue in Australia, after all." "Well enough, then. You can scrub my back." Aidan wrapped an arm around his waist as they strolled down the meandering path towards the exit. "And I'll wake you up when the nightmares start," Salim promised, "and talk you back to sleep, sister. Come along." "And tomorrow the deluge," she muttered. "I'll tell Nazif you said so," Salim answered with a chuckle."No, tomorrow the appointment with the masseuse." Aidan leaned into him as they walked and said wistfully, "Oh, that does sound good." Salim laughed and said, "It had better. They have you down for three hours. A full rubdown, a hot soak, another rubdown, and a session in the sauna." Grey eyes stared up at him incredulously."Three hours, Salim?" One large, strong hand slid up the back of her coat to grip her shoulder just firmly enough to make it clear that he'd noticed the tension wound through her muscles."Yes. Three hours. And Nazif or I will be within range the entire time, so that you can start to relax." "You and your plots," Aidan murmured, sounding none too displeased with him. That only got a rumbling laugh and the reminder, "But you like being on the winning side, Edana." She shook her head and settled more comfortably against him as they walked. She didn't argue, however.
"That would depend on your definition," Edana answered sleepily, sounding more amused than annoyed as he settled down on the floor next to the tub."Is it fun being so tall?" she asked dreamily. "I like it." He flashed a brilliant smile at her."How much of the glass did you drain, hmm?" She held up the tumbler that he'd filled with good brandy. It was empty, although still half-covered in soap bubbles where she'd been floating it in the tub, and Salim shook his head while trying not to smile too widely."That explains a great deal. If you'll sit up," he offered through carefully suppressed laughter, "I'll get your back, sister." Edana leaned forward against the edge of the porcelain and sighed in contentment when he began scrubbing firmly along tense muscles."Oh Gods, that feels good." "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch," Salim commented. He knelt up to rub harder and shook his head at the cables she'd made of her muscles."You realize," he commented lightly, "that you're a mess?" "Oh, I knew that." She sounded almost cheerful and Salim frowned when she didn't say anything else. He continued to scrub firmly against her back, spreading heat and comfort along her skin as he considered just how little he'd seen her actually eat, how much brandy she'd gone through, and the way she'd been moving more slowly than usual. She's tipsy, he concluded. On one snifter-worth of brandy. Sister mine, what have you done to yourself this time? The only audible comment from him was, "Well, at least you're a clean mess, now. Ready to sleep?" "I can try." "Good." Salim considered her, considered his own feelings on the matter, and told her firmly."Edana. Sober up enough to get yourself rinsed off and into that shirt." "I don't--" He fixed her in place with a glare."You wear clothes to bed tonight, sister mine, because I make no guarantees on my control otherwise and because it's a change from the last several months and years, knowing you. You need that." He pointed at the cotton undershirt and boxer shorts on the counter and said firmly, "It's not so much as to drive you crazy, but enough to keep you from driving me half-mad. Rinse off, get dressed, and come to bed." "Bully." Salim turned and walked out rather than let her see his grin at that comment. He called back over his shoulder, "And quit sulking just because I'm younger and right." "I heard that," Edana grumbled."Lecher." "I meant you to. Up, sister, I don't hear water draining, and you don't want me to come in with the ice bucket to sober you." More casually he added, "I have no intention of letting you pass anything off as a drunken mistake some morning. Up, Edana." "Tyrant." Salim heard water slosh against the side of the tub, though, so he didn't pick up the bucket of half-melted ice. Water ran briefly and he pulled on pajama bottoms, then turned down the sheets of the bed. Edana came out of the bathroom stifling a yawn with one hand, her hair a damp, curling mess over the white t-shirt. Salim shook his head, trying not to grin."Come sit down, and the tyrant will command the masses to order," he offered mildly, holding up her comb. "Someone has to," Edana agreed, trying not yawn and failing. Salim tugged the blanket and sheet up over her lap when she sat on the bed, and considered her hair, then her."Hmm. Not to make a habit of this, but I think another glass of brandy might not be a bad idea." "I'm half-drunk now," she pointed out indignantly. "And perhaps if I get you completely drunk, you'll sleep," he said mildly."With a student to protect, I somehow doubt you've tried this remedy afore now." The tall Persian stalked into the bathroom with a few quick strides, retrieved the glass, refilled it, and pressed it into her hand before Edana could come up with any argument better than a few indignant insults that he didn't understand. "You keep forgetting I don't speak Gaelic," Salim said mildly."Drink that, hmm?" His slow, careful untangling of her hair soothed both of them. He began at the bottom, combing knots out from the end, a slow, patient monotony of short strokes that slowly lengthened until one section combed smooth from nape to waist. Then Salim moved it out of the way over her shoulder and began on the next long lock. He glanced at the ebbing contents of the glass occasionally and stole a sip from her once. Her chuckled protest reassured him that her temper had subsided again. When all of her hair ran smoothly through the tines, he gathered the dark mass into his hands and began to separate it into four equal sections. "What are you doing?" "Braiding your