Cassandra went cold in the summer noon. The thrill of Presence came from an old one, older than she was. Not many of those left. She relaxed when she saw a woman turn around, scanning the crowd. Not Him. But MacLeod was here, so He would turn up soon enough.

Still there was something familiar about the tiny figure. Copper curls. . . the memory sent Cassandra back to the dark times.

She lived among them in a kind of haze. When he finished breaking her, Methos was relatively kind. Except after he spent the night in Kronos' tent -- but she shut that darkness away from her mind.

Today all was well. A successful raid had kept the Horsemen out all day, and carousing drunkenly through the night. Methos collapsed in the tent without noticing her. In the morning he woke with a smile.

"Cassandra, come here." She came, without shuddering. Then she carefully arranged herself at his feet. "I have an idea."

"Master?" She hoped it would not be too painful.

"You don't know how to read, Cassandra?" he asked, as if it were a matter of course.

"No, Master." She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. She hadn't expected this.

"Well, you'll have to learn. Can't have you going around ignorant. Here, that casket-- bring it here." He gestured to the corner of the tent. Cassandra had tried to open it once, when he had left her alone and she was still curious. She still remembered the pain of his displeasure. "Cassandra!" She hurried to the casket and brought it to him.

"That's a good child." He patted her head absently and fiddled with the latch. It was protected by a series of knots, tangled and more intricate then she had ever seen before. His long, dexterous fingers opened it easily and then he carefully lay the contents on the furs.

It was mostly strange white things that looked like broad hides. Some were covered in scrawling, but one caught Cassandra's eye. A face stared out of it, a perfectly formed woman's face. She had refined features, almost delicate, and masses of copper curls. But her eyes were a warrior's, like she'd never known what it meant to be afraid or ashamed. Golden eyes or beast yellow, Cassandra's people would say, and call her demon kin. Or divine. Cassandra could easily believe it was a Goddess, trapped there by magic.

Methos ignored the woman's face and pulled out a ceramic bottle of black liquid, a stick, and a blank hide. Cassandra gathered her courage.

"Is . . . is that a Goddess, Master?" She gestured to the impossibly accurate woman's face.

He turned to look at the picture, his eyes softening. For an instant she could believe that he was just a tired man instead of a deathless demon. His fingers brushed along the woman's cheekbones. "No, but I almost thought she was, when she came to me. Her name is Tinat. I could never think why she'd want--" Suddenly he pulled the woman's picture out of her grasp and lay it back in the casket. His eyes darkened and she cowered away. "You aren't fit to look at her, slave!" he hissed.

He pulled back her hair violently and brutalized her mouth. It took a very long time that night. The subject of reading was never brought up again. But sometimes, when things where the worst, Cassandra would remember the woman's perfect face. She took the memory with her into freedom and hunted the world for stories of her.

The woman . . . Tinat, continued to scan the crowd. Then her eyes fixed on something, another immortal. Cassandra, transfixed, watched joy light them. When she saw Him, the sight sent a sick shudder down her spine. This was worse than seeing him in MacLeod's dojo, as MacLeod's friend. A lover would make excuses and forgive where a friend never would. But how could she love him if she knew?

He opened his arms and Tinat stepped into them, allowing herself to be thoroughly kissed. Cassandra decided Tinat must not know what tortures that body had inflicted on her. Of course not, she wouldn't stay with Methos if she knew. Cassandra smiled softly, soon Tinat would see what sort of a creature Methos really was. And then he would lose her. Then. . . Tinat would be pleased to know the truth.

Cassandra was doing her a service.

The two lovers wandered through the midday haze, tangled in a sheen of joy that was almost perceptible.

"Mac's getting settled back into the dojo. He left in a bit of a hurry last time." Methos wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"His own bloody fault, you know, the meddling Boy Scout. Why don't you help him? I've got to talk to Joe, anyway." She tilted her chin up at him, grinning knowingly.

"So should I help him, or do I really help him?" He grinned back.

"Depends on his problem. You could try to get the stick out of his ass. . . but it's probably too damn late." She mock punched him.

"You," He tapped on her nose, "are just jealous."

"The question is, jealous of you or of him? That boy has some technique, and not just with his metal sword."

"Won't you come and help us . . . with techniques? Please, Tinat?" His eyes turned pleading. She laughed.

"I must be out of my mind to say no, but I really have to talk to Joe. Be good," A brief grin flitted across his face. "I'll fill you in later." He met her eyes until he was quite sure she was serious.

"Don't be long, beloved. I'll keep the sheets warm for you. Call if you need me."

"Oh, I wouldn't presume to interrupt." They parted, laughing. Cassandra followed her, keeping carefully out of sensing range.

MacLeod gasped under his lover's ministrations. The long satin fingers slid along his chest, heating the flesh. The mouth followed the trail of fingers, an ice cube caught between the teeth trailing along MacLeod's oversensitive skin.

"Damn it, Methos, finish it!" he rasped out with the last of his energy. Hazel eyes laughed at his discomfort and then Methos leaned back into the Highlander's body.

The ice seemed to take a ridiculously long time to melt against the unnatural heat of his skin, and then there was nothing but Methos' mouth, warming against him. He let his lover's frightening grace enfold him.

Just a little more . . . the long fingers slipped around his waist and lowered. He could barely think, much less act as he was opened by them.

Without warning, Methos jumped away from his lover as suddenly as if he'd been stung. MacLeod nearly wept at the loss and then he got a look at his lover's face. The angular lines were arranged into a tight mask. The pale figure could have been a wax doll.

"Methos?" MacLeod tried to push aside his need and lay his hands on the ancient immortal's shoulders. "Come on, you're scaring me." He'd seen withdrawals before, when their love making had touched an old scar, but this was different.

Then it ended as suddenly as it began, the ancient jerking up, out of MacLeod's grasp. He barely seemed to notice the Highlander as he slid out of bed and groped for his scattered clothing.

"What is it?" the younger immortal whispered.

"Come on, Mac, there is no time." Methos practically threw MacLeod's clothes at him.

"There's time to tell me what the hell is going on!" MacLeod couldn't keep the anger from his tone.

"It's Tinat. She needs me." The fear in his voice killed MacLeod's anger immediately. MacLeod wasn't sure he wanted to meet whatever was causing the nearly four millennia old warrior to reach out for her lover's mind. The thought surprised him, if only because it showed how few protective impulses he had left toward the woman. He pulled on his clothes and ran to catch up with Methos.

Methos stared at the hate hollowed girl as she pounded a practice dummy to bits. Tinat had never been a soft scholar, she was an archer good enough for the army, but she was no swordswoman. Too much raw aggression and not enough style.

"You're angry," he noted when she'd exhausted herself.

"Maybe." Feral golden eyes regarded him.

"Anger gives you speed, stamina, and strength. You lose precision, and you make foolish mistakes. Pick up your sword." He had his out before she could blink.

She rushed him, he pushed himself aside, parried, and disarmed her. He did not fail to note that an ordinary mortal might well have fallen under her blow. The opponent she meant to face was more than twenty times her age.

"If you lose your head, the Game is over, Shemesh." He let the endearment soften his rebuke.There had been very little affection between them since she had lost her mortality, most of her time was balanced between hate and nightmare. And he was too close to feeling the same, even after a thousand years of life. He understood, and it was killing him to watch someone who was an innocent suffer the torments of the damned.

"I'm not playing an abyss hollowed game. I want him to die." He searched her eyes for the searing compassion of the girl he had married. Instead he found the hate and little else.

"Then you will learn to fight with style. You will use your anger as a weapon and not let it use you." He stepped toward her and corrected her stance, again. Every time he touched her, she flinched a little.

He regarded her from across the campfire. Five years in the wilderness, trying to teach her. He still did most of the cooking; priestess, scholar, archer, and swordswoman, but she still couldn't boil an egg if her life depended on it. Isolation might be good for the soul, but they were both city children and it showed.

Tinat was sunk into an exhausted depression and he still felt the pull of his helplessness against it. More than a thousand years and he was doing this girl-child no good at all. So much for wisdom.

"It's enough," he said suddenly.

"Methos?" Her eyes questioned him.

"You've learned all you can from me, at least for now." He knew he wasn't capable of doing her any more good, only hurting himself.

"Then I'm ready to face him?" Her eyes lit up.

"The mortal bandits, certainly. But Harin? He has power, Shemesh." He shuddered under the unholy light in her eyes. Sometimes he wondered what exactly he was unleashing on the world.

"What do you suggest I do, Teacher?" she demanded. He smiled, he'd hoped for that response.

"I was hoping you would ask me that. I've written a friend in Lagash, she's willing to give you a try." If anyone could break the girl out of her hatred, it was his enigmatic mentor. If anyone could. Assuming she was willing to try.

She bit her lip, he took the childish gesture as a hopeful sign. "Why? Don't you want me?"

"I love you, Tinat." He stepped around the fire and cupped her chin in his hands. With an effort, she kept herself from pulling away.

"Still? Even after?" She had only been seventeen when Harin and his men raped and murdered her. For the first time since, it showed.

"I . . . I can barely remember my childhood, but . . ." I was a street rat, and then a brothel slave. Believe me, I know how you feel. But the words didn't come out. "I will love you for as long as you want me to, Tinat, but I can't teach you all you'll need to survive. Lillith can, she knocked the swordwork through my thick skull."