hair, silly woman." Salim started the plait at her nape, twisting the strands over and through themselves as easily as he'd have woven leather straps onto a sword hilt. Very casually, he added, "Or did you want to wake up tangled onto me?" "Ask me when I'm sober," Edana teased him sleepily."You're quick at that, though." "You never met Maria, did you?" Salim asked."She had the most gorgeous crow-feather hair, thick as Duathor's and as long as yours." Edana nodded and Salim swatted her lightly."Don't move. I'm not finished yet." He worked down to the bottom and found a tie for her hair."We could use this for a paint brush," he commented as he looked at the sweeping curve left free. "No, you couldn't, I'd never get the pigments back out," she said sleepily."I'm sorry she was such an idiot, Salim." "Hmm." He added casually, "And Nazif and I used to plait Duathor's hair for her. It's not difficult, sister." A gentle push at one shoulder settled her down into the bed. Salim moved around the room, checking that the door was locked, turning off lights, and making sure the floor was clear. Edana watched him, eyes half-closed as she fought to stay awake."Now what are you doing?" she finally asked. "Nazif said he'd be here by morning. Knowing him, that means he may come in tonight," Salim told her calmly."Since your body doesn't need any more excuses to stay awake, he'll just have to make do with the light from the hallway." "Salim...." Her thought trailed off into a jaw-cracking yawn and by the time she'd finished he was pushing lightly against her hip. "Move over, woman." "But I like that side of the bed," Edana protested through another yawn, rolling onto her side to make room as she did. "That's nice," Salim said calmly."You're still not sleeping nearest the door. I'm on guard, not you." He slid in under the covers, pulled them up again, and wrapped his arm carefully around Edana's waist as she slid into the curve of his body."Good. Don't argue. I'll save you the time and effort: I'm a bully, a wretch, and a thoroughly overbearing younger brother. Did I miss much?" "Yes," she murmured, "but I'll explain it to you tomorrow." That quickly her breathing evened out as she slid down into sleep. "What have you done to yourself, Edana?" Salim whispered, certain she wouldn't hear."And how bad is this going to get?" Nazif, will you get your ass here, damn it? I need back-up. She's touchy as homemade nitroglycerine, and just as explosive. I knew she'd had a rough year, but this is worse than I was expecting.... Salim frowned into the darkness, troubled by the tension in the body curled against his. And I'm beginning to think the twins didn't tell me enough, either. Why would the fact that they're worried about her bring MacLeod to her mind? Salim considered the time zones and momentarily debated calling Xan and Alex to demand all the details they clearly hadn't given him. Then he decided against it. No, Edana's sleeping well enough. There's no point in disturbing that to move away for a phone. And I'd as soon as not get completely spoiled by phones. Sooner or later, I'll be in a position where they're not available. So, for right now I'll assume there was some good reason not to mention whatever this is. Nazif and I can handle Edana, certainly, even in this state. But the twins and I are going to have a very long talk when this is over, about disclosure, and blind information, and whom they may and may not maneuver on their game boards.... He bundled his irritation away, stuffing it down into a corner of his mind to deal with later. For the moment Salim only worried about matching Edana's breathing and following her down into sleep. It had been a long day, and he suspected the next one was going to be worse.
"Edana." He threw a leg over her thigh and tightened his grip around her torso as she began to truly fight the nightmare; he was certain that whoever she was fighting, it wasn't him, but that didn't help just now. Her pulse hammered through her body, audible where Salim had tucked his ear against her back to avoid her thrashing head. To his shock he felt that rushing beat stutter at the same time she pulled in a deep, gulping breath. Then she tried to relax against him, her heart searching for a rhythm as her ribs heaved under his arm. "Conchobar," she sighed at last, and settled back against Salim, still shivering but beginning to get control of herself again. "Do you want to talk about it?" Salim asked softly."Or shall I find something on the television for background noise?" "I... water?" Edana was reaching for normality, but Salim was willing to accommodate that. He passed her the glass he'd set on the bedside table, and felt her stiffen against him again just as her hand wrapped around it. "What is--" He broke off as he, too, felt the other immortal -- a familiar presence, comfortable as his favorite jeans. A cheerful, tuneful, whistled version of "Yes, I Have No Bananas" could be heard clearly from the hallway and Salim was grinning as he reassured her."It's Nazif." "I don't know whether to be relieved or worried," Edana said dryly."Is it too late to run?" The door opened as she finished the question and Nazif objected, "Why do the women always run? Couldn't they saunter slowly once in a while?" Edana sat up, pulling the blankets up and around her as she drained the glass of water. Nazif slung his bag next to the dresser and stared at her."Edana, you look like shit." "I take it that you won't mind if I run, then," she said dryly. Nazif ignored her comment and came to sit on the side of the bed, cradling her jaw in one large, darkly tanned hand."You know, you're really not supposed to accessorize the bags under your eyes to your eyes." He glanced at the unused second bed in the room, at the surprising sight of her shirt visible above the sheets, and frowned."And I don't think I've ever seen