He could swear she almost smiled. "What's she like, this Lillith?"

"She's old. Older than anyone I've ever met, and with better swordwork than you can imagine. They call her The Serpent . . . even a demoness. The queen of lies." He smiled fondly.

"Will I like her?" Tinat returned the smile. It was a tentative thing, but real.

"Yes, and I think you'll be good for her." For a hope, it was a small enough to start with. But enough.

"You have to understand these stories are . . . way out there." Joe looked at me earnestly. It was past five in the morning and the bar stood empty, but I'd found a beer to nurse.

"I'd rather expected that. But if no one in the upper ranks believes in the stories, how come they don't let anyone else hear them?" I can bring logic into this if I want to.

"Tradition. That's the problem with secret societies, Tinat." He really reminds me of one of my husbands. I'd marry him in a minute, but I'm going through an immature phase right now. Besides there is a limit to how many people a girl should involve herself with at one time . . . I haven't hit it yet, but it is something to keep in mind.

"I thought you liked the little clubhouse atmosphere. But digression gets us nowhere. Where did the legendary ancient watchers come from?" I laughed a little, but mostly at myself.

"Supposedly the first watcher was the high priest of a Demon Goddess of Knowledge." You'd be surprised who thought knowledge was demonic in the old days. Or now, come to think of it.

"She told him about immortals and the Game. He started watching, with the understanding that mortals would have some say before the end."

"Damn . . . so that's how Horton justified himself." I shuddered at the realization. He'd cost me some good friends.

"Good guess, though I doubt he really believed it." Joe graced me with an ironic smile.

"So this Demon Goddess, she had a name?" I had a sneaking suspicion.

"Lillith of Serpents. Why?" Joe looked at me curiously, then he shook his head, "Tinat, tell me I have no reason to be thinking what I'm thinking." Aw, poor baby. Really the watchers should have suspected something of that nature . . . so should I, it was just like her to do it.

"She was one of us. Methos and I knew her . . . as well as anyone, I guess." Lillith was teacher, mother, friend, and more.

"So it was all some kind of joke? The watchers were a trick to one up the other immortals?" Joe spat.

"No. No, she was an Oracle. If she said the watchers would have a say, she must have Seen something." Though that kind of joke would have appealed to her. Somehow I didn't think Joe would see the humor just now. He didn't follow up on the nature of the Oracle. Either he knew, or was afraid to ask.

"Was?" The compassion rose in his face.

"Yeah. She's dead now. I'll tell you about it sometime, I think you would have liked her." He looked as if he doubted it.

"She sounds worse than Me-" I hushed him with a sudden gesture. I felt the Presence rush in. It was old and unfamiliar . . . as an individual. But I'd felt the type before. Robert Karof, breaker of the Silence, Abomination. I reached for my sword and drew my gun closer, just in case.

It was a woman, beautiful, but really not my type. It wasn't the wildness of her, my lovers were rarely tame. But her wildness had more to do with hatred than freedom.

Joe nodded to her.

"Joseph. It's been some time." She smiled.

"Cassandra, we're closed." His voice was wary. So, she was the one Methos broke. . . I could pity her enough not to kill her on sight.

"Just a moment of your time, then I'll leave." She turned to me. "My name is Cassandra. I'm not looking for trouble with you." Somehow, I doubted that.

"Tinat." Cassandra smiled knowingly. Damn, most people don't recognize my name. "I think I knew a student of yours . . . a Robert Karof." I let her read my opinion of him in my face.

"I didn't control him," she hissed. I shrugged. Technically, it was my duty to kill her, if only for her actions with Kantos and MacLeod. But I sincerely didn't want to.

"Stay away from me and mine and you won't have trouble," I promised. The way she moved did not speak for her skill, but Methos didn't want her dead, and I didn't want to fight her. I've always been bad with Quickenings . . . Karof's was a good one, but it had been a while, and I was rested. Sadly, that's not true anymore.

The truth is, I understand Cassandra. I've walked that path to its conclusion, maybe telling her the story would scare her the way nothing else could. But I wouldn't tell it, there are places too dark to bring a stranger and madness too deep to ever see the light. Lillith warned me not to hate, Methos taught me what love without strings really meant, but none of it was enough to stopme. And once you walk the path of vengeance, it is nearly impossible to stop yourself.

Lillith was a huntress long before civilization began. Methos taught me the rules of the Game, she taught me the hunt. Never lose your trail. Never count on luck. Never let the quarry know you exist until fear is your ally. Those I understood.

Never get angry. Respect your quarry. Don't hate. Those took me a while.

With little more than faces, a few names, and a pouch full of gold, I hunted a ten year old path. The gold helped. When I found a bandit, I became less than a butcher.

My favorite kill was to open a vein and let them watch their own blood feed the desert.

One or two had left the paths of butchery behind. I let their families live in exchange for the names and locations of their fellows. Fifteen years after my first death, I tracked such a one to a little village outside of Kurk.

It was an easy hunt, he lived on the outskirts with his small daughter. His wife had fallen to a summer fever. The girl was a lovely little toddler, sticky black hair falling over her shoulders and a wide, fearless smile. She let me lift her onto my shoulders and carry her into the hut.

He was a big, burly man. Black haired and black eyed like a regular, salt of the earth peasant. Only a scar where an arrow had bounced off his scalp disfigured him.

"Milady?" He smiled nervously. I knew what he saw. A young woman, average height in those days. Armed to the teeth with the walk of a fighter. The army didn't take many women, but the ones who served were the best.

"I'm Tinat of Babylon. Are you the one they called Vulture?" I knew he was, his rage distorted face featured prominently in my nightmares. The girl whimpered a bit at the grip of my arms.

"That was long ago. I'm not for hire." His voice was wary and haunted. I would show him ghosts.

"I'm not hiring. Tell me, have you heard of a desert chieftain named Harin?" Real fear lit in his eyes.

"No, milady. Could you hand me my Latti? She gets fussy around strangers." I smiled at him and lay a dagger across the girl's pulse point. A little nick would kill her. "Please Lady, I don't know of him!" the man cried.

"Tell me where he is and the little one lives. She is a pretty thing." I crooned to the child, quieting her whimpers. In the temple I'd always done well with children. I began to push the knife.

"No, wait!" He fell at my feet. "I know where he went. Too many king's men on the roads of late. He took the caravan path down to Jericho." He crawled toward me, filling me in on the details.

"Wonderful. You've made the right choice, Vulture." I set the girl down, dragged him outside and cut his heart out. Then I took the child to the village priestess, leaving her a gold dowry and the discretion to use it when she was grown. She'd probably marry the wrong sort, anyway. Women seem to.

I'd been far gone before I met Harin on the plains outside of Jericho, but I never did more than threaten an innocent life. I challenged him outside the city walls with all formalities. He remembered me, and let me feel his contempt.

His teacher had been good, but not particularly enthusiastic in teaching this student swordwork. Mine had wanted me to live with a fierceness that startled and humbled me. I did not understand his caring for the less than human thing I had been made into.

I took the larger man down with a street trick and hurt him before I took his head. I spent hours at the artistry, until he begged me for death. It was a pleasure to oblige.

Had I known more about Quickenings, I would have realized that this one went badly from the start. Pleasure and pain ran together until I couldn't distinguish myself from emotion, and still the force of it came. Harin's hate and mine became one force until the young priestess I'd been, who had never had a rough hand touch her, was buried by it.

I had not one shred of sanity left.

The stars used to shine at night, even in the city. When my mind was empty, I carried agraceful blade in my hand, full of shadows and moonlight.

Hear the discordant clash of bronze, when they try to keep me away long enough to flee. But they're not good enough, no more than meat to my blade.

I am covered in blood, drowning in the stuff and I thirst for it. They die and I know myself. Alive. Yes.

I lost track of numbers and types. Men, women, children . . . and still the deaths fed me. Consumed me. Methos tells me it was more than a year before he found me. Blood on my hands.

"Tinat!" My lover, teacher, friend called me through the red haze of life. I wonder when I knew he truly loved me more than his life. When I realized I could kill him, too. He was ready to throw away that long life to chase after my darkness.

"Tinat! Listen, the path you are walking will take you nowhere." He approached me, all sinuous grace and aching vulnerability. Bare neck, I raised my blade . . . he shuddered against the steel. I recognized his reaction, and was pleased. The look in his eyes was lost, lost in memories far older than I. He drew back.

"Look at your hands, priestess! What would your Ishtar say to you?" I laughed in the darkness. He lost his faith in the gods long before I was born.

"Ishtar is gone, Methos! She was with me every time I took someone into my bed. Always. In my bones, Methos." He backed away, trying to still the fine trembles in his flesh. Control.

"What do you mean?" He is stalling, planning.

"I had to be willing, I had to accept them to make her stay, to be willing. AND I WOULD NOT! Never . . . never . . . never . . ." I lifted up my blood soaked hands with sudden laughter, sword raised in mock salute. "Hail to Ishtar, who went down to the underworld to conquer death!" She was gone and my body felt so empty.

"You remember that story, priestess? Then recall how it ended. Ishtar failed and was destroyed. And to return to the land of the living, she gave away Dummuzi, the lover of her youth, to appease death."

I stared at him, his flesh pale in the moonlight. The lover of my youth. Suddenly the red haze thinned and I felt tired and uncomprehending. "I told you. Not a priestess any more."

"I've been where you are, Tinat. Killing is easy, isn't it? It feels good, so you drug yourself on it! Does dealing death give you power or does it become the power that controls you?" I want to l isten. I can't listen. My sword feels alive and I want only death.

"Does murder make you less alone? You would not let Harin have you willingly . . . but Tinat -- who has you now?"

I swear I heard him. And sheathed my bloodthirsty blade in my own flesh.

"You know, we have something we like to call a speed limit, Methos. If we get pulled over, it will take us longer," MacLeod pointed out.

"There is no time, Mac." MacLeod was ignored. The car screeched as they pulled into Joe's lot. There was no Presence from the bar, but Methos barreled in anyway.

Joe was behind the bar, staring straight ahead, his face twisted into a kind of horror. It took MacLeod a minute to realize he was still breathing. Methos walked up to him, gently lifting Joe's face in his hands.

"Joseph Dawson," the ancient called. Somehow the words took on an extra quality. MacLeod shuddered, remembering how many religions insisted that names had power. And a part of him wondered what power Methos possessed.

Joe blinked, his breathing turned hoarse.

"What happened, Dawson?" Methos stepped away from the mortal. Fear made his voice harsh.

"Cassandra. It was Cassandra," Joe murmured. Methos drew back, dead white.

"Joe, it's alright. Could you tell us what happened?" MacLeod helped his friend to a seat.

"She said something, her voice . . . Cassandra . . . and I couldn't move. I was trapped here, but I heard them." Methos handed him a drink and he gulped it down.

<< "Stay away from me and mine and you won't have trouble." Tinat promised, dismissing the other woman.

"I've studied you . . . for so many years. Even the watchers don't know much about you." Cassandra smiled. "In a way, I was your watcher." Tinat frowned, nervousness breaking through her facade.

"How exactly would you know what the watchers know?" Joe demanded. He was afraid he knew, for a woman with her powers, 'borrowing' chronicles would be too easy. The oldest records weren't even translatable, so the watchers wouldn't know what they'd lost.

"Silence!" The woman's voice echoed strangely, and Joe found himself still and silent.

"That's not a way for you to endear yourself to me, Robert Karof's teacher." Tinat's eyes turned feral, and a grin twisted her face.

"It's alright, you can fix him. I know you can, you're the best." The woman's gaze was almost -- worshipful?

Tinat turned dead white. "What exactly do you want from me, Cassandra?"

"Robert hurt you, didn't he? He wasn't supposed to, but you took care of him. You took care of them all. What about Methos?"

"You badly want to play swords and heads, don't you? What about Methos?" Her voice was utterly calm.

"I want you to know the truth about him. He's lied to you, like he lies to everyone. He hurts people."

"We've all hurt people, Cassandra. I know your pain, but it was long ago. If it consumes you, it makes you less than nothing." Compassion stalked the older woman, but even it had an air of neutrality.

"I don't want to hurt you. We're two of a kind, you and I. You had your justice, I want mine." Cassandra's passionate speech seemed odd after the older immortal's chilly voice.

"Justice . . . I had 'justice' and then some. I took it, with my own sword and my own hands, and I would pay any price to give it back. There is only one thing left in this world that I love truly. Harm him and I will make the 'justice' I took then look like a spa vacation." From her tone, she could have been ordering a hamburger with fries.

"And if Harin were still alive, how would you feel now?" Cassandra whispered.

"Who told you that name?" Emotion again. Tinat reacted. Joe had never heard the name before, certainly not associated with Tina Delenay or Julia Von Villiana, or any of her aliases in the watcher records.

"Methos, your so beloved teacher. He told me quite a bit about you. In fact, if he were capableof such an emotion, I'd say he loves you." There was absolutely no sanity in Cassandra. Maybe there never had been. Joe sincerely doubted Methos would have told Cassandra anything about Tinat. Tinat's lack of reaction seemed to indicate the same.

"Cassandra, what do you want?" Dispassion blended seamlessly with contempt.

"To hurt him as much as he hurt me." Cassandra smiled.

"You honestly want to fight me? What makes you believe that you'll win?" Tinat sounded genuinely surprised.

"I don't want to fight you, I want to make you see. Come with me, and I'll show you the truth about Methos."

"Not bloody likely. Get out of my sight, before I see if I can take your head with your own claws." There was a hysterical amusement in Tinat.

"And maybe," Cassandra continued, "I don't have to win. I will drop this now if you swear you won't interfere with my justice."

"What an awful thought. O.K. I'll swear." The cheer was back in Tinat's voice.

"Somehow, I think you lie."

"Little old me? What makes you say that?" She laughed out loud.

"If you won't listen to me, I'll see what Methos has to say." Cassandra smiled.

"Just leave him alone. Just leave him," Tinat whispered. Then she followed Cassandra out the door.

Methos nodded, then rose impatiently for the door.

"Methos?" MacLeod was reluctant to abandon Joe.

"She's not dead, but something went wrong. Tinat always gets too much from a Quickening." Methos examined the floor.

"She didn't have a problem with Karof's."

"Tinat was intimately acquainted with his perversions already . . . at that point it didn't matter." He shuddered.

"I'm fine, guys, go after her." Joe pushed the two immortals away. Methos turned and ran out the door.

The women hadn't gone far. They felt the Presence a few blocks away and ducked into the alley. There was no sign or feel of Cassandra. Tinat was huddled against a building, tear tracks visible in the pale light.

"Peace, love, it will be fine." Methos knelt beside her, tenderly smoothing her hair back. She collapsed soundlessly into his arms and let him whisper assurances in long forgotten languages.

MacLeod felt cold. He'd often wondered what Methos wanted from him when she was there. Arrogant, beautiful and female, she'd never minded his relationship with Methos. Maybe she just knew how little threat he was to her.

"MacLeod," Tinat's whiskey voice pulled him into full awareness. "Come here."

"What is it?" He approached her gingerly. Methos had a protective arm around her, but he stayed silent.

"Do you think I should have killed her?" She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her.

"I don't know what to think. Why ask me?"

"You care, sometimes. Lillith thought you were interesting. And Methos," she whispered. Sometimes MacLeod wished he'd known Lillith, if only because of the mark she'd made on her pupils. Her children. He would probably hate her, though.

"I think you should act with honor. If she wasn't a real threat to you, then she should live," he said after a moment, not knowing how to answer her.

"A man's answer," she breathed.

"And a woman would say?"

"A woman protects what belongs to her. First, last and always." She threaded her fingers through Methos'.

"No matter the price? Then why isn't she dead?" He tried to understand.

"I have no honor, Duncan MacLeod. It was stripped from me before I'd lived two decades. Do you know what it's like to lose everything -- flesh, honor and faith?" She grasped his hand too tightly and he flinched involuntarily. "Cassandra knew. Knows."

"Do you hate me?" Methos spoke at last.

"Don't be a fool, Old Man. I never hated you." Her fingers tightened on his as well. "Well, there was there was that incident with the ice water and that girl . . . Cleis."

"Oh, come on, I was drunk or I wouldn't have. And you pulled me in after you. Poor Cleis was deprived of my attentions. She promised to show me a trick with her tongue." He grinned, shaking his head mournfully at the same time.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, she didn't waste time . . . it was a really good trick. Makes me tingle just thinking about it." Duncan knew his face was set in permanent incredulity. Somehow, neither of them could sustain a serious conversation for longer than five minutes. It was a skill he sometimes longed for, though he'd never admit it.

"You didn't! Lesbos was a damn big island . . . why did you always have to chase after my lovers?" The mood shifted again. MacLeod had given up trying to understand the purpose or point of their arguments. It was a bit like dealing with an old married couple. Worse, really.

"Hah! You're one to talk, what about Justinian? And I'd married him too!" she fumed. Their anger could have been a release of tension, or just another game.

"Well, obviously what you had to offer wasn't fresh enough . . . didn't Surya ever teach you the goods don't get better if you spread them around?" he shouted. Her palm cracked across his face.

"At least I never had to force myself where I wasn't wanted! But shouldn't we be talking to Cassandra about that?" He turned bone white before she finished speaking. "Oh, damn it, Methos, I'm sorry. Goddess knows, I didn't--" He cut her off.

"No, you're right. I -- I never really wanted Cleis, Shai, or Justinian or even that redhead . . . well, you know, that one reminded me of you. Not like I wanted you." he whispered, pulling a strand of hair from her face.

"I didn't care that much, either. I think I was trying to get up the courage to ask for you." She rested her copper head against his shoulder.

"And since I couldn't, at least I could have you secondhand." He stroked her hair, pulling her closer.

"You have me now, as long as you want me," she promised.

"And you have me, love." His lips brushed against her hair. MacLeod felt even more intrusive, so he slipped away, giving them their moment.

He hadn't gotten a hundred yards when he felt it. Presence, very close.

Cassandra was on her knees, sword by her side. A figure rose above her, barely visible in the dim alley. He was slender and fairly short for a man. A stray streetlight illuminated his face, showing features that were refined and vaguely Asiatic.