you wear clothes to bed. Although I think I understand," he added dubiously. More gently he said, "You really do look ghastly. Did it never occur to you to ask for help?" "Did it never occur to either of you that I have a student?" "The one that Duathor's taking care of?" Salim pointed out remorselessly."The one who told you that you should let us take care of you?" "Did he really?" Nazif asked cheerfully, letting go of Aidan's jaw to stroke his palm along her cheek and then rake short, black hair away from his face."I'm looking forward to meeting him." "You're both bullies," she said tiredly. "Absolutely." Nazif shrugged."And it's late, Edana. You're tired, or should be. I know I am. When do we have to be up, Salim?" "She has an appointment with the masseuse at ten." "Hmm." Nazif studied her carefully, then asked calmly, "So are you keeping food down in the mornings, or do we need to let the muscles unlock before we start feeding you up again?" "Are you supposed to tell me your strategies?" Aidan asked him sleepily, tucking her hand back under the pillow as she sagged down. Salim shrugged and pulled the blankets back up around her. Very gently he said, "Well, it's not as if you're the enemy, Edana." Nazif moved to relock the door to the room as Salim went on, "Can you sleep, or do I need to pour more brandy down you?" "I can sleep," she muttered."I think." A wide yawn dragged the word out and Nazif laughed."Then go to sleep, Edana. We've got the watch." She nodded and was asleep before Nazif had finished securing the room. The tall, dark-haired immortal turned around from checking the window access and Salim traded him a glass of brandy for a long, fierce hug. Nazif laughed, subduing the noise to a softer rumble than his usual full-throated pleasure."It's good to see you, you old camel thief." He pushed Salim to arm's length and studied him carefully before hugging him again."And you've put muscle back on since that damned divorce. So. Are you all right, then?" "Other than annoyed at the twins? I'm fine, Nazif." Salim punched him on one arm and added, "And you're still staying ahead of me on the muscle, but I'll catch up again." More seriously he said, "I'm glad you're here." Nazif shook his head and waved a hand towards the chairs."Come and sit in something that isn't moving and tell me what's going on. She looks like hell." "I noticed. She damn near threatened me for being here." Salim shook his head and poured himself a drink as well."She's not sleeping, or not well. I know she's not been eating. Half of dinner stayed on her plate, just pushed around." The chair beckoned him and Salim let the night breeze pour over him for a long moment before he admitted, "I'm worried." "As if there's no reason?" Nazif answered before he leaned back into the comfort of the overstuffed chair with a sigh of pure pleasure."I love Danish design.... So. How bad is it?" "She's taken five quickenings in a year -- one of them Johannes, not Owain." Salim growled, "And the twins didn't mention that. Or why she's worrying so much over Connor MacLeod when it's Duncan I heard she was sleeping with. And she brought her latest student to one of the oldest and most ruthless of her surviving students." Nazif glanced at him over the cradled glass of brandy."So. We do need to find out what the story is on MacLeod. Have you ever met the man?" "Neither of them. You?" Salim felt his own tension ease under the familiar, reassuring thrum of Nazif's presence. "Duncan, no. Connor once, about, oh, eight years ago. The last time I'd seen her, come to think of it. Damien took me to Connor's Christmas party so I could meet my youngest brother. I liked Connor. A gloriously edged humor to him, and a very sharp mind. Certainly better than Ottavio turned out!" Salim snorted at that."Consone wasn't too bad when he was younger, but he never did learn to bend with time." Nazif shrugged and dismissed Consone from his thoughts again."I can call New York if you like. It's barely evening there." "He's in California with the twins." Salim glanced at him."Then you didn't hear?" "No, what?" Nazif frowned then."Duathor said they won, with no lost heads. I didn't ask more. What did I miss?" "The older MacLeod spent a week in the Inquisitor's care, Nazif. He lost his sword hand to them." "Xan and Alex won't let him leave 'til he's got it back and full use of it," Nazif said softly."Rhys-Tewdor's line is destroyed, isn't it?" "Mostly. Lim Mahn is out there somewhere; he won first blood off Alex and apparently settled for that. Two or five students are scattered here and there -- for now. Your side of the line is prowling." Salim frowned."When she heard the twins were worried about her, she mentioned Connor. Why?" Nazif shrugged."I'm not furious at them." He picked up the phone and dialed the number calmly. Salim shook his head, oddly unhappy with the idea."No. Wait and we'll see." "Why? If they know something we need to heal her...." Salim shrugged and told his brother, "Because she needs to tell us, and what she will talk about is as important as the silences when she won't talk." More quietly he added, "And because I don't want to get in a habit of using phones and the 'Net, Nazif. It won't always be here." Nazif shook his head."Idiot. I'm the one breeding hawks and dogs, not you. No, it won't always be here, but learn it and use it while it is. And when it's gone, go back to older ways and modify them to work." He pulled out his wallet and rummaged through it for the card he wanted. "Still carrying that?" Salim asked, amused. Nazif always kept his phone numbers on a folded piece of paper in some order that only made sense to him. None of the numbers had names next to them; a very few had city or country codes. Nazif grinned at his brother."Of course. Still unlabeled, too."
To be continued
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