"I wouldn't," MacLeod called to the man. Cassandra used his distraction to scramble away and run into the shadows.

"Who the hell are you and why did you just interfere in my fight?" The stranger turned on MacLeod.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. What is your quarrel with that woman?" he demanded.

"I am Ling Shai. You know I didn't need a quarrel, Duncan MacLeod, only the Game. But she threatens some dear friends and I swore an oath to the Lady Lillith to keep them out of trouble." He smiled ruefully.

"Maybe if I talk to her, I can make her understand," MacLeod protested.

"The only talk you could manage would be over Methos' dead body, and I cannot permit that. The woman's soul is dead," Shai returned serenely.

"Tinat wasn't going to kill her. If even she chose not to --"

"Tinat saw too much of Cassandra. Or in her. Empathy is not a wonderful thing in an immortal. She saw a mirror in Cassandra's eyes." He shrugged and strode into the darkness. MacLeod saw his chance at answers slip away.

"Wait! How d'you know them? What game was Lillith playing? I need to know." The man turned, gave MacLeod an almost pitying look and dropped a card in his hand. A Buddhist Temple, with a date and time.

"Mac! Mac, what the hell just happened here?" Methos called out of the darkness. MacLeod sincerely wished he knew that answer.

Sometimes, when I'm lucky, I can go centuries without a headache. I was so close to making the twentieth century one of those . . .

I met Ling Shai in a tavern on what became the silk road about 200 BCE, I'd say. Poor boy had the bad fortune of being opposed to Shi-Wong Di's plots of unification and ended up dead for his trouble. I was tired of the old world and wanted to see the parts Alexander never got to.

We got very drunk on something local and predictably dreadful and ended up waking up together the next morning, not recognizing each other's faces. At least we weren't married . . . I think. We spent about eighty years together. He gave me the grand tour of Chi'in and I took him back to Asia Minor with me.

"I can't believe Shai is still alive. I heard he lost his head during the fourth crusade," Methos said. He looked mildly amused. The next time I saw Shai, he was hanging around with Methos, placing bets on which barbarian tribe would sack Rome next. We had a minor disagreement over whose lover Shai was, which led directly to us not speaking for a couple decades and Shai's wandering off in disgust.

"I bloody near lost my head during that one. Never felt safe in Constantinople again," I muttered. I introduced Shai and Methos in The City when it was still called Byzantium. Of course, Methos promptly went after him. I'm still not sure who to feel sorry for . . . I guess I'll just feel sorry for myself.

"He is going to kill her if he catches her -- God." MacLeod buried his head in his hands.

"No, she's not really a God, not even a minor one," I deadpanned. "Thought I was, though." Shudder. That is one mind I never, never want to get near again.

"What?" MacLeod looked at me, disbelieving.

"What she showed me . . . sweet Ishtar, she makes insanity look pleasant." Bloody well shivers my skin.

"I think," Methos began carefully, "that you should explain that better. She doesn't like me for obvious reasons. What does that have to do with you?"

"Remember that portrait Xrin did of me? Really amazing one, I didn't see its like again for millennia." It had been done when I was inducted into the Amazon clans. I'd come into my own as a warrior, and that was who I was until the fall of Troy. The portrait was a gift to Methos.

"Xrin . . . the Amazon, yes. I lost it while I was with the Horsemen. I'm sorry, I don't remember much more than that." No big surprise there. I try to keep memories of madness as far from me as possible.

"Well, Cassandra saw it at some point. It was an anchor of sorts. Methos, she wants me to approve before she kills you. She showed me . . ." I knew the Methos she had shown me was as far gone as the Tinat who murdered anything that crossed her path. But now I needed more than knowledge, I wanted evidence that he was mine.

"What I did to her, I'd guess. There are some days when I'd agree she deserves my head." He sounded tired, suddenly. I wrapped my arms around him and he relaxed against me, hazel eyes focusing on mine.

"Then," MacLeod whispered, rubbing Methos' back gently. "you're underestimating your own worth, again. Stop, it's irritating."

Methos chuckled. "Being truly irritating is an art form. Give yourself time, you'll get there."

"Guys, I hate to be a wet blanket, but we are in an alley. There could be watchers or voyeurs of a less noble purpose around," I pointed out.

"Wait. What about Cassandra?" MacLeod would care about that.

"As much as I pride myself on solving my own problems, I don't think I can take care of her. Thank Ishtar for Shai." Methos pulled me to my feet and we strode off toward our cars. Mac's protests could wait. MacLeod could wait. Now I needed something else. So did Methos, I could feel it through his jeans.

"You know, you can trust Mac. He's really a decent person, noble, white knight, and all that." Methos whispered before his lips caught my breasts and suckled. I shook under his hands, feeling the sweat trickle down my spine.

"Oh, I'd trust him with my life. But not my heart, not myself. I've seen what he does to his friends." I captured a hand, marveling at the beautiful perfection of sinew and skin, exploring it with my mouth. "Bright Ishtar, I love you."

He used his free hand to trace the muscles of my stomach, achingly gentle. The long, perfect fingers brushed across my body, touch almost ephemeral. I felt myself arch into his hands, needing the pressure. "I love you, Tinat. He would love you if you'd let him."

I shifted out from under his tormenting touch with a sudden movement. He let me push him down and map his back with my tongue, moaning against me. I moved lower to find the pale scars between his thighs and move around the muscle, tracing with my teeth. I pulled on his hips, until he raised them. With exquisite care not to break the skin, I traced my way toward his erection. He shuddered convulsively, parting his thighs wider for me.

"Tinat." I opened my mouth and took the tip of his cock, laving it carefully with my tongue. Then I let it go, let the cool air rush in on him. "Shemesh, please!" he cried, reaching out to grab at my hair. I pulled up, feeling the moisture dripping between my thighs.

"Are you mine, Methos?" Carefully, I spread my body next to his, and he pushed himself on his back. His eyes were all pupil, breathing ragged.

"Yours," he promised. I nodded, eased my hand around his erection, feeling the damp velvet in my hands, to guide him into the ache between my legs. "And you're mine." He took me in a single stroke, gliding in easily between my slippery thighs. I felt his pleasure in the tight fit of our bodies and he felt my fullness.

"Always, love." I tightened the muscles, pulling him deep. The fullness of him consumed me, as he rocked inside my flesh, clever fingers tangled in my hair. As our bodies joined, our minds collapsed into each other so that when he fell over the edge into his pleasure, I fell, too. Goddess, if only I could stay like this, joined with him. Methos, my heart, I'll love him if you want me to, I'll be anything you need, as long as you're mine.

**Beloved, you are exactly what I want. I trust you.** his thoughts promised as he softened inside me. We lay like that for a long time, until the stars came out. But you know, stars are invisible in the city.

Ling Shai felt uniquely nervous waiting for MacLeod. Not about killing the witch, she'd shown herself to be no match for him. But her protector, MacLeod, might destroy him yet. That one would be unstoppable when he believed in his cause. Shai wanted very much to think Lillith's plan would bring him no harm. But he knew Lillith and loved her children. Both of them.

The calm of holy ground soothed the disturbance of another immortal and Shai turned around to meet the Highland warrior.

"I don't want Cassandra dead," he began, searching for the words. The woman was a part of his childhood, a living reminder of happier times.

"What about Methos? Do you want him dead?" Shai's eyes darkened.

"No, of course not. If it came to a choice . . . but it hasn't, don't you see that?" he pleaded. Shai shook his head, there was something off about MacLeod's reaction to the witch. It could be a side effect of her voice.

"Do you love him?" The Asian had no pity.

"I do. He's like no one I've ever known." MacLeod swallowed.

"May the Gods have mercy on you. Ask." He turned away abruptly.

"What?"

"Ask your questions, Highlander. I will not swear to answer, but I'll try." He smiled encouragingly.

MacLeod drew in a sharp breath. "Who was Lillith and what did she have to do with the watchers?"

"How much did Methos tell you about her?"

"That she was very old, possibly as old as the species. That she was his first teacher. He told me about the Methuselah Stone. I doubt that's everything." He smiled wryly.

"You're learning, Highlander. Lillith was our Oracle. The Prophet of the Gathering, if you would. As for the watchers, damned if I know." He waved a negligent hand.

"Prophet of the Gathering?" the younger immortal demanded.

Shai shrugged. "That's all I can tell you. Tell Tinat she's on the right track but asking the wrong question."

"Why not tell her yourself? She seems to remember you fondly," he muttered, sick to death of cryptic old immortals.

"Does she? You think she would like to see me? And he . . ." The Asian gave MacLeod an almost hopeful look.

"Sure she would. Methos would, too." He sighed, wondering who had appointed him emotional cheerleader for those-who-should-be-in-retirement-homes.

"Then by all means, lead the way."

The Tinat who opened the door to her apartment was not necessarily unfamiliar-- there had been times when Methos wanted them both in his bed-- but MacLeod was startled anyway. She was neither competent warrior, nor compassionate priestess.

Methos would say that she was precisely like a priestess, but MacLeod couldn't quite get that around his upbringing. The only comparison he could make would be to a jungle cat. Clothed in hair and one of Methos' hastily pulled on shirts. Her eyes were playful then turned feral and her skin glowed as copper as her tangled hair. She smiled lazily, showing a mouth full of perfect, white teeth. Her grip on the blade behind her back loosened when she recognized them and led them inside.

"Shai, Duncan, be welcome to my home." They followed her, rather blankly. Methos waved at them from her couch. He was half dressed and sprawled across the furniture, taking up more space than the laws of Physics should allow any one person. The sight of too much of his long, lean frame didn't help MacLeod's physical reactions in the slightest. He shifted, tensely.

"Shai." His voice brightened. "I've missed you. Why didn't you tell us you were in town?"

"I wasn't sure I'd be welcome. We didn't exactly part on the best terms," he began, almost shyly.

Tinat's laughter changed her from temptress to excited teenager. She flung her arms around the slender Asian. "You bastard, you told the two of us to go screw each other, because no one remotely sane could put up with the constant tug of war." She poked a finger in his chest. "And then took off, without so much as a bloody good-bye. Well, we finally got around to taking your advice." Methos' laughter joined hers as he levered himself off the couch to greet his friend.

"The question is," Shai said, when they'd all sobered, "What do we do now?"

"Sit down and get drunk." Tinat proposed, laughter still thick in her voice.

"But Ma, we do that at every party," Methos mock whined.

"As the Lady Lillith pointed out, it's either that, or suffer the horror of looking at your faces sober," Shai teased.

"Hah, she was only a Lady in your mind. She'd thwap you the next time she was teaching sword moves for calling her that." Methos rubbed his side in memory.

"Look, I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do, but could we return to the business at hand," MacLeod spoke from the corner.

"Right. Two problems, my brothers and sister. What to do about the witch?" He turned to Methos.

"I can't justify killing her if I don't have to. But I'm far from ready to die. Mac?" He turned to MacLeod and held his breath.

"She willna have you." The warrior promised, in thickening brogue. "But I can't help thinking there is another way."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not face her again. That is one Quickening that worries me." Tinat withdrew into herself.

"What did she do to you?" Shai's expression turned fierce.

"Nothing, really. Just brought some old memories home." She drew in a deep breath. "Believe me, I've been where she is. What Methos is really like and his real motivations are of extreme indifference to her. She needs blood."

"Then we are back to allowing me to take her. The woman is not stable, and her students are a menace. Someone has to," Shai said.

"At least let me try," MacLeod pleaded.

"She can manipulate you, Highlander. You are susceptible to the Voice," Shai pointed out.

Tinat rocked back on her heels, thinking. After a long pause. "There is a way."

"Not unless-- no, he's too young!" Methos shook his head.

"He has the Power of someone much older. And he is not without discipline. It could work," Shai said, thoughtfully.

"And it could turn his brains to grey goo," Methos retorted.

"Do you think that would heal?" Tinat wondered aloud.

"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt, but would you mind explaining what the hell you're talking about?" MacLeod burst out.

"No, not at all," Tinat replied. MacLeod waited.

"Well?" he growled.

"It may be possible to open your gifts early. That would protect you from the Voice, among other things. However, as Methos pointed out, the results of such exercises have been decidedly mixed," Shai finally answered.

"Do it." MacLeod's mind was instantly made up.

"Mac-- " Methos began.

"I owe her. I have to try something. Besides, the Game keeps heating up, I have to defend myself against ancients with the Voice and no scruples about keeping the Silence."

"And with that in mind, I bring up our other business. Before she . . . Lillith entrusted me with a message, Tinat. She's says you've been asking the wrong question."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tinat demanded.

"The question you should be thinking of is the one the mortals always ask. No, I don't know what she meant, I'm not even sure what your area of research is." He glanced at her questioningly.

"The watchers and the Rules. Origins and all that." Tinat looked blankly ahead.

"Do mortals usually ask about the watchers? No. So rules . . ." Shai muttered thoughtfully.

"Wait!" Methos' eyes lit up. "What's the first rule?" he asked his former student.

"There can be only one. Why?" She frowned, then suddenly stopped, "Oh. Oh, sweet Ishtar on a pair of fucking camels! I never even questioned-- "

"Hold on here," MacLeod's eyes bounced from one to the other. "What--" "

Only one what?" Tinat jumped up and shook his shoulders violently, "There can be only one WHAT!?" Everyone was still as the echoes of her voice faded.

Shai finally broke the silence. "So, what are we going to do about Cassandra?"

Lillith the Demoness was born arrogant. She was the Huntress, the nearly divine provider for her tribe. Her cleverness and skill kept them together. Her needs and nature broke them in a fertile valley once called Eden. She left the remnants of her people without a backward glance, only stopping to spit at her former mate and his new bride, Blossom, whose true name was Eve.

She wandered in an age when time scarcely had meaning, so the seasons of her travels where of no concern to her. Still she wandered, driven by a force she could not name or understand, an irresistible pull to a far distant land.

When the pull ceased, she found herself surrounded by others of her kind. They gathered in a huge cave that had been carved and abandoned by a river before humanity touched the world. None of them could have told their true age, but that did not matter, the world had not changed perceptibly in Lillith's long memory. It was changing now.

A man stood before the immortals, a stooped, dark fellow, with the brutish features of the old ones. Lillith met his gaze with surprise, she had not seen an old one since time immemorial. His language made no sense to Lillith or any of the other men and women gathered, so it was a good thing his gesture required no words.

He handed an exquisitely sharp piece of flint to his young seeming companion. The man sliced clear through his neck and let the head fall away.

Lillith tensed as the lightning ripped from his body. She'd seen something like this before and the energy had ripped apart the killer, but that had been in a holy place. Somehow she knew this would be different. The life of the old one reached out and took hold of all the immortals in the cave. With it came an unspeakable power and a set of instructions. There would be another time, another Gathering.

And she had a role to play.

Cassandra stepped out of her car outside MacLeod's dojo. She approached gingerly before she felt the signature of another immortal, then breathed a sigh of relief. Only one, and very, very young.

She stepped through the doors.

"Mac, is that you?" The boy who spoke was young in looks as well as power. He had cropped red hair and big blue eyes that widened when he saw Cassandra.

"Hello, I'm Richie Ryan," he breathed. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes. I think that you most certainly can." She smiled when she invoked the Voice. It must be subtle enough not to arouse Methos' suspicions, and that would take some doing.

She gagged him first to stifle the screams.

"What we need is a plan." Methos was more than a little disgruntled. I think he'd secretly hoped Cassandra would just go away. Where there is life there is hope, if not much else.

"Oh, I'm all for plans, Methos. Since you're the master planner, why not suggest something?" MacLeod said in disgust.

"He could just wear earplugs again." Shai took a pull from one of my beers.

"She'd be expecting it. That only worked on Kantos because he was young and overconfident." I deflated that one.

"Damn, and here I thought it was such a good plan." Shai shrugged. "Just let me kill her." As if Mac would do it just because Shai asked enough times.

Even Shai isn't that persistent.

"Tinat, this opening of gifts, what exactly does it entail?" Mac turned his radiating charisma on me. Too bad it doesn't work on dried up old bitches.

"I'm not allowed to tell you that before you agree." Okay, it was a blatant lie, anything with the word 'allowed' in it usually is. You wouldn't believe what some people would agree to purely to satisfy their curiosity.
"Tinat!" Methos' voice rose. I threw him a nasty look, while Shai looked on, smiling benevolently. I silenced Methos with a thought before he could say another word. We don't interfere in each other's games, my beloved and I. No matter what.

"Think about it, MacLeod. Tell me when you decide." Then I handed Mac and Shai their coats. "Good-bye, guys." I'm not a Greek or a Celt and I don't give a damn about hospitality codes. They took a look at my face and left.

"Why are you doing this, Tinat?" The hurt in his voice almost undid me.

"Cassandra isn't going to let you live. I know you, you may be a bloody cynic but you won't kill her. One day she gets lucky and--" His laughter stopped me cold. "What?"

He paused, to gain control of his breathing. "You sound like me, lecturing Mac about Kristen. And worse, you may be right. Tell me how turning MacLeod's brain even more squishy than it is will solve anything."

"He'll see just how loony she is, and Shai will kill her without any further interruptions. And without the risk of retribution from your pet knight." Methos may not care what MacLeod does to his friends, and maybe Byron even deserved what he got, but I'm not going to let him get away with hurting mine. "He's too damn stubborn. The way he perceives the world . . . how do you think getting on the inside of someone's head will feel to him?"

"What makes you so sure the gift will take him that way? He could be an Oracle or a healer. Hell, he could be like you!" I smiled weakly at Methos. "Gods spare him that." Methos shuddered.

"Why are you sure this will hurt him?" I asked after a moment. "I've seen it done successfully. Remember Tak Ne and his students?"

"Who happens to be dead or I'd be asking him to do this. It's not worth the risk!" he cried out.

"Because you have our white knight lined up to be The One? Remember recent developments and realize we don't have a clue what the Game means or what, not who, the One is supposed to be." Logic is an interesting game and a wicked weapon. But sometimes it gets you the truth.

"Damn you, I love him. Letting him do this would be the equivalent of . . . of hurting you on purpose." Appealing to sentiment, are we. Good thing I gave it up.

"He's not me. If it were me, you'd trust my judgement and let me do what I needed to." Methos has certainly let me do worse, in the interest of 'learning' experiences and plain good fun. "The thing is, you're treating him like a new student instead of a man with four hundred years of history."

"That's because he acts like it! He doesn't-- He--" Suddenly I'm glad I don't take students. Too much like kids.

"Doesn't know what's best for him?" I made him blush. Come on, if you're trying to talk me around, you've got to do better than that.

"Irony, irony, my love. Sometimes I just love my life." I laughed, but for once there was no humor in him.

"Swear to that, Tinat." His eyes were almost dark.

"To what? Loving life? I can do that." After Lillith, I can even understand the question. He nodded, a little relieved.

"Can you honestly tell me the risk to him is outweighed by the benefits?" Back to that conversation. Sigh.

"Not exactly. Talking to Cassandra will change nothing that three thousand years hasn't, but that's not the point. He will try because that is his nature, and she will destroy him to get to you. Unless we can protect him." He damned me with a look and then lay his head on my shoulder.

"You're going to do this no matter what I say." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Methos," I answered anyway. "The sooner it's done, the sooner we take care of the witch, and end of problem."

"If Lillith were alive--" That line of conversation isn't one I want to hear.

"She is not."

"No." We held each other like shivering children whose mother had abandoned them. The thing that kept bothering me was, why does the Serpent effectively commit suicide just as her plans are coming into fruition. Methos and I are damn good, but too many things can go wrong, and she hadn't trusted us with all the information. If it were me, I'd make sure to supervise everything directly.

Of course, I really should have known better.

Joe Dawson had seen enough hell in his life to recognize it now. He felt sick, violated to the core by Cassandra's soft Voice. He'd managed to hide it from the others. MacLeod was too consumed by Cassandra's betrayal to notice and Methos was trapped in Tinat's fear. Anyway, they were gone now and Joe tried to bury the horror of the Witch in his mind.

He nearly didn't hear the door swing open. "We're closed," he told whoever it was, without turning around.

"Joseph Dawson, I presume?" It was a woman's voice, light and dispassionate. He turned around, glad to be distracted, and then felt his jaw drop. She was no one he had ever met. A goddamned poster child for a Valkyrie. Just the sight of her sent a thrill of atavistic terror down his spine.

"Lillith?" Yeah, just love her, Tinat. "I'd guess the reports of your death have been exaggerated," he said, surprised at how coherent his voice sounded.

"Not really. I lost my head and my Quickening." She smiled at his disbelief. "If there are immortals, Joseph, why not ghosts? Have faith."

"Faith in you? What have the watchers gained from that?" He knew how bitter he sounded, and didn't bother to disguise it.

"They have gained continued existence. I've protected you as often as you've protected me, Joseph." She pulled up a seat at the bar. Close up, her skin was pale and fine enough to make Methos look dark.

"You're damn substantial for a ghost, Mother of Lies." He laughed bitterly. "Why come to me?" Tinat or Methos would have given a lot to see this woman again.

"Do you believe that a soul can die and live again? A new start, new flesh?" She leaned across the bar, chill lips almost brushing his ear.

"What, reincarnation?" He accepted the change of subject without comment. If that was what it was. "Let me guess, you knew me in a past life."

The fact was, he did know her, he could swear to it. This woman who was old as the human race. Even Methos had faded to a myth in his years. Lillith, when she was mentioned at all, had never been considered a mere immortal.

"Something like that." An enigmatic smile slipped over her face for an instant. "We have met before, in a fashion, but that was long ago. In this time and this place, I've come to give you a gift."

"Oh wonderful, a Serpent for a fairy godmother. Aren't I in luck?" He let the sarcasm cover the fear. Her eyes were almost soft when they fell on him.

"More than you know, friend. It's nearly dawn, and I'll have to see you another night. Now come to me." She carefully took his head in her hands, and captured his mouth with her cool lips. "Forget the pain, forget the fear." The voice was like dark ice after Cassandra's liquid fire. It soothed the damaged places Cassandra had left in his mind.

"What are you?" he whispered, real gratitude in his voice. Light began to streak the sky outside of Joe's.

"I still love you, you know, and forgive you. I don't want to, but I do. Have peace." The sunlight played on her white blond head for an instant, then Lillith faded into it. Joe could not quite convince himself he'd dreamed her.

MacLeod watched Shai play with one of his katanas. They hadn't spoken since they arrived at the dojo, and neither was sure how to start.

"So," MacLeod broke the silence before it got any more painful. "How did you meet Lillith?"

Shai smiled fondly. "Tinat, of course. She said my blade work was pathetic, my survival skills worse and I'd be lucky to break the century mark if I kept on as I was. So she sent me to a master."

"Did they send all their students to her?" He'd always envied Conner's chance to study under Rameriz, now he'd lost the chance to know another old one.

"No, just the ones who would appreciate her attitude . . . could you picture her with Byron?" MacLeod could, but didn't say so. "She wasn't a tame Serpent, you know. We all thought of ourselves as hers, her students and her children."

"How many of you are there?" MacLeod couldn't resist asking. Fleeting sorrow crossed his companion's face.

"There were nine of us, as far as I know. Tak Ne's been gone for centuries and Cleis lost her head to Horton's madness. Poor Fela might still be alive, but I doubt it. Justinian died when the Turks took Constantinople, he couldn't see past that ending. Besides the three I know of, that leaves Lorraine and Ahset." He seemed to fade into the past, and MacLeod gave him his moment.

"Could you tell me more about the gifts?" MacLeod asked tentatively.

"You want me to defy the Dragon?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"The Dragon?" A raised brow.

"Tinat, of course. Don't you follow the old stories?" he teased. MacLeod decided to ignore that.

"Yes, I want you to defy her. She doesna own you. But if it makes you feel better, I've already decided to say yes." MacLeod burned with curiosity. Darius had mentioned the Power the Quickening could manifest but he'd been vague. Methos and Tinat, of course, kept secrets just for the fun of it.

"The gifts depend on your personality, though you'll always be able to share minds with a willing immortal or a weakened one. Concrete examples: Lillith saw the future, Tinat is an Empath, Cassandra has the Voice."

"What about Methos?" MacLeod asked.

"Methos . . . manipulation, but not really like the Voice. He can't or won't let you do something that's not a part of your nature but when he takes his gift to you, you never even know it. It was how he caught Kronos in the Myth of The Horsemen. I shouldn't speak of it." He fell silent.

"Did he, could he have--" MacLeod didn't want to think it.

"Done it to you? Not unless you happen to be a threat to him. The gifts are not ever an easy thing."

"Why? What exactly is so horrible about them?" The vague warning grew steadily more irritating.

"Don't you understand? Your Quickening is a combination of every immortal life you ever took, and as you use it, you surrender yourself to it. To them." Shai didn't meet MacLeod's eyes.

MacLeod was about to ask more questions but the feel of Presence interrupted him. He frowned, fingering his katana. "Hey, Mac! It's me." Richie Ryan sauntered into the dojo. "Who's your friend?"

"MacLeod, look out, he--" Ling Shai gave the boy a disturbed glance. He barely felt the bullet ripping through his chest. MacLeod had a moment to act, but he'd trained his student well and a moment wasn't long enough.

Calmly and mechanically, Richard Ryan bound his mentor and dragged him outside. He picked up the phone, dialed, and waited until Cassandra's car appeared. Mac was safely secreted in the trunk. Cassandra smiled and patted him on the head.

"You've been a good boy, Richie. Now finish the other." She pulled the car out of the alley.

Richie went back inside the dojo and removed the unconscious man's head. The force of the Quickening startled him back to sanity.

That was when the screaming began in earnest.

MacLeod woke from the dead with a burst of stale air. His body was strapped down to a table. Someone immortal was with him. He opened his eyes.

"Hello, Cassandra. Been a while." He wondered why he'd never noticed the coldness behind her smile before.

"Duncan. You know the Horsemen were great believers in debts. Not much else you could say about them . . . but they paid what they owed." She leaned over him. "You, now, you owe me your life, Duncan."

"I got rid of Kantos for you. I helped you take down the Horsemen. Now let the past be past," he pleaded.

"It's not over until they are all dead. Then your debt is paid." She played with something. A hypodermic needle.

"Leave him alone, Cassandra. Just leave him, damn you!" She leaned down to brush her fingers through his hair. The gesture could have been a tender reminder of their brief fling.

"Yes, he will be quite alone before he dies. You've grown strong since we last spoke, Duncan. I have to make sure of you." The needle sunk into his unresisting skin. In his fragmented dreams a cajoling Voice made him many promises, in exchange for just one small thing. It seemed like nothing to give her.

Cassandra hummed happily to herself as she twisted the mind before her. She didn't hear the door open.

"Turn around, girl." The voice promised an interesting death.

"Who are you?" Cassandra turned, meeting the glacial eyes of a tall, white-blond woman. A woman whose mind simply did not exist to Cassandra's powers.

"Serpent, the first Huntress. But you can call me Lillith." Fear penetrated Cassandra's hate.

"Liar. You're not one of us." It couldn't be, there had been no Presence accompanying the woman.

"No, not anymore. I have given up my Quickening. Aren't you wondering why I'm here?" She smiled softly.

"It doesn't matter, powerless spirit. You're only a ghost, you can't stop me," Cassandra cried. "You cannot interfere directly in the living world."

"So, you think you know what I am? Who could imagine it . . . and you may even be right. Good luck."

"Wait, aren't you going to do something?" she called to the woman's back.

"But, Cassandra, you yourself said I am powerless. What is it you think I should do?" Obscene laughter followed the pale woman as she took herself elsewhere.

I think I know the real reason I like Methos so much. He doesn't do mornings either. But some days that causes more problems than it solves. I murmured something incoherent as a sleepy mouth traced the hollow of my throat. Then the phone rang. Did I say I liked this century? Must be out of my mind.

"That you, Mac?" Methos picked it up. "Do you know what time it is?" A little after noon, but who's counting? "Just checking." He pulled a notepad out and scrawled an address.

"Bye. Yes, I'll be there as soon as I'm awake. Good-bye." The phone went firmly into the receiver.

"What did he do this time?" I managed to arrange a rather nice sentence. All coherent and everything.

"Car broke down. I'm going to pick him up, want to come along?" I yawned and buried my head under my pillow.

"Why doesn't he call Richie? Or a cab? Stay here with me." My fingers found his and I peeked out from under my hair. Then I began exploring the territory before me.

"Now that's not fair." His breathing turned ragged and a pair of sleep filled hazel eyes captured me. I let myself discover the long, lean body again.

"It seldom is," I whispered into his flesh. He laughed, distracting me for an instant. Then he caught my hands and drew them back against the pillow, his body covering mine.

"Cab . . . he can call a cab." His tongue traced my ear. Velvet tongue, velvet voice. Goddess, yes. I wasn't sure where it came from, but I had the overwhelming urge to keep him here with me, no matter what. I am long past the point of ignoring my instincts.

Richie searched his mind for breathing room, for coherence. The headless body made it difficult. It was a while before he raised enough courage to make sure it wasn't Mac's.

He sobbed quietly and painfully, not even trying for control. A gentle hand found his shoulder. He turned, and met dispassionate, glacial eyes.

"His name was Ling Shai. He remembered what China was before it was an Empire. If such things make a difference to you . . . he was a good man. A student." Her voice was free of inflection. It occurred to Richie that she held a sword in her hand. No Presence.

"I'm sorry. So sorry." Maybe she would kill him. He couldn't raise the energy to care.

"Why? It was Cassandra's work, not yours. I only wanted you to know whose Quickening you'd taken." She sighed and drew him toward her. He buried his head in her pale hair, only a few shades paler than Emily Ryan's had been. The sobs seemed to come from everywhere but himself.

When he was finished, he found he could meet her eyes. Compassion and dispassion intertwined.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"Lillith. I once raised a child who was very like you." She rubbed his shoulders.

"What happened?" he asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Not much. He was mortal and it was long ago." Sorrow. Millennia piled on millennia.

"Are you one of us? I don't feel you." The part of him that could think was grateful for the distraction.

"Once I was. Now -- did you know a man named Carl Jung? A bit before your time, I suppose. He had an interesting theory about archetypes and embodiments of the human spirit. And . . ." She bit her words off, as if startled.

"What?"

"Once I asked one of the old Gods what he was. The answer he gave me is very close to the thing I have become." Richie tried to align that with his view of the universe, but gave it up as a bad cause. He absolutely refused to live in a fantasy novel, even if he was a sword wielding immortal.

In the midst of that thought, he realized he had become almost coherent.

"Mac! We have to do something," he cried out. Lillith smiled, as if he had said something worthy of pride.

"It's a good thought. But truly, Richard, it's not our place to act." He shook his head, trying to reject her words.

"After what I did? What Cassandra did to me? Where do you get the chutzpa to tell me to stand here like an idiot and let her do that to Mac?" The boy was on his feet and angry.

"You want revenge, child? Nearly forty centuries ago Tinat hunted her vengeance, and it shadows her life still. It was indiscriminate anger that drove Methos to become Death as much as it was Kronos. Cassandra's revenge has brought us to this sorry place." She looked down, in sudden pain. "And I . . . what I have done twisted our kind past all memory and may doom us all yet."

"What about Mac?" He shot her look of distaste.

"The Highland child? He has others who are interested in his welfare." She sighed and looked into Richie's eyes. "I want my children to be well and whole. Sometimes a red hot brand is the only way to kill an infection."

"But--"

"Do not press me, Richard Ryan. I have told you far more than you need to know. More knowledge could affect the futures." She pushed aside the urge to justify herself to her long vanished mortal son. This boy owed his life to her, it was a debt she might yet need to collect.

"Tinat, I think we should go check on Mac." Methos pulled away from my sweat slicked body, a strange look on his face. Strange and still chillingly familiar.

"If you say." The Greeks were great ones for not questioning Oracles. Who was I to complain that my best friend seemed to be turning into one? An Oracle, Ishtar help him, he's already much worse than a Greek.

"I knew I could count on you, love." Somehow, his blinding smile did not make me feel in the least bit better. Odd that.

We gathered our scattered clothing and various weapons.

"So where did Mac say he was?" I looked up from the sheathed dagger I was sliding between skin and bra.

"A warehouse. Down in . . ." The neighborhood was not a nice one. Why is it always warehouses? Just once, I'd like to meet someone at a museum or a pastry shop.

"Who's driving?" I turned my pleading look on Methos as the hypodermic needle slid home in the pocket of my boot.

"Me. I've seen you drive that motorcycle of yours, I like to have my stomach arrive at my destination along with me." He rolled his eyes.

"Where's your sense of fun?" I teased. Fun. Hah.

"Rode off into the sunset with the bloody Amazons. I'm driving. In my car." Men, they think they're so adventurous. Most of 'em still look for Mommie's hand every time they cross the street.

My primary sword, the only one an honorable opponent who is not as good as me gets to see, went into the pocket sewn in my trench coat. I have no idea what possessed me to buy a black trench coat. Uniform I guess. Ready as I'll ever be. I think there should be a clause somewhere about the sanity of your best friend's other lovers.

No matter how many precautions you take, how ready you think you are, you aren't ready. The thing is everyone lies and everyone betrays you. Some of them think they're doing it for your own good and sometimes you agree. Eventually. But it gets harder every time. For most people there comes a point when you're better off dead.

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was waiting for my love with a drawn blade.

"Tinat, why is he doing this?" Methos' hazel eyes widened as he drew back. What does he take me for, an empath?

"Nothing. He feels nothing." I considered for a moment as Methos ducked out of MacLeod's way. The katana bit into skin, and Methos hissed in sudden pain. I calmly emptied a round into MacLeod's heart. The bullet exploded, leaving rather a mess and giving us time.

"That's walking the line, Shemesh." He still hadn't pulled out his sword.

"Fine, next time I'll let him kill you." Patented nasty look, very intense. He's getting to good at ignoring them.

"Oh, don't stop on my account." He put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

"No reason to be upset, it's not like it's really Mac. Though Cassandra's better than I expected, I can barely reach his mind under her influence." After a moment's thought, I found the rope and bound MacLeod hand and foot.

"That's not a reason to get upset? I thought Shai was looking after him." Oh, hell. I hadn't thought of that. Maybe didn't want to.

"If he's dead, the witch is mine, Methos." I tightened the knots and stood back, examining my work for flaws.

"Weren't you the one speculating on how her Quickening could send you off your proverbial rocker? Again, I might add."

"Oh, that is low. You're telling me you can kill her, Mr. Torture, Rape and Kill? Why am I not surprised," I spat.

"Can't you find anything constructive to do, student mine?"

"If you had been any kind of a real teacher--"

"So now it's my fault, and I suppose Mac trying to kill me is all my fault, too."

"Hey, if the boot fits."

"Easy for you to talk, you never liked him. Jealousy really doesn't become you, my dear."

"Jealous? Of you? You've adapted to the little moralities of this era, haven't you? I am never jealous, unlike an ancient, small minded, moralizing-- What the hell is that?" I caught sight of a folded scrap of paper hanging out of MacLeod's pocket.

Methos pulled it out and frowned. "She is dead. But not until she begs for it." He handed me the note.

"Stand in line. How the hell could she do this to us? And I am not acting like a spoiled brat and how the hell would Lillith know anyway?" I can't believe she let me think she was dead. I can't believe she did this to me.

"She didn't actually call you a brat. Actually she said to act like Shieldmates instead of four year olds and take care of the problem before someone else gets hurt." Shieldmate, the ancient address for two warriors who were lovers and more. It wasn't the way I had thought of Methos, but in a way it was what he had always been.

"It has to be done. Cassandra has acted outside the rules. We can take her together." Back to back, in the old way.

"Then we will stand together, Shieldmate. Though the Greeks would howl to see a woman in that place." He lifted up my chin. Despite his words, there was no levity in his face.

"I shudder to think what the Amazons would have said about a male. Men don't have souls you know, Shieldmate." I grinned and he grinned back. We were one. He kissed me firmly on the lips to seal it. Hell, we could be Theseus and Hippolyta.

For most people, time drags on until you're better off dead. Then there are the rest of us. The few, proud, and too damn old. And so lucky that sometimes it aches.

We took the stairs into the warehouse. There were two mortals with guns waiting in ambush and one of them managed to graze my side. Methos' gun blew most of his face off. I got the other one.

Cassandra should have chosen her henchmen better. Methos might have been a scholar this century, but I'd spent it chasing my husband, the lunatic, around the world.

She is waiting for us. I'll have to get the name of her manicurist, just to know who to avoid. Methos goes in ahead of me and she focuses on him.

"Have you seen Duncan? I've freed him from your influence, you know." She smiled happily to herself. At least she hasn't gone on a slaughter fest yet.

"Cassandra, I'm the one you want. Stop this madness and face me." So, he really was willing to go up against her. Well, she did hurt Mac.

"Why, so you can take my head? Maybe my Quickening will haunt you a bit? I don't think so."

"So what is it you do want?" As if we can't all guess. I suppose someone has to be the straight man.

"For you to die. But not yet." She lay a considering finger over her lips. At this point, I think we should just shoot her. It isn't great drama, but to be honest I can't admit to caring about what's going on in her head.

A bullet tore though Methos' chest. Damn, it pays to keep a mobile scout out of sight. Cassandra didn't seem to notice me, so I gave it a couple of breaths and waited for the mortals to come out of hiding before destroying them. One, two, make that three. Fairly sure I got them all this time.

Methos' healing had already started, which is why you all use the nastiest bullets you have when you shoot an immortal. Guess Cassandra never learnt that lesson.

"You!" she cried. I'm not sure whether she was happy to see me or not. My gift reflected a candy colored muddle instead of emotions. But maybe I'm just out of practice.

"No. It's Jack, the Pumpkin King." Lame joke, but she laughed. I was out of bullets, so I circled her position cautiously, waving the gun around. If I'm lucky, she wasn't counting.

"Ever since I saw you, I wanted to be you, Tinat." Her eyes were mad and lovely. Like Gwenhwyfar, who had lost everything and knew it.

"You're not me." But for the grace of Ishtar and Methos.

"I wanted to be strong, to fight, but there was no one to teach me. The Amazons were scattered and the old immortals turned me away. So I made my powers strong instead."

"You broke the Silence. You killed and raped wantonly." Rape of the mind can be much worse than of the body.

"What about him? What about your *love*?" she hissed, pointing to Methos' shuddering body.

"His crimes are more than two thousand years in the past. Yours are now." She shook her head, hair flying about her face.

"We are not so different you and I. If you had not had your vengeance, if Harin lived, you might be standing where I stand." Maybe. Or maybe I could spend a month without nightmares, and keep myself from clawing at my lover.

"Harin treated me as less than a thing, less than human and I destroyed him for it. And then I was okay and everything proceeded on its lovely way. Is that what you believe? Is it Cassandra?"

"I--"

"You nothing." I drew in a harsh breath, "Look at me, take a good long look! When I close my eyes, I still see the dead begging for mercy. Harin treated me like nothing, but he didn't make me nothing. I did that to myself, Cassandra. I didn't kill him for vengeance, I killed him because that was the only mercy I could find to give him."

"If he were still alive, how would you feel now?" Her voice broke through my anger. There was only stunning, aching emptiness left to take its place.

"Draw your sword."

"What?"

"I cannot do for you what the man you want to destroy did for me. I don't have that kind of mercy."

"How did you stop killing, Tinat?"

"Methos made me see that it was possible to forgive the world for what it had done to me. And to forgive myself." But that I had never done. Not until Ishtar comes back from the world below. Erishegkal's domain.

"And I have no forgiveness. I can't stop now, even if I want to. Give me the mercy you do have." There was a kind of painful dignity in her as she knelt before me. Why give up now? Maybe she knew I wouldn't forget, no matter how much I wanted to.

"This is your last chance. Let it be, Cassandra, let him be," I pleaded, suddenly needing to know she could be saved.

"In the name of the old Gods, I cry mercy priestess. End it." For most of my life, I had been alone in my bones. But when I closed my eyes, She came to me. Not Ishtar, wild, erotic and alive. She sat on her deep throne to swallow the burdens of the dead and she wept with the pain of it.

The Quickening took me hard.

Methos opened his eyes while the Quickening dissipated. It had been his burden to take, not his student's . . . not Tinat's. She was screaming like one of Dante's damned souls. Golden eyes alive with power. She didn't stop when it ended, but before her pain drove him to lose his coherence, it ended.

He crawled toward her and pulled the body into his arms, rocking her. Her mind was her own, no Cassandra lingering, but the old wounds had been stirred. She let him hold her anyway.

"You could have waited. I would have done it," he whispered. She smiled and ran a soft finger over his lips.

"No. I'm glad. I can feel Her again. In my bones." He tried to place the statement, then remembered.

"Ishtar?"

"In a way. Erishekgal, her dark face. But it's better than nothing." Her body shuddered, the fine muscles trembling. Her eyes smoothed like honey and he recognized desire in her eyes. The Quickening. He unbuttoned her jeans and slid his fingers into her. She was very close and her pleasure came quickly.

"Don't ever leave me." He whispered the words against her sweat stained curls. She smiled, but exhaustion had swallowed any reply.

He lifted her into his arms and smiled when she lay her head against his chest and slept. Trust.

MacLeod was awake. The younger immortal was silent in his bonds. Guilt and pain in the earth colored eyes. Methos felt an echo of it, what it felt like to be attacked by this man. But he forgave without question.

"Methos, I--"

"It wasn't you, Mac. It was Cassandra." The pain in Mac's eyes sparked again, and for an instant, Methos wished he had killed his former slave.

"Shai is dead. She made Richie shoot him and take his head." Methos closed his eyes for an instant, pushing the anger away. There was no one left to turn it on. And the woman in his arms deserved more than that.

"Cassandra's dead, Mac. She won't hurt anyone again." He knelt down and sliced through MacLeod's bonds. The younger immortal chafed at his hands, restoring the circulation.

"Methos, I need to tell you. When Cassandra was . . . I felt someone in my head. A woman with white hair and ice eyes-- Lillith. She helped me as much as she could and she tried to tell me something."

"What?" Methos demanded.

"Answers, something I needed to know. But I couldn't hold on to the knowledge. I'm sorry, Methos." He lowered his eyes.

"Don't be. For better or for worse, our Serpent lives. And her game is far from over," Tinat's voice was quiet and strained, but her eyes were alive. "Put me down, love, I'm not crippled yet." He happily set her on her feet.

"Then she'll contact us?"

"Soon. Very soon, I'd imagine."

"Oh, joy," MacLeod muttered.

Joe tried to forget her, but he couldn't. His mind insisted on playing over bits of a courtship he never lived and remembering the taste of a woman most people were afraid to look at, much less touch. But he hadn't been afraid when she came calling. He--

"Hello again, Joseph." Her voice was glacier ice. Hell, she was as old as some of the glaciers.

"You've really got to stop sneaking up on me like that." But he didn't feel particularly unhappy to see her. Stupidity probably, or the longings of a man who hadn't had someone since Lauren Gale.

"I'm sorry. I wanted you to know, the Cassandra problem is at an end." Was there emotion in her eyes? He was afraid to think it.

"I just love the way you phrased that. So now we get our answers?" Maybe if he thought of the Gathering instead. Whatever it was supposed to be.

"Soon enough. Maybe too soon for some of you." Pain. Real pain, older and deeper than he wanted to imagine.

"I guess that means no. Maybe a hint?" Focus on the truth, watcher. Be a goddamned watcher for once, ignoring the fact watchers didn't talk to immortals. Or whatevers.

"It is a part of the history we share. Once there was a woman who was immortal, she loved a man very much and found a way to share her gift." Of course. It would come back to that.

"I was that man, wasn't I?" As if he really had to ask.

"You've changed. I hated you once, when I still knew how to hate."

"And now?" He wondered what it meant, so much time. Tinat was mercurial. Methos unfathomable. It was amazing that Lillith felt anything.

"I don't know what love means, really. One of the things I gave up and thought I wouldn't miss." Who was he to feel pity for her? Who was he to speculate on the way her pale skin would taste? Find words, old man, say the right thing.

"What about Tinat? Methos?" he said, when the silence stretched.

"My children? You know that's not the same." She smiled again. There had been real joy in her once, strung bow in hand, hunt in her eyes.

"I guess not. I'm not a exactly a young guy, Lillith. I--" He was startled by her laughter. Of course, how stupid could he be? It was familiar, that laugh. She had laughed often in the dark, when he held her in his arms.

"And what am I? Still in diapers? Do you want me now, Joseph? I'm not sure what I am, but I think I can have children now." The laughter turned bitter. He remembered the bitterness as well.

"Was that why I left you before?" He couldn't imagine a reason. Of course he could.

"That was your excuse. I think you were afraid." Her eyes turned inward, but it didn't last long.

"Of you?"

"No, you're still not. Of forever. It is not an easy thing to face."

"Goddamn, maybe it's easier than being a guy like me, feeling like a kid with his first crush." But she had been that, the memories told him. And so much more.

"If you hurt me again, Adam, no Joseph, I-- " She swallowed. "No, I will go on."

"I can't make any promises, half the time I don't remember knowing you." But he had been remembering so much since she came.

"Trite as it is, would you promise to try?" Was that hope? Surely even immortals could have hope.

"I can do that." He met the strange taste of her familiar lips. Lips that had been old when the stone age began. Somewhere the sun was rising, but Lillith decided to stay and greet it with him.